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“Apparently, Froot Loops and Pepsi are not among his favorite breakfast combos.”
“Who can blame him?” Kelly pulled her face into a comical grimace. “If he really is a mob boss, he’s probably already put a contract out on your life just for suggesting it.”
“I thought he was supposed to be a vegetarian zombie.”
“That’s Paul McCartney.” Kelly picked up the chalk pencils and carried them over to the notions wall to hang them up.
“Paul is a zombie?” Shannon looked surprised. “He looks so normal.”
“No, he’s a vegetarian.”
“Does that mean he can’t be a zombie?”
“Zombies pretty much have to be carnivores, don’t you think?” Kelly wandered back to the cutting table and reached for the roll of ribbon and began snipping it into eighteen-inch lengths. “I mean, how frightening would it be if a bunch of squash-eating undead were roaming the streets?”
“I guess it would be pretty frightening for the squash.” Shannon tossed another fabric packet into the box.
“I suppose,” Kelly agreed absently. “What’s he like?”
“Who?”
“Reece Morgan.” Kelly’s tone was exasperated. “Who were we talking about? And if you mention Paul McCartney, I’m going to brain you with the nearest blunt object.”
“I wasn’t going to mention him,” Shannon lied meekly.
“Good.” Kelly set the ribbon aside, lifted a bolt of fabric from the stack leaning against the side of the cutting table, clicked open a rotary cutter and began slicing off half-yard chunks. “You’re the first eye witness I’ve talked to, so tell me what the infamous Reece Morgan is really like. Did he send shivers up your spine?” she asked, grinning.
“Not that I noticed.” At least not the kind of shivers Kelly was talking about. If there had been a small—practically infinitesimal—shiver of awareness, she was keeping it to herself. The last thing she needed was for Kelly to turn her matchmaking eye in Reece Morgan’s direction.
“Is he mean looking? Does he have a patch over one eye? Antennae growing out the top of his head? A nose ring? Wear three-inch lifts and a girdle? Tell me all.”
“He doesn’t need a girdle,” Shannon said, remembering the muscled flatness of his stomach. “Or lifts. He’s tall. No eye patch, nose ring or antennae that I noticed. And I didn’t think he was mean looking, though I imagine he could be. He has dark hair, dark eyes.”
“Good-looking?” Kelly asked, folding the end of the fabric and pinning it to the bolt.
“I think most women would say so,” Shannon offered, careful to sound neither too interested or suspiciously indifferent.
“Well, who cares what men think? Unless…” The bolt of fabric hit the table with a thud as a possibility occurred to her. “Do you think he’s gay?”
“No,” Shannon answered without hesitation.
“Are you sure?” Kelly shook her head as she began folding the fabric she’d just cut. “Because it seems like every good-looking, single man in the state of California is these days.”
Shannon could have told her that Reece Morgan was more likely to turn out to be the world’s first squash-eating zombie, but she settled for a half shrug and mild reassurance. “I’m pretty sure.”
Kelly folded in silence for a moment then sighed abruptly. “Well, it’s certainly going to disappoint a lot of people.”
“People are going to be disappointed that he’s not gay?” Shannon asked, startled.
“Not that.” Kelly grinned. “They’re going to be disappointed if he’s normal. I mean, what’s the point of having a bad boy come back to town if he’s not bad anymore?”
“I see what you mean. I hadn’t thought of it that way.” Shannon shook her head sadly. “When you think of it, it was pretty inconsiderate of him. The least he could have done was get his nose pierced or maybe file his teeth.”
“Exactly.” Kelly looked wistful. “I was really hoping for black leather and chains.”
Shannon’s brows rose. “Does Frank know about this?”
“Not for me, silly. For Reece Morgan. He could at least have worn a black leather jacket and maybe an earring. For heaven’s sake, even stockbrokers are wearing earrings these days!” She shook her head at the unfairness of it.
“The man’s an inconsiderate lout.” Shannon looped a ribbon around the next stack of fabric.
“So, what did you do about breakfast?” Kelly asked.
“Well, I offered him toaster waffles and grape jelly but he said he was allergic to grape jelly and took a rain check.” Shannon dropped the fabric packet into the basket and waited for Kelly’s reaction. She wasn’t disappointed.
“Toaster waffles and jelly?” Kelly stared at her in horror. “You actually eat that?”
“Not voluntarily, but there wasn’t anything else in the house.”
“What did he do?”
“Actually, I think he turned a little pale.”
“Who can blame him?” Kelly muttered and then giggled. “I’d love to have seen his face.”
“It was…interesting,” Shannon admitted, grinning at the memory of Reece’s poorly concealed revulsion. “But he managed to remain polite.”
“I’m almost sorry to hear that,” Kelly said.
“I suppose you’d rather he’d threatened me with bodily harm?”
“Well, you have to admit that the man is starting to sound depressingly normal. In fact, he sounds downright dull.”
The bell over the door jangled, saving Shannon the necessity of a response. Dull? she thought as she turned to greet the customer who’d entered. That was just about the last word she could imagine applying to Reece Morgan.
There was nothing like a small town to make you appreciate the joys of living in a city, Reece thought as he rolled his shopping cart into place behind a middle-aged woman wearing a hot-pink jumpsuit and purple sneakers. In the fifteen years he’d lived in D.C., no one had ever gawked at him over a pile of bananas or waylaid him in the dairy aisle to offer condolences on his loss and, in the next breath, ask what he planned to do about the condition of his lawn. He’d been discreetly eyed by a young woman pushing a cart full of baby food and disposable diapers, blatantly stared at by an old man carrying a six-pack of Coors and a bag of pretzels and nearly mowed over by a toddler trying to escape parental supervision.
Obviously, shopping at Jim & Earl’s Super Food Mart had been a mistake. It was just a few blocks from his grandfather’s house, which meant it was convenient, not only for him but for his neighbors, who apparently found his presence a source of endless fascination. He didn’t even have to turn his head to know that the skinny blonde in the next checkout line was studying the contents of his cart as if trying to commit a complete inventory to memory. If only he’d thought of it sooner, he could have thrown in half a dozen boxes of neon-colored, fruit-flavored condoms and a couple cases of tequila so the local grapevine would have something really interesting to talk about. As it was, he doubted they were going to be able to do much with the news that he’d been seen buying boneless chicken breasts and bok choy.
He listened with leashed impatience as the cashier quizzed the woman in the pink jumpsuit about the health of every member of her family, clicking her tongue in sympathy or exclaiming with delight, as necessary. If only her hands moved as fast as her mouth, she could win the grocery-checking Olympics, Reece thought acidly. She paused, a box of bagels in her hand, her mouth forming an O of amazement as the customer detailed the results of her niece’s breast reduction surgery and he bit back a groan. At the rate she was going, he stood in real danger of growing old and dying before he made it up to the register. He turned his head to see if there was a shorter line—or a longer one with a deaf and dumb cashier—and forgot all about his irritation.
His coffee-making, Froot Loop-eating neighbor was walking toward him, though he might not have recognized her if it hadn’t been for the unmistakable reddish-gold gleam of her hair, which was caught up in a soft twist at the back of her head. The T-shirt and shorts had been replaced by a silky-gold blouse and a calf-length skirt in shades of rust and moss green. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of regret that those incredible legs were covered, but he had to admit that there was something tantalizing about knowing just what that flowing skirt was hiding. She looked older, more sophisticated and just as delicious, he admitted, letting his gaze skim over the soft curves and angles of her.
He hadn’t set eyes on her since their not-quite-breakfast encounter a little more than a week ago, but he’d thought about her more than he liked to admit. More than was smart for a man who wanted no entanglements, because, even on a short acquaintance, he was fairly sure that Shannon Devereux was not the sort of woman to fall into a casual affair with a currently unemployed ex-government agent who just happened to be living next door to her for a few weeks.
Shannon looked up and saw him. Her eyes widened in surprise and then she smiled and Reece found himself thinking that maybe Serenity Falls wasn’t such a bad place after all. She walked over to him, a mesh basket hanging over her arm.
“You know, recent studies indicate that people who eat large quantities of fresh vegetables are twice as likely to develop cauliflower ears.”
“I didn’t know cauliflowers had ears,” he said, responding to the unconventional greeting without missing a beat.
She widened her eyes in surprise. “Of course they have ears. How else could they know what’s being said on the grapevine?”
His smile widened into a quick grin that made Shannon’s breath catch. Over the past week, she’d almost convinced herself that her new neighbor couldn’t possibly be as attractive as she’d thought. Her imagination, fueled by months of whispered speculation about the mysterious Reece Morgan, had exaggerated his looks, created an image to suit his two-decade-old reputation. But the way her pulse stuttered when she looked up and saw him forced her to admit that no exaggeration had been necessary. Not when you had six feet four inches of dark-haired, dark-eyed, solidly muscled male standing right in front of you. Even on its best days, her imagination couldn’t improve on that reality.
With an effort she pulled her eyes away from his face and glanced at the contents of his shopping cart. Clicking her tongue, she shook her head in disapproval. “You don’t plan on buying that stuff, do you?”
Reece’s expression shifted to wary amusement. “You’re not going to tell me that they’ve decided that vegetables are carcinogenic, are you?”
“Not yet, though I’m fairly sure that further research will eventually prove Brussels sprouts were never intended to touch human lips,” she said darkly. “But that’s not the point now.” Shannon flicked her fingers at the bags of vegetables and the package of boneless chicken breasts. “You actually have fresh ginger in there.”
“And that’s a bad thing?” Reece wondered if he should worry that her circuitous conversational style was starting to seem almost normal. The skinny blonde in the next line was craning her neck in what she probably thought was a subtle attempt to eavesdrop on their conversation. Reece ignored her.
“It hardly suits your image.” Her soft mouth primmed into a disapproving line. “Think about it. Bad boy returns home and buys vegetables? What kind of a message does that send?”
“Bad boy?” Reece repeated, not entirely pleased. “Is that what I’m supposed to be?”
“Of course.” She seemed surprised that he had to ask. “According to local myth, you were the scourge of Serenity Falls.”
“Scourge?” He was caught between irritation and amusement. “I think that’s overstating things a little. I may have raised a little hell, but I didn’t exactly pillage and burn the town.”
“You’re forgetting the petunias,” she pointed out.
“One flower bed and I’m a scourge?” How did she manage to pull him into these conversations?
Shannon looked regretful. “In a town this size, it doesn’t take much.” She shifted her shopping basket from her right hand to her left, and her voice took on a self-consciously pedantic tone that, for some reason he couldn’t fathom, made Reece wonder if her mouth could possibly be as soft as it looked. And wouldn’t that set the grapevine humming—news that that Morgan boy had kissed his very attractive neighbor right in the middle of the food mart with God and half the town looking on. With an effort, he dragged his attention back to what Shannon was saying.
“Actually, the Bad Boy is a classic figure in Western mythology. An important character in both film and literature. Think of James Dean.”
“James Dean?” Reece’s upper lip curled. “Kind of a skinny little twerp, wasn’t he?”
Shannon’s eyes widened in horror, and she pressed her free hand to her chest as if to protect her heart from the shock. “James Dean? The king of cool? You’re calling him a twerp?”
“Couldn’t have weighed more than one-fifty soaking wet and with his shoes on. Maybe if he’d eaten his vegetables, he’d have bulked up a little.”
Shannon’s mouth twitched and was sternly controlled. “Don’t you think that would have spoiled his lean and hungry look? It’s hard to seem tragically misunderstood when you look like you could eat hay with a fork.”
“So only the scrawny get sympathy?” Reece shook his head. “Doesn’t seem quite fair to me.”
“I’m told that life isn’t always fair.”
“I’ve heard that rumor.”
“Do you have plans for Thursday?” she asked, changing the subject abruptly.
“Thursday?” he repeated blankly.
“Thanksgiving?” Shannon arched her brows. “You know, turkey, dressing, pumpkin pie. Pilgrims shaking hands with the Indians they’re eventually going to wipe out. The fourth Thursday in November when we all get together and eat too much? This coming Thursday? Do you have plans?”
“Not that I know of,” Reece admitted cautiously.
“Well, you’re welcome to join the crowd at my house,” she offered. “It’s nothing formal. People just drop by.”
“Are you cooking?” he asked involuntarily, visions of freeze-dried turkey flashing before his eyes.
Shannon’s quick, throaty laugh made the skinny blonde sidle closer in an attempt to overhear what was being said. “Don’t worry, it’s potluck. Everyone brings something, and I’ve been strictly forbidden to set foot in the kitchen.”
“No Froot Loops?”
“Only in the stuffing,” she promised solemnly. Looking past him, she nodded toward the checkout counter. “Looks like you’re up next.”
Turning, Reece saw that the woman in the pink jumpsuit was paying for her purchases and the cashier was giving him a distinctly ominous look of bright-eyed interest.
“Watch out for Agatha,” Shannon said, confirming his concern. “She can wring information out of granite. If the Inquisition had had her, they wouldn’t have needed the rack.”
“Great, a full-service store,” Reece muttered as he pushed his cart forward. “They bag your groceries while they pump you for information.”
“Just say no,” Shannon advised solemnly but she was grinning as she turned away without waiting for a reply. “See you Thursday, maybe.”
Not likely, Reece thought as he began loading his groceries onto the conveyer belt. He didn’t want any involvement and, while attending a potluck Thanksgiving dinner along with half the town wasn’t exactly a prelude to a passionate love affair, it was too…neighborly. Too friendly. It suggested that he had a place here, which he didn’t—not now, not twenty years ago.
He glanced over his shoulder in time to see Shannon disappear down the frozen food aisle. It was nice of her to invite him, but he was perfectly content with his own company, on Thanksgiving or any other day. Still, he had to admit that it would be interesting to see if she really did manage to slip Froot Loops into the stuffing.
Chapter 4
For the past few years, the fourth Thursday in November had been just another number on the calendar to Reece, and he was perfectly content to keep it that way. So what was he doing standing on Shannon Devereux’s doorstep holding a spinach salad?
The door opened, saving him the necessity of having to come up with a satisfactory answer to his own question. He’d been expecting Shannon and had to adjust his gaze five inches lower and his thinking fifty years older. Suspiciously black hair topped a thin, wrinkled face. Reece had heard of someone applying makeup with a trowel, but he’d never seen anyone who looked as if they might actually have done just that until now. Foundation, blusher, concealer and possibly a bit of spackle coated every inch of skin from forehead to chin. False eyelashes, black eyeliner and royal-purple eyeshadow were balanced, more or less, by stoplight-red lipstick that had bled into the fine lines around her mouth.
Her clothing was no less colorful. A purple sweatshirt with a design of teddy bears at a picnic topped a pair of hot-pink pedal pushers. Her calves were bare and colored a streaky orangey brown that suggested either a severe nutritional problem or a badly applied tan-in-a-bottle. Purple sneakers with pink glitter and black laces completed the ensemble.
“What is that?” Her voice, surprisingly deep for a woman, brought Reece’s dazzled eyes back to her face. She was staring at the bowl in his hands, dark eyes full of suspicion.
“Spinach salad.”
“Does it have meat in it?”
“No.”
Her dark eyes flickered suspiciously from the bowl to his face. Reece half expected her to insist on an inspection, but she must have decided he had an honest face or maybe it just occurred to her that spinach salad was an unlikely place for meat to lurk. Whichever it was, she shuffled back into the entryway, letting the door open wide, spilling laughter and voices out into the warm afternoon.
His first impression was of wall-to-wall people. His second and third impressions pretty much confirmed the first. There were people standing in the entryway, clutching plastic cups holding liquid of assorted colors. There were more people in the living room, sitting on the sofa, the chairs, perched on the hearth, leaning against the wall next to the front windows. Yet more people standing in the hallway, which he assumed led back to the bedrooms. Everywhere he looked, there was someone standing or sitting. Fat people, skinny people, old, young, enough variations of skin tone to make a liberal cheer or a conservative weep. Male, female and…well, he wasn’t willing to hazard a guess about the one wearing the leather pants and a pink Mohawk.
“You can take that out to the patio.”
Reece blinked and focused his attention on the woman who’d let him in. Compared to the Mohawk wearer, she looked downright conservative. “Patio?”
“Go through the kitchen,” she said, reading the question he hadn’t asked.
