Hide in Plain Sight. Marta Perry

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СКАЧАТЬ a tiny sign there, too, one that could hardly be read from a passing car. The man needed a few lessons in marketing.

      She walked up the bank to the door and tapped lightly. Stepping inside, she inhaled the scent of wood shavings and hay. Music poured from a CD player that sat on a wooden bench. Cal apparently liked Mozart to work by. He bent over a pie safe, totally absorbed as he fitted a pierced tin insert to a door.

      He obviously hadn’t heard her, so she glanced around, wanting to see any changes before she spoke to him. There weren’t many. In the center threshing floor he’d installed a workbench and tools, and the rest of the space was taken up with pieces of furniture in various stages of construction. The mows and lofts on either side already held hay and straw, probably stored there by Eli Zook.

      She took a step forward, impressed in spite of herself by his work. They were simple oak pieces, for the most part, done in the classic style of Pennsylvania Dutch furniture. There was a three-drawer chest with graceful carving incised on the drawer fronts, a chest stenciled with typical tulips and hearts, a rocking chair with a curved back.

      Cal did have a gift for this work, and he was certainly focused. Sun-bleached hair swung forward in his eyes, and he pushed it back with a sweep of one hand, all of his movements smooth and unhurried. He wore faded jeans and a blue plaid shirt, also faded, the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. A shaft of sunlight, beaming down from the open loft door, seemed to put him in a spotlight, picking out gold in his brown hair and glinting off tanned forearms.

      She moved slightly just as the music stopped. The sole of her loafer rustled stray wood shavings, and he looked up. The pierced tin clattered to the floor, the sound loud in the sudden stillness.

      “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

      “It’s all right.” He straightened, leaning against the pie safe, and watched her approach.

      She hadn’t noticed his eyes last night. The light had been too dim, for the most part, and she’d been too upset. Now she saw that they were a light, warm brown, flecked with gold like his hair.

      He waited until she stopped, a few feet from him, before he spoke again. “Any news from the hospital?”

      “We called first thing. Rachel had a good night, and she’s awake and asking for us.” She couldn’t stop the smile that blossomed on the words.

      “Thank God.” He smiled in return, strong lips curving, lines crinkling around his eyes, his whole face lighting. For an instant she couldn’t look away, and something seemed to shimmer between them, as light and insubstantial as the dust motes in the shaft of sunshine.

      She turned to look at the furniture, feeling a need to evade his glance for a moment. She wouldn’t want him to think he had any effect on her.

      “So this is your work.” She touched a drop leaf table. “Cherry, isn’t it?”

      He nodded, moving next to her and stroking the wood as if it were a living thing. “I’ve been working mostly in oak and pine, but Emma Zook wanted a cherry table, and Eli had some good lengths of cherry that I could use.”

      “It’s beautiful. Emma will be delighted, although if I remember Amish customs correctly, she won’t say so.”

      A faint smile flickered in his eyes. “‘For use, not for pretty,’ she’ll say. Anything else might sound like pride.”

      “That’s Emma, all right.” Nostalgia swept through her. Emma Zook had helped Grams in the house for years, and her sturdy figure, always clad in a long dress and apron, was present in Andrea’s earliest memories.

      As children, they’d played with the Zook youngsters, so used to them that they never saw the Amish clothing or dialect as odd. She’d caught up a bit with Emma over breakfast. As she’d expected, all the children except Levi were married and parents by now. Levi—well, Levi would always be a child, no matter how old he was.

      “The Amish have the right idea,” Cal said. “No reason why something can’t be both useful and beautiful.”

      She traced the scalloped edge of the drop leaf. “This certainly qualifies.”

      “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 СКАЧАТЬ