First Impressions

could he be both at once? Yet he was. The recklessness was in his eyes, but the romantic moves were smooth with experience.
    She hadn’t been afraid of the hard, angry man she had met, but she felt a skip of fear for the one who even now traced his thumb over the speeding pulse at her wrist.
    “I’m going to have to give that some thought,” she murmured.
    “Do that,” he said agreeably.

Chapter 8
    Shane opened the doors of Antietam Antiques and Museum the first week of December. As she had expected, for the first few days the shop and museum were crowded, for the most part with people she knew. They had come to buy or browse out of curiosity or affection. Others came to see what “that Abbott girl” had up her sleeve this time. It amused Shane to hear her past crimes discussed as though they had taken place the day before. Cy’s name was dropped a time or two, causing her to force back a chuckle and change the subject. Still, after the initial novelty had worn off, she had a steady trickle of customers. That was enough to satisfy her.
    As planned, she hired Donna’s sister-in-law, Pat, on a part-time basis. The girl was eager and willing, and not opposed to giving Shane weekend hours. Shane considered the additional expense well worth it when Pat, flushed with triumph, rang up her first sale. With her coaching, and Pat’s own enthusiastic studying, Shane’s assistant had learned enough to classify certain articles in the shop and to handle questions in the museum section.
    Shane found herself busier than ever, managing the shop, watching for ads for estate sales and overseeing the remodeling still under way on the second floor. The long, chaotic hours stimulated her, and helped her deal with the slow but steady loss of her grandmother’s treasures. It was business, Shane reminded herself again and again as she sold a corner cabinet or candle holder. It was necessary. The bills in her desk had mounted over the weeks of preparation, and they had to be paid.
    She saw Vance almost daily as he came to hammer and saw and trim on the second floor. Though he wasn’t as withdrawn as he once had been, the intimacy they had shared for an afternoon and evening had faded. He treated her as a casual friend, not a woman whose palm he would kiss in a restaurant.
    Shane concluded that he had taken on a loverlike aspect for Cy’s benefit, and now it was back to business as usual. She wasn’t discouraged. In fact, the man she had dined with had made her nervous and uncertain. She was more confident with Vance’s temper than with soft words and tender caresses. Knowing herself well, Shane was aware it would be difficult not to make a fool of herself over him if he continued to treat her with gentleness. She had little defense against romance.
    Daily, her love for him grew. It only made her more certain than ever that he was the only man for her. It would only be a matter of time, she decided, before he realized she was the woman for him.
    It was late afternoon when Shane carried her latest acquisition up the new front steps and into the shop. She was flushed with cold and highly pleased with herself. She was learning to be ruthless when bargaining. After pushing the door open with her bottom, she carried the table through the entrance sideways.
    “Just look what I’ve got!” she said to Pat before she closed the door behind her. “It’s a Sheridan. Not a scratch on it either.”
    Pat stopped washing the glass on the display case. “Shane, you were supposed to take the afternoon off.” Automatically she polished off a lingering smear before giving Shane her full attention. “You’ve got to take some time for yourself,” she reminded her with a hint of exasperation. “That’s why you hired me.”
    “Yes, of course,” Shane said distractedly. “There’s a mantel clock in the car and a complete set of cut glass saltcellars.” Pat sighed, smart enough to know when she was being ignored, and followed Shane into the main showroom.
    “Don’t you ever quit?” she demanded.
    “Uh-uh.” After setting the table beside a Hitchcock chair, Shane stepped back to view the results. “I don’t know,” she said slowly. “It might look better in the front room, right under the window. Well, I want to polish it first anyway.” She darted to the work counter, rummaging for the furniture polish. “How’d we do today?”
    Pat shook her head. The first thing she had learned on the job was that Shane Abbott was a