First Impressions (10 page)

“It's Laurie MacAfee.” She squeezed Vance's fingers convulsively. He returned the pressure, furious that she still had feelings for the man who had hurt her.

“Shane, you've got to face this and not let him see you make a fool of yourself.”

“I know, but it's so hard.” Cautiously, she tilted the menu to the side. With a jolt, Vance saw she was convulsed not with tears but with laughter. “As soon as he sees us,” she began confidentially, “he's going to come over and be polite.”

“I can see that's going to cause you a lot of pain.”

“Oh, it is,” she agreed. “Because you've got to promise to kick me under the table or stomp on my foot the minute you see I'm going to laugh.”

“My pleasure,” he assured her.

“Laurie used to keep her dolls lined up according to height, and she sewed little name tags on all their clothes,” Shane explained, taking deep breaths to prepare herself.

“That certainly clears everything up.”

“Okay, now, I'm going to put the menu down.” She swallowed, lowering her voice a bit more. “Whatever you do, don't look at them.”

“I wouldn't dream of it.”

After a final cleansing breath, Shane set the menu on the table. “Chili?” she said in a normal tone. “Yes, it's always been good here. I believe I'll have it too.”

“You're an idiot.”

“Oh, yes, I agree.” Smiling, she picked up her water glass. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Cy and Laurie crossing the room toward them. To kill the first bubble of laughter, she cleared her throat violently.

“Shane, how nice to see you.”

Looking up, Shane managed to feign surprise. “Hello, Cy. Hello, Laurie. How've you been?”

“Very well,” Laurie answered in her carefully modulated voice. She's really very pretty, Shane thought. Even if her eyes are just a fraction too close together.

“I don't think you know Vance,” she continued. “Vance, this is Cy Trainer and Laurie MacAfee, old school friends of mine. Vance is my neighbor.”

“Ah, of course, the old Farley place.” Cy extended his hand. Vance found it soft. The grip was correctly firm and brief. “I hear you're fixing the place up.”

“A bit.” Vance allowed himself to study Cy's face. He was passable, Vance decided, considering he had a weak jaw.

“You must be the carpenter who's helping Shane set up her little shop,” Laurie put in. Her glance slipped over his work clothes before it shifted to Shane's sweater. “I must say, I was surprised when Cy told me your plans.”

Seeing Shane's lip quiver, Vance set his foot firmly on top of hers. “Were you?” Shane said as she reached for her water again. Her eyes danced with suppressed amusement as they met Vance's over the rim. “Well, I've always liked to surprise people.”

“We couldn't imagine you with your own business, could we, Cy?” Laurie went on without giving him a chance to answer. “Of course, we wish you the very best of luck, Shane, and you can count on both of us to buy something to help you get started.”

The laughter was a pain in her stomach. Shane had to press a hand against it while Vance increased the pressure on her foot. “Thank you, Laurie. I can't tell you what that means to me . . . I really can't.”

“Anything for an old friend, right, Cy? You know we wish you every success, Shane. I'll be sure to tell everyone I know about your little shop. That should help bring a few people in. Though, of course,” she sighed apologetically, “the selling's up to you.”

“Y-yes. Thank you.”

“We'll just be running along now. We want to order before it gets too crowded. So nice meeting you.” Laurie sent Vance a brief smile and drew Cy away.

“Oh, God, I think I'm going to burst!” Shane drank down the whole glass of water without a breath.

“Your boyfriend got just what he deserved,” Vance murmured, glancing after them. “She'll regiment everything right down to their sex life.” Thoughtfully, he looked after them. “Do you think they have one yet?”

“Oh, stop,” Shane begged, savaging her lip in defense. “I'll be hysterical in a minute.”

“Do you suppose she picked out that tie he's wearing?” Vance asked.

Giving up, Shane burst into laughter. “Oh, damn you, Vance,” she whispered when Laurie turned her head. “I was doing so well too.”

“Want to give them something to talk about over dinner?” Before she could answer, Vance pulled her across the narrow booth and planted a long, lingering kiss on her lips. To keep Shane from ending it too soon, he caught her chin in his hand and held her still. He drew her away for only seconds, tilting her head, then pressing his mouth to hers again at a fresh angle. He heard her give a tiny moan of distress. Though she lifted a hand to his shoulder to push him away, when he deepened the kiss, she allowed it to lie unresisting until he took his lips from hers.

“Now you've done it,” she said when she gathered her wits again. “By noon tomorrow it'll be all over Sharpsburg that we're lovers.”

“Will it?” Smiling, he lifted her hand to his lips, then slowly kissed her fingers one by one. It satisfied him to feel the faint tremor of arousal.

“Yes,” Shane answered breathlessly, “and I don't . . .” she trailed off when he turned her palm up to press another long kiss in its center.

“Don't what?” he asked softly, taking his lips to the inside of her wrist. Her pulse pounded against the light trace of his tongue.

“Think it's—it's wise,” she managed, forgetting the restaurant and Cy and Laurie and everything else.

“That we're lovers or that it's all over Sharpsburg?” Vance enjoyed the confusion in her eyes and the knowledge that he had put it there.

Her pulse beat jerkily. He was different. Reckless? she thought, and felt a fresh thrill race down her spine. Smooth? How could he be both at once? Yet he was. The recklessness was in his eyes, but the romantic moves were smooth with experience.

She hadn't been afraid of the hard, angry man she had met, but she felt a skip of fear for the one who even now traced his thumb over the speeding pulse at her wrist.

“I'm going to have to give that some thought,” she murmured.

“Do that,” he said agreeably.

Chapter 8

Shane opened the doors of Antietam Antiques and Museum the first week of December. As she had expected, for the first few days the shop and museum were crowded, for the most part with people she knew. They had come to buy or browse out of curiosity or affection. Others came to see what “that Abbott girl” had up her sleeve this time. It amused Shane to hear her past crimes discussed as though they had taken place the day before. Cy's name was dropped a time or two, causing her to force back a chuckle and change the subject. Still, after the initial novelty had worn off, she had a steady trickle of customers. That was enough to satisfy her.

As planned, she hired Donna's sister-in-law, Pat, on a part-time basis. The girl was eager and willing, and not opposed to giving Shane weekend hours. Shane considered the additional expense well worth it when Pat, flushed with triumph, rang up her first sale. With her coaching, and Pat's own enthusiastic studying, Shane's assistant had learned enough to classify certain articles in the shop and to handle questions in the museum section.

Shane found herself busier than ever, managing the shop, watching for ads for estate sales and overseeing the remodeling still under way on the second floor. The long, chaotic hours stimulated her, and helped her deal with the slow but steady loss of her grandmother's treasures. It was business, Shane reminded herself again and again as she sold a corner cabinet or candle holder. It was necessary. The bills in her desk had mounted over the weeks of preparation, and they had to be paid.

She saw Vance almost daily as he came to hammer and saw and trim on the second floor. Though he wasn't as withdrawn as he once had been, the intimacy they had shared for an afternoon and evening had faded. He treated her as a casual friend, not a woman whose palm he would kiss in a restaurant.

Shane concluded that he had taken on a loverlike aspect for Cy's benefit, and now it was back to business as usual. She wasn't discouraged. In fact, the man she had dined with had made her nervous and uncertain. She was more confident with Vance's temper than with soft words and tender caresses. Knowing herself well, Shane was aware it would be difficult not to make a fool of herself over him if he continued to treat her with gentleness. She had little defense against romance.

Daily, her love for him grew. It only made her more certain than ever that he was the only man for her. It would only be a matter of time, she decided, before he realized she was the woman for him.

It was late afternoon when Shane carried her latest acquisition up the new front steps and into the shop. She was flushed with cold and highly pleased with herself. She was learning to be ruthless when bargaining. After pushing the door open with her bottom, she carried the table through the entrance sideways.

“Just look what I've got!” she said to Pat before she closed the door behind her. “It's a Sheridan. Not a scratch on it either.”

Pat stopped washing the glass on the display case. “Shane, you were supposed to take the afternoon off.” Automatically she polished off a lingering smear before giving Shane her full attention. “You've got to take some time for yourself,” she reminded her with a hint of exasperation. “That's why you hired me.”

“Yes, of course,” Shane said distractedly. “There's a mantel clock in the car and a complete set of cut glass saltcellars.” Pat sighed, smart enough to know when she was being ignored, and followed Shane into the main showroom.

“Don't you ever quit?” she demanded.

“Uh-uh.” After setting the table beside a Hitchcock chair, Shane stepped back to view the results. “I don't know,” she said slowly. “It might look better in the front room, right under the window. Well, I want to polish it first anyway.” She darted to the work counter, rummaging for the furniture polish. “How'd we do today?”

Pat shook her head. The first thing she had learned on the job was that Shane Abbott was a powerhouse. “I'll do that,” she said, taking the polish and rag from Shane's hands. Shane grinned at Pat's weighty sigh but said nothing. “You had seven people come through the museum,” Pat told her as she began to polish the Sheridan. “I sold some postcards and a print of the Burnside Bridge. A woman from Hagerstown bought the little table with the fluted edges.”

Shane stopped unbuttoning her coat. “The rosewood piecrust?” It had sat in the summer parlor for as long as she could remember.

“Yes. And she was interested in the bentwood rocker.” Pat tucked a strand of hair behind her ear while Shane struggled to be pleased. “I think she'll be back.”

“Good.”

“Oh, and you had a nibble on Uncle Festus.”

“Really?” Shane grinned, thinking of the portrait of a dour Victorian man she'd been unable to resist. She had bought it because it amused her, though she had had little hope of selling it. “Well, I'll be sorry to lose him. He gives the place dignity.”

“He gives me the creeps,” Pat said baldly as Shane headed for the front door to fetch the rest of her new stock. “Oh, I nearly forgot. You didn't tell me you'd sold the dining room set.”

“What?” Puzzled, Shane stopped with her hand on the knob.

“The dining room set with the heart-shaped chairs,” Pat explained. “The Hepplewhite,” she added, pleased that she was beginning to remember makes and periods. “I nearly sold it again.”

“Again?” Shane released the knob and faced Pat fully. “What are you talking about?”

“There were some people in here a few hours ago who wanted it. It seems their daughter's getting married, and they were going to buy it as a wedding gift. They must be rich,” she added with feeling. “The reception's going to be at a Baltimore country club . . . with an orchestra.” She began to daydream about this a bit, but then she noted Shane's hard look. “Anyway,” she continued quickly, “I'd nearly finalized the sale when Vance came downstairs and explained it was taken already.”

Shane's eyes narrowed. “Vance? Vance said it was already sold?”

“Well, yes,” Pat agreed, puzzled by the tone. If she had known Shane better, she would have recognized the beginnings of rage. Innocently, she continued. “It was a lucky thing too, or else they'd have bought it and arranged for the shipping right then and there. I guess you'd have been in a fix.”

“A fix,” Shane repeated between set teeth. “Yeah, somebody's in a fix all right.” Abruptly, she turned to stride toward the rear of the shop while Pat looked after her, wide-eyed.

“Shane? Shane, what's wrong?” Confused, she trotted after her. “Where are you going?”

“To settle some business,” she said tightly. “Get the rest of the stuff out of my car, will you?” she called back without slackening her pace. “And lock up. This might take a while.”

“Sure, but . . .” Pat trailed off when she heard the back door slam. She puzzled a moment, shrugged, then went to follow orders.

“A fix,” Shane muttered as she crushed dead leaves underfoot. “Lucky thing he came down.” Furiously, she kicked at a fallen branch and sent it skidding ahead of her, waiting to be kicked again. Grinding her teeth, she stormed purposefully down the path between denuded trees. “Already taken!” Enraged, she made a dangerous sound in her throat. A hapless squirrel started across the path, then dashed in the other direction.

Through the bare trees, she could see his house, with smoke puffing from the chimney to struggle up into a hard blue sky. Shane set her jaw and increased her pace. Into the quiet came a steady thump, pause, thump. Without hesitation, she skirted around to the back of the house.

Vance put another log on the tree stump he used as a chopping block, then bore down with his axe to split it neatly in two. Without a pause in rhythm, he set a new log. Shane took no time to admire the precision or grace of the movement.

“You!” she spat, and stuck her fists on her hips.

Vance checked his next swing. Glancing over, he saw Shane glaring at him with glittering eyes and a flushed face. He thought idly that she looked her best when in a temper, then followed through. The next log split to fall in two pieces on either side of the stump. The generous pile was evidence that he had been working for some time.

“Hello, Shane.”

“Don't you ‘hello, Shane' me,” she snapped, closing the distance between them in three quick strides. “How dare you?”

“Most people consider it an acceptable greeting,” he countered as he bent down for another log. Shane knocked it off the stump with a sweep of her hand.

“You had no right to interfere, no right to cost me a sale. An important sale,” she added furiously. Her breath puffed out visibly in the frigid air. “Just who the hell do you think you are, telling my customers something's already taken? Even if it had been, which it wasn't, it's hardly your place to add your two cents.”

Calmly, Vance picked up the log again. He had been expecting her—and her anger. He had acted on impulse but didn't regret it. Very clearly, he could recall the look on her face when she had first shown him her grandmother's pride and joy. There was no way he was going to stand by and do nothing while she watched it being carted out the door.

“You don't want to sell it, Shane.”

Her eyes only became more furious. “It's none of your business what I want to do. I have to sell it. I'm
going
to sell it. If you hadn't opened your big mouth, I
would
have sold it.”

“And spent several hours hating yourself and crying over the invoice,” he tossed back, slamming the blade of the axe into the stump before he faced her. “The money isn't worth it.”

“Don't you tell me what it's worth,” she retorted, and poked a finger into his chest. “You don't know how I feel. You don't know what I have to do.
I
do. I need the money, damn it.”

With strained calm, he curled his hand around the finger that dug into his chest, held it aloft a moment, then let it drop. “You don't need it enough to give up something that's important to you.”

“Sentiment doesn't pay bills.” The color in her cheeks heightened. “I've got a desk full of them.”

“Sell something else,” he shouted back at her. Her face was lifted to his, her eyes glowing with anger. He felt conflicting urges to protect her and to throttle her. “You've got the damn place packed with junk as it is.”

“
Junk!”
He had just declared war. “
Junk!
” Her voice rose.

“Unload some of the other stuff you've got piled in there,” he advised with a coolness that would have rattled his business associates. A dangerous hissing sound escaped through Shane's teeth.

“You don't know the first thing about it,” she fumed, poking him again so that he stepped back. “I stock the very best pieces I can find, and
you
”—she poked again—“you don't know a Hepplewhite from a—a piece of pressboard. You keep your city nose out of my affairs, Vance Banning, and play with your planes and drill bits. I don't need some flatlander to hand out empty advice.”

“That's it,” he said grimly. In one swift move, he swept Shane off her feet and dumped her over his shoulder.

“What the hell do you think you're doing?” she screamed, thrashing and pounding him with her fists.

“I'm taking you inside to make love to you,” he stated between his teeth. “I've had enough.”

In absolute astonishment, Shane stopped thrashing. “You're
what
?”

“You heard me.”

“You're crazy!” More furious than frantic, she renewed her efforts to inflict pain wherever she could land a hit. Vance continued through the back door. “You're not taking me inside,” she raged, even as he carted her through the kitchen. “I'm not going with you.”

“You're going exactly where I take you,” he countered.

“Oh, you're going to pay for this, Vance,” she promised as she pounded against his back.

“I don't doubt that,” he muttered, starting up the stairs.

“You put me down this minute. I'm not putting up with this.”

Weary of being kicked, he pulled off her shoes, tossed them over the banister, then tightened an arm around the back of her knees. “You're going to put up with a hell of a lot more in a few minutes.”

With her legs effectively pinned, she wiggled uselessly as he continued up the stairs. “I'm telling you, you're in big trouble. I'll get you for this,” she warned, beating furiously against him as he strode down the hall and into a bedroom. “If you don't put me down this minute,
right this minute
, you're fired!” Shane let out a shriek as she tumbled through the air, then a whoosh as she thudded heavily on the bed. Breathless and infuriated, she scrambled to her knees. “You idiot!” she raged, puffing a bit. “Just what do you think you're doing?”

“I told you what I was doing.” Vance stripped off his jacket and tossed it aside.

“If you think for one minute you can toss me over your shoulder like a bale of hay and get away with it, you're sadly mistaken.” Shane watched with mounting fury as he unbuttoned his shirt. “And you stop that right now. You can't
make
me make love with you.”

“Watch me.” Vance peeled off his shirt.

“Oh, no, you don't.” Though she stuck her hands on her hips, the indignant pose lost something as she knelt on the bed. “Just put that right back on.”

Watching her coolly, Vance dropped it to the floor, then bent to pull off his boots.

Shane glared at him. “You think you can just dump me on the bed and that's all there is to it?”

“I haven't even started yet,” he informed her as the second boot dropped with a clatter.

“You simpleminded clod,” she returned, heaving a pillow at him. “I wouldn't let you touch me if—” She searched for something original and scathing but settled on the standby. “If you were the last man on earth!”