Competition Chapter 9
Jim Frayne stood on the curb in front of the store after his morning with Habitat for Humanity. Dusty tan work boots, untied, drew the eye up his long, jean-clad legs that were more than a step apart. A lightly stained t-shirt was covered by a blue and black plaid flannel shirt, rolled up over muscular forearms. His large hands were placed in his back pockets, as he gazed at the store with a mixture of awe and trepidation. He missed all the appreciative looks being cast his way by the high-powered career women that that seemed to seep out of every office building in Manhattan.
It was just so bright in there. And crowded with merchandise. The only thing, he figured, that was worse than actually going in there would be if he was going shopping for lingerie or feminine hygiene products. Scrubbing a calloused hand across his flushed face, he took the plunge and pulled open the door with the fancy gold lettering: The Hallmark Store.
It was worse inside than he expected. Racks upon racks of colorful cards; candles and ornaments; bows and ribbons and gift wraps and bags; little china knickknacks assaulted his senses and crowded him in. About to turn tail and run, his panicked look was caught by a sales associate who sweetly inquired if she could help him.
"Uh, yeah. I'm..uh, I want to buy a card to tell someone that I miss them," he mumbled.
"Okay. Now, we have different types of Miss You cards. Follow me."
Different types of Miss You cards? What on earth was with that? You either miss someone or you don't. Seeing his puzzled face, the saleswoman held up one perfectly manicured hand and began to tick them off. "There's your friendly miss you, one to make up after a fight miss you; funny miss you; woman to woman miss you; might be pregnant miss you; romantic miss you. We even have one you can fill out yourself." She gestured to a large area.
Jim muttered his thanks as she sauntered away to help another customer and began to sort through the selection. The funny ones were, well, too funny and some even had a hard, nasty edge. The romantic ones all seemed to feature really sappy verse and pictures of doe-eyed waifs or adorable puppies and kittens. Not quite a fit for his warrior woman. Geez, he really was no good at all this touchy-feely stuff. Maybe he should have gone out on a couple of dates for practice, instead of burying himself in schoolwork.
About to give up, his eyes focused on a small card and lit up. The front was a beautiful watercolor rendition of several orchids, with a slashing Miss You softened by a lavender color. Opening up the card, he prayed for a simple verse and not one of the overly sentimental and gushy ones he was reading.
It was blank.
His lips tilted up at the corner as he found the matching envelope and strode swiftly to the checkout. A few minutes later, pen in hand, envelope addressed and stamped, he wrote his message to his special girl.
He transferred the bag with the other object he bought on an impulse to his right hand once the card was mailed, and went to class. Only time would tell if he needed the contents.
Trixie, miles away in Sleepyside and unaware of the turmoil she was causing in Jim's life, was pretty relaxed and definitely happy as Aidan helped her into his car. He met her at the math lab right on time, and didn't lecture, blow out exasperated breaths or roll his eyes as one Mr. Jim Frayne and Mr. Brian Belden were wont to do. She showed him examples of problem areas, and they got right to work.
He was very patient with her and took her through a few examples, explaining each several different ways until she had her Eureka! moment. His wide, white smile and obvious enjoyment of her excitement at unlocking a mystery of Trig hid a much different reaction.
Working so closely together at the large, double tables, her proximity was driving him insane. He was close enough to smell the vanilla shampoo she used in her hair; close enough to those very tempting spirals so that they brushed against his arm or once, right across his face. His fingers itched to drop the pencil and touch all that tempting skin she had on display. It was no more so than any other girl in school, probably a lot less, but her creamy shoulders were just begging to be nuzzled. It was going to be another cold shower for him tonight. He idly wondered if he was going to expire of hypothermia before he had a chance to make a move.
"It was so nice of your mom to ask me over again." Trixie smiled at him, a brilliant, joyful smile that stole his breath away as they reached his car. He really was a nice person. He knew she was more than capable of getting into his car, but opened the door for her and grasped her elbow to make sure she had no problem climbing on to the high seats.
Buckling himself in, he was more than happy to share the fact that his mother was thrilled he was bringing a new friend to dinner. Instinctively, he knew he had to go slow with Ms. Trixie Belden. The innocence shone out of those drenched delphinium eyes, brighter than the shiniest Christmas tinsel, bringing out dormant protective feelings, ones he had not experienced since Kaitlin lived home.
Pulling in his driveway, he scurried around to her door and grasped her small, slender hand in his large one, ostensibly to help her out of the high vehicle. Once she was safely on the asphalt, he didn't let go as she expected; he pulled her along to the back porch and up the few steps into the kitchen.
"Ma! We're home!" Aidan announced in a stentorian voice. He turned to Trixie, still grasping her hand, and asked if she would like him to hang up her hoodie. Shrugging her shoulders out of it, exposing all that creamy skin again, Aidan took the object and disappeared into the mudroom the same time Mrs. McCourt entered the fragrant kitchen. Aidan leaned against the wall, inhaling deeply as he tried to get himself in some semblance of control. His mother was out there, for heaven's sake! One look at his flushed face and she'd be examining him for a fever.
It was a fever, just not the type you need a thermometer for.
"Hi Trixie," she greeted the buoyant blonde, and surprised Trixie and herself by giving Trix a little hug. "I hope you're hungry!"
"It smells delicious in here," Trixie said truthfully. "Can I help you set the table or anything?"
"Oh no, no, you're Aidan's guest," Siobhan replied, but very pleased Trixie asked. Not many girls Aidan brought home from time to time ever thought to ask something simple and mannered like that. Most of them expected to be waited on hand and foot. "I hope you don't mind eating in the kitchen. We still don't have the dining room totally finished."
"Oh, not at all, Mrs. McCourt. That's where my family eats too. The dining room is really only used when we have lots of guests." Aidan reentered the kitchen to see his two girls having a pleasant conversation, not stilted in the least. He bent down and gave his mother a kiss on the cheek, much to her enjoyment, and asked Trixie if she wanted the ten cent tour of the downstairs.
She had never been in the house, although it had been built well before the civil war, much like Crabapple Farm. And like the Farm, succeeding generations had added to and modified the house. Besides the kitchen and mudroom, there was a formal dining room, a large guest bedroom, small half bath with a shower, another bedroom that had been converted into an office, a family den and a living room with a foyer. The den had a large stone fireplace with a slate mantle.
Trixie walked over to the mantle which was covered with framed photographs. She saw a toddler Aidan and a little girl who looked remarkably like a feminine version of him. "Your sister?"
His grey-green eyes darkened to mostly stormy grey. "Yeah. Kaitlin, she's three years older than me." Unconsciously, he sighed and ran the tip of his finger over the top of the frame. "She, uh, she and my dad had a falling out several months ago because he promised we wouldn't have to move again, and we did. The next thing you know, she eloped with her boyfriend and hasn't been home since."
Trixie put her small hand on his arm. "You and your parents are upset," she stated. He took his other hand and stroked her fingers, not even thinking about his action. "Yeah, pretty upset, especially Dad. You know how fathers are about their little girls. And I do miss my sister."
Trixie giggled. "Mine still calls me princess. I could be in my most disreputable jeans, smelling of horse and have on the dirtiest t-shirt and he'll always see me as Cinderella in her ball gown." Come to think of it, so did Jim. Her thoughts slid sideways to a long-ago party, a white orchid corsage and the feeling at the time Jim was getting ready to actually make a move – until they were interrupted by lights on the hill above them.
Unconsciously, she removed her hand from Aidan's touch and fingered the dainty silver bracelet she had on. She hadn't worn it for the longest time; had no particular reason why she felt she had to wear it today. Her fingertip slid over the engraving, three little letters that meant so much to her on that day he shyly gave it to her en route home from Happy Valley: JIM.
Siobhan entered the room and saw her son and Trixie in front of the fireplace, standing very close together and obviously very serious. Kaitlin. He must be telling her about Kaitlin. Swallowing a sigh, she pinned on a bright smile. "That fireplace and this room were a part of the original house."
Both Trixie and Aidan turned to her, relief on both of their faces. "It's lovely, Mrs. McCourt. What other rooms are original?" Pleased to be able to cut their conversation short about her wayward daughter and Aidan's unhappiness with his sister, she dove into the conversation with gusto.
"Well, the den here, of course. The office and the bedroom were all part of the original house. The kitchen was too, except it has been expanded and modernized. This older part of the house is giving me the most trouble," she murmured.
"Really, Ma? You never said anything." Siobhan looked at her son in exasperation.
"Aidan, I only told you and you father fifty times if I told you once the measurements of the two rooms are off." She turned to Trixie, eyes sparkling. "If they were watching the Superbowl and I told them Angelina Jolie was waiting for them, I'm sure they would be listening hard enough."
Aidan had the grace to flush at that. "Ah, Ma," he began, ready to explain that every single male in the world would shoot to attention for Ms. Jolie.
"Oh hush, Aidan." Addressing Trixie, she said, "I was undecided if I wanted to cover the hardwood floors in the rooms with carpet, so I was measuring the rooms. Both rooms have a little jog in the adjoining walls, almost like the walls suddenly spread apart right before the hallway, like a Y. I looked at the blueprints but nothing is there." She sighed with the mystery of it. "I suppose Mr. Sunderland, who was the original owner and builder, either was not really all that skilled at building or the house has settled over the years."
Trixie went totally still. "Did you say Mr. Sunderland?" She was suddenly possessed by an air of suppressed excitement. Could it be? The same Sunderland who built Rosewood Hall?
Siobhan stared at the spreading rose flush on Trixie's cheeks and the sudden glitter of animation in her china-blue eyes. "Uh, yes, according to the sketchy records, a Mr. Sunderland built the cottage, as it was called then. Apparently he didn't like Sleepyside life and moved to…"
"Croton!" Trixie finished. "May I look at the hallway between the rooms?" Siobhan gave her assent, and she and a puzzled Aidan followed her to the short hallway between the rooms. They watched in fascination as she began lightly knocking on the original planked paneling lining only one side of the hallway. It was darkened with age. Trixie was so intent on her task, she didn't flinch when a uniformed John McCourt joined the trio in the hall and inquired, "What's going on?"
Siobhan shook her head slightly as Trixie suddenly knelt and placed her hand underneath the molding and pulled. It took a couple of tugs, and the paneling slid up like a window. "Oh my God," uttered Siobhan, completely and totally astonished. "A secret room! How did you figure this out?"
Trixie stood up, her face flushed a bright red. She caught at Aidan's wrist when he made to go in the opening she had just created. "No, Aidan. You need to put a fan on. The room has been sealed up for a long time, the air is probably really bad in there. Trust me," she added dryly, "I know from experience." He turned to her, his grey-green eyes filled with frank admiration.
"How did you…"
"It's a really long story." Suddenly noting the older man standing there, her flush deepened to an even more vibrant red. Great. Caught crawling around on the floor by Aidan's dad. Swallowing a great gulp of air, she stuck out her slender hand and brazened it out. "Hi. You must be Aidan's dad. I'm his friend Trixie Belden, from school."
Bemused, the older man was enchanted by the petite blonde in front of him, blushing just as furiously as his wife did at times. "John McCourt. I'd love to hear your tale, but I'm absolutely famished. Is it suitable dinner conversation?" He arched a dark brow.
Giggling, Trixie informed him all her stories were PG-13. "Well, why don't you wash up, Aidan and I will set the table, and we can discuss this over some delicious Irish stew and soda bread. I'm going to fade away to nothing!" He grinned as she snapped him a two-finger salute and headed off toward the bathroom.
John threw one arm around his son, one arm around his wife and led them to the kitchen. As they worked together to dish tonight's feast, John noted the dreamy expression on Aidan's face. Uh-oh, the boy's got it bad. What red-blooded American boy wouldn't be fascinated by an ebullient, gorgeous blonde who found secret rooms? More keenly observant that his wife and son, John was curious about the silver flash on her wrist, the one that said in big, bold engraved letters: JIM.
He wondered what that short name really meant to Trixie Belden.
Trixie paused at the doorway into the kitchen, watching the homey scene unfurling before her. Like a well-oiled machine, the three McCourts were engaged in tasks she and her brothers did many times before. "Are you sure I can't help?" Really, there must be something she could do!
Siobhan smiled and handed her the warm basket of soda bread. "If you could just put this on the table, I think we're all done."
Like the gentleman he was taught to be, Aidan pulled out Trixie's chair and seated her at the comfortably scarred kitchen table before seating his mother and himself. Spreading his napkin on his lap, John McCourt turned to Trixie and invited her to tell them about the secret room in the hallway. It almost sounded like a mystery story!
Trixie began. "Well, it all started when I crashed through a wall at Crabapple Farm…" In between bites of the delicious, fragrant lamb stew and home-baked soda bread, she told the tale of the mystery of the emeralds to her enthralled audience.
Aidan sat back in his chair, dazzled by the spirit, the adventure, and the intelligence of the girl across from him. "So, you think that this Sunderland guy might have hidden emeralds in our secret room?" Hidden treasure! Wouldn't that be the absolute ultimate?
She looked at Aidan and smiled. "No, I don't think so. What I think is…" she was interrupted by her cell phone chirping loudly. "I wonder if you can excuse me for a second? This may be my mother or dad, and I need to answer." Standing up, she walked into the mudroom and answered her phone without checking the caller ID.
"Hello?"
"Hey Trix," Jim's low, husky voice startled her.
"I can't talk to you right now, I'm in the middle of something. I'll try to call you tonight." With that Trixie snapped her phone shut. Why was Jim calling her so much all of a sudden? She couldn't believe he was checking on her prom dress again. It never dawned on her he could be calling her simply because he was slowly going crazy not being able to touch her. Or give her a fond glance. Except now, he knew he couldn't limit himself to a fond glance or innocent touch. He wanted it all.
Jim sat there, staring at his phone and getting that twinge in his gut that told him his Trixie was up to something. He only hoped it was another mystery and not another man.
Trixie sat back down at the table, but did not inform them of the identity of her caller. That was private, after all. She didn't vet Aidan's calls. She really had no reason to feel guilty.
"You were saying we don't have a treasure in our house," Aidan reminded her.
"Oh yeah! Well, I'm pretty sure that what you have there is a hiding place for escaped slaves during the Civil War, like the one I found at my house. You might find nothing, or maybe a few odds and ends left behind by some of the occupants. A lot of the older houses in this area were involved in the Underground Railway; I bet this was one of them. The Sunderlands were involved with that."
"Hey Trix, I'm going to set up a fan there after I take you home," Aidan said. "I'll probably explore there after school tomorrow. Are you game?"
"I'm sorry Aidan, I can't, although I would love to. Honey and I are exercising Lady and Susie tomorrow, and Regan gets really cranky if we don't follow through." Addressing his parents, she explained. "Lady and Susie are part of a stable Mr. Wheeler, that's Honey's father, maintains at their estate. Regan is their groom and he'll have our hides if we don't get the horses out. With our brothers away at college, it's difficult to get them all exercised as much as they need. But, you can certainly let me know what you find!"
Aidan looked crestfallen, but before her son could embarrass himself by whining, Siobhan quickly commented. "You know how to ride, Trixie?"
"Oh yes, Regan and Honey taught me a long time ago. Susie is more or less my horse, although I do ride all of them except Jupiter. He's Mr. Wheeler's and Jim's big black gelding and way too spirited for me. Jim is Honey's brother," she added as an afterthought, and her cheeks bloomed with a becoming rose color.
Glancing sharply at the bracelet adorning her wrist, John filed away this little nugget of information to examine at a later time. A neighbor boy, and a rich one from what the girl was saying. Convenient.
Scraping the last of the stew from her bowl, Trixie tuned to Siobhan. "Mrs. McCourt, this was delicious. I wonder if you could give me the recipe for my Moms."
"Sure, Trixie, I'll write it down and give it to Aidan to give to you. Did you save room for dessert?"
With a self-deprecating grin, Trixie patted her tummy. "Oh, I just could not eat another thing!" A quick glance at the kitchen clock and Trixie gasped. "I had no idea how late it's getting!"
Aidan quickly stood up. "I'll drive you home now, Trix. Ma, I'll take care of the dishes when I get home – and make sure you save me some ice cream!"
"Oh, I don't mean for you to miss your dessert." Distressed, Trixie apologized to the tall, handsome man looking at her with a strange light in his eyes.
"No problem Trix," he called from the mudroom. Returning with her hoodie, he helped her into it. "Everything was just so delicious and I got to solve a mystery! Thank you for having me today. It's the best day I had in a long time." It was too quiet without the guys and no new mysterious doings.
Looking at the brilliant smile and the light creating a luminous halo around the girl, Siobhan uncharacteristically kissed her on the cheek. "It was lovely having you here, Trixie. You'll have to come back soon. And you," she pointed at Aidan, "Drive carefully and straight home!" As the two left, Siobhan noted the look of concern on John's face.
It was something to talk about later.
When they pulled up to Crabapple Farm, Aidan hurried to the passenger side to help Trixie. "You know, I can get out of the car by myself," she twinkled at him.
"Yeah, but then I get the pleasure of walking to the porch," he retorted. As she climbed the stairs and turned to say goodbye, she was startled to be eye to eye with him. Gently, he grabbed her hand and said lowly, "Thanks for tonight. Thank you for the mystery." His long, strong fingers stroked her wrist gently as he leaned forward just that little bit and brushed her lips with his. "See you tomorrow."
She stood there on the steps until he pulled away, one trembling finger touching the lips he just kissed. It felt…nice. Somehow, she always thought Jim would be the first one to kiss her. But Aidan's friendly kiss was very nice.
As she turned to the house, a thunk on the porch caught her attention. It was her bracelet, one of the links cracked and broken. She gathered it in her hands and went into the house and up the stairs, still thinking about that lightest of kisses.
Jim fell asleep with his cell phone clutched in his fist, awaiting a call from Trixie that never came.
Thank you to my lovely editor, Mylee for all her help! This story would not be the same without her!
