Beginnings (12 page)

Now Beth was certain she’d heard an edge in Andrew’s tone. The “checking up” comment had been made earlier in reference to Sean. Apparently, Sean McCauley brought out a rather unattractive side to Andrew. With a pointed look, she said, “No, she only wanted to let me know the cardinal-and-dogwood piece sold and she’d be sending a check.” She gentled her voice as she concluded, “I don’t want to leave something like that in my box for long.”

Andrew nodded. “That’s fine. Grab your jacket. We’ll take my truck.”

For a moment, Beth hesitated. What had happened to asking what she preferred? Although his words weren’t exactly a directive, she sensed a command in the tone that made her want to dig in her heels. Then she gave herself a mental shake. What was wrong with her these days, reading more into everything Andrew said and did?

“Okay. That sounds fine.” She followed him out, and he opened the passenger door for her. She had to admit it was nice having a man perform little courtesies for her. Mitch had never been one to, as he put it, “pamper” her. He said she was capable of opening her own doors, carrying her own packages, and filling her own gas tank.

During the months of their relationship, she had never questioned it. She’d seen it as his confirmation of her strength and independence, and she found no fault in it. She had rather liked having Mitch treat her as an equal rather than someone weak and in need of looking after. Since coming to Sommerfeld, though, she’d seen a different relationship between men and women. Henry’s tender care of her mother, almost a doting now that she expected his babies, often raised a desire in Beth to be treated in a like manner by a man.

At other times, she feared that much attention would smother her.

Risking a glance at Andrew as he drove slowly toward her house, she wondered if he would emulate his uncle in how he treated his wife. In all likelihood, yes. Most of the Mennonite men were more like Henry than like Mitch. Certainly that would include Andrew.

He pulled up beside the mailbox, put the truck in Pa r k, and opened his door.

“I can get it!” Beth’s voice burst out more loudly than she intended. He sent her a puzzled look. “I mean,” she added lamely, twiddling with the door handle, “there’s no need for you to run around the truck when the mailbox is on my side.”

Slowly he closed his door, offering a nod. “All right.”

She popped the door open, dashed to the corrugated metal box, and peeked inside. Three envelopes, including the one from the Fox Gallery, waited. She snatched them out and slid back into the warmth of the truck’s cab. “Got it.”

She slipped the envelopes into her purse as Andrew turned the truck around and headed back to the studio. After parking behind the studio, they walked together to the café. Even though Beth was in the lead, Andrew reached past her and opened the door, gesturing her through. She offered a wavering smile of thanks as she unzipped her coat.

Trina bounced over the moment they slid into a booth, her smile bright. “Two specials?”

“Yes, please, and two coffees with cream and sugar.” Andrew answered for both of them, giving Beth a rush of frustration. She could place her own order!

“Be right back,” Trina promised and dashed to the counter, which held coffee mugs and a brown plastic carafe.

“Coffee okay?” Andrew’s quirked brow and hesitant tone smoothed Beth’s ruffled feathers. He meant well.

“Sure, it’s fine.” Leaning back, she sighed. “It always smells so good in here.”

Andrew sniffed deeply, his nostrils flaring. “Deborah’s a good cook. As good as your great-aunt was, I’d say.” He gave a quick glance around. “At least, it’s just as busy in here as it always was when Miss Koeppler ran it.”

Beth glanced around, too. Deborah had made no changes in decor. The same simple tables, plain walls, and tiled floor that Great-Aunt Lisbeth had installed when she opened the café in the mid-1960s gave the feeling of stepping back in time when one entered the café. If Beth had chosen to keep the café, she would have updated everything. But apparently the decor didn’t put anyone off, because the café maintained a steady flow of business.

Trina bustled over with two steaming mugs and a little silver pitcher of creamy white liquid. “There you go. Chili and cinnamon rolls coming right up.” She zipped off before either Andrew or Beth could thank her.

Beth chuckled fondly. “That Trina is a real go-getter.”

Andrew frowned slightly as he gazed after Trina’s departing back. “Yes, she is....” He looked at Beth, and his expression cleared. “You were real smart to build your studio next to the café. When you finally get your showroom up and running, the business from here should just trickle over.”

Beth smiled. “That’s the plan.” She leaned forward, propping her chin in her hands. “But in the meantime, the craft fairs will get my name out there and bring in money.”

Andrew’s brow crunched into a curious scowl. “You pay me a wage for helping, and I know you have other expenses. Those craft fairs don’t make that much. So how are you keeping things afloat right now?”

Beth straightened in her seat, setting her lips in a firm line as she contemplated not answering at all. Since when did an employee stick his nose into an employer’s business? The feeling that Andrew was becoming too territorial returned, flooding her with indignation. She formed a response. “As long as you’re getting paid, you shouldn’t need to worry about it.”

His face blotched with color.

At his obvious embarrassment, Beth experienced a pang of remorse. He’d been a good friend, and without his help, she probably wouldn’t be enjoying her current success. She forced a casual shrug and said, “I have a couple of credit cards I’ve been using to get things going.”

Andrew’s expression told her clearly he disapproved of her means of staying afloat.

The fine hairs on her neck bristled at his silent, condemning look. “But I’ll be able to pay them in full and still be ahead financially when I finish the window, so it’s not a big deal.”

“Using credit cards is borrowing trouble,” he said, chin tucked low and brows pinched.

“Well, it isn’t your trouble,” she snapped, “so don’t let it worry you.”

He jerked upright, his ears glowing bright red, and he shifted to peer across the café rather than looking at her. Regret flooded her. To be honest, the growing amount on her card concerned her, too, and his comments only increased her worries. But she shouldn’t take her anxieties out on him, even if his comments were unwarranted.

She opened her mouth to apologize, but Trina interrupted, delivering crock bowls filled with thick, aromatic chili and a plate of cinnamon rolls. By the time she’d asked a silent blessing, Beth decided it was less awkward to leave the topic of finances closed.

She couldn’t, however, set aside the feeling that Andrew was assuming a bigger interest in her affairs than was prudent. For either of them. She would need to find a way to communicate where he fit in Quinn’s Stained-Glass Art Studio.

ELEVEN

Andrew placed the paper pattern on a piece of mottled lavender glass and slowly drew around it with a marker. His gaze was fixed on the tip on the pen by necessity—multicolored, textured glass was twice the cost of smooth, single-colored, and he didn’t dare make an error in marking—but his ears were tuned to the quiet conversation taking place at the platform.

Beth sat on the edge of the raised wooden box with Sean McCauley beside her. At least the man kept a respectable distance, although he tended to lean his head close to hers occasionally to peek at the sketch pad she held in her lap. Every time his reddish hair drew near Beth’s shining blond locks, a band seemed to clamp tighter around Andrew’s heart. That’s why he’d stopped looking. But he couldn’t ignore the mumbled voices, the soft laughter, the sound of two people talking as if completely at ease with one another. The way he wished he and Beth would talk.

His chest tightened another notch.

How did a man get completely comfortable with a woman? The only woman with whom Andrew was able to communicate easily on a consistent basis was his cousin Trina. Of course, at seventeen, she was barely a woman, and she’d always been like a little sister. It was hardly the same thing. He hated how he got tongue-tied and hot in the ears when conversing with a woman.

It had taken weeks for him to grow comfortable enough to talk to Beth without her speaking first. He had even been able to tease with her a little. He liked it—the playful sparring. It reminded him of Uncle Henry with his wife, Marie. Even though they were old already—entering their forties—they acted like young teenagers and bantered good-naturedly. Every now and then, he’d been able to do that with Beth. Until McCauley came along. That had changed things between them.

Setting aside the piece of lavender glass, he risked a quick, sidelong glance at the pair at the platform. Beth’s attentive expression, the slight curve of her rosy lips as she listened to whatever McCauley was telling her, brought a rush of jealousy so strong Andrew’s hands quivered. When he picked up a piece of green glass, the thick square slipped from his grasp and clanked against the worktable.

Beth’s gaze swung in his direction, her brows high.

He held up both hands as if under arrest. “Nothing broken. It’s okay.”

She offered a brief nod, then returned her attention to McCauley without a word. The band around Andrew’s chest nearly cut off his breath. Sucking air through his nose, he forced his hands to cease their quivering and picked up the pen.
Don’t look at them, don’t listen to them, just focus.
But a burst of laughter sent the pen squiggling across the square of glass. Quickly, he snatched up a dry erase marker from beneath the worktable and scribbled it over the errant mark. A firm scrub with a paper towel removed every trace of the black line, and he blew out a relieved breath.

A glance in the direction of the platform confirmed Beth had witnessed his error. His ears burned. He wished McCauley would hurry up and leave so things could return to normal! But, Andrew realized as he bent over the table to move the marker slowly around the paper pattern, things would be forever changed with this new contract of Beth’s. McCauley would be a permanent fixture.

He felt as though he stood in the middle of a seesaw, with the board waffling up and down and carrying his thoughts with it. Having McCauley as a permanent fixture meant the success of the studio, but it also meant having Beth’s attention claimed by the other man. So did Andrew want success, or did he want Beth?

His hands stilled and he turned to examine his boss. The internal seesaw froze in place perfectly parallel to the ground. He wanted both. And his father would not approve of either.

***

Sean sensed Andrew’s gaze boring a hole through him. It took Herculean effort not to shift his head to meet it and send the man a glowering frown. Andrew’s protective act, while perhaps endearing to Beth, made it difficult for Sean to focus on Beth. And Sean was discovering a deep desire to focus solely on Beth.

“Do you mind if I take this sketch with me?” Sean pointed to the pad in her lap.

She wrinkled her nose as if uncertain. “It’s just preliminary based on your description. I can’t imagine it would be very impressive. If I had a photograph of the old church, though, I could make a much better drawing.”

Sean battled a grin. He admired her perfectionism—it would serve him and his company well. “And if they like the idea, I’ll bring you a photograph. But I need something to show them the potential. So ... may I?”

Only inches from her, he could see his reflection in her irises. As he stared into the deep blue depths of her eyes, some emotion flitted through—mistrust? Confusion? Before he could fully process it, she lowered her gaze, ripped the drawing from the pad, and thrust it at him.

He took it, his forehead creasing into a slight frown at her abrupt action, but then he offered a smile. “Thank you.” Slipping it into the leather folder that rested against his leg, he said, “I know this will help the committee see what I envision. We can worry about a detailed, accurate sketch after we’ve gotten their approval to proceed.”

Beth nodded, swinging a quick glance in Andrew’s direction. Sean turned his head in time to see Andrew give a nod of approval. He voiced what he assumed the pair were thinking: “If this committee approves you creating a window that resembles the original church building, you’ll have two major projects to complete. Pretty exciting, isn’t it?”

Beth’s wide-eyed expression didn’t appear as much excited as terrified. She chuckled softly, rubbing her finger beneath her nose. “Andrew and I will have to burn the midnight oil to stay on top of everything.”

Andrew’s grin let Sean know he wouldn’t mind burning the midnight oil with Beth. A stab of jealousy pinched Sean’s chest, but he forced a smile and pushed to his feet, bouncing the leather folder against his trouser-covered thigh. “I have confidence you’ll be able to handle it.”

Beth rose, too, holding her hand toward Sean. He took it, her palm cool and smooth, and gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. “Thanks again for spending your morning with me, Beth. I know you have things to do, so I appreciate the time you took to help get this idea solidified in my head.”

Her hand still in his, her gaze flitted toward the mess on the platform that would eventually turn into a stained-glass window. Another soft laugh tripped out, almost nervous in its delivery. “The hour I spent with you means I have to make it up this evening.”