Heart and Home(6)

"Is there a carpenter in town?" he asked as McIntosh tallied his purchases.

"Yep," he said. "J. H. Huff down the street. He can build about anything you can imagine."

Adam billed the groceries to his account at the bank and, with the  gunnysack the grocer had provided filled with survival food, he crossed  the street.

Adam found the carpenter's shop by the smell of sawdust. A carpenter was  hard at work smoothing the surface of a long pine board. Something  about the way several more pieces of wood were laid out on the floor  amid the shavings caught Adam's attention. He set his sack on the floor  and watched the man work for a minute, putting off calling attention to  himself until he had solved the puzzle.

It hit him all at once. It was to be a coffin, probably for Adam's first  patient. He should feel regret or even irritation at the granddaughter  for not allowing him to try to save her. Instead all he felt was deep  sympathy for Jane.

Huff broke into his thoughts. "Howdy, sonny. What can I do you for?"

Adam was momentarily startled by the odd syntax. "I wondered if you could build some shelves for me?"

"Start this afternoon. You want wall or free?"

That, too, took a second to decipher. "Wall, I mean fastened to the wall."

"Ya live … ?" The man was still holding the plane as if he intended to  apply it to the wood again in a second. Perhaps his cryptic speech was  intended to save time.

"Little place just past the boardinghouse."

Huff nodded, pointing a corner of the plane toward him for an instant. "New doctor."

Adam nodded.

"Afternoon." He returned to his work.

It was only midmorning, so Adam took that as a reminder rather than a  salutation. He hoisted the gunnysack over his shoulder, leaving the rasp  of the plane behind him.

On his way home he met a few townspeople who nodded or murmured  greetings, but nobody seemed interested in stopping to talk. What, he  wondered, was he going to do with himself the rest of the morning?

As he passed the boardinghouse he hit on an idea. He could visit Jane.  He could offer his condolences and, if she wasn't too distraught, he  could ask about a seat at the table for dinner. He expected to be  starving by then. Why that particular errand could lighten his steps, he  wasn't sure. Boredom, probably.

He left his sack inside his front door, edited his sign to read Next  Door instead of In Town, and hurried to the boardinghouse. Inside, he  straightened his collar and tie and ran his fingers through his hair.  That too seemed an odd reaction, but he passed it off as wanting to look  respectable considering the errand.

The house was quiet. A house of mourning, he reminded himself. He walked  softly to the dining room and stopped in surprise. The table was  exactly as he had left it an hour or more before. Dirty plates,  half-full coffee cups, the uneaten ham, all lay drying on the table.

He had assumed the Cartlands would clean up. Obviously they had assumed  otherwise. They had left it for Jane. He guessed that Jane had been up  all night, out early making arrangements for a funeral and was now  trying to get a little rest. This was not the sight that should greet  her when she awoke.

Adam shrugged out of his suit coat and swung it over the back of a  chair. He had pulled kitchen duty for larger groups than this. He  expertly stacked plates and saucers and headed for the kitchen.                       
       
           



       

And met his second surprise. The mess in the kitchen defied imagination.  The Cartlands hadn't replaced a single lid on any of the canisters and  tins they had opened, let alone started a pan to soak. There was even a  broken egg lying on the floor just where it had been dropped. With a  sigh he attacked the mess, reminding himself that he had nothing else to  do.

An hour later the kitchen looked like Jane's again. He had found where  most things belonged or at least made a guess and left the rest stacked  on the nowclean table. He rolled down his sleeves and looked around,  satisfied with his work. He gathered the collar and buttons and his tie  from the chair where he had discarded them earlier, and returned to the  dining room.

Clean dishes now filled the glass-fronted cabinet, and the hardwood  table shone from the oil and lemon polish he had found. He had even  swept the floor. There was nothing left to do, which should make him  happy. Cleaning was not his favorite activity.

But he didn't want to go back to his empty house. He had been imagining  Doreena in the boardinghouse kitchen, and he had trouble picturing her  in the smaller house.

Well, part of the time he had imagined Doreena. The rest of the time he  had pictured Jane finding a spot on one of her dishes. Or worse, finding  him in her kitchen up to his elbows in dishwater, with sweat plastering  his hair to his forehead. Collarless with his shirt open and his coat  off. She was liable to be scandalized. Or embarrassed. Neither was his  intent.

He slipped the collar and tie into a pocket of his coat and slung it  over his shoulder just as he heard a door close down the hall. Light,  feminine footsteps approached the dining room. He was about to confront  either Jane or one of the Cartland sisters. He considered making a run  for the back door, but ran his fingers through his damp hair instead.

Jane entered the room, her purposeful steps faltering when she saw him.

"I seem to make a habit of startling you," he said.

"What are you doing here?"

"Ah … " He debated telling her.

"Is it getting hot out?" she asked.

"Warm," he said. "I came to offer my condolences."

"Thanks." She nodded and turned away, going through the kitchen door.  Adam sighed to himself. She really didn't like him. And, he told himself  firmly, it really didn't matter.

He followed her into the kitchen. "Perhaps this isn't a good time," he  said to her back as she lifted a bowl off a cupboard shelf, "but I was  wondering if there would be room for me at dinner."

"Sorry," she said, continuing her work. "The pastor and his wife are coming to dinner, and that fills the table, I'm afraid."

Adam thought of several other things he might say, but they all seemed  trite in the face of her obvious grief. He was turning to go when the  door opened and Tim Martin entered.

"I'm off to catch the train," the salesman said.

The glance Jane threw in Adam's direction before she turned to her  boarder held a combination of irritation and guilt. She had known Martin  was leaving but had denied his request for dinner anyway.

"Have a safe trip, Tim," she said pleasantly. "Can I expect you back in a couple of months?"

"Of course, and I'll recommend you to everyone I see that's headed your  way. Sorry about your grandmother, dear. It was nice meeting you,  Doctor."

Martin shook hands with Adam, turned and kissed Jane's cheek, then left them alone again.

Adam watched Jane avoid his eyes. Finally she muttered, "I forgot he was leaving today."

Adam nodded, not believing her at all.

"Dinner will be the same time as last night." She turned back to her work.

"Miss Sparks, if you don't want me to eat here, I can-"

"No," she said quickly, facing him. "Please, I don't want an empty chair if I can help it."

He grinned at her. "That's wonderfully flattering."

"I'm not good at flattery."

She turned away, and he watched her stiff shoulders for a moment,  wondering why he didn't just leave. "We missed you this morning," he  said finally.

She shrugged.

"I mean, we really missed you this morning."                       
       
           



       

She faced him, her eyes narrowed in question. He quirked a smile at her.' "I'm looking forward to dinner."





Jane watched him walk out of the room and listened for the front door to  close. She tried to brush the image of that little-boy grin out of her  mind. What exactly had he meant by missing her at breakfast? She might  have thought he was suggesting the meal had been inadequate, but she  knew better. Nedra had already told her it had been fine.

Jane also knew better than to think it was her company he had missed.  She had been nothing but rude to him since she'd met him. And even if  she had been sweet and gracious, he had Doreena.

She set the flour-coated teacup aside and sank into the chair. She had  come in with every intention of baking pies for dinner. She had gotten  as far as measuring two cups of flour. Or was it three? She would have  to pour it back and start again.

Why did Dr. Adam Hart get her so rattled?

She wanted to laugh at herself. Besides the fact that his face was so  handsome he made her knees weak and his body was the very model of  masculine health? Maybe because he thought she had let her grandmother  die.