The next morning, the warm sun brightened Jillian’s day as she walked to work, but all night she’d felt the loss of not having Connor close. He’d said they’d have lunch, just the two of them, but she knew his invitation came with ifs. If Gram is doing fine. If the nurse shows up. If the city doesn’t need him. If Sunnie didn’t have something traumatic happen like breaking up with another boyfriend.
Mrs. Kelly had gone into Dallas for the third time in the weeks Jillian had been in town. Jillian thought of asking Connor to have lunch in her room, but somehow that didn’t seem right. They weren’t two kids looking for a hideout, and what she had was too unique to be treated like an affair.
Walking past the little house with its colorful pots and neglected yard, she saw the owner sitting on the porch. Her hair didn’t look like it had seen a comb in days, and her housecoat was stained.
As Jillian neared, she waved. “Morning.”
The disheveled lady waved back from her wheelchair.
The colorful pots. The trashy yard. The wheelchair. It all made sense now.
When Jillian reached Main, she noticed Connor’s office was still dark. If the light had been on she might have gone over, only for a few minutes. But instead, she unlocked the shop door and stepped inside. The quilt-covered walls greeted her with their warm colors and stories hidden in the stitching.
May Roger’s butterfly quilt made of flour sacks her grandmother had saved back in the days flour came in bags made from cloth. May had wanted to leave it in the shop when she moved in with her daughter so that everyone could enjoy it.
Evie McWeathers’s pinwheel quilt hung next to May’s butterflies. Her scalloped edges and circles were made only with Highland plaids her parents had brought with them from Scotland. It took her so long to make all the circles fit, she gave it to Gram, claiming she never wanted to see it again.
Next was the Robertson family quilt. Everyone said the sisters had fought over their mother’s Wedding Ring quilt for years. The mother asked Gram to keep it till she died. She claimed she wouldn’t give it to any one of her children who mentioned it in her presence. From last reports, the quilt would be going to the county museum because the Robertson daughters were not known to be quiet about anything.
Jillian stood in the center of the shop and twirled around, loving all the colors and designs flying by.
All were treasures. All were unique. All were part of the history of this place.
Finally, Jillian went to put the coffee on. She decided to write a few of her quilt articles before the day got busy. But before she had the pot scrubbed, the front doorbell started ringing, stuttering as if a herd was coming in.
She leaned out from the tiny kitchen and saw half a dozen ladies, dressed in their Sunday clothes, carrying their big purses and their bigger sewing bags.
“Was there a meeting today?” she asked, as two more bumped their way inside.
Stella took charge. “There is no meeting. We’re going to FART today.”
All the others giggled. Two more crowded in, shoving the ones at the front farther into the shop. CNN should report this as a bag lady war.
Mass insanity, Jillian thought. They were making no sense, and worse, they seemed to have put Stella in charge.
Jillian glanced out the window, hoping to see Connor’s light on across the street. No such luck. She was outnumbered and on her own.
Stella faced her troops. “Now did everyone bring their cell phones?”
The crowd of twelve nodded.
Stella stood on her tiptoes. “Now, remember, we all have to take pictures to send to Gram. She’s going with us in spirit. No selfies. These shots are for Gram to see what’s going on.”
“What’s a selfie?” one lady asked from the back.
Another added, “Don’t you need a stick to do that?”
No one answered her.
Two women said they didn’t know how to take pictures with their phones, and three more said they didn’t know how to send anything. Stella mumbled something about how anyone can learn to use a phone, just find a kid over four and he’ll show you. Then she yelled again, “Who brought snacks?”
Three ladies raised paper grocery bags.
“Who brought chocolate?”
Two waved smaller bags.
“We’ll eat the chocolate first. Don’t want it melting in the bus.” Stella raised her voice once more. The Sanderson sisters weren’t listening. “I’ve got a cooler of water and Diet Cokes. Everybody can have two drinks, so pace yourselves. We don’t want to be stopping at every Toot’n Totum for a potty break.”
Jillian saw the little Autumn Acres bus pull up out front as if Gram was arriving. All the crazies in the shop grew restless.
“Ladies, saddle up, we’re going to FART. Five stops in six hours.” Stella waved for them to start moving, but a dozen ladies with at least two bags each don’t change currents easily. “Head ’em up! Move ’em out! We’ll be back before dark.”
Jillian followed them, fascinated. When she finally managed to get close to Stella, she asked, “What’s happening?”
Stella smiled with pride. “I rented the bus, just like Gram usually does. She might not get to go this year, but she won’t want the girls to miss all the fun. Every year we make our annual FART to five other quilt shops around the area. We visit and see what the others are doing. It’s our Fabric Acquisition Road Trip.” She moved closer to the bus. “Now hurry up, ladies. We got donuts waiting for us at Sisters Sewing Sensations and moon pies will be our afternoon snack at Around the Block. The Fabric Explosion over in Bowie has offered to feed us lunch if a few of you will agree to judge their quilt competition.”
Stella looked serious when she lowered her voice and added, for Jillian’s benefit, “They can’t depend on locals to judge. Death threats, you know.”
Jillian finally got it. “You ladies are going shopping for fabric and apparently eating your way from town to town?”
“Not just that. We’re picking up new ideas.” Stella patted her arm like she suspected Jillian might be a little dense. “Plus we have hours to talk between towns. Really talk, you know.”
One of the Sanderson sisters wiggled between Jillian and Stella. “What’s said on the bus, stays on the bus,” she whispered, as if letting Jillian in on a secret.
Stella nodded. “That’s right. I’m making a list of topics.”
The other Sanderson sister passed by and leaned toward Jillian, her bags hitting against both her knees. “And you’re on the list, Jillian. Just wanted you to know. Don’t believe in talking behind someone’s back.”
Jillian smiled and whispered, “You’ll fill me in?”
The sister straightened to her full five foot nothing. “Not a chance.” She shoved through the door without another word.
The driver already looked terminally bored as he boarded.
“Have fun, ladies.” Jillian waved as the bus pulled away, then she turned back into the shop. Whoever said small towns weren’t any fun hadn’t met the quilters.
The morning passed quietly. Jillian actually got some writing done. Half the quilts had been logged and photographed, and their stories were written. Today she’d add another three or four to the list, but she wouldn’t touch Gram’s quilt. That would have to wait until she knew the story. Why had she made it? Why had she never finished it?
At noon, Connor stepped back into her world. For once he was all dressed up, his hair combed, his boots polished. He was handsome when he didn’t look worried.
“Morning,” he said formally. “I’ve come to take you to lunch, if you don’t mind making a quick stop first.”
“Are you sure? Shouldn’t we go home and check on Gram?” Jillian forced the words out. “I’m sure we could make sandwiches and keep her company.”
“No, she’s fine. The day nurse linked her phone to my computer this morning. She’s following every step of the quilting trip. Gram’s feeling great today. In fact, she was walking around this morning with crutches. Said it won’t be long before she’s back to work.”
“Really?” Jillian was surprised.
“I didn’t argue with her, but I did talk her into starting with two hours only on quilting days. That way she can visit with her friends and be sitting down.”
“Sounds like a plan. I can handle the store the other days until she’s ready to come back.”
His sad eyes met hers. “I’m afraid Gram won’t be coming back here. Not alone anyway. I didn’t think her memory was so bad until I spent so much time with her.”
Jillian nodded. Gram was a smart woman. She’d hidden the small things by just claiming she was forgetful. But it was more than that. Much more.
He moved closer to her. “You’ve been great during this, Jillian.”
“It was the right thing to do.” She’d heard him say those words a dozen times over the past month. “Besides, I enjoyed helping out. It was like being part of a family.”
He grinned suddenly. “That reminds me. I’ve got something for you. I planned to give it to you last night, but you were set on having your way with me.”
“I don’t remember hearing you complain.”
“No, not at all. I welcome any attack you want to make.” He pulled a paper from his coat pocket. “But you’ll want to see this.” As he unfolded the article he’d copied, a man stepped into the shop asking for directions. Connor turned to help him as Jillian smoothed the paper open.
She read the article slowly, wondering why he’d brought it. The publication date was over thirty years ago. An account of a rodeo the town had sponsored for seventy years. Lists of events. Lists of riders.
Her breath caught as she read about an accident. A calf roper had lost part of his finger. The last line stood out like a blinking sign. Jefferson James, hometown unknown.
She heard the door chime sound as the stranger left. Connor’s hand brushed her shoulder. But she only stared at the paper.
“He was here,” Connor said. “Your father was here. Gram told me your birthday is in January. That means, if he was in Laurel Springs in May, you may have been conceived here the same month of the rodeo. Maybe your mother and father met right here in town. Folks come from all around for the celebrations and barbecue.”
It was crazy, but tears bubbled in her eyes. He was right. If her father had been in town, her mother must have been here, too. Maybe she wasn’t from here. Maybe she’d come in for the rodeo, like him. Or maybe they’d come together for the rodeo?
Jillian moved to the window as Connor read the article out loud. The writing was solid, telling every detail. She felt almost like she was there that night. Closing her eyes, she could visualize how it must have looked. The crowd. The horses. The dust. The smells.
Her gaze moved along the street just beyond the shop’s window. It was almost as if she could look thirty years back in time and see her mother walking the street. She’d been twenty-one when Jillian was born. Her father was thirty-four. What had drawn them together? And more important, what had torn them apart?
When she noticed Connor had finished reading, she asked, “Why would my father sign up for the rodeo? He wasn’t a kid, and he never mentioned being a cowboy.”
“The money, I guess,” Connor answered. “A few minutes’ ride could have won him a thousand dollars. I’m guessing he knew how to ride and rope. Probably borrowed a horse. Thought he had a chance. I saw a carload of guys from Denton come over one rodeo. They’d seen the rodeos on TV and decided to give it a try. They paid their money and signed up for every event. I heard they were all bleeding and headed home before the rodeo was half over.”
She kept staring out the window. “He was raised on a farm. Told me once he hated it. He said there was nothing there or no one he wanted to go back to. When he walked away from that life, he didn’t bother taking a single memento.”
Connor moved behind her. She could feel his warmth. When she leaned back slightly, he pulled her against his chest. For a while he just held her, then finally he said, quietly, as if not wanting to startle her, “I called the county library. They have a record of Phillips Petroleum employees. Jefferson James was on the payroll from March to December that year. No forwarding address.”
Jillian closed her eyes. “He quit just before I was born.”
“Maybe he had to go. The job might have been over.”
Too many unanswered questions. Why would he leave her mother pregnant? Why would her mother leave her at the hospital?
As naturally as if she’d done it all her life, she turned to Connor. He held her in strong, steady arms. She didn’t cry. She wouldn’t cry.
“Thank you for bringing me this,” she finally said, pulling away.
“You are welcome,” he answered. “We’ll keep looking. Do you have any idea where he went next?”
“Yes. Oklahoma City. He worked there when I was very small. He told me once that he took me to work with him. He was a janitor who worked alone. Only my mother wasn’t with him. She disappeared the morning after I was born.”
“You think he might have relatives in the city?”
“No. To my knowledge he had no relatives anywhere.”
Deep down she knew that her parents didn’t want her to find them. Whatever bargain they’d made thirty years ago was between them. They’d never planned for her to find out anything.
“If they lived here together from the time of the rodeo to January, surely someone would remember them.”
“I didn’t know. I’ll probably never know.” The memory of her grade school picture came to mind. Her dad might have taken it to remember her, but he still didn’t want her finding him. Or, she reasoned, he might have tossed it in the trash when he left the library, like he did everything else she’d tried to pack as a child that wasn’t a necessity.
Connor seemed to read her mood. “How about we go to Mamma Bee’s? It’s noisy, and we’ll be surrounded by people we know.”
“I think I’d like that.” If she never found her parents, maybe she’d find the places and the people they might have known. That would be enough.
As soon as they ordered, they were surrounded with folks, many of whom Jillian knew. They all asked about Gram, and as soon as they knew she was doing well, the conversation turned to guessing what was happening across the creek.
“Trucks are moving in,” one man announced. “Can’t imagine what’s going on over there.”
Before Jillian got her chicken salad sandwich, the majority opinion seemed to be that the mayor should go over and check things out. After all, if it was drug dealers, or outlaws opening a modern-day hole-in-the-wall, they’d listen to a mayor.
She saw the town clearly then. Connor was their hero, their warrior. If something was wrong, he’d make it right. He didn’t see it. All Connor saw was the details of running a small town, but he was so much more.
Jillian leaned back and enjoyed the show.
Mamma Bee herself walked by, saying she thought it was probably one of those human trafficking outfits. They’d probably kidnapped young girls and were housing them right across the river.
Jillian had a feeling that Mamma Bee just liked to keep the conversation going. She’d also suggested that the truck drivers might be ivory smugglers.
“Maybe we should call the sheriff?” someone suggested.
While the group was taking a vote, Connor slowly stood. “I’ll go check it out. No reason to worry.” He winked at Jillian. “I’ll take Jillian with me for protection.”
Everyone laughed as if suddenly realizing they might be overreacting.
Connor took Jillian’s hand in front of everyone. His grip was solid as they walked out of the store.
She had the feeling that the minute they were outside the conversation would shift from the district to the mayor’s new girlfriend.
“You shouldn’t have taken my hand. People will think there is something going on between us.”
“There is.” He tightened his grip. “Do you mind people knowing?”
“Not at all.”
He walked toward his Audi. “It’s only fair they know, after all, that there is something going on between us. You were on the porch last night with me, weren’t you? That was you? Man, I’d hate it if I was kissing the night nurse by mistake.”
She laughed, remembering how he’d kissed her. How she’d almost attacked him. “That was me. I can still feel your hand covering my breast.”
He slowed and lowered his voice as they climbed into his car. “So can I. When we are alone again, it won’t be for a few minutes and I don’t want to worry about being interrupted.”
Sitting very properly on the opposite side of the car, she asked, “And what will happen when we are alone again?”
His honest brown eyes looked directly at her. No shyness. No doubt. “I’ll make love to you, Jillian.”
When she didn’t speak or move, he added, “If that’s okay with you?”
She knew this was not flirting. This would be no light affair. “Yes,” she managed as she stared straight ahead. “And, Connor, I plan to make love to you right back.”
He started the car, put it in gear, then took her hand. Neither said a word. They didn’t need to. They’d said all that needed to be said.
Now all they had to do was wait for the right time.
Driving across the creek, he turned toward Alton Elliot’s greenhouses, which had spread into a third building thanks to Connor adding electricity and water.
Jillian climbed out ready to explore. “It’s wonderful.”
“It really is. Alton said he’s been fighting to make ends meet. In a few months I think that problem will be solved and the whole town will have fresh vegetables.”
“You did this, Connor.”
He shook his head. “I only helped a little.”
“No. You believed in him. You invested in his dream.”
“He’s going to start paying me rent once he’s in the black. I was happy to help.” Connor patted a brick wall. “Reese designed this passage between the buildings. Built it in two days. The kid’s got more brains than I gave him credit for.”
Connor took her hand as they walked back up the alley and turned onto the street where Joe Dunaway’s shop was located. Three huge trucks blocked the front of his store.
Joe moved from talking to the drivers to greet Connor.
“Morning, Connor, Jillian. How can I help you?” the old man said.
“I’m just seeing what’s going on.” Connor put his arm around Jillian’s shoulders as if it was the natural thing to do, the caring gesture he’d done forever when she was near. “I sent a few men over to survey some of the buildings a few streets over but they wouldn’t be driving trucks.”
Joe waved his hands as if erasing Connor’s words. “Oh, no, no, these aren’t your guys. I seen those fellows this morning. They said they’d have a report and an estimate for you in a day or two.”
The old man glanced back at the three trucks. “These men are hauling my equipment and supplies. Had them shipped all the way from Dallas.”
Connor stilled. “This must have cost you thousands.”
“It did, but I need it if I’m going to get my Toe Tents out there. My niece told me I needed to step up production if she was going to help me get the word out online. I even gave her a few hundred to buy ads. She says we may need more to grease the wheel and get things going.”
“How much more?”
“Maybe a thousand...or two. I thought I’d send her a little extra for her to buy another computer.”
Jillian saw how Connor took Joe’s mistakes onto his own shoulders. The old guy couldn’t have much money on a teacher’s retirement. He’d probably spent every dime of his savings.
Connor’s voice stayed calm. “Do you know how many of those tents you’d have to sell to pay for this?”
“About twenty thousand, I figure, if all the profit went to pay for the equipment.”
“That’s a lot.”
“Yeah, but we got orders for close to a hundred and my niece says we ain’t really tapped the foreign markets yet.”
“A hundred sold won’t make a dent in what you owe.”
Joe laughed. “Not a hundred tents, a hundred thousand are already ordered. My niece says her family’s been living on pizza delivery for three days while she’s trying to keep up with the orders. She put four of her kids to work and I told her that would come out of her ten percent.” When Connor just stood staring, the old man added, “Maybe you should think about charging me rent, Connor?”