What The Heart Finds (3 page)

She consciously made her
gait purposeful but slow so it didn’t look like she was running
away from him. But that was exactly what she felt like she needed to
do. Run far, run fast.

She barreled into the
first store she came across, slamming the door behind her with much
more force than necessary. There was a woman quietly reading in a
corner, she jumped and looked up. “Everything alright, dear?”
she asked and Lena looked over and found the same woman from the
dining room at the inn. Maude something-or-other.

“That man,”
she ground out between clenched teeth, waving a hand toward the
street.

“Ah,” Maude
said, smiling knowingly. “I see you have met Eric O’reilly.
He grows on you,” she said in a strange maternal tone.

“What? Like a
fungus?” Lena asked, her tone dry and Maude cackled.

She stood up slowly,
making her way to the door. “Oh, you’ll see, dear. You’ll
see,” she said and walked out. Still holding the book she had
been reading.

“Um,” Lena
called into the silent store. “if anyone is here… that
woman just left with a book.”

“She can take
anything she wants if it keeps her from lecturing me,” a male
voice called out, nonchalant, completely unconcerned about money
walking out the door.

“That is hardly a
good business model,” she called back, making her way toward
the back of the store where the voice, and the enticing smell of
fresh coffee, was coming from.

“And you’re
an expert in business?” the voice asked, cocky.

“Well I have a
masters in business so… yes,” she said, knowing her tone
was haughty and dismissive.

She finally found the
source of the voice, and coffee, in a little fenced in café
area with several small tables painted in bold colors, a dessert
chest, and a coffee counter. The man was turned away from her,
thumbing through a massive book he had propped up on top of an
espresso machine.

“Are you actually
here to buy a book, or just brag about your accomplishments?”
he asked, finally turning around.

“Jesus christ,”
Lena said, loudly. “You cant be serious.” Because there
in front of her was another tall, thin, pale, black-haired,
sharp-featured ridiculously good looking man. Obviously related to
the obnoxious Eric O’reilly. And judging by his age, she
guessed they were brothers. This O’reilly’s hair was
slightly longer on top with a strong undercut and almost transparent
gray eyes. A tattoo peeked out from the side of his neck. He wore
jeans, a t-shirt, and huge bulky whit sweater left open in front.

It was wrong for a town
to have two of them, she decided with a shake of her head. The poor,
poor female residents.

“I am serious,”
he said, smirking slightly. “I have been told that selling
books is apparently good for my business.”

“Yes,” Lena
said, her tone as dry as his. “you’re very clever. Ha ha.
I’m bowled over by your intelligence. Please tell me that
coffee is fresh.”

He smiled at her, a
gesture that seemed foreign to his severe face. “Always,”
he said, reaching for a mug. “Organic whole, skim, soy, almond,
or coconut milk?”

Lena walked up to the
counter, eyeing the pastries suspiciously. “Skim is fine. Where
do you get the pastries from? There isn’t a bakery in town.”

“One of the ladies
in town does it for me as a favor,” he said nonchalantly.
“They’re not the best, but they fill the cabinet. Sugar?”

“One,” Lena
said, silently thinking about how pitifully flat the chocolate chip
cookies were.

“I’m Liam,”
he said, pushing her coffee cup across the counter at her. “I
see you met my brother.”

“What?” Lena
asked, looking over her shoulder out the front window. There wasn’t
a clear view of the gas station from where they stood. She turned
back to Liam with drawn in eyebrows. He reached across the counter,
rubbing his thumb across her chin. “Oh my god,” she
groaned. “what is with you O’reilly’s and touching
women you don’t even know?”

Liam straightened,
pulling his hand away and holding it out to her. His thumb was
covered in something nondescript and black. “Easy,” he
said, his voice mocking. “just cleaning off the mark he left on
you. You’re not my type.” Lena grabbed a napkin off the
counter, scrubbing furiously at her chin. “I like practical
women.”

Lena dropped the napkin
in the trash bin, feeling insulted. She was practical. No one would
ever accuse her of not being pragmatic. “I’m practical,”
she said, reaching for her wallet.

“Your heels and
clothes say otherwise,” Liam said with a infuriating raised
brow.

“What is wrong with
my clothes?”

“Are we in an
office building?” Liam asked, waving a hand out. “Besides…
spending that much money on slacks is a crime.”

“Isn’t it
impractical to know the price of clothing that you turn your nose up
at?” she asked, shoving a five dollar bill across the counter.

Liam took the money, a
smirk just like his brother’s playing at his lips. “I
know everything,” he said in a tone that left very little room
for argument.

“Congratulations,”
Lena said, taking her change and putting it away. “That must
come in handy out here in the boonies,” she said over her
shoulder as she walked to a table, intent on answering some work
emails on her cell.

She stared down at her
phone until she noticed Liam shrug and turn his attention back to his
book. She hated verbal sparring. She always came off as the haughty
bitch no matter what the situation. She did take a little more
pleasure than she cared to admit, though, in taking Liam O’reilly
down a notch. Where did he get off being so cocky and obnoxious
anyway? Maybe it was just a family trait. Maybe they weren’t
raised with any manners.

She typed on her phone
for the better part of an hour. Looking up to see Liam otherwise
occupied with his book, she went to browse the aisles. She sat down
in a quiet corner, deciding to pour over an automotive manual until
she felt she could have a somewhat knowledgeable conversation with
Eric O’reilly.

She closed the book on
her lap with a sigh, rubbing her eyes, deciding that cars were just
ridiculous contraptions. She had skimmed the book cover to cover
twice and still didn’t understand any of it.

Carefully putting the
book back on the shelf so nothing looked out of place, Lena made her
way back out into town, popping in and out of stores, trying to get a
general feel for the place.

And she found it
surprisingly warm. People smiled at her and welcomed her to Stars
Landing. She was told three times about the tasting at Sam Flynn’s
farm the next day. Apparently it was a big deal.

“Yes, he’s
quite a young man. Quite a young man,” Hank, who had a nametag
on proclaiming ‘Hank The Friendly Grocer’ on it. “And
you can pick up some of that fancy soap they have at the inn over at
Sam’s too.”

“Oh,” Lena
said, interest peaked. Her skin was still carrying the pleasing
lavender and lemon scent. “he has a bath supplies business as
well?”

“No,” Hank
said, laughing. “No no, dear. But his wife does.”

“Annabelle Goode,”
Lena pieced together. She smiled, shaking her head. Small towns were
something.

“Exactly. Best
couple you ever seen. You’ll see for yourself if you come
tomorrow. Pretty much the whole town will be there.”

“I would love to.
I’ll have to see if my car is fixed by then,” she said, a
turning feeling settling in her stomach because it was almost time to
go back and check on it. And talk to the cocky Eric O’reilly
again.

A strange, knowing look
came over Hank’s otherwise friendly look. “I see. So
you’ve met Eric O’reilly.”

“Unfortunately,
yes.”

“It’s just…
you know… how do I say this?” Hank mumbled, looking
genuinely uncomfortable. “It’s just… you seem like
a nice young lady,” he said and Lena suddenly felt like a
teenager again. “And you see… Eric has quite the, um,
reputation with women. I just don’t want to see you…”

“Oh no,” Lena
said, smiling and holding up a hand to stop him. “don’t
worry. I see right through that man. And I am definitely not
interested,” she said, her words a bit too firm.

“Good. Good. Glad
to hear it,” Hank said, his smiling self again. “Well I
hope you can make it tomorrow. Should be quite the gathering,”
he said, moving on to talk to someone about pickles.

Lena shook her head
leaving the store, making the trip back toward the gas station. It
was like Hank wanted to warn her away from Eric because it might
sully her view of the entire town. He couldn’t possibly be that
much trouble.

The doors to the garage
were open, classic rock blaring from a stereo system toward the back.
Lena paused for a moment, taking a deep breath, putting her walls
into place. She would need all the help she could get.

“Excuse me,”
she called, her voice drowned out by the music. “Hello? Mr.
O’reilly?”

“Right here
sweetheart,” he said from behind her, making her jump and spin
around. “And it’s Eric.”

“Right,” she
said, smoothing a hand down her shirt. He was so close…
apparently completely oblivious to the concept of personal space. She
retreated a step, looking over at her car for a second. “So
what is the verdict?” she asked, looking back at him so it
didn’t look like he had any kind of effect on her. He didn’t.
Nope. Not at all. “Was it the cheap gas I got a few towns out?
Or a timing problem?”

Eric smiled then, a slow
forming smile. The scar in his cheek etching deeper and his eyes
crinkling up slightly at the edges. “Enjoyed that repair
manual, did we?” he asked, his tone light and teasing.

Lena felt her eyes widen
for a split second, her stomach doing a sick little flip-flop at
being caught. God, but how she hated being embarrassed. She was just
thankful she wasn’t the kind of girl to blush. “You and
your brother are very similar.”

“Thank you,”
he said, wiping his hands on a red rag he pulled out of his back
pocket.

“It wasn’t a
compliment,” she said, her tone irritated.

“Wasn’t it?”
he asked, his gray eyes finding hers, piercing from under heavy lids.
He watched her for a second before taking a step closer.

“Oh my god,”
she said, throwing up her hands. “This is my space,” she
said, making a half circle in front of her, then one in front of him.
“and that is yours.”

“You’re wound
like a top, aren’t you?” he asked, a glint in his eyes
that he was suggesting exactly what she was thinking.

Lena closed her eyes for
a second, trying to clear her mind of the image of him naked that had
suddenly flashed into her mind. “Just tell me about my car,”
she said, opening her eyes, and shaking her head.

“Only if you say
please,” he said, his face losing some of it’s arrogance.

“You cant be
serious,” she started, but then one of his perfect black
eyebrows arched up slightly and she sighed. “Fine…
please.”

“Well… your
new found extensive car knowledge aside,” he said, smirking. “I
will put this in easy terms. You need an engine rebuild.”

Lena felt the words
settle on her heavy. Of course. Of course she would need the most
expensive and time-consuming repair. It was like the universe was
trying to keep her stranded in that town.

“Look if it’s
the money…”

“It’s not the
money,” she said quickly. Too quickly. Too desperately. It
wasn’t the money. She couldn’t let it be the money. That
was never going to be her life again. She swore she would never let
herself live in a way that money was the biggest factor in
decision-making. “It’s the… time,” she said,
her tone less urgent.

“Yeah,” Eric
said, shrugging. “unfortunately there isn’t much I can do
about that. If it was another car, I could take a trip to the
junkyard a few towns over… see what I could find to work with.
But with your ridiculous foreign car here…”

“Hey,” she
broke in, feeling insulted. Which was stupid. But she had spent
months researching cars before making her decision. “It’s
a good car.”

“Sure,” he
said, his lips quirked up like he was privy to some secret she
wasn’t. “if you like spending three times the money for
every simple repair. But anyway,” he said, moving back out of
the garage, away from the music. “there wont be any cars like
this at the junkyard. So I am going to need to special order all the
parts new. It’s going to take a while to get them in and then
the repair itself will take several days.”

“Wonderful,”
Lena said, her tone resigned.

“Hey…”
he said, his head tilted slightly. “there are worse places to
be stranded. And… worse people to be stranded with,” he
said, leaning closer to her.

A part of her wanted to
close the distance between them. To go up on her tip toes and kiss
him. Get it over with. Get the tension out of the way. Because it was
there, palpable, insistent. But it was a horrible idea. Everything
about Eric O’reilly screamed “bad news”. And the
last thing she needed was to get involved with any kind of trouble in
some back wood town she was now stuck in.