A Suitable Wife: A Sweetwater Springs Novel

by Carol Burnside

  “Pretend I’m not here. I’ll take a few measurements, check a few things and get back to LouAnne with an estimate.”

  Claire shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

  He should leave her boss a note on his business card, but right now he needed a little distance and a lot of answers. Maybe he’d start with a look at the roof.

  A half hour later, he stood on the sidewalk and took a deep breath to clear his lungs and dispel lingering frustration. Man, was he glad to leave there. Next time he’d be better prepared.

  Next time?

  Personal reasons aside, Massey & Co. Construction would be crazy to take on such a small project when they had much bigger fish to fry. Maybe it was the gruff way Zeb had requested he leave their biggest project to date and hightail it to Sweetwater Springs, but something about the scenario made Travis jumpy.

  At the same time, he acknowledged the salon needed expert help and fast. Travis was surprised the fire marshal hadn’t already shut them down because of the ancient wiring. The thought of LouAnne and Claire working in that place made him shudder, not to mention the clientele. Hell, his mama was a regular here, Rosie too.

  A local company wouldn’t have Massey’s resources. They’d probably drag out the job for months. Travis found it unlikely either woman could stand for their income to be curtailed for weeks, let alone months.

  Not liking the direction of his thoughts, he paused on the sidewalk to absorb the warmth of spring and scrutinized the area. Most of the buildings in this section of town had been built in another era. Some of them, like the salon and Rosie’s Posies next door, had been well cared for. Good thing, too. The architecture had character in spades and lent the small downtown area a certain charm.

  Despite the idyllic setting, itchy dissatisfaction and lingering need hummed in his veins, making the prospect of sitting behind his desk for several hours unattractive. Since he was within shouting distance of his sister’s shop, Travis walked under a floral sign and through the door. An old-fashioned bell announced his arrival.

  “Travis. What a surprise! I’d practically forgotten what you look like,” Rosie teased.

  “Hey. How’s business?” The potpourri of delicate floral fragrances drifted over him like mist.

  “Can’t complain. What are you doing here this time of day? I thought you were on a sunup-to-sundown work schedule.”

  “Estimating a project next door. Thought I’d stop by and see if you’d like to take an early lunch.” The best excuse he could come up, considering he felt a sudden, uncharacteristic urge to grill his sister for information.

  “Oh, shoot. I can’t. I’m holding down the fort today.”

  As Claire’s friend, Rosie might be able to shed some light on Claire’s past behavior, so he could move on. “How about I park my truck behind the building so I’m not taking a customer spot and come back with some sandwiches?”

  “Sounds good. I’ve got cold drinks here.”

  A customer entered the shop, the bell jingling. Travis lifted a hand in farewell and let Rosie get back to work.

  * * *

  As it turned out, Travis had to cool his heels for another half hour after returning to Rosie’s Posies due to a steady stream of customers. Good thing he’d opted for cold cut subs and chips, though he was about ready to rip that infernal bell out of the wall.

  “Sorry about that.” Rosie dropped into her desk chair with a sigh and popped the tab on her soda. “Seems like half the town woke up today and decided to put in their orders for Mother’s Day. Not that I’m complaining.”

  “Hey, this will be your first one, won’t it? Let me hazard a guess that you won’t be getting flowers?”

  “I have no idea what to expect.”

  “How are my new brother-in-law and niece?” He hadn’t seen much of Rosie’s instant family over the winter. Indoor projects had kept construction work flowing and the newlyweds had found plenty of excuses to be alone. Except for that week in January, when the shock of Sara’s death had brought them all together.

  “They’re fine. Lorelei’s growing like a weed, and Sam’s mired in a new manuscript.” She smiled and focused a dreamy look at the spot where her fingers traced a heart on the desk’s smooth surface.

  Travis breathed in deeply as a pang struck him mid-chest. “That’s great. What about J.T. and the boys? He won’t return my calls.”

  She opened the wrapped sub he deposited in front of her. “They’re . . .” She shook her head and sighed. “I keep falling back on that stupid phrase ‘as well as can be expected’ but the truth is, our brother is taking a page from your book and burying himself in work. The boys are okay. Mama’s watching them after school because J.T. fired another housekeeper. She and Daddy are talking about taking them on vacation.”

  “That doesn’t explain why he’s not answering my calls.” He dug into his sub, hungry now.

  Rosie pulled a face in response to his question. “Avoidance. I don’t think he can face the grief. Nothing we can do except give him time. He knows we’re here for him when he’s ready.”

  “Let’s hope so.”

  “Are you taking on the salon? That place needs help.”

  Travis hesitated. “Just an estimate. We’ll see.”

  “What about the huge project you’ve been involved in for ages?”

  “Wrapped it up.” Rosie’s references to his work were starting to chafe. Is that what he’d done? Buried himself in work? If so, it hadn’t been all that difficult while away from Claire. But today, having time on his hands and face to face with her again, the past refused to rest.

  The few times he’d seen Claire since their date had been from a distance, except at Rosie’s wedding. Back then, he’d still been angry enough to ignore her, even while escorting her down the aisle. She’d made it easy when most women wouldn’t have been happy until they’d gotten some reaction out of him.

  Rosie leaned forward, her gaze searching. “What about you and Claire?”

  His heart performed a somersault. Who was grilling who here? “There is no ‘me and Claire.’ Why? Did she say something?”

  “About the date that remains a closed topic? No.”

  He forced a chuckle at Rosie’s annoyed tone. “You sure about that? I thought most women told their best friends everything.”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, Claire’s different.”

  Yeah, he’d noticed. That fact hit home every time he saw her. At least Claire was keeping their personal business private.

  Damn. He didn’t need something about her to admire, didn’t want to think about this, had avoided it successfully for months. There, he admitted it. He smashed the last few bites of his sandwich inside the paper wrapper and tossed it into the bag, his appetite gone.

  “In all honesty, she might have said something if I’d pushed, but it’s a little awkward, seeing as it’s my brother and my best friend. I guess I figured since you didn’t pursue her, I’d stay out of it.”

  “Except for the occasional inquisition over lunch.”

  “Hey, I didn’t say I wasn’t curious. One date doesn’t make sense. You both flirted like crazy before that. The way I see it, something big must’ve happened to make you both avoid each other like the plague. I’ve never known you give up on a woman so easily.”

  Silence assaulted his ears. Rosie had a valid point. He’d practically made females his course of study after junior high. He knew them, knew the subtle ways they telegraphed their interest to a man.

  Claire had shown a lot of interest.

  Where had he gone wrong with her? Whatever his blunder, she’d skittered away like a water strider on a rain puddle. She was . . . unique and very closed-mouthed about herself. He’d probably never know what made her tick or why his retreat had ticked her off. No. Not his retreat. All the signs pointed toward go until he’d . . .

  Damn. So that’s where he’d gone wrong. How could he have seen the come-on and not the caution, the wariness? He stood, crushing his empty soda can
.

  “Okay, okay.” Rosie held up both palms in surrender. “No need for the silent treatment. I’ll just say one more thing and then I’ll shut up.”

  Though he’d actually been lost in thought, Travis let her think what she would. “Promise?”

  “Wise ass. Look, I know very little about Claire’s background but what I do know isn’t pretty. Whatever you do, tread lightly, okay? It may sound crazy, but Claire strikes me as both innocent and world-weary. I get the distinct impression her heart is untried, and she could easily be hurt.”

  “You think I should try with her again.”

  Rosie opened her mouth, then shut it, miming a zipping motion.

  “You think I should leave her alone.”

  She stared at the ceiling, lips now clamped between her teeth.

  Oh, right. She’d promised. The bell over the front door jangled again.

  “Be right there,” Rosie called, then to him, “Don’t be such a stranger. Come by the house later. Lorelei would love a bedtime story from her Uncle Travis.”

  “I’ve got dinner plans tonight. We’ll see.”

  “No need to rush out. It’s just me.” Claire’s voice preceded her entrance. “I came to bum a bottled water from . . . oh.”

  Travis held her gaze, the same heat he’d experienced earlier drawing him forward like a magnet. He had to get out of here. Somewhere away from those toned legs, pert breasts and big green eyes. Then he could think rationally again.

  Claire remained rooted in the doorway, her mouth parted in surprise. He fitted his hands around her waist. She stiffened and gasped. Lifting her slight form, he pivoted, reversed their positions and released her before she found her voice.

  “Ladies.” Travis exited into the sunny alley and climbed into his truck, whistling. Yeah, he’d screwed up, but there was still a chance for Claire and him to get each other out of their systems. A chance he intended to pursue with charm and finesse. Who knows? Maybe they’d end up friends.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “Why don’t you call it a day, Sharice? I’ll finish cleaning,” Claire offered, reaching for the broom their part-time receptionist held with slender, pale brown fingers. The monotony of cleaning and straightening, readying the shop for another long day of customers was Claire’s winding down time. Alone time. And today she especially needed it.

  “You’re sure?” Sharice asked as she released her hold.

  “Yeah. Go on. Get going. Dalton’s probably waiting to take you out.”

  Her comment brought on a wide smile, a slash of brilliance against full lips glossed with dark red. “Thanks, Claire. See you tomorrow.”

  Claire threw the last of the wet towels into the dryer and finished sweeping the never-ending bits of hair littering the tiled floor, her mind fixated on the man who’d knocked her off balance with his sudden appearance in the shop that morning. A blue-eyed man with lean, mouth-watering muscles and a double-dimple smile.

  She’d been a sucker for those dimples once before, but not this time.

  The task of sweeping done, she slipped into the prep room and squatted to grab a handful of the various bottles still littering the floor. Claire smirked, remembering Travis’s look of panic seconds before his hand swept along her thigh. His touch had branded her through the thin fabric of her dress, wiping all coherent thought from her mind.

  She had to persuade LouAnne to hire another contractor. No way could Claire survive with Travis working here. She’d be a nervous wreck.

  The rear door hinges screeched, followed by a bang.

  “Is that you, LouAnne?” Claire called out.

  “Sure is, sweetcakes. I see the place is still standing.”

  “Did you expect it to be otherwise?”

  “Well, with all the problems we’ve been having, you never know. Did Trav . . . Holy moly! What the heck happened in here?”

  Claire kept restocking product. “Bull in a beauty shop.”

  “What? Honey, I swear you come up with some of the strangest expressions.” The indulgent affection lacing her words was hard to miss.

  It was impossible not to like LouAnne. Her soft heart was in proportion to her body size. She was as large a woman as Claire was thin, perhaps more so. Though decades older, she maintained her titian hair with a monthly dye job. Her propensity for endearments, obsession for pale blue eye shadow and passion for all things peach—blatantly evident in the salon’s color scheme—all added to her likability.

  A sigh escaped Claire. “Travis happened here. Why did you ask him for an estimate anyway? Why not a local repairman?”

  LouAnne slapped a generous thigh and chortled. “You’re kidding me. This place is falling apart at the seams. A Mr. Fix-It couldn’t handle it. We need major work done, sweetcakes.”

  “We don’t need Travis Baxter in here flirting and disrupting everything,” Claire retorted, trying to shake off the general irritation she’d felt since the man walked through the front door. She didn’t need him enticing her to want things that were off-limits, either.

  LouAnne’s eyebrows practically jumped into her hairline. “He flirted with you? I thought y’all were over and done with.”

  “No. I mean, yes. We are, and he didn’t flirt exactly, but he just—augh! You know how he is. Turning on the charm, flashing that dimpled smile and looking all suggestive and—” she broke off, her cheeks heating from the wide-eyed interest on the older woman’s face. If Claire were a suspicious sort, she’d think her boss was delighted.

  “Had Lilah and Marge practically drooling, did he?”

  Claire’s face flamed hotter. “We have younger, more impressionable clients too, y’know.”

  LouAnne’s peach-tinted lips twitched. “He’ll behave himself. His partner is an old friend, and I know the job will be done right. Did Travis leave an estimate?”

  “He took some measurements, knocked on walls, looked around and scribbled notes on a pad. Said he’d get back to you.”

  LouAnne bit her lower lip and frowned. “I guess the place can last another day or two. Anything disastrous happen?”

  “Nothing new. Breakers tripping, water pipes groaning like they’re going to blow a gasket. Sometimes I think we have a ghost in the place.”

  With a weighty sigh over the commonplace news, LouAnne flapped her hand through the air, dismissing the subject. Claire understood. It was beyond their control at the moment.

  “How did Travis manage this mess, and why didn’t he put things back in order?” LouAnne grumbled and stepped into the tiny room.

  She reached for the products as Claire retrieved them. They worked in silence for a few moments, having stocked these same shelves enough times the routine had become second nature.

  “Did you hear me?”

  Claire frowned. “I might have given him the impression I wanted him to leave after the lights came back on.”

  LouAnne’s perfectly arched brows peaked again. “You and Travis were in here in the dark? That must have been cozy.”

  “Not,” Claire retorted. “And don’t start.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it. You and Travis are adults, you had your date, and it didn’t work out. Now I don’t have to worry he might prove a distraction while he fixes the place. Right?”

  “Right.” The word stuck in Claire’s throat and emerged sounding strangled. LouAnne was partially right, but Claire couldn’t exactly tell her the date had worked too well.

  Travis had made her heart pound with the things he’d said about wanting to know the real Claire better. Couldn’t they try a second date the next evening? Then he’d mentioned picking her up for the weekly Sunday brunch at his parents’ house—which was too much like a guy taking her home to meet the family—and she’d panicked. Sure, she’d attended those get-togethers occasionally with Rosie, but three dates in as many days? Sounded like a relationship to her, and she didn’t do those.

  Claire placed a tube of styling gel on the shelf and straightened. Good gravy. LouAnne had shot down her objecti
ons, then distracted her from the objective like a street vendor with a shell game. Oddly enough, she didn’t know whether to be annoyed or glad.

  * * *

  “Get back, kitty.” Claire shooed the little calico aside and jogged up the outside stairs to her detached, over-the-garage apartment. The little pest followed.

  She stopped to smooth a hand over the cat’s silky coat before unlocking the door. A frown formed as the feline trotted in beside her and jumped onto the back of her second-hand couch. The fawn-colored slipcover of faux suede camouflaged a hideous plaid sofa which came with the furnished apartment. Even with such an atrocity, this was the nicest place she’d ever lived.

  “Sorry. I’ll feed you after my run, but you live outside.” Before she could change her mind, Claire scooped a healthy handful of soft purring minx, set her back on the landing and shut the door.

  She ignored the muffled meows.

  The silly animal kept trying to adopt her, but Claire wasn’t cooperating. Letting it get used to being inside because she’d like some company now and again wasn’t fair, any more than it would have been fair to encourage Travis’s interest.

  After snagging a bottled water from the fridge, she changed into a lightweight jogging suit and set off on a three mile run. The air turned cooler as darkness descended, but she welcomed it against her heated skin. Exercise, especially running, made her feel more alive, as if she were fortifying her system with every slap of her foot on solid ground.

  She eased off on her last lap around the picturesque park, past the softball field and a fishing pond accented with large weeping willows. After passing the white gazebo she slowed to a walk, eyeing her friend’s stately Victorian, hoping to see Rosie and Sam outside with little Lorelei.

  As she neared the house, Travis exited the front door and traversed the expanse of lawn toward a big truck parked at the curb.

  Good gravy. How had she overlooked his truck?

  “Hey.” He hitched his chin in her direction and smiled, revealing those lethal dimples for a split second.