Rescued by Mr Right

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But as his touch explored her face and his thumbs tipped up her chin to allow his lips fuller access, she felt the realness of him, allowed herself to believe she wasn’t dreaming this kiss.

This man. This tingling, building, wanting need.

In one swift movement, Victoria reached around him, the soft cotton of his T-shirt slipping against her palms. Beneath the fabric, his muscles bunched, sending her mind down a path that went way beyond kissing.

And then, Noah pulled back, released her chin with a final reverent slide of his fingers and moved away. As if he’d flicked a switch, everything within him seemed to turn to concrete, going gray and cold. “I’m sorry. That shouldn’t have happened.”

“It’s okay,” she said, but not feeling okay at all. She’d thought he’d enjoyed their kiss as much as she had, but then he’d jerked away, and apologized? She may have been kissed before but she had so little dating experience that she wasn’t sure if this was a good thing or a bad thing…or something else altogether.

Like she was about as desirable as a damp dish towel.

“I don’t normally go around kissing women I’ve just met,” he said.

“And I don’t normally go around kissing the boarders. Temporary or not.” She grinned, trying to make light of the moment. To not let on that her dating experience consisted of a few stolen kisses during clambakes on the beach with the boy who used to live next door.

“We’ll forget the whole thing happened.”

“Yeah, sure,” she said. Liar, liar, lips on fire. If she lived to be two hundred, she wouldn’t forget one second of that kiss.

The phone rang, interrupting the moment of tension still simmering between them. Victoria answered it, then gave the receiver to Noah. “Larry.”

“Thanks.” He took the phone, listened, uttered a few words, then hung up. “You were right. Larry can’t get to the truck until tomorrow. Said he needs to order a radiator, since he didn’t have one for an ’82 in stock. Looks like it’s going to be a couple days before I hit the road again.” He flicked out his wrist, glanced at his watch. “I should probably get going, find a motel.”

“Stay here. No pressure, no lease.” She grinned.

“I’d hate to impose…”

“And I’d hate to see you scouring the neighborhood, looking for a motel that was open after the close of beach season.”

Noah looked down at Charlie, who had curled into a ball beside a very clean and very empty plate on the small rug in front of the sink. He was busy worrying away at one of the bones he’d brought along. “Seems Charlie is already settled in.”

“I think the leftover roast swayed him.”

Noah watched the dog for a long moment, then his green eyes met hers. “Okay. I’ll take you up on the offer of temporary lodging. I’ll be glad to pay you whatever you want. Or, if you don’t want me around—” at this, his gaze strayed to her lips, and the heat stirred within her all over again “—and I’ll understand if you don’t, I’ll call a cab and head over to a motel.”

“And disturb Charlie?” She smiled. “I don’t think he’d like you much if you take him from his spot. Or the possibility of whatever’s lurking in the fridge.” Her gaze went to Noah’s. “Stay. No charge.”

But even as she said the words, she realized she’d just opened a can of worms for herself. When Victoria had gone out on her porch earlier that day, it had been to take down the sign, not hang it up.

Allowing Noah McCarty to stay here was doing the exact opposite of what she planned. One day could easily turn into two, or three. And before she knew it, she’d end up staying, too.

Although if staying here meant being kissed like that again, the idea didn’t seem like such a bad one.

There was a bird knocking at Victoria’s door. A tall, bright orange bird.

Noah had stepped down the hall, to grab his bag that he’d left by the door and settle in—no, not settle in, just get unpacked enough for the night—when the plumed thing started rapping on the oval of beveled glass.

Whether it was Big Bird himself, Noah didn’t care. The interruption came at the perfect time. He could have cut the tension between Victoria and him with a chain saw. Half of him wanted to kiss her again—the half that didn’t think with a brain—while the other half wanted to run like hell and hitchhike to Maine. She’d busied herself with straightening a floral arrangement that didn’t need straightening, which only made Noah feel worse.

What was that line he’d given her? “I don’t normally do that?” Where had he gotten that? Boy, he needed a man tune-up, because he sure had no idea how to be one, at least not one with any finesse.

Victoria scooted past him, a look of relief on her face. She was probably happy to see someone on her doorstep, someone who wouldn’t kiss her and then fumble the whole thing like a rookie quarterback.

“Oh, it’s Mrs. Witherspoon,” Victoria said, peering through the glass. “She’s undoubtedly got a crisis.” She turned to Noah. “How are you with tools? Plungers and the like?”

Tools? Plungers? “I thought that was your specialty,” he said, grinning.

“I can fix a faucet, but Mrs. Witherspoon’s projects require brawn.”

“I take it that’s where I come in.”

“Hey, a guy next door can be a handy thing.”

He wouldn’t be the guy next door for long, not even for twenty-four hours. Even if the majority of his brain wanted to stay right here, in this house, and kiss Victoria again.

And again. And again. Until everything that had followed him from Rhode Island began to recede, leaving his mind free and clear.

“You wouldn’t believe the fixes Mrs. Witherspoon gets herself into,” Victoria said just before opening the door, revealing a tall woman wearing a hat with a swirl of brightly colored feathers and ribbons surrounding the brim. “Hello, Mrs. Witherspoon.”

“Why, hello, Victoria. I wondered if you might have a—” She cut off her words, her jaw dropping when she caught sight of Noah standing in the hall. She made no secret of looking him up, then down. “Oh, my. A man.”

Noah knew right then how a side of beef felt.

“This is Noah McCarty, my…” Victoria glanced over her shoulder at him, searching for a word. “Guest.”

That seemed as good a word as any, Noah figured. Although, guests didn’t kiss the hostess. Guests were smart enough to eat the pie instead of thinking about devouring her lips.

Well, if that were true, then where had that kiss come from? Definitely out of left field. He’d merely been sideswiped by dinner, swept up into a moment he’d never intended.

Obviously Charlie hadn’t been the only one overwhelmed by the roast beef.

“Mrs. Witherspoon,” Victoria prompted, “did you come by for something?”

“Oh, yes. I did indeed. I’m putting in a greenhouse and I need to knock down a wall.” She put a finger to her chin. “Maybe two. Can I borrow a sledgehammer?”

“Did you finish the patio already?”

Mrs. Witherspoon waved a hand in dismissal. “I’m going to turn that into a garden. Who needs all that space to sit around anyway?” She took a step forward, studying Noah. “How long are you staying, young man? And what are your intentions with our Victoria?”

Beside him, Noah could see Victoria cringe. He knew the look. He’d had a neighbor like Mrs. Witherspoon when he’d been a kid. Playing games at the knees of the local bridge club seemed to give them ownership when he got older, as if he were part of the extended family of every little old lady who had ever sipped tea at his mother’s dining room table.

Or at least it used to be that way. Then his parents’ marriage had run aground, and eventually, the neighbors had stopped calling, as if what had happened in the McCarty house was contagious. The weeds had taken over the front gardens and the friendly waves had been replaced by distant stares.

But now Mrs. Witherspoon was looking at him expectantly. “Uh, just until tomorrow,” Noah said. “My truck broke down and Larry—”

“You’re staying here? With Victoria?” Her shocked face told him what she thought of that. Apparently social mores hadn’t changed since Noah had been a kid.

“He’s renting my vacant room,” Victoria cut in.

Mrs. Witherspoon harrumphed, removing her enormous hat and using a free hand to smooth her gray hair. “I had a man ask to rent one of my rooms once. He didn’t want the extra twin, let me tell you.” She pursed her lips and eyed Noah. “You come with me, young man. I’ll put you to work knocking down a wall.” She thought again. “Probably two.”

“I’d love to help, ma’am, but I’m heading to Maine in the morning.”

“Maine? Whatever for? I’ll tell you something—” at this, she wagged her feathered hat “—there’s nothing in Maine you can’t find right here.”

“Well—”

“Besides, this won’t take much time. It’s always good to keep busy, don’t you think?”

“Well—”

“Now, go on, get that sledgehammer,” Mrs. Witherspoon said, waving Noah in the direction of the garage, “while Victoria and I have a little chitchat. Then I suppose you can come back here and stay with our Victoria.” She eyed him suspiciously. “After I give her some advice about handling strangers, of course.”

For a second, Noah thought of protesting, then changed his mind. Mrs. Witherspoon was right about one thing. Knocking down a wall would be good for him. For one, it would give him something to do, something to fill the hours until morning—something other than kissing Victoria again—and for another, it would help him work out a little of the tension building in his shoulders, bunching his muscles like coiled wire.

But an hour and a half and two walls later, Noah hadn’t found relief in the destruction of plaster and lathe. He was sweaty and dusty, his body aching, his chest heaving, but the demons that had traveled with him from Rhode Island were still hanging stubbornly on his shoulders.

“Noah?”

Victoria’s soft voice behind him. He turned, laying the sledgehammer against one of the remaining studs, swiping off the bead of sweat along his brow. “Hey.”

“I brought you more lemonade. And, you have a call.” She held up his cell phone, which he had left behind when he’d come over to Mrs. Witherspoon’s. He hadn’t thought to tell Victoria not to answer it. He hadn’t thought to turn it off. He hadn’t thought at all.

He stared at the Motorola, as if it might bite him. The small silver phone looked innocuous enough, but Noah knew better. Whoever was waiting on the other end would have questions. Questions Noah didn’t know how to begin to answer.

“He said he’s your boss,” Victoria said, “and he told me to tell you that if you think you can get away without answering the phone, he has ways of making sure you hear him.”

At that, Dan Higgins let out a roar through the cell line. “McCarty, pick up! I can hear you breathing, damn it!”

Despite himself, Noah grinned. Dan always did know how to motivate his employees.

Since there would be no getting rid of Dan, Noah crossed to Victoria and took the phone, then the lemonade. “Thanks.”

She gave him a shy smile. “No problem.”

As he swallowed a big gulp of the icy beverage, he told himself not to be touched that she’d gone to the trouble to make it. He’d seen her empty the pitcher earlier, which meant she’d had to make another one. Once again, lemon slices tangoed with the ice cubes, telling Noah this wasn’t some store-bought mix he was drinking.

“I hear ice cubes,” Dan shouted. “So don’t play dead, McCarty. Talk to me.”

“I’m here,” Noah said. Reluctantly.

“Good. Now, you may think you quit, but you didn’t.”

“Which of those two words didn’t you hear when I walked out this morning? I’m done, Dan. D-O-N—”

“You’re on vacation. Leave. What do you call it…hiatus. Whatever. You’ll be back.”

Across from him, concern filled Victoria’s face. Noah turned away, toward the expanse of Mrs. Witherspoon’s yard that had once been blocked by a wall. He closed his eyes and gripped the icy glass tighter.

“Dan, I’m not coming back.” He couldn’t face another failure, not one where people’s lives were at stake.

“Justin wasn’t your fault,” Dan said softly. “Sometimes—”

“Don’t say it,” Noah said, the words a growl. “He was my responsibility and I let him down. Now he’s probably on the streets selling his soul for drugs, or, God Almighty, something worse. And all because I didn’t do my damned job.”

“If you come back—”

“If I come back, all I’ll end up seeing is Justin’s face on a rap sheet. Or on a slab in the morgue. I can’t do that, Dan. I can’t—” Noah’s voice broke on the last few words, splintering and cracking into shards sharper than those of the old wood that littered the ground at his feet. “I quit.”

“Take all the time you need,” Dan said, not giving up on him, refusing once again to hear what Noah said. “I’ll be here, if you need me. I’ll keep looking for him here, be his shadow for a while. Till you get back. If I hear anything about him, I’ll call.”

“Don’t,” Noah said, but the protest was a weak one. Good or bad, he still wanted to know, damn it all. He still cared.

That was the one part he couldn’t hammer out of him no matter how hard he tried.

As he clicked off the phone, he felt a soft hand on his shoulder, smelled the sweet scent of apples. Victoria.

“Noah,” she said quietly, her hand a caress against his tired muscles. “When you’re done, the room is ready. If you still want it. And the pie is waiting, too.” Then she turned and walked away, leaving him to make up his own mind.

For a man trying to be a hermit, he seemed to be overrun with people trying to get close to him. Which was exactly why he couldn’t stay with Victoria Blackstone.

CHAPTER FOUR

CHARLIE was as easy to please as a four-year-old at Christmas. He trotted jauntily into the spare bedroom on the second floor, chose a corner on the green shag carpet, curled himself into a ball and went to sleep. As innocent and sweet as a cherub on Valentine’s Day.

Victoria laughed. “Doesn’t take much to make him happy.”

He echoed her laughter. He was doing a lot of that lately. “That’s not what my mother would say. To her, Charlie isn’t happy if the heated mattress in his bed isn’t set at precisely the right temperature or if he’s not surrounded by a thousand dollars worth of toys. She’d never believe he slept on shag.”