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

  He lifted a shoulder. “Just gathering information, that’s all.”

  “Bea was like a mother . . .” Miranda’s eyes started to fill, and her voice went all croaky. The grief over losing Bea—the best parental role model Miranda had ever had besides Bea’s brother, Joe—was finally rising to the surface like a storm churning over the ocean. Finally catching up to her. A tidal wave of tears surged toward her.

  “You know what?” She leveled a hot glare at him. “Bea and I signed a contract. I gave her money down. A lot of it, and I haven’t missed a payment.”

  Yet.

  She hesitated.

  “I’ll pay you every penny.” Or die trying. “So if you’re implying that I took advantage of Bea somehow, then you’re insultingly mistaken.”

  He studied her, a torn expression on his face. “I wasn’t—”

  “If you’d been around, she wouldn’t have had to depend on me.” She stepped up to him, the tips of her high-heeled boots almost grazing the toes of his expensive wingtips. Her stare met his chest, so she had to tilt her head back to look at him.

  His eyes went dark and stormy as they caressed down her face to linger on her mouth.

  As hard as it was, she tried to ignore the hum of electricity in the air between them. “Bea left what little she had to you. I was her witness. So if you’re angry that Bea sold the inn to me instead of leaving it to you—”

  “I’m not—”

  “—then too bad. If it meant that much to you, you should’ve shown more interest.”

  His gaze didn’t leave her lips. “I did—”

  “Legally it’s mine unless I default on the payments.”

  Their eyes locked, and the hum of electricity turned to a high-voltage current that snapped between them. The woodsy scent of his cologne fogged her brain for a second, and she swayed into him.

  When Talmadge’s muscular neck flexed and his head tilted forward, Miranda let out a tiny, almost inaudible squeak just as his mouth covered hers. To say she was surprised that he kissed her was an understatement. Like saying that thing Miley Cyrus did with her tongue was only mildly unattractive.

  But good God, he was kissing her. His lips moved over hers, warm and smooth but patiently in charge at the same time.

  She should push him away. She really should.

  He must’ve sensed the tremor of hesitation, because his kiss grew more demanding. She sighed and parted her lips. His warm tongue eased inside to caress hers, and a shudder of desire stormed through her entire body.

  This was so not a good idea.

  This was Talmadge Oaks! The guy she’d longed for and avoided—mostly—for years.

  She went rigid from head to curling toes, but his kiss grew deeper, and he slid his free hand around her waist to pull her closer. She followed his lead, allowing her lips and tongue to match his, stroke for stroke.

  He just tasted so damn good.

  The way his commanding mouth was on hers sent searing heat through every nerve ending in her body, and her hesitation ebbed. The rhythmic caress of his lips and tongue against hers soothed her doubt. The cold air turned sizzling hot around them. He sighed against her mouth. The last of her resolve tumbled like an avalanche at the top of Wheeler Peak, and she settled into him.

  His freshly shaved jaw flexed as his kiss grew more demanding, his mouth leading and coaxing her into doing his will. She adjusted Lloyd under her arm and relaxed against Talmadge. With a sigh, she slid a hand up his chest, over his neck, and into his soft, straight hair. Finally.

  Just as she remembered it, that sandy mane was the only soft thing about the man.

  When his tongue caressed hers with just enough firmness to let her know he was in charge, a fire ignited down under. He fanned the flames by using the tip of that very clever tongue to trace her bottom lip. Nipped at it, then pulled it between his teeth and suckled.

  Good God.

  Her girl parts went nuclear, and she nearly buckled at the knees. He must’ve felt her legs go slack, because his good hand sank to her bottom and he caught her. His strong fingers flexed into the bare flesh at the top of her thigh, and his thumb caressed the silk of her panties.

  A sigh whispered through her, and she went slack. He steadied her by pulling her tighter against his muscled chest.

  Good Lord, what he could do with just one good arm, a tongue, and two lips.

  Caught between them, Lloyd yapped. Miranda broke the kiss. As she came back to reality, her eyes fluttered open. Talmadge’s hand cupped her ass. Outdoors. For the entire town to see.

  So not a good idea.

  She needed to stop this foolishness before a compromising photo showed up in the Red River Rag. As Red River’s newest entrepreneur, she absolutely did not need to be the subject of the new Tumblr blog that featured all of the town’s juiciest gossip. Whoever the blogger was must work for Homeland Security. They seemed to have hidden cameras all over town, e-mail hacking capability, and they probably had some illegal wiretaps going on, because they knew everything!

  Bad enough her bared ass might show up on YouTube. At least her face had been blocked by the table.

  She looked up into Talmadge’s eyes, and they sparkled with confidence.

  Arrogance.

  She’d tried not to live up to her mother’s colorful reputation for so long, she should know better. But after a few stolen moments with Talmadge Oaks . . . She might as well hand him the Sharpie that could permanently mark up her rep for good in this town. He would never smear her name. He wasn’t the kiss and tell type. No, he was too much of a crusader for that. Too busy defending the weak. Protecting the innocent. Saving the world. But if anyone saw them . . .

  Gah! When would she learn that she couldn’t trust herself to be alone with Talmadge?

  She’d made that mistake seven years, three months, and twelve days ago.

  She wasn’t going to make it again.

  The dirt over Bea’s grave probably wouldn’t even have time to settle before her grandson left town and returned to his life on the West Coast. If he didn’t leave on his own, some silicone hotel heiress who wore dresses so short she’d have to shave up to her eyebrows would waltz in and drag him away. Again.

  “Excuse me.” Her chin notched up. “Your sense of direction must be off, because your hand seems to have wandered too far south.”

  “So it seems.” He looked down at her from beneath shuttered lids.

  She shook off the squeeze of lust that made her want to pull his head down and cradle him against her neck.

  The warmth of his expansive palm fell away, and the cold spring breeze returned to bite at the back of her thighs. She cringed and returned a splayed hand to her butt. At the loss of his heated fingers, a swooshing breath of disappointment escaped before she could stop it, and his silver-blue eyes shimmered with amusement.

  A knowing gleam danced in his eyes, as if he could tell that she really didn’t want him to stop. He looked away and studied the squeaking chairlift. “Sorry, but your fingers running through my hair definitely didn’t scream ‘let me go.’”

  He pulled on the lapel of his jacket and reached under to adjust the sling again. The flash of a grimace coursed across his features for a fleeting moment, then it was gone, and he stood there. Staring at her in complete command of his presence and not the least bit flustered.

  “It won’t happen again,” he assured her.

  “Okay. Good,” she said with her mouth, but her brain and her quivering girl parts shouted, Use both hands next time! She looked away for the briefest of moments, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth. When she looked back at him his gaze dropped to her mouth, and his eyes went all dark and cloudy.

  She had a sudden urge to lick her lips.

  Dammit.

  “Then you have my word I won’t touch you again.” One side of his strong, lush mouth lifted into a self-assured half-smile. “Unless you ask me to.”

  Her lips parted at the innuendo. The memory.

  As th
ough he’d read her thoughts, amusement flickered in his eyes.

  “I assure you I won’t be asking.” She tried to brush past him but stopped at his side and looked up at him. “About your inheritance—” A twinge of guilt feathered through her when she glanced down at Lloyd. Unfortunately, he had become an innocent pawn in their game of wills.

  She gathered her courage and shoved the little football-sized dog into the crook of Talmadge’s arm. His arm and hand naturally closed around Lloyd.

  This time she did brush past him. Ears burning, hand trying desperately to cover the opening in her pants—thank the angels in heaven she’d worn new panties today—she climbed the wooden stairs. Her boots clicked against the back porch. With a firm push, she sent Bea’s old swing into motion again and jerked open the screen door. Time to put on some new pants and tend to her guests before she changed her mind about giving him the dog and about asking him to grope her backside again.

  Because she’d enjoyed that part much more than she should have.

  Chapter Three

  Miranda and her sweet little backside disappeared into the inn.

  Thwack, thwack, thwack. The thud of the screen door lessened with each bang until it slowed to a stop. Miranda’s soft lips against his and her greedy fingers spearing through his hair like she’d been waiting to do that again for years had caused his brain to make the same sound.

  Talmadge tried to pull air into his aching lungs. The last time the wind was knocked from his chest he’d fallen through a thin layer of earth and hit the floor of an undiscovered archeological dwelling like a jackhammer hitting solid steel. Watching the excavator fall in right after him with no air left in his lungs to scream was still causing him nightmares. This time, a small, graceful woman who hardly reached chest level had left him breathless by handing him a dog half the size of Talmadge’s shoe and telling him his business about his grandmother.

  He looked down at Bea’s dog, who had erupted into another fit of trembling the second Talmadge’s arm closed around him. What the hell was he supposed to do with a poodle?

  Talmadge drew in a heavy breath. Who was he kidding? It wasn’t just the dog. The truth of Miranda’s words—that Talmadge hadn’t come home to visit Bea enough—or at all the past few years—had hit him square in the chest and drove the nails of guilt and grief straight through his heart. He’d wanted to double over right there on the snowy ground beside the inn where he’d spent so much time growing up.

  Every person at Bea’s funeral had made it a point to tell him how proud she was of him and his work. What Bea hadn’t known was he’d invested every last dime into the master-planned community of Trinity Falls, Washington, where every building, road, school, park, and home would be environmentally efficient. A project on the cutting edge of green living that had attracted attention from environmental and architectural organizations around the world. And then he’d screwed it up by hiring the wrong engineering firm, which had nearly gotten Talmadge killed.

  He didn’t even want to think about the damage to his finances and his professional reputation if he didn’t find a way around this mess. He’d been too ashamed to share those two details with his grandmother.

  Now Bea was gone.

  His stomach twisted so tight that pain lanced into his limbs. He studied Bea’s dog. “Wow,” Talmadge said, taking in Lloyd’s bows and nail polish. “Sorry this happened to you.” This was Bea’s surrogate replacement for the grandson she was so proud of? Maybe Bea wasn’t as proud of him as he’d thought.

  Two skiers slid past, headed toward the lift, and Lloyd let out another high-pitched bark that was more like a squeal. He started to tremble harder.

  Talmadge rolled his eyes and lifted his injured hand to give the dog a gentle pat on top of his fluffy head. Perfume wafted out of the cotton ball’s hair. Talmadge sniffed and jerked his head back. “Seriously? We need to get your man-card back.” Maybe he could drop the dog off at the groomer before leaving Red River. The groomer might even be able to help find Lloyd a new home.

  Another stab of guilt sliced through him. He’d obviously abandoned Bea, and now he was doing the same to her dog.

  Talmadge cradled Lloyd and walked along the sidewalk that led around to the front door, sidestepping patches of packed snow. Weeds popped up through the cracked sidewalk as proof that spring had converged on the Red River Valley. As he followed the crumbling concrete path along the side of the inn, he assessed the dilapidated condition. The loving attention his grandparents had given the property was gone, and the neat grounds were now in disrepair.

  He took the steps up to the front door, pushed it open, and walked through the foyer to the spacious great room to the right. The wake was wrapping up, and several people had filtered out. A few family members lingered to talk in the dining room to the left. Talmadge bent to put the dog down, but Lloyd’s quaking resumed.

  Really? He had to stand here and babysit a trembling dog? But as small as the perfumed pooch was, someone might step on him. He was pretty easy to miss since he was no bigger than a rat, and Talmadge didn’t want to bury both his grandma and her dog in the same day.

  He looked around the room that used to serve as a place for the guests to socialize and relax, hoping for a safe place to put Lloyd. Some of the drywall was torn out, exposing the studs. Bea’s old antiques and parlor furniture still filled the inn, at least the rooms Talmadge had seen, and were covered with drop cloths. Building materials were stacked around the room in no particular order. Several workbenches were covered with miscellaneous junk, none of which looked like a real project with purpose.

  Talmadge gave up, kept holding the dog, and moved across the room to the stone fireplace where a fire blazed. The flames helped kill the chill that hung in the room because the walls were exposed down to the studs, and the insulation was gone. He stroked Lloyd’s head with the fingertips of his injured arm. Even that small movement hurt, but the little guy wouldn’t stop shaking. When the warmth of the fire started to seep into them, Lloyd’s tremors slowed.

  Talmadge smiled at the pooch. Funny. Warming himself by the fire had been one of Talmadge’s favorite things to do in this room once upon a time. He kept stroking the dog’s cotton ball head and stared into the fire.

  Uncle Joe, Bea’s brother, younger by twelve years, walked over to stand with Talmadge.

  “You going to be okay, Uncle Joe?” Talmadge gave his great-uncle a warm smile because the owner of Red River’s most popular watering hole—all six feet four inches, two hundred and eighty pounds of him—had cried on and off like a baby since he’d first called Talmadge with the news.

  Joe took a handkerchief out of his back pocket and blew his bulbous nose. Loud. “Yeah.” He sniffed and nodded, his aging double chin wagging a little. “Bea was like a second mom to me. She darn near raised me, just as much as our mother did.”

  Talmadge knew exactly what that was like. “She raised both of us, didn’t she?”

  Another blow and sniff, and Joe put the handkerchief back in his pocket. He propped an arm on the mantle, his tweed sports coat going taut against his enormous girth. “She did. And helped out a whole lot of other folks, too. More than I can count.”

  Speaking of . . . Without turning his head, Talmadge found the woman Bea never failed to exalt during every single weekly phone call over the past two years. He studied Miranda from the corner of his eye.

  In a fresh pair of jeans that fit her rounded bottom like shrink-wrap, she gathered up dirty plates and cups, wadded napkins, and silverware. The sparkly things on her pockets held his attention as she made her way into the kitchen, and then returned to gather up more. She stopped every so often to greet one of the few remaining guests, consoling with a hug or a squeeze of their hand. A fluid smile stayed anchored to her full lips, but it didn’t show in her gold-flecked eyes. She clearly missed Bea as much as anyone else, including himself.

  Unlike him, though, Miranda had been there for Bea. That fact had driven a rusty nail into his con
science out on the patio a few minutes ago and during most of his weekly calls to Bea. Miranda’s deep well of compassion toward his grandmother had brought him comfort as well as pricked his guilt. Which was why he’d interrogated her outside when he really should’ve been thanking her. Something told him that Miranda wouldn’t consider that unexpected kiss he’d laid on her a show of gratitude.

  But the grief in her simulated smile made him want to take her in his arms. Kiss her until the hollowness in his chest filled with the same warmth she’d shown Bea and the sadness in her eyes turned to a glimmer of desire. Her eyes shimmering with passion was a beautiful sight. Even if it had been seven years since he’d last seen it, it wasn’t something he’d ever forget.

  Sometimes it occupied his thoughts during lonely nights when he couldn’t sleep.

  The afternoon sun shining through the windows glinted off her silky black hair as it bounced around her shoulders with each step and movement. Not even the cheap fluorescent lighting made her less attractive.

  Even in high school she had always seemed to catch the light. But she’d been too young for him back then. Already three grades behind him, she was still younger than anyone else at Valley High because she’d been moved up a grade.

  “Bea mentioned that she sold the place to Miranda several months ago.” Still watching her, Talmadge’s words were an absent mumble.

  Joe hooked a thumb under his lapel. “Miranda’s good people. Worked for me since she was a young’un.”

  Talmadge nodded. “I remember.”

  “Never had an employee as good as her and probably never will. Your grandma was lucky to have Miranda’s help the last few years.”

  Yes, Miranda’s help had been invaluable. Talmadge’s throat thickened, and he looked away. He was a shallow prick for being jealous of the bond that had formed between Bea and Miranda because he should’ve been the one here helping her out.

  “Who’s doing the remodel?” He tried to get back on point, because he’d much rather talk about Miranda’s wayward renovations than about his shitty attempt at being a worthy grandson. And despite all the mess and supplies and torn-out walls, he didn’t see any tools. Talmadge didn’t just design energy-efficient buildings. He was hands-on throughout the entire construction process and had been doing carpentry work alongside his grandfather since he was twelve. He could spot substandard materials without so much as a backward glance.