Kisses Between the Lines: An Echo Ridge Anthology (Echo Ridge Romance Book 2)

by Lucy McConnell

  “Just visiting my cousin, Shennedy. She was supposed to be your personal assistant but she’s in surgery. In fact, she’s done right now.” Lindy checked her watch. “You’ve got me until she’s back in action. If you don’t mind, I’d like to get you settled at the shop apartment and then go see her at the hospital.”

  “We can arrive now, if you like. This Shennedy, you will want to see her as soon as possible, no?”

  Lindy glanced at him. His expression was almost boy-like and quite sincere. “Thank you, that’s really thoughtful. But your cousin, Britta, is planning to meet you at the apartment. I think she’s more than slightly excited to kidnap you for a reunion.”

  He shrugged and nodded, twisting the ring again.

  Turning onto the next street, she stopped in front of the This & That Antique Shop. With a distressed blue door and pale yellow accents, it appeared craft-n-cozy, a bit of nostalgia with an adventurous what-will-I-find feel. From the front, a second-story smaller window of the attic apartment peeked through.

  “The loft is bigger in back and more spacious than it looks from the street. Shennedy’s mother used to live there until she moved into Whispering Pines Retirement Center. It’s more fun, she says.”

  Armand nodded. He retrieved his luggage and she led the way through the antique shop entry of hardwood floor, then up the carpeted narrow stairwell to the top floor. Opening the white door, they entered the comfortable room.

  “It’s not a five-star hotel but it’s homey.” As yet, no comment. Was it beneath him?

  He looked around thoughtfully. “Parfait.” And then to her, “Perfect.”

  Pleased, Lindy glanced around with him. “The committee said it was more conducive to creative writing, especially since you’re on your next book, or so the rumors say. And there’s a kitchenette. I’ll shop for groceries after the hospital, as I think Britta will have you set for dinner tonight. Is there anything else you need?”

  Lindy turned back to him only to find he stood mere inches away. Yes, he was tall, quite tall, maybe six foot three. And well-built. She hadn’t remembered that part. Taking a slight step back, Lindy gestured to a miniature heater. “The wood stove from the shop below also keeps it warm in here, and it lasts awhile. At least Shennedy says. But when we’re not at the store, you may need the heater.”

  “You run ze store antique?”

  “Who me? No, I’m merely her helper, for now. For a little while.” She shrugged. “I’ll be cleaning, price-tagging, labeling, that kind of thing, especially while Shennedy is recovering. We officially open the store next week. Not to worry, though, I’ll keep the noise down. I understand you like the quiet to write. Okay, then, here is the key.” She handed it to him, his hands warm and surprisingly strong. “And my cell number is on the notepad on the counter so you can text me a list should you need anything in the meantime. I’m sure you want to sleep after your long flight. I’ll check in on you tomorrow to see what you need for the signing and reading.”

  His face clouded momentarily. “Yes, thank you. I have everything needed.” Back to business. Wow, this guy could change quickly.

  In her car, gazing up at the shop and loft above, she could have sworn he was looking out at her from the attic window. Driving away, images of a gold ring with G inscribed and a pained, hurt expression returned to her. The kind offer, the short-tempered response. What an enigma. He was worse than before. But why? These famous types were all alike. Talented, per se, in one area, but absolutely bonkers in the emotional department.

  Well, she had done her job, as uninviting as it was. Day one, check. Now to take care of Shennedy.

  EARLY SATURDAY MORNING LINDY drove back to Trinity Hospital, smelling Martha Jean’s homemade apple cider donuts nestled next to a quart of milk. Shennedy was coming home today and it wouldn’t hurt to have a delicious something to smooth the transition.

  Before getting the donuts, Lindy had texted Armand, thinking 10 a.m. wasn’t too early for a bestselling author who likely was up at the crack of dawn writing his next big thing. But no response. Well, technically it wasn’t her job. The committee had the event well in hand, with Lindy’s responsibility simply to make sure he got there safe and sound. She would make sure. Too much rode on this to do otherwise.

  This sneak peek event was a huge draw to boost the library fundraiser. Apparently, the money would expand the kids’ area and update technology that hadn’t been done in years. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that Armand’s presence was a one-time only gig, which would drive the numbers, which would make the renovations possible. Lucky genetics for Britta, looked at in that light.

  Lindy glanced at her phone. Still nothing. Although they’d advertised, Lindy had no idea what he was actually going to do. The library had sent flyers with the time, that he was reading, that it was exclusive, and for people to reserve their spot as space was limited. They already had 75-plus people with a waiting list.

  In the hospital parking lot, she first texted Britta then headed to room 334 to get Shennedy, who was fully dressed and shooing away any help. She assured everyone, including the doctor, that her body needed only rest at home and a few days of herbal tea and Martha Jean’s donuts. But Lindy saw the puffy eyes, slightly pained expression, and shoulder hunch. After talking with the doctor and helping Shennedy with her things, they headed home.

  Settled on the couch, Shennedy glanced at Lindy checking her phone. “So, how’s the reading for tonight?”

  “One, you’re not to worry about that. Two, good if you count that Armand doesn’t believe in texting— is that a French or a writer thing?”

  “Writers are writers, don’t expect them to act normally. They’re in a sphere of their own.”

  “Maybe I’ll take him some donuts and milk, welcome him to how we do things in Echo Ridge. As in, before 7:30 p.m. for the 7:30 p.m. reading. But don’t worry, I’ve got a text into Britta. And it’s fairly cut and dry— he comes, he reads, he leaves. Should be slick.”

  She didn’t bring up that the refreshment committee, made mainly of Fay’s cookies from Fay’s café, had spent days on the delectable. And then cleaning the library to perfection, and making new curtains and cushions for the spare couches. The yard work alone had been a Herculean feat. All ahead of the Harvest Hurrah to be ready for one Armand D. Beaumont. No need to share these details or pressure. “Seriously, I’ve got this, no need for you to think two nanoseconds about it.”

  “Nanoseconds? Have you been watching my Star Trek movies?” Shennedy tucked the blanket around her. “Which reminds me. Have you seen my copy of Pride and Prejudice? I’m trying to be prepared by reading as well as procuring. Rumor has it that will be my classic book assignment from Marian— ”

  “the librarian— ”

  “Exactly. I don’t think I’ve read that since college. She’s having us all donate a classic to bolster that section of the library. You might get roped in too, you know.”

  “I’ll put it on the list. Meanwhile, do you need anything else?” She’d enjoyed tidying the house, cleaning the kitchen and polishing the furniture so it smelled slightly of lemon. Shennedy waved her away from fussing, retaining only the remote control and a stack of favorite chick flicks. She fished out the Pride and Prejudice movie and a few others. Lindy raised an eyebrow? Shennedy shrugged. “So maybe I’ll do the cliff notes first.”

  Lindy laughed as her phone buzzed. Britta— success.

  I don’t know what his plans are for the reading, he was kind of elusive about it, likely wanting to keep it a secret or add to the interest. But he should be available now. He left earlier than planned last night, said he wasn’t feeling well. You know these writer types.

  Lindy pursed her lips. Oh yes, I do.

  Sighing, she quickly texted Armand then paused mid-text. No, he was a big boy and her job was simply to drive him. Something in her stomach rumbled trouble but why, she couldn’t say.

  At the store front, Lindy jiggled the key in the front door until it ope
ned. Pausing in the entry, she listened for movement upstairs. None. Well, writers didn’t make much noise with a laptop, or respond to texts when in the “zone,” perhaps. She would leave him to his world.

  For the next hour and a half she tried to make a dent in the dusting and tagging of items before taking Armand to the library reading.

  At close to seven o’clock, Lindy heard someone moving around upstairs. Pots clanged about and then words in a rapid low tone. Still no text, so maybe he preferred in-person communication. She grabbed the Martha Jean donuts she had brought and climbed the stairs, wondering about being too bold. But frankly, it was half an hour before and she needed some communication, si vous plait.

  Lindy knocked gently at first, then more firmly. A muffled response came from behind the door. “Mr. Beaumont, um, Armand, it’s Lindy Marchant.” Silence. “Your delivery service? First, I deliver you Martha Jean donuts, then deliver you to the reading.”

  More silence. Then a shuffle. A hoarse muffled voice came between the door crack. “Pardon, mademoiselle Lindy, I am unwell.”

  She leaned in closer to the door to hear him. He was sick? “Are you okay? Do you need a doctor?”

  Please say no.

  “How you say, allergies I think. Last night, Britta’s cat. I not remember my medicine. And now, my face, it iz the swollen something terrible. My voice, so hoarse. I feel awful.”

  Could allergies affect someone that badly? And if he’s so allergic, why didn’t he take his medicine? One of her co-workers always carried an epi-pen for a peanut allergy. “Do you need an epi-pen or pharmacy meds?” Why wouldn’t he let her in— a swollen face wasn’t contagious after all. Was he really that much of a prima donna, not wanting her to see him in an ugly state?

  Oi.

  “No, no, I am good. I make some special tea and rest. Zat iz best. Please tell to all my apology.”

  She stepped back. Was he serious? Not wanting medicine, staying in. Did he not know what this meant to Britta, to the library, to the senior ladies who had bought raffle tickets by the dozens to attend tonight?

  A sick feeling lodged in her stomach. It was Seattle all over again.

  What should she do? Call him on it? Demand to see him at once? Lindy paused. Her role was personal assistant. Britta had the final call on this, and why hadn’t he talked to her personally? “Well, I’m sorry you’re unwell, Mr. Beaumont.” The tone carried a clear message— this is beyond unprofessional. “I’ll let everyone know and we’ll work out something else for tonight.”

  What, she had no idea.

  “Merci beaucoup. I…I am truly sorry.”

  Lindy stared at the door. That last line had sounded quite sincere. In fact, not sick at all. What was he playing at, did he think this was how the famous behaved?

  Already it was after seven. She hurried down the stairs, hating to call Britta but knowing it needed to be done. They could figure out a solution, but how much damage would need to be controlled, and how to do it was the bigger concern.

  Armand D. Beaumont strikes again. Perfect.

  A buzz from her phone. Damon. Again. His timing was spot-on.

  Are you going to answer me one of these days? I’m going to keep texting. It seems like a waste of cell phone usage. Won’t you give me one more chance? Just one, Lindy.

  Ugh. Men, and their promises, or lack of keeping them. Now to clean up after another one.

  The sooner Armand left Echo Ridge, the sooner she could get back to normal life. Whatever that would be.

  Armand waited until Lindy’s car had left the curbside before blowing out a breath of relief. Yes, he knew it was wrong. But what else could he do? Twisting the pinky ring around and around, he grasped for some way to solve his problem that perhaps couldn’t be seen.

  Pacing the loft carpeted floor, he paused and glanced down at the ring. Gabrielle. As if things weren’t bad enough already, she had to work her mischief. What was it about this woman that upheaved his life every time? Whether he loved her or not, it didn’t matter. She breathed heartache, and he should know better. And now he did know, but it hurt all the more. After two years, to have found out about Stanton and her in the coward’s way. And then for her to call once again and ask to come back. He roughly ran his hands through his blond hair. Enough to make him crazy, that’s what she was.

  Impulsively, he rattled off a series of French phrases, twisted the ring off his pinky, and threw it at the garbage basket. It hit the wall with a pling and fell in. With a few more indignant paces, he glanced at the basket and paused. After a moment he slowly walked to it, stared at the ring, picked it up, and held it in his hand. Then he placed it in a pocket of the black carry-on suitcase. Yes, he was through with Gabrielle. But not the ring. After all, it was grand-mere’s.

  His cell phone buzzed and a message from Britta showed. He frowned. The favor had seemed easy enough, even perfect for his needs. But she hadn’t mentioned the reading, merely a book signing and talking with some elderly women. How to explain what this was like for him, the anxiety and the stress of it. For the tenth time that morning, he wondered about sharing it with her, with her being a family connection. But not yet, definitely too soon. He had barely met her. And she had such high expectations, and that he could do no wrong.

  Failing, again. He glanced at the laptop and the familiar wave of panic swept over him. His U.S. book tour was about to begin, his final manuscript for the last book in his detective series was due in a month’s time. What could he tell his agent— I am stuck. I am going through a defi difficile a relever, hiding in a small town until I can get inspiration?

  Armand dropped heavily onto the couch and rubbed his eyes. How had he not understood that the pressure would only increase after his first book? And with each one. Now he needed to deliver on many fronts. Media already hunted about social online channels, looking for the scraps of news. It was a good idea to stay in France. Thankfully, before he had Stanton fired, the press releases and such had been sent. For now.

  Releasing a worried breath, he hesitated, then dragged himself to the laptop and put his fingers to the keyboard, praying for inspiration on more than one front.

  SUNDAY MORNING DAWNED A bright crisp blue in Echo Ridge. As church bells pealed, the sleepy town awakened and townspeople filed into the several available churches. Lindy settled Shennedy with strict instructions to stay in bed, despite her numerous comments that it was unnecessary and for Lindy to get going already.

  “And you didn’t tell me how things went last night, though I can guess.” Shennedy peered at Lindy. “You’ve got dark circles.”

  “I do not, it’s the bad lighting in here.” Lindy pulled out her compact and cover-stick anyway. She gave her the brief low-down of the situation. “It worked out alright in the end. Britta was stressed but called in a few favors. Another author and photographer in-residence, at that Ruby Mountain Resort up the way, agreed to come down and do the dog and pony show.” She dabbed the concealer under her eyes. “But of course, he made it clear only if it was worth his time. Britta bought about ten copies of his coffee table books on the pretense of them being great Christmas gifts. Sorry, spoiler alert.”

  Shennedy shook her head. “Unreal that he canceled. How did the women take it?”

  Lindy put her make-up away and grabbed her coat. “No sobbing this time, so that was an improvement.” She paused, frowning. “The women were polite enough— I mean, they got he was sick, if he really was. And the photographer smoothed their ruffled feathers fine and all. But the only reason things went well was that Britta promised the reading would be rescheduled. I’m not sure how Mr. B. is going to respond to that.”

  “It’ll be good for him. And for you, to figure out what’s really going on. Something doesn’t add up.”

  Lindy gave a short laugh. “Of course it does. Ego plus money plus spotlight equals male diva. It’s celebrity math.”

  “Ha.”

  With a hug to Shennedy, Lindy left for church, pleasant on the outside but b
othered on the inside. What was going on? Armand didn’t seem the celebrity type, what she’d seen so far. And yet, he had just pulled the same self-centered stunt.

  Ugh.

  Maybe Pastor Louis could work his magic again. Even though she had slept a good part of her stay so far, Shennedy had taken her to hear this grandfather-like clergyman. His soothing tone and meaningful words had touched her upon the first hearing.

  During the sermon today, he spoke on kindness and gentleness, and being so with ourselves and with others. Immediately, thoughts of Armand came to mind. Gentleness, indeed. How does a person be gentle with another who is self-focused, who continually breaks promises?

  And hearts. Unwittingly, Damon came to mind.

  Was she being gentle with him? And what was the line between gentle and wise? What was experienced wisdom and Christian folly? Yes, he had broken her heart. And his unethical business decisions had also led to leaving a life she loved and now recuperating here. But did that mean he deserved her anger and contempt? She tried not to feel those negative emotions, and had even attempted to eliminate them from her life. But each of his text messages seemed to rip the scab anew.

  Pushing aside these thoughts, Lindy headed home for a needed nap. En route came the thought to stop by and check on Armand— maybe he really had been sick. Yes, it would be the gentle and kind thing to do. Even though she didn’t feel it yet in her heart.

  Fine. For two minutes, period. And maybe she’d find out something helpful.

  After entering the shop, she checked to be sure all was well. Then she ascended the stairwell as Armand emerged from the small landing at the top stair. They stopped just short of each other. Dressed in gray slacks and an open-collar white shirt that exposed the top of his chest, with his hair slightly mussed, he looked right out of a magazine ad for Sunday at the Hamptons. A shimmer of interest brushed over her.

  “Armand? You look great.” Had she just said that aloud? “I meant, for being sick…today, you look great…you look well. Are you well?”