your hands was hard to describe but very real. She might not personally understand the drive to make, for instance, the ruffled toilet paper covers that the stand across the walkway offered, but she did know the pleasure of creation.
She began laying out an assortment of turquoise and silver bracelets and necklaces, loving the way they glowed against the black velvet.
“Those are gorgeous.” The basket weaver in the next booth leaned over to have a closer look. “I just might end up spending more than I make today. Where did you learn to work with turquoise? Not around here.”
Caro shook her head. “Out West. Santa Fe, mostly. The Zunis do some amazing work with silver and turquoise.”
“Gorgeous,” the woman said again, then grinned and held out her hand. “Karen Burkhalter. Welcome. This is your first time here, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” She returned a firm grip. Blond hair, hazel eyes, an open, friendly face with a turned-up nose—the woman was probably about her age, she’d guess, with the engaging air of someone who’d never met anyone she didn’t turn into a friend.
Burkhalter was a common enough name in Pennsylvania Dutch country. Chances were she didn’t even know Zach.
“I’m Caroline Hampton.”
“Oh, sure. Your grandmother is Katherine Unger. Everyone knows her youngest granddaughter came home.”
“I’m not sure I care for that much celebrity.”
Karen grinned. “It’s a small township, and most of us have known each other since birth. You’ll get used to how nosy we all are about each other’s lives.”
That was an uncomfortable thought. “You have a great assortment of baskets.” She picked one up, admiring the stripes worked into the weaving with different colored reeds. “Is this an egg basket?”
Karen nodded. “They’re popular with the tourists, not that any of them are likely to be gathering eggs.”
“As long as they buy.” That, after all, was the whole point. If she could make a decent amount on the show, she wouldn’t feel as if she dangled on a financial precipice.
“The crafters’ slogan,” Karen agreed. “It’s hard to tell whether people will be in a buying mood or not. Usually around here the shows start pretty small, but as we move on into spring, sales pick up.”
“If there’s a good turn-out—” She stopped, because a familiar figure was headed toward Karen’s booth.
Zach Burkhalter. It wasn’t a coincidence, then, about the name.
Karen leaned across the table to hug him. “Hey, it’s about time you’re showing up. I want my coffee.”
In jeans and a flannel shirt instead of a uniform, Zach should have looked less intimidating. He didn’t.
His gaze shifted from Karen to her, his hand still resting on the other woman’s shoulder. His wife? There was absolutely no reason for that possibility to set up such a negative reaction in her.
“Caroline. I didn’t realize you were jumping into the craft-show circuit.”
“You two know each other, then,” Karen said. “I should have known. Being the police chief gives my brother an unfair advantage in meeting newcomers.”
“You’re Zach’s sister.” And that shouldn’t give her spirits a lift, either. The marital status of Zach Burkhalter was nothing to her.
“The woods are full of Burkhalters around here,” Zach said easily. “Mom and Dad each had five siblings, and then they had another five kids to add to the mix.”
“You’re lucky you just have sisters,” Karen said. “Brothers can be such a pain.” She threw a light punch toward Zach’s shoulder.
“Well, I’d better finish setting up.” Standing there looking at Zach was not conducive to her peace of mind. It just made her remember those moments when she’d told him far too much. And had had the sense that he understood even more than she’d told.
Things had been quiet since then. With a little luck, they’d stay that way, and she could stop wondering what had become of that sketch Zach had faxed to
She began laying out an assortment of turquoise and silver bracelets and necklaces, loving the way they glowed against the black velvet.
“Those are gorgeous.” The basket weaver in the next booth leaned over to have a closer look. “I just might end up spending more than I make today. Where did you learn to work with turquoise? Not around here.”
Caro shook her head. “Out West. Santa Fe, mostly. The Zunis do some amazing work with silver and turquoise.”
“Gorgeous,” the woman said again, then grinned and held out her hand. “Karen Burkhalter. Welcome. This is your first time here, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” She returned a firm grip. Blond hair, hazel eyes, an open, friendly face with a turned-up nose—the woman was probably about her age, she’d guess, with the engaging air of someone who’d never met anyone she didn’t turn into a friend.
Burkhalter was a common enough name in Pennsylvania Dutch country. Chances were she didn’t even know Zach.
“I’m Caroline Hampton.”
“Oh, sure. Your grandmother is Katherine Unger. Everyone knows her youngest granddaughter came home.”
“I’m not sure I care for that much celebrity.”
Karen grinned. “It’s a small township, and most of us have known each other since birth. You’ll get used to how nosy we all are about each other’s lives.”
That was an uncomfortable thought. “You have a great assortment of baskets.” She picked one up, admiring the stripes worked into the weaving with different colored reeds. “Is this an egg basket?”
Karen nodded. “They’re popular with the tourists, not that any of them are likely to be gathering eggs.”
“As long as they buy.” That, after all, was the whole point. If she could make a decent amount on the show, she wouldn’t feel as if she dangled on a financial precipice.
“The crafters’ slogan,” Karen agreed. “It’s hard to tell whether people will be in a buying mood or not. Usually around here the shows start pretty small, but as we move on into spring, sales pick up.”
“If there’s a good turn-out—” She stopped, because a familiar figure was headed toward Karen’s booth.
Zach Burkhalter. It wasn’t a coincidence, then, about the name.
Karen leaned across the table to hug him. “Hey, it’s about time you’re showing up. I want my coffee.”
In jeans and a flannel shirt instead of a uniform, Zach should have looked less intimidating. He didn’t.
His gaze shifted from Karen to her, his hand still resting on the other woman’s shoulder. His wife? There was absolutely no reason for that possibility to set up such a negative reaction in her.
“Caroline. I didn’t realize you were jumping into the craft-show circuit.”
“You two know each other, then,” Karen said. “I should have known. Being the police chief gives my brother an unfair advantage in meeting newcomers.”
“You’re Zach’s sister.” And that shouldn’t give her spirits a lift, either. The marital status of Zach Burkhalter was nothing to her.
“The woods are full of Burkhalters around here,” Zach said easily. “Mom and Dad each had five siblings, and then they had another five kids to add to the mix.”
“You’re lucky you just have sisters,” Karen said. “Brothers can be such a pain.” She threw a light punch toward Zach’s shoulder.
“Well, I’d better finish setting up.” Standing there looking at Zach was not conducive to her peace of mind. It just made her remember those moments when she’d told him far too much. And had had the sense that he understood even more than she’d told.
Things had been quiet since then. With a little luck, they’d stay that way, and she could stop wondering what had become of that sketch Zach had faxed to
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