Downstairs, she spent an hour on paperwork, opened a box of new fabric and put the bolts on display, then found herself at loose ends. She picked up the quilt she’d promised to make for Megan, another Chesapeake Shores scene, this time of the family’s home overlooking the bay. She’d worked on simplifying the design for days, using photos to get not only the images she wanted but the colors that would capture the scene. She’d assembled her fabrics and started the work during lulls in business the day before.
Though she’d made several traditional quilt patterns over the years, she found special satisfaction and creative freedom in doing this kind of folk art quilt. If Megan was right about her talent, these would distinguish her shop from any others in the immediate region.
And if she decided to do custom scenes for her customers, she could probably charge even more for them. Or she could assemble a collection of such quilts and even have a show. She could do it right here, or she could have a more formal showing next door at Megan’s increasingly respected art gallery. That could boost prices even higher, she suspected, still a bit stunned by Megan’s assessment of her quilts’ worth.
Sitting in a rocker she’d placed near the front window for better lighting, she pieced together a section of the O’Brien house with the kind of tiny, neat stitches she’d learned from her mother.
As always, any thought of Bridget Donovan filled her with nostalgia. How had they let things get so far off track? Of course it was because they’d both taken strong positions from which there was no backing down, pretty much the way she and Connor had done.
Ironically, she’d always thought herself capable of reason and compromise. Maybe, though, when something mattered so much, there was no room for compromise.
She wondered how her mother would feel if she knew that Heather had left Connor. Would she rejoice, or would she find it one more thing to criticize? There was no way to know without picking up the phone or going for a visit, and Heather simply wasn’t ready to do either. Not yet, anyway. She needed to get her feet back under her, to establish herself in her new life. Then, perhaps, she could withstand one of her mother’s pointed interrogations or her father’s disappointed looks.
A tap on the front door had her glancing up to spot Connor with their son in his arms. She put aside the quilt and let them in. Connor set little Mick down in his playpen, where he was immediately absorbed with his toys. Connor nodded toward the fabric she’d had in her lap.
“You working on something new?”
“It’s for your mother,” she said. “She admired another one of my quilts, so I’m doing something similar for her. It’s not very far along, though.”
Connor walked over and took a closer look, then turned to her with a surprised expression. “It’s our house!”
Heather grinned. “Thank goodness you recognized it. You have no idea what a relief that is.”
“It’s actually amazing. Have you done others like this? I only remember when you worked on the one that’s hanging in the window.”
“That’s a more traditional design,” she explained. “It’s the kind of quilt you’d find in a beach cottage, I think. At least that’s your mother’s theory, and I have sold several to the weekenders who have homes here. They love the old-fashioned look and feel of the cottage quilts, and they’re perfect for the old iron and brass beds so many people have found in antique shops in the area.”
“Did you make them all?” he asked. “When on earth did you find the time?”
She laughed. “Heavens, no. I’m not that fast. I’ve found several excellent Amish quilt-makers in the area, and I’ve bought quite a few quilts from them. So far I’ve resisted buying the machine-made quilts, but I may have to if I can’t keep up with demand.”
A frown knit his brow. “Can you make enough money selling quilts?”
She shrugged. “I hope so, but I’m also starting classes. Not only do I have several people signed up already, but they’ll all need supplies. And I’ve put out some flyers, so word’s getting around that I have fabric available, and a lot of women have been coming in to buy patterns and fabric for their own quilt projects.”
He hesitated, then said, “I suppose I have no right to say this, but I’m proud of you, Heather. Clearly you’re excited about this and have a vision to make it succeed.”
Heather was pleased by his approval. “Keep your fingers crossed that it goes well, or I’ll wind up back in a classroom.”
She was half-joking, but Connor apparently took her seriously.
“Would that be so awful? The schools around here won’t be as tough as the ones in Baltimore,” he said. “It would be a whole different experience. Don’t you have regrets about wasting your college degree?”
“Not really,” she said candidly. “I never felt about teaching the way I do when I walk in here every morning, knowing this business is mine. Connor, I doubt you can imagine what that’s like, to discover something you’re passionate about and turn it into a career. I never imagined that my love of quilting could be anything more than a hobby, yet here I am.”
He frowned. “You don’t think I understand that kind of passion? It’s exactly how I feel about law.”
Heather regarded him with skepticism. “I’m not a hundred percent certain about that.”
“Meaning?”
“To be honest, I’ve always thought you liked law as a way to get even, not as a way to ensure justice.”
He looked taken aback by the comment. “You don’t think much of me, do you?”
She saw the hurt in his eyes and regretted being so candid. “Oh, Connor, it’s not that. I love you. That’s why it’s so hard to see what you’re doing to yourself with the kind of cases you take. I know
