by Hope Ramsay
“Hey, are you okay in there?” she asked through the door.
“I’m good,” Jeff replied. His voice eased her jangled nerves and soothed her aching heart. Just the sound of him calmed her down.
“I just checked your jeans. They’re beyond repair.”
Silence greeted her from the other side of the door, and her momentary melancholy was replaced by something else. It might be fun to open the door and have a good look at him. It would definitely distract her from her problems.
“Guess I picked the wrong day to go commando, huh?” he finally said. “Truth is, I need to do some laundry.”
“Do you do laundry?”
“What does that mean?”
“Oh, nothing. It’s just that your wardrobe is always so…”
“What?”
“I don’t know. Together. I figured you took everything to the dry cleaner’s.”
“Well, yeah, I do.”
“There’s a good dry cleaner on South Third Street. Just sayin’.”
“Thanks. But that doesn’t exactly solve my current problem. Got any ideas?”
Melissa had a few, but they were all bad ones. The best thing would be to get him some pants so her libido would go back to sleep.
“Okay, look, hang loose…” She paused a moment because these words brought an image to her mind that was X-rated. “Uh…um, maybe that was the wrong choice of words. Just wait there for a minute, and I’ll get you a pair of pants.”
She checked the size of the shredded jeans and then headed down the street to the Haggle Shop, the local consignment store, where she scoured the rack for a pair of jeans with a thirty-four-inch waist and a thirty-six inseam.
The Haggle Shop had lots of cool vintage stuff, but you never knew what you’d find there, and the selection of guys’ pants in a thirty-six inseam was limited to four pairs of ugly beige khakis and one pair of cool argyle golf pants in kelly green and pastel yellow.
* * *
The pants were loud. And fun. Wearing them was like being invited into Melissa’s slightly weird, totally unique world of fashion. He opened the door to find her standing there with a naughty gleam in her too-blue eyes.
“I like the pants,” he said. “I’m thinking I need more color in my life.” He took a step forward. This time she didn’t retreat, and he caught a whiff of her scent: a mountain meadow.
“Look, Melissa, I overheard what that woman said.” He touched her shoulder, and she pressed herself in to his hand. Just like a cat hunting for a good scratch.
“I’ve been trying to tell you that the bookstore is a lost cause,” she said. “I have to put it up for sale. I’m scheduling an appointment with Walter from Braden Realty on Monday.” Melissa’s voice was full of defeat.
His heart stumbled. “Won’t that play right into that woman’s hand?” His words came out in a rush.
“Maybe. But it’s got to be done. Jeff, I’m sorry. I’ve been sitting here for a few weeks, unable to make a decision. That’s why I left the ‘Help Wanted’ sign on the door. And then you arrived, and I got all caught up in the ridiculous fantasy that maybe I could keep the store going. But I can’t. Taxes are due, and I have to mortgage the place to pay them. But I can’t make mortgage payments by selling used books. There just isn’t enough income in it.” Her voice wobbled as she spoke, and then her eyes filled with tears.
He took her big black glasses off her face and pulled her into his arms. “It’s okay. Just let it out. I’m thinking maybe you haven’t even let yourself cry for your grandmother.”
She didn’t cry. But she leaned against him like Hugo did when he wanted attention. Jeff stroked the back of her head, her curly hair gliding under his palms, igniting a deep yearning. He had to admit the truth. It wasn’t so much the bookstore that had him coming here every day as it was Melissa. He wanted to protect her. He wanted to be the comic book hero who swoops in and saves the world and gets the hot girl at the same time.
And why the hell not? He didn’t need any superpowers to fix this problem. Money would do the trick, and if Jeff had anything, it was money—a gigantic and bothersome trust fund that made people think he didn’t have any ambition or drive. A mother with so much money she needed someone to manage it all. Money was a big pain in the neck for Jeff, but it could solve all of Melissa’s problems.
He could fix this for her and thwart Aunt Pam’s plans at the same time. He just needed one day to make the arrangements.
Like changing his name, it would be the ultimate statement of rebellion.
* * *
Oh God. She was in Jeff’s arms, and it felt like heaven, leaning up against his hard, male body. A girl could get used to leaning on a guy like Jeff. He was steady. Dependable. Sweet. Considerate. And he dressed well.
Also, his lips were warm and soft where they rested against her forehead. She wanted him to do something naughty with those lips.
She tilted her head, hoping he would get the message that she wanted to be kissed. He was all blurry since she wasn’t wearing her glasses, so she couldn’t read his expression. Was he just being kind? That would be so frustrating.
She wanted more from him than help with the store. The store was irrelevant. It had to be closed and the building had to be sold.
And just like that she made the decision she’d been putting off. She would sell out, and she would stop waiting around for life to begin.
Today was the first day of the rest of her life, and she was going to seize control of it. Jeff Talbert might not be a forever love, but he was a nice guy and she was alone in the world. Besides, she’d been living like a nun for too long.
“So,” she said, letting her voice drop into the husky range. “The store is closed tomorrow. You want to do something fun? I could take you up to the falls. It’s a fun hike. Or are you opposed to long walks in the woods?”
“Are you asking me out on a date?”
“Uh, yeah, I guess.”
“You guess? You don’t know?”
Damn. The man was impossible.
“Yes, I’m asking you out on a date. Tomorrow.”
She must have frowned at him or something because he started stroking her forehead with his thumb. The touch was comforting and arousing all at once. The cats loved it when he rubbed his thumb over their foreheads. Now she understood. She didn’t purr, but her body definitely started to rev itself up for more. In fact, she closed her eyes and made a little moan of pleasure.
That obviously did it for him. He stopped stroking her, settled his hands on her hips, and pulled her in tight against his chest and thighs and all his other hard manly parts. His lips went back to her temple, but this time he kissed his way down the side of her face, over her cheek to the corner of her mouth. She moved into the kiss and opened up for him.
When their tongues finally met, she threw her arms around his neck and pulled him into the kiss. He was a virtuoso at this dance of tongues, doling out something sweet, carnal, mysterious, and addictive.
But when one of his hands left her hip and moved up toward her breast, she inadvertently stiffened. It happened like a reflex. She might fantasize about no-strings sex, but she was abysmally bad at actually having it. Her underlying caution always reared its head.
Damn.
And wouldn’t you know it? Jeff was such a gentleman that he backed away a little. “Not okay?” he asked.
What was she supposed to do now? It was all so awkward. So she said nothing, even though she really wanted him to go back to kissing her and maybe even touching her.
Instead he relaxed his grip and put her in a safer zone without actually letting her go. “So,” he said in a rough voice, “I’d love to take a hike with you up to the falls.”
Oh, good. She’d have a second chance to get this right. “Great,” she said.
“Cool,” he replied. “Why don’t we meet at Gracie’s Diner for brunch or something?”
No, no, no. She backed out of his embrace. “Uh, no, not Gracie’s. Let’s
meet at the Old Laurel Chapel. In the parking lot. At nine o’clock.”
“The Old Laurel Chapel?”
“It’s off Morgan Avenue, just north of State Road 606. There’s a little gravel parking lot there and access to the Appalachian Trail, which connects to the trail that leads to the falls.”
“What about brunch?”
“I’ll pack a picnic.”
There was a beat of silence before he said, “Are you ashamed to be seen in public with me?”
“Oh, no, that’s not it. You see Gracie is…” Her shoulders tensed and her voice stumbled.
“Gracie’s what?”
“A busybody.” And so much more. Gracie would grill Jeff because she saw it as her purpose in life to find Melissa the right husband, and Jeff was probably not that guy even if his kisses were amazing. He was probably just a guy passing through, looking for some fun.
“Oh, I see. Good thinking. I don’t want any gossip,” he said. Which seemed odd for a guy from out of town. But she let it slide.
Chapter Six
Melissa hardly slept a wink. She kept replaying the kiss in her mind, not to mention that moment when Jeff had scooted, butt-naked, into the back room. Hot. So hot.
She gave up trying to sleep at six a.m., when she got up and took a frigid shower, threw on some clothes, and headed to the Food Lion for the picnic stuff and a box of condoms.
Buying them was like burning the bridges to her past. Deciding to have a little fun with Jeff had become an important part of letting go of the store and moving on with her life.
A few hours later, with a backpack full of sandwiches and other goodies, she pulled off Morgan Avenue into the patchy gravel lot by the Old Laurel Chapel.
The stone ruin hadn’t seen a congregation in more than a hundred years, and it had been sadly neglected during that time. Its roof had all but fallen in, leaving behind four stone walls with empty vaulted windows. Today the mountain laurel surrounding the building was in full, glorious bloom, edging the cemetery and dotting the woods with its pale pink blossoms.
Jeff hadn’t arrived yet, so Melissa left her car and strolled through the ancient graveyard, where many of the headstones bore the surname of Lyndon or McNeil—families who had helped to found Shenandoah Falls almost three centuries ago.
The sound of tires crunching on gravel had her raising her head in time to see Jeff pull a late-model Land Rover into the lot. With a car like that, he wasn’t hurting for money. But what did he do for a living besides being an unpublished author? Where did he come from? Why was he here?
Maybe she’d learn the answers today. Or maybe not. She’d decided that it didn’t matter. Today was about not grieving, and not worrying, and just having a little bit of fun.
“Hey,” she called, and waved. “I’m over here.”
He locked his car and strolled toward her, wearing a pair of jeans and a black body-hugging T-shirt that showed off his shoulders and the wide, muscular expanse of his chest.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said. “I had a few phone calls I needed to make. One of them took a while.”
“Business?” she asked in a leading tone.
“No, just a personal call. Family stuff.” He turned away from her to inspect the church. “Wow. That looks like it’s been here three hundred years.”
“So, you have a family?” she asked, ignoring his comments about the chapel.
“Yeah. A mother in New York. She’s kind of overbearing and overprotective.”
“Ah.”
She wanted him to elaborate. Instead, he turned his gaze on her and then pulled her into a hot, sexy kiss that fogged her glasses and her brain. She wrapped her hands around the back of his head, running her fingers through his too-long hair, and tried to eat him up.
The kiss might have led to other things, but they were interrupted by a little girl who came skipping out of the woods like Little Red Riding Hood with a wicker basket on her arm. She wasn’t wearing a red cloak, but her hair was certainly red. And tangled.
The child skidded to a noisy stop before she said, “Oh!”
Jeff and Melissa jumped apart like guilty teenagers caught in the act.
“Hello,” the girl said.
Melissa adjusted her glasses. Oh, great. Nothing like being caught in the clinches by a Lyndon. The girl was Natalie, David Lyndon’s daughter. A moment later Natalie’s grandmother, Poppy Marchand, appeared at the forest’s edge. Poppy was in her sixties, and Laurel Chapel was on the grounds of Eagle Hill Manor, which Poppy owned. Technically, Melissa and Jeff were trespassing.
Poppy eyed Melissa and then shifted her gaze to Jeff, where it remained for a long moment. “Hello,” she said.
“Uh, hi, Mrs. Marchand. Good morning,” Melissa said in a rush. “We’re taking the shortcut to the Appalachian Trail. Is it okay to leave our cars in the lot?” She pointed with her thumb over her shoulder.
“You hiking up to the falls?” Poppy asked.
“Yeah.”
“Nice day for it. The laurel is lovely this time of year. It’s no problem about the cars. No one ever comes up here anymore.” Poppy paused for a moment as she continued to study Jeff. “Do I know you? Have you visited Eagle Hill Manor before?”
“No. I’m sure we’ve never met.”
Poppy nodded. “I guess not. But you look very familiar for some reason.”
Natalie tugged at Poppy’s hand. “C’mon, Grammy, let’s go.” She pulled Poppy toward the old church. “Let’s play princess, ’kay?”
“Y’all have a nice hike,” Poppy said as the girl pulled her up the steps and into the ruined chapel.
“Let’s go,” Melissa said, pulling Jeff in the opposite direction. “There’s a short path here that connects with the Appalachian Trail. We’ll walk that for a couple of miles and then take the turnoff for the falls.”
They found the main trail without much trouble, and Jeff took the lead as the ground began to rise. About half a mile before they reached the turnoff for the falls, they came to a break in the forest’s cover that provided a view up a rise to a grand Georgian-style brick mansion. The house stood atop the hill, with the Blue Ridge Mountains at its back and its grand portico facing the Shenandoah Valley.
Jeff stopped in his tracks and stared at the house for a long, silent moment.
Melissa played tour guide. “That’s Charlotte’s Grove,” she said. “The house you see was built after the Revolution. But the original cabin—”
“Save the history lesson. I know all about Charlotte’s Grove.”
“You do?”
“That’s where the Lyndons live. The people who want to buy your store.” There was no mistaking the enmity in his voice.
The big concrete bunker she’d built around her heart cracked a little bit. Jeff Talbert was on her side. She had an ally. “Yeah, they are. But the store has to be sold, you know.”
He turned on her, his dark eyes suddenly intense. “No, it doesn’t.”
She laughed. “Jeff, it does. And I’ve finally made up my mind about it. So let’s not talk about the store. Let’s just have a fun day in the woods, okay?”
* * *
The sky got into Melissa’s blue eyes somehow, and for a moment Jeff lost himself in that deep, limitless color. Looking into her eyes was almost like free-falling. He took her shoulders and drew her forward for another hard, needy kiss on her soft, open lips.
She tasted like the outdoors. Like springtime. He should have planned this better. He should have brought a couple of blankets. Maybe some condoms. She was sending up all kinds of signals that he was receiving loud and clear.
No. Just. No.
Not here, within sight of Charlotte’s Grove. And not with her wearing that T-shirt with a truly gruesome illustration of innocent Little Red Riding Hood and a menacing wolf. Where did she get these T-shirts anyway? From the Brothers Grimm Department Store?
He broke the kiss. He owed her the truth about his background or he was no better than that ogling wolf on her T-s
hirt. He ought to say something right now, but that would ruin everything he’d put in motion yesterday afternoon. He needed one more day before he told her the truth. Once his plans were fully in place, he could tell her about his father, and she’d know right away whose side he was on.
She gazed up at him as wide-eyed as ever, even behind those glasses of hers, so innocent, so beautiful. She’d certainly found a place in his heart.
“Okay, you’ve got it. Today we’ll pretend the Lyndons don’t exist,” he said.
“That sounds like the perfect plan,” she said.
He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and headed up the trail at a brisk pace, even though the path began to ascend steeply. By the time they arrived at the turnoff for the falls trail, Melissa was wheezing behind him. He turned. “I’m sorry. You should have told me to slow down.”
“No, it’s okay. I’m out of shape,” she said on a puff of air. “This is what happens when you spend too much time in a beanbag chair reading genre fiction.”
He laughed. “So you admit that you read genre fiction?”
She shrugged. “Yeah.”
“So, what were you reading that day when I first came into the store and bought the Thoreau?”
She eyed him warily. “I’m not telling.”
“Afraid to lose your credentials as a discerning reader?”
She laughed. “You’re funny.” She pointed to the trail that led off to the right. “C’mon. Let’s go, but maybe a little slower. The falls are only two more miles.”
The trail went up sharply for more than a mile, while the rushing sound of a fast-moving stream met their ears. Then, abruptly, the path narrowed and headed downhill through lichen-covered rocks to a patch of sandy beach at the edge of a fast-moving freestone creek—Liberty Run.
Upstream, the run cascaded down a twenty-five-foot fall, sending water droplets into the air and filling the forest with its powerful roar. Eons of flowing water had cut a plunge pool at the base of the waterfall surrounded by tumbled rocks of various sizes.
They stood for a moment, under a canopy of red oaks and yellow poplars, interspersed with the occasional hemlock. It was green here. Green rocks, green canopy. Even the run had a brown-green tinge to it, created by the tannins in the water.
