# The Perfect Groom

Ruth Scofield

LOOKING FOR MR. RIGHT…Ivy York knew exactly what she wanted in a husband. If only heaven would send Mr. Right her way: a sophisticated partner who enjoyed all the finer things in life.Handsome, hardworking Noah Thornton was definitely not her dream man. No matter that his teasing grin brightened her day and his dark gaze warmed her heart. When would Noah realize they'd never be more than friends?Still, Ivy could not deny his many fine qualities–his kindness and strong faith. Yes, Noah was a catch, she thought…for some other woman. But was the perfect groom she'd prayed for waiting beside her all along?

## Table of Contents

Cover Page

Excerpt

About the Author

Title Page

Epigraph

Dedication

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

Dear Reader

Copyright

## Noah came toward her, his gaze growing softer.…

“I’ll call Aunt Arletta to let her know I’ll be home later,” Ivy murmured to fill the quiet. She rested against the doorway, her hands folded across her waist.

“All right.” Noah stood very close. His breath fanned her cheek. His proximity unnerved her. It simply wasn’t fair to have this reaction when he was so…so unsuitable for her ten-year plan.

“Shall we take my truck, or your car?” he asked with a mischievous grin. He placed his palm high against the door frame just above her head. The light in his eyes made her breath catch in her throat, and all she could think of was that kiss they’d shared in the kitchen. How sweet his lips had felt on hers…

How afterward she’d vowed to never let him kiss her again.

She wouldn’t let her heart get involved, Ivy told herself for the dozenth time.

She wouldn’t allow herself to fall in love with Noah Thornton!

## RUTH SCOFIELD

became serious about writing after she’d raised her children. Until then, she’d concentrated her life on being a June Cleaver-type wife and mother, spent years as a Bible student and teacher for teens and young adults, and led a weekly women’s prayer group. When she’d made a final wedding dress and her last child had left the nest, she declared to one and all that it was her turn to activate a dream. Thankfully her husband applauded her decision.

Ruth began school in an old-fashioned rural two-room schoolhouse and grew up in the days before television, giving substance to her notion that she still has one foot in the last century. However, active involvement with six rambunctious grandchildren has her eagerly looking forward to the next millennium. After living on the East Coast for years, Ruth and her husband now live in Missouri.

## The Perfect Groom. Ruth Scofield


www.millsandboon.co.uk

By wisdom a house is built, and through understanding it is established; through knowledge its rooms are filled with rare and beautiful treasures.

—Proverbs 24:3-4

This is for all the many affectionate, loving aunts who enrich our lives with their presence, their advice and guidance, their constancy and support. Most of mine have gone from this earth, but I recall them to memory with great fondness and longing to see them again.

And for the aunt for whom I was named, who is lively and shining with love—Aunt Ruth. Everyone should be so blessed.

## Chapter One

Ivy hated weddings. She despised bridesmaids dresses. She still abhorred all ten attendant gowns already stuffed in the back of her closet, used once, never appropriate for any other occasion. Never mind the two once-in-a-dream white bridal gowns, unused, forlorn, and stored in plastic covers, hidden away in disappointment and disgust.

She especially detested the bright lime-green silk that clung too tightly to her generous curves at this very moment, but she’d bitten her tongue over the choice. After all, she’d given her word to support the bride, her best friend Kelly, and Kelly’s sister wanted this style, this color.

“Ivy Suzanne York, quit pulling at your dress,” Aunt Arletta said, scarcely lowering her voice as she steered her from behind the huge oak where Ivy had tried to hide. “You’re not a child, you know.”

Ivy swallowed a snappy response, eyeing the man her aunt had tugged along a few minutes ago in her wake.

No, Ivy hadn’t been a child for a long time. At twenty-seven, college educated, with ten solid years of retail experience behind her, and now owner of her own shop, Ivy considered herself well and truly grown. A responsible person. With nothing to prove to anyone. With a reasonable five-year plan for her life. Never mind that she was more than two years behind her schedule to be married by age twenty-five. But Aunt Arletta, dear as she was, sometimes still treated her as if she couldn’t wipe her own nose.

“Ivy, this is Noah Thornton. He has a true artistic eye, don’t you think?” The older woman swept her hand wide, indicating the vast grounds surrounding Reeves House, the lovely old stone mansion the bride’s parents had rented for the wedding. Ivy hoped to explore more of the grounds later during the reception. Right now, she resented having her few minutes of respite from all the gushy wedding talk stolen by another of her aunt’s antics.

It didn’t help her mood any when the dark-eyed man standing two feet in front of her smirked as he nodded a greeting. Glints of amusement sparked from his warm brown eyes as his gaze swept down her figure before returning to her face.

“Noah, this is my niece, Ivy. She has the shop I told you about, ‘Wall’s Intrigue’ in Brookside. Seems to me you two have a lot in common. You in landscaping and she in interior design.” Aunt Arletta, dressed in a burnt orange fall suit that complemented her snowy hair, grasped Ivy’s wrist again just as she tried to ease backward. “Noah’s unmarried, Ivy, and I’m sure he’s looking for just the right young woman to fill his life. Proverbs says, ‘A man who finds a wife—’”

“Aunt Arletta!”

Noah’s lips twitched into a full grin, his teeth flashing white against his tanned skin, as though he knew Ivy wanted to melt into the shrubbery.

She took in his soiled jeans, damp at the knees, and his heavy work boots. A streak of dirt clung to his forehead, evidence of a swiping arm, no doubt. Behind him, a wheelbarrow full of last-minute bush trimmings sat on the edge of the brick garden terrace. They were less than an hour from the appointed ceremony time; why was a gardener even still on the grounds?

He held a big clay pot of golden mums, the multipetaled blossoms splashing bright color against his denim work shirt. His long fingers showed scabbed knuckles, and Ivy briefly wondered what he’d done to injure his hand.

“But Ivy,” Aunt Arletta continued, irrepressible, “Proverbs says, ‘A man who finds a wife—’”

“Yes, I know what Proverbs says,” Ivy interrupted. She felt her cheeks grow warm with color and pressed her lips together, holding her irritation in check at Aunt Arletta’s usual behavior. Introducing her to strange men who her aunt thought suitable husband material was something Ivy’d come to expect. But really! A gardener?

Aunt Arletta knew very well she had her sights set higher. She wanted to meet an upwardly mobile man. Someone who wore expensive suits and silk ties to work and knew the corporate world—or someone solidly entrenched in a good law firm or in line for a hospital chief-of-staff position. A man with a good future.

Pointedly glancing at her watch, she said, “I don’t mean to be rude, Mr., um, Noah, but I’ve got to get back to the bride. I just ducked out to have a breath of air.”

She glanced around at the banks of autumn flowers and foliage enhancing the walks and benches and terrace. The garden reflected a great deal of work and artistic eye for color and design. “It all looks lovely, but, er, shouldn’t you be finished by now?”

“Just going.” His voice sounded like deep chocolate icing on a velvet cake. Rich and delicious, it startled her into glancing at him again. She felt her mouth droop in blinking anticipation when he said, “I’ll be out of here in two minutes. Nice to meet you, Ivy.”

He shifted his smile to her aunt, softening his goodbye to her, and ignored Ivy. Nodding almost curtly, she swung on her heel and headed back to the upstairs bedroom set aside as the bride’s dressing room.

“I suppose you’ll have to find another time to talk to Ivy, Noah,” she heard her aunt say as she walked away. Then, half-apologetically, “Weddings make her a bit touchy. And you know, Proverbs says a prudent man overlooks an insult.”

“And only a fool shows his annoyance at once,” he replied.

Ivy gritted her teeth. Another Proverb, her aunt’s favorite source of quotations. Why Aunt Arletta thought she needed to impart that information about her hating weddings flummoxed her. It wasn’t a stranger’s business to know. It was bad enough for Kelly to watch her like a mother hen whose troublesome chick might run amok, much less having complete strangers expecting her to do something inappropriate. She had every intention of behaving perfectly today. She’d given Kelly her promise.

Still, she paused at the door to take three deep breaths before returning to the bridal party—Kelly, her sister Kathy, and the three other twittering bridesmaids, all wearing identical dresses to her own. She felt like a scoop of lime sherbet. Why couldn’t Kathy have gone for the hunter green, like most other autumn weddings sported?

She hoped by this time all the talk between them of whose turn it was next to become a bride had passed. Ivy sighed, allowing herself one moment of defeat before putting on her most dazzling smile. It seemed she would be the last of her high school chums to walk down the isle when she’d been the one who talked most, all her life, of getting married. Thank goodness, Kelly was the only one of the wedding party who knew she’d almost made it to the church twice. Three times, if anyone counted that stupid secret high school engagement, thankfully aborted before the planned elopement took place. She couldn’t bear having everyone stare at her in pity, with the unspoken words three strikes and you’re out hovering in their minds.

Ivy hadn’t been lucky at actually becoming a bride.

Now she didn’t allow her hopes to jump at every man who might be a likely candidate, and kept her past disappointments locked away in the privacy of her memory bank. But in her heart of hearts she still wished for a husband and a home of her own.

Sudden laughter bubbled up from Ivy’s middle; it was a good thing she kept that particular yearning well hidden these days. With Aunt Arletta’s propensity for latching onto strange men, she daren’t open her mouth. A gardener, for Pete’s sake?

Besides, lately she’d decided her life was full enough with the shop, Aunt Arletta and church activities. She helped out in the toddler nursery from time to time, which gave her babies to hug, a momentary feeling of motherhood. A stopgap, to be sure—but who had time for anything else, anyway?

Feeling more serene, Ivy swung through the door and immediately stopped to catch her breath. Fitted with floor-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall mirrors on four sides, the room reflected Kelly’s tall, regal figure again and again all around her, stunning in an elegant gown of white lace and satin, trimmed in seed pearls.

“Oh, Kelly,” she murmured in awe, instantly scrapping any lingering envy or misplaced jealousy she’d brought into the day. How could she be so petty in light of her friend’s happiness? “You’d make the perfect bride to grace any of the brides’ magazine covers.”

“Thank you, Ivy.” Kelly smiled, tremulous with emotion.

Through a connecting door into the next room, the other girls flitted about with lively chatter as they made last-minute checks to their hair and dresses. Strains of a single flute drifted up from the distant first-floor ballroom where the ceremony would take place, shortly joined by violins and a piano.

“Oh, the music has started,” Kelly said, her hand fluttering to her chest, a trait unusual for her. “Is it time?”

“Yes,” Ivy answered with calm fondness. “Yes it is, hon. And I can’t wait ‘til Scott gets his first glimpse of you.”

Almost two hours later, Ivy finally slipped away from the wedding reception lineup. Her mouth was dryer than a cotton ball and the happy bride no longer needed her. She looked around for the punch table. It stood ten people deep and a multitude of guests stacked the buffet lines; Aunt Arletta moved in one of the lines, busily talking with another woman her own age.

Another half hour would pass before Ivy was required again. She turned away. All she wanted was water; she wondered where she might find the kitchen.

Moving out of the huge ballroom and through the center hall, Ivy followed a waitress weaving her way toward the back of the house into a lesser hall. Ivy made a quick sidestep to avoid a food trolley rolling out from the kitchen, causing her to bounce slightly against the doorjamb opposite. Another trolley followed. She edged back more firmly, and fell through.

“Whoa, there,” murmured a bass voice behind her. One that sounded like rich fudge icing. A strong hand touched her shoulder, helping her to right herself. She glanced over her shoulder into chocolate brown eyes. Only this time they held no amusement. “Did you get lost?”

“Oh, um,” she said, noticing the serious set of his mouth. He’d bathed and changed clothes, and his hair was still damp. “Noah something or other, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, that’s right. Noah.”

“No, not really lost,” she murmured, swinging about to glance at the second man in the room. Attractive, with deep blue eyes under a sunny swag of hair, he smiled a welcome. He wore light-brown casual trousers with a matching open-neck silk shirt. He wasn’t one of the guests; he must have something to do with the house or catering staff. She smiled in return. “I was looking for a glass of water and thought I’d find the kitchen. Sorry if I’ve intruded.”

“No bother,” he answered, snapping the door firmly closed before strolling to a tea trolley. Ice tinkled in the glass pitcher as he poured water into a tall glass. His smile grew inviting, a slight lifting of his lips giving his cheeks attractive dimples. “Here, have some from our tray. You might be knocked down out there. The service hallway is quite busy just now.”

“That’s very kind, thank you.” She accepted the glass and sipped, casting a glance at the two men from beneath lowered lashes. From Noah, a quiet tension hung in the air, a feeling of something left unfinished. His hands, tightly fisted, were stuffed in his pockets.

She took in her surroundings. A library office, she thought, with a huge old library table desk of gleaming oak taking pride of place in front of a wall of books. Nearby a computer and stand looked more out of place than the wooden file cabinets in the corner, but a navy-blue sofa and matching chair brought the room back to a picture perfect library. On the whole the room was charming—but clearly a private one.

She had interrupted them.

Turning, she gazed hopefully at the three large windows that looked out on a terrace, but saw no door. Outside, a number of guests enjoyed the fine October weather. Deciding she needed to excuse herself as quickly as possible, she said, “Is there another way out of here? I’d just as soon avoid the heavy tide out there.”

“Sorry, no,” the blond man murmured. “But there’s no need to hurry off. I’m Gerald Reeves, by the way.” He gestured her toward the overstuffed chair. “Sit here a bit and catch your breath. The hallway should clear out soon. Unless the bride is looking for you?”

Noah remained silent, looking out the bank of windows.

“No, not at the moment,” she answered, wondering what captured the gardener’s attention outside, what caused his jaw to tense hard as granite.

She sat cautiously on the chair edge near the tea trolley, and switched her gaze toward the other man. “Reeves? Then this is your family home? I didn’t realize anyone still maintained a residence here. And I have blundered into your private rooms. Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not an earth-shattering mix-up,” Gerald reassured. “Could happen to anyone. It might put your mind more at ease to say we’re friends.” He raised a brow and let a slow smile creep across his face. “But I’d need to know your name.”

“How remiss of me,” she said with a chuckle, offering her hand to shake. “Ivy York, bridesmaid.”

“Yes, so I see.” He folded her hand in his for a proper moment before letting it go. “Friend or family?”

“A close friend.”

Noah turned abruptly, and stalked toward the door. “Gotta get going. Nice to meet you again, Ivy. I’ll have a couple of men clean up the garden tomorrow morning, Gerry.”

Gerald’s tone sharpened. “What about the lower grounds, Noah?”

At the door to the hall, Noah turned, his hand on the knob. “I’ll, uh, be back in a couple of days to clean out the fish pond and winterize it. And I’ll arrange for the tree trimmers to prune that eastern slope. The other matter…”

“Will take care of itself in due time,” Gerald finished for him, leaning back lazily on the sofa. He smiled at Ivy, dismissing Noah.

“No doubt,” Noah agreed with a note of sarcasm as he closed the door behind him.

Feeling even more like an interloper, Ivy sipped her water and allowed her gaze to roam the room again, taking in details she’d overlooked the first time. A sheaf of paperwork lay scattered across the desk and a stack of old wooden picture frames leaned against the desk leg. Even from yards away she knew they needed repair. Rising, she bent to examine them.

“These are beautiful,” she murmured, looking at the worn gold leaf along the raised edges on the largest. “Eighteen-nineties to…maybe early twenties, aren’t they?”

“Yes, that’s right. How did you know?”

“It’s my business to know,” she said, glancing up. His gaze held interested surprise. “I deal with good framers, good suppliers. Um, are you looking for someone to repair these?”

“Actually, I hadn’t yet thought about them much.” He rose to stand nearby and stare at the frames. “I could always sell them, I suppose. Do you know of someone who specializes in repairing old wood?”

“Yes. Here,” she grabbed a ballpoint from a holder and scribbled on a Post-it pad. “I’ll give you his name. I think he can do a good job for you. Can’t think of his phone number off the top of my head, but if you want to call my shop Monday, I can give it to you.”

“You own a shop, eh? What kind?”

“An interior design store, ‘Wall’s Intrigue’, in Brookside.” She set her glass on the tea trolley, and smiled. “Thanks again, Mr. Reeves, for the water. But I really have to go back to the bride now, or they’ll be sending out the bloodhounds in search for me.”

She slipped out into the almost empty service hall and from there into the main foyer, where the bride’s sister caught up with her.

“There you are, Ivy,” Kathy said, annoyed. “Where have you been? We’re wanted in the gazebo for pictures.”

“All right, I’m coming.”

Kathy didn’t wait. She sailed forward through the milling crowd without looking back.

Following Kathy out a side door, Ivy headed across the lawn toward the white-columned structure set among maples, red oaks, dogwoods and redbud trees in autumn splendor. She paused to pull in a deep breath, letting the beauty flow through her; God really was the best decorator ever, she mused. Nothing could compare with the sight before her.

One of the groomsmen waved her to hurry. Hit with sudden exhilaration, Ivy picked up her skirt and sprinted down the gentle slope, her skirt billowing behind. A deep masculine laughter trailed her. She glanced over her shoulder, wondering at its source.

Noah Thornton. He stood in the half-shadowed doorway of a rear porch watching her. She couldn’t imagine what about her amused him so, but she wouldn’t let it bother her. Not a bit. After today, it was unlikely she’d ever see him again.

She ran faster. He laughed harder.

She refused to give him another glance.

## Chapter Two

“Hello, can I help you?” Ivy asked, approaching the smartly dressed young woman who was examining a wall of original watercolors by a number of local artists Ivy supported. Her classic features and silky shoulder-length fall of blond hair looked familiar; Ivy tried to remember if they’d ever met. “If you’re interested in one of these paintings, I can get it down for you.”

“Those faces done in blues and mauves are interesting. Unusual—but no, I don’t think so today,” the woman replied before turning and studying her a moment. “I’m Barbara Reeves. You were at Reeves House the other day and offered to give my brother the number of a framer who specializes in repairing old picture frames?”

A group of three entered the shop, two women and a child. Saturdays in the old-fashioned Brookside shopping neighborhood were usually Ivy’s busiest days and Tina had called in sick, leaving only Sherri and her to handle the crowd.

“Oh, yes.” Now Ivy knew why the woman looked familiar. In addition to the resemblance to her brother, her picture had been in the papers a dozen times in the society columns. Barbara Reeves headed up several charity affairs every year. “I’ll get it for you, but, um, can you wait a moment? My assistant is at lunch and I need to take care of the front counter.”

Barbara shrugged and wandered to the finely carved wood mantelpieces on another wall. “I’m not in a rush. You really do have a lovely shop here. I’d no idea…”

The door dinged again as other customers entered. Ivy finished her transactions with the two young women, and turned to help the next when a pounding alerted her that someone wanted her attention at the shop’s back door. Thankfully, Sherri, her most faithful help, returned just in time to answer it.

“Got a delivery,” Ivy heard a deep voice pronounce. Instant recognition danced across her consciousness, and she almost tripped over her own feet to look into the back room.

“Sherri, I’ll take care of this.” She smiled at the customer, then glanced at Barbara Reeves apologetically, murmuring “A moment more, please,” while she stepped into her crammed storage-cum-office area.

He looked bigger in the small room than he had outdoors. Taller and broader. At least he was neatly dressed in clean jeans and she had to admit the cherry-red shirt complemented his dark hair and eyes.

Holding a big cardboard box with the words Tomato Soup printed on its side atop his shoulder, he took time to look around with interest.

“Noah something, isn’t it?” she murmured.

He brought his gaze around to look at her. His mouth curved into a half smile with a disarming charm of gentle flirtation. His eyes glinted with an expression clearly intent on letting her know he didn’t believe her casual memory. “That’s right.”

Ivy pursed her mouth. She wouldn’t let that smile get to her—even while those sparkling brown eyes gave her tummy a dip. What was he doing here?

“You work for a gardening business, don’t you?”

“Something like that,” he said, his smile widening. He seemed to think they shared a joke, as though they played a game. “Where do you want this stuff?”

“Wait a minute.” She put up a defensive hand. Surely the man didn’t think she’d called him in an attempt to see him again, did he? But his knowing expression said that was exactly what he thought. Well, she’d put a stop to that bit of nonsense right now.

“I don’t recall ordering anything from you,” she said distinctly as if speaking to a child. “I don’t carry gardening equipment.”

“Well, at least you remember my line of work,” he replied, retaining a wry, teasing tone. He swung the box to the floor, taking up the three feet between them. “And like you, I own my business, The Old Garden Gate. Now, I have six outdoor wooden sculptures of trees and little critters for you. Great to hang on a porch wall or decorate a deck.”

“I specialize in interiors.”

He gave her a speculative look, causing her to smooth her hair behind one ear. “I sold one recently for a fireplace decoration.”

“But I didn’t order them,” she insisted. “I wouldn’t.”

“Well, somebody ordered them. See?” He raised his brows and held out the small square of paper scribbled with the name of her shop and order. “Wall’s Intrigue. Dated last Monday.”

“Whose initials—” She glanced more closely at the carboned form and clamped her mouth shut. A.A. Aunt Arletta!

In any of her correspondence, notes, or gift tags to the family, her aunt never used her full name, Arletta York, she merely signed A.A. And here it was again. Surely Aunt Arletta wouldn’t interfere in the shop’s ordering lists again after Ivy scolded her for overflowing their supply of stained-glass bathroom wall fixtures?

The irrefutable evidence hung limply from between a masculine thumb and forefinger, waiting for her to accept it. Glancing into Noah’s face, she clamped her teeth on a flare of high irritation. The man was right about one thing; her aunt had probably ordered the merchandise to bring Noah and Ivy together again. Throwing her at men’s heads had become Aunt Arletta’s latest hobby.

They were usually nice enough men. Ivy simply wasn’t always enamored of Aunt Arletta’s taste. Or her tactics.

That wasn’t this man’s fault, she admonished herself.

“All right,” she said with a sigh. She might not like it, but she wouldn’t embarrass her aunt or Noah by refusing to honor the order. Ivy did wonder how she could corral Arletta without deeply wounding her feelings. The shop’s cash flow already ran closer to the zero line than was healthy. “Let’s see your merchandise.”

He bent to open the box, and brought out one of the objects for Ivy’s inspection. To her surprise, it was a wood carving from a chunk of oak of two bear cubs climbing a pine tree. And it was good. The work showed more rough talent than training, but it had great appeal.

All business now, she said, “Let me see the rest.”

Noah crouched down and pulled out the others—frogs and turtles, butterflies and birds, and dogwoods and tulips. Kneeling beside him, Ivy examined each one and glanced at Noah with renewed interest. “Did you do these?”

“Yeah, that one’s mine.” He stood and hung his thumbs from his jeans back pockets, watching her appraise the work. “A buddy and I do these in the winter when we don’t have a lot else going on. He’s the true artist, though. I just fill in my off-season time.”

“Mmm…” She might have a few customers who would go for the primitive work. “It’s the wrong season for most of these.”

She stood also, and glanced around at her stuffed-to-the-ceiling shelves. “I’m setting out my holiday stock next week. Have you anything for the Thanksgiving and Christmas shoppers? I can use more Christmas stock. I already have enough wreaths coming in, but if you could come up with something different, something with a flair, bring it in. Meanwhile, I’ll put out the bear and racoon and see what kind of interest it gets.”

“Fair enough.” He looked pleased. “Our outdoor work has slowed down quite a bit. I’ll talk to Matt and see what he suggests.”

“I thought I heard a familiar voice back this way,” Barbara Reeves said, ignoring the Private sign and pushing the door wider. “Noah, darling.” The blonde’s voice took on a near purr. “How are you? Haven’t seen you in weeks. Where’ve you been keeping yourself?”

Noah dropped his hands to his sides. Ivy wouldn’t have said he went on red alert, but she had a distinct impression of wariness.

“Hello, Barbara.” He smiled vaguely. “I’ve been pretty busy.”

“I called you last week,” Barbara said, flipping her silky hair back with long, well-manicured fingers. “Didn’t you get my message about the Shores’ dinner?”

“Guess not. My phones were out for a couple of hours one day while the phone company did some work up the road.”

“Well, I suppose that now your season has entered its resting phase, you’ll have more time to accept my invitations,” Barbara said with the familiarity of an old friend. “What about Saturday night?”

“Um…” He shifted his stance. “Have plans for Saturday.”

“Too bad. Can’t you break them?”

“Nope.” His gaze grew determined, but his tone softened, as though letting her down easy. “Plans are solid.”

Ivy felt she’d wandered into the middle of a twosome.

“Don’t count on me to make the rounds of your social circuit this year, Barbara,” Noah continued. “My winter schedule may be different from the heavier seasons, but it’s just as busy. In fact—” his glance touched Ivy with a spark of humor “—I’ve just joined a very active church where I expect to give quite a lot of my free time.”

Which church? An instant suspicion tickled Ivy’s spine. Was he talking about her church? Had Aunt Arletta done it again?

Aunt Arletta wasn’t above a top-drawer selling job when it came to campaigning for Grace Community Church, and true enough, they carried several very active programs to service the community as well as three worship services on Sunday and several Bible studies and prayer meetings during the week. But she might just tie a knot in Aunt Arletta’s panty hose if her aunt had been urging Noah to attend on her account.

“Ah, yes, soup kitchens and urchins, hmm?” Barbara said. “Well, perhaps another time. I have to run. Give me a call, Ms. York, when you have time to find that framer’s number, will you?”

“Would you like me to call the framer for you?” Ivy responded.

“Sure, why not? Just let me know.”

“I will. Thanks for coming in, Miss Reeves.”

Ivy turned back to Noah. He shrugged, as though to suggest he had nothing to say about the encounter, and grinned. His dark eyes glinted with friendly humor.

“Now, about your merchandise,” she said in a firm voice. “What kind of a price are you looking for?”

They wrapped up the business end of the transaction, then before Ivy could wonder whether he’d try to extend his contact with her or attempt anything close to a personal conversation, Noah said, “Nice doing business with you, Ivy. I’ll leave through the store, if you don’t mind. I can look around.”

“Sure, help yourself.” Leading the way, Ivy strolled back into the showroom.

Ivy turned her attention to a customer choosing wallpaper and matching drapes, and she became engrossed in color schemes and styles. Long moments later, a trill of laughter and a deep chuckle intruded upon her concentration.

Glancing toward the sound, she spotted Noah on a ladder removing one of her finest black walnut mantels from the wall display. Sherri waited at the ladder’s base, her eyes alight with pleasure as she gazed up at Noah as though she were Juliet doing a reverse balcony scene with Romeo.

“Do you want to take this with you or have it delivered?” he asked the older woman waiting beside Sherri. Mrs. Gilliam, Ivy noted. A regular customer, she’d looked at the mantelpiece more than once but usually declared it too expensive.

“Oh, um, I have my van,” the woman answered. “I’ll take it now, if you’ll carry it out for me.”

“Be glad to, ma’am.” Noah answered graciously. “Soon as Sherri rings you up, you just pull your van round back and I’ll have this wrapped and ready to load. Do you have someone at home to unload it for you?’

“Ah, yes.” The woman’s salt-and-pepper head nodded, but her voice held an overtone of disappointment, as if hoping Noah might offer to deliver her purchase. “Yes, of course.”

“Oh, thank you, Noah. I could never have taken that down without you,” Sherri gushed before turning to the customer. “Will that be cash or charge, Mrs. Gilliam?”

“Charge, I suppose,” Mrs. Gilliam said, running an appreciative hand along the dark polished wood. Intricately carved with racing horses, the heavy piece was the most expensive mantel in the shop. Ivy’d begun to think she’d never sell it without a drastic price reduction.

But Noah had. Her gaze followed him as he carried the object into the back room. Ivy finished with her own customer before stepping through the storeroom door.

“Got any real packing material back here?” he asked her without looking her way as he searched a corner of the storeroom.

“The heavy-duty wrapping is behind the door over here.”

“Yeah, that’s the stuff.” He pulled the roll of batted paper out and hoisted it with ease onto the one counter Ivy kept clear for the purpose of wrapping large items. Having a person with muscle power about the store had its advantages, she admitted to herself. “Wouldn’t want to expose this thing to a possible scratch. About lost my back teeth when I heard Sherri quote the price.”

“Good work always commands a good price.”

“You know, this thing was so high up no one could see the delicate details,” he said, looking it over carefully. “Even needs a little dusting. I bet you could’ve sold it a lot faster if customers could see it better. Some of your wall could do with a rearrangement.”

“What’s wrong with the wall?” He was right, but she was curious to know why he thought so.

“It’s too random. Looks disorganized.”

She blinked at his pointed reply. Obviously, subtlety wasn’t one of his strong talents.

“That’s because…because I don’t have enough space to show like a gallery,” she said, almost sputtering. Why she even thought she owed him an explanation was beyond her usual good sense. “I put up the work as it comes in.”

Actually, she’d done that only in the last month. Usually she took time to reevaluate and rearrange the wall often.

“Looks like it, too. Might sell better if you group by color ranges. Or artists. You have three Burkes scattered over the wall that would show well together above one of the mantels.”

“Only three? I thought I had two in one place and two in another.”

“I sold one to that Ms. Reeves,” Sherri said. “After she came out from talking to the two of you in the storeroom.”

“Oh.” Ivy glanced at the picture wall. Sure enough, an empty spot showed where the Burke that Barbara had bought once hung. “I’d be glad to rearrange your wall for you, if you’d like,” Noah said. “I have a little time on my hands this week. No charge.”

“I’ll consider it,” she answered. She knew the wall needed work; in truth, she’d been putting it off until Monday night after store hours when she planned to replace some of the art to show holiday wreaths. And with Aunt Arletta ordering things behind her back, and sometimes committing Ivy’s time to help friends decorate with only thanks for compensation, she didn’t need someone else handing out unsolicited advice.

A honk sounded beyond the outside rear door.

“Well, thanks for the help with Mrs. Gilliam’s purchase,” she said with sincerity, even though his critique of her shop’s display area still rankled.

Yet he had been helpful, she reminded herself. She pulled the heavy door wide and struggled to be gracious as well as cooly professional. “It was kind of you. Here, I’ll hold the door open.”

“Glad to help.” Halfway through the door, he paused. His dark eyes studied hers for half a second. “You’ve seen my work at Reeves house. Perhaps you’d consider carrying my card in your recommendation file. After coming to see my place, of course. Wouldn’t expect you to tell your customers about my work unless I meet your standards.”

“Right” That was really why he’d come today, she thought. She wouldn’t admit to a tiny bit of disappointment that he hadn’t come simply to see her again. Hidden agendas reminded her too much of Leon, the last man to whom she’d been engaged. Leon had wanted to control everything she did. He’d even had the nerve to fire her store assistant; that was the beginning of the end for Leon.

It was definitely the end of any remnant of her fantasy of a perfect marriage. Obviously this man had more depth to him than met the eye. But she’d never allow herself to become personally entangled with an overly controlling male again—ever.

“Send me a list of your services and prices and I’ll give the idea some thought,” she finally told Noah.

Yeah, right.

She didn’t think so.

Several hours later as she slipped into the pew for the midweek prayer and praise service at church, she knew her wish to keep contact with Noah strictly on a professional basis was a vain one.

“Noah,” Aunt Arletta greeted the young man enthusiastically. “I’m so happy to see you. Sit here with us.”

“Thank you, ma’am. It’s good to feel welcome.”

Feeling like a grinch, Ivy scooted down the bench pew to make room for him. His smile was both genuine and sweet.

Hers felt more like a nervous rabbit’s.

## Chapter Three

Ivy dropped her keys on the kitchen counter of the apartment she shared with her aunt and sank into a chair. She let all her muscles relax. For the past week, with the exception of Sunday, she’d spent at least twelve hours a day at the store preparing for the approaching holiday shopping season. Last night she hadn’t arrived home until midnight and she’d left again at seven this morning.

The day had been one ripe for a double headache.

One of her suppliers called with the news he’d be two weeks late with a Christmas delivery; a three-year-old child had tried climbing the shelf display then pitched a temper tantrum when she gently insisted he get down—without a mother in sight for a full five minutes; the man who cleaned her floor quit for greener pastures; and her feet hurt. After letting Sherri go home early, Ivy had stayed until almost seven. She wasn’t even sure if the sun had made an appearance today. But at least her store was reasonably prepared for the holiday rush.

She sniffed. The fragrance of a chicken casserole filled her nostrils, making her tummy clench with hunger. What would she do without Aunt Arletta? she mused. Probably live on takeout. She hadn’t taken time for lunch, either.

“Kind of late home, aren’t you dear?” Her aunt popped into the kitchen and turned on the stove burner under the teakettle. “Well, never mind. You’re just in time for a quick shower.”

Shower? Her thoughts had run on the lovely image of a long soak in a bubble bath.

“What do you mean?” Ivy asked, knowing full well it meant her aunt probably wanted to go out somewhere. Couldn’t be grocery shopping—she’d done that last night She frowned. No, that had been three nights ago. Maybe she had a meeting of some church committee.

Ivy hoped it meant her aunt only needed a ride somewhere and not Ivy’s company for the evening. After talking with customers all day, she was too tired to even crack a smile. “It’s Tuesday.”

“Ah, yes. Tuesday.” Aunt Arletta met with a seniors group for Bible study and dessert on Tuesday afternoons, which usually satisfied her craving for company—at least for that day. On Tuesday evenings, they stayed at home.

Not for the first time Ivy wished her aunt had learned to drive. The fact she hadn’t had caused Ivy and her mother, Brenda, more than one problem while Ivy was growing up. Aunt Arletta didn’t think anything of making plans without consulting anyone else first, but she was such a dear and contributed so much to other people’s comfort, Ivy never had the heart to refuse her. It hadn’t been so bad before her dad died; she was his aunt, after all. He cheerfully ran errands for Aunt Arletta or drove her to wherever she needed to go.

Ivy shifted from her outer wrap and let her head drop back to rest against the chair. Closing her eyes for a moment, she pulled up memories of her dad—something she often did when she felt tired or down.

Jonathan York had been of average size, but Ivy had thought him tall enough to touch the ceiling. They’d ridden bikes together, shoveled snow and made snow forts all winter, roller-skated in the hot summer evenings, jaunted down the sidewalks side by side every Saturday morning on their way to shop. They munched on donuts while strolling home, a bag of groceries in each of their arms, and he’d simply grin widely at her mother’s scold over spoiling her. She’d been her daddy’s girl and she’d adored him. No one would ever mistake her for anyone else’s child, her mother said frequently, with their matching coppery curls and hazel green eyes.

Without realizing it, Ivy sighed. She still missed him dreadfully. When her father died of sudden heart failure, she’d just turned fourteen. She thought her world had stopped, and in a way, it had. Things changed rapidly for her and her mother afterward; although they’d never had much in earthly goods, their life became even leaner. Bless Aunt Arletta. They never would have made it if she had not moved in with them, throwing her own small income and nurturing instincts into the family pot.

It was Aunt Arletta who had taught her about her heavenly Father. And how to talk with Him and what the scriptures said of Him.

Aunt Arletta did a lot for the family, but she never learned to drive. They’d had the old car, then, already four years old when her dad died, and her mom took over the duties of ferrying the family. But they soon found that balancing the various needs was often difficult; taking the bus hadn’t always fit Ivy’s schedule or routes, and cabs were too expensive. Too proud, her mother refused to ask for help from anyone besides Aunt Arletta. They couldn’t always depend on someone else to cart one of them around, her mom had said. They just had to “make do”.

Ivy was usually the one who made do. If she hadn’t a ride to somewhere, she walked. She walked almost everywhere as a teen.

Ivy’d learned a great deal about personally making do. She made her choices of clothing and activity do triple duty, and budgeted her time and money with care, even while lavishing her time on learning all she could about fine furnishings, color palettes and design. The contrast between the exquisite furniture, fine art and carefully designed interiors she studied and the reality of their humble apartment made a deep impression on her, and she’d determined even then to have a better home one day.

She took her first part-time job at a department store the month she turned fifteen and a half. During college, she switched to an upscale furniture store and juggled full-time hours with school. She socked away every penny she could, waiting for the day when she could invest it.

She and Aunt Arletta, since her mother remarried and moved out west, still made do with their small apartment and frugal budget while she poured all her profits back into the store. But one day she’d have a big house and more than one new car. If their Christmas season was good, this was the year Wall’s Intrigue would more than break even. Someday, Ivy dreamed now, she’d have money enough to buy a brand-new car right off the dealer’s lot and take Aunt Arletta on a long driving vacation.

“So what’s going on?” She let her daydreams go with a sigh.

“We have a guest coming to dinner.”

“Okay.” She didn’t bother to ask who. Aunt Arletta frequently asked her friend, Shirley, who lived two doors away to a meal. “What’s it being Tuesday to do with it?”

“Well, tomorrow is your light day.”

“Mmm…” Ivy closed at four on Wednesdays, but starting next week she’d begin her holiday hours when they’d be open until eight every night except Sunday when she closed the store entirely. “You haven’t set the table yet. Want me to do it?”

“No, dear. You run along and have your shower. Oh, and Kelly called a few moments ago.”

“They’re back?” Ivy scrambled out of her chair and headed down the hall to her tiny bedroom where she could return a call in peace. Two weeks without talking to her best friend left her with a hole to fill. Their friendship would be different now; marriage always changed loyalties and priorities. Rightly so, she’d told herself over the years as one by one her friends had entered into that state. But she and Kelly had been the last holdouts in their crowd and had made solemn vows they wouldn’t let marriage put distance in their friendship. Even so, Ivy mused, she wouldn’t see as much of her friend from now on. It was the way of things.

She punched Kelly’s number and spent a pleasant thirty minutes listening to how wonderful Hawaii had been for a honeymoon.

“Ivy, are you almost ready for dinner?” Aunt Arletta called.

“Five minutes, Aunt A.”

Showering quickly, she also shampooed her auburn curls. She gave her hair a halfhearted swipe with the towel, then decided to let it dry naturally. Rummaging through her closet, she grumbled about having to dress again at all. She’d much rather wear her pj’s and robe. She’d likely pass out as soon as supper was over anyway.

At the bottom of her chest, she found a loose navy sweat outfit and pulled it on. Shirley wouldn’t care what Ivy wore.

“…and Ivy opened her store three years ago. She inherited her father’s creativity, you see,” her aunt’s gentle voice murmured through the hall as Ivy sauntered down it in stockinged feet. “But she never could focus in a single direction, poor dear. So the interior design store gives her enough variety—”

Not focus? Aunt A never understood her occasional interest in architecture or how the two areas of design interacted.

Whoever her aunt was talking to, it wasn’t Shirley. Ivy reached the kitchen door and stopped cold. Her aunt’s small plump figure stirred a pot on the stove while a tall, athletic one filled three glasses with milk.

“Hi, Ivy. It’s about time you got out of that shower,” Noah said as though his presence in her kitchen were quite a normal occasion. His gaze swept over her face, free of makeup, and noted her still-damp hair, minus its usual smooth fall. “We’re starved.”

“Yes, we certainly are. And you must be as well. Sit down, children. Soup first. Then a nice chickenand-noodle casserole.”

“Noah!” She ignored her aunt’s direction entirely, trying not to let her mouth drop open like a buffoon. “Why are you here?”

“Taking shameless advantage of your aunt’s generous invitation,” he said, hooking a foot around a chair leg to bring it out from under the table. He appeared completely at home in her small kitchen, and wonderfully comfortable with Aunt Arletta. “She asked me the other day after I agreed to chauffeur some seniors on an outing. We’re making it a weekly adventure.”

“What?” Heart beating with sudden suspicions, she licked her lips to ask calmly, “What are you making a weekly adventure?”

“Our outings,” Aunt Arletta answered with delight. Ivy let her breath out, thinking herself almost too foolish to have thought her aunt meant she’d invited Noah for a weekly dinner.

Yet, knowing her aunt, the idea wasn’t so farfetched. She continued to listen to her aunt’s explanation, trying not to stare or be taken in by Noah’s handsome face.

“Noah’s agreed to play chauffeur and escort for the senior outings until spring. We had sixteen of us today, and having a nice young man like Noah to assist some of us into the bus was a pleasure. He took us right to the back of the Thomas Hart Benton House so that no one had to go up those steps. Used the ramps for the two in wheelchairs so all of us could go. Even old Robert Dearborn was pleased, and you know how crabby Robert can be.”

Ivy blinked. Noah touched her shoulder, reminding her to sit. Sinking into the chair, she narrowed her eyes at him slightly; no one could be that perfect.

Considerate and generous to older people and functioned well in a kitchen? What was he up to? What did he want? He’d only joined the church a week or two ago. He’d sat nearby during the worship service. While always polite, Ivy’d never encouraged his interest by one single eyelash sweep.

He caught her suspicious gaze and gave her a silent shrug while his mouth spread into a half smile, his eyes glowing with personal invitation. Come and see, he seemed to beckon. Come on, I’m harmless.

She could almost fall into those warm eyes, sweet as molasses.

“Noah, we’d be pleased if you offered thanks for our supper,” Aunt Arletta suggested. “We so seldom have men guests around our table these days. Not since Ivy broke her engagement to that—”

“Aunt A!”

“All right, all right. But it’s true.” Aunt Arletta’s eyes weren’t a bit repentant. “We don’t have men guests these days. Personally, I’d like to hear a man’s prayer of thanks.”

“I’m honored, ma’am.” Reverence replaced his gentle teasing as Noah bowed his head. “Lord, we are deeply grateful for your bounty here in this kitchen, and for friends and life. We thank you for this meal and the hands that prepared it. We ask you to bless each of us and the evening ahead with your favor. Amen.”

Ivy blinked at the sincerity she heard in Noah’s voice. Did he really know the Lord so well? She’d met a few men who pretended far more piety than they really felt. Later actions gave her reason to question if even their basic faith was a lie. Like Leon.

She’d thought Leon perfect at first. An ambitious lawyer, he belonged to a wealthy, high-profile church. His faithful church attendance and involvement in the church’s finance committee impressed her. Everything looked bright between them.

She soon found his controlling nature to be obsessive. When she pointed that out to him, he couldn’t see it as wrong. The final break came when he wanted to delegate Aunt Arletta to a home. Any home other than his. He had no room in his life for a dotty old lady, he’d told Ivy, and neither would she after they married. That particular wedding dress she’d packed away without a single pang of what-might-have-beens.

Ivy let her aunt and Noah carry the conversation and listened with only half an ear as they discussed the day’s events.

“And how is the holiday season shaping up for you, dear?” her aunt said, finally noticing her silence.

“Earl quit today,” she said, chewing slowly on a piece of bread. She wondered how long she could let the floor go before she had to tackle it herself. “Said he had a full-time job elsewhere and wouldn’t have time for me anymore.”

“Oh. Well, you’ll find somebody else to do your floors.”

“Floors?” Noah said, dipping a second portion of chicken and noodles onto his plate. “I know someone who’s looking for a part-time job. A college kid. Works for me in the summer, mowing lawns and such. Brad could help with your wall displays, too.”

“I’ve been managing my wall displays all right up ‘til now,” she stated, pressing her lips together. Sort of. She’d hired a man to hang those heavy mantels.

“Sure you have. And that’s why you don’t change the display as often as is needed. Is it really wise to try to handle something beyond your physical strength?”

“‘Blessed is the man who finds wisdom…’” Aunt Arletta quoted.

“‘Wisdom is supreme; therefore get wisdom,’” Noah responded with his own Proverbs quote, and a quick smile for the older woman before turning back to Ivy. “How about young Brad? Are you willing to train him?”

Ivy let go of her pride and glanced at Noah hopefully. “He’s not looking for just a Christmas job, is he? I need someone every week.”

“I think it’s safe to say he’d stay with you ‘til spring, at least.”

“All right. Send him around and I’ll talk to him. Thanks, Noah.” Ivy smiled into his eyes, her gratitude for his help making her forget all about ulterior motives. Right now, she’d take whatever help came her way.

And she was simply too tired to fight the attractive buzz Noah’s brown eyes gave her. Eyes that made her want to put her head on his strong shoulder and sigh.

She’d have to watch that, she told herself. Falling too easily for a charming man had been her downfall the first year in college.

Dan was gorgeous, with long dark lashes any woman would envy, and a romantic nature that swept her off her feet. After only two months of seeing each other, they become engaged, planning a perfect future life together. Ivy’s head drifted with the clouds as she chose her wedding dress and four bridesmaids’ dresses. She worked extra hours and even went without meals to pay for them as they waited in layaway for her wedding day.

Ivy had been so wrapped in the throes of idealized love, she’d failed to recognize how easily Dan spread his charm. Two weeks before she was to meet his parents, she unexpectedly found a stack of letters, current ones, from a girl back in his Texas hometown. That girl was engaged to Dan, too.

Brokenhearted, Ivy let Dan go back to his Texas girl and packed away her dreams along with her wedding clothes. Her easy trust went with them.

Now she searched for a man who had more to offer than mere charm and good looks. She wanted a man of substance. A sophisticated, polished man who could offer her an easier life-style than what she’d known up until now. She’d settle for no less.

“Well, ladies,” Noah said half an hour later, picking up plates and carrying them to the sink. “I hate to eat and run, but I do have some work to take care of in the morning. Thanks, Arletta. That was a wonderful meal.”

“Really, Noah, you don’t have to help with the dishes,” Aunt Arletta replied with almost a simper. “It’s my pleasure to have someone to cook for now and again. Does my ego good, you know.”

“Well, thanks a bunch, Aunt A. Don’t I count?”

“Of course you do, Ivy dear, but one likes cooking for a healthy appetite sometimes. Half the time, you don’t even eat.”

“I’ll be glad to pander to your pleasure in cooking anytime you say the word, Arletta. Well, I’ll say good-night now.” He paused to give Ivy a considering stare, his thumbs hooked in his back pockets. “Ivy, I think you need to get a good night’s sleep. You’re lovely as always, but looking a little wornout. Don’t work too hard.”

He left then, swinging out of the door without giving her a chance at a comeback. She stood a moment counting to ten, wondering if he was worth even that high a number before stomping off the bed.

## Chapter Four

Gerald Reeves called Wall’s Intrigue the next day.

“Oh, Yes, Mr. Reeves, I called the framer, Joe Barton,” Ivy answered in the pleasant, professional voice she’d learned at sixteen. “He suggested you have someone bring the frames into his shop. Didn’t you receive the message I left on your machine?”

“Yes, I have it. And since Mr. Barton is also an art restorer, I’ve asked him to come to the house to check the conditions of our older paintings. But I’d like you to come as well, if you don’t mind, and give me an opinion of what we might do in an upstairs hall and a couple of rooms I’m thinking of redecorating. I’ll pay the going rate for your time, naturally.”

“Of course I’d be happy to,” she replied, a little surprised and flattered, too. If Gerald Reeves wanted to hire her, it meant her store had gained a notch in reputation.

She hadn’t done much in the way of home calls in her consulting work until now—the store kept her too busy. She did keep a list of interior designers for that purpose, two of whom had excellent reputations, and offered to call either of them now.

“No, I’ll be quite satisfied with your services, Ivy. And call me Gerry, please? See you Friday at eleven,” he said, not giving her a chance to say no.

“Yes, that will do nicely.”

Ivy hung up the phone and happily picked up the work roster to make sure she had enough help in the store on Friday. Sherri was scheduled to work Friday evening, she recalled. She really couldn’t ask her to work all day and evening, too.

That meant she’d have to make do with Tina, who was inexperienced and new. But she couldn’t leave Tina alone; the girl was too nervous. Too many things could go wrong. Especially now that the year’s busiest season was getting under way.

Yet she couldn’t miss this opportunity to work on Reeves House. It could mean a lot in future recommendations.

She sighed and straightened her shoulders. Keeping good help with only part-timers always meant a juggling of schedules; she sometimes bent herself into a pretzel to keep a reliable clerk. She appreciated Sherri, who worked on a small commission above her minimum salary. Ivy considered her worth every penny, but the store profits simply wouldn’t stretch to offering that kind of arrangement to another clerk.

Tapping her pen against her notepad, she wondered if she should hire the busy mother who applied for work last week. Emily only wanted to work through the holidays. Emily had retail experience, but she’d have to find a baby-sitter if she worked days, she’d said.

Perhaps Aunt Arietta…

No, no, no! For heaven’s sake, what was she thinking? The last time she’d asked Aunt A to watch the store for a morning the older woman sold an expensive window treatment for half price and Ivy’d had to pay for the installation, as well. All because Aunt A had read the price chart wrong. Not wanting to give the shop a bad name, Ivy hadn’t felt it was good business to try to correct the mistake with the customer.

There was always the college kid Noah recommended. Without giving herself time to think about it, she looked up Noah’s number.

“Morning, Old Garden Gate,” his deep voice rumbled out, sending a current of warmth right through the line. Every time she heard his voice, Ivy wondered if it made other women feel like warm syrup ran through their veins, too.

“Hello, Noah,” she said in her business voice while tamping down a desire to soften her response. “This is Ivy. I called for the number of the young man you suggested might be interested in working for me.”

“Ah, yes. Brad. Just a moment.” She heard a bit of paper shuffling before he gave her the numbers, then said, “He’s probably in class this morning, though.”

“All right.” She tapped her pen and circled the number. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

That was easy enough. She didn’t have to engage him in more talk. A business call didn’t have to extend to anything personal.

“Ivy?”

“Yes?”

“There’s a single’s potluck on Saturday night at church. You going?”

The singles from church gathered together for social purposes on a regular basis. His invitation sounded too general. Why should she jump to go? “Oh, I don’t know. Usually I’m pretty ragged out by Saturday night.”

“C’mon.” His tone took on one of a coaxing big brother—but the melting inside her heated up just the same. “You have to have a little fun now and again and you close at six on Saturdays. When was the last time you just relaxed with a group of people your own age? And it’s usually a good-size group, I’m told, and I’m new to this bunch.”

Uh-huh. Right. As though he’d ever feel a stranger in any gathering.

“I’ll see how I feel on Saturday.”

“You could make me feel at home.” The invitation, spoken in a deeper voice, made her heart skip a beat. There wasn’t anything brotherly about it.

“Well, maybe.”

Now why had she gone and said that?

“Good.” His tone changed from coaxing to commanding. “I’ll pick you up around half past seven. Meanwhile, if Brad doesn’t work out for you, let me know. I might have someone else who could help you out.”

Uh-huh. Right. Since when was he her employment agency?

She left a message on Brad’s answering machine and went back to checking over her work applications. The young mother, Emily, was her best choice after all.

On Friday morning, she left a nervous Tina and Emily in charge of the noontime walk-in trade, and giving a silent prayer that all would go smoothly in her absence, left for Reeves House. Brad would come later in the afternoon to work with Sherri. She could trust Sherri to train him. And she’d be there until closing herself, and could observe how the young man worked out.

At Reeves House, a brown-haired young woman answered the huge old oak door, a duster in hand.

“Hello, I’m Ivy York,” Ivy announced. “I’ve come to see Gerry.”

“I’m right here, Ivy,” Gerry said, smiling at her as he appeared from the hall’s interior. His glance at her curvy figure, dressed in a cinnamon-browncolored business suit that nearly matched her hair, was openly appreciative. Warming, she returned his smile.

“Thanks, Cam.” He spoke smoothly in a practiced manner, and gave the girl an impersonal nod. “Joe Barton is just arriving, I believe. Let him in, please, and show him back to the office.”

Turning, he led Ivy to the library room where they’d first met. Picking up a bone china coffee mug, he asked, “Coffee first or after we conclude our tour?”

“Afterward, I think. I’d like to get started.”

“Fair enough. I have a long hall on the third floor that’s rather dark and definitely plain, and four bedrooms there. After we finish with Joe, I’d like you to view them. Haven’t thought about fixing up the top floor before now because we really don’t use it. It was originally intended to house the servants, but times being what they are, we don’t employ full-time housemaids and such anymore.”

“I would think a house this size needed full-time care,” she murmured.

“Oh, it does, indeed, and careful attention to upkeep, as well.” Gerry brushed his hair from his eyes and glanced around him as though considering her thought. “But most of it is farmed out to companies who specialize in services. Some with long-standing associations with Reeves House, of course. But only an older couple live in full-time, the Marshalls. They have an apartment off the kitchen. Grace cooks if either Barbara or I want a meal at home, and Tom assists wherever he’s needed.

“But we have a completely different crew when entertaining at Reeves House or leasing it out. We contract a catering company, a party planning service, and landscape company, of course, all of which take care of needed details to keep the old place in show condition. But we’ve had occasions when we’ve been asked to rent the entire house for a period of time, you know, like a house party or small company retreat, and Barbara thinks it’s time to consider the idea of redoing the top floor.”

“In here, Mr. Barton,” the young house duster said. She disappeared again and Joe, middle-aged and paunchy, appeared in her place. Ivy made introductions.

“Let’s go, then,” Gerry said, directing them back into the main hall. “I’ve several pieces of original art that need cleaning, and quite a few old frames need both cleaning and repair. I considered having the Nelson Gallery experts look at them, but when Ivy told me she had someone she trusted to look after them, I decided on you.”

“Then you’ll be happy to know I’m registered with the Nelson and the Art Institute,” Joe responded.

“Good. I had a feeling Ivy only dealt with the best,” Gerry answered, a grin tugging at his mouth while his blue eyes threw her the compliment intended in his comment.

They began with the first-floor library, studying the old paintings that had hung without disturbance for half a century. Ivy recognized several paintings by local artists from past generations, two of which she thought quite valuable, and a few others of very good quality.

“I’ve a print of this one,” Ivy remarked in surprise. “I didn’t realize the original was in a private collection.”

“My great-grandfather believed in supporting the local talent, as you can see,” Gerry replied. “When he inherited the house, he trotted out his collection for display.”

Joe gave his suggestions as they proceeded into the formal parlor, through the huge dining room, the large ballroom where the wedding had been held, and up the long stairway. Along the way, Ivy glanced at the furnishings, recognizing various styles of mixed generations. On the second floor, where the principal bedrooms surrounded a comfortable-looking informal lounge, they viewed half a dozen lesser artists.

“That takes care of the lot on display,” Gerry said. “You can start after the first of the year. The house is in use most of December.”

Barbara joined them as they concluded. “Oh, hello, Ivy. My goodness, yes. We are hosting a major charity do the first week in December, and three weddings before Christmas. A body can scarcely call her home her own anymore.”

“Now, Barb, it isn’t that bad. Besides, we have all of January to ourselves. Do you want to come along to hear what Ivy may do with the top floor?”

“Oh, I suppose. Otherwise, my dearest brother, you might choose to paint it all in circus colors.”

Gerry laughed at his sister’s sally and took Ivy’s elbow to guide her back through the hall.

Joe excused himself and left, and they climbed to the third floor. Ivy studied the four bedrooms, ideas flowing like a steady breeze, and gave a couple of spontaneous suggestions. Chatting about ideas to cheer the dark rooms, they returned to the first floor.

Ivy glanced at her watch. Almost one.

“Well, that took longer than I’d imagined,” Gerry said. He reached for the thermos coffee keeper, then put it down again. “Won’t you stay for lunch?”

The invitation caught Ivy by surprise. Social engagements with customers didn’t usually come out of her kind of business. “Why, that sounds very nice, but I really need to return to the store. I have a new clerk who can only work until two.”

“How disappointing,” Barbara murmured, flipping her lovely hair behind her shoulder. Ivy envied that sleek, sophisticated look that only a steady visit to a beauty salon could produce. Other than a good cut every six weeks, she usually took care of her own hair.

“Well,” Ivy said, picking up her purse from a side table. “I’ll put some of the ideas we discussed in writing, along with estimates of the costs and a time frame for the work. I should have it ready by the first week in January.”

“Sounds great.” Gerry said. “Come on, it’s raining. I’ll walk you to your car.”

He grabbed an umbrella from a brass container near the “front stairway. Outside, he opened the car door for her, but held it open after she slid inside, his gaze taking on a personal appeal.

“I have a committee dinner thing tonight. Boring as blue Monday. Wouldn’t be if you’d come with me.”

“Why, Gerry, that’s sweet of you to say,” she said, surprised again, reassessing what she saw in his eyes. He’d really meant his invitation to lunch. “But I have to work until eight, when I close the store, and it usually takes me another thirty minutes to wrap up.”

“Oh, well.” He let his disappointment show, then brightened. “But we can salvage the evening if you’ll let me take you out for dessert afterward. And it’ll give me an excuse to leave the meeting early.”

She considered it a moment. Dating a client wasn’t exactly good policy. And two dates on the same weekend? She hadn’t had so much male attention in months.

But one invitation came from exactly the kind of man she’d been looking to meet. Gerry had charm, social polish, a prominent family background and wealth. She warmed to the idea.

“That does sound nice. All right.”

Ivy arrived at the store just in time for Aunt Arletta’s visit, her friend Shirley in tow. She didn’t have to wonder how they’d got there. The church’s gray van took up a prime parking spot just in front of Wall’s Intrigue and Noah strolled in behind the two.

“Noah agreed to help the seniors shop once a week until after Christmas,” Aunt Arletta said. “The others went to poke around the other shops, but I told Shirley you had just the right thing for her sister’s birthday. And at a reasonable price.”

“Sure, Aunt Arletta,” Ivy told her, knowing her aunt intended for her friend to gain a healthy discount. Ivy didn’t mind that much; she liked occasionally indulging her aunt’s generosity, and Shirley had certainly filled many a lonely hour for Aunt A. But she sincerely hoped the holiday seasonal buying would make up for all the times her aunt had offered “reasonable prices” to her friends.

“Ask Emily to help you,” she whispered near her aunt’s ear. “She’s new just this morning. Then you can evaluate how well she relates with customers.”

“Oh. Well, of course, dear. Shirley, come look at these lovely candlesticks.”

“Wall sconces,” Ivy said under her breath as her aunt moved away. She began to straighten a cluttered display of tiny ceramic carolers near the checkout counter.

“They’re still candlesticks,” Noah said low.

Ivy glanced over her shoulder, catching the teasing glint in Noah’s eye. One edge of his mouth twitched.

She sighed. He would be picky about exact descriptions. In fact, she could think of several annoying traits she was learning about Noah Thornton. “They’re electric lights in the appearance of brass candlesticks.”

“‘An honest answer is like a kiss on the lips,’” he replied, his tone low and velvety. His words evoked in her a sudden reminder of how attractive he was, and she briefly wondered what it might be like to kiss a gardener.

“Proverbs 24, verse 26.” Aunt Arletta’s voice rang out from across the way, effectively bringing Ivy’s wandering thoughts back with a jolt. Aunt Arletta heard anything quoted from Scripture.

“Right,” he said, raising his voice to carry, then proceeded to nod and smile to the other two customers who glanced their way.

Ivy went to offer them assistance, deciding she could do without this entanglement during working hours. But the natural avoidance only lasted long enough for her to ring up their purchases. Noah hung around the checkout counter, picking up and putting down a trio of ceramic angels.

“I’ll take these, Ivy, if you please,” Shirley said in her shy way as she handed her the wall sconces. “They’re just perfect for my sister’s birthday and Christmas gift combined. She’ll love them.”

“Glad you found what you wanted, Shirley.” Ivy quoted an amply reduced price as she packed them into a gift box.

“Oh, but the price sticker says…” Shirley’s faded eyes went round with happy surprise which Ivy felt more than made up for her lost profits.

“Yes, I know. But you see, I’ve had those in the store for months now and it’s time I turned over the stock. Cash flow, you know,” Ivy insisted staunchly. “I’m just happy you like them.”

“Well, in that case, if you’re sure,” Shirley murmured tentatively.

Behind Shirley, Aunt Arletta smiled with a pleased nod.

From the corner of her eye, Ivy caught Noah’s musing glance of approval.

What? Just because she wanted to make a decent living and an occasional profit as well, even hoped to make her store really successful, she couldn’t be generous when a little charity was in order? So she’d fibbed just a bit. Those candlesticks would have eventually sold at the retail price, but Ivy knew how tight Shirley’s budget was, knew she lived on a fixed income just as Aunt Arletta did. She also knew when not to call her generosity by the name of charity.

Did that mean her answer no longer merited a kiss?

Shocked at her own shot of disappointment at the unbidden thought, she quickly glanced away.

Moments later, Noah’s silent response, given swiftly as they left the store, glinted from half-closed lids. His brown eyes made her a promise. A promise Ivy felt all the way to her toes.

About ten minutes before closing, Ivy glanced up and spotted Gerald pausing to gaze at her window display. He wore a camel-colored cashmere topcoat, and his hair gleamed like spun gold in the streetlight.

Like his sister, once he came inside, he gravitated toward the artists’ wall and studied the work Ivy featured. He was used to viewing the finer art galleries with their high price tags, she was certain, while her artists were still struggling to make a name for themselves. Covertly, she studied his expression for a reaction.

Ivy strolled to stand beside him. “Hi.”

He turned and smiled beguilingly as though he knew it was she. As if he were used to being admired.

“Hi, yourself. My meeting turned out shorter than I anticipated.” He glanced around the store, empty now except for Sherri. “Any chance you can get out of here early?”

“Oh…” She thought of all she needed to do to wrap up the closing. Straightening the counter displays could wait until Monday morning, and Brad already waited in the back room to clean the floors. She supposed she could speed up her day’s receipt count, but she still had to drop her deposit in the bank.

“Thirty minutes, Gerry. Sorry, but a working girl has to pay attention to her p’s and q’s. Why don’t I meet you at Barlow’s? They’re open ‘til ten.”

He shrugged. “All right, if you must.”

Ivy pushed to close the store. Exactly twenty-five minutes later, Ivy slid into a booth across from Gerry. The impatience he wore left the moment she sat down.

“Ah, there you are. Thought you’d be forever.”

Smiling, she let his flattering gaze soothe her nagging guilt at leaving too much work undone. “I came as quickly as possible.”

“You have a nice little shop, Ivy. But I’m sure much of what you do can be delegated to your employees. That’s what you have them for, you know.”

“Mmm…Well, I’m here now.” Ivy smiled at him and the smile he gave her in return made her pulse quicken.

Yes, Gerry Reeves was exactly the type of man she’d been looking for.

## Chapter Five

The monthly potluck had been pronounced kickback time for busy people, Noah’d been told. No one dressed up for these events. Jeans and sneakers, or something equally comfortable was the dress code. Nevertheless, he’d bought new sneakers for the occasion, pulled out his favorite college T-shirt, and even made an effort to press his best flannel shirt to wear over it. He hadn’t had this kind of a date in a long time.

Ivy looked about sixteen wearing a faded blue T-shirt and jeans when she met him at the apartment door, ready to go and carrying a covered cake plate. She answered, “Aunt Arletta” when he raised a questioning brow.

He led her to his freshly washed red pickup and opened the wide passenger door. She shot him an unreadable glance and shifted the cake and her purse before grabbing the doorframe. He put a hand to her elbow and lifted. She was light on her feet and slid gracefully onto the bench seat—but she didn’t go very far over toward the driver’s side.

Letting his breath out slowly, Noah wondered what it would take to make Ivy feel more cozy toward him. Nothing about their friendship so far had given him any encouragement toward thinking she might fall for him in any big way. If his gut instinct hadn’t told him better, he’d say she was attracted but fighting to keep acres of distance between them.

She made small talk on the ten-minute drive to the church. Or rather, he made idle comments on the weather or local events while she answered politely but without much interest. It seemed her thoughts were elsewhere.

They arrived just in time to join the circle of about thirty people, mixed singles who met once a month for fellowship and sustenance, both spiritual and . mundane, as they laid a table groaning with combined food. Aunt Arletta had told him about the group. More women than men, it contained the never-marrieds and widowed, but also the divorced singles, all of whom had left their first blush of youth behind them. They used the group to fill in the gaps of their lives, shared prayers, and frequently helped each other out on a personal level, as well. According to Arletta’s comments, this bunch offered comradery with an open heart.

He hoped so, because he sorely needed a new set of friends.

As soon as the evening prayer had been given in the church multipurpose room, Ivy slid into a chair opposite two core members of the thirty-something singles, Haley and Donna. Noah took the chair beside her.

“Hi, everyone,” she said, picking up a chicken leg from her plate. “This is Noah Thornton. He’s new to the church and looking for friends, so make him feel at home, people. I hear he plays a mean basketball game.”

Noah slanted her a look, then nodded to the two women opposite them when they greeted him. Yeah, he did need friends, especially ones who shared the same faith and values, but he’d hoped Ivy…

“Where did you hear that?” he asked her between bites of scalloped potatoes.

“Aunt A, of course. Need you ask?”

“Guess not.” He bit into a hard roll. “She does spread the news, doesn’t she?”

“Basketball is your game, is it?” Haley asked.

“I play for a little fun now and again.”

“Ever play in school?” she queried.

He chewed thoughtfully a moment while he returned Haley’s steady gaze. It carried a glint of challenge. He’d loved the game in high school, had even counted himself as one of his team’s star players, much to his dad’s delight He hadn’t been half-bad on his West Coast college team, either, but not good enough to make the pros if he’d wanted. It hadn’t been much of a disappointment to him, even though his dad had hoped for more, because Noah already knew he wanted a somewhat quieter life than a pro athlete’s would bring.

But surely no one here in the Midwest would know about his near star ability. He kept his skill reasonably sharp with a hoop set up near his trailer on the edge of his nursery fields and played with the fellows who worked with him. Hands down, he beat them every time. But he had no regrets about refusing to push into the pros or choosing his quieter profession.

He glanced again at Ivy. Something told him he’d confessed more than he should have when he and Arletta got to talking the other day on the way home from shopping. How much had he really told the old lady? Or more to the point, what had she told Ivy?

“A bit,” he finally conceded to Haley’s question.

“Care to play after dinner?” came the careless offer. He recognized an underplayed challenge when he heard one.

“Guess we could.” His gaze roamed the gymlike room and spotted the goals at each end. Of course! The church was large enough to provide for all kinds of activities.

He carefully assessed Haley’s narrow-eyed green gaze, her slender, wiry figure, and guessed her to be a player. About thirty, he thought, but a woman who kept in shape. Then he turned to Ivy’s profile, idly noticing a few freckles across her nose. She didn’t have the athlete’s build, but he thought her curvy femininity very appealing.

“Anyone else here up to it?” he asked, a grin tugging his mouth. He had the feeling he’d been set up, but if this crowd wanted to play, he was game. He wished he’d brought his gym shorts, though.

“Hey Scotty!” Haley shouted. “You up for basketball?”

“Sure, you bet!” came the reply.

A couple wearing forest-green matching T-shirts, whom Ivy addressed as Kelly and Scott, joined the table.

“They’re the bride and groom who married that day at Reeves House,” she explained. “Technically—” she gave a pointedly teasing stare at her friend “—they don’t belong in this group anymore, now that they’re married. Why aren’t the two of you home cooing and cuddling?”

“C’mon, Ivy, just because we’re married now doesn’t mean we’ve suddenly gotten stodgy and dull overnight,” Kelly said with a laugh. “What—you want to banish us now?”

“Naw, we won’t let you desert us,” Haley insisted. “I don’t care if you’re married or not I have to beat Scotty at least once in this century.”

“Huh,” Scott grunted. “You wish! It’s a shame when a female basketball coach can’t stand up to a little local competition.”

“Well, Noah, here, is panting for a little activity,” Ivy offered. Then lowering her tone, she said for his benefit, “Haley and Scott are brother and sister, if you hadn’t noticed.”

Chewing thoughtfully, Noah studied Ivy’s face from beneath half-lowered lashes. A teasing spark shone from her deep blue-green gaze, though no hint of a smile captured her mouth.

“Well?” Haley demanded.

“D’you play?” Noah asked Ivy, recognizing he had been caught in a friendly long-standing rivalry.

“Oh, I’m not into sports that much,” she answered, leaning back in her chair, looking all too innocent. “But I’ll happily watch from the sidelines.”

“Well, what?” Scott spoke up above their heads. “You know I never turn down a friendly game.”

“You’re on.” Haley gave a thumbs-up and jumped to her feet, leaving her plate half-full.

“Oh, must we?” came a female voice from another table. “I’d enjoy a nice quiet game of bridge, myself.”

From the sleepy droop of Ivy’s lids and the smudges under her eyes, Noah wasn’t too sure she wouldn’t fall asleep over a subdued bridge game. He knew she’d put in a long week at the store, and Aunt Arletta had let it slip that her niece had been late home the night before, out having a social hour with a client. That he’d discovered the client was Gerry Reeves nettled him more than he’d like to admit, even to himself.

“Bridge is boring,” Scott argued. “C’mon, Val. You can’t have your pick of things to do every time.”

“But I hate basketball!” Val whined. “I’m no good at it.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Scott said with determination. “Kelly plays, and she’s not much good at it, either.”

Kelly punched her husband in playful protest Scott laughingly grabbed her fist and held tight, shooting her a tender grin. “We’ll team up so that everyone gets a turn,” he added.

Noah turned his raised-brow stare directly at Ivy. “Great idea, pal,” he agreed. “Everybody plays. No slackers.”

“There’s too many people for everybody to play,” Ivy argued.

“Hmm, you’re right, I guess. Okay. But you play, too, or I don’t.”

Haley groaned. “Please, Ivy. Say you’ll play. I want a chance, just one, to beat Scotty at the game, or his head will be the size of a basketball again and I’ll have to listen to his bragging all week. And I can’t do it all by myself. I have a feeling I need Noah to be on my team.” Ivy looked doubtful. “I’m not fast enough for it.” “You don’t have to stay in long,” Haley insisted. “Does she, Noah?” “Ten minutes, then we’ll let you off the hook.” “All right. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Haley pushed and hurried dinner along. “Save dessert,” she begged. “I’ve a real player on my team now.”

Good-naturedly, the crowd complied, cleaning up the food tables and folding them away with more speed than usual while Haley gathered a hand-picked few into a huddle. Noah played starting guard, Ivy forward. The game began among friendly challenges from both sides, swiftly proceeding to hoots and cheers.