It's In His Smile (A Red River Valley Novel Book 3) (15 page)

Sitting at the head of the large oval table, Miranda maintained her composure but not without a sexy flush seeping into her cheeks. The gratitude in her expression, not to mention the craving in her eyes that said she wanted a Talmadge sandwich for lunch, was priceless.

It also made him feel like something he should be scraping off the bottom of his shoe after taking Lloyd for a walk in a dog park. The half-truth he’d told her, leaving out the part about inheriting a truckload of money if he stayed until her inn opened, suddenly became almost as suffocating as the memories of what he’d done to cause his parents’ accident. Even if telling her did violate the terms of Bea’s will.

He scooted his chair in, spreading out his sketches.

His gaze moved over her pretty face to anchor to those plump lips. Which she pulled between her teeth.

“That doesn’t change the fact that Mr. Oaks isn’t a true resident of Red River. We should use someone local,” Mrs. Wilkinson protested.

“He was raised here,” Joe said without looking in Old Lady Wilkinson’s direction. “That’s good enough.”

“I think you’ll agree that my design represents Red River beautifully.” That was one of his gifts, and the reason he not only excelled at architecture, but eclipsed every architect in the world when it came to environmental designs. He was a master at designing structures that blended with natural landscapes, cultures, and atmospheres.

“My husband and I will fund the project if we find someone else.” She sniffed. “And appoint a new chairperson.”

“We don’t need your money,” said Joe. “We’ll raise the funds ourselves. I’m having the first fundraiser at my establishment, and I’ve contacted other local business owners who are on board with raising money.”

Mrs. Wilkinson’s mouth clamped shut, and her lips thinned.

“I have an idea that might help out with that.” Talmadge looked only at Miranda, because how could he not? Her chocolaty eyes got bigger with every thread of help he stitched into her leadership role. “Actually, I got the idea from Miranda.” Her eyes widened another notch. “She doesn’t waste things.” When she smiled, the dimples in her cheeks almost made his heart stop. “I’d like to use as many recycled materials as possible. If we ask people and businesses in town to donate something from their homes, barns, anything really, I can make it work. McCall’s Hardware has offered to donate supplies. Anything else we need we can buy with the money we raise. It would be a new structure, but still have a nostalgic meaning for the community. It would be more historic, like the buildings on Main Street.”

A ripple of oohs and ahs went around the table.

Miranda leaned over to get a better look at the drawings, and her fresh lemony scent drove him to the edge. When she glanced up, the look of approval in her eyes made his chest expand. The softness in her eyes made him want to snatch her up and kiss her, tell her the truth about his inheritance, and then take her to bed, if she’d have him.

She studied the drawings and placed a slender finger on the top of the gazebo. “That’s the weather vane on top of the inn.” Her voice had dropped to a whisper.

Talmadge nodded, appreciative and impressed by the fact that she recognized it. “Would you consider donating it? It represents both Bea and you.” The two women he cared most about in the world. The thought shook him, and it took a second to catch his breath. “Maybe some of the churches in town, and Uncle Joe, and any number of people could donate something.”

“Our church won’t donate a thing,” Mrs. Wilkinson huffed.

“There’s plenty of other churches in town that would be more than happy to donate something,” Joe said.

“It could be like paying homage to Red River,” Miranda murmured. “Our history. Our culture.”

Yes. Exactly. But mostly, a tribute to her, even though no one would ever know. He’d been thinking of her when he designed it. The two skylights were her eyes, and the small river running around the gazebo to converge into a waterfall with a small footbridge over it was her silky hair. The pearl color of the paint was her skin, and the red trim of the eaves and the wood bench inside was the color of her lips.

“Do something,” Mrs. Wilkinson hissed at her son and the mayor.

But if anyone in the room had been paying the slightest bit of attention to her before, they had definitely tuned her out completely now. No way would Bart and Mayor Schmidt try to get rid of Talmadge with such a landmark idea, especially since he was offering his services for free.

A glint of something formed in Miranda’s eyes. “It’s a wonderful idea, Talmadge.” Her voice was wistful. “And a beautiful thing to do for the people here.”

Talmadge blinked, her words zinging through his creative mind.
Holy shit.
That was it! The answer to Trinity Falls. A gift to the indigenous people. An homage to the native tribes in Washington, with Trinity Falls blending with the natural landscape and flowing
around
the ancient ruins instead of through them.

And he had Miranda to thank for it. He’d stayed in Red River to gain his inheritance by helping save her investment in the inn. Instead, she may have just saved him financially and professionally. If the tribal leaders saw the project as a tribute to all of their people, they might allow Trinity Falls to move forward.

“I’m good with it,” said Joe.

“Wait!” Mrs. Wilkinson demanded.

“Let’s put it to a vote,” Francine said.

Clydelle leaned over and spoke to her sister and her partner in all things mischief. “We don’t need to vote. Miranda is the chairperson. Whatever she says goes.”

Everyone in the room looked at her, waiting.

She looked around the room, her confidence obviously growing because she sat a little taller. She nodded. “I approve.” She pulled her lip between her teeth. She did that a lot. When she was nervous, or unsure, or happy. It played hell with his concentration.

He gathered up the plans and shoved them under his arm. “I’ll leave you all to finish up.” He needed to get the heck out of there and call his firm back in Washington. If he was lucky, he might be able to salvage
his
professional reputation before it was too late.

C
hapter
T
hirteen

On Saturday night Miranda propped her feet on her coffee table and flipped through the channels, tired from a long day’s work.

She needed a few hours alone. A little time without Talmadge’s woodsy scent, incredible mane of hair, and sexy, well-equipped tool belt tempting her to throw her friendly professionalism under the bus and nail him in the biblical sense.

Miranda had never dated because she feared what people might assume. Because of rumors that started small and grew into a cancer that choked the life out of a person before they could stop it. Spending time with Talmadge every day at the inn and every evening working on the gazebo and festival only made her want more of what she couldn’t have. The random touches of their hands, brushes of their arms, grazes of their legs, not to mention how she sometimes caught him watching her . . .

A pull started low in her belly.

With so much testosterone flowing off of him that it caused her thighs to clench every time she looked in his direction, she wasn’t completely responsible for her actions if those random touches, brushes, and grazes led to him kissing her again. Or if he kept looking at her from under those sleepy, sexy long lashes. He was too damn gorgeous for his own good. Or for Miranda’s own good.

She’d done without a man . . . a relationship . . .
sex
for this long, she didn’t want to break her record with someone who wasn’t in her long-term future. Again. She was already much more dependent on Talmadge than she wanted to be. And she was getting used to his company. Which was bad news. He wouldn’t be around forever, and she could stand on her own two feet without a man . . . without Talmadge Oaks.

Her phone range, the custom ringtone blasting out her favorite classic rock song by Bob Seger, “Old Time Rock and Roll.” Of all the strange things her mother had tried to instill in her, a love of classic rock and roll was the only thing that seemed to stick. She glanced at the caller ID. Taking a deep breath, she answered.

“Are you ready?” Talmadge asked before she could say hello.

“No.” She glanced at the clock on the wall. It said five fifteen. She punched the remote until she found a rerun of one of her favorite reality shows. “Joe’s fundraiser doesn’t start for almost two hours.” She wanted to relax for a few minutes. Kick back and maybe eat a gallon of ice cream.

“It’s seven o’clock. We’re already late.”

She studied the clock on the wall. The second hand didn’t move.
Crap.
The batteries had to give out today?

“Open the outside door to your suite. It’s locked.”

Miranda sat up. “You’re here?” She looked down at her faded pink sweatpants and old Three Little Pigs sweatshirt that was two sizes two big and had a bleached Clorox stain on the front. Her hand flew to her hair, still wet from a shower. Greeting Talmadge at the door in worn-out clothes she’d owned since puberty wasn’t how she intended to start the night. He was probably used to his dates wearing Prada. Or at least some sort of expensive designer faux leather so no animals had to die.

But Miranda wasn’t his date. Maybe her appearance would remind both of them of that. Or maybe it would only make her feel more inadequate.

Her heart rate doubled.

“Glad you keep your door locked, by the way. Bea never did.” His voice streaming through the phone startled her.

“I’m not dressed to go out.”

“What are you wearing this time? An ‘I Club Baby Seals’ T-shirt? Come on, open up.”

“Go. Away.” She didn’t try to hide her grating tone. “I’ll meet you there.”

“Not going away.” Talmadge’s voice sounded amused. “If you don’t open the door, I’ll call the sheriff and tell him you had a break-in. You and whatever you’re wearing will show up on Tumblr before morning.”

Her eyes slid shut. “I’d rather watch reality TV. Alone. I like
Fast N’ Loud
.” She got up and went to the door. She threw the deadbolt and slid the chain off its track, tugging the door open at the same moment she realized what she’d just said sounded amazingly sexual. Especially when saying it to an incredibly attractive man who oozed alpha hotness from his very pores.

And oh baby, there he was, lounging against the doorframe like he was as comfortable in his own skin as she was in her faded Three Little Pigs sweatshirt. He wore a white linen dress shirt, the sleeves cuffed up on his forearms. He was the only man she’d ever met who filled out a pair of faded Levi’s better than a male fashion model.

His mouth turned up into a cocky smile, and he stared at her with the phone still to his ear.

“I like it fast and loud, too, but not alone.” His tone was as smart-ass as his smile.

Miranda’s throat closed.

“And if I insist on going separate from you?” she said into the phone, even though they were face-to-face.

His eyes sank to the three small swine stitched across her sweatshirt. “I’ll huff and puff and blow your house down.”

“I’m hanging up on you.” She tapped the End button with exaggerated flare, then turned and walked back into the den.

“Ouch. That hurt. I may not recover.”

She ignored him. Until she remembered that the word “Juicy” was scrawled across the seat of her sweatpants. A typical Christmas gift from her mother, which Miranda only wore in the privacy of her own home. When her splayed hand flew to her backside, Talmadge laughed.

Hellfire.

“Can I come in?” he asked with too much confidence. She should say no just on principle.

“Might as well. You’re here.” She turned to face him with both hands on her hips. He stepped over the threshold. When he turned to shut the door, the sculpted muscles of his forearms shifted and flexed.

Involuntarily, Miranda’s tongue darted out to trace her lower lip.

“Uncle Joe is waiting for us. The place is already packed, and a reporter from Red River’s real newspaper is going to be there.”

“Um, seriously.” She fanned a hand over her comfy attire. “I didn’t realize how late it was. It’s going to take time to get ready, so maybe you should go without me. Tell them I’m sick or something.” She couldn’t stop her gaze from scanning his entire length.

“It’s Joe’s, not a state dinner at the White House.” He tapped at the screen of his phone and handed it to her.

The
Red River Rag
’s latest post was a picture of her and Talmadge unloading supplies from the back of his truck. Lloyd’s head was sticking out of a backpack that Talmadge had modified to carry the little guy around so he wouldn’t get stepped on or so they wouldn’t have to lock him in the bathroom to keep him out of harm’s way. The caption read,
Red River’s newest lovebirds are making a nice little nest together. The inn is transforming before our eyes, and their “baby” is snug as a bug.

“Wow,” Miranda mumbled.

“Scroll down,” Talmadge said.

She did and there was another post—she and Talmadge in Brandenburg Park, directing the start of the gazebo.
Red River sweethearts work together to make our little community a sweeter place. Is it too much to hope that they stay together? Or will it turn sour when our favorite architect flies the coop to go northwest for the summer?

“Oh, for God’s sake.” Miranda wanted to scream. But it was a fair question. One to which she didn’t want to find out the answer. Hence, the friendly professionalism.

Talmadge gently retrieved his phone from her grip with a lazy smile on his lips. “Go get ready. We’re going to Joe’s together, because it looks like the tide of public opinion is turning in your favor.”

Shouts of approval rang out when Miranda and Talmadge walked into Joe’s an hour later to boost enthusiasm for the festival and gazebo and hopefully jump-start the fundraising efforts. Being the center of attention when everyone thought she and Talmadge were sweethearts made her want to bolt.

Talmadge must have felt her tense. Or maybe he noticed that she held her breath until her lungs wanted to burst. He placed a warm, firm hand to the small of her back and gave her a little nudge. The warm contact made flames shoot all the way to her toes. She should’ve worn a thinner top, because his touch and the white sweater she had grabbed from her closet in a rush were making her sweat. She faked a bright smile and tried to dazzle the crowd.

Joe’s new waitress grabbed two menus. “Y’all follow me. Joe has a table saved for you in the back.” With a ballpoint pen tucked behind one ear and enough hairspray on her teased salt-and-pepper hair to hold together a mudslide, she led them through the restaurant.

If Miranda thought Talmadge would move his hand when she started toward their table, she was wrong. To pull away she lengthened her strides. So did he, and his palm stayed flush and oh so electrifying against that intimate spot just above the waistband of her denim miniskirt. Her back brushed his shoulder as he gently guided her forward, staying so close that his musky soap made her mouth water.

“What are you doing?” she whispered.

She tried to focus on the sound of crunching peanut shells under their feet as they followed her replacement past the checkered tables of beaming patrons. But not the peanut shells, or the country-and-western music that played in the background, or the chatter and obnoxious whispers from every table they passed could distract her from the sizzle of electricity that started at her waist where his hand rested and skated up her torso into her tightening nipples.

“Making sure you don’t chicken out.” He dipped his head and whispered into her ear. “You need to be here tonight. You’re their leader until the festival is over whether you know it or not.”

“Why would I chicken out?” Sure, she hadn’t been able hide the shiver that had started in her legs on the drive over. Come to think of it, she should’ve worn a longer skirt to hide her knees, which were in a full-blown knocking state by the time they walked through Joe’s front door. “Do I look scared?”

“Like you’ve seen a ghost.” He increased the pressure against the small of her back.

Several tables greeted them as they followed the waitress around the wood dance floor and headed to the back of the cavernous room. Miranda waved and smiled and waved and smiled.

“Why? You’ve known these people for years.”

“Some of them don’t think too highly of me because of my mother,” she said point-blank. “Guilt by association, I guess.”

The server stopped at a table along the back wall of Joe’s and held out a hand. “Here y’all go. Just for you two lovebirds.” She set the menus in the center of the table and darted back to the front where a few more groups had walked in.

“I think you have more support in this town than you realize.” Before they sat down, he glanced around the room where just about everyone was watching them. “Look.” He nodded to the room of onlookers and turned his gaze back on her. “They don’t look like a roomful of haters to me.”

“They’re staring at you,” she said.

“Then it’s a good thing you came tonight. When you put on a festival that kicks ass and takes names, they’ll wonder why they hadn’t given you more credit.”

Talmadge guided Miranda into the booth and slid in opposite her.

She squirmed at the stares that kept darting in their direction. And the whispers. The whispers were the hardest to take because of the whispers that had circulated about her mother ever since Miranda was old enough to understand what they were about. They had been humiliating. Cruel even, because some people expected Miranda to be cut from the same rode-hard-and-put-away-wet cloth. And Miranda would rather die a thousand deaths than relive the shame she’d felt from those malicious whispers and stinging stares.

“I’m not used to being the center of attention. It’s unnerving.” She crossed her legs and waggled her foot.

“Get used to it,” Talmadge said. “The
Red River Record
is interviewing you tonight. Their lead reporter has television experience and has connections with a camera crew in Taos, so he’s agreed to film the progress of the inn. If we use a local crew, they’ll be at our disposal and can document more of the renovations. I’ve got a syndicated home show lined up to edit the footage and run an episode when we’re done.” He unfolded a checkered napkin. “I’ve already informed the show that they can mention my name but you’re doing all the talking.”