She forced her legs into motion and joined the fray of onlookers.
There it was emblazoned across the screen, the title of today’s post on the Red River Rag: Heartbreaker or Hero? Can Red River’s architectural icon redeem himself? Can the wounded Miss Cruz and her new pup, Lloyd, give Mr. Oaks another chance? That steamy kiss with all that tonggue has us rooting for them to work it out. Looks like Red River’s favorite young lovers have their work cut out for them, and we’ll be watching. So stay tuned!
Oh. My. God. Her clever plan to get rid of Talmadge couldn’t have backfired. Now Red River wanted them to work it out?
A picture of Miranda all over Talmadge like she was an octopus on his face glared back at her, his hands on her as though he knew his way around her body well. Had done the same thing before.
Actually, they had. Once. No, wait. Twice.
Dammit.
Was the author of that smut rag an undercover operative? Because they had cameras everywhere! Damn Patriot Act.
“Nice.” Langston grabbed a screwdriver from his belt and absently tapped it against the counter while he stared at screen.
Miranda turned a searing glare on him.
He glanced at her and did a double take. “Um. The sweater you were wearing. Nice . . . ensemble.”
Right. Guys like Langston Brooks didn’t use words like ensemble.
Miranda thought she might actually spontaneously combust.
“I mean . . . those jeans really compliment your—oof!” Langston said when Miranda’s elbow connected with his ribs. She snatched the screwdriver out of his hand.
One arm still trying to cover her chest, she pointed the tool at Jamie and Langston. “Out.”
When they scurried toward the door, Talmadge tried to follow. Miranda’s hand shot out and anchored flat against his chest. “Not you.”
He stopped cold. Surprising, because he was two hundred pounds of lean muscle and towered over her like one of his buildings would dwarf a hut. When he stared down at her through hooded eyes, his heat coiled around her like a cloak. Wound around her girl parts and squeezed like a closing vise.
Her mind blanked.
Wait. What was she going to say again?
When she didn’t speak, an almost-smile appeared, lifting one corner of his mouth.
God, that was hawt. Her stare sank to those divine lips. Really, how could she not stare at them? She knew how good they tasted.
The vise cinched tighter, setting off a barrage of quivers somewhere below her belly button.
“We should get to work,” he said. “There’s a lot to do around here.”
Work? Yes! That’s what she had been about to say. His presence distracted her from her work.
“There’s a reason I asked you to stay away yesterday. I appreciate what you did with Mrs. Wilkinson and helping with the gazebo, but—” She waved the screwdriver in the air to make a drama-queen point. “I can’t have people getting the wrong impression about us.”
One of his golden brows lifted.
“Getting the wrong impression again. I don’t want any more pictures of us showing up online.”
Talmadge’s eyes anchored to her mouth. She sucked in her bottom lip in response. Then those baby blues traveled down her neck to her shoulder and all the way along the length of her arm to her hand still resting flat against his solid chest.
She tore it away and immediately missed his warmth. “I already have a contractor.”
Talmadge looked around. “He’s doing a stellar job.”
Okay, so the guy hadn’t been the most reliable. And she was behind schedule because of his lax work hours. And she may very well run out of money before the renovations were done and she could open for business. But was that really the point?
Well. That kind of was the point. But Talmadge would only complicate her situation even more, and she could figure this out on her own. Maybe.
“He’s doing a fine job.” Sort of. “He’s just having some personal problems.”
“He’s fired,” Talmadge deadpanned.
Miranda sputtered. “He is not.” There’d be no firing around here unless she decided to do it. “That’s not your call.” Her voice started to shake with uncertainty, and she bit her tongue to stay focused.
Did absolutely no good. She was still ready to cave like an igloo in an avalanche. Because of the way the male scent of his freshly showered body washed over her. Because of the way his still-damp hair was slicked back behind both ears, and a little chunk fell forward across his forehead. Because of the way he looked at her with such confident assurance that it made her want to believe that his mere presence would make every one of her problems go away and set her world right. Or turn it completely upside down.
She drew in a ragged breath.
He was just so freaking tall. And muscular. And gorgeous.
She mustered her very best bitchy stare. Which was so totally not believable, because his mouth curved into a boyish smile.
Dammit. She really needed to work on upping her bitch-factor. It just didn’t come natural.
“I hold the note and the deed to this place,” he informed her as though she weren’t already aware. “The quicker these doors open for business, the sooner I can have some peace of mind that the investment I inherited from Bea is safe, and I can be on my way.”
And theeeere it was. He couldn’t wait to get out of this little town and get back to the prestige of being a celebrity architect. Small-town life was beneath his pay grade.
“I don’t need your help.” She kinda did. “Nor do I want it.” Okay, maybe she wanted it a little. Among other things.
Good Lord! Snap out of it! She absolutely did not want . . . no . . . she did not need to count on a man the way her mother had. Miranda could do this on her own.
“Doesn’t matter, sweetheart.” Talmadge’s smile was cocky. “You’ve got my help whether you want it or not.”
After his colossal gaffe yesterday at Joe’s, the chances of Miranda agreeing to let him take over the renovations were about as good as her contractor giving back her money, even if Talmadge had kept Mrs. Wilkinson from sinking her fangs into Miranda.
The way he saw it, he had two options.
One: play the I’m-your-creditor card and take charge of the renovations whether she agreed or not. When it came to any kind of building project, everyone followed his lead. Hell, he’d earned that leadership role in his profession.
Miranda’s face glowed red with anger.
Right. Option one wasn’t working out so well.
He shifted to option two: make her think she was still in charge.
“Don’t be foolish, Miranda. You need help with this place.” Talmadge was trying real hard to keep his mind and eyes off the taut nipples showing through her thin shirt. The moment he’d turned and saw her standing in the dining room staring at him with sleepy eyes and messy pillow-hair . . . glaring at them over the absurdity of superheroes while wearing silly cartoon pajamas . . . Well, hell. His throat had closed up, and he’d wanted to toss her over his shoulder and take her back to bed.
“You’re calling me foolish? How can you help, Talmadge? You can’t stay in Red River that long. I’m surprised you’re staying at all.”
So am I. But sure enough, here he was, trying to seize the one chance he had at gaining some capital that would help keep the lights of his firm back in Washington turned on for a little while longer. “I’ll be here for as long as necessary. I never leave a job unfinished.” Not willingly, anyway.
Her lips parted. Several small creases formed above her brows. “Oh. Well, um . . .” She glanced at his shoulder. “Your shoulder. You can’t do this kind of work.”
“I’m starting rehabilitation this week,” he countered.
“In Red River?” Her tone turned a little desperate and her eyes a little wild.
He nodded. “Doc Holloway and the new chiropractor in town are going to help.” Luckily, Langston had given them a call last night, and wi
thin an hour, an entire posse of physical therapy assistance was at his service. One of the perks of a small town.
“So? You’re still hurt. I need someone who can handle manual labor.” She waved her arms around the inn.
Nice. Her round, firm breasts bobbed a little and both nipples strained toward him. Disappointment threaded through him when she crossed her arms over her chest again.
“Jamie and Langston have agreed to help with the heavy lifting. I’m going to be the foreman,” Talmadge said.
The copper flecks in her irises blazed to life. “I’m the foreman. It’s my place.”
“It won’t be if you don’t get some help with the remodel.” Talmadge leaned a hip against the Formica counter. “Bea’s last wishes were for me to help, since you wouldn’t let her give you the inn.”
A fact Talmadge deeply respected.
“So you know I didn’t take advantage of your grandmother.”
Talmadge winced. “Yeah, sorry about that. Emotions were running high.”
“I was her witness. There was no statement to that effect in her will.” She said it like she didn’t believe him.
Her exposed skin was goose-bumped, so Talmadge grabbed his jacket off the counter and draped it around her shoulders. She pulled it close around her and snuggled into it.
“Thank you.” Her voice softened.
Good. He might be wearing her down. Because she was sure wearing him down. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could be in her presence without tasting her again. “Uh, she left me a note.” He was skating on thin ice here. He hadn’t said anything that would violate the terms of the will, but he was getting close.
He hesitated. Helping Miranda would be a win-win for both of them. She would get her business open and running, the inn would be more energy efficient if he did the work, and the pot of money waiting for him at the end of Miranda’s renovation rainbow would provide cash flow while he sorted out his derailed project.
Her big, chocolaty eyes stared up at him.
“Uh . . .” Damn, he didn’t want to lie to her. “This place meant a lot to her . . .”
Miranda’s expression softened, and wetness shimmered around the rims of her eyes.
“She, uh, wanted to see it become a success and thought I could help.” Okay, still the truth.
He almost pulled it off without lying. He did.
Until he opened his big, stupid mouth and said, “Her note said she wanted me to stick around until the inn is open again, then she wanted us to use her life insurance to build an after-school rec center for kids here in Red River.” Ah, shit. A thread of truth ran through that statement, but not enough to keep it from being a lie.
A tear glided down Miranda’s smooth cheek, which still had the impression of a sheet mark creased into it. She swiped under her eyes with a finger.
Talmadge’s eyes slid shut for a second. Liar, liar, pants on fire.
“That’s just like Bea.” Miranda sniffled. “Always trying to help kids.”
“Uh, yeah,” was all Talmadge could say without blurting the truth.
The back door cracked and Langston stuck his head in. “What gives, you two? It’s cold out here.”
“Give us a second,” Talmadge said to Langston, who rolled his eyes and shut the door. Talmadge looked at Miranda. “Plus, I owe you big-time for looking out for Bea the last couple of years. Consider my work payback.” She pulled that lip between her teeth again, and he wanted to bend down and suckle it. He coughed. “Do we have an agreement?”
“Well . . .” She bit her lip. “I guess when my contractor comes back to work, I could return the supplies he’s probably already bought with the money I gave him.”
Right. And Trinity Falls was going to build itself overnight.
She chewed that plump lip. “And I’ll have to find a way to let him go without hurting his feelings.”
Talmadge wanted to sigh. He doubted that so-called contractor would ever step foot inside the county again after the cash payload Miranda had obviously handed him.
“But what about the gossip about us?” Her expression dimmed. “People already think the worst. It’ll only get worse with you hanging around here all the time. I mean come on, Talmadge.” Her voice turned to a plea. “You’re famous. People are not going buy into you hammering nails and reshingling my roof unless . . .” Her cheeks pinked, and her gaze darted away.
He couldn’t help but chuckle. “You know I wouldn’t do or say anything to hurt your reputation. Didn’t I prove that seven years ago? And it’s about time someone takes Mrs. Wilkinson’s tiara away. She still hasn’t realized she’s not queen of Red River.”
Miranda’s eyes closed on a slow blink. “I mean you’re stealing my thunder, Talmadge.”
His brows scrunched together.
Miranda took a deep breath. “The inn, the gazebo. I appreciate all you’re doing, but it’ll hurt me as much as it’ll help. I needed to do these things on my own to prove myself in this town as a business owner.”
The door cracked again, and Jamie stuck his head through. “Seriously, people. My teeth are chattering.”
“I think I know a way to work this to your advantage.” Talmadge dangled the bait. “I have connections with home remodeling shows. Let me make some calls.” And, shit, again. Because he did not want to call public attention to his prolonged stay in Red River with Trinity Falls sitting stagnant back in Washington. His investors were already squirming. “I can play this off as a project that’s for my professional benefit, not yours. Everyone will think you’re doing me the favor.” She was. She just didn’t know it. “We’ll make it clear that you’re calling the shots. It would mean a lot to Bea if you let me work on the inn.” And there went the guilt card.
Her chocolaty eyes clouded with skepticism, and she chewed her lip. Finally she nodded. “Okay. For Bea. But I’m the boss, not you.”
“Fair enough.” Talmadge smiled down at her. Without looking away, he called to Langston and Jamie. “Come on in, guys. We can start by coming up with a plan and a timeline.”
With any luck, he could pull this off and get out of town without anyone getting hurt. Most of all him, because coming to the rescue of Miranda Cruz was becoming a habit. A habit he wasn’t sure he wanted to break.
Chapter Nine
Had Talmadge screwed himself six ways to Sunday?
At 8:00 a.m. sharp four days later, he parked in front of Noah’s Bark Grooming before meeting Miranda at McCall’s Hardware. With everything on his mind—especially the bossy, beautiful woman—he’d forgotten some necessary supplies. Several times. Because this would be his sixth trip to McCall’s Hardware in three days.
He never forgot supplies. Never.
But Miranda, in all of her sassy glory, had him thinking about much more than supplies and renovations and home-improvement shows. He didn’t know if he could keep his hands or his mouth off of her lush curves and kissable lips for the next five weeks, which was about how long both the inn and gazebo projects would take if he worked at full-throttle times ten.
But first he had to help Lloyd with the whole man card thing. He scooped a trembling Lloyd from the passenger seat and gave him a pep talk.
“Bart Simpson’s mom called. She wants her hair back.” Talmadge patted his fluffy head. “You’ve got this.” Maybe a new haircut would make him look like a he, instead of a ferret in drag.
Talmadge left Lloyd with a frowning groomer who insisted he looked exactly the way a poodle was supposed to look, regardless of gender, and drove over to McCall’s.
He pulled into the parking lot. Miranda’s Jeep was the only other vehicle there.
He parked and stared at the front door. Four days ago he’d worked up a renovation plan, hit the ground running with the remodel, showed Miranda his preliminary drawings of the new gazebo, scoped out Brandenburg Park where the gazebo would be built, and put in calls to several home remodel shows to see who could run a segment on the inn’s renovations when they were done—all while
trying to make Miranda feel like she was in charge.
The glow on her face and the shine in her eyes as she processed and organized everything he said, the gears in her sharp mind snapping and grinding, and the way she rolled up her sleeves and worked harder than anyone he’d ever seen had been worth it. She’d be an exceptional business owner. Hell, she’d probably be an exceptional project manager—as good as any he’d worked with.
He, on the other hand, was lower than dirt for not telling her the whole truth about his reasons for staying in Red River. Sure the inn held a special place in his heart, and he did want to see it finished just as much as Bea had. But he had still twisted the truth, because he didn’t want to lose his inheritance. That’s what he got for giving an answer on the fly while distracted by her spectacular rack—that had one, been braless, and two, been outside in the cold.
Talmadge got out of the truck. The fresh layer of snow blanketing Red River was the only evidence that a late-season storm had rolled through the area. That was one of the things he missed about Northern New Mexico. The sun came right back out to turn the air crisp and brighten the sky, unlike in the Pacific Northwest where gray clouds hung over the landscape for weeks at a time.
He shoved his hands in his pockets and trekked across the lot toward the entrance. Time to see if he could buy the supplies he needed without getting distracted by lips and tank tops and cold weather.
Miranda stood in front of the paint samples, sipping a cup of coffee from the Ostergaards’ bakery. She needed a few dozen more cups before starting another day of work with Talmadge. After agreeing to let him help her, she was going to need a lot of strong coffee.
Or Xanax. Either would work. Too bad she didn’t drink, actually.
But there seemed to be little she could do. He did hold the note and the deed to the inn. And there was no other way to fend off Old Lady Wilkinson and prove that Miranda could manage a major community event. Truth was, Miranda could use Talmadge’s help. Since the inn had meant so much to Bea, she hoped he’d put his heart into it for his grandmother’s sake, get the job done quickly, and leave.
It's In His Smile (A Red River Valley Novel Book 3) Page 11