It's In His Smile (A Red River Valley Novel Book 3) (14 page)

“Are you sure?” Was he stupid? She certainly looked sure. Until she didn’t.

She hesitated, then nodded.

“Really, really sure?”

“Talmadge,”
she ground out just like the first time they were together.

He leaned down to capture a pink bud between his teeth and suckled it until she whimpered.

Just as he released it to give the other the same attention, the cell phone in his pocket buzzed. He ignored it and pulled her into his mouth, caressing the taut flesh with his tongue. Her soft skin turned to pebbles under his callused hands.

“We can go to my room.” Miranda’s words were small gasps. “If we hurry, we’ll have time before Langston and Jamie get here.”

He straightened and looked down at her dazed expression. “I seem to remember telling you once before that you’ve got the wrong guy if you expect me to hurry.”

She sobered, and her eyes darkened. “Yes, I remember. Quite well.” The look on her face told him she remembered much more than that.

Hell.

She had disappeared seven years ago, telling him their one night together had been poor judgment brought on by alcohol and the magical pull of Lorenda’s wedding. He tried to lean his forehead against hers, but she turned her head away.

“Miranda—”

His phone buzzed again. He reached into his pocket to turn it off, but Miranda pulled away and grabbed for her top.

“Would you listen to me for a change?” He stood between her and the hall. If he blocked the entrance to her suite, he could keep her from disappearing on him like she did then, because she wasn’t likely to go through the front entrance wearing a tank top in frigid temperatures.

With her back to him, she pulled the tank over her head. “There’s nothing to say. It was a mistake back then, and it would’ve been a mistake just now.”

Without a glance in his direction, she hurried to the front door. It slammed shut, and Talmadge let out a frustrated growl. “This conversation isn’t over,” he yelled at the door.

His phone vibrated again.

With a hefty breath, he answered the call. “Hello.”

“Talmadge.” Larry Jameson, his second in command over the Trinity Falls project, boomed through the line. “Got a minute?”

“Of course.” Talmadge rubbed his eyes with a thumb and index finger. “What’s the news?” He couldn’t keep the weariness from his tone.

When Larry hesitated, Talmadge’s chest tightened. “Go ahead, Larry.”

“The tribal councils still can’t come to an agreement on which nation should have jurisdiction over the site.” The burly foreman’s voice held a tone of weariness even deeper than Talmadge’s from trying to handle the situation in his absence. “We’re still at an impasse.”

Talmadge almost smirked, because tribal councils could argue over things like this for years.
Impasse
was a polite way of saying
standstill
. A diplomatic way of delivering the news that his life sucked. Hard.

C
hapter
T
welve

Stupid.
Stupid was actually putting it lightly. She couldn’t get physically or emotionally involved with Talmadge Oaks. It was a bridge to nowhere that would leave her heart in little pieces strewn from one end of Red River to the other.

Miranda’s teeth chattered as she pulled the spare key to her private quarters from under a withered pot of flowers and unlocked the door.

She slammed the door and stomped into the bedroom to look for another shirt. Something that would cover her more than the skimpy tank she’d put on because her skin was on fire. She found an old baggy sweatshirt at the bottom of a drawer and pulled it on. Stood there, pinching the bridge of her nose before going back out to the dining room where she’d have to face Talmadge and lay down some rules. Get him to exercise some willpower, because God Almighty, she obviously had none when it came to him and her
.

Whatever. There was no him and her.

Talmadge was in town long enough to rid his conscience of guilt by seeing to Bea’s wishes. Asking Talmadge to help with the inn seemed exactly like something Bea would do. Always looking out for Miranda with the best intentions. But fulfilling Bea’s request was Talmadge’s main concern, not Miranda’s future. Thankfully, he’d reminded her of that by bringing up the first time they’d been together. The memory of seeing his flashy girlfriend wrapped around him like shrink-wrap right after he’d been naked with Miranda had hit her like a shock of ice water thrown over hot coals.

He had a life back in Washington. A life he needed . . . no, a life he
wanted
to get back to.

A knock sounded.

“Miranda.” The door muffled Talmadge’s voice.

Both hands fell to her hips and her head tipped back. With a deep breath, she gathered her nerve and went to the door. She pulled it open with a quick jerk.

“Look, Talmadge . . .”

He leaned against the doorjamb, muscled arms folded across his chest, one knee bent, looking hurt . . . and sexy as hell. Miranda’s mouth went dry.

“I’m sorry about bringing up the past. It was bad timing.”

“The timing was impeccable.” Her fingers tightened around the doorknob. “Why are you even here, Talmadge?”

“I’m here because . . .” His gaze darted away.

“I know you want to honor Bea’s wishes, but I told you I can figure something out on my own. You can work on the rec center in a few years when your big project in Washington is done. Bea would understand that you have more important things to do right now.”

A muscle in his jaw ticked.

“But you and me . . .” She heaved in a sigh. “Look, I know you’re used to girls swarming you because you’re kind of famous.” Her eyes trailed over his flexed biceps. “And really well formed.” One side of his mouth twitched up, and heat flamed up her neck. “But that’s beside the point.”

She sucked up her resolve. Squared her shoulders.

“You’re only here for a short time, and I’m not one of those girls who wants you for your money and your notoriety.” Maybe his body. She shook off the thought. “I have to live here after you leave. I have to face the stares and the gossip and the murmurs.”

“You’re right. But Bea wanted me to do this, so I’m here for the duration. You have my word, I’ll be here until the inn is open and the gazebo is finished.”

Her hand flexed around the doorknob. She’d heard men make similar promises to her mother, and stupidly, her mother always believed them.

Miranda swore she never would. But the sincerity in Talmadge’s silvery-blue eyes made her resolve crumble like a flimsy wooden bridge in an earthquake.

“Even though people are already talking, we have to keep this professional.”

“We could tell everyone we’re engaged, and then you could dump me,” he said, all seriousness.

Good Lord.

The man really was crazy. Or stupid. No, no. Talmadge wasn’t stupid.
She
was the stupid one for getting herself into this mess. So that just left crazy. Years of loud construction noise had definitely scrambled his brains.

“We are
not
pretending to be engaged. We keep it professional and friendly. Present a united front for Bea and for the festival.”

He nodded. “Professional and friendly,” he mumbled like he didn’t believe a word of it.

And, well. She didn’t believe it either. Playing this dangerous game with Talmadge would likely leave her with a trampled heart when he left town for good.

“Let’s get back to work then.” Talmadge pushed himself off the door. “Oh, Uncle Joe wants us to put in an appearance a week from Saturday at his place. It’s a fundraiser for the gazebo so you won’t have to depend on the Wilkinsons’ money.”

“Okay, I’ll meet you there.”

He turned and strolled down the hall. “I’ll pick you up. If we’re going to present a united front, we actually have to be seen together acting professional and friendly.”

She sputtered.

“Be ready at seven that night,” he said over his shoulder.

Miranda wasn’t sure how she was going to keep it professional and friendly when she was spending all day, every day with the only man who made her want to give the finger to her reputation and do him every which way she could.

Miranda took Talmadge’s advice and started to assemble a trustworthy team to help plan the festival. After spending the rest of the week making phone calls to the small group of people that she had let into her inner circle over the years, she walked into the Chamber of Commerce building with enough gooey cinnamon rolls and coffee from the Ostergaards’ bakery to feed an army.

If there was one thing she remembered from her high school AP history classes, it was that an army tended to be more loyal if their bellies were full. Not only did she want her soldiers going into battle against Mrs. Wilkinson fully armed and ready to fight, but Miranda wanted to win the war. So she set out the cinnamon rolls and coffee in the conference room and went back for the cranberry-pecan scones—Mrs. Ostergaard’s specialty. No one stood a chance against those.

She’d scheduled the first meeting during Talmadge’s physical therapy appointment. On purpose. Miranda wanted to establish herself as the commander in chief without her council automatically deferring to him.

Plus, she couldn’t think with him in the room, much less plan an attack or lead a charge.

Within fifteen minutes the room was full of chomping, slurping, moaning-at-the-decadent-flavor volunteers.

Miranda went to the whiteboard and plucked the top off of a marker. “Thanks for coming, everyone.” Her voice cracked, and she wanted to fan her eyes as she turned and looked at the roomful of helpers. For someone who had felt alone most of her life, she had a lot of friends. Maybe Talmadge was right. Asking for help wasn’t always a bad thing.

She wrote out a list on the board. “Here’s what we need to accomplish for the festival. Can I get a volunteer to head each category? Everyone else can sign up to work on a task.”

Within two minutes each category was filled, and Lorenda furiously scribbled every detail down on a notepad while Miranda wrote the names on the board so everyone could see. It took twenty minutes for Miranda to cover all of the assignments.

“Let’s meet weekly for updates. Same time, same place,” she told her crew. “I’ll bring the refreshments.”

As they stood to go, Mrs. Wilkinson walked in with her son, Bart—the Red River elementary school principal—in tow along with the mayor. She didn’t bother with a hello before launching her first barrage at Miranda.

“I brought along two respectable people in our community to witness your lack of experience and to ensure that the chairmanship is rightly switched to the better candidate.”

“This meeting is for the Hot Rides and Cool Nights Festival. You must be lost.” Francine held her travel-trailer-size purse in her lap.

Bart’s receding hairline gleamed under the fluorescent lights, and he stared at his shoes. Mayor Schmidt—a tall, seventyish man with a potbelly and a keen eye for local politics—shoved his hands in his pockets.

And wow. Mrs. Wilkinson must donate a lot of money to Mayor Schmidt’s campaigns because he looked as hen-pecked as Bart.

Joe spoke up. “Looks to me like Miranda has everything under control.”

“Sure does,” said Clydelle.

Miranda ignored her quivering stomach and pointed to the whiteboard with an air of confidence. “Everything is well in hand.”

Mrs. Wilkinson gave her a calculating smile. “I’ve got proof that someone of such”—she looked down her nose—“questionable character shouldn’t be in charge. Show them, Bart.” She elbowed her son in the ribs.

He pulled his phone out and panned the screen around the room so everyone could see.

Miranda darted over to him and snatched the phone. The
Red River Rag
was open with a picture of her wearing the strip-mining T-shirt. It was taken when she had walked out to the Dumpster to throw out the trash.

“How . . . ?” Her words trailed off, because really? Gossip flowed like water in Red River, but this was getting ridiculous in a creepy stalkerish kind of way.

The title read
Betrayal at its worst! Maybe Red River’s favorite environmental architect should find another tree to hug. Is this kind of disrespect worth Ms. Cruz wrapping her limbs around his trunk?

“How indeed?” Mrs. Wilkinson gave Miranda a smug smile. “How do you explain the lewd inference to your behavior?”

“Miranda doesn’t have to explain anything to you,” Clydelle said. “But Mayor Schmidt and I may have a story or two to tell from way back.” She waggled two bushy gray brows at the mayor. “Don’t we, Harold?”

A bead of sweat broke out on the mayor’s wrinkled forehead. “I think maybe we’ve misjudged Miss Cruz.”

A look of desperation flashed in Mrs. Wilkinson’s eyes, and she studied the whiteboard. “I don’t see the gazebo on the board. Mr. Oaks rarely came to visit his own grandmother. How can he possibly be trusted with such an important addition to our community when he doesn’t live in Red River? He’s not even here for the meeting.”

“I’m right here.” Talmadge walked in with drawings under his arm, his easy saunter exuding the self-assuredness of a leader.

Trying to keep the meeting a secret was probably silly, since this was Red River and everybody already knew what she had for breakfast by now.

“Sorry I’m late.” He took the seat closest to Miranda. “I brought preliminary plans for your approval, Madam Chairperson.” He gave her a dazzling smile. A real smile that had started to appear more and more since he’d been back in Red River. Not that half-smile that masked some sort of private pain. “I gave Ms. Cruz my word I’d be here until her inn opens.” He spoke to Mrs. Wilkinson, but he looked at Miranda. “She has my word I won’t leave until the gazebo is finished as well.”

She just stared at him, hoping the admiration in her eyes didn’t make her look weak.

He gave her an encouraging nod. “I hope they meet your specifications.” He said it like she had been the creative force behind his ideas. He placed the drawings on the conference table, and everyone leaned in to have a look. “If I didn’t capture your vision for the project, I can make as many changes as you want.” He spoke only to her, making sure everyone knew he answered to her and her alone.

Miranda wanted to kiss him. And thread her fingers through his gorgeous sandy hair. And maybe take his shirt off and run her hands all over his chest.

A storm of lust started low in her belly and gathered between her thighs. She crossed her legs and kept a determined and—hopefully—authoritative smile on her face. “Then by all means, Mr. Oaks.” That earthy purple color she loved so much flared in his eyes. “Show us what you’ve got.”