“I can’t find anything.”
“What are you looking for?”
“The mint leaves.”
Naomi shifted Reagan aside and shut the fridge, opening the freezer. She retrieved a container and handed it over. “It lasts longer in the freezer.”
“I don’t need it to last long. I’ll drink it in my coffee and we’ll be out before next week. Besides, I bought it to add to my salad, and I don’t want it frozen.”
Reagan washed the mint leaves, poured a cup of orange juice, and crumbled the mint in the glass of juice, whisking it together with her fingers.
“You want a little vodka with that?” Naomi asked, her eyes sparkling. “You call me OCD, but I think it runs in our family. Look at you.”
“I like things a certain way. Everybody does to an extent.”
“Exactly, and I like my labels facing forward and my containers arranged by height. Doesn’t mean anything.”
“Don’t knock orange juice with mint until you’ve tried it. It’s really good.”
“I’ll stick with milk before bed, thanks anyway.”
Reagan followed Naomi to the living room, her slippers dragging across the floor. Grabbing her brush, Naomi sat on the couch and brushed her hair. Her pale lavender pajamas, freshly laundered, didn’t show any wrinkles. Reagan studied her own pajamas, flannel, wrinkly and old, displaying great big butterflies and hanging partway off her shoulder. Not the sexiest sleepwear, but why should she care? No one would see her but Naomi.
Placing Dr. Till under her arm, Reagan grabbed her sketchpad and joined Naomi on the couch. Sliding off her slippers, she folded her legs under her and rested the moose on the armrest.
“I’ll buy you new ones if you don’t. Pajamas, too,” Naomi sneered.
“What’s the point in spending money I don’t need to spend?”
“It’s just slippers, Reagan. You can probably get them for under ten dollars.”
“It’s not about the money.”
“Then what’s it about?”
Reagan shrugged. She didn’t know. Natty slippers, broken luggage. What was she trying to prove?
Naomi brushed Reagan’s hair. Shivers of pleasure swept through her at the touch of the brush. Reagan opened her sketchbook and drew the picture of summer hanging in the hallway, seeing it enough times to memorize it by now. Later, she might paint it, glad she’d brought her stash of art supplies. Maybe she’d fix up a room for her artwork and stock provisions she’d never afforded herself.
The fire snapped, drawing her attention to the orange-blue flames. They danced and shimmied, and Reagan imagined lying on a new bearskin rug with Garret, drinking champagne.
“Is it every woman’s fantasy to make love in front of the fireplace?” Reagan asked. “Having a picnic, your man feeding you grapes. Or chocolate covered strawberries.”
“That, and the beach.”
“Been there, done that. Not as exciting as it sounds.”
“Maybe because you weren’t with Garret.”
Reagan screeched and lunged for Naomi. Naomi tossed the brush on the couch and jumped up, laughing her way down the hall. “I’m heading to bed. Good night.”
Reagan settled back into the couch cushions. “Okay, good night.”
She stared into the fire, watching as it ripped into the wood and ate away the shell before turning the inside to ash.
An image of her life. Everything she’d planned eaten away by reality. Her proposed future shelled with fragile timber.
Her thoughts tripped over Ray, Garret, this guy Chris, and back to Garret.
She’d been here over a week, and still knew next to nothing about Ray or Garret. Afraid to know, she didn’t ask the right questions. Even if her life had been uprooted, she continued to hide in her comfort zone.
Procrastination had become both her enemy and her ally. She’d procrastinated for weeks before coming here and now that she was here, she procrastinated on making any decisions. It was a lot easier to live in limbo with no plans. Plenty of people did it. This way, she didn’t have to face her insecurities or make a decision that might lead to more disappointment.
If she procrastinated, she couldn’t fail. Couldn’t succeed. Couldn’t blame her loneliness on anyone but herself.
And she couldn’t fall head over heels in love with a man she’d barely known a week.
It was the newness. The excitement. The cocktail of expectation that made her giddy. And, like being drunk, it left her heady and insipid.
She should be familiar with the emotion. Heady and insipid. Uncertain of what she really wanted but wanting more. Unable to control what was really happening in her life.
And unable to let go. Period.
Chapter Eight
“Let’s try this store.” Naomi opened the door to a shop with a sign that read Handsome Pants. Carting three large plastic sacks full of goodies, including new slippers for Reagan, she still searched for the perfect replacement rug.
Reagan doubted this store sold any type of home furnishings, but she trailed Naomi’s heels.
The moment Reagan walked in, she was flanked by racks of clothes and assaulted with incense. It smelled like a burning campfire and summer picnics. Comforting, with a sweet tartness that contradicted each other.
As she shuffled through souvenirs, sweatshirts, and scarves, Reagan reflected on what she wanted to accomplish over the next few days. Another week had passed, and she hadn’t talked to Garret since dinner. She hadn’t discovered anything else about her uncle, and her mother hadn’t returned her desperate calls. The threatening letter gave her more incentive to stay and find out what really happened to her mother’s relationship with Ray.
She stopped at a red and pink coat, fingered the price tag, and backed away. Sure, she might be able to afford it now, with Ray’s money, but she’d already bought a coat for this trip. She didn’t need another one, no matter how much she’d told herself she wanted to shop for new clothes. She wasn’t ready to let go of her play money.
“This place is crawling with eye candy,” Naomi said as she came up behind Reagan. Her shopping bags thumped against Reagan’s rear.
In case Reagan hadn’t heard her the first time, Naomi nudged her in the ribs. Moving aside, she practically shoved Reagan against the guy, as if Reagan needed help acquiring a date.
Reagan lost her balance and caught herself on his arms.
“Whoa,” the guy said. He fumbled with the snow globe he held and managed to keep it from falling. Bumping the shelf, a picture frame smashed to the floor. Reagan grabbed another globe sitting on the shelf before it tumbled next.
“Thanks,” the guy said as Reagan righted the snow globe on the shelf and he steadied the one in his hands. Squatting, he picked up the broken glass. “Guess I’ll buy the picture frame now.”
Reagan stooped to help. “I’m so sorry. I’ll buy it.”
“It wasn’t your fault. Well,” he added, smiling sheepishly, “maybe so. I was too entranced with you to pay attention to what I was doing.”
“No. I’m a klutz. I should have been more careful.” She shot a warning glare at Naomi, who hid behind a rack of clothes.
The cashier, finally noticing their plight, approached with a trash can.
Rising, the guy offered his hand. “I’m Tanner.”
“Reagan,” she said, feeling no heat when she accepted his handshake. His eyes were nice, a light, bright blue, but they didn’t unbalance her. His smooth palms were strong and steady and non-stimulating.
She held his hand a bit longer than necessary, hoping for some sort of sensation. Butterflies tickled her skin at the thought of Garret’s raspy hands. She dropped Tanner’s and turned away.
“Are you from around here?” Tanner asked. A black string tied his long blond hair, which trailed past his shoulders.
“No, just visiting. You?”
“No. I’m visiting, too. Trying to find snow globes for my nieces back home. What do you think?” He grabbed the one Reagan h
ad set on the counter and held them both up. “Two nieces, two different globes, or the same?”
“Do they live together?”
“Yes, they’re sisters. One is eleven, the other is nine.”
“Different.” Reagan took the snow globe with a ferocious tiger displaying his jaws and replaced it with a black bear standing in the woods. “But this one for the nine-year old. It’s not so vicious.”
Tanner’s grin revealed white teeth and a pleasant smile, but nothing strong enough to encourage her hormones. “Thank you.”
“Where’s back home?” she asked as he paid for his purchases.
“New Jersey. And you?”
“Florida.”
“Oh, I want to pay for that frame, too,” he told the cashier, handing over a wad of money.
His voice didn’t hamper her ability to think or make her heart feel like it was being trampled on with Garret’s thick boots, his steps molding the snow with his presence. Her skin didn’t tingle with doubt or anticipation of what was to happen next.
It was almost a relief. Almost. Because if she didn’t react to him, she wouldn’t care what kind of impression she made.
“Would you like to have dinner this evening?” Tanner asked as he bundled his paper sack in one hand.
“Oh, uh, I have plans,” she said. Which she did. She planned on cooking and relaxing with a movie. Besides, Tanner might be a perfect one-nighter, but she wasn’t attracted to him.
“Reagan darling.” Naomi breezed through, her arms open wide as if she’d been looking for Reagan all this time. “I’m glad to have caught you. I’m so sorry, but I have to cancel our plans tonight. Can I take a rain check?”
• • •
The restaurant set the stage for romance. Low lighting, flowers, and candles flickered on the table. Violins played in the background.
Reagan felt anything but romantic. Tanner spent the evening talking about himself. His eyes roamed, never settling on their table.
When they talked about skiing, he didn’t ask her to attempt anything above her comfort level. He didn’t ask her to try anything at all, at least not yet. She considered Garret’s offer to teach her to ski. In hindsight, it was rather nice of him to offer. Tanner wasn’t the type of guy who would have enough patience.
They danced. Her body did not hum, crackle, or even sputter at his touch.
She tried to cut the evening short several times, but he’d go off on a tangent again and she’d be stuck, nodding politely as she pretended to listen. Her thoughts drifted from the color of her lipstick to the woman’s shoes at the next table. This guy had as much sex appeal as an old boot.
Naomi had set her up and made it impossible to deny his dinner invitation without being rude. She should have been rude.
He walked her home and rode with her to her floor. She stopped at the door but didn’t open it. Not while he stood, waiting. No way would he get an invitation.
“Thanks for dinner,” she said, though she’d paid for her own meal. He hadn’t even offered.
His lips zeroed in on hers. Her heart clutched in anxiety rather than excitement. Shoving against his chest, she turned her head.
“I’m just getting over someone,” she said, using an ex-boyfriend as an excuse even if Kyle had nothing to do with her feelings. Garret was the one she couldn’t get out of her mind. “Right now, I’m just looking for friendship.”
“That’s a good thing,” Tanner said, his lips drawing into a sulk. “Sure I can’t check out your heater for you?”
Reagan shook her head and gave him a terse look. “It’s fine. Thank you for dinner.” She turned to put her key in her lock as Tanner slunk away. She heard heavy boots behind her and whirled around with a harsh comment.
Garret stood beside his door with his keys in his hands. The words Reagan meant to tell Tanner died in her throat.
“Looking hot and heavy,” he said.
She stared at him, her pulse heavy against her ears at the intense vibrato of his voice. It resonated deep into her, drumming her heart, strumming her nerves as a guitar to be played.
She was so tired of being played by men who couldn’t carry a tune.
Garret unlocked his door. His hooded eyes skimmed her. Her cheeks burned, her toes tingled, her tongue dissolved in her mouth like ice turning to powder, melting before it reached the ground.
Her bulky winter clothing was anything but attractive. She should have bought that new ski jacket.
“Have a nice night,” he said before closing the door, leaving her standing in the hall.
Naomi was at Air Dog with Chayton, and Reagan wasn’t in the mood for socializing. She checked her email and wallowed in misery before picking up the phone to call Garret in a desperate attempt to clear up a misunderstanding.
No, she wouldn’t call him. She wanted to see him, talk to him face to face. To prove to herself his presence wouldn’t affect her. Her tongue, now a thick wad of glue in her mouth, wouldn’t loll out of her mouth and pant in lust. She could control herself and her feelings.
She always had before.
She took a deep breath before knocking on his door, as if that would stabilize the floor, the walls, and the roof that shimmied to the point she feared they would collapse. She considered leaving, running as fast as she could so he would never know who knocked on his door. He snatched it open before she had the chance.
She staggered back, or at least in her mind she staggered. She prayed her feet hadn’t moved. She clenched her mouth tight and silently counted to three, urging her voice to work.
“Hey,” he said in way of a greeting, propping his arm on the doorframe. She wasn’t sure if that was to keep her out or to keep him sturdy.
He stood before her. Shirtless. Wearing loose cargo pants, military green. Her eyes trailed his chest as she drank in the build of his body. Muscles. Long and lean. Everywhere. Striating and stretching across his chest and arms and shoulders. His waist narrowed into his pants.
God, it’d been too damn long.
She quickly hitched her gaze to his face before temptation overcame common sense. A smile played on his lips, in his eyes, as if he thought it amusing that she admired his body. “What’s up?” he asked.
A cat meowing caught her attention. Glancing down, Reagan noticed a tabby roving through Garret’s ankles. She bent to pick him up, trying not to notice Garret’s shoeless feet, his strong feet.
“That’s Aikido,” he said as she straightened. “He was Ray’s cat.”
“Oh,” she finally managed to say. The cat purred against her chest as she buried her face in his soft fur.
She’d wanted to meet her uncle’s cat and now that she had, she didn’t know what to do. Not with Garret standing in front of her, half naked, blocking the door so she couldn’t enter. He shuffled his feet as if tired of standing, but he didn’t invite her in.
Handing over the cat, she shook away her awkwardness and said what she came to say. “I wondered if the offer for skiing lessons was still available.”
“Tanner can’t show you?”
So he knew Tanner.
She inched her face up in something between defiance and confidence. She didn’t deserve to be treated like dirt just because she’d gone out with another man.
“I didn’t ask him.”
“He’s a womanizer, but I hear tell he’s a jealous one. I don’t care to get in a stew over his woman.”
“First of all, I’m not his woman. He asked me to go to dinner, I accepted.” She omitted the fact she would gladly accept an invitation from Garret if only he’d ask. “He wanted more than I was willing to give. I pushed him away. I don’t see where that matters.”
Aikido meowed again, glaring at Garret and demanding to be let down. Garret set him down, blocking the door with his feet so the cat couldn’t escape.
She turned away, ready to leave, her throat curling with crybaby tears she would not let escape. Angry tears. How could he be such a jerk?
He stopped her with
a hand on her shoulder. “If you’re sure, meet me outside tomorrow morning at nine. We’ll outfit you to ski and go from there.”
• • •
Tanner Merkel?
What kind of woman was she? The kind who flocked to bad boys? She probably wrote love letters to murderers in prison. And here he thought she wasn’t aware of Kyle’s dealings. Was she the kind of woman who believed she could change a man simply by loving him?
Okay, so he’d admit he didn’t know Tanner. But if he was the kind of man to judge, and he was by profession, Tanner would be out of the cut for a nice guy. He wore his blonde hair long, his scars like an insignia, and his brusqueness as if it were his right.
Garret met him a week ago. He’d come into Air Dog with an attitude, looking for a drink and a fight. Garret would’ve been more than happy to furnish the latter if he could invent one good reason.
Maybe he’d found his reason.
So he checked up on him. He knew he couldn’t check on every man who showed an interest in Reagan, but he had his reasons this time. If he had to watch Reagan, it meant he had to watch everyone she encountered. Right now, everyone was suspect and anyone could be involved with Kyle Maloney.
Tanner Merkel had been in and out of jail, breaking petty laws. He was probably on drugs, may even be dealing them, and currently had a protective order against him brought on by an ex-girlfriend.
When he’d reported this to Buchanan, his supervisor only laughed. “Great cover, don’t you think?”
Animosity rose like corrosive slime in his throat, harsh and acidic and demanding to be let loose to attack its enemy. Right now, his enemy was Tanner. But since Tanner wasn’t handy, that corrosion turned on him, damaging any sanitary thoughts he may have had.
“Tanner is the agent you sent to help me?”
“You’re supposed to act like you don’t know him.”
“I won’t be acting,” Garret said, his voice rusty and top-heavy, ready to tumble into a chastisement of the way Buchanan handled this. “I don’t know him.”
“He’s only a backup. Not supposed to intrude on your investigation.”
“Then why did he take Reagan out to dinner tonight?”
Burn on the Western Slope (Crimson Romance) Page 9
