Chapter 3

Angela McGraw was a few years older than me, but not by much.  We looked to be about the same size too, but that’s where the similarities ended. Where my hair was sleek and dark, and my skin fair and unblemished, she sported a coppery head of wiry curls and flesh so peppered with freckles that it was impossible to count them.  As my eyes traced them to the collar of her pale blue cotton blouse, I had to fight the urge to ask if they continued onto her back and chest.  I guessed they did, but that was just a guess.  I envied her those striking green eyes.  Mine were such a common brown.  I noticed that they resembled rich emerald when she spoke passionately on a subject; which was often.

She’d been working as the county’s traveling social worker for five years.  It was easy to tell that she loved her job by the way she lost herself into conversing about it whenever the opportunity arose.

She was less outgoing and generous with words and information when it came to discussing herself and her family.  The background checks I’d done showed me that she’d lost her parents when she was in her early teens and was taken in by her aunt and uncle on her mother’s side.  Although she didn’t say, I got the impression that she wasn’t very fond of them and was eager to leave the nest as soon as she came of age.  Her brother, Michael, was two years older than her.  He died while fighting in Iraq. Her pain over losing him echoed in her words as she told the tale. 

She was a vegetarian and an animal activist with a special affinity for cats.  She didn’t own a pet for the simple reason that she was traveling too much and couldn’t take it with her, but it was something she longed to have.  Because it’s my philosophy that people should think before they speak, I didn’t offer to let her have a cat.  I needed to see how well she worked out as a boarder first. I also wanted to see how much she’d be home to take care of it.

Evan Ottenburg was the writer. Information on him was a bit harder to acquire, but I managed to get enough to feel comfortable about renting to him.  He was a clean cut, nice looking guy who was in his mid-thirties.  Unlike Angela, his features didn’t make him stand out as soon as he entered a room.  He blended with the crowd in a way that allowed him the anonymity I assumed he sought when people watching and coming up with ideas for his stories.

It didn’t hurt that he’d already met Angela in passing while visiting Megan’s shop and they spoke of each other in a way that made me believe them to be compatible. Just to make sure, I held a small dinner party and invited them, along with Megan, the sheriff, Max Orwell, and the owner of the town’s weekly paper, Joslin Camp. 

As I’d expected, Evan and Joslin took an instant liking to each other.  It was by listening to their conversation that I learned that Evan started his writing career as a journalist for the New York Post.  He eventually grew tired of the rat race and tried his hand at writing fiction.  His talent as a word sleuth, combined with his connections in the media world, gave him the foundation to help get the publicity he needed for his first novel to become a best seller.  He wrote under a pseudo-name, but I learned that was quite common.  A lot of writers did this for a variety of reasons; mainly the anonymity factor.

I chuckled when I saw Angela’s reaction to Max when he stepped onto my front porch and offered me a bottle of wine as his contribution to the evening.  I’d had the same reaction when I first met him.  Who wouldn’t?  He stood an easy inch or two over six feet tall with shoulders that resembled those of a football player.  His broad chest tapered down to narrow hips and a tight butt.  His pants didn’t hug his thighs, but I could tell that they were well-formed and muscular. I expected him to tell me that he was a body builder, but it was far from the truth.  He got his powerful physique from the hard labor that was required of successful farmers and he kept it by keeping busy in the out of doors doing things like hunting, camping and hiking.  He was also known to pitch in during haying season should a farmer find himself shorthanded; which was often.  His thick, sandy blonde hair was just long enough to cover the top of his ears.  It fell across his forehead in a way that drew attention to his sky-blue eyes.

Had I been looking for a boyfriend, I would have definitely set my sights on Max. As it was, I was far too focused on getting my career off the ground to want to spare the time I felt would be necessary to maintain a relationship with a man that was anything more than casual friendship.

This had been my thought process since I’d graduated high school.  Believe it or not, I went on exactly two dates while in college; both of which turned out disastrous.  I was of the frame of mind that dinner and a movie warranted a thank you and a nice evening kiss while my dates felt it deserved a wild bout in bed.  Since I was still a virgin and found neither of them hot enough to tempt me to change that status at the time, I sent them packing.  They didn’t call for a second date and I was just as happy.  I knew that when the time was right, I’d settle down with a man.  Now just wasn’t the time.  Since I’d always been fine with my own company, I wasn’t worried.

Dinner proved not only entertaining, but it seeded the beginning of several friendships. Once again, I praised Megan for her genius.  I couldn’t imagine how different my life would have been had I never walked into her antique shop.