by HELEN HARDT
“Hey, we watch the games with you,” Lucas said.
“Only because I fix you nachos,” Mrs. Carson said.
“Why do you think we fixed your fence today?” Matt laughed.
“It smells terrific,” I said. No lie.
Contrary to what had been written about me in tabloid magazines, I was not anorexic or bulimic. I ate eleven hundred calories a day to keep my model body. I never threw up. My agent, Fredricka, blew a gasket whenever I put on so much as an ounce.
A sliver of guilt slid through me. In two days, I was supposed to fly to Paris for Dominique Cosmetics. I’d be calling Fredricka to have her smooth things over. She was a whiz with words. So the shoot would be postponed a week or two. I was distraught, after all. My father had just passed away. Not only that. He’d been murdered!
As far as the public knew, I was his little princess. So sad about his demise.
Yeah… I had to call her. I’d do it this afternoon. Right now, I planned to enjoy this delicious-smelling lunch.
And yeah, Fredricka, I’m going to gain a few pounds this week.
After all, I’m dealing with my daddy’s death!
Ugh. The thoughts were beginning to nauseate me, and I really wanted to enjoy this lunch.
“Everything’s set out,” Mrs. Carson said. “Can I get you men a beer?”
“You bet,” Lucas said.
“And for you, dear?” she asked me.
“I don’t drink beer. Just some of the marvelous tap water would be great,” I said. “I’ve never tasted such delicious water.”
“We do have the best water. I don’t suppose they have such good-tasting water in Pittsburgh.”
“I should say they don’t.”
Not that I would know, but it sounded good. I never drank tap water at home. Always Evian straight out of a bottle. My brother Reid preferred Pellegrino.
The thought of my brother saddened me. They were worried about me, I knew. This wasn’t the first time I’d taken off without any notice. Of course, it was the first time I’d taken off on my own and not gone into hiding at my father’s request. Request? More like command. My brothers were used to me taking off for no apparent reason. This was on brand for Riley Wolfe.
I sat down at the table with Lucas and Matt, and Mrs. Carson slid a plate heaped full of meaty and cheesy delights in front of me. The initial plan had been to eat a little bit of pork and a big plateful of rice. I held back a chuckle. The rice on my plate was about the size of a golf ball. The rest of the plate was enchiladas and what looked like pot roast made of pork. That must be the carnitas. I couldn’t help myself. I inhaled and closed my eyes.
How could anything truly smell this delicious?
A far cry from the nonexistent aroma of grilled tilapia and brown rice.
“Dig in,” Mrs. Carson said.
I waited until Lucas and Matt each took a bite, and then I speared a piece of pork on my fork and slowly brought it to my lips.
Oh. My. God.
It was so tender and delicious. I had no idea what kind of spices she had used other than the onions. Probably some chili powder of some sort, maybe a little coriander? I wasn’t a big cook, so I truly was only guessing.
“What do you think, dear?” she asked.
“It’s delicious,” I said after I swallowed. “You should be running a restaurant around here.”
Lucas and Matt burst into laughter.
Had I said something funny?
“Everyone says that the first time they eat Mrs. C’s goodies,” Matt said. “It’s like a ritual, you know? Every time I bring someone over here, they say the same thing.”
He brought other people over here before? Just friends, maybe?
Or other women?
Did it matter? I’d just met the man, and I was leaving in six days. Still, it pierced my heart just a little. After all, Mrs. Carson had said I might be a keeper. That seemed to imply that Matt had brought other women here.
Why let it bother me? Right now, I was starving, and I had a plate of the most delicious food I’d ever eaten in front of me. I tried a bit of the enchilada next. It was a cheesy, corny, creamy delight topped with a red sauce that I’d thought might be tomato, but it wasn’t. It was a mild blend of some kind of peppers.
“The sauce is divine,” I said.
“I gave you the mild. The boys here like theirs spicier.”
“I love spicy food,” I said. “I eat Thai a lot at home.”
“Do you want to try the spicy, then?” Mrs. Carson asked.
“Careful, honey,” Matt said. “It’s not for the meek.”
That did it. “Yes, if you don’t mind, I’d love to try it.”
Mrs. Carson brought over a pot from the stove and spooned some reddish-brown sauce over the edge of my enchilada. “Best try a bite first, dear. It does pack a whopper.”
I brought a bite of the newly sauced enchilada to my mouth. It was delicious indeed. Almost smoky, and yes, very spicy, but I could still taste the flavor, which was remarkable.
I swallowed and cut off another bite with my fork, brought it to my mouth, and—
My jaw dropped. Heat invaded my mouth and throat. I grabbed my glass of water and drank half of it down.
Matt and Lucas were chuckling.
“Not for the meek,” Lucas said.
I was certain my throat was on fire.
12
Matteo
I couldn’t help a raucous laugh. “We warned you!”
Riley coughed and sputtered as she downed her water. Mrs. Carson hurriedly brought her a new glass, which she downed as well.
“I’m sorry, honey,” Mrs. C said.
“It’s…okay,” Riley choked out.
“It’ll pass,” Matt said. “Then you’ll realize how good it is.”
“It’s already good. Delicious, actually. Just really”—she coughed—“hot.”
“That’s the best part.” I smiled. “Mrs. C has it down to a science. Some food is just hot and you can’t actually taste the flavor. With Mrs. C’s you can.”
She nodded and took another drink of water.
“It’s best to start slowly,” Mrs. C said. “I should have given you a mixture of the mild and hot.”
“It’s okay.” Riley’s voice was raspy. “It really is delicious.”
“Thank you.” Mrs. Carson winked. “I hope Mattie will bring you over again while you’re here. When do you leave?”
“In six days,” Riley said.
“Such a brief stay. That’s not near enough time to get the full Sumter Falls experience. I wish you could stay longer.”
“I have to get back to work,” Riley said.
Back to work? This was summer. If Riley was a high school business ed teacher…
As I suspected all along.
Riley Mansfield was hiding things.
And I intended to find out what they were.
“I can’t thank you boys enough,” Mrs. C said to Luke and me.
“Anything for you,” Luke said.
“Ditto.” I downed the last of my beer and then looked to Riley. “If you’ve recovered, I’ll take you back to the cabin.”
She nodded. “I’m good. Thank you for the lunch, Mrs. Carson.”
“Thank you for helping the boys, dear.”
“It was my pleasure.”
She wasn’t lying. Riley had truly enjoyed pounding those nails. Talk about getting your frustrations out. Now I just had to figure out who she’d been pounding.
We walked outside to my truck.
An idea struck.
I had a little shop in town for my silversmithing. Normally I opened only by appointment, but during the summer, I hired a high school kid to man the store for me. In a small town there just wasn’t a lot of demand for silver, but tourists loved it and I did a great business during the summer. Most of the items I crafted for sale were Native American designs, as those sold the best. But I also created my own designs.
Smithing was my passion
, though it wasn’t my main source of income. I did odd jobs, and my rental brought in a nice cushion as well. I’d grown accustomed to living basically. Walden by Henry David Thoreau had become my bible. I tried to spend as much time as I could outdoors and not get bogged down by the small stuff. I had a place to sleep, food in my belly, and a love of life.
My shop was ultimately me.
And I wanted to show it to Riley.
I pulled into the alley behind my little shop.
“I thought you were taking me back to the cabin,” Riley said.
“I am, but we’re making a detour. I want to show you something.”
“Okay.”
We got out of the truck and went into the shop via the back door. The kid I’d hired for the summer, Blue—yes, that was actually her name—sat behind the counter texting on her phone. She blew a huge pink bubble and let it pop over her lips.
“Afternoon, Blue. How’s business today?”
“Hi, Matt. Not bad. Slow now, but people are still having lunch. I sold two pendants, four pairs of earrings, and a bolo tie this morning.”
Earrings were always my biggest seller. “Nice. This is Riley.”
“Hey.” Blue cracked her gum.
“Hi,” Riley said.
“This is my shop,” I told her.
She widened her eyes. “Your shop?”
“Did I not tell you I work with silver?”
“You did. I guess I just never realized you actually sold it.” Riley swept her hand over the glass encasing the finer jewelry. “This is beautiful work, Matt.”
“I’m glad you like it. Pick one. Anything, and it’s yours.”
“Oh, I couldn’t.”
“Sure you can.”
She zeroed in on a heart pendant with a pink sapphire accent on either side. “You made this?”
“Guilty.”
“I can’t believe it. That’s more beautiful than anything I’ve ever seen at Tiffany’s.”
Tiffany’s? How many business ed teachers were familiar with the fine jewelry at Tiffany’s?
Riley Mansfield, what the hell are you hiding?
“It’s yours,” I said.
“How much is it?”
None of my finer pieces had price tags. Well, they did, but I made sure they weren’t visible in the display case. That way, a person had to ask, and Blue would get it out and look at the price tag. Once the customer held the item, they almost always bought it.
“Doesn’t matter,” I said.
“It does to me.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to pay you for it. That’s why.”
“But I don’t want you to pay for it.”
Blue unlocked the case from behind the counter and pulled out the piece. “It is gorgeous,” she said. “I had a customer look at it this morning but—” Her cheeks reddened.
“It’s okay, Blue,” I said. “It’s an expensive piece. I’m glad the customer didn’t buy it, because it’s perfect for Riley. Has her name right on it.”
Riley blushed adorably. “No, it doesn’t.”
“Well, not yet, but I’ll engrave it and then it will.”
“May I look at it?”
I took the piece from Blue, hastily whisked off the tiny price tag, and handed it to Riley.
She fingered the delicate silver chain. “It’s so lovely. I could almost swear it was white gold.”
“It’s rhodium-plated sterling. That’s what I use for all my fine pieces. It resists tarnishing, which is why it resembles white gold. Not quite as sparkly, but a good substitute.”
“I can’t accept it.” She handed it back to me. “We hardly know each other.”
She was right. It was a generous gift, and we’d only known each other for two days. I gave it to Blue. “Put this in the back.”
She nodded, placed the piece in a cotton-lined box, and went into the back where she presumably locked it in the safe.
Riley smiled. “You’re keeping it for me?”
“Only until you leave. If you still won’t accept it then, I’ll put it back for sale.”
“You’re sweet.”
Was it odd that she hadn’t asked me what the price was?
Most women would have asked, especially if they’d offered to buy it, which she had.
But then…most women weren’t familiar with the expensive pieces at Tiffany’s. Most women didn’t drink real Champagne from France.
Most women weren’t Riley Mansfield.
Money didn’t seem to be an issue for Riley. Yes, she’d said her parents had money…
Still, something wasn’t adding up.
I was determined.
I’d solve the equation of Riley Mansfield.
And I’d do it in the next several days.
13
Riley
I’d wanted to accept the pendant.
I’d really wanted to accept it.
But I couldn’t.
As much as I wished I were a normal woman who might be able to have a normal relationship with a wonderful man like Matteo Rossi…I wasn’t.
I never would be.
Taking the beautiful piece wouldn’t have been fair to Matt. I’d certainly be willing to buy it. In fact, I’d wanted to.
It would be a beautiful souvenir of my week here in Sumter Falls, Montana.
“Is everything here one of a kind?” I asked.
“Pretty much,” Matt said. “Sometimes someone will ask me to duplicate a piece, and I will, but I always make it just a tiny bit different. Even if I’m the only one who knows.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s art, honey. Every piece should be unique.”
I nodded. “I get it. My brother’s an artist.”
“Oh? The one who lived here in Montana?”
Crap. First rule of disappearing—don’t volunteer too much information about yourself. “Yes. I only have one brother.”
Actually three, but that was way too much information.
“What kind of artist is he?”
“A sculptor.”
Rule number two of disappearing—if you inadvertently give away too much information, lie to cover it up. Roy was a painter. His preferred medium was oil on canvas. I doubted he’d ever sculpted anything in his life.
“What does he sculpt?”
Rule number three of disappearing—give only vague responses.
“A little bit of everything.”
“What’s his name?”
Rule number four of disappearing—never give names.
“He’s not well known. It’s really just a hobby.”
“Yeah, that makes sense, since he had to move to New York for work.”
Damn. Had I said that? I cleared my throat. “Yeah.”
“I see.” Matt gazed into my eyes.
I resisted the urge to look away. Not meeting a gaze was a sign of lying. I knew that. I was good at lying. Except lying to Matteo Rossi. Apparently I was really bad at that.
“Oh,” Matt finally said. “Still, he has a name, right?”
“Sure. It’s…Michael.”
“Michael Mansfield. Maybe I’ll google him.”
“He doesn’t have a website. He’s a teacher. Like I am.”
“Ah. An art teacher and a business teacher.”
“Right.”
“But he had to move to New York for work.”
What the heck was wrong with me? Major mistake. Why would an art teacher have to move to New York?
“A friend of his from high school recommended him for a job at a private school.” Nice save.
“I see,” Matt said again. “Did your lawyer parents have a problem with the two of you going into education?”
“No.”
“Good.” He nodded.
I braced myself, ready to answer more questions. Ready to give out more misinformation.
But Matt didn’t ask me anything else about my fake brother.
I was thankful, but surprised. Matt wasn’t the
type to give up on a quest for information. I’d already learned that in the two days I’d known him.
Blue returned to the counter.
“I guess I’ll take you back to the cabin,” Matt said.
I nodded, though I was saddened. I didn’t want to say goodbye to Matt. I had no idea when I’d see him next, if at all.
“Can we walk around town a little first?” I asked.
“Sure, but I have a job in a couple hours.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. Just some handiwork for another resident. This one pays me.” He smiled.
“What do you need to do?”
“Replace a pipe under the sink in her kitchen.”
“Don’t you have a plumber in town?”
“We do, but he’s not always available, so I take the easier jobs.”
“Replacing a pipe is an easier job?”
“It’s pretty cut and dried, honey, and Leena pays me a hundred bucks for most odd jobs I do for her, so I rarely say no.”
“I see.” Leena? Sounded like a stripper’s name to me.
“But I only need to get to that before six, so I can take a few hours to show you around town. What do you want to see?”
I smiled. “Everything.”
He laughed. “Your wish is my command. Where do you want to start?”
“It’s your town. What should I see?”
“All right.” We walked out of his little shop and turned to view it from the street.
“The Silver Shoppe. Cute name.”
“My mom suggested it.”
“Oh? I’d love to meet your mom.”
“You can’t, honey.”
“Does she live somewhere else?”
“No. She’s dead.”
“Oh.” God, what an idiot I was. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay. You didn’t know. She died when I was a teen. Her brother—my uncle—raised me after that.”
“What about your father?”
He cleared his throat. “Not in the picture.”
“I see.” Matt didn’t know how lucky he was. My mother was a bitch, but my father made her look like a saint. How I wished my father had never been in the picture.
I’d be a lot more whole if he hadn’t been.
“My uncle was a great guy. I think I told you I inherited the cabins from him. One gives me shelter and the other provides me with a nice income. All I have to do is pay the property taxes and insurance. And upkeep, of course.”
