Sealed With A Kiss. Mae Nunn

can take a hint.” His hand on the knob, he turned away.

      “No, wait. I wasn’t trying to run you off.” She groaned inwardly at the poor choice of words.

      Sam chuckled without humor and shook his head at the irony. “We both know you don’t have to try at all when that’s what you have in mind.”

      The past hung between them, as obvious as the dust motes that floated through the shaft of light from the dirty windows. The need to tell Sam what had happened all those years ago pounded like a migraine in Tara’s head. They’d never make peace until it was done and he understood this bizarre arrangement was Miriam’s way of putting things right.

      She crossed the empty space separating them.

      “Listen, Sam, we need to talk—”

      He stopped her by holding up both hands, palms outward, his face unreadable.

      “I don’t want to hear it. It’s been too many years and there’s nothing you can say now that will make a difference in my life. So don’t try to soothe your guilty conscience at my expense.” Sam pushed his way through the metal door and let it fall shut behind him with a loud clang.

      She stared at the cold metal surface, suddenly understanding. He blames me. He thinks being forced out of Beardsly was all my doing.

      With nine years of bitterness built up, she’d never convince him otherwise.

      Tara leaned against the oak griffin dining-room table, her notes and figures spread across the polished surface. Her one faithful friend, Lacey, sat with a leg folded beneath her, raising her short torso enough to reach the bag of chips in the middle of the table.

      “Sam thinks what happened was entirely my fault,” Tara blurted out.

      Lacey’s curls tossed as her head popped up. “And you didn’t tell him the truth?”

      Tara shook her head hard enough to rattle her senses.

      “Listen,” Lacey placed her hand over Tara’s, “you owe Sam the truth, and then you two can begin to put all the hard feelings behind you. Maybe even start over. Together.” Her smile was full of hope.

      “Even if he did believe it, he’d only transfer his anger from me to Grandmother. I won’t give him the ammunition to do or say anything to soil her reputation.”

      “After the second chance she’s given him, he’ll forgive her anything, don’t you think?” Lacey insisted.

      Forgive anything? Tara hadn’t mastered that herself.

      No matter how distant, she would never forget the angry words that still resonated in her grandmother’s elegant dining room.

      “How could you hurt him that way? How could you do this to me, Grandmother?”

      “Listen to reason, child. You have your whole life ahead of you and I won’t have you waste it on the son of my housekeeper.”

      “That’s so unfair! He’s respected in his position at the college. The kids love him and I love him, too. But you’ve ruined everything.”

      “That’s where you’re wrong. I’ve simply steered you both in different directions. If, as you insist, it’s God’s will for you to be with Sam, you’ll find one another again one day. But you’ll both spend time growing up first.”

      “I’ll never forgive you for this!” Tara had swept her arm across the oak sideboard, sending silver and porcelain crashing to the hardwood below. She’d stared through hot tears at the shattered treasure, turned and run up the stairway.

      Now Tara’s gaze sought the gouged floor where the hand-sculpted Asian vase had met its demise. “How can I expect Sam to forgive her when I spent the last nine years punishing her myself?”

      “You have to find it in your heart, Tara. I watched Miss Miriam volunteering so much of her time, giving away so much to charity, trying to atone. And I was the one person in town who understood why she did it. Don’t let regrets steal your joy, too. Promise me you’ll pray about it, okay?” Lacey asked.

      “I’ll put that on my prayer list along with the funds for the books I have to order.” Tara changed the subject.

      “Is that what you decided to add to the antiques? Books?” She narrowed her eyes as she thought it over. “I like it.” Her head bobbed agreeably.

      “Thanks.” Tara smiled, grateful for some encouragement. “I stopped at Shoppers’ Mart to get some magazines this afternoon. Standing in that dark little aisle it suddenly occurred to me it was the only place in town to buy something to read.”

      “There’s the campus bookstore,” Lacey reminded.

      “And as long as I want a textbook or a paperback those two places are fine. But to thumb through a special-event cookbook or a gardening guide or a biography of a musician I’d have to drive to Dallas,” Tara pointed out.

      “What do you think Frieda Walker will have to say about you taking business from the college?”

      “Oh, I wouldn’t dare compete with the textbooks and classics she sells on campus. I’ll carry contemporary genres, popular magazines and international newspapers. Maybe even a computer or two for research and online chatting.

      “And here’s something else I’m considering.” She clasped her palms together beneath her chin in nervous anticipation of her only friend’s reaction. “What if I set up a coffeehouse in one corner of the store to give the students someplace new and trendy to hang out?”

      “That’s perfect! They’ll love it.”

      Tara’s heart lifted at the thought of something that would bring the younger crowd into her business. “We’ll serve all those great flavored coffees and they can visit with their friends like the kids do in the big chain stores. I’ll use the antiques as display background for the books and collectibles and everything will be for sale.”

      “I’ve got to hand it to you, girl, you’ve thought of something for everybody,” Lacey enthused.

      “Now I’ve just got to think of a way to make up the difference between my savings account and the cost of inventory.”

      “You ought to consider selling some of the antiques Miss Miriam left you.” Lacey surveyed the room. “Your own auction house could find you a buyer, Rusty.”

      “First, promise you won’t call me that anymore?” Tara pleaded. “That name belongs to another lifetime, agreed?”

      Lacey nodded.

      “And second,” Tara continued, “I’m not interested in selling anything in this house.”

      “This stuff is the only solid collateral you have.”

      Tara leaned elbows on the table and rested her face in her hands. “I don’t know what to do, Lacey,” she mumbled through her fingers. “If my grandmother thought for a minute I’d sell her things, she’d have donated them to charity herself.”

      Lacey shook her blond head in disagreement and thumbed through the will. “She didn’t have any problem placing restrictions on your ownership of the Elliott Building or Sycamore House. If she hadn’t meant for you to sell the antiques she’d have done the same with them. It says right here ‘to dispose of as she chooses,’ and that means she gave you her permission and her blessing to do whatever you have to do.”

      “What if I borrow against some of the most rare pieces? If I fail I can always sell them. But if my idea is a success, I’ll still have my grandmother’s things.”

      Lacey munched a potato chip and wiped the barbecue residue on her jeans. “Makes sense. Okay, let’s make a few calls and see who’s offering the best line of credit against collateral. By the time your inventory starts to arrive you’ll have the money to pay for it.”

      Tara felt a smile