by Shirley Jump
The betrayal hung heavy in the bright pink room. Abby stood six feet away, but with the chill between them, it might as well have been six miles. Guilt filled Melanie’s chest, burdened her shoulders. She’d never thought about how Abby would feel once she knew the truth—and realized how long Melanie had kept it from her. Melanie hadn’t thought beyond her own need to keep pretending she hadn’t failed. That she hadn’t let them all down again.
In the end, she had done it anyway.
“You lied to me. Over and over again.” The hurt in Abby’s voice almost broke Melanie.
“I’m sorry.” Two words that weren’t nearly enough. But how could she tell them about how badly she’d needed to be a success in their eyes? About how she had left for college, determined to turn her life around, to become a better, more responsible person? To finally be someone they would all be proud of? And just when she had attained that, she lost it all, as if some cruel poltergeist had yanked the rug out from beneath her.
Daisy came out of the back room just then, her arms full of wedding dress. “Abby! You’re just in time. I have your dress ready for you to try it on.”
Abby flipped a glance at Melanie, then back at Daisy. “I’m sorry. I’m going to have to reschedule. I’m just not feeling up to a fitting right now.” Then Abby walked out of the shop without ever looking back.
* * *
Swinging a hammer felt damned good. Harris wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand, then reached into the coffee can beside him for a handful of nails. A few feet away, Jack Barlow was holding the other half of the wall they were framing. “I forget sometimes how hard this work is,” Harris said.
“That’s because you’re the boss and spend your days telling other people how to build the houses, not doing the heavy lifting.” Jack grinned. “Want me to finish up the wall?”
“No. I’m enjoying this. It feels...productive.”
“That’s why I love construction.” Jack slipped the next two-by-four into place, then stepped back while Harris hammered it down. “All right. Now that this wall is in place, let’s get the next one up. Before you know it, we’re going to have a house.”
And not a moment too soon, Harris thought. He glanced over at Catherine, who was handing out ice water and lemonade to the volunteers. John was cutting boards for the framing and handing them off to Luke Barlow. Dylan had picked up the Kingston kids and brought them to the community center for the afternoon. Vivian Hoffman at the Good Eatin’ Café had donated sandwiches, and though there wasn’t as big of a group here as there had been the first morning, all of the Barlow brothers had rotated in for at least part of the day. Della was busy drumming up support for the fund-raiser, which looked like it was going to be a big hit.
Except for one quick update visit, the television reporter had stayed away. Saul had talked to John a couple times about an interview, but John had asked the editor to respect the privacy of the family and Saul let it go. All in all, it was a good day. If not one that felt a tiny bit...empty.
He’d gotten up this morning, figuring he’d see Melanie at breakfast, but her rental car was already gone. He told himself that was good. She’d made it clear the other night that all she wanted was a story from him. Her words still stung, a slap that he hadn’t seen coming. Of all the people he imagined trying to wheedle the truth out of him, Melanie Cooper wasn’t even on the list.
“Looks like we have an extra set of hands,” Jack said, nodding toward the driveway.
Harris turned and saw Mellie getting out of her car. God, she was beautiful. Her hair was back in a ponytail today, exposing the delicate lines of her neck. His gaze trailed down to the V of her T-shirt, over the curves of her breasts, her hips. Didn’t matter how many years passed or how much the truth had hurt, his heart still skipped a beat whenever he saw her.
Damn, he was a masochist. He turned back to the wood and damned near took his thumb off when the hammer swung too wide and missed the nail head by a mile.
“Seems you’re a bit distracted,” Jack said. He chuckled. “A woman like that can drive you crazy.”
“Who? Melanie? There’s nothing between us. We’re...”
“Friends?” Jack arched a brow. “Because it sure seems like a lot more than that by the look on your face. And the look on hers.”
Harris saw nothing different from usual in Mellie’s features. He picked up another nail. Sank it in place with one hard thwap. “We’re just friends.”
Maybe if he said it enough he’d believe it.
“If you ask me, a woman like that is the kind you shouldn’t let get away,” Jack said, leaning close to Harris. “I should know. I let Meri get away after high school and almost lost her before I got a second chance. Best decision I ever made.”
“Some people just work out like that,” Harris said. “But other relationships are...complicated.”
“It’s not complicated when you care about each other. I’ve seen you two together.” Jack put his hands on his hips and stretched his back. “I’m feeling the need for a break. Let’s get something to drink, then come back and finish this.”
“Sure, sure.” Harris put down the hammer so fast, it tumbled off the makeshift worktable and fell on the ground. He scrambled to put it in place, then brushed the sawdust off his jeans as he crossed to Mellie. Who was conveniently standing along the path to the water cooler, as if Jack had placed her there himself. Harris glanced at Jack, but the Barlow man was already heading in the opposite direction, a big grin on his face.
“You actually here to help? Or get the scoop?”
She scowled. “Why do you find it hard to believe I might be here just to help?”
“Because last time we spoke, you made it clear that all you want out of me is my story. And that’s something I’m not giving you—or anyone.”
“Let’s call a truce, okay? I am here for a story, but today, it’s just about the fund-raiser. I’m not as heartless as you think, Harris.” She took a step closer to him. “You know me, or at least you used to. Have I ever been the kind of person who uses other people to get what I want?”
“That honor goes to my father.” Harris studied her, pausing a beat to take in her heart-shaped face, the hint of a smile on her lips. Every inch of him ached to touch her, that masochistic urge pounding in his head along with an insidious voice saying that maybe she had just said that in the heat of the moment, but not really meant that all she wanted from him was the inside story on the fire. He put out a hand. “Truce.”
She shook with him, then laughed. “Deal.”
He reached for a pair of water bottles and handed her one, breaking their contact and changing the subject in one swift move. Every time he was close to her again, his thoughts got fuzzy and he forgot all those reasons why they weren’t together. “I’m surprised at how quickly this is coming together. The Barlows have been a huge help.”
“It’s like this town is a team,” she said. “Gives this jaded reporter a little hope that good people still exist in the world.”
“They do indeed. This town has kind of grown on me.” He’d spent several weeks in Stone Gap on this trip, long enough that Connecticut seemed farther away every day.
“Me, too, truth be told.” She uncapped the water bottle and took a long drink. “I had a lot of fun writing that profile on the oldest resident for Saul. He liked it so much, he tried to talk me into taking over the paper so he can retire and fish all day.”
If Mellie did that, she’d have to live in Stone Gap. Considering he was already thinking about moving here on a permanent basis, that meant they’d see each other more often. Harris wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. “You know, if you were editor, you’d get to decide which stories were written. You could do more meaty pieces, or lighter stories. No more kale salad or thin thighs.”
Mellie laughed. “Maybe Saul should put that in the jo
b description.”
Harris leaned against the tree and took a swig of water. The day shone bright and cheery, with a smattering of clouds in the sky and a light breeze. The hum of conversation carried in the air, punctuated by the pounding of hammers and the whine of a table saw. “I agree with you on the town. I’ve even been thinking about moving here permanently.”
“Really? Why?”
“I have nothing holding me in Connecticut. I don’t talk to my father, and my mother died last year. And I like it here. The people are fantastic.” There was also enough custom home building in the surrounding areas to keep him busy. Maybe not commanding the prices he did up north, but the lower cost of living would counteract that. “Now, if I could just get Della’s home cooking every day, I’d be all set.”
She laughed. “It might be a little expensive living at the inn on a permanent basis, just to get home-cooked meals.”
“I’d have to build a lot more houses, that’s for sure.” He tipped the water bottle in her direction. “What about you? Living here is a whole lot cheaper than living in New York. And that would mean you could afford to take on the assignments you like, if you didn’t take over for Saul.”
She scoffed. A tease lit her features. “Are you asking me to move in with you or something?”
The thought didn’t totally terrify him. In fact, the idea of seeing Mellie every day seemed...nice. He tried to read her thoughts, but she was as cool as the breeze, and just as hard to pin down. He closed the gap between them. Her eyes widened, and the soft scent of her perfume filled the air. His gaze dropped to her lips. “Or something.”
“Harris, this whole thing between us is temporary, nothing more than—”
To hell with caution, with past history. He leaned forward, scooped her into his arms and kissed her. She hesitated a moment, then her arms went around him, the water bottle cool against his back, and she kissed him. She fit against him as she always had, filling in the spaces inside him.
Mellie’s kiss was tender and sweet, easing a gentleness out of him that spoke of long nights and dark spaces. He dropped his bottle to the ground, then cupped her face, deepening the kiss, bringing his body against hers. A mew escaped her, igniting a roar of desire inside him and shoving coherent thoughts out of his head.
The whir of a table saw jerked him back to the present moment. They were in a public place, and pretty damned far from any kind of a bed, even though every inch of him wanted to be in one with Mellie. Right now. And for the foreseeable future.
He grabbed at some sanity, stepped back and smiled down at Mellie. Her face was flushed, her breath hurried. “Temporary, maybe, but definitely more than just a thing.”
She shook her head. “I’m going back to New York, Harris.”
To his ears, the statement sounded less sure than the last time she’d said it. “Why don’t we talk about how temporary this is over dinner tonight? Whether you stay here or go back to New York, it’s just one meal.”
She considered that for a moment. So long that he thought she was going to say no, but instead she nodded. “The Sea Shanty again?”
“I was thinking somewhere a little more private.” He shifted nearer to her, keeping one hand on her waist. Her eyes widened, and the flush bloomed in her cheeks. “Meet me in my room at seven?”
Mellie smiled, that seductive, sweet smile he knew as well as he knew his own name. “Are you cooking?”
“Not if I can talk Della into doing it.” He moved closer, tamping down the urge to finish that kiss. “I promise, we’ll have something edible. And memorable. Say yes, Mellie. Just say yes.”
“You’re a hard man to resist, Harris McCarthy.”
“I’d say that works both ways, Melanie Cooper.” He pressed one more quick kiss to her lips, then headed back to the job site.
Chapter Ten
The idea was insane.
This was only going to lead to a bad decision.
She should cancel.
Melanie picked up her phone at least a half a dozen times to text Harris and tell him they should catch dinner at the Sea Shanty again, or some other public place. Anywhere other than his room. Because being in his room, alone, meant...
Everything. Meant the attraction she’d been trying to pretend she no longer felt would go unchecked. There’d be a bed a few feet away, and after that kiss—
Well, being in bed with Harris had been a pretty frequent thought. She remembered what it was like to make love with a tender, considerate man like him. He’d learned her body, learned what she liked, and every time they had sex was better than the time before. Was his memory of those things still good?
She took a shower, shaved her legs—telling herself it was only because she wanted to, not because she was thinking of Harris’s hand running along her thighs—curled her hair, then ignored her jeans and opted for the single dress she’d brought with her. Simple and cotton, the yellow V-neck dress skimmed her curves and made her feel pretty.
Not that she cared about that, of course. She was merely getting comfortable. Yup. That was all. She was going to dinner tonight to get the inside scoop on the fire, nothing more. A flicker of guilt reminded her she’d told him she didn’t use people to get what she wanted—and here she was, doing that very thing. Telling the story could be good, though, and a way to help the family even more. Surely Harris could see the logic in that.
She grabbed a bottle of wine she’d picked up at the grocery store earlier, then headed down the hall. This was crazy. Going on a date in a man’s bedroom. Totally crazy. She should march back to her room, call Harris and tell him she wasn’t coming.
Except she didn’t turn around. And didn’t bail at the last second.
He opened the door at her first knock. Because he was as nervous as her? Standing right by the door, waiting for her? The thought sent a little thrill through her.
He grinned. “You’re right on time. I have to admit, I’m kinda surprised.”
“That’s one bad habit from high school that I broke as an adult.” She handed him the wine and tried not to look like an awkward teenager. All afternoon, she’d thought about that hella-hot kiss on the job site. How much she’d loved it. How much she wanted another. How much trouble that would bring in her life. Even now, the second she saw him, her pulse raced and desire coiled through her. “I hope you like red.”
He ushered her in, then shut the door. The sound of the latch snicking into place sealed the decision to stay. He’d set up a small speaker beside his phone and the music segued into a love song, filling the air with a lazy, sensual beat. “Red’s perfect. I don’t care what wine we have. It’s the company I’ve been looking forward to.”
The room seemed to shrink in size. All she saw, all she was aware of, was Harris and his bed, just a few feet away. She caught the spicy scent of his cologne, felt the heat from his body. And forgot her own name. “So...uh, what’s for dinner?”
Harris had pulled the room’s small white desk away from the wall and secured a second chair from somewhere. Two covered plates sat on the desk, flanked by wine and water glasses, linen napkins, and polished silverware. Harris stepped away from her and lifted the silver covers. “Voilà. Della’s chicken marsala with a side of mashed potatoes and roasted asparagus. Oh, and homemade biscuits, the best in the South, she says, and I believe her.”
“Smells delicious.” Her stomach rumbled and her mouth watered. Della was a damned good cook, and if the scents were any indication, it was going to be an amazing meal.
Harris pulled out one of the chairs, then made a sweeping gesture. “My lady?”
She laughed. Harris had always had a gallant side, which was one of the things she’d liked about him. All the other boys in high school had been awkward and self-centered, but Harris...he was different. Maybe it had been the wealthy upbringing, or some chivalry in his DNA, but whatever it was, she liked it. �
��If I knew this was a formal affair, I would have worn something fancier.”
His gaze slid over her body when she approached the chair. “You look amazing, Mellie. Yellow looks good on you.”
“Thank you.” Her cheeks heated, and she broke eye contact. What was it about being alone with him that made her feel sixteen again? Shy and unsure, completely forgetting about the article she needed to write, the real reason she was here with him.
Alone.
In a bedroom.
With a bed mere steps away.
Harris opened the wine bottle—she’d bought a screw top, just in case he didn’t have a corkscrew—and poured some into each of their glasses. She started to eat, so she wouldn’t stare at his hands and think about them on her body. Except that didn’t work very well, because her mind kept straying down that bed is right over there path.
“So you said Saul liked your article about the town’s oldest living resident?” he asked.
Good. A work question. Maybe that would defuse the desire in her body. “He did. He said he liked how I interviewed Evelyn’s great-grandson and asked him what he thought she did to live so long. He said it added a nice punch of humor to the article.” The praise from the small-town paper’s editor had warmed Melanie more than she’d expected. It had been a long time since she’d written something with any kind of meat—not to mention, the first bit of strong editorial approval she’d gotten in a while. “It felt really good to turn that story in, I have to say.”
Harris chewed a bite of chicken, then reached for the butter for his bread. “So, you never did tell me. What’s the secret to living to a hundred and two?”
“According to Evelyn? Lots of whiskey and good sex.”
Harris laughed so hard, he almost spit out his wine. “Really? That’s a plan I can follow.”
What was she doing? Bringing up drinking and sex, with a glass of wine in her and a bed just behind her? Was she flirting with him? Because this was getting her further away from her reason for being here, not closer.
