Beginnings (20 page)

“Why, hello, Beth.”

“Good morning,” Beth greeted, forcing a cheerful tone. Doris’s perusal and the hesitant warmth in her eyes once more reminded Beth of her worldly—in the town’s opinion—appearance. She tugged at the tails of her flannel shirt and fidgeted.

“What brings you here this morning? Surely you don’t need a plow.”

“Oh, no.” Beth gave the expected laugh. “But I do need some cat food, a collar with a bell, if you have one, and a litter box.”

Doris’s eyebrows shot high. “Marie didn’t mention you were planning to get a kitten.”

Beth shrugged. “She didn’t know.” Beth didn’t bother to mention she herself hadn’t known.

“Well, we do have clay litter. Lots of our farmers use it to absorb oil spills from their farm equipment.” The rubber soles of Doris’s sensible oxfords squeaked against the wood-planked floor as she stepped from behind the counter. “But we don’t carry litter boxes.” She led Beth past aisles of knotty pine shelves holding tools, boxes of boots, and stacks of work pants to the area where pet supplies were kept. “However, you could probably go next door to the variety store and buy a dishpan. It would work just as well.”

“Thanks. I’ll do that.”

Doris returned to the counter while Beth looked at the small selection of cat collars. She chose a pale blue one with felt underlining. Its little bell sent out a low-toned jingle. “That’ll keep you from creeping up on me,” she mumbled. And, she decided, Winky would look quite jaunty with the blue collar against his gray fur.

She looped the collar over her wrist, then scooped up a ten-pound bag of litter and a five-pound bag of cat food and waddled to the counter. For a moment, she wished she’d brought her car; the three-block walk to the studio might seem longer carrying her burden.

Doris punched the amounts into the register and gave a blunt total. When she put the collar in a little bag, she commented, “This is a ten-inch. Are you sure you don’t want a nine-inch?”

Beth frowned. “What’s the difference?”

“A ten-inch might not stay around a kitten’s neck; it could be too long.”

“Well, he’s not quite a cat, but he’s not a kitten anymore.” She smiled at Doris’s puzzled expression. “I’m guessing he’s halfway to grown up.”

“Oh.” Doris rolled the bag closed. “Then this will probably be okay if you hook it on the inside notch. Getting the bell is a good idea. It will keep him from catching birds.” She grimaced. “Nasty thing to do.”

Beth agreed. But she intended to make Winky a studio cat, and the only birds he could chase in there were ones formed from bits of colored glass. She thanked Doris once more, then headed out. As she aimed her feet toward the variety store, she released a chuckle. It wouldn’t be long before the entire town knew she was the proud owner of a half-grown cat. Word spread amazingly fast in this little town.

Winky seemed pleased to scratch around in his dishpan-turned-litter box, which relieved Beth mightily. He also gave no indication of being offended by the plastic cereal bowls that held his food and water since she’d been unable to find an official pet dish at the variety store. However, he turned into a real stinker when she tried to fasten the collar around his neck.

“Now, behave yourself,” she scolded as he backed up between her legs, eluding her grasp. “This is for your own good!” She spent at least five minutes chasing him around the studio before she finally conceded defeat. Smacking the collar onto the worktable, she warned, “You’ve got to sleep sometime, and I’ll get you then.”

From across the room, Winky washed one paw and fixed her with a heavy-lidded stare. She laughed. “Whoever left you on my doorstep is going to get the biggest thank-you. You really are precious.” She sighed. “But now I’ve got to get back to work. Leave my feet alone, huh?”

Winky simply winked.

EIGHTEEN

“And there it was, right on my doorstep.” Beth buttered another roll and took a bite of it. “But unlike the movies where there’s always a note attached saying, ‘Take care of my baby,’ there was no communication.”

“Hmm...” Henry stabbed a forkful of green beans. “A cat, you say?” He sent a speculative look across the table to Marie. “Didn’t Trina say something Sunday evening about needing to find a home for a cat?”

Andrew cleared his throat loudly and pointed to the saltshaker. “Could someone pass the salt, please?”

Henry obliged, and Andrew grabbed it with a mumbled “Thank you.” Beth hoped her mother wasn’t insulted. In her opinion, everything tasted great, but judging by Andrew’s zealous application, the food was flavorless.

“You said Trina?” Beth chewed thoughtfully. Yes, she could see Trina giving her a kitten. But she couldn’t imagine why the girl would be so secretive about it.

“Yes.” Mom sat back, most of her plate untouched. “Something about it having been hurt, but—”

“This is all really good, Aunt Marie.”

Andrew’s ears turned as red as the plum jelly in the middle of the table as everyone stopped eating and stared at him. Gesturing with his fork, he added, “All of it. Really good.”

Mom offered a slow nod. “Thank you.” Her tone indicated puzzlement.

“Yes.” He cleared his throat again. “Did you ... use any special kind of seasonings on the meat?”

Henry burst out laughing. “Don’t tell me you’re collecting recipes.”

Beth didn’t think Andrew’s ears could get any redder. But he was only embarrassing himself by butting in and inserting topics that were clearly outside of his area of interest. What was he...? Her thoughts were interrupted by the theme song from
Looney Tunes
coming from her purse. She leaped from the table.

“Sorry,” she said as she snatched it from the floor beside the door, “but I’m expecting a call from the owner of the Salina mall about my commission check from the craft fair.” She flipped open the phone and looked at the number. Her brows pinched. She didn’t recognize it. After clicking the Ta l k button, she held the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

“Hello, Beth. It’s Sean.”

“Sean! Are you in Denver?” Eating came to a standstill at the table. Three faces aimed in her direction. She pointed to the hallway and mouthed, “I won’t be long.” Then she moved around the corner, out of sight of her parents and Andrew.

“Yes. I’m calling from the hotel. I wanted to give you the number.” Beth shook her head. “Thanks, but if I needed something, I could’ve just contacted the office.”

“I know, but ... I wanted you to have it.”

“Oka–a–ay.” Beth drew out the word, uncertain how to respond.

“That way,” his soft voice continued, “I can stay up-to-date on your progress, and you can check on mine.”

A self-conscious giggle spilled out. “Why do I need to check on yours?”

“Because if this committee signs with McCauley, they’ve already indicated they want seventeen stained-glass windows. A large one of a rainbow with a dove behind the lectern; and eight on each side of the sanctuary, nine representing the different fruits of the Spirit and the remaining seven showing symbols of Christianity. That should challenge your artistic side.”

Beth leaned against the wall. “S–seventeen? The fruits of the Spirit?”

Sean’s chuckle sounded. She pictured his crinkled eyes, his warm smile. Funny how given the few times they’d been face-to-face he could appear so easily in her memory. “Yes. That should keep you busy, I’d think.”

“Oh, yes, I’d think...”

Another chuckle. “So get that one finished and out of the way so we can get moving on these fruits.”

Already her mind was spinning. “Yes.” Fruits of the Spirit: gentleness, mercy ... what else? “I will. Well, the number of the hotel will be in my phone’s memory bank, so I’ve got it.”

“Oh. Good. Then ... I’ll let you go. I’ve got an early meeting tomorrow.”

“Thanks for calling.” She snapped the phone shut and dashed around the corner.

“Mom! Guess what!”

***

Andrew lowered his fork and looked up, his heart leaping at Beth’s glowing face.

“What?” Marie asked, tipping her head.

“That was Sean—Sean McCauley—and he says their next project includes seventeen stained-glass windows. Seventeen!” She nearly danced to the table, her fingers in her hair. “They want each to be a depiction of a Christian symbol or one of the fruits of the Spirit.”

Marie’s jaw dropped. “W–what?”

Henry leaned his elbows on the table. “That sounds like quite the challenge.”

“I know.” Beth shook her head, her eyes wide. She faced Andrew and clasped her hands beneath her chin. “Andrew, I know I’ve said you need to work on other things and let me do the McCauley window, but I’ve changed my mind. You know, woman’s prerogative and all that...” Her giggle filled the room. “Starting tomorrow, you’re going to work with me. I want to finish early—beat the deadline.”

Andrew put down his fork. “But what about the Fox Gallery? You have a deadline there, too.”

“I know, but it’s commissioned; there’s no set customer waiting for that one, so a delay won’t really hurt anything. This McCauley project is absolute top priority.”

The way she emphasized the last words set Andrew’s teeth on edge. Although all along he’d wanted to help with the window, now resentment smacked hard. Since when should McCauley be the only customer who mattered?

“Why?” He nearly barked the word, startling himself as much as Beth.

She moved slowly to the table and put her hands on the back of her chair. “Why?” She crunched her mouth into a scowl. “I should think it would be obvious. I want the chance to design those windows.”

Suddenly the room faded away. All that existed for Andrew was he and Beth facing off. He folded his paint-speckled arms across his chest. “I understand you want to win the contract. But that can be done without setting everything else aside if you keep up the pace you’ve been doing lately. Are you sure it’s only the contract you’re after?”

Beth’s scowl deepened as her fingers curled tight on the chair’s top rail. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Are you sure you’re not trying to win”—Andrew’s bravado briefly flickered, but a jealous wave drove the final word from his heart—“Sean?”

Beth yanked out the chair and plunked into it, her jaw dropping. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

Andrew couldn’t either. But he was glad he had. The way she’d lit up when she realized who was on the telephone. Her willingness to set aside everything—everything!—to please that man. Her defensiveness now. In his eyes, it all pointed to one thing: Beth liked Sean. And even though he recognized it, he wouldn’t say it aloud and give it credence.

“Honestly, Andrew, you’re just out of line.” Beth angled her head with her chin jutting to the side. “I thought we’d come to the understanding that you are my employee, not a co-boss. It isn’t your business to presume on my motives. You’re just to do what you’re told. So plan on helping with the McCauley window starting tomorrow morning.”

“Whatever you say,
boss.
” What was he doing? He’d never spoken to Beth this way before. In the back of his mind, the biblical reminder to be angry yet sin not raised a flag, but he refused to acknowledge it. He clamped his jaw, holding back the apology for which she was certainly waiting. She could just wait, the stubborn, bossy girl!

They sat glaring at each other across the table for long seconds until a strangled sound—not quite a snort, not quite a cough—came from Henry’s side of the table. Andrew shifted his gaze to his uncle. Uncle Henry’s lips were pursed as if trying to hold something back, and his eyes were watering. Had something gone down the wrong pipe? Andrew lifted his hand to give his uncle a whack on the back, but before he could do it, Henry’s mouth popped open, and a loud burst of laughter broke out.

“Henry...” Aunt Marie’s voice held a warning, but a sparkle lit her eyes, as well.

Uncle Henry covered his mouth with his fist and coughed, bringing himself under control. “I apologize. I really do. But if you two could see yourselves.” Another guffaw blasted, and Aunt Marie followed it with a giggle muffled by her hand.

“I don’t see anything funny,” Beth inserted, her blue eyes sparking dangerously.

Neither did Andrew. Conflict held no humor for him, even when it was necessary. And this time it was necessary.

Uncle Henry held up both hands in defeat. “As I said, I apologize. But after just having talked about Beth getting a cat, it was like watching two tomcats square off for battle.”

Aunt Marie added, “Or watching siblings squabble.”

Andrew jerked his gaze in her direction. Siblings? He nibbled the inside of his cheek. The only other people with whom he’d ever openly argued were his brothers. He’d never felt comfortable enough to be boldly forceful with anyone else. Yet right then, he’d held nothing back from Beth.

But surely he didn’t look at Beth the way he looked at his brothers. That was ridiculous! He faced her again, taking in her jutted chin with its delicate cleft, her narrowed eyes still snapping fire, and her tightly crossed arms. He’d manage to rile her as much as he’d ever riled his brothers. And he wasn’t any sorrier about it than he’d ever been when he’d argued with either Ted or Joe. Confused, he looked down at his empty plate.