by Zane
You’ve got a man now, Harper.
Of course she did not.
No matter what he said, dust bunnies and leopards did not belong together and nobody would be fooled to think differently by witnessing some meaningless lip-lock in the moonlight.
Don’t think about that. Don’t think about him.
She bent to straighten a stack of newsmagazines on a slanted shelf, the hem of her long cardigan swinging out. I bet you have a great body underneath all those flowy clothes you wear.
Closing her eyes, she tried pushing that memory away too.
She didn’t have much luck until there came the distinctive click and whoosh of the library’s entrance door swinging open. Ah, her first patron of the day!
Eager for the distraction, Harper hurried to greet the visitor, hoping to be presented with a thorny research problem or put on the hunt for a special book she could retrieve from the inter-library loan system. Though she was naturally reserved around strangers, in her capacity as librarian she had professional obligations and actually found it fairly easy to engage with people within the world of books.
Her smile on, she came around a corner to see the manager of No Man’s Land and unofficial member of the Tucker family, Brenda Morgan. She was dressed for the cool, late spring weather in jeans, a plaid shirt with the tails hanging out, and sheepskin-lined boots. Her direct gaze made clear what—who—was the target of her visit.
Harper considered making a break for her office. Had the other woman heard about the kiss?
But Brenda was already mere feet away. “Hello, there.”
“Um, hello,” Harper responded, hoping it wasn’t a blush that was heating her face. “Can I help you with something?”
“I hoped we might have a chat.”
Oh, no, Harper thought. The speculative light in the other woman’s eyes told the truth of it. She’d definitely heard about the kiss. And though two nights ago Brenda had said I like Harper for Zane, likely she’d come to her senses since then and realized they were a total mismatch. They didn’t belong in the same league.
But she seemed to be a kind woman. Probably Brenda thought she should warn Harper off—signal to the librarian that upon further thought she realized the librarian didn’t have the feminine chops to take on a man as virile as Zane Tucker.
Brenda smiled again. “I won’t take up much of your time.”
The phrase made Harper inwardly cringe. Those were the exact words Geoffrey had said that evening he’d shown up on her doorstep following her giddy and gabby phone call all about how the wedding venue had been secured. She’d been floating on air and then he’d arrived and pulled the clouds out from under her feet. I won’t take up much of your time led to I want to end our engagement.
The fall to earth had hurt.
“Are you all right?” Brenda asked now, concern entering her eyes.
“Of course, yes.” Harper drew in a steadying breath and half-turned. “A chat you said? My office, or—”
“Here is fine,” Brenda said, gesturing to a nearby grouping of chairs.
They both sat and Harper automatically tidied the stack of Get Dirty for Books flyers on the table between them. Then she looked up to catch the other woman studying her, wearing an expression Harper couldn’t interpret.
So she decided to grab the tiger by the tail. “Look, I think I know the purpose of your visit.” To save me from potential heartache. To warn me against harboring dreams that can’t come true. But I don’t need to be cautioned. I’m aware he’s too much man for me and—
“It’s because I thought you might have questions for me,” Brenda said.
Harper’s brows shot together. “What?”
“The dinner party ended abruptly the other night and I want to apologize for that—as well as explain in case you were left wondering what was going on.”
“Oh.” She was a kind woman. “You don’t have to worry about that. Zane filled me in.”
Brenda’s pretty green eyes rounded. “Really?”
“Yes. He explained about his mom’s return for Bailey’s restaurant opening. I think he’s mostly okay with it.”
The older woman wore her dark hair in a long braid that nearly reached her waist. She drew it over her shoulder now, and toyed with the end absently, a slight frown on her face. “He shared that with you?”
“He said he used to blame himself for her leaving, but he knows now that wasn’t true.”
Brenda’s mouth dropped. “He shared that with you?”
“Yes.”
“Well.” A genuine smile broke over the diner manager’s face. “Well, well, well. I believe my work here is done.”
Harper tilted her head, not following. “I don’t understand.”
“Men aren’t always aware of their feelings or even if they are, they aren’t very keen about sharing them.”
I’ve been thinking this for a while now, Harper. You’re just too…humdrum for me. While she’d been living in her head, concocting tulle-fueled fantasies of a romantic ceremony followed by a lifetime of wedded bliss, Geoffrey had been dating on the side for the previous six months, entertaining himself with a string of apparently exciting and interesting one-night women.
“I’ve experienced that myself,” Harper admitted.
“But I do believe the Tucker men are making progress.” Brenda seemed to head off into her own mini-daydream, her attention wandering away. “Even Sam.”
Interesting. Like all librarians, Harper could sense a good story. “You’re talking about Zane’s dad?”
Brenda’s gaze remained unfocused. “You’re not the only who got kissed the other night,” she murmured.
Even more interesting! But before Harper could figure out what to say next, Brenda came back to herself. Her gaze snapped to Harper’s even as her face took on a delicate pink. “I should stop yakking your ear off,” she said, standing.
It had only been a short conversation, but Harper stood too. “Sure. Is there anything else?”
The other woman hesitated, then glanced around. “Actually, could you point me in the direction of your books on photography?”
“Certainly, follow me.” As they walked, Brenda shared about the class she was taking in the subject at the community college.
“I needed a new hobby,” she said. “Frankly, I need a new me…and I’m getting there.”
“It’s why I came to Eagle’s Ridge,” Harper said, surprised to find herself confessing. “I was a little too comfortable in my old shell.”
Brenda patted her arm. “Zane might be just the man to yank you out of it.”
Since Harper didn’t know how to respond to that, she did what she did best, kept quiet and helped the older woman find the right book for her needs. Soon enough, Brenda was leaving the library and Harper kept herself busy during the next hours with patrons and paperwork.
By afternoon, she congratulated herself on the few number of times she’d had to push that Tucker man from her mind, but on the tail of that thought she saw someone new walk into the library. Jane McAllen, carrying two carryout cups.
Like Brenda before her, she came straight to Harper. “Do you have time for tea?”
“Um…” The other woman exuded chic with her dark hair and eyes and stylish, form-fitting clothing. She was an interior designer by profession and if there was ever anyone to make Harper feel washed-out and plain, it was beautiful Jane. But she wore a bright smile and she’d always been friendly when they’d met, so Harper could hardly refuse her now.
“Sure.” She led the way into her office and they settled into the two visitor chairs.
Jane handed her one of the steaming cups. “Chamomile.”
“Thank you.” Harper sipped.
“I thought we should get better acquainted,” Jane said.
Oh, no. Harper tensed. Was this because of Zane? That was really going nowhere and she needed to communicate that she didn’t expect it would either. “Well, I—”
“I’m new to town
, you’re new to town.”
Harper relaxed. A new friend wouldn’t be bad.
“And apparently we’re dating twins.”
“I wouldn’t call it—”
“I met him first, you know. Zane.”
Sitting up straighter, Harper couldn’t resist asking for more. “You did?”
“Uh huh. I was looking for work so he sent me to Adam, who, by the way, jumped to conclusions about me and was very rude about it.” But the thought seemed to put a shine in her eyes.
“He doesn’t seem like a rude kind of man.”
“Sparks,” Jane said, with a wave of her hand and smiled. “He didn’t want to feel them, especially for me because he could sense I was keeping secrets.”
“Ah.” That whole debacle when innocent Jane had become a pawn in a revenge plot.
“Their mother did a number on them when she left and they all have their issues,” Jane continued. “Zane, included. His are compounded by some girl who did another number on him when he was in his early twenties.”
She wasn’t going to pry, Harper ordered herself. She was going to keep quiet like she usually did, quiet as a library mouse. But her mouth had other intentions. “There was some girl who did a number on him?”
Jane shrugged. “Sorry. I don’t have any details, it’s just something Adam picked up on. Speaking of which, I need to get going. We’re meeting for a late lunch.”
As she stood, Harper was struck again by the other woman’s clear sense of style. Her shiny hair swung about her shoulders and she slid an elegant bag over her arm. “Are you still planning to do that?” Jane asked, one perfectly filed—though not polished—fingernail pointing to a Get Dirty for Books flyer on the desk.
“Oh. I…” It was the moment to admit it had been a man-induced, pride-saving, totally substance-less declaration. And then she remembered when she made it, while under the influence of all Zane’s beautiful manliness and those mesmerizing blue eyes.
Even in the dark, with only the moon to light the night, those eyes held power over her. Which explained why she’d kissed him and wanted to keep on kissing him, even when those yahoos on the street had honked their horn.
Standing in her office, she recalled every hot moment of being in his arms and the way he made her feel…needy, excited. Exciting.
Never humdrum.
But she wasn’t supposed to be daydreaming about Zane or his kisses or how her knees had been unable to hold her up and how she’d reveled in his size and strength, she reminded herself. It wouldn’t do at all to set herself up for another heartbreak.
So she blinked herself out of the reverie and sucked in a deep breath. God, she definitely needed something to take her mind off what couldn’t be. Who she couldn’t have.
A task. A hobby.
Photography, or…
She looked down at the fundraising flyer and then up at Jane, still waiting for her reply. “Of course, I’m going to compete in the event,” she said, latching onto the idea like a lifeline. “As a matter of fact, I’m going on a training run as soon as I get off of work.”
That day, Harper’s schedule allowed her to leave the library in the late afternoon and with the sun setting later each evening there was no reason she couldn’t follow through with that promised run. Except, of course, that she’d never “run” since fourth grade when she’d regularly been chased on the playground by a big bully named Bridget Marino. So it would be more of a jog, she told herself as she laced up the athletic shoes she wore for weekend visits to the local farmer’s market.
Wearing leggings, a sports bra, and an oversized tunic that skimmed her thighs and covered her rear, an outfit she’d worn on those spin-class beach cruises, she performed a few stretches outside her condo, starting with reaching her arms to the sky and ending by pulling her heels toward her butt. She gave a searching look at the clouds overhead, decided it didn’t look like rain, and also decided she couldn’t procrastinate a moment longer.
Reminding herself of her hobby resolution, she started off, heading down the road that led out of Eagle’s Ridge proper, parallel to the river. At first it went well, and she didn’t push it, going steady and breathing easy of the fresh air that left the hint of a spring green taste on her tongue. It almost managed to eradicate the memory of Zane’s flavor in her mouth and the manly smell of him in her lungs, the feel—
No. She pushed that all away and concentrated on the tempo of her feet and the pattern of her breaths. One-two. In-out. As she settled into a rhythm, she let her mind spin off, daydreaming as she so often did. Telling herself a story.
This could be my life.
She could have a new identity, truly be that new Harper that she’d left San Francisco to find. Not humdrum, boring Harper, but a runner. One of those sinewy-armed, toned-calf women with washboard stomachs so flat their running shorts barely hung from their hips.
She’d lose her curvy behind—something Geoffrey had once claimed to admire—but that would be a small price to pay because no one back home would ever think she’d run away when she told them—and showed them with that body—that she’d gone to Eagle’s Ridge to become an actual runner. It sounded strong. Cool.
Five more minutes passed and she turned off the main road onto a skinnier one that was bordered by evergreens on either side. Her feet continued slapping on the pavement. Her air continued moving in and out of her lungs.
Okay, she thought as time went on. Maybe she’d not be boring in her new identity, but the repetitive nature of this new activity was striking her as a trifle…tedious. In beach cruise spin class, at least there’d been Jimmy Buffett and the Beach Boys coming through the speakers and the surfer dude-ish instructor helping the time pass with stories of his epic rides on the local waves.
On her next run, she decided, she’d plug earbuds into her phone and find a diverting playlist. No…she’d listen to an audio book.
Relief whooshed through her, taking with it the minor tightness in the muscle in her right calf. Running could be made more pleasurable when combined with her favorite activity of reading.
For a while she kept the boredom at bay by mentally sifting through the books in the library’s audio catalog. What would work best on a run? That non-fiction historical tome she’d been meaning to open? The self-help book about the best way to clean house?
Ugh. Neither seemed right for a runner girl.
It had to be a thriller, then. Listening to a story about a serial killer would give her the incentive to keep herself in shape and to improve her pace. Pretty soon she’d be an award-winning runner, fast enough to elude all the bad guys. No Eagle’s Ridge Butcher would be able to catch her.
For a few more steps she tried picturing the Eagle’s Ridge Butcher. Dirty jeans, a black hoodie pulled over his head, nearly to his eyebrows. His murderous specialty was—
“Hey, Harper.”
At the sound of a male voice, she shrieked and nearly jumped out of her shoes. The Butcher! Heart in her throat, she gathered her will for an all-out sprint and took one swift look at…
Zane Tucker.
Her hand flew to her chest. “Oh my God.”
He was in the driver’s seat of a big shiny black truck that he’d steered toward the wrong side of the road so she could see him clearly framed in the open window. Riding shotgun was Gambler, his window open too, his head hanging out.
Her heart continued to hammer. “You’re not the Butcher of Eagle’s Ridge,” she said, breathless.
“Uh, no.” His lips twitched, those lips that had been so hot and hard on hers. “I don’t know who you mean. There’s ol’ Saul behind the deli counter at the market. Is that—”
“No, I mean the serial killer.”
He blinked those incredible blue eyes.
“The serial killer I made up,” she explained, beginning to feel foolish.
“You made up a serial killer.”
“As a motivation, you know, to run faster.”
A little smile curved his mo
uth and there was amusement written all over his face. “You live in your head a lot, don’t you?”
Geoffrey had said that too, like it was a problem, which it had been because it was why he’d been able to elude detection during six months of consecutive dating those other more exciting and interesting women. She hadn’t noticed him drawing away when she was deep in her tulle-fueled daydreams. Yes, she lived in her head a lot.
“I’m a librarian,” she said, as if that explained it, and it kind of did.
“A librarian who tells herself stories about serial killers.”
She grimaced. “You make me sound odd.”
“I find you fascinating.” He grinned.
It was that white, bright, blinding grin of his and it did something to her stomach, causing the whole of it to jitter. Okay, time to get back to the task at hand. “Well,” she said, starting off again. “Have a good day.”
Instead of taking the hint and moving along, he hardly touched the accelerator at all, the huge truck prowling beside her, keeping to her pace. “We should talk about that kiss,” he said, his tone casual.
It was her aim not to be thinking about the kiss, let alone talking about it!
She glanced over, saw that one of his wrists was draped over the top of the steering wheel, the other arm propped on the bottom frame of the window, the pose of every hot teenage boy she used to moon over in high school. Those boys who had never looked back, let alone put their lips to hers.
“It was nothing,” she said. “I’ve already forgotten it.” Picking up her speed, she continued on, trying to escape the lie—and him.
Zane merely goosed the gas to keep up with her.
Harper tried to go a faster speed, but it was becoming clearer by the second that while good intentions had energized her during the beginning of the run and adrenaline had kept her invigorated once Zane had shown up, both were fizzling out with each step.