Cedar Creek Seasons (24 page)

“Thank goodness he wasn’t hurt.” Melissa frowned. “Aunt Claire. It’s not funny.” She bit her lower lip. “It really wasn’t.” After a glance at her aunt she started to giggle. “Help me, please.”

Straining to reach the top, Claire righted the canopy and slid her end of the rope through a grommet, forming a knot and straightening the sign. Bright red letters welcomed buyers to Wagner Pottery.

Melissa and Brad used a dolly to unload the boxes of pottery and set them on the display tables. Claire draped fabric up and around small crates to form tiers of shelves and arranged the dishes and vases artfully. Within a few minutes the kiosk was open.

“We’re going to grab a cup of coffee. Want anything?” Melissa said.

Claire shook her head and lifted her water bottle. “All set.”

“Be right back.”

They returned, and the morning passed with a flash. Buyers scooped up pottery pieces and Melissa’s face glowed with excitement.

By noon, Melissa decided to go watch Brad participate in the Paint the Festival segment of the Plein Air competition. They had prayed for his nervous fingers. He itched to win.

Claire glanced at her watch. Earlier she’d held her breath when she saw Eli striding down the street. She hoped—and worried—he would walk toward Melissa’s exhibit, but he’d turned away through the crowd.

And she fought disappointment.

A sigh escaped. “It’s been two hours.”
Such a teenage reaction
. She shook her head and snapped her watchband. “Stop looking.” What would she say if he did appear?

Claire adjusted the tops on two cookie jars and added water to the peonies in a hand-painted vase. She’d sold quite a few more pieces in the last hour. Melissa would be thrilled to know a local dignitary bought a set of dinnerware fashioned for the festival with tiny strawberries encircling each plate and the rim of the cups.

People lined the walkway, chattering, shopping, and nibbling various delicacies as they shuffled from exhibit to exhibit. A hum of conversation mingled with jazz music. A hint of barbecue tickled her nose. Next to the table a little girl paused and grinned. A bright blue butterfly decorated her cheek. She bit into a chocolate-covered strawberry.

Claire’s mouth watered, but she couldn’t leave the stand. She plopped into the lawn chair behind the pottery display. The forecast stated moderate temperatures, but she’d been in the sunshine long enough to feel cooked. In the shade, a breeze cooled her cheeks. Nature’s air-conditioning. She bent over and lifted her hair from her collar.

“Claire?”

She jerked to attention.

A portly gentleman in a stretched, stained Strawberry Festival T-shirt leaned over the table. “Are you …” Claire’s eyes widened.

George Schiller waved. He slid around a canopy pole and flapped his chubby hand. “River rats, it’s my old girlfriend.”

A rush of heat added to the sunburn discomfort. “George.” She stood.

He reached sweaty, flabby arms around her shoulders and pulled her against his damp stomach. A musty odor overtook the pleasant barbecue smell.

“My goodness.” Claire shrunk away. “It’s been a long time.” Her lips tipped up in what she hoped was a smile. “What have you been up to?”

George’s mud-brown eyes twinkled. “Come to Cedarburg for a week or two every year about this time and keep an eye out for you. Been waiting for you to return.” He shook a sausage-sized finger in her face. “You owe me the last dance, young lady.” He burst into his signature laugh—a chuckle, a snort, a gasp—and slapped his belly. “Can’t fit in that tux anymore, but I can still shake a leg.”

The willies-factor crept over Claire. George had followed—stalked—her every summer of high school when he came to visit his grandmother. And all the time in the world couldn’t erase the shivers that ran up her spine. She struggled for a smile. “Your family well?” She pictured round little Weebles running behind their daddy.

A cloud passed over his face. “Wife number two just left. Took my only girl.” He sighed, then flashed a snaggletoothed smile. “Guess her departure is good timing. My old flame’s back in town.” His robust laugh burst out.

“Excuse me, ma’am.” A lady held up a pitcher. “How much?”

Claire whirled toward the customer then looked back at him. “George, I’m busy at the moment.” After she sold the pitcher, she stepped in front of the display table and rearranged the pottery, her mind whirling. George’s appearance churned memories—dodging, hiding in the shrubs until he passed her house—and the worst, ducking into the bathroom at church—the men’s bathroom! She wanted him gone.

He crunched into the lawn chair and fiddled with his cell phone. “I’m texting my rival.” He glanced up. “Eli Mueller needs to know you’re around.”

“I’ve seen him.” She met his gaze. “We met up yesterday.” She started to mention the bouquet.
Fuel the old flame?
Her stomach flip-flopped, and she restrained a shudder.

George wiggled until he freed his body from the chair. “I shot him a text anyway. Told him you’re here with
me
.” He chortled, scooted closer to Claire, and squeezed her arm. “Don’t see no ring on that finger, so let the games begin.” He waved thick fingers and stepped into the crowd.

Claire fumbled for her purse and withdrew a sanitizing hand wipe. Swabbing her hands didn’t seem to be enough—she wished for a sink and scrub brush. And Eli.

Eli pushed through a crowd watching the bubble-gum blowing contest. Parents called out encouragement to their young contestants. He laughed. Normally they’d be scolding kids for splattering gum all over their faces. Now they cheered them on. All to win a trophy.

He scanned the mass of bodies, watching for silver hair pulled back from a lovely face. He could check the list of participants for the painting competitions. That could narrow down his search.

A stroller bumped into his heel. “I’m so sorry.” The woman pushed a baby and carried a toddler on her hip. “It’s so hard to manage this crowd.” She laughed. “I’ve misplaced my husband”—she tilted her head—“and am afraid to put this one down.”

“Where are you going?”

The woman nodded at the Cedar Creek Café. “Just over there.”

Eli hesitated. He wouldn’t mind helping her out and carrying the little boy, but he didn’t want to send up a “stranger-danger” flag in her mind. “Follow me, I’ll run interference.”

The lady hitched the boy further up her hip.

Eli bit his lower lip and held out a hand. “Be okay if I push the stroller?” Surely stranger-danger warnings didn’t include maneuvering a stroller through a forest of legs.

“I’d be so grateful.” The lady swung the stroller handle toward Eli, and the foursome threaded their way through groups of strawberry-smelling patrons.

At the edge of the café, a young man stepped forward. “Babe, where you been? You should’ve kept up.”

The young woman’s face flushed beet red. Eli restrained himself from explaining to the dad that
he
should’ve been responsible for keeping watch over his flock. Instead he settled the stroller so it was in front of him.

“Thank you so much.” The young woman’s eyes glistened.

“No problem.” He backed away from the family, the urge to throttle the dad quelled.

“Mueller.”

Eli turned in the direction of the call. He scanned the crowd, looking for the speaker—one he usually heard every summer. George Schiller parted the wave of people, a beefy arm extended in front of him. “Mueller. Did you get my text?”

Tugging his cell phone from the case hooked to his belt, Eli noted a blinking light. “Nope. In this noise, who could hear?” He rubbed his chin. “What you need?”

A grin crept across George’s face, plumping his cheeks and forming his green eyes into slits. “Guess who I saw?” George singsonged then gave his snort-chuckle.

“No clue.” Eli hitched a breath. He did have a clue.

“Our one and only love.” He clutched his heart. “Claire Wagner is right here in Cedarburg.”

Eli frowned. “Yes, I’ve seen her. She’s Claire Parsons now.”

George tugged at the waist of his sagging shorts. “She looks pretty good for an old gal. Don’t think she’s married anymore, though. A-
vail
-able.” He snorted.

Eli clenched a fist. The young dad had already fueled his temper, and now George.

“Invited her for the next dance, I did.” George belted out his distinctive laugh.

Perspiration dribbled down Eli’s back. “Good for you, old man.” He clapped George’s damp shoulder. “Nice seeing you. Now I’m off to the shop.”

“Come on,
old
man. Read the text. Take up the challenge. Probably single, good-looking Claire at the festival.” He raised a bushy eyebrow. “Let’s see.”

“No thanks.” Eli forced a smile. “Take care.” He spun on his heel and set out to cross the street.

Dodging from one side to another, he glimpsed a canopy lettered
Wagner Pottery
and caught his breath. Claire Parsons. “Must be.” He stopped in the center of the street, tourists bobbing from side to side to avoid a collision. Between shoulders, he saw her. Smiling, holding out a pitcher to a customer.

Her wind-tossed bob was swept back by a yellow headband. She wore silver earrings. Pink lipstick. Yellow shirt that highlighted her tanned arms.

Eli watched her converse with the buyer. Another smile, a small laugh. She leaned forward to listen more closely. He recorded her every movement. The crowd noise faded away until he only heard the soft notes of a guitar. They’d listened to the radio while sitting on her front porch, night after night before he’d left Cedarburg.

Eli sighed. He turned to go to his shop then stopped and glanced over his shoulder. “But—” He rubbed his chin. “Can’t let George win.”

W
here did you go?

Claire saw him. Eli had been standing in the street while she listened to a lady from Milwaukee drone on about her desire to throw pottery on a wheel. She’d restrained herself from throwing the pitcher at the woman and rushing through the throng of people. Her stomach ached and her heart rat-a-tatted against her ribs.

What would she say if she captured him? The most pressing question would be
why?

She swept her hair from her neck, waiting for the next breeze.

“Aunt Claire.” Melissa bounded forward and grabbed her by the shoulders. “Brad placed!”

Brad scuffed his heels against the concrete, a crooked grin plastered on his face. “I didn’t win any money, but I did get acknowledged.”

“Congratulations, Picasso.” Claire gripped his arm. “I was praying for those hands.”

Brad ducked his head. “Must’ve worked.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Didn’t think I could compete at all.”

Melissa laughed. “Smart
and
talented. He’s a winner in my book.” She glanced at Claire. “We’re going to grab a barbecue sandwich before we take over here. Would you like anything?”

“No, honey.” Claire dusted her hands together. “I’ll grab a bite in a bit. Think I’d like to wash up first.” She pointed toward the table. “Notice anything?”

Melissa scanned the area then gasped. “The dishes.” Her eyes lit up. “Who bought them?”

“The Milwaukee mayor, no less.” Claire laughed.

Melissa grasped her hands and jumped up and down. “What fun.” She giggled. “We need to find a list of all the Cedarburg festivals. I might have to come back here.” She eyed her aunt. “Bet your boyfriend would know.”

A flush crept up Claire’s neck. “He’s not my boyfriend, Melissa.” She attempted a frown, but the girl’s enthusiasm seemed contagious. She pointed up the block. “His jewelry shop is just over there. You can ask him.”

“That information is online. I’m hungry.” Brad toyed with a cookie jar top. “Let’s go eat, Mel.”

“Fine.” Melissa tugged her purse from a plastic bin under the table. She spun and the strap slapped Brad’s arm. He jumped, and the cookie jar top flew from his hand.

Melissa lurched forward to catch it. Brad reached over her, and his knee knocked the supporting brace of the canopy. One corner began its descent.

“No, no, no!” Melissa wailed.

Claire stretched and reached the top corner of the canvas. She held it up, away from the tables. “Hurry, Melissa, I can’t keep this up for long.”

“Let me.” A young boy scooted under Claire’s arm and popped the brace, straightening the canopy.

Claire rubbed her arms. She was out of shape for that kind of gymnastic routine. She smiled at the boy. Olive skinned, thick black hair and deep brown eyes. Good-looking kid.

“Thanks so much.” Melissa squeezed his arm. “You really saved the day.” She held out her hand. “I’m Melissa, and this is my aunt Claire.” She cocked her head. “You are?”

“Zake Anthony Mery at your service.” He bowed. “I’m available to haul packages, get you food and drinks, or help lots of ways.” An infectious grin spread across his face.

“Well, you certainly know how to rescue little old ladies in distress.” Claire resisted the urge to ruffle his beautiful hair. “Are your parents not in need of your help?”

“Nope. My mom’s at her shop—Lorena’s Hair Designs”—he shoved his hair away from his eyes—“and knows where I am.” He scanned the crowd. “Everybody knows me around here.”