Dakota Love (5 page)

She was pretty and intuitive. No use in sidestepping around issues. “But this layout won’t sell your business and bring in customers if that’s what you want it to do.”

Caroline sighed and placed one elbow on the computer desk, then rested her chin in her hand. “It is. I ran an ad in a couple of quilt magazines, but everyone at the quilt conference I attended insisted websites attract customers.”

“It’s true. We live in a computer era. After all, where did you go to look up the quilt block name?”

“The Internet.” Caroline nodded. She lifted her cup and took a sip. “Since this is how I earn my living, I guess I should hire someone to design my website. Trouble is, I don’t know anyone who does that. Do you?”

“I know someone who can do it.”

“Do you know what they charge? Is it expensive? I can’t afford too much.”

Rodney fought the urge to use his thumb to rub away the worry indent that formed between Caroline’s brows when she frowned. The deep crease indicated she wore that expression often. To keep his hands busy, Rodney slipped his fingers into the front pockets of his blue jeans, hooking his thumbs in the belt loops. “Well, I work pretty cheap. Maybe a home-cooked meal or two.”

Caroline shook her head. “You’re retired from that type of business. I can’t ask you to do that.”

Rodney’s insides wrenched at the word
retired
. He enjoyed his life now but seldom felt the vibrancy that came with selling a product, especially one he believed in. He believed in Caroline’s products and her business. It had nothing to do with his interest in her personally. She was a good quilter and deserved to succeed.

“Caroline Baker, are you a hard sell? Because I must warn you that was my favorite kind of potential client when I worked in the ad game.”

“Hard sell?” Caroline’s eyes began to twinkle. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Not a bad thing, but I’m afraid my persuasive skills are rusty and I’m tired of eating my dinners perched on the arm of the sofa while I watch the news. So what do you say? Let me punch up your website. Please.” Rodney clasped his hands together in a begging fashion.

Caroline laughed out loud. “All right, but no backing out if you don’t like my cooking. And don’t even expect pie for dessert, because there is no way I can compete with your mom’s.”

Laughter relaxed the tense expression Caroline usually wore. Her curly hair, touched with gray, framed her face. She looked carefree. An expression she should wear more often. It suited her.

“I like chocolate cake, too,” Rodney offered with a wink.

“Thanks for that subtle hint.” Caroline continued to chuckle. “Any other requests?”

“Yes. That you work with me on the website. I’ll need to study the template; then I’ll update and add links. You’ll need to supply the pictures of quilts you’ve made or repaired, your studio, a price list—” Rodney stopped when Caroline held her hand up.

“I meant food requests. I make a mean pot roast.”

“Oh.” Rodney smiled sheepishly. He’d kicked into autopilot on this new project, a habit he thought he’d broken. In his excitement to work on Caroline’s website, he’d forgotten about his diet restrictions. Good thing she asked. “I prefer chicken, turkey, or fish.”

“Really?” Caroline’s tone showed her surprise. “My dad and Ted loved red meat. It’s Jason’s first choice, too.” She shrugged. “I just assumed all men did.”

Not long ago, his diet consisted of red meat and other rich, fatty foods. His mouth watered at the mention of pot roast. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be finicky. It’s just that I—”

“Don’t be sorry. I love trout almandine but seldom made it because it wasn’t well received at our table. Maybe if Ted had eaten less red meat and more fish, he’d be alive today.” Wide-eyed, Caroline stopped. Embarrassment flushed her cheeks. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

Rodney decided there’d be a better time to explain as strain replaced the lightheartedness in Caroline’s features. “Well, it sounds scrumptious to me.”

“Okay, we have a deal, then.” Caroline held her hand out. “I’ll cook.”

Rodney clasped the offered hand—dainty and smooth against his weather-worn skin. They shook on their agreement. “And I’ll design your website.”

“Now what do you want to do about your quilt?”

“You’re the professional—you tell me.” Rodney released her hand, then closed his into a loose fist in an attempt to hold on to Caroline’s warmth that lingered on his skin.

“I prefer to restore quilts, if I can. The fabric may be impossible to match, but like I mentioned, some companies replicate flour sack material. It’d be worth checking into to fix the torn block. If we found material and you chose to restore, I’d snip the ties and rip the hem edge out to separate the quilt top from the quilt back. Then I’d machine sew all the seams on the front blocks and back. If the fabrics raveled too much, I’d reinforce the blocks and use a tight zigzag or appliqué stitch on top of the seams to correct the problem. That would also add contrast to the block pattern. I’d replace the batting and retie the front to the back; then, using quilt binding, I’d finish the edges.”

Rodney appreciated that Caroline pointed to the areas of the quilt as she spoke, or she’d have lost him at “snip the ties.”

“If the fabric can’t be matched, then what?” he asked.

“You have a couple of choices. Many times, quilters make a mistake on purpose in a quilt. They’ll sew a block upside down or use opposite colors than the other blocks in the quilt, just so it’s not perfect. I could take the spoiled block out and replace it with a block made out of contrasting color, say, just white and yellow.”

Rodney tried to picture the quilt with a mismatched block. He wrinkled his nose.

The sweet tones of Caroline’s laughter bounced around the room. “That look has veto written all over it.”

“Can I veto the Queen of Quilts?” Rodney raised his eyebrows.

“Of course you can. It’s your quilt.”

“Then, in my opinion, it’d distract from the eye appeal of the quilt. What’s my other option?”

Caroline folded the quilt down to the row that held the shredded block. “I’d take the quilt apart like I described before. Instead of reinforcing these seams, I’d use a seam ripper to loosen the thread and take that row out of the quilt. Then I’d move the bottom row up. Your quilt will be shorter, almost a foot because these blocks are roughly ten by ten. I’ll have to cut the back to fit the new length of the front. The rest of the process is the same. I can use the good blocks and the fabric from the back to make pillow shams or a table runner. I’d have to put other fabric with it, but at least there’d be no waste of your heirloom, except for the ripped block.”

Rodney rubbed the back of his neck. His pinkie brushed the stubble at his hairline. “I’d like to try to restore it first.”

“Okay, the search for retro flour sack fabric is on!”

Caroline typed
flour or feed sack fabric
into a search engine and hit the E
NTER
key. She sipped her coffee and browsed the links that appeared on the screen. After viewing several different sites, they found unique and pretty patterns but none matching the fabric in Rodney’s quilt.

Although Caroline delighted in searching the Internet for matching fabric, Rodney’s interest waned. He enjoyed Caroline’s company, but he’d imposed on her time long enough. No sense wearing out his welcome. “You mentioned a fabric store earlier that might carry it.”

“Yes, it’s a quilt shop. They carry some replica fabric. If they don’t have what we need in the store, they may be able to special order for us. I advertise there. They direct clients my way. I have some quilts to pick up sometime this week, so I’ll take yours with me and maybe they can help us out.”

“Would you like company?”

Caroline frowned and sucked in a corner of her mouth.

Was she afraid that this was a date? Although he intended it to be, he tried to alleviate her apprehension. “I have some errands I need to run. We might as well save gas.”

After a few minutes, Caroline said, “I guess it’d be all right.” Worry continued to etch her features. “What day were you thinking?”

“It depends on the weather for me. Can I call you after the six o’clock weather report?”

“Sure. Meanwhile I’ll look through my quilt books and see if I can locate the name of this block.”

“I might have a response to my e-mails that sheds some light on the quilt’s origins. I probably should get going.”

“I’ll get your coat.”

Rodney waited by the door and watched Caroline descend the steps with his quilt neatly folded over her arm. Who knew this morning that he’d be designing a website and accompanying Caroline on a shopping trip? Rodney peered through the door glass at the winter sky and found his answer. A cloud blocked the sun, yet its rays broke through, casting shafts of light that seemed to connect heaven to earth. No longer taking anything for granted and knowing who was in control, Rodney whispered, “Thank You, Lord, for all the plans You have for me.”

T
he unpredictable South Dakota weather postponed the trip to the quilt shop for about a week and a half. Temperatures dropped into the teens with some sort of precipitation every other day. Between plowing driveways and making sure his crew finished his clients’ sidewalks by either snowblowing or hand scooping, Rodney redesigned most of Caroline’s website.

Vitality surged through Rodney, a feeling he’d thought he’d never experience again and decided he missed. His creativity ebbed and flowed while working on Caroline’s website, forcing him to not only challenge but frustrate himself. The text he contributed had provided the right marketing punch. Credit for the eye-pleasing and user-friendly layout of the web page went to his former intern, Allison. In the short year since his resignation, the rapid change in technology stumped him more than once, so he called in a favor and asked Allison for help.

Today, God blessed him. His morning workout had seemed effortless as he mentally planned their day in Sioux Falls. Now Caroline’s flowery fragrance filled the pickup cab.

“I love the improvements you made to the website. It looks so professional.”

His chest swelled with pride at Caroline’s ecstatic reaction to the basic website changes. He did give his all to his current occupation, but clearing a driveway didn’t quite provide the same sense of accomplishment.

Caroline’s excited chatter about which quilts to photograph and upload to her website fueled his exuberance and made the hour-long drive between Riverside and Sioux Falls fly by. Nothing could do his heart more good.

“Lucky for me I photographed Mildred’s quilt. Your quilt will make great before-and-after pictures.”

The sun through the windshield accentuated the various tones of red in Caroline’s unencumbered curls. She pulled a white notepad from an oversized tote bag. “I’ll put that under ‘website plans.’ I’m writing down all the suggestions since my memory isn’t always reliable.”

“Don’t forget to include those two baby quilts, unless it will spoil the surprise for your son and his wife.”

Caroline sighed. “I doubt it will. I’ll make a note of it.”

When Caroline looked up from the pad, concern replaced the twinkle in her blue eyes. In the past week he’d noticed the look every time she spoke of her son. He assumed it was Angela’s pregnancy, but when he asked, Caroline said everything was going great.

He regretted not having more family experience. Not knowing what to say to put her mind to rest, he prayed nightly that Caroline’s burdens would ease so everyday decisions would no longer cause her anxiety.

“Have you given any thought to Allison’s suggestion of posting a blog or newsletter on your website? She says either could increase hits to your site.”

“I’m leaning toward a blog, but I just don’t know yet. I want my business to succeed, so I weigh every decision carefully.”

Caroline sucked in the corner of her lower lip and turned toward the window as they passed dormant winter fields speckled with snow patches and cornstalk nubs.

Rodney’s people skills, honed to perfection from his previous career, included awareness of body language. The way Caroline turned from him and focused on the passing landscape indicated there was another reason she weighed every business decision. He suspected it had to do with money, but then again, he’d been wrong about her daughter-in-law’s health. He wished Caroline would confide in him, but it was too soon; even
he
knew that.

He did, however, intend this day to be fun. The business side of Caroline’s venture never failed to dampen her spirits. Her passion lay in the creative side of quilting.

“So you mentioned you had quilts to pick up today. For repair?”

Caroline shifted in her seat to adjust the fur-lined hood of her white parka over the shoulder belt. A royal blue turtleneck that deepened the blue in her eyes peeked out above the zipper.

“No, these quilts belong to the owner of the store. I do his quilting.”

“
His
quilting?” Surprise filled Rodney’s voice. “Isn’t the name of the store Granny Bea’s Quilts?”

“Yes, but Mark Sanders runs the quilt shop and fabric store. It’s his family’s business. He took over for his mom when her MS progressed, then continued to run the store in her memory. He buys quilts and quilt tops online or at auctions. I repair or finish them; then he uses them for display before he sells them at the shop.”

Rodney chuckled. “I see. I thought you meant he quilted.”

Caroline raised her eyebrows. “Some men do quilt. It is an art form. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“I didn’t mean to imply that there was. It’s just that I don’t know any…” Rodney laughed. “Actually, I don’t know anyone but you who quilts, so I stand corrected.”

“Mark’s a salesman. The only time I’ve seen him sew is while he’s demonstrating sewing or quilting machines to a customer. I purchased my regular sewing machine from him.”

“He’s an advertising opportunity then.”
And a better son than me
. Sure, Rodney had taken care of his mom before she died, but only because his own health demanded a life change.