A Wild Goose Chase Christmas: Quilts of Love Series (20 page)

They dried their eyes, blew their noses, and then looked at each other and began to laugh.

“What a sight we must be.” Janice looked down at the handkerchief as if she wasn’t sure how it had ended up in her hand. “Where did you get this?”

“From Max. He always has one handy.”

“Ah, Max.” Janice’s eyebrows rose in question. “The young museum director who’s so interested in your grandmother’s quilt.”

Izzy nodded. “Yes.”

“If you ask me, I think he’s interested in more than some musty old family artifacts.”

Izzy looked down at the tissue, twisting it between her fingers.

Janice chuckled. “I’ve seen how he looks at you. And how you look back. You can’t convince me there isn’t a spark between you.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Because that’s the way I used to look at your father.”

The room became several degrees warmer, and Izzy pulled her arms out of her hoodie. “That’s silly. We’ve only known each other a little over a month.”

“That’s all it took for your father and me. If I remember correctly, your grandparents were engaged after dating for only two months. How long do you need to know you love somebody?”

How long do you need? If the acrobatics inside Izzy’s stomach were any indication, not more than a month. The real question was, how long do you need to know if he loves you back?

22

O
ne more week. Izzy only had to get through one more week and then she could collapse over Christmas vacation.

The throbbing in her head continued as she trudged from the school building to her car, head down, determined to block out the noises of traffic, shouting teenagers, and thumping music.

“Izzy, wait!”

It was all she could do to hold back an audible groan. She did not have the energy to deal with Barry today.

He sprinted up and skidded to a stop beside her. After one look at her face, he hopped back two steps. “You don’t look so good.”

“I don’t feel so good.” She attempted a weak smile.

Tentatively, as if afraid whatever she had would jump out and bite him, Barry touched her forehead with the back of his wrist. A split second after making contact, he yanked his hand away. “You may have a low-grade fever. I told you not to skip your flu shot.”

She couldn’t have the flu. There was no room in her life for the flu. “I’m just tired. I’ve been pushing myself, not eating right. I need some fluids and a nap, and then I’ll be fine.”

“Those things certainly won’t hurt.” He took another step back. “Make sure to monitor your temperature.”

“I will. Thanks.” She unlocked the car door, then turned back to him. “Did you want to talk to me about something?”

“Oh, uh, no. Just wanted to say good-bye.”

With a smile and a wave, he headed back across the parking lot. Apparently, the possibility of a communicable disease made her much less attractive to him.

She settled herself in the driver’s seat, fastened her seat belt, and was just about to turn the key in the ignition when her phone rang. The phone displayed the number for the Pioneer Museum, and Izzy’s cheeks burned a degree hotter.

“Hello?”

“Izzy? Hi, this is Tara.”

She slumped in her seat. Again, not Max. “Hi, Tara. What can I do for you?”

“I hate to bother you, and I don’t mean to push, but … I was wondering if you were any closer to deciding what to do about the Wild Goose Chase quilt?”

“I’m still working that out with my family.”

“I see.” There was a pause before Tara continued. “It’s just that we need to finalize the exhibit before the gala—”

“I know.”

“—and it’s this Friday. We’re running out of time.”

“I know.” Izzy squeezed her forehead with her free hand, noting that she might very well be slightly feverish. “I understand how important this is. What I don’t understand is why Max isn’t asking me about it himself.”

Tara didn’t strike her as the kind of woman who would stammer, but that’s exactly what she started doing. “Max is just, um, he’s very busy right now. He’s spending so much time at the museum that he’s been sleeping in his office. So he, uh, he asked me to give him a hand.”

“Is that so?” Whether the pressure in her head was from the flu or from the idea that Max saw her as a problem to be handed over, Izzy didn’t know. But she was in no mood to put up with it. “You can tell your boss that if he wants that quilt, he’s going to have to ask me for it himself—in person.”

“OK. But—”

“Have a nice day, Tara. Good-bye.”

Izzy dropped the phone into her purse. There, she’d put her foot down, made her feelings known. And now Tara would tell Max. And Max would have to decide just how important the quilt—and Izzy—were to him.

Izzy leaned back against the headrest and groaned. What had she done?

When Izzy walked into her home and found Brandon and her mother waiting to talk to her, she knew the subject matter couldn’t be good.

“Can this wait?” She kicked her shoes off by the door and trudged into the room. “I feel lousy.”

Brandon slid over, making room for her on the loveseat. “Then you’d better sit down. Because this won’t make you feel any better.”

She dropped next to her brother, exhaling a big whoosh of air and slumping back against the cushions. “What now?”

Janice shifted on the couch. “Brandon found something today while he was doing whatever it is he does on the Internet.”

“It’s work related, Mom.”

“That doesn’t matter now.” She waved a hand at him. “Izzy, just remember that we don’t really know what this means. But it does look … suspicious.”

Izzy blinked her eyes, trying to clear her head. “What
what
means?”

Brandon angled himself toward her. “You know I’ve been skeptical all along about the quilt and how much money it’s really worth.”

This again. “Brandon, I—”

“Just hear me out. I’ve never really trusted Logan, so I set up Google alerts for his name, the quilt, and the museum. And today I got a hit.”

Her head felt heavy. None of what he was saying made any sense. “What does that mean?”

Brandon picked up several pieces of printed paper from the coffee table. “It means I found a press release about the new exhibit at the California Pioneer Museum—the exhibit that features a rare Wild Goose Chase quilt and old diaries, which were recently
acquired
by the director.”

Acquired? Izzy sat forward and reached for the printouts. Before he let her have them, Brandon shuffled through the pages and put one on top.

“Look at this. It’s an article about the exhibit. Read the quotation from this Dalton Reed fellow.”

Izzy skimmed the paragraphs until she fell on the spot Brandon had pointed out.

Mr. Logan’s doing some impressive things at the California Pioneer Museum. His recent acquisition of this heirloom quilt and the supporting diaries is quite a coup. If the exhibit’s as fabulous as I expect, it will be a major stepping-stone in his career.

Until that moment, Izzy hadn’t known a person could be hot and cold at the same time. Beneath her fevered skin, her blood chilled. Had everything between her and Max been a sham? Just a way to get close to her so he could charm what he wanted out of her? If so, he was making progress. He already
had possession of two of the three diaries. All he needed was the quilt, and hadn’t she planned to loan it to him all along?

“Izzy.” Her mother’s voice cut through her fog of thought. “Don’t jump to conclusions. This doesn’t mean anything.”

Brandon scowled, jabbing at the article. “Of course it means something. It means that quilt is worth an awful lot more than Logan has been letting on. And he’s using you to get it.”

From his place on the couch, Bogie’s head shot up, ears perked. A second later, the doorbell rang. Izzy pushed herself up from the couch and went to the door.

Max stood on the porch, smiling. Izzy’s heart jumped, and then her temper flared. How dare he look so happy to see her? How dare her emotions react to him so, her lips automatically curving up into a smile?

It took all the strength she had to display what she hoped was a grim expression. “I see Tara gave you my message.”

“She did. And it made me realize that not calling you has been a big mistake. Can I come in?”

“No.” She shot the syllable at him.

His eyebrows drew down, as did the corners of his mouth. “Izzy, I came to apologize. And to explain.”

“Oh, really? Did you come to explain this?” She thrust the paper at him, almost hitting him in the face with it.

As he squinted to make out the text under the pale glow of the porch light, Max’s face changed from confusion to surprise to irritation.

“This is wrong,” he said. “I never authorized this press release.”

Izzy snorted. “I guess you never talked to Dalton Reed, either.” More than anything, she wanted him to confirm that he hadn’t. Then maybe she could believe this was all one big misunderstanding.

Max opened his mouth to speak, then snapped it shut. He paused, looked down at his shoes, then back at Izzy. “Yes, I did speak to Dalton, but it’s not what you think.”

Her stomach rolled. She couldn’t stand there another second. “You want to know what I think? I think you’ve been playing me this whole time. I think you really do have ambitions of getting to the Smithsonian and you’ll do anything you need to do to get there.”

“Listen to yourself, Izzy. What you’re saying makes no sense.” He looked past her, into the room, and pointed at Brandon. “Did you do this? Did you make up this wild story?”

Brandon raised his hands in innocence. “All I did was gather the information. I didn’t make up that article or that press release. That’s all on you, friend.”

Max took a step forward, but Izzy stopped him with a palm to the chest. “Don’t, Max. I’m sick with the flu or something. I’m in no shape to put up with this. We’re done. You’re just going to have to further your career without me or my grandmother’s quilt.”

“But Izzy—”

“Good-bye, Max.”

As she shut the door, she caught a glimpse of a man who looked like he’d just lost his best friend. She knew exactly how he felt.

Because she felt the same way.

She turned to her family. Brandon looked pleased with himself, but her mother looked concerned. Before either of them could say anything, she shut them down with a wave of her hand. “I don’t want to talk about it. I’m going to bed. Mom, if you need anything, you know how to reach me.”

Once in her room, behind the closed door, Izzy collapsed on the bed. Head pounding, face burning, stomach churning,
she let the tears come, soaking one side of her pillow. After a good amount of crying and mental arguments with herself, she fell asleep.

Three hours later, her eyes popped open. The front door had thumped shut, and now a car engine rumbled outside. Must be Brandon leaving. She looked at the alarm clock on her bedside table. Nine o’clock. Hopefully, he’d helped Mom into her room before he left. Judging by the silence, she guessed he had.

Izzy rolled over and covered her eyes with her arm. Had she been too hasty? Had she judged Max without knowing all the facts? If it weren’t for that quilt, she wouldn’t be in this mess. Of course, if it weren’t for the quilt and the diaries and Gran’s contrived game of hide and seek, she never would have met Max.

She got out of bed, then immediately sat back down. Too quick. As soon as her head stopped swimming, she tried it again, but more slowly this time. Once she was steady, she went to her dresser drawer, removed the key she’d hidden way in the back under a pair of hardly used thermal underwear, and unlocked the closet door.

The box was so clunky and heavy that she almost dropped it as she wrestled it from the top shelf. But she managed to get the Wild Goose Chase quilt safely to her bed. She removed the lid and looked down at the family heirloom. So much trouble over such a simple item. A quilt. Something meant to give warmth and comfort. A symbol of family. There had been plenty of sacrifices and hardships on the parts of the women who made it, but also so much love.

Izzy couldn’t feel any of those things now when she looked at it.

If Gran was right, that an item was only worth the feelings and emotions it called to mind, then this quilt had a
negative value. There was only one way to restore positive meaning to the Wild Goose Chase and hopefully bring peace to her family.

And if she hurried, she might have just enough time to do it.

23

H
e’d ruined everything.

Max leaned over his desk, elbows on the polished wood, forehead braced against his hands. One phone call to Tara had confirmed the press release was a mistake. She thought he’d sent her the file so she could get the word out about the exhibit. It was perfectly understandable. As for Dalton Reed’s comment, Max could only assume the man was putting on some pressure, making his wishes known in order to make it difficult for Max to say no if a job offer came his way.

He wanted to blame Tara and Dalton for the mess he was in, but he couldn’t. It was his own fault. He shouldn’t have avoided Izzy over the last week. He should have told her exactly what he was feeling and found a way to keep their relationship separate from the issue of the quilt and the museum. Now, not only had he lost any hope of getting the quilt, he’d also lost something far more precious: the possibility of a future with Izzy.