She was proud of herself for overcoming what Spencer had done to her. Well, mostly. She had a few more tiny things to work on. Like learning how to date without engaging her emotions, because she’d never make that mistake again. Her heart couldn’t be trusted to choose the right man.
Shaking her head, she dug the e-reader from her purse, opened the cover, and started where she’d left off the night before. Nope. She’d never make that mistake again.
He’d had to skip lunch, so Ryan was seriously looking forward to his favorite Tuesday night dinner—meatloaf, mashed potatoes, corn on the cob, and his aunt Gloria’s awesome chocolate mousse pie. He opened the diner’s door and did a quick scan of the room as he made his way to his usual stool at the counter. No big-named celebrities tonight they’d have to pretend to ignore. Then he spotted Tara’s blonde head tilted over whatever she was reading.
She looked up and called out, “Ryan?”
Now she wanted to talk? Every time he tried to ask her a question earlier, she’d stuck some new tool in his mouth, cutting him off.
When he reached the table her fingers clenched around her e-reader like he was going to snatch it from her hands. She always tensed up like that when he was around.
She said, “Hi. You forgot something earlier.” She dug inside her purse and came up with his sunglasses.
“Thanks.” He slipped them into the front of his shirt and turned to go.
“One more thing.” Tara held out a hand toward the red vinyl bench across from her.
After he’d slid into the booth, she tucked a few strands of her pretty blonde hair behind her ear and cleared her throat. “I wanted to remind you about how to care for that temporary crown.”
Every time her eyes wandered away from his, she quickly snapped them back as she told him the dangers of sticky food to his temporary crown. Like she was forcing herself to maintain eye contact with him.
What was up with that? Was it his cop instincts making him suspicious, or was she just a little shy? Maybe he’d run a deeper background check on her later to quiet his gut feeling that Tara was hiding something.
When she’d finished, he said, “Got it. Thanks.” He’d started to slide out of the booth again as Gloria laid plates of Tuesday specials in front of them both.
Aunt Gloria planted her hands on her wide hips. “So, this is a nice change. Usually you both sit on opposite sides of the diner.” Gloria lightly cuffed the back of his head. “’Bout time you noticed what a beautiful woman Tara is. Even if she is a ‘dreaded’ dentist.” Gloria chuckled at her own joke as she made her way back around the counter to top off more coffee cups.
His eyes cut to Tara’s. “Sorry. I know you prefer my brother’s, or just about anyone’s, company to mine.” He grabbed his plate and made to leave.
She reached out and laid a soft hand on his arm. “Wait, Ryan.” Then, as if his skin were on fire, she jerked her hand away. “It’s . . . nothing personal.”
She moved the food around on her plate and avoided looking at him again.
Maybe he should just go sit at the counter.
But as he turned to go, he could’ve sworn he heard her whisper, “I can do this,” under her breath before she finally looked him in the eyes again and asked, “So what’s up with that buried box, anyway?”
“It’s a long story.” His stomach growled. Loudly. But maybe she hadn’t heard that?
Tara’s lips thinned as she wrangled back a grin. “Go ahead and eat. You can tell me after.”
Great. He’d just embarrassed himself, and next he’d need to have a long, drawn-out conversation with a woman who could barely look him in the eyes. He should’ve stayed home and made himself a sandwich.
Tara took a bite while surreptitiously watching Ryan eat. While he did it neatly, the speed at which he ate was as if he’d just spent a week lost in the wilderness. Probably took a lot of food to fuel all those toned muscles.
She’d rather be home snuggled up with Sherlock instead of sitting across from the nosiest, albeit most gorgeous, man she’d ever laid eyes on. He was bound to ask her more questions. But the flash of something in Ryan’s eyes when he’d said she’d prefer anyone else’s company over his made her stay. Hurting anyone was the last thing she’d ever want to do.
He paused between bites and beamed one of his big, sexy smiles. Her traitorous stomach always clenched when he did that.
He said, “Long time no see at the gym. What’s up with that?”
She forced herself to look into his stunning blue eyes, rather than at his chin like she usually did. His perpetual five o’clock shadow made him even more dangerously handsome. “Nothing. Just . . . been busy, I guess.” Lamest answer ever. The man was trained to sniff out lies. She needed to step it up.
“So you never answered earlier. Did you leave a heartbroken boyfriend behind when you moved here, Tara?”
Showtime.
“Maybe I left a whole string of brokenhearted men, like I hear you have with the women around here?” She cocked a brow to add some confidence she wasn’t feeling.
The corner of Ryan’s upper lip quirked. “A string would be an exaggeration. You’re good at avoidance techniques.”
“I’m even better at knowing when someone is prying.”
He chuckled. “Maybe I was just checking to see how single you really are.”
“Why would you do that if you don’t date local women?”
“Being a good wingman. Heard my brother asked you out, but he had to cancel?”
She’d accepted Ben’s invitation because all the girls said he didn’t commit to relationships. Just what she was looking for. She’d never let herself be fooled by so-called love again. Marriage was a thing in her past. “Yeah. Medical emergency. Part of the problem with being the only doctor in town, I guess.”
He nodded as he stared so deeply into her eyes it was as if he could see all the way to her soul. Could he see the damage?
She had to look away.
Why couldn’t Anderson Butte have a craggy old sheriff? Ryan stirred up some serious physical desire within her. He was the first to flip her attraction switch since her divorce. She’d figured that piece of hardware was gone for good in her, until she’d met Ryan three months ago.
The next time she looked up from her plate, Ryan had finished off his meal and was swiping a napkin across his mouth. He glanced across the table at her almost full plate and winced. “I missed lunch today. I don’t usually . . . eat that fast.”
Being numb hadn’t hindered him in the least. Except he’d missed a spot with the napkin because he couldn’t feel that side of his lower lip.
“You’ve got a little something right here.” She reached across the table to wipe the corner of his mouth with her napkin.
When his brows shot up, she realized what she was about to do and stopped an inch from his face. “Oh, I’m sorry. What was I thinking?” She quickly tugged her hand back and put it in her lap. “Work habit, I guess.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Ryan’s eyes twinkled with amusement as he swiped his mouth again. “Am I good now?”
Mortified, she just nodded.
Maybe it’d been good his brother had canceled their date. She’d clearly forgotten how to share a simple meal with a man.
As soon as his napkin was back in his lap, Gloria appeared with Ryan’s pie.
Ryan thanked her, then turned his intense, blue-eyed gaze on Tara. “I’ll wait until Gloria brings yours.”
That was nice of him. But then, Spencer could be nice too. Until he wasn’t.
“Thanks.” Digging deeper into the heap of creamy mashed potatoes on her plate, she said, “So, that long story about the box?”
“Oh, yeah. Well—” A scratchy noise sounded from the radio on Ryan’s belt. A woman’s voice said, “Zeke called and said he saw a digger on your grandma’s land. Know you
’re not on call, but since you’re probably still at the diner, you’re closest.”
Ryan glanced at his pie and sighed. Then he unclipped the radio from his belt and lifted it to his mouth. “On it.”
“Saved from that long tale by the radio, or a digger in this case?”
“Yep.” A little grin stretched his full lips. “Maybe you should ask someone else. I’m not one for storytelling.”
“Or talking in general, I hear.” She stuffed another bite of the best meatloaf she’d ever had into her mouth and nearly sighed too. “Unless it’s about books? Or asking me personal questions?”
“Yeah. I like to read.” His grin turned into a full-on lethal smile, only just a little lopsided because of the Novocain.
Her stomach did that floppy thing again.
He slid out of the booth. “The town website has all the details about the box.” With a quirk of his brows, he said, “And maybe I find you as fascinating as a good book, Tara Carter. Bye.”
“See you.”
Fascinating? He probably thought she was a serial killer or something. Not someone trying to hide from a sociopathic, computer-genius ex.
Ryan was related to half the town. If she confessed to him, asked him for help, would he try to dig up her past, or tell everyone else? Her contact at the Denver police had said to tell no one but him if she had any problems. Even a simple Google search of her real name could alert Spencer of her whereabouts. No, she wouldn’t risk it.
As Ryan disappeared through the doors, Tara’s shoulders finally relaxed. It was like the man cast a spell on her sometimes with those pretty eyes of his. She’d almost wiped his mouth, when the last thing she wanted was to touch him again and feel that zap of awareness she had when she’d laid her hand on his arm.
But maybe the embarrassing almost-wiping-of-his-mouth had been a good thing. He’d probably be the one to avoid her in the future instead of vice versa.
She hoped.
As soon as Tara finished her meal, Gloria plunked down a piece of chocolate pie, then scooped Ryan’s into a to-go box. “Be a pal and drop this off at Ryan’s house on your way home, will you? Maybe he’ll invite you in and show you what a great job he’s done renovating the cabin. On his own, by the way. He’s really handy.” She added a wink.
Tara was full, so she put her pie into Ryan’s box too. “I’m sure his home is lovely, but nothing is going on between me and Ryan, Gloria. He just forgot something at my office earlier, and I returned it.”
Gloria slid onto the seat across from Tara. “Yeah, but then he stayed and ate dinner with you. Something he never does. He eats alone so he doesn’t have to chitchat. And I saw that big grin there at the end.” Gloria pushed the box closer to Tara’s side. “You have to walk right by his house anyway.”
Tara pushed the box back. “You trapped him into eating with me. And he just got called to his grandmother’s house, so Ryan won’t be home anyway, Matchmaker Molly.” She slid out of the booth. “Besides, I have to get home before Sherlock gets too bored and tries to bust himself out under the fence. Will you put Ryan’s meal on my tab too, please?” It was the least she could do after making that the most awkward meal two people had probably ever shared. She had some work to do if she wanted to start dating again. Not that that was a date.
“Will do.” Gloria chuckled as she rose from the booth. “I don’t know, Tara. Never seen him let any other pretty woman almost wipe his chin.”
She groaned. “That was . . . he was numb from earlier . . . oh never mind. See you later.” She grabbed her purse and headed out the door.
That Gloria didn’t miss a trick.
A few minutes later, as she walked past Ryan’s big, beautiful cabin near the lake, she stopped to look. If the inside was as nice as the outside it probably was something to see. The wood was freshly varnished, it had a shiny new blue tin roof, and he had pots of blue, red, and yellow wildflowers strategically placed at the front porch. Touches a woman would think of, not usually a man. It didn’t match his so-called strong-but-silent personality.
Her cell rang, pulling her back to the present and pointing out that she was standing in front of the man’s house staring like a stalker. He’d think she was one of those next. She didn’t need to give him any more ideas about the “mysterious criminal past” he seemed to always be searching for. She dug her phone out of her purse and glanced at the screen.
Her overprotective mother.
She considered letting it go to voice mail, but then her parents would worry and call out the National Guard. She started walking again and poked the green button. “Hello, Mother. How are you?”
“Annoyed with your father as usual. Checking in to be sure you’ve been pushing your comfort zone like the doctors said.”
Tara sucked in a deep breath for patience. “I’m thirty-three, not ten. And I’m fine.”
“You always say you’re fine even when you aren’t. And it’s beyond me how anyone can live that far from a Nordstrom. Maybe we’ll come for a visit and check out this little town for ourselves?”
“No! It’s too soon. You both still forget to call me Tara. You guys really need to work on that or you’ll ruin everything. I’ll see you at Laura’s wedding soon anyway.”
Her mother became quiet, which was never a good thing. Nefarious plotting usually occurred during those pauses. “We’re just worried about you being all alone there, Jamie.”
She really couldn’t blame her mother for the name slip. Or for worrying after what Spencer had done to her. He’d had her parents as fooled as she’d been. He’d even been a top executive in her father’s company. Everyone thought Spencer was the nicest guy in the world, not the monster he turned out to be. “Then you’ll be happy to know I had dinner with a man tonight.” That wasn’t a lie and it was for a good cause. To help her mother relax.
“You did? Can you be sure he’s . . . safe?”
“He’s lived here his whole life. I’m friends with his sisters—I’ve told you about Meg and Casey—and he’s the sheriff. Can’t get much safer than that, right?” Except for the part about him digging around in her past.
“I guess not.” Her mother made a humming noise. “He’ll do for a transitional man, but you can’t possibly have a long-term relationship with someone . . . in public service, can you?”
Public service? Her mother was such a snob.
“It was just dinner.”
“Well, dinners lead to more dinners and then so on. What happened to the date you were going to have with that doctor? He’d be more the type your father and I would choose for you.”
“No doubt. Sorry, I need to let you go now, so say hello to Dad for me, and thanks for calling. We’ll talk soon. Bye.”
She quickly ended the call, thankful she’d held off one more of her mother’s attempts to invite herself for a visit. She just hoped she could keep her parents away so her secret would be safe. Her father was a powerful man who was used to getting his way. And he was just as bad about calling her Jamie as her mother.
But she needed to stay hidden.
Ryan jogged down his grandmother’s long gravel drive and found her on the shore of the lake peering through the scope of her Remington. Her cane rested against her leg.
He didn’t want to startle her, so he called out quietly, “Grandma? We need to talk.”
“Go away. I’ve got me another trespasser. I’m gonna scare the pants off of this one so he never sniffs around here again.”
“I’d rather you put down that gun.”
“This is my land, and I’ve got the proper signs posted. You know as well as I do I can legally shoot anyone on it who doesn’t belong!” She squinted her eyes and shifted the gun. “You’ve been awful cranky lately. What’s up with that?”
Him, cranky? His tall, feisty grandmother cornered the market on cranky. And a few other things like stubborn, sh
ort-tempered, and crafty. But she’d helped raise him and his brother and sisters after their mother had died and he loved her more than anyone else.
He worked some false mean into his growl. “I’m serious, Grandma.” Grams was one of the best shots in the state, but she was getting older and might actually hurt someone.
“Was that supposed to scare me?” She lowered her gun and laughed. “Oh, all right. You get five minutes to go and shoo that damn Grant off my land before I shoot the both of you. Now, get!”
“Grandma—”
“Clock’s ticking, boy!”
“Fine. I’m going.”
What was making him cranky lately was all the trouble that damn note being unearthed had caused. It had the whole town in a digging frenzy.
He slipped behind his grandmother’s house and toward the sounds of a pick rhythmically hitting dirt. His grandmother made it her duty to keep the rivalry alive between his family and the Grants, a rivalry that dated back to the day the town was founded. Her feisty side loved keeping the pot stirred within the factions.
Near a stand of trees that formed a triangle with the biggest tree at its center, the old guy who used to run the gypsum mine just outside town took another swing. Ryan called out, “Hey there, Pete.”
The man stopped swinging and pulled a red rag from his back pocket to wipe his brow. “Whadda you want?”
Pete had about as much respect for anyone with the last name of Anderson as Ryan’s grandmother did for the Grants. “You’re trespassing. Best to grab your things and go before my grandmother starts shooting.”
“Nope.” Pete spat chewing tobacco juice on the ground next to Ryan’s boot. “That note was written by an Anderson, but it said anyone who found where the box is hidden could keep the spoils. The way I see it, that was an Anderson giving special permission to hunt on the land in question.”
A loud gunshot echoed through the air just before a bullet thumped into the bark of a tree three feet above Pete’s head. He spun around to inspect the damage. “That crazy old bat.”
It Had to Be Love (An It Had to Be Novel) Page 2
