Nights Under the Tennessee Stars

“Sounds like kid heaven.” He followed her across the polished hardwood floor that looked recently refinished. Or maybe it was just the scent of wood stain that still hung heavy in the air.

“We would spend half a Sunday afternoon debating how to best use fifty cents.” Smoothing a hand along a countertop, she spun to a sudden stop.

“We?” He paused right behind her, close enough that the top layer of her ballerina skirt brushed against his leg.

“My brothers and sisters and me.” She propped her elbows on the counter and watched him with a steady gaze.

“How many would that be?” He pulled open a shallow drawer under one of the countertops.

“Five in all. Two brothers, two sisters and me. But, er—here.” She popped open one of the bins on the front of a shelf, her shift back to neutral topics an obvious scramble away from anything personal. “I’m going to use some of these spots for the smaller architectural pieces—cabinetry hardware, vintage doorknobs, keys and switch plates. Modern home owners love stuff like that.”

They stood close together to look at the drawer, close enough for him to catch a hint of Erin’s fragrance. Amber... The realization distracted him from the conversation and took him back to Liv’s studio, where she had developed her own perfumes. Half the reason he’d bought that mammoth new house in the middle of nowhere had been to accommodate her plans to expand her business. She’d been so happy with the workspace in a separate building at the edge of the property...

“Remy?” Erin’s voice tugged him back to the present. “Everything okay?” She frowned at him. “I have spinach stuck between my teeth, don’t I?”

Her comment surprised a laugh out of him, her easy diffusion of the moment a welcome relief even if it didn’t chase away the weird guilt that came with this heightened awareness of her. His own wife had once told him that a woman’s scent acted on a man’s sexual desires even when she was nowhere around, so it bugged the hell out of him that he couldn’t stir up a sense memory of Liv, although he could probably recite the damn chemical recipe.

“No spinach, I promise.” He needed to get out of this store. Away from Erin and a rogue attraction he didn’t want to feel. “Sorry. I just—ah—remembered I need to follow up with some stores tonight to try and nail down the third spot for my central Tennessee show.”

“Of course.” She tucked a stray dark hair behind one ear and swept toward the gap in the plastic divider, her black tulle skirt floating along with her. “You’ll be in touch to confirm the day and time you’ll want to shoot?” She dug under the front counter and produced a business card. “All my contact information is on here.”

“Great. I’ll have someone from the shooting crew call you to go over all the details.” He took the card, careful not to let his fingers brush hers. “I’m glad you’re going to do this, Erin. I hope it’s really good for business.”

“I’m not going to lie.” She straightened a few pillboxes on a display near the register. “I hope we get a ton of great clothes for women who need them.”

He wondered how she could be so blasé about the store’s bottom line but not enough to linger in her amber presence to ask about it. His gaze had returned to her mouth a few too many times in the past five minutes.

“Me, too.” Normally, at the close of a meeting like this, he’d shake hands and walk away. But she didn’t seem any more inclined to make contact than him. She was sticking close to the register.

And the fact that she was as wary as he was only made him more curious about her. He backed up a step.

“Good luck finding that third business.” She picked up her phone and turned her attention to the screen.

“Thanks, Erin.” Remy recognized he’d been dismissed.

It was what he’d wanted—to get out of the shop before the attraction ramped up higher. He pushed through the door and slid into his rental car, feeling oddly let down. He’d felt the spark of a connection, and he knew she did, too. In another lifetime, that might have been a cause for some joy. Pleasure.

Today, it made him determined not to go back.

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_3d29d201-fe02-51fa-b692-d97b863df6e2)

SARAH WELDON WAS so dead.

Cranking the volume on her car stereo as she drove from Gainesville to Nashville, Sarah hoped the throbbing bass would drown out her own thoughts since she usually tried not to think about that idea.

Dead.

Her mother had been murdered two years ago in a house break-in while Sarah had been overnight at a friend’s home. So death was a real, sickening reality for her. In fact, her father would have a fit if she said the words out loud—I’m so dead.

But then, her father was stuck in his grieving. Even she knew that, and she was just barely eighteen and in imminent danger of being kicked out of high school. There was a lot Sarah didn’t know, yet she was rock-solid certain that her father was more wrecked in the head than she was when it came to her mom. Sarah coped by trying new things, taking new risks and pushing her boundaries. Running fast and hard helped. She’d moved on, right? Her father, on the other hand, was stuck in the past and big-time overprotective of her.

Which was why she couldn’t tell him about the letter that had arrived for her last week. She rested her hand on her purse where she’d tucked the note, wishing it would magically disappear.

Squinting in the dark at the sign for Chattanooga, she merged onto Interstate 24 East just as her phone rang. She prayed hard it wasn’t her father. Or the family she was supposed to be staying with while her dad worked. Or the school field trip chaperone who would probably get fired for losing track of Sarah during the overnight visit to the University of Florida in Gainesville.

“Bestie,” chirped the Bluetooth automated voice, reporting the contact in a way that had made Sarah and her best friend, Mathilda, laugh for an hour when they’d given all of Sarah’s friends nicknames in the address book.

Taking a deep breath, she pressed the connect button on the call so it came through the car speakers.

“Don’t be mad at me,” Sarah blurted, her eyes glued to the road and the taillights of a semi she’d been behind for nearly an hour.

“Are you insane?” Mathilda whisper-shouted. “Where are you?”

Sarah pictured her friend in the hotel room where she’d seen her last, sitting on the king-size bed they were supposed to be sharing on the field trip.

“If I don’t tell you, you’ll be able to answer honestly when Ms. Fairly grills you tomorrow about where I went.” She chewed her thumbnail. It had been practically impossible not to spill this plan to Mathilda, but she didn’t want her to get in trouble.

Sarah had caused Mathilda enough problems in the past two years, dragging her to parties she didn’t want to attend and convincing her to sneak out after their curfew so Sarah’s father wouldn’t know she wasn’t at home. Sarah couldn’t help that she liked to have more fun than Mathilda, but she’d been doing better lately. Behaving herself.

“That may be the dumbest thing you’ve ever said,” Mathilda hissed in the same urgent whisper. “I’m your best friend in the world, and if you’ve done something stupid, you need to tell someone about it so they know when to worry about you for real, Sarah.”

“See? That’s why it’s been so hard not to tell you the plan. You’re so smart and I knew you would think of all the details I forgot.” She was nervous enough about her decision to sneak away.

Students weren’t supposed to have cars on the campus for the trip, but Sarah had planned a week in advance, paying a boy to follow her all the way to Gainesville from Miami the weekend before so she could leave the car in the lot. Boys would do anything for the chance to attend a big-deal college basketball game, and Sarah had helped him do just that—although she’d probably also given him the impression she liked him, which she hadn’t meant to. Still, it had been a way to drop off her car ahead of time so she’d have it for her escape. She’d told her father she’d left it at Mathilda’s, not that he’d asked. He thought mostly about work these days.

“What plan?” Mathilda pressed. “Seriously, I love you, but I’m about a minute away from ratting you out because I’m scared you’re doing something dangerous. You know you’re not supposed to go running at night by yourself.”

If only it was that simple.

Sarah watched the trucker’s signal light flip on to pass the car ahead and she turned on hers, too. It was nice having someone to follow through the dark.

“Don’t tell on me. I’m eighteen now, you know.” The Stedders had made her a cake to celebrate when her father had been on a location shoot in Georgia a couple of weeks ago. “What can the school really do to me at this point?”

For a long time she’d been waiting for the day where no one could tell her no. Even with the careful planning and occasional sneaking out, she still felt suffocated by her father. After her mom had died, he’d taken a leave from his job for over a year. He’d spent the time staring at Sarah as though she was going to be the next person to be murdered. It was enough to creep anyone out. Worse, she missed the old him. He used to be so much fun.

“Do not play that ‘I’m eighteen’ card with me,” Mathilda huffed, probably mad her birthday was still six weeks away.

“Fine. I left a couple of hours ago right after you fell asleep. I’m driving to Tennessee to see Dad and help him on his business trip.” And hide from letters that arrived from state prison.

She hadn’t opened the one that her so-called biological father had sent. Ten times over, she’d debated just burning it and pretending it had never existed. But what if he’d already mentioned her to his cell mates the way he’d talked about her mom? Thanks to him, her mother was dead. And while the guys responsible were in jail for life, that didn’t mean her sperm-contributing relative would stop talking.

Bastard. Did he want her dead next?

“Does your dad know?” Mathilda referred to Remy, of course, who was Sarah’s father in every way that mattered.

“Of course not. He’s going to kill me when I get there, but I’m going anyway.”

The fact that Mathilda was silent for a few seconds reassured Sarah. If her friend thought it was the worst plan in the world, she would have berated Sarah instantly.