It's In His Smile (A Red River Valley Novel Book 3) (6 page)

“You eat more than you’re worth,” she deadpanned. Maybe she’d give him another haircut after she duct-taped him to the barstool.

He tossed his hair to one side again and munched on the cookie. “Precisely why I’m getting a job.” He grabbed another cookie, trying to satisfy his voracious metabolism. Damn him. “And I’m going to pay you back all the tuition money one day.”

“Every penny.” She tried to make it sound like a reprimand but ended up fighting off a smile instead. “
After
you finish your degree. So no job. Not unless it has something to do with a future career.”

“You know I love you, sis.” Jamie blew her a kiss, and her heart warmed even though she knew he was just sucking up. He was a great kid, and he was there to help her whenever she needed it, just the way Bea had been.

Bea believed Miranda could turn this place into a thriving focal point of the town again. It had been Bea’s idea for Miranda to buy it. But now Talmadge had inherited the note. He might consider a grace period on the payments if Miranda needed it.

She chewed the inside of her cheek.
No.
No way would she ask him for help. Not after how close she’d been to tossing her self-control to the wind while helping wrap his shoulder. And especially not after he insinuated that she may or may not have taken advantage of his grandmother, a woman she’d loved like a mother.

She needed to prove her mettle to Talmadge Oaks.

No. She needed to prove her mettle to herself.
For Jamie’s sake, she had to prove once and for all that they didn’t have to accept the hand of poverty that had been dealt the Cruz children. Since they’d never gotten any encouragement from their bar-hopping mother, Jamie was worth Miranda’s effort.

Even though he enjoyed the humiliation of her ass going viral on YouTube.

She flipped the sander on again, but a loud knock sounded on the back door. Carefully, she leaned to the right and looked down the hall. The door swung open a second later.

Talmadge swaggered in, dressed to the nines. Overkill for Red River, in her opinion. But holy lip-smacking moly, he was the most perfectly formed man she’d ever seen.

She drew in a sharp breath and looked away, only to have his sheer male beauty draw her attention right back. She felt like a bee that had just discovered an ocean of nectar.

He flipped a pair of black aviators to the back of his head as soon as he stepped across the threshold in black tailored dress pants and black driving shoes. A sling still held the injured arm against his midsection, but a black mock turtleneck clung to the hills and valleys of his chest and arms.

He could’ve done Don Corleone proud dressed like that, except for the tiny poodle under his arm. A mob boss probably would’ve preferred a pit bull over a bow-wearing toy poodle.

“Morning.” His lips seemed to mouth the words as she took him in. She looked down at the buzzing noise and snapped out of the trance. Flipped the switch to off again.

He gave her ladder a long once-over. The muscles in his jaw flexed, and several creases appeared between his eyes.

“Morning.” She touched her jaw to make sure it wasn’t hanging open, and to her surprise it wasn’t. Because the man was drool-worthy.

“Hey, Mr. Oaks, you probably don’t remember me, but I’m Miranda’s brother.” Her little brother’s voice shook with admiration.

“Kid brother.” Miranda shot him a disgusted look, because Jamie never looked at her with that kind of awe. And she was paying his way through college! “Seven years my junior.”

“Six and a half, and you never let me forget it,” Jamie mouthed off, but his expression went timid the moment his attention returned to Talmadge.

“Because you should show your elders some respect.” Miranda’s teeth were starting to hurt from grinding them so hard.

Jamie smiled at her, took an exaggerated bite of a bagel, and plunked his legs up on the counter crossed at the ankles.

“Sure, I remember you. You’re just taller now.” Talmadge chuckled and notched up his chin at her brother. Miranda thought Jamie would melt right there on the floor from hero-worship.

Really? Talmadge was an architect, not a movie star. She rolled her eyes. But part of her heart cinched tight, and she wondered if Jamie’s instant respect for Talmadge had something to do with never having a dad around. Never even
knowing
who his dad was. Of course, Talmadge seemed to command that respect from most people in a room simply by stepping into it.

“Did you forget something, Mr. Oaks?” Miranda turned her attention back to the other annoying male in the room.

Jamie blew out a
humph
like she was the biggest dream crusher in the world and straightened to tap away on his laptop again.

Talmadge gave Lloyd a boost. “I need to leave him here.”

Miranda set the sander on the flimsy metal shelf attached to the top of the ladder and grabbed a paint scraper. Furiously, she started to work on a crossbeam directly over her head. “Why would you leave him here? He’s your dog.”

Talmadge came over and stood next to the ladder. “He whined and yelped all night.” The tone of his voice raised a notch like he was kind of desperate.

Involuntarily, her gaze flitted to Lloyd. “Where’d he sleep?” She tried not to look at Talmadge. Tried to focus on the task of stripping an already well-stripped section of the beam. She scraped some more, the speed of her strokes increasing.

“In the laundry room. It was too cold to put him outside. Plus I didn’t see a doghouse in Bea’s backyard.”

Miranda blew out an exasperated breath.
Men could be so dense.

“He’s not an outside dog.” As if the bows and nail polish didn’t give that away. “He’s not used to sleeping alone. Let him in your bed.” She swallowed at her own statement.

Talmadge stared at the dog, horror etched across his face. “Beg your pardon?”

“He’s used to sleeping with Bea. So, let him sleep with you now.”

“This dog is not sleeping in my bed. No one sleeps in my bed.”

The tool slipped from Miranda’s hand. She grabbed for it, caught it, and steadied herself on the swaying ladder. Right. Not a lot of sleeping went on in Talmadge Oaks’s bed when someone besides him was in it. She knew that all too well.

Her insides coiled so tight she thought she might spontaneously combust.

Talmadge set Lloyd down and went to stand at the foot of the ladder. “You’re going to kill yourself on this sorry excuse for a ladder.” With his good hand, he gave it a small shake. It nearly toppled with her on it.

“Hey!” She grabbed onto a rung. His steadying hand on the small of her back sent heat racing through her.

At least it wasn’t on her ass this time.

“I’m not going to let you fall. I just wanted to prove a point.” His warm palm molded against her back.

“By killing me?”

“Sorry, but what the
hell
are you doing on this shoddy old thing with tools in your hand? If you don’t kill yourself, you could easily lose some fingers, or a limb, or an eye.”

She pulled off the safety goggles and propped them on top of her head. “That’s what these are for.”

His gaze studied her eyes. Looked deep, then dropped to her lips.

The tip of her tongue slipped out to wet them.

“Plastic goggles aren’t going to do much good if you fall on top of an electric sander that’s going full speed.” He took the sander from the top shelf of the ladder and set it aside.

“The remodel is behind schedule. I can do some of the projects myself. I’m not afraid of hard work.”

“Shouldn’t your contractor be doing the heavy lifting? And if he’s a professional, he should have better equipment than this.” Talmadge gave the ladder a dismissive wave. “Where is he?”

She hesitated. Good question. Not that it was any of Talmadge’s business, but a good question nonetheless. So good, in fact, that she’d been wondering that very thing ever since she handed Ben Smith several thousand dollars for roofing supplies. The next day he’d texted that he was sick with the flu and hadn’t shown up for work since.

That was several days ago, and he’d stopped answering his cell. So, where
was
Mr. Smith?

None. Of. Talmadge’s.
Business.
All he needed to know was that she was handing him her payments at the end of each month.

Or not.

So why did she feel it necessary to defend her choice to hire Ben Smith? Lots of people in town had used him. All of Red River’s silver-haired widows were happy with him. Couldn’t stop singing his praises, in fact. So Talmadge’s suspicious tone irked Miranda because maybe he was insinuating that she’d made a poor business decision. “Ben needed money to buy roofing materials, and then he got sick.” She hoped. She prayed that was true. “When he comes back, he’ll bring his equipment. In the meantime, I found these tools in the storage closet.”

“In the meantime, get down off that death trap.” Talmadge’s statement was a demand.

Or rather a command. He was
commanding
her!

She wielded the paint scraper and started on the beam again. “I’ve got work to do.” She
did not
have to do what he said.

“You can’t work if you’re hurt.”

“You should know.” She pointed to his sling.

They glared at each other.

Without taking his eyes from hers, he reached for the scraper in her hand, tossed it on top of a pile of materials, and gave the ladder a small but firm shake. She lost her balance on the wobbling ladder and fell right into his arms. Well,
arm
.

He used his good arm to catch her and held her flush against him with her legs dangling in the air. His look was firm, his minty breath caressing her cheeks.

“Put. Me. Down.”

He stared down at her with a smoky gaze. “Whatever you say.” His words came out more like a murmur, and the tickle of his breath raced down her neck all the way to her toes.

Which curled.

He let her slide down his hardened body, inch by glorious inch. And oh, heavens, if this were a contact sport, she’d trample every woman for miles to join the team. Her feet touched the ground, finally . . . unfortunately . . . and she stepped out of his arm.

“Don’t get back on that thing.”

This was her place, and she’d been taking care of herself and Jamie since before she hit puberty. She wasn’t going to be cowed by a man the way her mother always had. Now that Bea—the closest person to a role model Miranda had ever had—was gone, she’d damn sure help herself instead of relying on a man for anything.

Because men never stayed around.

One of his silky brows arched.

She grabbed at her ponytail and twisted the end around an index finger. Studied the sawdust that she’d left on the entire length of his front, stark against his jet-black clothing. Served him right.

She tried to feign a condescending tone. “Look,
Mr. Oaks
—”

The silver-blue of his irises flared to a dusky purple.

God, she loved purple.

She glanced away for a nanosecond before trying to manufacture more indignation. “I know you’re used to commanding your employees, the press, adoring activist fans, and women from all tax brackets—”

A muscle in his squared jaw tensed.

“But I’m not your employee. I’m not an adoring fan.”
Liar.
She followed every one of his projects. Had for years. And the last two years, she’d made a weekly date at Bea’s to bring her laptop and read articles off the Internet because Bea’s vision was deteriorating. “And I’m certainly not a woman who wants . . .”
You.
She had to bite her lip to keep from blurting it. And suddenly her throat went very, very dry. Who turned up the thermostat in here, anyway? She could barely pay her bills as it stood.

She wasn’t sure if it was the way he set his freshly shaved jaw, or the way one of his lush brows arched with just enough arrogance to make her teeth grind, but she snapped. This was her dream, not his. His dream had been fulfilled and was still waiting for him back in Washington. Even though he’d caught a tough break with Trinity Falls, his grandparents had made sure he got the education he needed to pursue his career.

So why was he here interfering with the one and only chance she’d ever have to be something more than a waitress? To be in control of her future and take charge of her destiny.

“I’m done taking orders from other people. I’m the boss in this place. The contract I signed says so. So go find someone else to order around.”

An almost-smile slid onto his mouth. Without a word, he turned the ladder on its side and stomped on the hinge, which snapped like a twig.

This time Miranda’s jaw really did fall open.

He carried the ladder past the counter to the back door.

“Get the door,” Talmadge said to Jamie, who scrambled to his feet to do Talmadge’s bidding.

Miranda wanted to scream. Talmadge tossed the ladder outside against the trash Dumpster and walked back into the inn. He brushed his hand against his dusty clothes, then Jamie let the door slam shut again.

“Better,” Talmadge said. “Now what were you saying,
Ms. Cruz
?”

“That was the only ladder I had!”

“Not saying much. I’ll bring you a better one from Bea’s. My grandfather’s work shed is still filled with equipment.”

“But—” Miranda tried to slow her spinning mind. How dare he walk in here and . . . and . . . take charge.

She looked at her brother for some familial support.

Jamie stared at Talmadge, the admiration in her little brother’s eyes about as subtle as a neon sign in the middle of a power blackout.

“Dude, that was awesome.” Jamie’s voice was an awe-inspired whisper. “No guy has ever brought Miranda to her knees.” Jamie turned pink and glanced at Miranda. “Uh, pardon the pun, sis.” He looked at Talmadge. “Who knew she’d let her new boyfriend boss her around.”