Читать книгу Fiancé In Name Only - Maureen Child - Страница 9

“Sorry about this,” Micah Hunter said. “I really liked you a lot, but you had to die.”

Leaning back in his desk chair, Micah’s gaze scanned the last few lines of the scene he’d just finished writing. He gave a small sigh of satisfaction at the death of one of his more memorable characters, then closed the lid of the laptop.

He’d already been working for four hours and it was past time for a break. “Problem is,” he muttered, standing up and walking to the window overlooking the front of the house, “there’s nowhere to go.”

Idly he pulled out his cell phone, hit speed dial, then listened to the phone ring for a second or two. Finally a man came on the other line.

“How did I let you talk me into coming here for six months?”

Sam Hellman laughed. “Good to talk to you, too, man.”

“Yeah.” Of course his best friend was amused. Hell, if Micah wasn’t the one stranded here in small-town America, he might be amused, too. As it was, though, he didn’t see a damn thing funny about it. Micah pushed one hand through his hair and stared out at the so-called view. The house he was currently renting was an actual Victorian mansion set back from a wide street that was lined by gigantic, probably ancient, trees, now gold and red as their leaves changed and died. The sky was a brilliant blue, the autumn sun peeking out from behind thick white clouds. It was quiet, he thought. So quiet it was damn near creepy.

And since the suspense/horror novels Micah was known for routinely hit number one on the New York Times bestseller list, he knew a thing or two about creepy.

“Seriously, Sam, I’m stuck here for another four months because you talked me into signing the lease.”

Sam laughed. “You’re stuck there because you never could turn down a challenge.”

Harsh but true. Nobody knew that about Micah better than Sam. They’d met when they were both kids, serving on the same US Navy ship. Sam had run away from his wealthy family’s expectations, and Micah had been running from a past filled with foster homes, lies and broken promises. The two of them had connected and then stayed in touch when their enlistments were up.

Sam had returned to New York and the literary agency his grandfather had founded—discovering, after being away for a while, that he actually wanted to be a part of the family business. Micah had taken any construction job he could find while he spent every other waking moment working on a novel.

Even as a kid, Micah had known he wanted to write books. And when he finally started writing, it seemed the words couldn’t pour out of his mind fast enough. He typed long into the night, losing himself in the story developing on the screen. Finishing that first book, he’d felt like a champion runner—exhausted, satisfied and triumphant.

He’d sent that first novel to Sam, who’d had a few million suggestions to make it even better. Nobody liked being told to change something they thought was already great, but Micah had been so determined to reach his goal, he’d made most of the changes. And the book sold almost immediately for a modest advance that Micah was more proud of than anything he’d ever earned before.

That book was the precursor of things to come. With his second book, word-of-mouth advertising made it a viral sensation and had it rocketing up the bestseller lists. Before he knew it, Micah’s dreams were a reality. Sam and Micah had worked together ever since and they’d made a hell of a team. But because they were such good friends, Sam had known exactly how to set Micah up.

“This is payback because I beat you at downhill snowboarding last winter, isn’t it?”

“Would I do something that petty?” Sam asked, laughter in his voice.

“Yeah, you would.” Micah shook his head.

“Okay...yeah, probably,” Sam agreed. “But, you’re the one who took the bet. Live in a small town for six months.”

“True.” How bad could it be? He remembered asking himself that before signing the lease with his landlady, Kelly Flynn. Now, two months into his stay, Micah had the answer to that question.

“And, hey, research,” Sam pointed out. “The book you’re working on now is set in a small town. Good to know these things firsthand.”

“Ever heard of Google?” Micah laughed. “And the book I set in Atlantis, how’d I research that one?”

“Not the point,” Sam said. “The point is, Jenny and I loved that house you’re in when we were there a couple years ago. And, okay, Banner’s a small town, but they’ve got good pizza.”

Micah would admit to that. He had Pizza Bowl on speed dial.

“Like I said, in another month or so, you’ll feel differently,” Sam said. “You’ll be out enjoying all that fresh powder on the mountains and you won’t mind it so much.”

Micah wasn’t so sure about that. But he had to admit it was a great house. He glanced around the second-floor room he’d claimed as a temporary office. The ceilings were high, the rooms were big and the view of the mountains was beautiful. The whole house had a lot of character, which he appreciated, but damned if he didn’t feel like a phantom or something, wandering through the big place. He’d never had so much space all to himself and Micah could admit, at least to himself, that sometimes it creeped him out.

Hell, in the city—any city—there were lights. People. Noise. Here, the nights were darker than anything he’d ever known. Even in the navy, on board a ship, there were enough lights that the stars were muted in the night sky. But Banner, Utah, was listed on the International Dark-Sky roster because it lay just beyond a ridge that wiped out the haze of light reflection from Salt Lake City.

Here, at night, you could look up and see the Milky Way and an explosion of stars that was as beautiful as it was humbling. He’d never seen skies like these before, and he was willing to acknowledge that the beauty of it took some of the sting out of being marooned at the back end of beyond.

“How’s the book coming?” Sam asked suddenly.

The change in subject threw him for a second, but Micah was grateful for the shift. “Good. Actually just killed the bakery guy.”

“That’s a shame. Love a good bakery guy.” Sam laughed. “How’d he buy it?”

“Pretty grisly,” Micah said, and began pacing the confines of his office. “The killer drowned him in the doughnut fryer vat of hot oil.”

“Damn, man...that is gross.” Sam took a breath and sighed it out. “You may have put me off doughnuts.”

Good to know the murder he’d just written was going to hit home for people.

“Not for long, I’ll bet,” Micah mused.

“The copy editor will probably get sick, but your fans will love it,” Sam assured him. “And speaking of fans, any of them show up in town yet?”

“Not yet, but it’s only a matter of time.” Frowning, he looked out the window and checked up and down the street, half expecting to see someone with a camera casing the house, hoping for a shot of him.

One of the reasons Micah never remained in one place too long was because his more devoted fans had a way of tracking him down. They would just show up at whatever hotel he was staying in, assuming he’d be happy to see them. Most were harmless, sure, but Micah knew “fan” could turn into “fanatic” in a flash.

He’d had a few talk their way into his hotel rooms, join him uninvited at dinner, acting as though they were either old friends or long-lost lovers. Thanks to social media, there was always someone reporting on where he had been seen last or where he was currently holed up. So he changed hotels after every book, always staying in big cities where he could get lost in the crowds and living in five-star hotels that promised security.

Until now, that is.

“No one’s going to look for you in a tiny mountain town,” Sam said.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought when I was at the hotel in Switzerland,” Micah reminded his friend. “Until that guy showed up determined to pummel me because his girlfriend was in love with me.”

Sam laughed again and Micah just shook his head. Okay, it was funny now, but having some guy you didn’t know ambush you in a hotel lobby wasn’t something he wanted to repeat.

“This is probably the best thing you could have done,” Sam said. “Staying in Banner and living in a house, not a hotel, will throw off the fans hunting for you.”

“Yeah, well, it should. It’s throwing me off, that’s for sure.” His scowl tightened. “It’s too damn quiet here.”

“Want me to send you a recording of Manhattan traffic? You could play it while you write.”

“Funny,” Micah said, and didn’t even admit to himself that the idea wasn’t half bad. “Why haven’t I fired you?”

“Because I make us both a boatload of money, my friend.”

Well, Sam had him there. “Right. Knew there was a reason.”

“And because I’m charming, funny and about the only person in the world who’s willing to put up with the crappy attitude.”

Micah laughed now. He had a point. Right from the beginning, when they’d met on the aircraft carrier they’d served on, Sam had offered friendship—something Micah had rarely known. Growing up in the foster care system, moving from home to home, Micah had never stayed anywhere long enough to make friends. Which was probably a good thing since he wouldn’t have been able to keep a friend, what with relocating all the damn time.

So he appreciated having Sam in his life—even when the man bugged the hell out of him. “That’s great, thanks.”

“No problem. So what do you think of your landlady?”

Frowning, Micah silently acknowledged that he was trying to not think about Kelly Flynn. It wasn’t working, but he kept trying.

For the last two months, he’d done everything he could to keep his distance because damned if he didn’t want to get closer. But he didn’t need an affair. He had to live here for another four months. If he started something with Kelly, it would make things...complicated.

If it was a one-night stand, she’d get pissy and he’d have to put up with it for four more months. If it was a long-running affair, then she’d be intruding on his writing time and spinning fantasies about a future that was never going to happen. He didn’t need the drama. All he wanted was the time and space to write his book so he could get out of this tiny town and back to civilization.

“Hmm,” Sam mused. “Silence. That tells me plenty.”

“Tells you nothing,” Micah argued, attempting to convince both himself and Sam. “Just like there’s nothing going on.”

“Are you sick?”

“What?”

“I mean, come on,” Sam said, and Micah could imagine him leaning back in his desk chair, propping his feet up on the corner of his desk. He probably had his chair turned toward the windows so he could look out over Manhattan.

“Hell,” Sam continued, “I’m married and I noticed her. She’s gorgeous, and if you tell Jenny I said that I’ll deny it.”

Shaking his head, Micah looked down and watched Kelly work in the yard. The woman never relaxed. She was always moving, doing something. She had ten different jobs and today, apparently, still had the time to rake up fallen leaves and bag them. As he watched, she loaded up a wheelbarrow with several bags of leaves and headed for the curb.

Her long, reddish-gold hair was pulled into a ponytail at the back of her neck. She wore a dark green sweatshirt and worn blue jeans that cupped her behind and clung to her long legs. Black gloves covered her hands, and her black boots were scarred and scuffed from years of wear.

And though she had her back to the house, he knew her face. Soft, creamy skin, sprinkled with freckles across her nose and cheeks. Grass-green eyes that crinkled at the edges when she laughed and a wide, generous mouth that made Micah wonder what she would taste like.

Micah watched her unload the bags at the curb, then wave to a neighbor across the street. He knew she’d be smiling and his brain filled with her image. Deliberately, he turned his back on the window, shut the image of Kelly out of his mind and walked back to his chair. “Yeah, she’s pretty.”

Sam laughed. “Feel the enthusiasm.”

Oh, there was plenty of enthusiasm, Micah thought. Too much. Which was the problem. “I’m not here looking for a woman, Sam. I’m here to work.”

“That’s just sad.”

He had to agree. “Thanks. So why’d you call me again?”

“Damn, you need to take a break. You’re the one who called me, remember?”

“Right.” He pushed one hand through his hair. Maybe he did need a damn break. He’d been working pretty much nonstop for the last two months. No wonder this place was starting to feel claustrophobic in spite of its size. “That’s a good idea. I’ll take a drive. Clear my head.”

“Invite the landlady along,” Sam urged. “She could show you around since I’m guessing you’ve hardly left that big old house since you got there.”

“Good guess. But not looking for a guide, either.”

“What are you looking for?”

“I’ll let you know when I find it,” Micah said, and hung up.

“So how’s our famous writer doing?”

Kelly grinned at her neighbor. Sally Hartsfield was the nosiest human being on the face of the planet. She and her sister, Margie, were both spinsters in their nineties, and spent most of their days looking out the windows to keep an eye on what was happening in the neighborhood.

“Busy, I guess,” Kelly said, with a quick glance over her shoulder at the second-story window where she’d caught a glimpse of Micah earlier. He wasn’t there anymore and she felt a small twist of disappointment as she turned back to Sally. “He told me when he moved in that he would be buried in work and didn’t want to be disturbed.”

“Hmm.” Sally’s gaze flicked briefly to that window, too. “You know, that last book of his gave me nightmares. Makes you wonder how he can stand being all alone like that when he’s writing such dark, scary things...”

Kelly agreed. She’d only read one of Micah’s seven books because it had scared her so badly she’d slept with a light on for two weeks. When she read a book, she wanted cheerful escape, not terror-inducing suspense. “I guess he likes it that way,” she said.

“Well, everybody’s different,” Sally pointed out. “And I say thank goodness. Can you imagine how boring life would be if we were all the same?” She shook her head and her densely-sprayed curls never moved. “Why, there’d be nothing to talk about.”

And that would be the real shame as far as Sally was concerned, Kelly knew. The woman could pry a nugget of information out of a rock.

“He is a good-looking man though, isn’t he?” Sally asked, a speculative gleam in her eyes.

Good-looking? Oh, Micah Hunter was well beyond that. The picture on the back of his books showed him as dark and brooding, and that was probably done purposefully, considering what he wrote. But the man in person was so much more. His thick brown hair was perpetually rumpled, as if he’d just rolled out of bed. His eyes were the color of rich, dark coffee, and when he forgot to shave for a day or two, the stubble on his face gave him the air of a pirate.

His shoulders were broad, his hips were narrow and he was tall enough that even Kelly’s own five feet, eight inches felt diminutive alongside him. He was the kind of man who walked into a room and simply took it over whether he was trying to or not. Kelly imagined every woman who ever met him had done a little daydreaming about Micah. Even, it seemed, Sally Hartsfield, who had a grandson as old as Micah.

“He is nice looking,” Kelly finally said when she noticed Sally staring at her.

The older woman sighed and fisted both hands on her hips. “Kelly Flynn, what is wrong with you? Your Sean’s been gone four years. Why, if I was your age...”

Kelly stiffened at the mention of her late husband, automatically raising her defenses. Sally must have noticed her reaction because the woman stopped short, offered a smile and, thank heaven, a change of subject.

“Anyway, I hear you’re showing the Polk place this afternoon to a couple coming in from California of all places.”

Impressed as well as a little irked, Kelly stared at the older woman. Honestly, Kelly had only gotten this appointment to show a house the day before. “How did you know that?”

Sally waved a hand. “Oh, I have my ways.”

Kelly had long suspected that her elderly neighbors had an army of spies stationed all over Banner, Utah, and this just cemented that idea. “Well, you’re right, Sally, so I’d better get going. I still have to shower and change.”

“Of course, dear, you go right ahead.” She checked the window again and Kelly saw frustration on the woman’s face when Micah didn’t show up to be watched. “I’ve got things to do myself.”

Kelly watched the woman hustle back across the street, her bright pink sneakers practically glowing against all of the fallen leaves littering the ground. The ancient oaks that lined the street stretched out gnarly branches to almost make an arbor of gold-and-red leaves hanging over the wide road.

The houses were all different, everything from small stone cottages to the dignified Victorian where Kelly had grown up. They were all at least a hundred years old, but they were well cared for and the lawns were tidy. People in Banner stayed. They were born here, grew up here and eventually married, lived and died here.

That kind of continuity always comforted Kelly. She’d lived here since she was eight and her parents were killed in a car accident. She’d moved in with her grandparents and had become the center of their world. Now, her grandfather was dead and Gran had moved to Florida, leaving the big Victorian mansion and the caretaker’s cottage at the back of the property to Kelly. Since living alone in that giant house would just be silly, Kelly rented it out and lived in the smaller cottage.

In the last three years, the Victorian had rarely been empty and when it wasn’t rented out by vacationers, the house and grounds had become a favorite place for weddings, big parties and even, last year, a Girl Scout cookout in the huge backyard.

And, she thought, every Halloween, she turned the front of the Victorian into a haunted house.

“Have to get busy on that,” she told herself. It was already the first of October and if she didn’t get started, the whole month would slip past before she knew it.

Halfway up to the house, the front door opened and Micah stepped out. Kelly’s heart gave a hard thump, and down low inside her she felt heat coil and tighten. Oh, boy. It had been four long years since her husband, Sean, had died, and since then she hadn’t exactly done a lot of dating. That probably explained why she continued to have this over-the-top reaction to Micah.

Probably.

He wore a black leather jacket over a black T-shirt tucked into the black jeans he seemed to favor. Black boots finished off the look of Dangerous Male and as she admired the whole package, her heartbeat thundered loud enough to echo in her ears.

“Need some help?” he asked, jerking his head toward the wheelbarrow she was still holding on to.

“What? Oh. No.” Great, Kelly. Three. Separate. Words. Care to try for a sentence? “I mean, it’s empty, so not heavy. I’m just taking it around to the back.”

“Okay.” He came down the wide front steps to the brick walkway lined with chrysanthemums in bright, cheerful fall colors. “I’m taking a break. Thought I’d drive around. Get my bearings.”

“After two months of being in Banner?” she asked, smiling. “Yeah, maybe it’s time.”

His mouth worked into a partial smile. “Any suggestions on the route I should take?”

She set the wheelbarrow down, flipped her ponytail over her shoulder and thought about it. “Just about any route you take is a pretty one. But if you’re looking for a destination, you could drive through the canyon down to 89. There are a lot of produce stands there. You could pick me up a few pumpkins.”

He tipped his head to one side and studied her, a flicker of what might have been amusement on his face. “Did I say I was going shopping?”

“No,” she said, smiling. “But you could.”

He blew out a breath, looked up and down the street, then shifted his gaze back to hers. “Or, you could ride with me and pick out your own pumpkins.”

“Okay.”

He nodded.

“No,” she said. “Wait. Maybe not.”

He frowned at her.

Having an audience while she argued with herself was a little embarrassing. She could tell from his expression that Micah didn’t really want her along so, naturally, she really wanted to go. Even though she shouldn’t. She already had plenty to do and maybe spending time with Micah Hunter wasn’t the wisest choice, since he had the unerring ability to stir her up inside. But could she really resist the chance to make him as uncomfortable as he made her?

“I mean, sure,” she said abruptly. “I’ll go, but I’d have to be back in a couple of hours. I have a house to show this afternoon.”

His eyebrows arched high on his forehead. “I can guarantee you I won’t be spending two hours at a pumpkin stand.” He tucked his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “So? Are you coming or not?”

Her eyes met his and in those dark brown depths, Kelly read the hope she would say no. So, of course, she said the only thing she could.

“I guess I am.”