Whispers of the Heart (3 page)

“Wouldn't mind your help, Brent,” Josh accepted. “Just another hour should finish it up.”

“Really, perhaps it should wait,” she insisted as the two moved past her into the studio. Against the wall without windows, brass brackets stretched from near the floor to almost the fourteen-foot ceiling.

“Shouldn't leave 'em half finished if we don't have to.” Brent glanced at her with friendly deter
mination as he shed his sport jacket and draped it across the back of the sofa. He then turned to study the project. “Hey, this will give you tons of storage, but you'll need a ladder to get to the top shelves.”

“Yes, I suppose so. It's intended to hold my supplies.” She gave up her protest as he picked up a prefinished board and blew on it to clear it of dust. Josh continued with the power drill, putting the last of the screws into a bracket.

Autumn didn't know what to do. Oh, there were things she
ought
to do—like put away the last of her clothes in her bedroom closet, or arrange the cooking utensils she'd brought from the old house. But she found herself unable to do anything except simply watch Brent concentrate on the job at hand. She had an unfettered view of him.

While Josh checked the oak shelves, Brent climbed Josh's ladder, the muscles beneath his brown striped golf shirt stretching as he reached above his head to place the shelves. In his effort to get them just right, his jutting chin struck her as purposeful, his relaxed mouth a model of male beauty. She liked his intense energy, and again thought of how to capture the effect of his movements in clay.

That was all it was. Simply a fascination from an artist's soul who saw beauty in many people. This one man in particular. Was that so unusual?

More than an hour later, the two men stood back to examine their handiwork. Autumn stood beside them. The finished project looked awesome, with more shelves than she'd ever hoped for, or perhaps fill.

“Is this everything you want, Ms. Barbour?” Josh asked.

“Yes, it looks wonderful,” she murmured, glancing at all her boxes. Perhaps she'd fill most of it, after all, but there'd be little wall space for pictures. She picked up an architectural drawing she'd done last year, wondering where it should go.

Brent noticed her tentative move, then glanced at the picture.

“I recognize that,” he said, giving the piece a nod. “Did you do those projected art drawings of the Genesis Project for Lewis and Blake?”

“Yes, I did. Why do you ask?”

“I thought them very well done.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you on payroll there?”

“No, I freelance.” When she had to, she could work commercially. If the circumstances were…right. She never accepted a job unless it met her needs.

“Great!” He leaned one raised palm against her kitchen table, letting his arm take his weight. His smile spread easily across his face, while his ginger gaze held hers in friendly persuasion. “I'm looking for an on-call artist who does quality work. May I ask your fees?”

“Um…I'm not sure I'll take on any more commercial work for a while. It would have to be something very special.”

“Ah. All right, then.” He seemed disappointed, but straightened, giving ready acceptance to her answer. “Well, stop over and visit our offices sometime. If I'm not there, my top man, John, can show
you the kinds of things we do. You might see something that would excite you. And let me know when you're interested in working again?”

“Okay. Thank you for, um, offering.”

“Sure. Glad to. Well, bye again.”

A
utumn shook the empty milk carton one last time, standing in the opened refrigerator door. Not a drop was there.

She wondered forlornly why she couldn't have bought more than a quart on her last trip to the grocery store, just before Spring left. She didn't bother to look into the bare cupboard for breakfast; she'd eaten the last of the crackers and cheese last night.

There was no help for it. She had to go out this morning to buy groceries.

She wouldn't panic; she couldn't. She had to have groceries.

A quick trip through a convenience store wouldn't do it, either. Glancing at the wall clock, she decided if she left this moment, she could be at the nearest grocery store by the time it opened. The crowds weren't heavy this early in the morning. If she didn't linger, if she kept her purchases to a minimum, she could be in and out in no time.

She hauled in a deep breath as she found a light sweatshirt to ward off the early spring morning chill. She stiffened her courage as she grabbed her purse and ran down the stairs for the exercise, swung out of the front door and around to the parking lot for her car.

Five days. It had been five days since she moved into her apartment. Spring had called every night, asking if she'd been out yet. She'd fibbed, knowing her sister knew she fibbed, saying she'd been out walking.

Well, tonight when Spring called, Autumn could tell her honestly that she'd bought groceries. Managed to face whatever crowds there were to be faced, and come home unscathed. She could take care of herself.

Her street was yet rather quiet this morning, she gratefully noted. Her small parking lot, too.

Pausing in her drive before entering the traffic, she spotted a red sedan pulling into the lot across the street. The driver rolled down his window and waved. Brent Hyatt. She returned the wave, but didn't wait long enough to encourage conversation. She must get her errand done as speedily as possible.

In the end, it took her longer than she'd planned. She'd forgotten it was Friday, when the grocery stores would begin their weekend rush.

It was her own fault. She'd waited too long to shop and needed too much. Paper products, canned goods, staples, coconut macaroons. By the time she'd gone through the checkout line, four people were behind her, a mob of shoppers streamed toward her through the doors, and perspiration stood out on her forehead.
Her sweatshirt was damp at the neckline and her breathing a little jerky.

Her bottom lip hurt from biting down while waiting to check out.

But it wasn't a full-scale panic, thank goodness. She wasn't really shaking; not really. Only a mere tremble shook her hands. And in reality, that mob of shoppers only amounted to a dozen or so people.

In spite of her fears, she'd done it.

She drove home through the morning rush carefully, and parked in front of her building, needing the shortest distance to carry her grocery bags. She sat a moment to breathe deeply before getting out on unsteady legs. The trembling had almost disappeared.

She was fine. Just fine. She'd be even better when she had all the groceries lined up in her cupboards.

Then she got out and walked around to the trunk, eyed the three, filled-to-the-brim bags, and wondered if she dare try carrying all three at once. All she wanted was to get into her apartment and not come out again for a while.

“Don't be foolish,” she muttered to herself under her breath.

“I agree,” Brent spoke just behind her. “Don't even think you can make it upstairs alone with all three of those bags at once. They'd spill and leave a trail like Gretel's crumbs. Here, I'll give you a hand.”

“Oh!” She brushed her bangs from her eyes as she blinked up at him. Where had he sprung from? How had he known what she was thinking? Only Spring ever did that.

“Oh, I don't want to bother you. I can take care
of it on my own, thanks.” She straightened her spine. “I'll, uh, make two trips.”

“Come on, it won't take a minute,” he insisted, grabbing two bags. “I won't stay.” He flashed his irrepressible grin. “I promise.”

“All right.”

A middle-aged woman came out of the first-floor law offices as they entered the narrow front hall. She didn't bother to even glance their way. Autumn felt her muscles begin to relax. She had made it through her first outing alone without a problem.

She had her key ready and put it into her front door carefully. As soon as the lock tumbled, she swung the door wide. Just as carefully, as though on soldier's marching orders, Brent set the two bags he carried on her kitchen counter and turned to leave. “There you go.”

“Thanks,” she called toward his retreating back. “Thanks a lot, Brent. I appreciate your help.”

“You're very welcome, Autumn.” He continued his route toward the door and elevator. “See you around.”

He'd been very kind, and suddenly, she was loath to see him leave. His was a friendly face, after all.

“Um, a moment?” She ran after him into the hall. “I just wondered…what happened with Sam and his wife? Was the baby all right?”

Brent's smile broke out in a sunny reflection of joy. “Oh, yeah, that turned out just fine. Touch-and-go for a little while, though. Mother and baby girl Emily are doing fine now. Ashley went home yesterday, and the baby will most likely go home next week, Sam said.”

“Oh, I am so glad. Please tell Sam I'm happy to hear of his good fortune.”

“Blessings, indeed. I'll tell him.”

“Thanks again.”

“You're welcome. Better not leave your car where it is for too long though. There's a spring concert or something at the market this weekend and the Friday lunch crowd will be looking for street parking. It'll be safer in your parking space.”

“Yes, I'll come down and move it as soon as I put away the food that needs refrigeration.”

“See you around,” Brent said again, stepping into the elevator.

Autumn put away her groceries, made herself a cup of tea, and went to sit on the high stool she'd placed beneath her favorite window. Time to allow a bit of triumph to flow, she mused. The early-morning crowds hadn't been so terrible to face, in retrospect, and now that it was out of the way, she must face her next hurdle. Additional shopping.

There was nowhere to set her cup, and she balanced it on her knee. She'd found herself in this spot so often, to think or talk to Spring on the phone, and now she decided it needed more than a stool. She had to do something else, here. Place a bench beneath the window or a more comfortable chair beside it. With a small table to hold her teacup and telephone.

Glancing around her apartment, she let her gaze fall on the many boxes that remained unpacked for lack of a ladder to reach the tallest supply shelves. A building supply store, that's what she needed.

Catalogs would give her the items she needed, too.
Tempting. Too tempting. She could easily make a phone order and have things delivered.

But that was an excuse not to leave her house. She'd promised Spring she wouldn't allow that to happen—become a total recluse, just because crowds frightened her. And Spring would know. She always did, just as
she
knew when Spring needed
her.

Well, it could wait for tomorrow. She'd had just about enough triumph for one day.

Autumn woke early the next morning, determined to finish the painting of tulips she'd started yesterday afternoon, using the pot she'd bought at the store as a model. The bright blooms cheered her, and replaced the fading jonquils that Brent had given her.

That's one thing she needed, she decided, pouring herself a glass of milk. She needed more flowers to adorn the apartment. More bright colors.

The open-air market was one of the enticements to this neighborhood, she'd told Spring. She reminded herself of that now. After yesterday's success, it would be an excellent time to shop. This morning, before the market filled up. She'd find spring flowers in plenty there, and all the fresh fruit and veggies she'd passed by yesterday in favor of getting the staples.

Before she could give herself time to become anxious, she yanked on her favorite faded green sweats and left her building. She sprinted the two and a half blocks to the marketplace, then slowed as she took in the scene, fighting the clutch in her stomach.

True to her hopes, she found some stalls already open for the morning, but only a few shoppers. She
could handle this. It wouldn't be bad at all. She even smiled at the vendors, the ones with the outside tables, while making her choices, careful to buy only what she could carry. She tried not to rush, telling herself to slow down long enough to savor the experience.

One of the stalls had freshly baked bread and rolls. She paused. The fragrance made her mouth water, and she couldn't resist them.

Now she could go home. She'd taken this expedition in stride.

Leaving the growing bustle of the market, she resisted breaking into a run by sheer determination. By the time she turned her corner, putting the market completely out of sight, she could slow to a stroll.

She wouldn't admit to the amount of relief she felt. Or the very slight shaking of her knees.

The fragrance of the rolls drifted with enticing demand. Like an eager child, she pulled out a breakfast sweet roll, its center filled with cream cheese and pineapple, and took a bite. She still had her mouth full when she heard Brent's greeting.

“Good morning, Autumn. Nice morning, isn't it?”

He stood beside his red sedan, parked in front of his building. He wore jeans today, and a brown T-shirt that matched his eyes.

She nodded and swallowed. “Mm, yes, it's a lovely morning. I've been to the market already,” she couldn't resist telling him, a childish pride breaking through her usual shyness. Though she knew he had no idea of her disability, it was nice to share this bit of victory anyway. She could hardly wait to tell
Spring she'd shopped two days in a row, with people all around her. She wouldn't tell her about how badly her knees shook.

“Nice time for a walk,” he commented.

Brent watched the quick, lovely smile fade into uncertainty, her lashes dropping to hide her thoughts. He wondered what it would take to keep her talking. He'd watched her come up the hill from the market, having spied her before he pulled into their street. She'd taken long strides at first, as though in a great hurry, then slowed to a stroll as she turned the corner. As if she now felt safe. She hadn't seemed aware of him until he spoke.

“Yes, it is,” she conceded. Already, she wanted to retreat—he saw it in her eyes.

What was it? What was she afraid of? Why did she so often withdraw, as though she didn't want him to get too friendly? Was she really that shy, or didn't she like him? Most people did, and he usually returned the regard, but…Autumn puzzled him.

Maybe she had a boyfriend, though he hadn't seen anyone visit her—and he thought he might have, since his office desk faced the street window and he often found himself watching the traffic.

Perhaps the truth was more basic than that. Simply put, she just might not be interested in him.

He supposed it could be that, though he'd seldom met a woman who turned him down flat. On the whole, he liked women, even liked them a lot, though it had been a very long time since he'd met a woman who interested him in any personal way. This one did. Why, he hadn't yet figured out.

Perhaps he was at last ready to find a new woman to love.

Other than casual, friendly dates, he'd lived without a woman in his life, except his mother, since that awful day Felice smashed her car and herself into nothing. Three and a half years ago, next week.

Since then, he'd contented himself in his faith, work and family, and a renewed interest in community service. That was why he'd moved his offices downtown. He wanted to be a big part of the city's urban renewal.

“Daddy, can I get on your computer now?”

About to turn away, Autumn's gaze dropped to the small boy who stepped from his father's shadow. About four, she guessed, the child had the same ginger-colored bright-eyed gaze as Brent.

“This is my son, Tim,” Brent said. “Timmy, this is Miss Barbour.”

The boy stared at her in curiosity for a long moment, then smiled. “You have icing on your mouth.”

“I do?”

“Uh-huh. Have a tissue?”

“Oh, yes, I suppose I do.” She smiled at the boy and fished in her pocket for one. “I just bought some wonderful baked goods down at the market and had to have a sweet roll right away. They're the best when they're so fresh, you know.” She thrust the bag toward him. “There's two chocolate donuts in here. Would you like one?”

Timmy turned to his father. “Can I?”

“Sure, if you recall your manners.”

Autumn held her paper bag out farther. The little boy reached in and helped himself, saying his thank
you at the same time his mouth took a huge bite. She offered the bag toward Brent.

“Thanks, think I will. We didn't take time for breakfast this morning. Say, I have about an hour's work to take care of here, then Tim and I are going to find a real all-American breakfast. Want to come along?”

“Oh, no…” Autumn thought it time for her to take her leave, sidling toward her door. “Thank you for inviting me, though. I, um, have a project I'm eager to finish.”

“Did you get all your boxes put away?”

“Not exactly. I have to find a ladder.”

“Ah. I'd loan you one, but I haven't any here at the office.”

“That's all right. I need to buy one, I guess. You were right when you said I'd never reach the top third of my shelves without one.”

“If you're going out today, I could help you pick it out and carry it home for you. Those things get pretty heavy.”

“They do? Well,” she glanced down the hill toward the market area. The current festival, a spring flower show, she thought, was getting under way with incoming trucks and cars. Saturdays were busy everywhere merchandise was sold. Saturdays spelled crowds. No, she couldn't go out again today.