Читать книгу Moon Over Montana - Jackie Merritt - Страница 8

Shortly after four that afternoon Tag began packing up his tools and supplies. Linda heard what he was doing from where she sat on the living-room sofa, using the coffee table as a desk. Not that she was bogged down with teachers’ homework. There was really very little planning needed to finish out the school year; her students were mostly working toward completing projects with an eye on receiving a good grade for their efforts.

Linda, with Tippy on her heels, went to the kitchen door. “You’ve finished all the walls,” she said, amazed that he had accomplished so much.

“And the ceiling,” he said with a grin. “These cupboards could use some sanding and fresh stain, but I’ll have to check with Heck on that.”

“Well, that’s between the two of you,” Linda murmured. “The cupboards look fine to me. Oh, there are a few places that could use some touching up, but overall they’re in pretty good shape.”

“We’ll see what Heck says about it.”

“Fine. You must be very fast. I had no idea you’d do the whole kitchen in less than a full day.”

“It’s a small kitchen, Linda.” Tag smiled at her. “But I am pretty fast, all right. And good. These walls just shine, don’t they? I used semigloss in here.”

“I see you’re very modest, along with being fast and good,” she stated dryly. “But yes, the walls look wonderful. At least ten shades lighter than they were. You know, when I moved in, I washed down everything in here. The walls were sort of tacky to the touch. Not horribly dirty, but the former tenant must have done a lot of frying. Anyhow, I thought I had done a good job.”

“You did. It’s just time to rejuvenate this old building.”

“It’s not that old, is it?”

“About six, seven years, I’d guess.” Tag picked up his toolbox. “Since I won’t be here tomorrow, I’m not going to leave anything behind for you to trip over. On Monday, though, I might ask if you’d mind my leaving some of these things in an out-of-the-way place, just so I wouldn’t have to haul them back and forth.”

“Oh, sure, no problem.”

“Thanks.” Carrying some of his things, Tag approached the doorway.

Linda watched him coming toward her and felt his presence so acutely that it took her breath. No man had ever affected her in quite this way, not even the man she had married. Maybe especially not the man she had married. That had been such a dreadful mistake.

Tag stopped in front of her. This woman intrigued him like no other. He had never believed in love at first sight, and he couldn’t say it was happening to him now. But something was. Something was stirring his blood and causing images of lovemaking to overwhelm everything else in his brain.

Linda looked into his eyes for a moment, felt a feverish intensity that seemed like a warning bell, broke eye contact and stepped aside for his passage.

Without a word—or a grin—Tag went on by her and out the front door.

When he was outside, Linda sucked in a huge breath of air. “My Lord,” she whispered, wondering how a decent woman dealt with such mind-bending chemistry and kept her reputation intact. It was as though a cloud of unmanageable hormones had descended upon her apartment the second she opened her door for Tag.

Tag made another trip from the kitchen to his truck with his gear, then came back in with a tape measure.

“Show me the places you’d like to have a bookshelf,” he said.

Forcing her soaring imagination back to earth, Linda led him to the available wall space in the living room. She pointed, he measured and wrote in his spiral, then he said, “I should probably ask how many books you need to shelve.”

“You saw all those boxes in that upstairs closet, and you probably know that each tenant also has a small storage room at the front of an assigned carport parking space. Well, mine is full of books. In boxes, of course.” At his cocked eyebrow, she declared with her hands out, “What can I say? I love books.”

“In that case you’re probably going to need some shelves upstairs. If memory serves, there’s wall space in both your bedroom and studio.”

“Yes, you’re right.” She walked to the stairs.

Tag watched the way her body moved as she ascended in front of him. He was only halfway up when he told himself to cool down or the fit of his jeans would embarrass both of them.

They went to the studio first and Linda realized that she was reluctant to put anything in this room but her many art supplies. She had covered the carpet under the easel with a large piece of tightly woven outdoor carpeting, as she disliked working on plastic, canvas tarps were too cumbersome and she didn’t want to have to worry about dripping paint while she was concentrating on a creation.

“You’re a considerate tenant,” Tag said with a nod toward the easel area.

“It’s something I would do in my own home if I had to work on carpet, so why wouldn’t I do it in a rented place? The perfect floor for an artist is concrete. Someday that’s what I’ll have.”

Tag smiled. “So you can splash paint every which way?”

“Something like that. Tag, I’m going to skip this room for now. If I absolutely have to, I’ll put bookshelves in here, but I’d rather not.” She smiled. “I wouldn’t like my books spattered with paint any more than I would the carpeting.”

Tag loved her smile, even though it made his legs feel a bit wobbly. Did she know how beautiful and sexy she was? Or the kind of power a woman like her wielded over a man?

He cleared his throat. “Okay, fine, let’s check out your bedroom.”

They found two adequate areas of wall space that would nicely accommodate bookcases. After measuring and making notes, Tag shoved his spiral into his shirt pocket.

“I think that does it,” he said.

“Yes,” Linda murmured huskily, wondering why on earth she would feel giddy, awkward and almost tongue-tied just because there was a bed in the room with them. Had she ever enjoyed sex? Never! Then why keep thinking about it now? I must be losing my mind!

She hurried from the bedroom and felt Tag behind her every step of the way.

“Don’t forget to come by my place tomorrow,” Tag told her at the front door. “You won’t have any trouble finding it.”

“Uh, right. What time would you like me?”

I’d like you in the morning, in the afternoon and all night long. “If you come in the afternoon you could stay for dinner and experience one of my famous barbecued burgers.”

“Stay for dinner?” Linda nervously bit down on her lower lip.

“I think you’ll like Samantha,” Tag said in a casual tone of voice.

Linda relaxed considerably. When he said dinner, she had immediately envisioned a cozy dinner for two. But his little girl would be there, and he certainly wasn’t going to try anything in front of her.

“Yes, all right,” she said. “Want me to bring anything? A salad maybe?”

“Just bring yourself.” Tag reached out and gently moved a straying tendril of her long hair from her cheek. “See you tomorrow,” he said quietly.

Then he was gone. Almost starry-eyed, Linda closed the door and made sure it was locked. Tag Kingsley was pure dynamite.

But maybe it was time she walked through a minefield.

Something had changed. The apartment seemed cramped. Linda felt edgy and disconnected, a form of angst that she couldn’t recall having endured before, and she’d been so sure that she had suffered it all before her move to Rumor. Apparently not. Apparently liking a guy on such short acquaintance, and then facing and even enjoying fantasylike thoughts of a physical nature—because of him—delivered its own brand of emotional conflict.

Linda tried to elevate her mood by reminding herself how dismal her love life—if one could even call her one experience with an uncaring member of the opposite sex a love life—had always been. It didn’t seem to do much good; she was still full of sighs when she was in her nightgown and ready for bed around ten that night.

The downstairs lights were off and only a bedside lamp still burned. Linda pushed back the sliding glass door and stepped out onto her tiny balcony. The night air was fresh and smelled wonderful. She went back inside, switched off the lamp, got out the shawl she often used on nights like this and draped it over her shoulders. She then returned to the balcony to sit in the dark. Tippy lay at her feet, as relaxed as any dog could be, while his mistress looked at the stars.

The Montana sky at night still amazed Linda. There were no clouds blocking the view, and the sky seemed alive with twinkling starlight. Rumor was like another world, she thought, not for the first time. She had always lived with city lights, sirens and the sound of heavy traffic. Here there was barely a sound. A car started somewhere, maybe down the street at another apartment complex, and far off in the distance a dog barked. It was all so serene, so lovely. It was also dark enough that another resident of the building, or anyone else who should happen by, would have a hard time seeing her. She liked the sensation of privacy that the darkness and the position of her balcony gave her.

Feeling her tension give way, Linda put her feet up on the second chair and got really comfortable. Her mind wandered, from Tag to her teaching job, then from the upcoming science fair to the lazy days of summer ahead. She had found peace in this small community, and she wanted to hold on to it. It was too precious a feeling to destroy with careless or shabby behavior.

Linda sucked in a quiet breath. Certainly a normal adult relationship with the man she had met today wouldn’t be in the shabby category, would it? Unless Tag had a reputation she shouldn’t get near, it wouldn’t. But in this small town where everyone knew just about everyone else, and few residents hesitated to pass on gossip, some people were under closer scrutiny than others. Teachers, for example, had to be particularly watchful of their reputations. Linda had never disagreed with that attitude, but then there’d been no reason for her even to think much about it. Certainly, she hadn’t come to Rumor with hopes of finding another husband.

“Lord love a duck,” she whispered, shocked that she would even think of such a thing. One husband had been more than enough for her. She’d been positive for a very long time—even prior to her divorce—that she could happily live out the remainder of her life as a single woman.

Until today, that is. Until meeting a good-looking guy with laughter lurking in his eyes, a mouth designed for tender, sensual kisses and just enough brashness in his personality to create sexual unrest in a woman who had not been seeking any such thing.

Linda heaved a long sigh, laid her head back, shut out the beauty of the sky by closing her eyes and let life-before-Rumor unfold in her mind.

It wasn’t that her parents hadn’t cared about her. As a child she’d been given almost anything she’d asked for; anything, that is, but hugs and time and regular meals and the kind of life that the few friends she’d had back then had lived. Their mothers and fathers had scolded and then hugged and kissed their children. No one had ever scolded Linda, because Hilly and Vandyne Vareck had believed that no one had a right to tell anyone else what to do.

Linda had been a lonely child and had discovered the magic hidden in books at an early age. The collection she had to this day included some childhood favorites, and while her parents worked on their incredible art, or attended all-night parties with their artist friends, Linda had exchanged reality for the setting in whichever book she was devouring.

In high school, Linda had kept to herself. She made top grades but her friends lived between the covers of books, and whenever she noticed couples holding hands or stealing a kiss in school, she simply told herself that she had other interests.

Then she met Paul Fioretti and his dark good looks finally broke the back of her indifference to the opposite sex. He was a sharp dresser, drove a new car, always had plenty of money to throw around and he was five years older than she had been. He had told her that his college years had been spent in the East; he had graduated from Yale, an Ivy League school, and he’d brought her to the restaurant he owned, a small but busy place that served delicious Italian food. She’d been impressed by his plans to expand to a second restaurant and then a third, and on and on until Fioretti’s became a chain. She’d also been grateful that he was a businessman and knew little or nothing about art. She had not wanted art for her own career, but her talent was inborn, apparently, and wouldn’t be ignored. She dated Paul until her college graduation, and when he proposed that same day, she agreed to marry him.

At her wedding she’d realized once again how unusual her parents were, for they hadn’t attended the ceremony. Instead, they’d sent her the deed to a very nice house in suburban Culberton as a wedding present. By then the Varecks’ eccentricities no longer hurt Linda, and she had written a lovely thank-you letter, which they never acknowledged. Paul had been openly thrilled about having a house without a mortgage, but when Linda had suggested that he, too, contact her folks to thank them, he’d hemmed and hawed and never did get around to it.

One thing about Paul that had truly pleased Linda was that he hadn’t pressured her into making love before their wedding, as she’d had some very sweet ideas about being a pure and virginal bride. Then, on their wedding night, Paul had shattered her romantic fantasies by taking her roughly and without any consideration for what she might be feeling.

That had been the first blow to the hopes she had permitted to penetrate her somewhat cynical take on life; obviously, she had been delusional for a while. That very night she had wept quietly while Paul snored beside her. Any hope she’d had for a perfect marriage was utter nonsense. As for children, the ones she would love with all her heart and soul, Paul had refused to discuss the subject. He didn’t want children.

But even with such serious flaws, Linda had tried to make her marriage work. Little by little, however, she’d had to face facts. Paul lied about everything, from serious missteps to trivial incidents that weren’t worth the effort it took to devise a lie. His lying became unbearable for a woman who valued honesty as much as Linda did. Plus, Paul’s friends were disreputable people that Linda suspected lived on the wrong side of the law, which meant that her husband was, more than likely, involved in illegal activities.

The final straw was his infidelity. After far too many years of kowtowing to an immoral, dishonest man who didn’t have a tenth of her intelligence, a man who had never given her a moment’s pleasure in bed and refused to discuss the problem with her, or even admit that there was a problem, Linda had called it quits.

One afternoon while Paul was gone—only God knew where—Linda packed his clothes and personal possessions. She didn’t throw his things into boxes, she folded everything neatly and filled every suitcase in the house. And when he got home that night, she was up and waiting for him. She told him their marriage was over and she wanted him to take his things and move out.

He had laughed at her and told her that she would come to her senses. She hadn’t cared what he thought, as long as he got out of her life. She breathed freedom again after he’d loaded his car and driven away, and it had felt absolutely wonderful. The very next day she drove to Las Vegas, rented a small apartment, moved in some of her things and saw an attorney to file for a Nevada divorce.

The end of that chapter of her life had arrived in the form of a divorce decree. She had already acquired her present teaching job and sold the house, which had remained in her maiden name because Paul never got around to changing that, either—and within two days, she was on her way to Rumor, Montana.

And here I intend to stay. Linda opened her eyes and felt unusually emotional. The beauty of the vast velvety sky with millions upon millions of sparkling stars touched her soul. Why on earth was she ruining her mellow mood by thinking about Paul?

Of course, her mood wasn’t entirely mellow. There was Tag now, an intrusion on her peace, to be sure, but was that all bad? He was so darn attractive with his grin and open personality. She would be willing to bet that Tag Kingsley had very few, if any, secrets.

And he was a carpenter. Could any other job suit her better?

Deep into her own thoughts, Linda barely heard the snapping twig. Still, it brought her out of her reverie and back to the small piece of earth she inhabited. The yard around the building was dark. Over by the connected row of carports, one of which contained her SUV, were two lights, one attached to the roof on each end of the structure. A few windows in various apartments threw light. Her place was not one of them; she sat in total darkness.

But there it was again! Someone was stealthily walking near the building. Linda noticed Tippy’s head rising from his front paws; he had heard—or smelled—whoever was creeping around out there. The little dog growled low in his throat, and Linda laid her hand on him to keep him from throwing a barking fit and waking up everyone in the building.

She sat without moving, one hand on Tippy’s head, the other at her own throat, which seemed to be the place where her heart had leaped and was now pounding a breath-stealing cadence. For moments she sat frozen in that position, then became angry, mostly with herself. She was not and never had been a woman to freeze in fear. Whoever was out there probably had a perfect right to be.

But then she heard a discordant scratchy sound that was absolutely foreign to anything she’d noticed before. Something wasn’t right, and whatever was going on seemed to be occurring in the vicinity of her front door!

“What in the world?” she mumbled. At the same moment, Tippy eluded her calming touch, jumped up and began barking at the sliding door. “Hush,” she said sharply. Tippy stopped barking, but he whined and scratched at the glass door. “What is it, Tippy?” she whispered. Was someone who didn’t live in the building attempting a burglary this very moment? Maybe trying to get into her apartment?

“You’re not getting away with it, buster,” she muttered as she hurriedly went inside and, without turning on any lights, made her way through her bedroom and down the stairs. Tippy raced ahead of her and began barking furiously. This time Linda didn’t hush him, and when she reached the door herself, she quickly snapped on the outside light and peered through the peephole. She saw nothing. Anger filled her. Just because whoever had been snooping around had been fast enough to elude her light didn’t mean he hadn’t been out there. Should she phone the sheriff’s department and make a report?

Frowning, Linda pondered the situation. Was tonight’s intruder connected in some way to the parade of weirdos who had been knocking on her door in broad daylight, one of whom had walked in without knocking while she’d been gone today? She’d been so sure she had locked the door, she always did, but how else could he have gotten in?

Oh my goodness, is he clever enough to pick locks? Had he come back after dark to walk in again?

But at night she secured the dead bolt and the security chain on the door. Was he good enough to get past those additional precautions? If she had been asleep and he’d gotten in…? Linda shuddered a moment, then got hold of herself and thought, For pity’s sake, Tippy would have thrown a fit and woke not only me but the neighbors, as well!

If a guy was haunting her for some unimaginable reason, he must be incredibly stupid to keep overlooking a live-in burglar alarm like Tippy.

Incredibly stupid or incredibly desperate.

Desperate to do what? Slowly Linda climbed the stairs. What did she have that a man she’d never met could want so badly that he kept returning and risking his own life, liberty and pursuit of happiness to get hold of? Oddly enough, she sensed no threat to herself. Both times that she had opened the door to the person in those pathetically comical disguises, all he’d done was get out of her face as quickly as was humanly possible. Maybe she should have called the law this afternoon and again tonight, but to tell them what? That someone had walked into the wrong apartment today and then tonight she had heard strange noises?

“Not unless you want it getting around town that the new art teacher is a hysterical female,” she drawled disgustedly. She was not a hysterical female, not now, not ever and, with everything so quiet, the noises she’d heard—or thought she’d heard—could have come from a block away. “Get a grip, lady,” she told herself. After locking the sliding door and pulling the drape, Linda crawled into bed. Tippy settled down on the small rug at the foot of her bed. All was quiet again, and, ordinarily, Linda fell asleep within minutes of retiring. Tonight she stared into the dark for a long time.

Whether she had imagined an intruder or someone had actually been sneaking around the building, the incident had left a mark. Linda hated admitting it, but the marvelous peace she had found in Montana seemed to be slipping away.

But that elusive—and possibly imagined—intruder wasn’t the only Montana male chipping away at her peace of mind. Turning to her side, Linda let Tag overwhelm her thoughts. There was a raw sexuality between them that she’d never experienced before. It wasn’t just Tag’s adorable grin and twinkling eyes drawing her in, there was a feeling in the pit of her stomach that teased and taunted and dared her to be a real woman.

Sighing softly, she admitted that she wanted to be a real woman. She wanted to explore her sensual side, which had certainly not been tapped or touched by Paul. It seemed almost impossible that she had stayed in a loveless marriage for so long. She had wasted years on a man who hadn’t given a damn that she never derived any pleasure from their lovemaking. And worse than that sin, he had refused to let her have children.

A tear spilled from Linda’s eye and dribbled down her temple to her pillow. There was no question about it: the peace she’d found—or believed she had found—in Montana was definitely ebbing.

Her last thoughts before sleep were as far from her intruder as they could be. They were about Tag. He was a carpenter with a child. He was handsome and sexy and funny and sweet.

And he just might be her perfect match.

In room six of the State Street Motel, Alfred lay facedown on his bed and wept with his fingers digging into the pillow. He hated the town of Rumor with every fiber of his being. He hated Montana with its wild animals—those horrid cows and horses included. He hated the hootie owls that scared the stuffing out of him every time they let out one of their bone-chilling cries. This place wasn’t fit for civilized human beings, and why in hell would Paul’s ex-wife move to such a godforsaken speck on the map? It was no damn wonder Paul had broken up with the bitch. She must have a screw loose or something.

When she had turned on that porch light tonight, he’d nearly passed out. He’d gotten away only because self-preservation had taken over and caused his legs to run without a conscious, direct order from his brain.

Alfred pounded the pillow in frustration. Tonight he had failed again, and he’d been so sure, when he’d spotted her dark apartment, that she had gone out. But being the pro that he was, he had cautiously checked each side of her end of the building before trying her door. He hadn’t heard even one yap from that crappy mutt of hers, which had reinforced his happy opinion about the apartment being empty. What did she do, sit in the dark and hope some poor unsuspecting stranger tried to get in?

“Eeee,” Alfred moaned. His stomach was killing him. Rumor was giving him an ulcer. He longed for the lively streets of his old neighborhood in L.A. He ached for noise, for traffic and lights and people, for favorite hangouts with loud music and even louder patrons. The only place that he dared enter to get a beer was the dive next door, the Beauties and the Beat strip joint, and being Saturday night, there was plenty of noise coming from it. But he was afraid to show his face in there too often for fear that someone would start asking questions, especially when there were so many cars in the parking lot. No telling who was in there tonight.

He wept fresh tears. He couldn’t go home without that stupid book. Paul would probably kick his butt clear around the block, and he’d be laughed out of the neighborhood.

But couldn’t fate give him just one tiny break and put him near that apartment when that woman and her dog were both gone somewhere? Damn! How much more could he take?