Ghost of a Promise (9 page)

She opened the door to the craft store. Her mother stood behind the counter helping a customer. Ava walked to the back of the store to check the display cases her mom had in stock for Sarah
’
s journal. One was plastic and didn
’
t lock. The other was a glass top with a wood base. Ava picked it up, examining it. The dimensions seemed deep enough to hold the papers. She
’
d need a stand to set it on if she wanted to display the journal.

“
I
’
m glad you stopped by. How are you, sugarpea?
”

She kissed her mother
’
s cheek.
“
Good. Will this keep moisture out when locked?
”

“
Oh sure. That
’
s the model the society uses for documents. I can order you a different size from the catalog if you need?
”

“
No, this is perfect. Can we add a gold engraving plate to the front?
”

Her mother took the box.
“
Sure. Come in the back.
”

Ava trailed her mom through the store to the back room. She checked out the available fonts on an index card and pointed to an Edwardian Script.
“
This one.
”

Pen ready, her mother asked,
“
And what do you want it to say?
”

Her mother
’
s craft store was the town center of gossip. By this time tomorrow, everyone would know their find, including the Hansens. She grinned, imagining the look on their pointed little faces.
“
Sarah Kerrick
’
s journal pages. Dated 1776-1777.
”

The pen fell from her mom
’
s hand. Her face paled.
“
Are you
…”
She cleared her throat.
“
Serious? Are you serious?
”

Oh hell. Guilt pooled in her stomach at her mother
’
s dismay and her mood plummeted.
“
Mom, this is a good thing. Honest, it is.
”
For good measure, she slipped an arm around her shoulders. She forced a smile for her mother
’
s benefit.

“
So, you
’
re keeping the mansion?
”
Her voice quivered.

She stood a good foot taller, so she rested her cheek on the top of her mom
’
s head.
“
Not yet, but soon. It
’
s looking good.
”

“
Good,
”
her mom mimicked, her voice hollow.

Squeezing once, Ava let go. She retrieved the pen and scribbled down what she wanted engraved and straightened. The color had returned to her mother
’
s cheeks, but her Irish green eyes were staring off into nothing. Ava swallowed the lump in her throat.

“
I want this house, Mom.
”

Her mother
’
s mouth thinned as her gaze slid to hers.
“
I don
’
t see why.
”

No kidding. Neither did anyone else. Again, emptiness settled in Ava
’
s chest. She was surrounded by people who knew her, who supposedly loved her, but not a one understood. Not a one supported her, even if they didn
’
t agree.

“
I have to go. I can pick this up tomorrow.
”

Before she could say anything she
’
d regret, or worse, cry, she kissed her mom
’
s cheek and walked out of the shop. Sucking in a deep breath, she walked two buildings down to the hardware store and asked Ed if he could make her a pedestal stand for the display case. Then she headed for the small grocery market and gathered ingredients to make chicken and dumplings. Her comfort food.

And since she got comfort nowhere else, she
’d get it from food tonight.

…

Jackson pocketed his cell just as Ava walked in the kitchen door, holding two large brown bags. She teetered, trying to balance the packages, and swing the door closed. He reached out and took both bags, setting them on the counter.

“
Thanks,
”
she mumbled, kicking the door shut.

“
Wait. What was that I heard? Did you just say something nice?
”

“
Not in the mood, Jackson.
”

She hung her coat on a peg by the door and when she turned, he took a step back. The absence of fire in her eyes was a shock. Moreover, the dejected, hollow void in her gray-blue eyes was unsettling. A daunting shade of storm cloud.

“
What
’
s wrong?
”

His gaze tracked her long swallow.

“
The attorney needs more evidence.
”
She walked over to the counter, where she began removing items from the shopping bags.

“
You were expecting that, correct?
”

She didn
’
t answer, just set each item down on the island with care.

Where was her fight? Her wicked temper?
“
Ava.
”

“
I
’
m fine. Where is everyone?
”
She folded the brown bags and set them aside.

He shoved his fists in his pockets because he wanted to touch her.
“
Out. They headed into York for dinner.
”

She stared at the items on the island as if just noticing them.
“
I was going to make dinner. I guess I still could. It
’
ll keep till tomorrow, I suppose. The crew could just reheat it for lunch.
”
A sheen of tears misted her eyes, pinching something in his chest.

Hell. Now she was talking to herself. And about to cry. He snapped, reaching for her. Then he remembered the stationary video camera and cursed. That was all he needed. He took her hand and pulled her over to the pantry where they
’
d be out of sight and off film.

She stared at him, eyes wet.
“
Why are you here? Why didn
’
t you go to dinner?
”

“
I didn
’
t know the security code and didn
’
t want to leave the house unattended.
”

“
Right.
”
She nodded.
“
Very nice of you.
”

She was back to nice. That wouldn
’
t do. Because he so very badly wanted to hold her, he leaned back and crossed his arms.
“
What
’
s going on? What
’
s got you so upset?
”

“
I told you, the attorney
—”

“
Bollocks. There
’
s something else.
”

She shook her head and closed her eyes, and when she opened them, her eyes were clear, but a strand of curly auburn hair had broken free of her clip. As unruly and unpredictable as the woman.

And to hell with it. He reached up and tucked the hair behind her ear before letting his hand drop to her shoulder.

“
Why are you being nice to me? We don
’
t like each other.
”
She made a move to walk by him, but he planted his hand on the pantry door to block her exit and took a step closer.

“
I like you just fine, luv. It
’
s you who has a problem with me.
”

“
The flirting again.
”

Another step closer, like a gravitational pull.
“
You haven
’
t seen flirting yet.
”

She stilled and he knew, just
knew,
without a doubt, the fiery temper was a mask to hide her desire. She felt it too. He could see it in her wide eyes. Evident by the parting of her lips, begging to be kissed. Because he wanted to kiss her more than he wanted to breathe, he dropped his hand.

“
You let me know when you
’
re ready for the real thing, luv.
”

She growled.

His dick jumped.

“
Arrogant jerk.
”

“
Standoffish brat.
”

Oh yes. The temper was fierce now. The heat radiated off her in cosmic waves. He
’
d bet everything he owned that they’d be amazing together in bed. She’d give as well as she got. No holds barred. With her height, she
’
d equal him. Full length of their bodies lined up perfectly, colliding to explosion. It dawned on him he
’
d never wanted a woman more than he wanted this one. He didn
’
t even know anything about her, not that it had stopped him before. But he wanted to know
her
.

She shoved at his chest, probably to back him up, but he grabbed her wrists and pinned them above her head against the pantry door.

“
This what you want, Ava?
”

Her face came toward his, stopping just before reaching his mouth. In a blink, he almost died with want. Could count every adorable sexy freckle on her nose.

Her breath fanned over his cheeks, mingled with his.
“
You wish.
”

He laughed. Couldn
’
t help himself. Just laughed. The rumbling drifted from his chest to hers.
“
Oh yes. I do wish. And so do you.
”
He dropped her wrists and stepped back with the restraint of a saint.
“
Again, luv, let me know when you
’
re ready.
”

He walked over to the island, unnerved, and sat on a stool, resisting the urge to adjust his painful erection.
“
What
’
s for dinner?
”

When she didn
’
t answer, he turned. She was still leaning against the pantry door, her hands pressed against the wood behind her. Now he knew how to shut her up. He pocketed the knowledge for a future date.

She straightened but didn
’
t look his way.
“
I don
’
t sleep with men I don
’
t know.
”

Funny, he didn
’
t sleep with women he did know.
“
Come over here and get to know me then. Ask me anything you want.
”
He snapped his mouth shut and rubbed his forehead, appalled by the words.

She walked over and slid a bottle of white wine in his direction.
“
Open. I need wine.
”

He preferred a good ale, but he complied as she began washing the chicken breasts in the sink. He poured the Chianti into two glasses she set out and took a sip while watching her.

With expert grace, she set the chicken in a skillet to grill and pulled out a pot, starting some kind of sauce that involved broth and herbs he couldn
’
t name, which she cut from pots on the deep windowsill.

“
What are we having?
”

“
Chicken and dumplings.
”

“
I
’
ve never had it. Sounds good.
”
Smelled good too.

She turned to face him, a deep wrinkle creased between her brows.
“
You
’
ve never had chicken and dumplings?
”
Her tone indicated just what she thought of that.

He took another sip of wine and shrugged.

Picking up her own glass, she did the same.
“
It
’
s my comfort food.
”

“
And you
’
re in need of comfort tonight?
”
He hadn
’
t meant that to come out as husky as it sounded.

She offered him her back as she chopped carrots and celery, then set them into the pot. She added the cubed chicken next and the room filled with the scent of her concoction. Something tingled in his chest, some feeling he couldn
’
t name.

“
Do you like sports?
”

She moved the pot to a cool burner.
“
No. Most are barbaric.
”

He loved soccer, something that he could appreciate in both countries. He told her so, and she shrugged. He offered to get to know her better, but she wasn
’
t meeting him halfway. No worries.
“
Wine or beer?
”

She stirred the pot.
“
What?
”

“
Preference. Wine or beer? I prefer beer.
”

“
Oh.
”
She turned the heat down on the sauce.
“
Depends. Usually wine, but I can pick up some beer tomorrow
—”

“
Not what I meant.
”
Though the sentiment was nice.

“
Oh,
”
she said again, this time quieter. In a bowl, she mixed dry ingredients with egg and water.

“
Favorite season?
”

“
Fall. Pumpkin pie is a weakness. I love the colors and the cool weather. Nice to open the windows and let air in.
”

“
Summer. Less clothes and it reminds me of the wildflowers at the cottage in Cornwall.
”

“
I always wanted to visit England.
”
Her tone was wistful, sad.

She rolled the dough into small balls and dropped them on top of the chicken and sauce mixture in the pot. He watched her long, elegant hands at work wishing she
’
d use them for something else. On his body.