It's In His Smile (A Red River Valley Novel Book 3) (11 page)

He was just so freaking
tall.
And muscular. And gorgeous.

She mustered her very best bitchy stare. Which was so totally not believable, because his mouth curved into a boyish smile.

Dammit. She really needed to work on upping her bitch-factor. It just didn’t come natural.

“I hold the note and the deed to this place,” he informed her as though she weren’t already aware. “The quicker these doors open for business, the sooner I can have some peace of mind that the investment I inherited from Bea is safe, and I can be on my way.”

And
theeeere
it was. He couldn’t wait to get out of this little town and get back to the prestige of being a celebrity architect. Small-town life was beneath his pay grade.

“I don’t need your help.” She kinda did. “Nor do I want it.” Okay, maybe she wanted it a little. Among other things.

Good Lord! Snap out of it!
She absolutely did not want . . . no . . . she did not
need
to count on a man the way her mother had. Miranda could do this on her own.

“Doesn’t matter, sweetheart.” Talmadge’s smile was cocky. “You’ve got my help whether you want it or not.”

After his colossal gaffe yesterday at Joe’s, the chances of Miranda agreeing to let him take over the renovations were about as good as her contractor giving back her money, even if Talmadge
had
kept Mrs. Wilkinson from sinking her fangs into Miranda.

The way he saw it, he had two options.

One: play the I’m-your-creditor card and take charge of the renovations whether she agreed or not. When it came to any kind of building project, everyone followed his lead. Hell, he’d earned that leadership role in his profession.

Miranda’s face glowed red with anger.

Right. Option one wasn’t working out so well.

He shifted to option two: make her think she was still in charge.

“Don’t be foolish, Miranda. You need help with this place.” Talmadge was trying real hard to keep his mind and eyes off the taut nipples showing through her thin shirt. The moment he’d turned and saw her standing in the dining room staring at him with sleepy eyes and messy pillow-hair . . . glaring at them over the absurdity of superheroes while wearing silly cartoon pajamas . . . Well, hell. His throat had closed up, and he’d wanted to toss her over his shoulder and take her back to bed.

“You’re calling
me
foolish? How can you help, Talmadge? You can’t stay in Red River that long. I’m surprised you’re staying at all.”

So am I.
But sure enough, here he was, trying to seize the one chance he had at gaining some capital that would help keep the lights of his firm back in Washington turned on for a little while longer. “I’ll be here for as long as necessary. I never leave a job unfinished.” Not willingly, anyway.

Her lips parted. Several small creases formed above her brows. “Oh. Well, um . . .” She glanced at his shoulder. “Your shoulder. You can’t do this kind of work.”

“I’m starting rehabilitation this week,” he countered.

“In Red River?” Her tone turned a little desperate and her eyes a little wild.

He nodded. “Doc Holloway and the new chiropractor in town are going to help.” Luckily, Langston had given them a call last night, and within an hour, an entire posse of physical therapy assistance was at his service. One of the perks of a small town.

“So? You’re still hurt. I need someone who can handle manual labor.” She waved her arms around the inn.

Nice
. Her round, firm breasts bobbed a little and both nipples strained toward him. Disappointment threaded through him when she crossed her arms over her chest again.

“Jamie and Langston have agreed to help with the heavy lifting. I’m going to be the foreman,” Talmadge said.

The copper flecks in her irises blazed to life. “
I’m
the foreman. It’s my place.”

“It won’t be if you don’t get some help with the remodel.” Talmadge leaned a hip against the Formica counter. “Bea’s last wishes were for me to help, since you wouldn’t let her give you the inn.”

A fact Talmadge deeply respected.

“So you know I didn’t take advantage of your grandmother.”

Talmadge winced. “Yeah, sorry about that. Emotions were running high.”

“I was her witness. There was no statement to that effect in her will.” She said it like she didn’t believe him.

Her exposed skin was goose-bumped, so Talmadge grabbed his jacket off the counter and draped it around her shoulders. She pulled it close around her and snuggled into it.

“Thank you.” Her voice softened.

Good. He might be wearing her down. Because she was sure wearing
him
down. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could be in her presence without tasting her again. “Uh, she left me a note.” He was skating on thin ice here. He hadn’t said anything that would violate the terms of the will, but he was getting close.

He hesitated. Helping Miranda would be a win-win for both of them. She would get her business open and running, the inn would be more energy efficient if he did the work, and the pot of money waiting for him at the end of Miranda’s renovation rainbow would provide cash flow while he sorted out his derailed project.

Her big, chocolaty eyes stared up at him.

“Uh . . .” Damn, he didn’t want to lie to her. “This place meant a lot to her . . .”

Miranda’s expression softened, and wetness shimmered around the rims of her eyes.

“She, uh, wanted to see it become a success and thought I could help.” Okay, still the truth.

He almost pulled it off without lying. He did.

Until he opened his big, stupid mouth and said, “Her note said she wanted me to stick around until the inn is open again, then she wanted us to use her life insurance to build an after-school rec center for kids here in Red River.”
Ah, shit.
A thread of truth ran through that statement, but not enough to keep it from being a lie.

A tear glided down Miranda’s smooth cheek, which still had the impression of a sheet mark creased into it. She swiped under her eyes with a finger.

Talmadge’s eyes slid shut for a second.
Liar, liar, pants on fire.

“That’s just like Bea.” Miranda sniffled. “Always trying to help kids.”

“Uh, yeah,” was all Talmadge could say without blurting the truth.

The back door cracked and Langston stuck his head in. “What gives, you two? It’s cold out here.”

“Give us a second,” Talmadge said to Langston, who rolled his eyes and shut the door. Talmadge looked at Miranda. “Plus, I owe you big-time for looking out for Bea the last couple of years. Consider my work payback.” She pulled that lip between her teeth again, and he wanted to bend down and suckle it. He coughed. “Do we have an agreement?”

“Well . . .” She bit her lip. “I guess when my contractor comes back to work, I could return the supplies he’s probably already bought with the money I gave him.”

Right. And Trinity Falls was going to build itself overnight.

She chewed that plump lip. “And I’ll have to find a way to let him go without hurting his feelings.”

Talmadge wanted to sigh. He doubted that so-called contractor would ever step foot inside the county again after the cash payload Miranda had obviously handed him.

“But what about the gossip about us?” Her expression dimmed. “People already think the worst. It’ll only get worse with you hanging around here all the time. I mean come on, Talmadge.” Her voice turned to a plea. “You’re famous. People are not going buy into you hammering nails and reshingling my roof unless . . .” Her cheeks pinked, and her gaze darted away.

He couldn’t help but chuckle. “You know I wouldn’t do or say anything to hurt your reputation. Didn’t I prove that seven years ago? And it’s about time someone takes Mrs. Wilkinson’s tiara away. She still hasn’t realized she’s not queen of Red River.”

Miranda’s eyes closed on a slow blink. “I mean you’re stealing my thunder, Talmadge.”

His brows scrunched together.

Miranda took a deep breath. “The inn, the gazebo. I appreciate all you’re doing, but it’ll hurt me as much as it’ll help. I needed to do these things on my own to prove myself in this town as a business owner.”

The door cracked again, and Jamie stuck his head through. “Seriously, people. My teeth are chattering.”

“I think I know a way to work this to your advantage.” Talmadge dangled the bait. “I have connections with home remodeling shows. Let me make some calls.” And, shit, again. Because he did not want to call public attention to his prolonged stay in Red River with Trinity Falls sitting stagnant back in Washington. His investors were already squirming. “I can play this off as a project that’s for my professional benefit, not yours. Everyone will think you’re doing me the favor.” She was. She just didn’t know it. “We’ll make it clear that you’re calling the shots. It would mean a lot to Bea if you let me work on the inn.” And there went the guilt card.

Her chocolaty eyes clouded with skepticism, and she chewed her lip. Finally she nodded. “Okay. For Bea. But I’m the boss, not you.”

“Fair enough.” Talmadge smiled down at her. Without looking away, he called to Langston and Jamie. “Come on in, guys. We can start by coming up with a plan and a timeline.”

With any luck, he could pull this off and get out of town without anyone getting hurt. Most of all him, because coming to the rescue of Miranda Cruz was becoming a habit. A habit he wasn’t sure he wanted to break.

C
hapter
N
ine

Had Talmadge screwed himself six ways to Sunday?

At 8:00 a.m. sharp four days later, he parked in front of Noah’s Bark Grooming before meeting Miranda at McCall’s Hardware. With everything on his mind—especially the bossy, beautiful woman—he’d forgotten some necessary supplies. Several times. Because this would be his sixth trip to McCall’s Hardware in three days.

He never forgot supplies. Never.

But Miranda, in all of her sassy glory, had him thinking about much more than supplies and renovations and home-improvement shows. He didn’t know if he could keep his hands or his mouth off of her lush curves and kissable lips for the next five weeks, which was about how long both the inn and gazebo projects would take if he worked at full-throttle times ten.

But first he had to help Lloyd with the whole man card thing. He scooped a trembling Lloyd from the passenger seat and gave him a pep talk.

“Bart Simpson’s mom called. She wants her hair back.” Talmadge patted his fluffy head. “You’ve got this.” Maybe a new haircut would make him look like a
he
, instead of a ferret in drag.

Talmadge left Lloyd with a frowning groomer who insisted he looked exactly the way a poodle was supposed to look, regardless of gender, and drove over to McCall’s.

He pulled into the parking lot. Miranda’s Jeep was the only other vehicle there.

He parked and stared at the front door. Four days ago he’d worked up a renovation plan, hit the ground running with the remodel, showed Miranda his preliminary drawings of the new gazebo, scoped out Brandenburg Park where the gazebo would be built, and put in calls to several home remodel shows to see who could run a segment on the inn’s renovations when they were done—all while trying to make Miranda feel like she was in charge.

The glow on her face and the shine in her eyes as she processed and organized everything he said, the gears in her sharp mind snapping and grinding, and the way she rolled up her sleeves and worked harder than anyone he’d ever seen had been worth it. She’d be an exceptional business owner. Hell, she’d probably be an exceptional project manager—as good as any he’d worked with.

He, on the other hand, was lower than dirt for not telling her the whole truth about his reasons for staying in Red River. Sure the inn held a special place in his heart, and he did want to see it finished just as much as Bea had. But he had still twisted the truth, because he didn’t want to lose his inheritance. That’s what he got for giving an answer on the fly while distracted by her spectacular rack—that had one, been braless, and two, been outside in the cold.

Talmadge got out of the truck. The fresh layer of snow blanketing Red River was the only evidence that a late-season storm had rolled through the area. That was one of the things he missed about Northern New Mexico. The sun came right back out to turn the air crisp and brighten the sky, unlike in the Pacific Northwest where gray clouds hung over the landscape for weeks at a time.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and trekked across the lot toward the entrance. Time to see if he could buy the supplies he needed without getting distracted by lips and tank tops and cold weather.

Miranda stood in front of the paint samples, sipping a cup of coffee from the Ostergaards’ bakery. She needed a few dozen more cups before starting another day of work with Talmadge. After agreeing to let him help her, she was going to need a lot of strong coffee.

Or Xanax. Either would work. Too bad she didn’t drink, actually.

But there seemed to be little she could do. He
did
hold the note and the deed to the inn. And there was no other way to fend off Old Lady Wilkinson and prove that Miranda could manage a major community event. Truth was, Miranda could use Talmadge’s help. Since the inn had meant so much to Bea, she hoped he’d put his heart into it for his grandmother’s sake, get the job done quickly, and leave.

And the gossip about them . . . well, the plan for her to be in charge had lasted about five minutes. As soon as Talmadge shifted into architect mode, he did nothing but spout orders and step on her toes. Worse, he didn’t notice. Sure, he was helping, and that help was invaluable. But he was also snatching away a big part of her independence, something she couldn’t give up.

“You need help, Miranda?” Mr. McCall walked over to the paint mixing counter and pulled a set of keys from his red work vest to unlock the register.

“Just browsing for now. Thanks.”

He nodded. “Let me know if you need anything.” He disappeared down the aisle labeled “Hammers and Nails.”

Miranda rolled her eyes. Men and their hammers.

She returned her attention to the colorful display, and her thoughts to Talmadge. Help or not, she was pretty sure if she had to spend several weeks in close quarters with the only man who had ever touched ground zero, she would be toast.

She sipped from the to-go cup and plucked a powder-blue sample from the display. It was so early in the morning, she was the only customer in the store, and the quiet was nice. She could actually think without Talmadge’s male scent and her spewing pheromones clouding her mind.

How was she going to get through this?
Gawd
, but he was awful about bossing her around every time he walked into the room. Yeah, he might be good at this kind of construction project. Okay, he was freaking great at it, in an I-can-save-the-planet-all-by-myself kind of way. But Miranda could use her brains to manage the situation. Except she was pretty sure Talmadge would end up managing her right out of her clothes if she wasn’t careful, because she couldn’t hide her attraction forever.

So maybe she could make him
not
want to get her out of her clothes.

She chuckled. The thrill of anticipation coursed through her as she looked down at the new shirt that had been delivered to her door late last night.

After Talmadge left the inn yesterday, she’d made a small investment that would surely turn him off and keep it all business between them.

She pulled a few more paint samples from the display that would complement the powder-blue and lifted the piping cup to her lips as she smiled. She savored both the rich flavor of the coffee and the clever purchase that was going to drive Talmadge insane. It had taken two hundred dollars that she really couldn’t spare to find what she needed at a store in Albuquerque and then have a delivery service drive it all the way to Red River.

She downed a big gulp. Studied the rectangular paper paint swatches in her hand. The blue reminded her of Talmadge’s eyes.

Dammit.

The storefront doors slid open and Mr. Blue Eyes himself walked in.

She turned toward him. Ignored him, of course, continuing to study the samples and sip her coffee, but from the corner of her eye she watched him stop and harden his jaw into granite. He stared at her, taking in her
investment
without so much as a blink.

Slowly, like she had all day, she looked up from the color sample. His unmistakable glare slid over her torso, fire spitting from those silvery-blue pools.

Yeah, the powder-blue sample with a hint of gray definitely matched his eyes. Probably why she liked it so much.

“So what do we need?” Miranda kept her tone all sunshine and cheer even with Talmadge’s stare shooting poison straight through the black T-shirt that had “Earth First—We’ll Strip-Mine the Other Planets Later” screen printed on the front in bold yellow letters. “I brought you a cup of coffee.” She laid the samples on the mixing counter and picked up the second cup she’d set there when she first arrived. She tried to hand it to him.

He didn’t reach for it. “What the hell are you wearing?” His voice was low and darned near lethal.

He was clearly pissed.

Booyah!

“Normally I’d tell a man to get lost if he asked me a question like that.”

“It’s not a come-on, and you know what I’m talking about.”

“Oh, this old thing?” Miranda tugged at the front of her T-shirt. “I pulled it out of the back of my closet.”

He took the coffee. “Then why does it still have the price tag dangling from the back?” His free hand slid under his coat and rubbed his shoulder.

Miranda reached for the back of the neckline and found a small rectangle of paper still attached.

Dammit. She yanked it off.

Talmadge blew on his coffee. “Since when are you an anti-environment activist?”

Since never
. “Don’t you have a sense of humor?”

His mouth closed over the rim of the cup, and he drew in a long sip. Long lashes lowered for a second longer than a blink, and Miranda lost her train of thought.

He swallowed, smooth and slow. The muscles in his neck rippled as the liquid traveled downward like floating along a lazy river on an inner tube. “I do when something’s actually funny.”

She pulled her gaze from his neck and blinked at him. “How about we get to work?”

He nodded to the blue swatches on the counter. “That isn’t the best color choice.” He let the cup hover at his lips.

“What?” She looked up at the samples. “It’s a beautiful shade of blue.” He could look in the mirror if he needed proof.

He closed the space between them, the savory scent of coffee on his lips. “I didn’t say it wasn’t beautiful.” His presence unsettled her. His nearness came pretty close to setting her on fire below the waist.

Casually, he leaned his backside against the counter and crossed his legs at the ankles, his boot brushing against hers. Like a magnetic pull, she leaned toward him.

“Just because something’s beautiful doesn’t mean it’s right.” His gaze latched on to her lips.

“Um, why isn’t it the best choice? I like it.” She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, self-conscious that he was still staring at it. Turning, she wandered down an aisle. Not any particular aisle. Just any old aisle would do with him looking at her like he wanted to drink her in as if she were a mocha latte with double whip.

He pushed off the counter and followed. “Too pale. It’s more of an indoor color. What are you going to name the place?”

She turned, surprised at the unexpected question. Actually, she’d thought about it a lot and hadn’t been able to come up with a name that felt right. He looked at her from under hooded lids, which had her trying to find another distraction.

Damn that fire down below. Maybe she should find the aisle that displayed portable fire extinguishers, because she needed something to put out those flames.

She grabbed a chisel off the rack. Chisels were handy tools. Surely something around the inn needed to be chiseled. In quick, nervous strides, she darted to the other side of the aisle. She ran her fingers over a few tools with no idea what they were used for. “Maybe I’ll name it the Runs Inn and Café.” Okay, she was just being contrary now.

He shook his head and reached into his jacket pocket to produce a list. “No way. You’re too smart for a name that stupid.”

Her hand stilled against a tool that looked something like a wrench.
Mmmkay
. Not what she expected him to say. Everyone in Red River just thought of her as the best damn server in town.

He took another long drink of coffee before setting it on the shelf. He walked toward her. His easy gait shouldn’t make her pulse hum. But it did, and the hum grew into a song when he stood in front of her.

“How about naming it the Bea in the Bonnet Inn?” Laughter sparked in his eyes. “The double entendre would pay tribute to your friendship with Bea and your badass boss routine.” His glittering gaze never left hers. “Two birds, one stone.”

Her eyes fixed to his lips. “Um, Pot, you’re black. You dish enough out, maybe you deserve a little bossiness in return.” His mouth was like a drug. Not a pansy-assed over-the-counter drug. But the kind pharmacists double-checked your ID for and still gave you the stink-eye as they handed it over.

“For trying to save your ass?” He glanced down to her hips. “Nice as it is.”