“IRENE DIDN’T HAVE an affair with your granddad.” Stifling a belch, Roy excused himself and fed out lengths of rope down the slope to the highway more judiciously than he fed Shane information.
“So, you knew Irene?” Shane was like a dog with a bone about this Irene thing. He paced on the road beneath them.
Sophie sat in an old ladder-back chair on the porch of the trading post, occasionally playing referee to the two men while Roy built his pulley system. She waved to the boys when they went into the Bent Nickel for lunch, her gaze lingering on Zeke. He took his responsibility seriously, but he also cared for her boys. The proof was there in the way he tilted his head when they spoke, and the way he knew what they were up to almost before they knew it themselves.
“Sophie, do you hear this?” Shane was saying.
“Yes. Of course.” With effort, Sophie returned her attention to Roy and Shane, but not completely. She wasn’t as concerned with her grandfather’s love life as she was with learning more about what he valued in these boxes. Should she keep the bell? Or the collection of silver souvenir spoons?
You sold what? Grandpa Harlan had been livid when she’d taken the initiative and sold a painting in his collection.
Her stomach lurched. She’d managed his collection. She had every right to sell, but she’d felt guilty after witnessing his reaction. And still did. What if she sold something he’d loved?
But if he loved any of this stuff that much—as much as the painting she’d divested—why had he left it here?
“Yes, I knew Irene.” Roy threaded the rope through block and tackle, breaking into Sophie’s doubts. He’d rigged a system from the trading post’s porch to a tree below and attached a large sled to the other end of the rope. At the bottom of the hill was Gabby’s old red wagon, which Roy recommended they use to haul boxes across the road to the inn.
Sophie had given up understanding what ends of the rope went where and for what purpose long ago. She turned her face to the sun, which was making a rare appearance.
“Irene was older than I was.” Roy gave away tiny details as if they were crumbs big enough to satisfy curious mice. “But in Second Chance, everybody knows everybody.”
“I didn’t know Irene,” Shane grumbled. “But now I know she went to Thailand with my grandfather.”
Roy scowled, but didn’t look up from the knot he was tying. “Sophie, do you have anything unbreakable for a test run?”
“No.” The most likely item she thought of first was the black velvet painting she’d taken to the inn last night. The rest of the black velvet paintings were unboxed, meaning unprotected.
“Well, then, find me something almost unbreakable to strap onto that sled so we can give it a shot.”
Sophie went inside the trading post and opened the nearest box. It contained the old ice skates. They qualified as not easily breakable. She folded the flaps, carried the box outside and set it on the sled. Roy had provided bungee cords. She used them to strap it to the sled.
Roy adjusted the box before pointing at Shane. “Don’t move.”
“Why?” Sophie’s brother was in a snit, not that she blamed him.
“Because if this box breaks free, I want someone in its path to stop it.” For the first time since they’d arrived at the trading post, Roy met Shane’s gaze squarely. “Now if you’re the kind of man who thinks that’s a true statement, you deserve what you get.” He blew out a frustrated breath. “Reality is, I want someone below in case the sled breaks free. Someone who can flag down a vehicle before there’s a collision.”
Shane frowned at Roy. And then he frowned at Sophie. “I’m only doing this because you need it done.”
“I appreciate you, brother dear,” Sophie said with faux brightness, before whispering to Roy, “Are you sure this is going to work?”
“I said I had an idea,” Roy hedged. “I didn’t say for sure it’d work.” Roy tugged on the rope, making sure it held. “Let’s give this a try.”
Hand over hand, Roy lowered the sled to the bottom of the slope. Shane transferred the box to the wagon. Mitch had crossed the highway and wheeled the wagon to the inn, where he handed the box to Gabby. Gabby carried it to the front door, which Laurel opened. Gabby disappeared inside. Laurel waved to Sophie, and then shut the door.
Roy applauded. “I’d say it works.”
Over an hour later, they had most of the room shuttled across the road and some of the unsalvageable furniture—a few tables and poorly made bookshelves—moved outside. Roy planned to load them into his truck and take them the sixty miles to the nearest dump.
Sophie wanted to celebrate. While Roy disassembled the pulley, she and Shane inspected the nearly empty trading post. The six-inch-wide planked floors looked solid. The fluorescent lighting worked, even if it was hideous. There was a fireplace and it was ready for fuel.
“It’s still dark in here.” Especially in the corner farthest from the door and opposite the hallway that led to the small half bath and kitchen at the rear of the cabin.
“You can put a window on this front wall.” Shane pounded the round log with a fist.
Sophie imagined it sounded as solid as the day it’d been built.
“I can order you a window,” Roy offered, coming inside with a coil of rope looped over his shoulder like a mountain climber. “Might take a week to get here. But I can install it, too.”
The town handyman was proving to be very handy.
That didn’t mean Shane was cutting him any slack. “And what would you charge Sophie for that?”
Roy frowned. “I’m paid to keep up these cabins. I even have a budget for minor repairs. I can get you a window.”
Shane wanted to argue, but Sophie thanked Roy before her brother could dig at the old man some more. Their grandfather had made sure the town he’d bought would be cared for. It wasn’t Roy’s fault Grandpa Harlan had secrets.
There were just a few larger pieces left in the space, the most unusual of which was the front end of a car. Someone had taken a saw or blow torch and cut the front off two feet from the bumper.
Shane kept returning to it, unable to keep from touching the gracefully sloping metal. “This is from a Ford Edsel.”
“Did Grandpa Harlan ever own one of those?”
“Intact, you mean?” Shane shrugged.
The wide grille looked like a face. An olive green and rusted-chrome face. “Wasn’t the Edsel a big failure?”
Her brother nodded. “I think you should mount this on the wall outside, as if a car was crashing through the wall to get out.”
“Uh…” The art enthusiast inside Sophie recoiled. “That’s kind of…”
“Quirky? Unique?” He ran a hand over the bumper, smiling.
“Tacky.” Although looking around the cabin… Well, the trading post wasn’t exactly Bergdorf’s.
Shane ignored her assessment, having a love affair with the newfound Detroit metal and chrome. “Alexander and Andrew would love it. Think of all the other kids who’d drive by and ask their parents to stop. Including the kids at heart with wallets and credit cards.”
Shane was right. “It’s just… It’s not very classy.”
“Soph.” Shane led her toward the doorway and the light, peering at her face. “You’re not going to run an art gallery here. You know that, right?”
“I know. I know.” But a part of her clung to the culture and sophistication of the art world, a world she’d studied for six years. A world she’d worked in for nearly nine years. “This will be good for the town. It’ll add value to the property and help other businesses. I get it.”
What she didn’t get—what she refused to tell her twin—was how important running the trading post the way her grandfather would’ve wanted her to was.
Unaware of her indecision, Shane turned her to look at what she had to work with. “Do you remember how you couldn’t take the boys to work in Philadelphia because they might break something worth hundreds of thousands of dollars?” Shane grinned. He dragged her over to a pedal car fashioned as a fire truck. “They can’t do much to devalue this old thing.”
He was right. The fire truck had no wheels. No pedals. And had more dings and dents than a demolition derby entrant.
Shane hugged her. “This is a different life. Kudos to you for wanting to try it.” He released her, holding her at arm’s length. “But don’t forget, you can quit at any time.”
“Really?” It was tempting.
He nodded. “I miss Las Vegas. I miss Starbucks and five-star dining. I miss my sports car. I miss days so hot the pavement steams.”
“I miss my condo,” Sophie admitted. “I miss parks with fences where the boys can run around safely. I miss shopping and traveling first-class. I miss my nanny.”
He gently nudged her shoulder with his fist. “You have a new nanny.”
Sophie shrugged. She was still finding it hard to reconcile that the big, attractive cowboy was her nanny. “My old nanny cooked dinner.” And spoke French.
They both stared across the road at the Bent Nickel, probably thinking the same thing—microwaved trays of food weren’t the same as a homemade meal.
Shane sighed. “But the fact remains we agreed to help this town get back on track.”
Sophie heaved a sigh bigger than her twin’s. “There’s more to life than five-star dining.” And she couldn’t leave without knowing she’d honored her grandfather’s memory. If she didn’t find a new home for all his stuff, Shane would rent a dumpster.
“There’s more to life than uncovering Grandpa Harlan’s secrets,” Shane huffed. “How could a man who we know was married four times actually have been married a fifth time?”
And they were back to Irene.
“I’m sure that wasn’t why he left us Second Chance or why everyone in town sold their property to him.” Sophie checked her phone. She had a few more hours left of nanny time, but she was grimy and cold, and there were boxes to be gone through in the comfort of the inn. “Shane, you’ve talked to everyone in town about Grandpa Harlan, so I guess we’ll have to be patient and wait for the new year.”
“Patience isn’t my strong suit.” Shane headed for the door and she followed, locking it behind her. “We have a short window of opportunity to defend this small town before the rest of the family votes to sell. And all I have to work with is a bunch of hundred-year-old cabins and a tall tale of a stagecoach robber.” He walked down the short slope dotted with melting snow to the highway. “Although…I’ve just remembered the Clarks over at the Bucking Bull didn’t sell to Grandpa Harlan.” He grinned. “I’ve never talked to them. And they’re related to Old Jeb the blacksmith. Their relatives must have been in town as long as our descendants, the Lee family.”
“They might know something that will help.”
“They might.” Shane sounded more hopeful than he had in a long time.
They reached the highway and crossed, heading for the inn, which always had a nice warm fire in the fireplace.
“You think the Clarks will welcome you with open arms?” Shane was too nosy for the likes of some.
“I have an ace in the hole.” Shane walked swiftly. “That cowboy nanny of yours has a horse. I think he needs to pay Hi-Ho Silver a visit. We’ll take the twins.”
“You might want to ask me permission,” Sophie grumbled.
“Can I borrow your children, sister dear?” Shane indicated she should go up the porch stairs first.
Of course she was going to let him. “Can you make sure they come back with all their fingers and toes?”
“No worries. I’m taking your cowboy nanny to make sure they stay safe.”
When they got inside, the boys were still at the diner with Zeke. Shane approached Mitch for an update of Second Chance history, asking him what he knew about Old Jeb and Merciless Mike Moody. Sophie took a quick shower and changed clothes, returning downstairs as Andrew and Alexander came through the door with Zeke. Shane and Mitch were nowhere to be seen.
“Mom!” they cried, chasing away the worry that Zeke was replacing her as their favorite adult. They ran to give her hugs.
“I caught a fish!” Andrew held out his hands as if measuring a big fish.
“And I caught Zeke!” Alexander pointed to his nanny.
Zeke walked past Sophie, his pace slower now than it had been this morning. His red bootie was missing and there was a bandage on his big toe. He sat down on the couch and eased into the cushions until his head rested on the back. “I’m due a ten-minute break.”
“You caught a fish and Zeke?” Sophie gathered the twins close. “What happened?”
The boys were quick to fill her in. When they were done with the telling, they ran upstairs to go to the potty and retrieve books for Zeke to read, perhaps forgetting one of their favorites was already on the coffee table.
“I’m so sorry you got hooked.” Sophie tried to keep a straight face the way any good employer would. “Can I get you anything? Pain reliever? Ice pack?” Legal counsel.
Zeke was going to sue her, for sure.
“I’ve been trampled on by horses and cattle.” Zeke had his head tilted back and his eyes closed. “I’ll survive being hooked by a four-year-old.”
“Still, I feel guilty.” There was the bandage and Andy was adamant there’d been lots of blood.
“Why? I’m their nanny and fishing was my idea.” Zeke opened his eyes and patted the empty couch cushion to his left. “Sit. You look like you worked too hard this morning.”
Sophie bristled in her sparkly princess sweater. “I can work a full day.”
“I’m sure you can,” he said, eyes closing once more. “But with sons like yours, you need to conserve your strength. Sit. I won’t bite.”
She sat next to him. After a moment, she settled back more comfortably against the cushions and sighed wearily.
“I take it Roy’s idea worked?”
“Yes. We put everything in the room there.” She listened to the murmur of her children’s voices as they drifted to her from upstairs.
Zeke gestured toward the extra room she was renting. “Those boxes are stacked taller than you are.”
She sighed again. “I really should get started cataloging things.” But she didn’t move. Her body felt heavy and the cushions were so soft.
“Rest.” Zeke patted her knee as if he’d done it a hundred times before.
Sophie fought the flutters.
He withdrew his hand. “For five minutes, just rest. I’ve got the boys taken care of.”
He didn’t have them taken care of. They were taking care of themselves upstairs, most likely building a fort on their bed using all the pillows and sneaking her tablet to watch one of the Disney movies they were so fond of. She closed her eyes, but listened with half an ear, just in case they got out of hand.
She woke up to her two angels climbing into her lap. They snuggled close. Alexander pressed his worn copy of Mama Duck, Papa Duck into her hands. But neither one of them was in the mood for a story. They melted against her and dozed.
She soaked up their love like a sponge, drawing her arms around them and breathing in the scent of boy.
There was a sound to her right.
Zeke had several boxes open and lined up along the wall. “I thought I’d help you start sorting.”
“How long was I out?” she asked softly.
“About forty-five minutes. I think the boys fell asleep, too. They came down with eyes barely open, as if they’d realized they’d fallen asleep without you.”
“Or they remembered their uncle’s talk of ghosts.” Sophie rested her head against the cushions and stared at the planked ceiling, briefly explaining the bear trap fiasco. Now that she was waking up, she wanted to be sorting. But she knew better than to wake the boys. She didn’t move. Well, her eyes followed Zeke. Tall, broad-shouldered Zeke, who was lifting boxes and lowering them along the wall.
He turned and caught her gawking.
She didn’t look away. “I’m so tired, I’m staring at you like a zombie would.” There was a half-truth. She was exhausted, but she was staring at Zeke because he was her kind of attractive—inside and out.
“Don’t get up.” He didn’t call her out on the classification of her stare. “I’ll tell you what’s in each box.” Zeke brought one over to the coffee table. “This looks like an antique coffee grinder.” He lifted the red cast-iron piece from the box.
“I’m impressed you know what that is.”
“I cheated.” He gave her a half smile without quite looking her in the eye. “It smells like coffee and there are coffee grounds on the bottom of the box.”
He was cute when he was trying to be humble.
Zeke removed that box and returned with another. “These are baby cups, right?” He lifted several small silver mugs. “They have names and birth dates. Scrap metal?”
She shook her head. “I went to a baby shower last fall where they used old baby cups like that to serve punch.”
“They used someone else’s baby cups?”
He looked so baffled, she laughed. “I’ve also seen them garnished with velvet bows and used as Christmas tree decorations, too.” They’d be the perfect item for the online version of her store. Easily shippable.
Zeke washed a hand over his face. “City folk amaze me.”
“Do any of those baby cups say Monroe or Lee or Clark?”
Zeke dug through the box. “No. Does it matter?”
“I don’t suppose it does. I just keep hoping I’ll find a box that is a clue as to why we were left this town or why Grandpa Harlan collected the things he did.”
“Who knows why anyone collects anything,” Zeke said sagely. “My grandmother had a fondness for old chamber pots. She planted geraniums in them.”
“I managed my grandfather’s fine art collection and I…I used to think I knew what he liked and what was best for the collection.” Her voice soured as she admitted, “And then at my father’s urging I sold a piece Grandpa Harlan loved.” He wouldn’t have parted with that painting for any amount of money, not that she knew it at the time.
“You sold it without his permission?”
“Without his permission.” She nodded. “My father suspected the Rubens market had hit its peak. To his credit, he was right. But my grandfather was furious. When he died… We hadn’t spoken for months. Every box I go through makes me wonder…”
“If it had emotional significance to him,” Zeke guessed. Or maybe it wasn’t a guess. He seemed to have a bead on who Sophie was as a person. He considered her for a moment, and then the stacks behind him. “I haven’t gone through many boxes, but everything is alike in each box, as if it was carefully stored. That implies—”
“Someone cared greatly.” Sophie nodded. “I’ve gone to estate sales where there’s no rhyme or reason as to how things are displayed.”
“I suppose what’s in the boxes should tell you more about your grandfather…” Zeke held out his hands in surrender. “But I’ll be darned if I know what it all means.”
She didn’t know either. “Grandpa Harlan used to say every dollar he earned was hard-won and every dollar he spent was a careful investment.”
“So…he kept everything? He liked log cabins. Did he buy other towns?”
“Don’t even joke about that!”
Zeke put the baby cups back and returned with another box. “This one has a different kind of cup.” He pulled out several tall, slender trophies that had elegant lines like champagne flutes. “Scrap?”
“Flower vases,” she said simply.
He raised one ginger brow. “Seriously?”
She shrugged, almost dislodging Alexander. “What’s old is new again. Designers snap that stuff up.”
Zeke shook his head in amazement and put the box away. “Is this something they teach you at art history school?”
“I suppose it’s part of running with a certain crowd in Philadelphia.” Her high society friends who wore designer labels, had educated interests and favorite charities.
They continued exploring boxes. Zeke often assumed it was nothing she’d want to sell in the shop. Sophie often felt it would bring someone pleasure even as she marveled at the idea of her grandfather assembling such a collection of…well…collections.
While Zeke was returning a set of miniature children’s books to the pile, she spotted a box on the far end with writing on the side. She pointed to it. “What does that say?”
“I can’t read that scrawl,” he said brusquely, setting the box on the coffee table and stepping back as if singed.
“I owe yous.” Sophie wished she could open up the flaps. “What’s inside?”
Zeke pulled out an odd assortment of items. Torn boxing gloves. A worn baseball mitt. A small brass basketball engraved with the words First Place.
“How odd.” Sophie drew the boys closer. “That’s the first box we’ve come across that makes no sense. Grandpa Harlan wasn’t an athlete.”
“Give it time.” Zeke shrugged. “If anyone can make a connection between these items and Harlan, you can.”
His faith in her pleased Sophie.
Zeke surveyed what they’d gone through. “I can’t take more boxes out without putting some of these back in.” Boxes were stacked nearly blocking the door to his room.
“Let’s stop. I know what I’m doing tomorrow.” Sophie rubbed Alexander’s and Andrew’s backs. “Cleaning the trading post and getting it ready for merchandising.”
“I can help you clean,” Zeke offered.
“Or you can watch the boys.”
“There is that.” He stared at the fire. Cleared his throat. Shifted around to face her. “Can I ask when payday is?” He rushed on, “Mack needs an advance on the parts to repair my truck.”
“I can spot you. How much do you need?”
He drew back, horrified. “I don’t want anything I haven’t earned. I just wanted to know if you’d pay me weekly, biweekly or monthly.”
He was so different from her ex-husband. Different in a good way—better ethics, bigger heart, broader shoulders.
But still…
She and Zeke were different. And different meant incompatible. And incompatible meant broken hearts.
Not to mention, I might not stay in Second Chance.
Sophie returned her attention to the children asleep in her lap. They were getting so big. It seemed like only yesterday they were babies. That their fingers curled around her thumb when she placed it in their palms. That their eyes sought hers as they worked their mouths into toothless grins.
“They’re a lot like you.” Zeke settled into the wingback chair next to the couch.
“They have my coloring, but they don’t look anything like me.” Sophie smoothed Alexander’s cowlick. The twins had the promise of Frank’s sturdy frame.
“They’re like you in personality and temperament,” Zeke insisted. “They’re both curious. They’re both brave. They’re both smart.”
Oh, that was flattering. “When I was their age, my nanny left me for hours at a time. I’d be playing—”
“With your antique silver tea set.”
He remembered.
Her smile settled in to stay as she nodded. “And staying out of trouble by reading books.”
“Which they both enjoy.” He leaned forward and patted Alexander’s shoulder. “Alex more than Andy.” His gaze came up to meet hers in a way that made things flutter inside her, not to mention her aversion to nicknames. “Andy is always on the lookout for an adventure.”
Zeke knew how to tell her identical twins apart. He knew their personalities. How could she not sigh and admit, “I was a boring child. My nanny would chase after Shane and Camden, and then poke her head in the door to my room and ask if I still had all my fingers and all my toes.”
“Which had never been in danger.”
“Maybe just once.”
He chuckled, a deep sound that scoffed at the differences and incompatibility between them. The warmth in his green eyes encompassed her. “I should have guessed they’d have been at risk a time or two. It was your curiosity, wasn’t it? You went too far in your study of something… Ancient Asian culture?”
He was sharp. She was impressed. “How did you know?”
His gaze didn’t shy away from hers. “When you spend the majority of your time with animals, you start to pick up subtle clues to behavior. That swivel of ears. That stomp of their foot. That swish of their tail.”
None of which she’d exhibited. “Really. How did you know?”
That stare. Those weren’t moon eyes. That was genuine interest. In her, not her money or her influence. “Sophie, you have a way of looking at things as if you want to absorb them into your very being.”
“I do not.” Sophie hoped she wasn’t looking at Zeke as if she wanted to absorb him. Good moms didn’t get lost in the eyes of men who worked for them. She shifted Andrew’s rump farther from the edge of the couch cushion. “That sounds too…too…greedy.”
He shook his head. “It’s not a possessive look. It’s more like an expression yearning for understanding. You want to know the history behind each object, like that bell. If it had been on display in a steeple, you’d have climbed in the belfry to study it. And Alex would do the same.”
His words rang inside her the way truths do. Expanding, warming, comforting.
He knows me.
She wanted to absorb Zeke into that place where things fluttered. She wanted to know what made him tick. She wanted to learn the feel of his lips on hers.
Her heart beat faster.
Good moms…
Good moms kissed. How else could she explain how women ended up with housefuls of children?
Suddenly, Sophie wanted a houseful of little ones. A little redheaded girl with intelligent green eyes. A tall slender boy with ginger hair and a quiet confidence.
“You aren’t going to tell me how you risked those delicate fingers and toes?” Zeke teased, hopefully unaware she was mentally nesting worse than Laurel.
“Some secrets are meant to stay secret.” In that moment, she understood why her grandfather wanted his private life kept private. Divulging secrets was intimate. It made her feel vulnerable. Getting close to Zeke was just as risky as her behavior the day she’d almost lost her digits.
Because hearts couldn’t be sewn back together.