He reached into her car, pulled out her keys and passed them over.
From anyone else, that gesture might have seemed presumptuous. But Annamae had the feeling he would have done the same thing for anyone. Heath wasn’t a man to open a woman’s door, but he made sure nothing dangerous lurked on the other side.
“I don’t employ anyone but me.” He gestured toward the house. “Would you mind describing this person to me in more detail? I don’t like the idea of someone making themselves at home around here without my knowledge.”
She followed him without thinking, without weighing her options. Wasn’t it that kind of reflexive attitude in life that got her on a television show she hadn’t wanted to be a part of in the first place?
Forcing herself to stop, she waited for him to notice. To turn and face her. Bagel sat beside her, waiting with her.
“Aren’t we going to talk about the carriage house rental?” That’s the reason she was here. Not to do him a favor by pointing the finger at some unsuspecting farm hand, who probably only wanted a job.
“I can’t think about the rental until I get this taken care of, Ms. Jessup. I’m sure you’ll understand.”
“It’s Annamae. Not Ms. Jessup. And I
don’t
understand. I’ve had the worst day of my life, and I think I’m going to lose my mind if I can’t close my eyes and try to put it behind me soon.” She’d been so pleased to get through his all-mighty gates, but maybe he’d only wanted the scoop on her vagrant fan.
But damn it, her life was in an absolute shambles. Tomorrow was supposed to be her wedding day. The happiest day of her life. If all had gone according to plan, she would have been dancing under the stars with Boone in twenty-four hours, soon to start a fairytale life – with a man she didn’t love according to a British radio talk show host.
God, she needed a bed and bucket of ice cream. She forced herself to listen to Heath, her eyes locking on his dark brown gaze.
“I’ve got enemies, Annamae, and it occurs to me that you could be in some trouble if you don’t come clean about who you saw skulking around the property earlier today. Do you understand?”
What had he said? Her brain was a scramble.
They’d gotten closer somehow while he was speaking. Close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating off him right through his t-shirt. She had an absurd amount of awareness for this man, noticing all sorts of things she shouldn’t.
Chemistry
, some knowing part of her brain informed her.
It had been a piece that had been missing for her with Boone, as much as she hadn’t wanted to face it. Impossibly, she was even more reluctant to face the truth that she
did
feel it for this surly, bossy, reclusive stranger. What was wrong with her?
“What kind of enemies?” she found herself asking, grateful her brain had seized on some topic that didn’t involve attraction. Awareness. Pheromones.
Her mouth had gone dry in the last minute, however. She knew because she had to lick her lips to get even those few words out.
“You know how you have some secrets you don’t want to share, Red?” His voice rumbled between them, making her realize they were still too close.
Her hand went to her scarf, but she didn’t want to take the thing off. The hair underneath was far worse than having him call her Red.
“Don’t we all?” She turned her attention toward the carriage house before she leaned closer to him.
She didn’t even think she
liked
Heath, so it bothered her that she felt this… alive, electric intensity around him.
“Exactly. We all have secrets. You keep yours. I’ll keep mine. But the only reason I’m letting you stay here is because you said you wanted to keep a low profile. If that’s not still the case, I’d suggest you keep driving. There’s a bigger town south of Beulah where it will be easier to find a place—.”
“I’m staying.” She dug in her purse to find her wallet again.
“Then come to the house and I’ll find you some clean sheets and towels.” He turned on his heel and headed in the direction of the big house. His house.
Bagel took off after him, yipping happily.
It was a nice offer. A thoughtful gesture, even, since she didn’t have much of anything with her besides a few bargain store dresses. But she couldn’t deny that his offer to share sheets with her had led her thoughts in an interesting direction for a few breathless seconds.
She was making a lie of her “good girl” role more with each passing second.
Hurrying to catch up with his long strides, she wondered if it was foolish of her not to quiz him more about the nature of his “enemies.” He didn’t seem like a paranoid farmer stockpiling weapons for a zombie apocalypse, but then again, who knew? Maybe she’d been too distracted by the way his low-slung jeans hugged his lean hips to ask the right questions.
Tonight, she was too weary from this day to even care. She hadn’t known how much stress the last few years had piled on her shoulders until she’d crossed the Georgia State line.
Now, Heath held the screen door open for her while two cats and Bagel darted in ahead of her.
She stepped into a large farmhouse kitchen with old wooden cabinets and a big white sink under a faucet that looked like an old well spout. The appliances were all new though. The outside of the Lambert farm might look run down, but someone had put money into upgrading the kitchen. Wrought iron pendant lamps hung over an island where a handful of old farming books sat open to diagrams of trees and how to graft branches.
Heath closed the volumes when he saw her looking at them.
“Can I get you something to eat?”
“No thank you.” She was starving, actually, but she didn’t want to spend any more time here with him than she needed to.
Her emotions were all over the place and the rogue attraction was seriously unwelcome. Maybe she just needed a good night’s rest to put this day—and memories of Heath’s abs—well behind her.
“I’ll box up a few staples for you to take to the carriage house.” He pulled open the door to a huge walk-in pantry and gestured toward the island. “Have a seat while you wait and we’ll talk.”
She hoped cookies and ice cream were staples for him, even though his physique suggested otherwise.
“This is very nice of you,” she called to him while he shuffled things around in the pantry. “I’m so grateful to you for letting me stay.”
“I said we need to talk. There will be ground rules.”
His terse words shouldn’t have surprised her.
“It’s funny you say that.” She turned a stainless steel toaster toward her to check her hair in the reflective surface. Straightening her scarf, she cursed herself for not taking more time to scrub out the developing solution from her hair in the sink when she’d left the salon that morning. “I’m always telling my parents they need to set more ground rules for the girls.”
Her sisters were growing up too wild, continually rewarded for pushing boundaries that boosted ratings. Annamae had been livid when the youngest—a high school junior—brought over a twenty-year-old guy for a family meal. All the more so because their mother fawned all over him.
It was gross.
“I mean privacy ground rules,” he clarified. “If you’re serious about laying low, there’s no social media. No cell phone that someone could track, not unless you’re willing to go back into town and invest in seriously high scramblers. And no use of credit cards.”
“Right. I know.” She’d thought through all that on the drive to Beulah. “I picked up some extra disposable phones in case I need to make calls.”
The same kind she spotted on his kitchen table, in fact. In a three-pack.
“Have you used a check or credit card in Alabama?” He hauled out a box overflowing with bags of pasta, paper products and something that looked like protein bars.
No cookies yet. The chances decreased that his freezer sported ice cream.
“No. I paid cash for my gas. And my cell phone has been off. I called you with one of the pay-by-the-minute phones I bought just outside of Atlanta.”
“Good. That’s good.” He assembled another box from a stack of cardboard stored alongside the refrigerator.
His distracted approval made her feel ridiculously proud of herself. She thumbed through the book on the counter—a farmer’s almanac. Someone had made little drawings in the margins with diagrams of a garden.
“I am very content to dig in here for a few weeks and let the world forget all about me.” She turned to a recipe section and remembered she couldn’t lock herself into Heath’s carriage house forever. “Although I did promise my grandmother I’d meet her in the retirement home’s garden tomorrow.”
“Your grandmother.” He scowled. “Isn’t this the first place folks will look for you to run? To your family?”
“Don’t worry, no one outside of the immediate family knows we’re related, and as far as they’re concerned we’re estranged. I wasn’t even sure she would want to see me. But she actually got all strangely protective of me,”—at least, that’s what Annamae hoped had been her motive—“and told me to meet her in the garden tomorrow morning when no one would be around.”
“So she’s trying to help you keep the low profile?” Heath went to the fridge and pulled out eggs, milk and butter, tossing them all in the box.
“I guess. I’d never met her before today.” Annamae shrugged. “Got any wine to spare? Or coffee?”
He produced both so quickly, shoving both in the box, that she was tempted to ask for the best, fastest place to get ice cream, but she wasn’t supposed to leave. She could always bake cookies…. But she hated to reveal all her food vices at once.
Acting Up
had almost given her an eating disorder during the first season.
“Your bio online doesn’t say anything about a connection to this town at all. Or a grandmother who lives here, even an estranged one. So maybe you’re right that no one will look for you here.” Heath moved to a drawer stocked with utensils and found some spoons, measuring cups and a corkscrew.
“You ran a background check anyhow?” She enjoyed watching him move around his kitchen, cats lazing at his feet as if they hung out there all the time.
She found a pen and made a few notes while he worked.
“Told you I would.” He stuffed some paper plates in the box and one coffee mug. “So, what’s the deal with your grandmother?”
“She’s my biological father’s mother. But I’ve never met my real father either. And my stepfather’s wealth does a great job of hiding things he wants kept hidden, so there’s no mention of my dad anywhere online.”
Heath nodded as he stalked over to the fridge and pulled out two longnecks.
“Beer?” he offered.
“I’d better not. I’m going to wait to have that glass of wine until I get settled in the new space.” She did not need her inhibitions lowered in front of him when she was an emotional wreck and feeling mighty vulnerable. “I wrote down a description of that guy I saw trimming the hedges.” She passed him a napkin with details written on it. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to settle into the carriage house before it gets any darker.”
Twilight was going to turn to full dark soon, the sky outside pale purple. She needed to leave her rent and go to bed.
“I can turn the fuse box from here. You’ll have power and—in another hour or two—some hot water.” He was already reading over her notes.
“Thank you.” She nodded as she slid one of the boxes he’d packed closer to her. She could see a new set of sheets still in the package at the bottom of one of them.
“What time are you seeing your grandmother?” he asked, pulling a long swallow from the beer bottle, giving her too much time to watch the movement of his throat. To see the wet shine of his lower lip.
“Nine.” She was ridiculously thirsty all of a sudden.
“I’ll meet you to walk you out a side entrance through the orchard. I don’t like the idea of people watching the roads in and out of this place.”
“Okay, I appreciate the offer.” She hugged a box to her chest and backed toward the door. Bagel hurried to beat her there, doggy nails clicking against the floor.
“I could help you settle in.” He scooped up the other box and followed her toward the door.
Then reached over her head to prop open the screen for her.
The scent of male sweat and faded aftershave should not have smelled so damn good. Temptingly so on a day when it would be worse than horrible to act on that temptation.
“I’ll be fine on my own.” She needed to be alone.
To repent for being a crappy fiancée. God, had she really been about to get married to the wrong man? And now she was drooling over a total stranger who didn’t even keep good ice cream in his house?
“At least let me carry this to your car.” He let the screen bang closed behind them as they walked out into the growing dimness.
“Thanks again for all your help.” She hastened her step and stuffed her box in the backseat of the open convertible. “I left cash for the rent under the toaster.”
“Right. My main concern is no social media. No cell phone. No way of leading anyone here.” His expression was hard. Shuttered.
He leaned down to put the second box beside the first while Bagel darted into the passenger seat through the open driver’s side door.
“You won’t regret letting me stay,” she promised, then wondered if anyone would trust her word again after the way she’d ditched Boone today.
Her heart hurt as she slid into the driver’s seat. Heath closed the door behind her, then leaned to rest his arms on the top of the door.
“Will he come after you?” he asked quietly. “The baseball player?”
Surprising her. How had he guessed she was thinking about her former fiancé?
“No.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Trust me. I’m certain.” That admission—and the way it forced her to acknowledge the truth underneath it—sank deeper than any other pain she’d felt today.
Heath nodded. Straightened.
“Then he didn’t deserve you, Red.” He reached to give her scarf a gentle tug, leaving it in place. “Sleep well.”
He stalked off toward the main house while Annamae’s scalp tingled, fingers of a phantom pleasure tripping down her spine.