As afternoon clouds rolled in for the third day in a row, Connor picked up the phone and dialed the quilt shop. Any other time, he would have simply walked across the street, but not today.
Today, he was home with Gram. Exactly where he’d been for the past three days. Even with the night nurse and the day shift in the morning, taking care of Gram, keeping up with her medicine, answering the door and the phone seemed to be a full-time job.
“A Stitch in Time, how may I help you?” Jillian’s question came through the line.
Connor breathed, relaxing at the sound of her voice.
“Morning, Jillian.” Saying her name made him miss her.
“Morning, Mayor.” He could hear caring in her tone. Maybe she was remembering their quick kiss on the B and B porch last night. He’d said good-night and turned to step off the porch. She’d leaned forward to kiss him and they’d both almost tumbled into Mrs. K’s flower bed.
Connor was silent as he remembered, and she added, “Connor, is everything all right?”
“Yes,” he answered too fast. “Everything is fine here. Gram’s doing fine.
“I just forgot about a board meeting tonight until the fire chief called to remind me. Any chance you could drop by after work and bring supper for Gram?” Jillian had been helping every night, so he doubted he was asking too much. “She’ll want to talk about the shop.”
“Sure. No problem. I’ll be there in time for you to make the meeting by seven.”
He thought of asking how she knew about the time, but this was Laurel Springs; even the boring city council meeting was talked about.
“I’m sorry. It won’t last long. I’ll be home as soon as I can.”
She laughed. “It’s all right, Connor, I got this. Joe and Sunnie will help me with Gram. You do what you have to do. I’ll even save you a plate.”
“Thanks.” He hung up, afraid if he said one word more he might say too much. Since the day he’d met her, he’d been holding back things he wanted to say, feelings he needed to tell her about. Only if he said one sentence, he feared an ocean of emotions might rush out.
He had his briefcase packed with city files when she arrived late afternoon. There was no opportunity to share a moment alone. Connor didn’t even try. Logic told him this attraction had come on too fast. Things like this took time, and that was the one thing they didn’t have.
He picked up his case. “Most of the time no one shows up to watch at these meetings, but tonight we are voting on putting up new tornado sirens. The fire chief and the sheriff will be there in support of the motion, and the same half-dozen people who always come to complain about the city spending too much money will all want to have their say. After that, I’m home.” Rattling on didn’t help. She didn’t care about the meeting. He simply needed to leave.
Jillian patted his shoulder. “I got this, Connor. We’ll be here when you get back, no matter how late. I brought pictures of several quilts I need Gram to tell me the stories about. That will keep us busy.”
“You’ll wait?” He said the words low, so no one else could have heard.
She nodded as she looked directly at him with those stormy-day eyes that had seen the world and had chosen tonight to be right here in his house.
Even if he wasn’t.
Connor was surviving on two hours’ sleep. Possibilities rolled over in his mind, but reality kept shoving the what-ifs aside. He already had his pockets full of responsibility. He needed to come to his senses and realize he’d only been dreaming of traveling...of meeting Jillian in faraway places where there was no town, no family, no one to interrupt them.
It was never going to happen. Not with Jillian. Not with anyone. He’d never step away and she’d never stay, not here.
So when he walked into the meeting room, he smiled and pretended everything was great. He did his duty. He listened. He stayed calm, and finally, he ended the meeting. No one saw how he felt inside. Any adventure he’d had in his soul had died before it could break ground and grow.
As everyone walked toward the front door, Connor shoved his briefcase under an empty desk in the hallway and slipped out the back. From the alley, he headed for the wild grass near the creek. He needed to escape, if only for a few minutes. He had to know, if only for a moment in time, he was in charge of his own life.
The sun was low. He’d have thirty minutes before it would be too dark to see the path along the creek. But for one slice of time, he’d be free.
He walked, letting the weight of the day melt off his shoulders. When he reached the creek, he found his favorite spot and sat, listening to nature. Usually the sound of the water calmed him, but it didn’t work tonight. He must be an overachiever. He was going through a midlife crisis early. The pieces of his life no longer seemed to fit together. Sunnie would be grown soon. Gram was growing frail, needing him more. Any dream he’d ever had seemed to be slipping away into the stream of everyday life.
The trees surrounding him made a ticking sound as bare branches tapped against each other. A lonely sound, he thought. The dark warehouse district loomed before him, strangely beautiful, like the Georgia O’Keeffe painting of a darkened back street in New York. The artist had simply named it A Street.
Connor stared at the district, seeing only shadows tonight. The buildings, the roads, were all dwarfed by creeping darkness. He felt like it was moving over his mind, as well.
If Jillian hadn’t come to town, he might have lived out his life in peace, but he couldn’t wish for that. She had woken him up. He cared for her like a man cares for a woman—correction—like a man cares for his woman. Only she wasn’t his to love. She never would be.
He’d felt responsible for his wife, Melissa. She was the mother of his child, but in the thirteen years they’d been together he’d never felt about her as he did Jillian. To Melissa, he was just someone who made her life easier, an accessory. No more important at the wedding than the groom on the cake.
But Jillian could be more. If she’d let it happen. If she’d stay. She could quickly become as vital to him as a heartbeat.
Connor laughed suddenly. As always, he was being too serious. Thinking too much. Jillian didn’t want him. Not for long anyway. Maybe a short fling. She’d made it plain she was leaving. The only comfort was that she’d promised to say goodbye.
He was dreaming about someday, and she was only thinking as far as the few weeks she had left to finish her job. Maybe Gram’s accident had delayed her departure, but only by days, not years.
He looked up, realizing night had moved in completely, not only in his thoughts, but across the land. The district buildings loomed black and stoic on one side of the creek. The town twinkled on the other. The path that wound through the tall grass back to Main had vanished.
Connor followed his mood. Not caring that his four-hundred-dollar boots were getting wet, he stepped into the stream.
The tall Western boots he always wore kept his feet dry as he slowly tested each step. Mud and rocks shifted beneath him, but he didn’t turn back. If he fell, he’d have to walk home covered in mud. If he made it across, he’d be on the dark side. Exactly where he wanted to escape to tonight.
Cold water bubbled at his knees and slowly dripped into his boots, but he kept walking.
Finally, grabbing a limb from a cypress tree, he pulled himself out of the water and onto dry land.
Connor smiled for the first time since he’d woken up on the couch with Sunnie laughing at him. Finally, his location and his mood matched. He took a minute to tug off his boots, wring out his socks, then put them back on.
He walked the muddy streets silently, knowing his way, familiar with every building. Joe’s workshop lights were off tonight. The old man would be with Gram.
As Connor passed the place where he’d taken Jillian for their rooftop dinner, he shook his head. It had been a beautiful sunset, but he should have planned the meal, maybe set up a table. He should have made it more romantic.
Walking down the alley, he realized he’d pretty much handled everything wrong with her. He might be able to run a business, keep the paper going, raise an independent daughter, but he sucked at planning a date.
He should have planned a real evening that she’d remember forever. Within an hour’s drive in any direction there were real, fancy restaurants where they could have had a quiet drink, then talked over a relaxing dinner. He could have driven home slowly, maybe stopped to look at the moon. Women like that kind of thing, he guessed. In truth, he had no idea.
With his luck, she’d leave early in hopes of saving him from embarrassing himself. His mood darkened, following him through the alleys of the district.
A tiny cry echoed off the canyon walls of brick on either side of him. Connor conceded, mentally beating himself up and pulled every sense into focus.
The cry came again. Not quite animal. Not quite human.
Something wasn’t right. Something or someone was in this jungle with him.
The cry came again. Short gulps, as if someone was holding back sobs.
Connor realized he had no weapon. Hell, he never had a weapon. If trouble found him, he might as well be made out of wood, because he was a sitting duck.
Pulling off his jacket, he wrapped it around his arm. He’d seen that in a movie once. With a wrapped arm he could block a knife or a blow. Of course, it wouldn’t help much if the attacker had a gun.
What if he was shot in this alley? No one would find him for days. The town would panic because they wouldn’t be able to find the city’s budget. Sunnie would be mad at him because he never taught her to drive, and Gram would think he just didn’t come home like Grandfather Benjamin. No one would figure out his accounting system or find his briefcase.
And he’d be dead, of course. Jillian would never know how he felt about her.
Another cry whispered in the air. Not an animal. Human.
He kept walking toward the back of the passage as the hundred-year-old brick walls seemed to close in on him. This was the alley where he’d seen movement.
No matter what lurked here in the shadows, he needed to know. This was his land. His district. His town.
Movement waved dirty white from the corner of a doorway.
Connor braced himself for anything and stepped closer.
It took a moment for the tiny figure to come into focus.
A child, not more than five, looked up at him with huge eyes. He didn’t seem hurt, or afraid, but his cheeks glistened with tears.
Connor crouched down. “Are you all right?”
The little boy straightened as he swiped his cheek with a dirty sleeve. “I’m okay, sir, but it’s scary out here.”
“You know who I am?” Connor kept his voice low, nonthreatening.
“Yep. You’re the mayor. My dad said you’re the most important man in town.”
Connor shook his head. “No, son, you are right now, and I think you must have a problem. A mayor’s job is to help folks with problems, so how about telling me what you’re doing here all alone?”
“I’m cold, but I ain’t alone. My daddy’s inside working. I got wet and he told me to come out here until I dried off ’cause we can’t go home yet. I want to go home. I said I wanted to come tonight, but now I want to go.”
Unwrapping his wool armor, Connor shook the coat out before offering it to the boy. “Slip into this. It’s been in my way all night. I’d appreciate you taking it off my hands for a while.”
The boy hesitantly put his thin arms into the coat that hung almost to the ground.
“Better?”
“Yep.” He smiled. Pushing the coat sleeve up to his elbow, he offered his hand. “I’m Jack Elliot. My momma calls me Jackie, but my dad says my grown-up name is Jack.”
Again Connor was impressed by the boy’s manners. “Nice to meet you, Jack Elliot. That’s a fine name. I’d like to meet your dad if you think he has a minute.”
The boy nodded. “Follow me, but watch your head, Mayor. You’re tall. I’ll take you to my daddy.”
Stepping over the threshold, Connor moved into one of the roofless warehouses. The walls still stood solid, but the ghost-gray night sky shone above offering little light.
The kid’s hand circled around two of Connor’s fingers and tugged him forward. “Duck when I say to or you’ll whack your head.”
Connor lifted his free hand, feeling long pipes running just above him. The place was cool and damp, but not cold. He had no idea what the building had once been used for, but now it had the smell of the earth. Not decay or rot, just rich, damp dirt.
They moved into a maze of wooden frames.
“What is this?” Connor asked, as they passed from one building to the next.
“My dad’s garden. He says he don’t feel right if his hands ain’t in dirt. He’s raising baby plants.”
Connor’s eyes adjusted to the night. He saw tiny plants two, three inches high in the open crates. A greenhouse? But why here? Why so early? It wouldn’t be warm enough to grow anything in the fields for another month. It couldn’t be marijuana. Connor had read once that those plants needed intense heat and light to thrive. These buildings didn’t even have electricity.
A yellow light blinked in the distance. The Coleman lantern’s uneven glow made a wide circle around a table that appeared to be made of railroad ties and abandoned lumber.
The feeling he’d stepped into another world made Connor hesitate. How could this place exist in his town, on his property?
“Daddy, the mayor came to visit,” Jack said, as a man leaning over the table raised his head.
Connor doubted the man could see them in the shadows, but he saw the stranger clearly. His clothes marked him as an oil field worker. His hands, even in the dancing light, were calloused and caked with dirt.
Farmer’s hands, Connor thought as he took a step closer and saw the panic in the stranger’s eyes. The dad, in his late twenties, might have run if he hadn’t glanced down and seen Jack still holding on to Connor.
Connor offered his free hand. “I’m Connor Larady. Nice to meet you, Mr. Elliot.”
“Alton.” The man’s handshake was solid. When he pulled back, he rubbed his hand on his pant leg. “Sorry about the dirt.”
Connor smiled. “I just waded across the creek. I’m walking with mud on and in my boots. A little more dirt won’t matter.”
Alton Elliot relaxed a bit. “I guess you’re wondering what I’m doing here?”
Connor moved closer to the table where Alton appeared to be planting slices of leaves into what looked like paper cups. “I’m fascinated,” he said, noticing the tools scattered over the table. If Alton Elliot had meant him any harm, he would be on the floor bleeding.
“I work the rigs over in Shelby County when there is work to find, but I got land a mile from here. Not much, but prime ground for a huge garden. Neither of the stores in town carry organic vegetables, just what’s shipped in. You know, one kind of tomato, two kinds of lettuce. Three kinds of apples if we’re lucky.”
“I’m the mayor, Mr. Elliot. I’ve heard this complaint before.”
Alton nodded. “I grew up on a farm that had ten types of tomatoes and a dozen kinds of lettuce, not to mention different varieties of potatoes and carrots and beets and...”
“I get your point.” Connor relaxed. Vegetables were great. He ate one now and then. But what did that have to do with this place and midnight? “Why are you here, Mr. Elliot? This part of town has been abandoned for many years.”
Alton folded his arms. “My folks sent me the seeds, the clippings, the bulbs. All I need to grow great produce. But I needed a place to get them started. I’ll triple my yield if I can start them in a greenhouse, and these old warehouses serve the purpose. The brick walls hold in the sun’s heat. No one uses the old buildings on this side of town, so I figured no one would care. They shelter my future garden, cut the growing time come spring.”
“Fascinating. Only you don’t own this property.”
Alton shrugged. “I figured no one did. It’s just a dead place. Folks say it has been for fifty or more years.”
He turned up the lamp and what Connor thought were a few crates of baby plants were really rows and rows.
“I got a little carried away. Every night I build a few more crates out of all the bad wood around here and plant a few more plants. I rigged barrels on the roof next door so I could drip rainwater down.”
Connor looked around. “This place wouldn’t pass any kind of city code.”
“I’m not living here. Just planting. Me and the plants will be out of here in a month or so.” Alton looked straight at Connor. “You going to evict me, Mayor? If I put the plants out now, they won’t be protected from the wind or the cold, but I figure you have the legal right.”
Alton was clearly a man who took any blow coming straight on. No excuses. No complaining.
“No. But you should know I do own this land. First thing tomorrow morning I’ll have a crew out here to make sure these buildings do pass inspection as greenhouses. I want to make sure one of these walls doesn’t tumble in on your nursery. I’ll add anything that you think might make this operation run smoother, like electricity, for one. It’ll be my job to make sure everything passes code, then I’ll rent it to you.”
“Fair enough.” Alton’s entire body seemed to relax and he met Connor’s stare for the first time. “I’ll have enough to feed the family and sell some. I’ll give you half the profits from any sales.”
Connor shook his head. “That’s not fair. I own the buildings you’re starting the whole process in.” Alton stiffened again, but he didn’t have any right to argue.
Connor continued, “But you own the product. I want one gallon-size basket of vegetables a week for my share. If this idea goes over like I think it will, you’ll be renting the front of one of these buildings as a market and I’ll make money from that. You could open once a week with all your surplus, and I’m betting you’ll sell out by noon.”
Organic vegetables, grown here, not shopped in. Connor’s mind began to race. If this guy could rig it right, maybe the greenhouse could grow year-round. People would drive to Laurel Springs for their fresh vegetables.
“Mayor, I don’t know if you’re crazy or a fortune-teller, but you got yourself a deal.” Alton offered his hand once more as he smiled for the first time. “If you have the money to do a few repairs, I could use the space in the next building that butts up on the left side of this one.”
“Done.” Connor never hesitated when he knew something was right. “I know a kid who can probably build you a proper door without damaging the structure. I need to keep him busy.”
“Oh,” Alton asked as if he might be taking on trouble.
“Yeah. He’s dating my daughter. Maybe you can keep him so busy he’s too tired to come over for supper every night.”
Alton laughed. “I’ll do my best, boss.”
“Not boss. Partner.” Connor could see the future and it was bright.
Alton nodded. “I’ve been waiting all my life for a shot like this. If we do this together, I promise, you won’t be sorry.”
Connor understood. “You know, Mr. Elliot, I think these old buildings have been waiting for you, too.”