Moon Over Montana

“Oh, come on. This is hardly great art.”

“Looks pretty great to me.”

“Oh, sure, like it should be hanging in the National Gallery.”

“Maybe it should. Maybe it will. Someday.” Damn, she was pretty. How long had it been since he’d been instantly attracted to a woman? Had he ever been instantly attracted to a woman? Wasn’t this some kind of first for him? “Do you sell your paintings?”

“I’ve sold some, yes, but not since I moved to Rumor.”

“Where, then?”

“In Los Angeles. My parents are both artists, quite well-known in the L.A. area.” Linda felt her face color. Why on earth was she running off at the mouth with a man she’d just met? She never volunteered information about her past, her life-before-Rumor, so to speak. Was her divorce anyone’s business? Her unusual childhood?

“When did you move here?” Tag asked. “I don’t remember seeing you around town, and I’m sure I would have noticed.”

Linda’s pulse quickened. He was flirting with her! He’d been flirting from the moment he stepped through her door. “If you hung around the high school, you would have seen me. I teach there,” she said, cursing her inability to put an end to this question-and-answer session. Yes, she’d been as guilty of curiosity about him as he was about her, but this was all extremely foreign territory for her and it might be safer to nip it in the bud.

Tag’s face lit up. “You’re the new art teacher! I’ve heard about you.”

“Yes, well, I’ve only lived here a short while, but it didn’t take long to discover that very little goes on in Rumor that doesn’t spread with the speed of light.”

“Rumor’s a typical small town, Linda. People gossip, sure, but it’s still a great place to live.”

She actually felt a thrill go up her spine when he said her name. It occurred to her to ask him to call her Ms. Fioretti, just as she had told her students to do.

But how childish would that be? Just because she was feeling giddy over a good-looking guy, experiencing physical sensations she’d only been equipped to imagine before this, didn’t mean she should turn prim and proper and forbid him to use her given name.

“I take it you’ve never lived anywhere else?” she said, definitely not speaking her mind.

“Rumor’s always been home and probably always will be. You know, I live on this same street, other side of Main. You should drop in sometime and see what I’ve got to offer.”

“Wha—what?”

Tag chuckled. “Sorry, that didn’t come out the way I meant it to. I was referring to the finished pieces of furniture in my shop.”

Linda’s face was flaming. “Oh…I see. Well, are you through in here?” She began sidling toward the door.

Tag wrote something in his notebook and shoved it into his shirt pocket. “My inspection is over. Now all I need to do is discuss what needs to be done and set up a work schedule convenient to yours.”

“You need a discussion. I see. All right, let’s take care of that in the kitchen.”

“Anyplace is fine.” Tag followed her down the stairs and to the kitchen. He’d spotted the almost full pot of coffee his first time in there, and it smelled awfully good. He could ask for some, but he would rather that Linda offer it.

The newspaper and a single cup were on the counter in front of one stool, so he went to the other and waited for her to sit first.

She did, then he did. He took out his spiral again and began flipping through it. Automatically, so it seemed, Linda reached for her cup and realized the coffee in it was cold. She sighed inwardly. She couldn’t get coffee for herself without offering some to Tag.

Oh, what the hay. “Would you like some coffee?” she asked, sliding from the stool. “I’m getting myself some.”

Tag smiled. “I would love some. Thanks.”

My Lord, this guy’s smile could melt solid steel! Feeling clumsy but managing to fill two cups without knocking anything over or spilling coffee, she brought them to the counter.

“There you are,” she said. “Do you need milk? I don’t have any cream. Or sugar?”

“Nope. Black is perfect. Thanks.” Tag picked up his cup and sipped. “You make good coffee.” He had the strongest feeling that Linda did everything well. It was a thought that went straight to his groin, and he instantly sent his brain in another direction.

“Um, the whole apartment could use a coat of paint,” he said. “And some of the woodwork needs refinishing. But I shouldn’t be in your hair for more than four, five days.”

“Beginning when?”

“I’d like to start today, if you can put up with me.”

“And you’d start in which room?”

Tag looked around the kitchen. “This room will take more time than any other. I’d like to get it done first.”

“You already have the paint and other materials you would need?”

“Every apartment in this building is painted the same shade of white, so I’m ready to go, yes. Unless you want a different color, which I’m sure you know has to be approved beforehand.”

“Heck was kind enough to remind me of that clause in my lease,” Linda said dryly. “I do prefer more color on certain walls, but this apartment is very small and decorator colors would have to be carefully planned so it wouldn’t appear even smaller. Maybe I’ll do something about the walls later on—with approval, of course—but for the time being white is fine.”

“You’re still not completely settled in, are you?”

“What gave you that idea?”

“The stacks of taped boxes in the closet of the room you’re using for your artwork.”

“Those boxes contain books. I don’t have anywhere to put them. I shopped for bookshelves in Billings, but this apartment doesn’t have a lot of available wall space and everything I found was too wide. Tall is fine. I can use tall, but I need some very unusual widths. Anyhow, I can’t unpack my books until I figure out what to do with them.”

“I can build bookshelves in any width,” Tag stated.

Linda slowly turned her head to look at him. He was looking at her, as well, and the warmth in his eyes was unmistakable. He liked her. She knew that as surely as she knew anything. What’s more, she liked him. It surprised her that she actually knew she liked him. Never before had she formed an opinion that seemed so ironclad about a man this fast. Of course, there’d only been one man in her life, the one she had married…and divorced. The word divorced went around and around in her head, and she was struck by an impulse to tell Tag about it. And about her screwball childhood, as well, her peculiar parents and the untraditional way they’d brought her up. Dragged her up was more like it, for they had unquestionably lived the typical bohemian artist’s life. They hadn’t believed in babysitters, so wherever they’d gone, so had she. She had fallen asleep on many a strange sofa back then, a tiny little girl dressed like a doll and treated as one, as well. Treated as a plaything rather than as a living, breathing child that needed regular meals and bedtimes.

But maybe another time, she told herself. Liking a man at first sight didn’t—or probably shouldn’t—include an immediate baring of one’s soul.

“If you came by the shop and saw my work for yourself, you might feel good about ordering some custom-made bookshelves from me,” Tag said quietly, though his blood had started running hot and fast in his veins. Her eyes were stunningly beautiful, the most unusual shade of green he’d ever seen. A man could get lost in Linda’s eyes, he thought, and wouldn’t he just love to twine his fingers into her glorious mane of hair.

“I…I suppose I could do that,” she stammered huskily. “One day when you’re there instead of here. You’d have to let me know.”

“I never work away from home on Sunday. Come by tomorrow.”

So soon? Just so she could stop looking into his eyes without making her retreat blatantly obvious, she glanced at her cup before raising it to her lips. “I might be able to do that,” she murmured.

“Are Sundays busy days for you?”

“Well, there’s church…and next week’s classes to plan…and student work to look over.”