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“Oh, come on. This is hardly great art.”
“Looks pretty great to me.”
“Oh, sure, like it should be hanging in the National Gallery.”
“Maybe it should. Maybe it will. Someday.” Damn, she was pretty. How long had it been since he’d been instantly attracted to a woman? Had he ever been instantly attracted to a woman? Wasn’t this some kind of first for him? “Do you sell your paintings?”
“I’ve sold some, yes, but not since I moved to Rumor.”
“Where, then?”
“In Los Angeles. My parents are both artists, quite well-known in the L.A. area.” Linda felt her face color. Why on earth was she running off at the mouth with a man she’d just met? She never volunteered information about her past, her life-before-Rumor, so to speak. Was her divorce anyone’s business? Her unusual childhood?
“When did you move here?” Tag asked. “I don’t remember seeing you around town, and I’m sure I would have noticed.”
Linda’s pulse quickened. He was flirting with her! He’d been flirting from the moment he stepped through her door. “If you hung around the high school, you would have seen me. I teach there,” she said, cursing her inability to put an end to this question-and-answer session. Yes, she’d been as guilty of curiosity about him as he was about her, but this was all extremely foreign territory for her and it might be safer to nip it in the bud.
Tag’s face lit up. “You’re the new art teacher! I’ve heard about you.”
“Yes, well, I’ve only lived here a short while, but it didn’t take long to discover that very little goes on in Rumor that doesn’t spread with the speed of light.”
“Rumor’s a typical small town, Linda. People gossip, sure, but it’s still a great place to live.”
She actually felt a thrill go up her spine when he said her name. It occurred to her to ask him to call her Ms. Fioretti, just as she had told her students to do.
But how childish would that be? Just because she was feeling giddy over a good-looking guy, experiencing physical sensations she’d only been equipped to imagine before this, didn’t mean she should turn prim and proper and forbid him to use her given name.
“I take it you’ve never lived anywhere else?” she said, definitely not speaking her mind.
“Rumor’s always been home and probably always will be. You know, I live on this same street, other side of Main. You should drop in sometime and see what I’ve got to offer.”
“Wha—what?”
Tag chuckled. “Sorry, that didn’t come out the way I meant it to. I was referring to the finished pieces of furniture in my shop.”
Linda’s face was flaming. “Oh…I see. Well, are you through in here?” She began sidling toward the door.
Tag wrote something in his notebook and shoved it into his shirt pocket. “My inspection is over. Now all I need to do is discuss what needs to be done and set up a work schedule convenient to yours.”
“You need a discussion. I see. All right, let’s take care of that in the kitchen.”
“Anyplace is fine.” Tag followed her down the stairs and to the kitchen. He’d spotted the almost full pot of coffee his first time in there, and it smelled awfully good. He could ask for some, but he would rather that Linda offer it.
The newspaper and a single cup were on the counter in front of one stool, so he went to the other and waited for her to sit first.
She did, then he did. He took out his spiral again and began flipping through it. Automatically, so it seemed, Linda reached for her cup and realized the coffee in it was cold. She sighed inwardly. She couldn’t get coffee for herself without offering some to Tag.
Oh, what the hay. “Would you like some coffee?” she asked, sliding from the stool. “I’m getting myself some.”
Tag smiled. “I would love some. Thanks.”
My Lord, this guy’s smile could melt solid steel! Feeling clumsy but managing to fill two cups without knocking anything over or spilling coffee, she brought them to the counter.
“There you are,” she said. “Do you need milk? I don’t have any cream. Or sugar?”
“Nope. Black is perfect. Thanks.” Tag picked up his cup and sipped. “You make good coffee.” He had the strongest feeling that Linda did everything well. It was a thought that went straight to his groin, and he instantly sent his brain in another direction.
“Um, the whole apartment could use a coat of paint,” he said. “And some of the woodwork needs refinishing. But I shouldn’t be in your hair for more than four, five days.”
“Beginning when?”
“I’d like to start today, if you can put up with me.”
“And you’d start in which room?”
Tag looked around the kitchen. “This room will take more time than any other. I’d like to get it done first.”
“You already have the paint and other materials you would need?”
“Every apartment in this building is painted the same shade of white, so I’m ready to go, yes. Unless you want a different color, which I’m sure you know has to be approved beforehand.”
“Heck was kind enough to remind me of that clause in my lease,” Linda said dryly. “I do prefer more color on certain walls, but this apartment is very small and decorator colors would have to be carefully planned so it wouldn’t appear even smaller. Maybe I’ll do something about the walls later on—with approval, of course—but for the time being white is fine.”
“You’re still not completely settled in, are you?”
“What gave you that idea?”
“The stacks of taped boxes in the closet of the room you’re using for your artwork.”
“Those boxes contain books. I don’t have anywhere to put them. I shopped for bookshelves in Billings, but this apartment doesn’t have a lot of available wall space and everything I found was too wide. Tall is fine. I can use tall, but I need some very unusual widths. Anyhow, I can’t unpack my books until I figure out what to do with them.”
“I can build bookshelves in any width,” Tag stated.
Linda slowly turned her head to look at him. He was looking at her, as well, and the warmth in his eyes was unmistakable. He liked her. She knew that as surely as she knew anything. What’s more, she liked him. It surprised her that she actually knew she liked him. Never before had she formed an opinion that seemed so ironclad about a man this fast. Of course, there’d only been one man in her life, the one she had married…and divorced. The word divorced went around and around in her head, and she was struck by an impulse to tell Tag about it. And about her screwball childhood, as well, her peculiar parents and the untraditional way they’d brought her up. Dragged her up was more like it, for they had unquestionably lived the typical bohemian artist’s life. They hadn’t believed in babysitters, so wherever they’d gone, so had she. She had fallen asleep on many a strange sofa back then, a tiny little girl dressed like a doll and treated as one, as well. Treated as a plaything rather than as a living, breathing child that needed regular meals and bedtimes.
But maybe another time, she told herself. Liking a man at first sight didn’t—or probably shouldn’t—include an immediate baring of one’s soul.
“If you came by the shop and saw my work for yourself, you might feel good about ordering some custom-made bookshelves from me,” Tag said quietly, though his blood had started running hot and fast in his veins. Her eyes were stunningly beautiful, the most unusual shade of green he’d ever seen. A man could get lost in Linda’s eyes, he thought, and wouldn’t he just love to twine his fingers into her glorious mane of hair.
“I…I suppose I could do that,” she stammered huskily. “One day when you’re there instead of here. You’d have to let me know.”
“I never work away from home on Sunday. Come by tomorrow.”
So soon? Just so she could stop looking into his eyes without making her retreat blatantly obvious, she glanced at her cup before raising it to her lips. “I might be able to do that,” she murmured.
“Are Sundays busy days for you?”
“Well, there’s church…and next week’s classes to plan…and student work to look over.”
“Yes,” Tag said solemnly. “I can see how those things could take up an entire day. But maybe you could squeeze out fifteen or twenty minutes to see me? I should say to check out my work. You wouldn’t be stopping in just to see me, after all.”
Linda cleared her throat. He was the biggest flirt she’d ever met. But he was also the nicest flirt she’d ever met. And he was so cute. For some reason, telling herself that Tag’s brand of good looks meant zilch in real-life situations wasn’t doing a bit of good—she still felt breathless sitting this close to him and listening to his line of hooey.
But that was the bottom-line problem. She liked his line of hooey.
“Will you try to make it?” Tag asked quietly, boring a hole in her with his penetrating gaze.
She flicked a glance at him and immediately looked away. “Yes, I’ll try.”
“Great!” Tag picked up his coffee and took a swallow. “So is it all right if I start working in here today?”
“How can I say no?”
“You can always say no, Linda,” Tag said softly.
A frisson of sensual awareness traveled down Linda’s spine, giving her a tiny shiver. His voice did that to her, she realized, and when he combined it with sexual innuendo, the result was even more intense. Not that she couldn’t stop this…this thing building between them from growing too huge to control. At least she was pretty certain that she could. But did she really want to stop it? She had never felt so womanly before, so warm and fuzzy and tingly because of a man. And being a voracious reader, she knew that women should feel something during lovemaking. Although she’d never told a soul, she never had.
“All right,” she said without looking directly at Tag. “You can start today.”
“You’re a sweetheart.” Getting off his stool, Tag bent over and planted a brief kiss to her right cheek.
Shocked to speechlessness—no one had ever kissed her without provocation before, and she would swear that she had not invited any such familiarity—she sat there all the while he hauled in cans of paint, brushes, rollers, a tool chest and so many other items that she stared in amazement. Her kitchen floor was practically covered with the tools of his trade.
Shaking her head over the tornado called Tag—Tag who?—that had suddenly infiltrated her comfortable little world, she got off the stool and departed the kitchen. Tippy stayed. He had to sniff everything the nice man brought into his home, after all.
Chapter Two
Linda restlessly roamed her apartment. Every few minutes she heard Tag whistle a few bars of a song. Her Saturday was ruined, as far as she was concerned. Maybe she should be able to ignore having a man in her kitchen and go about her own business, but she just couldn’t seem to relax.
Finally, deciding to get out of there for a while, she ran upstairs, changed from her slacks and blouse to fleecy gray shorts and a comfy old top, put on her walking shoes and returned to the first floor. Wishing she kept Tippy’s leash anywhere but where it was, she took a big breath and headed for the kitchen with what she hoped was a look of irrevocable indifference on her face. Every time she’d thought of Tag’s brash kiss to her cheek, she’d suffered a hot flash. She didn’t like the confusion she felt over the incident, mostly caused by the fact that she hadn’t disliked the kiss. It had been rather sweet, actually.
“Pardon the interruption,” she said as she forced herself to enter her own kitchen. “But I need to get Tippy’s leash from the laundry room.”
Tag turned and looked at her, and her determined expression completely deserted her. He had such marvelous eyes, she thought, suddenly feeling a bit weak in the knees.
“You’re not an interruption.” Tag’s features softened into what Linda perceived as just about the nicest smile she’d ever seen on a guy’s face. “Drop in anytime,” he added. “I like the company.”
He was flirting again! Linda swallowed hard. “Oh, well, I…I just need the leash…for, uh, now.”
Tag nodded. “Sure thing. Help yourself.”
“Thanks, I will.” Stepping around drop cloths and the other things with which Tag had all but filled her small kitchen, Linda went into the laundry room and came out with the leash. Tippy perked up his ears and began dancing around.
“Looks like he knows what that means,” Tag said with a laugh.
“Yes, he always gets excited when he sees his leash.”
“That’s an associative response. You taught him that without even trying. Did you raise him from a pup?”
Linda bent over to attach the leash to Tippy’s collar. “No, I’ve only had him since my move from California about two months ago.”
“Did you get him from the local vet?”
“I guess you could say I found him.”
“Or he found you. Well, he’s a lucky pooch. Looks to me like he got himself a good home.”
“He deserves to be treated well. I don’t think he was before I found him. He was begging for scraps of food at a place in Nevada where I stopped for gas. He was filthy, dirty and a pitiful sight, but he won me over the second I saw him. I talked to the only person around, a grouchy old man running the place who said that Tippy had been hanging around for a week, bothering customers and disturbing his thriving business. Believe me, the place wasn’t thriving. It was in the middle of nowhere, and I remember thinking that a nice little dog just might do wonders for that old guy’s nasty disposition. In any case, he didn’t want him, no one had come looking for him, and he told me to take him.”
“So you adopted him on the spot.”
“I had to. Look at that adorable little face and those trusting eyes. No way could I have driven away and told myself he would be all right on his own. He was hungry and frightened, and he probably wouldn’t have lived very long if I had left him there. I gave him a bath in my motel room when I stopped that night, and…well, you can see how white his coat is.”
“All except for that little patch of black on the tip of his tail.”
“After seeing that, could I call him anything else?”
“Nope. Tippy fits him to a tee.”
Linda was suddenly embarrassed over her unnecessarily detailed story. For one thing, her rambling had kept Tag from his work much longer than an abbreviated version of the story would have. For another, it wasn’t like her to make mountains out of molehills when relating a simple incident.
“I’m going now. See you later,” she said almost sternly, although any chastisement in her voice was for herself and her ridiculous urge to impress this man.
“I’ll be here,” Tag said cheerfully.
Tippy ran ahead of her to the front door. Pondering Tag’s extraordinary effect on her, Linda took Tippy outside.
At the street she automatically went to the left. In that direction State Street led to Lake Monet. It was only about three miles away, and Linda had been smitten by the pretty little lake on her first visit. The water level was lower than normal for June, people kept telling her, as the area had had very little snow last winter, followed by pathetic little rainfalls instead of the hard, drenching rains that spring usually delivered.
But even if the water was shallow in Lake Monet, Linda saw great beauty in the bulrushes, pussy willows and lily pads along its southern curve. There were also amazing light patterns and colors in the water itself, and she understood very well why some romantic had named the small body of water after the great artist Claude Monet. Still, her thoughts weren’t on art today, or the lake, and she only walked about a quarter of a mile when she turned around and went in the opposite direction. When she came to Main Street she crossed it and kept walking. Tippy was happy. He didn’t care where they went, as long as they were outside.
Linda had driven every street in Rumor, just to acquaint herself with the town. She knew where the businesses were located, and she could put together most of the people she’d met with their homes. But until today there had been no reason even to notice the striking, lightly varnished wooden house that sat on a large lot with a number of evergreen trees. The name on the mailbox read Taggart Kingsley, and while Linda slowed her steps so she could take a really good look at his home, Tag’s last name registered. He was a Kingsley!
But he was a carpenter—such an honest, basic, simple vocation—and why would one of the incredibly wealthy Kingsleys paint and renovate apartments?
Frowning, Linda pondered that puzzle and decided it made no sense. She’d heard about the Kingsleys. They were wealthy from decades of successful cattle ranching even before they’d created MonMart, which was a huge superstore on Kingsley Avenue that sold groceries, clothing, household goods, tools, garden supplies and almost anything else a Montana resident might need. MonMart was, by all accounts, extremely profitable. Gossip had it that many more MonMart stores were planned for Montana, and some predicted that the Kingsleys wouldn’t stop until the whole country was peppered with their stores.
But that image didn’t coincide with Linda’s impression of Tag. Could he be a shirttail relative of the more ambitious Kingsleys? Should she ask around and find out?
No, Linda thought vehemently. She was not going to pry into anyone’s affairs, family or otherwise. Everyone deserved some privacy, which, she had already been warned about several times, was difficult to preserve in this small town.
After another thirty minutes of walking, Linda turned around and headed for home. When she passed Tag’s place, though, she slowed down again, and this time she spotted the building in the trees that appeared to be his shop.
She admired his yard and from her present viewpoint was able to see the swing set in back, some scattered toys and what appeared to be a sandbox—all evidence of a child. Thinking of Tag’s personal life—widowed so young and with a little daughter to raise—Linda walked on.
Past his place, she picked up her pace. Inside her front door she freed Tippy from the leash and the dog ran for the kitchen yapping a “Hi, I’m back” for his new friend’s benefit. Linda hung the leash in the foyer closet and then started up the stairs for a quick shower. She hadn’t done any running, but she had walked fast and worked up a sweat. The day was warm, bordering on hot. According to longtime residents, it was much too hot and dry for this time of year. Actually, Linda thought the weather was just about perfect, but she knew that a lot of people, including the U.S. Forest Service, were concerned about the tinder-dry conditions throughout the area.
She was halfway up the stairs when she heard Tag say, “Linda, a friend of yours came by. A man.”
