Kitabı oku: «An Imperfect Match / Next Comes Love», sayfa 5
“Honey could fall. This isn’t something that can be ignored, Annabelle.” He earned a sharp look, but he didn’t care. He already hated the idea of Honey and Annabelle living in that place because of the neighbors on the other side. They looked a little rough.
“It’s not your concern. Thank you, anyway,” Annabelle replied curtly, sending him the clear message that she didn’t like to be treated like a pet project. “Besides, with the weather turning soon, I won’t have much need for open windows anyway.”
“There are liability issues,” he argued. “It’s not as simple as you just choosing not to open your windows. And then there’s also the issue of the landlord refusing to provide the basics of his responsibilities to his tenant. My dad used to own plenty of rental properties. Trust me, I know all the work that goes into owning them. When I was growing up, my brothers and I spent many of our weekends helping Dad do repairs. Your landlord is a bad one,” he finished.
“Be that as it may, I don’t need you poking your nose into my business. Bad landlords have a tendency to kick out their troublemaker tenants, if you catch my drift.”
“That would be a blessing,” Dean muttered.
“Not for Honey and me. In case you haven’t noticed, there’s a shortage of rentals in Emmett’s Mill. We were lucky to find this place.”
Dean opened his mouth, ready to argue some more just for the sake of keeping his mind occupied, but she had a valid point. He thought of his expansive home and the two spare bedrooms gathering dust, but before he could continue in that direction, he shook himself loose of that particular brand of crazy. Annabelle and Honey could not move in with him and Brandon. For one, Brandon would declare a mutiny and two, it was just plain stupid.
Focus on what you can fix, Dean told himself. Like window screens and broken cars.
Yeah, Halvorsen…stick to those.
CHAPTER NINE
“SUGAR?” Annabelle exclaimed, staring in dismay at Jonas, the head mechanic at Mountain Motors as he wiped the grease and motor oil from his fingers. “How does sugar get into the gas tank? Is that something that happens naturally?” she asked, knowing she was teetering on the edge of desperate with her questioning. Deep down she knew the answer but she was praying she was wrong.
She wasn’t.
“Uh, no.” Jonas shook the dirty mop he called a head of hair regretfully. “Someone put it there. Screwed up your fuel intake valve, too. Possibly even your fuel pump.”
Annabelle groaned but didn’t have time to cry. Her lunch was only an hour and she had to get back to the office. “Let’s get down to brass tacks. Two questions. What’s this going to cost me and how long will it take to fix it?”
Jonas sucked his front teeth as he mentally counted the beans in his head and answered, “About $800, give or take a few.”
“A few what?”
“Hunnerd.”
It might as well be a million. She didn’t have it. “Right.” She drew a deep breath, her brain whirring fast. If it weren’t for bad luck she wouldn’t have any. “I don’t have that kind of cash right now,” she said, going straight to the point. “But, uh, we could work out a deal, like trade for something?”
Jonas’s eyes widened and he shook his head in alarm. “You’re pretty and all but I’m a married man. I don’t reckon my wife would take too kindly to any sort of arrangement, Miss Annabelle. I’m sorry.”
Annabelle’s cheeks burned as she grasped what Jonas thought she was offering. “God, no, Jonas. I didn’t mean that. I just meant if you had some office work you needed some help with, computer work, or, hell, I don’t know, maybe someone to clean up a bit, then I could help out in that way in exchange for the repair.”
Jonas relaxed but he shook his head again. “Sorry, no computer. We do everything by hand, and, well, we already have a cleaning lady who comes once a month to scrub the toilets and such. We aren’t that picky and she does a good enough job. I’m right sorry, Miss Annabelle.” He paused, then added with a grin that showed off the gap in his front teeth, “I won’t charge you for the diagnostic or the tow. It’s on the house. I’ll even take it back to your place for you. I heard you don’t live too far out of town.”
She swallowed around the lump in her throat even as she fought to keep her voice strong and bright. “Don’t be silly. You performed a service. You should be paid for it. You’re not running a charity, Jonas. It’s a business. How much do I owe you?”
Jonas sighed heavily as if he hated to tell her. “Seventy-five.”
She winced privately but grabbed her checkbook. “Check okay?”
“Of course. I know you’re good for it. Dean Halvorsen wouldn’t have hired you if he didn’t think you were good folk.” She smiled tightly and handed him the check. He gave it a cursory glance before saying, “Listen, when you get the money, you bring the car back and I’ll give you the newcomer ten percent discount off the total repair. It’s the least I can do.”
“Thank you, Jonas. Just leave the keys in the car when you drop it off.”
“Sure thing, Miss Annabelle. Take care.”
DEAN WAS packing up the last of his work tools when Sammy walked over to him, his expression puzzled. “You know anything about what went wrong with Annabelle’s car?”
Dean shook his head. “No. Why?”
“Dana just told me that Annabelle said someone put sugar in her gas tank.”
Dean stopped to stare at his brother. “Sugar?”
“Yeah. That’s pretty deliberate. Who’d want to do that?”
“I don’t know.” But he agreed with Sammy. Whoever did it meant to do something mean.
“Dana already took Annabelle and Honey home for the night so you don’t need to take them,” Sammy said, his expression still worried. “I gotta tell you, brother. This bothers me.”
“Me, too,” Dean admitted, glancing at Sammy. “You said something about Annabelle and Dana coming from troubled backgrounds. Anything I should know about?” Sammy’s silence was telling. Dean sighed. “Sammy, if she’s in some kind of trouble…”
“You gotta ask her, man. Dana swore me to secrecy and it’s nothing that’s Annabelle’s fault, but she should be the one to tell people if she wants them to know. Understand?”
“Yeah. I do.”
Sammy nodded, his relief evident. But as Dean went to climb into his truck, Sammy stopped him, his grave expression distinctly at odds with his usual jocular attitude. “No matter what, she’s a good person. Loyal to a fault I’d say. In some ways, she’s a lot like Beth.”
At the mention of his dead wife’s name, Dean tried not to stiffen. He knew Sammy was just trying to draw a parallel, but Dean was like a wounded bear inside when it came to the memory of his wife. Sometimes he couldn’t help but lash out at the people trying to reach out to him. “They’re nothing alike,” he said, pushing away the ache he felt inside. “And never will be.”
KNEES TUCKED into her chest, Annabelle willed the panic away. Someone had deliberately sabotaged her car. No one knew her here, which led her to surmise that someone from Hinkley had done this. And there was only one person she could imagine who hated her so much that they’d do such a thing.
Buddy. Her gaze strayed to the slip of paper lying on her coffee table. He was out on parole after serving eight years of his sixteen-year sentence. The prison system’s reward for good behavior.
And if it had been Buddy, this little stunt was simply a calling card. An ominous reminder that they had a score to settle, and he was ready to collect.
Shivering, she drew her knees tighter and squeezed her eyes shut to block out the fear that when she least expected it, his face would pop into view. Snarling, or worse, grinning with his jackal smile as he stalked her with revenge in his heart.
A knock at the front door nearly sent her hurtling to the floor in one startled movement as her heartbeat thundered in her ears. It was too late for visitors and it wasn’t like her neighbors were the sort to borrow a cube of butter. Her eyes watered and she wiped at them angrily. Get hold of yourself! It was highly unlikely Buddy was on the other side of that door, she told herself as she walked on wobbly legs to answer. “Who is it?” she asked, her voice still a bit high-pitched to sound normal.
“Dean.”
Relief was instant, but it served to make her knees even less stable. “What are you doing here so late?” she asked, opening the door and letting him in.
“We need to talk.”
“About what?” Annabelle asked, sincerely puzzled. “Is this about the new phone directory? I know I didn’t ask but your Rolodex is outdated. It’s a pain to go through and try to update those little cards when everything today is done digitally. The computer program I downloaded can be hot synced with your PDA—”
“I’m not talking about the damn phone directory. I want to know who would want to hurt you and Honey.”
She swallowed, stunned at his blunt question and how easily he managed to zero in on her biggest fear. Her eyes widened and she shook her head. “I don’t know,” she lied. The less Dean knew about her childhood in Hinkley, the better off he’d be. It was her burden to bear. No one else’s.
Crossing into the living room, she curled into a ball on the sofa. “It was probably some dumb kid playing a prank,” she said, trying to throw him off the true reason for her fear. “I admit, it’s a pretty nasty prank.” And an expensive one, she almost added, but didn’t want him to offer to pay for it because she could almost sense that’s where he was going. “And here I thought small towns were full of nothing but nice people. Hmm, guess not.”
Dean exhaled, regarding her with that steady gaze, seeming to pierce right through her flimsy excuse until she fought the urge to squirm. “Are you in trouble?” he asked quietly.
She laughed, but the sound was ragged even to her own ears. “No more than anyone else who just found out someone had tried to mix baking ingredients in her gas tank. This is more of a nuisance than anything else. It really puts a cramp in my travel plans.” She tried joking but, damn the man, he wasn’t laughing. Suddenly tired of her own game, Annabelle dropped the act. “Dean…I don’t know who might’ve done this. All I know is I’m without a vehicle in a town without public transit. That’s what I’m focusing on right now. Okay?”
“I’ll help you.”
“I don’t want your help.”
“Why not?”
She sighed, wishing for a millisecond that her principles weren’t so ironclad, that she could just allow herself to sink into his strong arms, even for a moment, to let someone else shoulder the weight crushing her. But it was a foolish wish because Annabelle could never do that. She’d never allow herself to depend on someone else so completely. “Because I’m not the kind of woman who looks for someone to save her. I will save myself. I’ve been doing it for years and I’ve had plenty of practice.”
“I have a car you can borrow while yours is in the shop,” Dean said as if she hadn’t just spoken. “It’s in good shape and you need a reliable car.”
“What did I just say? Stop trying to save me! I can’t borrow one of your vehicles. What would people think?”
He looked at her incredulously. “Who cares?”
“I do.”
“Has it ever occurred to you that you worry about all the wrong things?”
She drew back. “Excuse me?”
“If you’re so worried about what people think why do you dress like you do?”
“I beg your pardon?” She could feel her cheeks pinking as a wave of mortification rolled over her. Suddenly, she was back in high school and the popular girls were criticizing her wardrobe. It was stupid to draw the parallel—she was not in high school any longer—but the feeling his statement evoked was pretty much the same. “Who are you to criticize my clothes?”
“Your boss,” he answered bluntly and she could only stare. Her momentary silence prompted him to continue though Annabelle was quite certain she didn’t want to hear any more of what Dean Halvorsen had to say.
“If you don’t want men to stare at your breasts don’t put them on a platter. If you don’t want people to think that you’re less than who you are, don’t give them an opportunity. You come to work decked out in hooker heels and tight tanks that leave nothing to the imagination and then act all indignant when men like Aaron Eagle come sniffing around.”
“I never encouraged that man’s attention. If you recall I was quite clear on how I stood in regards to his advances.” Stung, she blinked back angry tears. “And, excuse me, but I didn’t realize my wardrobe was so offensive. I thought I was dressed nicely,” she added, the starch in her tone disintegrating with a watery hiccup that made her cheeks burn that much more hotly for the pitiful sound. Grinding the moisture from her eyes, she pulled the afghan her mother had knitted from the top of the sofa and tucked it around herself as if the soft yarn could protect her from further insult, hoping the gesture was enough to communicate that he was no longer welcome.
But he didn’t leave. Damn the man. She sent a nasty look his way. “Anything else you have a problem with? My hair perhaps? Or my eyes? Maybe those aren’t to your liking, either.” Too bad. There was nothing she could do about those. Not that she could change her wardrobe, either. It wasn’t as if she had room in her budget for new clothes.
A long enough moment passed between them that Annabelle started to feel the silence as if it were a living, breathing thing and she wasn’t happy with its presence. She risked another glance his way, this time not as angry but still hurt, and she caught the open chagrin in his expression. She softened, knowing without having to hear the words that he felt bad, but she wasn’t ready to make the first move. Luckily, she didn’t have to.
Dean drew a deep breath. “You were dressed nicely. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said it like that. Hell, I suck when it comes to saying things the right way.”
“You got that right,” Annabelle agreed softly, not quite ready to let him off the hook. She eyed him curiously. “So, what did you mean? Do you really hate the way I dress?”
“That answer is complicated.”
“Try simplifying.”
“It’s like this…” He drifted toward her, but she remained rooted where she stood. Soon, she was staring into a pair of eyes that were far too extraordinary to be called brown as they flared with brilliant flecks of hazel. She forgot herself and why she needed to keep her distance as he spoke again. “Annabelle, you have to know that you’re a beautiful woman with a stunning figure, but that’s just what’s on the surface and I know that’s probably all a lot of people see. I strive to keep things professional between us, but some days when you’re dressed like that…hell, woman, I’m just a man and all I can think of is you and it kills me. I shouldn’t be thinking of you in that way. I’m your boss.”
His eyes had the look of a man tortured by his admission, ashamed even by his perceived weakness, and Annabelle had a startling revelation. He was fighting as hard as she was to keep the lines drawn, but there seemed a current flowing between them that kept pulling them near to one another.
Annabelle was falling even though she was standing still, which was patently ridiculous. She realized with a breathy start that her gaze feasted on the promise of his lips, aching to know what it felt like to have them pressed against her own. Valid points. He made valid points, a voice in her head reminded her even as her feet seemed to move in the same direction, pulled on an invisible current toward one inevitable course.
“I like my clothes,” she said in a soft voice, looking up into Dean’s gorgeous eyes and wondering how she had never noticed their unusual color before this moment. “And I’m not going to change.”
“Yes, you will,” he murmured with a low growl that excited her in a way that defied explanation. His arms closed around her in a perfect fit, their bodies molding against one another until Annabelle struggled to remember why this was a bad idea. This was safety, a different voice whispered. This was home. No, this was a man who was off-limits and dangerous.
But it was too late. She was a goner. Probably hadn’t even had a chance from the moment he came toward her. Her fate had been sealed. But as far as fates go, she thought weakly, as his lips touched hers in a firm exploration that sparked little tingles up and down her body, this isn’t half-bad.
Shoot, if she was going to send her life to hell in a handbag, having Dean ride shotgun wasn’t a terrible idea.
What did she have to lose?
CHAPTER TEN
DEAN WAS a bundle of nerves. He wasn’t accustomed to acting like an idiot. Usually, he was the responsible one. The one who shouldered the family load without complaint.
And yet, here he was, itching from nervous apprehension over one stupid move.
What the hell was he thinking? That was an easy one to answer. He hadn’t been thinking. He didn’t know what came over him. It was as if he were under a spell or something. Yeah. That was it. A spell of stupidity. A wave of disgust rolled over him and he wondered if this was what happened to middle-aged men when they hit a midlife crisis. First comes the motorcycle, then the younger woman. Except, he’d skipped the wheels and gone straight to the hot babe.
Scrubbing his hands down his face, he tried focusing on the day ahead. Dana was bringing Annabelle and for that he was grateful. He needed a little time to get hold of himself. He’d spun away from Annabelle the moment his brain reengaged with a resounding What the hell are you doing? and after stammering some kind of lame excuse he’d practically run out of the house.
Judging by the stunned expression on her face, he doubted that was the reaction she’d expected. It probably made her feel like dirt, but he couldn’t help it. His feet had gone on autopilot and his body had had no choice but to follow. He’d screwed up. Dropped the ball. And now he had the aftermath to deal with, which would be awkward as hell as soon as she got here.
His heart pounded as the sound of Dana’s car in the driveway told him Annabelle had arrived. Under normal circumstances, he would’ve gone out to help with Honey, but he wanted to postpone this face-to-face as long as possible. Coward. He forced his attention to the bid sheet and not to the sound of footsteps coming toward the building.
But as the moment he’d been dreading arrived, Annabelle shocked the hell out of him when she did the exact opposite of what he expected.
She smiled as if nothing had happened.
“Good morning,” she said, placing Honey’s diaper bag in the corner and Honey on the floor while she constructed the playpen. “Don’t forget you have that lunch meeting with that new concrete guy over at The Grill and Brandon is going to be late tonight. He’s going over to Jessie’s after school.”
Startled by the ease with which she pretended nothing had happened between them, Dean could only stare for a moment until Honey climbed into his lap and his arms went around the toddler as she grabbed at the items scattered across his desk. So, was this how they should address the issue? Pretend?
It should’ve been the answer to his dilemma. Obviously, they were on the same page. Neither thought what they did was appropriate, and it was better just to let it go. So, why did he suddenly want to talk about it?
It didn’t feel right to act as though nothing had changed. Or maybe it hadn’t for her, which left him feeling like the complete sap for letting it affect him in such a visceral manner.
Jerking his gaze away from Annabelle, his mouth softened as he looked at Honey. She smelled of baby shampoo and powder. Her silky blond curls hung in lazy ringlets against rosebud cheeks and he was reminded of something far more pressing than his momentary lapse in judgment.
“You should file a police report,” he said to Annabelle as she finished with the playpen. She straightened and offered a brittle smile but little else, which told him that despite her seemingly sunny disposition, she was rattled as well. “I don’t feel comfortable knowing someone deliberately sabotaged your car.”
Annabelle laughed and brushed past him accidentally, sending his whole body on alert, as she traveled to the file cabinet. “You worry too much. I told you it was probably just a prank. I’m not going to bother the authorities over something like this. Besides, it’s not your problem, okay?”
Polite but firm, the message was loud and clear. Back off.
Honey voiced her opinion with a string of nonsensical babble and he renewed his efforts. “What if it hadn’t been sugar in your tank but your brake line cut, or your tires? What if you were driving down the road with Honey and you careened down a cliff? There’re bigger things at stake here, don’t you think?” Annabelle blanched and Dean knew he’d made his point. “What’s it going to hurt to talk with a deputy? Besides, you might need a police report for your insurance company to cover the damages.”
“Insurance covers stuff like this?”
“Some. Depends on your policy. Did you get full coverage or just liability?”
“Full.”
“Well, then, I’d say it’s probably covered under comprehensive. I’d bet you have a $500 deductible, though.”
She chewed her lip. “Well, that’s a little better than the $800 Jonas quoted me,” she said, thinking out loud. “All right. I’ll make a report but not because I’m worried or anything. Just for the insurance. No one is out to get me or Honey,” she assured him, but the subtle quiver told him differently. Since she’d agreed to make the report, he decided to stop pressing the issue. The end result was to his liking so he figured he’d let the rest go. For now.
“Good.” He checked his watch. Time to go. He had appointments one on top of another and he was glad. Annabelle might be able to pretend that they hadn’t locked lips, but he was having a hard time doing the same. Now that he’d tasted those plump, pouting lips, it was all he could do not to lean in for another. She smelled like a sexy fruit salad—if there was such a thing—and it was hard to ignore the sensory overload.
He stood and gently handed Honey over to Annabelle, swallowing the impulse to babble all sorts of ridiculous stuff about last night, and headed for the door.
Her voice—oddly forlorn and at odds with the strong woman he knew her as—stopped him.
“I know you didn’t mean to kiss me.”
He wished that were true.
“It was probably just one of those spur-of-the-moment, high-emotion kind of things. I know it didn’t mean anything.”
A part of him desperately wished he’d felt nothing but uncomplicated desire as their lips touched. It would simplify the situation by half. But he knew the truth. He’d never been the kind of man who could be intimate without involving his heart. Sex for the sake of physical release never felt right.
Closing his eyes for a split second, he opened them as he turned to face her. She stood, cradling Honey on her hip, backlit by the sun coming in from the far window, and his throat closed at the sheer beauty of the picture she made. He couldn’t lie. “Kissing you was my choice.” And given half a chance I’d do it again.
ANNABELLE stared, not quite sure she’d heard that right. But the tight set of Dean’s jaw and the piercing look in his brown eyes told her differently.
“So why do you look as if you just admitted to something awful?” she asked, putting Honey into her playpen for the time being.
“It is awful,” he said simply, his gaze tracking her movements, sliding over her like a caress. “It’s inappropriate given our working relationship, but it wasn’t an accident. There’s no sense in lying. I wanted to kiss you.”
Heat curled deep in her belly and pooled in her pelvis but she managed to nod. She’d wanted to kiss him, too. But where did that leave them? The question must’ve flashed in her eyes.
“We go back to the way things were. It shouldn’t be that hard. We hardly know each other, right?”
“Right.”
“So, we just tuck this incident away in our private thoughts and leave it there. We both know it can’t go any further and there’s no sense in chasing after something that’s doomed to fail.”
Very sensible. But her chest felt leaden. Had she hoped for more? Flustered by her own reaction, she offered a breezy smile that she certainly didn’t feel, and nodded. “Absolutely, that’s the best idea. I’m completely on board with that. Much less complicated. Good thinking.”
He eyed her with suspicion and she wondered if she was smiling too brightly to be taken at face value. What did it matter what he thought? They’d agreed to a course of action and it seemed the most logical given their circumstances, so whatever else she was feeling—disappointment, chagrin, frustration—would just have to dissipate on its own.
“Glad we agree,” he said slowly, though he didn’t make a move to leave as she’d expected. In fact, the air between them felt heavy with unfinished business and Annabelle knew what was missing.
“Just one question,” she started, her heart rate kicking a tango in her chest as she closed the short distance. He regarded her with wary interest, his whole body tense. She swallowed, wondering what the hell had gotten into her.
“Yeah?”
The tight scratch of his voice rubbed against her raw nerves and sent heat curling through her body.
“What if I didn’t want to pretend that nothing happened? What if…I wanted to try it again?”
Dean’s eyes darkened, and she could tell he fought a war against himself. She sensed the battle between propriety and desire, and the fact that he struggled made her want him all the more. It was insane and went against every principle that she stood for. Don’t lust after your boss. The rule was very simple. Sticking to it was not so easy.
“Annabelle…”
“I know.” She lifted on her tiptoes and did the very thing she knew she should never do. But as her lips touched his, she wondered if being good was overrated.
