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

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 though 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.

C
hapter
T
hree

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 conscience 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.

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—”