“This one was here yesterday.”
“What?”
Lauren blinked once, dragging her gaze from the man to her friend. Absently she wiped damp palms on her slimcut green linen skirt. “I saw him here yesterday.”
Beth’s eyes widened. “You’re kidding! Do you think he’s waiting for … us?”
“Come on, Beth. Why in the world would he be waiting for us?”
“Maybe he heard about these two terrific ladies who own the print-and-frame shop, and he’s come to investigate.”
“If he had any guts, he’d come in.”
“If we had any guts, we’d go out.”
“Well, we don’t, and apparently he doesn’t, either, so that’s that.” As the two watched, the man got to his feet and ambled off. “That’s that,” Lauren repeated, not quite sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. There had been something fascinating about the man, not only his legs and his hair but also a certain sturdiness. She wondered if he’d ever owned a black dog that snarled. Then she promptly pushed that thought from her mind, along with all other thoughts of the man—until she caught sight of him again that afternoon.
At first he walked slowly past the shop without sparing it a glance. A few minutes later he returned from the opposite direction, this time pausing near the door before heading for the bench. When Lauren saw him sink onto it, leaning forward with his knees spread and his hands clasped between them, she couldn’t help but grow apprehensive. There was something definitely suspicious about the way he glanced toward the shop, then away, then back again.
“Whoisthat man?” she whispered to Beth, who promptly looked up from the VISA charge form she was filling out to follow Lauren’s worried gaze.
“So he’s back, is he?” Beth resumed writing but spoke under her breath. “He’s a little too rugged for my tastes. You can have him.”
“I don’t want him,” Lauren grumbled from the corner of her mouth, “but I would like to know why he’s been loitering around here for two days straight.”
“Why don’t you go and ask him?” Beth murmured, then, smiling, handed the charge slip and a pen to her customer. “If you’ll just sign this and put your address and phone number at the bottom …”
Lauren whispered back in a miffed tone of voice. “I can’t just walk out there andaskhim! He’s probably got a very good reason for being there, and I’d feel like a fool.”
“Then stop worrying. I’m sure he’s harmless.”
Lauren wasn’t so sure. The man was too intent in his scrutiny of the shop, and she felt the touch of his gaze too strongly to forget him.
When a customer approached her to buy a piece of fabric and have it stretched onto a frame, Lauren welcomed the diversion. When another customer selected a print and needed advice on its framing, she was more than happy to oblige. When a third customer entered the shop in search of several prints to coordinate with swatches of fabric and wallpaper, she immersed herself in the project.
By the time the closing hour drew near, Lauren was tired. She was in the back room, dutifully updating inventory cards and looking forward to a leisurely drive home, a quiet dinner and what was left of the evening with a good book.
“Lauren?” The low urgency in Beth’s voice brought Lauren’s head up quickly. “He’s here, asking for you.”
“Who—”
“Him.” Beth’s eyes darted back over her shoulder. “The guy from the bench.”
Lauren put down the cards. “He’s asking for me?”
“By name.”
“How did he … he must have … where is he?”
“Right here,” Beth mouthed in a way that would have been comical had Lauren been feeling particularly confident.
But she wasn’t. This man was different. Not boring-looking. Not slick and sophisticated-looking. Very … different.
Beth made an urgent gesture with her hand.
“I’m coming. I’m coming,” Lauren murmured unsteadily. She stood up, smoothing the hip-length ivory cotton sweater over her skirt and squared her shoulders. Then, praying that she looked more composed than she felt, she slowly and reluctantly left her refuge.
Chapter Three
