Sweet Home Carolina (32 page)

Last night had been…. She couldn’t think of words to
describe how she’d felt, or she’d cry, knowing she’d never have another night
like that again. Zack was ruining her for any other man.

Well, fine. She didn’t want any more men.

She flipped on the television and half listened to a weather
report about another hurricane barreling into the Gulf Coast. She flicked it
off when Zack emerged smelling of sandalwood, wearing blue jeans and a worn
work shirt, with his hair still wet and curling from the shower. Before she
could say a word, he gathered her into his arms and drowned her in a kiss so
hungry that he jump-started her stuttering heart and left her gasping.

“We are good together, yes?” he demanded, releasing her to
press her into a chair at the table.

All she could do was nod. It was the truth, after all.

“Regrets, Amy?” he asked softly.

Her heart stumbled at the gentleness of his voice, and that
he even considered how she felt. “No,” she replied in a whisper.

“Then we will enjoy the day as we choose colors for your new
home.” Apparently satisfied with his decision for her house, he uncovered the
hot plates and ravenously consumed the breakfast she’d ordered for him.

How did one pound a whirlwind over the head?

One didn’t. One went to ground and didn’t come out until the
tornado had spun past.

“You need a nanny to keep up with this one,” Zack declared
the Monday evening after their brief sojourn in heaven. He captured Louisa and
pulled her down from the furniture the movers had stacked in the dining room of
Amy’s cottage.

The contractor had ripped out the living room ceiling over
the weekend, revealing deteriorating plaster and oak crown molding. Tired of
the Motel 6 and eager to explore the possibilities of the Craftsman cottage,
Zack had decided to move in.

“I need a million dollars and a yacht, too,” Amy replied
through a mouthful of pins. She tugged fabric more tightly over a rod and
pinned it in place to provide privacy for the windows.

“No, I mean it, seriously,” he insisted.

The day she’d stripped him down to his grief, he’d known
that she was more than the women in his past. He’d proved to himself that he
could deal with children again. He’d tried the usual path of seduction, and
she’d stood him on his head and bowled him over with her passion and joy. She
was one woman in a million, the one with the power to return him to reality.
The one with the potential to cause serious pain.

He’d been thinking hard for days, trying to find some way of
having this woman he wanted despite all the obstacles bobbing ugly heads in
their path. The question of what to do about the children was one of many, many
arguments they must overcome if he had any hope of building a relationship. He
knew she didn’t like to leave the children, but his business involved travel,
and he didn’t like to do it alone. They must find a compromise.

He’d had lots of experience in argument and didn’t want
more. He had a feeling he had only one chance for happiness and it had Amy’s name
on it. “She is too young for day care. She needs personal attention.”

“Uh-huh, as soon as I have that million dollars,” she
agreed, jabbing another pin into the material.

“So, you do not mind nannies?” he verified with delight.

“Nope. When I have a million dollars, I’ll stay home and
won’t need one. Or maybe we’ll all go sailing on that yacht.”

“You are not being serious,” he protested. “You cannot take
children with you everywhere without help. Traveling is difficult for little
ones.”

Standing on a crate, she eyed him warily while jabbing the
last pin into the end of the makeshift curtain. “Maybe I should have the house
tested for mold. It can have the same effect as drugs. Unless you’re on drugs,”
she suggested, helpfully. “I’m not going anywhere anytime soon, so nannies are
not a concern.”

“But what about the sample shows? Do you not want to see how
people like the fruits of our labor? There are shows everywhere. We could go to
Paris, to Hong Kong….”

“You are definitely on drugs.” She climbed down from the
crate. “There are plenty of more qualified people for the shows. Did you ever
find out what’s holding up the silk thread for the floral tapestry? That fabric
is the key piece for the show.”

The children were in the room. Zack couldn’t grab pragmatic Amy
and kiss her and make her see what he saw. There were still too many questions
to be settled before he could tell her his plans. He had to rein in his
impatience before planning their future.

Their future.
He
was thinking in terms of a
future
,
with building excitement and too many terrified questions. Most of the
questions were his, he could admit. Was he capable of making a woman happy for
longer than two nights? Could he handle children who got sick and injured on a
regular basis? Was he too old to settle down? The last thing on earth he wanted
to do was hurt Amy.

The next-to-last thing he wanted to do was lose her.
Sometime this past weekend, he’d realized he had to think about tackling the
largest challenge of his lifetime — marriage. Amy would settle for nothing less.

He’d already failed the challenge once.

So he tested the waters as he had not the first time around.
This time, they were both settled into certain lifestyles, and the obstacles
were larger than if they’d been young and unburdened. His goal was to
encounter, explore, and remove the impediments one by one —

Not he —
they
.
He’d lived on his own too long. Amy was accustomed to being part of a unit. He
was not. He needed to start thinking in terms of both of them.

“The silk manufacturer’s production is running behind,” he
said in answer to her question, trying not to think of failure of any sort. At
least in business matters, he and Amy were of like mind. “We’ll have to do
without the tapestry for the show.”

“Perhaps we could substitute the cotton prints?” she
suggested. “Those are simple.”

His cell phone rang, and he automatically carried it to the
window for better reception while Amy checked the hem of her makeshift
curtains.

“No, no,” he shouted into the mobile clamshell. “Where are
the mechanics? We cannot afford to waste the thread.”

Amy winced and tried not to listen. The one machine had been
jamming all day. They had precisely two weeks to get the samples ready for the
High Point market.

Government grants took months. They needed cash now, and the
market would generate it…if all went well.

She’d almost rather dream of traveling to shows in Paris and
L.A. than think about broken machinery. What on earth had sent Zack off on that
tangent?

He bit off a curse and snapped his cell shut, then paced the
floor of the dining room. “The loom needs a new part,” he growled. “We cannot
make more of the brocade until it is fixed.”

They needed variety to impress the buyers at the show. Their
booth wouldn’t be noticed among the thousands of other booths unless they had
something exciting to catch the attention of jaded buyers. “How long will it
take to fix the machine?”

“Maybe a week,” he said with irritation.

“Then we need to start on the prints and the jacquard,” she
suggested. “The cotton isn’t as rich, but the design is exquisite. We’ll need
flyers, brochures, maybe a direct-mail campaign to get out the word about the
rarity of the historical design. If you would quit being so bullheaded and use
more contemporary colors — ”

“
Bullheaded
? You
think I am bullheaded? You are the one refusing to go to the show, the one with
the brilliant mind who would bury herself in this place and never venture
beyond — ” He shut up abruptly.

Amy glanced over her shoulder to see both Louisa and Josh
watching him with dread in their eyes. They had heard her arguments with Evan
too many times. And Zack had been observant enough to understand that. She
breathed a sigh of relief at his wisdom.

In recompense, she offered what she could. “If you need me
in High Point, I will go. I’m not afraid of travel, but I can’t leave the
children for long.”

Zack ran his hand through his hair, gazed at the children
with doubt in his eyes, then nodded. “We will discuss business at work. Tonight
is for the little ones. You need a room you can play in while we work, do you
not?” he asked them.

Josh shouted his agreement and Louisa imitated his shouts.

Amy could have kissed him. But kissing was way too
dangerous. She’d avoided it ever since Saturday. It was bad enough hiding how
she felt about Zack from the kids, but pretending to be no more than a
corporate drone at work all day today was excruciating.

“The upstairs room?” Zack suggested. “We can set up Josh’s
train tracks there.”

Accompanied by Josh’s cheers, they hunted through the stacks
of furniture and cartons for the toy boxes.

“You have so many beautiful pieces, it is a shame to bury
them like this.” Zack lifted an elegantly curved Mission rocker from the stack
to uncover a box Amy thought might contain the train set.

“That’s the rocker I’d love to use the brocade on.” She
gestured at the wide oak seat. “A lovely thick pillow for the seat and a few
loose pillows for the back, maybe in the floral silk. We ought to use a few of
my pieces at the show as design ideas.”

She’d just cast out the idea as a stray thought, but she
sensed Zack’s alertness instantly. He tensed, and began examining the stack of
furniture with renewed interest.

“It is the wrong period,” he murmured.

“People save what is good and use it in different
generations,” she suggested. “What are you thinking?”

She located the train box and Louisa’s doll box while he
frowned and poked through her antiques.

“I am thinking you are brilliant.” He untangled a walnut
settle with the slender back slats and arms of the early colonial period. “I am
thinking we will need two booths at the show and some seamstresses. Do you know
what shape the sewing machines are in?”

“In her day, my mother could take the machines apart and put
them together faster than the mechanics. Do you mean this? I don’t want to
raise hopes, but Mom ran the samples department for years.”

She tried to breathe normally, pretend this was just an
impersonal business discussion, but she thought she would burst her lid while
she watched Zack pull out furniture and rub his jaw thoughtfully.

Jobs, even temporary ones, would add much needed cash to
pockets throughout town. With Christmas coming up….

“Call her,” Zack said decisively. “Ask her to come in
tomorrow to see if the machines can be made to operate immediately and how long
it will take to produce pillows. I think we need at least one bed to display a
jacquard coverlet.”

He paced up and down, thinking aloud, pulling out more furniture
when his gaze fell upon other useful pieces. Amy was willing to sacrifice
everything she owned to make this work. She grabbed his cell and dialed her
mother.

“Mom, don’t say anything to anyone yet,” she said as soon as
Marie answered, “but we need you at the mill first thing in the morning. We
have questions.”

Ending the call after arranging transportation, Amy hugged
Zack’s neck as if doing so were the most normal thing in the world. “It’s going
to work. I know it is!”

He wrapped both arms around her, hugged her close, and
kissed her hungrily, as though he’d been starving since last they’d touched. Her
heart soared with her hopes, and it was a giddy few minutes before she could
extricate herself. Josh attempting to tug his train box to the stairs was
sufficient warning that they couldn’t mess around in front of the kids.

“I’ll provide a nanny for them while we go to High Point,”
he said sternly when she pulled away.

She could see the heat of desire in his eyes, but also his
concern. She couldn’t trust the lust, but she’d learned his concern for her
children was as reliable as her own. She nodded. “Or Jo, if she’s in that week.
I’ll ask.”

“I knew you would be an asset to the company,” he said with
pride. “Don’t ever underestimate yourself again. If we succeed, you’ll be the
reason.”

Astounded, Amy watched Zack lift Josh’s box and walk out.

She
was an asset?
She couldn’t even operate a computer. She couldn’t fix machinery. All she had
done was offer her furniture. And make a few phone calls. She wasn’t doing
anything more than she had done for Evan, except he’d never paid her for her
ideas — not in money or gratitude.

Important people got things done, made things work. All
she’d done was call her mother.

But she liked that Zack thought she was important. Maybe
that meant he was suffering the same throes of lust and hero worship she was
suffering right now. Her dreams these last nights had been filled with Zack,
not just of sex, but of waking up with him, of talking over problems with him….

Juggling hope and caution was a balancing act she hadn’t
quite perfected yet, but if Zack stayed around long enough, she just might
manage it. Listening to him singing the quacking-duck song as he hauled toys to
the attic, she relaxed and decided to enjoy the moment.

Tomorrow always came too soon.

“No, no, Pascal.” Holding his cell to his ear and shaking
his head, Zack stood on the balcony overlooking the interior of Building Three,
keeping an eye on production. “The show is next week. We’re working around the
clock. I absolutely can go nowhere until it is done.”

The smaller loom chattered and clanged and inch by inch
produced the marvelous jacquard in a goldenrod motif to complement the apple
green brocade. The colors suited his demand for historical accuracy while
meeting Amy’s demand for marketability.

There were way too many variables in this venture. It required
promotion and salesmanship he’d never needed for his former limited ventures.
He’d never designed textiles for mass production before.