Should I stay or should I go? Yes. I heard The Clash’s answering ten chords in my head.
It was not a decision that would be made in a day. First, I’d ‘try on’ the new life. See if there might be a fit. But I had to admit it was a hundred times more promising than the temporary residence inn and no idea what I would do next.
The key to the garage was a remote. The door responded immediately with a rolling noise and I was relieved to see Romeo. He’d done an excellent job of parking himself and the deep polished shine made me wonder if he was somehow able to bathe himself as well.
Without being asked he popped the latch so that I could drag my luggage out. It wasn’t going to be easy to get those babies upstairs, but hey. I wasn’t really over the hill. I was just well over forty.
“Thank you, Romeo,” I said, just because I was kind of getting into the joke of talking to an auto.
“You’re welcome, Rita.”
“If only you could carry luggage upstairs.”
“Shall I call someone for that?”
“Who?” Silence. “No. If I can’t handle it, I’ll ask Maggie if there’s a strapping young man about who’d like a tiny tip.” Realizing how that sounded, I was just as happy that Romeo persisted in his newfound silence.
The street between my house and my garage was the width of an alley and one way. I got the impression it didn’t get much traffic, which would be more than okay with me. It didn’t escape my notice that I thought, my house and garage.
I’d just reached the door when I heard a gravelly but friendly voice.
“Mrs. Hayworth! Here. Let me help you with those.”
I turned to see a small wizened man. He wasn’t physically attractive, but had a contagious grin.
“Uh, hi. It’s, uh, Ms. Hayworth. Or no. I mean Rita. It’s Rita. And you are?”
“Bradesferd Skeech. At your service.” He pointed to my keychain. “I’m the silversmith.”
I looked down at the ring in my hand. “Oh, Mr. Skeech. Your work is phenomenal.”
“Go on. I’m too old to blush. But since you’ve offered your given name, locals call me Brad.”
I grinned. “So I’m a local? For that matter, how did you know my name?”
“Oh. Everyone knows your name. We don’t get new residents often. You could say you’re a celebrity.”
He treated me to a good-natured laugh then looked pointedly at the bags. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings or his masculine pride by suggesting he was too small and too old, but I didn’t want to be responsible for injury either. “Are you sure, um, Brad? They’re very heavy.”
He smiled up at me. “I’m stronger than I look.”
“Okay,” I said, opening the door and stepping back to give him room.
He lifted the two bags like they weighed nothing and set them down just inside the front door. “Upstairs?” he asked.
Since I’d become a believer in the idea that you can’t judge strength by looks, I said, “That would be wonderful. If it’s not too much trouble.”
“None at all, but the staircase is narrow. So I’ll take one at a time.”
I waited in the living room while he carried one then the other upstairs. He returned showing no sign of exertion whatever.
“Is there anything else I can do for you?” he asked.
“I already owe you a favor for this. If it was a hotel, I’d think you were entitled to an extra tip.”
“I’d be insulted to have you think of such a thing. We look out for each other around here. We’re glad to have you take over the Hallows. It’s very special.”
“Do you have a shop on the circle?”
He nodded. “Shop and workshop. Just across on the other side of the green. The Silver Braid. You can see it from your front window. Drop by any day around two. I usually stop for tea.”
“I certainly will. If I stay.”
He gave me a quizzical look. “If you stay?”
I dodged the question and said, “I wouldn’t think you’d get a lot of customers. Hallow Hill seems kind of out of the way.”
He smiled. “We get just the right number. Not too many. Not too few.”
“Well, who could object to an economy like that?”
He turned to go. “I’ll be off then.”
“Thanks again, um, Brad. This really was very much appreciated.”
I stood in the bedroom trying to figure out where to put things because there were no closets. Eventually I figured out that the wall with a bank of four triple rosewood armoires was there for a reason.
I heard myself say, “Duh,” out loud.
Each of the armoires had space for hanging clothes on either side of a stand of drawers with pretty brass pulls and there was no smell of decay that sometimes accompanied old furniture. Someone had thoughtfully provided a selection of wood and felt-covered hangers.
I was committed to one night. I fished out clothes to wear to dinner, shook them out, and hung them up. Everything in my luggage had that strange travel smell and I wished I could launder it all. It was a nice day. So I decided to take the dress and jacket I was planning to wear to dinner down to the garden and hang them out in tree branches.
The scene of my clothes hanging from the trees brought a smile to my face. It struck me as fanciful and fun and I was sure they were having a better time than they ever had with me. I was thinking that, since the space was walled in, there would never be a breeze, but when I turned to go back inside, I felt a breeze ruffle my hair.
“Huh,” I said out loud. Again, talking to myself as I was trying to imagine how that was possible. Science hadn’t been my favorite subject in school, but I was pretty sure that air didn’t make a habit of moving around in an enclosed space without cause.
CHAPTER TWO Jodhpurs and Jugular John
Keys in hand, I decided to lock up and walk around to the front of the shop as opposed to going through the door that connected the store to the residence. I slipped the keys in my pocket and cinched the scarf tighter around my neck because the air had a little more chill than earlier. When I turned the corner, I couldn’t help but notice a striking bay mare tied to a hitching post by the green. Her coat gleamed like it was someone’s full time job to brush her.
I walked into the store. Maggie was nowhere in sight, but the place wasn’t empty. A man turned when I entered and closed the door. He was bona fide, daytime series, tall, dark, handsome, and wearing a riding costume. His face was a sculptor’s dream and as void of expression as if it had been carved in stone.
“Hello,” I said with a slight nod.
He stared but made no reply.
After an awkward pause, I said, “Are you a customer?”
“No,” he replied.
His eyes were so dark I couldn’t discern where pupil ended and iris began. They were also hypnotic, so much so that I almost missed the fact that I was in the middle of an awkward pause. After a slight internal shake, I said, “Do you need help?”
“No,” he replied, continuing to stare without blinking.
My exasperation was growing in direct proportion to my self-consciousness and the rate at which I was running out of questions. It had been a long time since a handsome gentleman had found me mesmerizing to the point of being speechless. Okay. So that had never happened, but what’s imagination for?