A Wild Goose Chase Christmas: Quilts of Love Series Read Free

the corner, nearly crashing into Izzy’s legs as she crossed the room. Then the bell rang again. The dog barked and turned in a circle. By the time the bell rang a third time, he’d added a little jump to the barking and circling.
    “All right, already. I’m coming!” She dropped the quilt box on the coffee table, scooped Bogie up in one arm, and thenlunged for the door before the button-happy person outside could strike again.
    Maybe happy was the wrong word to use. The man standing outside, shoulders hunched against the gentle rain that had begun to fall, was anything but happy. Izzy decided to cut him off before he could launch into a sales pitch and become even more disgruntled when she didn’t bite.
    “Whatever you’re selling, I’m not buying. Have a nice day.”
    His palm slapped against the door before she could shut it. “I’m not selling anything. I’m looking for my grandfather.”
    “Your grandfather? What makes you think … oh.” Izzy looked over her shoulder. “Virgil, does this man belong to you?”
    Virgil sighed as he pushed himself out of the chair. “How did you find me, Max?”
    “I got a call from Vibrant Vistas. Something about you paying the shuttle driver to drop you off here.”
    “Who needs Big Brother when you’ve got Nurse Bauer and her minions?” Virgil mumbled as he ambled toward them.
    The rain came down harder, and Max ducked his head as fat drops plopped on him from the roof’s overhang. The soggier he got, the less imposing he seemed.
    Izzy stepped back. “Come in out of the rain.”
    “Thanks.” He swooped into the room, and a glimmer of a smile flashed at her, exposing a dimple in one cheek.
    She closed the door and put Bogie down on the floor. “Stay out of trouble,” she said, scratching his ear. He scampered across the room and settled into a wingback chair facing the door, keeping watch in case any other unexpected visitors decided to show up. Izzy turned back to Max, ready to ask why he’d tracked down his grandfather, but the question died on her lips. He stood in the middle of her living room, staring down at the boxed quilt in shocked silence.
    He pointed, his face reverting to its former unhappy self. “How did you get that?”
    “Virgil brought it. It’s a present from my grandmother.”
    Max shot her a look. “Isabella Randolph is your grandmother?”
    “Yes.” Izzy spoke slowly. “She gave me the quilt.”
    Max shook his head sharply, sending a fine spray of water in her direction. “Sorry, Miss, but she gave it to me first.”
    Virgil groaned. “Don’t, Max.”
    Izzy’s eyes swung from one man to the other. “Look, I don’t know who you think you are, but—”
    “I’m Max Logan, curator of the California Pioneer Museum. And that quilt,” he said, stabbing his finger at the Wild Goose Chase, “is mine.”

2
    F irst, Virgil imagined a conspiracy surrounding the quilt, and now his grandson claimed it as his own. Obviously, delusion ran in their family. Izzy snatched the box up before Max could get any closer to it.
    “The quilt is mine.” She did her best to give him a down-her-nose, I-mean-business look, just like she’d seen her mother do a thousand times. “Since you’re dripping all over my floor, I’d appreciate it if you’d leave.”
    As if they had rehearsed it, Virgil pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and held it out to Max, waving it near his face like a white flag. To her surprise, Max laughed. Not a lot, barely enough to shake his shoulders, really. But enough that she felt foolish over her reaction.
    “Fine. I’ll leave. For now.” He ran the white cotton square across his face and over the back of his neck. “But I’ll be back.”
    Izzy swallowed. “Why?”
    “Because I have a letter of intent from Mrs. Randolph, proving she wanted me to have the quilt.” His brows lowered,obscuring most of his chocolate-brown eyes. “I’ll bring it by in the morning.”
    She pursed her lips, her defenses once again