by JoAnn Durgin
Still, everything about this guy outside the front window of Mahoney’s practically screamed I have a great life and want everyone to know it. She was well-acquainted with the type.
No, thanks. Time to get back to work.
With renewed focus, Isabella checked off the newest quilt on the inventory list. Another flash of orange near the front counter caught her attention.
Oh, no. Ned! Sure enough, that kid had his arms wrapped around the large jar of pickles. Her eyes widened as the little hoodlum-in-training tugged it closer to the edge of the counter. Glancing over one shoulder, he gave her a will I, or won’t I? grin.
“Step away from the jar, Ned.” Staring him down, Isabella forced as much authority as she could into her voice. She’d show him, the little troublemaker. Marty’s voice carried to her from the back of the store. Calling for him now would be a lost cause. Not enough time.
Ned inched the jar along the counter again, making her growl under her breath. He wouldn’t dare!
Tossing the clipboard aside, Isabella sprinted across the store. She could only pray she’d make it in time.
Chapter 2
By God’s great mercy, Isabella managed to catch the jar at the same time it tipped over the edge of the counter. The wide-eyed boy jumped aside, and she staggered under the weight of the jar. Beads of perspiration multiplied on her forehead, and a sinking feeling soured her stomach, as Isabella fought to keep her arms around it.
She was quickly losing this battle.
The bell on the front door jingled. Within seconds, someone moved to the opposite side and slid his arms around the jar, steadying it. A male someone with a white dress shirt rolled on his muscular forearms.
Top Dog.
“Steady now. I’ve got it. Take small steps toward the counter.” His voice was deep, a little husky. Unmistakably Bostonian. Not that it was a bad thing, especially since he was helping to rescue the pickle jar from certain doom.
Within seconds, the visitor helped her to carefully reposition the jar on the counter. He did most of the work, but Isabella wasn’t about to loosen her hold. She’d need to find a new permanent resting place for that jar, but for now, this would do.
“Okay to let go now?”
Blowing out a sigh of relief, Isabella ducked beneath his arms. “I think so, thanks.” Top Dog was taller than she’d estimated, at least eight or nine inches taller than her 5’3” height in tennis shoes.
When he released his hold on the jar and removed his sunglasses, Isabella met blue eyes tinged with a hint of gray. Intelligent, intense, and weary eyes based on the tiny lines sprouting from the corners. Even so, she figured he couldn’t be much older than his mid-30s. A surge of empathy coursed through her. He must work too hard. She knew a little something about that. Hopefully, he’d get some decent rest during his stay in Maine.
Not surprisingly, Ned had disappeared again.
“I think he went into hiding.”
Isabella glanced up at the handsome visitor. “Yes, well, so much for responsible parenting.” She smoothed one hand down the front of her white top, thankful no pickle juice had spilled.
“Yours?”
Isabella shook her head, momentarily confused. “What’s mine?”
“The kid with his arms around the pickle jar?” At least he didn’t look at her like she’d lost a few brain cells, although she couldn’t blame him if he did.
“No, he’s—”
The bell jingled as Tommy came back inside. “Sorry, boss. I was just…” He shrugged with a sheepish grin and gestured to the red sports car.
“I know. It’s okay.” The need to scold her young employee evaporated. As much as anyone, Tommy had helped maintain her sanity since she’d taken over the store. He’d worked at Mahoney’s since he was 16 and knew all the regular clientele and vendors. “Just be glad we won’t need to scrub the floorboards to get rid of the pickle smell. That wouldn’t be the best thing for business.”
“Sorry about that, Isabella.” Marty finally lumbered to the front. “Ned, get out here and show your face. Apologize to the nice lady.” Best as Isabella could tell, the boy was hiding out somewhere between Cosmetics and Household Goods. That territory covered three of their widest aisles.
“Ned Thomas Kendrick!”
A few seconds later, Ned stepped around the corner of Hardware but appeared more chagrined to have been caught than genuinely apologetic. “Sorry,” he muttered, staring at the floor. “I won’t do it again, Miss Carnivore.”
Marty collared his son and hauled him toward the front door. “You bet you won’t. Wait until your mama hears about this. Come with me.” He jerked open the door, making the bell jingle.
Isabella could hear Marty chastising his son as they headed up Elm Street.
Hearing a soft chuckle, Isabella eyed Top Dog with a lifted brow. “You found that amusing?”
“No, but for your sake, I hope your last name isn’t Carnivore.”
“Oh, that.” She waved her hand. “My last name’s Italian, and a lot of people get it wrong or mispronounce it. I don’t even notice anymore. The names they come up with can be creative. Keeps life interesting.” Her words slowed on that last part. Why was she telling him this?
“I’m sure it does.” He tugged on his silk necktie, untying the knot with practiced fingers. Sliding the tie away from his shirt, he neatly folded it and placed it on the counter beside his sunglasses. “Ever try giving that boy a book to read?” After unfastening the top button of his shirt, he leaned both elbows on the front counter. Whatever cologne he was wearing was deceptively subtle, not to mention downright appealing.
Isabella raised her chin. “The way I see it, keeping Ned entertained shouldn’t be my responsibility.” Why hadn’t she thought of that? His suggestion was a good one. When she was Ned’s age, her mom usually found her squirreled away in her bedroom of their rambling old house in southern California—or sitting beneath the backyard shade tree—with her nose stuck in a book.
“No, it’s not your responsibility,” he said. “But if his dad’s a regular and doesn’t pay close attention, you might as well offer Ned something to keep him occupied and out of trouble before he does something more dangerous than bring down a jar of pickles. You don’t need a liability issue. Besides, I’m sure you’ve got more important things to do than babysit.”
She watched as he crossed the floor and retrieved her clipboard from the floor. “I believe this belongs to you?”
“Thanks again.” She took it from him. “We have a small selection of books, but they’re mainly Christian-themed devotionals, do-it-yourself guides, biographies, a few novels. In other words, nothing for a kid Ned’s age. We also have a coloring table in the back for the toddler set, but he’s obviously outgrown those. I guess I could borrow a few books from the library and see how it goes. Miss Millicent would be able to recommend age-appropriate titles.”
“Since you don’t seem adverse to my suggestions, you might also think about adding a coloring table for the senior set,” he said. “I’ve heard those are very popular these days.”
So, this guy was the type who wanted to fix things. Or suggest ways to do things differently. That could be good…to a point. Annoying was another word. She didn’t need him telling her what to do with her store. His scrutiny made her squirm a little. While his focus couldn’t be called rude, exactly, it made her self-conscious.
“Let me guess,” she said. “You’re an entrepreneur.”
He snorted. “Hardly.”
“In any case, I’ll take your suggestions under advisement.”
“That’s all I can ask.”
She wondered how this man would react to someone telling him how to run his business.
“Now I seem to have lost Tommy. He’s disappeared on me.” A quick glance out the front window confirmed her employee was examining the car as though it were some kind of shrine. For Tommy, it probably was. As Isabella watched, he dropped to his hands and knees on the pavement and
peered beneath the car.
The visitor chuckled. “Do you want me to go out and grab him by the collar like that guy did with his kid? Haul him back in here?”
“No manhandling is necessary. Unless you’re opposed to his near idol worship of your car.”
“Not at all. The car’s meant to be seen.”
Smug man.
Isabella cleared her throat. “I should probably thank you. You’re making Tommy’s summer by roaring into town in only the first week in June. We see a number of fancy cars here, but I can safely say that, hands down, yours would win the prize as the flashiest. No offense.”
“None taken.”
“How did you find Mahoney’s?”
“I spotted your billboard a few hundred yards past the Evergreen City Limits: Population 18,687 sign.”
“It’s 18,683, not that it matters.”
“Close enough. I stand corrected.”
“That billboard has been my costliest but wisest expenditure to date,” she said. “I’m glad to know someone actually noticed it.”
“You made a wise investment.”
Isabella tilted her head, studying him. “Work in finance, do you? What brings you to Evergreen, helpful stranger?”
“No, I’m not in finance. I need driving directions.”
That made her smile. “Of course, you do. I mean, sure thing. Where do you need to go?”
“Caroline Prescott’s home.” He shook his head. “Caroline Barnes.”
Isabella’s instincts told her this man was legitimate, but why not have a little fun? “Depends on who wants to know. I don’t make a habit of divulging personal information about the citizens of Evergreen.”
“So, you do know her?” He’d tripped her up on that one.
“Of our 18,683 citizens, yes, I know her. Caroline is lovely and one of my favorite people. That doesn’t mean I’m going to give out information to anyone who asks.” She frowned. “No matter how helpful your suggestions are for keeping a little troublemaker at bay.”
“Don’t forget I helped you rescue the pickle jar from said troublemaker.”
Said troublemaker? He had to be a lawyer. She should have guessed when he’d used the word liability. “Yes, there is that.”
Straightening to his full height, he zeroed his gaze on her. “I assure you, I’m not a dangerous person. I only defend some of them,” he muttered under his breath.
Isabella couldn’t stop her quiet gasp. “Please don’t tell me you defend serial killers.”
“No.” The word was clipped as he turned his head toward the front window. Guess he didn’t care to elaborate. His profile was distinctive. His nose might be a little sharp, but he had defined cheekbones and nice lips—not too thin, not too full.
Stop that. This kind of thinking could lead nowhere good.
“I’m obviously not well-acquainted with the judicial system, but I draw the line at serial killers. Or people who defend them.” Isabella bit her lower lip. Had she completely left her sense of tact behind when she’d parted ways with the marketing firm? Being politically correct had been a way of life. Sometimes it seemed as though her days in Hartford belonged to someone else’s life, not hers.
The man’s brow creased. “Glad to know you have such an inherent mistrust of lawyers.”
“That’s not true,” she said. “I have nothing personal against lawyers as a species.”
Those steel-blue eyes narrowed. “Dangerous people come in many varieties. You might be surprised.”
“Well, I’m sure you’d know, but that topic could start a whole new thread of conversation, couldn’t it? I’m sure you need to get on your way soon. If I may ask, what is your business with Caroline?”
“My apologies for not introducing myself.” He offered his hand. “Sidney Prescott. Caroline’s my sister.”
Caroline was close to her older brother, Bryce, and he’d visited Evergreen a few times with his wife, Tiffany. Now that she thought about it, Isabella vaguely remembered Caroline mentioning the oldest brother—a high-powered, successful Boston attorney who worked with Bryce in the law firm started by their father. At the time, she’d surmised from Caroline’s comments that she wasn’t as close to this particular sibling. After talking with him a few minutes, she could understand why not. Intriguing though he might be, Sidney didn’t seem especially warm and cuddly.
Then again, maybe she could stand to be a little less defensive.
With a smile, she offered her hand. “It’s very nice to meet you, Sidney. I’m Isabella.” Warmth shot through her when he wrapped his hand around hers. She needed to bury that reaction immediately. “It’s Sidney Prescott Esquire, I presume?”
“Correct. From Boston. Caroline must have told you about me.” He appeared pleased.
“No, not really.” His grip on her hand tightened, and Isabella tried not to wince. She liked a solid male handshake, but this was overkill. “Is she expecting you?”
Sidney’s semblance of a smile faded as he released her hand. “Look, I wasn’t expecting the Evergreen Welcome Wagon to roll out the white carpet for me, but I’m reasonably sure my sister and brother-in-law won’t turn me away.”
“Well, that might be, but I hope you can appreciate that I don’t freely give out information to the first guy who comes into Mahoney’s claiming to be Caroline’s brother, drives a fancy Italian sports car, and says he’s a hotshot Boston lawyer.” Isabella drew in a quick breath. “A person can’t be too careful these days. I mean, with so much information on the Internet, how can I be sure you’re not—?”
“Insane? A serial killer?” Sidney’s eyes flashed. “For the record, I never claimed to be a hotshot.” He parked his hands on his hips. “Exhibit A. Caroline is married to Seth Barnes. A min-er-a-lo-gist.” He stretched out the word, saying it slowly, as though she were a child.
Pretentious and condescending to boot.
Okay, so maybe she had an issue with confident, cocky guys who flaunted their wealth.
He reached for his wallet. “Exhibit B.” After flipping it open, Sidney held up his Massachusetts driver’s license.
Isabella waved him off, refusing to look. “Put your wallet away, Mr. Prescott. I believe you, but I have one more question.”
“Fine.” Sidney returned the wallet to his back pocket. “Lay it on me.”
When he looked directly into her eyes, simmering heat seared through Isabella. No, no, no! She could not, would not, be attracted to this man. She’d been fooled by one self-possessed, high-powered man. After that relationship ended—badly—she she’d vowed to never again be hoodwinked by a handsome, smooth-talking lothario. Going down that road could only lead to heartache, loneliness, and a tear-soaked pillow.
She’d learned her lesson. Never again. Never.
Give her a nice, quiet man with a good job who could generate dinner conversation. Proven mental stability would be a plus.
You’d be bored in a week.
Her friend, Joel Haddon, was attractive, funny, and a good man—a respected bank officer in town—but there were absolutely no romantic sparks between them. None, a truly tragic fact. But that wasn’t this man’s business.
“Isabella?” Sidney waved one hand in front of her. “You had a question?”
“Um, right.” Whatever question she’d been pondering had vanished in the midst of her musing. Think of a question. “Who was…Queen Isabella?” Wow. What a stupid question. She felt like slapping herself but fisted her hand by her side instead.
“You?” He hadn’t skipped a beat. How did he manage to keep a straight face?
Isabella laughed. Good answer. Apparently Sidney possessed a sharp wit hidden somewhere beneath the stoic demeanor.
“If you know Seth’s a mineralogist, then I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. Most can’t remember that word much less pronounce it. I’ve stumbled over it a few times myself. Why didn’t you just call Caroline and Seth and ask them for directions before driving up here to Maine?”
A
n odd expression passed over Sidney’s features.
“Wait a second,” she said. “You don’t have Caroline’s phone number, do you?”
He visibly stiffened. “I have her home phone number on speed dial in my office. But no, I don’t have the number on my cell. Yet.”
“I’m sure Bryce could help you with that. He was here in Evergreen with Tiffany recently.” She hadn’t meant to purposely irritate him, but based on Sidney’s scowl, she’d succeeded in hitting a nerve.
“Point taken. I could also call my assistant, but I’d rather not. I’d also prefer to surprise Caroline.”
“I’m sure that won’t be a problem.”
“Isabella, come on.” His voice was edged with obvious exasperation. “Help me out here. What will it take to get my sister’s address?” Grabbing the same sack of potatoes Tommy had knocked over earlier, Sidney lifted it as though it were weightless. “How about I buy your entire stock of potatoes?”
Seemed more of that sense of humor might be emerging. Twisting her lips, Isabella shook her head. “Nope. Sorry. Potato bribery won’t work with me. Letitia Baldwin will be here soon and her husband, Larry, will be sorely disappointed if he doesn’t get mashed potatoes for his dinner. Sorely. They’re his favorite, you know.”
“Then set aside a bag and mark it for Letitia and Larry.” He stared at her for a lingering moment. “You’re right. I couldn’t have it hanging over my conscience that I’d deprived a man of his favorite mashed potatoes.”
After replacing the sack of potatoes on the shelf, Sidney strolled back to the counter. Maybe she should give him directions so he could be on his way, but Isabella was momentarily enjoying his discomfiture. She’d tell him soon enough.
“How about I buy Caroline some homemade fudge? Surely there’s not some husband who expects a slab of chocolate walnut fudge for dessert every Wednesday night? We went to the Jersey shore boardwalk as kids a few times. Unless my memory is faulty, that’s Caroline’s favorite. That’d make a good housewarming gift, don’t you think?”
