Chapter One
Cranky Otter, Arkansas, October, 1991
IS THIS HISTORY repeating itself, or déjà vu?
Autumn Renfro's hands trembled as she struggled with the padlock to Danica's
Antiques, Some of the Most Unique in the Ozarks according to the
weathered sign over the shop door.
Five years ago Danica McCaul, widowed and alone in a town as foreign
to her as the African bush, had set her life on a new course. And now
Autumn, widowed and alone, was retracing her mother's steps.
Am I making a huge mistake?
Or am I just afraid to fail?
She spun the combination dial again, and this time the lock popped
open. Alarming a robin scouring the curb next to her cinnamon Aerostar,
she picked up her tote, and paused to savor the October morning air. A
glance down the deserted four-block Main Street of Cranky Otter,
Arkansas, told her everything looked the same as it had a year ago.
The difference was that everything had changed.
She turned her attention back to Danica's. What had her mother felt
the first day she'd opened her shop? Excitement? Queasiness? Or, like
her daughter, panic?
Enough! This is a trial. If it doesn't work out, so be it.
Shoulders squared, Autumn lifted the chin her father had once
described as stubborn as a Missouri mule. So what if she was the
new kid on the block? So was everyone else around here--three or four
generations ago.
Still she hesitated. Last night she'd almost phoned her grandmother
and asked her to fly in for Danica's Second Opening. Pride had stopped
her. She sprang from a line of willful people who made their choices and
lived with the consequences without whining. Life moved on, and so must
she.
Muttering "Change is good, change is good," like a mantra,
she opened the door and stepped past the dusty etched glass panels.
A jittery brass bell signaled her arrival to the ghosts of Danica's,
and the musty odors of age, dust and enclosure hit her like a tangible
force. Holding her breath and fighting the urge to run, she snatched the
first handy item--a cuckoo clock--and used it to prop open the door.
The morning freshness improved the shop air a bit, but at
seven-thirty the sun hadn't risen high enough to erase the shadows.
Uneasy, Autumn flipped on the lights and announced, "I might as
well be on the moon."
Relieved by the answering silence, she swiveled on one Reebok heel
and made a slow survey of the shop. The stolid merchandise surveyed her
back, adding her to its collective memory bank.
The odor of old, unaired furnishings, so unlike anything she
associated with her fastidious mother, brought stinging tears to her
eyes. Six weeks ago Danica--or Dannie as the world had known her--had
died, leaving Autumn, her only child, an orphan.
"Mother--" Her whisper seemed to fill the shop. "--if
you're listening, I could use some help."
Instantly the tight muscles in her neck and shoulders loosened. She
smiled up at the flaking painted tin ceiling. Dannie, irrepressible as
ever, must be pleased.
Heartened by the idea of being watched over by her mother, Autumn set
to work. It might be hours--Please God, not days--before a
customer drifted into the shop, but there was enough dust here to keep
her busy for a week. First though, she needed to get the account books
from the van.
She was piling the ledgers on her arm when a flame-red pickup swung
around the corner onto Main. As it swept by, Autumn's gaze locked with
that of the tan, dark haired driver. In the flash of the connection his
expression changed, as if startled, and a sensation like a bright wind
rushed through her. The books slid off her arm. She stared after the
pickup, its trail of street dust curling about her feet like a prairie
whirlwind, until it swerved out of sight.
Using her toe to trap a loose, fluttering record page, she picked up
her books. She and the pickup driver must have reminded each other of
someone ... but whom, to cause such a reaction?
She smiled at herself for forgetting Cranky Otter was a small town.
The red pickup might belong to a local more accustomed to country roads
than Main Street, where any stranger piqued interest.
Back inside the 1892 single story brick building housing Danica's--along
with an insurance agency on one side and a beauty salon on the
other--Autumn made her way past the jumbled furniture, glass cases and
racks to the rear of the shop. Deep and narrow, the arrangement was
typical of old buildings in small mid-America downtowns. Dannie had used
one of the two tiny back rooms as a lounge, the other for packing and
odds and ends. Between them a back door opened from a short hall to a
brick courtyard thirty-five foot deep. A six foot brick wall, unbroken
except for a pair of wagon-size wooden gates at the far end, framed the
courtyard.
In contrast to the dingy, overcrowded shop, the courtyard was empty
except for a windswept pile of leaves in one corner. Autumn mentally
thanked whoever was responsible for the tidy condition of the courtyard.
It wouldn't have been this neat two months ago when her mother went to
the hospital.
The shop bell jingled and she jumped. Why had she left the front door
wide open? She didn't know a soul in Cranky Otter, and the man in the
pickup was the only person she'd seen downtown. City-bred nerves on
edge, she peered back through the shop and spotted a man standing just
inside the door.
"Hello," she called, gauging the distance between them. If
he moved fast, could she make it to and over the back wall in time?
Then he smiled and held up a Thermos bottle and two mugs.
"Welcome to Cranky Otter," he said in a deep, carrying voice.
"I'm your Chamber of Commerce. From across the street." Autumn
approached, and his smile widened, suggesting instant friendship.
"Thought you might be ready for coffee."
"Heaven must've sent you," she said, returning his smile.
"I rushed through breakfast with only one cup." If this kind
of welcome was typical of Cranky Otter, she'd fall in love with the town
just as her mother had.
The C of C man set the mugs inscribed Cranky Otter Chamber of
Commerce on a counter. Autumn guessed he was around thirty. Good
looking without flash. Compact build, wavy blond hair, sunny face with
tiny laugh lines, a generous, expressive mouth. All things
considered--including the high-polish loafers, taupe slacks, white polo
and a cardigan matching his sky blue eyes--he displayed and invited
confidence.
"White or black?" He produced packets of additives.
"Black, no sweetener."
"Me too. I never add calories. My waistline needs
watching." His curved brown lashes lowered, and he poured their
coffee with skilled, economical movements.
As she accepted a steaming mug, Autumn noticed the sapphire cabochon
ring on his right hand. Simple design, good workmanship. A classy touch.
"Glad to meet you, Autumn," he said, lifting his mug in a
two-inch salute. "I'd recognize Dannie's daughter anywhere."
"How? I don't look anything like Mother." She'd inherited
her father's auburn hair and jet dark eyes instead of her mother's
red-gold and turquoise.
He tilted his head at the east wall and grinned. "I tried to buy
you the first time I came in the shop, but Dannie said she couldn't sell
her only child."
Autumn followed his gaze and wondered how she'd missed it. Surrounded
by a half dozen stern visages in high, prim collars, her high school
portrait, now sepia toned and enlarged to fill a gilded oval frame, all
but leaped from the wall. She laughed. The arrangement was so typical of
her mother's whimsical humor. "I'm glad to be recognized from that.
It was taken ten years ago."
"Making you about twenty-seven." Putting his coffee on
hold, her host cocked his head and swiveled his gaze between her face
and the portrait. "Hmmm ... Same direct eyes, same mouth ... hair's
longer now, though." He gave a slow, approving nod. "The name
fits, too. You blend right into our fall foliage."
Autumn's thick hair, now worn in a tumble to her shoulders, was often
connected to her name by strangers.
"Let's sit down, if we can find something relatively
clean," she said, ignoring the comment.
They located a small rocker and a dining chair and posted them on
either side of the open door. Autumn settled into the rocker. "What
do people call you besides Chamber of Commerce Person?"
"Whoops--" Her visitor's grin crinkled the laugh lines
around his eyes. "--a small town conceit, assuming everybody knows
me." He pulled a card from his shirt pocket. "Kevin Channing,
at your service. 'Kevin' will bring me running. 'Channing' will send me
running."
"What's wrong with Channing?" Autumn rocked forward to take
the card. Printed under his full name she read Sports and General
Photography by Kevin.
Kevin's eyes were as calm as a virgin sky. "We're mostly on a
first name basis around here. If somebody calls you by your last name,
you've usually got trouble."
She sipped her coffee, a gourmet mocha blend. "I like that. It
makes life simpler. Are there other local customs I should know about?
To save me from making some blunders?"
Kevin lifted his gaze to the stamped tin ceiling some unappreciative
person had painted ivory. "Well now, let's see ... there's the
round table in the back of the One Star Cafe, down by the hardware
store. Most of the local businessmen--me included--meet there at ten,
weekdays. Coffee, news, bad jokes. That sort of thing."
"How about the local businesswomen?"
He shook his head and refilled their mugs. "Uh-uh. Totally
taboo. The guys would probably get up and leave." Then he grinned.
"It's not that we don't like women. It's just a time for
man-talk."
"Naturally. All those chocolate chip cookie recipes must be a
real bore."
"Now don't you go worryin' your pretty little head about such
matters," he said in an exaggerated drawl. "Just remember--if
you need any muscle, we'll come a-runnin'."
Autumn grimaced at the surrounding disorder. She'd remember that bit
about muscle; it would serve the macho-types right. "How do the
local people react to newcomers?"
"We're friendly folks." Kevin stretched his arms over his
head, cording the thick muscles in his neck. "As long as you don't
put on airs. That cuts as much ice as carp in white gravy."
Her heart warmed to the twinkle in his eyes and his wry insights.
Meeting someone so likeable on the first day of her new life must be a
good omen.
The twinkle in Kevin's eyes disappeared, however, when a long,
two-legged shadow crossed the floorboards between them. Startled for the
third time that morning, Autumn rocked back and gazed up into eyes the
color and intensity of an approaching thunderstorm. They belonged to the
driver of the red pickup.
The lithe, tanned intruder focused on her without trying to hide his
impatience. "May I use your phone for a local call?" He made
an irritable gesture at the street. "I'd use the Chamber of
Commerce if it was open for business." Only then did he appear to
notice Kevin, giving him a curt nod. "Morning, Channing."
Kevin responded with a short, bland nod of his own. His glance at
Autumn said, "See what I mean?"
"Yes, if it's operating," Autumn replied. "I haven't
had time to check it." She rose leisurely in gentle rebuke for the
stranger's near-rudeness. He didn't remind her of anyone. She'd have
remembered such dark intensity.
He stalked behind her to the Postmistress's cage in the center of the
shop, which served as an office as well as providing nostalgic ambience.
Ignoring his closeness, she picked up the phone, checked it, and passed
the receiver over her shoulder. Then she returned to her rocking chair
and Kevin.
Automatically comparing him to her late husband's wiry frame and
cautious reserve, she decided Kevin's sturdy frame blended well with his
easygoing manner.
Her attention, though, centered on the dark stranger. Fifteen feet
away and speaking too low for her to hear, she sensed him like a vortex
of energy, impossible to ignore.
Stifling a yawn, Kevin got to his feet and picked up his Thermos.
"As I've been reminded, it's time I opened up. See you later,
Autumn. Keep the mugs to remember your Chamber by."
She trailed him outside, wary of being alone with the pickup driver.
"Thank you for the coffee and welcome. It was a little difficult
coming in here for the first time since Mother's death."
His gaze was keen and assessing. "Then you were here before. How
come none of us saw you?"
"David--my husband--and I came through twice and took Mother on
vacation with us. She liked to visit us in Westmont, the Chicago suburb.
After David died in a car accident last winter, I was so involved in
putting my own life together, I didn't catch the warning signals in
Mother." Autumn dropped her gaze to the floor. "I should
have."
Surprised that she'd revealed so much to a new acquaintance, she
stepped back a pace and added formally, "It was nice to meet
you."
Kevin's smile displayed white, even teeth. "Holler for me
anytime you want. Always glad to see another pretty face in town. In
fact, I may show up tomorrow with the old Thermos." He jerked a
thumb at the man in the Postmistress' cage. "Don't worry about Mr.
Sunshine there. He's always nice to us business people. It's his
job."
Smiling, she watched him amble across the street for another hectic
day of promoting his town.
She stopped smiling when the grouchy phone user strode past her
without a word of thanks. Then abruptly he turned back, his eyes
narrowing in a stroking survey she hadn't felt in years.
"Thanks," he said, and left.
In retaliation for his bold appraisal, she stared at his rump as he
crossed the street. There wasn't much of it, just a tight transition
from his shoulder wedge to his long, booted legs. What caused the guy to
be so uptight anyway?
Maybe he lived in a state of frustration, which was ridiculous for
someone in his mid-thirties with health, looks, charisma--
Charisma? No way! Having been around charismatic people all
her life, starting with Dannie and Zane McCaul and Dannie's mother,
Melany, she knew magnetism when she felt it. Mr. Macho didn't come
close, except in a repelling sort of way.
Watching him throw himself into the seat of his pickup it occurred to
her that he'd look more at home on a horse.
With a shrug she turned away from the window. It took all kinds.
She'd been too reclusive since David died. It would be good for her to
meet strangers and local residents through the shop.
Danica's was Autumn's shop now, albeit an odd fit for someone who'd
always lived in a city. Of course it had been a far odder placement for
dazzling Danica Britt-nee Barre-McCaul. Dannie should have lived on for
decades, among people who loved her. Instead she'd neglected her failing
heart and spent her final months among indifferent relics. The shop
inventory was comprised mostly of old furnishings and knick-knacks.
People's motives for collecting such undistinguished items--loosely
called antiques--puzzled Autumn. Her mother once described her
customers as a diverse lot searching for something only they would
recognize. Roots, she suspected.
Maybe that was the conundrum. Autumn's own roots reached around the
world. Born into a tightly knit family, with a strong sense of
continuity on her mother's side, she'd grown up on tales of her
forebears, branded by the passions of three generations.
She didn't recall anyone ever pointing out her own ordinariness, but
by age four she'd realized she hadn't inherited the sparkling talents of
her celebrated parents. Instead she remembered kindly-meant comments
that only a rare individual could light up a TV screen like comedienne
Dannie Britt, or breathe fire into a historical novel like author Zane
McCaul.
For all their life together Zane's creative inner fire matched his
fiercely protective love for his wife and daughter. Reserved and subtle,
the professor-novelist nevertheless had possessed a strong temper. Twice
he'd erupted in killing rage. When a junkie robbed and tried to rape
Dannie in her TV studio, Zane beat him into unconsciousness before
Dannie managed to bring him back to his senses. Years later he'd battled
a pair of would-be Autumn kidnappers to the degree that one of them
never walked again. Zane, who'd walked with a polio limp from age
sixteen, had set up a trust fund for the man.
During the time Dannie owned the shop she'd given her daughter gifts
of antique jewelry. Autumn treasured those pieces; the workmanship was
superior, and wearing something unique made her feel special. Now she
fingered the strand of pearls under her shirt collar that Dannie had
given her three Christmases ago, the day Gran remarried.
A sudden longing to see Gran, the only living person who'd loved her
from the moment she was born, brought tears to her eyes.
"Hi, there!" came a friendly female voice from the doorway.
"You must be Dannie's daughter."
Autumn swung around, a smile replacing her tears. Her granddad, Logan
Barre, would've described the plump little woman peering into the shop
as bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. "Yes, I'm Autumn Renfro."
The visitor in a seersucker dress and sturdy shoes stepped inside,
her grin scattering wrinkles in every direction. "Don't worry,
honey," she said, one hand rummaging through her improbably red
Shirley Temple curls, "I don't have time to do a proper
interrogation now. I just wanted to introduce myself--Teri Littler ...
you know, The Town Beauty, next door? Your mom may have mentioned me. On
the other hand--Oh, come on over, have some of my awful coffee when you
get the chance. That is if you can wade through all those good-looking
guys I saw camping on your doorstep a little while ago. Tell you though,
if it was my doorstep, I'd bring the tent," Cackling at her own
brassy wit, Teri glanced to her left. "Darn! My eight o'clock's
here on time ... see you later, honey." With a waggle of her
fingers at Autumn, Teri bustled away, crying out to some unseen
"Enid."
Chuckling, Autumn recalled her mother's amusement regarding her saucy
neighbor. But then Gemini Dannie was amused or intrigued by almost
anything that moved. Whereas her Scorpio daughter--
Autumn snapped her wandering mind to attention.
This is the first day of the rest of my life. Time to get busy.
Busy meant cleaning; neglected for months, the shop was filthy. After
checking the supplies and the vacuum cleaner, she closed the shop and
walked two blocks to Harold's General Store. She planned to visit a
different business each day, and thereby meet every shopkeeper on Main
Street. Besides being friendly, her visits might generate some customer
referrals. Heaven knew she needed all the help she could get. Her last
sales job had been raising money to buy a computer for her high school
class.
"Well, hel-lo there, Autumn," cried the bespectacled
blue-eyed woman behind Harold's old-fashioned counter. Dimples bracketed
her smile. "Kevin said you'd arrived. I'm Sue Bainbridge." She
waved a plump, chambray-covered arm at the merchandise--groceries to
fishing tackle--crowding the walls and racks. "My husband, Joe, and
I own this grand emporium."
Autumn laughed. "I like being pre-introduced. It saves
time."
Sue's cheerful expression underwent a maternal softening. "We
were all so pleased to hear you were coming to take over Dannie's shop.
We miss her, poor thing. She was such fun, at least--" She halted,
looking uncomfortable, and pushed some tight grey curls off her
forehead. "I hope you know what I mean."
Following her mother's death, Autumn had dealt with thousands of
mourners by mail and in person. Now she touched the shopkeeper's dainty,
unlined hand and said smoothly, "I understand. I always envied
Mother's talent for having fun." She handed her shopping list to
Sue. "But now it's work time. You'd better outfit me before I lose
my enthusiasm."
By late morning Autumn had pushed, pulled and rearranged furniture,
vacuuming the rugs under it, until her arms ached and her back cricked.
Her swayback motel bed would feel like a cloud tonight, assuming she
could still crawl into it.
As she paused to stretch, arching her back and wiping her brow with a
smudged hand, a sudden awareness pivoted her toward the door. How long
had the man with the geometric backside been standing there, arms folded
and his back to the light, watching her?
"Yes?" she said coolly. Approaching him, she wished she'd
inherited some of great-grandmother Aurie's or grandmother Melany's
psychic ability. Kevin had vouched for the guy, but there was an air of
street-toughness about him ... and something more. "Can I help
you?"
Wearing an easy, practiced smile, he moved closer, stopping just
short of Autumn's space.
"I hope so, Ms. Renfro. I lost an important notebook and a not
so-important pen this morning. Okay if I take a look around your
phone?"
"Go ahead." She stepped sideways to sit down in her rocking
chair. "I haven't been near it."
For the second time she studied the pickup driver from the rear. He
was taller than David, a shade over six feet she figured, using her own
five-four as a base line. More interestingly, he walked with a lithe,
panther-like grace, and his straight, longish black hair moved like
weighted silk.
She averted her eyes as he emerged from the Postmistress' cage, a
notebook in hand; he was the type to interpret a woman's curiosity as a
come-on. "Thank God I found this. Maybe the pen will show up
later." His smile gleamed in his deeply tanned face and he held out
his hand. "Sorry I was so short this morning. I'm Brann Havelock,
sometimes known as Clod."
The flat angular planes of his cheeks, long tapering jaw and clipped
chin reminded Autumn of a quick, rough sketch. Their knees almost
touched as she rocked forward to meet his hand, and she noticed he'd cut
his chin shaving. Did he use a blade on his heavy beard because his skin
was sensitive ... or to please his wife or Significant Other? The
warmth, fine texture and slenderness of his hand surprised her, too,
although his firm, calloused grip proved he was no dilettante.
She rocked back and Havelock gave up her hand slowly in almost a
caress, leaving her with the feeling that he'd taken something of her
with him. He didn't move, and her dipping gaze fell to his pewter Ozarks
belt buckle, and the white creases in the jeans below it.
Embarrassed, she lifted her eyes to his and said the first thing that
came to mind. "Bran?"
"Yes--" His long lips tilted at the corners. "--go
ahead and say it. Everybody does."
Her neck bent at a stressful angle as she stared up at him in
puzzlement. Another smile flashed and she stirred, knowing he'd
deliberately stepped up the voltage. Then the light came on. "Oh.
As in raisin?"
"Yes, but with two n's. I think my folks did it for revenge.
They wanted a girl." He tilted back on low boot heels. "Now
you--Autumn sure fits."
"I know," she retorted, "I'll look right at home in
these colorful Ozark hills!" They both laughed, and the slight
bonding altered her opinion of Brann's thunder-grey eyes: they might not
intimidate, but they'd sure take prisoners.
Hoisting herself from the rocker, she forced him to step back a pace.
"Excuse me. Cinderella has work to do. Some people like to blow
dust off an antique before they buy it, but I don't."
"Then I'm out of here," he said, heading for the door.
"I had to help dust till I got big enough to outrun my mom."
Brann lingered, though, watching Autumn bend to pick up a bottle of
polish from the floor. Either her shirt had shrunken or she'd gained a
couple of pounds, seeing how the weight of her breasts strained the
plaid fabric. Her jeans hugged her rounded bottom, too. Added to those
black eyes he'd bet could barbecue a man, and a sexy mouth in need of
taming, Ms. Renfro was a tempting package. One he wouldn't mind handling
at all.
Then in a blink she whipped around and shafted him with eyes too dark
to read. "I thought you were leaving," she said, every word a
chunk of ice.
Caught off guard, he backed to the door. "Uh, sure, don't let me
keep you from your fun."
Shoulders hunched and hands rammed in his pockets, he headed for the
truck. What ailed the little witch anyway? Things were going fine, and
then ... it was as if she'd tuned into his thoughts. He yanked open the
pickup door and thrust himself inside. Well, what if she had? Wearing
jeans that tight said she wanted a man to look at her and want to get
his hands on her. It was the way 'nice' women played the game--look,
want, but don't touch.
He Repressed the urge to stomp the accelerator, and rolled decorously
down Main Street. He'd had enough of the kind of complication offered by
Ms. Autumn. Still, he needed her cooperation, so he'd watch his thoughts
next time.
And there'd be a next time, he promised her that! |
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