“My friends call me Danny.”

Meg refused to budge despite his proximity; she tilted her head up and met the undisguised twinkle in his gaze. She bit back a sigh, met Danny’s gaze with an equanimity she didn’t feel and angled her head slightly. “But we’re not friends.”

He grinned. “We might be in two months. Wouldn’t hurt to get in practice, Miss Russo. After all, we are going to be neighbors.”

And that’s all they’d be. She’d make certain of that. She gave him an over-the-shoulder glance as she descended the stairs. “Megan. My friends call me Meg.”

Danny’s grin deepened. “Can I move in tomorrow?”

She withdrew a key from her front pocket and dangled it in front of him. “Whatever works for you.” She stuck out a hand once he accepted the key and flashed him a smile. “Welcome to Jamison.”

RUTH LOGAN HERNE

Born into poverty, Ruth puts great stock in one of her favorite Ben Franklinisms: “Having been poor is no shame. Being ashamed of it is.” With God-given appreciation for the amazing opportunities abounding in our land, Ruth finds simple gifts in the everyday blessings of smudge-faced small children, bright flowers, fresh baked goods, good friends, family, puppies and higher education. She believes a good woman should never fear dirt, snakes or spiders, all of which like to infest her aged farmhouse, necessitating a good pair of tongs for extracting the snakes, a flat-bottomed shoe for the spiders and the dirt…

Simply put, she’s learned that some things aren’t worth fretting about! If you laugh in the face of dust and love to talk about God, men, romance, great shoes and wonderful food, feel free to contact Ruth through her website at www.ruthloganherne.com.

Small-Town Hearts
Ruth Logan Herne

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Remember not the sins of my youth and my

rebellious ways; according to Your love remember

me, for You are good, O Lord.

—Psalm 25:7

Dedication

To Aunt Isabelle and Gram, two stout-hearted ladies who rescued me more than once. I know God has a special place in heaven for both of you. Keep a rocker handy with my name on it… We’ll rock babies together.

Acknowledgment

Big thanks to Lynn McCutcheon and Richard Buckles for their added information about the Great Wellsville Balloon Rally and hot air ballooning. To Don and Karen of the Angelica Sweet Shop, your charming establishment lures people in. The great staff and wonderful selection do the rest. To Anita Green whose dedication to her daughter Michelle is true inspiration to this author. To Dave, who drove the truck back to “Sandy’s Place” on Route 19 to pick up my swing. Gulp…

To the Sekler family who first drew me to Wellsville for the Little League state championship in ’07. You got the ball rolling.

Huge thanks to Mandy, who road-tripped Allegany County with me before and will again, only this time we get to bring “Mary Ruth” along. God is, indeed, good. And I’d be remiss not to acknowledge the amazing help of my children and their spouses and our good friend Paul, in many different ways. Their never-ending gifts of time, effort, money and baseball tickets have helped keep us afloat during rocky times, and that’s what family’s all about. God truly blessed me with each and every one of you. And do I have to name you all again? Seriously???

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Epilogue

Meg’s Allegany Maple Fudge

Letter to Reader

Questions for Discussion

Chapter One

“Ben! No!”

A shriek pulled Danny Romesser’s attention across the cobbled historic street nestled beneath deep-green maple arches, the early summer day a gift from God.

Right up until then.

He swung around, watching, helpless from this distance.

The young woman’s admonition only intensified the unfolding drama as a young man with Down syndrome withdrew a plump, ripe mango from the base of a perfectly mounded boardwalk display. The fruit toppled, one nudging the next, the mangos and peaches free-falling their way to the broad wooden surface below.

“Oh, Ben…”

Distress laced the woman’s voice while the mentally challenged young man stood nearby, clasping and unclasping his hands in typical Down fashion, his face a study of remorse, his voice loud and earnest, stirring Danny’s memories. “I-I’m sorry, Meggie. I didn’t touch a thing, I really didn’t.”

The woman stared, dismayed, a picture herself, dressed in historic garb that seemed oddly in place here in Jamison, New York.

She grimaced, set a sizable basket down, glanced at the tiny clock pinned to her chest and bent low to retrieve the fruit.

“Not again?”

An irate man with thinning hair pushed through the front door of the nineteenth-century-style mercantile, set in the middle of a Brigadoon-like village that seemed to have stopped the clock about the time Danny’s great-grandma Mary was born.

Possibly before.

If the guy’s scowl pumped Danny’s adrenaline, his ensuing tirade literally pulled him into action.

“How many times do we have to go through this, Megan?”

“Mr. Dennehy, I—”

“Too many,” the older man thundered, not giving the young woman time to reply, red splotches marking his thin face. “If he—” he pointed a bony finger at Ben, his voice rising “—doesn’t have the good sense to avoid my displays, then you certainly should! There is…” his voice cooled with disdain as he switched the direction of his finger to the opposite side of the street “…another perfectly good sidewalk over there.”

Memories of Uncle Jerry surged forth as Danny approached, how Danny had defended the much older man from the jeers and taunts of ill-mannered people who considered him little more than the village idiot. Kids could be heartless and cruel. Adults, too, from time to time, as evidenced by the grocer’s harangue.

“I need your word, Megan.”

The young woman straightened, chagrined, the last of the fruit picked up and deposited in a small grocery cart. Danny saw a flash of anger mixed with consternation. She ignored his approach and kept her gaze trained on the shopkeeper. “It won’t happen again, Mr. Dennehy.”

“It’s happened four times.” His tone didn’t cut her any slack. “That’s three times too many.”

“I-I’m really sorry, Mr. De-henny,” the young man offered.

His tone spiked feelings within Danny. But he had no idea what he could do to help. He only knew he wanted to interrupt the man’s verbal smackdown of both the woman and the mentally challenged young man.

The young man noticed him. “Hey, Mister, you wanna buy some chocolate?”

The woman and the grocer turned his way, the conflict forgotten momentarily. That was good, right? Danny jumped into the fray with a nod toward Ben. “Sure. Do you sell chocolate, sir?”

The respectful title lightened the woman’s features with a flash of pleasure. She inclined her head toward Ben, her patience allowing him to continue what he started. A good trait, Danny knew, and not one easily attained.

“M-Meggie makes the best chocolate around.” Ben swiped away a tiny spit bubble with the back of his sleeve. The grocer grunted disapproval. Danny nodded, patient.

“We have chocolate crunch, almond, plain and…” He hesitated, looking to Meggie for help. “I don’t remember.”

Her gaze softened, giving her an air of measured gentility and rare beauty, like the warmth of a fall fire on a crisp October evening. “Caramel biscotti.”

That combination drew Danny’s attention. She had caramel biscotti chocolate? He eyed her more closely, trying to get beyond the historic costume that made her what? Amish? Quaker? Crazy?

In New York or Boston, yes.

But here, in this quaint village of beautifully restored old buildings and a cleverly worn boardwalk, charming was the better word. The gold, green, red and ivory calico was too bright to be Amish and he hadn’t heard a thee or thou yet.

He’d go with delightful.

And remarkably good-looking. Curly golden-brown hair peeked from beneath the ruffled edge of a deep green bonnet, and a dusting of matching freckles dotted fair skin along her nose and upper cheeks. Long lashes framed light brown eyes with tiny hints of amber sparking miniscule points of light. The fitted dress was nipped and tucked to form, and he couldn’t help but notice it nipped and tucked in all the right places.

“I’ll take one of each,” he told Ben.

Ben’s head bobbed in excitement. “Meggie, do you have that many in your basket?”

“I do.”

Bright and carefree, her voice lilted, making him want to hear her speak again.

Danny turned. She fished in her basket and came up with four bars of cello-wrapped chocolate, the varieties marked by copper lettering. He eyed them, surprised, expecting the traditional fundraiser candy bars. These were different.

She raised her gaze to his and eyed him, probably wondering what his problem was. Either that or he read a tiny spark of awareness before she shut it down.

Interesting.

Gaze calm, she faced him, expectant, waiting.

Money.

She needed money for the chocolate. Of course. He plunged his hand into his pocket and came up totally blank. Absolutely empty. His wallet held his debit and credit cards, his license and nothing else. No cash. Since he rarely needed cash, he’d gotten out of the habit of carrying much. Embarrassed, he withdrew his debit card and shook his head. “No cash. Sorry. You don’t have a credit card machine tucked in that basket, do you?”

Her look shadowed, his humor unappreciated.

Danny waved a hand, indicating the town. “Where’s the nearest ATM?”

She dipped her chin and tilted her head in exaggerated but genteel puzzlement. “I know not of what you speak, sir.”

He jerked his head toward the street. “An ATM. Surely there must be one in this…”

“Sweet historic village?”

A smart aleck. And impudent, at that. Her gentle air belied the quick look she sent him.

Ben turned his gaze from Danny to Meggie and back. “You don’t want them, Mister?”

“I do,” Danny explained, “but I have no money with me.”

“If you’re poor we can just give you candy, can’t we, Meggie?” Ben’s tone implored the woman to understand Danny’s plight. Her returned look said she’d rather be giving Danny a boot in the rear for getting Ben’s hopes up.

“No.” Her voice firm, the young woman ignored Ben’s pout of indignation and held a hand up to stave off his coming argument. “If this gentleman wants candy bars, Ben, he can come to the store with money.”

“He might forget.”

From Ben’s disappointed expression, Danny figured a lot of people “forgot” things where he was concerned. “I won’t forget.” He gave Ben a look of assurance. “I promise.”

Meggie’s dismayed expression said she doubted his word and wished he’d left well enough alone, but Danny refused to be insulted or dissuaded. He’d find their store and buy the bars of chocolate, as promised.

Meggie’s cool look of disregard said she wasn’t embracing his pledge. She turned back to the grocer, deliberate. “I’ll stop back to pay for the fruit after work. I’d go home for money now but I’m running late.”

The grocer grunted, unappeased.

She tucked the bars back into her basket, inclined her head and offered Danny a slight curtsy, a mix of gentility and in-your-face rolled into one cute, smooth move. “My brother and I best be on our way, good man. Much to do in our sleepy little burg, you know.”

She took Ben’s arm and led him away, leaving Danny sputtering. He held his debit card aloft as if trying to convince someone of his worth, then realized since he was in Allegany County incognito, to find store space for a Grandma Mary’s Candies tribute store, it might be smarter to stop drawing attention to himself like some madman in the street.

“Meggie, he doesn’t know where the store is,” Ben exclaimed, excited and alarmed. “How will he f-find us if he doesn’t know where we are?”

“He makes a good point.” Danny stepped forward, a part of him wondering why her untrusting expression didn’t match the spritely voice.

She leveled him a look that offered warning and resignation, then seemed to rethink her choices. Without a sound she reached into the old-world basket, withdrew a card, handed it to him and touched Ben’s arm again. Ben went along this time, but he paused a store-width away, turned back and hollered, “See you later, Mister!”

“I’ll be there, Ben.”

Megan Russo heard the words and bit back a retort. First, the guy seemed sincere, but experience had taught her that sincerity and good-looking men were not exactly synonymous, even guys with magnetizing gray eyes, wonderfully sculpted square chins and short, dark, almost military hair. If she was judging on a “yum-factor,” which she most assuredly was not, this guy topped the meter.

Luckily, she’d chucked her meter into the trash last fall when her former fiancé left her waiting at the church, calling off their wedding by text message.

Second, she refused to carry things any further in Ben’s hearing. Once Ben’s heart was set on something, nothing short of a good night’s sleep could shake it loose. The simplicity of that sounded endearing, until Ben latched on to something the family didn’t control and couldn’t deliver. Heartbreak came easy to her younger brother.

“Ben, I’m working on fudge this morning. Would you like to help?”

“Can I ch-chop the nuts?”

“Absolutely. Save my tired arms.”

He grinned, the thought of being helpful lighting the curved planes of his face, the downward tilt of excited eyes. “Thanks, Meggie.”

She gave him a shoulder nudge that made him laugh. “Don’t mention it, big guy. And stay away from Mr. Dennehy’s tables. From now on we’re walking on the opposite side of the street. Got it?”

Ben’s flash of guilt confirmed what she’d suspected. He loved the sight and sound of the tumbling fruit, an impetuous five-year-old tucked in the body of a man. But naughty escapades like this weren’t cute or funny. And Ben knew better.

Meg bit her lip and swallowed a sigh. Disciplining Ben was a fine line between the errant child within and the husky man beside her. But he’d made one decision quite easy for her. If they had to walk through Jamison again, she’d take him down the opposite boardwalk, along the array of shops facing Dennehy’s Mercantile. He’d have a harder time wreaking havoc in front of the quilt shop, or the antique store; calico yard-lengths were not nearly as fun as tumbling fruit.

“Wh-when do you think he’ll come, Meggie?”

Megan swallowed a bitter retort, scolded herself inwardly for being a crab and pushed the guy’s crisp, clean image out of mind. “We’ll know when he gets here, Ben.” She touched Ben’s arm as they rounded the corner to her two-and-a-half-story gingerbread-style house, the pink, green and ivory fairy-tale look in keeping with Meg’s old-fashioned business. “Hey, looks like the finches are throwing a party in their condo.” She’d deliberately put up a multilevel finch house for Ben’s enjoyment. Watching the tiny birds nest successfully in the backyard of her corner lot was more beneficial than endless TV, and it kept Ben’s imagination brewing.

“I love the little birds.”

“I know you do.” Hoping Mother Nature would help keep Ben’s mind off the clock, Meg did her best to tuck the morning’s events aside, including the guy’s teasing glint, his questioning appraisal of her attire and a look that said he might have just landed in an alternative universe.

Welcome to Jamison.

Chapter Two

COLONIAL CANDY KITCHEN

Purveyors of Handcrafted Sugared Delights & Fine Chocolates.

Megan Russo, proprietor

Danny read the business card she’d handed him and felt his heart downslide to somewhere in the vicinity of his gut. He sighed, a feeling of inevitable doom descending.

He turned and offered the grocer a hand along with a partial introduction, knowing that prices spiraled up when people knew he was scouting for real estate. Better to fly under the radar at this point. “Danny Graham. Pleased to meet you.”

“John Dennehy. Likewise.” The irritated man shrugged one shoulder west as Meggie and Ben proceeded down the tree-lined street. “They need to keep better control of Ben these days. He’s not a little kid anymore.”

“Accidents happen. Is there a hotel or motel nearby?” Danny refused to get into a discussion of how the mentally challenged should be kept on a short leash. He understood their limitations better than most, and knew that community involvement was in everybody’s best interests.

“In Wellsville.” The grocer jutted his chin south. “And there’s the B and B up the road. Nice place.”

Danny had noted the classic colonial bed-and-breakfast on the way in, but he was looking for something more long-term. He shook his head. “Wellsville, huh?”

John Dennehy nodded. “Closest thing, ’cept for the campgrounds on the other side of Baldwin’s Crossing.”

He’d seen the campground sign as well, but that wouldn’t do, either. He shrugged. “Wellsville it is. I’m surprised with how pretty your village is that no one’s built anything closer to service the seasonal tourists.” Wellsville was a good fifteen minutes south of Jamison.

“Oh, they’ve tried, especially with the interstate so close,” John admitted, his lips thinned. “There’s development, then there’s development, if you know what I mean. These days it’s best knowing just what kind of life you’re after before sayin’ yes to every character that barrels through, wantin’ to build somethin’.”

The store owner’s manner insinuated that Jamison might be an unlikely spot to approve his storefront development, but he wasn’t in town looking for a fight. He was here to make his grandmother’s dream come true, to open a store dedicated to her mother, his great-grandmother, the original Grandma Mary.

He gave John a direct and polite smile, determined to take his time, learn the lay of the land and not step on toes.

As John began wheeling the cart of damaged fruit inside, Danny held up a hand to stop him. “I’d like to buy this fruit.”

The grocer scowled, thinking he was kidding.

Danny jerked his head toward the emblems on the mercantile door that said despite its historic appearance, the store accepted plastic in multiple forms. “And can you tell me where the nearest ATM is?”

John sized him up, shrugged and pressed his lips into a line. “You don’t have to buy the fruit. I shouldn’t have gotten so upset. He can’t help that he’s—”

Danny cut off the possible insult smoothly. “Challenged. Exactly. But I know a place that can use this fruit. Of course a discount would be in order.”

John’s gaze turned hopeful. He shrugged and nodded. “I can’t say I wouldn’t be grateful. And the coffee shop at the end of the row has an ATM. The banks in Wellsville have them as well. Or you can select Cash Back when you pay for the fruit.”

Danny nodded, replanning the flow of his day to include a stop at the Colonial Candy Kitchen to make good on his promise.

The young woman had eyed him with suspicion when he’d raised Ben’s hopes. How much lower would her opinion go when she realized he was heir apparent to Grandma Mary’s Candies, one of the largest chocolate confectioners in the Northeast, and that his job would most likely include putting her out of business?

He bit back a sigh, put his game face on and helped John bag the fruit, contemplating this new wrinkle. Big cities like New York, Philly and Boston welcomed expansion and development. But here, in this sweet, historic village…

The phrase she used drew an inner smile as he remembered the tilt of her head, the arch of her brow.

Here he might be seeing his competition face-to-face every day, and he didn’t like that. Not one little bit.

“Megan?”

Hannah Moore jogged toward Megan and Ben, her modern running gear a stark contrast to Megan’s colonial costume. She glanced at her sports watch, paused for breath, then nodded toward the candy shop door. “Running late?”

“Grrr…”

Hannah’s sympathy turned into an understanding smile. “Well, the library doesn’t open until three. Want some help?”

“Seriously? Yes.”

The smile deepened to a grin. “I’ll grab a quick shower and head back. I wondered why I didn’t see your car here on my first pass through.”

Hannah regularly ran the paths winding up and down the rolling countryside. Since Megan couldn’t imagine running down the block, much less up a smallish mountain, she held Hannah in high esteem.

“The car’s in the shop for a few days. And Ben’s got today off, so…”

Hannah flashed a smile of understanding and welcome Ben’s way. “So you get to hang out here today, huh, big guy?”

Ben beamed. “With Meggie.”

“And me.” Hannah sent Megan a look that said more than words, and headed south. “I’ll be back in a little bit.”

“Thanks, Hannah.”

Megan watched her retreating back as Hannah wound her way beneath the trees, heading for home. For a fleeting moment she wondered what it would be like to have Hannah’s athleticism and freedom, the chance to just go off and do whatever you wanted a good share of the time.

But she refused to dwell on their differences. Hadn’t Reverend Hannity just offered a delightful homily equating God’s timing with gardens, using metaphors like “the flowers of tomorrow are held in the seeds of yesterday” and “take the time to cultivate the garden within”?

Meg swallowed a sigh.

Right now her internal and external gardens were weed-riddled, and while she appreciated the good reverend’s warmth and wit, she’d give anything to feel like she was in charge of her life, at least part of the time. But between work constraints, helping with Ben and dealing with the aftermath of her public humiliation, she pretty much felt like a puppet on a string.

“Thanks for bringing me to work with you, Meggie.”

Ben’s sincerity offered the kick she needed. She had much to be grateful for, starting with a business she’d built and loved, a sweet apartment upstairs that allowed independence and proximity to her store, a beautiful hometown just beginning to plow its way out of an economic backslide, and family and friends that loved her.

She refused to acknowledge what so many knew, that she’d been unceremoniously dumped by boyfriends twice in the past several years. She climbed the wide, wooden front steps of the candy store and grinned at Ben. “Glad to have you on board.”

His smile tipped her world back on its axis, the sweet, impish grin a quality that couldn’t be bottled. Ben might have the inquisitive nature of an errant child, but he didn’t have a mean bone in his body, and there were plenty of people who could take a lesson from that.

“Hannah, that looks great.” Meg indicated the neon-colored lollipops and nodded approval, the eye-catching array complementing the season. “Picture-perfect. Total attention grabber.”

“Nothing to compare with what approacheth from yonder stone parking lot. Take heed!” Hannah pseudowhispered as she crossed into the production kitchen, her eyes teasing. “A man of certain breeding and gentility comes hither. Might we ready some tea for him, perchance?”

Megan shot her a withering look, glanced through the front window and decided the hop, skip and jump in her chest was a leftover sugar high from not sticking to diet soda. She dusted her hands on her apron, tucked the look of surprise away, headed for the counter and faced the door as their early visitor reappeared. He met her gaze and grinned.

Knowing how his easy demeanor had affected her defenses earlier, she should have sent Hannah to the counter. But she didn’t, which meant she was either healing or a glutton for punishment.

Hannah moved forward, glancing at her watch. “Miss Russo, might I by your leave long enough to deliver today’s cookies to the mercantile and café just shy of the village green?”

Megan rolled her eyes, met Hannah’s gaze and nodded at the obvious ploy. “As always, I am grateful for your help, Miss Moore.”

“As am I for the gainful employment, Miss Russo.”

The man swept them an appreciative look. “Obviously whatever’s in the water down here is contagious. If I stay for a few weeks, will I begin to talk like that, too?”

Megan regarded him with care, a hint of amusement lifting her voice, much as it had an hour earlier. “If one were to linger and reside amongst the genteel of yesteryear, one would surely find their faith, warmth and culture most contagious, kind sir. Do you plan to take lodgings in this vicinity?”

“If that’s your cagey way of asking if I plan to be in town awhile, the answer is yes. I have business here.”

Hannah pushed through the front door with a wave. “I shall leave you to your verbal sparring while I deliver these forthwith.”

Megan watched Hannah go with mixed feelings. Volleying words with this guy was easy with others around. Somehow it felt less natural on her own. She busied herself righting a rack of flavored candy sticks that didn’t need straightening, their old-world appeal and low cost an invitation to purchase in bulk.

The man reached into his pocket and withdrew cold, hard cash, a welcome sight in a retail establishment. He eyed the credit card machine on the counter with a look of disbelief, then turned to her. “You said you couldn’t take credit cards.”

“And such as this is true, kind sir, two blocks from my place of business, in the middle of the street at break of day.”

He frowned and moved closer to the counter, giving Megan a clear view of those gray eyes, light in the middle, their color deepening as the iris widened. His straight, dark hair stopped a hint longer than military length, and the square set of his jaw marked him as a man of decision. But in Megan’s recent experience, men of decision quickly pivoted into indecision where matters of forever were concerned, so she wasn’t about to believe anyone’s chin, no matter how delightfully rugged it appeared.

He angled his head while waiting for her to conclude her perusal, as if accustomed to women sizing him up.

Totally understandable, considering his appearance.

She bit down a sigh, put a serene face in place and inclined her head. “But as you bear witness, kind sir, I have a machine of that nature here.”

“Oh, I see all right.” He let his gaze rest upon her for long seconds, his look inviting challenge. “I think I’m reading you loud and clear, Miss…?”

“Megan.” She gave a slight curtsy, very much in character. “Megan Russo, in actuality, the proprietor of this establishment and sister to Benjamin, the fine young man who made your acquaintance this morning.”

His smile deepened. Broadened. He held out a hand. “And I’m Daniel Graham, but my friends call me Danny.”

“Whereas I am scarce an acquaintance of yours, I shall be delighted to call you Mr. Graham.” She sent him a quick, smiling look over her shoulder as she moved along the counter, hoping he’d follow.

He did.

She bit back a grin, wishing this weren’t fun, wishing he weren’t absolutely adorable, wishing she hadn’t been burned twice already and fairly certain that public humiliation was her permanent Facebook status, since that seemed to be how her life rolled these days. Focus, Meg. Ignore the cleft in his chin, the crinkled eyes and that light of awareness. Remember, you don’t know him, and probably wouldn’t like him if you did.

She paused once she had the counter between them and offered him an expectant look. “How might I be of help to you this day, good man?”

It had to be wrong to think anyone was this cute, this over-the-top, heart-stoppingly magnetic. Right?

Danny tried to prevent his reaction, to no avail. She captivated him, plain and simple. The look, the quirky nature, the spunk, the knowing smile. He hadn’t reacted to a woman like this in, well…

Ever.

He’d had a variety of relationships over the years, and knew way too many Saks Fifth Avenue-friendly types from his years in Philly and New York, coupled with his regular excursions to Grandma Mary’s sprawling Northeast venues.

Nothing prepared him for the total impact of this quaintly clad young woman whose eyes held challenge and maybe, just maybe, a hint of cynicism, enough to make him wonder why and how it got there in a locale saturated with small-town goodness.

He tamped the feelings down, realizing he was simply experiencing a normal, healthy reaction to a new situation because no one in big cities wore quaint, full-skirted gowns made of the sweet calicos his grandmother employed in her quilt making. And the quiet swish of the dress as Megan moved…

Just made him wish she’d move more.

He frowned inward and outward, chasing his errant thoughts away. “I’ve come to buy the candy bars I wanted to purchase earlier.”

She nodded, slid open the door of an immaculate glass display case and withdrew a wicker basket of wrapped bars. She set the basket on the counter. Danny glanced around, noting the layout, and turned back, nodding. “You’ve picked a good location for the chocolate with summer here. This side of your display is shadowed enough to keep the temperature from fluctuating.”

One sculpted brow arched in quiet accord. “Chocolate is a delicacy, indeed. If one does not take care to manage it with an eye toward temperature control, one can ruin a batch forthwith. And exposure to the sun will gray it, drawing the composition oils to the surface. Most unappealing.”

He smiled as he withdrew eight bars. “I don’t find a thing in this store unappealing, Miss Russo.”

She dipped him another curtsy of acknowledgment, having no idea what her antics were doing to his heart. Or maybe she did. He withdrew another four bars just because he needed to do something that didn’t include staring at her.

“Danny!”

He turned, saved by the excited lilt of Ben’s voice. Ben charged forth, open and friendly, not a hint of reticence about him. Danny grinned, acknowledging the warmth, the innocence, the inborn effusive nature. He held out a hand. “I told you I’d come back, didn’t I?”

“Yes.” Ben turned a scolding look to his sister. “See, Meggie? I told you not to be so grumpy. I told you he’d come back. Didn’t I? Huh?”

She didn’t miss a beat, just turned her head, gave the young man a quick, friendly nod and smiled. “You did, Ben. I knew I should have heeded your advice.”

“Yes.” Ben nodded, his expression firm. “I know a lot of things, and people should listen to me more.”

Megan acknowledged that with a calm look of assent. “I would be well-advised to do so. And Ben, I see other customers approaching. Would you be so kind as to take Mr. Graham’s money for his purchases?”

“I get to handle money? Yes, I’d be very glad to do it, Meggie!”

She bestowed a gentle smile of understanding on her brother, sent Danny a “gotcha” look that he didn’t think existed in colonial times and moved off to take care of the new customer, the quiet whisper of her dress marking her exit.

“H-how many candy bars do you want, D-Danny?”

He laid the bars on the counter. “All of these.”

Ben shot him a look of pure, unmitigated excitement, an expression that made Danny miss Uncle Jerry even more. So sweet. How he wished he’d taken more time to spend with Jerry those last years. How foolish he’d been to assume anything lasted forever.

“Twelve!”

He nodded and handed over two twenties, determined to pay in cash despite the handy machine atop the uncluttered glass counter.

He’d noticed right off that everything in the shop glowed with cleanliness. She’d gone with a white kitchen setting that embraced the store’s name, the wainscoted walls, window trim, cupboards and drawers all done in a white satin finish, the old knobs a throwback to earlier times. A few small white tables graced the end of the room while the candy faced the shaded northeast side, where aged, sprawling maple trees offered a cooling, shadowed presence. The west side of the store held an ice cream parlor setup, not too big, just enough to help augment summer sales.

Smart.

Danny liked and appreciated retail intelligence. Covering the bottom line was intrinsic to business, and in her own way, Megan Russo was doing just that, filling needs to fit the season and her cash flow. And looking really good, to boot.

She picked that moment to glance their way, her look noting Ben making change, and then Danny.

Her calm gaze did a little stutter-step, just enough to make him think she felt the connection. Her quick reversion to a more reserved countenance said she had every intention of fighting it, just like him.

He almost breathed a sigh of relief, then laughed at himself. He was only here a short while, just long enough to set up a site that proclaimed Grandma Mary’s cared about its roots, and while he wasn’t a history buff by any means, he was smart enough to recognize how far his family had come in four generations.

Amazing.

Megan flashed another look Ben’s way, and Danny’s inner hopes dimmed as realization set in.

He might put her out of business. Correction: would most likely put her out of business.

And that meant Ben would be out of a job, a chance to mingle with people, to feel good about himself. Danny knew how important those qualities were to the developmentally challenged.

He smiled his thanks to Ben and hoisted the bag of chocolate. “Thank you so much, young man.”

Ben grinned appreciation. “You’re welcome.”

Danny turned and headed for the door, wishing she’d call out. Wish him good day. Say goodbye. Invite him to come again.

She didn’t.

And he refused to turn, looking for her attention, knowing it was best to avoid her as much as possible considering the circumstances. The idea of causing her problems weighed on him, but his allegiance to his family business and family roots went deep. He’d scour the area for likely settings and try to place their new store far enough away from the Colonial Candy Kitchen to minimize the effect—but in the end, business was business.

Right now, he wasn’t all that certain he liked that idea.

Chapter Three

“Spill it, girlfriend. Who was the hunk you were shamelessly flirting with while I delivered cookies to the mercantile and the coffee shop?” Hannah tossed out the question once the store was empty at midday. “Some businessman.”

“And then some.” Hannah’s arched brows and grin showed proper appreciation. “What kind of business?”

Meg shook her head, wiped down crumbs from the cookie station and crossed to the freezer. The walk-in unit had been last year’s capital expenditure and was worth its weight in gold, which was almost what the unit cost. “No idea.”

“You didn’t ask?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Not my business.”

Hannah stopped filling the half-pound boxes of pecan caramel turtles, a big seller regardless of the season. “Meg, he told you outright he was staying around awhile.”

“And?”

Hannah made a knocking motion against the counter with her left hand. “Um, hello? Opportunity calling? Sorry we missed you.”

Meg sent her a scowl that was only half pretend. “Opportunity has knocked before, remember? And I answered. Big mistake. Crashed and burned. Do the words ‘public spectacle’ come to mind?”

Hannah’s gaze softened. “You’re blowing things out of proportion, Meg.”

“Am I?” Meg turned, not sure that she was ready to face this conversation but not seeing an easy way out. “Are you forgetting that fiancé number one cheated on me and got another girl pregnant?”

“Which says a lot about his lack of character, not yours. He was totally unworthy of you and you know it.”

Meg had heard that before, and had almost come to believe it when in came Michael, fiancé number two. What on Earth had she been thinking? Was she that much in love with the idea of being in love? Or just totally naive?

“Let’s not forget Michael.”

“No, please, let’s forget Michael.” Hannah mock-shuddered, her expression underscoring her words. “Yes, he was funny and charismatic, but he had no work ethic and little pretense of faith, and didn’t Alyssa Michaels tell you he just got fired from his latest job because he failed to show up, time after time? Were you thinking you could fix that? Fix him? Not hardly.”

“You’re right, I know that, it’s just…” Megan grimaced and shrugged. Her friend Alyssa had made it a point to call her and fill her in on Michael’s newest gaffe, showcasing how undependable he was. Why hadn’t she noticed that sooner? “Obviously I’m either too needy or gullible. Maybe both. Very honestly, the thought of putting myself out there again scares me to death.”

“I know.”

Something in Hannah’s soft tone said she understood too much. A hint of sadness shadowed her eyes, her gaze, then disappeared as she moved forward to hug Meg. “But I also know that you befriended me when I moved here. I knew no one, I had no family in this area, and you reached out to me. Talked to me. You brought God’s peace into my life at a time when I needed it, Meg. I want to be able to do the same for you.”

Meg returned the embrace, grateful for the connection. Alyssa had been nudging her much the same way, but taking those first steps seemed harder than she’d have ever thought possible.

Hannah stepped back, eyed the clock and gave a low whistle. “And on that very emotional note, I’ve got to fly if I want to get the library open by three.”

Meg nodded and grabbed her hand. “Hannah. Thanks.”

Hannah shrugged. “Hey, we’re girls. Been there, done that. Girlfriends have to stick together. And sometimes give one another a well-meaning push.”

“Which means I get to do the same for you sometime?”

Hannah waved a hand in the air as she headed for the door. “Right now we’re talking about you, not me. See ya.”

Meg grinned at her retreating back. Noting that Ben was still out back with the late-afternoon renewed antics of the finch families, she began unpacking ice cream counter supplies when the phone rang, a welcome interruption from errant happily-ever-after thoughts.

“Colonial Candy Kitchen, Meg speaking. How can I help you?”

“Meg, this is Jacqui Crosby.”

Okay, make that was glad of the interruption. Meg was never too thrilled to chat with fiancé number one’s intrusive mother. “Jacqui, how are you?”

“Frazzled and frantic, totally out of character for me, as you well know.”

Meg knew no such thing. Jacqui Crosby was a town gossip, one of those people who could be counted on to spread information with hawklike speed, always watching and sharpening her tongue at others’ expense. Meg asked, “Well, good chocolate is always a cure for that. What can I get for you?”

“Oh, I don’t want chocolate,” Jacqui shot back, her tone hiking. “I’m doing a high-protein diet to stay in shape for summer. Of course, you don’t have to pay attention to that with your long dresses, do you, dear?”

One, two, three…

“What I’m calling about is your apartment. I’d like to rent it.”

Her apartment?

Meg frowned. The second floor of her house held two apartments: cute, clean and in good shape after years of plaster dust, plumbing and paint. She lived in one and rented the other. Her most recent tenants had moved out in mid-May after graduating from Meg’s alma mater, Alfred University. But why would Jacqui Crosby want her apartment, and how on Earth could Meg tell her no?

“Brad and Denise are having a house built outside of Hornell,” Jacqui continued. “Their old place is too small with the new baby on the way and they need a place to stay for the summer. My kitchen’s being redone and you know what a mess remodeling is, so there’s no way I can have Brad Junior running around underfoot for eight weeks. How much is the rent?”

Brad and Denise, staying next door all summer, with the little boy they conceived while she wore Brad’s ring?

“Jacqui, I’m sorry, it’s not available. And it’s a small unit,” Meg added. “It wouldn’t suit them.”

“Oh, but it would,” the older woman insisted. “I expect they’d do nothing more than sleep there, Megan, and spend the days over here while Brad worked.”

Megan had heard enough of the local gossip to know Denise wasn’t a big fan of Jacqui’s interfering nature. There was no chance the young mother would spend day after day at the Crosbys while Brad worked. No, she’d be here, hanging out, a visible reminder of what kind of girl actually got the guy in the end. And it wasn’t the petticoat-wearing business woman with a candy store. Oh, no. It was the blond fashion doll sporting tight jeans, tight shirts and no job.

Nope. Not going to happen. “I’m sorry, Jacqui, it’s not possible and I’ve got to go. I’ve got chocolate on.”

“But—”

But nothing. Meg recradled the phone, realized she’d been just short of rude and vowed to scan the caller ID more carefully in the future. Regardless, no way, no how was she about to rent her next-door apartment to Brad and Denise, but Brad’s mother kept her fingers on the town pulse, and Meg’s ad in the weekly paper was hitting the stands today. She could only pray for a quick lease before Jacqui realized she’d been played, because that possible scenario wouldn’t bode well for anyone.

Danny scanned the day-old classified list, frowned and headed back to his rental car. He climbed in, started the engine, studied the map and his directions from Google, missing the GPS on his Beemer but not willing to have his car mark him as a man with money.

Making a K-turn, he headed south and west to view this last apartment. With any luck, he might be able to move in tomorrow. Get established. That would be perfect.

His phone jangled the opening notes to “My Boy Lollipop,” his sister’s signature ringtone, an inside joke among the Romesser clan. They’d agreed to use candy songs to identify themselves, including Grandma Mary, making the quirk totally childish but fun. Danny hit the speakerphone button, in no mood for a traffic ticket for not being hands free. “Hey, sis. What’s up?”

“Can we change places?”

He bit back the phrase in a heartbeat, wanting to help her. But he couldn’t, and that cut into his protective instincts. “What’s going on?”

“Trouble in Philly at the University City location.”

Ouch. That particular Philly store had been problematic lately; a string of small thefts and possible gang influence had targeted their location adjacent to the University of Pennsylvania campus. “Do we need additional security?”

“Done. I amped up the internal monitoring and didn’t tell the staff, but I feel like a spy, watching them like this.”

“All it takes is one bad apple, Mary Clare. One dishonest person can totally ruin your bottom line and set a store up for failure. You know that.”

“You’re right, of course, it’s just a weird feeling. The security agency will be doing the hands-on video scan so I feel slightly less intrusive.”

Danny understood the dilemma. Security was an unfortunate necessity, more so in certain locales, and Mary Clare hadn’t overseen those venues as yet. Time and circumstance had gotten in the way. He broached that subject cautiously. “Are you doing okay, Mare?”

“Mostly.”

Danny cringed, wanting to help, knowing there was nothing he could do.

“I’m keeping busy. Working here actually helps, it keeps me away from places that Christian and I used to go to. A few degrees of separation isn’t a bad thing right now.”

“And you know you can call me anytime, right?” Danny was stating the obvious since she’d just called, but her vulnerability called to the guardian in him. Plus Philly had been dealing with an upswing in violent crimes lately, not exactly the setting he’d normally choose for his younger sister. “About anything.”

“I know.” She breathed a tiny sigh and hesitated for long ticks of the clock before adding, “This is good for me.”

Danny heard the silent exception. “But?”

“It’s hard.”

“I know.” They’d buried her fiancé less than a year before, an army officer killed in a roadside bombing in Afghanistan. “I miss him, too.”

“He’d get a kick out of you being tucked in the foothills of Appalachia. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do. But no more so than my friends who make it a point to text me about their weekend plans in the big city.”

“Harsh.”

Danny laughed. “It’s pretty here, though.” The word pretty conjured up mental images of Megan Russo. Danny shut them out. “And if you’re doing okay, and it sounds like you are, I’ve got to hang up because I’m about to look at an apartment that sounds ideal.”

“Wonderful. Thanks for being my sounding board. Again.”

He smiled, wanting her to succeed, knowing he’d be there at a moment’s notice to help if she floundered, because that was what brothers did. “Anytime, sis.”

Chapter Four

Twenty minutes later Danny trudged back to his car, totally frustrated, fighting a headache and a suspicion he might be infested. The state of that garage apartment left a lot to be desired, and he was pretty sure he’d spied a colony of silver-fish beneath the sink, while the faint but lingering smell of a dead mouse wafted from a west-facing wall.

At this moment the motel he’d booked for the night was looking better and better.

He stopped to gas up and withdrew a fresh edition of the small weekly paper from a rack inside the convenience store, pleasantly surprised when the cashier waved off the two-quarter price. “We just give them away, sir. You have a nice day, now.”

The young man’s easy nature brightened Danny’s smile. And the giveaway policy was good business for advertisers. He pulled into a parking space, opened the half size newspaper, noted a full-page ad advertising an upcoming balloon rally and mentally logged in the date.

His grandfather had been a hot air balloon pilot, and he’d taught Danny the skills early on. If all went well and time allowed, Danny had every intention of having his balloon trucked down to Allegany County. Taking part in the local ballooning event would be his reward for a job well done.

He flipped back a few pages and scanned the classifieds for new listings. Most were long-term apartments or homes, but his gaze trained on one advertisement. “Available now, immaculate one-bedroom, full bath, galley kitchen, furnished, priced right, short-or long-term lease considered.”

He withdrew his phone, got a clear tone and dialed the number, hopeful.

“Hello.”

“Good evening, my name is Daniel Graham and I’m calling about your ad in the paper. The one for the immaculate one-bedroom apartment. Is it still available? And is it really, truly immaculate? Because I’d be okay with that.”

Silence. Absolute, utter silence.

Danny tried again. “Hello?” He pulled the phone from his ear, saw the bars that said he was still connected and frowned. “Hello? Are you there?”

A sigh echoed through the phone. “I’m here. I…umm…”

“I can get references if you like,” Danny offered, trying to sweeten the deal. “I’m in town on business this summer and need a place to stay, so I’m looking at short-term. Eight to twelve weeks, most likely. Would that be all right?”

Another silence descended before he heard another sigh, but there was something about that soft sigh, that voice…

Obviously he needed food and a good night’s sleep when he started recognizing a stranger’s voice on the phone. “May I come see it?”

“Now?”

“I’m available. It’s in Jamison?”

“Yes.”

“And I’m just around the corner on Route 19. Can you give me the address? If this is a good time, of course,” he hastened to add, realizing he was steamrolling the woman. The first thing he’d decided upon arriving in town was that these people weren’t the kind to appreciate hardball tactics. New York, Boston, Baltimore, Philly… Those venues admired a guy who got the job done with as few words and left turns as possible.

Here? Not so much.

He pressed more gently. “If tomorrow would be better…”

“Now’s fine.”

Relief eased the tightness of his shoulders. “You’re sure?”

“Yes. Come on by.”

“But where are you? What’s the address?”

“Oh, you’re sure to find it, no problem. You were here just a few hours ago.”

He was—

“Miss Russo?”

“Yes.”

She didn’t sound thrilled. Perhaps a touch resigned or fatalistic, as if life had just handed her a worst-case scenario.

Which would be the case if he put her and her cute little store out of business. But he couldn’t think about that now. Surely there were prime locations far enough away from her store that their ventures could coexist. Wellsville was a good bit south. And it was a tribute store they were talking, not one of their sprawling big-city venues. Down here they were envisioning a smaller edition, a nod of thanks to the hometown of Grandma Mary’s Candies, now a multi-million-dollar-per-year enterprise. A welcome addition to the struggling economy.

But Danny was fresh out of choices, so he swallowed the nugget of guilt and thrust the car into gear. “I’m on my way.”

“Wonderful.” She didn’t sound like she thought it was all that wonderful, but at least she was open to the idea of showing him the place. And it couldn’t be as bad as what he’d just seen. Could it?

“The entrance to the apartment is around back. I’ll be there.”

“See you in a few minutes.”

Megan clipped her hair back, smoothed damp palms against her blue jeans and headed downstairs at a quick clip. He must have really been just around the corner because his car pulled into the small parking area as she opened the door. He climbed out, a lightweight zip-up jacket giving him an upper-class look that didn’t exactly jibe with his discount-label jeans and pullover. He strode forward, looking just as good as he had short hours before, sunglasses hiding his eyes until he stood two steps beneath her, tipped the glasses up and gave her a once-over. “Wow.”

While she appreciated the one-word observation, she’d been “wowed” before, only to crash in total ignominy. She met his gaze, stomped down the spike of her heartbeat and jerked her head toward the back door. “The apartment’s up here.”

“I’m right behind you.”

Oh, she knew that, all right. It was written on his face and evident in the sparks jumping between them, but she’d learned to evade electricity. She ignored the hint of appreciation in his voice but noted it was just enough to make the tone almost meaningful. Too much labeled a guy a total come-on. Too little meant he was probably inept and needy. Danny’s voice was neither. It was…perfect.

But she had no use for men passing through town on business. Since she’d become the head of the Jamison Broken Hearts Society, membership of one, she’d grown smart enough to be jaded without appearing jaded. A good trick.

“It’s small,” she told him over her shoulder.

“Small works. It’s easier to keep clean.”

She stepped inside the upper door. “This is it. Living room, kitchen, bedroom, bath.”

He nodded, his gaze scanning the area, his emotions shielded. She couldn’t tell if he liked or hated the place, and that meant he had practice hiding emotions. Not a good sign. He stepped inside, moved forward, then paused overlong. “It’s spotless.”

She frowned. “I do believe the ad mentioned that.”

He turned and flashed a grin that made her heart quiver and her gut tingle, two physical reactions she’d just as soon chalk up to lack of iron. She was definitely in danger of being swept away by that smile. Those eyes. And great teeth, besides. Her mother was a dental hygienist in the lone dental office in Wellsville. She’d fall in love with those teeth, right off.

“It did. But the last one I looked at said ‘clean’ and it wasn’t even close. I’ll take it.”

“You don’t want to know the rent?”

“If it’s too high, I’ll wrangle it down. But somehow, since it’s you, I’m expecting the price will be fair.”

Of course it was fair. She would never consider bilking someone out of too much money for her own gain, or conniving her way into anything. For just a moment she lamented the idea of being good, of taking God’s word to heart and soul, and considered smacking him with an outrageous price so he’d take his appreciative gaze and business-savvy self elsewhere. She hesitated, wishing she could do that, knowing she couldn’t. “Six hundred a month. Plus utilities.”

“Done.” He stuck out a hand. “Do you have a lease handy?”

She nodded. “On my side. Come this way.” She led the way back down the stairs and around to a second entrance. She opened the door and proceeded up the inner stairway to a slightly more spacious apartment than his. She watched as he glanced around, surprised. “I expected different.”

“Than?”

He waved a hand. “This. This is fun. Modern. Kind of funky.”

She eyed the mix of bright-toned pillows, flowers and casual corduroy seating, then laughed at the expression on his face. “You thought I’d have a wood-burning stove, perhaps? A spindle? A straw mattress on the wood floor?”

He grinned, then shrugged. “An understandable mistake, Miss Russo. And might I add you look just as good in denim as you did in calico.”

“Normal men don’t know materials. You realize that, right?”

He flashed the smile again, the one that appeared open and honest, engaging and appealing. Key word: appeared.

“My grandmother quilts. Beautiful stuff. She uses calico and ginghams a lot. And plain colors. But she’s partial to calico.”

Megan nodded. So was she, truth be told. But it would seem weird to deck out her apartment in too many old-fashioned things. Like she was caught in the past or something.

A house would be different. Someday she’d live in a sweet old colonial that hadn’t been split into multiple units, raise a bunch of kids, bake cookies, make candy for her own brood and welcome her husband home every night.

She faced Danny. “Rent is due by the first of the month.”

He grinned. “Which makes me late already. Here you go.” He bent and filled out a check drawn on a local bank. She frowned and raised an eyebrow toward him.

“You don’t live here.”

“No, but I opened a local account for business purposes before I came down. Makes things easier because, as you noted this morning, not every business down here uses plastic.”

She accepted the check, scanned the amount, noted that it was for two months and gave him a brisk nod. “Thank you, Mr. Graham.”

He edged closer. “My friends call me Danny.”

She refused to budge despite his proximity, tilted her head up and met the undisguised twinkle in his gaze. Oh, yes, this boy had been around a bit. Or maybe she was becoming an old cynic like Mrs. Dennehy, the grocer’s aged mother. She bit back a sigh, met his gaze with an equanimity she didn’t feel and angled her head slightly, knowing that maneuver had caught his attention earlier. “But we’re not friends.”

He nodded toward the check and grinned. “We might be in two months. Wouldn’t hurt to get in practice, Miss Russo. After all, we are going to be neighbors.”

And that was all they’d be. She’d make certain of that. She nodded and moved toward the door, refusing to feel trapped over something as simple as a name. Besides, he was right. They’d be living side by side for eight weeks. She gave him an over-the-shoulder glance as she descended the stairs, noting his approval seemed just as notable going down the stairs. “Megan. My friends call me Meg.”

“And Ben calls you Meggie.”

She nodded and glanced back again, but this time held his look. “He’s the only one that calls me that. Got it?”

His grin deepened. “Got it. Can I move in tomorrow?”

She withdrew a key from her front pocket and dangled it in front of him. “Whatever works for you.” She stuck out a hand once he accepted the key and flashed him a smile. “Welcome to Jamison.”

His grip was strong and firm. She refused to acknowledge the sweet spark of awareness that traveled up her arm and through her chest, nestling somewhere cozy in her belly. He held her hand a little longer than could ever be considered necessary and dipped his chin in acknowledgement when he let it go. “Thank you. It’s nice to be here.”

Chapter Five

“Yowza.”

Meg shot Hannah a warning look the next afternoon. “Stop.”

“He’s moving in?”

“How’s that nut chopping coming, Hannah? You done yet?”

“Today?”

“Hannah Moore…”

“Got it.” Hannah ducked beneath the counter, withdrew a tub of toasted almonds and filled the food processor halfway. She hit On, and the ensuing noise stopped conversation until the nuts were evenly chopped to her satisfaction. She dumped the cylinder into a bowl and then repeated the process twice more. Stepping back, she eyed the bowl and the chocolate vat, then nodded. “We’re good.”

“Thanks. Measure out three cups of those for the toffee, and we’ll be just about there.”

“Wonderful.”

The half wall and Dutch door made it easy to keep an eye on the store. The old-fashioned bell over the door helped, too, an old-school way of announcing a customer when Megan’s attention was diverted. Hannah set the three cups aside in a smaller bowl and glanced out the window. “A customer.”

“You got it?”

“I do.”

Megan swept her chocolate-dotted apron a quick glance as the door chime announced what Hannah already knew, her warm voice mingling with others as the tourists exclaimed over this and that.

It was early yet. Midweek mornings were traditionally quiet while tourists walked, climbed, went sightseeing and shopping. Since chocolate didn’t do well in cars on a warm summer day, the candy store was generally their last stop before heading home or back to the motels in nearby Wellsville. That meant Meg made good use of the mornings, both before and after the shop opened, then busied herself with customers the rest of the day. And her ice cream window business was steady from three o’clock on, especially when area kids had summer sports in the evening. Then the line could grow ridiculously long in a relatively short space of time.

She’d hired a local college girl, Crystal Murphy, to help out part-time and had two more college girls consigned to run her weekend festival booths. Coupled with Hannah’s summer-shortened library hours, they should be all right.

When Hannah returned to the kitchen, she met Meg’s gaze and swept the departing family a wistful look. “They had the cutest baby.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.” Hannah checked the toffee bar molds, nodded satisfaction, then tipped her gaze Megan’s way. “What’s that look for?”

Megan shrugged. “I hate being in my thirties.”

“Stupid biological clock?”

“Exactly. As much fun as this all is—” Megan waved a hand around the white kitchen “—it’s not exactly what I’d planned for this stage in my life.”

“Something that included a cute and loving husband, a couple of kids, a kitchen of your own and a cozy fire on long winter nights?”

“Bingo. I’m not even close to anything like that, and I can’t help but wonder why. Is it me? Them? Are men different from what they were before?”

“Umm. Asking the wrong girl. I’d kind of decided that was beyond the realm of possibilities before I moved here. Mostly I’m okay with that.”

“Should I ask why?”

“Probably not. I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.” Something in Hannah’s tone, or maybe it was her bearing, made the words more poignant and less funny, but Megan refused to pry.

“A need-to-know basis.” She nodded, laughing. “I get it. Obviously the witness protection program is using Jamison, New York, as a current venue.”

Hannah tipped an amused look Megan’s way. “Yup. My real name is a state secret.”

“Since I love the name Hannah, you may keep it a state secret.”

“Does it bug you, Megan? To have been that close to marriage twice and have it fall apart?”

Megan weighed her answer as she watched the toffee mixture darken and condense. “If by ‘bug’ you mean have my episodes of public humiliation turned me off members of the opposite sex for the duration of my natural life, I’d have to say that’s understandable, considering the circumstances.”

“Michael was a jerk.”

“I know. And so was Brad. But the turnaround of that is—why do I attract jerks? Am I so needy that I latch on to any Tom, Dick or Harry that comes along?”

“So if my name was Tom, Dick or Harry, you might give me a chance?”

Megan stopped stirring the boiling toffee mix, mortified.

Danny stood at the back door to the kitchen, looking way too amused and sure of himself for anyone’s good, particularly hers.

“Eavesdropping is against the lease rules,” she said.

He waved a careless hand to the open door. “You weren’t exactly quiet. I could hear you in the yard.”

Hannah tried to mask a laugh, unsuccessfully. She shot him a look as she removed a tray of supersize cookies from the oven, set it down and replaced it with another. “He’s right. I forgot he was out there. Sorry.”

Danny leaned his elbows against the metal brace separating the upper screen from the window below. “Back to my question…”

“No.”

“You’re sure? I could change my name.”

“Listen, I’m working right now, and toffee has a mind of its own. As much as I’d love nothing better than to grow old sparring with you, the likelihood of that is zero. So if you’d be so kind as to maintain a proper landlord/tenant relationship at all times, we’ll both be better off.”

“I get it.”

He might have gotten it, but he didn’t look all that dissuaded. Great. Just her luck to have rented that apartment to someone who liked a challenge. Megan had no intention of challenging anyone, at least not anyone in the near future. Hadn’t Reverend Hannity talked about God’s plan just last week, the road less traveled, the unexpected twists, turns and inevitable forks along the way?

Megan wasn’t sure where her road forked, but she was pretty certain that Danny Graham’s fork would zag left in about eight weeks, and she was determined to stand stalwart and solid for that time.

She tested the toffee texture by dropping a tiny bit into a cup of cold water, fingered the texture to assess brittleness, then examined the threads dangling from the spoon. Her practiced eye told her this batch was done. She set it off the burner, maneuvered the handle left, hoisted the pan and gently poured a thin stream into the bar molds.

“You don’t use a candy thermometer?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Unreliable.”

“And that…maneuver, the thing with the water cup and the spoon, wasn’t?”

“Not if you know what you’re doing.”

Danny knew what he was doing. Always had. He’d been raised to make candy in a state-of-the-art facility that believed in small batches, but each batch was expertly measured and timed to assure the quality of the mix. Watching her, he had a vision of what his great-grandmother must have done on her porch outside Wellsville, the little house, long since gone, that had been the original home of Mary Sandoval’s Candies.

Hannah moved along the cooling molds, sifting chopped nuts onto the surface, then using a wooden board to press them into the cooling toffee. An interesting thought crept into Danny’s head, of how cool it would be to do candy demonstrations like this at the tribute store, to show people the origins of his company, the skills required before automated machinery replaced the hands-on techniques he’d just witnessed. He stayed silent a moment, watching them work, then cleared his throat.

“You’re still here.”

“Watching and waiting.”

She sighed, just enough to let him know she wanted him gone. “What?”

“Do I need to call the electric company and have things put in my name?”

“Oh.” She paused, chagrined, as if she’d been rude by ignoring him. Which she had, of sorts, but from what he’d over heard, she had good reason to shy away from men who appeared too good to be true. Although he had to seriously doubt the intelligence of the locals if they took one look at the incredibly delightful woman before him, her curly hair somewhat tamed in a crocheted hairnet, and her gold-plaid floor-length dress a nod of appreciation to simpler times. He almost felt the comfort of that when he was in her presence. Almost.

She turned his way once the pot was empty, set it in a big, deep utility sink, turned on the hot water to melt the sugary coating and moved his way. “Sorry. I should have told you that. They’ll send the bill to me and I’ll pass it to you. For long-term leases I transfer it to the tenant’s name, but there’s no sense doing that for eight weeks. Is that all right?”

“It’s fine.” She had a smear of milk chocolate along her lower cheek, and her apron bore similar traces of her work. The dress, from what he could see, appeared spotless. He waved in that direction. “Won’t you get that messed up back here? In the kitchen?”

She nodded and shrugged. “Necessity. Women in the eighteen hundreds didn’t have the choice of wearing blue jeans and pullovers. They had to deal with all this, and when I wait on customers I like to be in costume. That helps steer conversation to candy making like it was.” She arched a brow and lifted a shoulder. “They learn more, then buy more.”

“Crafty.”

She nodded, opened the screen door and stepped out onto the small back porch. “Yes and no. I really like teaching, it’s in my blood, but I love candy making. I started doing this as a child and it comes easily to me. This way I can combine the two. And I do freelance work at the Genesee Country Museum in Livonia, too. For their special weekends we do candy-making demonstrations on-site. People love it.”

He could envision that, no problem, seeing her like this, in her candy kitchen, comfortable in her element. On impulse he reached out his left hand and used his thumb to wipe away the dab of chocolate.

She stepped back, startled out of her comfort zone.

He raised his hand. “You had chocolate on your cheek. Well, chin, actually.”

“You could have just told me.”

He grinned and put up both hands, palms out, as if surrendering. “More fun this way. So…” The look on her face told him a change of subject was in order. He took the hint. “I’ve moved in and I’m grateful for the chance to be out of the motel. Since we’re in fairly close proximity—”

Her gaze puckered, purposely.

He chose to ignore the chagrin. “And we’re going to see one another regularly…”

She mock-scowled, exaggerated for his benefit, a look that said, Get to the point, bud, I’ve got work to do…

“I thought I’d ask you to please let me know if I do anything to disturb you. I don’t want to be a thorn in your side, and since my name is Daniel and not Tom, Dick or Harry—”

A flush mounted her cheeks.

“—I’ll do my best to stay on my side of the Great Divide. Okay?”

She sighed, looked like she was struggling mightily to bring her feelings in line, gazed beyond him then drew her look back, reluctance shadowing the movement. “You’re my tenant. I’m your temporary landlord. You are welcome to come over here any time. I just…”

He moved a half step closer, noting the smattering of freckles seemed darker in the midday sun, that the tendrils of gold-brown hair escaping the net were two shades lighter than the rest of her hair and that her mouth was an indescribable shade of pink.

She bit her lip, looked up and must have read something in his eyes, because she drew a breath, pasted an easy smile of dismissal on her face and stepped back inside. “Now that we have that clear…”

“Crystal.”

“Absolutely. Yes.” She nodded toward the kitchen. “I’ve got to get back to work.”

“As do I.”

“Well, then…” She sounded almost reluctant to return to her duties, which was exactly how Danny felt about returning to his. Smarter for both if they ignored their obvious attraction by maintaining some distance.

He headed down the steps. “Nice talking with you, ladies.”

“Right.”

He grinned, recognizing the note of indecision in her voice, and wishing he could hear the feminine exchange slated to take place, but he had work to do. So did she.

As he climbed into his car, he remembered how she looked in that kitchen, cheeks pink from the heat, her gorgeous hair tucked beneath the old-fashioned crocheted hairnet. Try as he might, he hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind. And for some odd reason, he really didn’t want to.

But propriety told him Megan was off-limits. He had the advantage of knowing why he was in town, of understanding how his business moves could affect her livelihood. He couldn’t take that lightly.

Plus his parents wouldn’t take kindly to him toying with anyone’s affections. Despite his worldly experience, Danny wasn’t a player. He chose not to be, out of respect for his parents and his faith. In his travel-savvy world, that was a big difference, and while he’d fallen away from church attendance in his global wanderings, he hadn’t shrugged off the reality of a higher power, a Supreme Being. He just hoped God was the patient sort while he worked to build their candy business. Their coming Christmas catalog was crammed full of chocolate decadence. Its success would be a major step forward, a feather in his cap if it took off as he projected.

But he should leave sweet Megan alone. She seemed like the kind of girl who deserved nothing but the best, a guy who would be home day after day, the American dream of home and family she’d talked about so openly. Danny’s job kept him in the field so much that he was rarely in any one place for too long.

Home. The idea of starting a home had once seemed alien to him, an impossibility, one of those things that happened to other guys. And while several of his friends had married recently, several others were still footloose, and that had been fine because Danny hadn’t felt that spark, that hint of happily-ever-after possibilities.

Until now. With a woman completely off-limits. What was the good Lord thinking?

Chapter Six

Three days later Megan was contemplating the likelihood of being arrested for peeking out a window, watching for her neighbor’s return, totally wrong behavior that felt strangely right.

She’d obviously crossed a line. She definitely needed to leave her neighbor alone. Absolutely, positively alone.

Then why had she left a welcome basket of assorted cookies on his doorstep an hour before?

Simple. She was a glutton for punishment with little self-discipline.

Or she was a great neighbor. She brightened at the thought. That was what people did, right? They offered a welcome to their new neighbors, inviting them to be part of the community? Of course they did.

Nevertheless, Megan was still determined to keep her distance from Danny, but if he came over to thank her for the cookies, she’d be nice. Sweet. Friendly.

You are so in trouble, and the guy just got here. What are you thinking?

That was just it. She was trying so hard not to think about him that she was constantly thinking about him. A bad sign. Really bad. His footsteps down the back stairs made her breath hitch, wondering if he would turn right, toward her door, or left, toward the driveway.

He’d gone left, every day, just like she’d asked him to, but that didn’t stop her heart from skittering every time she heard him pull into the driveway, the quiet engine and the car door closing marking his presence late in the day.

So now she was tempting him across the divide with homemade baked goods. What on Earth was she thinking?

“Megan, you here?”

“Alyssa.” Meg stepped through the candy kitchen door and beamed at her married, very pregnant friend. “Oh, my gosh, look at you. I don’t see you for two weeks and you—”

“Popped.” Alyssa hugged Megan, then laughed and passed a hand over six months of baby. “That’s what the locals are calling it.”

“Perfect.” Megan stood back, perused Alyssa, then grinned and nodded. “You look so happy.”

Alyssa’s smile confirmed Meg’s assertion. “I really am. I should feel guilty about being this delighted with life.”

“No, you shouldn’t.” Megan offered her best scolding look, very nineteenth century. “You deserve to be happy. God gives us chances. Our job is to either take that chance or duck and run. You took the chance and happiness was just one of the fringe benefits. How’s Cory doing?” Cory was Alyssa’s four-year-old daughter from a former marriage. The precocious preschooler had been hospitalized the previous summer with a heart condition, a scary time for Alyssa’s family and the entire town.

“She’s wonderful. You’d never know she’d had problems, to look at her, and she’s got Trent and Jaden wrapped around her little finger. I’m hoping some of that will ease once this baby arrives to give her a little competition.”

“Then Trent can spoil them all,” Megan noted. “Have you got time for coffee? Say yes, please.”

“Yes,” Alyssa laughed. “How about you?” She motioned toward the production area.

“Yup.” Meg headed into the kitchen and grabbed a couple of mugs. “I’ve got the morning work done and it’s quiet until two or so, so this is the perfect time to chat. I can’t believe we live ten minutes apart and I haven’t seen you in two weeks. Are you in a Chocolate Glazed Donut coffee mood, French Vanilla or straight?”

“Chocolate. Always. And gainful employment and family stuff manage to steal time, don’t they?” Alyssa smiled her approval when Megan backed through the swinging half door with two mugs of flavored coffee.

“Oh, yum.” Alyssa leaned forward, breathed deep, and relaxed into her chair. “This is lovely.”

Megan laughed. “It is. And you look marvelous.”

“Thank you. I’m not quite to beached-whale stage yet, so I’ll accept your compliment graciously. In six weeks, I may bite your head off, so be forewarned.”

“I’ll take it under consideration. Are you helping staff the restaurant’s booth for the Balloon Rally?” Alyssa’s family owned and managed The Edge in Jamison, a gracious hilltop restaurant that overlooked the valley, now doubling as a wedding reception and special-occasion hot spot. Alyssa’s mother made to-die-for strudels, and the family sold them at a rally booth every year.

Alyssa nodded. “Absolutely. It will be fun. I kept that weekend clear of weddings because it’s silly to overbook and drive the servers crazy. We’ve got to have enough people on-site for the rally to bake and serve, and who wants to miss the balloons or fight traffic to do a wedding on Balloon Rally weekend?”

“Good point. And there’s only so much you can handle at this stage of pregnancy, right?”

Alyssa shot her a look of disbelief. “Unfortunately, once you’ve got a kid, that scenario goes out the window. You hit the ground running once they’re born and you don’t look back. Trent keeps telling me to slow down, but I feel…” She sighed, smiling. “Wonderful.”

“You’re married to one of the greatest guys on Earth, have a beautiful home perfect for raising babies and a job running a great restaurant. I’d say you have reason to feel wonderful.”

“I agree.” Alyssa sat forward and grasped Megan’s hand. “And I wish the same for you. I heard that Brad and Denise were coming into town this week, and I had to hold myself back from going over to Jacqueline’s house and having it out with them.”

“Old news.”

“It still hurts.”

Megan shrugged. “It really doesn’t. Not anymore. Oh, don’t get me wrong.” She met Alyssa’s raised brow with a half smile. “I don’t like the fact that they’re going to be underfoot all summer, but I really wish them well. It was a long time ago and I hope they’re happy together. And Brad did me a favor.” She sent a knowing look Alyssa’s way. “You and I both know that.”

“And Michael?”

“Grrr…” Megan mock scowled. “He did, too, but that whole left-at-the-altar thing? So not cool. My parents still go ballistic thinking about it, but I heard gossip that he’s cheating on his new girlfriend over at Alfred State, so again, it’s just as well. I’ve read half a dozen self-help books, and the conclusion is that I need to up my standards considerably. Not trade down.”

“I won’t disagree there, and you’re better off without Michael. We all know that.” Alyssa squeezed her hand and leaned forward, her look empathetic. “But more than anything, I want you happy.”

“Like you.”

She beamed. “Exactly like me. So we can raise our kids together. Coach soccer teams. Watch football under the lights while we eat hamburgers grilled by our husbands for the Sports Boosters’ Fund.”

“Smalltown, USA.”

“But good.”

Megan sighed. “It is good, but pretty unreachable. It’s not like Jamison and Wellsville are overflowing with a truckload of available thirty-somethings dying to settle down. Most of the available guys are unmarried for good reason.”

Alyssa contemplated that, then nodded. “Unfortunately, you’re right. But they’re not the only game in town, I hear.” She slid her gaze left. “I understand we got a new tenant last week.”

“Life in a small town.”

“Oh, yes. Not much gets by people here. But in this case, the rumor mill has taken a very positive slant on this newcomer.”

“He’s…nice.”

“Nice?” Alyssa’s furrowed brow invited more.

“And funny.”

“Humor in a man is a wonderful thing. It almost makes them palatable. Tell me more.”

Megan squirmed. “That’s it. He’s here for eight weeks on business, has a great smile. Not too tall, but tall enough that I look up to him.”

“Oh, really?”

“Stop. He’s just a tenant. And I’ve scarcely seen him. But he’s got great eyes.”

“Does he now?” Alyssa leaned forward, heightened interest arching her brows, lighting her eyes. “Do you think he’s good-looking? Because I’ve heard he’s hot enough to burn toast in a microwave.”

Megan laughed, considered, then nodded. “I can’t disagree, although your analogy’s a little strange. And he’s smart. Quick-witted. And totally off-limits.”

“Why?”

Megan raised her hands up. “Let’s backtrack to the ‘here for eight weeks’ part of the conversation. He leaves. I stay. I don’t need another bout of heartache, particularly in the public view again. Seriously, Lyssa, cut me some slack, okay? Once was hard. Twice was torture. No way in this world am I going for a third round. Uh-uh. I’m doing strategic planning to keep my heart intact.”

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