A Time to Forgive

She stifled the argument that sprang to her lips. “Of course.” She could only hope she sounded accommodating. “But I’ll need to have some idea of what you want.”

“Later.” His tone didn’t leave any room for argument. “We’ll talk about it later.”

The customer is always right, she reminded herself. Even when he’s wrong.

“I’ll start the analysis of the existing windows tomorrow then.”

“I can be reached at the boatyard if you need me.” He took a quick step away from the table, and she suspected only his innate courtesy kept him there at all.

“Mr. Caldwell, I…” What could she say? “I’m glad you’ve decided to go ahead with the project.”

“It’s my mother-in-law’s project, not mine.” Again she had the sense of strong emotion, forced down behind his pleasant, polite facade. “We’ll both have to try and make her happy with it.” He held out his hand, and she put hers into it. “Welcome to Caldwell Cove, Ms. Marlowe.”

His firm grasp had as much ability to flutter her pulse now as when she’d been fifteen. Her smile faltered.

Don’t be stupid, she lectured herself. The man means nothing to you. He never did.

Now if she could just convince herself of that, she might get through her second encounter with Adam Caldwell a little better than she had the first.

Chapter Two

At least Adam hadn’t shown up yet with another reason she should leave the island and forget this project, Tory thought as she studied the church’s east window the next morning. She half expected to hear his step behind her, but nothing broke the stillness.

She’d had an early breakfast at the inn, a place that seemed overly full of Caldwell cousins, all curious about her project. Then she’d hurried through the village of Caldwell Cove to the church, eager to begin but half-afraid she’d find another Caldwell waiting for her.

Adam had given in, she reminded herself. He’d agreed to his mother-in-law’s proposal. So why did his attitude still bother her?

His face formed in her mind—easy smile, strong jaw, eyes filled with integrity. He had a face anyone would trust.

But Tory had seen the flash of feeling in his eyes every time the memorial to his late wife was mentioned. She hadn’t identified the emotion yet, but she knew it was somehow out of place.

Lila Caldwell had died four years ago. One would expect to see sorrow on her husband’s face at the mention of her name. The feeling that darkened Adam’s eyes was something much stronger than sadness.

Maybe the pastor and Miranda had it right. Perhaps Adam had loved his beautiful wife so dearly he still couldn’t bear to discuss her. If so, that made her job more difficult.

The next time she saw him, she had to confront the subject. It was all very well to say she could begin with the repair work, but she should be working on the design for the new window. She had to get him to talk to her about it.

She moved up the stepladder to touch the intricate detail of the twined floral border around the window of Jesus and the children. Someone with pride in his craftsmanship and love for his subject had done that, choosing flowers to echo the children’s faces instead of a more traditional symbol. A hundred years from now, she hoped someone might touch a window she’d created and think the same.

I can do this, can’t I? She looked at the pictured face, longing for the love she saw there welling inside her. Please, Lord, let me create something worthy of this place.

If she did… How hard it was not to let self-interest creep in, even when she was planning something to God’s glory. But she knew that success here could establish her business. For the first time since she was fifteen, she wouldn’t have to scrape for every penny. She’d be able to pay her mother’s final expenses and get a suitable stone to mark her grave. And she’d never have to rely on anyone else again.

The wooden outside door creaked. Tory’s grip on the ladder tightened as she listened for Adam’s confident tread. Instead, the patter of running feet broke the stillness. She turned.

The little girl scampering toward her had a tumble of light brown curls and a confident smile. A bright green cast on her wrist peeped out from the sleeve of a sunny yellow dress. She skidded to a stop perilously close to the ladder, and Tory jumped down.

“Hey, take it easy.” She reached a steadying hand toward the child. “You don’t want to add another cast to your collection, do you?”

The child smiled at her. Sunlight through stained glass crossed her face, and Tory saw that the cast matched her eyes. “I fell off the swing and broke my wrist,” she said.

“You jumped off the swing.” Adam’s words quickly drew Tory’s gaze to where he stood in the doorway. With the sun behind him, Tory couldn’t see his expression, but she heard the smile in his voice. “And you’re not going to do that again, are you, Jenny?”

This was his daughter, then, Tory’s employer’s granddaughter. Jenny needs this memorial to her mother. Mrs. Telforth’s words echoed in her mind. She does.

The emphasis had seemed odd at the time. It still did.

Jenny sent her father an impish grin, then turned to Tory. “I got to be off school all morning to get my cast checked. Did you ever break anything?”

Adam reached the child and clasped her shoulders in a mock-ferocious grip. He was dressed a little more formally today than the night before, exchanging his khakis for dark trousers and a cream shirt. “Jenny, sugar, that’s a personal question. You shouldn’t ask Ms. Tory that when you don’t even know her.”

His daughter looked at him, brow wrinkling. “But, Daddy, that’s how I’ll get to know her.”

Tory’s lips twitched, as much at Adam’s expression as the child’s words. “I think she’s got you there.” She bent to hold out her hand to Adam’s little girl. “Hi, I’m Tory. Yes, I broke my leg when I was nine. It wasn’t much fun.”

Jenny shook hands solemnly, her hand very small in Tory’s. “But why not? Didn’t you get a present for being a good girl when they put on the cast, and a chocolate cake for dessert, and an extra story?”

Tory’s mind winced away from the memory of her stepfather berating her all the way to the emergency room for upsetting her mother while she lay in the back seat and bit her lip to keep from crying. “No, I’m afraid not. You’re a lucky girl.”

“She’s a spoiled girl.” But Adam didn’t look as if the prospect bothered him very much. He smiled at his daughter with such love in his face that it hurt Tory’s heart.

“I’m not spoiled, Daddy. Granny says I’m a caution.” She frowned at the word, then looked at Tory. “Do you know what that means?”

“I suspect it means she loves you very much.”

The frown disappeared. “Oh. That’s okay, then.”

“Jenny, love, let me get a word in edgewise, okay?”

Jenny nodded. “Okay, Daddy. I’ll put water in the flowers. Don’t worry, Granny showed me how.” She scurried off.

“Sorry about that.” Adam watched his daughter for a moment, then turned to Tory. “I really didn’t come so Jenny could give you the third degree.”

“She’s delightful. How old is she?”

“Eight going on twenty, I think. I never know what she’s going to come out with next.”

His smile suggested he wanted it that way. Jenny didn’t know how lucky she was. Tory realized she was seeing the Adam Miranda had described—the man everyone liked and relied on.

“That must keep life interesting.” She wanted to prolong the moment. At least when they talked about his daughter they weren’t at odds. They almost felt like friends.

“It does that.” He glanced at the window. “Are you finding much damage?”

They were back to business, obviously. “Some of the windows are worse than others.” She traced a crack in the molding around the image of Jesus and the children. “Settling has done this, but I can fix it.”

Adam reached out to touch the crack. His hand brushed hers, sending a jolt of awareness through her. He was so close, the sanctuary so quiet, that she could hear his breath. He went still for an instant, so briefly she might have imagined it.

“Let me know if you need any equipment. We might have it at the boatyard.”

She nodded. She had to stop letting the man affect her.

“Look, Daddy. I brought the water.” Jenny put a plastic pitcher carefully on the floor, spilling only a few drops, then skipped over to them. “You know what? I know what you’re doing, Ms. Tory.”

“Ms. Tory’s fixing the windows for us, sugar.”

She shook her head, curls bouncing. “Not just that. Everybody knows that. But I know she’s gonna make a window for Mommy.”

Tory happened to be watching his hand. It clenched so tightly his knuckles went white.

“Who told you that?”

“I did.”

Tory blinked. She hadn’t heard the church door open again, maybe because she’d been concentrating too much on Adam. A small, white-haired woman marched erectly toward them, a basket filled with bronze and yellow mums on her arm. The striped dress and straw hat she wore might have been equally at home in the 1940s.

“I told Jenny about the memorial window, Adam.” She peered at him through gold-rimmed glasses. “Do you have a problem with that?”

“Of course not, Gran.” Tory thought the smile he gave his grandmother was a little forced, but he bent to kiss her cheek. “I was just surprised news traveled that fast.”

“You ought to know how the island busybodies work by now.” She turned to Tory, holding out her hand. “I’m Naomi Caldwell. You’d be the lady who’s come to do the stained glass. Ms. Marlowe, is it?”

“Tory Marlowe. I’m pleased to meet you, Mrs. Caldwell.”

The elderly woman must be in her seventies at least, if she was Adam’s grandmother, but she had a firm grip and a bright, inquisitive gaze.

“I hear tell you’re going to replace the Moses window.”

“Does that bother you, Gran?” Adam sounded as if he hoped so.

His grandmother shook her head decidedly. “Never was up to the rest of the windows. If something’s good, it’ll improve with age.”

Adam’s expression softened. “Like you, for instance.”

She swatted at him. “Don’t you try to butter me up, young man.”

She turned away, but Tory saw the glow of pleasure in her cheeks. For an instant she felt a wave of envy. If she’d had a grandmother like that, how different might her life have been?

“Jenny, child. Come help me with these flowers.” Naomi Caldwell ushered Adam’s daughter toward the pulpit, handing her the basket. “We’ll put them on the dolphin shelf.”

Tory tensed at the words. “The dolphin shelf?” She glanced at Adam, making it a question.

“That bracket behind the pulpit. A wooden carving of a dolphin once stood there. Gran likes to keep flowers in its place.” Adam nodded toward the shelf where his grandmother was placing a vase.

I never meant for the dolphin to disappear. I didn’t. Her mother’s voice, broken with sobs, sounded in Tory’s mind.

If she asked Adam about the dolphin, what would he say? Tory’s mind worked busily. She had to find out more about the dolphin’s disappearance if she were to fulfill her promise to her mother, but the last thing she needed was to stir up any additional conflict with Adam.

“What’s this new window going to look like?” Mrs. Caldwell’s question interrupted her thoughts before she could come up with an answer.

“That’s really up to the family.” Maybe she’d better stay focused on the window for the moment. “Usually I try to come up with some designs that reflect the person being honored, then let the family decide.”

“How do you do that?” The woman paused, head tilted, her hands full of bronze mums. “Reflect somebody in a design, I mean.” She seemed genuinely interested in the design, unlike everyone else Tory had met since she’d come to the island.

“Well, first I try to find out as much as I can about the person—her likes and dislikes, her personality, her background. Then—”

Carried away by the subject, she glanced at Adam. His expression dried the words on her tongue. He stared at her, his eyes like pieces of jagged green glass.

“No.” He ground out the word.

“What?” She blinked, not sure what he meant.

“I said no. You’ll have to find another way of working this time.”

Before she could respond he was calling the child, saying goodbye to his grandmother and walking out of the sanctuary.

The heavy door swung shut behind him, canceling the shaft of sunlight it had let in.

“I’m sorry about that.” Adam’s grandmother shook her head. “Reckon Adam’s a bit sensitive about Lila.”

“I see.”

She’d made another misstep. She should have been more careful. But how on earth could she possibly find any common ground with Adam if he wouldn’t even talk to her?

“I can’t do this.” Adam had arrived at his office at Caldwell Boatyard after dropping Jenny at school, his stomach still roiling. He’d found his brother, Matthew, waiting for him.

“Can’t do what?” Matt perched on the edge of Adam’s cluttered desk, toying with the bronze dolphin paperweight Lila had given Adam in happier times. Matt looked as if he had all the time in the world.

“Help that woman design a memorial window for Lila, of all things.” Adam slumped into the leather chair behind the desk. Matt was the only person in the world he’d speak to so freely, because Matt was the only one he’d told the whole story to. A good thing he had his brother, or he might resort to punching the paneling. “If my mother-in-law wanted a window, why didn’t she put it in her own church instead of saddling me with it?”

“Maybe because St. Andrews was Lila’s church,” Matt offered helpfully.

Adam glared at him. “Don’t you have work to do? Or doesn’t running a weekly paper and being husband and stepfather for two whole months keep you busy enough?”

“Actually, I am working.” Matt smiled, his face more relaxed than Adam had seen it in years. Marriage seemed to agree with him. “Sarah and I want to do a story for the Gazette about the church windows.”

“Great. That’s just what I need.” Adam rotated his chair so he could stare at the sloop he was refitting for an off-island summer sailor. “Maybe you can satisfy Tory Marlowe’s curiosity.”

He glanced at his brother, wondering how much he wanted to say about Tory. Everything, probably.

Matt lifted an eyebrow. “Curiosity?”

“She wants to talk about Lila.” His throat tightened. “She wants to get to know her so she can create a fitting memorial.”

Matt whistled softly, obviously understanding all the things Adam didn’t say out loud. “What are you doing about it?”

“Not telling her the truth, that’s for sure.” He rubbed his forehead as if he could rub the memories away. He and Lila had married too quickly, too young, and he faulted himself for that as much as Lila. He hadn’t realized until later, carried away as he was, that Lila had had totally skewed ideas of what their married life would be like. She’d hated the island, and everything he’d done to try and make things better only seemed to backfire. Even their beautiful baby hadn’t made Lila want a real family.

She’d craved excitement, and eventually she’d found that with a man she’d met on one of her frequent trips to visit friends who, she claimed, were living the life she should have had.

He frowned at Matt. “I certainly can’t tell her the truth. I’m not telling her anything, if I can help it.”

“Sounds like a mistake to me.”

“Why?” He shot the word at his brother like a dare, but Matt looked unaffected.

“You’ll just encourage her to go to other people for what she needs.”

“No one knows the truth.”

Matt shrugged. “You’re probably right. But what if you’re not? Better answer her questions yourself than have her asking around town.”

Unfortunately, that sounded like good advice. He lifted an eyebrow at Matt.

“How did you get to know so much about women, little brother?”

Matt grinned. “My wife’s training me.” He sobered. “Seriously, Adam. Just get through it the best you can. Give the woman a few noncommittal details and say you trust her artistic sense to come up with the design. She’ll get busy with the design and stop bothering you.”

“I hope so.” But somehow he didn’t think Tory was the kind of person to do anything without doing it to perfection.

He got up slowly, letting the chair roll against shelves crammed with shipbuilding lore. “Guess I’d better go back to the church and make peace with her, if I can.”

Adam slipped in the side door to the sanctuary and stopped in the shadows. Tory, on the ladder, didn’t seem to hear him. He could take a minute to think what he’d say to her.

Unfortunately he wasn’t thinking about that. Instead he was watching her, trying to figure out what it was about the woman that made it so hard to pull his gaze away.

She wasn’t beautiful. That was his first impression. At least, she wasn’t beautiful like Lila had been, all sleek perfection. But Tory had something, some quality that made a man look, then look again.

Those must be her working clothes—well-worn jeans, sneakers, a T-shirt topped by an oversize man’s white shirt that served to emphasize her slender figure. She looked like what she was, he supposed. An artisan, a woman who worked with her hands and didn’t have time or inclination for the expensive frills that had been so important to Lila.

Tory’s hair, rich as dark chocolate, had been pulled back and tied at the nape of her neck with a red scarf. The hair seemed to have a mind of its own, as tendrils escaped to curl against her neck and around the pale oval of her face.

Oh, no. He’d been that route before, hadn’t he? Intrigued by a woman, mistaking a lovely face for a lovely soul, thinking her promises meant loyalty that would last a lifetime. With Lila, that lifetime had only lasted five years before she’d lost interest in keeping her vows.

His hands clenched. He wouldn’t do that again. He had his daughter, his family, his business to take care of. That was enough for any sensible man.

The smartest thing would be to avoid Ms. Tory Marlowe entirely, but he couldn’t do that. Thanks to Mona’s bright idea, he and Tory were tied inextricably together until this project was finished.

Something winced inside him. He had to talk to her, and it might as well be now.

He took a step forward, frowning. Tory had leaned over perilously far, long fingers outstretched to touch some flaw she must see in the window.

“Hold it.”

She jerked around at the sound of his voice, the ladder wobbling. His breath caught as she put a steadying hand on the wall. He hurried to brace the ladder for her, annoyed with himself for startling her.

She frowned at him. “Are you trying to make me fall?”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m trying to keep you from falling.” He gave the elderly wooden ladder a shake. “This thing isn’t safe.”

She jumped down, landing close enough for him to smell the fresh scent that clung to her. “I do this all the time, you know. Scrambling around on rickety ladders comes with the territory.”

“You might do that elsewhere, sugar, but not in my church.”

Her dark eyes met his, startled and a little wary. The red T-shirt she wore under the white shirt seemed to make them even darker. “What did you call me?”

“Sorry.” But somehow he wasn’t. “Afraid that slipped out. It’s usually Jenny I’m lecturing about dangerous pastimes.”

Her already firm jaw tightened. “I’m not eight, and I’m doing my job.”

She reminded him of Gran, intent on doing what she wanted to no matter how well-intentioned her family’s interference was. The comparison made him smile.

“Are you always this stubborn?”

“Always.” Something that might have been amusement touched her face. “I’m not your responsibility.”

“Well, you know, there’s where you’re wrong. In a way, you are my responsibility.”

She lifted level brows. “How do you figure that?”

He patted the ladder, and it shook. “Everything about the building and grounds of St. Andrews is my responsibility. Including rickety ladders.”

She grimaced. “I’ve been on worse than this one, believe me.”

“You shouldn’t be up on a ladder at all.” An idea sprang into his mind, and it was such a perfect solution he didn’t know why it hadn’t occurred to him sooner.

Steel glinted in Tory’s eyes. “If you think I’ll give up the project because I have to climb a ladder, you have the wrong impression of me, Mr. Caldwell.”

“Adam,” he corrected. “I think my impression of you is fairly accurate, as a matter of fact. But I was referring to the ladder, not your personality, Ms. Marlowe.”

A faint flush stained her cheeks, and she fingered the fine silver chain that circled her neck. “Maybe you’d better make that Tory. What about the ladder?”

“It’s not safe. I’ll have a crew come over from the boatyard to put up scaffolding so you can inspect the windows safely. That’s what we should have done to begin with.”

He was taking charge of the situation. That, too, was what he should have done from the word go, instead of letting himself get defensive.

“You don’t need to—”

“As far as working on them is concerned—” he swept on “—we’ll take the panels out completely. That way we won’t have to worry about St. Andrews getting slapped with a lawsuit.”

He thought her lips twitched. “Is that what you’re worried about?”

“Definitely.”

She nodded. “Well, in that case, since you’re being so cooperative, I will need a workroom, preferably with good light, where things won’t be disturbed.” She glanced around. “Is there a space in the church that would do?”

“Nothing,” he replied promptly. Ms. Tory didn’t know it, but she was walking right into his plans. “We have just what you need at the house, though. It’s a big room with plenty of light and a door you can lock. We’ll move in tables or benches, whatever you need.”

He could see the wariness in her face at the idea. “I don’t think I should be imposing on you.”

“It’s not an imposition. It’s my responsibility, remember?”

“Having me work at your home sounds well beyond the call of duty. I’ll be in your way.”

“You haven’t seen our house if you think that. It’s a great rambling barn.”

“Even so…” She still looked reluctant.

“You don’t want me to bring up the big guns, do you?”

“Big guns?”

“Pastor Wells and my grandmother. They’ll agree this is the best solution. You’d find them a formidable pair in an argument.”

The smile he hadn’t seen before lit her face like sunlight sparkling on the sound. “Thanks, but I think you’re formidable enough. All right. We’ll try it your way.”

“Good.” He was irrationally pleased that she’d given in without more of a fight. “I’ll have a crew over here later this afternoon to set up scaffolding, so you can inspect the rest of the windows tomorrow. Don’t climb any ladders in the meantime.”

She lifted her brows at what undoubtedly sounded like an order. “Are you always this determined to look after people?”

“Always.”

She turned to grasp the ladder. He helped her lower it to the floor. Her hair brushed his cheek lightly as they moved together, and he had to dismiss the idea of prolonging the moment.

Just get through it, Matt had said. Okay, that’s what he’d do. He’d take control of this project instead of reacting to it. And the first step in that direction was to have Tory’s workroom right under his eyes. Of course that meant that Tory herself would be, as well.

He could manage this. All right, he found her attractive. That didn’t mean he’d act on that attraction, not even in his imagination.

Chapter Three

“Well, what do you think? Will this be a comfortable place to work?”

Adam looked at her for approval. Light poured into the large room he called the studio from its banks of windows. On one side Tory could see the salt marsh, beyond it the sparkle of open water. At the back, the windows overlooked a stretch of lawn, then garden and stables. Pale wooden molding surrounded the windows, and low shelves reached from the sills to the wide-planked floor. Anyone would say it was an ideal place to work.