The Best Gift

Blake wasn’t buying it. “For three hours? Hardly likely. She probably forgot what time she said she was going to arrive.”

Nancy looked at him curiously as she arranged the books. “Boy, you sure formed a strong impression of her from a couple of phone conversations. It’s not like you to make snap judgments.”

He shrugged stiffly. “Well, let’s hope I’m wrong. Look, why don’t you head home? I doubt we’ll have many customers on a night like this, and I can close up. Besides, didn’t you say Eileen wasn’t feeling well? I’m sure you’d rather be home with her than holed up here with a grouchy bookseller.”

Nancy smiled. “Well, if you’re sure, I’ll take you up on your offer. She just has a scratchy throat, but after that bout with strep last year I’m extra cautious. Mrs. Cook takes good care of her when I’m gone, but I’d feel better if I could check on her myself.”

“Go. And be careful. It’s a downpour.”

Forty-five minutes later, as he worked on payroll in the back office, he heard the front door open. He glanced at his watch. Quarter to eight. It was either a last-minute customer or his tardy new partner. And he had a feeling he knew which it was. His lips settled into a grim line as he quickly logged off the computer and headed out front.

Blake had no idea what to expect when he stepped into the main room, but the dripping mess that greeted him wasn’t it.

A woman stood just inside the entrance as a puddle rapidly formed at her feet on the gleaming hardwood floor. Her wet, strawberry blond hair straggled out of a lopsided topknot, and damp ringlets were stuck to her forehead. He couldn’t quite decide what she was wearing—some sort of long-sleeved, hip-length tunic over what might once have been wide-legged trousers. Right now, the whole outfit was plastered to her willowy frame like a second, wrinkled skin.

She doesn’t even know enough to come in out of the rain. The thought came to Blake unbidden, and he shook his head.

The slight movement caught A.J.’s eye, and she glanced over at the tall man who was looking at her with a mixture of disgust and resignation. Was this Blake Sullivan? If so, he sure didn’t match the image she’d created in her mind. She’d envisioned a bookish type, fiftyish, probably wearing glasses, possibly balding, maybe a little round-shouldered, sporting a paunch. A fussy, precise and stern curmudgeon.

Well, the latter qualities might prove to be true of the man standing across from her. But she’d been dead wrong on the physical description. Blake Sullivan was tall—she classified anyone who topped her five-foot-ten frame as tall—with dark brown hair and intense, cobalt-colored eyes. His crisp, blue oxford shirt, beige slacks and well-polished leather shoes bordered on being preppy, though the effect was softened by rolled-up sleeves. His attire also showed off his athletic build—broad chest, lean hips, flat abdomen. And his shoulders were definitely not rounded.

A.J. tried not to flinch under his scrutiny. She could only imagine how she appeared. No, on second thought, she didn’t even want to go there. She could read enough from the look in his eyes. So much for first impressions.

With more bravado than she felt, she straightened her shoulders, tilted up her chin and gazed directly at the man across from her. “I’m looking for Blake Sullivan.”

He waited a moment, as if trying to decide whether he wanted to have anything to do with the pitiful vision in front of him or simply turn around and run. Finally, with obvious reluctance, he approached her, stopping a couple of feet away to fold his arms across his chest. “You’ve found him.”

She swallowed and extended her hand. “I’m A. J. Williams.”

Short of ignoring her courteous gesture, Blake had no choice but to narrow the gap between them so he could take her hand.

At closer range, he realized that A.J. was tall. She was probably a couple of inches shorter than him, but whatever shoes she had on put them almost eye-to-eye. If she’d been wearing any makeup prior to her dash through the storm, the rain had efficiently dispensed with it, giving her a fresh, natural look that actually had a certain appeal. There was a light dusting of freckles across her small, slightly turned-up nose, and thick lashes fringed deep green eyes highlighted with gold flecks. His gaze dropped to her lips, and lingered there a moment too long before he reached for her extended hand.

Given her height, he was surprised to discover that her hand felt small and delicate in his. But her grip was firm. At least it was until he felt a tremor run through it—and then throughout her body. He frowned.

“Are you okay?”

“A little ch-chilled. I’ll be okay once I ch-change out of these wet clothes.” She withdrew her hand from his self-consciously.

“Don’t you have an umbrella?”

“Of course. Somewhere in the U-Haul. Along with my coat. It was sunny and warm when I left Chicago. It generally gets nicer when you head south. But obviously not today. Then I had to park down the block because all the spots in front of the shop were taken. Which is why I’m sporting the drowned-rat look.”

Blake pointedly glanced at his watch. “It was quite a bit warmer here earlier. When you were supposed to arrive.”

A.J. flushed. “I’m sorry about that. But I didn’t plan on running into major road construction. Or having a flat tire. I’m a little out of practice, so it took me a while to change it.”

And she’d paid a price for doing so. Even before the blowout her hip had already begun to throb from her long hours confined behind the wheel. Dealing with the tire had only intensified her discomfort. She shifted from one foot to the other, trying in vain to alleviate the ache that she knew only a hot bath would soothe.

“You could have called,” Blake responded.

“Not without a phone.”

He looked surprised. “You don’t have a cell phone?”

“No.” Her budget barely allowed for a regular phone.

“It might be a good idea to get one…for emergencies.”

She felt her temper begin to simmer at his condescending attitude, but she wasn’t in a fighting mood tonight. Better to save her strength for the battles that she was beginning to suspect would surely follow in the days and weeks ahead. So, with an effort, she moderated her comments. “I’ll consider that. But I’d hardly classify today as an emergency. And I already apologized for being late.” Another shiver suddenly ran through her, and this time she made no attempt to hide it. “Look, can we continue this discussion on Monday? I came directly here and I’m cold and wet and hungry.”

Blake had to admit that she did look pretty miserable. The puddle at her feet had widened, and there was definitely a chill in the shop. The heating system in the older building hadn’t quite caught up with the sudden, late-afternoon plunge in temperature. So if he noticed the coolness in the air, she must be freezing.

“Monday is fine. Shall we say nine a.m.? That gives us an hour before the store opens.”

“Fine.”

He stuck out his hand. “Until Monday, then.”

She seemed surprised by his gesture, but responded automatically. And his assessment was confirmed. Her fingers were like ice. He frowned, good manners warring with aggravation at her tardiness.

“Look, can I offer you a cup of tea first? We keep some on hand for the patrons.”

Again, surprise flickered in her eyes—followed quickly by wariness. He supposed he couldn’t blame her. He hadn’t exactly been welcoming—or hospitable—up till now.

“Thanks. But I think a hot bath is the only thing that will chase the chill away.”

His gaze scanned her slender form, and she suddenly realized her once loose-fitting outfit had become plastered to her skin. Her face flushed a deep red, and with her free hand she tried to pry the fabric away. When that attempt was unsuccessful, she tugged her other hand from Blake’s and took a step back. “I’ll see you Monday at nine.” Her voice sounded a bit breathless.

“Do you have somewhere to stay tonight?”

“Yes. And a real estate agent lined up tomorrow to look at apartments.”

He nodded. “Can I loan you an umbrella? It’s still pouring.”

She backed toward the door. “There’s not much point now, is there?”

He glanced at the puddle on the floor in the spot she had just vacated. “True.”

The crimson of her face went a shade deeper and her step faltered. “Oh…I’m sorry about that. I can clean it up, if you have a mop or…”

“Ms. Williams,” Blake cut her off, but his tone was cordial. “I’ll take care of this. Why don’t you follow your own advice? Take a hot bath and have a hot meal. We’ll make a fresh start on Monday. Okay?”

A.J. studied him for a moment. Did she detect a softening in his manner, a slight warmth in his tone? Or was it resignation? Or perhaps pity, because she was cold and wet and hungry and had a trying trip to St. Louis? Or was it pity for himself, because he’d been saddled with a partner who would need to be guided every step of the way?

If he thought the latter, he was in for a big surprise come Monday. But for now, she was cold, wet and hungry—and definitely not at her best. So she needed to exit. As gracefully as possible.

With a curt nod, she turned toward the door. And tried not to run.