Snowed in with the Single Dad--A Clean Romance by Melinda Curtis

Author:Melinda Curtis
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2019-03-06T14:33:17+00:00

CHAPTER TWELVE

LAUREL STOOD INSIDE the doorway of the trading post, watching Mitch make his way carefully the twenty feet back to the road.

From here the town of Second Chance looked like a postcard she’d once received from a friend who’d visited Aspen. Snow-covered trees, rooftops and mountains. Pristine and perfect. Her heart felt light. The cares that came with her pregnancy lessened.

Mitch kissed me.

Joy, the unabashed joy she’d felt when she’d seen her babies on the sonogram screen, coursed through her veins.

Mitch kissed me.

It felt as if the babies were fluttering with joy, as well.

In the afterglow of their kiss, Laurel refused to think about the truths that had to be told, the ones that would douse the light in Mitch’s eyes when he looked at her.

“Gabby’s right. Mitch has the hots for you.”

Laurel turned and faced her cousin with a big smile and confirmed, “Mitch has the hots for me.”

They both laughed.

Sophie grabbed her hand and drew her inside. “Don’t be freaked out. This place is awesome. But it’s packed tighter than a fridge at the holidays.”

She was right. There were narrow paths through the stacks of stuff. Not an inch had been overlooked, not even the walls had escaped.

“Um.” Laurel’s gaze roved around the large building, finding no oil paintings by da Vinci, although there was a black velvet clown painting on the wall. “These are your treasures? Grandpa Harlan’s treasures?”

“There’s a treasure right here. Look at this handmade pottery.” Sophie tugged Laurel across the dusty planked flooring to a bureau with what looked like unfinished pottery on top. “They look rustic like that because they were made by people with a passion for artistic expression but who were often self-taught.” Sophie was an art nerd.

Laurel was just realizing her idea of art was an oil painting or a marble sculpture. Not stuff like this. She picked up one of the pieces. “Is this a pitcher?” It was. The ceramic was shaped and painted as a man’s face, his nose was the spout. “Are you sure these are valuable?”

“Well, they’re valuable to me and art historians. I’ll have to research the mark on the bottom to see who made these.” Sophie hugged herself and looked around the dim, musty room with a wide smile. “This is fabulous.”

“Okay?” Laurel didn’t try to hide her doubt. This was creepier than some of the prop rooms at Monroe Studios. Colder, too.

“He entrusted this to me.”

“Who?”

“Grandpa Harlan. He entrusted these things to me the same way he had entrusted his art collection to me.”

Had Sophie’s eyes not filled with tears, Laurel might have argued that any one of the Monroe grandchildren could have entered the trading post and called dibs.

Not that she thought there was anyone but Sophie who’d be interested in...

“What’s that?” Laurel pointed across the room. But she knew. It was the antique dress form Cousin Ella had told her about last month. At least, she hoped that was what it was. It looked like a short ghost.

Laurel picked her way past barrels and between cardboard boxes that were bulging and threatening to fall apart.

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