Stacey Joy Netzel Boxed Set (21 page)

“I’m told it’s my color.”

“Oh, definitely.” Clara nodded, humor
sparkling in her light blue eyes. “It brings out a glow in your
cheeks.”

Jake laughed, thinking how much alike mother
and daughter seemed, and not only in their delicate bone structure
and brunette curls. While Loral retrieved cream and sugar, he
leaned back in his chair and surveyed the compact living room to
his right to avoid staring at her in front of her mother.

Christmas practically overflowed the room;
not only on the Charlie Brown tree that commanded attention in the
corner, but with the lights and garland adorning windows and
doorways, too. He’d noticed the decorations earlier, but now had a
chance to really take them in.

“Wow, you two go all out, don’t you?” Jake
commented with a grin.

“That’s all Loral’s doings,” her mother
said.

He heard the delight the older woman’s voice
and was pretty sure he understood the excess. Loral’s smile toward
her mother confirmed his suspicion.

Another quick search of the doorways noted
the absence of the one decoration he most hoped to find. Then
again, lack of mistletoe was actually a good thing, right? It
backed up her claim of no boyfriend and he was fine with that.

Loral slid the cream and sugar toward him as
she sat kitty-corner. He stirred in a spoonful of sugar before
taking a fortifying sip from his steaming mug.

“Loral tells me you own an antique shop
downtown?” Clara asked, open curiosity and an unexpected hint of
skepticism in her tone.

Jake set his cup down after a longer drink.
“Yes. It’s called
Yore Timeless Treasures
.”

“Forgive my preconceived notions,” Clara
said with a slight smile, “but you’re so…”

“Yes?” he prompted.

“Well…young.”

“I’m thirty-one.”

She waved a hand. “Just a baby.”

Loral snorted with a laugh. “Oh, please,
Mom.”

“What?” Clara asked innocently.

“You remind me all the time that I’m not
getting any younger. Total double standard.”

Hm, interesting
. Jake leaned forward,
folding his arms on the table as he stage-whispered, “Just how old
are you?”

She gave him a mock glare. “You can’t ask
that.”

“Thirty-two,” Clara supplied. “And Loral,
honey, I don’t want grandchildren from
him
.”

Jake smiled at that until he saw a flash of
pain in Loral’s eyes.
What’s that about?
He glanced at Clara
to find her grinning at him. Her gaze swept down and up again.

“Then again, maybe—”

“Mom, stop.”

The choked emotion in Loral’s command made
Clara’s mischievous grin fade fast. Tension filled the air, along
with something more he didn’t understand. In the silence that
followed, mother and daughter stared at one another. Feeling like
an intruder, Jake rubbed his thumb up and down the side of his
coffee mug.

Finally, Clara sipped from her tea cup
before setting it back on it’s saucer and turning a determined gaze
his way. “So, Jake, how did you come to be in the antique
business?”

The split-second relief that’d flowed with
the break in silence now dropped like a rock in his stomach. Yet he
wouldn’t have lied for anything.

“My mother started the shop when my brother
and I were little. I spent a lot of time with her there, so I grew
up in the business. I can’t imagine doing anything else.”

“It’s a family affair then. Do you all run
it together?”

“No. My brother wanted nothing to do with
antiques and opened his own accounting firm. and my mother...” Jake
took a deep breath and forced the next words out. “My mother passed
away last summer.”

“Oh, dear, I’m sorry,” Clara said.

Loral reached across the table and laid her
hand on his arm in silent comfort. The skin to skin contact sent an
electric tingle up his arm. Surprise made him flinch and
unfortunately, she withdrew her hand. Cool air rushed in, chasing
away her lingering warmth.

A moment later, she straightened in her
chair, fingers wrapped around her mug. “Jake liked the jewelry. He
bought it all.”

The sudden change of subject and Loral’s
extra cheerful tone took a few seconds to process, but Jake was
eternally grateful.

Clara gave him a hesitant smile. “That’s
good to hear.”

“I’m glad to have them—they’re great pieces.
Loral said they were your grandmother’s?”

“Yes.” Clara sighed, a faraway look in her
eyes. “Oh, the story behind that jewelry.”

Infinitely curious, about the dragonfly in
particular, he waited with anticipation for her to tell said story.
Instead, she pushed up from the table.

“It’s been such a long day. Forgive me, but
I must put my tired body to bed. I’ll see you two in the morning.
Very nice to meet you, Jake.”

Catching sight of Loral’s concerned gaze, he
bit back a protest and murmured goodnight. Loral rose to her feet
and followed her mother into the hall. He couldn’t make out their
hushed exchange, but after a last lingering look at her mother’s
retreating back, she returned.

Jake wanted to ask if everything was okay,
but didn’t want to pry. Loral crossed the floor to lift the coffee
pot from the warmer. “More coffee?”

Not wanting to give her an excuse to
disappear as well, he pushed his mug across the polished, nicked
tabletop. “Sure. Thank you.”

While she poured, he cast a more discrete
look around the small, spotless kitchen and adjoining living room.
Their strained financial situation was more than evident in the
sparse apartment, but what they did have underneath the Christmas
decorations was as warm and welcoming as the soft yellow paint that
coated the walls.

A light tan slip-cover on the small couch
was accented with navy blue throw pillows. If the sewing machine in
the corner opposite the Christmas tree were any indication, either
Loral or her mother had made the pillows themselves. A matching
navy rug on the floor covered what had probably been a beautiful
hardwood floor many years ago until some fool had painted it
brown.

Their little TV sat on a stand against the
wall opposite the couch, but it was the three rows of framed
pictures above it that caught his attention. He rose to his feet to
go take a better look and Loral met him there with his mug. While
his attention focused on the color one of Loral at about age five,
dark curls framing her cute face with those amazing aqua eyes, she
pointed to the bottom row.

“Those are my great-grandparents, Marcus and
Patricia Widener.”

Taking a sip of coffee, sweetened just the
way he liked, he leaned closer for a better look. The middle black
and white photo was of a well-dressed couple standing on a dock
with a large ship in the background. They both smiled for the
camera, and Jake noticed they held hands. Marcus was formally
elegant in a top hat and tails, while Patricia’s look was more
classically beautiful in a tight-waisted traveling dress common in
the early 1900’s. A shawl was fastened about her slim, regal
shoulders, held in place by some sort of jeweled pin.

Jake started to shift his attention, but
something about that ship snagged his attention. He stared at the
smoke stacks, searching his memory for why it looked familiar.
Recognition dawned and his eyes widened in amazement.

“Is that the Titanic?”

“Yes.”

“You had relatives on the Titanic?”

“I did.”

“That’s cool.”

Fingers wrapped around her mug, she shrugged
one shoulder. “Depends how you look at it.”

Jake gave her a questioning sideways
glance.

“Out of two thousand, two hundred and
twenty-four people on board, my great-grandmother was one of the
seven hundred and five survivors.”

He angled so he could see her face better.
“And your great-grandfather?”

Sadness swept across her expression as she
shook her head. “Women and children were boarded first on the
lifeboats.”

“How’d she manage to save the photo?”

“A friend of theirs sent it over from
England after the ship sank. Patricia was devastated and desperate
for any memory of Marcus—especially when she found out soon after
she was pregnant with my grandmother.”

“Wow.” He skimmed the other photographs, but
quickly returned his focus to the one featuring the ill-fated ship.
“So, that jewelry you sold me tonight...you’re telling me it has
ties to the RMS Titanic?”

“I guess...if you want to look at it that
way.” She took a sip of her coffee before turning to head over to
the couch. “Although, I don’t think it matters since they’re
fakes.”

Jake followed her across the room and took a
seat to her left, propping his forearm along the back of the couch.
She didn’t understand what the historic connection could mean, he
realized.

“You said she had the replicas made during
the Depression. Do you know where the original pieces went? Any
records of sale?” he asked.

“No, why?”

“I just think it’d be interesting to see
where they are now. Maybe find out if there was more to the
story.”

She smiled. “I already know the whole story.
My grandmother kept a diary that passed on to my mom when she
died.”

“Yeah? And...?”

A slight head tilt accompanied her next
question. “You really want to know or are you just being nice?”

Besides being honestly curious, he wanted to
keep her talking. “Hello? History major. Antique dealer.
Talk
.”

Her laugh was as warming as the mug balanced
on his thigh.

“The story my grandma used to tell me is
exactly what you’d expect to see in a movie. Patricia and Marcus
met at a ball and fell in love despite the fact that her family
forbade any contact between them. See, she was a blue-blood, born
of old money that only married into old money, while Marcus was an
untitled American who’d made his fortune in the States. Patricia’s
parents didn’t consider him worthy to kiss her hand, let alone
marry her.”

“Let me guess—they eloped.”

Loral grinned. “Yes. When Patricia’s parents
found out, they disowned her. Coming to America was their new
beginning, and what better way to start than aboard the unsinkable
Titanic?”

“Ouch,” Jake murmured.

“Yeah,” she agreed. She stared down into her
coffee as if lost in thought, then sighed and lifted her gaze.
“Anyway, after the ship sank, instead of returning to England,
Patricia stayed here. Grandma said she never got on another boat
again.”

“Understandable.”

“She never remarried, either, choosing
instead to raise my grandmother, Nicole, as a single mother. At
first she had the money left after Marcus died, and a large house
he’d had built before his trip to Europe. But then, she lost
everything in the stock market crash of 1929 and to survive the
Great Depression in the 1930’s, she turned her home into a boarding
house. She named it Dragonfly Dreams, but unfortunately, the income
wasn’t enough, and that’s when she had to sell the jewelry Marcus
gave her. So she could keep the house.”

“She sounds like one tough lady. That must
have been very difficult.”

“I can’t even begin to imagine what she went
through,” Loral said quietly. “Losing her husband, then having to
sell the only thing she had left from him besides their daughter.
That’s why she had the copies made, to have something to hang on to
and pass on to my grandmother.”

Jake found his gaze straying back toward the
photo. “Makes sense about the copies, but I gotta say, it still
seems strange the dragonfly wasn’t signed.”

Loral leaned back, resting her head against
the back of the couch with what Jake could only call a dreamy sigh.
Then she lolled her head toward him.

“The dragonfly is my favorite part of the
story, though maybe the saddest. Marcus had Native American
friends, and apparently, some tribes believe dragonflies are a
symbol of renewal after a time of great hardship.”

He nodded. “I’ve heard of that before.”

“With that in mind, Marcus designed the
brooch himself and gave it to Patricia the day they set sail to
mark their new beginning. My theory about the lack of signature is
she didn’t want the copy signed because she didn’t want someone
else laying claim to something Marcus created for her.”

“That would be one explanation.”

The romantic explanation. But
Jake’s
line of reasoning sparked a thrill of excitement. He’d sensed
something about the dragonfly the moment he laid eyes on it, and
after hearing the whole story, he wondered if that particular piece
had ever been replicated.

Could it in fact be real?

“Dragonfly Dreams,” Loral murmured. “I just
love that name.”

“It’s lyrical,” he agreed, still considering
his theory.

“When I open my landscape design firm,
that’s exactly what I’m going to call it.”

That caught his attention. “When? This is in
the planning stages now?”

“Not quite, but someday.” She was quiet a
moment. Then her lips curved in a smile. “I can imagine dragonflies
flitting about the colorful gardens I create. Dancing with the
butterflies.”

Jake closed his eyes to see the picture her
words created. “Mmm. Sunlight is shining on their wings.”

He drew in a deep contented breath and
opened his eyes again. The lights of the Christmas tree cast a soft
glow on her cheeks. The decorations and lighting created an
intimate atmosphere, adding to the enjoyment of just sitting there
with her, talking. The undercurrent of attraction still hummed
through his veins, but it was a pleasant feeling that didn’t
detract from the simple contentment of listening to her voice.

Unfortunately, his intention of lengthening
their conversation was shot down when she lifted her hand to cover
a yawn.

“It’s getting late,” he said reluctantly. “I
should let you get to bed.”