And then he was gone, a tiny squeak from his black dress shoes following him down the hallway and into the library.

Glancing at her wristwatch she couldn't help but smile once again. She'd worked feverishly over the past few days trying to get everything done in time, anxious to unveil Sweet Briar Public Library's brand-new children's room. The after-hours event was by invitation only, a sneak preview of sorts for the people who'd contributed to its completion. The fact that some of those people had tried to undermine her job and her place in the community was irrelevant. At least as far as the children's room went.

"Knock, knock." Milo poked his head in the doorway, his eyes sparkling as he took in the room. "Oh, Tori, it's beautiful. Absolutely beautiful." He closed the gap between them with several quick strides, his hands finding hers and squeezing tight. "You're beautiful."

"Milo!"

"What? Did I say something wrong?"

She felt her cheeks warm, her hands moisten inside his. "No, but . . ."

He peeked around the room, glanced at the empty doorway. "No one heard."

"I heard," she whispered.

"Good." He released her hands and motioned toward the walls. "My students are going to love this."

"Oh, I hope so. This room wouldn't look near as special if they hadn't drawn the pictures for the walls." She brought her hands together and let out a little squeal. "Can you imagine how you'd have felt if a picture you'd drawn was painted onto a wall-to stay?"

"I'd have been pumped, that's for sure."

"Pumped?" She narrowed her eyes at the handsome man standing in the middle of her room. "Aren't you supposed to say something about fire in Sweet Briar?"

"Fire?" He cocked his head to the side, confusion disappearing from his face as he pondered her words. "All fired up?"

She clapped her hands. "Yes! That one."

He laughed. "I suppose. But I'm trying to feel a little more familiar."

"Familiar? For what?"

"You mean, to whom."

"Okay. So who are you trying to be familiar to?"

"You."

She felt her cheeks redden even more. "By saying pumped?"

He shrugged impishly. "Well, I know the southern expressions have to be mind-boggling at times."

Reaching out, she loosened the knot of his tie just a bit and then retightened it against the collar of his white dress shirt. "I can get used to them."

"You can?"

"Maybe even find them endearing."

Now it was Milo's turn to blush. "Really?"

She patted the knot of his tie and then whispered a quick kiss on his chin. "Really."

He reached up and touched his hand to the spot she'd gently kissed, a silly grin stretching from one end of his face to the other. "Cool."

"Yeah, cool." She walked across the room and stopped beside a table stacked with frames. "Come see." The original artwork each student had drawn was featured in a frame, a small gold-colored plaque in the bottom right corner sporting the child's name and date, along with the title of the book they'd chosen to highlight with their illustration.

"Oh, Tori, they're going to love that." He looked from her, to the frames, and back again. "Where do you get the energy for all of this? I mean, to go through the garbage you've been through the past few weeks and still be able to do this . . . with a genuine smile on your face?"

"Mistakes were made. It happens." She scooted the stack to the corner of the table and straightened a small pile of index cards to their left. "The important thing is they were corrected."

He studied her for several long moments, a visual inspection that didn't bother her in the slightest.

"Did he apologize?"

"Whom?" She glanced down at the top card, mentally ran through her opening remarks.

"McGuire."

"He did. He truly had no idea that potassium cyanide can be used to remove tarnish from silver coins. Though, to hear him talk, he was starting to put two and two together."

"And get what? Ten?"

She laughed. "Maybe he's one of those people who use the right side of his brain-like I do."

"Well, the way he settled on you-for no other reason than you were new in town-doesn't bode well for his creativity either."

"Yeah, but he looks good in a uniform." Turning, she leaned against the table and smiled up at Lulu's teacher.

His brows furrowed. "You really think so?"

"No. But Leona Elkin does."

Milo swiped a hand dramatically across his forehead, mock relief on his face. "You had me worried for a mom-"

"Miss Sinclair?"

She pushed off the table and sidestepped Milo. "Yes, Nina?"

"People are starting to arrive."

Looking down at her wristwatch she nodded. "Did you set up the cookies and lemonade?"

"I tried to. But I was shooed away."

She shrugged a question in Milo's direction. "Shooed away? By whom?"

"Your friends." Nina rolled her eyes upward and placed her hands on her hips. "I was informed that there's a right drink and a wrong drink and-"

Tori felt her throat constrict as she recalled lesson number three aloud. "Southerners drink tea. Sweet tea."

"That was it . . . word for word. How'd you know that?"

She swallowed back the sadness that threatened to emerge for all to see. "Let's just say a little birdie told me."

"Well did that little birdie also tell you that store-bought cookies are not acceptable?"

Uh-oh.

She grabbed Milo's arm. "Can you stop by the bakery?"

"Of course. What do you wa-"

"There's no need, Miss Sinclair. We've got enough food to feed a small nation and not a one is store-bought."

So her sewing buddies had descended in force. She closed her eyes briefly against the tears that threatened to fall. Milo had been right. Things would get better.

"Thank you, Nina. Feel free to send people in as they arrive." As her assistant left the room, she smoothed a hand through her hair, the soft waves she'd added falling gently across her shoulders as she looked at Milo. "Do I look okay?"

"Okay is not a word that will ever be used to describe you. Gorgeous fits much better."

She stopped her eyes midroll. "I never realized you were such a sweet-talker, Milo Wentworth."

"You were kind of preoccupied."

"Being a murder suspect will do that to you." She flashed a smile at the man as the hallway outside the children's room grew noisy, invited guests making their way toward the reason for the evening gathering. "But no more. This is a fresh start. For me. For the sewing circle. And for Sweet Briar as a whole."

"Then let's get to it." Milo moved to the other side of the room as the first few guests entered, the subsequent oohs and ahhhs bringing a smile to her heart. She'd pulled it off. She'd taken what had been cast aside as unusable and turned it into a gem no one had ever imagined.

It was just like what happened every time she purchased fabric. A piece of cloth could be anything-a pillow, a hat, a skirt, a shirt, a dress, a wall hanging. And, by the same token, a box-filled storage room could be transformed into a room that would take a child to places they'd never dreamed possible.

Winston Hohlbrook, Lincoln Porter, and James Polk were the first to enter, their enthusiasm for the room more than she could have hoped for-their words of praise reaf firming what she'd hoped was true.

Next came several of Milo's students, their parents in tow. Many were led straight to their child's drawing-inspired mural, others stopped to apologize for their unfair judgment of Tori. All were thrilled with the room.

Then came Lulu, with Margaret Louise on one arm, and her daddy on the other, the child's delighted gasp as she stepped into the room the most touching reaction of all. Sure, Tori'd hoped to make a good impression on the board, and on the town as a whole. But, most importantly, she'd wanted to take hold of something deep inside the children and encourage them to imagine and hope, dream and create. A task she'd accomplished tenfold if Lulu's eyes and face-splitting smile were any indication.

"You should see the dessert table in the library, Victoria. You'll be hard-pressed not to put a few needed pounds on that tiny body of yours," Margaret Louise bellowed, her voice echoing through the room.

"Any Black Forest tortes?" she asked, her gaze still glued to Lulu's look of utter enchantment.

"Tortes? No. Just pies. Lots and lots of pies."

Tori's head snapped up. "Did you say pies?"

Margaret Louise beamed as she patted her handmade purse. "Which means recipes. Lots and lots of recipes."

Tori swallowed over the lump that sprang into her throat. Margaret Louise had been right. People were truly sorry for what they'd put her through.

"Victoria, thank you. For what you've done for my youngin'. She's got a glint in her eye since you came to town." Jake Davis held out his calloused hand and gripped hers tightly. "My Melissa is due back from her mama's tomorrow, and she can't wait to meet you."

Tori felt her cheeks warm with pride at the man's words of praise and admiration. "I'm looking forward to meeting your wife at the next sewing circle, too. And as for Lulu . . . well, she's as special as they come. Truly."

"C'mon, Mee-Maw, c'mon, Daddy. There's a stage! A real stage!" Lulu reached up and grabbed her grandmother's hand, gently tugging the heavyset woman across the room toward the wooden platform and costume trunk as her father followed closely behind. "I want to be Laura!"

Blinking against the tears that hovered just behind her eyes, Tori focused on the door once again, a tall, uniformed man the next to arrive, a police hat tucked under his arm.

Wordlessly, Milo Wentworth appeared by her side as she reached a welcoming hand in the investigator's direction. "I'm so glad you could come."

His steel gray eyes studied her warmly, all hint of accusation gone from their gleam. "And I'm honored to be invited."

Milo looked from side to side and then lowered his voice so as to be heard by only Tori and Investigator McGuire. "How's Georgina holding up?"

"When she comes up for air, I'll let you know. I'll tell you this, though"-he bent his head closer to their ears-"Thomas Hayes is going to be glad to leave the local jail in favor of a lockup farther north."

"She's making it rough on him, huh?" Milo asked, the rhetorical question bringing a knowing smile to Tori's lips.

"Rough doesn't even begin to describe it." Investigator McGuire moved farther into the room to allow the next throng of guests to enter, his pleasant and genuine demeanor a welcome change.

"You okay?" Milo asked quietly.

"Yeah. I feel awful for Georgina though. Her whole life has been blown apart."

"She'll rebound. Georgina is strong stock. Always has been. Always will be. Thomas Hayes can't change that."

"I hope you're right." She felt her skin tingle as he touched her arm, a warm and supportive sensation that gave her hope for the future. Jeff's mistake was Jeff's mistake. She couldn't hold anyone else accountable without hurting herself in the end.

Next through the door were friends, women she'd met through a shared passion for sewing, and grown to treasure for their common beliefs and values.

"I'm so very proud of you, Victoria." Rose reached up, her frail and trembling hand pushing an errant strand of curly hair from Tori's forehead. "What you've done in here will touch imaginations for years and years to come."

"Thank you, Rose," she said, her voice raspy with emotion.

She bit back the urge to laugh as Rose guided Dixie Dunn in Tori's direction with a well-placed elbow. "Tell her what you think, Dixie."

Dixie looked around the room, her eyes large and luminous behind thick glasses, her mouth gaping open as she took in every detail of the library's new addition. "The board-the board was right." The woman looked down as she fiddled with a stray string on her sweater. "I . . . I never would have thought of something like this."

Inhaling deeply, Tori squared her shoulders and extended an offer she'd been contemplating throughout the week as she'd painted scenes and reshelved books. "Can I count on you for an occasional preschool story time?"

The woman's head lifted, her cheeks pink with excitement. "Do you really mean that? Even after the things I said and the way I acted?"

Tori shook off Rose's admiration across Dixie's shoulder. "You have things to bring the children, too. I'd be a fool not to see that."

Tears glistened in the elderly woman's eyes as she fell into step with Rose, her shoulders sagging ever so slightly as the retired teacher draped her arm around the former librarian's waist and steered her toward the center of the room.

"Have you seen the pies you have out there?" Debbie leaned forward and gave Tori a hug. "I'm not sure I've ever seen that many in one place."

"Margaret Louise has the recipes," she whispered in her friend's ear.

"Then I shall go find Margaret Louise." Debbie walked about two feet only to spin back in Tori's direction. "You're really something special, Victoria Sinclair . . . I hope you know that."