by Debra Webb
Linc chuckled. “If we come to an agreeable price, I plan to keep her busy for a while.”
Crist grinned. “I see she’s already turned your head.”
His tone as he’d made the statement reverberated in his ears, then kicked him square between the eyes. He’d sounded exactly like a man interested in more than a woman’s professional skills. Not a good thing. He needed time with Mia Grant, not to scare her off. He needed to be sure.
“Only for her talent with plaster.” He gave the lady a nod and headed for the door before he stuck his foot any deeper down his throat.
Outside he rounded the corner of the Victorian bed-and-breakfast and reached for his keys. He’d considered using an alias while he was here, but he wanted Mia to know his name. To hear it. To say it.
Linc wanted whoever had brought her here to know he had arrived. He was here for his wife.
His cell vibrated.
He hit the remote and unlocked the SUV as he tugged the phone from his pocket.
Unknown number with a Tennessee area code. Tension rushed through his veins, escalating his already too-fast respiration. “Reece.”
“Mr. Reece, this is Mia Grant.”
“You found time in your schedule?” He held his breath in anticipation of her answer.
“Yes.”
The air seeped from his lungs.
“I’d like to meet at the house and see what you have in mind.”
The sound of her voice made his knees rubbery. “Name the time.” Damn. They needed to include the real estate agent. He’d have to call her immediately. The sooner he could see this Mia Grant again the sooner he would find the answers he needed.
“I’ll pick up the key from Chandra and meet you there in fifteen minutes,” she said.
Even better. “I’ll be there.”
She said goodbye and ended the call.
Linc leaned against his SUV and closed his eyes. Her voice…Lori’s voice.
His wife was alive.
Chapter Four
The house looked as bad as Mia remembered. The plaster was a real mess, more the walls than the molding. The ceilings had some bad areas, but fortunately the original wood floors were in considerably better condition. The windows and doors looked salvageable. Surprisingly, the two baths and the kitchen were in better condition than any other room, which was good considering they could suck up major bucks in a renovation.
“I can work with this,” she announced.
Reece nodded. “When can you start?”
Mia laughed. “Don’t you want to know my price first?” He’d followed her from room to room for the last half hour. He hadn’t said a word since the initial hello.
Surprise flashed across his face, but he quickly schooled the expression. “Mrs. Crist tells me your prices are fair.”
“Maybe so.” Mia didn’t know this man. She wanted no miscommunications between them. “But I’d feel more comfortable if we agreed upon a price first.”
He nodded his head. “Understandable.”
Mia chewed the inside of her cheek. Perhaps the price she’d mentally calculated was too low. No, it was fair. She wouldn’t jack up her price simply because he appeared prepared to pay whatever she named. This man was from out of town and clearly money was no issue, that was true. Still, right was right. She stated her price and prepared for his reaction.
“Sounds reasonable,” Reece said without hesitation or detectable reluctance.
“It’ll take some time,” she warned. “I have a couple of days left at the Dowe house.” Day and a half maybe. Better to give herself sufficient time than to risk not meeting a stated target date. “I’ll need at least two weeks here.”
Some aspect of her answer didn’t appear to sit well with him. A frown furrowed his brow. “Is it possible to work a couple of hours here each day while you finish up there?”
A frown of her own worried her forehead. “Are you on a deadline, Mr. Reece?”
“Linc.”
“Linc,” she echoed. His stare turned so intense that she suddenly felt uncomfortable alone with him. Knock it off, Mia. She squared her shoulders against the uneasiness. “You should call me Mia.”
“Mia.”
Silence thickened in the room as her senses absorbed the sound of her name on his lips. What was it about this man that made her feel so…restless?
“You…you have a deadline?” He hadn’t answered her question.
He crossed the parlor to the expanse of windows looking out over the well-manicured lawn. The city council required that properties in town, whether inhabited or not, be maintained on the outside. Overgrown and littered yards were bad for tourism as well as community pride.
“Time isn’t an issue,” he said, his back still turned to her. “I’m merely anxious to get started.”
That was true of most folks when they got their hearts set on a project. “I could maybe get a couple hours in tomorrow afternoon. I’ll pick up enough material to get started.”
He nodded. She noticed only because she was watching for a response. Her initial analysis of him had been right. Brooding. “Okay, then. See you tomorrow.” Tucking her notepad into her apron pocket, she started for the entry hall.
“Are you available for dinner this evening?”
Startled by the request, Mia paused. He was watching her. That was it, she realized. He didn’t really look at her. He watched her. Analyzed her. And it made her restless. “Dinner?”
“I’d like to discuss any recommendations you might have for the other work.”
She nodded. “Plumbing and electrical. And the floors.”
“Is that a yes to dinner?”
He moved closer, his posture oddly rigid. That restlessness she’d been experiencing picked up its pace, making her pulse quicken. Was he trying to intimidate her or was this just his way?
“Blossom Café?” she proposed. It was a safe choice. She knew the folks who ran the café and she would know all the patrons. Her little bungalow was only a couple of blocks away. It was perfect.
“Eight?”
He was definitely from the city, she thought. “Around here we call it supper and it’s around six.”
Why did he stare at her that way? Every response came after a considerable delay.
“Six, then.”
More of that breath-stealing silence followed.
Suppressing that danged uneasiness, she tacked a smile into place. “See you then.”
Mia turned toward her original destination. This time he didn’t stop her. She walked out the door and straight to her old truck. The safety and familiarity of it felt like a balm to her frayed nerves. More than forty years old and a little beat-up, the truck served her purposes just fine. A handy toolbox was mounted in the back and a smaller, handheld version waited in the cab. She liked her truck and she liked her life.
Feeling out of sorts wasn’t the norm for her, at least not in a really long time. Back during her recovery there had been a lot of days filled with pain and uncertainty. Feelings of loss that she hadn’t been able to fully measure or articulate. But those days were long gone.
As Mia slid behind the wheel of her trusty truck she caught a glimpse of Mr. Reece watching her from the broad parlor window.
Doubt slipped up on her. Maybe she’d made a mistake agreeing to work for him. There was something very odd about Lincoln Reece. He exhumed frailties she hadn’t suffered in years.
Mia shook her head. You’re making too much of this, girl. She laughed. This was Blossom. Bad things never happened here. That was just another reason why she loved it so very much. It was also why her uncle had brought her here after her release from those long, long months of rehabilitation.
This was home now.
Safe. Reliable. Calm.
LINC COULDN’T MOVE.
He’d made that mistake when he’d asked her about dinner. The closer he’d gotten to her the more his control had dwindled. He’d wanted to grab her and shake her. To demand that she adm
it that Mia Grant was not her name.
She was Lori…his wife.
Relief, elation and anticipation infused his blood with yearning. He felt it all the way to the core of his being.
The junker of a pickup eased away from the curb. When it had disappeared down the tree-lined street, Linc left the window and surveyed the parlor. There was a lot of work to be done. That would buy him some time. But there were other pressing issues to be considered.
How had Lori gotten here?
Who had rescued her after the explosion on the yacht? More importantly, how had she been rescued? Not that Linc wasn’t grateful, but this was no act of a Good Samaritan. Her rescue had sinister origins. Otherwise her identity would have been tracked down and her next of kin—her husband—contacted.
As right as finding her felt, the circumstances were wrong, way wrong.
Blossom Café, 6:00 p.m.
SHE WAITED AT A TABLE in the center of the small café. For a minute or so Linc studied her. He’d already done a lot of that. It wasn’t smart to risk her catching him yet again. He sensed she was suspicious already, but he couldn’t help himself. From a distance, he could look with the knowledge that this was his wife. The only woman he had ever loved. The woman with whom he had shared every aspect of his life. Back when he’d had a life.
Seven years. At first he had plunged into an oblivion of pain and despair. He had prayed his way back, believing that there had to be a mistake…that she had to be alive. All he had to do was find her. Then defeat had conquered him and he had stopped feeling at all. Inside, he had broken. Given up.
Yet, there she was. The minimal outside changes didn’t matter. It was the inside, the voice, the mannerisms that told him his heart could dare to beat again.
This was his wife and she was alive.
Linc pulled open the door, causing the overhead bell to jingle, and stepped inside. The smell of home cooking made the air thick and damp. Though clearly deep in conversation, most of the patrons glanced his way. Some turned back to their supper companions while others visually followed him to Lori’s table. Mia’s table. He had to remember that.
A smile stretched her lips—lips he had kissed a thousand times. “Did you have trouble finding the place?” The twinkle in her eyes told him she understood that was impossible since this was the only café on the town square open past three in the afternoon.
“I was delayed by a call.” He dragged out the chair opposite her and took a seat.
She passed him a menu. “I already know what I want. The meatloaf is awesome.”
He didn’t bother looking at the menu. “Meatloaf it is, then.”
“Good call.” She held up her glass. “Sweet tea?”
What he really needed was a fifth of bourbon. “Absolutely.”
Linc was vaguely aware that a waitress had strolled up to their table, but he couldn’t shift his focus from the eyes, the mouth he’d cherished for a few short months and then had hungered for during the better part of a decade that had felt more like an eternity.
Mia placed their orders. When the chatty waitress had moved away, Mia pulled out her notepad. “I have a couple of names for you. Jesse Steele is the best plumber anywhere around here.” She pointed to the next name she’d jotted down. “Same goes for Patrick Nunley. He’s an electrician.” She tapped the final name on her handwritten list. “I’ve worked with Jerry Brooks plenty of times. He’s the best carpenter I know. He can handle anything else you need.”
That her lips had stopped moving told him she was waiting for a response from him.
“I’ll need estimates.” He gave himself a mental kick. He needed to focus.
“I can have these guys call you,” she suggested. “Or when I’m at the house they can come by and do their estimates.”
“Either way works for me.” He wanted to get past talk of the house.
“I’ll make the calls.” She tore the page free of the pad and thrust it at him. “You can keep this, so you don’t forget the names.”
He accepted the list and studied the names written there. A knot formed in his chest. This was not her handwriting. The J’s were different. And the way she crossed her J’s. Too neat, not the sweeping strokes Lori had made.
“Here you go.” The waitress placed their orders on the table, heaping plates, then filled-to-the-rim glasses garnished with lemon wedges. “Anything else?”
Mia looked to him. Still in a daze of harsh reality, Linc shook his head.
“That’s good for now, Louise. Thanks,” Mia said.
She smiled that broad, familiar smile that was all Lori as she dismissed the waitress. The scent of buttered potatoes and richly seasoned meat turned his stomach. Linc had no appetite, despite the fact that he couldn’t remember when he’d eaten last. Fear climbed up his dry throat and coagulated. What if he was wrong?
“Mmm.” Mia closed her eyes as she savored a bite of meatloaf.
The question he’d intended to ask to shift the conversation stuck on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t manage to spit it out. Not with his throat clogged with something he couldn’t name and her making those sounds.
“You have to taste this.” She gestured to his plate. “Eat!”
He wrapped his fingers around the fork, his movements mechanical, and followed her order. Whatever kept her here and talking to him. That was all that mattered…until he knew for sure. He ate a forkful. “You’re right. The best I’ve ever tasted.” An old memory slammed into his brain. “Except maybe that little place in Encino.” He and Lori had eaten there several times because she had loved the down-home atmosphere. How had he forgotten that? “They served a pretty amazing meatloaf.” He couldn’t remember if they did or not, but they had served Southern-style cuisine.
She blinked. For one second he was certain she remembered. Then she said, “Encino? Is that where you’re from?”
Another wave of defeat slammed into him. “L.A.” He carefully placed the fork on the table. “My wife and I used to go to a little place in Encino. She loved the meatloaf.” An ache broke open his chest. There was no trace of recognition on her face or in her eyes.
“You’re married?” She looked surprised. Or was she disappointed?
He shook his head. “She died a long time ago.”
Her face fell. “I’m sorry.” She set her fork aside. “I shouldn’t have asked, but it’s unusual for a wife not to be involved with purchasing and remodeling a house. That’s why I was surprised when you mentioned a wife.” Her cheeks were a little pink. She’d always blushed like that whenever she felt she’d said the wrong thing.
“Sure.” He swallowed back the disappointment that she had a logical reason for asking if he was married. Doubt and defeat were battling it out for top billing in his brain. The handwriting was wrong…the smile was right… Could she possibly be Lori or was he kidding himself? He’d given up hope a damned long time ago. How had it taken root again so deeply and swiftly?
Ten seconds turned into twenty. She picked at her meatloaf as if she were at a loss for words. He would have the advantage now. A change of subject would be a relief. He blanked his mind of those churning emotions he hadn’t felt in so long. “Did you grow up in Blossom?”
Her gaze met his. “No. I’m from Colorado. I moved here about six years ago.”
“You have family here?” He stopped breathing.
“My aunt.” She chewed on another bite of her entrée. “My uncle visits often but he doesn’t live here.”
That was totally impossible. He bit the words back. Lori couldn’t have family here. She had no living relatives anywhere. She’d been born and raised in California. Her parents had both been Californians. She had never spoken of any other relatives. After the accident, he’d attempted to track down any distant relatives, but there were none.
“Where did you learn about plasterwork?” He couldn’t wait to hear the answer to that one. The fury that abruptly lit in his gut was irrational. He shouldn’t feel any of this.
Because she had been. “And you’ve been doing it ever since?”
She nodded. “When I’m not helping out at the Pet Stop.”
“Pet Stop?” He surely misunderstood her meaning.
“I help my aunt with her dog-grooming business. She’s getting up there in years and she just can’t keep up. I go over a couple of afternoons a week and lend a hand.” Her lips curled into that crooked but sexy-as-hell grin that was all Lori. “But I don’t mind. I love dogs. I’d have one of my own if I was ever home.” She shrugged. “Maybe one of these days.”
Her words hit him like a sucker punch to his gut. Could he be that wrong?
The voice, the eyes, the way she moved… He had been certain she was Lori.
But his wife had been seriously allergic to cats and dogs. She couldn’t even live in an apartment where pets had lived before her.
His gaze fixed on the eyes and the lips that he knew so intimately and that had helped to convince him that this woman was his wife.
He should have known the whole concept of Lori being alive was too good to be true.
He’d made a mistake coming here.
Chapter Five
“It’s him.”
“You’re certain?”
Ted Stewart checked the screen of his smartphone a third time, then glanced across the room to the table where Mia sat with the stranger who’d been hanging around watching her for two days. “I’m certain,” he muttered under his breath. “And I checked the register at the bed-and-breakfast. It’s him. Lincoln Reece.”