best.”
Sounded familiar. “Our father used to tell us about when Declan started school. He ran away and made it all the way back home by himself three of the first five days. Ian did it four.”
“And did you make it five?”
He shrugged modestly.
“They haven’t succeeded in getting away from me yet, except for the day Ty and the social worker brought them. Since Ty was still here, I share the blame with him.” She rapped her knuckles on the wood tabletop for luck. “The only reason they haven’t escaped yet is because this place and my apartment—” she gestured toward the second floor— “are pretty secure. They’ve tried when we’re out, but I’m fast and I know my way around better than they do.”
The minds of kids baffled him. He had a pretty good idea what life was like for Daisy and Dahlia with their mom—a shabby house, probably never cleaned, dirty secondhand clothes, no regular or healthy meals, baths only when they couldn’t be avoided, men in and out, always a little drama going on. Sophy’s apartment was surely as clean as her shop; it was probably quiet, homey, with a room of their own, clean sheets, clean clothes that fit, good food, a healthy environment.
Gazing at her, he wondered if there was a man in her life. Probably. She’d fulfilled the promise of beauty he remembered in her fourteen-year-old self. Golden skin, a pink Cupid’s-bow mouth, a smile that could make a man think about forever, and who didn’t love a brown-eyed blonde?
If he were a different sort of man, he could. But he wasn’t. No attachments, no obligations, no emotional ties—those were his goals.
How’s that working for you, buddy?
“Where are you living these days?”
“Norfolk.”
“Still crazy about cars?”
“How do you know that?”
She rolled her eyes. “Please. Everyone knew the Holigan boys and the Calloway boys practically lived at Charlie’s.” Then she grinned. “When my friends and I walked over to SnoCap for cherry limeades, my mom always told us not to talk to any of you. She had us half-convinced that something awful would happen if we did, that we’d go straight to hell or grow horns and a tail or something.”
Of course she did. Mrs. Marchand had had very strong ideas about who was suitable company for her daughters and hadn’t been shy about expressing them. “A Marchand and a Calloway seems like a good match.”
Her mouth pursed slightly, Sophy shook her head. “They’re all married and so settled you wouldn’t recognize them.”
“Even Robbie?” He’d been the youngest of the Calloway brothers, the one least likely to do anything of merit with his life.
“Loving husband, adoring father of two, lawyer, goes to church, does volunteer work and everything.”
“I’m impressed.” Not that it was hard for a Calloway to amount to something when the family owned half the damn county.
Jeez, even to himself, Sean sounded bitter.
“Why Virginia?”
Before he could answer, Daisy came scuffing back around. She glared at him, then at Sophy. “What time will Dahlia be out of school?”
“About three-fifteen.”
“How long is that?”
“Four hours.”
“How long is that?”
“Halfway between lunch and dinner.”
Daisy’s face wrinkled with impatience, then she cocked her head Sean’s way. “He’d better be gone when Dahlia gets here.”
Sean would have let her wander off again, but Sophy turned to face her. “Remember when we talked about being rude? What did I tell you?”
Her ducked-down head muffled Daisy’s voice. “Not to, or I’ll get a time-out.”
“And that would mean no class for you today. Why don’t you get your bin out and start setting up?”
While the girl shuffled off, Sean got to his feet. He’d seen the sign in the front window about this month’s classes but couldn’t imagine one that could hold Daisy’s interest for more than five minutes. “I should get going.”
Leaving Daisy settling in at another worktable, Sophy walked with him toward the front door. “Have you seen Maggie yet?” she asked in a low voice.
“Yeah, for a few minutes. She wasn’t happy, so she didn’t stick around long.”
“Did she ask about the girls?”
It hadn’t occurred to him until now that she hadn’t. Even when he said, I saw Daisy this morning, she hadn’t wanted to know how she looked, if she was okay, if she missed her mama. All she’d done was turn it into an opportunity to criticize him.
He shook his head, part embarrassed, part annoyed with his sister and part of him just plain sad.
Sophy’s expression was resigned, as if this wasn’t the first time she’d asked the question and gotten the same answer.
They were just feet from the door when it swung open and two white-haired women started inside before freezing in their tracks. One was a stranger to him, but the other had been the queen bitch of Copper Lake fourteen years ago and probably still was. Louise Wetherby had never liked anyone, but especially anyone she considered beneath her. The Holigans hadn’t had the money to eat in her pricey restaurant or the right, in her mind, to live in her town or breathe her air. Even now, her nose was twitching as if she smelled something unwelcome.
Though her icy gaze was locked on him—as if he might grab her purse and run if she looked away for a moment—her words weren’t directed to him. “What is that man doing here, Sophy?”
“The same thing you are, Mrs. Wetherby. He came to see about making a quilt.”
The tautness of Sean’s muscles eased slightly.
The Queen sniffed haughtily while her minion twittered. “Don’t be ridiculous. We thought we’d seen the last of him when we ran him out of town all those years ago.”
“You must be confusing him with someone else, Mrs. Wetherby,” Sophy said with scorn camouflaged by sweet Southern politeness. “As I recall, he graduated from high school one day and climbed on the back of his motorcycle and left town the next. He was gone long before anyone in town even knew. Now, just head on back to the work area. If you ask nicely, Daisy will be happy to help you get your supplies.”
Another sniff as the two women began walking again. “A five-year-old has no place in a quilting class,” Louise huffed, but her friend hesitantly argued.
“Now, Louise, she is learning to piece a quilt top, and that’s exactly what the class is for. My grandmother learned to quilt when she was six, so it’s not...”
As
