Killing Time

“Same species.”

He shook his head. “Actually, no. But same genus, I think.”

She let out a soft groan, and he knew he was driving her crazy. He’d always been able to drive her crazy, just like this. A highly emotional person—easily swinging from the highest highs to the lowest lows—Caroline had been a perfect foil for someone like Mick, who was so difficult to rile he’d been accused of having no heart at all.

She’d been the one to accuse him of that, come to think of it. Then she’d stormed out, missing the damage Mick was capable of when his emotions really got the better of him.

“Want to sit down? You look flushed,” he said, thinking she was doing a good job getting riled up all on her own this time.

Ignoring the offer, she shook her head and walked across the office, leaving them separated by a few feet and an ocean’s worth of emotional baggage. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

She was wrong there. He had changed. Not that she’d see it, not that he’d admit it out loud. But he wasn’t the same guy she’d known.

Actually, he wasn’t sure who Mick Winchester was these days. But that was okay. Because nobody else was quite sure who he was, either, other than the black sheep of the Winchester family. The playboy of Derryville. The tattooed bad boy who was much more often found playing poker with the guys on a Sunday than having a weekly after-church gathering with family.

“Still Mr. Cool, aren’t you?” Caroline said. “Still trying to pretend you’re untouchable.”

Untouchable. Perhaps, but only in the emotional sense.

Caroline wasn’t the only one to accuse him of hiding his emotions behind an easy laugh and a charming grin. His little sister, Sophie, had told him more than once he was an emotional teakettle, at full rolling boil just beneath a calm, smooth surface.

Sophie was probably right. No one had ever been able to get Mick to completely lose his control and erupt. Except once. With the woman standing right in front of him.

Of course, Caroline hadn’t been around to see. That had been after she’d left. After she’d waltzed out of his life, accusing him, judging him, sentencing him and walking away without even giving him a chance to defend himself. Hell, he hadn’t even done anything. He’d been guilty of what he might do in the future, and that was enough for her.

Such trust from the girl he’d asked to marry him.

That was the only time Mick had ever lost himself to anger. He still had the scars on his knuckles from where he’d broken several fingers punching holes in the wall of his room.

Not that her lack of trust and his perceived inability to commit were the only things to break them up. There had also been geography. She wanted west. L.A. Big city, bright lights. All that star-studded stuff a lot of college girls seemed to want. Mick had never been able to picture anything but what he’d always known. Small-town life. Home.

So she’d taken off. He’d torn apart his dorm room and gotten kicked out of school. End of story. Until now.

“Why are you here?” he finally asked again, unable to keep baiting her when he simply felt weary and off balance. “Why after eight years did you track me down?”

“I didn’t track you down. I’m your appointment.”

He simply stared, not sure what she meant.

“Your renter.”

His renter. One of the studio executives looking for a place to rent in Derryville for a month.

Caroline Lamb was moving here? To this tiny town where they’d be running into each other all the time?

His dismay must have shown in his expression, because for the first time since she’d stumbled into the office, a genuine smile brightened her face. “Doesn’t that just make your day?”

He couldn’t even fathom what life would be like if he had to get used to Caroline being back in his world. The thought of having his youthful stupidity and heartbreak thrown into his face on a daily basis was more than he could stand.

Striding out of his office, he nearly tripped on something, but kicked it out of the way. He continued down the darkened hallway, reached the front door and yanked it open.

“Louise,” he bellowed into the street. “Get back here and shoot me!”

CHAPTER THREE

“SOTELL ME, what is this rumor I’ve heard about you renting a room to one of these TV people?”

Sophie Winchester smothered a groan as her peaceful Monday morning was interrupted immediately after she’d stepped into the church office. There was no mistaking that voice. It was Miss Hester, sister of Pastor Bob, her boss at the First Methodist Church of Derryville. Miss Hester’s sweet tones—so often heard dispensing wisdom, advice and fortitude to the congregational flock—usually spewed criticism and gossip in private.

“Is it true?” Miss Hester shut the door and turned around. “I heard the rumor yesterday.”

So much for keeping her plans a secret. Criminy, she’d only told her brother, Mick, two days ago that she wanted to rent out her house while it was up for sale. And already, the grapevine had gift-wrapped and hand-delivered the rumor to the proprietress of all things proper and good in Derryville, Hester Tomlinson. The one who’d been preaching from her own bully pulpit against allowing any Hollywood types near Derryville.

“Where did you hear that?” she asked, knowing Miss Hester wasn’t going to move her considerable girth out of the way to let her go to her desk until Sophie had spilled her guts.

“Tell me it’s not true. You, a respectable church secretary, are not opening your doors to a Hollywood gigolo who’ll ruin your reputation, destroy your engagement to Chief Fletcher and make a mockery of everything my dear brother preaches each Sunday.”

Oh. So, Miss Hester didn’t have the entire story straight. She thought Sophie was going to be rooming with some TV people. When she learned the truth—that Sophie was—gasp—going to live in sin with her fiancé for a couple of months—she’d shit bricks. Church secretaries simply didn’t do such things.

Not that Sophie was much of a church secretary. That was just the public life she’d lived for the past few years in order to keep her private one a secret. The public job wasn’t going to be hers much longer. She’d already been planning to resign. When Miss Hester learned she planned to give up her house to live with her fiancé, Daniel Fletcher, it’d be imperative.

“Everyone is talking about making it rich by renting out rooms to those…those Hollywood lowlifes.” Miss Hester sounded as if she was talking about insects, rather than human beings.

“Yes,” Sophie admitted, “it’s true. I’m going to rent out my house. I plan to sell it when Daniel and I get married, anyway.”

Miss Hester moved away, shutting the door behind her and striding toward Pastor Bob’s private inner office. “Come with me,” she said, her authoritative tone allowing for no argument.

Sophie began to smile, almost relieved that things were coming to a head. It looked like she might be quitting her job sooner rather than later. That meant she could unglue her tongue from the back of her teeth and tell the old battle-ax what she could do with her stupid job and her stupid rules and her stupid nosiness and her stupid self.

Once Sophie got into the other office, Miss Hester crossed her arms over her massive chest and frowned. “Your wedding’s not until October. Halloween, as I recall, as if anyone could forget a bride choosing such an unholy day for her sacred nuptials.”

When the truth came out about who Sophie was, and what she really did for a living, the wedding date might make sense.

“Actually, I’m going to go ahead and move out now.”

She felt relieved it was going to be over soon. She wanted it done, wanted to stop living a lie. She had her letter of resignation ready, though she’d planned to give it to Pastor Bob. But if Miss Hester pushed too hard, the letter would be hitting her so fast she’d think she’d missed someone yelling “fore.”

“Whoever rents the house would be there alone,” she added.

“Oh,” the woman said. “That’s better, at least.” The woman sounded approving. Sophie recognized the tone. Miss Hester used it on everyone, trying to convince most residents in Derryville that she really was the kindly hostess of her widowed pastor brother, rather than just a small-minded woman who lived on gossip and titillation. “Where do you plan to live in the meantime, dear?”

Sophie didn’t fall for the softened tone or the endearment.

“Are you staying with your parents?”

“No,” Sophie said, waiting for the right moment to tell Miss Hester that sweet little Sophie Winchester was going to be shacking up with the new police chief.

Before she could continue, Miss Hester was distracted by the ringing of her phone. Since Sophie wasn’t out in the reception area, the woman had to answer it herself, leaving Sophie to work up the right words that would mean, basically, take this job and shove it, but wouldn’t sound quite so truck driver-ish.