you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave it right there,” Sam warned the man. He glanced around and caught sight of the town lawyer, Jerry Wright, standing on the front porch. “Stay here,” he said to the mover. “I’m going to get someone to sort this all out.”
As he walked away, Sam glanced over his shoulder at the woman in black. She’d removed her sunglasses and their eyes met again, and she quickly looked away. Sam smiled to himself. It was the first sign of weakness that she’d shown. The attraction wasn’t just one-sided. What was going through her pretty head? he wondered.
“Jerry! Get over here.”
“Sam, I was just about to call you.”
Sam cursed. “Sure you were. Come here and fix this. Some woman from Boston is trying to take my bed. The bed Abigail promised to return to the Blackstone.”
Jerry hurried down the porch steps and walked across the lawn to Sam’s side. “It seems that Miss Abigail made a lot of promises she didn’t tell me about, Sam. Half the stuff in that house is promised to more than one party and now I’m left to untangle this can of worms.”
“I don’t care about any of that. All I want is the bed.”
The other man sighed. “All right, come on.”
When they reached the bed, the footboard was already inside the woman’s trailer and the mover was just about to load the side rails. “Take that out of there,” Jerry ordered. “That bed isn’t going anywhere. At least not today.”
“I’m afraid you’re wrong,” the woman said, rounding the back of what could only be her black Lexus SUV. She held out her hand to Jerry. “I’m Amelia Sheffield, Mapother Museum of Decorative Arts. I have this letter from Miss Farnsworth gifting the bed to our museum.”
“It’s not hers to give away,” Sam said. “That bed has been in my family for generations and it’s coming back where it belongs.”
She studied him for a long moment, like a fighter evaluating her opponent. “And you are?”
“Sam Blackstone.”
“Oh, yes. I’ve read the bed’s provenance. You sold the antique to Abigail. I’m afraid I didn’t see that you’d purchased it back. There would have been paperwork, no?”
Sam let his gaze drift over her beautiful features. “My grandfather, also named Samuel Blackstone, sold the bed. Let’s just call Abigail and find out what she thinks.”
“I doubt that would solve anything,” Jerry said. “She seems to be legally obligated to both of you.”
“Who had the first claim?” Sam asked. He held out his letter and compared it to Amelia Sheffield’s. “I do.”
“But wouldn’t this be like a will?” Amelia asked. “In that case, the last draft supersedes all others and my letter would be the valid document.”
“I’m not going to be the one to decide this,” Jerry said. “For now we’ll take the bed to a secure storage facility, along with the other disputed pieces of furniture, and figure this out later.”
“That’s unacceptable,” Amelia said. “We’re counting on this piece for an exhibit that opens next week. The day after President’s Day.”
“That’s not going to happen,” Sam said.
“Will you just...go away? I need this bed and it’s mine by right.”
“Not a chance. You think I’m just going to give up because you’ve got a nice smile and a sexy voice?”
She gasped. “What did you say?”
“Oh, don’t pretend to be shocked. I saw you checking me out earlier. There’s nothing wrong with admitting that you’re attracted to me.”
“Attracted to you? Has anyone ever told you that you’re delusional?”
Sam chuckled. He usually wasn’t this bold with a woman but he needed to keep Amelia Sheffield off balance. She was a threat, to his business and to centuries-old tradition. And he was enjoying flirting with her.
It didn’t take her long to return the volley and they continued to throw verbal hand grenades until a small crowd had gathered around them. Finally Minerva Threadwell stepped forward. Sam groaned as she pulled out her notepad. Minerva was editor of the local newspaper and her husband, Wilbur, ran the local radio station. They were the king and queen of Millhaven gossip.
“I understand there’s a dispute over the ownership of the George Washington bed,” Minerva said. “Would either of you care to comment?”
“No,” Sam said.
At the same time Amelia said, “Yes, I would. My name is Amelia Sheffield and I am from the Mapother Museum of Decorative Arts. Our attorneys have looked over the gift letter quite carefully and they assure me that everything is completely in order. The bed will be going to our museum in Boston.”
Minerva turned to Sam, an inquisitive look on her face.
“No comment,” he muttered.
“We’ll hold on to it for now until this can be resolved,” Jerry said.
Sam waited until the movers had shifted the bed from the Mapother trailer into one of the moving vans, then gave them very specific instructions to treat it carefully. As he climbed into his truck, he took a last look back and saw her leaning against the Lexus, her arms crossed over her chest.
Sam took a ragged breath. He felt exactly as he had the day he’d been out hiking along the cliffs overlooking the Hudson and the rock beneath his feet had sheared off. In a split second his life had flashed before his eyes and he’d been sure that he was about to tumble into the abyss. At the last moment he’d stumbled back and away from the edge.
It was the same sensation now, as if he’d managed to escape from some terrible danger.
Amelia Sheffield was too beautiful, too sophisticated, and exactly the kind of woman he found intriguing.
“Walk away, Sam,” he murmured. “Just walk away.”
* * *
“I’M GOING TO have to stay here until I’ve removed the roadblock,” Amelia said, leaning against the driver’s-side door of the SUV. “The minute I leave town, this guy is going to take that bed, I know it. And they say, possession is nine-tenths of the law.”
“This is not an important piece,” her boss, Vivian Brown, said. “Can you afford to be out of the office?”
“I can work from the road for a few days,” Amelia told her. “You won’t need me on-site until setup. I have everything here on my computer, so give me a chance. I don’t want to let this go.”
Vivian sighed. “I hired you because of your tenacity. I suppose that’s why I ought to let you see this through. You’re like a bulldog. You never give up.”
“Arf?” Amelia replied.
Vivian
