Sandpiper Way (Cedar Cove #8)(84)

“That sounds reasonable,” she said, accepting the paperwork. “I’ll be back later.” She fairly danced out of the gallery.

Tanni ran to the car, breathless with joy and excitement. Shaw was pacing outside, his breath steaming in the cold air. He stopped abruptly when he saw her.

“What did he say?” he blurted out the instant she was within earshot.

“You have to sign these papers,” she said and thrust them into his hand.

“Why?” He stared at her as he took the two sets of pages from her.

Tanni broke into a wheezing laugh. “This is the agreement to sell your work.”

“He likes my stuff?”

“Yes.” She grinned widely. “A lot.”

“You’re not making this up, are you?” Shaw studied her skeptically.

“Did I make up those papers?”

Shaw clutched them so tightly, the edges had started to crumple.

“Read the agreement first,” she said. “If you want, I can have my mother look it over. She’s had contracts with this gallery before. Other galleries, too.”

Shaw frowned uncertainly. “I’ll do whatever you think is best.”

She exhaled. “Then we’ll ask my mother to read it.”

“Okay.”

Tanni slipped her arms around his waist and hugged him tight. “Are you excited?”

Shaw hugged her back, the papers still in his hand. “More than I thought possible. I can’t believe you’d do this for me.”

“I love you.” She hadn’t meant to tell him that, but it was too late. She’d said it.

Shaw’s breathing became labored. And yet he didn’t release his grasp on her.

“I shouldn’t have said that.” She was embarrassed now and wished she could take back the words.

“I love you, too.”

“Oh, Shaw.” She wanted to weep with joy. Her mother would say she was too young to be in love and maybe she was. All she knew was how she felt about Shaw. He was constantly in her thoughts. Their times together brought her happiness and peace—in sharp contrast to the intense grief of losing her father.

Her improved outlook was noticeable to those around her, particularly her friends at school, but her mother, too. Since Tanni had met Shaw, everything in her life had become a little better.

He continued to hold her. “I never understood why Anson would risk his freedom by calling Allison,” he said close to her ear.

Tanni remembered how Anson had been unjustly accused of starting the fire that had destroyed The Lighthouse restaurant. Then he’d disappeared, and no one other than Shaw knew he’d enlisted in the army. The evidence was all circumstantial. No formal charges were filed against him, but Anson was considered a “person of interest,” so if the police had learned of his whereabouts, he would’ve been taken in for questioning. And if there wasn’t a more plausible suspect by then, he could actually have faced arrest.

Even with that risk hanging over his head, Anson had phoned Allison. Not once or twice but repeatedly.

“I told Anson he was an idiot,” Shaw explained. “He could’ve ended up in jail. You know what he said?”

“What?”

“He said it didn’t matter, he needed to hear the sound of Allison’s voice. I couldn’t imagine loving someone so much I’d take that kind of chance.” He kissed her hair. “I understand it now, though.”

“Oh, Shaw…”

Tanni noticed a couple of women coming down the street toward them and nudged Shaw. Reluctantly they broke away from each other.

“Can I ask you something?” he said.

“Of course.”

“You’re so talented, but you don’t seem to care if anyone sees your work.”

“I care,” she said. “But a lot of what I draw right now is just for me.” Her sketches were what had kept her sane—somewhat sane, anyway—after the accident. They were too private to share with anyone other than Shaw. Certainly not her mother, who’d probably get hysterical if she saw some of them.

Despite his lack of training and encouragement and everything she’d taken for granted, Shaw was an artist. He would succeed.

Tanni knew it as clearly and precisely as if she could look into the future. A few drawings in a small-town gallery was just the beginning.

Twenty-Nine

Dave Flemming folded his hands in his lap. He sat in Roy McAfee’s office, across from the one man he trusted to help him.

“What can I do for you?” Roy asked. “I have to admit I was surprised to see you’d made an appointment with me.”

Dave had never, ever thought he’d be in this position. He’d promised Emily, though, and he kept his promises. “I have a problem,” Dave said. He didn’t mince words; he felt the best way to clear himself of suspicion was to be as honest as possible.

He was busy, and he didn’t have time to squander on speculation, worry and doubt. He wanted this resolved, preferably by Christmas Eve. If Roy could manage that, then Dave would thank him heartily.

“And you think I can help with this problem?” Roy asked.

“I don’t know. I hope so.” Dave still needed to visit a couple of ill parishioners, check with Cliff Harding about the Nativity scene animals and prepare an agenda for one of his committee meetings. The charity food baskets were being assembled that afternoon and he had to pick up some canned goods and get them to the church before the volunteers arrived at five. Then he’d head over to the bank for his shift.