by Lori Wilde
“Morning, do you have a second?”
“Sure. What’s up?”
It seemed silly in the light of day talking about kismet cookies and midnight dreams of handsome men. Plus they didn’t have much time. But Naomi took a deep breath and forged ahead.
Naomi leaned into the car. Kept her voice low. “Remember last year? When you and the First Love Cookie Club persuaded me to sleep with a kismet cookie under my pillow on Christmas Eve?”
“I do. You wanted to find out if Robert really was your true love.”
“Yes.”
“We never talked about it, because of, well . . .” Sarah didn’t mention Clayton’s name. “But I’m guessing you did not dream of Robert.”
“I did not.”
“You dreamed of someone new?”
“Yes.” This conversation was tougher than she thought it would be.
“And?” Sarah raised her eyebrows, obviously intrigued.
“Well . . .” Naomi cleared her throat. It felt goofy even saying it out loud. “I met him.”
Sarah squealed, plastered a palm to her chest. “OMG! The man you dreamed about?”
“Or someone who looks a lot like he did in the dream.”
“Does it feel . . .” Sarah whispered, “fated?”
“It does, but that’s so illogical.”
“I know, I know.” Sarah bobbed her head. “I get it. Cookies can’t really foretell your soul mate.”
“No.”
“But you know it’s not Robert. You feel that in your heart.”
Naomi held her breath, and said out loud something she hadn’t even admitted to herself. “I do know he’s not my soul mate.”
Sarah rubbed her palms together. “So spill. Who did you dream about?”
“The handyman my dad just hired. His name is Mark Shepherd.”
“Interesting.” Sarah adjusted her sunglasses, and Naomi wasn’t sure what to make of that comment.
“Confusing,” Naomi clarified.
“Hey.” Sarah laughed. “Love is a great mystery. If it feels right, I say roll the dice. What have you got to lose?”
“N’omi.” Hunter tugged on her hand, bringing her back to earth. “We gotta go.”
She looked down at the boy. She couldn’t be taking risks. Not now. Not with Hunter to consider. Feeling utterly devoted, she ruffled his hair and leaned down to kiss his forehead. “Be cool in school.”
“I always cool.”
“Yes, you are.” She helped him into the backseat. Buckled him up. Waved as Sarah drove away. Her heart filled with love. He was the most important thing in her life.
Period.
If she ever had a child of her own, she knew she could not love that baby any more than she loved Hunter. He was hers, one hundred percent, even if the adoption wasn’t yet final. In her heart, she was already his mother.
Resolved to ignore her attraction to Mark Shepherd, she went back up the sidewalk. Her house slippers crunched the sweep of fallen leaves. Inside her pocket, her cell phone buzzed.
She checked the caller ID. Jana. “S’up?”
Jana clucked, a frustrated sound. “I can’t give you a ride today. My mom fell and broke her hip and I’m headed to Austin right now.”
“I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do?” Concerned for her friend, Naomi nibbled her thumbnail.
“Prayers would be good.”
“I’m on it.”
“Thank you.” Jana’s voice was wavy, full of unshed tears.
“Please let me know if you need anything at all. Do you want me to look after your pets?”
“Sesty’s got that covered,” Jana said, referring to one of her bosses, Sesty Langtree.
“I really hate that this is happening. I wish I could be there to give you a hug.”
“Thanks.”
“Let me know how it goes.”
“I’m sorry about leaving you stranded.”
“Don’t worry about me. You concentrate on your mom.”
“You’re the bomb, Luther.” Jana wasn’t the sentimental type. But Naomi heard gratitude in her voice “Call you when I get to Austin.”
“Drive safely.” Naomi switched off her phone and went back into the house.
Her parents were in the kitchen having breakfast. She waved and called good morning on the way to her room to get ready for the day. She didn’t want to linger. They’d take one look at her and figure out there was a glitch. Her parents were pretty perceptive, and she couldn’t always fool them by flipping the big-smile switch.
They had enough on their plate without worrying about her. Naomi got dressed. Styled her hair and put on a little makeup. By the time she finished, her parents had left. She said a prayer for Jana’s mother and for Mom’s appointment to go smoothly, then got down to business.
She brewed a cup of blueberry tea and pulled up the printout of Mrs. Beauchamp’s shopping list. Plotted store visits for the most efficient route. She’d already bought some things online wholesale. But her true talent lay in ferreting out unique, handmade products tailored to her specific clients. Luckily, Twilight had a thriving artist community.
First order of business, find a ride.
She stood at the kitchen window, sipping her tea. Flipped through her mental files, considering and discarding possible names. Her gaze landed on the roof of the rectory two doors down.
Cocking her head, she could see a yellow metal ladder braced against the side of the building. The man atop the ladder wore blue jeans, sneakers, and a red flannel shirt.
It was the man of her dreams.
Mark Shepherd.
Warmth filled Naomi’s stomach, and she caught herself smiling over the brim of her cup. Wow, but the man could fill out a pair of jeans.
Heat lit up her cheeks. What was wrong with her?
Mark made it up another rung.
First-name basis, huh, Naomi? He’d told her family to call him Shepherd. But it sounded too formal, and he seemed like a man in need of hearing his first name.
He moved his cane, hooking it around the rung above him. How in the world could he climb a ladder when he walked with a cane? Or, even more important, why had her father hired a handyman who could hardly get around? Well, she already knew the answer: her father had a soft spot for people in need. But that was the pot calling the kettle black, she knew. As she poured hot tea into a thermos, she wondered if Mark would want something to drink.
Okay, now this seemed like a bad idea. She should go back home. Do her shopping when her parents returned with their van.
Except she had to have Mrs. Beauchamp’s order delivered to her house by five. Gift-wrapped. Darn it.
Straightening, she tucked the thermos under her arm, smiled brightly, and sauntered down the sidewalk toward the church.
At the rectory, she found him pulling old nails out of the loose boards that formed the back-porch awning. She assumed he was taking down the old rotting boards so he could put up new ones. He leaned over to the side; his body braced against the ladder. The muscles in his shoulder bunched underneath his long-sleeved flannel shirt.
Her heart skipped a beat, and she found it hard to breathe.
The urge to run came over her. She had no logical explanation for it. But her stomach clenched and her throat clogged. And she felt . . . overtaken.
“Good morning,” he said, peering down at her.
There went her chance for a clean getaway.
Clearing her throat, she strolled to the foot of the ladder. Looked up. Lost her breath at the sight of his hot body. Settled her hands on her hips and smiled, smiled, smiled. “Good morning.”
She’d hoped to sound crisp and efficient. And not at all like a woman who was ogling his butt. Not that she meant to ogle, but it was a nice butt.
Very nice.
His jeans cupped against him. Snug but not too snug. The perfect fit to showcase the perfect butt.
Good grief, Naomi, stop it!
The morning sun was in her eyes and sh
e couldn’t see his face from this angle. She shielded her eyes with the flat of her hand.
He studied her from underneath his armpit. He had a hammer in one hand, and new boards resting on the roof above him.
“Do you need something?” His tone was stiff, but polite. As if he really wanted to say, Go away.
Um, why yes. You.
The thought popped into her head. Irrational and sticky. The idea shocked her to her bones. But there it was, raw and stark, this chemical attraction. She felt tingly in places that hadn’t tingled in a very long time.
Whoa!
Naomi held up the thermos. “I brought you some blueberry tea.”
He grunted.
Well, hello, Mr. Conversational.
“Just brewed it. Piping hot,” she said, knowing full well she was chattering because she was nervous. “I hope you like hot tea. Do you like hot tea? And blueberries?”
“I like hot tea.” Neither his tone nor the look in his dark eyes gave anything away. “And blueberries. Although I can’t claim I’ve ever had blueberry tea.”
She extended the thermos.
He hooked the hammer through his belt loop. Started down the ladder, moving with care, each step slow and painstaking. He kept a hand on the rungs for support, even when he landed on the ground beside her.
His scent filled her nose. Nice. Soap and sunshine and cedar. It was a homey scent, and she was surprised how much it attracted her. Then again, everything about him surprised her.
“Hello,” she said, her voice coming out husky. Dang it.
“Hello.” A shadow of a smile lifted his lips. Faint. Not halfhearted, really. More cautious than lacking.
The morning sun was in his face, glinting off his dark eyes, rich as melted chocolate. Accentuating his angular jawline. She noticed the slight laugh lines at the corners of his eyes. He hadn’t always been so serious. He had the potential for laughter. That lightened her heart.
“How did you sleep?” She rubbed the toe of her right fashion boot against the calf of her left leg. Swayed in the light breeze.
His shrug was a small shoulder roll, those broad shoulders barely moving. “Strange town. Strange bed.”
Bed.
The simple three-letter word spun an image of him lying naked against a plethora of pillows, a sheet draped strategically across his waist. Arms up, cradling the back of his head in his palms, revealing manly armpits and a bare, well-muscled chest.
Sweat pearled between her breasts. “Not well, then.”
He shook his head, a man of minimal words. He opened the thermos. Took a sip of tea. Smiled bigger.
Curiosity nudged her. “Do you have nightmares?”
His gaze was a laser beam, searing into her. “Sometimes.”
From the way he said it, she had a feeling it was a lot more often than sometimes. “If you’d like, I’ll make you some chamomile tea before you go to bed at night.”
“I appreciate the offer, but chamomile’s not going to cut it.” He gave her a you-sweet-naïve-thing smile.
A wiggle of irritation squirmed through her. Because she had a sunny disposition, and she was a minister’s daughter, people often mistook her for a Goody-Two-Shoes.
“We could always tipple bourbon in the tea,” she teased.
He shook his head, a sharp movement. Propped his cane against the building. “I’ve got enough crutches. Thanks.”
“You have a real problem with insomnia?” She ran two fingers along her brow, worried about him. That image of him naked in bed flashed through her mind again. Stop it! What time had he come back from his late-night wanderings?
He leveled her a cool stare. “Is there a reason you came over besides the tea?”
In other words, state your need or be gone. Okay, he wasn’t the friendliest person in the universe. No problem. She had lots of friends. The only thing she needed from him was a ride.
“What do you want?” Mark Shepherd asked, his tone lowering on the word “want.”
Her stomach jumped and she almost told him never mind. Almost scurried away. It would have been the wise thing. But she did not.
“Lightbulb replaced? Jar lid opened? Drawer unstuck?” he asked.
“A vehicle with a big backseat.” A new image popped into her head. This time, he was bare-chested in the backseat of his Jeep, beckoning her with a come-to-me finger.
Ack!
“Is that all?” He sounded relieved. “Here.” He pulled the Jeep keys from his pocket, dangled them from his index finger. “It’s a stick. Can you drive a stick?”
“No.”
“All right.” He pocketed the keys, turned back to the ladder.
“Wait.” She held up a hand, not sure what to make of him. The stranger was challenging.
And intriguing.
He paused, swung around, a guarded expression on his face. “Yes?”
Her throat seized up. “Umm . . . could you drive me?”
One dark eyebrow went up on his forehead, his gaze piercing hot. And she thought illogically, Heathcliff.
Wuthering Heights was her favorite classic novel. While other women went gaga over Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice, and Mr. Darcy, she was more of a Brontë girl. Give her Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights, Mr. Rochester and Heathcliff, any day of the week.
Perhaps her darker taste in literature was a counterbalance to her cheerful nature. Or maybe she had a thing for brooding loners. Itching with the need to bring them out of the darkness into the light.
“You mean like a chauffeur?”
She cringed, afraid that she’d offended him. “I’m spending the morning shopping, but my friend who was going to give me a ride . . . well, her mom broke her hip and she had to drive to Austin to be with her. I need a vehicle big enough to haul my packages. Can you do it?”
He picked up his cane. Was that a yes or a no?
“You’ll give me a ride?” she asked.
“I’ll do better than that. I’ll carry your packages and watch your purse while you concentrate on shopping. I’ve seen how you load yourself down. How distracted you get.”
“Wow, Mr. Judgy Judgerson.”
“You’re the one who jumped into the wrong Jeep.”
He had a point, but she didn’t want to admit it. She was about to tell him to forget the whole thing. He’d been hired to work at the rectory, after all, not ferry her around. But it would be nice to have someone deal with the packages and watch her purse while she shopped.
Not that Twilight was a high crime area. But this time of year, tourists packed the town. No reason to lead people into temptation.
“Thank you for your offer. That would be nice.” Her heart was doing a Snoopy dance. A squiggle of happiness swam around in her stomach.
“Are you ready to go right now?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Let me take down this ladder,” he said. “We don’t want some kid wandering up and climbing on the roof.”
“Kids should be in school.”
“‘Should’ being the operative word. Kids play hooky.”
“I didn’t.”
“Of course not.” He gave her a corner of a smile and a bounce of his eyebrows. Half smug. Half not.
“I’m assuming you did.” She plaited her fingers together, clasped her hands at her chest.
“At least once a week.”
“Wow. A bad boy, huh?” A prickling of delight lifted the hairs on her arms. Oh, this chemical attraction nonsense was delicious agony.
“Not bad,” he said. “Misguided.”
“What did you do when you skipped school?” She held her breath. Half expected him to say he shot pool or smoked pot or drag-raced or hooked up with girls. Those thoughts set her heart pounding faster.
“There were caves near where I lived. I went there to hide out. Be by myself.”
Brooding loner, indeed. Move over, Heathcliff.
He reached for the ladder, pushed a mechanism that truncated it. Tucked the ladder under his arm and l
imped to the back of the house.
Wincing, Naomi followed. Did his leg hurt as much as it looked like it did?
He put the ladder in the barn, dusted his palm on the seat of his jeans, and came back to where she stood. Retrieved his cane, and led the way to his Jeep.
Chapter 10
“Where to?” he asked, once they were inside.
“Town square.” She smoothed down her skirt.
He started the engine. The inside of the cab was quiet. Cozy. It smelled like him. Piney. Outdoorsy. Earthy.
She tried not to notice the provocative scent. Wondered why the smell hadn’t clued her in yesterday that she’d slipped into the wrong vehicle. Distracted. It was her only excuse.
The square remained blocked to through traffic. It would be until after the Dickens festival was over.
Shepherd stopped the Jeep before he reached the sawhorse blockade, and glanced around, looking for a place to parallel-park on the street. No free spots.
“Just drop me off. You can swing back around and pick me up here in . . .” She peeped at her phone. “Let’s say forty minutes.”
“I’m going in with you.” His tone was firm. Brooking no argument. His eyes half-lidded and sultry.
Yipes! “There’s no need.”
He pulled the Jeep into an alley, backed up. “There’s all the need in the world. You asked for my help. I’m giving it to you.”
“I’m giving you an out. You don’t have to come.” That sounded too suggestive. Oh gosh. Ulp. “With me. You don’t have to come with me.” Sweet heavens, she was making it worse.
“I’m going. End of discussion.” He spun the Jeep around.
She clutched her hands to her heart. Thrilling to his firm but kind tone. She sneaked a peek over at him. Noticed how strong his broad hands looked on the steering wheel. Felt her pulse throb at the hollow of her throat.
He drove in the opposite direction until he found a parking spot on a residential side street.
Whoa, Mr. Take Charge. She wasn’t quite sure she liked this alpha male baloney. But a secret part of her quivered with joy, and she wasn’t quite sure why.
“It’ll be boring,” she said.
He turned his head, stared her straight in the eyes, his eyes flaring with interest. “Nothing is boring where you’re concerned.”
