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“Thanks.” He entered the room, noting the checkerboard pattern on the linoleum and the porcelain sink that was nearly as big as a bathtub. Something simmered in a Crock-Pot on the counter, filling the room with the scent of beef. He picked up the receiver, turned it to use the underside, then paused, noticing the coiled cord and ring of numbers. “Is this an antique?”
“Antique?” She glanced at the phone, laughed, then turned back to the avocado-colored refrigerator to pull out a pitcher of lemonade. Slices of lemon danced in the pale liquid. No doubt fresh squeezed. “Probably. We’ve had it in the house forever. My parents were a little wary of the whole touch-tone revolution.”
Wary of touch-tone phones? What century was this house living in? For a minute, Noah felt as if he’d stepped back in time, transported to the world he’d inhabited when he was a little boy. When his father had been around and dinners had been on the table every night, waiting for them to create a family at the circular table. The phone would ring, and his mother would let it go, because dinner was a sacred time. Anyone who dared interrupt it better have a damned good excuse.
When he’d been thirteen and waiting to hear from Stevie Klein if Margaret O’Neil really did like him, the whole phone thing had been an annoyance. But now, in the shadows of history, he saw it as his mother trying to preserve family togetherness.
In the end, she hadn’t been able to preserve a damned thing.
Once again, Noah shook off the memories. He needed a mechanic, not a stroll down Reminiscence Lane. “Do you have a phone book? I need to call a tow truck and find a motel nearby. I’ll probably need a place to stay until my truck is ready.”
“Sure. Give me a second.” Victoria handed him a glass of lemonade then returned to the sink to fill a plastic bowl with water for Charlie. After she turned it off, the faucet continued to drip, slow and steady. Plop. Plop. Plop.
She gave the water to Charlie, who exuded gratitude with a yip and a frantic wag of his tail. Clearly the dog preferred female caretakers.
Hell, looking at Victoria, Noah couldn’t say he blamed Charlie. She leaned comfortably against the counter, her delicate features and bemused smile an odd juxtaposition to the linoleum flooring and avocado green appliances, and watched the dog take delicate, single laps from the bowl. If there was one thing Charlie despised, it was getting wet.
Behind her, he could still hear the sink drip. “You know, I can fix that for you.” He gestured toward the sink, wondering what on earth had possessed him to make that offer. His plan was to tow and run, not pause for a rerun of This Old House. “Probably needs a new washer.”
“It does. I just haven’t had a chance to pick one up at the store.”
He arched a brow, impressed. “A woman who knows some plumbing?”
She laughed. “I’ve been taking care of things around here for years. Even have my own set of tools.”
“With pink handles?” He remembered seeing a set like that once in a hardware store.
“Of course.” A grin spread across her face. “Wouldn’t want some man coming along and thinking that hammer was his.”
“You get many of them? Men trying to take your hammer?” The question, and the hint of innuendo, tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop it. Clearly he’d been working in an all-male office too long.
“Not many.” She wagged a finger at him. “So don’t get any ideas about my tools.”
There was another innuendo in those words, something that Noah chose to ignore. He was here to use the phone, get his truck fixed…
And nothing more.
Nevertheless, “ideas” flowed through his brain without an invitation. He was, after all, a man with a pulse. Just add water and a gorgeous woman and watch those ideas grow.
“Your, ah, tool kit is safe from me,” he said. “The only thing I need is my radiator fixed. Any chance your talents extend to that?”
She threw up her hands in surrender. “Nope. But I sure can call triple-A Larry.”
He laughed, the sound bursting from his throat such a surprise he almost choked it back. How long had it been since he’d laughed like that? The fact that he couldn’t remember told him it had been too damned long. “Well, you’re in good company. I can fix a leaky faucet, even hang some Sheetrock, but I’m engine illiterate.”
For a long second, she didn’t say anything, her blue eyes sweeping over him, studying him as intently as a prosecutor. “So, Noah McCarty, what are you running away from?”
Bam. Just like that, she’d nailed him. He let out a startled chuckle. “Am I that transparent?”
She smiled, this time a softer, shyer version. “Not really. I just put a few pieces together. The truck. The filled duffel bag in the back. The Rhode Island plates and you mentioning Maine. And…”
“And?”
“Well…you seem like a guy who’s trying to get away from something.” Her cheeks filled with crimson. “I could be totally wrong, too. I’m not exactly a social butterfly, so my person-to-person skills are a bit rusty.”
“You’re fine.” Then he scowled, mad at himself for admitting that. He’d been drawn in, even taken a half-step closer to her, to try to discover what it was about this stranger that had his heart beating faster and his brain forgetting the plan.
“I’m sorry. I tend to be blunt.”
“That’s okay. Really.” He clutched the phone tighter, the hard plastic a stab of reality. Get back to the point, McCarty. No lingering. No wondering who this woman is and why she’s living in a time warp. “Phone book? Or should I call information? Or…” He paused. He shouldn’t say it. Should simply get on his way again as fast as possible.
“What?”
He had never seen eyes quite that color before. Big and rich, filled with a hue of blue that varied as much as an ocean wave. He stopped himself, though, just before he ended his “or” with the words “room for rent.” “Uh…nothing. Just thinking about what to do with the truck.”
She pushed off from the counter and moved to straighten one of the chrome chairs, putting it back into perfect alignment with the silvery table legs. “There are plenty of auto repair shops around here, but if you want a recommendation, I’d say Larry. I’ve dealt with the same mechanic for years and I trust him. He’ll come and get your truck, fix it for a reasonable price and not put in parts you don’t need. It’s the end of the day, though, so I bet he can’t get to it until tomorrow. As for a motel—” she paused for a fraction of time “—if you want to stay here, I have that empty room.”
Room for Rent.
How easy it would be to take Victoria up on her offer. To stay here, to let the beckoning ocean outside her window wash through his exhausted muscles. But staying here meant staying with someone. Noah’s entire reason for going to Maine was to eliminate all human contact from his life.
“Thanks, but I really can’t stay.” He cocked a hip against the wall, the phone still in his hand. “I need to get up to—”
“I understand,” she cut in suddenly. “Let me get you that phone book so you can call a motel.” She headed quickly out of the room.
Charlie strolled over, plopped down beside Noah’s feet and let out a sharp bark. “I take it you like her?” he asked.
The dog only looked up at him in response, his ears perking like two equilateral triangles.
“I thought you were supposed to be so picky. Evian and Iams only.”
Charlie let out another of his wannabee barks, then laid down and started gnawing on the hem of Noah’s jeans, content as a monkey with a banana.
“We should leave,” Noah told him, raising his foot, shaking off the dog.
Undaunted, Charlie’s tiny, razor sharp teeth got back to wreaking havoc. He was, after all, a dog very used to getting his own way. Not to mention a silk-lined doggy bed—which Noah had refused to take with him. If Noah was roughing it, Charlie could damned well do the same.
The idea of roughing it didn’t seem quite so appealing now, though. Mike’s cabin was mainly used for hunting trips and weekend stays in the summer. It didn’t have electricity or running water, just a fireplace and a stack of canned goods.
Nevertheless, the cabin was ideal hermit material. The sooner Noah got there, the better. He needed some time to come up with a better plan and figure out exactly what to do about Justin.
The seconds ticked by on the black plastic cat-shaped wall clock. The faucet kept up its steady tempo. But Victoria didn’t return. She couldn’t get lost in her own house and the chances of her not knowing where the phone book was in such a tidy place were slim.
He told himself to remain exactly where he was, not to go look for her, because doing that would start the whole snowball of involvement.
Charlie paused in his denim snack and raised his head. “No,” Noah said.
The dog let out a little bark, then tugged at Noah’s pant leg. When Noah didn’t move, Charlie heaved a sigh and dropped his head onto Noah’s foot. It had all the weight of a crew sock.
“Oh, all right,” Noah muttered. “I’ll make sure she’s okay. But that doesn’t mean we’re staying.”
He disengaged himself from the stubborn Chihuahua and headed into the opposite room. Victoria could have fallen, broken a bone, hit her head. He may be keeping his distance from humans, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be relied upon for the occasional 9-1-1 event.
Yeah, right. That’s exactly why he was doing this. So he could demonstrate his CPR skills.
The thought of doing mouth-to-mouth on Victoria rippled through him. He quickly pushed it away. Jeez, five minutes after meeting a beautiful woman and he was on his way to becoming Valentino.
The living room was empty. So was the bathroom. Just past the archway connecting the living room and dining room he saw her. The shades were drawn, darkening the space into a dusky indoor twilight and giving an eerie cast to the long, narrow dining room table and the matching high-backed, claw-foot chairs. The wood floors, topped with a rectangular floral carpet. Like the rest of the house, the room was a throwback to earlier days.
Victoria had her back to him, standing beside a sideboard that took up most of the wall. A parade of family photos in silver frames sat across the top of the furniture piece. Victoria’s shoulders were hunched forward, her head down.
Oh, hell. Something softened in Noah’s heart. Try as he might to harden it again, his best intentions dissolved the second he heard a sob escape her throat. “Victoria?”
She wheeled around, at the same time swiping at her cheek. “Sorry, I…ah…I couldn’t find the phone book.”
“Listen, I’ll just—” He thumbed over his shoulder, intending to say, “leave,” but the word lodged in his throat.
“I was looking in a drawer for it, but…” Her voice trailed off, and in the final notes, he heard the one emotion he’d vowed never to come near again.
Loss.
Noah recognized it as surely as his own name. He’d seen it, in the faces of parents who’d lost their children to drugs. He’d heard it, in the final phone call before a gunshot. He’d felt it, in courtroom after courtroom as children too young to drive were carted off to finish growing up in jail.
But most of all, he’d carried that feeling with him all the way from Rhode Island, tucked squarely inside his chest.
What the hell was he thinking? That he could go to Maine for a few days and the whispers in his mind would stop? That he could sit on a dock and fish for bass like a normal man? As if he was on vacation, not a life departure? That some cabin in the woods would be enough to make him forget such a colossal mistake?
And did he really think he could walk out of this house right now, leaving that sound hanging in Victoria Blackstone’s dining room?
His feet carried him across the room, until he was close enough to see the shimmer in her eyes. “Are you okay?”
“Fine. Really.” Her smile trembled on her lips.
As easily as putting on a pair of jeans, Noah slipped into his familiar work persona. “Is there anything I can do for you?”
What was that about? Did he think he’d hook her up with some social services? Direct her to a food bank? Help her find a job with a great health plan?
“No. I’m sorry.” She ran a hand over the gleaming surface of the sideboard, whisking away nonexistent dust. “You…well, you reminded me of someone and it sort of hit me hard.”
“Oh.” For once, he had no rejoinder to that, no dispensation of advice. “Do you want me to go?”
She reached out and put a hand on his arm. “No. Not at all.”
Her touch on him was sweet, soft. Every instinct in his body told him to back away, head out the door and go on his way, hitchhiking if need be. But there was something about her touch that reminded Noah, too, of someone.
Himself. A long time ago.
“Listen, why don’t you stay for dinner? That way, you’ll have a meal in you before you hit the road again. It’s after Labor Day, so a lot of the beach restaurants here are closed down. You’d have to go into Quincy proper to find anything.”
He knew he should say no. Unfortunately his mouth didn’t take good direction from his brain. “Dinner sounds like a good idea.”
He’d stay for dinner, but only because the feel of her hand on his arm had awakened nerves he’d thought had been severed by his years on the job. Because it felt nice to be a man for a minute, a man who didn’t have the weight of other people’s lives sitting on his conscience.
“Great! I’ll set another place at the table.” That smile spread across her face again, socking him in the gut—
And warning him that he’d just done the very thing he didn’t want to do. Laid the first brick of a foundation with another person.
CHAPTER TWO
WHAT on earth had gotten into her? Victoria had always thought of herself as a woman who maintained control, never let her feelings show and never, ever betrayed vulnerability. At least, until Noah McCarty came along and proved within ten minutes that she was a liar.
And now she’d gone and cried in front of him. Cried, for Pete’s sake, like some helpless female who couldn’t find her way out of a cardboard box.
Okay, given her directionally challenged mind, that part might be true, but still…crying? That was really pitiful.
“I’m sorry. I don’t normally burst into tears in front of strangers,” Victoria said as they walked back into the kitchen.
“I understand,” Noah said, but Victoria suspected he was merely being polite. He had that look about him, with his sandy-brown hair and deep green eyes, that said he’d let you down easily and wouldn’t intentionally hurt your feelings. And yet, she saw something else, some other side of him that flickered briefly in those depths of green. Something that told her she could trust him.
The compulsion to tell him, to talk to someone, to share with a human, instead of these empty, silent walls, propelled the words forward. “My dad,” she said, “used to lean against the half-wall like that whenever he talked on the phone. Uncle Joe called him every Saturday morning and the two of them would go on for hours, debating taxes, the governor’s choices, whether I-93 or 128 had more traffic.” She let out a little laugh, the memory still sharp with grief but also tinged with a slice of happiness. “He died six months ago and there are funny things that will hit me sometimes, just out of the blue. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Noah said, taking her hand, making her feel for the first time in a long time that it was, indeed, all okay. His eyes weren’t filled with that awkwardness she’d seen so many times already, the kind where people felt compelled to say something, do something, if only to cover up their own discomfort about being so close to someone who had experienced a death. Instead Noah had reached out, his touch light yet sincere. “I’m sorry about your father.”
The words were enough to send the tears rushing back to her eyes. She blinked them back. “Thank you.”
“Hey, Charlie,” she said, changing the subject and bending down to the dog, whose pointy little ears perked up at the mention of his name, “you’re welcome to stay for dinner, too.”
The dog wagged his skinny tail, then jumped up on her legs, miniature nails scraping lightly at her bare skin. She lowered herself to her knees, scratched him under his chin.
“Watch him,” Noah said. “He’s…temperamental.”
“Him? He’s a sweetie-pie.” As if living up to what she’d said, Charlie dropped to his back and offered up his belly for the personal treatment. His tail beat ferociously against the linoleum floor, keeping up a steady tempo of “you-like-me.”
She let her fingers trail along his nape, then his ears, toying with the velvet tips. Charlie let out a groan and wriggled even closer.
“Now you’ve gone and done it,” Noah said, laughing.
She jerked up to look at him. “Done what?”
“Spoiled him. Now he’s going to make me get out the silk bed again.”
She arched a brow. “Silk bed?”
“Charlie is the king of my mom’s castle. He has his every whim indulged, sleeps on better sheets than Elvis did and even has his own teddy bear. She’s only been gone twenty-four hours and already called me three times to make sure I’m treating him right.”
“And are you?”
“Well, I drew the line at the silk bed and the Burberry trench coat.”
