That Runaway Summer
It had probably been a fluke, but just in case Dan Maguire was particularly insightful, she had even more reason to avoid him.
NIGHT HAD FALLEN on Indigo Springs, muting the vibrant green of the grass and the clear blue of the sky. The Poconos town came close to Dan’s idea of paradise, complete with a crime rate so low it was nearly nonexistent. Yet for some reason he’d insisted on walking Jill Jacobi home.
On one hand, it made sense. She lived only a few blocks from the house his sisters called his hideaway, so they were heading in the same direction. And it wasn’t as though he didn’t enjoy her company.
If he were ready to date again, he might even ask her out.
“That sure was crazy.” Jill peered sideways at him as they walked. She couldn’t have been taller than five foot two or three, a marked contrast to Maggie, who was only a couple of inches shy of his six-one. “Did you get a look at Penelope’s face when you offered to walk me home? I swear, she’s probably planning our wedding as we speak.”
“Not a smart move, in retrospect,” he said.
“Not smart at all,” she agreed cheerfully. “Now that Penelope’s hopes are up, she’ll be heartbroken if we don’t go out on a date.”
Whoa. That sounded suspiciously as if she were warming to the idea. Had he given Jill the wrong impression? He’d been confident throughout the night she was no more romantically inclined toward him than vice versa. Now he wasn’t so sure.
“I don’t know how to say this,” he began.
“Whatever it is, just spit it out,” she advised. “That’s usually the best way.”
“Okay.” He took a deep breath. “First off, let me say I had a really good time tonight.”
They’d reached a residential section of town on a hilly street lined with modest houses, some of which had to be more than one hundred years old. She stopped directly under a street lamp that gave off more light than the crescent moon.
Her short, curly hair framed a face that was compelling rather than beautiful. Her nose turned up at the end, a smattering of freckles dotted her cheeks and nose and her eyes were big for her face. She had a style all her own, with jangling bracelets, oversize jewelry and a funky miniskirt that showed off slim, shapely legs.
“I thought you were going to spit it out,” she reminded him.
“I am.” He gazed into her eyes. They were either green or gray; he couldn’t tell even with the artificial light shining down on them. Hoping he wouldn’t hurt her feelings, he said, “I don’t want to date you.”
She dragged a hand across her forehead and blew out a loud breath. “That’s a relief.”
Whatever reaction he’d been expecting, it wasn’t that one. “It is?”
“Ye-ah.” She drew out the word so it sounded as though it had two syllables. “I thought there for a minute you were going to ask me out. I was trying to figure out how to let you down easy.”
“Hold on.” This did not compute. “You weren’t angling for a date when you said that thing about Penelope’s heart breaking?”
She let loose with a low-throated laugh, and he didn’t know how to feel. “Of course not. Penelope’s a sweetheart. But even though she’s in love with love, I don’t feel responsible for feeding her obsession. Don’t get me wrong—you’re as cute as can be. But I’m not interested in you.”
Cute. He was cute?
“Why not?” he heard himself ask.
She stopped laughing, obviously taken aback by the question. And why shouldn’t she be? He was, too.
“It’s not you,” she said slowly. “It’s me.”
He cringed at her use of the classic breakup cliché when they’d never even been on a date.
“It’s not the right time for me to get involved with anybody,” she said.
She was in her mid to late twenties, the age many women viewed as the perfect time to settle down. She put up a slim, pretty hand and waved it back and forth, her bracelets softly clanging against each other.
“I have a lot of things going on in my life,” she continued. “And let’s face it, it’s not like you find me attractive.”
“I said I didn’t want to date you,” he corrected quickly. “Not that I wasn’t attracted to you.”
Her mouth gaped. “You’re attracted to me?”
She’d twirled a lock of her curly black hair around her index finger. Bracelets jingled from her arm. The light caught the freckles on her nose, making them look more pronounced.
His mouth went dry.
“You’re quite pretty,” he said.
Her smile started slowly, then grew wider, revealing even, white teeth.
“Thank you,” she said. “But the answer will still be no if you ask me out.”
“You’re not curious how we’d be together?” he asked. Now, where had that come from?
“Not particularly,” she said.
“I thought you said I was…” Oh, Lord, he was actually going to repeat the word. “Cute. Who knows? We might have good chemistry.”
She shook her head. “Probably not.”
He reached out and touched her hair, which was as soft and springy as it looked. When she didn’t back away, he moved his hand to her cheek and gently ran his fingers over her smooth, tanned skin. His eyes drifted to her mouth.
“There’s one way to find out.”
Her lips parted. He waited for them to form a no, but all that came out of her mouth was warm, sweet-smelling breath.
He slid his palm to the soft skin of her neck and gently cupped the base of her skull. She leaned into his touch, her chin tipping, her lips tilting upward.
Such full, pretty lips.
She was standing slightly uphill from him, which partially made up for their difference in height. He pressed his mouth gently against hers, breathing in her breath, feeling her lips cling to his. It would have been the sweetest of kisses if not for the instant hardening of his body, which he hoped like hell she didn’t notice.
No pressure, he told himself as he fought not to deepen the kiss, contenting himself with tracing the seam of her mouth with his tongue. No demands, he thought as he worked his way from one edge of her mouth to the other with a series of soft kisses. Just a simple experiment in sexual chemistry. She’d braced her hand on his heart, which felt as if it might combust.
She pulled back first.
“That was nice,” she said, smiling at him pleasantly with her well-kissed lips, “but I still don’t want to go out with you.”
He blinked a few times, trying to clear the sexual fog clogging his head, attempting to get his body under control.
“I live over there.” She indicated a two-story Victorian house that seemed far too large for one person. She headed for it, picking up speed as she went.
“Thanks for walking me home,” she called over her shoulder when she reached the top step of a wraparound porch. Baskets of hanging flowers that were probably a riot of color in the daylight hung from the porch in strategic locations.
“You’re welcome.” His reply was automatic, although a different response rang in his head.
Why the hell didn’t she want to date him?
The thud of the door closing jarred him back to his senses. He moved away from the streetlight, into the relative darkness of the sidewalk where he could rationalize away what had just happened.
He’d reacted strongly to Jill because she was the first woman he’d kissed since Maggie had done a number on his heart almost a year ago.
In all that time, he hadn’t been tempted to date anyone.
He still wasn’t.
So why was he already looking forward to the next time he ran into Jill Jacobi?
CHAPTER TWO
JILL LEANED AGAINST the smooth plane of the closed door, marveling at the show of nonchalance she’d been able to pull off, aware she had only seconds to get her heart to stop pounding and blood to quit racing.
“I’m in the living room, dear,” Felicia Feldman called. No surprise there. Jill had seen the fluttering of the curtain covering a front window as she approached the house.
Felicia sat in her favorite armchair in front of the television, the remote control in hand, her gray hair in stark contrast to the floral pattern of the chair. The air smelled of freshly baked bread, one of Felicia’s specialties. Jill never took for granted how lucky she and Chris were to live in this house with this wonderful woman.
“Who was that young man you were kissing, dear?” Felicia had already muted the sound of the program she was watching. On the screen, a lineup of nervous young women waited to see whether the hunk in the tuxedo would hand them a rose.
If Dan Maguire were the rose giver and Jill one of the contestants, would she be angling for a flower? Jill pressed together her still-warm lips, preferring not to think about it.
“Hey, Felicia.” Jill smiled at her. “The Bachelor a rerun tonight?”
“Why, yes.” Felicia’s lips parted and she nodded. “How did you know that?”
“You wouldn’t be looking out the window if it wasn’t.”
Felicia’s laugh had a smoker’s raspy quality even though she’d said she quit years ago. “You’re right about that. I guess my mind was drifting. I wondered when you’d get home, I opened the curtain and there you were.”
“Chris is okay, isn’t he?” Jill was relatively sure of the answer. Felicia had her cell phone number in case of emergency.
“Oh, yes, yes. He went to bed a little while ago. Your brother is no trouble at all. Quiet as a mouse, that boy is.”
“I appreciate you looking out for him more than you can know.”
“Like I told you when you moved in,” Felicia said, “I’m glad to do it.”
The older woman had also confided she’d decided to rent out rooms after a scare in which she’d nearly lost her home to foreclosure. Her great-nephew, who lived in town, kept trying to help with mortgage payments, but she was having none of that.
Felicia had soon been treating Jill and Chris like family. A widow in her seventies with no children of her own, Felicia embraced the grandmotherly role, looking out for Chris while Jill wasn’t home and whipping up fabulous home-cooked meals for all three of them.
“I’ll let you get back to your program, then,” Jill said, and turned. “I’m calling it a night.”
“You can’t turn in yet,” Felicia protested. “You haven’t told me about your evening.”
Jill sucked in a breath through her teeth and did a cheerful about-face. She reentered the room and perched on the arm of the sofa, which was covered in the same flowery fabric as the chair.
“I had a very good time,” Jill said. “Johnny Pollock grilled burgers the size of your head.”
Felicia’s hands flew north and traced the shape of her scalp. “Really?”
Jill laughed. “Not exactly, but close. That man cooks a big burger. Penelope made these white-chocolate brownies for dessert that about melted in my mouth. I can get you the recipe if you like.”
“Please do.” Felicia enjoyed few things in life more than baking, as evidenced by the delicious smells that regularly wafted through the house.
“Penelope was a hoot, as usual. She and Johnny just passed their one-year anniversary. She bought a dozen plastic leis and left them all over the house until Johnny got the hint and booked a trip to Hawaii. They’re going next week.”
“Hawaii!” Felicia parroted. “How nice!”
The television camera panned to a close-up of a euphoric bachelorette clutching a rose. It cut away to a shot of the woman and the bachelor sharing a kiss in a hot tub, a moment that appeared to have helped the woman’s cause.
Jill hadn’t stuck around to discover if Dan had been about to hand her the verbal equivalent of a rose after their amazing kiss. She couldn’t have accepted if he had, not when the tale he’d spun about her was so close to the truth.
She tore her eyes from the TV and banished Dan from her mind.
“Johnny’s remodeling their house. The kitchen’s pretty as a picture with stainless steel appliances, mahogany cabinets, granite countertops and this wonderful wood floor. We ate on the back deck, which could be featured in a home and garden magazine.” Jill stood up again. “And that’s about all there is to tell.”
“But you haven’t said anything about the man you were kissing!” Felicia caught Jill’s hand. “My eyesight isn’t what it used to be, but it looked like the vet.”
So much for trying to distract the landlady.
“You can see just fine, Felicia.” Jill resigned herself to the inevitable. On some level, she’d known she wouldn’t get out of the room before she addressed the subject that refused to stay banished. “That was Dan Maguire.”
Felicia let go of Jill’s hand and clapped hers. “He’s so handsome. I hear he’s as nice as can be, too. Everybody who takes their pets to him raves about him. Why, he might even be worthy of dating you.”
“That’s sweet of you to say.” Jill bent and kissed Felicia’s soft cheek. “But Dan and I aren’t gonna be dating.”
Felicia’s face filled with disappointment. “Why not?”
“Dating is not high on my list of priorities.”
Jill’s cell phone sounded, the ring tone an upbeat song that spoke of the right to be loved, loved, loved. Penelope’s name popped up on the miniature display screen.
“Excuse me,” Jill told Felicia. “I need to get this.”
“Of course.” Felicia’s expression telegraphed that she had more to say on the subject. If Jill had learned anything after nearly a year of living with her landlady, however, it was that Felicia was a patient woman. “Good night, dear.”
“G’night, Felicia.”
The older woman lifted the remote, turning up the sound on the television. Jill headed for the stairs and her second-floor bedroom, but not before a bachelorette squealed with excitement over her chance to win the hunk’s heart. Jill flipped open the phone. “Hey, Penelope.”
“Well?” Penelope demanded, her voice slightly breathless. “What happened?”
“Dan walked me home.”
Penelope’s sigh came over the phone line loudly and clearly. “I meant what happened on the walk?”
Jill’s fingers flew to her lips, then trailed across the still-flushed skin of her cheeks.
“Oh, that. Dan and I had a nice long talk about how we didn’t want to date each other,” she said.
“No! That’s not what was supposed to happen. He was supposed to kiss you. It was supposed to be wonderful. You were supposed to develop a thing for each other.”
Jill fought off Penelope’s romantic scenario.
“I sure am sorry to disappoint you,” she said lightly, trying to affect a teasing tone.
“You should be,” Penelope declared. “I was positive you two were right for each other.”
“Two rights can make a wrong.”
There was a beat of silence at the other end of the line. “That’s not the saying. Yours doesn’t make sense.”
“Neither do me and Dan,” Jill said as she went into her bedroom and closed the door on her personal sanctuary. She’d painted an accent wall bright yellow and bought a matching bedspread, creating a sunny atmosphere. “So you can stop matchmaking.”
“You might as well tell me to quit breathing!” Penelope exclaimed. “Matchmaking is what I do. You know that. But I need a little help to succeed. If Dan isn’t your type, who is?”
Jill plopped down on her bed and slipped off her sandals. “I don’t have a type.”
“Then tell me about the last guy you dated back home in South Carolina.”
Jill had to clamp her teeth together to stop from pointing out her home state was Georgia. How she hated lying to her friends—to anyone, really. Her way of dealing was to reveal as little about herself as possible, which meant saying next to nothing about Ray Williams.
“You don’t want to hear about him,” Jill said. “He couldn’t have been more wrong for me.”
“I most certainly do want the scoop on your ex!” Penelope declared. “But not tonight. Johnny must not know I’m on the phone. I can hear him calling me from upstairs.”
“Then you should go.”
“It sounds like he’s in the bedroom. So, believe me, I’m going,” Penelope said with gusto, then laughed. “We’ll talk more later. Early in the week’s not good and we’re leaving for Hawaii Friday. Can you do lunch either Wednesday or Thursday?”
“I’m working on the river Thursday.” Jill’s bartending schedule allowed her to guide three or four groups of white water rafters per week, most of the trips concentrated later in the week and on weekends. “On Wednesday I’m having lunch with Chad Armstrong.”
“The pharmacist?” Penelope sounded surprised. “He’s your type?”
“He’s a friend.” Jill would have been more accurate in reporting Chad was an acquaintance. They’d served together a few months ago on the planning committee for the spring festival. “He needs to talk to me about something.”
“Sounds like he’s interested in you,” Penelope said.
“That’s not it.” If Chad were romantically inclined toward her, Jill would have picked up on it. “It has to be something else.”
“Any idea what?” Penelope asked.
“None,” Jill said. “Guess I’ll find out Wednesday.”
“We’ll get together when I get back from Hawaii, then,” Penelope said. “I want to hear what your ex did to sour you on other men.”
“I’m not sour on men,” Jill denied. Her view of human nature was too positive to let one traitorous man she hadn’t even loved turn her against the male sex.
“Good,” Penelope said. “Then there’s hope for you yet.”
She rang off, leaving Jill wishing she could be more open with her friend. Penelope could be a touch over-bearing, but like Felicia Feldman, she wanted the very best for Jill.
Trust no one.
Jill mentally repeated the mantra that shouldn’t have been so hard for her to follow. She’d already been burned twice, first by Ray, then by the neighbor in whom she’d foolishly confided in Savannah.
No. She couldn’t tell Penelope how Ray had tried to sabotage her efforts to get Chris out of Atlanta any more than she could disclose her attraction to Dan.
After that kiss tonight, she couldn’t afford to let Penelope finagle another situation where Dan’s magnetism might get the better of her common sense.
THE CROWD AT ANGELO’S restaurant seemed particularly thick on Wednesday afternoon as Dan settled into a chair at a table across from Stanley Kownacki.
Maybe it was often this crowded at Angelo’s for lunch. In the year that Dan had lived in Indigo Springs he’d eaten there only once, and that was for dinner.
“This is a view of you I don’t often see.” Stanley leaned back in his chair. He was a big-boned man in his late sixties with a head of dark brown hair that didn’t match his graying whiskers.
“We don’t eat out together much,” Dan pointed out. They wouldn’t be having lunch now if Stanley hadn’t pushed. Although he seldom acted like it, Stanley was Dan’s boss. Today he wouldn’t accept the excuse that Dan was too busy to break for lunch.
Stanley’s laugh was a pleasant, low rumble. “I meant I don’t usually see you sitting down. You work too hard.”
“So do you,” Dan countered. “What choice do we have? We’re booked solid every day.”
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” Stanley gestured to the menu on the table. “Go ahead and decide what to order first. I recommend the fettuccine Alfredo.” He put his fingers to his lips and kissed the tips. “Divine.”
“I’ll have that, too.” Dan ignored the menu. He was far more interested in what Stanley had to say than the food.
A skinny waitress with dishwater-blond hair who appeared to be about seventeen approached their table carrying a tray containing four glasses of water. The glasses knocked against each other with each step she took, some of the water sloshing over the brims.
Her eyes cast frantically about, probably for somewhere to set down her burden. Finding no empty surfaces, she slipped one hand under the tray. Dan half rose and took two of the glasses before she could attempt the balancing act.
“Thank you.” Her tremulous smile revealed a mouthful of braces. “I’ll be back in a minute to take your order.”
“We’re ready now, sweetheart,” Stanley said. “Two fettuccine Alfredos. Extra garlic bread. A root beer for me. How ’bout you, Dan?”
“Coke’s fine.”
The young waitress glanced down at the order pad sticking out of the pocket of her half apron. The two remaining water glasses bobbled. The pad remained where it was.
“Okay,” she said without much conviction, then left.
Dan followed her slow retreat, rooting for her to get where she was going without incident. His gaze slid past the waitress and alighted on a woman with her back to him. Even if a hat had covered her short, curly dark hair, he’d have recognized Jill Jacobi. She had an innate grace and certain way of holding her head that telegraphed she was giving you her full attention.
It seemed she was focused on the man across the table from her. He was about Dan’s age, with a familiar face Dan couldn’t place.
“See someone you know?” Stanley asked, then laughed. “Of course you do. Half the people in this restaurant bring their pets to us.”
“Actually,” Dan said slowly, “I see someone I probably should know.”
“Who’s that?”
“The blond guy in the white dress shirt and blue tie. Glasses. About my age.”
Stanley took a look at the table Dan indicated. “That’s Chad Armstrong. He’s a pharmacist at the drugstore downtown.”
Dan hadn’t filled a prescription since he’d moved to town, but could picture the man quietly going about his work on the raised counter at the back of the store.
“What else can you tell me about him?” Dan asked.
“You know Sierra Whitmore? The doctor? He dated her for years before she started going with that newspaper reporter. Ben Nash, I think his name was. Moved with him to Pittsburgh, she did.”
He’d heard something about the reporter coming to town to solve a decades-old mystery, but he was far more interested in Armstrong. So the pharmacist was single. Were he and Jill on a lunch date? Wasn’t Jill supposed to have too much going on in her life to date anyone?
“Why do you ask?” Stanley asked.
“No reason.”
Stanley gave him a dubious look.
“I know the woman with him,” Dan conceded.
“You mean Jill? The gal who bartends at the Blue Haven?”
“She was at the Pollocks’ the other night when they had me over for a barbecue.” Dan shifted in his seat. “She’s nice.”
“That she is,” Stanley agreed.
“So what is it you wanted to discuss?” Dan changed the subject before the other vet could say more. “How business is too good?”
“Exactly.” Stanley stabbed the air with his finger. “We’re too busy. I had to tell a farmer last week we couldn’t take on his animals. There isn’t enough time in the day.”
Jill was directly in Dan’s line of vision. She angled her head and laughed at something the pharmacist said. Was the guy really that funny? He forced himself to concentrate on the conversation at his table.
“Are you thinking of hiring another vet?” Dan asked.
The present practice had long been a two-man operation, with Dan replacing a vet who had retired a year ago. Stanley and Dan had met at a professional conference, a connection that led to the job offer at a time Dan was badly in need of a scenery change.
“Can’t,” Stanley said. “Don’t have the office space for it and don’t want to find a bigger place. I’m thinking of retooling.”
Dam stopped trying to figure out the significance of the way Jill was leaning forward and concentrated on Stanley. “What do you mean retooling?”
“Bob Verducci gave me a call the other day,” Stanley said. Verducci had a practice a few miles outside town that also treated both large and small animals. “Fewer people are bringing their pets to him, so he’s switching to large animals only.”
“Will that have any effect on us?”
“Sure will. You know how the hours build up when you’re driving to ranches and stables. If we go small, we can cut way down on the length of our work days.”
Dan frowned, although Stanley’s reasoning made perfect sense. “I enjoy working with large animals.”