In The Stranger's Arms

“You’re kidding!” His smile disappeared abruptly. Without it, his thoughts were hard to guess, hidden behind his laser-sharp gaze. What if he was a lawyer contemplating a sexual discrimination case against her?

“Oh, Pauline, surely we owe him something,” Dolly chided in her best retired-teachers tone. “You could bend the rules this once.”

* * *

“Rules?” Wade echoed as suspicions began to form in his overtired brain.

Wow, he had to hand it to old Mrs. Langley, who had fooled him completely. Despite her glasses, she must have the vision of an eagle to have spotted his California plates and dropped her grocery bag before he’d driven past her. Who would have thought the narrow, bumpy side street along the top of the bluff would be such a fertile hunting ground for desperate tourists in search of lodgings and con artists in search of victims?

Her granddaughter, on the other hand, wasn’t nearly as good an actress. Her intentions were obvious—to express initial reluctance in order to wring as much rent money from him as possible.

He was about to ask whether Wallingford was also in on their scheme when a huge yawn overtook him. He swayed on his feet. By the time he’d managed to clamp his jaw shut, he realized that he didn’t care what the room cost or how ugly its wallpaper was. If he didn’t get horizontal soon, he’d fall asleep where he stood.

“But you’ll make an exception for me, right?” He took out his wallet. “How much?”

Was that annoyance pleating her brow as she pushed her dark-blond hair off her forehead? Had he given in too quickly and ruined their little game?

“I’m sorry, but it wouldn’t be fair to my other boarders,” she insisted, spreading her hands wide like a supplicant pleading for understanding. “They don’t expect to run into a half-dressed male in the upstairs hallway on their way down to breakfast.”

“Which boarders might that be?” Dolly demanded, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “Not that tarted-up divorcée who’ll be renting the Rose Room. And not me. That only leaves you to be affected by half-naked men, my dear.” She parked her balled fists on her skinny hips. “Get over it.”

Despite his exhaustion, Wade was amused—and rather touched—that she would champion him. Perhaps he had misinterpreted the situation entirely.

“What if I promise to keep my clothes on when I’m not in my room?” he asked, only half joking.

“It’s not that,” Pauline replied, ignoring his attempt at humor. “This is a small town.”

He gaped at her. “And how is that a problem?”

“You probably won’t understand.” Her fair complexion had turned rosy with color. “It just so happens that I’m running for city council, and the locals tend to be pretty conservative—except for the shed people, of course, and the summer crowd that does whatever it wants and then leaves again.”

Shed people? He was beginning to feel as though he had crossed more than a state border when he’d traversed the bridge over the Columbia River from Portland. Perhaps he had also wandered into some weird parallel universe.

“Fiddlesticks, it’s not like the two of you will be staying alone in the house. I’ll chaperone you,” Mrs. Langley offered.

“There you go, Miss Pauline.” Wade struggled to keep from shaking his head in disbelief. “Your good name will remain intact. Just tell me how much.”

“It’s not the money,” she said.

As Wade groped for a way to change her mind, his glance swept past her SUV—an older model—to the house with its steeply pitched roof and ornate detailing. The light-blue exterior and purple trim were faded. The gravel driveway, although neatly edged and free of weeds, was rutted and uneven. Even the leaded windows in the double garage doors had two cracked panes.

It struck him that a place like this must need constant attention.

Without warning, Mrs. Langley reached up abruptly and squeezed his upper arm with her cold, bony fingers.

Struggling to smother yet another yawn, Wade nearly bit the tip off his tongue as his jaws snapped shut.

“What the hell are you doing?” he yelped, jerking away from her clutches.

“He’s got some muscle there,” she observed. “Perhaps we could put him to work.”

Pauline was already shaking her head. “Never mind, Dolly. It’s not a good idea.”

“Balderdash!” Mrs. Langley exclaimed. “If you’re worried, lock your bedroom door.” She gave Wade a warm smile. “I can never remember to lock mine.”

Good God, was the old gal flirting with him? As he stifled a chuckle, he realized where she was headed.

“What if I were to do the repairs to your garage,” he asked, earning himself a wide grin from his elderly champion. “And I’ll move out there as soon as possible.” He’d worry about what he was actually getting into after he closed the deal.

Pauline’s pretty hazel eyes widened. “Do you have remodeling experience?”

“Absolutely,” he replied, his knotted muscles starting to loosen as he sensed her imminent capitulation. “I restored my first house in San Francisco.” No need to add that he’d contracted out the plumbing and electrical work. What he didn’t know, he’d find out.

Pauline threw up her hands in obvious resignation. “All right, you’ve got a deal. Maybe no one will notice that you’re here.”

Chapter Two

Pauline led her very first male boarder up the curved staircase to the second floor of her house, his solid tread thudding on the steps behind her as he toted his luggage. She could practically feel his gaze on her back, right between her shoulder blades.

If not lower.

Silently she reminded herself that she was a worldly woman of thirty-four, not an impressionable teenager. Even so, she couldn’t remember the last time she had been so aware of a man’s presence.

“That’s a beautiful window,” Wade said, glancing up when they reached the landing. “Is it original?”

“As far as I know.” Pauline gazed fondly at one of her favorite features in the house, a round stained-glass image of a peacock. The jewel tones of the bird’s intricately worked tail feathers glowed softly in the dying light from the sun.

Even though he had insisted that it wasn’t necessary, pride wouldn’t allow her to give him rooms that weren’t spotless. She had whirled through the master suite with a vacuum cleaner and a dust cloth while Dolly had fed him a bowl of stew.

“You’ll be here at the end,” she said over her shoulder as they walked down the carpeted hallway. “There’s a private sitting area as well as the bathroom Dolly mentioned.”

“Have you owned the house for very long?” he asked.

Everyone in town knew Pauline’s history. “I’m the fourth generation to live here,” she explained, pausing. “My great-grandfather renamed it Mayfield Manor.”

“It must be satisfying to have such a legacy,” he remarked.

“I suppose. But growing up in a small town also has its disadvantages.” She opened the double doors and stepped aside.

“Didn’t get away with much, huh?” he teased with a wink as he walked past her.

“You could say that,” she murmured, following him inside.

While she brushed a fleck of dust from the top of the tall dresser, he dropped his bags on the faded Persian rug next to the wide bed. Even though the burgundy draperies were open, she switched on the hanging teardrop lamp so the light shining through the blown-glass globe would add a rosy glow to the room.

“Wow,” he said as he looked around. “I didn’t expect anything like this.”

Pauline wasn’t entirely sure that his comment was positive. This had been her parents’ private sanctuary, and she liked the traditional way her mother had redecorated it in shades of burgundy, dark green and cream. The bold floral wallpaper was a dramatic backdrop for the mahogany furniture and cream satin comforter.