First Impressions

wonderful plots. “The expense—”
    “I have enough to set things up.” Shane shrugged off the pessimism. “And most of my stock can come straight out of the house for now. I want to do it, Donna,” she went on as her friend frowned at her. “My own place, my own business.” She glanced around the compact, well-stocked store. “You should know what I mean.”
    “Yes, but I have Dave to help out, to lean on. I don’t think I could face starting or managing a business all on my own.”
    “It’s going to work.” Her eyes drifted beyond Donna, fixed on their own vision. “I can already see how it’s going to look when I’m finished.”
    “All the remodeling.”
    “The basic structure of the house will stay the same,” Shane countered. “Modifications, repairs.” She brushed them away with the back of her hand. “A great deal of it would have to be done if I were simply going to live there.”
    “Licenses, permits.”
    “I’ve applied for everything.”
    “Taxes.”
    “I’ve already seen an accountant.” She grinned as Donna sighed. “I have a good location, a solid knowledge of antiques, and I can re-create every battle of the Civil War.”
    “And do at the least provocation.”
    “Be careful,” Shane warned her, “or I’ll give you another rundown on the Battle of Antietam.”
    When the bells on the door jingled again, Donna heaved an exaggerated sigh of relief. “Hi, Stu.”
    The next ten minutes were spent in light gossiping as Donna rang up and bagged dry goods. It would take little time to catch up on the news Shane had missed over the last four years.
    Shane was accepted as an oddity—the hometown girl who had gone to the city and come back with big ideas. She knew that to the older residents of the town and countryside she would always be Faye Abbott’s granddaughter. They were a proprietary people, and she was one of their own. She hadn’t settled down and married Cy Trainer’s boy as predicted, but she was back now.
    “Stu never changes,” Donna said when she was alone with Shane again. “Remember in high school when we were sophomores and he was a senior, captain of the football team and the best-looking hunk in a sweaty jersey?”
    “And nothing much upstairs,” Shane added dryly.
    “You always did go for the intellectual type. Hey,” she continued before Shane could retort, “I might just have one for you.”
    “Have one what?”
    “An intellectual. At least that’s how he strikes me. He’s your neighbor too,” she added with a growing smile.
    “
My
neighbor?”
    “He bought the old Farley place. Moved in early last week.”
    “The Farley place?” Shane’s brows arched, giving Donna the satisfaction of knowing she was announcing fresh news. “The house was all but gutted by the fire. Who’d be fool enough to buy that ramshackle barn of a place?”
    “Vance Banning,” Donna told her. “He’s from Washington, D.C.”
    After considering the implications of this, Shane shrugged. “Well, I suppose it’s a choice piece of land even if the house should be condemned.” Wandering to a shelf, she selected a pound can of coffee then set it on the counter without checking the price. “I guess he bought it for a tax shelter or something.”
    “I don’t think so.” Donna rang up the coffee and waited while Shane dug bills out of her back pocket. “He’s fixing it up.”
    “The courageous type.” Absently, she pocketed the loose change.
    “All by himself too,” Donna added, fussing with the display of candy bars on the counter. “I don’t think he has a lot of money to spare. No job.”
    “Oh.” Shane’s sympathies were immediately aroused. The spreading problem of unemployment could hit anyone, she knew. Just the year before, the teaching staff at her school had been cut by three percent.
    “I heard he’s pretty handy though,” Donna went on. “Archie Moler went by there a few days ago to take him some lumber. He said he’s already replaced the old porch. But the guy’s got practically no furniture. Boxes of books, but not much else.” Shane was already wondering what she could spare from her own collection. She had a few extra chairs . . . “And,” Donna added warmly, “he’s wonderful to look at.”
    “You’re a married woman,” Shane reminded her, clucking her tongue.
    “I still like to look. He’s tall.” Donna sighed. At five foot eight, she appreciated tall men. “And dark with a sort of lived-in face. You know,