if I had help with the layout.”
“You’ve got a nice camera.”
She nodded. “I bought it a few years back when I was a Realtor’s assistant, and I found I couldn’t leave it behind when I moved on. I never seem to get pictures developed though, just store them on my laptop and keep on taking more.”
He grinned. She’d finally told him something personal.
When they reached the gate of the bed-and-breakfast, she broke the comfortable silence that had drifted between them for a few minutes. “I’ve been talking too much.” She hesitated. “If you want to come in, Mrs. Kelly always leaves cookies out in the parlor.”
Connor was too surprised by the invitation to answer.
Her words quickly filled the silence. “I’ve been waiting all day to hear how you like my latest articles. It might just be for the community blog, but I’m thrilled about writing something others will read.”
“Oh, of course.” He felt like a fool for even thinking she’d invite him in for some other reason. She hadn’t even hinted at flirting with him. “I’d love to talk about them, and cookies are one thing I never say no to. But you’ll have to promise to cut me off after two.”
He followed her to the parlor. He’d been in the old home a dozen times, but it never seemed as inviting as it did tonight. Low flames in the fireplace. The smell of gingerbread drifting from the kitchen. Jillian removing her coat as if settling in for a chat.
She made him a cup of hot cocoa to go with the cookies and they talked about her writing.
“I’d like to submit a few to one of the big papers in the state.” Connor was comfortable talking business. “Who knows, someone might pick them up. If they did, they’d pay far more than the twenty dollars I can afford.”
“You really think someone would want them?”
“Sure. I loved the story of the Orlando quilt I read this afternoon. A girl driving cross-country every year to visit her grandparents and seeing all the sights through a child’s eyes. Then, as an adult, she quilted from her memory. I loved the picture of her Yellowstone block with the bear as tall as Old Faithful.
“And, Jillian, you’ve got the pictures to go with each story. I’d think that would be a real selling point in a human interest piece.”
She laughed with excitement, and the sound made him smile.
When he reached for his fifth cookie, her hand covered his. “I have to cut you off, Connor, I promised. You still have to walk home. Any more cookies and you’ll have to roll.”
He turned his hand over and held her fingers. “Thanks. I have no restraint.”
Standing, he drew her up with him. “Okay if I send the articles? I think you’ve got a chance of making some money. Plus, if one of the big papers does pick it up, the articles might draw people to the county museum to see the quilts.”
“You think I might make as much as Toe Tents?”
He liked that she was so tall. He could look into her eyes. “Probably not,” he teased.
A thump came from just above their heads.
“The ghost?” he whispered.
“Probably. Mrs. K is in the kitchen. I hear old Willie now and then. He likes to move around about the time the clock strikes midnight.”
They both laughed.
Reluctantly, he let go of her hand and walked to the door. “There are always strange sounds in a house this old. See you tomorrow.”
“See you tomorrow,” she answered.
To his surprise, she followed him to the porch, and he didn’t have to turn around to know that she watched him as he walked away. She had been standing in the same spot every night as he glanced back, just before he turned the corner.
He closed his hand tightly as if trying to hold the warmth of her fingers for one more moment.
In his thirty-seven years, he’d never learned to weigh his feelings. The important ones, the unimportant ones. Not for women anyway. He could be polite, even funny sometimes. He could pretend to notice they were flirting, but he was never sure how to react.
But with Jillian, it was different. If she stayed around long enough, he might start to feel something for her, and it was his experience anytime his heart got involved, even slightly, it was bad news.
Sunnie Larady glared at the woman who had invaded Gram’s shop for the past few weeks. Jillian James looked nice enough, but she had to be up to something. No one under forty spends all day in a quilt shop. Jillian was almost as old as her father. She was tall, a few inches less than six feet, and she looked intelligent.
So if she wasn’t crazy, she must be up to something.
Sunnie knew her height because she measured everyone by her own height, hoping one day that all the people in the world would all grow half a dozen inches, then she’d be normal. The school counselor said she reached her elevation early, but how did she know? At sixteen, she might still be heading up.
Forget that worry. Right now Sunnie saw her mission clearly. She needed to keep an eye on the stranger.
Why had Dad hired someone to go through the dusty old inventory anyway? Maybe Gram was forgetting things. All old people do. That didn’t mean Gram needed a keeper.
The woman couldn’t be planning to rob the place. No one in their right mind would steal from a quilt shop.
Jillian looked up from her notes and smiled at Sunnie. “Shall we begin?” she asked, as if they were going on a great adventure and not simply counting quilts.
“I want to help, but I don’t want to bother any of Gram’s things.” She was Eugenia Larady’s only great-grandchild. It was her duty to protect Gram’s stuff. “This place is like the cemetery. It’s okay to clean up, but I don’t think we should be moving the quilts around, or Gram might think she’s lost something.” It was ten after nine and Sunnie was already bored.
Jumping up onto the counter, she decided she’d wait until Jillian told her what to do. No sense giving her ideas. After all, she was just the assistant. Her dad had made that clear. If Jillian told her to do something she didn’t like, she’d just call Dad. Until then, she’d follow orders.
Jillian smiled at her again and leaned against the counter, too. She must be working by the hour also. “Your comment reminds me of a graveyard outside of Hamm, Luxembourg. General Patton is buried there. He died in a car crash in 1945 just after the war was over, but he wanted to be buried with his men who died in the Battle of the Bulge. It’s a peaceful place in the countryside now, but once, they say the spot ran red with blood.”
“Any reason you’re giving me this history lesson?” Sunnie picked at the hole in her jeans, making it bigger. “I’ve had enough history. My dad writes books about tribes in Texas who
