“She’s seventeen and she does school.”

  A whole sentence. That was okay. She could carry a conversation quite well. Otherwise it would be a long twenty-five-minute ride. Also, there was that research.

  “That’s quite an age gap. You must be . . . what, thirty-four, thirty-five?”

  “Thirty-one.”

  Whoops. “The beard makes you seem more mature, I think. And since you didn’t ask, I’m twenty-six and an only child and I live in Queens, but I’m originally from Scranton, Pennsylvania. I’m just on the island for the summer. I’m an elementary school art teacher, and I chose that field because I love kids and never want to stop coloring. Also, I love the expression a child gets when she creates something from the heart. I’m a firm believer that anyone can make art, and there’s no such thing as a mess-up.”

  He only grunted, so she continued. “I also write novels on the side—that’s a fairly new development but a lifelong dream. My grandpa was the illustrious novelist Rex Goodwin, so I’m trying to carry on the family legacy. Plus I always thought it would be nice to teach kiddos during the school year and write novels during the summer. So that’s what I’m doing. Or trying to do. Westerns are my preferred genre, but—”

  “Westerns?”

  He speaks. She glanced at him. “Yeah, you know, Louis L’Amour, Zane Grey . . . Rex Goodwin?”

  “I know, I just . . . westerns, huh?”

  “I know, most people are surprised by that. But my grandpa had a horse ranch in northern Pennsylvania, and I spent a lot of time there when I was growing up. I loved the way he and my grandma lived off the land. I helped my grandma with the garden. I loved the horses, not to mention the foals. When we weren’t working on the ranch, Grandpa and I used to watch westerns together—Stagecoach, Red River, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid—so many good ones.” He’d been such an influence. Her only regret was that he’d passed before she’d gotten her first contract. But at least he hadn’t seen the failure of her first novels.

  “I didn’t realize they were still publishing westerns.”

  She snorted. “They’re not. Or not hardly anyway, which is why my first two novels sold about three copies each—too bad I don’t have a bigger family, huh? So my publishing contract was canceled—midseries—and I’d already written and turned in my third book. Brutal. They did invite me to try my hand at a romance novel, though, so that’s my summer project. And when my best friend, Caroline, suggested I write it at her mom’s beach cottage, I could hardly refuse. So that’s enough about me. How’d you end up at the beach house?”

  “Maybe I live there.”

  “The address of your business is on your trailer—Bluffton—and Mrs. Miller mentioned you were only staying for the summer. So are you having your home remodeled, or are you in between places?”

  “None of the above.”

  She waited, but he didn’t add anything. “Okay, I guess you don’t want to talk about that. But as your future wedding date, is that something I should know? If not, that’s fine. I’m not one to pry.”

  He grunted, or maybe it was a huff. “I just needed a little distance from home.”

  “Because . . .”

  “There’s some . . . tension.”

  “Like in the family?”

  “In the business. In the family.”

  “All of the above, huh? I guess they sort of go together, don’t they? That’s gotta be hard. So you moved out to the island to get away a bit, but you can still get your work done. That’s handy. And you can’t really beat the view. So this tension . . .”

  “Oh my gosh,” he muttered.

  “I’m just wondering if I should have a little prepping on all this. Will it come up at the wedding? I shouldn’t be caught off guard. I want to be a good date.”

  “If there’s something you need to know, I’ll tell you. What did Ms. Stapleton say when you asked her about the book?”

  She decided to let him change the subject but tucked away that information to use later—maybe even in her book. “Well, at first I approached her and just told her I’d found the book in my Little Library—thought she’d recognize our common bond, you know—and told her I’d like to return it to its original owner. I wasn’t going to give her more information than she needed to know. I mean, what if she claimed it was her book and her diamond? So I asked if she might remember who’d donated the book and then she asked why. I told her there was something in the book that made me think the owner had donated it on accident.”

  “And she asked what that was.”

  “I see you know Ms. Stapleton pretty well. So I went ahead and told her about finding an engagement ring. I didn’t show it to her—it’s a big diamond—but she just made a prune face and said she didn’t ‘rightly recall,’ and I could tell she was holding out on me, but accusing her of lying wasn’t going to help. So I just told her how sad it was, how some wonderful guy must be so distraught over losing that ring, and how his girl would be deprived of the romantic proposal he’d planned.”

  “She didn’t care.”

  “She didn’t care! I mean, really. How bitter can you be?”

  “She’s not a trusting woman and she doesn’t know you.”

  “Exactly! But she knows you, so what’s your game plan?”

  “I gotta stop by my apartment, then we’ll head over to the church.”

  “That doesn’t sound like a game plan.”

  He raised a brow. “Trust me.”

  * * *

  Sam scanned the church parking lot as he pulled alongside the street, careful to keep his trailer out of the way. Apparently the church was having a full-on rummage sale, so there were quite a few browsers. He didn’t see any family members, just a few people he knew from the church, working the sale. Word would definitely get back to his family that he’d been in town—it wasn’t a very big church. Oh well.

  He stepped from the truck and met Sadie around the other side. Despite her pestering, he had to admit he admired her determination. Some people would’ve sold the ring and pocketed the money. That idea never seemed to occur to Sadie.

  Plus she hadn’t seemed to mind riding in his work truck. Hadn’t complained about the smell or poor suspension or rolled-down windows. Maybe she wasn’t that bad.

  There was Ms. Stapleton, a pale blue outfit hanging from her short, sturdy frame. Her white hair was cropped and winged, and there was that ever-present pair of readers perched where she could peer at you over top of them with those close-set eyes.

  Sadie set her sunglasses in place. “Would it be better if she didn’t know you were with me since she already turned me away?”

  “Doesn’t matter.” He headed toward the librarian, who stood by the table with the cashbox, standing guard over it and her books like an eagle over a nest. “Let me do the talking.”

  “Sure thing. Whatever you say.”

  On the way across the lot, a couple of church members greeted him, giving him that pitying look he was so familiar with. He said hello but didn’t stop to chat.

  When Ms. Stapleton’s gaze fell on him, she pressed her lips together and, yep, peered at him over her readers. “Well, if it isn’t Sammy Ford. What brings you by the rummage sale? I haven’t seen you in church in months.”

  “Hello, Ms. Stapleton. Good to see you.” That was pushing it. “This is Sadie. I guess you met her yesterday.”

  “Hi!” Sadie’s hand wiggled a little wave. “How are you? Beautiful day, isn’t it?”

  A frown creased the librarian’s brow. “Hello.” Her gaze swung back to Sam. “I suppose you’re here about that book? That ring? I told her I didn’t remember who donated it.”

  “All due respect, Ms. Stapleton, but we both know no one flutters a page in your library without your knowledge.”

  “Don’t you be smart with me, young man, or I’ll tell your mother. Now, do you want to buy some books and support this church, or are you just here to cause trouble?”

  “I understand your reticence to disclose proprietary information to a stranger. But you’ve known me since I was toddling around the church halls. I figured you’d be more willing to help me find out who this ring belongs to.” He withdrew a twenty and tucked it in the donation jar.

  She sniffed. Crossed her thick arms.

  Should’ve gone with the fifty. “I’m not trying to cause trouble. I just want to know who donated that book. Listen, this is kind of a big deal, so if you could just give me a name, we’ll make sure the man gets his ring back.”

  Ms. Stapleton tilted her head and skewered him with the look that sent lollygagging kids scuttling right back to Sunday school class.

  Beside him Sadie fidgeted like a sugared-up kid. But to her credit, she kept her mouth shut.

  The librarian was being just as stubborn as Sam had expected. Good thing he’d accounted for that. He reached into his back pocket, pulled out the paperback, and slapped it on the table.

  The woman stared down at the book. Her mouth slackened. Then her attention snapped back to him.

  “I found it while cleaning out some stuff.”

  She picked up the old copy of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe and smoothed the cover, caressing it the way she probably petted her three-legged cat.

  “Shouldn’t be any late fees since I paid you for the book years ago.”

  “That’s not the point,” she said, but she carefully tucked the book under the table. “I suppose you think you’re entitled to that name now.”

  “I was hoping.” He’d been holding on to that book for years, and it pained him to let her have it. Clearly she wasn’t the only stubborn one around here.

  Ms. Stapleton’s spine straightened, making her a full two inches taller. “Fine. It was Mary McAllister who turned it in.”

  “Mary McAllister? What would she be doing with an engagement ring?”

  “She’s Joe Graves’s daughter. He asked her to get rid of some of his late wife’s old things, and high time—she’s been gone a decade. That book came in the box she brought, and when I realized we already had three copies of it, I put it in the purge pile. A young woman, tourist by the look of her, bought the book on Wednesday. That’s all I know.”

  Sam recalled some old gossip, bad blood between the widower and Ms. Stapleton. “Thanks for telling me. We’ll be sure he gets the ring back.”

  “You’re not doing this woman any favors, sticking her with that ugly last name. But that’s not my problem. If you see your mama, tell her I said hello.”

  He was officially off her naughty list. “Thank you again, Ms. Stapleton. Good luck with your sale.”

  “Yes, good luck!” Sadie called as they stepped away. “It was nice seeing you again. Have a wonderful day. Thank you.” She waved.

  “All right, all right,” he muttered.

  “We got his name.” Leaning close, she squeezed his arm. “We got his name!”

  He resisted the urge to flex his muscle as her light fragrance teased his nose. “A sixtysomething widower. Not what I expected.”

  “Me either, but I’m so excited we found the owner. We’re about to make that poor man’s day. Do you know where he lives?”

  “I have to get back to work.”

  “Oh, come on, it won’t take that long. He must live nearby. We should’ve asked for his address.”

  Sam sighed. “I know where he lives. He’s a customer.” Tag usually serviced his lawn, but Sam had covered for him a couple times.

  “Perfect. Let’s just stop by while we’re here and then we’ll be finished. We’ll have done a good deed and make those lovebirds very happy. What do you say?”

  “You had me at ‘then we’ll be finished.’”

  She gave his shoulder a shove. “Oh, you. I don’t think you’re half as curmudgeonly as you seem. So who’s this woman he’s seeing, and was it just me, or does Ms. Stapleton have some bee in her bonnet about Joe Graves?”

  “The woman is Madeline Francis, and there’s definitely a bee.” They reached the truck, and since he was already on the passenger side, he opened her door for her.

  “Why, thank you, kind sir.”

  It took her a minute to climb up into the cab. She was short—but there sure was a lot of personality packed into that petite frame. And a pair of shapely legs didn’t go unnoticed.

  He shut the door and came around to the driver’s side. After buckling in, he started the truck, checked for traffic, and pulled out onto the street.

  “Well . . . ,” she prompted. “You were about to tell me about the bee.”

  “Bee?”

  “The bee in her bonnet. Come on, you can’t just leave me hanging after I cooperated so nicely back there. I didn’t say a single word and it was not easy. And what was up with that book you gave her? You’d think you’d presented her with a Holy Grail relic.”

  He signaled left. “Just an overdue library book.”

  “How overdue?”

  “Ah, let’s see . . . it’d be about nineteen years now.”

  “You kept a library book for nineteen years? For shame.”

  “It was lost.”

  “Well, thank God you had it. Clearly you know the way to that woman’s heart. I think she would’ve given you her bank PIN to get that book back.”

  “She’s strangely possessive about that library.”

  “Now, out with the rest. Tell me about Joe and Madeline and why Ms. Stapleton wrinkled up her nose when she said Joe’s name. I want all the dirt.”

  He rolled his eyes. “I don’t really follow the lives of the sexagenarians in the church. But I know Mr. Graves is a widower and Ms. Stapleton is said to have had a thing for him. When he finally got around to asking her out on a date, it went awry and shortly thereafter he started dating Ms. Francis.”

  “Went awry? I need details. That was one bitter woman back there.”

  “How am I supposed to know what happened?” Sam turned onto a residential street, found the house, and pulled up to the curb in front of a sprawling ranch. The man would get that ring back all because Sadie had taken it upon herself to hunt him down. He glanced at her wide smile, sparkling brown eyes, and choppy honey-blonde hair. He had to admit, she was kind of cute, all that enthusiasm and goodwill. And if he was honest, he was glad he’d had a small part in this. Glad he’d be here to see it work out.

  “Is this where he lives? Nice large lot—and a very well-kept yard, by the way. Is that water behind the property?”

  “It’s the river.”

  They exited the vehicle and walked up the long shelled driveway.

  She hugged her purse tight. “I’m so excited to return his ring. He’s going to be so happy. So relieved.”

  “Don’t pry about his history with Ms. Stapleton.”

  “I’d never do such a thing. But I might ask about Ms. Francis and his plans for the proposal. After all, we’re kind of saving the day here—the least he can do is throw us a few juicy details.”

  When they reached the narrow walkway to the front porch, Sam set his hand on the small of Sadie’s back, letting her take the lead. He wasn’t sure why he did that, why he touched her, except that he wanted to. Strangely enough, she was growing on him. She was short and compact and always walked as if she couldn’t wait to arrive wherever she was going.

  Very different from Amanda’s smooth, confident stroll.

  He shook the thought from his head as Sadie knocked on the screen door. She toyed with the strap on her purse and shifted her feet around. This was going to make her day. Her week.

  The front door opened and Mr. Graves peered out through the screen. “Can I—? Oh, hello, Sam.” His high forehead furrowed. “Did I have a service scheduled for today? I didn’t have it on my calendar.”

  “No, sir. This is Sadie, uh . . .”

  “Goodwin,” she said. “Hello, Mr. Graves. Would you have a few minutes to chat with us?”

  “Well, sure, I guess so. I was just sitting out back enjoying the nice weather. Why don’t you come on back, and I’ll fix you up some of my iced tea?”

  Eleven

  In order for a romance plot to progress properly, you must generate setbacks for your heroine as she marches toward her external goal.

  —Romance Writing 101

  It was taking Mr. Graves forever to return with that tea, and Sadie could hardly contain her excitement. He seemed like such a nice man with his ready smile and friendly eyes. A real southern gentleman. She was about to make him a very happy man, and in return he would make his girlfriend very happy. Sadie did love a happy ending.

  She set her hands on the armrests of the Adirondack chair and forced herself to settle down, to take in the peaceful surroundings. A grand live oak, draped with Spanish moss, dominated the backyard. It was the sort of tree that could shelter an entire wedding party on a sunny June day. She could just picture it. From somewhere in the yard a squirrel nattered and a robin tweeted. In the distance the river rippled by and a breeze stirred the air, carrying a hint of lilac.

  “Calm down,” Sam said. “Jeez.”

  She stilled her drumming fingers and cut him a sideways glance. “Didn’t you know you should never tell a woman to calm down? First of all it doesn’t work. Second of all it actually makes things worse. And how can I calm down when I’m holding that man’s expensive ring, and my gosh, how long could it take to pour two iced teas? Is he brewing it?” Her gaze homed in on his face and she narrowed her eyes. “Did your lip just twitch?”

  “You’re kinda funny, you know that?”

  “Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you’re not excited. I saw that look on your face when Ms. Stapleton came clean.”

  He was saved from answering by the appearance of Mr. Graves. Finally.

  “Here we go,” the man said. “Nothing better than a spot of iced tea on a hot, sunny day.” He handed them their glasses and settled in one of the other chairs.

  Sadie thought she’d burst when Mr. Graves began asking after Sam’s family and the business. Sam was actually making small talk. What a terrible time to get chatty. She drained half the glass, then sat on her hands and waited for an opportunity to slide into the conversation.