Through a Magnolia Filter (21 page)

Her stomach flip-flopped. Now that his environment had changed again, what did that mean for the two of them?

* * *

L
IAM
STRETCHED
.
“We've
made good progress finding families that James and Fiona FitzGerald helped.” He had one more day to convince Barb that this approach would work.

“I prefer the rich-versus-poor angle that you first proposed.” Barb took another sip of her coffee. “It would make good polarizing drama.”

He pulled over the coffeepot. Barbara drank caffeine all day. And he wanted to keep her happy. A happy producer made an easier work environment.

“I can make the distinction between how the rest of America treated the immigrants and what the Fitzgeralds did for their countrymen.” Topping off her cup, he said, “Dolley can incorporate some of the information into the website.”

She nodded and sipped her cup. “What do they put in their coffee down here? It's fantastic.”

Heart?
“Abby trained in New York before she returned to the B and B. She was the sous-chef at Maurice's.” That fact would impress a foodie like Barb. “They got a Michelin star when she worked there.”

Dolley had had such pride when she'd told him that fact. And when Barb mentioned beating her sisters bloody, Dolley's face had filled with horror.

These two parts of his life were definitely...different. He would just have to balance their differences and play to both of their strengths.

“I can't wait to see what she serves for dinner.” Barb took another sip of her coffee. “Lunch was great, too.”

And that was as good a compliment as Liam ever heard from his tough producer.

“I've some film of the Fitzgeralds.” He'd done rough edits. “Do you want to go through it, since they might become the core of this story?”

He handed Sonjia the rough cut he'd made at a script for this segment.

Barb kicked off her shoes, stacked her feet on the chair next to her and said, “Roll it.”

The two-hour interview had been cut to fifteen minutes. Still too long.

“The Fitzgeralds photograph well,” Barb said.

“They're a lovely family.”

“And from what I saw at the wine tasting yesterday, you've slipped right into the flow of their B and B.”

“They've been...kind.” Treated him like family. “Even invited me to their Christmas celebrations.” His best in years.

“I did, too.” Barb pointed at him.

“It's a lot warmer here than New York.”

“Isn't that the truth?” She concentrated on the questions and answers, watching to the end. “I like it, but it's too long.”

“I know. More work to do.” He just hadn't been able to cut Dolley's answers. She glowed on screen. Her sparkle wasn't as strong in a photo as in real life, but film was her medium.

The tape stopped. A final shot of Dolley's smiling face. The twinkle in her eyes had him staring a second too long.

“So,” Barb drawled, “she's our research assistant.”

He nodded. “Plus, she's taking pictures that can be used for the book, website and the film.”

“You don't have to defend her to me.” She set her feet on the floor. “If her ideas play out, I might hire her to clean up and develop all our websites.”

“Really?”

Barb shrugged. “It depends. Is she always this good? Or is she inspired because she's so smitten with you?”

Sonjia snickered. “I hear that's not the first time that has happened.”

“What?” He'd never worked with Sonjia before.

“I checked with some of your previous crew members, wanting to know how you like to work. They warned me women can't resist your sad Irish eyes.” She snickered again. “And that was a direct quote.”

“Women love our Liam. It doesn't hurt that he's the whole package. The face, the body and the accent.” Barb slipped on her shoes. “I need a break.”

“Is this approach a go?” He swallowed.

Barb tapped the table. “Yes.”

Excellent. He would have Dolley continue to search the ledgers and journals to uncover other families the Fitzgeralds had helped.

He grinned. A perfect excuse to consult with her tonight.

* * *

“D
ONE
.” D
OLLEY
EMAILED
the website bid to Barb.

Maybe she should do what both her sisters had done. Create a company to isolate her work from the family business.

She pushed away from her apartment kitchen table. She didn't want to spend her life creating websites. She wanted to travel and take pictures.

From the window, she stared at Bess's gardens. The gray fog from the morning still hadn't lifted.

Staying in Savannah wouldn't accomplish Dolley's dream. And building other people's websites wouldn't, either. She almost resented that Liam was the one who'd suggested it. He'd thought he was doing her a favor.

But she did need the money.

She paced the small living room. The apartment still felt like Abby's place, even though Bess had lived here a few months.

Bess now lived with Daniel. Abby and Gray had moved into the Carleton carriage house.

And Dolley was in transition. Unfortunately, she'd wasn't sure what she was transitioning to. She hadn't even hung any pictures. How could she call herself a photographer?

The nice thing about living at Fitzgerald House was she could go bother Abby. She tossed on her jacket, slipped on her shoes and dashed across the courtyard.

The kitchen was quiet, but a fire burned on the hearth. Abby couldn't be too far away. She shucked off her coat and made a tea. The door swung open. Dolley glanced up from the sitting area. “Hey, Cheryl.”

Cheryl waved. “Are you looking for Abby?”

“Yeah.” Dolley scrunched up her mouth. “I'm...out of sorts. Thought I'd come and whine.”

“She won't even hear you.” Cheryl whipped her hair into a ponytail and pulled on an apron. Then she headed to the sink to wash her hands. “She's still in the clouds.”

“It's obnoxious.” Dolley heaved out a sigh.

“You can bitch to me. I'm making pasta for Italian night.”

“Cool.” Dolley moved to the counter.

Cheryl measured out yellow flour, eggs and salt into the mixer.

“How's Josh enjoying school?” Dolley asked.

Cheryl grinned and talked about her son. It was soothing to have the hum of the mixer and Cheryl's chatter competing with the voice inside her head that was telling her she wasn't getting what she needed from this apprenticeship.

Liam was getting his research from her, but what was she getting to improve her photography skills? The last pictures they worked on had been of Abby's wedding.

“Do you want to tell me why you're frowning?” Cheryl asked.

Dolley shook her head. “It's hard when no one can see my dreams but me.”

“I know that story by heart.” Cheryl shut off the mixer and peeled the dough off the beater. “I think that every time I'm cleaning a toilet.”

Dolley laughed. “I'm glad I saw you wash your hands when you came in. And you really are turning into an excellent chef.”

Cheryl grinned. “I'm spending more and more time in the kitchen. So there's hope.”

Dolley headed to the cupboard to check on Abby's stash of cookies. “Is that your dream?”

“My biggest dream is to make a good life for Josh. He's my center.” Cheryl scattered flour on the stainless steel counter. “But I could see myself cooking full-time.”

And apparently so could Abby. Because Cheryl had been the one who'd done the cooking and baking while Abby and Gray had been gone. Cheryl's dream was flourishing.

But no one thought of Dolley as a photographer.

That was her fault. It was time to start acting like one. “Thanks for letting me pout.”

“Anytime.” Cheryl grinned. “You could knead pasta. I get a lot of frustrations out when I do.”

“I'm good.” Or she would be as soon as she grabbed her camera.

* * *

L
IAM
SLIPPED
HIS
phone out of his pocket. Where was Dolley? She hadn't responded to his last three texts.

There was a knock on the dining room door.

“Come in,” Liam called.

Amy stuck her head inside. “Can I clear your dishes?”

“Sure. But leave the wine.” Barb waved her hand at the remains of their dinner. “And tell the chef it was great.”

“I will.” Amy loaded a couple of trays and pushed them through the pass-through. “Italian night is always a hit.”

“Do you eat like this all the time?” Jerry rubbed his stomach.

“You'll have to check out their wine tastings to find out.” Liam smiled.

“I'm going to download today's film in my room.” Jerry headed to the door.

“I'll help.” Tom pulled up a chair.

“I'm done for.” Sonjia gathered up her notebooks. “I'll head up, too.”

“Nice setup.” Barb tipped the last drops of the wine into her glass. “Too bad they don't have Scotch.”

“Would Jameson do?”

“They really do relish their Irish roots.” She laughed. “Sure.”

“Grab your jacket. We'll go to the main house.” And maybe he'd find Dolley.

“I didn't notice the gardens when I came through last night.” Barb tugged up her collar. “They're nice.”

More than one compliment out of Barb's mouth was pretty amazing.

He bumped his room card against the Fitzgerald House library door.

Shedding his coat, he took Barb's and hung them on the coat tree.

“Lead the way.” Barb held out her hand.

“They keep the whiskey stocked in here.” He poured two glasses. Neat. Barbara's choice.

“Will you need a crew when you film in Ireland?” she asked, settling into one of the chairs set in front of the glowing fire.

“If there's budget troubles, I know someone I can tap for a day or two.”

“That sounds dirty, Mr. Delaney.” She sipped. “Ahhh. Nice way to end a long work day.”

He sipped, too. And took a deep breath but couldn't find his balance. Dolley was missing from the equation.

He steered the talk to Barb's family and their holidays. Barb liked to rail about her son, but the love shone through.

“He's convinced that we
must
take a snowboarding vacation this spring break.
All
his friends are going to Colorado.”

“It sounds like fun,” he said.

“I'd rather come here. I don't suppose they have an on-site spa. I'd never leave the building.”

“None that I know of, but they have connections all over town. I'm sure they'd set you up.”

“I won't be here that long. You have the project well in hand.”

“Glad you feel that way.” Because he hadn't until he'd come up with the last brainstorm.

Bright hair moved past the library door. He was up and moving before he could excuse himself to Barb. “Dolley?”

“Liam.” Her cheeks were rosy with the cold. Her curls were tangled and falling in her eyes. “Are you done for the night?”

“Yes. Barb and I are having a bump.” He took her icy hand. “Join us.”

“Sure.” Her grin was huge. What had made her so happy?

“Hi, Barb.” She headed to the decanter and poured a short shot. Tossing her coat over to the sofa, she stood next to the fire. “This feels wonderful.”

He wanted to warm her hands. But a quick glance at Barb had him sitting back in his chair.

“Your bid looked good, so I've sent it to the number crunchers.” Barb took another sip.

“Thanks. If they have questions, they can call.”

“Where were you off to?” Liam asked. When his question sounded strange, he tried again. “I texted you a couple of times. Were you...”

He left it open-ended, because he wasn't sure what he was asking.

“The fog had me grabbing my camera. I was down by the harbor.”

“Let's see.”

They sat together on the sofa, and she pulled her camera out of its case.

“Well, kids, I'm topping this off and taking it back to Carleton House. I'll see you in the morning.” Barb slipped on her coat and left.

“Didn't you know there was Jameson in the Carleton House library?” she asked.

“I'm so used to grabbing a glass here, I never thought about it. And I wanted to run into you.”

“Oh.” Her green eyes looked vulnerable.

He touched her cheek. “Show me your work.”

“There's a lot that should be trashed,” she warned.

“Never apologize.” He waited as she scrolled through the pictures.

She'd started at The Waving Girl. The fog curled around the statue's feet, almost obscuring the dog he knew was there. He'd taken his pictures in the sun. This was more...ominous. Like the girl was warning the ships away. He couldn't wait to see the picture full-size.

“Some of the later immigrants you're talking about might have seen her waving. She was a fixture at the harbor in the late 1800s through 1930.”

She'd moved around the statue, shooting up and also down.

“I like the fog rolling off the water,” he said.

“I do, too.” She chewed on her lip.

He had to force himself to focus on the pictures and not her mouth.

These pictures were darker than Dolley's normal outlook. He hoped his dreary view of the world hadn't rubbed off on her.

She'd found an abandoned boat listing in the water. The paint was peeling. It was juxtaposed against a shiny yacht motoring downriver.

“These are...incredible. The best work you've ever done.” And each picture got better and better. “What emotions were you going for?”

“It was—” she pushed her curls away from her face “—everything. Frustration. Perseverance. Despair. Solitude.”