LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

still bound and determined that one of these days, if she just kept looking, she would stumble across the one house that would satisfy her deepest need.

      Meantime, she lived with her grandmother, sharing expenses, driving an old clunker. Saving every cent toward the day she finally pinned down her forever home.

      Her only indulgence was a regular manicure, though she sometimes forgot to show up for it.

      “Maybe you’re right. Or maybe it’s because I’m maid of honor, and I’m already getting anxious about my responsibilities.”

      “What do you have to do besides…” He blanked. “What the hell does a maid of honor do?”

      Astounded by his blissful, male ignorance, Red began counting off the daunting list of tasks that had to be accomplished in the next two months. “Go with the bride to her final fitting so I know how to get her into her gown when the saleswoman isn’t around. Check off my own copy of her to-do list to make sure no detail falls through the cracks. And then there’s the bachelorette party.”

      Sam’s head came up from his eggs.

      “Oh. You haven’t heard? We’re taking Junie to see The Lumber Jack Hammer Show a couple of weeks before the wedding.”

      Sam coughed on his gulp of Hairbender.

      “You okay?”

      His eyes watering, he shook his head and slurped from his water glass. “Toast crumb. Does Manolo know about this?”

      She lifted a brow and shrugged. “I think so. It’s not a secret.”

      “Isn’t Lumber Jack Hammer a little, I don’t know…racy for Clarkston girls?”

      “What do you mean?” Red huffed, insulted. “Junie and Poppy and I are plenty racy. In case you don’t remember, Cool Pain invited me back to his hotel room after that concert at Edgefield. Nothing happened, mind you. All we did was drink a little pinot and listen to music. But it could have, if I hadn’t had an eight o’clock final in Behavior Modification the next morning.”

      “I’m sure Cool Pain was impressed with your academic dedication. All I was saying is that, in my humble opinion, Junie doesn’t exactly seem like the strip show type.”

      She peered up through lowered lids. “It’s called delegating.”

      “Ohhh.” Sam nodded sagely. “Delegating.”

      “It was Mona’s idea.” Mona Cruz was a single mom of two who had spent time in Los Angeles before returning to Clarkston and going to work for Sam. “Letting Mona take the reins of the bachelorette party gives me one less thing to do. Mona says Lumber Jack’s the hottest act around for bachelorette parties. He’s like six-five and totally ripped. We were lucky to get in.” Her eyes grew round. “She said one bride-to-be actually left her fiancé for him.”

      “So much for the rule against exotic dancers fraternizing with the customers,” Sam mumbled.

      “I know, right?” She giggled. “Kind of sleazy.” More soberly, she added, “But fascinating, from a purely behavioral standpoint.”

      “Don’t worry so much, Doc. It’ll all fall into place.” Sam wiped his mouth, crossed his arms, and sat back against the padded booth. “Live in the present. Isn’t that what all those self-help books say? Speaking of which, what are you doing the next couple hours?”

      His eyes glittered with meaning.

      “Looking for that house again.” Don’t cave. She might be putty in Sam’s hands, but she wouldn’t be sidetracked today, on her day off.

      He smirked. “Again? You’re obsessed.”

      “Maybe it has something to do with growing up in trailer parks,” she said.

      Their eyes flirted in a mirror memory of harder times, hers of free school lunches and thrift store clothes, and Sam’s of somewhat murkier origin.

      “You may be happy to go on living in your old office forever, Owens. But I want a real house. And I’m not stopping till I find it.”

      “Go on.” He cocked his head, humoring her. “Tell me what it is about this one that’s got you so fired up.”

      “I’ve been doing some research,” she said eagerly, “and I think there’s a good chance it might be the only surviving saltbox in Yamhill County.”

      “Saltbox?” Sam’s eyes grew guarded.

      “A style of architecture that’s two stories in the front and one in the back,” she said, sketching a rectangle in the air with her finger. “It got its name from the lidded boxes the early New England settlers kept salt in. A few of the original Oregon pioneers built them, but overall, they’re scarce. They’re easy to spot, though, from the central chimney and the long, low rear roofline.”

      “How do you know about this place?”

      A small part of her took note of Sam’s knuckles, white around his balled up napkin. But her fascination with the house eclipsed all else.

      “Back when I was living with my mom, she used to drive way out past Meadowlake Road to one of those U-pick places to pick strawberries. I made her take a picture of it. Still have it. Want to see?” She brought up the photo on her phone and turned it his way. “It was different from all the other houses. It’s been stuck in my mind all this time.”

      He looked at the image and though his fingers barely brushed against hers, his touch reverberated throughout her body.

      An untrained observer never would have caught Sam’s face falling for that split second. Maybe not even another PhD in Psychology—if she didn’t also happen to be attuned to his every nuance.

      Red frowned at him. “What’s the matter?”

      His face returned to normal with a speed that had her not trusting her own eyes. Then his gaze darted around the room and circled back to her. When he leaned in, she fell into their depths, trying for the umpteenth time to put a name on their color. Hazel. No, Amber. No—

      “Brought the extra helmet and the blanket roll on the back,” he said in a whisky-smooth voice. “Weather’s perfect. Forget the house. Let me take you for a ride.”

      An expanse of azure blue filled the front windows of the café. She pictured herself on the back of his Harley, wind whipping through her hair.

      She knew what would happen if she said yes…the same thing that always happened when she and Sam went riding.

      She bit her lip.

      “I’ve been looking for that saltbox for weeks, and I’m getting close. I can feel it. Maybe we can do something else together later. Like, see a movie or something.”

      She held her breath. Sam didn’t do movies, or romantic dinners for two, or any of the other things official couples did—like go to weddings together.

      True to form, he didn’t get sucked in. Just gave her that sideways grin that made her insides go gooey. “What’s better? Some old, run-down house? Or you and me and a bottle of Montinore 2014 Reserve out on Ribbon Ridge? We’ll stop and get some good bread and cheese. Have a picnic.”

      Under the table, Sam’s foot rubbed against hers. She felt like there was an invisible string attached to her core, pulling her toward him. It was all she could do not to slide out of her seat and into his, wrap herself around him, and confess her infatuation for the whole town to hear.

      But that would send him running for the hills, not to mention scandalize Poppy’s breakfast crowd and jeopardize Red’s reputation as a mental health professional.

      She shivered. How did he get to her? Make her put aside her priorities for him?

      She knew how. As pragmatic as he was in public, the real Sam was the most loving, giving man imaginable. And not just because he’d volunteered space in his new consortium building

Скачать книгу