It's In His Smile (A Red River Valley Novel Book 3) (4 page)

“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.

C
hapter
F
our

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 to 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.

“Sorry, buddy, it’s all I could find at the market.”

Lloyd whined.

Talmadge looked in the pantry for Lloyd’s regular dog food one more time but came up with nothing.

He blew out a breath. He had more important things to do than worry about a dog.

“Sorry, buddy. Children are starving in Africa. I’m not driving back to the store tonight just to get different food.” And he certainly wasn’t going to call Miranda and ask her what Lloyd usually ate.

He’d had enough of Miranda Cruz for one day.

Hell
.

Actually, no. He hadn’t had anywhere near enough of her. That was the problem. He’d kissed her because he’d wanted to ever since the last time. Had never forgotten the time they were together.

And since he’d stepped out onto the inn’s back porch and got a nice view of Miranda’s panties, he hadn’t stopped wanting to see her in nothing
but
those panties. And maybe a pair of boots.

Jesus, he was acting like a horny teenager. Their first kiss—and everything else that had gone along with it—had happened years ago in a moment of weakness. They’d both had a few drinks at a wedding reception. And afterward Miranda told him it had been a huge mistake. A huge,
drunken
mistake.

The throb in his shoulder deepened. It seemed to get worse when he was stressed, and thinking about Miranda Cruz made his blood pressure spike.

Lloyd’s disturbing glare hadn’t faltered, so Talmadge glared back. In under a minute, Talmadge broke, and grabbed a couple of gallon-sized baggies from the pantry. He started to fill them with ice from the freezer.

“Give me a minute, and I’ll see if I can find some human food for you.” He looked at Lloyd while scooping ice into the bag.

Lloyd sniffed again.

Talmadge shook his head.

So why had he never been able to completely get Miranda out of his head? He had no idea what possessed him to kiss her today.

Not true.

He just liked the way she was so down-to-earth. So real. So unlike the women who’d tried to latch on to him since he’d become rich and famous. Well, he was still famous. For now. He glanced at his arm, which was cradled against his middle. If his investments and his current building project didn’t improve soon, he wouldn’t have to fend off shallow women anymore. His market value would plummet like the Dow Jones after an oil spill.

That was probably the only upside to his problems. He had grown tired of the plastic women his career had thrust into his path. Who would’ve guessed that becoming an architect would turn him into a quasi-celebrity?

He smirked. What a joke. He hadn’t dated much the last several years because of it.

He grabbed an ice pick from the drawer and chipped away at the ice cubes that had frozen together in a solid block at the bottom of the ice bag.

Miranda was a breath of fresh mountain air, and she’d obviously cared about his grandmother. And he’d gone and made stupid accusations because his ego had been wounded. Worse, he’d nearly made her cry.

Then he’d kissed the sense out of her until she let out a tiny moan. Which only made him want more.

It seemed to take another hundred years or so to chip and fill the bags, but he finally balanced them over his shoulder. He reached for a rolled-up ACE bandage on the counter and the bags wobbled. The hand on his injured arm shot up instinctively to steady them, and he howled in pain. An ice pack slid off and hit the floor with a thud.

Lloyd skittered into a corner, trembling.

Shit.
Talmadge threw the other bag into the scarred ceramic sink and gripped the edge of the counter. Opened the ruffled blue plaid curtain and stared out the picture window over the sink that overlooked the twinkling lights of Red River below.

Coming back to Red River for his grandma’s funeral had been hard enough. He knew she hadn’t been feeling well. Had heard it in her voice during their phone calls. Then it was too late, and she was gone without him saying good-bye. But coming back a failure? An absolute nightmare, even if no one knew he was all but broke.

Kneeling, he gave the dog a scratch and picked him up. “Sorry, buddy. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

He wandered into the den where he’d spent evenings with his grandparents and every Saturday morning watching cartoons until he was old enough to drive. The worn shag carpet was rough against his bare feet and crunched with each step. The place was tidy, but a thick layer of dust coated the coffee table, and the brown paneling and outdated furniture made the place look dank and dirty.

What had Bea done with the money he’d sent her over the years? She could’ve remodeled every inch of the place. Better yet, she could’ve let him tear it down and build a new house. A mansion by Red River standards. But she’d loved this old gingerbread house up on the hill with just enough elevation to look out over the town. His grandfather had built it for her when they first married, and she couldn’t part with it.

He eased onto the frayed but comfortable sofa, set the dog in his lap so he could grab the remote, and flicked the channel to ESPN. There. Back to the real world. That should help relax him.

Except it didn’t because all he could think about was his floundering project back in Washington that was still headlining the news across the state. He plucked his cell off the coffee table and Googled press coverage on the Trinity Falls accident. He tapped the link for a Seattle-based channel.

Talmadge’s chest tightened as the news anchor reported on the accident, the injuries, the ancient ruins, and the unknown future of the Trinity Falls community. A preaching, teaching lecture on the irony of a leading green architect nearly destroying one of the most important archeological finds of the century. Conveniently, the reporter left out the part about how Talmadge himself stopped the project immediately to call in the authorities and every tribal council in the state of Washington.

He stared at the screen as the reporter droned on.

And on.

And on.

He hit the stop button and tossed the phone onto the lace doily in the middle of the coffee table. He let his head fall back to rest on the sofa cushion and rubbed his tired eyes.

A new call dinged on his phone. His office assistant’s name popped onto the screen. He touched the green button and answered.

“Hey, Ellen.”

“Hey, boss. Sorry to bother you at a time like this. How’re you holding up?” Ellen’s kids were grown, but she still held that motherly tone.

Probably why he hired her. She reminded him of Bea.

“I’m makin’ it. What’s up?” Hopefully not Trinity Falls, unless it was good news.

“That crazy reporter called again. The one who writes the gossip column for the local paper. Wanted an update on you and Monica.”

That would be Miss January. Talmadge’s eyes slid shut.

“I told her you were out of the office for a family emergency. Want me to give her any other message? Like maybe to get lost on a deserted island or something?”

“She’ll just get more relentless. Ignore her for now. I’ll deal with it when I get back to Seattle. Anything else?”

“I’ve taken up knitting. It helps pass the time.”

He smirked. “Glad to hear business is that good while I’m gone.”

“I’ll knit you a scarf.”

Maybe she could teach him how to knit since he didn’t have much work going on at the moment. He let out a hollow laugh. “I’ll be back in a few days. Call if anything else comes up.”

Fat chance.

He ended the call, and Lloyd nuzzled Talmadge’s chest. With his arm wrapped around the pooch, Talmadge used a forefinger to scratch Lloyd’s belly.

Someone rapped at the front door, and Lloyd yapped. Langston maybe? At the wake, his high school buddy had threatened to stop by for a beer. A beer or four sounded pretty good right now.

Talmadge drew in a deep breath, left Lloyd on the sofa, and walked into the foyer.

Bea’s old house didn’t have a peephole, so Talmadge flipped on the porch light and jerked open the door, expecting Langston to be standing there with a six-pack of beer under his arm and a smart-ass smirk on his face. It had become a ritual during Talmadge’s rare visits home.

Instead, Miranda’s eyes rounded, and she seemed to stop breathing for a beat.

It wasn’t the gust of frosty evening air that made his skin tingle. It was her big brown eyes cascading over his chest, bared by the gaping shirt. Despite the frigid April temperatures, heat started to gather below his waist when her gaze fixed to the unbuttoned waistband of his jeans. The copper flecks in her eyes blazed to life.

Still in the clothes she’d had on when he last saw her at the wake, she held a grocery bag in each arm.

But her attention stayed firmly on his . . . crotch.

He couldn’t help it. He couldn’t. The corners of his mouth curved up.

“Can I help you with something?” Because by the look on her face, she
wanted
help with something.

Her gaze snapped to his, her eyes widening even more.

“
No.
”

Satisfaction bloomed in his chest because even though she’d just said
no
with more defensiveness in her tone than the Seattle Seahawks had in their starting lineup, she nodded involuntarily.

“I, um, brought Lloyd’s food. And his dog bowls.” She gave one of the bags a jerking boost. “There’s some leftover food from the wake in this one. I thought you might get hungry, and the deviled eggs are really good.” When she mentioned the deviled eggs her eyes grew bigger and her expression turned to mortification.

Talmadge couldn’t imagine why talking about deviled eggs would make her react that way. Deviled eggs
were
good. He liked deviled eggs.

She tried to shove both bags at him at once.

“
Oof
.” The bags jammed against his chest, and his good arm closed around one of them. “I can’t hold the other one. Would you mind bringing it in for me?”