by Debra Webb
The cleaning team had scrubbed the kitchen cabinets until they gleamed. They looked better than she’d expected. Add a new countertop and sink, maybe appliances, and the kitchen would be great. She peered out the big window over the sink.
Reece leaned against his SUV, his head back as if he were staring up into the trees. A frown inched its way across Mia’s forehead. He’d said he was looking for something. Had he decided to start over far away from his old life? She had kind of done that, but the decision hadn’t really been hers. Her aunt and uncle had made all the decisions for her. She couldn’t actually complain. Mia hadn’t been in any physical or mental condition to make the choices herself.
Maybe that was why she experienced such strong reactions to this stranger. Fate had dealt them both a pretty tough hand.
A crash in the dining room hauled her out of her amateur analysis. Breaking glass? She strode in that direction.
Broken glass glittered on the wood floor. Her gaze shifted from the floor to the windows that faced the side street. Jagged shards of glass outlined one of the wood sashes like bad teeth.
“What the…?” She surveyed the floor, looking for whatever had shattered the window. Her gaze landed on an electric hand sander. She stepped cautiously around the shards. Not just any hand sander. Her hand sander.
Someone had taken the small power tool from the toolbox in the back of her truck and thrown it through the window. In broad daylight.
“Why in the world…?”
She was at the door before she realized she had made the decision to go outside. Her truck sat right where she had left it. The toolbox was closed. Keys were still in the ignition. Mia never locked her truck, never removed the key. There had never been any reason to.
“You okay?”
Startled, she whipped around. Reece stood right behind her. The worry in his eyes surprised her almost as much as his catching her completely off guard. She hadn’t heard a sound. For a guy with a limp that was saying something.
“I can’t figure out what happened.” She shrugged, shook her head. “Someone took my hand sander from my toolbox and threw it through your window.” A historic window. Not so easily replaced.
Reece walked all the way around her truck, searched the interior and the toolbox. “Nothing was taken,” she assured him. She didn’t have that many power tools and the ones she had weren’t top-of-the-line. Nothing but the truck itself had any real value and that was mainly to her. Still, it was bought and paid for.
Who would do this? She checked the street, considered the families who lived in either direction. There were kids but none who would do something like this.
“We should call Chief Taylor.” What a way to welcome a new resident to town. “He’ll file a report for your insurance.” Jeez, what if Reece hadn’t gotten insurance yet? She felt sick to her stomach. If he hadn’t, she would pay for the damages.
“Don’t worry about it.” Reece, too, was surveying the street and the houses on either side of his. “Let’s go back inside.”
Mia dug in her pocket for her cell. “No, really, we have to call the chief.”
Reece snagged her by the arm and hauled her toward his front door. “I said, don’t worry about it.”
By the time they reached the entry hall Mia had kicked aside the shock at his reaction and was barreling toward ticked off. “Wait.” She dug in her heels. “I don’t know how you do things in L.A. but here we report vandalism.”
He didn’t respond for the better part of a minute. His fingers still manacling her arm, he simply stared at her with those blue, blue eyes. “I don’t want any unnecessary attention.”
A new, startling revelation muscled its way into her brain, chasing away the burst of anger his man-handling had inspired. “Are you running from the law?” Good grief, she hadn’t actually given any serious consideration to that possibility. This was Blossom. It was like Mayberry. Nothing bad ever happened here. Her throat tightened irrationally and her skin burned beneath his firm grip.
He shook his head. “I’m not running from anything.” He released her and looked away. “I did that for five years. I won’t run anymore.”
Mia resisted the urge to follow him when he walked away. But every instinct she possessed wanted to help him find his way.
What was wrong with her? She didn’t know this man yet she felt it was her responsibility to help him. To take care of him.
Maybe her uncle was right. Maybe she needed a vacation.
Mia rejected that idea. For too many of the past seven long years, doctors and physical therapists and family had been taking care of her, advising and guiding her. For the first time she felt as if she could do the helping. She had to try. For him and for her.
Chapter Nine
If he’d had any doubts about Mia Grant’s true identity, Linc had none now.
His presence as well as his intent here was now known. The broken window was not vandalism. Blossom didn’t have a reputation for trouble, not even the small stuff.
He had sensed that someone had followed him to her house last night after dinner. Now he knew for sure that he was being watched.
Linc rounded up the broom and dustpan the cleaners had left in the hall closet. He didn’t have a trash can but the bags from his stop at the market would work. Grabbing a couple, he prepared to clean up the message someone had decided to send him.
“You need gloves for that.” She backed toward the door. “I’ll get a pair.”
He opted not to say anything. He’d already said too much. Justification for not wanting to call the police wasn’t going to be easily explained. It was a mistake he couldn’t afford to repeat. Her story about how her parents had died in a car accident kept ringing in his ears. Lori’s parents had died in a car crash when she was in college. He wasn’t going to chalk that up to coincidence, even if he believed in the phenomenon.
Frustrated, he reached for a large shard of the windowpane, then another. He dropped them into the bag and reached for more.
“Here.” She shoved the gloves at him. “Use these.”
That she’d rushed back into the house without Linc noticing startled him. His fingers tensed, digging into the glass he’d forgotten he’d snatched up. Releasing the glass, he muttered a curse through clenched teeth.
“Oh, my word.” She dropped the gloves. “I’ll get the first aid kit.”
Linc swore at himself all the way to the kitchen. He turned on the faucet and stuck his injured hand under the stream of cold water. He hissed another curse. Idiot! It had been a long time since he’d allowed emotions to distract him. Hell, he’d stopped feeling anything at all five years ago. It wasn’t fair that it was so difficult to turn off his emotions while turning them back on happened almost instantly.
“Let me help you with that.”
Linc jerked out his shirttail and dried his hand. Blood smeared, ruining the shirt. “Looks like I’m making matters worse.”
She opened the kit and picked through the items inside. “Give me your hand.” She held hers out palm up.
Linc didn’t move; he simply stared at her hand. For seven years he had dreamed of touching her again. Not the brief handshake they’d shared when they first met, but of really touching her. He placed his hand in hers. The stinging in his fingers vanished. All he could feel was her soft, warm skin against his.
He watched as her delicate fingers, the same ones that wielded a plaster blade, gently dabbed the blood away.
“You’re in luck.” She looked up long enough to flash him a smile. “It’s not deep enough for stitches.” She turned her attention back to his hand. “Just deep enough to sting like hell and get in the way. A little antiseptic…” She applied the antibacterial salve from the tiny tube. “A little tight wrapping…” She encircled his hand in gauze. “And you’ll be fine in a few days.” She flashed that too-familiar smile for him again.
“Thanks.” The impulse to grab her and run was overwhelming. But he couldn’t do that. Not yet. He neede
d proof that she was his wife.
“I’ll clean up.” She gathered the items on the counter and repacked her first aid kit. Then she faced him. “I’ll call it a day so you can take it easy.”
She wanted out of here. As hard as she attempted to behave calmly Linc could feel the tension exuding from her. He needed to initiate some damage control.
“Before you go, I should explain.”
That she hesitated gave him hope that he could fix this, but the apprehension in her eyes warned that it wouldn’t be easy.
“There was a lot of publicity after the accident.” He closed his eyes to block the memories that instantly slammed into him. “The press hounded me for months.” He opened his eyes and met the uncertainty in her gaze with determination in his own. He could not screw this up. “I’ve been running away from that nightmare ever since.” He shook his head. “I don’t want to run anymore.”
“I can’t imagine.” She set the kit back on the counter and swiped her hands on her apron. “We don’t have to report this.” A big breath hissed past her lips. “I’ll ask around.” She shrugged. “See if I can figure out who did something so mean.”
Not a good idea. “Why don’t we forget the whole thing? If,” he added when the apprehension flickered in her eyes again, “there are any more incidents we’ll call whoever you want.” He turned his palms up, going for nonchalant. “Like you said, it was probably some kid acting out a dare. The sound of the glass breaking probably scared ’em to death.”
She nodded. “Probably.” Then she searched his eyes, concern still haunting hers. “If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.”
“Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
A new challenge jumped in front of him as she headed for the dining room. He needed more time with her. If what he suspected was true, he couldn’t be sure of how much time he had. If Marcos was somehow still alive, he wouldn’t wait long to make his move. Anticipating that move was simple. He would either attempt to get Linc out of the way or he would take her away.
Linc couldn’t wait around for either one to happen.
Mia was already halfway to her truck with her toolbox before Linc grabbed the ladder and headed after her. She tossed her toolbox in the cab and then pulled her cell phone from her pocket. Linc listened as he loaded the ladder.
“I was going to call you after work. No. No. Really I was.”
She seemed agitated at the caller.
“I can’t do that right now.”
Linc picked up bungee cords from the bed of the truck and took his time securing the ladder. He wanted to listen as long as possible.
“I know you worry.” She glanced at Linc but he kept his head down. “I’ll call you tonight. I promise. Yes.” She sighed. “Okay. Love you, too.”
Linc fastened the final cord. It slipped and he winced as it slid through his hand.
“Family.” She tucked the phone back into the pocket of her jeans. “They always think they know what’s best for you.”
“You think you won’t miss that.” He leaned against the truck. “Until you wake up one day and there’s no one left but you.”
She put her hand to her forehead. “I’m sorry. You’re right. My uncle thinks I work too much.”
“Do you?” Lori had been a total workaholic. Like him. They’d been the perfect pair.
“Maybe.” She shook her head. “Isn’t everyone’s standard different?”
Lori would have argued her case with the same reasoning. His gut tightened. This was her. He was as certain of it as humanly possible. No matter that she no longer appeared to be allergic to dogs, Linc knew it was her. The idea that Mort may have been involved with whatever had gone down seven years ago thundered in his brain. Now Mort was dead and there was no way to know what he’d done or why he’d done it.
Linc had one chance here and he was looking right at her. “Good point.” In an effort to buy some of that time he needed so badly, he said, “Did you mention having some paint chips that I could use for color selections?” She hadn’t, but he was willing to bet she knew the handiest place to find color chips and paint. And he knew where he wanted her to find it.
That smile that turned him inside out spread across her lips. “You are anxious, aren’t you?” She shot a look at the house. “It might be a few more days before you can paint.”
“I think I’d like to go bold,” he ventured.
“That’s a big decision,” she allowed, far more relaxed now.
“Agreed, but no more playing it safe for me. Maybe if I saw an older home like this painted in the richer colors, I could take the leap without hesitation.” He was banking on the theory that she would want to help.
A moment passed as she considered his dilemma. “I could show you my uncle’s house. He’s away. He embraces all things bold.”
Exactly what he’d hoped for. As soon as he’d gotten word from Keaton that Mia Grant had an uncle with a home here, he’d checked it out. At the crack of dawn this morning Linc had taken a look. Vincent Lopez did indeed embrace boldness, particularly in his interior design choices.
“Great.” He waited, hoping.
She shrugged. “We could go now.” Her gaze wandered to his hand. “If you want.”
“Now is good.” He had a feeling she felt bad about his injury and wanted to keep an eye on him for a little while.
“Climb in.” She rounded the hood of her truck.
Linc pushed the toolbox to the center of the bench seat and dropped into the passenger side. He’d wangled more time.
What the hell did he do next?
Inspiration Lane, 5:15 p.m.
THE MANSION LOPEZ CALLED HOME whenever he was in Blossom was no typical farmhouse, not by a long shot. A number of words came to mind—enormous, grandiose, but definitely not typical. Juan Marcos had shown the same need for grandeur back in L.A. The county had auctioned off his assets after the explosion. Looked like he’d made his fortune back and then some.
Mia hit the light switch and quickly entered the security code. She turned to Linc and waved her arms. “This is as rich and bold as you can get.”
“Interesting.” Linc wandered through the entry hall. He feigned admiration of the deep burgundy color and the massive paintings. The security system was high tech, the cameras the best on the market. If Lopez/Marcos were monitoring the system remotely, he would know someone had entered his home. He would see Linc. He stared directly at the nearest meticulously placed camera. If Marcos was behind this, Linc wanted him to know that he was here to reclaim what was his.
He indicated the massive room to the right. “May I see more?” She gave him the go-ahead with another sweep of her arms. Linc walked into the enormous parlor. She followed, turning on more lights.
More lavish decorating filled the space. Again, he checked out the distinction between the deep hues of the wall and the bright white wood detailing he’d checked out through the windows already. “I like the contrast.” The occasional comment was necessary to avoid her suspicions.
“Most of the historic homes go that route. The vivid contrast helps to emphasize the detail work in the molding.” She caressed the intricate door trim like a satiated lover.
His stomach tightened at the memory of her hands caressing his skin in just that way. He blinked away the distraction and moved to the ornate mantel. A barrage of framed photographs lined the marble top.
Linc’s insides went as cold as the imported stone when his eyes lit on photos of Lori as a baby…her gap-toothed school photos…her high school graduation portrait… How in the hell had these ended up here? These were Lori’s. For more than five years all her photos, all her things had been stored away under lock and key. No one had access…
No one except Mort. Linc had left a key to the climate-controlled storage unit with his mentor and friend. Betrayal twisted Linc’s gut. He’d trusted Mort with his life, with Lori’s life.
How much had Linc’s relationship with Mort been worth? Linc�
��s jaw tightened. He would never have believed Mort had a price. Not Mort. He had never skated even close to that line.
Another photo grabbed Linc by the throat. Lori with a man. A Latino. The nose and the chin were different, the head shaved, but it was him. Juan Marcos.
Emotion bombarded Linc. This was evidence. Circumstantial, maybe, but evidence that Mia Grant could be Lori Reece.
Linc faced the woman standing less than three feet away. His wife.
“My uncle.” She shook her head. “He treats me like the daughter he never had.”
Juan Marcos had no children. It was documented that he had a number of women he considered wives. Two had been tracked down, only to discover they had died of suspicious causes. Linc hadn’t confirmed his conclusion yet, but he figured this aunt Gloria was one of Marcos’s female companions.
It was likely that Gloria’s primary responsibility was to keep an eye on Mia…Lori.
“Your uncle clearly adores you.” The bastard. Marcos was the kind of man who prided himself on taking what did not belong to him. “This is him?” He gestured to the photograph that had ice clogging his veins.
“That’s him.” She sighed, then shook her head. “He’s far too protective.” Her gaze traveled over the photographs. “Since the accident he treats me like I’m still this age.” She pointed to the photo of her at five years old. “He’s totally forgotten that I’m a grown woman, perfectly capable of taking care of myself.” Then she pointed to her senior photo. “The accident forced some changes. I don’t look the same.” She shrugged. “I guess I’m not.”
Linc couldn’t take his eyes off her. He was riveted by the way she touched the things that meant something to her. The deep emotion in her eyes.
He cleared his brain and refocused on the conversation and what he could glean. “Was he so protective before the accident?”
She looked away. But not quickly enough. He got a good look at the misery his question evoked. Linc hated himself for hurting her in any way, but he had to unearth even the most remote memory.
