Lost & Found Love Read online

  Tyler grinned. “Sure. Thanks, Pastor.”

  The boy dashed down the steps and ran along the sidewalk. Joe shut the door and headed back to his office. The church treasurer and secretary had totaled the offering and were preparing the deposit. They acknowledged him with a smile as he waved to them before entering his office and shutting the door. Joe looked out the window toward the back of his house and Tabitha’s. Nothing stirred in the thick heat of early September, but he saw the window on the third floor was open to whatever breeze there might be.

  Was she working in her studio and hadn’t heard the boy? He’d like to think that, but he couldn’t get his mind off the fact something made her flee Evan and Jenny’s house last night. Thinking of the slam of the screen door he’d heard, Joe realized it must have been Tabby. But she hadn’t been working. There hadn’t been a light on in the house all evening. Unease changed to worry, and he couldn’t explain even to himself why this woman had touched him more than any other.

  He tossed his coat and tie over the veranda railing near her back door and rolled back the sleeves on his dress shirt before unbuttoning the collar. He had already banged on the door, but the only thing stirring was the cat. The black feline took one look at him with her golden eyes and disappeared into the bushes around the front of the house. He shook his head. It was downright spooky how much that cat’s eyes looked like Tabby’s.

  Joe waited a few minutes more and knocked again. When there was still no response, he swallowed and pushed open the unlocked door, knowing he might well destroy any headway he’d made with her on a personal level by intruding on her privacy now. The kitchen was dark and cool.

  “Tabby?” he called. He tried again at the bottom of the stairs, pausing for a moment as he went over things in his mind. Her bicycle was on the porch, and her car was in the drive. He supposed it was possible she’d gone for a walk, but deep in his gut, he didn’t think that was the case. After taking the stairs two at a time, he checked the second floor where he found what was obviously her room from the personal touches: a skirt tossed over a chair back, a brush, and hair bands scattered on a vanity. The bed was neat as a pin, like it hadn’t been slept in.

  He ran up to the third floor and slowly pushed open the door of the studio. He hadn’t felt quite this much trepidation since he’d served as a medic in the military. There’d been plenty of times they’d had to enter situations where they had no idea what they might find on the opposite side of a door.

  The studio was a mess. A handful of canvases were ripped, their frames broken, and her easel lay on its side. However, the painting of him she had started was carefully propped on the window seat, above the huddled, sleeping form of Tabitha MacVie. She was still dressed in what she’d left the house in last night. Hair that had once been neatly braided now cascaded in tangled strands around a face almost deathly pale in comparison.

  “Tabby!” he whispered urgently, rushing over to her side. Calling on his past military training, he put his fingers to the side of her neck. Her pulse was normal. Breathing appeared fine. He felt her forehead only to find it cool to the touch. Relief coursed through him. It appeared she was doing nothing more than sleeping. “Come on, darling,” he coaxed, barely wondering at how easily the endearment slipped off his tongue. “Wake up.”

  Her lids fluttered. “Joseph?” her voice was hoarse and her eyes unfocused. “You sound worried. You shouldn’t worry about me. You should always be joyful.”

  His gaze skittered around the room again. “What happened, Tabby? Are you all right? Did… Did someone break in? Did anyone bother you?”

  At his words she finally struggled to sit up and focus. As her eyes took in the canvases, they widened, panic reflected in them until she assessed what was actually destroyed. “Oh thank God,” she whispered. “It’s only those. Not the ones that matter.”

  A trio of canvases lay torn and splintered, and they didn’t matter? Joe looked around again. He spied the one he’d seen yesterday, the one he’d commented looked like Dante’s vision of hell. Its frame was broken and the canvas slashed. Yes, it was a dark painting, but it was brilliant—and it didn’t matter?

  He looked into her pale face, into tawny eyes that burned so brightly, and gently stroked the hair from her face. “Tabby, shall I call Doc?”

  She shook her head, then did something that shook him to the core. Her hand covered his where it rested against her cheek and she closed her eyes, as if she were trying to absorb his touch into her skin. For a moment, he would swear she purred like a cat. “No. No. I’m fine, Joseph.”

  “The police? Jake can get an investigation rolling. We don’t normally have a lot of crime around here.”

  “No. There’s no need.”

  Confused, he looked around the mess in the studio. Had she done this? But she’d talked almost as if it were a surprise. If she did do it, wouldn’t she know what was destroyed? And why would she destroy her own work? He swallowed, sensing he hovered on sensitive ground. He helped her to her feet, his hands on her arms to steady her as she swayed. His brow furrowed.

  “How long has it been since you’ve eaten?” he asked quietly, sure she hadn’t had supper or anything since then.

  “I don’t know. What day is it?”

  “It’s Sunday, Tabby.”

  “Oh. Good.”

  He pulled her against him and wrapped his arms around her so she wouldn’t see the shock on his face. She didn’t know what day it was? As his hands stroked her back, he rested his cheek against the side of her head. “I think we should call Doc.”

  She shook her head again. “I—I don’t want to see her, Joseph. Not Jenny. It will hurt her.”

  He continued to hold her and rub her back. It felt right. “Why will it hurt her, Tabby?” he probed gently.

  “It hurt her to see me last night. It makes her remember things that hurt her. I get that.”

  His eyes narrowed in confusion and concern. She wasn’t making sense. “Did you already know Evan and Jenny?”

  She leaned her forehead against his shoulder. “No. I knew of Jenny, but she didn’t know about me. She’s—she’s my sister, Joseph, but she didn’t know. She doesn’t want to know.”

  A sob shook her, and his arms tightened. “Ah, Tabby,” he murmured and rocked her. He didn’t probe, didn’t ask questions. He had figured out long ago that silence often elicited more information. But in this, Tabby surprised him once again because she volunteered nothing else. Instead, her arms crept around his waist, and he wondered again at how right it felt to hold her. Her body curved into his as if it had been made to do exactly that. He leaned his cheek against her silky hair. He wanted to do so much more than simply comfort her that it scared him. He’d managed to stay clear of getting entangled into any kind of relationship, and a relationship with this woman wouldn’t be easy or simple.

  “You’re so peaceful, Joseph,” Tabby whispered. “I heard it in your voice the first night here. But you sounded lonely too. You don’t seem that way now. You must have found what you were looking for.”

  His fingers stroked through her dark hair and tilted her face to his. “You heard all that in my voice?”

  She withdrew from him and grimaced. “Don’t mind me. I’m tired, I guess.” She looked around the studio. “Don’t worry about this. I was exorcising some demons I guess you might say.”

  Whatever the moment, he realized it was gone. He turned her loose, shoved his hands into his pockets, and swallowed. “Those must be some pretty powerful demons. I’ll help you clean up, then why don’t you get a shower and a change of clothes? I’ll go down to your kitchen and cook some brunch—that is if you don’t mind sharing a meal with me?”

  Tabby glanced around the studio. “I—I can do that.” She glanced back at him, and Joseph nearly took a step back at the loneliness he saw in the depths of her gaze. “Would you—do you have time—I mean I know it’s Sunday, and you’ve probably got another service later, but could you si
t for me again? Just for an hour?”

  “Sure.” When he saw the relief in her expression, he knew he would do almost anything to keep that haunted look off her face. Together they began to straighten the mess. Joseph noticed she was careful to avoid showing him any of her other paintings, but big deal. Some people were superstitious about that kind of thing.

  “Would you sing to me again?” she asked as she set her jar of brushes back on the table next to her now upright easel.

  “Yes,” he replied in a voice suddenly gone husky. All day and all night, if need be.

  They parted ways on the second floor, Tabby to her room and Joe to the back stairs leading into the kitchen. A few minutes later, Joe glanced around the airy room as he finished the scrambled cheese and tofu he’d sautéed with mushrooms and basil.

  It had taken no more than a quick glance in her refrigerator to figure out she didn’t eat meat…. And he had tried to tempt her with burgers on the grill. Way to go, Taylor. For a man who truly appreciated the finer points of a good cheeseburger, this could be a problem. Tabby leaned against the counter nearby, watching him cook.

  They took their plates to the kitchen table, the occasional tinkle of utensils against dishes the only sound.

  “Where is your cat? I never see her when you’re around.”

  Tabby shrugged. “Here and there,” she said vaguely. “Probably perched in a tree. Katie Scarlett is an observer of the world. She was dropped at the shelter. I think she’d been abused.”

  “You named your cat after Scarlett O’Hara?” Joe asked with a chuckle.

  Tabby grinned. “I had an old tom I picked up off the streets. He had one eye and a rather rakish air about him, so I named him Rhett.” She shrugged. “It seemed to fit.”

  “Shadow might be as fitting for her, as invisible as she always seems to be.”

  Tabby smiled slightly. “Katie is a creature of the night.”

  “Like her mistress?” Joe asked, arching a thick brow. “I see you burning a lot of midnight oil.”

  Tabby shifted, suddenly seeming a little ill at ease. Joe was sorry for that. “I paint when the mood strikes me.” She jumped up and put their plates into the sink. “Speaking of which, you promised to sit…and sing.”

  He followed her upstairs, his gaze locked appreciatively on the gentle sway of her hips beneath the filmy mid-calf length skirt she had on. Her hair hung loose, still damp from her shower, falling sleek and straight to just below her waist. Such long hair was rare these days. Most women chopped it off short. Joe gulped, wondering what it would feel like spread out over him.

  When they reached the studio, she casually replaced her painting of him on the easel before she picked up a portion of canvas frame they must have missed. When she caught him watching her, she blushed.

  “I’m sorry you saw this. I would have eventually stripped them and painted over them.”

  “Tabby, the one I saw was very, very good,” he commented.

  She paused and looked at him steadily. “They would never be for sale. They were personal. Call them therapy if you like. It helps me work out things, you know? And this,” she threw out, swinging her elegant hand in an arc to encompass the ruined pictures, “was simply the final part of that therapy.”

  He could see the subject was closed. He had yet to gain her trust, but he got that. “Where do you want me?”

  She glanced up from where she was already mixing colors on her palette. “The stool where you were the other day is fine.” She tossed her hair back over her shoulders and began to fill in the canvas with broad strokes. She stared at him intently, but not in a way that made him uncomfortable. “Sing for me,” she prompted softly. “I want to hear angels.”

  He felt himself blush and she laughed. It was a beautiful sound, and the effect on her expression was startling, turning her classic beauty into something earthy and sensual. Joe could only stare.

  After an hour, she smiled. “Thank you. I don’t want to keep you any longer. You must have evening service to prepare for.”

  “I do. Can I ask you a stupid question?”

  Tabby smiled quizzically. “Sure.”

  “Just what were you going to eat last night if you had stayed at Evan and Jenny’s house? I mean, it’s obvious you’re a vegetarian.”

  Tabby shrugged. “Salad, potatoes…then as soon as I got home a big bowl of hummus and crackers.”

  “Hummus?”

  She laughed. “It’s a mixture of chick peas, sesame paste, and a few other ingredients all mashed together. Lots of protein and healthy fat.”

  “Mmm. Kinda partial to cheeseburgers, myself.”

  Tabby tilted her head. “You did all right with the tofu earlier.”

  “I was trying to impress you, and I didn’t want my halo to slip.” He was unrolling his sleeves and trying to button his cuffs again when she put down her palette and came around to help him.

  “Here,” she offered quietly, “let me.”

  He watched her bent head as she quickly fastened his cuffs. Acting on instinct and the urge overwhelming him, Joe lifted her chin with his fingers, but while his eyes lingered on her soft lips, he simply leaned forward and pressed a kiss against her forehead. Slowly, he reminded himself.

  “Thanks,” he murmured. She nodded and turned away from him to go back to her painting. He puffed his lips in frustration, unable to tell if it had affected her at all. But why should it? All he’d done was kiss her forehead. Smooth. He watched her a moment longer. Tabby was back in her own world. Was it even a place she would allow someone else to see?

  He shook his head and walked quickly down the steps. When he stepped out onto the veranda, Katie Scarlett opened her eyes from her resting place on his suit coat, uttered one last purr, and leaped down onto the porch to rub gently around his legs. Joe smiled at the cat as he picked up his coat and tie. The nagging feeling he was being watched made him glance toward the street where two ladies in flowered dresses now scurried down the sidewalk. Joe closed his eyes briefly and groaned. It looked like the church ladies were already on full alert.

  * * * *

  Tabby stared at the emerging portrait of Joseph and smiled. It did almost appear that he had a halo. She hadn’t seen Joe at all on Monday but chalked it up to him already having plans for Labor Day. For her part, it gave her time to work on his painting as well as go over her lesson plans for the upcoming week. She would be at the elementary school all day on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and the other three days of the week would be split between middle and high school classes since both shared the same campus.

  Nerves made it difficult to get to sleep Monday night. Her student teaching hadn’t been nearly as nerve-wracking because she’d always worked with a veteran teacher, but now she was on her own. What if the kids didn’t like her? Tabby shook her head. That was silly. She had gotten along just fine with the students during her student teaching, particularly the younger ones. Everything would be fine.

  But everything was not fine. When she hurried outside in the morning, her car wouldn’t start. It was too far to walk. She looked at her bike and her watch. She had time to ride. It would mean being on time instead of early. With a resigned sigh, she ran back upstairs, pulled on her cycling pants, stuffed her no wrinkle skirt into her backpack, grabbed her helmet, and rode her bicycle to school. Since there was no bicycle rack at the elementary school, Tabby had to go in and ask the principal if it was permissible to bring her bike into the building. Mr. Underwood’s eyes popped at her arriving in cycling pants.

  “Certainly, Miss MacVie, but I do hope you have more suitable attire for the school day?”

  Tabby held her book bag in front of her, feeling suddenly indecent and embarrassed. “Yes sir.”

  “Very well. Use the staff restroom to change before you leave this office.”

  She felt humiliated. It set the tone for most of her day. While the students seemed to adore her, many of the teachers, older women who were the
mselves mothers, looked at her askance. A few even glared, and Tabby began to wonder if she had committed some horrible breach of etiquette during her workdays the previous week, but she couldn’t remember any of the women acting hostile toward her then. They had been a little reserved, but she had expected that. She was new and not from around Mountain Meadow, but today she was even getting a cold shoulder from the new kindergarten teacher. About the only one who did treat her normally was Mr. Powers, the P.E. teacher, who had seen her arrive on her bicycle, and Tabby noticed his eyes kept straying toward her butt.

  By the end of the day, she was exhausted and frustrated. It was frightening to think that her third, fourth, and fifth grade students behaved more maturely than her colleagues. When she noticed Mr. Powers lingering around the front door, probably waiting for her to come out with her bike so he could see her dressed in her cycling pants, Tabby sneaked out a back door and took the long way around. She arrived home hot, sweaty, and tired. She carried her bike up onto the veranda and took off her helmet.

  Hearing someone behind her, she spun around, trying to control the stab of panic that hit her. Joe stood there with a can of Coke in each hand.

  “You looked like you could use this,” he commented dryly. He was dressed casually in khaki shorts and a polo shirt, his eyes hidden behind sunglasses. “How was your first day?”

  Tabby started to say fine automatically, then let her book bag fall to the porch.

  “Terrible.”

  Chapter 4

  Joe’s heart missed a beat at the devastation in Tabby’s expression. He set the two cans of Coke on the porch railing and opened his arms to her, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and suddenly it was, for Tabby stepped into his embrace. He patted her back and closed his eyes, savoring the warm scent of her and praying she wouldn’t feel the effect she was having on him. After a minute, he felt her relax. He set her away from him, handed her coke back to her, and picked up his own. “Wanna tell me? Sometimes that helps.”