Find Wonder In All Things (28 page)

“Today, I’m going to start with a lump of potter’s clay and take you through the process of forming a vase. I’ll be describing what I’m doing as I go. Feel free to shout out a question or two, but if I don’t respond right away, don’t be offended; I’m just concentrating too hard to formulate an answer. And don’t be shy about repeating your question later, okay?”

Amid nods and murmurs of assent, she sat down at the wheel and turned it on. James watched in fascination as she opened the clay using slow and methodical movements to coax beauty from chaos. He was mesmerized by the way she bit her lip while forming the rim with expert fingers and by the gentle, rhythmic movement of her hands up and down the vase. To a man who treasured the long ago memory of her hands on his skin, it was almost erotic the way she pulled and shaped the clay, and he had to look away for a second, worried that his admiration would be obvious to anyone who looked at him. Sure enough, he almost immediately drew the attention of Cooper Edwards. The two men made eye contact, and to James’s alarm, Cooper made his way over to him.

“Fascinating, isn’t it?” Cooper murmured to him.

“Yes, it’s quite interesting,” James answered curtly, hoping the man would go away. He didn’t want this man anywhere near when Laurel saw him for the first time.

“Have you ever seen pottery being made before?”

“No, can’t say that I have.”

“Most people are surprised their first time. It seems so simple, but it requires a great deal of skill.”

James didn’t care for the patronizing tone, but he decided to feign ignorance for a while longer. “So she made all of these?” He gestured around the room.

“Yes, she has an incredible talent — a real artisan.”

James gave the man a pointed look. “I know. I’ve known that for quite a while.”

Cooper’s smile was triumphant. “I thought I recognized you. You’re a friend of hers, aren’t you? I haven’t had a chance to meet many of Laurel’s friends yet.” He held out his hand, which James reluctantly shook. “Cooper, Cooper Edwards. And who are you again? I know I’ve seen your face somewhere.”

“James Marshall,” he replied, his voice cold. “We met at Elliot’s marina last summer.”

“Ah, yes! James Marshall, the software gazillionaire. I’ve heard of you.” He wore an expression of mild amusement. “How do you know Laurel?”

“I’ve known her most of my life. Her brother-in-law, Stuart, is a childhood friend of mine.”

“That’s right, that’s right. I remember now; Walter told me about you. You’re the middle-class boy from Ohio who made it big in computers or some such thing. He told me you went out to California and struck it rich in Silicon Valley — a real modern day ‘Miner, Forty-niner.’”

“It was a little more involved than discovering gold nuggets lying in a river.” James said dryly. “A lot of people are surprised. It seems so simple, but it does require a great deal of skill.”

“Of course it does, of course it does,” he said, missing the irony in James’s reply and dismissing the conversation with a wave of his hand. “Well, James, it was good to see you again.”

James nodded, and Cooper made his way to another little group standing in the room. Laurel was winding up her talk, answering the questions of a woman with a little girl about eight years old standing beside her. Suddenly, the mother exclaimed, “No Sarah! Don’t touch, honey!” The girl had her hand out, reaching toward the wheel.

“Here,” Laurel replied, covering the little hand with her own. “It’s okay to touch — just ask me first so I can make sure you don’t get hurt.”

James watched, completely charmed, as she placed a scoop of clay on the wheel and turned it on low. She took the girl’s hand and gently guided her fingers over the clay, making a little depression in the top of it. “See? That’s how you start to make a bowl. Can you feel the bowl under your hand?” The girl gave a nervous little nod, and Laurel smiled in amusement. “I think maybe you just got a little more than you bargained for here, didn’t you?” The girl nodded again, and Laurel let her fingers go. She pulled her hand away and Laurel gave her a towel. “I was about your age the first time I saw someone make pottery. It was at a craft fair like this one.”

The mother beamed at Laurel. “Thank you for your tolerance. Sometimes she’s a little impulsive. She has autism, you see. I’m surprised she let you take her hand.”

“Oh, I hope I didn’t frighten her.” Laurel looked surprised, too, but aimed her kind smile down at the little face, still staring intently at the wheel. “Maybe you can learn to make pottery someday.” The girl looked at her but said nothing.

“Say thank you to Ms. Elliot, Sarah.”

“Thank you,” came the whispered reply.

“It was good to meet you, Sarah.” The mother and daughter moved off.

Behind him, James heard a whispered voice. “She’s marvelous, Cooper. She has a real gift with people, and her work is very appealing.”

“Yes, I know.”

James rolled his eyes.

“She’s very pretty, too.”

“I know that as well.”

James could just picture his smug expression.

“Are you two . . . ? You know.”

“A gentleman never tells, Richard. All I will say is that I’m helping her out with her little project.”

“I think she might be
your
little project.”

“No comment.”

James was insulted on Laurel’s behalf. She was no one’s project. He knew, now that he had sold his company, what it was like to be valued for what you did rather than for who you were — and Laurel was so much more than a ‘project’ to feed an arrogant man’s ego. He moved off before he said something angry. He would be keeping an eye on Cooper Edwards, though.

Cooper went up and spoke to Laurel again. She answered him with a weary expression, and he reached up and brushed a smear of clay off her forehead where she had wiped her brow earlier in the demonstration. James seethed at the intimate and possessive gesture, and of course, she chose that very moment to make eye contact with him.

She startled in recognition, her eyes opening wide and the blue arrows there pierced him once again — shooting straight to a place deeper than his groin or his heart. It had to be his soul. He gave her a small, secret smile, and she returned it, adding a beguiling spark that propelled his feet toward her.

“Well, hello, Mountain Laurel.”

“Hi,” she breathed. “I didn’t know you were here.”

“Just arrived today.”

“Oh.”

“Congratulations on the show. It seems to be going very well.”

“Yes,” Cooper cut in. “Very well, Jake.”

“It’s James,” he responded, not taking his eyes from Laurel’s.

“Thank you,” she said in a soft voice.

“Well, I’m sure you’re busy,” James looked around at the crowd. “Maybe we can catch up later?”

“Yes — there’s a reception for the artisans later tonight at the hotel, but anyone can come. You’ll stop by, won’t you? I think Susan and Gary are coming, and of course my father and Crosby will be there.”

“Yeah, that would be nice.”

“Great.”

“See you then.”

“Okay.”

He moved off, keenly aware of two pairs of eyes on his back as he went. He heard her tell Cooper, “That’s Stu’s friend, James. We’ve known each other a long time.”

“Yes, he introduced himself to me.”

“He’s a software engineer now.”

“So I’ve heard. Wildly successful, new money — they always think they can invite themselves anywhere.”

James paused, ready to go back and say something, but before he could, Laurel spoke up. “He didn’t invite himself. I invited him, and I’ll be thrilled if he shows up.”

James grinned and kept walking. He would be at that reception with bells on.

Chapter 23

James approached the hotel ballroom with a spring in his step but some trepidation as well. First of all, he wasn’t quite sure what one wore to that type of thing — tie, no tie, jacket? He asked around and found out that the reception wasn’t a formal sit-down event but rather a meet and greet for patrons to mingle with the invited participants and for the artisans to network and make business and professional contacts. So, he eventually settled on a shirt, open at the collar, and pants one step up from khaki’s. It was cool in the mountains at night, so he took a jacket as well.

Once inside, he got a beer and wandered the room. He saw Mr. Elliot in the middle of a group of people, and they exchanged curt nods of recognition. They had managed to avoid each other for most of last summer except for the most basic civilities, and it seemed that was going to continue for the short term. Rebuilding any kind of rapport with Laurel’s father would take time and effort, but James wasn’t ready to start down that road tonight. His relationship with the daughter was his first priority.

A flash of red hair drew his attention, but it was only Laurel’s brother Crosby. He sent him a wave, and James walked over to speak to him. The younger Mr. Elliot had been busy making business contacts all afternoon, and he had a small crowd gathered around him.

“James, my man!”

“Crosby.” They shook hands.

“I’d like you to meet some people. This is Luke Hatton, Robert Jennings, Marian Ivers and Scott Barrows. Everyone, this is James Marshall, lake area resident and software genius.”

“
The
James Marshall? EMP software James Marshall?” Luke asked, eyebrows raised.

“The very one,” Crosby said smugly. “He occupies a little lakeside hideaway on occasion, similar to the ones I was telling you about earlier. He loves it there.”

There was a muted chorus of ‘nice to meet you’s, and a once-over from Marian.

Crosby clapped him on the shoulder. “You clean up nice, James.”

“Thanks.”

“Has my sister seen you yet?”

“No, I just arrived.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re here now.” He leaned toward James and lowered his voice. “Maybe you can keep old Cooper from sniffing around her all evening.”

James almost snorted beer up his nose. “What’s the matter, Crosby? Don’t you like the professor?”

“In the immortal words of our little sister Spring Violet — ‘he skeeves me out.’” He shrugged. “He’s fine, I guess. I’m not too keen on the idea of him spending so much time with my sister though. Dad, on the other hand, seems to think he’s a great guy.”

“What does Laurel think?”

Crosby rolled his eyes. “Who knows what Laurel thinks? She’s too polite to say anything regardless of whether she likes him or not.”

Crosby gestured across the room with his beer. “There she is. You can ask her yourself.”

He turned, and for the second time that day, James was thunderstruck by the woman he saw. Laurel stood with a group of other artisans, smiling and nodding in conversation. She wore a simple yet stunning blue silk dress that emphasized her willowy figure. Black stilettos accentuated her height and her long legs. She had pinned her hair back on one side, but flaming red waves cascaded down her back in hedonistic bursts of color. James’s mouth went dry, and he felt a nudge at his back.

“Get up there. And close your jaw before you trip over it,” Crosby teased.

James barely heard him. He approached Laurel and stood a few feet away, willing her to look his direction. She stilled as if she sensed him, and then turned so they caught each other’s eye. She stepped away from the crowd and held out her hand. He took it — not in the shaking hands motion of friends, but in the almost-possessive, holding-hands motion of lovers — and enfolded it in his, caressing her fingers with his thumb.

“You’re here.” Her words tumbled out in mild surprise.

“Of course I am.”

“I’m glad . . . to see you.”

“I’m glad you’re glad.”

“How have you been?”

“Fine. Better now.”

Their conversation lagged, and an uneasy smile overtook James’s face. “I don’t think I’ve talked to you since the day of Heather’s accident.”

“No, I guess not.”

“That was awful.” His expression grew somber.

“Yes.” Her face was neutral. How he wished he could read her expressions as easily as he did when they were younger!

He hurried on, worried that she might think he meant the kiss in her kitchen was the awful part. “I can imagine how wiped out you must have been after Heather fell and then all that waiting and worrying by yourself at the hospital.”

She cocked her head and looked at him, a multitude of questions in her eyes.

He forged ahead. “It was an awful day that has apparently resulted in some good, however.”

Her brow furrowed. “What — ?”

“The thing between Heather and John.”

“Oh yes.” She smiled. “Who’d have thunk it?”

“Not me, that’s for sure.”

“Not me either, and I thought I knew John pretty well.”

“Well, I know I knew him pretty well, and I was still surprised. I mean, nothing against Heather . . . at all. I know she’s a great gal, but it surprised me because — ” He stopped, not knowing whether it was the right venue for this comment.