Julie Hogan – Tangled Sheets, Tangled Lies (страница 2)

He reached for the newspaper and flipped to the classified page. Maybe he could get a job here, blend into the community for a week or two. Then when he met the people he was here to find, he would just seem like another newcomer to town rather than a man on a desperate mission.

A sudden gust of wind whispered through the truck’s open windows, rustling the newspaper in Cole’s hands. He flattened the paper against the truck’s steering wheel to steady it, then ran a finger down the Help Wanted column. Halfway down the page, he stopped suddenly, grabbed a pen out of the truck’s ashtray and drew a circle around a large ad.

And then Cole Travis smiled for the first time in weeks.

Lauren Simpson took another sip of the killer coffee they served at Uncle Bill’s Café and smiled across the silver-flecked Formica table at her son who was running on a zillion gigawatts of syrup-induced energy.

“Read it again, Mommy. Read it again!”

Underneath the table, she stretched out her long legs and propped her feet up on the vibrant aqua Naugahyde bench across from her and let out a quiet sigh. At four years old, Jem’s capacity for repetition was truly infinite.

“Pllleeaasssee?” Jem Simpson’s powder-blue eyes danced with mischief as he shot her a “c’mon, Mom” grin.

She had to admit she was a sucker for that look, one that was designed to melt a mother’s heart while getting her to agree to anything. She smiled as she picked up Valle Verde’s local newspaper and read the Help Wanted ad out loud for the dozenth time.

“Wanted—A man who can do it all to remodel our home and barn. Must be a good carpenter, electrician and plumber. If interested, please apply in person at the Simpson’s on Agua Dulce Road.”

Her son grinned up at her. “You think someone’ll come today?”

“Lord, I hope so.” She stuffed the newspaper back into her tote as she sent a quick prayer to the gods of home repair. More than anything in the world, they needed a really handy handyman to help restore their old house and get their big, beautiful barn ready for public use in just six weeks. But the ad had been running for a few days and so far, no nibbles.

Lauren put aside her worries and smiled at her son. “If we don’t, pal, it’s just going to be you, me, a hammer and one of the biggest first-aid kits we can find.”

She put money down on the table to pay for their breakfast and eyeballed the decimated pancakes on Jem’s plate. “You didn’t eat much. Why don’t you go ask Uncle Bill if he’ll box up some new pancakes for you?”

“Okay.” He slid his agile young body along the bench seat and picked up his plate. Lauren watched as he balanced it carefully on the way up to the counter, then saw Bill laugh at the mess Jem had made of the pancakes just like he had every Saturday morning since they’d moved to this little town just two months ago.

Even though it was fairly close to a large city—if you could call San Diego large—Valle Verde really was a warm, friendly place, she thought as she looked out the window at the slow, sweet pace of the main street. Kids rode their bikes down the middle of the road, moms walked to the store, women gossiped outside the beauty parlor and businesses put out simple, carved wood shingles with their names on them. From her vantage point she could see Johnny’s Pump and Tune, the What’s Shakin’ Chicken Pie Shop, Gordy’s U Pic It We Pac It Grocery and the Top of the Valley Hardware. And soon, just a few blocks away, a new shingle would sway in the warm summer wind of northern San Diego County: Simpson’s Gems, the Best Little Antique Store in the Southland.

Lauren put a few more dollars on the table to pay for the boxed-up pancakes, then grabbed her tote and went to fetch her son. She let him finish the longwinded story he was telling the counter full of diners about how they were looking for a handyman and how he was going to help because he was really good with tools—she smiled at that because it had taken her all morning to put the can opener back together after Jem had “fixed” it. Then, when he was done, she grabbed his sticky hand, said her goodbyes and stepped out into the pleasant, early-summer morning.

Jem chattered nonstop as they walked the two blocks home. She wondered to herself if she’d been the same way at his age. Probably not, considering that there hadn’t been a soul around to listen to her. But that was her childhood—a childhood spent in one cold, awful foster home after another, a childhood Lauren wished she didn’t have to remember but couldn’t forget no matter how hard she tried. And this, she thought as they walked down the shady main street lined with eucalyptus trees, this wonderful, peaceful existence was going to be what Jem remembered about his childhood, no matter what she had to do to protect that.

She looked down at his tousled brown curls as he stopped to pick up a particularly grimy rock and stuck it in his pocket. Always gathering things, he was a bit like her in that way, although they shared no blood. But because she’d been his foster mother since he was abandoned as a baby and now she was his official adoptive mother, she realized this particular behavior could have been learned from her.

After all, she’d been collecting things as long as she could remember, long before she took Jem in and made good on the most important of her childhood pledges. And now that she’d retired from her grueling and time-consuming modeling career, she was going to fulfill another of her pledges and trot out all her precious things and open an antique store.

Jem slipped his hand back into hers as their house came into view and tugged to get her attention. “Look, Mommy,” he said in a loud whisper.

Lauren followed the boy’s gaze and automatically slowed her steps. There, standing on the front porch of their grand, gorgeous, dilapidated, falling-down Victorian house was a man, leaning casually against the main beam that held up the ornate overhang. He was staring up at the house’s eaves, his back to them. She took in the long length of him—his broad shoulders encased in a snug black T-shirt, down his sleekly muscled back, to his sculpted behind and his long, denim-clad legs—and swallowed thickly.

Holy cow. If she were looking for a man instead of a handyman, she wouldn’t have had to look any further. But she wasn’t. Two hundred and twenty-one days ago, she’d made herself a promise: no men for one year. It was the only way she’d been able to think of to reset her own personal Jerk-O-Meter and establish some good sense when it came to men. Her sanity—and, more importantly, the happiness of her child—depended on it.

As they approached, the stranger turned his head slightly, just enough for her to see a shock of sandy-colored, wind-tossed hair falling over his forehead and a sharp, confident profile so chiseled it should be etched in bronze and placed in the window of an art gallery. A disconcerting heat rushed through her as she watched him lift one hand to grasp a beam above his head and the muscles in his forearm and bicep bunched and flexed as he tested its strength. Oh, my, she thought, this guy really did have a body that went on for days, maybe even weeks. And for her that was saying something. In her former business she’d seen a lot of beautiful male bodies—not to mention some inflated, appalling male egos to match.

She slowed their steps further and worked to reclaim her composure as she took in the unfamiliar, battered truck with Washington State plates parked alongside the house. Whoever he was, she was sure it would be a mistake to bound up the steps with her face far too flushed for the cool morning temperatures, looking like a cheerleader stalking the captain of the football team.

Jem pulled on her hand. “Mom, do you think it’s him?” he said in a childish, hissing stage whisper.

And apparently it was loud enough for the man to hear because he turned around and smiled, revealing dazzling white teeth and lagoon-blue eyes that contrasted sharply with his wind-and sun-bronzed skin. Lauren’s breath hitched, then released in one long rush.

She tightened her hold on her son’s hand as the stranger reached behind him and pulled a newspaper out of the back pocket of his just-snug-enough Levi’s. Don’t worry, she told herself soothingly, he’s probably new in town and looking for directions. Just because he had the classifieds didn’t mean he was answering their ad. Please don’t be answering our ad. You’re far too distracting to be our handyman.

“Can I help you?” she asked as she and Jem walked up the steps, carefully avoiding the two broken ones near the bottom.

The man looked at Jem with a certain bewilderment, like someone looks at a person they’re sure they’ve met but can’t quite place. Then he turned and fixed his gaze on her. Their eyes locked and held, pulling her into a strange, thrilling vortex that made her feel as if she was still strapped into the Tilt-O-Whirl Jem had made her ride at the county fair last weekend.

“Maybe you can,” he said finally, and the spell was broken. “But I’m sure I can help you.”