move to intervene, and then the sound of Joy’s giggles stopped her. She supposed there was no real harm in letting her daughter have fun with the animal for a few minutes.
Instead, she forced herself to look away from Joy and face the dog’s owner. Up close, Mr. Cooper was even more interesting. There was an ever-so-slight dimple in his chin, but it in no way took away from his firm jawline or the chiseled planes of his face. It was those piercing blue-gray eyes, however, that drew her in, made her want to learn more about him. Combine that with his guarded air, and he had a definite presence about him. He wasn’t exactly what you’d call handsome—his features were too irregular for that. No, not handsome, but arresting.
Yes, most definitely arresting.
Then she realized he was waiting for her to say something. “I hope you don’t mind,” she said with what she hoped was a neighborly smile. “Joy has such a love for animals, it’s impossible for her to pass one by without stopping to pet it.”
“Beans seems to be enjoying the attention,” he said noncommittally. Then he glanced toward Joy. “My sister was the same way.”
She noticed something momentarily cloud his expression, but it was gone by the time he turned back to her. Then she realized he’d used the word was. She’d passed away then. Was his loss recent?
Verity decided to change the subject. “It’s nice to see someone making use of the old boot shop.”
He nodded. “It’s working out well for what I need.”
Definitely not much of a conversationalist. She tried again. “How are you liking Turnabout so far?”
“The folks here are neighborly and it seems like a good place to set down roots.”
Is that what he wanted to do—set down roots? Stability and responsibility were certainly fine traits to aspire to. But did that mean he’d been a drifter before he came here?
“I’m pleased to hear it.” Then, remembering that poignant mention of his sister, her smile warmed. “And if you’re looking to leave your past behind you,” she said softly, “and find a new place to belong, then you’ve come to the right place.”
At the flash of surprise in his eyes, she realized just how presumptuous that must have sounded. Embarrassed, she quickly turned to Joy and held her hand out. “Come along, pumpkin. Time to tell the dog goodbye. Thank Mr. Cooper and let’s be on our way.”
Joy obediently turned to Beans’s owner. “Thank you, Mr. Cooper. Beans is a nice doggie.” She held out her doll. “And Lulu likes him, too.”
Risking a glance his way, Verity saw that he was giving her daughter a broad smile, apparently choosing to ignore her own ill-conceived remarks of a moment ago.
“You’re welcome,” he said, executing a half bow. “Both of you. Anytime.”
Verity decided he should smile more often—it transformed his face, making him appear much more approachable. But perhaps he reserved his smiles for puppies and children.
As if to punctuate that thought, he turned back to her, his expression once more merely polite. Then he nodded and took firmer hold of his broom.
Intrigued by these contradictory glimpses of the man, and still embarrassed by her earlier words, Verity put a hand on Joy’s shoulder and gently nudged her toward Hazel’s shop.
And tried not to think too hard about the fact that she’d like to see one of those warmer smiles directed her way.
* * *
Nate Cooper swept the sidewalk in front of his shop, his thoughts focused on the mother and daughter who’d just walked away.
He glanced down and noticed Beans watching them, as well. The animal’s tail was still wagging, but much slower now. “You like that little girl, don’t you, boy?”
Beans looked up as if he understood the question, and Nate paused long enough to give him a quick scratch behind the ears. “Well, don’t worry,” he said as he straightened. “I’m pretty sure she likes you, as well.”
The little girl—Joy, her mother had called her—had certainly been taken with his four-legged companion. Her giggles had been sweet proof of that.
For just a heartbeat, she’d reminded him of Susanna. Joy’s physical resemblance to his younger sister was only superficial—honey-colored hair and a button nose—but it was the way the child had responded to Beans that had tugged at him. Susanna had loved animals with that same wholeheartedness, especially dogs.
It was surprising how, after all these years, little reminders like that could hit him in the gut with such force.
As he pushed the broom, his thoughts shifted from the child to her mother. There were definitely no bittersweet memories to ambush him when thinking of her. Quite the opposite.
This wasn’t the first time he’d noticed her since his move to Turnabout. She was a member of the small choir at the local church. Both times he’d attended the service there, he’d taken notice of her. Not at first, though. The drab widow’s weeds she wore and her dark hair had made her a shadow that the eye easily skipped past.
But all that changed the moment she began to sing. Her face took on such a luminously serene yet passionate glow, as if she truly felt every word, every note she sang. And even from where he sat he could see a fire in her large green eyes that drew him. He hadn’t been able to take his gaze off of her until the preacher began his sermon.
There’d been none of that fire in her today, though. In fact, the way she’d reacted when her daughter approached his little bit of a dog, she’d seemed nervous and something of a handwringer. Did that enchanting spark come through only when she sang?
Still, knowing it was there, he was intrigued enough to want to unearth it. And just now he’d found he liked her speaking voice too, a difficult-to-describe mix of genteel lady and country girl. There was something else he’d noticed as well, something that hadn’t been apparent until he’d seen her up close just now. Right below the left corner of her mouth was the faintest of small scars. It didn’t detract from her appearance. In fact, if anything it added an element of interest to her otherwise merely pleasant features. It also made him want to find out how she’d gotten it.
But it was when she’d relaxed enough to show him a genuine smile just now that she’d really caught his attention. The words that had accompanied her smile, however, had startled him. It was almost as if she’d understood his private yearnings.
Had she really meant what she said, or was it just some sort of polite bit of verbiage she would have said to any newcomer? And if she knew what sort of past he was trying to leave behind him, would she still have uttered those words?
She’d obviously known his name, but he had no idea what hers was. And since she hadn’t offered, he hadn’t felt it appropriate to ask.
But now he wondered—should he have asked? There’d been a time when he would have known how to carry on a polite conversation, but his social skills had grown rusty with disuse.
If he was ever going to fit in here, though, he’d need to relearn.
“I think the sidewalk is clean enough.”
Nate
