It's In His Smile (A Red River Valley Novel Book 3) Page 12

  And the gossip about them . . . well, the plan for her to be in charge had lasted about five minutes. As soon as Talmadge shifted into architect mode, he did nothing but spout orders and step on her toes. Worse, he didn’t notice. Sure, he was helping, and that help was invaluable. But he was also snatching away a big part of her independence, something she couldn’t give up.

  “You need help, Miranda?” Mr. McCall walked over to the paint mixing counter and pulled a set of keys from his red work vest to unlock the register.

  “Just browsing for now. Thanks.”

  He nodded. “Let me know if you need anything.” He disappeared down the aisle labeled “Hammers and Nails.”

  Miranda rolled her eyes. Men and their hammers.

  She returned her attention to the colorful display, and her thoughts to Talmadge. Help or not, she was pretty sure if she had to spend several weeks in close quarters with the only man who had ever touched ground zero, she would be toast.

  She sipped from the to-go cup and plucked a powder-blue sample from the display. It was so early in the morning, she was the only customer in the store, and the quiet was nice. She could actually think without Talmadge’s male scent and her spewing pheromones clouding her mind.

  How was she going to get through this? Gawd, but he was awful about bossing her around every time he walked into the room. Yeah, he might be good at this kind of construction project. Okay, he was freaking great at it, in an I-can-save-the-planet-all-by-myself kind of way. But Miranda could use her brains to manage the situation. Except she was pretty sure Talmadge would end up managing her right out of her clothes if she wasn’t careful, because she couldn’t hide her attraction forever.

  So maybe she could make him not want to get her out of her clothes.

  She chuckled. The thrill of anticipation coursed through her as she looked down at the new shirt that had been delivered to her door late last night.

  After Talmadge left the inn yesterday, she’d made a small investment that would surely turn him off and keep it all business between them.

  She pulled a few more paint samples from the display that would complement the powder-blue and lifted the piping cup to her lips as she smiled. She savored both the rich flavor of the coffee and the clever purchase that was going to drive Talmadge insane. It had taken two hundred dollars that she really couldn’t spare to find what she needed at a store in Albuquerque and then have a delivery service drive it all the way to Red River.

  She downed a big gulp. Studied the rectangular paper paint swatches in her hand. The blue reminded her of Talmadge’s eyes.

  Dammit.

  The storefront doors slid open and Mr. Blue Eyes himself walked in.

  She turned toward him. Ignored him, of course, continuing to study the samples and sip her coffee, but from the corner of her eye she watched him stop and harden his jaw into granite. He stared at her, taking in her investment without so much as a blink.

  Slowly, like she had all day, she looked up from the color sample. His unmistakable glare slid over her torso, fire spitting from those silvery-blue pools.

  Yeah, the powder-blue sample with a hint of gray definitely matched his eyes. Probably why she liked it so much.

  “So what do we need?” Miranda kept her tone all sunshine and cheer even with Talmadge’s stare shooting poison straight through the black T-shirt that had “Earth First—We’ll Strip-Mine the Other Planets Later” screen printed on the front in bold yellow letters. “I brought you a cup of coffee.” She laid the samples on the mixing counter and picked up the second cup she’d set there when she first arrived. She tried to hand it to him.

  He didn’t reach for it. “What the hell are you wearing?” His voice was low and darned near lethal.

  He was clearly pissed.

  Booyah!

  “Normally I’d tell a man to get lost if he asked me a question like that.”

  “It’s not a come-on, and you know what I’m talking about.”

  “Oh, this old thing?” Miranda tugged at the front of her T-shirt. “I pulled it out of the back of my closet.”

  He took the coffee. “Then why does it still have the price tag dangling from the back?” His free hand slid under his coat and rubbed his shoulder.

  Miranda reached for the back of the neckline and found a small rectangle of paper still attached.

  Dammit. She yanked it off.

  Talmadge blew on his coffee. “Since when are you an anti-environment activist?”

  Since never. “Don’t you have a sense of humor?”

  His mouth closed over the rim of the cup, and he drew in a long sip. Long lashes lowered for a second longer than a blink, and Miranda lost her train of thought.

  He swallowed, smooth and slow. The muscles in his neck rippled as the liquid traveled downward like floating along a lazy river on an inner tube. “I do when something’s actually funny.”

  She pulled her gaze from his neck and blinked at him. “How about we get to work?”

  He nodded to the blue swatches on the counter. “That isn’t the best color choice.” He let the cup hover at his lips.

  “What?” She looked up at the samples. “It’s a beautiful shade of blue.” He could look in the mirror if he needed proof.

  He closed the space between them, the savory scent of coffee on his lips. “I didn’t say it wasn’t beautiful.” His presence unsettled her. His nearness came pretty close to setting her on fire below the waist.

  Casually, he leaned his backside against the counter and crossed his legs at the ankles, his boot brushing against hers. Like a magnetic pull, she leaned toward him.

  “Just because something’s beautiful doesn’t mean it’s right.” His gaze latched on to her lips.

  “Um, why isn’t it the best choice? I like it.” She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, self-conscious that he was still staring at it. Turning, she wandered down an aisle. Not any particular aisle. Just any old aisle would do with him looking at her like he wanted to drink her in as if she were a mocha latte with double whip.

  He pushed off the counter and followed. “Too pale. It’s more of an indoor color. What are you going to name the place?”

  She turned, surprised at the unexpected question. Actually, she’d thought about it a lot and hadn’t been able to come up with a name that felt right. He looked at her from under hooded lids, which had her trying to find another distraction.

  Damn that fire down below. Maybe she should find the aisle that displayed portable fire extinguishers, because she needed something to put out those flames.

  She grabbed a chisel off the rack. Chisels were handy tools. Surely something around the inn needed to be chiseled. In quick, nervous strides, she darted to the other side of the aisle. She ran her fingers over a few tools with no idea what they were used for. “Maybe I’ll name it the Runs Inn and Café.” Okay, she was just being contrary now.

  He shook his head and reached into his jacket pocket to produce a list. “No way. You’re too smart for a name that stupid.”

  Her hand stilled against a tool that looked something like a wrench. Mmmkay. Not what she expected him to say. Everyone in Red River just thought of her as the best damn server in town.

  He took another long drink of coffee before setting it on the shelf. He walked toward her. His easy gait shouldn’t make her pulse hum. But it did, and the hum grew into a song when he stood in front of her.

  “How about naming it the Bea in the Bonnet Inn?” Laughter sparked in his eyes. “The double entendre would pay tribute to your friendship with Bea and your badass boss routine.” His glittering gaze never left hers. “Two birds, one stone.”

  Her eyes fixed to his lips. “Um, Pot, you’re black. You dish enough out, maybe you deserve a little bossiness in return.” His mouth was like a drug. Not a pansy-assed over-the-counter drug. But the kind pharmacists double-checked your ID for and still gave you the stink-eye as they handed it over.

  “For trying to save your ass?” He glanced d
own to her hips. “Nice as it is.”

  “Can we get the things we need?” She looked over the top of the paper in his hand and read the items on the list.

  “Sure. Just as soon as you give me this.” He snatched the chisel from her.

  “Hey. We agreed that you’re not in charge.”

  “Okay, boss, what exactly were you going to do with a chisel?”

  “Um.” She bit her lip.

  “That’s what I thought.” He replaced the chisel on the rack, and metal clattered against metal.

  His phone dinged, and he dug it out of his front pocket. “Jamie’s driving straight back to Red River after class to help out.”

  “You’re texting my little brother?”

  “Yep. Langston’s on his way to the inn, too.” He tapped on his phone. “I have others lined up, but they’ll have to come and go as they have extra time.”

  “I don’t want Jamie neglecting his schoolwork because of the inn.” She knew all too well that putting work over studying led to dropping out, which led to fewer choices in life.

  “You should stop treating Jamie like a kid. He’s a grown man.” Talmadge didn’t look up from his phone.

  “Excuse me?”

  Talmadge thumbed the screen of his smartphone, and his eyes went wide. “Holy—” Cutting off the sentence, he glanced up at her. His face cracked into a wide smile. The sweetest, most honest smile she had ever seen on him. He wielded it like a weapon, and it stole her breath for a second. He turned the phone toward her.

  “What the . . . ?” She grabbed the phone.

  There she was with Talmadge. On the Red River Rag. A picture of them standing inside the inn, one hand pressed flat against his chest like she was pushing him away, the other hand brandishing a screwdriver like she was threatening him, and her face crinkled into a scowl. This one had to have been taken through the window.

  “Did they take this from the lift? Who carries a telephoto lens on a ski lift?”

  “Could’ve been hiding in the tree line.” His smile got even bigger. “But you’re the bad guy in this one.”

  The title of the post read Miss Cruz resorts to threats! Are such drastic measures necessary, even if she is a woman scorned?

  He tried to take the phone away, but she wouldn’t let go.

  “I’m not sure you want to see the next one.” His tone turned to concern.

  “Why?”

  He tried to snatch the phone again, but she turned and pulled it out of reach. She scrolled to the next post. Her chest tightened. A picture of a shirtless Ben Smith wearing a sombrero, with full shot glasses lined up on a cabana bar and the ocean cresting on a beach in the background, glared at her. The Rag’s second post of the morning read, Looks like Red River’s favorite contractor has traded his tools for tequila. But we forgive him as long as he keeps posting shirtless pics to his FB page.

  Her heart dropped like a chunk of lead. When it came to trusting men, her judgment was obviously as bad as her mother’s.

  Talmadge’s expression wasn’t smug. It was soft and sympathetic.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I know what it’s like to make a professional mistake.” He shrugged. “I’ve trusted the wrong people before.” His jaw ticked. “I won’t let it happen again.”

  Neither would she. Miranda flipped to the next post by swiping a finger across the screen.

  Talmadge peeked over the top of the phone. “I just left the groomer a few minutes ago. Didn’t notice a soul taking pictures. The only other vehicle out this early was the senior center van. Whoever it is, they’re damn good.”

  Her vision blurred from rolling her eyes so far back into her head.

  A picture of Talmadge and Lloyd going into the grooming salon was there with the headline, Town hero redeems himself with his pooch. Can he do the same with the woman by renovating her inn now that her contractor has shucked his work boots for flip-flops? Should Mr. Oaks even try?

  “You’ve got to be freaking kidding me!” She glared at him.

  He held up both hands. “I didn’t take those pictures.” He pointed to the phone. “That’s your fault. You’re the one who made a public scene at Joe’s and set the whole thing in motion.”

  “You have to do something. Anything. I can’t have this. Eventually you’re going to be gone—thank the Christ child—and I’m going to be left here with people talking. I can’t have that.”

  “In this town? People are gonna talk, Miranda.”

  “Well, they can’t!” She shoved the phone back at him.

  He took a step closer to her. So close that his fresh, soapy scent closed around her and made her heart skip a beat. “They can.” He didn’t touch her, just crowded in on her so that his height, his broad shoulders, his warmth enveloped her. “And they will. They already are, even more than before because of that kiss at Joe’s.” Her fingers screamed to touch him, so she locked them to her sides “How do you think I can stop it?”

  “Um, kick some photographer ass? You’re big enough. You can handle it.”

  His head dipped a little closer, and she leaned her head back to look into his eyes.

  She should push him away. She really should.

  His quickened breaths washed over her and set her skin on fire. Definitely checking into that fire extinguisher.

  “I’m not planning to hit anyone.” His voice had gone husky.

  “What then?” Her voiced turned to gravel.

  “Ignore the talk. You can’t stop a gossip rag from gossiping. Trust me, I know.” His arm grazed hers, and something in the air around them stirred.

  “What will people think? About us? What if they think I’m like my . . . ?” She swallowed, because his beautiful blue eyes caressing over her face made her want to take every bit of her respectability outside and start a bonfire.

  Yep. She needed that fire extinguisher.

  “Earn their respect.” They still didn’t touch, but his head tilted forward and his nearness encircled her. Hemmed her in as though his arms were around her. “Put on the best damn festival this town has ever seen.” His stare lingered on her lips again, and the hunger in his eyes was so powerful Miranda wanted to throw herself against him and let him taste his fill.

  Aaaand the rest of her body went up in flames. At that moment, Miranda didn’t feel the weight of shame from her mother’s sexual exploits. At that moment, Miranda knew what a beautiful thing sex could be. Had been. And she didn’t feel at all ashamed of her one time with Talmadge.

  That mouth of his curved up again into a soft, sweet smile, like he could read her thoughts.

  “You’re smart. You’re organized. More importantly, you’re determined. If you weren’t, you wouldn’t have been in a position to take this opportunity my grandmother offered you. So use some of that grit of yours and put together a planning committee. A team of people you trust. Like me.” His tone was so confident that Miranda felt like she could put on the World’s Fair right there in Red River. “And don’t ever give money to your employees. You pay the bills, buy the supplies, or whatever. People will do crazy, unpredictable things for money.”

  For the briefest second, something indiscernible raced across his features. Then it was gone, and that odd look, almost like regret, didn’t matter anymore because his blue eyes grazed over her face. So close, so intimate that he might as well kiss her. It turned her insides to a puddle of need.

  “I’m not good at asking for help,” she whispered. “I don’t like being rescued. I can take care of my own responsibilities.”

  “Letting people help at the right time isn’t a weakness, Miranda. It’s smart business.”

  The back of his index finger smoothed across her jawline, and her pulse raced as his lips lingered just a breath from hers. He looked down at her through those heavy lids and thick lashes that probably made every woman in America want to donate money to Save the Whales.

  She should step away. Pull out of his magnetic hold and come to her senses.

  Instead,
her traitorous lips parted, and her eyes slid shut as she waited, anticipated, welcomed his kiss. Lust settled over her like a mist on a cool mountain morning.

  A throat cleared behind her. “Uh, sorry.” Mr. McCall’s voice had her shaking the haze from her head. “You kids need anything?”

  “Shit,” Talmadge whispered, looking over Miranda’s shoulder toward the front of the store.

  “This is the kind of person Red River is going to trust with the biggest event of the year?” Mrs. Wilkinson’s snide tone echoed down the aisle. “You’re worse than your mother. At least she didn’t carry on in public. Much.”

  Miranda’s breath caught in her chest.

  “Just wait until everyone hears about this. They’ll be begging me to step in and take over.”

  Oh. Hell. No. This bitter old woman wasn’t going to make Miranda feel worse than she already had.

  Miranda turned. Slowly. Methodically. Until she could look Mrs. Wilkinson in the eye. “Go ahead and try.”

  Talmadge’s palm pressed into the small of her back. Giving her strength, encouragement, false bravado. Because what the hell was she doing taking on Mrs. Wilkinson?

  Miranda drew herself up to stand taller before she chickened out. “I’m the chairperson this year.” Holy crapoly, she must be crazy talking like this. “And as long as I’m doing my job, there’s nothing you can do about it.”

  Mrs. Wilkinson sniffed. “We’ll see about that.” Her shoes clicked against the cement floor as she turned and stomped out of the store.

  Mr. McCall gave Miranda a nod. “Since you’re my first customer of the day, I’ll give you a nice discount.” He scratched his scruffy gray beard. “And I’ll donate any supplies you need for the gazebo.”

  Talmadge smiled down at her like he was proud. “There you go. Another person for Team Miranda, and it’s only eight in the morning. You’ll be headed for world domination by dinner tonight.”

  Miranda tried to smile. “How about we buy stuff to build a bomb shelter?” Because she was sure she’d just started a war.