Compromising Positions. Kate Hoffmann
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leaped out of the truck. “You still believe you’re going to get the bed?”
“I’m hopeful,” she called.
“I think you’re going to be disappointed.”
Sam watched her start her truck, then hopped back into his own and turned the key in the ignition. He drove silently into town and within a few minutes pulled up in front of an old storefront on Center Street, on the north end of the business district.
Gold letters painted on the huge glass window identified the place as Benny Barnes Antiques and Auction Gallery. Benny, one of the town’s more colorful characters, had added his own personal tagline to the window: I Buy Old Stuff.
Benny had agreed to take the bed, along with the other disputed pieces, and hold them until ownership had been determined. Ever the marketing genius, he’d taken the opportunity to get some publicity out of it for himself, setting the Washington bed up in his front window with a lovely hand-painted sign and antique bed linens.
As Sam parked beside her, Amelia hopped out of the truck, not waiting for him to get her door. She stood in front of the wide plate-glass window and Sam joined her.
“Nice to know I can keep an eye on it,” Sam muttered.
A worried expression crossed her face and she gnawed on her lower lip. “Right.”
He rested his palm on the small of her back as he held the front door open for her and they stepped inside the dimly lit interior. Jerry was waiting for them, stretched out in a tattered wing chair, a mug of coffee in his hands.
“Morning,” he said, nodding to the two of them.
“Morning, Jerry,” Sam said. “You remember Amelia Sheffield. She stayed at the inn last night, so I let her know about the meeting.”
Jerry frowned, glancing back and forth between the two of them. “Will you excuse us, miss?” he said, getting up and grabbing Sam by the arm. He dragged him to a quiet corner of Benny’s office. “You’re giving aid and refuge to the enemy now?”
“I’m confident we’ll prevail,” he said. “And she’s a paying customer.”
“Yeah? Well, you’d best watch yourself. A woman that beautiful is nothing but trouble.”
They walked back out to Amelia and found her inside the large display window, examining the details on the bed.
“Well, I’ve got good news and bad,” Jerry began. “Good news is there’s no one else making a claim on this piece. Bad news is Miss Abigail has decided to leave the decision up to you two.”
“How’s that going to work?” Sam asked.
“Hell if I know. But you’re going to have to fight this one out yourselves. When you’ve got it sorted, give me a call and I’ll write up the paperwork. Until then, Benny says he’ll keep the bed here.”
After he walked out, they stood next to each other, silently, both of them weighing their options. Amelia was the first to speak. She removed her phone from her purse. “Where can I buy some bed linens? Sheets and a pillow?”
“Why would you need that?”
“I’m going to stay here, live here in this bed, until you give up your claim. Unless you want to give up right now, which would save us both a lot of time and trouble?”
“I’m not giving up. It’s my bed. It’s a family heirloom.”
“And you thought by seducing me, I might forget that point? Well, I haven’t. You can kiss me all you want, Sam Blackstone, and it’s not going to shake my determination.” She sat on the edge of the bed.
“You want to stay here in this dusty old window?”
“Yes. I hope the store has a bathroom. Why don’t you go check on that for me?”
“I’m not going to stay here,” Sam said.
“Then you’re giving up already?”
“No. But this isn’t the way to decide this. We could flip a coin. We could arm wrestle or cut cards. We don’t have to live here.”
“Well, I am going to live here. I’m going to sleep in my bed until it’s all mine.”
He cursed beneath his breath. This was crazy. How was it that she was dictating the terms? Hell, they could take the bed back to the inn and live in relative comfort and seclusion.
“Hello! Anyone here?” A moment later Minerva Threadwell came around the corner. She wore a bright purple warm-up suit and had her gray hair pulled into a tidy bun at the top of her head. Rabbit-fur earmuffs covered her ears and she looked as if she’d just happened in on her morning walk. “Oh, here you are. I just got a tip that there was new development on the bed. I can get it into our Thursday edition.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out her notepad and pen. “Care to comment?”
Sam groaned. “Is this really what you consider newsworthy, Minerva?”
“It’s a small town,” she said in a clipped tone. “I take what I can get. So, whose bed is it, yours or hers?”
Amelia pulled a business card out of her pocket. “Amelia Sheffield of the Mapother Museum. And it seems Miss Farnsworth left the decision up to us. So, I’ll just be staying here, sleeping in this bed, until Mr. Blackstone agrees to let me take it to Boston for my exhibit.”
“Well, this is an interesting development,” Minerva said. “Kind of a John Lennon-Yoko Ono thing.”
“What?”
“Oh, right,” Amelia said. “A sleep-in.”
“So you two are going to sleep in the bed together?”
“I’m not sleeping here,” Sam protested.
“Then what’s to prevent her from taking off with your bed in the middle of the night?” Minerva asked, an inquisitive arch to her eyebrow.
Sam cursed beneath his breath. “I guess I’ll be sleeping here with her.”
Minerva’s smile widened. “Now, that will make the story even more interesting. You’ll be sharing the bed?”
“No,” Sam and Amelia said at the same time.
Then Sam realized this could be the opportunity he’d been hoping for. “I mean yes,” Sam said. “It’s only fair. It is my bed.”
“It’s my bed and you won’t be sleeping in it,” Amelia said.
“Which is it?” the reporter asked. “Are you going to sleep together or not?”
“Yes,” Amelia said.
The reporter turned to look at Sam. “And...you’re all right with that?”
“Sure,” Sam said. He sent Amelia a lazy smile. “I don’t plan to do a lot of sleeping.”
He heard a tiny gasp catch in Amelia’s throat and took satisfaction in the realization that he’d managed to rattle her. Miss Cool and Collected had a weak spot. Was she imagining what might happen once the lights went out?
“What’s so important about this bed?” Minerva asked.
“George Washington slept in this bed,” Amelia said.
“I expect he slept in many beds over the course of his life,” Minerva commented.
“It’s not very important,” Sam countered. “But it’s always had a home with the Blackstone family. Ms. Sheffield doesn’t seem to understand the value of family traditions.”
“Do you have proof that George Washington slept in the bed?”
Amelia nodded. “Of course. Mr. Blackstone’s grandfather included paperwork on the provenance with copies of Washington’s