Ruth Logan - Loving the Lawman

Which made her grandmother correct again and pushed her to call her landlord after rudely dismissing him the week before.

The apartment’s doorbell rang while the tea steeped. She spotted Seth’s profile and wished her heart didn’t jump.

But it did.

She reached for the doorknob with damp palms.

Ridiculous.

And when he turned and met her gaze as she swung the storm door his way, a tiny sigh got trapped somewhere between her heart and lungs. She choked it back, motioned him in, then noted the tape measure he hauled out of his jacket pocket. “You came prepared.”

He didn’t smile like he had last week.

Why would he? You cut him down like sharp scissors to cotton. Quick and precise.

Because she’d had to. She knew that. But knowing didn’t make it any easier, not now, in his presence. A waft of something deliciously spicy came her way as she followed him into the shop.

“Carmen, how are you?” He gave her grandmother a long-lost-friend greeting, and Gram had the nerve to pop up from her chair and hug him.

“Good! I love this place, Seth, it is perfetto for our shop, for the work Gianna and I do. Even the snow I do not mind. Its beauty is of nature and God, and everything is so close to walk to. And the view.” She clapped a theatrical hand to her heart, and Gianna couldn’t help but smile. Her grandmother was never afraid to let emotion rule the day. “I could look upon this beautiful lake forever.”

Gianna had learned the hard way to shield her emotions. How many family and friends had advised her to grab hold of her life and move on? To go back to New York City and immerse herself in the hectic lifestyle she’d embraced for years before she’d met Michael and fallen in love?

She’d kept hold of her life. What she’d lost was her husband, gunned down on his day off. The irony of that bit deep. A New York State trooper on a convenience store run for his pregnant wife, stumbling onto a robbery in progress.

Gone, just like that, and then the miscarriage a few weeks later.

Emptiness had consumed her. Some said for too long, but what did they know? Had they suffered her loss?

No. So they could—

“Do you have a sketch?”

She stuffed the backward trail of thoughts aside and picked up a sheet of paper from the counter. “Right here.”

“Thanks.” Seth didn’t say any more. He simply took the sketch, crossed to the east-facing wall, then measured repeatedly between the red cedar beams.

“I was thinking four-foot sections here, here and here.” Gianna pointed out the separated wall areas for him. “If we leave every third or fourth area free, I can strategically place mannequins to display complete outfits.”

“Those headless things give me the willies,” he muttered as he penciled numbers. “Although the ones with heads aren’t much better.”

“Dress forms,” Gianna told him.

He paused and frowned. “I don’t get it.”

“Like that.” She pointed out the dress form in her sewing corner. “I’m working on a circa-1940s gown for a customer, and the form is adjustable. When I’m sewing, I use the form to see if I’m nipping and tucking in all the right spots as I create the dress. Out here—” she waved a hand to the stack of boxes and rolling racks clogging the middle of the room “—I can display things in their natural size so that customers have the advantage. What looks great on a size six doesn’t always work for a size sixteen.”

“You’re making this?” Seth stepped closer to the form. He touched the soft, tucked fabric of the sleeve and turned her way. “I thought it was some old-fashioned gown you bought. This is lovely.”

The way he said it, as if he understood the tiny differences between good-and fine-quality garments, made her feel better inside. “Thank you.”

“This isn’t sewing,” he went on as he admired two other outfits on the rack behind Gianna’s sewing corner.

She arched a brow and looked up, waiting for him to finish.

Time stopped. So did her heart, and if the look on his face was any indication, his reaction mimicked hers, so she took a deep breath and a full step back. “It’s not?”

“It’s art. Like a fine painting or a book you can’t put down.”

He needed to stop talking. He needed to stop being so nice, so kind, so capable, so big, strong and handsome. If you weren’t working in the garment district or with a costume designer on Broadway, sewing skills were relegated to the occasional alterations shop these days. Her grandmother’s talent and skill was becoming a lost art, just like Seth said. But not on Gianna’s watch. She may have given up the streets of the Big Apple, but she wouldn’t abandon the God-given artistry of their combined efforts. Their location on the quaint and upscale lakeshore would provide a tremendous tourist trade, while special orders on the internet helped balance the books.

She retreated one more step, but it wasn’t far enough, because the spiced-wood scent of him called to her. She’d answered that call once, to a man who wore a uniform, a man with a badge. She’d loved him, heart and soul.

She’d lost him the same way.

* * *

He’d work when Gianna was out of the shop, Seth decided as he left his father’s hardware store later that afternoon. Charlie Campbell had called in an order to an Illinois supplier. Seth knew what he wanted for the dress bars, stressed metal, old looking, but strong. Racks of clothing were heavy, and even with sturdy wall construction, he wanted to be sure he anchored the racks into solid support beams. The rustic tone he selected complemented the antiquated building, the classic decor he’d labored over when Jasmine had divorced him. Working in the cold, long days of that first winter had been his personal therapy, just him, some tools and a propane heater for long, silent days.

He’d been stupid and foolish, he saw that now. All in the name of love, regardless of his mother’s misgivings, and Jenny Campbell never discouraged casually. Despite that, he wouldn’t regret the time he’d had with Tori. Like that old Garth Brooks tune, if he hadn’t opened himself up for the pain, he might have never gotten the opportunity to be Tori’s dad, to be a father. His heart ached, wondering where she was. What she was doing. And because Jasmine had never allowed him to adopt the girl, he had no legal right to know.

That reality bit hard.

He contemplated grabbing takeout from the diner, but a glance at his watch refuted that thought. He and trooper Zach Harrison were assigned to oversee security and traffic flow for the yearlong bicentennial celebration the town had kicked off in late October. Using both departments, they would coordinate security efforts to cover back-to-back lakeshore activities, and tonight’s planning meeting was important. He put his stomach on hold, grabbed two coffees at the café and headed to the town hall. Zach’s SUV was parked to the right of the building. Seth walked in, saw Zach, strode forward and handed him a fresh cup of coffee, then turned when he heard a familiar laugh.

Gianna and Carmen sat side by side in the third row, center aisle. The wind-driven snow hadn’t kept attendance down tonight. Even with the crowded conditions, the two newcomers stood out like tropical birds in a sparrow’s tree. Nothing about the Italian women said low-key, and speculative brows and whispers crossed the full room. The two seamstresses seemed oblivious, heads bent over a legal-size pad of paper on Gianna’s lap, her pencil moving in swift, bold strokes.

“Zach, Seth, you’re both here, good.” Tess Okrepcki made a note on the pad in front of her before she faced the room full of volunteers and vendors. “And because Zach is on duty tonight, I suggest that we move the security portion of our meeting to the first item on the agenda so he can get back to work. Any objections?” Nods of assent said the people agreed. “Then a show of hands, all in favor?”