moly,” she breathed.
It was huge.
And filled with everything imaginable, from an old pedal sewing machine, to paintings, to an accumulation of dust and spiderwebs that made her acutely nervous. She really didn’t like spiders.
“Phobias are the sign of a disorganized mind,” she reminded herself as she lifted a painting from where it leaned against a broken coatrack. She smiled as she recognized one of her favorite artists, and before long she was exploring the farthest corners of the crowded attic.
Antique furniture comingled with art and an old gramophone that actually still worked. In a trunk she found an Edwardian-era dress and wondered how she would look in such a lovely gown. Ridiculous, probably. Yet she couldn’t resist holding it up and swishing the ivory skirt so it swirled around her ankles.
What would it be like to feel pretty and sexy? To wear something that was deliberately provocative? Something silky and outrageous?
Nicki frowned and rustled the skirt again. She’d always worn practical, oversized clothing, clothing that lacked style of any kind. It might have been different had her mother lived, but her father had never paid attention to anything but her schoolwork. Later, her then-husband, illogically jealous, hadn’t wanted her to wear anything revealing.
She frowned, thinking about Butch.
Maybe he had loved her in the only way a possessive, insecure jock could love anyone. He’d certainly begged her not to divorce him, swearing he would change if she’d just give him another chance. Problem was, she had already given him too many chances, and she’d realized that her ego would eventually get so beaten down by his insults and cheating that someday she wouldn’t be able to leave.
The sad thing was they ought to have been good together—they’d laughed at the same things, loved watching old movies, had both wanted a honeymoon at Walt Disney World. People who could laugh and play together had a head start in making a marriage work, didn’t they? But things changed just before they got married. His older brother died and Butch tried to fill Danny’s oversized shoes in a family that never approved of him and his dropping out of college after only one semester.
“Forget it,” she murmured. Part of her was sad that her marriage had ended, and part of her was desperately relieved. With a sigh, she tucked the gown away again and continued looking through the crowded attic.
Every now and then she startled a mouse, which would squeak and run in terror into the shadows. But it was Nicki who yelped when she reached for a dusty crystal vase and a fat, hairy spider tumbled onto the back of her hand.
The spider hit the opposite wall, and with more speed than grace, she hopped over a steamer trunk and raced down the stairs, slamming the door behind her. In her head she knew most spiders were harmless, but there was something about a creature with a surfeit of legs that gave her the willies.
“Is something wrong?” Luke came out from the study.
“Uh…no. I’m just…you know, taking a break. It’s a little warm up there.”
He gave her an irritated look and waved the sheaf of papers in his hand. “I can’t concentrate on my work if you’re slamming doors all day! I’ve got business that needs my attention.”
She wanted to smack him. The reaction distracted her spider-jangled nerves. “I’m soooo sorry, Mr. McCade. I won’t let it happen again.”
Luke opened his mouth, then shut it. It wasn’t Nicki’s fault he couldn’t concentrate, it was worry over Granddad and making decisions for him that got him so tense. Nobody in the family wanted to make a decision, they just wanted everything to be miraculously restored to how it used to be. But wishing wouldn’t work.
He kept running it over and over in his head. The family had practically forced Granddad to see the doctor because of his vague and forgetful behavior, and Dr. Kroeger had finally diagnosed senility. But the medication wasn’t having any effect, and neither had the mental exercises they’d tried—it was hard to keep therapy going when the patient wouldn’t cooperate. Too bad he couldn’t fix granddad’s problem the way he’d handle a contractor who didn’t do his job.
Luke again wished he could talk it over with Nicki. She had a good head on her shoulders, and since she wasn’t family she might not let emotion cloud her judgment. But it wasn’t possible; some things you didn’t discuss with virtual strangers, especially when that stranger was so sentimental about the man in question.
He cleared his throat. “I shouldn’t…that is, I didn’t mean to bark at you like that. I’ve been working on a land deal that isn’t going well. Did you find anything valuable?”
“Right now I’m just getting an idea of what’s there and how to organize myself.” She seemed pale and was scrubbing the back of her hand on her thigh.
Luke frowned, remembering the small cry he’d heard from the floor above. “Are you sure nothing is wrong?”
“What could be wrong? It’s warm, that’s all.”
“I don’t want you passing out from the heat,” he said, his brow still creased. “I’ll bring a bunch of stuff down to one of the spare rooms. You can work in there. When you’re done with the first batch, we’ll move it to another room and I’ll bring more down. This house is huge, so there’s plenty of space.”
“That’s thoughtful of you,” Nicki said politely. He was sure she hated saying anything of the kind, since he hadn’t exactly proven himself thoughtful, either in the past or in the present.
But nothing added up when it came to Nicki. Why had she decided to live in Divine? With her brains she could have done anything, gone anywhere. Yet she’d chosen to come back, and talked about the town as her home. He couldn’t see why anyone would live here if they had a chance to get out.
“You must have family here in Divine, right?” he asked abruptly, again breaking his cardinal rule of noninterference.
“No.” She blinked. “My mom died right after I was born, and my father passed away when I was a junior in college. He did have a sister—in Texas, I think—but they’d lost contact. I’m not sure if I have anyone else—Dad wouldn’t talk about family.”
“I didn’t know about your father. I’m sorry.”
Nicki looked pensive, then sighed. “We weren’t close.”
For some reason Luke wanted to know more, to hear why Nicki and her father hadn’t been close and why he hadn’t talked about family. But it wasn’t his concern, any more than anything else was about Nicki.
“I’ll go get a load,” he murmured.
Luke went up the steps to the attic, memories crowding in on him. Once his grandparents’ attic had been a place of vast adventure where he and Sherrie and their cousins played to their hearts’ content. The floor had been clear and open then, and his grandmother would bring up lemonade and apple cake to slow them down when things got too rowdy. Grams’s apple cake had been delicious, always winning awards at the county fair until she stopped entering the competition, citing her eight grand-prize ribbons as an embarrassment of riches.
A nostalgic smile curved Luke’s mouth before he shook his head. Times changed, he reminded himself. Grams was gone
