Sealed With A Kiss

“Is that so?” He crossed his arms and waited, amazed at her new air of self-confidence. “And how does that meet the requirements of a ‘profitable enterprise that will serve the financial interests of Beardsly, Texas’?” He quoted from the will.

“A lot of consumers stay away from antiques either because they think they can’t afford them, or they don’t know anything about them.”

Tara’s eyes flashed a spark of excitement in the dark room. “If you know where and what to search for, Southern collectibles are quite valuable.”

He couldn’t resist squashing her idea like a bug. “Before you wear your arm out patting yourself on the back, you might want to consider selling something besides old furniture in an old town. Not exactly a commodity that’s in short supply.”

The slight droop in her shoulders said he’d driven home the supply-and-demand theory he’d taught hundreds of college freshmen.

“I hope the second floor works for whatever you sell. Just don’t get any ideas about keeping your inventory down here. I have a business plan of my own.”

“But I’m sure I’ll need this space, too,” she insisted.

“Now listen.” He fixed her with a narrow stare. “You just called this place a dungeon and said yourself the real potential is upstairs.” He had her there. “I’m willing to take the ground floor and approve of whatever you want to do with your half of the building, as long as you afford me the same courtesy. The old lady’s will says we have to cooperate. If you don’t plan to comply, right out of the gate, you might as well pack up and head back to New York.”

He admired the determined curve of her jaw, tensed as she clenched her teeth at his intentional rudeness.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Reckon I would.” He smiled. “I didn’t ask for this opportunity, but I’m going to make the most of it. Nobody’s ever given me anything in my life. I’ve worked hard for what I have. If you’re not willing to do the same, I’ll be happy to take your inheritance, princess.”

Even in the darkened building he could see Tara’s face begin to color. She closed her eyes and started that deep-breathing business again.

“So, what do you say?” He rushed her out of the moment of concentration. Her eyes flew wide in the middle of an openmouthed exhale. She resembled the flame hawkfish in his salt-water aquarium.

“For your information, I know quite a lot about hard work myself. Since I moved to New York, I haven’t accepted a dime from my grandmother.”

“Why start now and spoil your independence?” he challenged. “It’s not too late to get out of Smallsville and back to your real life in the big apple.”

“However twisted her logic may be, she had some purpose for what she’s done and I intend to respect her wishes.”

“Respect her money, you mean.” He stroked his chin, pretending to consider something. “Speaking of money, why don’t we sell both places, split the profits and be done with it.”

“I don’t plan to sell anything,” Tara insisted. “That house is the only home I’ve ever known and I couldn’t bear to part with it.”

His slow applause echoed in the empty space. “I see you haven’t lost your flair for melodrama. You almost had me feelin’ sorry for you.”

“I’m trying to tell you that whatever I figure out to do here I’ll do it with all my heart. I’ll put what money I have saved and all my time and energy into making it a success.”

“Good, then we don’t have a problem.” He moved away from her to walk the first floor’s perimeter, checking for any obvious plumbing or electrical-repair needs. He heard Tara’s hesitant footsteps as she climbed the wide stairs leading to the second story.

“Hold on a minute and I’ll get you some light.” He returned with a halogen flashlight that illuminated a wide arch on the wooden staircase. “Do you want me to go up with you?”

Her gaze followed the steps upward to another heavy security door. She held out her hand for the cluster of keys. “No, thanks. I’m fine on my own,” she insisted, swiping at a spiderweb dangling over her head.

“Oh, come on.” He stomped ahead of her. She followed without argument.

As she’d predicted, the rooms on the second floor were in fair shape. With paint, elbow grease and some luck, Tara could make a go at whatever she came up with.

Watching her pace off the dimensions of the rooms, he became conscious of the traitorous way his mind found her spicy scent tempting. She, however, seemed unaware of his presence, making notes on the small pad she pulled from her purse.

Engrossed in decorating ideas, she penciled on the walls indicating possible paint colors and several wallpaper styles. Light streamed in through the floor-to-ceiling windows on the west side of the building. Once those windows were cleaned, the old shutters replaced by modern wooden blinds, the place would be warm and inviting during the day.

At night, any lighted activity inside would beckon to citizens crossing the square. But what would attract college students? Hardly antiques. As much as she hated to agree, Sam was right.

There was a shuffling sound behind her. He’d been waiting quietly while she made her notes. She turned to find him still standing in the wide doorway, watching her.

“Thanks, but you don’t have to wait on me.”

“I can take a hint.” His hand on the knob, he turned away.

“No, wait. I wasn’t trying to run you off.” She groaned inwardly at the poor choice of words.

Sam chuckled without humor and shook his head at the irony. “We both know you don’t have to try at all when that’s what you have in mind.”

The past hung between them, as obvious as the dust motes that floated through the shaft of light from the dirty windows. The need to tell Sam what had happened all those years ago pounded like a migraine in Tara’s head. They’d never make peace until it was done and he understood this bizarre arrangement was Miriam’s way of putting things right.

She crossed the empty space separating them.

“Listen, Sam, we need to talk—”

He stopped her by holding up both hands, palms outward, his face unreadable.

“I don’t want to hear it. It’s been too many years and there’s nothing you can say now that will make a difference in my life. So don’t try to soothe your guilty conscience at my expense.” Sam pushed his way through the metal door and let it fall shut behind him with a loud clang.

She stared at the cold metal surface, suddenly understanding. He blames me. He thinks being forced out of Beardsly was all my doing.

With nine years of bitterness built up, she’d never convince him otherwise.

Tara leaned against the oak griffin dining-room table, her notes and figures spread across the polished surface. Her one faithful friend, Lacey, sat with a leg folded beneath her, raising her short torso enough to reach the bag of chips in the middle of the table.

“Sam thinks what happened was entirely my fault,” Tara blurted out.

Lacey’s curls tossed as her head popped up. “And you didn’t tell him the truth?”

Tara shook her head hard enough to rattle her senses.

“Listen,” Lacey placed her hand over Tara’s, “you owe Sam the truth, and then you two can begin to put all the hard feelings behind you. Maybe even start over. Together.” Her smile was full of hope.

“Even if he did believe it, he’d only transfer his anger from me to Grandmother. I won’t give him the ammunition to do or say anything to soil her reputation.”

“After the second chance she’s given him, he’ll forgive her anything, don’t you think?” Lacey insisted.

Forgive anything? Tara hadn’t mastered that herself.

No matter how distant, she would never forget the angry words that still resonated in her grandmother’s elegant dining room.

“How could you hurt him that way? How could you do this to me, Grandmother?”