First Impressions

powerhouse. “I’ll do that,” she said, taking the polish and rag from Shane’s hands. Shane grinned at Pat’s weighty sigh but said nothing. “You had seven people come through the museum,” Pat told her as she began to polish the Sheridan. “I sold some postcards and a print of the Burnside Bridge. A woman from Hagerstown bought the little table with the fluted edges.”
    Shane stopped unbuttoning her coat. “The rosewood piecrust?” It had sat in the summer parlor for as long as she could remember.
    “Yes. And she was interested in the bentwood rocker.” Pat tucked a strand of hair behind her ear while Shane struggled to be pleased. “I think she’ll be back.”
    “Good.”
    “Oh, and you had a nibble on Uncle Festus.”
    “Really?” Shane grinned, thinking of the portrait of a dour Victorian man she’d been unable to resist. She had bought it because it amused her, though she had had little hope of selling it. “Well, I’ll be sorry to lose him. He gives the place dignity.”
    “He gives me the creeps,” Pat said baldly as Shane headed for the front door to fetch the rest of her new stock. “Oh, I nearly forgot. You didn’t tell me you’d sold the dining room set.”
    “What?” Puzzled, Shane stopped with her hand on the knob.
    “The dining room set with the heart-shaped chairs,” Pat explained. “The Hepplewhite,” she added, pleased that she was beginning to remember makes and periods. “I nearly sold it again.”
    “Again?” Shane released the knob and faced Pat fully. “What are you talking about?”
    “There were some people in here a few hours ago who wanted it. It seems their daughter’s getting married, and they were going to buy it as a wedding gift. They must be rich,” she added with feeling. “The reception’s going to be at a Baltimore country club . . . with an orchestra.” She began to daydream about this a bit, but then she noted Shane’s hard look. “Anyway,” she continued quickly, “I’d nearly finalized the sale when Vance came downstairs and explained it was taken already.”
    Shane’s eyes narrowed. “Vance? Vance said it was already sold?”
    “Well, yes,” Pat agreed, puzzled by the tone. If she had known Shane better, she would have recognized the beginnings of rage. Innocently, she continued. “It was a lucky thing too, or else they’d have bought it and arranged for the shipping right then and there. I guess you’d have been in a fix.”
    “A fix,” Shane repeated between set teeth. “Yeah, somebody’s in a fix all right.” Abruptly, she turned to stride toward the rear of the shop while Pat looked after her, wide-eyed.
    “Shane? Shane, what’s wrong?” Confused, she trotted after her. “Where are you going?”
    “To settle some business,” she said tightly. “Get the rest of the stuff out of my car, will you?” she called back without slackening her pace. “And lock up. This might take a while.”
    “Sure, but . . .” Pat trailed off when she heard the back door slam. She puzzled a moment, shrugged, then went to follow orders.
    “A fix,” Shane muttered as she crushed dead leaves underfoot. “Lucky thing he came down.” Furiously, she kicked at a fallen branch and sent it skidding ahead of her, waiting to be kicked again. Grinding her teeth, she stormed purposefully down the path between denuded trees. “Already taken!” Enraged, she made a dangerous sound in her throat. A hapless squirrel started across the path, then dashed in the other direction.
    Through the bare trees, she could see his house, with smoke puffing from the chimney to struggle up into a hard blue sky. Shane set her jaw and increased her pace. Into the quiet came a steady thump, pause, thump. Without hesitation, she skirted around to the back of the house.
    Vance put another log on the tree stump he used as a chopping block, then bore down with his axe to split it neatly in two. Without a pause in rhythm, he set a new log. Shane took no time to admire the precision or grace of the movement.
    “You!” she spat, and stuck her fists on her hips.
    Vance checked his next swing. Glancing over, he saw Shane glaring at him with glittering eyes and a flushed face. He thought idly that she looked her best when in a temper, then followed through. The next log split to fall in two pieces on either side of the stump. The generous pile was evidence that he had been working for some time.
    “Hello, Shane.”
    “Don’t you ‘hello, Shane’