It's In His Smile (A Red River Valley Novel Book 3)

by Shelly Alexander

  And with that, Miranda Cruz sashayed out of Joe’s like a rock star.

  As soon as Miranda reached the pavement outside of Joe’s, she bent, put both hands on a knee, and gasped for air. Had she really just put on a show for the entire town?

  “Wow.” Lorenda charged through the door, trying to catch up. “That was awesome.”

  “Served him right.” Miranda straightened, her breaths still uneven. She buttoned her wool coat against the bitter wind that was blowing in a late-season storm. “Can you believe what he said?” Her voice rose a notch with each word. “Of all the arrogant, self-important . . .”

  “Egotistical.” Lorenda zipped her down vest.

  “Yes! Thank you,” Miranda fumed. They started back toward Lorenda’s office. “Well, the gossip was already flowing. At least now no one will think there’s something going on between me and Talmadge.”

  “Quite brilliant, actually. I’m proud to be your friend.” Lorenda pulled on leather gloves.

  “Mission accomplished.” With as little damage to her rep as possible, thank you very much. “The pictures on YouTube and the Red River Rag shouldn’t be a problem anymore.”

  Except she couldn’t think of anything else except the taste of his lips and the way his big, rough hands flexed into her flesh with just enough pressure to drive her insane. Or how he invaded her sleep all night. Made sweet, passionate love to her in her dreams until she woke up sweating and on the brink of an orgasm.

  Yes, that was somewhat problematic.

  They stopped at the intersection to cross Main Street, and a muddy car with snow tires beeped as it passed. She and Lorenda both waved.

  Whatever. Talmadge would be leaving in a matter of days, and then she could get her focus back. Maybe she could hunt down her contractor and get the renovations jump-started again.

  She studied the slushy asphalt as they crossed the street and stepped onto the sidewalk.

  So why did the thought of Talmadge leaving Red River make her feel so empty?

  She shook it off. Didn’t matter. She’d just turned the flow of gossip in her favor for once.

  “Uh-oh.” Lorenda put a hand on Miranda’s forearm and squeezed.

  Miranda followed her friend’s gaze to the door of Lorenda’s office.

  Mrs. Wilkinson stood there glaring—face pinching, cross dangling—waiting. For Miranda.

  “I hope you know I’m calling another town meeting and demanding a revote,” Mrs. Wilkinson barked as soon as Miranda and Lorenda got within hearing distance. “The Hot Rides and Cool Nights Festival and Parade kicks off our summer tourist season. People come from all over the Southwest to show off their cars. There are different divisions, different categories, food vendors to organize, and the parade . . .” She poked a finger in Miranda’s direction. “It’s just six weeks away, and with your lack of experience, it would fail.” The older woman’s condescending tone snagged on Miranda’s already strained nerves. “You are not going to be in charge of the most important event of the year.”

  Clydelle and Francine lumbered up behind Mrs. Wilkinson.

  “I thought the most important event of the year was the annual firefighters’ dance?” Clydelle leaned on her cane.

  Francine adjusted the gigantic purse on her arm. “No.” She shook her head thoughtfully. “It’s the annual firefighters’ marathon to raise money for the department. They get all sweaty and some even take their shirts off.”

  Mrs. Wilkinson’s face pinched even more. “No wonder people are talking . . .” Her lips thinned into an artificial smile, her eyes flashed venom, and Miranda knew Old Lady Wilkinson had heard about the embarrassing pictures. “As if your mother wasn’t bad enough, now you’ve teamed up with these old loons.”

  Miranda drew in a sharp breath at the insult.

  Francine lifted her purse. “Watch it, sister. This purse is a lethal weapon, and I’m not responsible for my actions when my blood sugar drops. I haven’t had lunch yet.”

  “My cane’s been known to accidentally slip from my grasp and do some serious damage too.” Clydelle waved it in the air.

  Mrs. Wilkinson let out an indignant gasp. She eased back against the door of Brooks Real Estate. “This year’s chairperson and planning committee are also responsible for organizing the construction of the new town gazebo. I’ve already taken the liberty of having plans drawn up, so a revote will most certainly swing in my favor.”

  “There’s not going to be a revote if we can help it,” said Clydelle. “It’s your own fault for not attending the town meeting.”

  Mrs. Wilkinson sniffed. “And I’m sure you two know nothing about how my tire got slashed?”

  Francine drew her purse behind her back like she was trying to hide it. “Nothing at all.”

  Mrs. Wilkinson turned her prickly gaze back on Miranda. “And whatever you did to win that vote won’t work.”

  “I didn’t even put my name in for the nomination,” Miranda said. “I wasn’t at the meeting.”

  Mrs. Wilkinson looked Miranda up and down. “I’m sure a woman of your . . . character has other means of gaining favor.”

  Miranda took a step toward her, her fists clenched, but Lorenda held her back.

  “Miranda’s sharp. She’ll be a great chairperson for the festival. Maybe it’s time for a change,” Lorenda said.

  “She can’t even keep a contractor around. Word has it he’s left town.” Mrs. Wilkinson gave Miranda another evil smile. “Interesting that you were his last client.”

  Miranda growled.

  So did Lorenda.

  “He’s sick, not gone,” Miranda said with so little conviction that she didn’t even convince herself.

  Mrs. Wilkinson raised her nose in the air and leveled a deliberate stare at each person in the circle. “That gazebo is the biggest civic project in years. She”—Mrs. Wilkinson gave Miranda a dismissive wave—“knows nothing about building anything. That inn is already turning into a disaster. I won’t let her ruin a new landmark in our city too. The townspeople have no choice but to call for a revote, and they’ll appoint me.”

  Miranda had had enough. “What makes you so sure? Maybe the people in this town are tired of your dominating ways and you trying to control everything.”

  Mrs. Wilkinson gave a pretentious sigh. “Oh, they’ll vote for me. Because if they don’t, I’ll pull all of my support from the festival and make sure none of my friends offer their help or support either.”

  Hellfire. That would split the town in half, because people would feel forced to choose sides. Maybe Miranda should resign before a modern-day rendition of the Hatfields and McCoys started right here in Red River.

  She felt Talmadge’s warmth before she heard his voice. It spiraled around her like protective armor as he stepped up behind her so close that his breath whispered through her hair.

  “Turns out I happen to be free the next several weeks.” Everyone fell silent the moment Talmadge spoke. People had a habit of doing that. His solid, steady voice commanded respect. “I’ll be in town longer than I thought. I can design and build the gazebo for Red River.” He glanced down at her, his eyes raking over her face. “With Madam Chairperson’s approval, of course. She’s one of the smartest people in Red River, so I have no problem working for her.”

  She turned to look at him. “You won’t be in town that long. I don’t see how it would work.”

  “I’ll be in town long enough.” He gave her a reassuring smile that was a little brighter than his usual.

  “She might make a good madam, but she’ll never be chairperson. Not as long as I have anything to say about it,” Mrs. Wilkinson said.

  Everyone ignored her.

  “I really couldn’t ask you to do that,” Miranda said to Talmadge. He was perfect for the job, but the point of her obnoxious public display a few minutes ago was to get rid of the man. She could not work with him for the next several weeks on a project. He was supposed to be leaving town, so her stupid pheromones would stop spewin
g all over him, and so she wouldn’t be tempted by his hair that felt like heaven between her fingers.

  “You’re not asking me.” His eyes latched on to her lips and wouldn’t let go. Traitorously, they parted. And sweet baby Jesus, she wanted to give him another kiss for coming to her rescue. Gah! “I owe you.” His famous half-smile appeared. “For Bea. And for giving you the wrong impression about . . . my respect for you.” His voice rose a notch, like he wanted to be sure no one missed his point. “And for insulting Bea’s dog. This will be my way of repaying you and contributing something to Red River in Bea’s memory.”

  Well. What could she say to that?

  He didn’t wait for her to say anything. He flashed a heart-stopping smile at Mrs. Wilkinson and said, “It’s settled then. No need for a revote. Miranda’s got it under control, and I’ll report to her.”

  Masterfully handled, even if it did put Miranda in an awkward position. Mrs. Wilkinson might be able to sway public opinion about Miranda, but no way could she influence Red River to oust one of America’s most sought after architects, especially since he was a hometown boy willing to donate his services for free.

  Clydelle and Francine cheered. Lorenda volunteered to be on the planning committee. Mrs. Wilkinson looked as though she might commit a violent crime.

  Talmadge stared down at Miranda with his usual confident air.

  “I’m heading back to Bea’s to start some preliminary sketches. I’ll pick Lloyd up tomorrow when I bring over the drawings for you to look at.”

  Before Miranda could answer, Talmadge stepped off the curb and strolled over to his grandfather’s old truck. Tall, proud, confident. His tailored black pants cupping the nicest ass this side of the Rio Grande.

  Miranda’s heart sank to her snow boots, because she’d never be able to resist him if they spent too much time together. So he’d be in town for a while. So they’d work on the gazebo together. How much time could that take? He’d show her drawings, give her updates. A few minutes a week tops.

  She’d just have to make sure the minutes didn’t stretch into hours. If she had to spend hours with Talmadge Oaks, she’d be so screwed. Literally. And the problem with that was, she already knew she’d like it.

  Chapter Eight

  Late-morning rays of sun cascaded through the aluminum blinds of Miranda’s bedroom and heated her cheeks. The warmth on her face roused her from sleep. She yawned and looked at the clock on her bedside table. Her head fell back on the pillow, and she rubbed her eyes.

  Yesterday she’d tried to deal with two pesky problems—getting rid of Talmadge Oaks and stifling the gossip about them—only to find herself in deeper with both. Today she had to deal with another roadblock as big as Wheeler Peak—either find her contractor or hire a new one with what little money she had left. This was exactly the kind of problem she would’ve taken to Bea, asking for guidance. Sound advice and wisdom. Now she had no one to turn to.

  She threw an arm over her eyes and pulled the worn quilt up to her chin. She’d rather lie in bed and pretend her dream of owning a thriving business wasn’t about to splinter into a million pieces. Extra sleep wouldn’t hurt, because she was exhausted after a long night of fitful sleep. Well, not actual sleep. More like lying in bed with Lloyd curled at her feet, thinking of Talmadge’s arm circling her waist when she kissed him yesterday at Joe’s. His hand wandering and massaging up her spine.

  Dammit.

  She lifted her arm and peeked at Lloyd.

  He whined like he knew she was thinking about him.

  “All right. Let’s go outside.” Miranda threw back the heavy covers, exposing her flannel Tweety Bird pajama pants and yellow tank top. With a push, she got out of bed and the old brass frame creaked. She went to the closet to find a pair of flip-flops.

  She rummaged through the antique dresser in search of her favorite sweatshirt.

  How was she going to work with Talmadge on the gazebo for weeks and not run her fingers through his luxurious hair? No, the festival and the gazebo would seal her reputation as a solid, responsible pillar in the community. She had to stay professional. Distant. Unattached. Unfortunately, Talmadge didn’t inspire any of those things. In fact, a new side of her came out when he was around. A sensuous side she didn’t know existed.

  Sort of like having an evil twin.

  Lloyd yapped, and Miranda shut the drawer without finding her comfy Sylvester the Cat sweatshirt. She smooched at Lloyd, and he jumped off the bed to follow her down the hall.

  The comforting, protective look in Talmadge’s eyes when he deflected Mrs. Wilkinson’s personal attack against Miranda had made her heart thump for hours. This morning her girl parts were quivering all over again just thinking about it. Even as she showered before bed last night, she couldn’t think of much else. Imagined his warm hands on her back, caressing and kneading up her spine. Willing them to find her aching breasts.

  Imagine her lack of fulfillment when the hot water ran out and she had to turn off the pulsing shower massager.

  Her inability to curb her wandering thoughts and curiosity every time she was with Talmadge was becoming a serious problem.

  She shuffled outside through the private entrance of her suite, and Lloyd promptly hiked his tiny leg on a paper cup someone had tossed to the ground. The sky was overcast, and a blast of cold wind reminded her she was wearing a thin tank top. Shivering with her arms wrapped around herself, she smooched at Lloyd. “Come on, boy. Let’s go in where it’s warm and get some breakfast.”

  She reached for the doorknob but it didn’t budge. She jiggled it. When it didn’t open, she shook it violently.

  Crap. It must’ve locked when it slammed shut.

  Wait. Bea kept a key hidden in a planter on the front porch. She called for Lloyd to follow and went around to the front of the inn.

  When she rounded the corner, she stopped cold. Bea’s old Dodge and Langston’s classic convertible Mustang sat out front.

  Miranda hesitated, but another cold blast of wind made her trot up the steps and reach for the front door. It opened.

  Lloyd ambled alongside her, and they entered the foyer and walked through the great room.

  Miranda stopped.

  New sheets of drywall leaned against one side of the room along with rolls of insulation. A sturdy ladder and tools were laid out on one of the workbenches that had been draped with a cloth yesterday.

  A stream of male voices reached her from the dining room, and she rounded the corner to find her little brother sitting on a stool at the counter that separated the kitchen from the dining area. His laptop was open, and Talmadge and Langston—a virtual wall of all things male, especially ego—surrounded Jamie.

  Talmadge’s sling was gone, and his arms were crossed over his firm chest. The flexed muscles of his biceps strained against a gray thermal shirt, and faded Levi’s hung low on slender hips, weighed down by a tool belt.

  Tool belt? She rounded on the supplies behind her in the great room, then turned back to stare at the interlopers.

  “Dude, no way is Superman more powerful than Batman’s gadgets,” Jamie, the techie geek, said.

  Miranda rolled her eyes.

  “You’re wrong,” Langston said. “Superman is the most powerful superhero. Period.”

  Talmadge spoke up, all seriousness. “You’re both wrong. Thor is the most powerful superhero in the universe.”

  Jamie shook his head. “Thor isn’t from this universe. Plus, there’s nothing cool about a hammer.”

  “Depends on the size of the hammer.” Miranda couldn’t see Talmadge’s face because his back was angled away from her, but the smart-ass smirk was evident in his tone.

  All three men laughed obnoxiously.

  “Dude,” Jamie said. “It would have to be a really big hammer.”

  Oh for God’s sake. Miranda cleared her throat, and all heads swiveled in her direction. Hands on hips, she stared at them as Lloyd ran over to Talmadge and whined up at him.

  “He wants
to be part of the conversation.” Jamie clicked his tongue at the dog, but Lloyd pawed at Talmadge’s foot.

  “That dog is too intelligent for this conversation.” Miranda leveled a firm stare at Talmadge. “What are you two doing here?”

  Langston walked behind the counter and poured more coffee into his travel mug. “I’m here for the free coffee.” He didn’t look at her. “The rest is between you two.”

  Talmadge scooped Lloyd up into the palm of one hand. “I came for my dog, for one.” His not-quite smile was back, but then his stare dropped to her braless bust that had just been outside in single-digit temperatures. His gaze went smoky.

  Her arms flew to her chest and she wrapped them around herself. Despite the cold temperatures and the fact that she was wearing a tank, scalding heat scored her insides and raced over her.

  “Nice pants.” Amusement threaded through his words.

  “Did you bring gazebo sketches?” She ignored his smart-ass comment.

  “Yes, but I came to help with the inn, too. Looks like you need it.”

  Before she could tell him “Hell no,” even though she did need help, Jamie started clicking away on his laptop. “Oh, wow.” He stopped and stared at the screen. Something flickered in her little brother’s eyes as they darted from her to Talmadge.

  And the heat at her core turned to a block of ice in her chest.

  She did not want to know. Really, she didn’t.

  “What?” She blew out a heavy sigh.

  “Um.” Jamie gave her a wide-eyed look, then glanced at Talmadge again. Her little brother’s cheeks turned a subtle shade of pink. “I think I’ve got a text.” He pulled a phone from his pocket and tapped at the screen.

  Talmadge turned the laptop toward him and Langston. Talmadge slid a slow, lazy look at her while Langston let out a low whistle.

  No. No, no, no. Something told her the day was about to go south, and she hadn’t even brushed out her bedhead yet.

  “I was sitting right there yesterday, but that kiss looks even hotter online.” Langston angled his head toward one shoulder. “And look. They misspelled tongue.”