Small-Town Hearts (9 page)

Time to draw the line in the sand.

She wriggled her hand free, tilted her head and angled him a scolding look. “As much fun as this is,” she acknowledged, sweeping their hands a quick glance before raising her gaze to his, “I'm putting the brakes on.”

“Because?”

“The whole summer love thing? It only works for teenagers on vacation. Not me, not here, not now. End of discussion. We're neighbors. Maybe friends, given enough time. But that's
it.” She paused, firmed her gaze and met his look of invitation frankly. “I've got my busy season upon me, tourists left and right, a candy-making schedule that keeps me up at night and an ice cream business that makes me just enough extra income now to offset the slower months of winter. I can't afford to mess things up by chasing rainbows.”

Danny's grin said he'd just scored a point. “Chasing Rainbows is the name of my balloon.”

She paused as they approached the church steps. “Your what?”

He reached forward and brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, tucking the errant curl behind her ear.

“My hot air balloon. I'm using it in the Wellsville rally. My grandfather named the first one nearly fifty years back. We've been piloting a rainbow-themed balloon ever since.”

“You're a pilot?”

“Yes.” He stepped closer, ignoring the people arriving around them, his gaze trained on Megan alone. “Would you ride with me? I'd love to take you up. Show you the hills from above. The trees, the towns, the farmers' fields. It's all different from the basket of a balloon.”

“No.”

He paused her entrance into the church with a hand to her arm. The feel of his hand, strong and sure against the soft skin of her upper arm, took her places she'd decided to avoid.

She stepped away from his touch, saw him note that, the arched brow and steady gaze missing little. “You're not scared, are you?”

“No.”

He tilted his head.

Drat. She'd said it too quick.

“You are.” He didn't step forward, just leaned in, invading her space, smelling of fresh, spiced aftershave, his scent enveloping her. “I'll keep you safe.”

As with his trust request from the previous night, Megan wasn't buying it. Lofting skyward in one of those gorgeous balloons with a heartthrob like Danny who was already ruining her decisions to avoid men at all costs?

“I'm a terra-firma-type gal. Both feet planted on the ground.”

“Ballooning offers a whole new vantage point, Megs.”

Her vantage point of avoiding heartbreak was just fine, thank you very much. She sent him a smile she hoped wasn't quite as acid as it felt and headed into the church. “No, thanks.”

D
anny could have pushed his point and sat with Meg during the service, but he excelled at corporate deal making for a reason. He knew when to back off and when to press. Right now, she needed thinking time. And was he terrible for equating Megan with one of his business deals?

That was how he saw things. Black and white. Bottom lines. His job demanded attention to detail. So did romance. Although he wasn't looking for romance.

One glance across the crowded small church nixed that notion. He might not have been looking, but it seemed to have found him. Now what to do about it?

He wasn't accustomed to being caught in the middle, and didn't like the feeling. Megan was the sweetest thing he'd ever laid eyes on.

And beneath her tough exterior laid the heart of a gentle woman. Understandable, considering her romantic past. But scaling those walls would be no easy task. And she was right, in any case.

He'd be gone midsummer. Oh, sure, he'd come back to oversee the new store's setup and hire staff. He'd get it up and running, but regardless of how well Mary Clare handled her
projects along the East Coast, he'd have work-related travel obligations during the busy fall and holiday seasons.

He loved big cities, the hustle and bustle, the mayhem. But sitting in the whitewashed church where the combination of beeswax candles and old wood offered quiet reprieve, something inside wound down, just a touch. He'd grown careless in his wanderings, and regular church attendance had fallen along the wayside, but this…

He let the soft hum of whispered conversation embrace him, the yellow glow of antique lighting very Currier and Ives, a glimpse of yesteryear. Surprisingly, he liked it, but then he'd found little
not
to like in Jamison, and that was due in no small part to the lovely young woman who sat eight pews up.

An older man nudged his arm and motioned left. “The missus needs a music book.”

“Oh. Of course.” Danny reached behind him, procured the book, then grabbed another for the man. He held out both.

The man accepted one and shrugged off the second. “We'll share. Church ain't got quite enough to go 'round in the summer when folks visit, so we're used to it, and she knows ever' one of them hymns by heart so it ain't like she even needs the thing, but she feels better havin' it in hand.” He nodded to the remaining book, his wizened look steadfast. “You can have that one.”

Danny met the old man's gaze, the wisdom of years gone by a soft sheen of faded blue. He nodded, smiled, then realized he truly meant the smile, and that realization made him feel better yet.

 

Megan waited deliberately to see Reverend Hannity, sure that Danny would have trekked home by the time she exited the church long minutes later.

Nope.

And he didn't even have the decency to pretend he wasn't
waiting for her, to act as if his presence was circumstantial. He stood poised on the sidewalk, one hand on the railing, one foot propped on the step above, gazing up, and then he had the nerve to grace her with that heart-stopping grin the minute she stepped out the door. As she descended the steps he released the rail and straightened. “You were hoping I'd be gone.”

“And yet, you aren't.”

“The quilt store, remember?” He indicated the Quiltin' Bee with a casual wave of his hand. “You agreed to stop in with me.”

“I agreed to no such thing.” Face forward, she willed herself not to chance a glance his way. His humor and charm were eroding her concerns, putting her in a precarious position, and she'd had enough of those to last a lifetime.

“What if I sweeten the deal with a maple twist from Seb Walker's store?”

Danny Graham didn't play fair. Seb Walker carried melt-in-your-mouth Amish pastries with seasonal fruit or layered custards.

“Or a fry pie?”

“Your pick, my lady.”

She turned toward the pastry window, but Danny redirected her toward Maude's. “Not so fast. No way am I looking through materials with sticky hands. Quilt shop first.”

He made a good point. Maude McGinnity was a Jamison cornerstone, a descendant of one of Jamison's original nineteenth-century settlers and related to a fair share of the county. Maude took great pride in her store. She glanced up as they entered, and gave a firm nod. “Good morning, Megan. And…?”

Danny stepped forward, his hand out, obviously comfortable, a skill that said selling himself came easily, a quality Meg found intimidating. “Daniel Graham. Nice to meet you. And you are…?”

“Maude McGinnity. Graham.” Maude tested the name thoughtfully, eyeing him as if finding something askew. He gave her a straight-on grin, reminding Meg he had no trouble charming people.

“Do you have family here?” Maude asked, her gaze curious.

Danny shook his head. “I'm here on business, but I've been promising my grandmother I'd send her material for a quilt, so your shop is perfect.”

Maude's expression said she'd like to know more, but she wasn't one to pry.

Danny turned toward Meg. “You're good at all this old-fashioned stuff, Megs. What do you think?”

“Megs?” Maude's quick uptake shooed Megan toward the wall of fabrics.

“Obviously misspoken,” Meg assured Maude, offering Danny the better part of her back as she moved farther into the store. No way in this world was she about to offer more fodder for the gossip mill.

“Your grandmother likes quilts?” Maude swung back toward Danny and indicated the racks of hanging quilts mounted along the side walls. “We've got all different types here, from hand-done Amish to country colonial.”

“Actually Grandma quilts beautifully,” Danny explained. He waved a hand toward the stunning array of hand-stitched blankets lining the front room of the shop. “She's like an artist with calico.”

“Really?” Maude's look sharpened. “Does she live around here?”

“Not anymore.”

“But she did,” Maude's tone mused.

Danny shrugged and looked a little uncomfortable, just enough to make Meg wonder why that might be a sore spot.

He worked his jaw, conceding. “A long time ago. When
she was a girl. The family's been in the Buffalo area for two generations now.”

“And no family hereabouts?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Hmm…”

“Like I said…” A hint of relief brightened Danny's eyes, making Meg wonder why having family here would be an issue. “It was a long time ago.”

“When you're looking at seventy-five, you get to know a lot of folks,” Maude shot back. “But no Grahams come to mind.”

Danny moved left, effectively changing the subject by withdrawing a bolt of material. “This blue print's nice, isn't it?”

“Beautiful.” A tiny smile softened Maude's mouth as she stroked a finger across the smooth, clean cotton. “And if you coupled it with that gingham, you'd have a nice effect.”

“And this solid.” Megan held up a bolt in the slightly darker periwinkle of the tiniest flower in the shaded blue calico. “It brings out the depth of the flowers without drawing too much attention to itself.”

“And this green draws out the stems and the leaves,” Maude noted.

Danny gave her a quick nod. “Can you cut me enough for a quilt top?”

Maude's mouth pursed in puzzlement. “It's hard to figure yardage without knowing what pattern she might choose. A good quilt top is all about balance.” She stepped to the back room and motioned Danny to follow her. “I have three Amish women who quilt on weekday afternoons. This is some of their current handiwork.”

Danny whistled low, the stretched quilt a work of art.

“But each pattern requires specific amounts. And the size of a quilt makes a difference, too. What would this be used for?”

Danny flicked a teasing glance Meg's way. “According to my grandmother, it's for my marriage bed.”

Meg choked.

Maude grinned, a hand covering her mouth, her self-control waning as seconds ticked by.

Danny held his hands aloft, palms out. “It's her idea, not mine, but she's been after me for years.”

“For the material or a wife?”

Maude's query made him laugh. “Both. But we'll settle for material today. It will make her happy and I'd do anything to make my grandma happy. I can ship it off to her tomorrow.”

“Queen-size bed?”

Danny drew himself taller, grinning. “King-size.”

“Oh, brother,” Megan quipped.

“Oh, my.” Maude giggled outright, obviously charmed—and why shouldn't she be? Meg thought. She'd been married for nearly fifty years to a great guy. They'd had four kids, thirteen grandchildren and twenty great-grandchildren. She had nothing to lose by appreciating Danny's wit and warmth.

Whereas Meg had ridden that slippery slope too often. No, when and
if
she got serious again, it would be with someone so entrenched in their town, their lives and his faith that she'd never have a niggle of doubt or discontent.

That's called Utopia, honey. It doesn't exist.

One glimpse of the gentle look Danny threw her way said it might if she was willing to compromise, leave her roots, spread her wings.

The thought of possibly dissolving her hard work pinched, but the thought that Danny's sons might someday inherit that sweet, crooked smile drew her.

But she'd dreamed and planned before, and despite what she
thought
she felt inside, she'd learned the hard way she couldn't exactly trust her senses. More than anything she needed to trust fully before she could give her heart. From
this point forward, she intended to set the tone and the timing, a competent woman in control.

“You'll need a color for backing.”

Maude's observation pulled Meg's attention back around. Danny watched her, curiosity sparking his gaze.

She moved back to his side, eyed the three options Maude had extracted from the wall of color and pointed to a tea-stained blue floral still on the shelf. “I prefer the antique look of the tea-stained background, but the clean blue and white is nice. It's fresh. More modern.”

Danny studied her a moment, his face unreadable. A tiny muscle in his cheek jumped before he turned back to Maude, refusing to do battle. “The blue and white it is, then, with maybe this for the backing?” He flicked a finger to a bolt of colonial blue calico with a hint of yellow brightening the floral design; the slightly deeper tone made a good balance.

“Perfect,” Maude declared.

Danny helped carry the pile of fabric to the cutting table, the soft thunks of the flipping bolts a reminder of days of old, just like that tea-stained fabric. Meg moved to the front window, the rustic wood framing an idyllic scene, a summer Sunday morning in Jamison.

Danny had chosen the white for good reason. A traveling businessman, he had no small-town ties to their time-tried community, no ingrained love for cobbled streets and worn-board walkways.

She did. Her home, her family, her life was in Allegany County. She'd gone to college locally on purpose, feeling no need to wander far from her roots.

There was nothing wrong with loving home, loving the past, clinging to family. Right?

Whither thou goest, I will go. And whither thou lodgest, I will lodge…
The gentle words from the book of Ruth prickled. Ruth had been brave enough to turn her back on the safety of her homeland, her people, and accompany Naomi
in her travels, a brave woman, willing to go the distance. Meg straightened her shoulders, determined to listen and discern God's will, although her stubborn Russo side was rarely comfortable with patience.

“Ready?”

Meg hauled in a breath, turned from the window-framed portrait of small-town America and nodded. “Yes. You're set?”

He hoisted a bag. “Kind of amazing to think there's enough material in here for a quilt, isn't it?”

Megan laughed. “Well, it's minus the batting.”

“Say what?”

“The filler.” She pointed right, where stacks of rolled batts hugged a corner.

“I need that?”

“Your grandmother will, but it's available all over. I wouldn't mail it to her. Crazy expensive.”

He tipped his gaze down once more as they stepped onto Maude's creatively decorated boardwalk section. Just then Brad and Denise crossed the cobbled road a few stores down, her pregnancy obvious, a bowl-cut, towheaded preschooler racing ahead, despite Brad's warning to slow down.

Danny intercepted Meg's look and paused, a hand to her arm, as if he realized who they were—but that was impossible, wasn't it?

Not in a small town.

“Would you like to cross the street?”

Yes.
Meg sighed inside, willfully hiding her angst. “Not in the least.”

Danny grinned, shifted the bag and grabbed her hand. “Just for show.”

His teasing look said otherwise, but if Megan was about to come face-to-face with her former fiancé, clutching Danny's hand wasn't a bad touch.

Brad's look of surprise was a little overdone, as if he hadn't seen them coming.

Please.

Denise's slightly smug expression of victory faded as Danny brought Megan's hand up for a quick kiss, one of the sweetest, most genteel public displays of affection known to mankind.

Meg willed herself not to melt on contact. “Brad, good morning. Off to church?” They weren't, she knew that from the way they were so casually dressed.

“Grabbing breakfast in town.” Brad drew Denise a little closer. “Mom's kitchen is torn up, so it's a little tricky to keep Brad Junior out from underfoot.”

“Understandable.” Megan smiled down at the little boy, his fair face and hair more Denise than Brad.

“He's gorgeous.” She said the words honestly, the little boy's beginnings rightly a thing of the past. But because she wasn't completely sweet or born yesterday, she tugged Danny forward with a teasing glance upward, meeting his gaze, inspiring his smile. She hadn't spent four consecutive years in the high school drama club for nothing. “Danny, this is Brad and his wife, Denise. I told you about them.”