by Barri Bryan
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Linden Bay Romance, LLC
www.lindenbayromance.com
Copyright ©2006 by BARRI BRYAN
First published in www.lindenbayromance.com, 2006
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NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.
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CHARADE
Published by Linden Bay Romance, 2006
Linden Bay Romance, LLC, U.S.
ISBN MS Reader (LIT) ISBN # 1-905393-29-6
Other available formats (no ISBNs are assigned):
PDF, PRC & HTM
Copyright © BARRI BRYAN, 2006
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
The work is protected by copyright and should not be copied without permission. Linden Bay Romance, LLC reserves all rights. Re-use or re-distribution of any and all materials is prohibited under law.
This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or business establishments, events or locales is coincidental.
Edited by B. Perfetti
Cover art by S.L. Carpenter
CHARADE
BARRI BRYAN
Chapter 1
Lynn Evans’ pretty young assistant came into the kitchen of The Upper Crust Specialty Bake Shoppe and leaned against the wall. “There's a handsome dude out front asking to see you.” She rolled her big brown eyes heavenward and smiled, revealing an appealing dimple. “What a hunk, and he's wearing jeans that fit like a second skin.” Sighing, she fanned her hand in front of her face. “If you don't want him, I'll take him."
Lynn was expecting Otis Fenton to drop by sometime this afternoon to compare notes on their upcoming ten-year high school class reunion. This was definitely not Otis. He missed being a ‘handsome dude’ by a country mile. “Does this man have a name?"
Ruthie's expression moved from dreamy to perplexed. “I guess he does. I didn't ask.” Her mind was definitely somewhere else. “He has the broadest shoulders and the most beautiful smile. His eyes are..."
Lynn waved a spatula in Ruthie's direction. “Earth to Ruthie, did you ask him what he wants?"
Ruthie blinked. “What did you say?"
Lynn reminded herself that patience was a virtue. “I said,” she spoke slowly and distinctly, “Did you ask him what he wants?” She had known when she hired Ruthie Parker that the young woman was not the sharpest knife in the drawer.
Ruthie's rosebud mouth shaped into a pout. “I did, and he said it was personal."
Even though Ruthie lacked mental acuity, she made up for that deficiency by being patient and kind to customers, plus she had an engaging manner and she was as pretty as a picture. Lynn kept her voice low and even. “Go back out front and tell Mr. Hunk to state his name and his business to you. Then come back and tell me what he said."
Ruthie didn't budge. “But he said..."
Lynn's patience snapped like a twig in a windstorm. She had a million things to do and a short time to do them in; she didn't need interruptions, not even from some handsome stranger. “I don't give a damn what he said, go back and tell him that if he wants to see me he will first state his name and his business."
A decidedly male voice boomed out into the room. “Please, Miss Evans, this is important.” The stranger came into the kitchen and stood beside Ruthie.
Ruthie had not exaggerated. This man was gorgeous. Like a refined edition of Mr. Universe, Lynn thought as she stared in open admiration. When she could find her voice, she told Ruthie, “Go and mind the store."
Ruthie couldn't seem to take her eyes off the stranger beside her. “Do you want me to tell him,” she pointed one finger in the man's direction, “what you said I should tell him?"
Lynn realized she was staring too. She swung her glance to Ruthie. “That's not necessary. I'll take it from here.” As Ruthie disappeared through the door, she asked, “Can you make this fast? I'm very busy right now."
The handsome stranger asked, “Are you Lynn Evans?"
Lynn wiped her hands down the sides of her apron. Why was he being so evasive? Curiosity moved in around her anxiety, making her testy and on-edge. “Who wants to know?"
"I do.” The man ran his hand through his hair. It was thick and curly, and black as a raven's wing. “Can we go someplace and talk?” On an expelled breath, he added, “Trust me, this is important."
Past experience had taught Lynn that it was not in her best interest to trust any handsome, smooth-talking man. “And who, may I ask is I?"
The stranger's smile was enough to make her pulse leap. “Forgive me, I'm not doing this well. My name is Trace Randolph.” His voice was deep and richly textured.
Lynn's heart gave an uncomfortable lurch. “I can't leave. I have pies in the oven and I'm frosting cup cakes."
Trace picked up a stool from the corner and set it in front of Lynn's work counter as if he had every right to do so. “Then we will talk here."
Lynn's first impulse was to tell this brash stranger to get out and to take his macho take-charge attitude with him. Second thoughts caused her to reconsider. What if he really did have something important to say? She acquiesced, but most ungraciously. “Go ahead; speak your piece and then go."
Trace studied Lynn as if he was seeing her for the first time. “You are an impatient little woman."
Lynn wasn't impatient, she was busy and Trace Randolph was an infuriating man. Slamming her spatula onto the counter, she demanded, “What the hell do you want?"
Trace expelled a long breath. “It's about your mother."
Lynn echoed, “My mother?” Now she was completely at sea. Fear slowly replaced her anger. “Are you a doctor?"
Trace smiled. “No, ma'am, I'm a carpenter."
Lynn had been looking for a competent carpenter to do repair work on the old building that was both her home and her bakery. “Did my mother send you here?"
"No ma'am.” Trance stood and walked the length of the kitchen. He moved with the lithe grace of a marauding panther. Turning, he faced Lynn. “I'm new in town. I moved here with my dad about three months ago. We don't know many folks in these parts."
This conversation was going nowhere and it was also taking Lynn's mind off the task at hand. How could she concentrate on getting her baking done with this handsome man talking so much and saying so little? “What does that have to do with my mother?"
Trace came back across the room and sat once more on the stool he'd previously occupied. “Dad was lonely and still recovering from losing Mom, and your mother ... I can understand how it happened, but it has to stop."
Lynn wiped the back of her hand across her chin leaving a residue of frosting. “What has to stop?” Was this man implying that her mother had in some way done harm to his father? “My mother would never do anything to hurt anyone."
"That depends on what you call ‘hurt'. Your mother is having sex with my father.” His self-effacing smile took some of the sting from his words. “She has him acting like a love-struck teenager."
Spontaneous laughter burst from Lynn's lips. Her mother was a shy retiring little mouse of a woman who was still grieving the loss of her third husband who had passed away two years ago.
Color crawled along Trace's high cheekbones. “I don't see any humor in this situation."
Lynn's laughter died away on the end of a loud guffaw. “This has to be a case of mistaken identity. My mother is the most asexual person I know."
Trace slanted Lynn a sidelong glance. “Is your mother named Lillian McGuire?"
&nb
sp; Lynn nodded. “Yes."
"And does she reside at 2424 Oakdale Street?"
Again Lynn nodded. “Yes, she does."
"Then there's no mistake. Miss Evans, your mother is sleeping with my dad. What are you going to do about it?"
This man had some nerve coming into her shop and making unfounded accusations against her mother. Lynn corrected, “It's Mrs. Evans, and if my mother is sleeping with your dad it's because he seduced her.” What a stupid statement to make. Her mother wasn't sleeping with anyone except a ten-year-old bad-tempered cat named Minerva.
"If I offended you, I apologize.” Trace rubbed his fingertips along his temples before lifting his head to stare directly into Lynn's eyes. “Please try to understand. My dad is a sixty-two-year-old man with a heart condition. Your mother is a much younger woman. She's making demands on him that are detrimental to his health."
Lynn shot back, “My mother is fifty-four years old.” Lilly would kill her for revealing that tidbit of information. “That's past the age to be classified as a ‘younger woman'."
Trace extended one hand in a pleading gesture. “Your mother is a healthy fifty-four. My dad has a heart condition. He should be resting and taking it easy. Instead he's eating little blue pills like they were candy and trying to keep pace with a woman who obviously has a strong sexual appetite."
Lynn was outraged. “My mother is not a pervert."
"I didn't say your mother was a pervert."
"You implied as much."
Trace grimaced as he stood, placed both hands on the counter in front of him and leaned across until his face was inches from Lynn's. “Do you want your mother to wake up some morning and find that she's in bed with a dead man?"
His nearness made it difficult for Lynn to breathe. Finally she gasped, “No, of course not."
"Well, that's what will happen if Dad keeps going at this pace."
Otis Fenton chose that moment to come through the kitchen door. His voice was gruff as he asked, “Am I interrupting something?"
"Certainly not,” Lynn snapped. She took a step backward. Otis was a good friend. He was also the town's biggest gossip. “What do you want?"
"You invited me here.” Otis pulled another stool to the counter. “We are in charge of contacting out-of-town class members.” He shifted to stare at Trace. “Remember?"
Otis was being downright boorish. Lynn wondered why. “I remember. I got in touch with the four people whose names you gave me; at least I tried to get in touch with them. One of the addresses you gave me is no good."
"Take that up with Mary Louise,” Otis answered, not taking his eyes off Trace. “She's in charge of finding addresses for out-of-town class members.” Abruptly he asked, “Are you going to introduce me to your friend?"
Like a blow to the head, it hit Lynn. Otis was intimidated by Trace Randolph's presence. Why shouldn't he be? Although Trace must be a good five years older than Otis, he looked five years younger. Otis was overweight, ugly and balding. Trace was fit, handsome and had a magnificent head of hair. She gestured with her hand. “Otis Fenton, meet Trace Randolph. He's new in town."
Trance nodded in Otis's direction.
Otis mouthed, “Pleased to meetcha,” before turning his attention back to Lynn. “I got in touch with all five of the people on my list. Three of them will be at the reunion."
Lynn wanted Otis out of there, and the sooner the better. “That's good. Now if you will excuse us, Mr. Randolph and I have business to discuss.” She was ruffling Otis's feathers but she didn't care. He had no right to come into her kitchen and be rude to her guest. Well, Trace Randolph wasn't really her guest, but Otis didn't know that.
Otis stood and shoved his stool under the counter. He was almost to the door when he turned and snapped his fingers. “I forgot to tell you. I also got in touch with Joel. He's coming to the reunion and he's bringing a guest. I wonder who she will be."
Lynn grasped the sides of the counter. “Joel is coming to the reunion?” A host of painful old memories surfaced. “He's bringing a guest?"
Otis chuckled. “You seem surprised."
Lynn was more than surprised, she was stunned. “Why should I be?"
Otis cast a sly glance in Trace's direction. “Joel is Lynn's ex. He walked out on her a few years ago.” With that parting shot, he swung around and hurried out the door.
Chapter 2
Trace Randolph was more than a little aggravated. He'd come to call on Lynn Evans with the belief that once he had explained the circumstances, she would help him put a stop to the affair between his father and her mother. He was discovering that was not going to be the case. That left him with only one recourse. He would have to charm her into coming around to his way of thinking. That shouldn't be too difficult.
Women had always found Trace's combination of good looks and charismatic personality irresistible. Most of the time that was more of a problem than a plus; occasionally however, it proved to be an advantage. Trace decided that this was just such an occasion. He smiled his most seductive smile before letting his gaze wander around the immaculate kitchen. “This is quite a business you have here. Don't tell me a pretty little thing like you runs it all by her self."
Lynn wasn't impressed “Knock it off Romeo. Flattery will get you nowhere, and you don't need my help, you need to talk to your father and tell him to leave my mother alone."
Trace's annoyance escalated as his ego took a nosedive. For a man who had been able to charm his way into the good graces of every woman he'd ever met, her refusal to succumb to his male magnetism came as quite a surprise. He hid his annoyance and his surprise behind a smile. “Since this seems to be a mutual attraction, I need you to speak to your mother also."
Lynn thought a while before replying, “I'm not sure I have the right to butt into my mother's private life."
Trace held onto his temper and kept his voice low and persuasive, “Even if it will save her from pain and heartache later on?"
Lynn wasn't moved by his argument. “Aren't you being a little melodramatic?"
This woman would try the patience of a saint. Trace dropped any pretense of being charming. “Are you always this argumentative and contrary?"
He read in Lynn's angry stare the intent to let go with a stinging reply. Before she could answer a wiry little man with slicked-back hair and an obnoxious air hopped through the door and bounced across the floor to sit on the stool that Otis had vacated. “Gooood morning, Lynnie, I came to see if you've done anything about those building code violations."
It was obvious to even a casual on-looker like Trace that Lynn Evans hated this man's guts. “I told you that I'd get it done in thirty days. It hasn't even been a week since you issued the citation.” This time she remembered to introduce Trace. “Trace Randolph,” She nodded her head in the man's direction. “This is Walter Winters. He's the building inspector for the city of Hatlesville.” She told Walter, “This is Trace Randolph. He's new in town."
Walter extended his hand and Trace shook it. “Hello."
Walter didn't bother to return his greeting. “Lynnie, honey, you know I can close this place down if you don't get it up to prescribed building code standards in what's left of your thirty days."
Lynn leaned across the counter and met Walter's appraising gaze. Red curls escaped from the baker's hat she wore to frame her face like a fallen halo. Her green eyes shot little sparks of fire. In a saccharine-sweet voice she replied, “Walter, honey, you know I have twenty-four more days to get that done. Now get your ass out of my bakery and don't come in here threatening me again."
Trace hid a fugitive smile. Lynn Evans was an opinionated, testy individual and a brave one, too. In the face of possible defeat she still charged bravely ahead.
Walter's face turned an ugly shade of red. “You can't alter, enlarge, move, improve, convert or erect anything around here until you have a permit from the city of Hatlesville.” Leaning back he folded his arms across his chest. “You haven't applied for one
yet."
Even as he intruded into the conversation, Trace wondered what possessed him. This was none of his business. He surprised himself by saying. “Excuse me, but Ms. Evans can renovate, add a room, move a wall, or even add a rest room to this building without a city building permit."
Walter snorted as he turned his attention to Trace. “And just how do you know that?"
"I'm Ms. Evans’ contractor."
Lynn's eyes widened as she stared at Trace.
"You gotta have a license to be a contractor in this city,” Walter countered.
"I have a license,” Trace answered, a little too softly, “So, are you saying I'm wrong about not needing the permit?"
Walter stood and looked up at Trace. “If you really are a contractor in this town you might want to think twice before you cross swords with me."
"I really am and you, little man, don't scare me.” Trace pointed toward the door.
"I believe the lady asked you to leave."
Fear crawled across Walter's greasy features. “I got business other places anyway.” He hopped to his feet and bounced toward the door.
Trace sat again on his stool. He had taken care of that matter in short order. “Can we get back to the business of my dad and your mother?"
Lynn put both hands on her hips and glared at him. “Just who the hell do you think you are?"
Her anger took Trace by surprise. “I explained who I am and I apologized for any thing offensive I might have said about your mother, Ms. Evans..."
"Don't you ‘Ms. Evans’ me. I don't need some knight in tight jeans coming in here and rescuing me. I can take care of myself."
Knight in tight jeans, huh? Trace smirked. He could have argued her point and won the debate, but he was too wise to do that. What was the point of winning one battle if in so doing he lost the war? “Oh, yes, I can see that."
"And don't be sarcastic.” Lynn laid her spatula on the counter.
Trace put his hand over his heart. “My intentions were the best, I assure you."