by Katy Paige
They stopped beside the table and Zoë raised her head, her dark eyes smacking into Maggie’s green ones right away.
Maggie blinked twice, her face segueing from friendly openness to mild confusion in an instant. Zoë could see the question Where do I know you from? flit across Maggie’s face as Maggie tilted her head to the side, staring openly at Zoë.
“Who’s this?” asked Jane in her smoky voice, shifting on Lars’s lap to extend her hand to Zoë.
“This is Zoë,” said Paul, looking over at Zoë and smiling. “She saved Cleo from the front wheel of Maurice Evan’s Chevy this afternoon.”
Zoë took Jane’s hand, smiling uneasily, worried about Maggie.
“I’m Jane. This is Lars.” Jane nodded to the blond god holding her around the waist.
“Heya, Zoë,” he said, letting go of Jane only long enough to shake Zoë’s hand.
“You look like your brother,” said Zoë, smiling back at Lars with a little more confidence. Maggie hadn’t said anything yet, but Zoë was still stalling on their formal introduction.
“Which one?” asked Lars, quirking a brow at her.
Jane slapped his chest lightly. “How would Zoë know Erik?” She turned back to Zoë. “Do you know Erik?”
“No. Not that I know of.”
“See?” She winked at Zoë. “She means Nils.”
“He picked me up at the—”
“You’re the artist,” said Lars, his eyes brightening with recognition.
“Wow.” Zoë peeked up at Paul, smiling. “This is a small town.”
“We’re all in each other’s business,” said Maggie. “That’s just what we do.”
Zoë’s smile faltered, but she took a deep breath and reapplied it, turning to Maggie. “I think that’s nice.”
“Do you, now?” asked Maggie, putting out her hand, her face pleasantly neutral as she stared at Zoë without wavering. “I’m Maggie. I feel like I know you from somewhere.”
“Unlikely,” said Zoë, dropping her hand as Paul dragged over a chair and bumped it lightly against the back of her legs. “I’ve never been here before.”
Maggie nodded slowly, her eyes narrowing on Zoë’s facial scar before returning to her eyes. Zoë sat down and Paul dragged another chair over to sit beside her. The redheaded man across the table stared at her.
“Since nobody cares to do the honors, I’ll introduce myself,” he said in a thicker Scottish accent than Maggie’s. “I’m Graham. Maggie’s cousin.”
“Hey, Graham,” said Zoë with a chuckle, ignoring the way his eyes flicked to her breasts before licking his lips suggestively. He couldn’t be more than twenty-one years old. Cheeky.
Paul cleared his throat loudly and Graham looked away from Zoë, smirking at Paul. “How’s Miss Mystic?”
Wow, this is weird. They sit around and talk about me? Huh. All eyes turned to Paul, so Zoë twisted slightly in her seat to do the same.
Paul glanced at Zoë for a split second before speaking, and she could have sworn she saw some emotion cross his face—regret or guilt or…what? Was he reluctant to talk about Holly in front of her now that they’d almost kissed?
“She’s…she’s great. She’s at a teacher’s conference this week.”
“How many days now? Until your visit?” asked Jane. Lars tugged Jane closer and as she relaxed back into his arms, he landed a quick kiss on her neck.
“Twenty-five.” Paul crossed and uncrossed his legs so that his shoe brushed Zoë’s leg through her skirt.
“Paul’s headed to Connecticut to meet his girlfriend, Holly,” said Maggie to Zoë, sitting back in her chair, watching Zoë with slightly narrowed eyes. Zoë could see her mind working and her heart sank. It was only a matter of time until Maggie placed her face. Hopefully she’d at least have tonight to build some sort of rapport with Paul...before Maggie outed her.
“Paul was just telling me about Holly on our walk over,” said Zoë neutrally.
“Paul’s virtual girlfriend,” said Graham, winking at Zoë.
“I assure you, she’s real,” said Paul softly, and Zoë’s heart clenched from his words and his solid tone.
“So glad to hear it,” said Graham, looking pointedly back and forth between Zoë and Paul. “When you two walked in together, I thought maybe you’d thrown over Holly for…”
“Zoë,” she reminded him, raising an eyebrow at his teasing. “And no. We just met.”
“Ohhh, So you’re not a pair.” Graham winked at Zoë, his gaze flicking briefly to her chest again before he picked off a piece of the muffin in front of him. As he popped a piece of muffin in his mouth, two dimples cratered his cheeks as he grinned at Zoë, chewing slowly. “Well, that’s good.”
Paul cleared his throat, crossing his arms over his chest and his elbow brushed the side of Zoë’s breast. He didn’t mean to do that, did he? Whether he did or not, it made her more aware of him, and nervous.
She turned her attention across the table and caught Graham’s eyes frankly appraising her chest again. He was a good few years younger than Zoë, but cute in a self-assured, bad boy sort of way. His hair was more red than blond, almost the same color as Prince Harry’s, with bright green eyes, and Zoë could see the end of a tattoo snaking out from the cuff of Graham’s long-sleeve shirt, wrapping around his wrist. He reminded her of some of her more cocky fifth graders, full of piss and smart comments, brimming with hormones, just as ready to take a swing at someone as charm them.
Maggie placed a hand on Zoë’s arm. “What can I get you to drink, Zoë? Cappuccino? Latte?”
Paul turned to Zoë, leaning forward and lowering his voice. “Whatever you want. It’s on me.”
“Black coffee’s great,” she answered, feeling her face flush from his attention.
“Two black coffees, Mag,” confirmed Paul. “And thanks.”
Maggie stared back and forth between Paul and Zoë for a moment before affixing a smile on her face and turning toward the coffee bar. But Zoë had seen the wariness in her gaze. Maggie sensed that something was off here. Damn woman’s intuition, anyway!
“So, Zoë, what’re you here for? Family? Holiday? On the lam?”
“Nothing so dastardly.” Zoë chuckled, looking up at Jane’s teasing emerald eyes. “I always wanted to see Yellowstone.”
“And you’re an artist, right? What’s your medium?” asked Jane, her head nestled on Lars’s shoulder.
“Oh, I love acrylics and oils. Pastels. But I can make do with charcoal and good paper if there’s nothing else around.”
“I heard you lost your supplies,” said Lars, smiling at her raised brow. “Yes, Nils again.”
“That’s a shame,” said Graham. “How’d it happen?”
“My art bag never made it on the plane,” said Zoë shrugging.
“I’ve got her covered,” said Paul, shifting in his chair until his hip lightly grazed Zoë’s.
Zoë turned to him because his voice was low and a little bit terse, and totally directed at Maggie’s cousin. There was definitely a little rivalry between the two men and Zoë realized that every time Graham spoke to her, Paul ended up brushing against her. Were the two things related?
“Paul said that I could borrow some supplies from the art department at his school,” she explained.
“Your knight in shining armor,” said Jane, kicking Paul lightly with a sneakered foot and winking at him. “Hey! I have an idea!” She turned to Lars and kissed his lips lightly. “How about we take Zoë to the park tomorrow with us?”
Zoë could have sworn she saw a twinge of disappointment on Lars’s face before he composed himself, smiling warmly at Jane. “Whatever you want, Minx.”
“It would be the nice thing to do…since she’s new here…”
Lars turned to his best friend. “Paul, what do you think? Make it a foursome? The girls can do their artsy stuff and maybe we can finagle a trout or two.”
“Where’re you thinking?” asked Paul.
Lars shrugged. “
Jane liked Gibbon Falls when we went, but her camera ran out of juice and she couldn’t get any shots. I’ve been meaning to take her back.”
Zoë watched him run his fingers lazily up and down Jane’s arm and she had a sudden, desperate pang of jealousy watching their easy affection.
“It would be a great place for you to paint or draw, Zoë,” said Jane, encouragingly.
“Might even catch a rainbow,” said Lars to Paul, dropping another kiss on Jane’s neck distractedly.
Paul turned to Zoë and she shifted her gaze from the adoring young couple to Paul’s cerulean eyes. “What do you say, Zoë? You up for a day trip?”
She was, of course, desperate for a day trip with Paul, but it complicated things. She was supposed to tell him the truth first thing tomorrow. She bit her lip, knowing she should say no, but she couldn’t make herself form the word.
One more day couldn’t hurt, right?
She couldn’t look away from him as she nodded her head.
“I’d love it.”
***
She needed to stop biting her lip like that. It made it impossible for a man to think of anything but kissing her and he didn’t want to think about kissing Zoë. Unfortunately, he was having trouble looking away and his heart lurched into a gallop as he imagined pressing his lips to hers, biting that lip with his teeth instead of hers. Blood rushed to his groin and he bit down on his tongue purposefully to distract himself.
Stop this now.
Control yourself!
Holly, Holly, Holly!
He forced himself to turn away from her, only to catch Graham’s annoying smirk across the table.
“Sounds like fun,” said Graham, who only had eyes for Zoë.
Paul didn’t know Graham McAlpin very well. He’d kept mostly to himself for the week or so he’d been visiting, but Paul had heard stories from Maggie, and none of them were very good.
He’d been a wild child—a hellion, who’d gotten into a fair amount of trouble back home in secondary school. But apparently he was good with a hammer, so his mother, Maggie’s aunt, had shipped him off to Gardiner for a few months to help his cousin with renovations on the Prairie Dawn. According to Maggie, the twenty-year-old could use a “wee break” from his “associates” in Glasgow. Paul hadn’t pressed her for more information on these nefarious-sounding “associates,” but looking at Graham’s tattooed arms, facial scars, and cocky bad boy grins, Paul was reading Graham loud and clear.
Graham was trouble with a capital T and the way he was looking at Zoë made Paul want to smash his fist into Graham’s face and give him a new scar for his collection. He tried to calm down, reminding himself that Graham wasn’t much older than some of his more challenging seniors, but—Holly or no Holly—he couldn’t help the wave of protectiveness he felt for Zoë. He was definitely not interested in Graham joining them for their trip to Gibbon Falls tomorrow.
“I’m sure Maggie needs you around here tomorrow, huh, Graham?”
The younger man rolled his eyes, glancing at Zoë and then back at Paul. His brogue was thick when he answered slowly, his tone laced with challenge. “Ooo, I wouldna dream of hornin’ in on yer double date, laddie.”
It was on the tip of Paul’s tongue to argue that it wasn’t a date, but Maggie returned with their drinks, setting the brightly colored ceramic mugs on the table in front of Paul and Zoë.
“Here’s yer coffee. Is Gingy bein’ a brat?”
“Gingy?” asked Zoë, picking up her mug and blowing lightly over the steam.
Paul couldn’t tear his gaze away from her pursed lips. Damn, but he was weak.
“Gingy for his ginger-colored hair,” she tousled it affectionately and Graham gave her a look, pulling away. “My wee cousin’s come to spend the fall with me. He’s goin’ to build a deck off the back of the Prairie Dawn. Will be nice for next summer.”
Lars stretched his arms over his head yawning, and Jane kissed his cheek before slipping off his lap and offering him her hand to pull him up.
“Lars is sleepy,” she announced.
“Lars is often kept up all night long,” Lars teased her and she drew her hand back, as if offended, putting it on her hip instead.
“Not that I’m complaining,” he clarified, standing up and wrenching her hand away from her waist so he could lace his fingers through hers. “Take me home, Minx.”
Jane smiled at the group still at the table. “Graham, glad you finally joined us. Mags, I’ll catch you tomorrow or next week. And you two...we’ll see you tomorrow. Pick you up at your place, Paul? Ten o’clock?”
Paul nodded at Jane. “Sounds good to me. Zoë?”
“Can we get into the school first? For the supplies?”
“Sure,” said Paul, grinning into her deep brown eyes. “I’ll pick you up at nine and we can go choose whatever you like.”
Jane and Lars headed out and Zoë turned back to Paul.
“Sorry you got railroaded into going to the park tomorrow.”
“Are you kidding? Miss an opportunity to best Lars in trout fishing? I live for that!”
She smiled at him and he had that feeling again. Like he knew her from somewhere. He wished he could figure it out and be done with it.
“If you say so. I’ll be your cheering section.”
“I’m counting on it. He has Jane, so it’s only fair that…” His voice trailed off as he realized he was about to say I have you.
“Zoë,” said Maggie, breaking the rhythm of their conversation, “Come up to the baked goods case. I’d like to give you somethin’ to take back to yer room.”
“Oh, there’s no need—”
“But I insist,” said Maggie, brooking no refusal.
Zoë stared at Maggie for a moment before standing up hesitantly and following her across the café, leaving Paul alone with Graham. He watched Graham stare overtly at Zoë’s ass as she walked away.
“She’s hot,” said Graham, grinning at Paul. “I wouldn’t mind—”
“Save it.” Paul put up his hand. “Whatever you’re going to say, I don’t want to hear it.”
“Why not?” Graham leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Oh! Oh, I get it. You don’t want her, but you don’t want anyone else havin’ a taste neither.”
Paul shook his head. “That’s not it at all.”
Graham swirled the coffee left in his cup, staring at Paul with a knowing smirk. “You can barely stop lookin’ at her. Been starin’ at her since the second you two walked in here, laddie.”
Paul’s nostrils flared with annoyance, but he didn’t deny it. First of all, rising to bait wasn’t Paul’s style. But, secondly, the kid was right. In the absence of a response, Graham continued, upping the ante.
“Shite, man, I get it. She has the best tits I’ve seen in—”
“If another word comes out of your mouth, my fist’s going in it, “ Paul growled in warning.
Graham stopped talking but his eyes widened in pure enjoyment and his smirk grew into a smile. He didn’t say anything else, just stared at Paul with that knowing, highly annoying grin.
Maggie and Zoë returned to the table, but Zoë didn’t sit down. She looked pale as she clutched a small brown bag with white knuckles. Had she somehow heard Graham’s insulting assessment of her?
“I have to go,” she said softly, looking to be on the verge of tears.
Paul flicked his glance to Maggie, who looked down at her coffee cup, lips pursed.
“Are you okay, Mag? Is everything—?”
“All fine,” said Maggie, giving him a half-smile.
“Zoë?”
“It’s time to go,” she murmured, taking a step away from the table.
What in the world had just happened between these two at the baked goods counter?
“Get home safe,” said Maggie lightly.
“Thanks,” Zoë whispered, then turned and rushed to the door without another word or second glance.
“Wait!” Paul blurted out, standing up swi
ftly. He shoved his chair back and started after her, but Maggie’s hand on his wrist stopped him for a moment.
“Paul, we need to—”
“No, Mag. Not right now. She’s obviously upset.” He wiggled his wrist away, feeling annoyed with his friend and giving her cousin a scathing look. “I have to go.”
Maggie’s eyes widened in surprise before nodding slowly. “Okay, then. I guess you do.”
Without another word he hurried to catch up with Zoë.
CHAPTER 11
Zoë’s heart hammered as she turned onto the sidewalk and her bad leg, stiff from sitting, shot darts of pain up to her waist, making her limp more pronounced as she forced herself to move faster.
Stupid girl! Stupid, stupid, stupid! You should have just told him like you planned! Now it’s a total mess!
Frustrated tears coursed down both cheeks mixing with raindrops and she smacked them away angrily, the little paper bag with the scone hitting her nose. She didn’t know the moment that Maggie realized who she was, but when she asked her to come and choose something to take back to her room, Zoë sensed the jig was up.
“I know who you are,” Maggie said as soon as they walked away from the table. “It took me a few minutes to recognize you, but I had the benefit of that other photo. The close-up one that you took down before Paul checked out your profile.”
Zoë had swallowed the ostrich-egg sized lump forming in her throat.
“Please don’t tell—”
“That man is like a brother to me and he has had enough bad luck, Holly. I don’t know what your game is, but—”
“No games! I would never hurt him.”
“What’s yer real name?”
“Zoë Holly Flannigan.”
“I see.” Maggie looked pointedly at Zoë’s black hair. “Why d’ye look like this?”
“It’s a long story,” she breathed, her voice trembling.
“Most lies are intricate.”
Zoë cringed, hot tears burning her eyes.
Maggie pointed at the scones. “You say you wouldn’t hurt him, but he has no idea who you are. I can tell.”
