LITMIR.BIZ

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could hardly show romantic interest in a student and expect to remain on staff. But thanks to her spoiled-brat determination to have everything her way or no way at all, she’d destroyed his opportunity to finish his Ph.D. at Beardsly College. He had no proof, but he was certain the Elliott women were behind the turn of events that had suddenly eliminated his teaching position. And his livelihood.

      It was a betrayal he’d never forgive.

      Every day he thanked his lucky stars for his boyhood inclination to tear down and rebuild his bike when it broke down. In Houston he’d hit pay dirt with a marketable skill at motorcycle repair.

      He glanced toward the papers clutched in his fist. As the shadow of an idea took shape, he grinned at his stained fingernails. Wouldn’t Tara cringe when he removed the Elliott Building’s back entrance to accommodate wide, overhead doors? And wouldn’t her flawless complexion bloom with red blotches when he knocked out the front wall to install showroom windows?

      Persuading his business manager to oversee his organization in Houston while he moved back to Beardsly to pose as Miriam Elliott’s needy beneficiary was going to be a pain. But it would be worth it.

      The day Tara Elliott had convinced her grandma to avenge a schoolgirl’s hurt feelings was the day his life had changed. Forever.

      Dealing back a bitter taste of the rich girl’s medicine would be sweet revenge.

      Chapter Two

      The walnut armoire, one of Tara’s favorites, was an elegantly carved, Louis XIV cabinet with paneled doors and original nineteenth-century hardware. As a youngster she’d always suspected her grandmother’s furnishings were valuable. After earning a degree in art history and serving for several years as an appraiser’s apprentice, her suspicions were confirmed. Miriam Elliott had left behind a small fortune in antiques.

      Tara’s hand slid across the cool, shining wood as she inhaled the pleasant, musky scent. Stacked on the shelves of the treasured piece were fragments of her childhood. Primitive artwork, English assignments, class photos and the remains of a shattered porcelain vase. Items that should have been thrown away years ago. She was grateful for the tender sentiments it revealed about her no-nonsense grandmother.

      Their relationship had been turbulent since Tara’s show of independence had taken her to New York City following Sam’s departure from Beardsly. She deeply regretted confiding in her grandmother and couldn’t bear to stay in the town where Miriam Elliott’s influence had cost an innocent man his career.

      At first, her grandmother had refused to support Tara’s desire to live so far from home. Once she proved able to make it on her own, financial help was offered to smooth the way. But she rejected any encroachment on her freedom.

      Waiting tables seven days a week forced Tara out of her introverted shell. The work paid for a tiny sublet apartment and covered tuition for the remaining classes she needed at NYU. She embraced city life, shunning even brief visits to Beardsly. The two women talked often on the phone, but saw one another only during her grandmother’s trips to New York.

      Tara stood before the open armoire, acknowledging that even in death, the wily old woman had left many messages before going to her grave. She had always had the last word. She’d hinted that a reunion for the young people was inevitable, but Tara hadn’t dreamed that Miriam would do something so outrageous.

      After several hours of reading and rereading the papers, and finding no confusing legalese to dispute, Tara prayed for wisdom on how to meet the challenge. The choices were limited: dive into the project or lose the last of her family ties.

      She considered giving it all to Sam. Her grandmother’s determination to ensure nothing developed between them had upended his conservatively mapped-out life. Maybe he deserved the remainder of Miriam’s property as compensation. Then Tara recalled his cavalier threat to demolish the landmark buildings.

      She closed the carved walnut cabinet. She owed everything to the generosity of her grandmother. She had risked a carefully crafted reputation to offer hope to a frightened child. Tara could never let the town of Beardsly forget the sacrifice that was bigger than the scandal.

      Miriam had willingly dispelled her “old maid” image and opened her guarded past to scrutiny when she’d come to the rescue of the illegitimate daughter Miriam had given up at birth. The unwed stranger, who was dying of breast cancer, had sought out her birth mother as a final act of love. She pleaded for a home for her painfully shy toddler, determined that her child would know her true roots. The unselfish agreement between the two women had changed a carrot-topped girl’s otherwise tragic future.

      There was no choice at all. Tara set her sights on preserving what was left of Miriam’s reputation. The life of service to others was marred only by an action against Sam Kennesaw that she seemed determined to correct with this crazy partnership.

      The French mantel clock chimed four times and resumed its soft ticking. Tara hurried through the entryway to the front door, giving a last glance at her appearance in the mirrored hall tree. As usual, wavy red wisps managed to escape the somber braid. Attempting to plaster them into submission, she licked fingertips and brushed moisture across the errant curls.

      She slammed the heavy door of the huge luxury vehicle and muttered, “I thought these things were illegal.” She fumbled with the ignition and the navy blue beast purred to life. It eased out of the driveway and lumbered through the streets of town.

      Passing the tired old five-and-dime store next door to the boring grocery market, she grimaced at the work of community elders who clung to traditional ways, voting down proposals that might usher in expansion and change. Frustrated young people graduated from the respected college and fled for the nearest big city, depriving Beardsly of their talent and energy. What kind of business would bridge the obvious generation gap?

      “Hmm,” she fell into her old habit of thinking aloud. “What can I possibly bring to the town-time-forgot that will stand out and fit in at the same time?” Having felt like a misfit most of her life, Tara knew how important it would be for her idea to seem more like part of the scenery than something entirely new. Then there was that other pesky issue.

      Sam Kennesaw would be her partner.

      As the brown-brick two-story building came into sight, her stomach churned. Heat crept up the back of her neck.

      “This is ridiculous.” She dropped her right hand from the wheel and spread her fingers across her abdomen while she inhaled through her nose and exhaled through parted lips.

      “I wasn’t this nervous when I asked for the summer off from work to settle Grandmother’s estate. If placing my future at The Heritage in jeopardy didn’t send me into a panic, a twenty-minute meeting with Sam should be a piece of cake.”

      She steered the land yacht into the alley and slammed on the brakes to avoid a two-wheeled chrome-and-leather monster angled across the drive. She poked her head out the window.

      “Only an idiot would stop there. Are you trying to get yourself killed?” she shouted over the car’s engine. “Didn’t you see the parking spot out front?”

      Eyebrows raised, he glanced over his shoulder regarding the ostentatious sedan.

      “Yeah, I noticed it, but I figured you might need it for your limo.”

      She squashed down the desire to smile at his wise-guy tone and familiar drawl. Instead, she switched off the ignition and pushed open the door. Since he hadn’t budged from his comfortable spot, she’d be forced to go to him.

      With one leg slung over the seat of the bike and muscular arms folded across his chest, there sat the man she’d idolized since they were kids. Her heart drummed a frantic beat. Beneath the five-o’clock shadow and shaggy dark hair was a glimmer of the serious boy who had done his homework at her grandmother’s kitchen table.

      Obviously unaffected by her arrival, Sam resumed his apparent study of the building’s rear wall. It would take the patience of Job for her to readjust to this town. Life moved at a snail’s

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