A Weaver Vow Page 12

  “Don’t worry,” Erik said the second she spotted him. “Murph’s duly delivered to his appointment.”

  She swallowed, but nothing was helping either the dryness or the jerkiness of her pulse. “Thank you.”

  “We’re just here to talk to Drew about some horses he’s training for us,” he added, as if he wanted to disabuse her of any notion that he might be there because she was.

  She was aware of the looks passing between the others and hated knowing they were all speculating about what one of their own was doing with the newcomer in town. She’d been in Weaver long enough to understand that particular dynamic. Speculation and gossip were simply part of the backbone of the town. And that was fine as long as she wasn’t the subject of it.

  “Before I dropped Murph off, we had an early dinner over at my folks’,” Erik added.

  Isabella couldn’t help flicking a quick look at Erik’s father. The older man had a faint smile on his face, as if something about the entire situation amused him. “I hope Murphy didn’t put you or Mrs. Clay out,” she told him.

  “Hope’s always glad to have more mouths to feed.” He sent his son a sideways glance before looking back at Isabella. “Maybe next time you’ll be able to join them. There’s always room for another beautiful woman, far as I’m concerned.”

  She found herself blushing. It wasn’t hard to see the source of the blarney that Erik had inherited. And as appealing as the notion was of being included in anything to do with Erik’s ridiculously welcoming family, she knew that it would be better all around to resist the lure. “You’re very kind.”

  At that, Drew snorted. “Don’t let him fool you,” he advised with a grin. “Tris and I go way back. The stories I could tell—”

  “Will have to wait for another day,” Jolie interrupted. She took a sip of her husband’s coffee, then pushed her hands against his shoulders. “Get on with you. Isabella’s here to help me, not indulge you old men.”

  Isabella bit back a smile. One thing she couldn’t do was attribute the term old to either Drew Taggart or Tristan Clay. They were both ridiculously handsome men who reeked of vitality.

  “You indulge me just fine,” Drew drawled, giving his wife a quick look. Isabella was delighted to see the older woman’s cheeks pinkening.

  But then her gaze collided with Erik’s, and he was smiling, as if he’d noticed the very same thing, and her pulse started ricocheting around all over again. It was all she could do not to jump out of her skin when he touched her elbow. “I want to steal Izzy for just a minute,” he told the others.

  Jolie gave him a look. “For just a minute,” she warned.

  He raised his hand. “Scout’s honor.” Then he closed his hand around her elbow again and nudged her out of the room.

  “Were you ever a Scout?” she asked as soon as they were standing alone in a softly lit room that she assumed was a study, considering the wide desk on one side and the beautiful built-in bookshelves crammed with books.

  His teeth flashed briefly. “Are you doubting it? I think I’m wounded.”

  She rolled her eyes and sighed noisily. She wasn’t going to show him how easily he charmed her. It would only lead to trouble. And she had enough trouble on her plate. “What’d you want? I really want to get back to help Jolie before yoga.”

  “My mother said she’d be happy to keep him with her tomorrow while you’re at work.”

  “You told her about his suspension?” Not that it mattered, considering how word traveled in the small town.

  “I didn’t tell her. Murph did.”

  She blinked. “He did?”

  “Surprised the hell outta me, too. Announced it right in the middle of the chicken and rice.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  He shrugged. “Who knows? My mother has an affinity for children. Always has. She didn’t bat an eye, but asked him if he deserved the suspension. Murph nodded, passed the rolls when my dad asked him to, and that was that.” His thumb roved over the point of her bare elbow in a wholly distracting manner. “Before we left, though, she told me to offer her services for the day if you needed them.”

  She shifted away from him. Far enough for his hand to fall away. Yet she wanted to move right back. It was all too easy becoming accustomed to his touch. “That was very kind of her—” so kind it made something in her chest feel tight “—but I couldn’t possibly take advantage of her that way.”

  “Up to you. Just know the offer’s open.” Then he tucked a finger beneath her chin and pushed upward. “Murphy isn’t the only one who needs to settle in here in Weaver, Isabella. There are people all around you who are willing and able to help you. All you have to do is be willing to accept it.”

  She could hardly breathe. “I’m nobody to any of them.”

  His eyes narrowed slightly. Dropped to her lips for a heart-stopping moment. “Don’t kid yourself, sweetheart. You’re definitely somebody.”

  Then, just when she was almost bracing for the kiss that was so evident in his expression, he dropped his hand. Stepped away.

  “Don’t be late for class,” he said.

  And then he left her standing there alone in the study, trembling.

  And wishing, so, so stupidly, that he’d given her that kiss after all.

  Chapter Nine

  When Jolie came to find her a few minutes later, Isabella was still trembling. “Are you all right, dear?”

  Isabella quickly brushed back her hair and nodded. “Fine. Sorry. Let’s get back to that dress.”

  Jolie gave her a close look but mercifully said nothing. She just nodded and led the way back to the dining room.

  Once they were settled at the table, Isabella quickly reached for one of the sketches. The one showing the most elegant dress of them all. “Do you mind?”

  Jolie waved her hand. “Have at it.”

  Isabella began marking up the sketch with a pencil, determinedly pushing Erik as far into one corner of her mind as he would go. She replaced the severe strapless neckline with the deep halter of the gown in the second sketch. Then she lengthened the modest train to match the longer length in the third sketch. She avoided thinking about how she’d never even considered what sort of wedding dress she might wear after Jimmy had proposed. But now, she couldn’t seem to stop wondering what sort of gown Erik would want to see on his intended.

  Probably something traditional.

  Simple.

  With a hint of sass.

  “She wants bling,” Jolie told her, interrupting the foolish reverie. “Crystals. Beading. We don’t have time to do a lot of beading.”

  She renewed her focus. This was about Bethany’s gown. And nothing else. “And you say she wants something filmy and airy, to suit the season, but the only fabrics she’s willing to consider are heavy satins.”

  “Exactly. And even if I can convince her that she’ll need something very lightweight to get that airy feeling, I can’t think of any that would be substantial enough to bear the weight of that much bling.” Jolie practically bared her teeth on the word.

  Isabella thought about the scads of embellished fabrics she’d had at her disposal at NEBT. If she could call in a few favors, get her hands on some, it would ease their task considerably. “If we bead here—” she made a few more marks on the sketch “—and here, the weight shouldn’t be too bad. We’ll have to line it, naturally, but with the skirt constructed of several layers of translucent fabric, maybe with some subtle ruffling, she’ll have the airiness. We could even do some crystals on one of the heavier underlayers—say, the satin she wants—so some shimmer would peek through. What time of day is the wedding?”

  “Two o’clock in the afternoon.”

  She’d bet Erik would want an afternoon wedding. Followed by a big barbecue-style reception.

  Stop it!

  “Pretty formal trimmings for an afternoon wedding,” she managed, and earned another close look from Jolie.

  “Yes,” the other woman agreed. “But try telli
ng that to Bethany.”

  Isabella kept her gaze on the sketch. Bethany’s sketch. “What if we switched from ivory to white? Took out the heavy satin? Would that seem more in keeping with an afternoon wedding? Maybe use a butterfly motif or something?” She tossed the suggestion out almost desperately.

  “I think that sounds perfect,” Jolie said. “But again...selling the idea to Bethany is the problem.”

  Isabella slipped into one of the chairs surrounding the table, the tiny part of her mind that was still functioning rationally skipping over the hundreds of fabrics and trims she’d once used. She grabbed the fat pink eraser from the table and went to work again on the sketch. Removing here. Adding there. She was vaguely aware of Jolie sitting down beside her to watch what she was doing. And after about twenty minutes of fiddling, she sat back and held out the heavy white paper.

  Jolie’s eyes widened. “Oh, my goodness. You’re a genius! It’s perfect.”

  Isabella smiled. “I’ll make some calls early tomorrow morning to one of the girls I used to work with. See if she’ll send me some of the embellished fabrics I have in mind and we’ll whip up the basic pattern so it’ll be ready when Bethany comes to see you on Saturday. Not the finished product, of course, but at least enough to give her an idea of the cut and fit. You have her measurements already, obviously.”

  Jolie nodded. “And with this sketch, she’ll have to love it, too.”

  Isabella smiled wryly. “Well. We can hope, can’t we?”

  Jolie suddenly threw her arms around her and gave her an enthusiastic hug. “Oh, my darling. You are a lifesaver.” She let go and tilted the sketch to the light, studying it again. “Look out, New York fashion designers!”

  Isabella laughed. She was fairly certain the real designers of the world were perfectly safe from the likes of her. But one glance at her watch told her the time had passed even more quickly than she’d thought, and she rose from the table. “I’ll call you tomorrow morning and let you know what’s going on with the fabrics. Then we’ll get the pattern cut and stitched up in time for your Saturday appointment.”

  Jolie rose, too. “I feel like I can breathe again.”

  “Well, that’s good. Wouldn’t want you to stop doing that.” Isabella gathered up her purse, and the older woman walked her to the door.

  Whatever steadiness Isabella had regained while she’d worked on the sketch disappeared in a whoosh at the sight of Erik’s truck parked outside the house next to her little sedan.

  Mercifully, though, there was no sign of him, so she hurried to her car and drove away like the devil was at her heels.

  But no matter how fast she went, she couldn’t outdrive the images of weddings and barbecue receptions.

  * * *

  Isabella smiled and waved at the last student to leave her class before she closed and locked the entrance door.

  The dance studio was entirely silent after a few hours of chattering laughter and throbbing music. Murphy would be at his counseling appointment for a while yet so she took her time setting the studio to rights again in preparation for the next day’s activities. She polished mirrors, dry-mopped the floor and wiped down chairs.

  The routine tasks were a comfort. When everything was as tidy as she could make it, she retrieved her sweater and purse from the office, doused the lights and left through the rear door, locking up behind her. She was parked in the lot on the side of the building, but even though it was entirely dark out, as she headed to her car she felt no wariness the way she would have back in New York. As soon as she turned the corner, light from Colbys across the way took away the worst of the shadows.

  Dr. Templeton’s office was on the other side of town. Isabella still had enough time to run into Shop-World and pick up a few groceries if she was quick. With her mind going over the short list of what she needed, she didn’t notice the dark truck parked a few empty spots away from her car.

  Not until a deep voice broke the silent night. “Izzy.”

  She went stock-still. Peered at Erik’s tall shadow that separated itself from the shape of his truck. She’d managed to almost eradicate those silly notions that she’d had back at the Taggarts’ home. Notions of kisses and weddings that weren’t.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Waiting for you.”

  An answer that did not help her state of mind at all.

  “Why?” She yanked open the back door of her car and shoved her bag inside. The slam of the door sounded sharp in the night air.

  “Because it’s dark outside. Because Lucy needs to install a better light in her section of the parking lot. Because I can’t seem to stop myself where you’re concerned.”

  Her nerves felt frayed. Even though she damned her own foolish tongue, she couldn’t manage to keep it silent. “Stop yourself from what?”

  “Isabella.” His voice was a soft tsk. “You’re too smart to play dumb.” His shadow became even more distinct and she realized he was coming around the back of her car.

  She went still but couldn’t move away to save her life. Not even when he stopped so close to her that she could see the gleam of his eyes and the shape of his lips in the moonlight.

  Her heart climbed into her throat. She moistened her own lips nervously. If he kissed her, she wasn’t sure she’d have the strength to resist.

  And what kind of person did that make her?

  His arm moved and she braced herself, anticipating, waiting...

  But all he did was set his hand on the top of her car. “I think you should consider my mother’s offer.”

  It took her scrambled brain a moment to decipher the words coming out of his mouth. It wasn’t what she’d expected.

  Which left her wondering rather hysterically what she had expected. For him to profess his undying devotion to her?

  She’d already had the impossible happen once—a man sweeping her off her feet.

  Who could the impossible happen twice?

  “You mean her offer about watching Murphy tomorrow?”

  “Yeah. I think it’d be good for him.” His fingers softly drummed the roof of her car. They were long. Square-tipped. And strong. She knew his fingers were strong.

  Something inside her knew they’d also be gentle.

  Her mouth had gone dry again and she wished she hadn’t been so hasty shoving her dance bag in the backseat. There was a bottle of water inside it that she sorely needed.

  It would also have given her antsy hands something to do. Instead, she wondered what they’d feel like pressed against the solid wall of his chest.

  She shook herself. This was a conversation. Not a seduction. “Why? Because she used to be a teacher? I don’t mean any offense, but Murphy’s not likely to be particularly impressed by that.” He seemed to barely tolerate any of his teachers. His latest, Mr. Rasmussen, was no exception.

  “Because my mother has a way of getting through a person’s defenses.”

  Well, that was true enough. Isabella had experienced it herself. “Erik.” She rubbed her forehead, wondering how she would ever get through to him. “I don’t want to be any more beholden to you than I already am.”

  “My mother isn’t me.”

  “She’s your family! She might as well be you. It’s practically the same thing.”

  “Sweetheart,” his voice dropped a notch, “there’s a world of difference between me and my mom.”

  Considering the way the blood was flying through her veins and that her knees felt positively shaky, she was well aware of that fact. “You know that’s not what I mean,” she managed.

  His hand slid away from the roof of the car and settled on her shoulder, making her vividly aware of the thinness of the sweater she’d pulled on over her stretchy camisole and dance pants. Particularly when she felt the warmth of his thumb slowly circling the point of her shoulder. “What are you afraid of?”

  If her knees went weak from his hand on her shoulder, what would happen to her if he really touched her?

  S
omething deep inside her clenched, wanting and warm, even as her mind shied away.

  She was still wearing her engagement ring, she reminded herself dimly. Erik had promised that he would respect that.

  “I’m not afraid of anything,” she returned. “Except—” Oh, heavens, his hand went to her neck and curled warmly against it beneath the ponytail she’d yanked her hair into. “Except—” What had she been going to say? “Murphy,” she said thickly. “Losing Murphy.”

  She felt his thumb pressing gently against her thundering pulse at the base of her throat. It was unbearably intimate. “Because you don’t want to be alone again.”

  “Yes. No.” He was confusing her. “Because he’s Jimmy’s son, and because we’re...we’re family. Being alone has nothing to do with it.” She’d been alone all her life, despite the never-ending stream of foster families with whom she’d been placed. Foster brothers. Foster sisters. Foster parents. She’d had them all.

  But she’d still always been alone. That fact was as much a part of her as her white-blond hair. She could tint it dark brown, but underneath, that blond would still be there. Falling in love with Jimmy hadn’t changed anything.

  He, too, had left her. She knew he hadn’t chosen to die. Hadn’t chosen any of it. But knowing it didn’t change the fact that he was gone.

  And she’d been left behind.

  “I love Murphy.” Maybe she hadn’t at first, but that was the reality now. “He’s the closest thing I’ll ever have to a child of my own and I want the best for him.”

  “Is there some reason you can’t have children of your own, too?”

  She felt the conversation spinning out of her grasp and didn’t have a clue how to get control of it again. “What? Physically? No. But that’s not what I meant.”

  “So you do want more. Children, that is.”

  Jimmy hadn’t wanted more children. And because she’d wanted Jimmy, she’d agreed. “That’s not what we’re talking about!”

  Erik’s thumb glided slowly up her neck, and her knees felt even more wobbly. He would want a baseball team of children, no doubt.