Shamus nodded. “I know which door you were looking at for the dining room and if you let me know your final decision on the paint for the foyer, I can pick up supplies when I run to get the mail."
"No problem. I've got it narrowed down to two possibilities."
"If you want I can pick up a couple of sample tins and we can try both of them."
She liked the way Shamus thought. “That would be perfect."
"We aim to please.” He gave her a look that almost melted her socks. One of the men cleared his throat, while the others shuffled their feet.
"Well,” she said, feeling more idiotic at the moment just standing there staring at Shamus like a lovesick fool. “I'll be in the office if you need me."
"No problem.” Shamus ignored her discomfort and dropped a quick kiss on her lips. It was obvious that he was letting the men know how things stood between them. She wasn't sure how she felt about that, but it was too late to protest now. It was done and Shamus was already moving away.
"We'll measure for the door and the counter here in the foyer and figure out how much paint we'll need. In the meantime, we've got several buckets of primer, wood filler, and sanders. We can get the walls ready for the paint."
"I leave it in your capable hands.” She nodded to the men. “Gentlemen.” She could see the speculation in their eyes, but it was more curious than malicious. There were no sly glances. Not quite sure what that meant, she left them and headed to the office. If renovations were going to start this fast, she needed to get working on the draperies.
The sound of male voices hummed in the background as she picked up the phone and dialed. It was answered on the third ring. “Hello."
"Aunt Verna, it's so good to hear your voice."
"What's wrong?"
Cyndi wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. Her aunt knew her too well. “Nothing's wrong.” She'd been in contact with her aunt every other day, but hadn't told her about the shooting incident or what she'd found in her father's papers. The older woman was worried enough about her as it was.
"I don't believe you. If you won't tell me, I'll have to come out there."
Cyndi shook her head, knowing she had to tell her aunt something. She curled up in one of the large wingback chairs that flanked her father's desk. These, she planned to keep and recover. “Nothing's really wrong. Someone slashed all my tires this morning."
"What!"
"It's probably nothing, just some kid's prank."
"Kid's prank, my patootie.” Closing her eyes, Cyndi could picture her aunt's scowl.
"No, really,” she rushed to reassure the older woman. “The authorities are looking into it."
"I don't like the idea of you being there alone."
"I'm not alone,” she blurted out before she could stop herself. She could practically hear the wheels in Verna's brain spinning.
"Do tell."
Cyndi laughed at her aunt's dry comment. “I mentioned him before.” She curled her legs over the side of the chair and swung her feet. “Shamus O'Rourke."
"The same O'Rourkes you had trouble with years ago?” Sometimes she wished Aunt Verna didn't know every detail about her past.
"Yeah, but he's different.” She hesitated. “He makes me feel...special."
"Now I really have to come for a visit."
"Don't pack your bags just yet,” Cyndi laughed. “Most of the furniture is gone, and I'm about to start tearing up the rest of the place."
"Good. That old mausoleum needed it."
"That's why I called.” Cyndi swung her legs back to the floor and ambled over to her father's desk where she'd left her renovation notes. “I need fabric samples. There's no store in town that has what I need. Do you think Janine would overnight me some sample books? Tell her I promise to only keep them for a few days and it will be worth her while. I've got a heck of a lot of windows to cover and furniture to reupholster.” Janine Evans was a friend of Aunt Verna's who owned a fabric and sewing shop.
"I don't think that would be any problem. Let me call her and get back to you."
"Thanks."
Her aunt cleared her throat. “If you need me, you know I'd be there in a second."
Cyndi's throat tightened with emotion. “I know,” she whispered. “I love you too."
Her aunt sniffed. “Enough of this maudlin sentiment. I'll call you as soon as I talk to Janine."
Cyndi shook her head as she said goodbye to her aunt and hung up the phone. For all her gruff, no-nonsense exterior, Verna Marks had a heart of gold and was as tough as a marshmallow with those she loved.
Reenergized, Cyndi grabbed an empty box and yanked open the first drawer of her father's desk.
Shamus was feeling better than he'd felt in days as he let himself back into Cyndi's home. His family was thawing slightly toward his relationship with Cyndi and that meant the world to him. The fact that Burke had sent a crew to her house spoke volumes.
Carrying the mail in one hand and a bag with a couple of sample cans of paint in the other, he headed to the office. He was certain Cyndi would still be working. When he'd stopped in earlier to let her know he was running into town, she'd been knee deep in boxes and excited about books of fabric swatches her aunt's friend was sending by courier. Women got excited over the strangest things. But he didn't care. It had put a smile on her face and that was all that mattered to him. It was better than the worry that had been there earlier.
Shamus had dropped into the sheriff's office long enough to talk to Patrick. There were no leads on the tire slashing, but they were still interviewing neighbors. He could tell that his brother was getting more concerned about Cyndi's safety. One incident could be written off as a horrible prank. Two showed a pattern. He just hoped there wouldn't be a third.
Pushing open the office door, he peered into the room. It certainly looked different than it had this morning. Boxes were piled neatly against one wall, two chairs and several small tables had been moved to the far side of the room, and the rest of it was stacked in front of the desk.
Shamus assumed the few items on the far end of the room were staying and the rest were going. He also noted the painting in front of the safe had been replaced by one with flowers on it. Linda had taken the one Cyndi didn't like when she'd left.
Cyndi was currently measuring windows, muttering under her breath and jotting figures down in her notebook, which always seemed to be at hand these days.
"Hey.” She jerked at the sound of his voice, but when she turned around, she was smiling. He could see the strain in her face no matter how hard she tried to hide it.
"Hey yourself. You weren't gone long. Were you?” She pushed a few strands of hair out of her eyes as she walked toward him.
"Long enough.” He dropped a kiss on her very kissable mouth and handed her the mail. “I picked up eight sample cans of paint. I figured we might as well look at the choices for the library and the office as well."
"Sounds good to me.” Cyndi dropped her notebook on an antique side table and began to rifle through the mail. “Bills, bills, junk, junk.” She tossed the envelopes into two separate piles.
"I saw Patrick while I was in town."
Cyndi stopped, envelope poised in the air. “Any news?"
The tension gripping her was palpable. She'd done a very good job of hiding it, but he knew she was worried. And why wouldn't she be? She'd been threatened, not once, but twice, in two separate acts of violence.
Shamus was just grateful she hadn't run at the first sign of trouble. He wouldn't have blamed her if she had, but then they never would have had the opportunity to be together.
He shook his head. “No. But they're still talking to the neighbors."
She nodded and went back to examining the mail. He could see the resignation in her face and knew she didn't expect answers. Frustration tore at him that there was nothing he could do or say to change things. He deposited the bag of paint samples on a nearby chair. He needed to hold Cyndi in his arms, if only for a moment.