Beginnings (13 page)

That wasn’t exactly the response he hoped for. “I’m sorry.”

Her startled gaze met his. “Oh! I didn’t mean—” Her face flooded with pink, and she jerked her hand free from his grasp. “I wasn’t complaining. Really. This time we spent—it’s an investment in my future, so it’s worth it.”

“Good.” He remained rooted in place, peering into her eyes and gaining courage. There was something more he wanted to ask. Nibbling his mustache, he wished Andrew would leave the studio.

Beth stood silently, too, her hands tangled in the tails of her sloppy work shirt.

Finally, Sean blurted, “I wondered...”

She tipped her head. “Yes?”

“Well, after I meet with the committee in Carlton, I might need to meet with you again. If they like this stained-glass window idea, I’ll ask for a photograph right away, and I could drop it by so you’d have it to work from. And maybe we could...”

Her eyes shot briefly toward Andrew. Sean looked sideways to find Andrew staring boldly in their direction. Simultaneously, he and Beth shifted, their shoulders coming together with Andrew at their backs. He was certain she smirked. Maybe she didn’t find the Mennonite man’s protectiveness as much endearing as annoying.

In a whisper, she said, “We could...?”

Sean cleared his throat. “We could talk over dinner. I’ve heard the little café here in Sommerfeld is good. Could we meet there at, maybe, six thirty?”

Sean was certain that disappointment twisted Beth’s lips, giving him a rush of satisfaction despite her negative response. “I’m sorry. The café is always closed on Mondays.” From behind them, Andrew coughed. A contrived cough, Sean was sure. He resisted looking at the man.

“Oh.” Sean smoothed his mustache with two fingers, observing Beth’s attention on his motion. “Well, then, I could take you into Newton. I’m sure something will be open there.” He winked. “Unless you really do need to stay here this evening and make up the hour I stole from your day.”

They laughed softly together. Beth answered quickly. “Dinner out sounds great.”

“Good. Will you be here or at your house?”

Andrew cleared his throat loudly. “Beth, is dinner out a good idea?”

Both Sean and Beth turned to face Andrew. Although his face appeared deeper in hue, he spoke in a bold, authoritative tone. “If you go out, you’ll end up leaving earlier than usual to ... gussy up.” The man’s neck blotched purple. “That’s even more lost time. Can you afford it?”

Sean fought a laugh as Beth glared at Andrew, her jaw set in a stubborn angle. Without responding to her employee, she turned her face to Sean. “I’ll be at my house. When you come back into town, just turn left off of Main Street onto First. I’m on the corner of First and Cottonwood, one block west of Main. The white bungalow. I’ll have the porch light on.”

A “harrumph” actually came from the worktable. “All the porch lights will be on by then,” Andrew said. He swung a pair of goggles in his hand, a silent message that he had work to do.

Beth drew a deep breath, her eyes spitting fire. But when she looked back at Sean, a smile washed away the fury. “It’ll be the white bungalow with the wraparound front porch, spirea bushes under the front window,
and
a porch light on. Does that help?”

Sean chose to ignore Andrew’s second, softer snort. “I’m sure I can find you. Sommerfeld isn’t that large.”

“True enough.”

They shared an amused grin, and Sean found himself tempted to lean forward and place a kiss on her softly curving lips. The sound of the cutting wheel split the air. Beth gave a start, and Sean jerked backward, bumping his heels on the platform. He caught his balance, swung a wide-eyed look toward Andrew, then took a stumbling step toward the door.

“Six thirty,” he hollered over the sound of the cutter. His jacket draped over his arm, he headed out the door.

***

Beth paced the living room floor, the heels of her black dress boots clumping against the carpet. Despite her efforts to set aside the aggravation, she still stewed about Andrew’s rudeness hours ago. She wondered if Sean would show up after his abrupt departure from the studio. Recalling how he practically ran for the door without bothering to put on his jacket made her blood boil. She and Andrew really needed to have a talk.

Mom had always told her to think before she spoke, especially when she was upset or angry. That advice had kept her silent over the past week. Whenever the urge to confront Andrew arose, it came with a wave of frustration or anger, and she didn’t want to dishonor God by being unkind. So she’d wait, and then she’d forget. Until the next time he irritated her. She felt caught in a merry-go-round and didn’t care for the sensation.

What had gotten into him, anyway? His first weeks in the studio, he’d been the model employee, following her directions, working meticulously and quietly, showing up early and expressing a willingness to stay late, and offering her endless support. But lately? It seemed he was trying to rise to the top and wanted to use her as the stepping stool to get there. What had brought about the change?

Her pacing ceased, her heart firing into her throat as realization struck. Andrew’s attitude change coincided with Sean McCauley’s visit to her studio. But why? Before she had a chance to explore the reasoning behind Andrew’s behavior, a tap at her door signaled the arrival of a visitor. Charging to the front door, she swung it open and returned the smile Sean McCauley offered.

“Right on time,” she said, glancing at the silver watch that circled her wrist.

“And you’re ready to go.” His eyes glowed with approval.

“Yes, well, punctuality has been drilled into me from an early age.” She underscored her words with a light laugh, reaching for her coat, which hung on a hall tree beside the front door. “My mother always said—”

Sean plucked the coat from her hands and held it open. For a moment, she stared at the coat, her heart tripping through her chest at a pace far above normal. Then turning her back to him, she slipped her arms into the sleeves and finished her thought in a reedy tone. “Being late is disrespectful. Respectfulness has always been one of her favorite virtues.”

“I think our mothers would get along well then.”

She faced him, sliding her hands behind her neck to release her hair from the coat’s collar. His gaze seemed to follow the tumble of her curls across her shoulder, and a surprising warmth filled her cheeks. “So, have you decided on a restaurant?”

He shrugged, grinning. “I’m the new one around these parts, so you choose.”

“A place called the Apple Barrel is right off the highway on the outskirts of Newton, and they have a good variety of menu choices.”

“That’ll do. Let’s go.” He held the door open for her, and as she passed through, she felt his hand lightly press the small of her back. The whisper touch sent a shiver of pleasure up her spine and a wave of heat to her face. The chill evening air whisked across her, cooling her cheeks. She hugged herself and danced in place while waiting for him to unlock the car door.

His smile as he popped the car door open for her sent a second rush of fire through her face. While she waited for him to round the car and get behind the wheel, she reminded herself this was a business dinner, not a date. But her jumbled nerves didn’t settle down until midway through the meal.

Sean carried a seasoned french fry to his mouth, bit off the end, and chewed, the movement of his mustache oddly fascinating. Beth wasn’t unfamiliar with facial hair—Mitch had deliberately waited days between shaving to give himself a rugged Indiana Jones appearance—but Sean’s neatly groomed, red-gold mustache was a far cry from Mitch’s dark shadow.

An image of Andrew’s clean-shaven face with its square chin and firm jaw popped into her mind, competing with the mental pictures of Mitch and the real-life view of Sean across the table. To rid herself of the parade of images, she approached the purpose of their time together.

“You haven’t told me whether the church committee was interested in your idea.”

Sean’s face lit up. “Ah, my idea...” He used his napkin to wipe his mouth and hands, set the wadded paper square aside, and leaned forward, eagerness in his bearing. “They liked my idea very much and would like to see an official sketch of the proposed window.”

Two major projects in quick succession! Beth caught her breath. “Wow!”

Sean laughed, his teeth flashing. “Wow, indeed. They gave me a copy of their church directory, which has photographs of the church building for you to use in creating your sketch. The photos are black and white, so I also have a description of the building to help you decide on appropriate colors.”

Beth put down her fork. “You must be a great salesman.”

Sean shrugged, grinning. “I know my business.” The statement, while confident, didn’t sound cocky. He placed his elbows on the table edge and linked his fingers together. “I’ve been praying for quite a while about this particular project. The committee was so firmly divided into two ranks, I knew I’d need to find a way to bridge their different goals. Having a modern building with a beautifully crafted Beth Quinn window serving as a reminder of the original building turned out to be a compromise they could accept.”

“I’m so glad.” Beth realized she was pleased for two different reasons. First, it offered her another opportunity to build her business. And second, Sean indicated he had prayed about the project. His easy acknowledgment of consulting God gave her a feeling of security and increased her admiration for him.

Sean reached across the table to cup his hand over hers. “And I’m so glad we’re in this together. I think you are going to be a wonderful asset to McCauley Church Construction. Making use of your skills is one of the smartest moves I’ve made.”

The feeling of security instantly fled.

TWELVE

Sean observed Beth’s smile fade, her eyes taking on a wariness he’d witnessed on earlier occasions. But he had no idea what had caused the change. Removing his hand from hers, he reached for another french fry and a different topic.

“So, tell me about your family. You mentioned you grew up in Wyoming even though your mom was raised in Sommerfeld. Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

Beth’s gaze narrowed, as if she were trying to read more into his question than what existed, but after a moment, her expression relaxed and a slight smile teased the corners of her lips. “Not quite yet.”

Her cryptic reply raised Sean’s eyebrows. “Not quite yet?”

Her grin grew. “My mother is expecting twins in mid-May.”

Sean whistled through his teeth. “Wow! Why’d she wait so long to have more children?” He realized how abrupt the question sounded, but to his relief, Beth didn’t appear insulted.

She took a sip of her cola and shrugged. “My father died in an accident before I was born. It was just Mom and me during all of my growing-up years. Then when we returned to Sommerfeld, Mom’s childhood sweetheart started courting her again. They married a little over a year ago. Henry had never married, so having a family was important to him. They were both thrilled when they found out Mom was pregnant.”

“I bet.” Sean tried to imagine being in his early twenties and becoming a big brother. The picture wouldn’t gel. He observed, “She must have been pretty young when she had you.”

Another casual shrug lifted Beth’s shoulders. “Eighteen when she married my dad, nineteen when she had me.”

“And widowed at nineteen.” Sean felt a rush of sympathy toward this woman he didn’t know. “She must be very strong.”

“She is.” Beth’s eyes glimmered briefly. “She’s a wonderful mom.”

Sean nodded. She must have been a good mother to have raised such a strong, capable daughter. His admiration for Beth grew with the knowledge of what must have been a difficult childhood. “And now she’ll be a mom again.” He shook his head, chuckling. “Twins, huh? That’ll keep her busy.”

Beth offered a silent nod, lifting a bite of salad to her mouth.

Gesturing with a french fry, Sean said, “It’s good you’re close by. You’ll be able to help her.”

“Oh, she’s got lots of family around for that. I’ll be busy in my studio.”

The glib tone seemed to carry an undercurrent Sean was tempted to explore, but he decided their relationship was too new to go digging below the surface. So he threw out another question. “Have you ever thought about relocating your studio?”

Beth’s fork froze between her plate and her mouth. “Why do you ask that?”

There was no denying the challenge in her tone. He frowned slightly. “Curiosity. I know you said you hoped to garner some of the café’s business when you open a showroom, but I would imagine in a small town like that, you’re still limiting yourself. A larger city might hold more opportunities for you.”

Beth put her fork down without taking the bite. “Did you have a city in mind?”

Sean’s frown deepened. The defensiveness she presented at times seemed so alien to her soft appearance. What brought about these mercurial mood swings? “Not particularly. Although remaining in Kansas would be good if you plan to ship projects throughout the United States. It’s centrally located.”

“Well”—she picked up the fork again—“Sommerfeld is in central Kansas, so I think I’ll just stay put.” She chewed the bite of lettuce, swallowed, and then continued. “Besides, you haven’t been around in the warmer seasons. Between the farmers’ market, carriage rides, and café, plus the demonstrations for wheat-weaving, quilting, and harness-making, Sommerfeld teems with activity on the weekends. And all of those tourists are prime candidates for exploring my showroom.”