"She hides in the corner with a cup of coffee and the latest thriller."
"I think she comes for the cappuccino and quiet more than the books."
Lane offered them coffee, crossing into the old living-room area to make it. While she prepared the coffee, the noise from the steam pressure drowned out whatever Tyler and his mother were saying. A quick glance caught Tyler's scowl and his mom shooing him off.
Mother and son approached the counter, still talking. About her.
"I was trying to convince Lane to join the festival, and seeing as that won't work … yet, I'm trying to settle for help with the pageant."
Lane glared over the counter at him. "So you brought out the big guns?"
He glanced briefly at his mother. "I knew it would be a heavy battle."
"Have you no manners? No means no, McKay."
"My mother was just commenting on my manners the other day." He winked at his mom. "Must have been those college years out from under her iron thumb."
"Tyler, behave."
"Yes, ma'am."
Lane had to smile. At least someone could get him to back down.
"We could really use extra help," Laura Mc-Kay said.
"She thinks that's what parents are for."
Lane pinned Tyler with a hard look. "I can speak for myself, thank you." She looked at Laura as she came around the edge of the cappuccino bar with two froth-filled mugs. "I hope you understand that I really don't want to spread myself so thin when I've just opened the store this year and I'm running it alone."
Laura sipped her cappuccino, licking froth from her lip. "This is fabulous. No wonder Di takes refuge in here." She set the cup down and looked at Lane. "I can understand that your business comes first. It should. However—" she paused, giving Lane a sweet smile "—we just need a few extra pairs of hands. The parents are helping as much as they can, and Tyler is in charge of making the sets."
Lane's gaze slid to his. "Volunteered or arm twisted?"
"A little of both," he said, lifting his cup and licking the froth off the top.
Lane watched him, biting the inside of her mouth and wondering if he knew what she was thinking, feeling. One look in his eyes said, oh yeah. Every womanly instinct to outright flirt with this man screamed through her, telling her to get close enough to learn if that smiling mouth tasted as good as it looked. Another part of her brain was busy reminding her that she was alone for a reason. Another man had wanted something from her and hid it under the guise of friendship, then love.
Now there was Tyler. And people wanted her to work with him?
As if he knew her thoughts, his eyes darkened and seared her with a strange heat. Oh, so not good.
"Please, Lane," Laura said softly. "The way you've decorated this house proves you have talent for design."
"Thank you. It's a hobby." Lane almost choked. She hated lying, especially to this nice woman. She felt herself caving in. It was as if she had to pay for the lie, although the lie was to protect her.
Now that was twisted.
She surrendered to the guilt. "How long would you need me?"
Laura smiled again, pleased. "Just a couple of hours in the evening. The festival starts next week and we must be finished in time for the opening children's show and play."
"All right. A couple of hours after I close up shop for the night." She ignored the grin spreading across Tyler's face. "Do I need to bring anything?"
"No, the local businesses have contributed materials. Say seven o'clock at the theater?"
Lane agreed.
Laura said a quick goodbye and was out the door. Tyler stayed behind. Picking up his coffee again, he said, "The first session is tonight."
"A promise is a promise, McKay. I'll be there."
He looked at his watch.
"You have to go? What a shame," she said. "Take that car when you leave." When she reached for his mug, Tyler latched onto her wrist.
Lane felt warmth burn through her skin to her blood. He let go, sliding his hand under the sleeve of her sweater and pulled her near.
Lane's heart did a wild dance and she could barely swallow. "McKay."
"Your skin is so soft," he said.
"Good lotion." His fingers played over her bare skin, and it was silly, it was just her arm, but Lane felt as if they were playing somewhere else entirely. And if he didn't stop, she was going to yank him into the back room and try a kiss on for size.
He searched her gaze. "I don't know what it is about you that's driving me nuts, Lane Douglas, but I'm willing to wait to find out."
"There's nothing to learn, so it'll be a long wait."
He leaned closer, tipping his head, and Lane thought, Come on, kiss me.
"I'm a Southern boy." She felt his warm breath on her lips. "We're long on patience."
"Tell that to the back end of my car."
The alarm on his watch went off, and he clucked his tongue and eased back. He stared at her for a second longer, then releasing a heavy sigh, made an about-face and headed to the door. She looked down and saw the car keys on the counter.
"McKay, take these keys."
He ignored her and reached for the knob.
"Tyler!"
He flashed her a look over his shoulder that said triumph. Then he was out the door and sliding into a matching black SUV.
"Talking to that man is like talking to wood," she muttered, then picked up the keys. They were still warm from handling. She pocketed them and did what she did best. Ignored them. Ignored him.
It lasted all of ten seconds, and she dropped into a chair, plucking at her clothes and letting the buildup of steam in her system escape.
Oh, yes, that man.
Definitely dangerous.
Because Lane knew that she could fall for him, and there would be no getting back up this time.
* * *
Chapter 3
«^»
The lights in the town theater were almost blinding. Adults and children were scattered across the stage and the wide area meant for the orchestra, each small group working on different projects.
Lane had made her way down to near the stage when Tyler came through the outer doors, carrying a stack of two-by-fours on his shoulder. He stopped short when he saw her, and a grin spread across his handsome face, warming her right down to her toes. His gaze dropped to her boots and he made a face, shaking his head. She stuck out her tongue at him.
"I knew you'd show."
"Don't gloat, McKay. I knuckled under matriarchal pressure, nothing more."
"Good to know something gets to you."
You do, she thought when he gave her a long, heated look that said more than she wanted. Why was he so interested in her? She'd have to check her appearance, dowdy it up a bit more, she thought, watching him trot off. Well, more specifically, she watched his behind in tight, worn jeans, the toolbelt rocking low on his hips.
Lane found the chairperson, Diana Ashbury, easily. The woman was short and dark-haired, with a porcelain complexion that reminded Lane of her own mother's. Lionetta Giovanni, of course, wouldn't be caught dead volunteering for a children's pageant. She'd much rather throw money at a charity so she could attend the parties in one of her daughter's designs. Diana, on the other hand, was hip-deep in coordinating tasks, wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, both covered by an apron bulging with craft supplies.
"Thanks for coming, Lane."
"Two hands, ready and willing," Lane said.
Diana blew out a short breath and waved at the stations positioned all over the theater. "Pick a job," Diana said, then scanned her notes on a clipboard.
"Put me where I'm needed most," she told the woman.
"We don't have costumes even remotely finished." Diana's voice held a little bit of plea.
Costumes? A long-buried corner of Lane's heart leaped to life. Sewing. Maybe some designing. It wouldn't be couture, but she could design clothing again. Even if it was for a children's play. She tried to disguise the eagerness in he
r voice when she said, "Say no more. I'm on it."
Lane headed to the orchestra pit where a large table was set up with a sewing machine at each end, manned by two young women. Yards of bright felt, fabric and trims were scattered over the table and nearby chairs. A half-dozen children raced around the aisles, while two little girls sat in the middle of the floor, their heads together, oblivious to everything but the dolls they played with. Between stitching and cutting, the moms hollered for the kids to calm down. Lane introduced herself to the two women, Suzanne and Marcy.
"Why don't you both take a break and let me handle the sewing?" Lane said.
"You sure?" Suzanne clipped a thread as Marcy spotted a small child climbing onto the stage, where men were wielding dangerous saws and drills. Lane nodded and both women shot after the children.
Costumes were something Lane could do without thinking. She quickly organized the mess at the long table, checking fabric length and yardage against necessary colors and trims. After a quick glance through the patterns, she slid into the chair at the machine. The noise of hammers and kids, of adult chatter and the whine of drills didn't penetrate her concentration.
When she looked up to call for Anna, the pageant's fairy princess, Tyler was staring down at her from the stage. He had his hand on his hip, the other twirling a hammer like a six-shooter.
Her heart sped up, and she felt herself blush like a teenager. Then her stomach clenched in a tight knot. Oh, the man had power, she thought. It didn't hurt that he was wearing a blue cable sweater that made his eyes look deeper, and jeans that molded to every feature from the waist down.
"I was wondering if you were coming up for air." Lane glanced at her watch and realized she'd been at this for an hour already.
"You were not."
His smile faded a bit and his gaze narrowed. "I never lie, Lane."
He looked angry all of a sudden, she thought, and her own lies struck her like the hammer he held. She had good reasons for hiding, she reasoned. For lying.
"I'll remember that." And remember that he wouldn't tolerate that she was lying to him, she thought, reaffirm-ing her decision to keep her distance.
"Will you be my date for the Winter Ball?"
She blinked at the abrupt shift in the conversation and couldn't help but notice that a couple of people stopped what they were doing and stared.
"The what?" She'd heard him. She was just stalling. Needed time to think.
"The Winter Ball is the last event of the festival. Big bash, catered, at the country club."
"I see." She took a deep breath and ignored the piece of her that wanted to say yes. Instead, she simply said, "No, thank you."
He let out a sigh. Clearly he'd expected that reaction. "Then I'll settle for you having dinner with me." He squatted at the edge of the stage, looming over her.
"No, thank you again." She tore her gaze from him and called to Anna. The girl raced over and Lane took her hand, then looked at Tyler. "Excuse us, the princess has a fitting."
"You have to eat," he called.
"Not with you."
His short laugh flowed down from the stage. He went back to his job, and Lane had to drag her attention to the girl. Once she did, she got caught up in little Anna's excitement. The girl was already wearing her tiara and she stood perfectly still as Lane pinned the flowing tulle skirt to the satin bodice. Kids were so easy to please, she thought. The kids were so different from the prima donna models she'd worked with at her fashion shows. Or the women she'd designed outfits for, who didn't think twice about having her tear the entire design apart and remake it because they suddenly wanted something better than so-and-so had last week. This little fairy princess was delighted with Lane's work.
She helped the girl take off the costume, easing it over her head.
"What do you think?"
"It's beautiful, Miss Douglas," Anna said, awed as a six-year-old could get. She raced off to tell her friends, and Lane noticed that the kids were getting wild and the mothers were looking plum worn-out. She did a quick measure of the children and their costume needs, then told Suzanne she could take care of the lot without the children being here to try them on. Suzanne was so grateful to be able to put her kids to bed, she promised a batch of homemade cookies for Lane's bookstore customers. Lane knew she could whip the costumes up in no time and saw no reason for mothers to chase children on sugar rushes this late at night.
Two hours later she heard, "Hey, I think you can stop now."
Just the sound of Tyler's voice set her blood humming. When she lifted her gaze, he was standing close, smelling like sawdust and aftershave, looking so rugged she nearly melted right out of the chair. She was in big trouble. She hadn't reacted to a man like this in … well, never.
Tyler caught the little flash in her eyes. "Man, when you agree to work, you work."
"I was in the zone," she said, trying to shrug off the nearly electrical zing popping through her blood.
Tyler's gaze moved over the costumes that were finished and hanging on a movable rack. He'd watched her off and on for the past two hours. She hadn't stopped for a moment, and she was fast, locked in a world of her own until he spoke to her.
"They're simple patterns," she said, brushing off his compliment.
"Sure, but you're nearly finished. And you did a great job."
"I still have trims and the fake buttons for the uniforms to do."
"There's always tomorrow."
"True," she said, leaning back in her chair with a tired sigh.
"Have dinner with me." She'd probably say no, he thought, but he had to give it a shot while her defenses were low.
She lifted her gaze to his. "We really are going to have trouble if you keep asking me the same question all the time, Tyler."
"Three times a charm … have dinner with me."
"No, thank you."
She looked as if she wanted to say yes, but for whatever reason, she wasn't giving in. "You're a stubborn cuss," he said.
"And talking to you is impossible."
He grinned. "It's only dinner."
"Nothing is open at this hour." One thing she'd learned about this town was that, aside from a few select restaurants and a pizza joint, the streets rolled up at nine.
"Says who?" He stepped back and showed her the display of subs, chips and sodas on a table. The teenagers and other men were already chowing down in different areas of the stage.
She looked at him and smiled reluctantly. "Okay, I can't argue now."
Tyler hooked his thumbs in his jeans to keep from touching her and inclined his head to a spot on the far edge of the stage. She sat, her feet dangling over the edge, and he brought her a sandwich and a can of soda.
Then he hopped up beside her, his body shielding her from the rest of the volunteers.
"Those are the ugliest shoes I've ever seen on a woman," he said.
"You've made that point before." She looked down at the combat-boot-style shoe. "They're comfortable and warm. Like yours." She lightly kicked his foot. He wore something similar in dark tan. His had seen better days.
He simply stared at her for a minute. He didn't want to talk about shoes. He wanted to tell her how great she'd been. How much she'd impressed him with her talents and dedication. But all he could say was, "You amazed me. You just came in and took over."
She blinked wide eyes. "Oh, Lord, I did, didn't I? Do you think they'll be upset? It's their project and I'm the outsider."
Tyler smiled and shook his head. "It's the school's project, and did you see Suzanne dragging out of here? She was grateful for your help. They all were."
Lane shrugged. "It was fun, I admit it. How did you guys do?" she asked before he could question how she'd done so much work so fast.
Tyler cranked a look back over his shoulder at the stacks of plywood and sawhorses. And unfinished work. "We've got one more set to make and some painting to do, but that can wait till tomorrow."
"Tomorrow." She groaned.
"Service to the community," he reminded with a smile.
"I'm helping," she defended. "And the only reason I'm doing it is because your mother guilted me into this."
"I know. Do I know weaponry or what?"
She laughed softly.
"You have a great mouth, Lane. You should do that more often."
"I do laugh, at least twice a day."
"Just not around me."
"Fishing for compliments? I'd think with your fan club you wouldn't need more."
He frowned and Lane nodded toward a couple of young women who kept sliding glances at Tyler.
"They're children."
"They're in their twenties, McKay, and trying hard to get your attention."
He looked back at Lane. "Well, they're failing." But before she could make a wisecrack he said, "I know by your accent that you're not from around here, so what brought you to the South?"
Lane debated answering that and chose her words carefully. "Slow pace, beautiful scenery." Anonymity.
"Have you always sold books?"
"Yes." Another lie on top of the last one. But at this point, what did it matter? She was sitting at the tip of a mountain of lies and she kept having to scramble to keep from falling off.
"What made you take that old house and renovate it?"
No lies necessary here. "I fell in love with the place the instant I saw it, despite its hideous green paint. The house was like a genteel old woman. She was dying from neglect and cried out for a new dress and hairdo."
He smiled.
"What?" She snitched one of his chips.
"That's how I used to see the old homes around here. Not exactly like that, but like old souls that were fading. You know, my grandfather and father started out doing strictly renovations. McKay Construction didn't renovate yours, did we?"
"No, your competition did."
He clutched his heart, keeling over a little.
"Your company's bid was too high."
She'd removed the pickles from her sub and Tyler ate them. "Quality, my dear."
"Hey, they did a good job. And the renovation met the historical society's rules. And I did most of the restoration myself."
His brows shot up. "How'd you learn?"
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