“Right. This was great. Thank you for your time, Emily,” she said, offering her a small smile before starting up the stairs again.
“Have a good evening,” Emily called to her, already moving back toward the dining room.
Lena stripped out of her clothes, carefully hanging them in the closet, before laying down on the bed. She stared up at the ceiling for a few minutes before her road-tired eyes closed and she drifted off to sleep, dreaming of her endless emails she would have to answer in the morning.
Three
She woke up disoriented, looking around at her strange surroundings with a sense of vague familiarity. Glancing over at her cell, she saw it was already after nine-am. She jumped out of bed, rushing to grab her clothes and heading into the dreaded tub. She never slept in. Even on days off, she was up by six in the morning and ready to tackle her day. She felt frazzled and wasteful as she rushed through an awkward bath, thankful at least that the inn seemed to offer really good bath products, the soap was wrapped in plain white paper with “Annabelle Goode Soap” stamped on it.
Lena quickly dressed in gray slacks and pale blue silk tank-top. She tied her hair back, slipped into a pair of sensible heels, put her notebook in her pocket, and went downstairs to grab a cup of coffee for breakfast.
The noise hit her first. A carrying sound of conversation from the dining room. She stepped into the doorway to find an almost full dining area. To one end, she saw Emily, sitting on top of a table where two women were sipping tea. Did the woman never go home? Did she actually live at the inn?
“Just take a seat anywhere Miss. Edwards,” Emily called, not even looking her way.
Lena sipped her coffee, making a few notes about needed new tables and china, paid her tab, and was about to leave when she felt a hand on her arm.
“Hey there darlin’,” the woman said. Lena turned, smiling politely. “My name is Maude. Maude Mays.” Maude was a woman around middle age with a thick build with one long perfect braid and remarkably wrinkle-less skin in a deep mahogany color. “I figured I would catch you before you got yourself involved in anything today. There is going to be a open house at a farm here tomorrow. Sam Flynn’s farm. He makes the best brie around… among other things. But anyway. You should come. Emily will give you the time and address.”
“Right. Great,” Lena said, nodding. “Thank you for the suggestion. It sounds like fun.”
Maude shuffled past her, casting a glance over her shoulder. “I expect to see you there,” she said in a voice that sounded serious.
Lena made a mental note to ask Emily about the details, since she didn’t have anything better to do, and grabbed a few pamphlets Emily had left on the front desk. There were many scheduled activities for the summer and autumn, but only two or three options for spring. Lena shrugged, deciding to visit Old Street Farm where apparently people dressed in period garb, tended to live animals, and held seminars. Like how to churn butter. Literally. She was going to learn how to churn butter.
She had barely pulled out of her parking spot when she heard it. A weird sound. A banging under the hood of her car. Lena took a deep breath, shaking her head. Could nothing ever just go smoothly? She had just had the car in the shop a few weeks ago. And she doubted anyone in this small town would know how to fix her foreign car.
With a sigh, she started off toward the gas station she had seen when she drove in. If nothing else, maybe they could offer a tow service to another town with a more equipped mechanic.
She pulled up out front of the garage doors and turned off the engine, making her way to the office. Where she waited for ten minutes and no one came. With a huff, she walked back outside to find someone already under the hood of her car.
“Um. Excuse me,” she called.
The man straightened, pulling himself out from the hood and turning to face her. And every word she had planned to say simply flew out of her mouth.
She was never the type of woman to be in awe of a good looking male specimen. They were everywhere after all. And there were traits much more important than good abs and bone structure. But, then again, she had never seen a man like this up close and personal.
He was tall. Much taller than her five-foot-eight frame. And he had a narrow, lean build. That of a swimmer or soccer player. His jet black hair was kept somewhat short, though a strand fell charmingly toward his piercing gray eyes which, of course, had thick black lashes. Because his face wasn’t perfect enough already with it’s sharp features, deep cheekbone hollows, and strong jaw. Something about his dark hair, light eyes, and pale skin gave him an almost dangerous appearance.
It just wasn’t right for any one man to be that attractive, Lena decided.
As if noticing her inspection, the side of his lips quirked up on one side. A knowing, devilish smirk. “Like what you see, baby?” he asked, his voice deep and gravely.
Lena snapped out of her reverie, straightening her spine. “I’m not your baby,” she snapped.
“Well, no, Not yet,” he said, smiling wider, revealing a deep indentation in one cheek that was too long to be a dimple. And seemed more like a scar.
“No not ever,” she corrected, her tone cool and final. “What do you think you’re doing to my car?”
He looked down at it for a second, shaking his head. “Just checking for an obvious problems.”
“You couldn’t possibly have any idea what’s wrong without consulting me first,” she responded, feeling indignant.
“No?” he asked, looking at her from under his lashes. “Then how do I know that there is aluminum in your oil?”
Lena took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a second longer than usual. He was going to test her nerves. And she really, really hated to be proven wrong. She walked up to her car, reaching in to pull her purse off the seat. “It is making a banging noise under the hood,” she said, not bothering to meet his eye. “I’ll be back in an hour to see what the verdict is.”
“Hey baby,” he called, his voice sounded calm and amused.
Lena turned back, her jaw tight. “What?”
“Make it two. This car is going to be a pain in the ass.” Like it’s owner, his tone implied.
“Oh, if you cant handle it, I will find a more qualified mechanic,” she said, pleased to see a spark of something flash across his face, however briefly.
He walked closer to her, his gait long-legged and slow. Leisurely. Almost catlike. He stopped a few short inches in front of her, making her genuinely worry about getting grease, and god knew what else, all over her clothes. He reached up and, shockingly, grabbed her chin between his fingers. “Sweetheart, I can handle anything,” he said, a sexual tone in his words.
Lena felt her eyes widen and he must have noticed to because he laughed, a deep, rumbling sound. Flustered both from the unexpected contact and her body’s sudden urge to step closer, she backed up a hasty step. “Yes well. Figure out what’s wrong. Don’t waste my time,” she said and turned to walk away.
She consciously made her gait purposeful but slow so it didn’t look like she was running away from him. But that was exactly what she felt like she needed to do. Run far, run fast.
She barreled into the first store she came across, slamming the door behind her with much more force than necessary. There was a woman quietly reading in a corner, she jumped and looked up. “Everything alright, dear?” she asked and Lena looked over and found the same woman from the dining room at the inn. Maude something-or-other.
“That man,” she ground out between clenched teeth, waving a hand toward the street.
“Ah,” Maude said, smiling knowingly. “I see you have met Eric O’reilly. He grows on you,” she said in a strange maternal tone.
“What? Like a fungus?” Lena asked, her tone dry and Maude cackled.
She stood up slowly, making her way to the door. “Oh, you’ll see, dear. You’ll see,” she said and walked out. Still holding the book she had been reading.
&n
bsp; “Um,” Lena called into the silent store. “if anyone is here… that woman just left with a book.”
“She can take anything she wants if it keeps her from lecturing me,” a male voice called out, nonchalant, completely unconcerned about money walking out the door.
“That is hardly a good business model,” she called back, making her way toward the back of the store where the voice, and the enticing smell of fresh coffee, was coming from.
“And you’re an expert in business?” the voice asked, cocky.
“Well I have a masters in business so… yes,” she said, knowing her tone was haughty and dismissive.
She finally found the source of the voice, and coffee, in a little fenced in café area with several small tables painted in bold colors, a dessert chest, and a coffee counter. The man was turned away from her, thumbing through a massive book he had propped up on top of an espresso machine.
“Are you actually here to buy a book, or just brag about your accomplishments?” he asked, finally turning around.
“Jesus christ,” Lena said, loudly. “You cant be serious.” Because there in front of her was another tall, thin, pale, black-haired, sharp-featured ridiculously good looking man. Obviously related to the obnoxious Eric O’reilly. And judging by his age, she guessed they were brothers. This O’reilly’s hair was slightly longer on top with a strong undercut and almost transparent gray eyes. A tattoo peeked out from the side of his neck. He wore jeans, a t-shirt, and huge bulky whit sweater left open in front.
It was wrong for a town to have two of them, she decided with a shake of her head. The poor, poor female residents.
“I am serious,” he said, smirking slightly. “I have been told that selling books is apparently good for my business.”
“Yes,” Lena said, her tone as dry as his. “you’re very clever. Ha ha. I’m bowled over by your intelligence. Please tell me that coffee is fresh.”
He smiled at her, a gesture that seemed foreign to his severe face. “Always,” he said, reaching for a mug. “Organic whole, skim, soy, almond, or coconut milk?”
Lena walked up to the counter, eyeing the pastries suspiciously. “Skim is fine. Where do you get the pastries from? There isn’t a bakery in town.”
“One of the ladies in town does it for me as a favor,” he said nonchalantly. “They’re not the best, but they fill the cabinet. Sugar?”
“One,” Lena said, silently thinking about how pitifully flat the chocolate chip cookies were.
“I’m Liam,” he said, pushing her coffee cup across the counter at her. “I see you met my brother.”
“What?” Lena asked, looking over her shoulder out the front window. There wasn’t a clear view of the gas station from where they stood. She turned back to Liam with drawn in eyebrows. He reached across the counter, rubbing his thumb across her chin. “Oh my god,” she groaned. “what is with you O’reilly’s and touching women you don’t even know?”
Liam straightened, pulling his hand away and holding it out to her. His thumb was covered in something nondescript and black. “Easy,” he said, his voice mocking. “just cleaning off the mark he left on you. You’re not my type.” Lena grabbed a napkin off the counter, scrubbing furiously at her chin. “I like practical women.”
Lena dropped the napkin in the trash bin, feeling insulted. She was practical. No one would ever accuse her of not being pragmatic. “I’m practical,” she said, reaching for her wallet.
“Your heels and clothes say otherwise,” Liam said with a infuriating raised brow.
“What is wrong with my clothes?”
“Are we in an office building?” Liam asked, waving a hand out. “Besides… spending that much money on slacks is a crime.”
“Isn’t it impractical to know the price of clothing that you turn your nose up at?” she asked, shoving a five dollar bill across the counter.
Liam took the money, a smirk just like his brother’s playing at his lips. “I know everything,” he said in a tone that left very little room for argument.
“Congratulations,” Lena said, taking her change and putting it away. “That must come in handy out here in the boonies,” she said over her shoulder as she walked to a table, intent on answering some work emails on her cell.
She stared down at her phone until she noticed Liam shrug and turn his attention back to his book. She hated verbal sparring. She always came off as the haughty bitch no matter what the situation. She did take a little more pleasure than she cared to admit, though, in taking Liam O’reilly down a notch. Where did he get off being so cocky and obnoxious anyway? Maybe it was just a family trait. Maybe they weren’t raised with any manners.
She typed on her phone for the better part of an hour. Looking up to see Liam otherwise occupied with his book, she went to browse the aisles. She sat down in a quiet corner, deciding to pour over an automotive manual until she felt she could have a somewhat knowledgeable conversation with Eric O’reilly.
She closed the book on her lap with a sigh, rubbing her eyes, deciding that cars were just ridiculous contraptions. She had skimmed the book cover to cover twice and still didn’t understand any of it.
Carefully putting the book back on the shelf so nothing looked out of place, Lena made her way back out into town, popping in and out of stores, trying to get a general feel for the place.
And she found it surprisingly warm. People smiled at her and welcomed her to Stars Landing. She was told three times about the tasting at Sam Flynn’s farm the next day. Apparently it was a big deal.
“Yes, he’s quite a young man. Quite a young man,” Hank, who had a nametag on proclaiming ‘Hank The Friendly Grocer’ on it. “And you can pick up some of that fancy soap they have at the inn over at Sam’s too.”
“Oh,” Lena said, interest peaked. Her skin was still carrying the pleasing lavender and lemon scent. “he has a bath supplies business as well?”
“No,” Hank said, laughing. “No no, dear. But his wife does.”
“Annabelle Goode,” Lena pieced together. She smiled, shaking her head. Small towns were something.
“Exactly. Best couple you ever seen. You’ll see for yourself if you come tomorrow. Pretty much the whole town will be there.”
“I would love to. I’ll have to see if my car is fixed by then,” she said, a turning feeling settling in her stomach because it was almost time to go back and check on it. And talk to the cocky Eric O’reilly again.
A strange, knowing look came over Hank’s otherwise friendly look. “I see. So you’ve met Eric O’reilly.”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“It’s just… you know… how do I say this?” Hank mumbled, looking genuinely uncomfortable. “It’s just… you seem like a nice young lady,” he said and Lena suddenly felt like a teenager again. “And you see… Eric has quite the, um, reputation with women. I just don’t want to see you…”
“Oh no,” Lena said, smiling and holding up a hand to stop him. “don’t worry. I see right through that man. And I am definitely not interested,” she said, her words a bit too firm.
“Good. Good. Glad to hear it,” Hank said, his smiling self again. “Well I hope you can make it tomorrow. Should be quite the gathering,” he said, moving on to talk to someone about pickles.
Lena shook her head leaving the store, making the trip back toward the gas station. It was like Hank wanted to warn her away from Eric because it might sully her view of the entire town. He couldn’t possibly be that much trouble.
The doors to the garage were open, classic rock blaring from a stereo system toward the back. Lena paused for a moment, taking a deep breath, putting her walls into place. She would need all the help she could get.
“Excuse me,” she called, her voice drowned out by the music. “Hello? Mr. O’reilly?”
“Right here sweetheart,” he said from behind her, making her jump and spin around. “And it’s Eric.”
“Right,” she said, smoothing a hand
down her shirt. He was so close… apparently completely oblivious to the concept of personal space. She retreated a step, looking over at her car for a second. “So what is the verdict?” she asked, looking back at him so it didn’t look like he had any kind of effect on her. He didn’t. Nope. Not at all. “Was it the cheap gas I got a few towns out? Or a timing problem?”
Eric smiled then, a slow forming smile. The scar in his cheek etching deeper and his eyes crinkling up slightly at the edges. “Enjoyed that repair manual, did we?” he asked, his tone light and teasing.
Lena felt her eyes widen for a split second, her stomach doing a sick little flip-flop at being caught. God, but how she hated being embarrassed. She was just thankful she wasn’t the kind of girl to blush. “You and your brother are very similar.”
“Thank you,” he said, wiping his hands on a red rag he pulled out of his back pocket.
“It wasn’t a compliment,” she said, her tone irritated.
“Wasn’t it?” he asked, his gray eyes finding hers, piercing from under heavy lids. He watched her for a second before taking a step closer.
“Oh my god,” she said, throwing up her hands. “This is my space,” she said, making a half circle in front of her, then one in front of him. “and that is yours.”
“You’re wound like a top, aren’t you?” he asked, a glint in his eyes that he was suggesting exactly what she was thinking.
Lena closed her eyes for a second, trying to clear her mind of the image of him naked that had suddenly flashed into her mind. “Just tell me about my car,” she said, opening her eyes, and shaking her head.
“Only if you say please,” he said, his face losing some of it’s arrogance.
“You cant be serious,” she started, but then one of his perfect black eyebrows arched up slightly and she sighed. “Fine… please.”
What The Heart Finds Page 2
