CHAPTER 4
Melinda
I squirt out the last of my exfoliating, detoxifying, purifying, bankrupting, expensively priced face cream into the palm of my hand and wonder what I’m going to do without this miracle mask over the next few months. I’ve got no business shelling out $375 for a three-ounce tube when I’ve planned to sink a buttload of my personal money into this house. Tomorrow, I’ll have to go over to the pharmacy and see what they have available. Maybe I can even take some time to run into Raleigh to purchase something that’s not as expensive as what I normally use but that would be a step above Horace Schumer’s Udderly Fantastic Cleanser I saw in the pharmacy the other day. Apparently, it’s made from the milk taken directly from a cow’s udder and I don’t even want to think about what that really means.
I take my time rubbing the mask onto my face, letting the tiny little crystals do their exfoliating gig. This time of the evening is usually relaxing and almost meditative as I go through my nightly beauty routine. Once I hit thirty, I started taking this stuff very seriously. Being a Rothschild meant only the top-of-the-line products would touch my skin. Of course, that’s changed a bit since taking on the Mainer House, but I don’t think I’m going to turn into a hag over the next few weeks if I don’t replenish a few of my products.
Letting the mask dry, I wash my hands and then put on my pajamas. Another tank top and a pair of loose cotton shorts, which have become an absolute necessity in the south. Mainer House has a central air system but it’s old and not very powerful. It is definitely on the list to update.
I glance at my growing pile of dirty clothes, groaning inwardly as I realize I’m going to have to break down and do laundry. The Mainer House doesn’t have a washer or dryer and so I’ve had to actually use a laundromat. The town of Whynot is so small it doesn’t have one, so I have to drive to Milner, the next biggest town over. It even has a Walmart, which is apparently a big deal around these parts.
Turning back to the sink, I turn the water on and let it start to warm up so I can rinse the mask off. Just as I’m cupping a handful of water, someone starts banging on my front door.
“Freaking Lowe Mancinkus,” I curse to my reflection in the mirror above the sink before I spin away, stomp through the bedroom, and then down the staircase.
Again, there is no need for me to look through the glass windows to know it’s my nemesis standing on my porch step. I truly believe it is Lowe’s quest to annoy the crap out of me as payback for taking his family’s home.
I wish I could be sorry for buying this beautiful house, but I’m not. It sucks Lowe is personally tied to it and it’s part of his history, but it is not my fault his family could not afford to keep it.
One hand turns the deadbolt and the other turns the doorknob, then I’m swinging the door open and snarling at him, “What could you possibly want at nine o’clock at night?”
Once again, Lowe is standing there looking all hot and manly and pissed off at me, which makes him even hotter for some reason, and his gaze travels down my body. I grit my teeth and just stare at him, waiting for an answer to my question.
When his eyes come up to meet mine, his head jerks back and his lips tip downward in a grimace. “What in the hell is on your face?”
For a moment, I have no clue what he’s talking about. Bringing my hand up, I touch my cheek. When I feel the dried mask, I mutter, “I was getting ready for bed.”
Lowe pushes past me and walks into my home. I swiftly turn to follow him, intent on escorting him right back out again, but I end up slamming into his body when he stops to face me. I bounce backward and he makes no move to steady me, which is good… as I don’t want him to touch me.
It could be disastrous.
“You really wear that on your face to bed?” he asks curiously.
“No, I don’t wear this to bed,” I snap at him. “It’s just to clean my face.”
“You should go rinse that off so we can talk. I can’t concentrate with you looking like that.”
“Well, gee,” I say sarcastically. “I actually don’t want to talk to you. Therefore, you should just go.”
“I think you’ll like what I have to say,” he says slyly, and I must admit… it sounds a little tempting to hear what’s on his mind.
But I resist engaging him. I can’t let him think it’s okay to barge into my house whenever he wants. There’s no doubt in my mind he’s doing this strictly to irritate me, so I have to put a stop to it right now.
“Listen,” I say with a sigh. “Neither one of us likes this situation very much. But I would very much appreciate it if you would help me out by being a little more considerate of my time.”
“Yeah,” he drawls and by his tone, I know I’m not going to like what he says. “You see, I don’t feel like being considerate to you. My time is being wasted by having to work on this place when I’ve actually got a full-time job to attend to.”
“Perhaps you should have considered that before you painted my house pink,” I clip out, enunciating my words clearly.
“I’m not the one who got the law involved in our private little squabble,” he points out.
I hate how reasonable his voice sounds.
Mine sounds nothing like his and borders on shrill when I tell him, “You are one deranged man. You trespassed on private property, ruined said private property, and then threatened my workers with a gun. You then painted my house pink. In what world would I not get the law involved?”
“Don’t you think you’re being a little dramatic?” Lowe says. The condescension in his voice makes me feel murderous.
“Get out,” I say as I point toward the door and glare at him.
“Not until you hear what I have to say,” Lowe returns as he takes a step toward me.
I recognize this tactic because he pulled it on me this morning in the kitchen. He’s using his massive size to try to intimidate me.
But Lowe Mancinkus underestimates me. He’s never had to deal with a spunky New Yorker.
I don’t back up. Instead, I take a step right up to him, and I have to tip my head way back to maintain eye contact. And damn, he smells so darned good. I force myself to breathe through my mouth, so I don’t get distracted.
“I will listen to what you have to say when you show up at my house at a reasonable hour,” I bite out with a tiny poke of my finger into his chest for effect. “Until then, you are trespassing.”
To my surprise, this seems to amuse Lowe. His lips curl into a nefarious grin and his voice rumbles low when he asks me, “You going to run and tattle on me to the judge?”
“Maybe I will,” I say breathlessly.
Oh, dear Lord.
Breathlessly!
Am I really breathless over this man who is threatening me?
With a taunting chuckle, Lowe shakes his head and takes half a step until we are toe to toe. “I don’t think you will.”
“Don’t underestimate me,” I warn him. “I know Judge Bowe was not happy with me, but I’m quite confident I have done nothing at this point to land me in jail. You, on the other hand, wouldn’t be so lucky.”
“You think?” he asks in a soft voice, which sort of throws me off.
I shore up my resolve and tell him the way it is. “I know so. Now you need to leave.”
“You know, I came over here with a proposal that we just agree to go our separate ways and Judge Bowe would be none the wiser.”
I’m not sure what it says about me, but I experience a weird pitching sensation over his words. It makes me feel off balance. Before I can even analyze this feeling, Lowe reaches a hand up and takes a lock of my hair between his thumb and forefinger. He slides his gaze over to watch as he rubs my hair in a thoughtful manner. When he looks back to me, my breath hitches over the heated look in his eyes.
What in the hell is going on here?
“But I’m thinking,” Lowe continues as his hand drops away for my hair. “It’s not a hardship watching you strut around in your little pajama shorts with that blue gunk all over your face. Maybe I’ll stick around.”
My jaw drops as I realize the husky tone of his voice makes it clear that Lowe Mancinkus may not actually despise me all that much. Now, I’m not a fool as I know he’s doing this to screw with my head, but I can also see it in his eyes… he’s actually coming on to me.
I absolutely hate that this knowledge causes my heart to beat a little faster and my breath to go a little more shallow.
Still, I refuse to let him know that he affects me. I stand my ground as I shake my head in denial. “I think you and I both know your behavior is unacceptable. If Judge Bowe knew you were in my home after I asked you repeatedly to leave, I am quite sure you’d be the one sitting in jail and I’d be the one visiting you. And I wouldn’t bring you a nail file either.”
Lowe must find that a satisfying response and I know this because he smiles like the cat that just caught the mouse. “You wouldn’t really turn me in, would you?”
“In a New-York minute.”
“Huh. Let’s test that theory out,” he says and before I can even formulate a good retort, his mouth comes down and presses against mine. I want to kick myself one hundred different ways when the tiny little moan of surprise and pleasure flutters out across my lips because the only thing that accomplishes is to give Lowe permission to take the kiss further.
His head tilts to the right, his lips press mine open, and his tongue touches lightly against my own. I’m beyond mortified when an unholy sounding groan wrenches free from me.
Lowe lifts his head, breaking the kiss, and then he looks down at me expectantly.
“Dare you to call Judge Bowe,” he murmurs, taunting me. Then, for special effect, he adds on, “Mely.”
I want to grit my teeth in frustration over the fact he just kissed me, I totally liked it, and I really liked the way my nickname sounded coming from him. I want to slap myself silly as I realize I am most definitely not going to let the judge know this happened.
A wave of anger suffuses my entire being over being manipulated by this man, and I straighten my spine in preparation of giving him the biggest butt chewing he’s ever received in his life.
Instead, I yip with fright at the sound of a booming noise coming from the backyard.
“What the hell?” Lowe growls as he spins toward the hallway that leads to the kitchen, sprinting from there to the door that leads to the backyard.
I scurry after him, my heart beating about a million miles an hour. Lowe stomps across the kitchen and reaches for the back door, preparing to open it.
“Wait,” I yell, and he looks over his shoulder at me. “That sounded like a gun. You can’t go out there.”
Lowe’s face morphs from put-out curiosity to amusement. “You worried about me, Mely?”
I fling my arms dramatically toward the door. “Go. Get yourself killed. It will certainly make my life easier.”
Lowe just chuckles and turns away from me to open the door. When he steps through and closes it behind him, I have a moment of panic that he’s going to get himself killed. I really don’t want that.
I fly across the worn linoleum floor—which I have confirmed was laid down over beautiful hardwood about three decades ago and is a flooring issue that will soon be rectified—and fling the door open. I come to a screeching halt when I see Lowe talking to a hulking bear of a man who holds a shotgun cradled in his arms.
He’s huge.
Standing almost as tall as Lowe but three times as wide, he has long, frizzy gray hair and a wiry beard that hangs down over his chest.
Both men turn to look at me, their eyebrows raised in question… as if I had interrupted a private conversation they were having.
My eyes flick back and forth between the gun and Lowe before I wet my lips and ask, “Is everything okay?”
“Coyote,” Lowe says. “Floyd was scaring him off.”
“Floyd?”
Lowe just jerks his head toward the man. Glancing over, I give a polite nod. “Hello.”
Floyd just grunts at me in greeting.
“Floyd owns the hardware store,” Lowe explains further. “It’s where I bought the pink paint.”
I just nod again, taking in this very strange conversation. Ironically, I’m not bothered to know that’s where Lowe purchased his criminal implements to paint my house. I’m much more interested in why this man is in my backyard with a shotgun.
“We have coyotes?” I ask cautiously, forcing myself not to sound too wigged out by a hulking man in my backyard with a loaded gun that he has apparently discharged against wild animals.
“Scavengers,” Floyd grunts again.
“And you were in my yard shooting at them because…?” I ask, letting my words trail off in question.
“Floyd sort of protects the town,” Lowe says by way of explanation.
So… that’s weird.
And I feel the need to go in. “Doesn’t Whynot have a police force?”
“Of course,” Lowe says in a voice that says my question is absolutely ridiculous.
But what’s really ridiculous is the fact that Lowe does nothing else to explain why there is a large man hunting coyotes in my backyard.
We engage in another staring war. I refuse to give in, letting my mind wander and my ears soak in the music of night crickets, realizing I probably just don’t want to know the answer as I’m clearly in information overload.
Finally, Lowe gives a nod toward my back door. “Let’s plan on talking tomorrow.”
It’s my dismissal.
And I’m so weirded out by everything that’s happened tonight, which includes Lowe Mancinkus thinking I’m sexy wearing blue gunk on my face, kissing me, and a man hunting coyotes in my backyard, that I decide to take his advice and go back into my house.
“See you tomorrow,” I mutter.