by Sherry Lewis
Stacy laughed. “People don’t move to Serenity. They move out. Except for Reagan McKenna. I think she’s our newest addition.” Her eyes shrouded and her lips curved into a teasing smile. “And speaking of Reagan, I hear you had a date with her yesterday.”
“I guess it’s true what they say about news in a small town.”
Stacy drew herself up and looked down at him with a scowl. “News travels at exactly the same speed here as it does everywhere else. It’s just that here we all live close together so it just seems faster.”
“I stand corrected. So, break it to me gently. What are they saying?”
“We’re waiting to see what happens next. We don’t know either of you well enough to pass judgment yet. Reagan’s pretty independent, and she doesn’t talk about herself a lot. That’s a luxury you don’t get if you’ve lived here all your life.”
“I’ll bet you don’t.” Max settled in with his second cup of coffee to wait for breakfast.
By the time his omelette arrived, he was finally fully awake and very hungry. He didn’t glance up from his plate until the bell jangled over the door a few minutes later. When he saw Reagan walk through the door, he paused with the fork halfway to his mouth.
She wore a cream-colored sweater that hugged every curve and a dark green skirt that skimmed the tops of her knees. Her hair brushed her shoulders as it had the first time he’d seen her and framed her face in a blaze.
She moved toward him, smiling as if they’d been friends forever. “I was hoping I’d find you here. I thought maybe I’d see you running again this morning.”
Mouth suddenly dry, he set his fork aside and motioned for her to sit. “I didn’t get out this morning. Rough night. Would you like to join me?”
Her scent caressed him as she sat—not the sweet, musky scent of perfume—but something more natural. Earth and wind. Sea and sky. Sunrise.
“I’ve already eaten,” she said, waving to Stacy across the room. “I came to ask you something.”
“Really? What?”
“If you’re still going to be in town this evening, would you like to come to dinner at my place?” A slow flush crept into her cheeks as she added, “We thought maybe you’d be getting tired of eating out.”
He could easily let himself forget about finding Carmichael when he looked into her eyes. “It sounds tempting. You have no idea how long it’s been since I had a home-cooked meal.”
“But…?”
“But it’s pretty hard to spend time with you and not let my imagination take over, and from what you said yesterday, I’m pretty sure you don’t want that.”
She blushed and unconsciously tugged at the neckline of her sweater. “It will be almost impossible to let your imagination go anywhere with my girls in the room.”
“The girls will be there?”
“They’ve heard that we had lunch together yesterday, of course. They’re dying to meet you.”
“Well, then, maybe it will be safe.”
Reagan laughed softly. “I can just about guarantee that it will be.”
Max let his gaze travel across the curve of her cheeks, the soft swell of her lips, then linger on the deep green of her eyes. “That’s too bad.”
The color in her cheeks deepened, but she didn’t look away. “Will you come?”
“I’d love to.”
“Good.” She blinked and broke the spell. “Is lasagna all right? The girls like to help me make it.”
“Perfect. I’ll bring the wine.”
“Seven o’clock?”
“I’ll be there.”
She stood quickly and smiled down at him, then turned away and walked out the door. He indulged himself for a moment, watching the sway of her hips, the curve of her bottom inside the skirt, the shape of her legs as they tapered to slim ankles on one end and disappeared beneath the swirl of fabric at the other.
He savored the slow warmth of desire that curled in his belly and tightened everything else. He imagined the luxury of a few leisurely hours spent discovering the sweet secrets hidden beneath those clothes. It would be a far more interesting way to spend his time than searching for Carmichael and his sister.
REAGAN LEANED BACK in her office chair and stared at the list in front of her. “I need help. I’ve talked to four different program coordinators in four different towns, and none of them has anything on their schedule that Jamie would be interested in.” Reagan reached for the can of cola on her desk, realized it had grown warm and left it there.
Andie rolled away from her desk and held out a hand for Reagan’s half-empty can. “Maybe she’s forgotten about rock climbing. My kids get a dozen ideas a week that peter out to nothing within a few days.”
“I wish this one would. She hasn’t said anything more about it, but I found a list of climbing equipment in her jeans pocket when I was doing laundry last night.” Reagan pulled open her desk drawer and grabbed a handful of change from the small dish she kept there.
She loved this about her friendship with Andie—the way they communicated without words, the way they’d fallen into a comfortable routine that marked the hours they spent at the office. They took their break at the same time every day, when the other employees were hard at work and they could have the break room to themselves. She’d always imagined having a sister might be like this.
Andie paused in the doorway and waited for her. “Did you talk to Jamie about the list?”
Reagan pocketed the change and closed her desk drawer. “No. Maybe I should have, but I’m tired of arguing with her about everything.”
Andie stuffed her hands into her blazer pockets as they walked. “I suppose that in the grand scheme of things, what she wants to do isn’t so bad. At least she’s not doing drugs or running around with boys and having unprotected sex.”
Reagan stopped in front of the soda machine in the employee lunchroom and began feeding it change from her pocket. “If Paul hadn’t been such a daredevil, I might agree with you. But recklessness was like a drug to him.” The anger began to curl through her as it always did when she thought of what Paul had done the night he died. Maybe it would never go away. “He had no right to be so reckless with his life. If he’d waited for his partner instead of playing hero, my girls would still have a father.”
Andie touched her arm gently. “And you’d still have a husband.”
Reagan leaned against the machine. “Isn’t it weird? I never think of that when I think of Paul. I used to.” She added a few more coins and waited while Andie made her selection. “I used to lie awake nights missing him—even though he was rarely there when he was alive. Sometimes I think I missed the idea of him, the fantasy I had about marriage, more than I actually missed him. Now I’m just furious with him for robbing the girls of their father.”
Andie opened her soda and took a seat at one of the small round tables scattered throughout the room. “I don’t know how I’d react if Bart were to do something careless that took his life. But I do know that the girls are doing fine. They’re doing better than most kids their age would probably do under the circumstances, and you’re responsible for that. You’ve made some good decisions.”
“I’ve tried.” Reagan sank into a chair and slipped off her shoes. She put her feet up and took a long, cool drink before she realized Andie was watching her. “Why do I get the feeling you haven’t finished yet?”
“Because I haven’t. Don’t get mad at me.”
“Why would I get mad at you?”
“Because I’m going to tell you that I think you should reconsider and let Jamie take those lessons. And before you yell at me, let me tell you why.”
“Why?”
“Because, like I said before, she could be doing things that are worse. Don’t shut her down completely, Reagan.”
“I’m not shutting her down completely,” Reagan snapped.
“Isn’t that what she thinks you’re doing?”
“Yes, but—”
“Well, then, it doesn’t ma
tter what you’re really doing, does it? She’s going to believe what she wants to.”
Reagan nodded grudgingly. “I guess you’re right. Travis and I have totally different pictures of our childhood together, and we’re both absolutely convinced that we’re right. But I can’t let Jamie do whatever she wants just so she won’t misunderstand my motives. Letting her climb up the side of a mountain hanging by a thread isn’t the solution. She’s so young and fearless it frightens me to death. Maybe when she’s older, when she’s learned a little more about setting limits for herself…”
“And in the meantime you’re still looking for something she can do here in Serenity that will make her happy?”
“Exactly.” Reagan took a long drink and turned the can thoughtfully in her hand for a few seconds. “Enough of this. I don’t want to talk about any of it anymore. I’m tired of focusing on what’s wrong.”
“Well, then, let’s talk about what’s right. Have you heard from the Handsome Stranger?”
Reagan grinned. That was definitely the change of pace she needed. “He’s coming to dinner tonight.”
Andie fell back against her seat and let her mouth fall open. “He’s what?”
Reagan laughed. “He’s coming to dinner. The girls convinced me to ask him.”
“Well, good for them. Did you say tonight?”
Reagan nodded. “Yes, and I’m nervous.” And getting worse each time she looked at the clock and realized how quickly the time was passing. “He’s the first interesting man I’ve met since Paul.”
Andie scooted her chair closer. “You’ll be fine. You have to start somewhere, right?”
“I’d rather start somewhere safer—maybe with a guy from accounting with a pocket protector and tape on his glasses. Max doesn’t fall into that category.”
“So I’ve heard. Stacy says he’s hot…and very nice, even if he didn’t jump at the chance to buy that property she and her brother have been trying to get rid of. So, tell me what you’re planning to wear. How are you going to do your hair? What are you making?”
“I don’t know. Depends on what my hair wants to do by tonight. Lasagna, salad and garlic bread.”
“How dressy do you want to get?”
“Not very. The girls will be there, so I think it would be best to stay casual.”
Andie nodded and tilted her head thoughtfully. “Wear your rust-colored sweater. It looks incredible on you, and it’s not too dressy. And your hair down. Definitely. Long, curly and sexy.”
Reagan picked up a lock of hair from her shoulder and looked at it. “It looks like a mop.”
“No, it doesn’t. You have great hair. And if you pull it back off your face here—” Andie leaned forward and scooped hair away from Reagan’s face at the temples “—and borrow some of Danielle’s sparkly hair clips, it’ll look great.”
“I’ll try that. Thank you.”
Andie waved her hand lazily. “Just bring details to work tomorrow. It’ll give me something to look forward to.”
“We’ll be well chaperoned,” Reagan said with a laugh. “There probably won’t be details.”
“Make something up, then. I’m not fussy.”
“You’re shameless.” Reagan took another look at the clock and saw they’d used up their entire break. “Here’s a detail for you,” she said as she stood. “I stayed up so late last night cleaning just in case he accepted my invitation, I’ll probably fall asleep before dinner’s over.”
“Lovely image,” Andie said with a grin. “You, facedown in a plate of lasagna.”
“Good thing it’s just a friendly dinner and nothing romantic, then, isn’t it?”
Andie turned out the lights and closed the door behind them. “A nice romance would be more exciting for those of us who are watching.”
“I’m sure it would,” Reagan said. “And that is exactly why it’s going to remain friendly.”
THE HOURS DRAGGED BY as Max waited for seven o’clock to arrive. He spent the morning clicking through endless Internet records and making phone calls. He managed to track Travis’s life back through two short jail terms and four moves, but he still couldn’t find any information on the sister. He was beginning to think Ronnie Carmichael didn’t exist.
By noon, he’d had enough of his stuffy motel room, so he shut down the laptop, grabbed his jacket and headed outside for a break. He had a quick lunch at the diner, then killed some time walking through town.
He’d lived so long among large chain stores and shopping malls, the quaint shops lining Front Street fascinated him. A person could buy almost anything he wanted here as long as he knew where to look. Sela’s Flowers did weddings, funerals and proms, and also handled the town’s cell phone and pager needs. The local tanning bed was in the back room of the stationery store, and a person could send and receive faxes from the hair salon. Not exactly logical, but it appeared to work.
People he’d never seen before waved at him from their cars or commented on the weather as they passed him on the sidewalk, and before long he found himself waving back as if he knew them all. He slipped into the tiny drugstore to pick up a few things and emerged nearly forty-five minutes later with everything he needed and more information about fly-fishing than he’d ever need to know, thanks to an elderly gentleman who apparently spent his days on a bench just inside the front door.
Max made a few discreet inquiries about Ronnie Carmichael, but no one had ever heard of her. Had Monique given him the wrong name? The wrong town? Or was Carmichael’s sister as slippery as her brother?
Still at loose ends, he browsed through the Food-Town and bought salsa and tortilla chips to keep in his room for those hours when he was awake and working but the rest of town was locked up tight.
Throughout the afternoon, his mind kept drifting back to the way Reagan had looked that morning, and ahead to their dinner that evening. He didn’t know why he was pursuing this attraction for a widow with two children. It didn’t make any sense at all, but logic seemed to desert him whenever she was around. Donovan would tell him logic had no place when it came to matters of the heart. Max disagreed.
With only a couple of hours to go, he browsed through Serenity’s wine selection. Forget impressing Reagan with his knowledge of wine; Serenity’s selection was so limited he had to make a choice from vintages he’d never heard of.
Carrying all of his purchases, he strolled slowly back to the Wagon Wheel, surprised to realize that he’d actually enjoyed the afternoon. He rounded the corner and stopped at the sight of a dark-colored Toyota with South Dakota plates in the motel parking lot.
It might be purely innocent. But it was definitely worth checking. Travis might have detoured through South Dakota on his way here and picked up a car along the way. Max stood there for a second or two, then switched directions and slipped into the motel’s office. He’d met the couple who ran the motel, and both of them seemed talkative. Maybe he could get some information about the new guest and save himself time watching at the window.
The small lobby was empty, but he could see Phyllis Graham in the living room of the family’s private quarters. She was a heavy-set woman of about fifty, her short brown hair streaked with gray, her face tired and lined. She sat on one end of the green velvet couch with her feet up, engrossed in a daytime talk show complete with screaming guests.
She glanced up and saw Max at the counter, muted the show and struggled to her feet. “Sorry about that,” she said as she hurried through the connecting door. “You caught me taking a little break while I wait for the sheets to come out of the dryer.”
Max waved away the apology. As far as he could tell, the woman rarely stopped working. She’d been in the office late the night before, up again early to clean rooms, and he’d seen her chasing grandchildren when he left for lunch. She deserved every second she could find to get off her feet. “I’m sorry to bother you. I just picked up a bottle of wine and thought I’d see if you have an extra ice bucket so I can chill it before dinner.”
>
“Of course.” Phyllis sent him a weary smile. “But I’d be glad to put it in our refrigerator if that would be easier.”
Max shook his head. “The ice will be fine, thanks.”
She disappeared into a storeroom and came back a few seconds later with the gray plastic container. “You must be having a special dinner. Are you seeing Reagan McKenna again?”
Max wasn’t used to having his personal life dissected by strangers, but he couldn’t see much point in denying it. The neighborhood watch would probably report the second he pulled into Reagan’s driveway in a couple of hours. “I am. She and her daughters took pity on me and offered me a chance to get out of restaurants for a night.”
“That’s nice.” Mrs. Graham actually looked as if she might pinch his cheek. “I’m always happy when two nice people find each other.”
“We’re friends,” Max told her. “That’s all.” He leaned an arm on the counter and nodded casually toward the window. “Looks like you have a new guest.”
Phyllis nodded. “He got here while you were out. Mr. Carter.”
Max hadn’t expected it to be so easy to get the guy’s name. Only in a small town where people didn’t expect anything bad to happen. Carter. Carmichael. Was there a connection? “I guess I’ll probably meet him if he’s here long enough.”
“You might. He’s usually only here a day or two.”
“He’s a regular customer?”
“Fairly regular. He comes through two or three times a year. He’s a salesman.”
Probably not Carmichael, then. But Max would still check him out, just in case. “While I have you here, maybe you can answer one more question for me,” he said, and gave her his story about looking for his friend’s sister.
Phyllis listened intently until he finished. “Ronnie? That’s all you have? No last name?”
“It used to be Carmichael. I don’t know if she still uses that name, or not.”
“Ronnie Carmichael.” Phyllis repeated the name a couple more times. “I’ve never heard of her, and I know most everybody around. Are you sure she’s living in Serenity?”