Whispers Of The Heart. Ruth Scofield
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work.” Brent nodded and stepped into the elevator. “See you around, Autumn. Stop over when you wrap it up, if you’ve a mind, guys. I might have something for you myself.”
“Sure thing, Brent,” Josh agreed.
Autumn retreated into her apartment, the carpenters following. An hour and a half later, she barely heard a light bell over the sound of pounding hammers. Her doorbell?
At least this time she wore her shoes. Brent’s smile, only a tad apologetic, gave her the feeling he might have been born with it in place.
“Sorry. My last time to interrupt you. At least for today.”
“What is it?”
“Sam’s phone isn’t working. His wife is having a baby and he’s needed. Lenny—his boss—called my place. It seemed just as easy to trot across the street as to find a new phone listing.”
“Oh. Well, come in.” She swung the door wider and stepped back. A break in the noise gave her a chance to call over her shoulder. “Sam?”
“Yeah?” Spotting Brent, Sam laid his power drill down and came forward, his blue eyes questioning.
“Lenny’s been trying to reach you,” Brent told him. “Guess your phone’s on the blink and he missed you before you left the truck.”
“Yeah, my two-year-old dunked it in the bathtub last night. What’s up?”
“Your wife called. Lenny says not to worry, her mom’s with her, but Ashley wants you to meet her at the hospital. Seems you’re having a little girl this time?”
“You’re joking me. The baby isn’t due for another month!”
“Don’t know about that, Sam, but this is no joke.”
Near panic in his eyes, Sam turned Autumn’s way. “Can I use your phone, miss?”
“Certainly.” The worry in the young man’s gaze tugged at her heart. She pointed to the slim white cordless phone. “There, on the kitchen table.”
As Sam bumped into an overstuffed chair in his hurry to get to the kitchen side of the room, Josh joined them, his hammer dangling from one hand. “What’s happening?”
Brent explained.
“Oh, man. Ashley’s had nothing but problems with this kid and it ain’t even born yet. Sam’s been chewing nails.”
Sam ended the phone connection, his gaze clouding. “Josh, we have to go. Gotta pick up my truck so I can—”
“Don’t waste time, Sam,” Brent said, taking a key from his ring and tossing it. “Here, take this. My car is the red sedan right behind my building. You’ll recognize it, it’s the same one I had last year when you fellows did that work for me. It has a phone. I’ll find you later.”
“Thanks, Brent,” the blond giant said, catching the key out of the air. “I owe you one, buddy. Josh?”
“Never mind me, man. Brent’s right, just get going. We’ll catch up with you later.”
For a moment the apartment was silent as the three of them listened to the clatter of Sam’s descent down the stairs. He hadn’t waited for the elevator. Slowly, Autumn turned to glance at the two men remaining. The air around her felt like an anticlimax.
“Well…I hope everything turns out all right,” she said. “For the baby and mother.”
“Oh, I’m sure God and His angels are already on the job. Sam talks to Him every day. Never seen nothing like it,” Josh assured, shaking his head in puzzlement. “But Sam believes it.”
“So he should,” Brent replied. “Nothing like firsthand experience to make a believer out of you. He and Ashley had a scare last year when Sam was in a car smash-up,” Brent said for her benefit.
Then he turned to Josh. “Say, let me give you a hand with finishing Miss Barbour’s shelves, here.”
“Uh, that’s very nice, but—” Autumn began.
“Wouldn’t mind your help, Brent,” Josh accepted. “Just another hour should finish it up.”
“Really, perhaps it should wait,” she insisted as the two moved past her into the studio. Against the wall without windows, brass brackets stretched from near the floor to almost the fourteen-foot ceiling.
“Shouldn’t leave ’em half finished if we don’t have to.” Brent glanced at her with friendly determination as he shed his sport jacket and draped it across the back of the sofa. He then turned to study the project. “Hey, this will give you tons of storage, but you’ll need a ladder to get to the top shelves.”
“Yes, I suppose so. It’s intended to hold my supplies.” She gave up her protest as he picked up a prefinished board and blew on it to clear it of dust. Josh continued with the power drill, putting the last of the screws into a bracket.
Autumn didn’t know what to do. Oh, there were things she ought to do—like put away the last of her clothes in her bedroom closet, or arrange the cooking utensils she’d brought from the old house. But she found herself unable to do anything except simply watch Brent concentrate on the job at hand. She had an unfettered view of him.
While Josh checked the oak shelves, Brent climbed Josh’s ladder, the muscles beneath his brown striped golf shirt stretching as he reached above his head to place the shelves. In his effort to get them just right, his jutting chin struck her as purposeful, his relaxed mouth a model of male beauty. She liked his intense energy, and again thought of how to capture the effect of his movements in clay.
That was all it was. Simply a fascination from an artist’s soul who saw beauty in many people. This one man in particular. Was that so unusual?
More than an hour later, the two men stood back to examine their handiwork. Autumn stood beside them. The finished project looked awesome, with more shelves than she’d ever hoped for, or perhaps fill.
“Is this everything you want, Ms. Barbour?” Josh asked.
“Yes, it looks wonderful,” she murmured, glancing at all her boxes. Perhaps she’d fill most of it, after all, but there’d be little wall space for pictures. She picked up an architectural drawing she’d done last year, wondering where it should go.
Brent noticed her tentative move, then glanced at the picture.
“I recognize that,” he said, giving the piece a nod. “Did you do those projected art drawings of the Genesis Project for Lewis and Blake?”
“Yes, I did. Why do you ask?”
“I thought them very well done.”
“Thank you.”
“Are you on payroll there?”
“No, I freelance.” When she had to, she could work commercially. If the circumstances were…right. She never accepted a job unless it met her needs.
“Great!” He leaned one raised palm against her kitchen table, letting his arm take his weight. His smile spread easily across his face, while his ginger gaze held hers in friendly persuasion. “I’m looking for an on-call artist who does quality work. May I ask your fees?”
“Um…I’m not sure I’ll take on any more commercial work for a while. It would have to be something very special.”
“Ah. All right, then.” He seemed disappointed, but straightened, giving ready acceptance to her answer. “Well, stop over and visit our offices sometime. If I’m not there, my top man, John, can show you the kinds of things we do. You might see something that would excite you. And let me know when you’re interested in working again?”
“Okay. Thank you for, um, offering.”
“Sure. Glad to. Well, bye again.”
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