Undone (A Country Roads Novel) (5 page)

That was an apt description of him. Paige had known he was hot, but when she’d gotten a full-on look at his face without his sunglasses, she’d about melted to the floor. He had the clearest, brightest blue eyes she’d ever seen on a man. And damn, when they’d been intently focused on her she’d about lost all reason, like the fact that she couldn’t possibly like him already.

It was a problem. He was a problem. She couldn’t have feelings for him. She’d just met him, and he’d been an ass. But he’d also been really nice. And God, that smile. She’d been right—it did reach all the way up to his eyes.

“So you’re not denying it?”
Paige could hear the smile in Abby’s voice.
“You do want him to be yours.”

“I don’t even know him. I spent a total of an hour with the man and he drove me crazy for half of it.”

“What about the other half?”

For the other half he’d still driven her crazy. Just in a completely different way. There’d been that moment in his truck when he’d turned to her and apologized. It had taken Paige so off guard she’d forgotten how to speak…and how to breathe. He was lethal when he was sincere. Who was she kidding? He was lethal just existing.

“For the other half I tolerated him.”

“Liar,”
Abby said, laughing through the phone.
“Just admit it, you want him.”

“Can we talk about something else?” Paige pleaded.

“Fine. If you want to delude yourself you go ahead and do that. But I’m going to say one last thing.”

“Fine. Go.”

“This is the first time that I’ve talked to you in the past three months when you’ve actually sounded like you again.”

“I…” Paige trailed off, staring at the ceiling fan as it spun in a slow, lazy circle. She got dizzy and she closed her eyes. Too bad her spinning head had nothing to do with the fan.

“So anyways,” Abby continued, saving Paige from examining the feelings, or whatever they were, that she might or might not have for the hot mechanic.

*  *  *

The morning after Paige’s car had broken down, she sat in the kitchen in front of the computer, still wearing her pajamas and sipping on a strong cup of cinnamon-vanilla coffee. Her legs were arranged on the chair in a way that she was able to rest her chin on her left knee while her right was tucked underneath her.

She was back on the job hunt, and since she flat-out refused to use the Mirabelle Information Center Web site, she was currently scrolling through the classifieds on the town newspaper site.

“Anything?” Denise asked from the stove where she was frying bacon and scrambling eggs.

“Nope,” Paige said. “Well, they need a pizza delivery person for Papa Pan’s, but as my car isn’t running I don’t think that’s an option.”

“Hmm, maybe not. Soooo,” Denise said, dragging out the word, “has
anybody
called about your car?”

And by
anybody
, Denise meant Brendan. As soon as Trevor had mentioned Brendan’s name the night before, Denise’s face had lit up and she’d asked about a hundred questions. She was just as bad as Abby. Though Denise hadn’t called him the
hot mechanic.
No, she’d referred to him as
that nice young man
.

Oh,
that
nice young man
towed your car
?

Doesn’t
that
nice young man
just have the most gorgeous smile
?

I’m sure
that
nice young man
would be quite the catch.

Don’t you think
that
nice young man
would be more than capable of making love to you for hours on end and so thoroughly that you’d forget your own name
?

Okay, so that last one was definitely something that Paige had thought and not something that Denise had said.

“No, mother,” Paige said. “Brendan hasn’t called.”

“Oh, I didn’t mention
that nice young man’s
name. So you were thinking about him? I knew there was a spark there.”

“Mom,” Paige said, looking over her shoulder.

“What?” she asked innocently as she glanced up from the stove.

“You know what? I don’t know him at all.”

“That’s the funny thing about sparks. They’re just these teeny, tiny little embers that come out of the simplest of things and then out of nowhere you get this giant inferno.”

Paige rolled her eyes and turned back to the computer, trying to hide her smile.

“Look, I’m just happy that you’re not moping over that
asshole
anymore.”

“Wow,” Paige said, looking back at her mom in surprise. Denise Morrison did not cuss, nor had she really said anything about Dylan in the last three months. She’d pretty much just put on a face of support and kept her opinions to herself. Apparently all bets were off now. “Tell me how you really feel.”

“I do
not
like that horrible man. He wasn’t worthy of you in any capacity. Not in any way, shape, or form. And as far as I’m concerned you’re better off without that smarmy, little prick in your life.”

“What’s with the sudden honesty?”

“You were different yesterday. Different than you’ve been since you got here. I wasn’t lying when I said there was a spark, and I saw it in your eyes.”

Well, if she wasn’t the second person to say that Paige had changed since meeting Brendan.

Dylan hadn’t really been on her mind at all in the last twenty or so hours. Not since this
hot mechanic/nice young man
had crossed her path. She was still upset about the job interview joke that had happened, and she was really bummed about her Jeep, but things were definitely different today. Good different. Hopeful different.

The phone started ringing. Paige turned back to the desk and grabbed the phone next to the computer.

“Hello?” she said, running her finger down the handle of her coffee cup.

“May I speak with Paige Morrison?” Except the thickly accented male voice said
Pie-ge
instead of
Paige
.

“Speaking.” Her hand stilled.

“This is Burley Adams over at Adams and Family. I was calling about a job opening.”       

Paige’s head shot up. She hadn’t applied to any place called Adams and Family. She wasn’t even sure what they did.

“I’d like to set up an interview. For today if possible.”

“That’s possible. What time should I come in?”

“Would one o’clock work?”

“Yes.”

“Just come into the office. We’re over on the corner of Apple Orchard and Fifth Street. Just ask for me when you come in.”

“Mr. Adams, how did you hear about me?”

“Brendan King gave me your name.”

Brendan?

“Oh,” she said, her mind going blank. “Well, thank you. I’ll see you at one,” she said before she hung up.

She stared at the phone for a second in shock, unsure of what to do from here. She turned around slowly to look at her mother. Denise was beaming.

“Will you look at that? Where’s the interview?”

“Adams and Family.”

“What’s that?” Denise asked, furrowing her brow.

“I’m not sure,” Paige said, shaking her head. She’d been so thrown by Brendan’s recommendation that she’d forgotten to ask.

“How did they hear about you?”

“Brendan.”

“Huh.” Denise grinned, looking more than a little satisfied with herself. “What did I tell you.
Sparks
.”

Yeah, Paige was just concerned she was going to go up in flames again, and this time there would be nothing left.

*  *  *

Adams and Family was a funeral home.

Da-na-na, snap, snap.

Paige stood outside of the old Victorian house staring up at the two floors. It was yellow with white trim and green shutters. There was a large black sign on the lawn that read A
DAMS
AND
F
AMILY
F
UNERAL
H
OME
in big white letters. Two shiny, gray hearses were parked on the side of the building.

It’s a job,
she told herself over and over again.

Yeah, but it’s a job at a funeral home…with dead bodies.

That’s true, but you need a new radiator, which requires money, which you don’t have.

Dead bodies.

No car.

Dead bodies.

NO CAR.

Paige looked down at her bright blue silk blouse, the sleeves coming down to just above her elbows, and made sure that she was all in order. She’d gone with black pants instead of a skirt, and flat sandals instead of heels. Nothing too flashy.

“It’s now or never,” she said, walking up the steps to the porch and opening the door.

Tacky green-and-gold wallpaper covered the walls of the hallway. The carpet was a deep crimson, which really freaked her out. They could have picked any color carpet and they picked blood red?

So creepy.

A staircase stood directly in front of the door, and there was an open room to the right where a woman with short hair sat behind a desk talking on the phone.

“Yes, Mr. Landell,” she said, typing into her computer. “We have an available service on the twelfth. You can come in tomorrow at two to meet with Mr. Adams.”

She looked up at Paige and smiled, holding up a finger, and then looked back to her computer as she continued to type.

Paige took a closer look around the room as the woman wrapped up the phone call. The awful wallpaper had spilled into this room as well, the green and gold swirls not getting any better on closer inspection.

“How can I help you?” asked the woman as she stood up and walked around the desk.

She looked like she might be in her late thirties. She had a rather striking appearance. Her face screamed angles, with her sharp cheekbones and chin and the slanted cut of her short reddish-brown hair. She wore a lot of makeup, but she wore it in a flattering way, highlighting her features. She had massive perky breasts that defied gravity and she was taller than Paige.

Paige glanced down to the woman’s feet and saw four-inch black stilettos.

Now why is she allowed to wear heels and I’m not?

“I’m here for an interview with Mr. Adams.”

“Oh, he’ll be back any minute. I’m Tara, Tara Montgomery,” she said with her southern belle accent, sticking out her hand.

“Paige Morrison,” she said, shaking Tara’s hand.

“Oh, I’ve heard about you,” Tara said, giving her a big smile.

Something in Paige’s face must have dropped because Tara squeezed her hand before she let go.

“And I don’t believe any of it,” Tara said, shaking her head. “Some of these town people tend to be small-minded, but don’t you let it worry you. They weren’t that welcoming of me either when I moved down.”

“How long ago did you move here?”

“About three years.”

“And how long did it take them to warm up to you?”

Tara gave her a self-deprecating smile. “Any day now.”

The front door behind Paige opened and she turned to see the largest man she’d ever seen in her life. He was probably a foot taller than her and completely bald. There was a bright red tie around his big beefy neck, and his black suit jacket fit snuggly across his wide shoulders.

“Mr. Adams, this is Paige Morrison. She’s here for her interview,” Tara said.

He pulled out a handkerchief from the inside pocket of his jacket and rubbed it across his enormous forehead, up to the top of his head, and down to the back of his neck. He shoved it back into the inside of his jacket as he walked into the office.

“Ms. Morrison,” he said, sticking out his hand.

Paige grabbed it, thankful it wasn’t the same hand he’d just wiped his sweaty head with.

“If you’ll just come with me,” he said, walking to the closed doors next to Tara’s desk and sliding them open.

Paige followed him into a room that was just slightly bigger than Tara’s, but really not much better when it came to decorating. The wallpaper hadn’t followed them in here, but the god-awful carpet had.