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

by Shelly Alexander

Chapter Ten

  Talmadge followed Miranda back to the inn to start the day’s work. As he motored down a virtually empty Main Street, his phone rang. A Seattle number he’d come to know and dread popped onto the screen, and he declined the call. The reporter who was stalking him wouldn’t take a hint. When his voicemail beeped with a new message, he set his cell to speakerphone and listened.

  “Mr. Oaks.” Her voice grated, even though it was smooth and fluid. “I’m going to run a story about your relationship with Monica Strayer with or without your input.” His hands tightened around the steering wheel. There was no relationship. It was a publicity stunt to get the cheesy gossip columnist a raise or maybe a promotion, and more headlines for Miss January, who couldn’t seem to keep her career going any other way. “She’s given me a quote, and I wanted to give you a chance to do the same.” The reporter’s voice went silky. Calculating. “And I wondered if you’d care to comment on why you’ve decided to take a sabbatical during potentially one of the biggest environmental catastrophes in the Pacific Northwest since the Exxon Valdez. A catastrophe that your firm is responsible—”

  He punched the End button.

  He turned onto the inn’s driveway and parked next to Miranda as she hopped out of her Jeep and grabbed an armful of supplies from the back. He plunked his elbow against the window and rested his fist against his chin.

  The inferior supplies her old contractor bought and Talmadge had thrown out had been rescued from the Dumpster and were organized on the front porch.

  It was gonna be a long damn day.

  He grabbed two sacks from McCall’s out of the backseat and followed Miranda up the walkway. The first hints of spring flowers were starting to peek through the snow-patched dirt along the front of the inn. Bulbs he’d helped Bea plant as a kid.

  “There’s a reason I threw all this out.” He climbed the porch steps and eyed the materials. “The insulation and drywall are the cheapest on the market, the nails will rust, and those two-by-fours don’t meet code.” He stomped some mud off his feet before walking through the front door. “You’ll save money in the long run if you use better materials.”

  She set her armful of supplies on a workbench and leaned a hip against it. “I’m not used to wasting things. I’ve always had to make do with what I had. Throwing things out that have never been used gives me hives.”

  Another thing Talmadge admired about her. She knew how to conserve. That was the cornerstone of his specialized field—conserving energy and resources. Conserving everything except money. Green architecture was expensive. Which was why he’d invested so much of his money . . . okay, all of his money into Trinity Falls. He’d wanted to ante up and show his investors how much confidence he had in the project.

  He set his sacks down next to her load and faced her. “How about we compromise and I try to find another use for some of them?”

  She crossed her arms under her full breasts. It would’ve been a sight that inspired dirty thoughts if not for that silly T-shirt.

  “Deal. Can at least a few of the supplies be used in a storage closet?” Her eyes lit. “Oh! How about we use the wood and drywall to make cute decorations for the rec center?”

  Talmadge froze for a second before he recovered. “That’s one option.”

  “When will we start on the rec center, anyway?” The sincerity in her expression made him want to grab one of the cheap nails off the porch and stick it in his eye.

  “Uh.” He scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “We have our hands full right now. If you want to outsmart Mrs. Wilkinson, it’s not a good idea to spread ourselves too thin.” He almost choked. Trinity Falls had spread him so thin he should be transparent by now. “We’ll figure out the rec center later.”

  “Thank you.” Her eyes went soft. Her gaze dropped and she picked at a fingernail.

  She was thanking him. For a rec center that he never intended to build. Which made him want to stick a rusty nail in his eye.

  “I’m not very good at accepting help.” She picked harder.

  He leaned against the bench, too, and bent a knee. Which grazed her thigh, and a sizzle of desire skittered up his leg to his groin. “Really? I wouldn’t have guessed that.”

  Her head bobbed up, eyes rounded. But when she saw his smile, she let out a breath, and the tension in her shoulders eased. “I don’t want to be needy, that’s all.”

  Ah, mommy issues. He could relate.

  The way she’d pretty much raised herself and still turned out so good, only to let the sound of Mrs. Wilkinson’s voice make her entire body go stiff at the hardware store and the soft, vulnerable look on her beautiful face right this minute made him want to rescue her whether she needed it or not, the same as he wanted to save the world. Give something back because of what he’d taken away. She’d lost so much of her childhood, but it hadn’t been her fault the way his loss had been his. He couldn’t help but touch her, even though he shouldn’t.

  He brushed a finger over her soft, creamy cheek, then put that same finger under her chin and lifted her eyes to meet his. A cloud of lust swirled around them as fierce as a tornado.

  “Needing help and being needy are two very different things, Miranda.” His hand dropped to her neck, and he caressed it with his thumb. A slow burn started in his fingertips, skated up his arm, and stole the breath from his chest. “You’re definitely not needy.”

  She swallowed. “Thank you for everything.” Her voice was almost a whisper. “Only a handful of people have ever had my back like you have.”

  “Maybe because you haven’t let them.” Before she could disagree with him, he let his lips graze hers. Just a soft graze, but a rush of excitement jolted through him, and he had to go back for more.

  Her mouth opened and he deepened the kiss, slipping his tongue in to find hers. Her lips were like velvet, and she let out a little whimper when he laced his arm around her waist and pulled her into him.

  And then some asshole cleared his throat behind them for the second time that morning. “Uh, sorry,” said Langston. “Should I come back later?”

  Pain lanced through Talmadge’s shoulder when Miranda pushed at it to break his hold on her. He winced, but Miranda didn’t seem to notice in her frenzy to put distance between them.

  Hell yes, he’d rather Langston come back later. Talmadge rubbed his shoulder and shot daggers at Langston with a scowl. Which was totally undeserved because Langston was using his days off to help with the inn. Langston had also just saved him from making a mistake that both Talmadge and Miranda would likely regret.

  But damn if her steel-toed boots, which contrasted with her tight jeans with the bling on the pockets, didn’t turn him on like a thousand-watt bulb. Completely inefficient but well worth the energy. And it would’ve been nice to finish that kiss.

  “No!” Miranda all but yelled at Langston. “Stay. Please.”

  Langston’s hesitant look darted back and forth between them, probably uncertain where his loyalty should lie.

  Talmadge waved him in. “We were just getting started.”

  “I could see that.” Langston raised a brow, his tone smart-alecky.

  Miranda shot him a frantic look. “With work. We were just getting started with work.”

  “Uh-huh.” Langston’s brow stayed raised, which seemed to irritate Miranda all the more. “Nice shirt, by the way.”

  “Shut up.” Miranda pointed to the bar. “There’s bagels if you’re hungry.” She spoke to Langston in that familiar way siblings usually do, and it warmed Talmadge from the inside out.

  If he was being honest with himself, because he sure as hell wasn’t being totally honest with Miranda, he was also a little jealous of their familial closeness. The camaraderie, the easy way they exchanged barbs and talked to each other, those things came from a lifetime of living in the same town. It was something Talmadge missed.

  “Where should I start, Tal?” Langston asked, shrugging out of his coat.

  Talmadge let out a frustrated bre
ath. “Let’s finish the upstairs bathroom this week. After lunch we can start installing the new insulation.” He turned to Miranda. “That okay with you, boss?”

  Miranda gave him an appreciative smile like he’d offered her a priceless gift. “That’ll be fine.” If him asking her permission over such a trivial thing made her eyes light like stars, damned if he didn’t want to offer her the moon, too.

  Talmadge tried to focus. “Then let’s roll.”

  Langston hauled some tools and caulking up the stairs.

  “What about me? What should I do?” she said.

  He wanted to tell her that she could take off that shirt, get in a hot tub with him, and massage the soreness out of his shoulder. Or kiss it with those velvety lips of hers. But that would only make him a bigger prick than he already was.

  He pulled on thick work gloves and handed her a steamer and a scraper. “Can you start taking the wallpaper off in the bedrooms?”

  She grabbed the tools.

  “I got high-quality insulation yesterday. Much better than the stuff on the porch. I’ll measure and cut it while you and Langston work.” Because his shoulder hurt too much to swing a hammer. He slid a pair of goggles on. “I have an appointment in a little while for my shoulder, but when I get back, I’ll need you to help me install it. I can’t lift my arm high enough to hold it in place, so you can do that while I staple.” He smiled at her. “See? Asking for help isn’t hard.”

  She gave him an insincere smile. “Is that why the muscle in your jaw just tensed into granite?”

  No. It tensed into granite to match his dick, because he’d really like to see her in nothing but those steel-toed boots. Thinking of anything else but Miranda Cruz naked and writhing under him while she whispered his name was getting more difficult no matter how much he tried.

  “My shoulder hurts. I grit my teeth a lot.” His gaze slid from her mouth all the way to her boots. “Ready to work . . . boss?”

  Moist heat billowed from the steamer as Miranda worked to remove yet another layer of outdated wallpaper from the honeymoon suite. She reminded herself that Talmadge wasn’t in Red River for her. He was there because of Bea. Yes, her intellect understood that. Her body, on the other hand, refused to listen. It was hot and humming for his touch. And her heart, well, she was already losing it to a man who was only helping her out of a sense of duty to his grandmother.

  Having a man as sexy as Talmadge Oaks come to her rescue, then touch her and kiss her like he meant it made it really difficult to keep her heart in line. Talmadge’s head appeared through the open doorway. “Hey. How’s it going?” He leaned against the doorjamb.

  “Good.” She shut off the steamer and started scraping. “It’s like an archeological dig site. I keep peeling back more layers and don’t know what I’m going to find next.”

  His expression darkened, and he stared at the floor. Hellfire, he had to be thinking about Washington. She stopped scraping.

  “How is Trinity Falls going?” She’d been so caught up in her own problems she hadn’t bothered to ask about his.

  He shook his head. “It’s not.”

  “I’m sorry. You really don’t have to stay in Red River.” She cleaned the sticky bits of paper off the end of the scraper. “I’ll figure something out.”

  His eyes went cloudy, and he looked around the honeymoon suite like he was remembering. “I always liked this room.” His eyes found hers and held them.

  “It’s my favorite room in the house.” She pulled her lip between her teeth, and his eyes followed the movement.

  They both startled when Langston yelled up the stairs that he was taking a lunch break and would be gone for a few hours.

  Why couldn’t her body do a tap dance for a guy like Langston instead? He was hot and handsome too. He was available and, most importantly, he would stay around. But naw. She wanted the one who was leaving.

  Must be genetic. She’d have to ask Doc Holloway about that. Maybe there was medication.

  Talmadge straightened. “I’m heading out to my appointment. Jamie will be here later. You can handle things here while I’m gone?”

  She raised a brow. “It’s a few hours. I’ll be fine. I’m not helpless.”

  He chuckled. “Right. I got that.” Without another word, he disappeared, the wood stairs creaking under his boots.

  Miranda stared at the empty doorway until she heard him drive away.

  Could she handle things here? Pffst.

  She went downstairs, snagged Jamie’s laptop from the bar, and Googled how to install insulation. With southern exposure and Red River’s dry climate, the inn wasn’t hard to heat during daylight hours, but after the sun set each night, a chill settled into the older buildings so prevalent along Main Street and along the base of the slopes. She appreciated Talmadge helping save on the cost of energy more than he would ever know. Any way she could cut expenses would help until she built up clientele.

  Even though she did appreciate his help, she could still help herself, though. And moving the renovations along would only help both of them. She skipped over the first few steps about wearing goggles and such.

  Ah. Number five got to the point, and she started fitting Talmadge’s neatly cut pieces of insulation in between the studs, making sure there were no gaps. Simple enough. She went back to the laptop. Okay, number six demonstrated how to fluff, so she fluffed. Number seven said to staple, so she climbed Talmadge’s industrial-strength ladder to staple.

  Jeez, even his ladder reeked of testosterone.

  When she was done, she stood back to admire her handiwork. She was quite proud of herself for not being helpless. And dang it, it irritated her that she wanted Talmadge to be proud of her too.

  She started on the next piece of insulation. She fitted, fluffed, and stapled.

  Fitted. Fluffed. Stapled.

  Until a strange, prickly sting started on her neck and arms.

  She ignored it and kept working. Hard work was her friend, because there was a payoff when it was done. Her inn would be open, and she could get on with her life.

  Alone.

  Which made the sting worse, because it spread to her chest and stabbed at her heart.

  She ignored that too, but after another forty-five minutes of fitting, fluffing, and stapling a five-alarm fire went off over every inch of her exposed skin. When she couldn’t stand it any longer, she ran for the shower.

  Almost thirty minutes later, she still stood under the hot streaming water, hoping it wouldn’t run cold. She braced both hands against the outdated pink tile on the shower walls, praying the electrifying sting would go away.

  Please, Baby Jesus, make it stop. The razor-sharp pain bit into her skin as the water flowed over her.

  It only seemed to get worse.

  All she had to do was let the hot water wash away whatever was setting her skin on fire before Talmadge got back to the inn, and he’d never know that she’d screwed up like a helpless woman.

  She reached for the knob labeled with a red H and cranked it up. And groaned and moaned even louder.

  “Miranda?” Talmadge’s voice reverberated through the thin bathroom door of the owner’s suite. “Uh, is everything . . . okay?”

  Good God.

  What did he think she was doing that would cause moaning? Her insides heated from embarrassment as much as the hot water heated her on the outside.

  “Nothing! Just taking a shower.” She clamped her eyes shut. “What are you doing in my suite?”

  “Well, I . . . heard . . . uh . . . noises.” His tone in that last word sounded amused.

  Hellfire.

  “I’ll be out in a minute.” She grabbed a rag and raked it over her arm. A muffled scream escaped because of the pain that sliced over her skin before she could bite it back.

  “Okay. Finished now?” Amusement definitely laced his words.

  “Very funny,” she yelled around the shower curtain. “Get out of my private quarters, please.”

  “Yeah, n
ot going away. You’re one stubborn-assed woman. I told you to wait until I got back to hang the insulation.”

  She didn’t answer.

  “It’s the fiberglass.”

  Probably shouldn’t have skipped the safety instructions. “I’m fine.” She ground her teeth against the fiery pain.

  “I hope you’re not taking a hot shower.” He wasn’t even trying to hide the laughter in his voice.

  And the temperature of her shower was his business because . . . ?

  “Hot water makes it worse,” he said.

  Her eyes clamped shut. Reaching for the knob, she turned the hot water down until it was lukewarm.

  “Turn the hot off completely. Just use cold water.”

  She really hated him right now.

  Eyes still closed, her head fell back in defeat. Without looking she reached for the hot water knob and shut it off. Nothing on earth could possibly describe the petrifying jolt of misery that rocketed through every nerve ending in her body when the icy water hit her like an eighteen-wheeler hitting a squirrel.

  An involuntary shriek tore from her lips. And a bark of laughter echoed through the door.

  Damn the man.

  “Shut it, Talmadge,” she growled around the shower curtain again. “How long do I have to stand here?” Her teeth started to chatter.

  “Not long.” He bellowed out a full-blown fit of laughter.

  That’s it. Hair up in a clip, she turned off the shower and reached for the towel hanging on an antique brass bar. Dripping wet and mad as a hornet, she wrapped it around her and held the ends closed with one hand.

  She jerked the door open, and Talmadge’s sputtering laughter died. He was squeezing a small therapeutic ball. The rhythmic squeezes slowed to a stop, and he coughed out the last few chuckles as his gaze traveled her length. His eyes went wide, then darkened to a deep purple that shimmered against the bathroom light. Something sparked in those deep pools of incredible color.

  She didn’t care.

  “You could’ve told me why I needed to wait.”

  Shoulders filling the old narrow doorway, he put his good hand above his head and grabbed onto the frame. Leaned in until she could feel his heat reaching for her, wrapping around her like a warm blanket on a cold winter night. She bet he would feel much better, much warmer than that damned insulation that was biting into her arms and neck.