Chapter One
February 13th. 2009
© 2009 Kimberly J. Fish
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, business establishments, or events is entirely coincidental.
Chapter one
Lacy Cavanaugh lit a match, but let the flame wither in the October breeze. Burning down her sister’s barn was too big a risk to justify trashing old newsletters. Not that it made sense to think a good deed like cleaning out the file cabinets would turn into something so fatal, but, in a twisted way, so much of what she did took just that sort of irrational turn.
Maybe she’d just stuff these newsletters in the shredder and save herself the lecture from the volunteer fire department.
“I’d really hate to see you throw yourself on the funeral pyre before we even had a chance to talk.”
Lacy turned slow, her heel crunching dried leaves.
With one arm propped on the branch of a drooping oak tree, stood a man straight out of a Merchant-Ivory film; hair an inch too long for convention, strong cheek bones and a eyes that bored into one’s soul, a billowing white shirt bound by a tweed vest and wool slacks that looked as if they’d survived generations just to be worn on his slim hips. He was her fantasy come to life. And he was standing incredibly near a goat pattie.
“Kali warned me about talking to strangers.” Lacy nodded to the warm pile near his Cole Haans. “If you come any closer I’ll have to ignite my sister’s answer for land mine warfare.”
“The risks of country living.” He turned his gaze from the earth to the sky. “God get me back to Dallas.”
She chuckled. “I knew you weren’t local.”
“Lack of a farmer’s tan?”
“Lack of appropriate footwear.”
The man stepped around the trash can, offering his firm handshake and his embossed business card. “Henry Robinson, art connoisseur and antiques dealer, from Dallas. And you are?”
“Lacy Cavanaugh, all-around business guru for my sister’s cheese farm.”
She tried to conceal her curiosity, but felt her gaze pull toward his vest pocket to see if expensive cigars propped under a pocket watch. She wasn’t disappointed to find a pair of Aviators tucked there instead. He was her Teddy Roosevelt hero, albeit with antiques instead of the world maps she’d always pictured being part and parcel of the swept-off-her-feet-moment. She’d have to play it cool. She’d made rash judgments about men before. “We don’t meet many art connoisseurs here in Comfort, are you sure you’re not looking for the Ralph Lauren photo shoot? They could use you for the fall collection.”
“I’m right where I need to be and, funny enough, you’re just the lady I wanted to see.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“Only because you’re a cynic. Some of us believe in fate, or as I like to say God’s omniscient design. But fate is usually easier to work into a conversation.”
Lacy led the way toward the Provence Farms barn as walking was easier than thinking and dealing with a sudden onset of heart palpitations. “I believe in God’s design, but I can’t see how you and I are on a collision course with destiny.” She saw his Suburban parked in the gravel lot. “It could be that you’ve lost your way and I’m the only one on the property who knows the roads of Comfort well enough to give you quick directions back to the highway.”
“But I don’t want to leave until I can talk you into going with me.”
She wondered about the twinkle in his blue eyes. “Mr. Robinson, I don’t know who you’ve been chatting with, but I’m not that kind of girl.”
“And her mind runs right to the gutter.” Henry held the barn’s front door open so Lacy could step inside. “I come seeking your professional assistance. Although I wouldn’t be opposed to a dinner. I hear the Peachtree Inn in Fredericksburg is not to be missed.”
“I’m embarrassed to admit, you’ve confused me.” His banter was more sophisticated then most of the men she talked to, even the California gourmet food distributors. Lacy welcomed the cool confines of the office foyer. The barn’s production facility was in the newer addition toward the rear of the barn and the brick-floored stables had been converted to office spaces. Lacy had found Oriental rugs and brass lamps to warm the interior and make it seem less industrial. If only the comforting space would remove her underlying skepticism. “If you’ll wait on the sofa, I’ll find my sister. I’m sure she’s the one you’ve come seeking.”
Henry put a hand on Lacy’s French-cuffed sleeve. “No, seriously, I’ve come to talk to you.”
“Me? Kali’s the celebrity.”
“You are the Lacy Cavanaugh who’s recently purchased Comfortable Treasures? The shop on High and 6th street?”
Lacy’s mind switch gears to the two-story, glass-fronted business that had a previous life as a furniture store. ”Well, part owner. My girlfriends’ and I share the store and the manual labor.”
“But you’re the creative eye. The designer, right?”
The Soho bohemian look hadn’t yet caught on with the usual Hill Country antiquers, but she was hopeful that shopping trends would expand. “Well, I’ve arranged a few chairs and accesories but that hardly makes me a designer. Besides, the store is only open on the weekends until tourist season comes around again.”
Henry surveyed Lacy’s five-foot-seven figure with an appreciative linger on her artful arrangement of vintage silver chains dangling over the silk blouse. “But you’re the one with the connections; the one who talked Mrs. Steinmeyer into releasing estate treasures to your store?”
The hair on her neck tingled. “How did you come by that privileged information?”
“Inga Steinmeyer is one of my client’s best friends. I’ve driven to Comfort hoping to talk her into letting me represent her in the sale of family heirlooms only to discover you had beaten me to the finish line.”
Lacy stopped herself from revealing that Inga had not signed a contract. If this Dallas dealer thought she’d negotiated an exclusive arrangement then nuances were to her advantage. “I hate that you’ve driven all this way from Dallas with nothing to show for it. Maybe you should spend some time in Fredericksburg . They have great shops, many are even geared to your idea of Texas Country.”
“Oh, I’m not leaving town.”
“Why would you stay? Oktoberfest has passed and there’s nothing exciting around here till Christmas Eve. Even the goat are settling in for winter.”
Henry ran his fingers through blond bangs charmigly disarrayed by a benevolent breeze.
Lacy suspected he’d practiced that move in front of a mirror. This guy knew how to use women to his advantage, but she vowed right then and there, not to be his latest victim. He wanted Inga’s antique dining room. And probably planned to steal the hand-carved bedroom set too. Henry Robinson wasn’t her hero, he was the evil clone.
Henry sighed as if she twisted his thumbs to reveal a state secret. “Helen Jones, one of my best clients, assures me Inga is desperate for money. Seems her husband took out a second mortgage on the ranch to provide for the secret family he’d hoped to keep under wraps. His heart attack upended the whole scheme and now she needs M-O-N-E-Y to pay off the debts.”
This was no great announcement. All of Comfort knew the details thanks to Inga’s husband history as a city councilman. “But what makes you think you can offer Inga something I can’t.”
“Because I have two things you lack.”
“Connections and fortune?”
“Experience and charm.”
“Ha, fat lot you know about Inga.” Lacy finally felt the upper hand coming her way. “She’s had her fill of charming men.”
“I didn’t mean Inga. I meant you.”
He could not know about her revolving door of dead-end dates. “I’ve had my fill too. I don’t trust men that flatter.”
Henry lifted Lacy’s hand to admire the art deco diamond and ruby ring on her all-important finger. “So, I’m too late?”
Since he was an attractive man, who happened to send her hormones into hyper-drive just by breathing the same air, she didn’t feel she could confess she’d bought the ring in a moment of self-indulgent weakness. “You’re too late to get your hands on Mrs. Steinmeyer’s furniture, if that’s what you mean.”
Henry kissed her hand. Releasing her fingers with the same courtesy employed by men of generation past, he said, “On the contrary, I’ve discovered I’ve come just in the nick of time.”
To be continued.