Chapter 4
Conversation at the table buzzed, but Zane didn’t hear it as he gazed into Harper’s upturned face. God, what made her so damn appealing to him? Again, he stroked the curve of her small ear with the edge of his thumb and watched a tiny quiver roll through her small figure. Even beneath the long sweater she wore with a blouse and slacks, he could sense the effect of his touch on her.
Yeah. So damn appealing.
He’d never seen such fine-pored skin, a creamy color that couldn’t hide a rising blush. Her eyes, gray as so many spring mountain skies, stood out in contrast to that sweet pink on her cheeks.
Then a voice penetrated his concentration.
“I’m with you, Brenda,” Bailey said. “I like Harper and Zane.”
His hand dropped, breaking the connection between him and the librarian. He briefly closed his eyes and cursed himself for forgetting what he already knew. There would be no Harper and Zane. The humming attraction between them needed to be ignored or severed or smothered—something—because she was a woman who needed a man capable of providing a forever.
Everybody knew the bull in the china shop could only be counted on to break things.
“Will you excuse me, please?” Harper said now, scooting out her chair without meeting his eyes. “I won’t be long.”
She didn’t wait for his response and he watched her quickly glide between the tables in the direction of the restrooms.
Then he turned his attention back to his family, who had moved on to a discussion of Ryder’s progress on the airfield. As Zane tuned into the conversation, Adam glanced over, saw that he was paying attention and cleared his throat.
The table went quiet.
“Bailey,” his brother said. “You brought us together tonight for a reason. Plan to share anytime soon?”
His sister glanced at Ryder who gave her a little nod. Her gaze went to where her plate had been before Mandy cleared it and all the others away. “You know I’m opening the restaurant at the end of the month.”
Grandpa Max snorted. “Yes, and half the town is chuffed that a real New York chef is going to treat us to some fine dining, as if the diner isn’t good enough for their fancy palates.”
“Grandpa,” Bailey protested.
“It’s the influence of the snooty Westbrooks,” he muttered, then shot a look across the table at the much younger man seated there. “Uh, sorry, Ryder.”
He looked more amused than offended. “Wait until you have a taste of her beef bourguignon, Max, and you might find your own palate just got a little bit fancier.”
Zane stepped in before his grandfather could put in another word. “Back to what you were going to say, Sis?” he prompted.
This time, Bailey’s gaze turned to their father. “I’m going to make an event of it—opening night.”
“Sounds like a fine idea,” Sam said in an approving tone. “I’ll close the diner early to cut down on your competition.”
She smiled at that. “I’m hoping you’ll come, too. There’ll be a soft opening for friends and family only on Thursday night as well.”
“Of course.” Sam beamed at her. “I wouldn’t miss it—or the official open either.”
“Somebody else doesn’t want to miss those special nights either,” Bailey said.
Oh, crap. Zane suddenly knew why he’d had spiders walking over him all night. Deep down he’d known bad news was coming, and from the hesitant look on his sister’s face, he could guess exactly what kind of bad news.
“Don’t everyone freak out,” his sister continued, her shoulders tense. “I know this isn’t what you all might want, but Mom’s saying she’s wants to be there when I welcome everyone to Blue Moon…and I’d like that too.”
The sudden quiet that followed was deafening.
At the end of March, Bailey had told him and Adam about their mother’s interest in returning for her Eagle’s Ridge restaurant debut, but neither one of them had put much stock in it. But now their mom had actually committed for real? He traded a glance with Adam, who raised his brows and shrugged.
Then Sam spoke up, his expression giving nothing away. “You’re saying that Vicky is returning here?”
She’d left seventeen years before, following her dreams to Hollywood. For eight years she’d starred as the mother on Mother May I, a popular TV drama centered around a family, even as those choices she made ruined her very own in Eagle’s Ridge.
But apparently Bailey had it in her to forgive. As to what Sam thought…
“She called to chat a while back, Dad.” Bailey licked her lips. “We’re reconnecting. I…I’m glad.”
Ryder rose from his chair and came around the table to stand behind Zane’s sister. He put his hands on her shoulders, a certain sign of support. She tilted her chin to glance up at him and smiled a little. “I want her to get to know Ryder.”
After another silent moment, Sam nodded. “I get it, honey. I’m glad she’ll be here to celebrate with you if that’s your wish.”
Then he abruptly stood and strode in the direction of the kitchen.
Zane jumped up, knocking over his water glass in his haste to follow his father.
He found Sam in the small breakroom, staring at the wall as if the meaning of life was written upon it.
“Dad?” Zane said, in a voice as hushed as he could make it.
“Hmm?” He sounded a million miles away.
“Are you okay?”
Turning, Sam grimaced. “That should be my line. What about you, Son?”
“I’m good.”
His dad slid his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “You haven’t seen your mother in a long time, have you?”
“No.”
“Do you communicate with her at all?”
“Not since that time I went to LA right after the divorce. Instead of all the ‘fun’ she promised, she shoved a handful of take-out flyers at me and a fistful of cash.”
Sam nodded, as if he understood the situation. “Something came up on the set?”
“They had to re-shoot a scene or a bunch of scenes, what do I know? Only that I didn’t see her until she drove me back to the airport at the end of the weekend.”
“You never said.” His father’s head bent as if he thought his shoes now held the key to the world’s secrets. “But I’m sure she loves you, Zane.”
“When I was that bed-bound asthmatic little kid, she was great. Entertained the hell out of me so I didn’t mind so much that I couldn’t keep up with Adam. But the minute I managed to kayak across the river without getting out of breath, it seemed she was on the first outbound plane to that producer who’d seen her in the community theater play.”
“None of us could keep her here.”
“Not even you, Sam,” Brenda said, walking into the room.
He looked up. “I figured that out a long time ago, Bren.”
“But you held onto the hurt. It’s not been healthy.”
His expression turned annoyed. “Like you haven’t nursed your heartache over losing Vince.”
Zane wanted to wince at the mention of Brenda’s husband, killed in action a long time ago. But Brenda herself didn’t blink. “And I realized that on my own when the calendar told me it’s been ten years since he passed. Now I’m working on moving on.”
Sam’s face softened and he crossed to her, taking one of her hands in both of his. “Brenda, I’m sorry,” he said, his voice gruff. “I shouldn’t have lashed out at you.”
“I understand.” She slipped out of his hold and took her turn at staring at her shoes. “You’re in pain.”
“I don’t know what the hell I feel,” Sam muttered, shaking his head. “Unsettled. Unbalanced, but I don’t think that I can pin that on Vicky. It’s been a while now since things haven’t been the same. Felt quite the same.”
Brenda’s head jerked up. “Oh?”
They looked into each other’s eyes a long, silent moment. Long enough for Zane to get decidedly third-wheel vibes. Crap.
He didn’t think he could take more alterations to the Tucker family circle.
“How was your date the other night?” Sam asked Brenda now, his voice almost pillow-talk low. “Did you enjoy yourself? Did that chump you went out with act like a gentleman?”
“Chump?” Her face flushed, Brenda smiled a little. “You don’t even know the man, Sam.”
“I don’t want to know him,” Sam said, commandeering the woman’s hand again. He tugged her closer. “But do I want to know something else…”
Oh, boy. They clearly had forgotten he was in the room. Zane backed out quickly, wondering if it was better that he heard nothing from the pair he left behind. Which was an improvement—more bickering or a telling silence?
But that question evaporated from his mind when he pushed through the kitchen door and spied Harper on her way toward the diner’s exit. “Hey, where are you going?” he called out, hurrying to her.
She halted. “Sorry, Adam said you were with your dad. I should have waited to say goodbye and thank you, but I didn’t know how long you’d be and…and I should get going.”
“Not without a couple of escorts. You walked, right?”
“I like walking.”
“Gambler and I do too. Give me have a second to get him. We’ll meet you right outside.”
“It’s not necessary—”
“Yes, it is,” he said firmly. “It’s dark. We’ll accompany you.”
After collecting Gambler from the storeroom, he went out the rear to find Harper waiting at the front, her coat fastened up to her throat and her hands deep in the pockets. His dog lunged for her, but he pulled back, bringing Gambler closer to his knees. “Clearly our need to sign up for deportment classes has not abated.”
He thought he heard Harper’s stifled laugh as they set off in the direction of her condo.
“I liked your family,” she ventured minutes later. “I recognized your grandfather. He comes into the library from time-to-time to read La Fenêtre.”
At his inquiring look, she continued. “It means ‘The Window’ and is a weekly English language newspaper focused on French news.”
“Ah. Grandpa Max has a special interest there. He was in Paris right after it was liberated during World War II.”
“Then I certainly won’t let our subscription lapse.” She dug her chin deeper into her coat.
“Cold?” he asked.
“I’m okay.”
But he put his free arm around her anyway, tucking her close to his body and matching his steps to hers. Gambler seemed happy enough to amble on his other side, which made for a cozy walk through Zane’s favorite town in the world.
With a woman who fit against him in a way he shouldn’t like so much.
He cleared his throat. “Sorry I deserted you back there.” Should he say more? Explain?
“Bailey told me she delivered some news that may have upset your father. Or upset you.”
“She did?” His sister had a big mouth.
“I think she felt she had to say something when you weren’t at the table.”
“Oh. Right.”
Then he felt the gentle jab of an elbow. “Are you upset?”
Only because I can’t start getting used to the feel of you in my arms. “Nah. I was worried about my dad, mostly.” He took in a breath. “Our mom left town a long time ago for a career in Hollywood. Left the family, divorced our dad. She’s coming back for Bailey’s restaurant opening and I haven’t seen her in years and years.”
“You’re okay with it?”
Zane hesitated. He wasn’t one much for talking about his feelings and he couldn’t remember the last time a woman had probed for them.
Bulls in china shops weren’t known for actually having them, he supposed.
“Zane?” Her hand withdrew from one of her pockets and she reached up to pat his wrist draped casually over her shoulder. “Are you okay?”
“When I was a kid, I told you I was sickly.”
“I remember.” Her hand moved down to squeeze his.
“She was great at keeping me occupied, I’ll say that for her.” He hesitated again. “But then I started getting well and her interest in home seemed to wane in proportion. One of the last things she said to me was ‘You don’t need me anymore.’ For a while I thought it was my fault she left us. That I’d driven her away purely because I started being able to breathe normally.”
Harper’s feet halted, making his do the same. Then she turned into his body, so that his arm dropped from her shoulder. Yet they remained close together, the buttons of her jacket nearly touching him.
In the moonlight he could see her big eyes trained on his face. “Tell me you don’t believe that anymore.”
“I don’t.” For some reason he cupped her cool cheek in his warm hand. “I…”
Whatever he would have said next was lost when Gambler, impatient or just impulsive, leaped up, his front paws to Zane’s shoulder blades. He stumbled forward, gripping Harper to keep his balance. She gripped him to keep hers.
And just like that, their mouths found each other’s. At the first taste of her, Zane lost his head.
It was the fragrance of her hair, he thought. The delicate touch of her tongue when it met his. Or the perfect way she melted against him when he scooped her closer to his body, his free hand on her sweet, rounded ass.
He angled his head, taking the kiss deeper and she moved in, her arms going around his neck. She was little, so he had to take her to her toes to get the deepest of kisses, but she didn’t hesitate, making a soft, sexy noise in the back of her throat.
Breaking the kiss so they could take a breath, he nuzzled along the soft skin of her cheek and found her ear. He tongued there, feeling the shiver he set off streak down her body. Her hands shoved into his hair and she brought his lips back to hers.
The small sign of aggression made him grin inside even as he dove into another hot, wet, drugging kiss.
Then two loud honks penetrated the smoky haze in his head. His eyes opened and he shifted his gaze to the street. A slow-moving truck was rolling by.
“Hey, Zane!” a voice yelled through an unrolled window. “Find a bed.”
“Dude.” Another voice. “Or at least the privacy of a study room in the library.”
“Oh, hell,” he muttered, jerking back to end the kiss.
“What?” asked Harper, sounding dazed even as he put her away from him. “What is it?”
“Morons,” he said, gazing at the tail lights receding in the distance. He’d known not to let this attraction get as far as kissing. Hell.
“I’m sorry, Harper.” He glanced over, trying not to notice how pretty her mouth was, swollen now. From him. “Really sorry.”
“It’s just silly teasing,” she said then, and it was obvious she was trying to regather her dignity as she stepped away and smoothed her hair. She didn’t look at him as she fiddled with her collar, embarrassment in every gesture. “Kids making fun.”
He looked on her with pity. “Harper.”
“What?” She glanced up, alerted by his tone. “What is it?”
“After what I said to that friend of Brenda’s in the diner tonight…about finding my own woman?”
A hesitation. “Yes?”
“Followed up by getting caught necking in the dark?”
A second, longer hesitation. “Yes?”
“In a small, close-knit town like this one—we might as well take out an ad. Everybody will have heard by tomorrow.” He paused, waiting for the onset of guilt. This wasn’t right for her. He wasn’t right for her, despite the fire in those kisses and how bad he wanted to hold her close again and grind his hard cock against her flat belly—which pointed out exactly how he was wrong for her because he was the untamed and undomesticated kind of man who wanted to grind his cock against the shy little librarian.
“Zane.” He heard that shy little librarian swallow. “Everybody will have heard what exactly?”
“That you’ve got a man now, Harper.” He hauled in a breath. “And for better or worse, that man is me.”
Harper strolled through the stacks of books in the direction of the periodicals, taking the long way around in order to avoid the shelves of Westerns. Running her gaze over Zane Grey novels wouldn’t help matters, she knew. It had been bad enough yesterday when she’d been putting together a display of alphabet books in the children’s section. So many darn Zs, each one of them calling up visions of the person she was determined to put from her mind.
You’ve got a man now, Harper.
Of course she did not.
No matter what he said, dust bunnies and leopards did not belong together and nobody would be fooled to think differently by witnessing some meaningless lip-lock in the moonlight.
Don’t think about that. Don’t think about him.
She bent to straighten a stack of newsmagazines on a slanted shelf, the hem of her long cardigan swinging out. I bet you have a great body underneath all those flowy clothes you wear.
Closing her eyes, she tried pushing that memory away too.
She didn’t have much luck until there came the distinctive click and whoosh of the library’s entrance door swinging open. Ah, her first patron of the day!
Eager for the distraction, Harper hurried to greet the visitor, hoping to be presented with a thorny research problem or put on the hunt for a special book she could retrieve from the inter-library loan system. Though she was naturally reserved around strangers, in her capacity as librarian she had professional obligations and actually found it fairly easy to engage with people within the world of books.
Her smile on, she came around a corner to see the manager of No Man’s Land and unofficial member of the Tucker family, Brenda Morgan. She was dressed for the cool, late spring weather in jeans, a plaid shirt with the tails hanging out, and sheepskin-lined boots. Her direct gaze made clear what—who—was the target of her visit.
Harper considered making a break for her office. Had the other woman heard about the kiss?
But Brenda was already mere feet away. “Hello, there.”
“Um, hello,” Harper responded, hoping it wasn’t a blush that was heating her face. “Can I help you with something?”
“I hoped we might have a chat.”
Oh, no, Harper thought. The speculative light in the other woman’s eyes told the truth of it. She’d definitely heard about the kiss. And though two nights ago Brenda had said I like Harper for Zane, likely she’d come to her senses since then and realized they were a total mismatch. They didn’t belong in the same league.
But she seemed to be a kind woman. Probably Brenda thought she should warn Harper off—signal to the librarian that upon further thought she realized the librarian didn’t have the feminine chops to take on a man as virile as Zane Tucker.
Brenda smiled again. “I won’t take up much of your time.”
The phrase made Harper inwardly cringe. Those were the exact words Geoffrey had said that evening he’d shown up on her doorstep following her giddy and gabby phone call all about how the wedding venue had been secured. She’d been floating on air and then he’d arrived and pulled the clouds out from under her feet. I won’t take up much of your time led to I want to end our engagement.
The fall to earth had hurt.
“Are you all right?” Brenda asked now, concern entering her eyes.
“Of course, yes.” Harper drew in a steadying breath and half-turned. “A chat you said? My office, or—”
“Here is fine,” Brenda said, gesturing to a nearby grouping of chairs.
They both sat and Harper automatically tidied the stack of Get Dirty for Books flyers on the table between them. Then she looked up to catch the other woman studying her, wearing an expression Harper couldn’t interpret.
So she decided to grab the tiger by the tail. “Look, I think I know the purpose of your visit.” To save me from potential heartache. To warn me against harboring dreams that can’t come true. But I don’t need to be cautioned. I’m aware he’s too much man for me and—
“It’s because I thought you might have questions for me,” Brenda said.
Harper’s brows shot together. “What?”
“The dinner party ended abruptly the other night and I want to apologize for that—as well as explain in case you were left wondering what was going on.”
“Oh.” She was a kind woman. “You don’t have to worry about that. Zane filled me in.”
Brenda’s pretty green eyes rounded. “Really?”
“Yes. He explained about his mom’s return for Bailey’s restaurant opening. I think he’s mostly okay with it.”
The older woman wore her dark hair in a long braid that nearly reached her waist. She drew it over her shoulder now, and toyed with the end absently, a slight frown on her face. “He shared that with you?”
“He said he used to blame himself for her leaving, but he knows now that wasn’t true.”
Brenda’s mouth dropped. “He shared that with you?”
“Yes.”
“Well.” A genuine smile broke over the diner manager’s face. “Well, well, well. I believe my work here is done.”
Harper tilted her head, not following. “I don’t understand.”
“Men aren’t always aware of their feelings or even if they are, they aren’t very keen about sharing them.”
I’ve been thinking this for a while now, Harper. You’re just too…humdrum for me. While she’d been living in her head, concocting tulle-fueled fantasies of a romantic ceremony followed by a lifetime of wedded bliss, Geoffrey had been dating on the side for the previous six months, entertaining himself with a string of apparently exciting and interesting one-night women.
“I’ve experienced that myself,” Harper admitted.
“But I do believe the Tucker men are making progress.” Brenda seemed to head off into her own mini-daydream, her attention wandering away. “Even Sam.”
Interesting. Like all librarians, Harper could sense a good story. “You’re talking about Zane’s dad?”
Brenda’s gaze remained unfocused. “You’re not the only who got kissed the other night,” she murmured.
Even more interesting! But before Harper could figure out what to say next, Brenda came back to herself. Her gaze snapped to Harper’s even as her face took on a delicate pink. “I should stop yakking your ear off,” she said, standing.
It had only been a short conversation, but Harper stood too. “Sure. Is there anything else?”
The other woman hesitated, then glanced around. “Actually, could you point me in the direction of your books on photography?”
“Certainly, follow me.” As they walked, Brenda shared about the class she was taking in the subject at the community college.
“I needed a new hobby,” she said. “Frankly, I need a new me…and I’m getting there.”
“It’s why I came to Eagle’s Ridge,” Harper said, surprised to find herself confessing. “I was a little too comfortable in my old shell.”
Brenda patted her arm. “Zane might be just the man to yank you out of it.”
Since Harper didn’t know how to respond to that, she did what she did best, kept quiet and helped the older woman find the right book for her needs. Soon enough, Brenda was leaving the library and Harper kept herself busy during the next hours with patrons and paperwork.
By afternoon, she congratulated herself on the few number of times she’d had to push that Tucker man from her mind, but on the tail of that thought she saw someone new walk into the library. Jane McAllen, carrying two carryout cups.
Like Brenda before her, she came straight to Harper. “Do you have time for tea?”
“Um…” The other woman exuded chic with her dark hair and eyes and stylish, form-fitting clothing. She was an interior designer by profession and if there was ever anyone to make Harper feel washed-out and plain, it was beautiful Jane. But she wore a bright smile and she’d always been friendly when they’d met, so Harper could hardly refuse her now.
“Sure.” She led the way into her office and they settled into the two visitor chairs.
Jane handed her one of the steaming cups. “Chamomile.”
“Thank you.” Harper sipped.
“I thought we should get better acquainted,” Jane said.
Oh, no. Harper tensed. Was this because of Zane? That was really going nowhere and she needed to communicate that she didn’t expect it would either. “Well, I—”
“I’m new to town, you’re new to town.”
Harper relaxed. A new friend wouldn’t be bad.
“And apparently we’re dating twins.”
“I wouldn’t call it—”
“I met him first, you know. Zane.”
Sitting up straighter, Harper couldn’t resist asking for more. “You did?”
“Uh huh. I was looking for work so he sent me to Adam, who, by the way, jumped to conclusions about me and was very rude about it.” But the thought seemed to put a shine in her eyes.
“He doesn’t seem like a rude kind of man.”
“Sparks,” Jane said, with a wave of her hand and smiled. “He didn’t want to feel them, especially for me because he could sense I was keeping secrets.”
“Ah.” That whole debacle when innocent Jane had become a pawn in a revenge plot.
“Their mother did a number on them when she left and they all have their issues,” Jane continued. “Zane, included. His are compounded by some girl who did another number on him when he was in his early twenties.”
She wasn’t going to pry, Harper ordered herself. She was going to keep quiet like she usually did, quiet as a library mouse. But her mouth had other intentions. “There was some girl who did a number on him?”
Jane shrugged. “Sorry. I don’t have any details, it’s just something Adam picked up on. Speaking of which, I need to get going. We’re meeting for a late lunch.”
As she stood, Harper was struck again by the other woman’s clear sense of style. Her shiny hair swung about her shoulders and she slid an elegant bag over her arm. “Are you still planning to do that?” Jane asked, one perfectly filed—though not polished—fingernail pointing to a Get Dirty for Books flyer on the desk.
“Oh. I…” It was the moment to admit it had been a man-induced, pride-saving, totally substance-less declaration. And then she remembered when she made it, while under the influence of all Zane’s beautiful manliness and those mesmerizing blue eyes.
Even in the dark, with only the moon to light the night, those eyes held power over her. Which explained why she’d kissed him and wanted to keep on kissing him, even when those yahoos on the street had honked their horn.
Standing in her office, she recalled every hot moment of being in his arms and the way he made her feel…needy, excited. Exciting.
Never humdrum.
But she wasn’t supposed to be daydreaming about Zane or his kisses or how her knees had been unable to hold her up and how she’d reveled in his size and strength, she reminded herself. It wouldn’t do at all to set herself up for another heartbreak.
So she blinked herself out of the reverie and sucked in a deep breath. God, she definitely needed something to take her mind off what couldn’t be. Who she couldn’t have.
A task. A hobby.
Photography, or…
She looked down at the fundraising flyer and then up at Jane, still waiting for her reply. “Of course, I’m going to compete in the event,” she said, latching onto the idea like a lifeline. “As a matter of fact, I’m going on a training run as soon as I get off of work.”
That day, Harper’s schedule allowed her to leave the library in the late afternoon and with the sun setting later each evening there was no reason she couldn’t follow through with that promised run. Except, of course, that she’d never “run” since fourth grade when she’d regularly been chased on the playground by a big bully named Bridget Marino. So it would be more of a jog, she told herself as she laced up the athletic shoes she wore for weekend visits to the local farmer’s market.
Wearing leggings, a sports bra, and an oversized tunic that skimmed her thighs and covered her rear, an outfit she’d worn on those spin-class beach cruises, she performed a few stretches outside her condo, starting with reaching her arms to the sky and ending by pulling her heels toward her butt. She gave a searching look at the clouds overhead, decided it didn’t look like rain, and also decided she couldn’t procrastinate a moment longer.
Reminding herself of her hobby resolution, she started off, heading down the road that led out of Eagle’s Ridge proper, parallel to the river. At first it went well, and she didn’t push it, going steady and breathing easy of the fresh air that left the hint of a spring green taste on her tongue. It almost managed to eradicate the memory of Zane’s flavor in her mouth and the manly smell of him in her lungs, the feel—
No. She pushed that all away and concentrated on the tempo of her feet and the pattern of her breaths. One-two. In-out. As she settled into a rhythm, she let her mind spin off, daydreaming as she so often did. Telling herself a story.
This could be my life.
She could have a new identity, truly be that new Harper that she’d left San Francisco to find. Not humdrum, boring Harper, but a runner. One of those sinewy-armed, toned-calf women with washboard stomachs so flat their running shorts barely hung from their hips.
She’d lose her curvy behind—something Geoffrey had once claimed to admire—but that would be a small price to pay because no one back home would ever think she’d run away when she told them—and showed them with that body—that she’d gone to Eagle’s Ridge to become an actual runner. It sounded strong. Cool.
Five more minutes passed and she turned off the main road onto a skinnier one that was bordered by evergreens on either side. Her feet continued slapping on the pavement. Her air continued moving in and out of her lungs.
Okay, she thought as time went on. Maybe she’d not be boring in her new identity, but the repetitive nature of this new activity was striking her as a trifle…tedious. In beach cruise spin class, at least there’d been Jimmy Buffett and the Beach Boys coming through the speakers and the surfer dude-ish instructor helping the time pass with stories of his epic rides on the local waves.
On her next run, she decided, she’d plug earbuds into her phone and find a diverting playlist. No…she’d listen to an audio book.
Relief whooshed through her, taking with it the minor tightness in the muscle in her right calf. Running could be made more pleasurable when combined with her favorite activity of reading.
For a while she kept the boredom at bay by mentally sifting through the books in the library’s audio catalog. What would work best on a run? That non-fiction historical tome she’d been meaning to open? The self-help book about the best way to clean house?
Ugh. Neither seemed right for a runner girl.
It had to be a thriller, then. Listening to a story about a serial killer would give her the incentive to keep herself in shape and to improve her pace. Pretty soon she’d be an award-winning runner, fast enough to elude all the bad guys. No Eagle’s Ridge Butcher would be able to catch her.
For a few more steps she tried picturing the Eagle’s Ridge Butcher. Dirty jeans, a black hoodie pulled over his head, nearly to his eyebrows. His murderous specialty was—
“Hey, Harper.”
At the sound of a male voice, she shrieked and nearly jumped out of her shoes. The Butcher! Heart in her throat, she gathered her will for an all-out sprint and took one swift look at…
Zane Tucker.
Her hand flew to her chest. “Oh my God.”
He was in the driver’s seat of a big shiny black truck that he’d steered toward the wrong side of the road so she could see him clearly framed in the open window. Riding shotgun was Gambler, his window open too, his head hanging out.
Her heart continued to hammer. “You’re not the Butcher of Eagle’s Ridge,” she said, breathless.
“Uh, no.” His lips twitched, those lips that had been so hot and hard on hers. “I don’t know who you mean. There’s ol’ Saul behind the deli counter at the market. Is that—”
“No, I mean the serial killer.”
He blinked those incredible blue eyes.
“The serial killer I made up,” she explained, beginning to feel foolish.
“You made up a serial killer.”
“As a motivation, you know, to run faster.”
A little smile curved his mouth and there was amusement written all over his face. “You live in your head a lot, don’t you?”
Geoffrey had said that too, like it was a problem, which it had been because it was why he’d been able to elude detection during six months of consecutive dating those other more exciting and interesting women. She hadn’t noticed him drawing away when she was deep in her tulle-fueled daydreams. Yes, she lived in her head a lot.
“I’m a librarian,” she said, as if that explained it, and it kind of did.
“A librarian who tells herself stories about serial killers.”
She grimaced. “You make me sound odd.”
“I find you fascinating.” He grinned.
It was that white, bright, blinding grin of his and it did something to her stomach, causing the whole of it to jitter. Okay, time to get back to the task at hand. “Well,” she said, starting off again. “Have a good day.”
Instead of taking the hint and moving along, he hardly touched the accelerator at all, the huge truck prowling beside her, keeping to her pace. “We should talk about that kiss,” he said, his tone casual.
It was her aim not to be thinking about the kiss, let alone talking about it!
She glanced over, saw that one of his wrists was draped over the top of the steering wheel, the other arm propped on the bottom frame of the window, the pose of every hot teenage boy she used to moon over in high school. Those boys who had never looked back, let alone put their lips to hers.
“It was nothing,” she said. “I’ve already forgotten it.” Picking up her speed, she continued on, trying to escape the lie—and him.
Zane merely goosed the gas to keep up with her.
Harper tried to go a faster speed, but it was becoming clearer by the second that while good intentions had energized her during the beginning of the run and adrenaline had kept her invigorated once Zane had shown up, both were fizzling out with each step.
“You should take a rest,” he suggested. “Walk for a while.”
“No.” She might have wanted to add that he could move it along and leave her alone, but she didn’t have the breath for it.
“We’re going to have to talk about that kiss.”
“No. I’m busy.”
“Busy killing yourself. You won’t be able to move tomorrow.”
“I’ll manage.”
“My house is on this road…a quarter mile from here,” he said.
She grunted, the only response she could make.
“I bet you can’t make it there…that you’ll have to quit before you reach my front door.”
Her eyes narrowed and she glared at him. “Not…quitting.” Pride made her take the next step, and then the next, and then another.
“If you make it to my front door, I’ll share my Chinese take-out. Get you a cold beer, too.”
Cold beer. She didn’t often drink beer, but this one she could see. Almost taste. “If. I. Don’t?”
“Make it, you mean?”
She nodded.
“Then you’ll let me kiss you again.”
Of course, Harper dragged herself to Zane’s front door.
As he stepped out of his truck, he was shaking his head. “Honey, you look wiped.”
Half-bent, she had her palms on her knees, struggling to catch her breath. “I like Chinese.” I need to avoid more kissing from you.
They didn’t get to the contents of the white paper bag he carried right away though. First he insisted on getting her a fleece sweatshirt of his and directing her toward the downstairs bathroom of his A-frame cabin. “You don’t want to catch a chill with sweat against your skin. Take off your top, your bra. Tights too, this shirt of mine will keep you decent.”
Award-winning runner girls would not blush when a man mentioned the word “bra,” she reminded herself, and entered the spacious tiled space. Quickly she stripped off the damp garments, used a washcloth to freshen up, then pulled his fuzzy garment over her head.
It draped her to her knees and smelled like him.
She brought the too-long sleeve to her nose, inhaled deeply, and then quickly let her arm drop, feeling a spurt of shame.
At least she didn’t snoop in the medicine cabinet, she thought, and walked back out to the expansive main room, trying to feel “decent” despite wearing only a pair of panties and his oversized garment. From the other end of the space, by the kitchen, Gambler’s head shot up. Then he came loping toward her, his sweeping tail knocking remotes off a table, as well as sending sections of a piled newspaper flying into the air. She shrank back against the bathroom door, unable to prevent herself from cowering before the dog’s oncoming assault.
Out of nowhere, Zane appeared and grabbed the dog by the collar. “That’s no way to put a lady at her ease,” he said to the animal.
“I think he wants to eat me.”
“Nah, I just fed him dinner while you were in the bathroom.” He marched the Lab forward and had him sit near her feet. “He’s only eager to say hello again.”
Harper stared down at the dog. “Hello,” she said.
“He’s had a bad day,” Zane shared. “Some teenagers in the parking lot at A To Z were on skateboards and bikes, towing each other around with ski ropes. When I wouldn’t let him run for the trees, he cowered under my desk all day.”
The story made her take a second look. Perhaps the dog didn’t look so much ravenous as misunderstood. With a tentative hand, she patted the top of his head, the fur soft as a bunny’s. “Poor Gambler.”
“I’ve got your beer ready and waiting,” Zane said now.
She looked up, saw the way his gaze had settled on her face, and had the sudden thought that maybe it was he who wanted to eat her up. A Red Riding Hood-shiver worked its way down her spine. “Um, perhaps I should go on home.”
“I’ll drive you—after the beer, after you eat.”
Already she felt an oncoming soreness and stiffening in her muscles. On a sigh, she acquiesced. At a small table between the kitchen area and the living room space, they dished out food—chow mein, sweet and sour, egg rolls. Harper found she was famished and hardly noticed that Gambler had camped himself at her side, his chin resting on her bare foot.
“We should talk about the kiss,” Zane said again, as they polished off the final bites of their meal.
Stubborn man. Instead of saying so, she lifted her chin and glanced around the room with its wood-paneled walls and wide windows. “You don’t have any deer heads.” Then she aimed her gaze to the polished wood floors. “Where are the bear rugs?”
He was grinning at her, as if her comments amused him. “I don’t hunt much anymore. I lost my taste for shooting things.”
Her eyes widened.
“I was in the Army,” he explained. “Ten years, until I hurt my shoulder and decided it was time to get out and get back to Eagle’s Ridge.”
“I’ve met more than one person in town with a military service record.”
“It’s a tradition around here. The area was settled by four World War II vets, Grandpa Max included, and a lot of the young men—and some of the young women—follow in those footsteps.”
Harper frowned. “You were hurt?” She ran her gaze over his wide shoulders, trying to see through his shirt to any damage that might linger. She hated that he might have some residual pain.
“In the past, honey, so you don’t have to wear that sad expression because of me. I’m good.”
But he’d lost his taste for shooting things. Maybe not as good as he thought, and then she recalled what Jane said, that some woman had “done a number on him.”
But Harper had to forget all that, as it was none of her business, leopard and dust bunny prohibiting it from being so. “I’m not wearing a sad expression,” she said, probably lying, but she wasn’t anywhere near a mirror.
He smiled once more, humor written all over his face. “Okay.”
“Okay.” She put her hands to the table, intending to push up and then get him to take her home. She only made it halfway before her muscles protested and she sank back to her chair. “Ouch,” she said.
In a moment, Zane was up and on his knees beside her, shouldering Gambler out the way and shifting the chair so he could get his hands on one of her legs. Then long fingers began to massage the bare skin from mid-thigh to calf.
Heaven. She bit back a moan, caught between embarrassment and relief. “You don’t need to do that.”
“Would you rather I kiss it and make it better?”
“Not funny.” She frowned at him, all the while biting back another moan. “I don’t need any more kissing. I’m a runner now.” It probably wouldn’t make any sense to him.
Obviously not, because he wore another grin. “Since when are you a runner?”
“Since today, as you’ve probably figured out. The only thing I truly need now is the will to continue running so I’m in good enough shape to finish the mud run at the end of the month.”
“I can help you with that,” he said instantly.
“Huh?”
“I’ll act as your trainer,” Zane offered.
She stared. “Why would you?”
“To pay you back, Harper. You did me a favor at the diner the other night and while you might not fully understand it yet, the whole town believes we’re a couple. Might as well take advantage of that and let me help you prepare for the mud run.”
Panic fluttered in her belly. “Can’t you tell the townspeople they’re mistaken?”
He shook his head. “It doesn’t work that way.”
“We could have a big public break-up then,” she said, brightening. “In the diner. You can loudly tell me that I’m not right for you. Too bookish.”
“I couldn’t do that. I like books.”
Argh. He was so frustrating. She knew deliberately obtuse when she heard it. “Say I’m bland and boring then.” They were Geoffrey’s words, but she managed to get them out anyway. “They’ll all believe it.”
Zane’s eyes narrowed. “If this is about leopards and dust bunnies again, I really will have to kiss you.”
Holding up her hand, Harper pressed back in her chair. “Please, Zane.”
With one big palm on each knee, he studied her face, then sighed. “What am I going to do with you, Harper Grace?”
Before she could answer, he did so himself. “Be your trainer until the end of the month. As well as your friend.”