Frankie crouched in front of the heavy dresser in Mrs. Jameson’s driveway, inspecting the sliding mechanisms on the wooden drawers. They slid back and forth without stutters, hitches, or stops. Then she tapped the bottom of each, pleased with the resounding thump. Sturdier than most of her garage sale finds, this dresser could hold objects heavier than clothes. While at least sixty years old, it easily had a few more good decades’ worth of use in it. The bigger question was, should she make it into a bathroom vanity or …

A kitchen island. Yes. It would be perfect paired with a butcher block top and painted a fun blue-gray. The right blend of country and chic.

Frankie took a deep breath of the cool morning air, happy for a Saturday away from the store. The Jameson family’s cutting horse ranch was right outside of town and brought back memories of watching the great Boone Jameson train one of her dad’s horses before Boone became famous. It had been fascinating to watch.

Frankie returned her focus to the dresser. Its outdated walnut stain, complete with scrapes and gouges, made the asking price well within her budget to make a decent profit.

Frankie loved eye-catching transformations. The change in paint color coupled with the unexpected use for the piece would make it stunning. If she was going to continue working with Harper, this would be a good project for them. The precision required to do the antique secretary justice wasn’t quite within the capacity of a child, so bringing in the island project would give them something else to work on while Frankie finished the desk during school hours.

“I’ll take it, Mrs. Jameson.” Frankie counted out the cash and handed it to the older woman who’d once been her second-grade teacher. Frankie had thought the woman old when she taught math facts and sight words. “Thank you for calling me about this beauty.”

Frankie loved it when community members called her with a heads-up and allowed her to peruse their castoffs before the shopping regulars made their way around the day’s circuit.

“I’m sorry I won’t be able to help you load it—my knees, you know. My great-nephew, Henry, is supposed to be here somewhere around ten to muck out the stables, if you want to come back then.” Mrs. Jameson’s long, gray hair was in a loose ponytail at the base of her neck. With her worn jeans and Western snap-down shirt, she looked ready to ride rather than spend the next several hours peddling her leftovers.

“I got you,” came a man’s offer.

The deep timbre of the voice brought mild shocks of reluctance tempered with interest. Running into him like this left Frankie uncomfortable, like a stiff shirt that had no give. On the one hand, he was the eye doctor next door who interfered with how she ran her business, yet at the same time, he was a sweet dad who brought a touch of humor into her shop. Frankie turned to face the neighbor she ticked off almost daily. At least he could help with the heavy lifting. Literally.

“Hey, Logan.” This was the first time she’d seen him in something other than business slacks and a tie. The casual clothes and slight stubble on his chin brought out a whole different side of him she hadn’t considered. With his hair tousled up front, he looked a lot younger than she’d supposed.

What was it again Brooke had said to excuse their crash and burn date the night before? “He’s got this mischievous look like he’s holding something back. I don’t know that I could trust a guy that good-looking who might be keeping secrets.” Frankie hadn’t observed that personally, but Brooke had deep-seeded trust issues. “He’s not my type. I like the quiet, bookish, steady kind of guy.”

“Good morning, Harper!” Frankie gave a quick wave that was returned with a half-eaten glazed donut waved in the air.

“A Saturday morning treat.” Logan cleared his throat and squared his shoulders. “We don’t typically eat this way.”

“Hey.” Frankie raised her hands to prove she meant no harm. “No judgments here. I must have barely missed you at Tops Bakery. My early morning indulgence was a Boston cream.” Seeing the shine of glaze on Harper’s cheek, Frankie fought the compulsion to check for chocolate on her own lips.

“If you don’t mind helping—” she turned back to Logan “—I’ll back my pickup as close as I can get it. I know it’s a little high, but I think we can do it, right?” She flexed her biceps, knowing her puny arms wouldn’t look like much, but she was scrappy. And she moved furniture all the time.

After they wrestled the dresser into the truck bed and strapped it tight to the cab, Frankie hopped down from the tailgate and leaned against it for a moment to catch her breath.

“Garage sales.” Logan was staring at her, one eye closed against the bright sunlight angled exactly into his face. “I should have known that’s what you’d be up to this morning.”

“I like garage sales. They’re always an adventure, like treasure hunting. I like discovering what other people don’t see the potential in. If you look hard enough though, sometimes you find the gem in the rubble.” Like the stack of framed canvases she’d bought from Mrs. Jameson before settling on a price for the dresser. They were the ugliest prints Frankie had seen in probably forever, but the frames were solid wood and huge, and the canvases could easily be painted over and embellished for more of her signature signs.

“And you two?” She looked at both Harper and Logan. “You’re out early for garage sales.” At this point, actually, it wasn’t all that early. Pretty soon the regulars would be pushing through even the sales that clearly stipulated no early birds. “Are you looking for anything in particular?”

“We need stuff for our new house,” Harper explained.

“Stuff? That’s rather vague.” She gave Logan a sideways look with a long face. “So mysterious.”

He placed a hand on Harper’s shoulder, either holding her back from spilling more of their secrets or ready to turn her around for a quick exit. Evidence the man wasn’t comfortable around Frankie. “Not really,” he said. “We sold most everything before we came—I felt it was time to simplify—but we moved out of the Country Quilt Inn this week, and I’ve got to come up with some acceptable furnishings for the new place ASAP. Maybe even some decorations.” He pulled a face of disgust. “I got a letter from an esteemed law firm in Denver this week.”

That had to be about the potential custody suit, and Logan sounded a bit spooked. Frankie made a note to ask about it later.

“We’re looking for a bed for me.” Harper bounced up and down.

Ah, today’s number-one goal.

“You couldn’t find a better scout to help you accomplish that,” Mrs. Jameson jumped in. “Frankie’s got the best connections, and I have it on good authority this is her first stop of a few.”

Traitor.

While Frankie couldn’t say no to helping out Harper, she wasn’t so sure about spending the day with the entire Wells family. She’d been looking forward to enjoying freedom from the confines of the shop and the chains of responsibility for anyone but herself.

She felt a slight prick of conscience nudging her to help Logan. Frankie couldn’t imagine what would have happened to her family if she’d been split from her father at an early age. Co-owning Frank & Signs with him had been a dream. In addition to all the other perks—financial, space, name-recognition—they divided the other responsibilities as well, including shopkeeping hours, which gave her most of her weekends free, like today. But working with him also provided a closeness she never would have imagined—hours of laughter, a strong set of hands to do the work, a springboard for ideas. If she’d been taken from him, not only would she never have had her own business, they also wouldn’t have had what other families had: shared memories—some painful, some not—holiday traditions, the confidence of a loving family with no regrets, no worries of why didn’t he want me. And if that meant Frankie needed to spend some time with Logan Wells to do the same thing for Harper, she could do it.

As long as he wasn’t in one of his Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde moods. She steeled herself for his reaction.

“A tour guide through Cobble Creek’s garage sales? Sold.” Logan made a show of shoving his phone deep into his pocket. “If I don’t have to figure out the best route or guess on the quality of potential sales, I’m all for it. GPS would only get me so far.”

“How true that is,” Frankie agreed. Frankie eyed the surprisingly available back seat of her crew cab. With the prints and frames stacked one side, there was still plenty of room for Harper—not to mention the other open half of her pickup bed. She wouldn’t be able to carry much more if she took them with her, but there would be room for a child’s bed. “Want a ride?”

Logan turned to Mrs. Jameson. “Mind if I leave my vehicle here and pick it up later?”

She shrugged one shoulder. “Makes no never mind to me, except maybe pull it closer to the house so it opens more parking for buyers?”

“You’ve got yourself a deal.” Logan reached out a hand, and Mrs. Jameson shook it.

“But if you’re later than, say, noon, I’ll probably be gone.” Mrs. Jameson looked between Frankie and Logan pointedly, and Frankie couldn’t believe the woman was hinting that the two of them should spend so much time together. “See you later, Doc, Frankie, and Miss …” Mrs. Jameson turned crinkly blue eyes on the girl.

“Harper.” She was so quiet saying her own name, Frankie was pretty sure Mrs. Jameson wouldn’t be able to hear.

“Miss Harper.” The older schoolteacher smiled. “If these books are still here when you come back by, you can take whatever you want.” She patted a colorful stack of hard copies with titles from the Dork Diaries and the Great Brain series and even a few Judy Blume.

“Really?” A gleam sparkled in the girl’s eyes.

“Don’t think I didn’t see you sifting through them.” Mrs. Jameson’s eyes caught on a car pulling up to the curb but quickly returned her attention to the child. “You’re a girl after my own heart.”

Frankie led the way to her Chevy pickup, in a hurry to clear the front seat of the drill she never left home without and her emergency sweatshirt that she may or may not have used when she changed the oil last week. When the three of them had settled in, Frankie’s heart wouldn’t slow down. Either she was out of shape and shouldn’t be loading a dresser that heavy, or something else was going on—and she was pretty sure that something else had to do with Logan Wells. She was also pretty sure she didn’t want that to be the case.

“Sooooo …” Logan started but was interrupted by the tires rumbling over the rough road. “So, you buy junk and sell antiques?” he finally asked.

“Yeah, I’m magic like that.” Frankie allowed humor to soften her sarcasm. “Sometimes it seems more like I buy trash, but I hope I sell treasures.” What she did brought great satisfaction—to her, at least. “And then sometimes, I’m just plain lucky.” She hooked a thumb over her shoulder. “That dresser there is a fabulous find.”

“How so?” His smirk revealed the skepticism anyone would have, seeing the banged-up, boring exterior, until Frankie explained her plans to repurpose the furniture.

“Can I help?” Harper asked, eagerly leaning between the captain’s seats.

Logan cleared his throat. “Ahem. Seat belt.”

He brought out his commanding voice—soft yet firm, with a hint of humor. He was such a great dad. For someone not interested in dating, Frankie sure noticed some interesting details about the man.

Harper huffed and sat back. Frankie watched the mirror as Harper pulled the center belt out as far as the strap would allow. The excess sat slack in her lap.

“That’s not going to fly.” Logan was no-nonsense, but his tone never had an edge to it.

“Fine.” Harper slid over to the seat behind Logan and snapped in the shoulder belt. “Better?”

Frankie smiled at her in the rearview mirror. “Thank you. I should have checked before pulling out.”

“She knows better.” Logan shook his head at Frankie. “And she was buckled in when we started.”

“But I wanted to hear what you two were saying,” Harper complained. “There’s too much noise over here.” She crossed her arms over her chest, but she didn’t actually look upset.

After passing up a couple of rinky-dink sales with no more than clothes and knickknacks, they arrived in front of the last option for today’s garage sales. Frankie slowed down to see if there was anything they might want. Although there weren’t any beds, she saw potential. She didn’t know what else the Wells family needed, so she found a spot to park. Harper jumped out and started browsing, leaving Frankie and Logan to walk together.

“How was your date?” Frankie asked, jumping across the muddy borrow pit and trying not to laugh as Logan chose to pick his way carefully through it. “You were awfully quiet about it when you came to pick up Harper last night.”

Of course, Frankie already had heard the rundown from Brooke almost as soon as Logan and Harper drove off, but Frankie wanted to hear Logan’s side of the story.

“I can’t believe she wouldn’t have already told you.” Logan’s feet slipped in the mud. Frankie held out a hand to assist him up the embankment.

“Of course she did.” Frankie dropped his hand when he had both feet on solid green grass. “She’s my best friend.”

“Which means I’d better be careful what I say.” Logan’s words were light, leaving Frankie to believe it hadn’t been a painful experience for either one of them. “Let’s just say we didn’t exactly hit it off.”

Even without his side of the story, Frankie had to admit she’d been way off in setting up the two of them. If she was going to be successful as a matchmaker, she needed to know the nitty-gritty. “You couldn’t be more specific, could you?”

“Why? So you can fix me up with someone else?” He quirked an eyebrow at her.

She retaliated with pursed lips and narrowed her eyes. Just because the stinker was right … “Well, now that you mention it …”

He put up a hand to stop her. “Don’t go there. Believe it or not, I’m perfectly capable of making my own dating choices.”

“But I have the perfect one for you this time.” They walked around an old dinette set that was way too overpriced for 1970s laminate, but Logan considered it. She was about to steer him clear when he walked on.

“What am I? Another one of your projects?” Logan wrinkled his nose at an old shower curtain that looked like someone threw up rose petals and Pepto-Bismol all over it. “Am I that bad that you think I need fixing up?”

A guy who looked like him who had it all together minus the girlfriend? That should be an easy fix. Perhaps she didn’t have the desire to date currently, but if she did … Well, she wasn’t going to go there. But he was certainly the kind of guy who could make someone happy.

“Brooke did say you were a bit rusty.” She paused and then went on. “When Brooke told me about your date, it helped me know you a little better. I spent some time thinking about it, and I have someone even better for you—Tess Graham. I don’t know why I didn’t think about her before.”

“Here’s something for your shop.” Logan handed her the ugliest cat statue Frankie had ever seen. “Looks like your scrawny Mushu.”

“Mushu?” Her mind whirled to make sense of it. Oh, the cat. “You mean Cogsworth.”

Made out of tarnished brass and heavy as a cinder block, the only uses she could come up with for it were as a doorstop—and who used those anymore?—or dressing it up as some kind of whimsical Halloween decoration. She set it back on the table, shaking her head. The guy was crazy.

She picked up an old mantel clock that wasn’t working and removed the back to see why. It was a cheap clock from the ’90s and she determined that the bent clock hands kept catching on each other. There was no way they could be straightened out sufficiently, and the motor was probably blown. It wasn’t worth the work to repair it, and the shape wasn’t giving her any epiphanies.

“No mirror-lamp-clock contraptions today?” Logan smirked at her over the folding table between them. He picked up a glass ashtray. “How about a candy dish-toaster-vacuum cleaner-fireplace poker?”

Frankie watched his eyes fall, in turn, on each of the items he mentioned. Now that would be a contraption. And so ridiculously outrageous. Unable to help herself, Frankie burst into laughter.

“Good morning, Frankie.” Rick Leavitt, the local pastor, a middle-aged man with a thick middle and a matching thick ring of dark hair around his head, approached. He stuck his hand out to Logan to shake. “Dr. Wells, are you settling in?” He looked across the drive at Harper, who was talking to another girl about her age, and smiled. “We have a great elementary school, don’t you think?”

After their brief conversation, Logan’s attention returned to Frankie.

“So basically, this is like every small town?” Logan picked through a few more things, but his search felt aimless. “Everyone knows everything about everyone else?”

“What do you mean?” Frankie’s automatic response was defensiveness, but she tried to tamp it down.

“Brooke telling you about our date. That man—”

“Mr. Leavitt,” Frankie supplied. “The local minister.”

“Mr. Leavitt knowing who I am—”

“I would think that would be good for business. It’s called being friendly, in case you didn’t know.”

“Oh. Friendly.” He sounded skeptical.

Frankie wasn’t sure if Logan was actually perturbed or only surprised. “I think you’re jumping to stereotypes. Don’t people in Denver act the same way?” She picked up a box of mismatched plates and bowls. “Need anything for the kitchen?”

He shook his head. “We kept enough to get by if we don’t cook anything fancy.”

“Homemade ravioli out of the question, then?” she teased. Frankie noticed that Logan had effectively ignored her comment about setting him up with Tess.

“Right along with the hot chocolate machine and portable ice maker. I figured simplifying meant Harper and I could do those the old-fashioned way.”

“You’re kidding, right? You had a hot chocolate machine and portable ice maker?” Frankie tried not to laugh in case he had owned them. “Not that those wouldn’t be fun, but …”

He shook his head and chuckled. “They weren’t me. I’m more of a microwave popcorn and cold soda kind of guy.”

She nodded solemnly. “I knew there was something I liked about you.” She allowed her eyes to bounce from object to object on the table, trying to think outside the box.

“Out of curiosity, what did Brooke say about me that taught you so much?” Logan was next to her at a box of hiking and camping gear, more interested in those than he’d been sorting through any of the household necessities.

Frankie noticed he didn’t look at her for a reaction, and she wondered if he was the slightest bit worried. “All good things, surprisingly.”

That got his full attention. “Surprisingly?” he echoed, affronted.

“Considering you called my work junk, I figured you’d tell Brooke that flowers on a date were a waste of money, or that you’re allergic or some other such way to belittle her passion.”

Frankie held up the corner of a quilt for his approval. The wedding ring pattern was intricate and must have taken dozens of painstaking hours to piece together. It was, however, unfortunate in its color selection. Logan shook his head.

Logan put his hands on his hips and stared her down. “I’ll have you know I had Lucy order a very nice bouquet from Brooke’s shop to surprise her for the date.”

Frankie wondered about that. Brooke hadn’t mentioned it. “Did she like them?”

“She thought it was a nice touch.” Logan’s swagger proved he felt he was winning their banter match.

“How’s the practice? Are numbers going up?” Frankie asked, not wanting to answer his question about what Brooke had said.

“Uh, not as much as I’d like. I don’t know—I mean, I don’t know what to expect since everyone has to get used to the idea of a new doctor in town, but Lucy and Brooke say that if I spruced up the office, made it … what did they say? … more inviting, welcoming. They say it’s too modern.” He scoffed. “I guess I went a little overboard with the chrome and no-frills office equipment.” He shrugged. “I was going for updated so it would give my patients the impression that I am up with the latest techniques.”

Frankie breathed out a quick laugh. “I’m not sure that’s what the community here goes for. Don’t get me wrong, they want a doctor who’s competent and up-to-date, but …” She hoped she wasn’t offending him, so she abandoned that thought. “Sounds like it’s an improvement on what Doc Martin had, though.”

His was a smile that warmed her. “Thanks.” He looked around as if checking for spies or eavesdroppers. He leaned close enough that his breath tickled her neck. “But that’s not saying much.” He straightened up again, but kept his voice low. “I don’t know why I ever allowed you to fix me up with Brooke. Not with her sister working for me. That was a disaster waiting to happen—being sandwiched between two sisters—a definite recipe for trouble.”

“I know how to fix that.” She looked at him with raised eyebrows. “Tess.” She felt a nervous flutter at the idea—proof that the idea was good, maybe? “You’ll like her.” Was she trying to convince her or him?

Logan turned his back on the tables of junk.

Frankie didn’t see anything herself. “Anything?”

He shook his head, and the two of them headed back to the pickup. Logan opened the door and settled into the passenger seat, sighing heavily. “I just don’t want everyone all up in my business.”

Frankie laughed and turned toward him. He mirrored her. “That’s ironic,” she said, “since you’re always up in everyone else’s.” Frankie leaned forward and mimed pulling the optometrist machine in front of him, then stared into his eyes. For a second she forgot what she was going to say until she leaned back again. “People want to get to know you.”

Logan opened his door enough to lean out. “Harper,” he called. “Time to go.” He turned back to Frankie. “I probably should have guessed that, since I get asked at least twenty times a day why I moved here.” He leaned his head back into the headrest, allowing his long lashes to close onto his cheeks.

“Have you tried asking them questions instead?” He looked so comfortable. Frankie also settled into the seat and found she could fall asleep if she allowed herself.

“What, like asking, ‘Tell me about your family’? That kind of thing?”

“Exactly. People always want to talk about their kids.” Well, usually. Memories of her own bruised feelings encouraged her to broaden conversational topics. “Or jobs. Jobs are usually safe.”

“Since I already know about your job, tell me about your family, Frankie.”

Frankie squirmed at the question and decided to deflect. “Why did you move here?”

“I needed to get away from painful memories. Of Harper’s mom.”

The door behind Logan opened and Harper slipped in. “Dad, did you see Sarah Jane? She’s the girl I was telling you about who takes dance lessons. She lives here.”

“You said Leavitt is a minister.” He glared at Frankie as if she were trying to mislead him.

“I don’t think dancing’s against their religion,” she whispered. She made a quarter turn in her seat to face Harper. “There’s only one more place I can think of to look. Cross your fingers.” Frankie made a show of crossing all of her fingers and her thumbs, although she knew for a fact there was something that could work—if Harper liked it. She uncrossed her fingers to grip the steering wheel. “Ready?”

Harper nodded, and Frankie turned back around. “Seat belts, everyone.” She clicked her own and then waited for two more of the same sound, and they were off.

“Sarah Jane was telling me all about the Cobble Creek Art Festival.” In her excitement, Harper was practically yelling in Frankie and Logan’s ears. “It sounds like so much fun. Her dance team is going to perform.” Frankie’s pickup must be loud for Harper to feel the need to compensate. “I’m glad we have something for the festival, but I wish there was something that was more … mine.”

“The mirror-clock-lamp doesn’t count?” Frankie was surprised Harper wasn’t more excited.

“We did that together.”

“Hmm,” Frankie sounded. “I’ll have to think about it. We’ll get you something.”