Christie Ridgway, Page 3

  “Five a.m. I’m there every day.”

  “Then come over to our place afterward and I’ll fix you up with a kayak. Time on the water will soothe the restless beast.”

  “Gran wants me to spend my days gluing her hundreds of photos into her dozens of blank albums,” Wyatt said, crumbling more crackers into his bowl. “Or she has a crony with an idea for a startup…I could be a private driver chauffeuring seniors to the local casinos and back.”

  “In case they get drunk on the penny slot machines?”

  “You don’t think that job sounds like uber-fun?”

  Zane grinned as he dug into his own chili. “At least you haven’t completely lost your sense of humor.”

  They ate in companionable silence for a few minutes until a tickle skittered across the back of Zane’s neck. He glanced around, his gaze homing in on a figure just settling into a chair at a two-top in a corner of the diner. It had been a few days since his dog had collided with the pretty new librarian named Harper Grace. As he watched, she pulled a paperback out of her purse and opened it to the place held by a bookmark.

  “What are you looking at?” his neighbor said, craning his neck to peer over his shoulder. “Oh, baby,” Wyatt continued, with distinct admiration. “You know, she only gets better and better.”

  Zane’s head whipped around. “What?” he asked, staring at the other man. “You know her?”

  “Miss Woody? Hello? The one whose porch you recently decorated with rose petals? Just the object of our teenage lust when she ran detention hall that semester we had it in high school. Made the suffering so much easier.”

  Following Wyatt’s gaze, Zane relaxed. It was indeed Diana Woods, aka “Miss Woody” who had attracted his friend’s attention. She’d been a hot teacher in her mid-twenties when she’d supervised the pair of them as well as a bunch of other guys during their very own version of The Breakfast Club. Today, she was still hot, still a busty redhead who must be near forty.

  “So she really never married?” Wyatt asked.

  “Nope.”

  “Hmm.” Wyatt turned back to his food. “Maybe she’s lonely?”

  Lonely. The word sent Zane’s gaze back to the young woman in the corner of the room, who smiled her thanks as Mandy the new waitress slid a pot of tea and a cup and saucer in front of her. Then she returned to her book.

  “If you’re looking for female companionship,” he said, elbowing his neighbor, “you should strike up a conversation with the woman over there.”

  “Where?” Wyatt half-swiveled on his chair. “Who?”

  “The light-haired female in the brown sweater. With the book.”

  Wyatt took another moment. “Oh, I see. She sort of blends into the wall.”

  Zane frowned. “She does not.”

  Wyatt shrugged.

  “She’s new in town. Took the place of the former county librarian. You’re new back in town—seems fitting you go over to her table and welcome her to the community or something.”

  His friend’s brows rose. “What’s this all about?”

  Harper Grace was sitting by herself. That didn’t seem right. A delicate, pretty creature such as herself shouldn’t be alone in that secluded corner. “I met her the other day. Well, Gambler knocked her over and I had to issue an apology. She seems nice.”

  Wyatt grunted.

  Zane tried again. “Two single people. You never know what might happen.”

  “At the moment I don’t need a woman in my life,” Wyatt said. “Why don’t you go talk to her?”

  Because, when the two of them stood in front of her condo building, she’d run from him like he was a starving Sasquatch and she was a sweet-smelling light snack. Because she wasn’t his type, no way, no how. He had an instinct about these things—more like the result of lessons learned—and he wasn’t going to make move one on a woman who was looking for flowers and forever when everyone knew he was rowdy fun and right nows.

  Zane checked her out again. Now she was picking at a garden salad. Was that all she was planning to eat for dinner?

  “Geez, Z.” Wyatt snorted. “Go talk to the woman. You know you want to. And then people around here will start talking about that, instead going on and on about your long face and sad eyes.”

  Hell. “That hasn’t died down?” The babe-less Tucker twin. The only Tucker sibling without a soulmate. Though he was happy for his sibs, it was starting to sink in, more and more by the day, that this change would take some getting used to.

  “Nope. Still lots of gossip about you being lonesome.”

  Irritation crawled up Zane’s spine. “I gotta go,” he said, deciding to escape the feeling by heading home and doing something constructive like a thousand Spiderman pushups until he cared about nothing but pouring a gallon of water down his throat. Leaving cash by his unfinished bowl, he started to stalk out, then changed his mind and opted to do the decent thing first and say goodbye to his dad.

  Maybe a little Pop-chat would even his keel, actually. His father, Sam Tucker, was a laid-back guy, who’d for the most part coolly handled his wife leaving him, his kids, and Eagle’s Ridge for her Hollywood dreams years before. He’d just continued on continuing on, content with running the diner and now enjoying having his grown kids back in the area.

  Zane swung into the kitchen to find his laid-back father glaring at his right-hand woman, Brenda Morgan. Both stood, arms akimbo, facing off at the rear of the space while burgers sizzled unattended on the grill. “You’re going to make me crazy, you know that?” Sam demanded.

  “This isn’t about you,” Brenda hissed, clearly as angry.

  Oh-kay. Unsure what to do besides the obvious, Zane headed for the meat and tended to it with an efficiency born of years of helping out. When he was a little kid, he’d envied the time his brother and sister spent in the diner’s kitchen with their dad. His mom had worried the smoke might exacerbate his asthma and he’d been banned from the premises. But then he’d gotten well and she’d gotten sick of being mom and wife.

  In high school, when he wasn’t playing or practicing sports, he’d sat in the diner doing his homework, rising when needed to plate up a meal or deliver it to a patron.

  “It’s dangerous,” Zane’s dad said now, eyes still narrowed. “How am I supposed to sleep at night?”

  “I’m meeting a man for a drink, Sam,” Brenda said. “Not inviting a serial killer home for a sleepover.”

  Okay, just the thought of Brenda out with some stranger gave Zane pause too. She was mid-fifties and trim, with her long dark hair in its usual waist-length braid. After their mother left, she’d always been there for the Tucker family. It made him protective of her.

  Clearly the idea of Brenda getting hurt in any way got under his dad’s skin too.

  Bailey had been making noises about a possible romance kindling between Sam and Brenda. Adam didn’t agree and it seemed unlikely to Zane as well. Brenda had been a manager here for years and years and a widow for ten, after her Marine husband had been killed in action. Wouldn’t something have already happened if something was going to happen? His dad had never shown much interest or put much effort into changing his single status.

  “Maybe I’ll join this online service too,” Sam now said, making a liar out of his younger son.

  “You’ll have to check under Personality that you’re grouchy and unreasonable,” Brenda countered. “Good luck finding somebody who wants to take that on.”

  Then she swept past his dad, pausing only when she caught sight of Zane. “Oh, hi, honey,” she said, patting him on the arm. “How are you?”

  Baffled by the scene he’d just witnessed, Zane trailed her out of the kitchen and into the diner. There, his gaze slid straight to Harper Grace again, still solo, still reading while poking at those boring greens.

  “Brenda,” he said.

  Slowing her steps, the older woman glanced back. “Yes?”

  “Could you, uh, maybe take a few minutes and talk to the woman in the corner?”<
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  Frowning, Brenda shifted her gaze. “Is there a problem with her order?”

  I have a problem with seeing her sitting all by herself. “No, it’s not that. It’s just…never mind.”

  “All right then.” The older woman strode for the door, looking back toward the kitchen as she neared the exit.

  Zane did the same, to see his father staring out the pass-through, his expression not the least bit laid-back.

  Yeah, time for his son to escape the confusion of that, too. Time to go home.

  But while his mind had every intention of taking himself to his A-frame cabin in the woods, it was his feet that instead moved in the direction of the quiet customer in the corner.

  For some inexplicable reason, she pulled at him.

  He told himself he had legitimate excuses to take a minute to chat. She was having a meal at the family business—making sure it was up to par made sense. And then there was her relationship status. Maybe she wasn’t single after all, so his encouraging Wyatt to chat her up had been needless.

  But if she didn’t come as a pair, then he could do something about these solo meals. Eagle’s Ridge was a small town and he knew every eligible bachelor in the vicinity. While anyone acquainted with him might scoff at Zane playing matchmaker, well, perhaps it could become his new hobby, like Brenda’s photography.

  First, though, he had to put her at ease.

  Evidence suggested—that evidence being how she’d run from him following their goodbye outside her condo—he more than made the woman skittish.

  With that thought on the forefront of his mind, he moved through the tables as deftly as possible, only once knocking a knife off a table. The plastic kiddie glass that tumbled to the floor couldn’t be blamed entirely on him. When he’d walked past a high chair he’d tried smiling at the toddler perched in it. The kid had let out a shriek of tiny terror and his flailing hand had released the teddy bear-emblazoned cup.

  Sigh. He didn’t try to frighten little kids. He didn’t want to overwhelm fragile women.

  The particular fragile woman he was heading for didn’t sense his approach. Her head remained bent over her book and he considered calling out her name, as soft as can be, when his big foot bashed one of her table’s legs. The entire thing jumped, rattling plate and utensils.

  Harper’s head jerked up and so did her hand, sending her book on a header into her lap. The scrap of fabric holding her place flew, fluttering to the wooden floor to land beside his round-toed hiking boots.

  Zane grimaced. “Sorry to startle you,” he said, bending to retrieve the fallen bookmark.

  She swallowed, her pretty gray eyes now glued to his face, her fingertips pressed to her throat. “That’s all right, Mr. Tucker. Is there…is there something I can do for you?”

  “Call me Zane.” He tried on a smile. “Mr. Tucker is my grandpa or my dad.”

  A small nod. “Yes. Zane.”

  They stared at each other another long moment and only a fool could remain unaware of the sizzling awareness arcing in the air between them.

  Okay, he’d noticed it the other day, too, but thought perhaps it was a one-off.

  Because he shouldn’t be attracted to her, he knew that. But just looking at the line of her delicate jaw and the sweet softness of her unpainted mouth made his dick hard.

  There. His thoughts were uncouth and raw and she’d probably run screaming if he ever confessed he’d spent one entire night recalling that brief glimpse of her small breasts in pale pink lace.

  Glancing down, he noted the bookmark in his hand. “What’s this?” he asked, studying the tiny even stitches that created the iconic design of a famous bridge. “The Golden Gate?”

  “I’m from San Francisco,” she said.

  “You’re a city girl.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” She nodded. “And that’s petit point—it’s a type of needlework. My grandmother taught me how to do it.”

  “You made this?” he asked. Of course she did. It was as pretty and tidy as the rest of her.

  She nodded again.

  “It’s very nice.” He continued to hold it in his hand, his thumb lightly brushing the surface as he wondered what to say next. Something about the weather. Or a remark about her salad. Stick to the innocuous and impersonal, he told himself. Don’t scare her off in any way.

  “Are you seeing someone?” he blurted out. Good God. Could he get any clumsier? What the hell was wrong with him?

  She glanced down, licked her lips, then lifted her gaze to meet his. “Are you asking me out?”

  “I…uh…” Was he? Well, no. Despite his attraction to her, his question had to do with that matchmaking hobby he was currently considering. There were guys in town who would treat her right and with whom she could find what she wanted. Flowers and forever. More than what he had to offer—which could only be categorized as shallow and short-term.

  But…

  What would it hurt if they did go out? It might not be so bad. As a matter of fact, one tame little date might actually squelch his inconvenient interest in her altogether.

  He opened his mouth to suggest dinner and a movie, telling himself for one night he could use his inside voice and play gentleman through a few courses and a rom com. Then something caught his eye.

  Teenagers, a group of four boys, finishing up their meals of burgers and shakes at a table by the door. They were giving each other looks that Zane recognized all too well. The shifty expressions on their faces and the tense lines of their skinny frames boded ill for Dad’s cash register and Mandy’s tip jar.

  Because once upon a time—on a bet, naturally—Zane had attempted the ol’ dine and ditch too.

  Just as the foursome hopped to their feet and bolted for the door, Zane raised his voice. “Stop!” he yelled, then vaulted over the closest table, scattering empty chairs. The teens tore off with Zane in enthusiastic, noisy pursuit.

  Later, he’d remember the petit point bookmark that he’d stuffed in his front pocket. Later, he’d recall that wide-eyed, likely panicked expression crossing Harper’s face the instant he took chase.

  Later, he’d regret the tame little date that he knew now would never be.

  “Mom, I’m at work,” Harper said, glancing through the half-glass door of her office to the stacks of books and reading nooks set around the library floor as well as the more private study rooms at the rear with their small desks and computers. She’d unlocked the entrance only moments before, but there’d be a steady stream of patrons before long. The board of directors had assured her during her interview that the county’s citizens made good and frequent use of the facilities and that hadn’t been proved wrong in the couple of months she’d been in Eagle’s Ridge.

  “That’s what I want to talk about,” her mother said.

  Harper could picture her mother in her lovely sitting room, at the curved-leg, gilded desk with its view of the roses in the side garden. In a tailored suit dress of mint green, or perhaps an understated blue, Patricia Grace likely had a lunch date arranged for later in the day or maybe a meeting set for one of her committees.

  “I just don’t see you making it out there in the wilds on your own.”

  Harper smiled. “Urbanite,” she said fondly. “There’s running water here now, Mother. I’ve heard tell that electricity will arrive before next winter.”

  Patricia ignored the gentle sarcasm. “You’re not your sister, you know.”

  Holding onto her patience, Harper straightened the edges of the stack of outgoing mail. “How is Belinda?” she said. “Have you heard from her lately?”

  “She’s still following that band. Still dating the drummer—or is it the guitarist? I think they’re going to Moscow next. And she sold that story she wrote about her life on the road to some magazine.”

  Harper smiled. Belinda dreamed large and lived large and kudos to their parents who’d managed to survive raising two such different children. “We need to make sure we get copies when it comes out.”

 
“In about six months she said.” Patricia cleared her throat, and even that sounded ladylike. “I hope you’ll be back home by then.”

  “Mother…” Harper could feel her about to begin a familiar refrain.

  “You didn’t have to run away.”

  I had to get away. “It was past time for a change.”

  “We could have gone to the Bahamas. Or a girls’ trip to Paris.” Her voice lowered. “I detest that he chased you away from home.”

  “Maybe Geoffrey liberated me, Mother.”

  “I can’t see how.”

  Oh, Harper could see. She’d been one wedding vow away from remaining the quiet, unassuming mouse she’d been her entire life. When Geoffrey Giffin had cut ties with her, it gave her the opportunity to break free of the shell she’d been so comfortably settled in for twenty-seven years.

  She didn’t think she had it in her to follow rock bands and she’d always love immersing herself in books and finding ways to bring them into other people’s lives, but now it was time to try new things.

  It had hurt more than a little, hearing that her fiancé considered her too quiet and boring—and to recognize he wasn’t altogether wrong. Furthermore, she’d lost some metaphorical skin as she wiggled free of that tidy, contained life in San Francisco, but now she could try a new place and new things.

  As her mother sighed—still sounding like the consummate gentlewoman—Harper’s gaze wandered back to the interior of the library.

  A man strode from the entrance toward the stacks.

  Her heart thumped hard against her breastbone. What was Zane Tucker doing here? Last she’d seen him, a couple of days before, he’d been racing out of the diner in a heroic effort to stop a set of teenagers who were trying to get out of paying their bill.

  That had followed the astonishing moment when she, Harper “Mouse” Grace, had said to him, Are you asking me out?

  Who would have thought she had the temerity to voice that thought…or even consider the possibility? Because Zane, with his confident swagger and his big muscles was everything a woman newly emerging from her comfort zone couldn’t handle.