Hawk had no idea at the time what that could possibly mean, but now as he looked at the clothing in the window, he suspected it had something to do with a palette of designs that fit women of all shapes and sizes.
And as a man who appreciated women in all shapes and sizes, Hawk decided to like Claudia Colton on the spot.
Pushing through the door, he let his eyes accustom to the darker interior, lit by a wall of soft lights that gave the boutique a warm glow.
He should feel awkward. Or at least ready to turn in his man card, but somehow he felt neither of those things. Instead, all he had was a deep-seated curiosity of how a person could make a room feel so simple yet so rich at the same time.
Since taking this case and narrowing in on the daughter of Livia Colton, Hawk had imagined a cold, calculating woman, much in the same vein as her mother. But the deep colors and rich fabrics and warm, welcoming environment flew in the face of all that.
A pretty, petite woman came out from behind the counter. He got a sense of competence and feminine grace, along with a subtle curiosity as to what he was doing in a fashion boutique at ten in the morning. “You look lost.”
Funny words since he’d felt lost for the past four years. Lost until this case involving Claudia Colton had fallen right into his lap.
The mystery—a child stolen from her birth mother over a quarter century ago—had gripped him for some reason. Those icy fingers of awareness that always ran up and down his spine when he caught a case that moved him had been in full evidence with this one, yet there’d been something more.
Maybe it was the awareness he and Jennifer had been cheated out of their own family and happy-ever-after. Or maybe it was the feeling that she was pushing him toward this case.
He’d always loved the mystery of a cold case, but mystery had turned to mission when he lost his wife. If he was able to help others find answers, in some small way he believed it helped find one for Jennifer, too.
“Sir?” The woman came out from behind the main counter, her smile gentle. “Can I help you?”
“I’m sorry. Good morning, ma’am. And yes, I think you just might be able to.”
“What can I do, then?”
“I’d like to speak with Claudia Colton.”
Raw curiosity replaced the gentle smile, but she asked no further questions. Instead, she simply nodded. “I’ll just go get her.”
* * *
Claudia reached for the cup of coffee Evelyn had brought in earlier, surprised to realize it had gone cold as she’d once again wrapped herself up in Maggie’s dress. The bustle was coming along nicely, the hidden hooks she’d begun to sew in matching to the precise places she’d pinned up earlier.
Standing, Claudia scrutinized the lines of the dress and the way the gathered material arced into precise folds, neatly pulled up in those small hooks. She hadn’t designed many wedding gowns all the way to completion, but had always loved the process of sketching out all the different ways a woman could attire herself to walk down the aisle. Maggie’s trust in her was both humbling and satisfying, but it was actually seeing the design come to life before her eyes that gave her a strong sense of pride.
Mac had been the one to suggest New York first. He knew her love of fashion and had freely indulged her madness for magazine subscriptions and sketch pads. But it had been the sewing machine he’d bought her shortly after she’d moved into his home that had clinched it.
A fashion mind needs to go where the fashion-minded are, he’d said to her. Just before he pulled one of the thick warm blankets that perpetually lay over the family room couch off the large box that housed her Singer Studio model. The machine had brought endless hours of bliss and madness, frustration and a special sort of creative delight that nothing else in life could quite compare to. She and her Singer were one, the machine an extension of her vision and her dreams.
And Mac had understood that, better than anyone else she’d ever met.
She tossed a fond glance toward the machine’s place of honor in her workroom, right near the window that flooded her studio with light. The best gift she’d ever received.
The knock had her glancing up, breaking through the weight of memories that had seemed to haunt her all morning.
“Yes?”
Evelyn’s breath caught as she took in the dress. “You’ve been busy. And it looks even more amazing than it did a few hours ago.”
“It’s not done yet.”
“Maybe not, but you’re well on your way.” Evelyn waved her hand in a forward motion. “Which means it’s a good time for a quick break and a moment with the gorgeous man standing out front.”
The smile suffusing Evelyn’s face faded almost instantly, a match for the immediate sinkhole that opened in Claudia’s stomach. “Who’s here?”
“A man’s here. What’s wrong?”
He found me. He found me. He found me. The words beat a rapid tattoo in her brain, freezing her breath in her throat.
“Claudia?”
She forced herself to take a breath, her words a whisper when she finally spoke. “What does he look like?”
Even as she asked the question, all she could picture in her mind’s eye was the suave cut of a suit jacket, the artful wave of mahogany hair and dark brown eyes that could go nearly black in anger. Manicured hands and Italian loafers were simply fashionable window dressing when the package underneath was jealous, vengeful and, as of the past six months, increasingly dangerous.
“Tall. Dark blond hair that was likely all-the-way-blond when he was a boy. Sexy blue eyes.”
It was the blond and blue reference that finally penetrated, tugging at the twisted knots of her stomach. “Blue eyes?”
“Blue eyes like a Texas sky, I might add.” Evelyn’s own eyes narrowed. “But that has no bearing on the ghost that just walked over your grave. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Claudia willed her galloping pulse to calm, breathing in and out of her nose. She’d seen Mac gentle his horses with the soft tones of his voice, never sure if they could understand him yet always fascinated when they seemed to. She willed that soft voice into her own mind, trying desperately to find the equilibrium that had just been snatched away.
Trying even more desperately to erase the haunting image of Ben Witherspoon from her mind.
Hawk knew precious little about the world at large. He wasn’t a fashionable man, nor was he particularly concerned with fancy cars or big houses. He cared little for power and cared even less for the trappings of wealth.
But he knew people.
And the woman who stepped out of the back of the Honeysuckle Road boutique wore a haunted look that had no place on a random Thursday morning.
“Miss Colton?”
She gathered herself quickly, that troubled look fading as if it had never been, but Hawk made note of it, regardless. “Yes, how can I help you?”
“My name’s Hawk Huntley. I’d like a word with you, if I may.”
“About?”
Hawk glanced at Evelyn, hovering in the back of the shop. Although her gaze was averted, he had no doubt the woman was on high alert. “It’s a private matter.”