Bachelor In Blue Jeans. Lauren Nichols
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his coins. “Leastwise, nothing that would work in your shop.” He picked up his rolls. “She liked frogs, was all. Frogs on her switch plates, frogs on the canister set, frogs all over the damn house.” As he turned to leave, a bitter tone entered his voice. “No, you won’t find anything worthwhile over there.”
Kristin watched the door close behind him, then followed Harlan’s path past her multipaned bay window until he disappeared. Touched, she turned to Chad. “Did you know about Anna Mae and Harlan?”
He nodded. “She liked him, but she didn’t like his gambling. Gave him his walking papers shortly before she died.” Chad glanced at the cuckoo clock on the wall. “Well, I’d better get to work. Dinner tonight?”
Kristin stared blankly at him. Where had that invitation come from? She also wondered at the offhanded way he’d asked—as if they dined together often, which wasn’t the case.
She felt Zach’s gaze on her, heavy and curious. Suddenly she was uneasy. “I’m sorry, but my plans with Mrs. Arnett aren’t firm. I’ll be touring the house at her convenience.”
“Okay,” Chad replied, shrugging. “I’ll probably see you a little later anyhow. Maybe we can grab some ice cream or something.”
“I…okay,” she answered, still feeling off balance. “Thanks for the coffee.”
“My pleasure. Always.” But instead of leaving, Chad eased back against the counter to finish his coffee and sort through his keys. When he finally glanced up again, both his expression and tone had hardened.
“Why don’t I walk you out, Davis? The sun’s shining. Too beautiful a day to be stuck indoors if you don’t have to be.”
Zach’s eyes were gray steel. “Why don’t you walk yourself out, Hollister? I’m not ready to leave yet.”
Startled, utterly bewildered, Kristin cast about for something to say, then hit the release lever on her cash register. The drawer dinged open, the tinny ring momentarily breaking their face-off. Whatever was going on here—idiotic male muscle flexing or a burst of rivalry from their past—it made her uncomfortable, and she wanted no part of it.
“You two do what you want,” she said briskly and closed the cash drawer. “Stay or leave. I need to get some change from my safe and make a phone call.”
Neither man commented, but Zach watched her go, shamelessly enjoying the view until she’d closed the door behind her. A sweet, wild wind stirred inside him.
“Pull your eyes back in their sockets, hotshot. You had your chance thirteen years ago, and you screwed it up.”
Slowly, Zach turned to face Hollister again. “So you’re the guy now?”
“That’s right, I’m the guy.”
“Fine with me,” he replied, shrugging. “But I’ve noticed that she’s not wearing a ring. I keep wondering what that means.”
A nerve leapt in Hollister’s jaw. “It means that Kristin and I have an understanding. For you, it means that you’d better observe all posted speed limits and put money in the parking meters. It also wouldn’t be prudent to cross the street anywhere but at a crosswalk.”
He glanced toward the door, then offered Zach a nasty smile. “You know, as I came inside, I noticed a black truck with Carolina tags parked out front. Think I’ll run a check on the license plate—make sure the owner has no outstanding warrants. I might even glance at the inspection sticker.”
“What’s this?” Zach asked, trying not to laugh. “Police harassment?”
“Not at all. It’s just a warning to an out-of-state visitor that when laws are broken in this town…I act.”
This time Zach couldn’t stop a smile. “And I’ll bet you do a damn fine job of it.”
Hollister’s face turned crimson. “Just watch your step,” he said coldly. “You don’t want me for an enemy.” Then he was stalking out of the shop, leaving Zach to wonder if Chad’s blustering was a territory-marking thing…or insecurity because he had no hold on Kristin.
Not that he cared, either way.
Kristin said goodbye to Mildred Arnett, drew a tentative breath, then slowly opened the door to her office and looked around. The silence was an enormous relief.
Grateful that they’d gone, she added change to her cash drawer, retrieved her glass cleaner and paper towels from beneath a counter, then walked to her bay window. There, dolls in Victorian costumes sat at a mock tea party, flanked by a profusion of plumed hats, Bavarian china, flowers and silk. She stepped up into the display, squirted a few tiny glass panes, and started to wipe.
A low deep voice shattered her composure.
“What’s this? A jewelry box?”
Kristin turned around slowly to see Zach standing beside a tall armoire with his back to her. An unwelcome warmth flowed through her as he reached for an antique music box on a high shelf, and she watched the subtle play of muscle and sinew beneath his shirt.
“It…it can be,” she replied, swallowing. Setting her cleaner and paper towels aside, she stepped down from the display. He was a customer, she told herself again. She would show him what he wanted to see—then she would show him the door.
Zach raised the footed box’s filigreed silver lid, then closed it and turned it over in his hands.
Kristin took it from him, slid the hidden key from a slot, then wound the mechanism. A haunting, old-fashioned melody began to play…an unnerving, awareness-building melody that captured the shop’s cozy ambiance and heightened her awareness of the man beside her. She handed the box back to him.
“Pretty,” he said.
“I think so, too.”
Maybe the music was to blame for the moody shift in the air. Or maybe the shop was too warm. Or maybe old lovers with good memories shouldn’t risk being alone in quiet places. Whatever the reason, Kristin felt herself grow jittery as the box continued to chime out a tender minuet, and the stirring smells of warm man and musky aftershave filled her nostrils.
He’d hurt her badly. Yet as her gaze fell from his eyes to his mouth, she was suddenly remembering kisses that tasted like sun-ripened strawberries and the smell of summer hay. Remembering the tingling touch of a boy who’d become a man in his aunt’s hayloft…
Kristin reached out and slammed the lid, silencing the music and widening Zach’s gray eyes. “That should give you some idea,” she blurted, thankful she hadn’t knocked the box out of his hands. “Actually, it’s one of my favorite pieces—nineteenth century English sterling. Which also makes it very expensive.”
Zach assessed her for a long beat, then glanced at the price tag and gave the box back to her. “I’ll take it. Do you gift wrap?”
Surprise joined her flustered emotions. “Business must be good.”
“I do all right.”
Apparently so, she thought, moving to her register. She retrieved a gift box, tissue paper and ribbon from under the counter, suddenly all thumbs. What in the world was wrong with her? Chemistry again? Need? It had been a long time since she’d been with a man, but that was no reason to fall apart at the first sign of sexual interest.
She worked quickly, wanting to hurry, acutely aware of Zach’s gaze on her. But pride wouldn’t allow her to do a less-than-perfect job on the package. Finally, she was slipping it into a white bag printed with a watercolor of an old mill, annoyed with herself for wondering who would receive it.
She was about to take his credit card from the counter when Zach trapped her hand beneath his. It was warm, firm, and had her heart beating fast again. “Etta thinks we should talk,” he said soberly. “She said we need ‘closure.’”
The memory of that June night rushed