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

  Uncle Joe, on the other hand, could cook a mean rib eye, but no one had ever accused him of being handy with a hammer and nails.

  Before Uncle Joe could answer the question, two of Talmadge’s elderly widowed cousins sidled over and flanked him. Their silver hair turned a bitter shade of blue under the unflattering lighting.

  “Clydelle. Francine.” Talmadge greeted the elderly sisters with a friendly smile, but Uncle Joe grumbled under his breath.

  “There you are. We were trying to find you. Some of the guests wanted to say good-bye,” Clydelle said. “Saw the pictures of you in Time magazine, Talmadge.” Clydelle leaned heavily on her cane. “Nearly sent your grandma to the emergency room with heart palpitations.”

  Talmadge cringed. It had been hot the day the reporter came to interview him on a job site because he’d been deemed one of the one hundred most influential people of the year. So he’d doused his white T-shirt with cold water. He never guessed that the thin fabric would become see-through and cling to him like a second skin. He had no idea the hardhat, work gloves, and steel-toed boots would make him look more like one of the Village People than a successful architect who liked to roll up his sleeves and help get the job done.

  Francine gazed up at him over the reading glasses perched on the end of her wrinkled nose, one shoulder drooping under the weight of her suitcase-size purse. “Tell me, sonny boy, are the muscles in that picture real or did they Photoshop you?”

  “This is Bea’s wake,” Uncle Joe growled.

  At least Francine had the decency to look contrite. Clydelle didn’t seem the least bit apologetic. “Next time you’re on HGTV, have them hose you down before they start taping.”

  Talmadge fought off a smile. “I see you two ladies are still keeping Red River on its toes.” Not every old lady would invite a twelve-year-old boy to her weekly pinochle game and fleece him of every cent. Talmadge hadn’t placed a bet since then.

  Unless you count his failing investment in Trinity Falls, which technically wasn’t gambling.

  “As I was saying before you two old hens interrupted,” Uncle Joe grumbled and returned his attention to Talmadge. “There’s a new contractor in town who’s in charge of the construction. He moved here from Denver last year. Don’t know much about him except that he seems to cater to the older folks in town.”

  Huh. Why would anyone move here from Denver? A good contractor would get way more business in a big city. Maybe he’d retired in Red River and took jobs just to stay busy.

  “How old is he?” Talmadge took in the rich mahogany crown molding that gave the place so much character. It was dry and faded, but a new coat of varnish would bring it back to life.

  “Your age. Early thirties. Maybe a few years older,” said Uncle Joe.

  Too young to retire. Miranda made another pass through the room, gathering up plates and checking on the guests. Her smooth walk and easy smile lit the room, and no sign of the hardships he knew she’d faced while growing up showing on her beautiful face. She glanced in his direction, and their eyes connected. She seemed to falter, stilled for a second, then turned to speak to one of Bea’s distant relatives.

  Talmadge tore his gaze from Miranda to survey the amateurish carpentry work.

  “What’s his name?” Talmadge may need to do some checking.

  “His name is . . .” Francine tapped her saggy chin thoughtfully. “Bill . . . no, Brent . . . no—”

  “His name is Ben Smith,” Clydelle said.

  Smith? Could be a coincidence, but having such a generic name seemed kind of convenient.

  “That nice young man sure has been a lot of help to us widows who don’t have a husband around anymore.” Clydelle gazed off in the distance, a smile on her face.

  “You two just like to watch him work without a shirt on,” Joe groused. “He couldn’t even provide credentials or references.”

  Francine piped up, adjusting the weight of her bulging purse to the other shoulder. “He only takes off his shirt when he gets hot.”

  “It’s April,” Talmadge deadpanned. “In the Rockies.”

  “Hard work still makes a man work up a sweat.” Clydelle waved her cane at him. “You should know that better than anyone, Talmadge. That picture in Time speaks a thousand words.”

  Eww.

  Francine winked up at him.

  And eww.

  Miranda made her way through the thinning crowd toward them. Talmadge’s pulse kicked up a notch, her sweet taste still lingering on his mouth.

  As she approached, she laced the fingers that had just been spearing through his hair, and his scalp tingled for her touch. He lifted a hand to run his own fingers through his hair, but Lloyd squeaked.

  “Sorry, buddy,” Talmadge whispered to the dog. “Didn’t mean to try to use you as a brush.”

  Miranda joined their circle, squeezing her laced fingers. Her thumb furiously scratched against the other. “Can I get you anything else?” Her gaze shifted from Joe to Clydelle and then to Francine. She ignored Talmadge.

  “No, dear.” Clydelle patted Miranda’s arm. “You’ve done Bea proud today.”

  Miranda smiled, and Francine pinched one of Miranda’s dimpled cheeks.

  “Thank you for hosting, hon. I know you’ve got your hands full with the remodel.” Joe looked at Talmadge. “I wanted to hold the wake at my restaurant, but Miranda insisted on doing it here,” he said, slinging a burly arm around Miranda’s shoulders like she was family.

  Talmadge supposed she was, much more so than himself the past few years. Family at least showed up to the party. Talmadge had skipped out of town at eighteen to go to college, visited Red River as little as possible, and then stopped coming home at all after his grandfather passed away. He thought he could leave behind the awful memories of his parents’ accident. Instead, his absence had created more guilt and regret. Not only had he not been around for Bea, he never had the guts to tell her that he was to blame for the accident that took her only son and saddled her with the responsibility of raising Talmadge.

  “It seems appropriate.” Miranda gave Joe a comforting smile and a daughterly hug. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Her gaze fell to the floor. “I’m only sorry that, um, certain people wouldn’t come to the wake because I’m the host.”

  “If they’d shown up, I would’ve thrown them out anyway,” Joe assured her.

  Ah, her mother’s infamous exploits, no doubt. Talmadge remembered the scandal that had caused Miranda so much humiliation in high school that she hadn’t come to school for a week. Once upon a time, Ms. Karen Cruz had made enemies out of a few churchgoing families. Apparently, some of the married women in Red River didn’t take kindly to their husbands getting hauled in front of the deacon board because of rumors of inappropriate behavior with the disgraceful Ms. Cruz.

  Miranda was her mother’s daughter in last name only. She shouldn’t be blamed for things that were beyond her control. This was Red River, for God’s sake. A town that prided itself on down-home, salt-of-the-earth people who were there for each other when it counted. But some old grudges died hard, and a few God-fearing families who had it out for anyone with the last name of Cruz must’ve skipped church services the day forgiveness was taught.

  Francine looked Miranda up and down. “Dear, you’ve changed pants. The other pair was so darling.”

  Miranda’s hand went to her rear end, and she glanced at Talmadge. He allowed a barely-there smile to glide onto his lips. Her amber eyes flashed, and her mouth pursed. A gesture he was sure she didn’t mean to be provocative, but damned if he didn’t find it the most attractive thing he’d seen in a long time . . . except for Miranda’s black panties, which he’d just had the privilege of seeing up close and personal. And touching. The touching part was even better, because they’d been as soft as the back of her creamy thighs just below her extraordinary ass.

  He couldn’t help it. She hesitated just long enough for Talmadge to offer up another teasing barb. It was just too easy. And
too much fun. But their answers came out at the same time.

  “Miranda had a wardrobe malfunction.”

  “I didn’t want to clean up in nice pants.”

  All three of the older folks volleyed looks between Miranda and Talmadge.

  Her cheeks turned light pink, which only highlighted her dark, silky hair and creamy skin. She wouldn’t look him in the eye.

  He kept his gaze fastened to her.

  “Where did you two disappear to?” Clydelle leaned in like she was hoping for a juicy piece of gossip. “You were gone for some time.”

  “Lloyd just needed a walk!” Miranda’s words tumbled out.

  Lloyd yapped at his name, and all eyes turned on the quivering dog in Talmadge’s arms. Silence fell for a second while the small audience took in Talmadge and his new ward.

  He had grown accustomed to being in the spotlight since starting his front-running architectural firm in the Pacific Northwest, where green living was the center of attention. He’d learned to handle the attention from Hollywood celebrities who needed a cause. Holding his thoughts in check, never talking much so his words couldn’t be twisted, had become a way of life for him. But somehow holding a prissy dog made him want to pull at his collar and loosen his tie.

  “Talmadge, dear.” Francine reached up and touched the back of his head. “How did your hair get all messed up? It looks like someone—”

  Miranda choked, sputtered, and patted her chest while trying to catch her breath.

  “Are you okay, hon?” Joe asked with fatherly affection.

  She nodded, still unable to speak, but she glanced at Talmadge.

  “Must’ve been the wind when I stepped outside to get some fresh air.” His eyes never left hers.

  Miranda’s entire face deepened to a nice shade of red, and she looked away.

  He didn’t miss the look Clydelle and Francine shot each other, and the waggle of Francine’s bushy gray eyebrows.

  Maybe Miranda deserved a little embarrassment for brushing him off like his kiss had been a nuisance. Okay, she didn’t really deserve it. He had been a little out of bounds. But she certainly didn’t seem to mind by the way she sank into his kiss and molded against him.

  Until the dog barked, and she swore she’d never let him touch her again. Kind of like the way she blew him off seven years ago after they’d done a lot more than kiss, chalking it up to a drunken mistake. Still, he liked the color rising up her slender neck and settling in the tip of her dainty ear behind which wavy locks were tucked on one side. Liked it almost as much as her slender fingers anchoring in his hair to muss it up and pull his mouth closer against hers.

  Jesus, this is Bea’s wake, not a singles bar.

  Joe cleared his throat. “So, Talmadge was just asking about the remodel.”

  “Is that so?” Miranda’s expression went stony.

  “When’s it going to be done?” Talmadge asked.

  “Why?” Miranda’s lips thinned into a hard line.

  Talmadge shrugged. “Just curious.” About your contractor. “I did grow up around the place.”

  “It’s done when it’s done.” Her head tilted to one side like a challenge.

  Her hand went to a curvy hip, and he couldn’t help but follow the movement.

  “What about you, Mr. Oaks?”

  Mr. Oaks? Hadn’t she just been returning his kiss—with extremely enthusiastic lips—while running her fingers through his hair? “Uh, what about me?”

  “How long will you be in town?”

  “I’ll be—”

  “Not more than a few days, I imagine.” That sassy fire ignited behind her gold-brown eyes.

  “I plan—”

  “I would think you have a team of doctors and physical therapists waiting for you back in Washington.” She nodded to the sling that cradled his arm.

  True. But—

  “And an entire community of contractors and employees anxious for their fearless leader to return.”

  Hell, people usually stopped and listened when he spoke, because he was usually the person in charge.

  Miranda Cruz didn’t.

  “And probably a long line of young, hotel-owning heiresses eager for your arrival on the West Coast.”

  It had been one going-green hotel heiress, and Talmadge had never made that mistake again after she’d stalked him for the better part of three months and even showed up in Red River at his best friend’s wedding. Uninvited. The rumors over his other liaisons were hype to sell gossip magazines. He’d learned to ignore them.

  Miranda’s eyes narrowed.

  Before she could think of another sharp comeback, he launched one in her direction. “I’m here as long as I’m here.”

  She pressed her lips together and stared at him.

  Glared. Glared was a better description.

  “Oh, wait!” Miranda tapped her chin with one finger with melodramatic flare. “Maybe Miss January is counting the days until you get home, too.” She leveled a flaming stare at him that singed something deep in his chest.

  So she’d obviously seen the latest overblown story. The unfortunate incident with Miss January had been a publicity stunt set up by the girl’s agent and a damned nervy reporter. Using an important charity event, which Talmadge had organized to spark energy-efficient home construction along the western seaboard, as a stage to grab headlines for a pinup girl had pissed him off. He most certainly had not grabbed her ass on purpose! She’d sidled up beside him wearing spiked heels that were six inches too tall and a skirt that was twelve inches too short. When she stumbled and fell against him, his hand had just landed there for a second until she regained her footing. Was he supposed to just let her fall? The media would’ve crucified him for that. Besides, he’d learned a long time ago that the bad publicity came with the territory, and it was a necessary evil when dealing with celebrities looking for a cause.

  Interesting, though, that Miranda’s words held a tone of . . . jealousy? Nah. Couldn’t be. She seemed to dislike him too much to be jealous. So why in hell was she hammering him over his love life?

  “Lately, I seem to attract women who need my assistance with that part of their anatomy.” He should probably feel guilty for taunting her.

  She searched his eyes, found the hidden meaning, and blanched.

  Nope. Not feeling the least bit guilty. Because his hand had not only been on her very nice and round ass just a few minutes ago out on the patio, but she’d needed his assistance in similar form once before. Seven years ago at their mutual friends’ wedding.

  Her mouth clamped shut, and her plump lips thinned.

  At least this time he managed to shut her up without having to kiss her in front of all these people.

  Too bad, because he wouldn’t have minded that at all.

  Chapter Four

  Talmadge’s room looked exactly as it did the day he left for college. Bea had been sentimental that way, so she’d left his sports trophies lining the shelves on the wall, a framed picture of him and his parents the year before they were killed sitting on the dresser, and the same dark blue down comforter that used to keep him warm during Red River’s frigid winter nights.

  Talmadge pulled a fresh change of clothes out of his suitcase and tossed them onto the old quilt that Bea had kept folded at the foot of his bed. Changing out of the suit he had worn to the funeral was no easy task with a third-degree shoulder separation. One-handed it took him about a decade to unbutton his shirt. Just the thought of lifting his shoulder to pull on a fresh T-shirt hurt, so he left the unbuttoned white dress shirt on—the sweet scent of Miranda’s perfume still lingering from when she was molded against him just a little while ago. With some effort, he managed to get into a pair of jeans. He fumbled with the button at his waist, gave up, and settled for zipping them. Even that was a struggle.

  Just a few more days in this town to get Bea’s will out of the way and close up the house. Then he could get back to Washington, start rehabbing his shoulder, work on a solution t
o Trinity Falls, and leave behind the emotional turmoil that still haunted him in Red River.

  He opened the closet, and the scent of cedar and mothballs made him sneeze. Mostly empty hangers hung from the rod. He pulled the string overhead, and the single bulb with no fixture to dull the light stabbed at his eyes. His high school letterman jacket was the only piece of clothing left inside.

  He fingered the leather sleeve. There were a lot of memories wrapped up in that jacket. Most of them good, some of them not. But all of them called to him from a different time before his career took off and his life became so complicated.

  No. Not true. His life had been complicated since that effed-up day when he was a kid and his defiance obliterated his family and landed him on his grandparents’ doorstep.

  The dull ache of sadness closed around his heart. Now his grandparents were gone, and he had nothing except his work to fill the void. And even his work was questionable at the moment.

  He shook it off and went downstairs to the kitchen to feed Bea’s dog.

  Bea’s dog. Not his. He could not take care of a dog right now. Especially one with painted nails and a rhinestone collar.

  Talmadge shook the dry dog food he’d picked up at the Red River Market into a plastic bowl and set it on the baby-blue linoleum floor that seemed much dingier than his grandma ever would’ve allowed. “Come and eat, Lloyd.” The dog scampered in from the living room. Then Talmadge filled another plastic bowl with fresh water and placed it beside the food.

  He stood back. “Bon appétit.” Seemed appropriate for a French poodle.

  Lloyd sniffed, then sat on his haunches and turned his nose into the air.