Читать книгу Small-Town Hearts - Ruth Herne Logan - Страница 12

Twenty minutes later Danny trudged back to his car, totally frustrated, fighting a headache and a suspicion he might be infested. The state of that garage apartment left a lot to be desired, and he was pretty sure he’d spied a colony of silver-fish beneath the sink, while the faint but lingering smell of a dead mouse wafted from a west-facing wall.

At this moment the motel he’d booked for the night was looking better and better.

He stopped to gas up and withdrew a fresh edition of the small weekly paper from a rack inside the convenience store, pleasantly surprised when the cashier waved off the two-quarter price. “We just give them away, sir. You have a nice day, now.”

The young man’s easy nature brightened Danny’s smile. And the giveaway policy was good business for advertisers. He pulled into a parking space, opened the half size newspaper, noted a full-page ad advertising an upcoming balloon rally and mentally logged in the date.

His grandfather had been a hot air balloon pilot, and he’d taught Danny the skills early on. If all went well and time allowed, Danny had every intention of having his balloon trucked down to Allegany County. Taking part in the local ballooning event would be his reward for a job well done.

He flipped back a few pages and scanned the classifieds for new listings. Most were long-term apartments or homes, but his gaze trained on one advertisement. “Available now, immaculate one-bedroom, full bath, galley kitchen, furnished, priced right, short-or long-term lease considered.”

He withdrew his phone, got a clear tone and dialed the number, hopeful.

“Hello.”

“Good evening, my name is Daniel Graham and I’m calling about your ad in the paper. The one for the immaculate one-bedroom apartment. Is it still available? And is it really, truly immaculate? Because I’d be okay with that.”

Silence. Absolute, utter silence.

Danny tried again. “Hello?” He pulled the phone from his ear, saw the bars that said he was still connected and frowned. “Hello? Are you there?”

A sigh echoed through the phone. “I’m here. I…umm…”

“I can get references if you like,” Danny offered, trying to sweeten the deal. “I’m in town on business this summer and need a place to stay, so I’m looking at short-term. Eight to twelve weeks, most likely. Would that be all right?”

Another silence descended before he heard another sigh, but there was something about that soft sigh, that voice…

Obviously he needed food and a good night’s sleep when he started recognizing a stranger’s voice on the phone. “May I come see it?”

“Now?”

“I’m available. It’s in Jamison?”

“Yes.”

“And I’m just around the corner on Route 19. Can you give me the address? If this is a good time, of course,” he hastened to add, realizing he was steamrolling the woman. The first thing he’d decided upon arriving in town was that these people weren’t the kind to appreciate hardball tactics. New York, Boston, Baltimore, Philly… Those venues admired a guy who got the job done with as few words and left turns as possible.

Here? Not so much.

He pressed more gently. “If tomorrow would be better…”

“Now’s fine.”

Relief eased the tightness of his shoulders. “You’re sure?”

“Yes. Come on by.”

“But where are you? What’s the address?”

“Oh, you’re sure to find it, no problem. You were here just a few hours ago.”

He was—

“Miss Russo?”

“Yes.”

She didn’t sound thrilled. Perhaps a touch resigned or fatalistic, as if life had just handed her a worst-case scenario.

Which would be the case if he put her and her cute little store out of business. But he couldn’t think about that now. Surely there were prime locations far enough away from her store that their ventures could coexist. Wellsville was a good bit south. And it was a tribute store they were talking, not one of their sprawling big-city venues. Down here they were envisioning a smaller edition, a nod of thanks to the hometown of Grandma Mary’s Candies, now a multi-million-dollar-per-year enterprise. A welcome addition to the struggling economy.

But Danny was fresh out of choices, so he swallowed the nugget of guilt and thrust the car into gear. “I’m on my way.”

“Wonderful.” She didn’t sound like she thought it was all that wonderful, but at least she was open to the idea of showing him the place. And it couldn’t be as bad as what he’d just seen. Could it?

“The entrance to the apartment is around back. I’ll be there.”

“See you in a few minutes.”

Megan clipped her hair back, smoothed damp palms against her blue jeans and headed downstairs at a quick clip. He must have really been just around the corner because his car pulled into the small parking area as she opened the door. He climbed out, a lightweight zip-up jacket giving him an upper-class look that didn’t exactly jibe with his discount-label jeans and pullover. He strode forward, looking just as good as he had short hours before, sunglasses hiding his eyes until he stood two steps beneath her, tipped the glasses up and gave her a once-over. “Wow.”

While she appreciated the one-word observation, she’d been “wowed” before, only to crash in total ignominy. She met his gaze, stomped down the spike of her heartbeat and jerked her head toward the back door. “The apartment’s up here.”

“I’m right behind you.”

Oh, she knew that, all right. It was written on his face and evident in the sparks jumping between them, but she’d learned to evade electricity. She ignored the hint of appreciation in his voice but noted it was just enough to make the tone almost meaningful. Too much labeled a guy a total come-on. Too little meant he was probably inept and needy. Danny’s voice was neither. It was…perfect.

But she had no use for men passing through town on business. Since she’d become the head of the Jamison Broken Hearts Society, membership of one, she’d grown smart enough to be jaded without appearing jaded. A good trick.

“It’s small,” she told him over her shoulder.

“Small works. It’s easier to keep clean.”

She stepped inside the upper door. “This is it. Living room, kitchen, bedroom, bath.”

He nodded, his gaze scanning the area, his emotions shielded. She couldn’t tell if he liked or hated the place, and that meant he had practice hiding emotions. Not a good sign. He stepped inside, moved forward, then paused overlong. “It’s spotless.”

She frowned. “I do believe the ad mentioned that.”

He turned and flashed a grin that made her heart quiver and her gut tingle, two physical reactions she’d just as soon chalk up to lack of iron. She was definitely in danger of being swept away by that smile. Those eyes. And great teeth, besides. Her mother was a dental hygienist in the lone dental office in Wellsville. She’d fall in love with those teeth, right off.

“It did. But the last one I looked at said ‘clean’ and it wasn’t even close. I’ll take it.”

“You don’t want to know the rent?”

“If it’s too high, I’ll wrangle it down. But somehow, since it’s you, I’m expecting the price will be fair.”

Of course it was fair. She would never consider bilking someone out of too much money for her own gain, or conniving her way into anything. For just a moment she lamented the idea of being good, of taking God’s word to heart and soul, and considered smacking him with an outrageous price so he’d take his appreciative gaze and business-savvy self elsewhere. She hesitated, wishing she could do that, knowing she couldn’t. “Six hundred a month. Plus utilities.”

“Done.” He stuck out a hand. “Do you have a lease handy?”

She nodded. “On my side. Come this way.” She led the way back down the stairs and around to a second entrance. She opened the door and proceeded up the inner stairway to a slightly more spacious apartment than his. She watched as he glanced around, surprised. “I expected different.”

“Than?”

He waved a hand. “This. This is fun. Modern. Kind of funky.”

She eyed the mix of bright-toned pillows, flowers and casual corduroy seating, then laughed at the expression on his face. “You thought I’d have a wood-burning stove, perhaps? A spindle? A straw mattress on the wood floor?”

He grinned, then shrugged. “An understandable mistake, Miss Russo. And might I add you look just as good in denim as you did in calico.”

“Normal men don’t know materials. You realize that, right?”

He flashed the smile again, the one that appeared open and honest, engaging and appealing. Key word: appeared.

“My grandmother quilts. Beautiful stuff. She uses calico and ginghams a lot. And plain colors. But she’s partial to calico.”

Megan nodded. So was she, truth be told. But it would seem weird to deck out her apartment in too many old-fashioned things. Like she was caught in the past or something.

A house would be different. Someday she’d live in a sweet old colonial that hadn’t been split into multiple units, raise a bunch of kids, bake cookies, make candy for her own brood and welcome her husband home every night.

She faced Danny. “Rent is due by the first of the month.”

He grinned. “Which makes me late already. Here you go.” He bent and filled out a check drawn on a local bank. She frowned and raised an eyebrow toward him.

“You don’t live here.”

“No, but I opened a local account for business purposes before I came down. Makes things easier because, as you noted this morning, not every business down here uses plastic.”

She accepted the check, scanned the amount, noted that it was for two months and gave him a brisk nod. “Thank you, Mr. Graham.”

He edged closer. “My friends call me Danny.”

She refused to budge despite his proximity, tilted her head up and met the undisguised twinkle in his gaze. Oh, yes, this boy had been around a bit. Or maybe she was becoming an old cynic like Mrs. Dennehy, the grocer’s aged mother. She bit back a sigh, met his gaze with an equanimity she didn’t feel and angled her head slightly, knowing that maneuver had caught his attention earlier. “But we’re not friends.”

He nodded toward the check and grinned. “We might be in two months. Wouldn’t hurt to get in practice, Miss Russo. After all, we are going to be neighbors.”

And that was all they’d be. She’d make certain of that. She nodded and moved toward the door, refusing to feel trapped over something as simple as a name. Besides, he was right. They’d be living side by side for eight weeks. She gave him an over-the-shoulder glance as she descended the stairs, noting his approval seemed just as notable going down the stairs. “Megan. My friends call me Meg.”

“And Ben calls you Meggie.”

She nodded and glanced back again, but this time held his look. “He’s the only one that calls me that. Got it?”

His grin deepened. “Got it. Can I move in tomorrow?”

She withdrew a key from her front pocket and dangled it in front of him. “Whatever works for you.” She stuck out a hand once he accepted the key and flashed him a smile. “Welcome to Jamison.”

His grip was strong and firm. She refused to acknowledge the sweet spark of awareness that traveled up her arm and through her chest, nestling somewhere cozy in her belly. He held her hand a little longer than could ever be considered necessary and dipped his chin in acknowledgement when he let it go. “Thank you. It’s nice to be here.”