Bachelor In Blue Jeans

Startled, utterly bewildered, Kristin cast about for something to say, then hit the release lever on her cash register. The drawer dinged open, the tinny ring momentarily breaking their face-off. Whatever was going on here—idiotic male muscle flexing or a burst of rivalry from their past—it made her uncomfortable, and she wanted no part of it.

“You two do what you want,” she said briskly and closed the cash drawer. “Stay or leave. I need to get some change from my safe and make a phone call.”

Neither man commented, but Zach watched her go, shamelessly enjoying the view until she’d closed the door behind her. A sweet, wild wind stirred inside him.

“Pull your eyes back in their sockets, hotshot. You had your chance thirteen years ago, and you screwed it up.”

Slowly, Zach turned to face Hollister again. “So you’re the guy now?”

“That’s right, I’m the guy.”

“Fine with me,” he replied, shrugging. “But I’ve noticed that she’s not wearing a ring. I keep wondering what that means.”

A nerve leapt in Hollister’s jaw. “It means that Kristin and I have an understanding. For you, it means that you’d better observe all posted speed limits and put money in the parking meters. It also wouldn’t be prudent to cross the street anywhere but at a crosswalk.”

He glanced toward the door, then offered Zach a nasty smile. “You know, as I came inside, I noticed a black truck with Carolina tags parked out front. Think I’ll run a check on the license plate—make sure the owner has no outstanding warrants. I might even glance at the inspection sticker.”

“What’s this?” Zach asked, trying not to laugh. “Police harassment?”

“Not at all. It’s just a warning to an out-of-state visitor that when laws are broken in this town…I act.”

This time Zach couldn’t stop a smile. “And I’ll bet you do a damn fine job of it.”

Hollister’s face turned crimson. “Just watch your step,” he said coldly. “You don’t want me for an enemy.” Then he was stalking out of the shop, leaving Zach to wonder if Chad’s blustering was a territory-marking thing…or insecurity because he had no hold on Kristin.

Not that he cared, either way.

Kristin said goodbye to Mildred Arnett, drew a tentative breath, then slowly opened the door to her office and looked around. The silence was an enormous relief.

Grateful that they’d gone, she added change to her cash drawer, retrieved her glass cleaner and paper towels from beneath a counter, then walked to her bay window. There, dolls in Victorian costumes sat at a mock tea party, flanked by a profusion of plumed hats, Bavarian china, flowers and silk. She stepped up into the display, squirted a few tiny glass panes, and started to wipe.

A low deep voice shattered her composure.

“What’s this? A jewelry box?”

Kristin turned around slowly to see Zach standing beside a tall armoire with his back to her. An unwelcome warmth flowed through her as he reached for an antique music box on a high shelf, and she watched the subtle play of muscle and sinew beneath his shirt.

“It…it can be,” she replied, swallowing. Setting her cleaner and paper towels aside, she stepped down from the display. He was a customer, she told herself again. She would show him what he wanted to see—then she would show him the door.

Zach raised the footed box’s filigreed silver lid, then closed it and turned it over in his hands.

Kristin took it from him, slid the hidden key from a slot, then wound the mechanism. A haunting, old-fashioned melody began to play…an unnerving, awareness-building melody that captured the shop’s cozy ambiance and heightened her awareness of the man beside her. She handed the box back to him.

“Pretty,” he said.

“I think so, too.”

Maybe the music was to blame for the moody shift in the air. Or maybe the shop was too warm. Or maybe old lovers with good memories shouldn’t risk being alone in quiet places. Whatever the reason, Kristin felt herself grow jittery as the box continued to chime out a tender minuet, and the stirring smells of warm man and musky aftershave filled her nostrils.

He’d hurt her badly. Yet as her gaze fell from his eyes to his mouth, she was suddenly remembering kisses that tasted like sun-ripened strawberries and the smell of summer hay. Remembering the tingling touch of a boy who’d become a man in his aunt’s hayloft…

Kristin reached out and slammed the lid, silencing the music and widening Zach’s gray eyes. “That should give you some idea,” she blurted, thankful she hadn’t knocked the box out of his hands. “Actually, it’s one of my favorite pieces—nineteenth century English sterling. Which also makes it very expensive.”

Zach assessed her for a long beat, then glanced at the price tag and gave the box back to her. “I’ll take it. Do you gift wrap?”

Surprise joined her flustered emotions. “Business must be good.”

“I do all right.”

Apparently so, she thought, moving to her register. She retrieved a gift box, tissue paper and ribbon from under the counter, suddenly all thumbs. What in the world was wrong with her? Chemistry again? Need? It had been a long time since she’d been with a man, but that was no reason to fall apart at the first sign of sexual interest.

She worked quickly, wanting to hurry, acutely aware of Zach’s gaze on her. But pride wouldn’t allow her to do a less-than-perfect job on the package. Finally, she was slipping it into a white bag printed with a watercolor of an old mill, annoyed with herself for wondering who would receive it.

She was about to take his credit card from the counter when Zach trapped her hand beneath his. It was warm, firm, and had her heart beating fast again. “Etta thinks we should talk,” he said soberly. “She said we need ‘closure.’”

The memory of that June night rushed back, crystal clear, wiping away those jittery feelings of awareness.

Kristin yanked her hand away, snared his credit card and started the transaction. It was amazing how easy it was to remain sensible when she recalled the pain, not the pleasure.

“Your aunt’s a sweet woman, but maybe you should tell her that we’ve had closure for a long time.” She handed him the receipt and a pen for his signature, waited for him to comply, then tossed his copy into the bag and handed it to him. “Now, I really do have to get busy.”

If her shortness struck a chord in him, it didn’t show.

“Me, too. The sooner I get Etta’s house repaired and on the market, the sooner I can get back home.”

Zach’s inscrutable gaze moved over her face and hair, noted the small silver-and-turquoise posts in her earlobes, then slid down the front of her gray suit to her waist. “You look good, Kris,” he said simply, meeting her eyes once more. Then without another word, he pushed away from the counter and walked out of her life again. Which suited Kristin just fine.

Chapter 3

At eight that evening, Kristin pulled her van into Anna Mae’s driveway and parked beside a dark blue sedan. Angry voices drew her attention before she even shut off the engine. Sighing, she glanced through her open window. Her luck was certainly holding. Zach had made it a stressful day, and apparently, it was going to be a stressful night.

Standing beside a front lawn overrun by pinwheels, ceramic frogs, skunks and other lawn ornaments, Mildred Arnett and her middle-aged son were in the middle of an argument.

Kristin got out and slammed her door to alert them to her presence. But the short, plump woman with the Einstein frizz of hair and pink polyester pantsuit either didn’t hear it or didn’t care. Neither, it seemed, did her tall, heavyset son.

Will Arnett looked nothing like his mother. Where Mildred’s complexion was powder-pale, Will’s olive skin, thinning black hair and brushy mustache hinted at Greek or Italian ancestry. His khakis and yellow polo shirt looked expensive.

Dredging up a smile, Kristin called out a hello as she closed the distance between them. “Mrs. Arnett?”

Anna Mae’s elderly cousin came forward and stretched out a hand. But as Kristin attempted to shake it, the woman slapped a set of keys into her palm. “Call me Mildred,” she said, her sharp bird eyes taking in Kristin’s white sweatshirt and jeans. “Just go on inside and do whatever it is that you do.”

Kristin hesitated. “You aren’t going with me?”

Will Arnett answered irritably, “Mother refuses to go inside Anna Mae’s home after dark, and of course, it will be dark soon.” He sent Kristin a deadpan expression and wiggled his fingers in the air. “Ghosts, you know.”

Mildred scowled at her son, then spoke to Kristin. “I don’t like thinking of Anna Mae dying in that house all alone, without someone to guide her spirit to the next level. I—I hear things in there.” She cast a brief, nervous eye at the stately maples close to the house. “I’ve been trying to contact Ellysa all day, but I haven’t been able to reach her. She’d know what the sounds mean.”

Mildred seemed to expect a reply, so Kristin ventured, “Ellysa?”