The True Love Quilting Club (13 page)

“Haha. You’re a funny guy.”

Sam winked and touched her elbow, briefly, gently, and she recognized it as a calming gesture. He wasn’t making fun of her. He was trying to get her to relax.
He opened the double doors and led her into the air-conditioned boarding kennels. The minute he entered, the dogs instantly quieted. It was eerie and spectacularly impressive.

The man had a gift. He made you feel instantly settled whenever he was around, as if no harm could come to you as long as he was there.

Still, a room full of dogs was a room full of dogs.

Emma hauled in a deep breath.

“It’s all right,” he murmured.

A toffee-colored Yorkie in the first kennel to Emma’s right barred her sharp little teeth and let out a growl. Emma jumped, shrank back against the door.

Sam stood patiently, his hand extended. “The best way to get over a fear is to face it. Did you know that G. Gordon Liddy was afraid of rats and to get over his fear he killed one and ate it?”

“Um, no, but thanks for the visual.”

“I thought you might appreciate it.”

“Was it raw?”

“Huh?”

“The rat that G. Gordon Liddy ate. Was it raw?”

“I’m pretty sure he cooked it.”

“Oh.” She was disappointed. “The story would have been a lot more dark and morbid if he hadn’t cooked it. Cooking it leaks out some of the drama.”

“So how about it?” His chocolate brown eyes bathed her in warmth.

“I’m not eating a rat, cooked or otherwise.”

“I’m not talking about the rat.”

She shifted her weight. “I know.”

“Dogs are the most loving creatures on earth.”

“You have to say that. You’re a vet. You love animals, therefore they love you.”

“There might be something to that,” he agreed. He moved his hand from her elbow to her shoulder so softly and slowly she barely noticed. She was too busy keeping her eye on that yappy Yorkie. “They sense your fear. You’ve gotta quell the fear.”

She sighed. “I suppose this would be good for my character growth.”

“That and the fact if you owned the space around you Patches would stop trying to herd you.”

“He sees me as a sheep.” Now she was noticing Sam. Yorkie, what Yorkie? He was standing so close she could feel his body heat.

“Luckily, dogs can be easily retrained.” His hand was at her neck now.

How had it gotten there? Not that she minded, she was just surprised. “Says you.”

“And I am the professional here. You never had pets as a kid?” His fingers kneaded her neck muscles.

Until he started doing that she hadn’t realized how tense she was. A soft sigh slipped past her lips. “Nope.”

“Remember that rabbit I gave you?”

“Rex wouldn’t let me keep it.”

“You had it rough.” His voice was getting lower, almost hypnotic.

“So what if he didn’t love me? He took care of me. Roof over my head. Food in my belly. A lot of people have it much worse.” She was almost purring now, she felt her entire body relaxing underneath the magic of his soothing fingers.

Suddenly, the Yorkie stopped yapping.

“That’s it,” Sam said. “Now you’re ready.”

“Ready for what?”

“To meet Max.”

“Who’s Max?”

He dropped his hand. Wah! Her neck felt so lonely with him gone. He crooked a finger and started past the kennels. Emma hesitated.

“Don’t tense back up again. Relax. Deep breath.”

She took a deep breath and followed him. All the dogs in the kennels were calmly wagging their tails.

“Behold, the power of a tranquil mind.”

“You are amazing,” she whispered, afraid that if she spoke too loudly it would get the dogs all stirred up again.

In that moment Emma became aware of a curious thing. In his quiet steadiness, Sam was far more powerful than any boisterous, swaggering alpha male could ever hope to be. The fact struck her with blinding clarity. A truth she accepted without question. Who could question the influence he wielded over these animals without lifting a hand or speaking a word?

It was all in the way he carried himself. As if he knew who he was both inside and out. Emma was instantly jealous of his spiritual grace, physical poise, and mental maturity. Then she realized something else just as acute. She had too much emotional baggage for a man like Sam. Meredith Grey and Finn the vet aptly summed up their relationship. He deserved someone who wasn’t a shattered vase badly pieced back together with Super Glue.

He led her to the last kennel on the left and opened it up. A slow-moving, droopy-faced hound dog that looked like Duke from
The Beverly Hillbillies
loped out. “Max is a senior citizen,” Sam said. “Treat him with respect.”

Max sat down at Emma’s feet and stared up at her with doleful eyes.

“He wants you to pet him.”

She crossed her arms. “Me?”

“Go on, it’s all right.”

She could do this, right? Nothing to it. People petted dogs all the time. Emma squatted and reached out a hand to scratch Max behind the ear.

He let out a moan.

She jumped, yanking her hand away as if burned. The Yorkie in the cage yelped as if picking up on Emma’s tension. A couple of the other dogs barked as a consequence. “What happened? What did I do wrong?”

“Nothing.” Sam smiled. “That was old Max moaning with pleasure. Face it, you’ve got the touch.”

Emma wrinkled her forehead. “Are you sure? Maybe he just didn’t want me touching him. Maybe he doesn’t like me.”

“He likes everyone.”

“How do you know? He’s never met me. Maybe he’s got something against short girls from Manhattan.”

“Trust me, it was a moan of pleasure.”

“Oh, so now you’re an expert on pleasure moans?”

Sam’s smile grew wry. “Are we still talking about dogs?”

Max’s tongue lolled out and he rolled over on his belly. Emma so wanted to avoid this topic of conversation that she reached out and scratched the hound’s belly without once thinking about her fear of dogs. Max moaned again. The hair stood up on the back of her neck. His noise sounded like the moan of someone in the throes of a throbbing orgasm.

Emma pulled her hand back and stood up. Max looked devastated that the scratching had stopped.

“Now how could you be afraid of a dog like that?” Sam asked. “He’s putty in your hands.”

“Okay, so I’m not terribly afraid of Moanful Max. Patches, however, is another story all together.”

“Why’s that?”

“He intimidates me. The way he stares. Like he wants to take a chunk out of my leg.”

“He’s a Border collie. He’s just focused.”

“Yeah, focused on taking a bite out of my leg.”

“I think I know what might help you with Patches.”

“What’s that?”

“If you should see him in action.”

“Believe me, I’ve seen enough of Patches in action.”

Sam struggled to suppress a grin. “You’ve been on the receiving end. It would help you to work with him. He’ll bond with you as his partner and stop trying to herd you.”

“And how do you propose to make that happen?”

“Attend a herding dog exhibition with me.”

She made a face. It sounded intimidating. Then again, it was a good excuse to spend more time with Sam.

You shouldn’t be spending time with him. You know it’s a dumb thing to do. These feelings you still have for him are damn dangerous.

“When is this herding thingy?”

“October 2, a week from Saturday.”

She paused, conflicted. Hanging out with Sam meant hanging out with animals. They were a package deal. Plus, she really had no choice. Patches was an essential part of the play. She had to learn how to work with him. “Okay, I’ll go.”

“I don’t want to force you.”

“No, I’ll do it. Who knows? It might be fun.”

“You say that like there’s no way in hell it could be fun.”

“You
are
proposing taking me to a place filled with dogs. Dogs with sharp pointy teeth. Dogs who jump on you—”

“Not these dogs. They’re highly trained.”

“Okay then, dogs that try to herd you.”

“Not if you don’t act like a sheep.”

“Easy for you to say, I’m the one who’s sheepish in the eyes of a Border collie.”

“We’re going to change all that.”

“Clearly you’ve got more confidence in me than I do.”

“Woman,” Sam said, “you moved to New York City all on your own when you were just eighteen years old. If you can do that, then you can conquer this fear. I’ll pick you up at eight
A.M
. on Saturday next, and come prepared to amaze yourself.”

That evening, after fully embarrassing herself in the theater by her terrified reaction to Patches, then almost fainting at Sam’s clinic, and finally by looking completely incompetent at the quilting club by repeatedly poking a sewing needle into her own thumb, Emma escaped to the lush backyard of the Merry Cherub after the majority of the B&B guests had retired to their rooms for the night. It was ten
P.M
. A huge white full moon hung in the sky, casting a silvery glow bright enough to read her script by.

She spread a beach towel over the lawn and lay back to speak her lines. “May God go with you, my beloved Jon, and keep you safe as you fight this horror of a war,” she said in Rebekka Nash’s soft Southern drawl.

She then read Jon’s line in a straight monotone just
to get it out of the way so she could immerse herself in Rebekka’s next line. It was difficult reading lines by herself, but she didn’t want to impose on anyone to help her. She was eager to memorize at least the first few pages for tomorrow’s rehearsal to redeem herself for today’s poor performance. Nina was paying ten thousand dollars for a professional stage actress, and Emma was determined to make this the performance of a lifetime.

And if nothing else, being in Twilight gave the opportunity for Emma to fully concentrate on her craft. In Manhattan, the fierce competition consumed so much of her thoughts she hadn’t been able to fully relax and just enjoy what she did best. She felt wildly liberated. No pressure, no distractions, no professional jealousy, just acting at its purest.

“Take this, my love…” She paused, pantomimed passing an imaginary Jon a pretend lace handkerchief. “…and keep it tucked in your breast pocket, close to your heart.”

“Each night I will extract it from my pocket, press it to my nose, and dream of you,” came a masculine voice from the other side of the tall wooden backyard fence.

Startled, Emma’s pulse hip-hopped. She fumbled the script and almost tumbled from her lawn chair. “Sam?”

His face appeared over the top of the fence. “Nay, no Sam here. It is I, my fair Rebekka, your true love Jon,” he teased.

“You know the lines?”

“Just the Jon and Rebekka skit. I used to run lines with Valerie. I heard Nina had written two more acts to the play.”

“She did,” Emma confirmed. “Were you out working in your garden again?”

“Full moon is the best time for garden work.”

“Spoken like a true farmer.”

“Keep going.”

“What?”

He waved at her script. “Keep going. I’ll run lines with you at least through the first act. If you want me to help after that, you’ll need to bring me a script.”

“You know the whole act?”

“Yes.”

“Wow, you
were
a great husband.”

“You know me. I don’t do anything halfway.”

“This is great. I really appreciate you doing this for me.”

“No problem,” he said, his voice carrying over the wooden fence to curl seductively around her ears. He had such a great voice. “Actually, I’m pretty good at multitasking. Saying lines with you will make the weeding go faster. Besides, it’ll give me something to look forward to.”

That pleased her far more than it should. “You’re offering to do this every night?”

“Until you’ve got those lines memorized.”

“Is it weird that we’re doing this through the back fence? Do you want to come over here?”

“I’ve got to keep an ear out for Charlie.”

“What about Maddie?”

“She sleeps like the dead; besides, he’s my responsibility. She’s my live-in housekeeper, not Charlie’s nanny.”

“I could come over there.”

He paused a moment, then said, “Um…I don’t really want the whole town speculating on our relationship. You start coming over here late every night
and the next thing you know, the community will be taking bets on our wedding date.”

“You’re serious?”

“This is Twilight, remember. The denizens like nothing better than sticking their noses in other people’s business. Unless it’s making bets on what other people are doing.”

“I guess I’d forgotten about all that.”

“It’s not always a bad thing. The fact that people look out for each other is the reason we don’t have to lock our doors.”

“I think it’s nice, even the nosy-gossipy-taking-bets-on-you parts.”

“Twilight is a special place.” His heartfelt words settled on the breeze.

They fell silent for a moment, Emma on one side of the fence, Sam on the other. Within touching distance if the wall hadn’t been between them.

Sam cleared his throat. “We should get started.” He pointed over his shoulder with a thumb. “I’m going back to hoeing.”

“Yes, yes.” Emma opened her script. Moths circled in the glow of the streetlamp slanting illumination into both yards and giving her just enough light to read by.

“I’ve loved you since we were kids,” Sam said.

For one crazy split second she thought Sam was talking to her, and then feeling rather stupid, she realized he was quoting from the script.

“I’ll love you for always.” Emma shuffled off her own emotions and slipped under the skin of Rebekka Nash. She got up and began to pace the plush St. Augustine lawn the length of the fence. “Don’t go getting yourself killed in the war, you hear me?”

“I’ll come back to you. I’m making a vow right now, right here, in front of God.”

“Jon.” Emma whimpered low in her throat, working hard to approximate the distress Rebekka must have been feeling.

“Do you have any idea how beautiful you look in the moonlight? How your hair glows like a fiery flame?”

Emma’s cheeks heated and she had to remind herself she was Rebekka and Sam was Jon. She was grateful for the fence between them. She didn’t want him knowing he’d made her blush.

They went on like that, reading the script aloud. Sam read it straight, while Emma embellished her reading with meaning and emotion as she dug deeper into Rebekka’s psyche. Time spun away into the crisp night air and they were caught up in the romantic love story of Twilight’s past. Through dialogue, Emma could feel how much Jon and Rebekka had loved each other.

“Well,” Sam said after they’d finished the first act. “I better head on inside. By the time I shower and get ready for bed it’ll be almost midnight. I’ve got an early surgery tomorrow.”

“Someone else’s pooch swallow a tennis ball?”

“No, just run-of-the-mill neutering.”

“Thanks again, Sam, and you have a good night.” She closed her script, headed for the B&B.

“Is it true?” he called out.

She paused and walked back to the fence. “What’s that?”

“Delia told me some big-shot producer tried to play grab-ass with you up in New York and you showed him how we do things down in Texas.”

“That’s one way of putting it.” She chuckled.

“Then he claimed you were the instigator and filed sexual assault charges against you?”

“He did,” Emma admitted. “He took it kind of personally that I caused him to lose a testicle.”

“He deserved it,” Sam said vehemently. “I only wish I could have been there to bust him in the chops for you.”

“That would have been great. Then you could have joined me in the pokey.”

“They arrested you?”

“Yep, they put me in jail and everything.”

Sam uttered a curse word so colorful it made her eyes widen. Not because she found it shocking, but simply because she’d never heard Sam use it.

“I don’t know what would have happened if Nina hadn’t intervened. I still don’t know why she did that.”

“Anyway,” he said, “I just wanted to tell you it’s nice to have you back again, for however long you’re here.”

“It’s nice—if somewhat different—to be back in Twilight. I missed it more than I realized.”

“Good night, Trixie Lynn,” he murmured, “and welcome home.”

Home.

It sounded so good. But she wasn’t going to fool herself into thinking she belonged here. She knew she did not. She’d lived here for one short year of her life. That didn’t make it home.

She pressed her ear against the fence, listening to the sound of Sam’s footsteps climbing his back steps. She heard the back door creak open, then shut closed. “Good night to you, Sam Cheek. Sweet dreams.”

Then, battling an unwanted nostalgia, she picked up her script and went to bed with visions of Jon Grant and Rebekka Nash swirling in her head.

The next week and a half passed in a blur of activity. By day the Twilight Playhouse bustled with activity as the cast (mostly drama students from Tarleton who eagerly worked for free) rehearsed and the crew (mostly local tradesmen volunteering their time) built sets. By evening Emma quilted with the True Love Quilting Club, learning far more about the art of quilting than she ever dreamed possible. And by the dark of late night, she read her lines through the backyard fence with Sam.

It surprised Emma how much she looked forward to the nightly quilting bees. The women of the True Love Quilting Club were warm, funny, accepting, and generous. They filled her in on all the town news—who was in the hospital with what disease, who was pregnant, who was getting married, who was getting divorced, who’d passed away. They were wise and witty and warm. They teased and argued and debated and celebrated. They were good listeners too, encouraging Emma to tell them about New York as they labored over the quilts. Nina seemed particularly hungry to hear stories of the theater. Asking about the plays she’d seen, the people she knew.

Within a matter of days Emma felt as if she’d been living in Twilight her entire life, as if the past twelve years in Manhattan were nothing but a faraway dream. They made her feel comfortable and safe, which was saying a lot about them. But feeling comfortable made her uneasy, which was saying a lot about her. She’d suffered many losses in life, had struggled hard with
little reward. She didn’t trust comfortable. It was really just chaos lurking beneath a smiling face. Sooner or later it would all be taken away. Getting too comfortable here was a big mistake and she knew it, but when they smiled at her, she was like a cold, wet kitten to a warm, dry hearth.

They taught her how to quilt. Not just how to sew, but how to create. She learned that basically a quilt was nothing more than a bunch of squares called blocks all sewn together and that each block had three layers. The top layer was the pretty pattern, the inside layer was the padding that made the quilt soft, and then there was the quilt back. But they were also true quilt artists, going beyond the traditional quilts to make contemporary art. The idea was to start with the traditional quilt and gradually get more intricate and complex as the world they lived in (and the wars Twilight had fought in) grew more intricate and complex. They started first on the quilt featuring the War Between the States and the subsequent reunion of the first sweetheart lovers, Jon and Rebekka.

“How’s the play shaping up?” Belinda asked Nina and Emma the Friday after their second week of rehearsal.

“We’re finding our sea legs,” Nina said at the same moment Emma enthused, “I love it.”

Finding our sea legs?
What did that mean? It sounded like Nina didn’t think the rehearsals were going as well as could be expected. That surprised Emma because she’d found herself easily slipping under the skin of Rebekka Nash. She’d done a little research on the first lady of Twilight and discovered that she and Rebekka had a lot in common. They’d both been only children and they were redheads. Rebekka had lost her mother
at a young age and she’d been raised by an emotionally distant father.
That
strummed a chord in Emma.

Rebekka had been an unusual woman for her time, preferring to stay single instead of settling for a man she did not love. Tough and strong-minded, she had a career, making chic sunbonnets that she sold in Fort Worth, and she had several avocations—singing in the church choir, raising award-winning roses, and training herding dogs for the local sheep farmers.

Belinda raised an eyebrow. “Problems?”

“Emma’s conquering her fear of dogs,” Nina said. “We still haven’t introduced Patches back into the mix, but Sam is taking Emma to a dog herding exhibition tomorrow. We have high hopes that Emma and Patches can learn to work together.”

“Oh.” Belinda’s eyes lit up. “So you and Sam, huh?”

“Nothing’s going on there,” Emma rushed to assure her. “He and Patches are just helping me to overcome my…er…nervousness around dogs.”

“Um-hmm.” Belinda nodded as if she knew a big secret.

“So Nina, how’s it working out with Beau?” Terry asked, pulling the quilting thread through her block of the quilt.

Everyone else stopped sewing and looked over at Nina. There was a bit of drama Emma didn’t fully understand. She’d learned Beau had been much beloved as sheriff until he’d violated the town’s trust. Some people sided with Nina, believing he should be forgiven. Others thought he should have been run out of town. The quilting club was split right down the middle on the issue. Nina, Belinda, Marva, and Jenny came down on the side of forgiveness. Patsy, Terry, Raylene, and Dotty Mae favored exile.

“He’s doing great,” Nina said, a warning tone in her voice. “I’m really impressed with his progress.”

“What do you think of him, Emma?” Terry asked.

“He seems nice,” she hedged. She wasn’t about to take sides on an issue that had nothing to do with her. Beau had been easy to work with and he was a pretty good actor for an amateur.

“Here’s the important question,” Raylene said. “How does he kiss?”

“Raylene!” Marva scolded.

“What? I’m just saying what everyone else was thinking.” Raylene tossed her head.

“We haven’t rehearsed the kissing,” Emma said.

“No? Well, that’s a letdown. So who has some good gossip?” Raylene asked.

Everyone shook her head.

“No one? Seriously? Nothing?”

“G.C. passed a kidney stone,” Marva said.

“Eeh.” Raylene plugged her ears. “That’s a case of too much information. Besides, it’s not gossip.”

“I heard that passing a kidney stone is quite painful,” Jenny said.

“I’m sure it is,” Marva said. “He was pacing around the house, clutching his side for two days, but then he had the gall to compare it to childbirth. As if!”