these things. They’re my dad’s.” I lifted a porcelain-faced doll wearing a tattered old prairie dress.
A warm hand covered my shoulder, and Spencer’s voice was gentle. “They’re not his things, Daisy. He was a businessman. He bought these things to sell, right?”
Reaching up, I’d touched the hot tear on my cheek. “Dad loved finding these things for people. He said the romance of our work was completing collections or finding long lost treasures.”
“Your father was a long-lost treasure.”
“Oh, God.” Dropping my face into my hands, I had to take a minute while the tears flooded my eyes.
“Hey…” Spencer pulled me to his chest in an uncharacteristic display of affection. “Easy now.” He held me tightly, rubbing his hand up and down my back.
“Look, Mamma, look!” Melody bounced into the room on a giant rubber ball with a handle between her knees, her golden curls dancing around her shoulders in a thick, glossy cascade. That hair could only have come from Scout’s side of the family. “It’s a horsey-ball! Yee-haw!”
I was so thankful to have her that day. Stepping away from Spencer, I dropped to my knees, smiling through my tears. “I had one of those when I was your age.”
Her big blue eyes widened, and she ran off the ball into my arms. “Don’t cry, Mamma!” Her little, three-year-old hands were in my hair, and she smoothed it away from my face. “Pawpaw is watching us from heaven, remember? He’s always with us. That’s what you said.”
“That’s right.” I’d smiled, but my sorrow was exposed by the tears sliding down my cheeks. “I’m just going to miss talking to him is all.”
Her little nose scrunched, and she looked so much like her dad. “Pawpaw was grumpy.”
I laughed, pulling her closer in a hug. “He was very grumpy. But he loved us so much, he left us all this stuff.”
Melody picked up a little doll from one of the boxes. “Who is she? She looks like Charlotte.”
“She does!” I smiled at her reference to the ragdoll in Little House in the Big Woods we were reading at bedtime. “You want to keep her?”
“She’s really old.” She carefully touched the doll’s ceramic face with her small fingers. “Would it be okay?”
“I think Pawpaw would have liked you to have her.”
She hopped away into the stacks of antiques, and I exhaled a heavy sigh, shaking my head. “I’ll hire somebody to sort all of this. I can’t ask you to do it. It’s too much.”
He wouldn’t hear any arguments. “We’re between seasons. I’ll have my assistant in here with an intern.” He’d smoothed a hand down the front of his wool blazer like it was decided. “We’ll catalog everything and send you the inventory sheet by the end of the week.”
It was like a twenty-ton weight lifted off my chest. “How can I ever repay you?”
“I would think that’s obvious. You’ll give me my pick of whatever you don’t want to keep for yourself.”
“It’s a deal.” We’d shaken hands, and it was done.
Here I am, three months later with a massive check, a delivery of priceless antiques, and Spencer on the line.
“The AF Martin guitar! I know who will want this.” I lift it from a bed of biodegradable packing peanuts.
“I hope it’s someone with money.” Spencer is so bossy on my phone. “It’s worth twenty grand.”
“I know,” I laugh softly as I trace my finger along the scuff marks from ancient belt-buckles.
“If anything is missing or damaged, let me know immediately. I insured all of those boxes.”
“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your help with this.”
“I was well paid.”
I’m sure he was. We disconnect, and I’m carefully cutting open the next box when a friendly male voice stops me.
“What’s all this? Delivery day?” I look up with a smile to find Chad Tucker, sheriff of Oceanside Village entering the store.
He’s tall with dark hair and broad shoulders, and he reminds me of every Superman in the movies. He’s muscular with a dimple right in his cheek and kind blue eyes. He takes the notion of neighborhood policing seriously, regularly checking on all of the business owners in town, especially Emberly and me—the single moms.
“It’s the remaining inventory from my dad’s store. My old work friend in Columbia sent it all to me.”
His dark brow furrows, and concern fills his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Daisy.”
“Oh, no. Spencer respected my dad so much, he probably did a better job than I could have done going through everything.”
“I’m sure that’s not true.”
“I’m afraid