Dakota Love (7 page)

Caroline caught the slight grimace of Rodney’s mouth and followed him over to the bulletin board. He pulled reading glasses out of his shirt pocket to study the picture. Caroline was happy to see an elderly woman had won the wall quilt depicting a freehand design of a decorated Christmas tree. She was holding the quilt to her side, making the entire blanket visible but not its detail, such as the multicolored thread, the stitching shaped like old-fashioned Christmas lights, and the triangle block pattern that formed the tree, all of which blended into the colors of the picture. Caroline sighed. That quilt up close would have made a great example of her work.

“What?” Rodney looked at Caroline.

“The picture doesn’t show all the detail in that quilt.”

“Like?”

“The quilting, the blocks’ formation, or the fabric’s pattern.”

“Here all I wondered about was if we could crop the winner out of the picture.” Rodney rubbed the back of his neck.

Caroline felt her eyebrows involuntarily draw together. Her expression must have shown her confusion because Rodney didn’t give her time to respond.

“Written permission is needed if a photo with a person is used.”

“You can take people out of the picture?”

“With the right software and depending on the quality of the digital camera used, I may be able to bring out some of the detail, too. Too bad you don’t make practice quilts.” Rodney removed his glasses and stuck them back in his shirt pocket.

“I do practice the stitch pattern before I use it on the quilt.” Rodney’s smile at her statement brought out one of her own. “Would that help?”

“Sure! We’d only have to photograph a small portion to show the detail. No one will know it’s not of the actual quilt.”

Once again, Rodney impressed her with his business sense.

Rodney and Caroline waited beside the counter while Mark finished ringing up his customer. After the woman exited the store, Mark turned to Caroline. “She’s a new customer.” Mark motioned his head toward the door. “She’s interested in taking quilting classes. I’ve had other inquiries about classes, too, and wondered if you’d like to teach some.”

Caroline sucked in her breath. “Me? Teach a quilting class? I don’t know.” She bit the corner of her lip.

“You
are
the Queen of Quilts.” Rodney nodded his encouragement.

“Not only that,” Mark said, “but you taught home economics until you had Jason.”

“To borrow Rodney’s phrase, another lifetime ago.” Was Mark planning on paying her to teach? The extra income could help during the slow time with her business. She searched for a tactful way to ask. “What were you thinking?”

“To start, two classes a week for six weeks. One during the day sometime and one during the evening because many of my customers work. You set the days and times.”

That didn’t tell Caroline anything about the money involved. Caroline cleared her throat and tried another angle. “Are you charging for the classes?”

Mark laughed. “Of course—I am a businessman. I just don’t know if I should charge a flat rate for the entire six weeks or per session. I thought we’d split it fifty-fifty.”

Rodney broke into the conversation. “Why don’t you charge a flat rate per course up front? If people pay prior to the class, they won’t miss sessions. Also, you should split the course fee sixty-forty. I’m assuming you plan to profit from the sale of the supplies for the class?”

Not another one. First Ted, then Jason, and now Rodney. Did all men think they knew what was best for a woman? A lump formed in Caroline’s throat. Though she admired Rodney’s business acumen, all her life she’d known Mark and his generous nature. She couldn’t tolerate hurting his feelings over money. Not to mention this decision should be between her and Mark. “I think an even split is fair.”

Mark shrugged. “Not really. Rodney made a valid point. I hadn’t factored in the sale of supplies. I can even give a 10 percent discount on all supplies purchased here and still come out ahead. Do we have a deal?”

Caroline looked from one expectant face to the other. “Deal.” She held out her hand to shake on it.

Mark pretended to spit on his hand before clasping Caroline’s. “Who knew all those years ago when you were babysitting the neighbor boy that he’d form a partnership with you.”

“I think you left out a few adjectives.” Caroline ended the handshake and turned to Rodney. “He meant
annoying
younger neighbor boy who pestered me and my friends when we were out in the yard.”

Rodney wore a strange look before he laughed at their banter. Was it relief mixed with enlightenment?

“Don’t feel bad, buddy. The girls I grew up with would describe me the same way.” Rodney slapped Mark’s shoulder in camaraderie.

“Okay, enough bonding or you’ll be ganging up on me! Back to the reason why we’re here.” Caroline lifted the quilt from the bag.

“Let’s take it back to the work area.” Mark led the way to a large room in the back of the store.

As Caroline began to unfold the quilt, Rodney grabbed two corners and stepped back so Mark could view the entire blanket.

“Pretty good condition, considering the age. This flour sack pattern was popular in the forties.”

“Do they make replica material that matches it?” Caroline asked while Mark continued to assess the damaged block of the quilt. “We plan to restore the quilt, if possible.”

“I don’t know, but now that I’ve seen it, I can check with my distributors. Is there a deadline for the restoration?”

“Not at all. Why?” Rodney asked.

“I may be able to get ahold of an actual flour sack with this pattern from some of my online sources. But it may take awhile and”—Mark looked up from the quilt—“it could be costly.”

Caroline furrowed her brow and looked to Rodney for an answer.

Rodney shrugged. “I’ll trust your judgment. If the price seems fair, buy it. You’d know if the seller was price gouging before I would.”

“Okay.” Mark walked to a file cabinet and took out a camera. “I’ll take a close-up shot of the back so I can be sure I’ve found a match.”

After taking several shots, Mark put his camera away while Caroline and Rodney folded the quilt.

“Here are the tops and backs that need to be quilted.” Mark pulled a large plastic sack from the top of the file cabinet and laid it on a cutting table.

Caroline removed the first of three separate sacks. “I thought you said two over the phone.” She peeked inside. “This looks like the red Nine Patch you told me about.”

“I thought this heart fabric for the back would make a great display for Valentine’s Day or a great Valentine’s Day gift for a special quilter in someone’s life.” Mark pulled the backing out for a better view.

“How do you want it quilted and finished?”

“A continuous heart pattern with various-sized hearts. There’s coordinating binding in the bag. Can you finish it by February first?”

That deadline didn’t leave her much time, but if it was the only project she worked on, she could finish it. “It shouldn’t be a problem.” Caroline tucked the material back into the sack while Mark removed a stack of loose blocks from the next one.

“This one’s not finished. I found it at a flea market. All the fabric’s there. It looks like a kit. Just finish it and use whatever type of quilting stitch you’d like.”

“Okay.” Caroline glanced at Rodney, whose bored-to-tears expression pulled at her heart. “You’re not having fun. We’re almost finished.”

“I admit I have no idea what you two are talking about, as far as kits and binding, but”—Rodney winked at Mark—“the jester must wait for the queen.”

“I could get used to that title.” Caroline flipped her scarf.

“I may have created a monster.”

“Believe me,” Mark interjected, “you didn’t create a monster. She’s been a monster for years.”

“Hey now,” Caroline said over both men’s laughter. She shot Mark a stern look before grinning from ear to ear. How long had it been since she’d teased or been teased? Then her heart twisted a little and she knew—since she and Jason began to disagree about her quilting business. She felt her natural smile begin to droop with the ache of financial fears that had been her constant companion for so long. She forced her practiced smile to her lips. “Think you can stop laughing at me long enough to tell me what’s in the third bag?”

“It’s a surprise and maybe a challenge, depending on how you look at it.” Mark pulled small bundles of fabric decorated with various kinds of candies—jelly beans, fancy chocolates, candy corn, kisses, suckers, and ribbon candy. In addition, there was a small amount of red and a larger amount of brown. “A fellow Chamber member who runs a candy store asked if you’d make her a wall quilt that looks roughly like this.” Mark unfolded a piece of paper that revealed a rough sketch of six blocks with an old-fashioned candy jar in the middle of each block.

As Rodney peeked over her shoulder, Caroline studied the sketch. “So the fabric with the candy on it is the body of the jar—like candy showing through the glass—the jar lid is red, and the brown’s the backing?”

“How on earth did you get that out of those pieces of material and that drawing?” Rodney sounded amazed.

Caroline’s answer consisted of a shrug and a smile. “Kind of comes natural, I guess.”

“Will you do it?” Mark asked.

“I’d rather appliqué the jar than try to piece a pattern.” Caroline bit the corner of her lip. “Is there enough fabric to make a practice block first? I’d hate to make the entire quilt and disappoint your friend.”

“There should be,” Mark said.

“Okay, I’ll give it a try.” Caroline slipped all the fabric back into the sack, then placed all three small bags into the larger one.

“And the last order of business for the day,” Mark said as he folded a soft-backed book open and pointed to a color picture of a quilt whose blocks matched the blocks in Rodney’s quilt.

“You found it!” Caroline’s voice squeaked with excitement. She clapped her hands and turned to Rodney. “That solves one mystery surrounding your quilt.”

Rodney smiled. “It sure does. So what’s it called?”

Caroline and Rodney looked at Mark. He held the book open to show the entire page spread. “The name’s from my mom’s favorite Bible verse. God’s reminder that He takes care of us.” Mark drew a circle with his finger around the flower in the middle of the block. “The block’s name is Lily of the Field. ‘Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life?…See how the lilies of the field grow. They do not labor or spin.’ ”

F
or the fourth time, Caroline read the trout almandine recipe, checking the ingredients off in her head. Just like the last three times, she accounted for every item in her cupboards or refrigerator. Perhaps she should measure out the ingredients to make sure she had the correct amounts. She didn’t want to overlook anything for this meal.

Rodney had worked hard on her website, and while she was showing her appreciation by making him a meal, for some unknown reason, she also wanted to impress him with her culinary skills. Who was she kidding? She knew the reason—attraction. She almost giggled thinking about it, which seemed childish for a fifty-year-old woman to do, so she held it in until the excitement that buzzed through her forced the giggle out. Mark nailed it last week when he called her a schoolgirl. She felt carefree, hopeful like a schoolgirl.

Her pressed outfit hung in her closet, and the baked-from-scratch chocolate cake waited in the refrigerator. She’d prepared it yesterday so she’d have time to whip up another one if her first cake fell.

Was she crazy to feel this way? The more she was around Rodney, the more she wanted to be around Rodney. Caroline laughed out loud as she remembered how she’d debated what to wear to church last Sunday. She finally gave in to the urge to dress up for church, wearing a brown pantsuit, green blouse, and dress flats. In addition, she curled her hair and applied her makeup with a careful hand, topping it off with a new shade of lipstick. Why? Because she knew she’d see Rodney. She’d gone from spending church time reflecting on how bad her life had turned out to trying to impress a handsome man.

Caroline tapped the recipe card on the counter. She didn’t know why she bothered going to church anyway. It wasn’t like she really believed in or relied on God anymore. However, she’d begun to look forward to joining the singles group for breakfast, which she’d done the last three Sundays.

The click of the back door startled her from her deep thoughts. She wasn’t expecting anyone.

“Mom? Or should I say Grandma?”

“In the kitchen.” Caroline heard Jason’s boots thud on the entryway floor as he removed them. “What brings you here?” she asked as he entered the kitchen.

“Day off.” His nylon coat swished as he shrugged out of it, then hung it over the back of a kitchen chair.

“How’s Angela feeling?”

“Good—tired but not sick. The doctor says everything’s how it should be at this stage. What are you up to?” Jason stood by her and hugged her shoulders with one arm.

“Just going over a recipe. Want a cup of coffee?” Caroline reached for a mug.

“Sure.” Jason pulled the recipe card closer. “Trout almandine. Kind of a fancy entrée for one.”

Caroline inhaled deeply, dreading Jason’s response to her being involved with a man other than his father. Not that she and Rodney were anything more than friends, but still, she’d gone over this conversation in her mind many times. Every scenario she imagined didn’t turn out well. “Actually, I’m cooking dinner for a friend.”

Jason sipped his coffee, then opened the cupboard where she kept cookies. “Yum, mint ones.”

Caroline received a peck on the cheek for stocking his favorite cookies. She followed him to the kitchen table.

“So who’s your friend? A church or quilt lady?”

“Actually…” Caroline cleared her throat. “I met my friend at church, but, um…”

Jason removed a cookie from the package. “What?” he asked, then popped the cookie in his mouth.

“Well…” Caroline braced for a bad reaction. “It’s not a lady. It’s a gentleman. Do you remember Clara Harris from church?”

“The church pie lady.”