quilt top. The story is that her arthritis had gotten so bad she couldn’t finish.”
Intrigued now by the quilt and not only the man, Allie calculated. “Um...if he’s right about the great-greats, it’s probably at least eighty years old, then. Maybe a hundred.”
“That might be.”
“I’d like to see it.”
“Your work is beautiful,” he said simply. “I want you to do Sean’s quilt.”
Smiling, she shook her head. “I won’t make any promises. I do take on a project like that once in a while, but it has to be something special. Interesting enough for me to want to give it a great deal of time.”
“I understand,” he said, and looked as if he really did. “I’ll bring it to you.”
“Okay.” She smiled at him, let the thimble fall from her forefinger and held out her hand. “I’m Allie Wright. This is my store.”
“Nolan Radek.”
His large hand engulfed hers. She felt thick calluses, and saw nicks and healed wounds on the back of his fingers and hand. No banker or attorney here; these hands were well used, as hers were, though in a different way.
He didn’t seem to want to let her hand go. And for some strange reason, she wasn’t in any hurry, either. His grip was so warm and solid. They looked into each other’s eyes, neither of them smiling anymore. She’d swear she could hear her heart beating, as if it had taken flight. Breathless, Allie knew she’d never responded to a man in this way. And she didn’t even know him.
He finally released her, his reluctance palpable. He did clear his throat now. “It was good to meet you, Ms. Wright.”
“Allie.”
“I can come back tomorrow.”
“Good. I’m here until five.”
He nodded, studied her face one more time as if memorizing it, then turned and walked out. She saw his head swiveling as he went, as if he wasn’t so much uncomfortable now as intrigued by the raw material that went into a quilt like the one she was working on. If he’d been a woman, she would have guessed that she’d have a new student and customer. Of course, there were men who quilted, even if she didn’t know one, but...not Nolan Radek, she thought. Those large hands weren’t made for itty-bitty snippets of fabric or a teeny tiny needle.
She wondered what he did do with them that had earned him so many wounds. And then wondered what those hands would feel like on a woman’s body.
On her.
Her face hot again, she was grateful for the sound of the bell and the chatter of women’s voices. Leaving the needle and thimble where they were, Allie went to wait on her customers.
* * *
USUALLY EAGER TO start work come morning, Nolan got Sean out the door and poured himself a second cup of coffee while watching out the kitchen window as the school bus stopped out front then lumbered into motion again and out of sight along the winding country road.
He sat back down at the table, amused at himself. He’d asked his foster son for permission to take the quilt top into town for the shop owner to see, but he hadn’t said, I’m aiming to be there the very second she unlocks the door.
He and Sean hadn’t talked about girls yet. At his age, the boy had to be thinking about them a whole lot, but chances were good he’d be stunned if he knew his new foster dad had developed an instant crush on a pretty woman. Nolan thought it might be interesting to see how Sean would handle him dating.
Might be interesting to date, Nolan reflected. It had been a while. He’d never been very good at it. Women didn’t like having to wring every word out of a man.
Of course, there was no saying Allie Wright wouldn’t turn out to be married or at least committed already. Or not interested in Nolan. He didn’t believe that, though. The one moment, when it seemed as if neither of them could look away from the other, had to be mutual, didn’t it?
Instead of opening his workshop, he swept the entire downstairs of the farmhouse then dusted besides. Had to do it once in a while. He clock-watched the entire time, grabbing his wallet, keys and the bagged quilt top at quarter to the hour.
West Fork wasn’t a big town. It had been built on a bluff looking down on a fertile river valley in the foothills of the Cascade Mountains north of Seattle. Historically, the roots were