Small-Town Hearts (6 page)

“I'm fine. No harm done.” He set down the cookie basket, grasped the garbage bag and hoisted the overloaded thing, then eyed it and her. “Does the idea of changing this more often not occur to you?”

She flushed then sighed, chagrined. “I should, I know. I tend to use things up. Wear them out.”

“Frugal.”

“Whereas I call it bottom-line conscious,” she told him, following as he toted the heavy bag across the backyard. “But yes, I should have dumped it midday and I didn't. My bad.”

“Waste not, want not.” He faced her after tossing the bag into the Dumpster. “I've got a grandmother who spouts proverbs on a regular basis.”

Megan acknowledged that with a knowing smile. “Don't we all?”

Her pretty smile made him wonder if she noticed how easily he'd handled the heavy bag, while his inner thoughts whacked him upside the head with the reality that he'd be leaving soon, and the gracious young woman standing before him didn't deserve to be left, ever again.

Obviously Brad and Michael were complete morons.

He nodded toward the cookie basket he'd set down. “No note?”

She flushed again. “I figured you'd know who they were from.” Her shoulders rose in explanation as if convincing herself or him, possibly both. “I hadn't officially welcomed you to the neighborhood, and that's what people do around here.”

“Which only makes Jamison nicer, something I'd considered impossible.”

She considered his words, then waved toward Main Street. “While it's lovely in many respects, Jamison's got all the flaws of small-town living, but the perks outweigh those. Most days.” She headed for her door, her manner suggesting she needed to return to work. “I'm glad you like the cookies.”

He fell into step beside her. “Right now they look like supper.”

You're leaving. She's staying. What part of this are you not getting?

“You haven't eaten?” Meg asked.

He shook his head. “Worked through it. I was going to grab something then didn't, which was fairly short-sighted because I was hungry, so when I got out of the car and found these on my doorstep, I was one happy man.” He bent and retrieved the basket of cookies, a part of him longing to ask her to go out with him once she'd closed the store in another hour. Grab a bite to eat. Talk. Laugh. From the crinkle lines framing her eyes, he knew Megan Russo laughed often, a trait he found appealing, but then there wasn't much about this woman he hadn't found appealing, which made applying the brakes tougher than it should have been. Way tougher. He raised the cookies into the air. “Thank you, Meg.”

She dipped a curtsy, a move that candy-coated his heart, not even close to playing fair. “You're welcome, kind sir.”

She started back into the store, the sounds of Crystal's and Hannah's voices mingling with that of a Little League team, a fun mix, totally summer.

He wanted to slow her escape, despite the noisy call of her
business, the throng of young people on the front steps. Part of him yearned to linger, to dawdle, to enjoy the late-day sun, the chatter of birds, the excitement of little-boy voices heralding a great win.

But the reality of their lives intruded on his conscience. His job was to leave. Mary Clare's phone call reminded him that he might have to duck out at a moment's notice, that his sister's emotional state might not be up to the rigors of East Coast marketing and monitoring, even though he knew this challenge was good for her.

And good for him, he admitted, though he wouldn't necessarily want to confess that to his mother. The peace and quiet of this sweet community enticed him.

Or was the enticement the beautiful woman before him?

Both, he decided.

In any case he had a job to do, a job he loved, one that kept him on the road way too often. He moved back, smiled and hiked the cookies once more. “Thanks again.”

“You're welcome.”

He didn't wink. Didn't smile too wide, didn't angle his head and give her the slow, measured look that said too much. No. He turned and quietly walked away, pretending he hadn't been listening for her feet on the steps every morning, the jangle of the bell saying she'd entered the quaint store, the sounds of the back door banging shut as she and Hannah loaded the van with cookies going here, there and everywhere.

He'd faked disinterest the past few days, turning left when he wanted to turn right, quietly leaving when he wanted to stay and hear her voice, make her laugh, watch the expressions she made so well, faces that said she didn't mind being the center of attention except in matters of the heart.

Right there was reason enough to walk away, protecting them both, but how he wished he didn't have to.

W
ay too close for comfort.

That's what Danny Graham was, Meg decided the next morning, ignoring the predawn darkness. She yawned, stretched and headed into the production kitchen, needing to get ahead on cookies before the predicted midday heat. Even with Hannah's and Crystal's help, and the college girls she hired to run cookie and fudge stands at area festivals, the monumental summer production work got her up in the early hours and back to bed late, so she ought to be too tired to even think about Danny Graham.

Wrong.

Too busy?

Nope.

Too smart?

There you go,
her conscience agreed, the inner voice sounding a little too pleased.

Meg ignored the hint of sarcasm and pushed thoughts of Danny aside, right until she heard the sound of his door opening, his footsteps on the stairs, trying to pretend she wasn't hoping he'd stop over, say good morning, smile at her, tease her.

The sound of his car engine nixed those hopes. Just as well,
she knew, because she had no business thinking such things anyway.

“Meg?”

The sound of his voice surprised her, sending skitters of anticipation up her spine. She pasted a calm look on her face and headed toward the back door. “I thought you were gone.”

He studied her, glanced toward the driveway and the running car, then angled his head as if he knew she'd been listening for him. But there was no way he could know that, so she chalked it up to her overactive imagination.

“I'm heading to Wellsville for the day and was wondering if you needed anything brought back later. I heard you up and about early—”

“I woke you?”

He shook his head. “I had work to do on the computer.”

“But—”

“And once the cable company installs my service, you should really put a lock on your internet connection.”

“You pirated my WiFi?”

“Temporarily. I'm not wired for it on my side and the store is, and I had to get some things done.”

He didn't even have the decency to look guilty or embarrassed that she'd called him out, and that was one more reason to stay far away from Danny Graham. The guy was way too sure of himself. Too composed. Too adorable. Too…

His expression turned questioning. “Why didn't you have it installed on both sides?”

She had an easy answer for that. “College kids are notorious for not paying their last month of bills. I didn't want to be bothered with June phone calls about April and May expenses.”

“Understandable.”

“And you're having cable installed in my house?”

“It's baseball season, Meg. I'm a Yankees fan. End of story.”

A Yankees fan.

Meg's entire family loved the Yankees, with the exception of Uncle Bob, who was from Massachusetts, making his Boston allegiance understandable.

Meg bled pinstripe blue all summer long. “I would have had it connected for you. Sorry.”

“No apology needed. As you can see, I didn't hesitate to do it myself.”

She should find that annoying, but she didn't. She appreciated take-charge people. She strove for that trait herself so she admired it in others. “Are they billing you directly?”

“Yes, and I promise—” he crossed his heart, the childish move cute and endearing “—to pay my bills on time.”

He…is…not…endearing.
The internal voice droned the warning, as if knocking sense into her.

But he was. And engaging. Worse, he knew it. She saw it in the quiet gaze, the quick twinkle, the look that said a little too much when he glanced to her mouth, his gaze wondering.

Right now the screen door was her new BFF.

“I'm glad you told me and I don't think there's anything I need from Wellsville, but thanks for checking. This is one of those days when a forty-five-minute round-trip for something I should have on hand would stagnate the day.”

He reached out a slip of paper. “My cell phone number. I know you've got it on the lease agreement, but you should program it into your phone. That way if you need anything…” He opened the screen door, and stood in front of her.

Uh-oh.

“Anything at all,” he continued, the fleeting touch of his hand as he handed off the paper making her heart flutter. “Give me a call.”

Meg accepted the paper, shut down the quiver, gave Danny a businesslike nod and let the door shut of its own accord. “That's so nice of you, Danny. Thanks. I will.”

His expression didn't change but his eyes said he read the pleasant dismissal for the self-defense mechanism it was. He didn't choose to challenge it, though.

He moved down the two steps and she breathed easier. The trouble was, she liked the way she felt when he came around. When he smiled. Talked. Laughed.

He doffed a pretend cap.

She curtsied. The old-fashioned act softened his gaze, her hint of whimsy pleasing him.

“See you later.” His look said he'd like to linger, but he had responsibilities. So did she. As she stepped back into the kitchen, she couldn't help scanning the wall clock, wondering what time he'd get home when he hadn't even left the driveway yet.

Do not look at that clock. Do not estimate the hours until you see him again. Put him out of your mind forthwith. Please.

She couldn't, which meant one thing.

Megan Russo was in big trouble, trouble she couldn't handle right now or maybe ever. From now on it would be no listening, no looking, shoulders back, chin up, her business-minded mentality fully engaged. Now, if only she could keep it that way when he was around.

 

Meg fit here, Danny decided, as he wandered the small streets of Jamison's business district late that afternoon. The stone-paved roads, flanked by historic architecture, offered a mix of old and new products in their old-world setting.

He'd spent the day culling possible sites for the tribute store, examining traffic patterns and town records. Wellsville was clearly the go-to place, and from a business perspective he loved the small-town feel of Main Street balanced by adequate parking and a welcoming ambiance. There were no available east-facing storefronts at the moment, so he'd need to examine things further, see if anyone needed or wanted
to sell, but he felt good about the location, and in any good business plan, location was key.

Right now he wanted to acclimate himself with Jamison, admiring the mission of the town to attract tourists with old-world charm.

The Quiltin' Bee drew his attention. Grandma loved to quilt, and the shaded sidewalk racks of bright cottons called to him, the parade of colors inviting him to shop. Grandma had been pestering him to pick out materials for a quilt, something he chose himself, and with this fabric store in front of him, he might not be able to put her off any longer. Making a mental promise to buy the material when he had more time, he headed into Dennehy's general store for a few essentials.

“Daniel, wasn't it? Daniel Graham?” Mr. Dennehy stepped forward, his hand extended. “I was hoping you'd stop by. I wanted to thank you again for taking that fruit off my hands last week.”

Danny fought down a moment's indecision about shaking the man's hand, his harsh treatment of Ben and Megan reason enough to maintain a distance, but he tried to balance instinct with lack of information. He may have walked in on the final act of a three-act play, and Mr. Dennehy might have good reason for overreacting.

“The Salvation Army food pantry in Wellsville put the fruit to good use.” Danny shook the other man's hand and met his gaze squarely. “My grandmother is a firm believer in the ‘do unto others' mind-set, and she's one smart cookie. We Grahams have learned not to cross her.”

“Wisdom and age sometimes go hand in hand.” Mr. Dennehy adopted an expression of concern that could have used more practice. A possible reason for that spoke up from behind the back counter.

“God helps those that help themselves!”

“Now, Mother…”

“Idle hands are the devil's workshop.” The aged woman's
voice harped on, her look tart and tight. “No one should go hungry in a land of opportunity like this one! Just plain lazy, if you ask me, that's what it is! Food shelf. Soup kitchens. Bah!”

“Mother, really…”

A woman breezed into the store, breaking a conversational thread Danny hadn't meant to start. She nodded to the proprietor, waved a hand of greeting to the grim-faced elderly woman behind the antique wooden counter, then raked Danny a look, stopped and sized him up. “You're new here.”

How she guessed that instead of assuming he was a tourist, Danny had no idea. And wasn't sure he liked the assessment.

But her manner intrigued him. He angled his head, and offered his hand. “Daniel Graham.”

She accepted the hand, but not without a slightly withering look. “You're staying with Megan Russo.”

Her tone and choice of words made him want to jump to Megan's defense. He resisted. “I'm renting an apartment from Miss Russo while I'm in town on business, yes.”

“That explains a lot.” She sniffed displeasure, stepped back and moved to a rack of old-fashioned tins of cookies that held a shelf life of three years, minimal. Danny hated that kind of cookie. He wasn't even big on two-day-old cookies. He remembered the scent from Megan's kitchen, the heady aroma of chocolate chip as her friend rotated trays of big, round cookies onto tiered wire racks for cooling.

Every one of the cookies he'd consumed last night had turned his imaginings into reality. Megan Russo knew her way around an oven.

“Of course at Megan's age, a girl's got to be open to every possible opportunity that comes her way.”

Tiny hairs of protest snaked a path up Danny's spine. His hands clenched. His jaw tightened.

The woman sent him an over-the-shoulder smirk as if privy
to things he wasn't, rolled a shoulder of dismissal and turned back toward the grocer. “John, I need fresh fruit in the house for Brad Junior.”

The grocer nodded, eager to switch to a more pleasant interchange. “I heard that Brad and his wife were coming to stay with you. Won't that be nice? It's been a long time since you had a little boy running around your place, Jacqui.”

“With all that's going on at our place, the last thing I need is a little boy running unleashed day in and day out, but it seems I had no choice in the matter. Megan had the only available apartment in the area and she rented it before I called last week.”

So that was it.

Danny bit back a grin. Megan hadn't wanted to rent the apartment to him, that was painfully obvious in her reluctant attitude, the look of pain she'd bestowed on him as if he were the last-ditch effort she needed.

And all because she didn't want to rent the available space to an old boyfriend and his pregnant wife. He'd heard enough of her conversation with Hannah last week to realize how little fun there would have been in leasing the adjacent space to an old boyfriend and his family.

He bit back a smile, then turned when an exuberant voice belted out his name.

“Danny!”

“Ben. Hey.” Danny moved across the store to the screened door and stepped outside. He grabbed Ben's hand and pumped it. “How you doin', man?”

“Good.” Ben beamed, reached up and adjusted his Yankees baseball cap and gave a half shrug, still grinning. “Are you shopping?”

Danny was more scoping than shopping, but he nodded anyway. “Yes. How about you?”

Ben jerked a shoulder to the woman behind him. “Me and Mom had to do some—some—shopping.”

“Excellent.” Danny leaned around Ben to a woman who had to be Megan's mother, the resemblance a dead giveaway, and extended his hand. “I'm Danny Graham. I'm renting the apartment next to your daughter.”

Megan's mother took his hand and offered an appreciative smile. “You're also the man who bought the fruit Ben toppled last week. I've been meaning to stop by and thank you for that. And I'm so glad you were able to rent the apartment. Meg is always guarding the bottom line, and having that space vacant was killing her.”

“Respect for bottom-line efficiency is something she and I have in common,” Danny noted. He indicated the unique mercantile with an angled gaze. “And I was actually able to put that fruit to good use. Accidents happen, right?”

“Inevitably. Although often with unexpected results.” One look at her face made Danny realize that little got past Megan's mother. From the unhidden glint in her eye, he was pretty sure she saw right through him and his motives. Most of them, anyway.

“Things have a way of working out, don't they?” He sent her a grin, then noted Ben's hat with a pointed look. “You a real fan?”

“I love J-J-Jeter. He's my man!”

Danny grinned. Everyone loved Jeter, regardless of team affiliation. It was an unwritten rule of baseball because the Yankees captain epitomized sportsmanship. “You ever been to a game, Ben?”

“A—a Yankees game?”

“Yes.”

Ben shook his head so hard a little spittle sprayed. Danny wiped the spot away without a second thought and casually ignored Mrs. Russo's look of concern.

“I've never been to—to—Yankee Stadium, but we see them on TV. Dad and Mom have cable.”

Danny laughed out loud. “They do, huh? I might have to
come over and catch some games because your sister isn't wired for cable yet. A fact I didn't know when I leased the apartment. I've already called and ordered it, though, because eight weeks with no baseball won't cut it.”

Mrs. Russo frowned. “I can't believe she hasn't had that put in. Megan tends to take frugal to extremes. I'm glad you ordered it, Mr. Graham. It makes the rental more attractive to others in the long run. And do come over to the house and watch the games until they run cable to your apartment. We'd be honored to have you.”

He met her smile and matched it. “I'd love to. They're playing at home Saturday night. Is that good for you guys? And what can I bring?”