“Clay and I have been close since high school. She and Trip are my closest friends.”
Friends. River relaxed. If they’d been involved at some point they weren’t any longer. River was dying to ask more about Clay, but tempered her curiosity. Clay had been anxious to get rid of her yesterday; maybe the attraction was completely one-sided. River wouldn’t know for sure until she saw Clay again.
* * *
Clay was aimlessly paging through Eddie’s most recent issue of Hotrod magazine, when someone cast a shadow from the door over the desk where she was seated. She looked up to see River, backlit by the bright morning sun, hands on her hips, looking like perfection itself. It didn’t matter how beautiful she was in her pencil skirt, form-fitting sleeveless silk blouse, and tasteful heels, Clay refused to stop thumbing through the magazine to look at her.
River cleared her throat and stepped closer to the desk.
“Yes, can I help you?” Clay nonchalantly leaned back in her chair as if she’d only just noticed her. So that River would get that message loud and clear that Clay was not impressed. Not interested. She willed her libido to fall in line.
“Do you have any details about when my aunt’s car will be repaired?”
Clay glanced through the small door that connected the front office with the shop door. Eddie stood up from the open hood he’d been leaning under and shrugged in answer to her silent question. She turned back to River.
River’s arms were crossed, her expression neutral, but energy pulsed off her. As if she was daring Clay to give her the runaround. Typical New Yorker attitude.
“A few days at least. The insurance adjuster hasn’t even been by to look at it yet.”
“Do you possibly have a loaner I could use while I wait for repairs?”
“How’d you get here anyway?” Clay craned her neck to examine the parking spaces in front of the office. All were empty.
“The officer from yesterday, Grace Booker, dropped me off on her way to the station.”
Clay frowned. Grace had set her up.
“Well?”
“Well what?”
“Do you have a rental available?”
“No.”
“Can you please make an attempt to communicate in more than one syllable at a time?”
“Yes.” Clay tried to look serious, but she couldn’t stop the grin.
River seemed to relax a little. She shifted her weight, uncrossed her arms, dropped one hand to her hip, and quirked the side of her mouth up as if she found Clay’s monosyllabic banter amusing.
“I don’t really have an official rental, but I do have a loaner I could give you until your car is ready. You might not like it though.” Clay slowly got up from the scuffed rolling office chair. It squeaked loudly as she stood.
“If it runs and has wheels I’ll like it.” River followed Clay around the corner to the back of the garage. They stopped next to Clay’s 70s era Ford truck. She pulled keys from her pocket and dangled them in River’s direction from her finger.
“Is that your truck?”
Clay shrugged.
“Is that a yes?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not going to take your truck. What will you drive if I do?”
Clay pointed to a black Moto Guzzi motorcycle parked nearby.
“That’s yours too?”
“Yeah, I actually ride that when the weather’s nice anyway, so you’re welcome to the truck.” Clay felt sure River would decline the offer.
“Okay then.” River swiped the keys from her fingers and walked toward the truck.
“Uh, it’s a stick. It has a three-speed shifter on the column.” Clay thought for sure that’d send River packing back to the B and B. In fact, she was looking forward to calling Grace to come pick her up.
“That’s no problem. I grew up driving my dad’s old truck.” River opened the door, slipped off her heels, and tossed them, along with her bag, onto the bench seat of the truck. Then she did this impressive acrobatic move where she hopped butt first up onto the seat then swiveled her legs around. River obviously knew how to maneuver in the tight skirt without giving Clay even the slightest view of anything except her shapely legs sliding sideways onto the seat. River pulled the door closed and cranked the truck, pushing the stick up into reverse.
She rested her elbow through the open window and looked at Clay. “What?”
“Uh…” Clever words, if there were any, never materialized. Was that the distant sound of a phone ringing or was that ringing only inside her head? An alarm sounding perhaps? Signaling that River already had her number, so to speak.
“I didn’t grow up in New York City, you know. I’m from Upstate New York…the North Country…farms, cows, and lots of corn.” River flashed Clay a brilliant smile and flipped her hair back over her shoulder. “You have my number on that paperwork I signed. If you need the truck back just call me. I’ll do my best not to misplace my phone again.”
Clay stood silently and watched River pull away…in her truck. She never thought for a minute River would actually take it.
Eddie walked over from the open bay door and stood next to her, his frame casting a long shadow.
“Wow.” He rubbed the stubble on his chin and whistled.
“Shut up.”
“She’s as hot as a blacktop in August, and she’s not taking any of your shit.”
“Shut up,” she said it again, not really meaning it. She watched the truck’s taillights flame red as River braked and turned left at the intersection.
“Here, a call came in while you were talking to Ms. New York Hottie.”
Clay read the scribbled name on the scrap of paper. “Oh, come on.”
“Yep, Lynnette’s battery is dead again.” Eddie wiped his hands on a red bandana he’d pulled from his back pocket. “I’m starting to think she leaves the old Chevy’s headlights on just to get you out to the house once a month.”
Clay groaned.
“It sucks to be you.” Eddie smiled and walked back toward his current work in progress.
Clay strode toward the office.
“Where are you going?”
“I need to make a call before I head to Lynnette’s.” Clay spun the phone around and sat on the front edge of the desk while she waited for someone to pick up.
“Dispatch, Patsy speaking.”
“Patsy, I need to speak to Grace.”
“Hold please.” Patsy clicked off. After a few seconds of dead air, she was back. “Grace is indisposed. She recommended that if this is an actual emergency you should hang up and dial nine-one-one.”
“Patsy, put Grace on the phone or I’m gonna drive over there in person.”
“Hold please.” Pasty sounded as if she was trying not to laugh. After another brief moment of silence on the line, Grace picked up.
“What’s so urgent that I don’t have time to put sugar in my coffee?”
“I’d like to report a crime.”
“Really?” Grace slurped her coffee loudly.
“Yes, I’d like to report someone who just left the garage and is driving barefoot.” A visual flashed of River tossing her heels on the seat just before pulling off that sexy gymnastics maneuver she’d used to get herself and that tight skirt up into the truck.
“Barefoot you say?”
“Yeah, isn’t it illegal to drive barefoot?”
Grace snorted. “No. Not in Georgia, not anywhere. That’s an urban myth.” Grace paused. “Wait a minute, is that River driving your old truck?” Clay could swear she heard the rustling of metal mini blinds from Grace’s end of the line.
“That’s not funny. You dropped her off knowing we don’t have a loaner.”
“Visual evidence seems to suggest you do.” Grace took another excessively loud sip of coffee. “I assume you confirmed that she has a valid driver’s license and insurance?”
“Uh…”
“What’s the matter? Were you too distracted by her immense visual charms? She do
es look pretty hot driving your truck.”
“Grace—”
“I simply told Ms. Hemsworth that Cayhill Towing and Auto Repair was a full-service shop. You are, aren’t you?”
“What?”
“A full service—”
Clay slammed the phone down. She jerked the trucker cap low over her eyes, crossed her arms, and exhaled loudly. Dammit all to hell. She reached for the keys to the tow truck and then stormed out the door.
Chapter Eight
River parked Clay’s pickup next to a champagne colored BMW sedan with a vanity plate that read RLTYCHK. Either the car belonged to the Realtor she was supposed to meet or the owner was possibly advertising that they needed a reality check. River was certainly feeling as if she needed one after spending twenty-four hours in this steamy small town.
She switched off the engine, slipped on her heels, and stepped out of the truck at the same time as a trim woman with long, perfectly wavy blond hair climbed out of the BMW. This woman had to be Natalie Payne.
“Are you River Hemsworth? I’m Natalie…Natalie Payne. So nice to meet you.” Her accent was syrupy sweet as she extended her manicured fingers in River’s direction.
“Hello, nice to meet you.”
“I love your outfit.” Natalie made a slow wave motion with her hand. “Beautiful blouse and your figure is perfection in that skirt.”
“Thank you.”
“I have to say though, I didn’t expect to see you driving that.” Natalie quirked an eyebrow and tipped her head toward the old pickup truck. “I suppose that means you’ve met our local star, Clay Cahill.”
“Uh, yes, I had some car trouble yesterday and she loaned me her truck temporarily.” Why was Natalie describing Clay as a star? She drove the town’s only tow truck. Was that what qualified someone for stardom in Pine Cone? If so, she needed to get back to New York as soon as humanly possible.
“She must like you if she let you drive her truck.” Natalie winked and quirked one side of her bright red lips up into a slight smile.
“I’m not sure I’d say that.”
“Hmm, sounds like a story I need to hear.” Natalie looped her arm through River’s. “You can tell me all about it over lunch, after we do our walk through of the property.” Natalie Payne was even perkier in person than she’d been over the phone, or email, if that was possible. She followed River into the gallery attached to the house, chatting nonstop. She hardly took a breath.
Natalie obviously felt it was her obligation to give River the entire history of Pine Cone, Georgia. Which River might have appreciated if she planned to stay, but she didn’t.
Pine Cone’s beginning sounded typical enough. The town sprung up during a time when all you needed was a railroad depot, a cotton gin, or a tobacco auction barn to seed a new community.
“And then before you know it, there’s a church, a school, a bank, and a courthouse. And as certain citizens prosper, a golf course and country club become necessary because, obviously, you can’t hold the debutante ball in the high school gym.” Natalie continued to chatter as she took photos with her phone and made notes on a spiral pad. She’d clearly mastered multitasking on an impressive scale.
River nodded politely and tried to keep up.
“Pine Cone is a mecca for artists too, you know. Art Trails happens every spring where artists and sculptors from all over the community open their studios to the public. People come for miles to buy art and soak up the local culture.”
“Really? I had no idea.”
“Oh, yes, Interstate 95 is an East Coast corridor that comes within a few miles of the town limits, tourists flock to our little artsy enclave. It’s the perfect stopover on their way to vacation in Florida.” Natalie sounded like a vacation brochure as she snapped a photo of the crown molding along the back of the gallery space. “Stay here another day or two and you’ll see what I mean. There’s a big gathering every Wednesday night during the summer for the downtown market. They close Main Street and vendors set up booths. There’s food and live music and lots of art.” Natalie paused with her hand on her hip. “You own a gallery in New York, right?”
“Yes.”
“What’s the name?”
“Oh, It’s my last name. The Hemsworth Gallery.”
“What part of the city is it in? You know, I get to New York at least once a year. I love Broadway. Maybe I could stop in.”
“It’s near the East Village, a couple of blocks from the Bowery Hotel.” River had a hard time picturing Natalie in the Village. She had an even harder time imagining Natalie liking anything hanging on the walls in her small gallery. The exhibits were mostly emerging artists, contemporary in style, and ranged from paints to textiles.
“Sounds cute.”
Cute was the absolute last word she wanted to hear anyone use to describe either her gallery or the works displayed on its walls. Natalie was probably the perfect woman to sell this property to a local buyer, but her constant perky conversation was starting to wear on River. She pulled her phone from her bag and glanced at the time, willing the minutes to pass quickly.
River trailed behind Natalie as they left the gallery and walked through her aunt’s house. She’d accurately guessed that the house had been built in the late 1940s. It was a simple post WW II brick ranch house floor plan, with three bedrooms and two bathrooms. The home had probably originally had only one bathroom, but her aunt had added a second bath when she built the addition for the gallery. At least that was Natalie’s recollection. This would definitely increase the value of the property, according to Natalie. River listened politely as Natalie pointed out details in each room where her aunt had added small touches to the original interior. Built-in bookcases in the living room, pocket doors leading to the master bedroom, and closets built out with shelving to make the best use of a small space. The hardwood floors were narrow tongue and groove pine, darkened from age, but overall in very good condition. The walls were plaster. Each room was a different color. One was a dark red wine color, an interesting choice for the master bedroom. The other two bedrooms were a dark blue-gray, with white crown molding along the ceiling.
The living room walls had white wainscoting halfway up the wall, and then a sea foam green covered the plaster portion to the ceiling. The cool hue on the walls pushed the space out visually, making the room seem larger than it was. River was surprised by how much she approved of her aunt’s color scheme. She obviously had a good sense of design and color. River felt a slight tug of guilt at not having known her aunt better. Her father and her aunt had never gotten along, keeping a safe distance from each other even at family funerals and weddings.
After another forty-five minutes, Natalie stowed her spiral notebook in her pink leather handbag. River hoped this was a sign that their time together was drawing to a close.
“Can I treat you to lunch?” Natalie caught River off guard with the question.
“I’d love to, but I feel like I should spend a little time here and…go through things.”
“Oh, yes, I’m sorry. You did just arrive. I’m sure you’d like some time alone with your aunt’s things.”
River nodded. She wasn’t sure what she wanted except a little solitude. She definitely wasn’t in the mood for lunch and what would no doubt be a hundred personal questions from Natalie Payne.
“Well, I’ll leave you to it then. I’ll call you later today with my thoughts about how we should price this place and where to advertise. I already have your seller’s agreement. We just need to confirm the asking price.” Natalie leaned in and touched one cheek to River’s, offering up a typical A-frame sorority girl hug. “You have my number. Don’t hesitate to ring me if you need anything. I mean it.”
River nodded again as she held the door for Natalie. “Thank you.”
She leaned against the closed door and let out a long sigh, relieved to have the space to herself. She walked back to the kitchen and set her bag on the center island. She pulled out a large manila envelope
that her aunt’s attorney had given her. The package had contained keys to the house, the car, and one legal-sized ivory envelope with her name written on the front. With all the commotion the previous day at the crash site, she’d forgotten to open it.
For some reason, she was almost afraid to find out what it said, but that seemed silly. She retrieved a knife from a nearby drawer and neatly sliced open the top of the envelope. Before she had a chance to read it, her phone rang.
* * *
Lynette was standing on the porch when Clay pulled the tow truck up. She parked close to the back of the old Chevy Impala and hoisted the portable jump kit from the truck bed. Lynette waved and walked in her direction wearing a tight tank top and cutoff shorts, her tanned legs, long and shapely. Neon pink toenails caught Clay’s eye as she crossed the bright green grass. Lynette embraced the old adage that the bigger the hair, the closer to God. And Clay had to admit that the last time she’d been with Lynette the sex had made her call the Lord’s name. But today she wasn’t in the mood for sex, or flirtation, or anything else. Something about her recent encounters with River rolled around in her empty stomach like a lopsided stone.
She popped the hood and attached the cables determined to focus on the task at hand and nothing else.
“Thanks for coming over, Clay.” Lynette touched Clay’s shoulder lightly. “You’re looking fine today.”
“Thank you. You too.” Clay glanced sideways and smiled thinly.
“Is something wrong?”
“No, just had a bad morning.” Clay straightened and tugged her cap low over her eyes.
“Let me make it better for you.” Lynette tugged Clay’s hand free from her pocket and held on to it. “I don’t have to be at the diner for work until the dinner shift starts at four.” She cocked her head playfully and tugged the hairpin free letting her piled tresses fall past her shoulders.
In Clay’s opinion, watching a woman’s long hair fall in loose waves from a tight knot had to be one of the sexiest visuals on the planet. But even that calculated move wasn’t going to work for Lynette today.
Take My Hand Page 5