Lovers And Other Strangers

“The rain will get here,” Shannon said easily. She leaned forward to smooth the soil around a marigold.

“Ought to pull those up and put in some pansies,” Edith told her, eyeing the marigold with disfavor.

“It’s still blooming, and I like the flowers.”

“Never cared much for marigolds. They always seemed a bit tatty looking to me but, even if I liked them, I’d pull them up. Got to get the winter bloomers in early so they can get established with the first rains.”

“Mmm.” Shannon made a polite, interested noise and tucked a little more soil around the marigold. The bright little blossoms seemed to smile at her and she smiled back.

“I don’t envy you.” Edith’s attention shifted away from the flowers and her pale-blue eyes settled on the dusty black truck parked in the driveway of the house next door.

“Oh, I don’t mind waiting a while to plant winter flowers,” Shannon said, deliberately misunderstanding.

“I was talking about him,” Edith said darkly. “I don’t envy you having to live right next door to him. No telling what sort of trouble he’ll cause.”

“I don’t see why he should cause any trouble at all.” Shannon let her gaze rest on the truck. She’d taught a class at the shop the night before and the truck had been there when she got home around ten o’clock. Obviously, the grapevine had worked with its usual efficiency and Reece Morgan really was home. After all she’d heard about him, she had to admit that she was more than a little curious to see him in the flesh.

“His kind doesn’t need a reason. Trouble comes naturally to that sort.”

“You haven’t seen him in twenty years. He might have changed.”

“A leopard can’t change its spots.” Edith’s tone suggested that this observation was original to her. “Mark my words, things won’t be the same now.”

“Maybe things could use a little shaking up.” Shannon said mildly.

“Not the sort of shaking up he’ll give them. Can’t imagine why he came back here. He wasn’t wanted before, and he’s certainly not wanted now.”

Until that moment Shannon had been reserving her opinion about Reece Morgan. Aside from a mild curiosity, she really hadn’t given much thought to the man. But Edith’s firm pronouncement that he wasn’t welcome set her back up instantly. She had a sudden image of the sort of welcome Edith might have given to a newly orphaned boy twenty years before. And his grandfather—just how welcoming had that stern old man been? She rose to her feet in one smooth movement.

“Actually, I was thinking that it would be neighborly to invite him for breakfast,” she said as she dusted her hands off on the seat of her cutoffs.

“Invite him to breakfast?” Edith couldn’t have looked more horrified if she’d just announced that she was going to tap dance naked through the center of town. “You can’t be serious.”

“Why not?” Shannon’s smile held an edge that would have warned a more observant woman, but Edith was nothing if not unobservant.

“He’s a hoodlum, that’s why not. He rode his bicycle through my petunias.” She offered the last triumphantly, as if no more profound evidence of wickedness could be given.

“I don’t think a man should be judged by a childish prank. If you’ll excuse me, I think I just saw someone moving around in the kitchen,” she lied.

Shannon walked away without waiting for a response. Behind her, she heard Edith’s horrified gasp and then the rapid patter of her sneakers as she scurried back across the street, seeking a protective distance from potential disaster. Shannon knew the other woman would go into her house and immediately go to the front window, which gave her a clear view of the street and everything that went on there. It was that knowledge that kept her walking toward the Morgan house, even as her brief spurt of temper cooled. The last thing she wanted to do was invite a total stranger to breakfast, but she was too stubborn to back down now.

“This is what you get for letting your temper get the best of you,” she muttered as she climbed the steps to the porch. “The man is going to think you’re a total lunatic.”

Shannon jabbed her finger against the doorbell button and heard the faint sound of chimes through the door. She could practically feel Edith’s eyes boring into her back. Briefly she considered turning and waving. Such a breach of protocol would probably be enough to get her classified as a hoodlum, right next to Reece Morgan, petunia killer. The thought of Edith’s horrified reaction made her smile, and the last of her annoyance evaporated.

This wasn’t exactly how she’d planned to spend her morning, but she couldn’t deny that she was more than a bit curious about her new neighbor. After everything she’d heard about him, she was prepared for anything from a tattooed refugee from a motorcycle gang to a Milquetoast accountant, complete with pocket protector and taped glasses.

What she was not prepared for was the six feet four inches of damp, half-naked male who pulled open the door. He must have just gotten out of the shower, she thought, staring at an impressive width of muscled chest. A solid mat of dark hair swirled across his upper body and then tapered down to a narrow line that ran across an admirably flat stomach before disappearing into the waist of his jeans. She was astonished by the effort it took to look away from that intriguing line and lift her eyes to his face.

Oh my. It hardly seemed fair that the rest of him matched the body: thick dark hair, worn slightly shaggy and long enough to brush his collar, if he’d been wearing one; sharply defined cheekbones; a strong blade of a nose; and a chin that hinted at stubbornness. Twenty years ago he might have been almost too good-looking. But age and experience had added an edge to his features, refining and sharpening them to something far more potent than mere handsomeness.

None of her imaginings had prepared her for the man standing in front of her. Nor had they prepared her for the way her stomach clenched sharply in sudden awareness—a deeply feminine response to his masculinity. It had been a long, long time since she’d felt anything like it, and the unexpectedness of it had her staring at him blankly.

Reece’s first thought was that he’d never seen eyes of such a deep clear blue—pure sapphire fringed with long, dark lashes. His second was that he hoped she wasn’t selling anything because he had a feeling that his sales resistance might reach an all-time low under the influence of those eyes.

She didn’t look like someone who was selling something. She was wearing a faded blue T-shirt that clung in all the right places and a pair of denim cutoffs that revealed legs that went on forever. There was a smudge of dirt on one cheek, and her reddish-gold hair was pulled back in a plain, unadorned ponytail. The stark style emphasized the fine-boned beauty of her features. He caught himself straightening his shoulders and tightening his stomach muscles in an instinctive male response. The reaction both amused and irritated him.

“Can I help you?” he asked when it began to look like she wasn’t going to break the silence.

Shannon flushed, suddenly aware that she’d been staring at him like a teenager gawking at a rock star. Completely thrown off balance, she blurted out the first words that came to mind. “Would you like some breakfast?”

“Breakfast?” he said, trying to sound as if he was accustomed to having beautiful women show up on his doorstep and offer him a meal. What a shame, he thought. She looked perfectly normal, but she was apparently not rowing with both oars in the water.

“I live next door,” Shannon said, aware that the invitation hadn’t come out as smoothly as she might have liked and trying to salvage the situation. “I didn’t mean to sound abrupt. It’s just that I wasn’t expecting you.”

Reece’s brows rose. She sounded flustered but sane. He leaned one shoulder against the doorjamb, starting to enjoy the situation. “You knocked on my door,” he pointed out gently.

“I know. But I wasn’t expecting…you.” She waved one hand, the gesture encompassing the six feet four inches of male standing in front of her. His brows went higher and she caught the gleam of laughter in his dark eyes. Sighing, she grabbed for the tattered shreds of her dignity. “I bet you’re wondering if you should call for the men with the butterfly nets.”

“The thought had crossed my mind,” he admitted, and she couldn’t help but laugh.

“Can I start over?”

“Go ahead.”

She drew a deep breath. “I’m Shannon Devereux. I live next door.”

“Reece Morgan.” He offered his hand, and she took it automatically, startled by the jolt of awareness that shot up her arm at the light touch.

“I know who you are,” she said as she withdrew her hand. She rubbed her fingertips against her palm. “We were expecting you.”

“We?” Reece threw a questioning look past her shoulder at the empty street and Shannon cursed the easy way the color rose in her cheeks. This was what she got for letting temper and curiosity get the better of her, she thought. If she’d minded her own business instead of listening to Edith Hacklemeyer, she would still be pulling weeds and enjoying the weather. Instead, she was standing in front of the most attractive man she’d seen in a very long time, confirming his initial impression of her as a blithering idiot.

“I meant that everyone knew you were coming,” she said.

“Did they?” Reece frowned uneasily. He’d spent too many years keeping to the shadows to be comfortable with the idea, but he knew there were few secrets in a small town. Besides, it didn’t matter anymore, he reminded himself. It was just that old habits were hard to break. “I didn’t exactly take an ad out in the local paper.”

“You didn’t have to. Sam Larrabee’s brother spread the word.” When Reece gave her a blank look, she clarified. “He works for the electric company. He saw the order to turn on the utilities.”

“And he took out an ad in the paper?”

“No, he told Sam. And Sam told Alice—that’s Sam’s wife. And Alice told Constance Lauderman, who probably called—”

“Okay, I get the picture.” He shook his head as he interrupted her recitation of the local grapevine. “I’d almost forgotten what this place was like,” he said, looking both irritated and reluctantly amused.

“Well, it’s a small town, and news does tend to get around.”

“I guess it does.” Reece slid the fingers of one hand through his still-damp hair.