Read Online Small-Town Hearts by Ruth Logan Herne - Free Book Online Page B

he read the pleasant dismissal for the self-defense mechanism it was. He didn’t choose to challenge it, though.
    He moved down the two steps and she breathed easier. The trouble was, she liked the way she felt when he came around. When he smiled. Talked. Laughed.
    He doffed a pretend cap.
    She curtsied. The old-fashioned act softened his gaze, her hint of whimsy pleasing him.
    â€œSee you later.” His look said he’d like to linger, but he had responsibilities. So did she. As she stepped back into the kitchen, she couldn’t help scanning the wall clock, wondering what time he’d get home when he hadn’t even left the driveway yet.
    Do not look at that clock. Do not estimate the hours until you see him again. Put him out of your mind forthwith. Please.
    She couldn’t, which meant one thing.
    Megan Russo was in big trouble, trouble she couldn’t handle right now or maybe ever. From now on it would be no listening, no looking, shoulders back, chin up, her business-minded mentality fully engaged. Now, if only she could keep it that way when he was around.
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    Meg fit here, Danny decided, as he wandered the small streets of Jamison’s business district late that afternoon. The stone-paved roads, flanked by historic architecture, offered a mix of old and new products in their old-world setting.
    He’d spent the day culling possible sites for the tribute store, examining traffic patterns and town records. Wellsville was clearly the go-to place, and from a business perspective he loved the small-town feel of Main Street balanced by adequate parking and a welcoming ambiance. There were no available east-facing storefronts at the moment, so he’d need to examine things further, see if anyone needed or wantedto sell, but he felt good about the location, and in any good business plan, location was key.
    Right now he wanted to acclimate himself with Jamison, admiring the mission of the town to attract tourists with old-world charm.
    The Quiltin’ Bee drew his attention. Grandma loved to quilt, and the shaded sidewalk racks of bright cottons called to him, the parade of colors inviting him to shop. Grandma had been pestering him to pick out materials for a quilt, something he chose himself, and with this fabric store in front of him, he might not be able to put her off any longer. Making a mental promise to buy the material when he had more time, he headed into Dennehy’s general store for a few essentials.
    â€œDaniel, wasn’t it? Daniel Graham?” Mr. Dennehy stepped forward, his hand extended. “I was hoping you’d stop by. I wanted to thank you again for taking that fruit off my hands last week.”
    Danny fought down a moment’s indecision about shaking the man’s hand, his harsh treatment of Ben and Megan reason enough to maintain a distance, but he tried to balance instinct with lack of information. He may have walked in on the final act of a three-act play, and Mr. Dennehy might have good reason for overreacting.
    â€œThe Salvation Army food pantry in Wellsville put the fruit to good use.” Danny shook the other man’s hand and met his gaze squarely. “My grandmother is a firm believer in the ‘do unto others’ mind-set, and she’s one smart cookie. We Grahams have learned not to cross her.”
    â€œWisdom and age sometimes go hand in hand.” Mr. Dennehy adopted an expression of concern that could have used more practice. A possible reason for that spoke up from behind the back counter.
    â€œGod helps those that help themselves!”
    â€œNow, Mother…”
    â€œIdle hands are the devil’s workshop.” The aged woman’svoice harped on, her look tart and tight. “No one should go hungry in a land of opportunity like this one! Just plain lazy, if you ask me, that’s what it is! Food shelf. Soup kitchens. Bah!”
    â€œMother, really…”
    A woman breezed into the store,