Tempest in Eden

She'd worked in his shop for three years, but knew little about him except that he lived alone with four cats, whom he talked about as other people did their children. If he'd ever had a meaningful attachment in his life, male or female, he'd never mentioned it. Shay thought it safer not to inquire and was glad she didn't know. He was pleasant enough to work for as long as she could overlook his fanaticism about keeping his shop and storeroom neat.

His demand for cleanliness was the reason why Shay was perched atop a ladder, dusting a shelf that displayed inexpensive reproductions of Stuben and Lalique glass sculptures. It was mid-August, six weeks since the brief time she'd spent in the country. Shop windows displayed back-to-school clothes and supplies. Though the weather was still mild, several recent chilly mornings had warned of the approaching fall.

Shay had talked to her mother at least once a week since that weekend in late June. Celia had telephoned that following week to report that she and John were back in Trenton.

"We spent a few extra days at the cabin."

"I don't blame you. It was lovely."

"We heard from Ian. He made it in time for church, but the compressor on the church air conditioner had gone out. He said it was too bad he hadn't prepared a sermon on hell for that morning."

Shay had laughed as she knew she was expected to, though she'd wondered why the mere mention of his name could set off such conflicting emotions in her as resentment and joy.

Now she gave the glass elephant one last swirl of the feather duster. She was lowering her foot to the next rung of the ladder when she heard the tinkling sound of the bell, which signaled that a customer was entering the shop. Over her shoulder she called out, "I'll be right with you."

"No rush."

At the sound of his voice her heart pounded and her hands gripped the sides of the ladder. Her careful footsteps down the rungs faltered. She took a deep breath and looked toward the door.

He was standing a few steps inside, dressed in a pair of gray slacks and black loafers. The collar of his cream-colored sport shirt was open beneath a navy blazer. His hair was boyishly windblown. Inexplicably she felt like crying.

His eyes caught hers in an inescapable, invisible net and held them as she remained perched motionless on the ladder. "Hello, Shay," he said at last.

"What are you doing here?" Wasn't that what he'd asked her when he'd leapt out of bed that morning?

He shrugged, and one corner of his mouth lifted into a smile of chagrin. "I thought I'd offer to buy you a cup of coffee."

Chapter Five

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A traitorous jubilation filled her heart and set it to dancing. She had every reason in the world to dislike him for all the fun he'd poked at her. He was a self-righteous, judgmental prude. For the life of her, she couldn't understand why her mouth had gone dry, why her hands and knees were suddenly shaking, why she found it impossible to take her eyes off him, and why, rather than casting off the happiness that bubbled inside her, she relished it.

Don't be a fool again, Shay, she cautioned herself, lassoing her soaring heart. Flashing him a stepsisterly smile, she took the last steps down the ladder and set her featherduster aside. "You came all the way from…"

"Brookside."

"Yes, Brookside.To buy me a cup of coffee?"

He smiled again, wider this time, more disarmingly. "I was thirsty. What time do you get off?"

"Vandiveer left early today. I'm closing the shop." She consulted a brass clock on the wall. "In about a half-hour."

"Do you mind if I wait?"

Still dazed by his unexpected appearance, she shook her head. She couldn't believe he'd really driven all that way for a coffeebreak, just to see her. Maybe… Oh, no. "Ian, there's nothing wrong, is there? My mother? John?" She had taken several anxious steps forward to clutch at his coat sleeve, convinced that he'd come to bring her news of disaster and was trying to ease into it, to cushion the blow.

His large hand covered hers where it lay on his forearm. "No! I promise. They were fine the last time I spoke with them a few days ago. I meant it when I said I came to see you."

"Oh … good," she said automatically. Her mind wasn't on what she was saying. She was thinking how wonderful it was to look at his face. His eyes were exceptional. She'd never seen eyes that were such a startling blue. Raven black and unruly, his hair curled crisply about his head. When silver began to show up in it, he'd be even more handsome. His mouth was masculine but had a sensitivity that was rare in so virile a face. She knew his mouth was capable of tenderness. When he'd kissed her…

Don't think about it, don't think about it.

They'd been staring at each other for a long while, and her hand was still trapped beneath his. Taking a step backward, she lowered her eyes nervously and pulled her hand away. Any resultant awkwardness was spared them when a customer entered the shop.

As Shay helped the woman with her selection of a porcelain ashtray, Ian amused himself by gazing at the artwork on the wall. Out of the corner of her eye, while pretending to be interested in the woman's chatter about the color scheme in her living room, Shay watched him.

His posture was proud and straight. He commanded respect by virtue of his evident physical strength. Weren't ministers supposed to engender spirituality rather than carnality? Ashamed as she was to admit it, every time she looked at him, her thoughts ran closer to the latter.