Marta Perry - Hide in Plain Sight

“Two compliments in as many minutes.” He drew back in mock surprise.

“I believe in giving credit where credit is due. You make lovely furniture. I just can’t help but wonder why you’re doing it in my grandmother’s barn.”

Where did you come from, and why are you here? That’s what she was really asking. How could this man have made such inroads into her family when she hadn’t even known about him?

He shrugged. “I came to this area to learn Amish furniture techniques. When I needed a place to set up shop, she had an empty barn. We came to an agreement.”

She’d like to ask what that agreement was, but he could answer that it wasn’t her business. Which it wasn’t, but anything that affected her grandmother and sister mattered to her, whether she’d been back recently or not.

“You’re not from around here,” she tried.

“No. I’m not.”

Most people liked talking about themselves. Cal Burke seemed to be the exception.

“You’re a little hard to find. How do you market your work?”

He shrugged again. “There are plenty of machine-made copies out there, but if people are asking around for good, handmade furniture done in the old Amish style, they’ll find me or one of the others who do it.”

“That’s no way to do business.” His marketing strategy, if that’s what it was, exasperated her so much that she couldn’t stop the words. “You have something people want, so make it easy to find you. You could probably double or triple your business if you did a little advertising.”

“I don’t want to double my business. There are only so many pieces I can make by hand in a month, and they sell okay. What am I going to do with more customers than I can satisfy?”

She blinked, looking at him. As far as she could tell, he was serious. “If you hired a few people to help you—”

“Then it wouldn’t be my furniture people were buying.”

“But you could make more money—”

He shook his head with an impatient movement that made the hair flop in his eyes again. “I make enough to get by, and I enjoy my work. Your corporate approach wouldn’t work for me.”

She stiffened. “If you mean I’m practical, I don’t consider that an insult. Although I suspect you meant it that way.”

“Just recognizing a difference in how we see things, that’s all.” His voice was mild, but his eyes had turned frosty. “If you came out here to tell me how to run my business, I thank you for your interest.”

“No.” She bit off the word. The world needed practical people like her. They kept the dreamers afloat. But she didn’t suppose it would do any good to tell him so. “My grandmother wants you to know that we’ll be going to the hospital shortly. She asks if you’ll keep an eye out for the painters and let them in.” Somehow it seemed important that he know the favor was for Grams, not her.

“I’d be glad to.”

“I thought she could call you, but she said you never answer your phone.”

“Really bugs you, doesn’t it?” His expression suggested internal laughter. “I don’t like to jump when the phone rings. If anybody wants me, they leave a message.”

She bit back another comment about his business methods. Or lack of them. Why should she care if the man frittered away his prospects for want of a few sensible steps?

“I see.” She kept her tone perfectly polite. “Thank you for taking care of the painters. My grandmother will appreciate it.”

She turned and walked away quickly, suspecting that if she looked back, she’d find an amused smile on his face.

“But I can’t. I really can’t.” Andrea looked from her grandmother to her sister. Both faces were turned toward hers, both expectant, waiting for an answer she couldn’t possibly give. “I’m extremely busy at work right now.”

“Surely your employer will give you the time off.” Grams was serenely confident. “Your family needs you.”

Rachel didn’t say anything. She just leaned back against the raised head of the hospital bed, her face almost as white as the pillow.

She’d tell herself they were ganging up on her, but that wasn’t true. They were depending on her, just as Rachel and baby sister Caroline had depended on her during those years when Mom had relocated the family from place to place, nursing her grudge against Grams and Grandfather and depriving her children of the only stable home they’d ever known.

Andrea was the oldest. She was the responsible one. She’d take care of it.

The trouble was, she was responsible to her job, as well, and there couldn’t possibly be a worse time for her to take off. Gordon Walker would not understand his right-hand woman requesting a leave to help her family. He hadn’t even taken time away from work when his wife was in labor with their twins.

Of course, he and his wife were now divorced, and he saw his daughters once a month if he was lucky.

She tried again. “I’m in the middle of a very important project, and I’m on a deadline. I couldn’t take time off now. It wouldn’t be fair to the company.”

It wasn’t fair to her, either. Maybe that thought was unworthy, but she couldn’t help it. The promotion her boss had been dangling in front of her for the past year would be hers when this project was completed. Her position with the company, her stable, secure life, would be assured.

“Can’t someone else take over for you?” Grams’s brow furrowed. “We’ve already accepted reservations for our opening weekend. All the rooms are booked. We can’t turn those people away now.”

Grams’s sense of hospitality was obviously offended at the thought, even though these would be paying guests. Andrea could see it in her eyes. An Unger didn’t let people down.

I’m a Hampton, too. She thought bleakly of her father. They’re pretty good at letting people down.

Rachel tried to push herself up on the bed a little, wincing, and Andrea hurried to help her.

“Take it easy. I don’t think you should try to do that on your own. Those casts must weigh a ton.”

“If they don’t, they feel like it.” Rachel moved her head restlessly on the pillow.

Looking into Rachel’s eyes was like looking in a mirror. Green eyes, cat’s eyes. All three Hampton girls had them, even though otherwise they didn’t look at all alike.

She was the cool, conservative blonde. That was how people saw her, and she didn’t find anything wrong with that. It fit with who she wanted to be.

Rachel, two years younger, was the warm one, with her heart-shaped face and her sunny-brown hair. She had the gift of making friends and collecting strays everywhere she went. Sweet, generous, she was the family peacemaker, always the buffer.

And they’d needed a buffer, she and Caroline. Her youngest sister had been born an exotic orchid in a family of daisies. She certainly looked the part. In her, the green eyes sparkled and shot fire. Her hair, a rich, deep red, had been worn in a mass of curls to below her shoulders the last time Andrea had seen her. Currently, as far as she knew, Caroline was making pottery in Taos. Or maybe it was turquoise jewelry in Santa Fe. Andrea couldn’t keep up.

“I could come home in a wheelchair. We could get some extra help and I could supervise.” But the tears that shone in Rachel’s eyes belied the brave words, and she thumped one hand against the side rail of the bed, making the IV clatter.

“Honey, don’t.” Andrea caught the restless hand, her heart twisting. “It’ll be all right.”

But how would it be all right? How could she be true to herself and yet not let them down?

Rachel clung to her, much as she had when Mom had taken them away from Grams and Grandfather so many years ago. “You mean you’ll do it?”