Cara O'Shea's Return (2 page)

Behind her, the soft purr of a well-tuned engine came to an abrupt halt. Cara shrugged the welcoming sentiment of the charming swing aside and turned to find Jill Carlson climbing from a sleek luxury vehicle.

Upon arriving in town, Cara had been surprised to learn Shan’s best friend from high school was the town’s only real estate agent. The slim blonde’s love of gossip certainly hadn’t changed. Jill talked Cara’s ear off, filling her in on the current happenings in town, while dragging her from one potential property to another. But she couldn’t fault Jill’s professionalism. She was no happier dealing with Maive Cataldo than Cara, but hadn’t wasted any time setting up a meeting once Cara made her choice.

“Ready to face the dragon lady?” Jill slipped the strap of a leather briefcase over one shoulder and stepped to the curb.

Cara smirked. “Suck it up, Carlson. This is important to me.”

White teeth flashed in Jill’s grin. They made their way up the walkway together to climb the three steps to the porch. Cara pressed her finger to the doorbell.

Jill fisted her free hand at her waist. “Damn, my palms are sweating.”

Cara flicked her a fulminating glance just before the door opened and an ancient, white-haired woman dressed in a seersucker day-dress, straight out of the nineteen forties, stood glaring at them.

“Well, are you going to stand there all day?” The tiny sprite spun about and retreated down the hall. Cara and Jill exchanged a grimace before following the dragon lady into her lair.

She disappeared through a doorway. When Cara and Jill joined her in the formal parlor, she was lowering onto an antique settee Cara figured came into existence about the same time as Maive herself. Blooms the size of cabbages covered the walls, the linen wallpaper pristine despite its dated style, above elaborate wainscoting. The ten-foot high ceiling was a masterpiece of intricately carved panels.

Jill cleared her throat. “This is Cara O’Shea, Mrs. Cataldo.”

“I know who she is.” Maive sniffed. “You called and interrupted my show to tell me she wanted to meet with me, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I...well.”

“Sit down, for heaven’s sake. I’ll get a crick in my neck looking up at the two of you.”

Cara sat on a delicate wingback chair, while Jill scrambled to the couch across from the settee.

Maive studied Cara with a keen eye. “So, now that you’re a famous artist, you’ve decided to come home?”

Surprised, Cara shifted in her chair. “You know about my work?”

“I can read, can’t I? Your picture’s been plastered in the Arts section of the Times for months.” Her aged blue eyes sparkled with accusation. “I’m always interested in the doings of someone who has the audacity to steal apples from my tree.”

Cara’s years in Manhattan had thrown her up against Maive’s kind before, and the trick was to show no fear. She crossed her legs and fought back a smile. “I didn’t think you knew about that.”

Maive harrumphed.

“I stole them on a dare.” The smile won. “They were very good apples.”

Maive pointed a spindly finger at her. “You’re a sly one, Cara O’Shea. Got that from living in the big city all these years, no doubt. So, what is it you want?”

What did she want? She shot a questioning glance at Jill, who stared at the ceiling as if she expected three headed dogs to sprout from the panels.

“Don’t look to her.” Maive’s scolding tone drew Cara’s gaze. “She’s afraid of her own shadow. You want something from me, you ask me yourself.”

Okay, she could dance with the old biddy.

“I want to buy your building on Center Street.”

“Which one? I have three.”

“The old book store.”

“What for?”

“I’m moving back to Palmerton. I need a place to live and room for a studio. I’ll have both in the bookstore.”

The silence stretched out while Maive pinned her with a narrowed gaze.

“You’re not going to turn it into some fancy gallery and have all kinds of snotty, artsy folk swarming the center of town, are you?”

An image of Evan’s exclusive Park Ave gallery filled her mind. What fun Charles would have with Maive’s description of his world. Biting back a laugh, she shook her head. “No. I have no interest in opening my own gallery. I’m committed to one in Manhattan already. I just need a place to live and work.”

“Okay.”

Cara blinked at the curt agreement. “Okay?”

“That’s what I said, isn’t it? You have a hearing problem?”

Her gaze swung to a stunned Jill before resettling on Maive. “Just like that?”

“You want the property or don’t you? It won’t be cheap.”

“I want it!” Cara leaned forward in her chair, repeating for good measure. “I definitely want it.”

A door slammed at the back of the house and Maive turned toward the hallway. “Is that you, boy?”

Heavy footsteps moved in their direction. Both Cara and Jill followed Maive’s gaze.

“All done, old lady,” a deep, male voice answered a moment before a set of broad shoulders leaned around the doorjamb. Above a taunting white smile, piercing blue eyes swept the room and Cara jerked upright in her chair. All disturbingly muscled male perfection and smiling charm, Michael Finnegan immediately straightened to fill the doorway.

She swallowed painfully, dismayed at the chaos erupting in her belly as his intent gaze tangled with hers.

“Ladies.” He nodded and thankfully looked away.

The low timbre of his voice brushed across her already stretched nerve endings and left goose bumps behind. Her eyes followed helplessly as he crossed the room, stopping beside the settee. He bent at the waist, dropping a kiss on Maive’s forehead.

Cara stared incredulously at the tool belt slung low on his lean hips.

“You can do back flips off that step now, Maive.”

Maive sniffed. “I may just try that tomorrow. You see if I don’t.”

He chuckled and straightened to his full six-five height. When he turned, the dimpled grin, captured on the covers of all those magazines, curved his lips. He lowered a hip to the arm of the settee, propping an elbow on one thigh, and turned to Jill.

“Hi, Jill. I saw that boy of yours pitch last week. He’s got a mean fast ball.”

Cara watched, disgusted, as Jill reacted to the mega-wattage of his bigger-than-life personality. Her fingers fluttered over her perfect hairdo. Eyes twinkling, she returned Finn’s smile.

“He loves the game and Doug is beside himself with pride,” she said of her husband. “He has dreams of watching him play in the big leagues.”

“Finn.” Maive bumped his thigh with an elbow. “Have you met Mary O’Shea’s middle daughter, Cara?”

Cobalt blue beams shifted to Cara, and she nearly cringed at the palpable memory shining in them. His smile easy, he spoke in a subtle rumble.

“We’ve had the pleasure. Hello, Cara.”

“Hello.” Fighting the flush of remembered humiliation heating her cheeks, she returned the greeting stiffly. She slid her gaze back to Maive, and relative safety. The old lady came to her rescue, craning her neck to aim a sly smile up at Finn.

“I just sold her the old book store.”

Finn’s head whipped around.

“You sold it?” He popped up from his slouched position, his back going poker straight. “I tried to buy it from you not two months ago. You said it wasn’t for sale.”

“It wasn’t, then.”

“But it is now?” Icy intenseness replaced his charming smile. “How much do you want for it?”

Maive cackled a laugh. “You’ll have to ask the O’Shea girl. She owns it now.”

Calculation hardened his features when he turned to study Cara.

She was at a complete loss. Technically, she hadn’t bought the place. She didn’t even know what she’d have to pay for it. Yet for some reason, known only to Maive Cataldo, the old lady was having the time of her life, denying Finn the property.

Far be it from her to contradict the dragon lady. A burst of satisfied excitement cooled the heated flush on Cara’s cheeks. The bookstore was hers and she’d be keeping it. She informed him of that fact before he could open his mouth. “It’s not for sale.”

Maive’s wrinkled face twisted into a satisfied smirk, and she nodded her approval.

“That’s just wrong, Maive.”

Maive dismissed his grumbled complaint with the wave of a gnarled hand. “You’d have it for a simple investment property. You have plenty of those. The girl needs a place to work and to lay her head. She’s a famous artist now, you know. She needs a good working space.”

Cara met his frown with a lift of her chin and a satisfied smile that said
that’s right, pal
.

Rising from the arm of the settee, he crossed tanned, well-muscled arms over his equally impressive chest. He settled into a cocky stance with his weight resting on one hip.

“Ryan said you were in town for his and Erin’s wedding. I’m his best man. We’ll be walking together.” The smile died on her lips. “He didn’t mention you’ve come back for good.” Trepidation tickled her spine when his smile widened and his blue laser eyes ran over her contemplatively. “Welcome back to Palmerton, neighbor.”

Damn, she was beautiful.

Seeing her again verified what he’d noted at their chance meeting in Manhattan, several years earlier. Cara O’Shea had grown up, and maturity only increased the beauty with which she’d been blessed.

Even as a teenager, she had a certain something. A powerful, invisible force, like irresistible pheromones reaching out to grab a man by the libido. And it wasn’t just her looks, though damn...her height alone would draw attention. Six-foot beauties were hard to ignore, but beyond her height and sultry allure, she emitted a shy innocence that tugged at a man’s protective instincts, urging him to wrap her in his arms and keep her safe.

Her dark auburn hair, piled atop her head in a messy knot, made his fingers itch to plunge into the fiery curls. Her large eyes, as green as an antique pop bottle, could cause a man to forget what he was saying. They dominated her stunning face and the flash of dismay in them, when he told Maive they’d met, tugged at the memory of their first meeting, nearly a decade earlier.

Her eyes flashed with a similar panic that day as rivulets of pool water splashed to the deck from her nearly transparent dress. She’d been beautiful then, too. Beautiful and scared.

The idiot high school boys surrounding him hadn’t noticed the fear. Not that he could blame them. There wasn’t a man alive, young or old, who wouldn’t have been blinded by the magnificence of her tender young body, shivering in the late spring air.

Hell, he’d already been a man full grown, and she just a girl, and yet he hadn’t been able to look away from her bring-a-man-to-his-knees body. When his bewitched mind finally cleared enough to note the cruel taunts of the young men, he was disgusted, with them and himself. And when she met his gaze across the distance of the pool, the terror and humiliation in her eyes made him want to strangle someone.

Little more than a child, she faced an unbearable embarrassment with a quiet dignity he’d never forgotten. Married at the time, he wouldn’t have done anything about the instant attraction churning in his gut, even if he had been single. She was just a kid, after all. But, she wasn’t a kid now.

Though she’d all but stolen the bookstore right out from under his nose, he knew where to lay the blame. The building’s Central Street location made it ideal for a youth community center. If he had told Maive what he had in mind, she would have sold to him no questions asked. But, as usual, he’d been enjoying the cat and mouse maneuvering with his strong willed great-aunt. Selling to someone else was a move he never anticipated.

The girl who stared down a mob of idiotic teenage boys wouldn’t be an easy nut to crack, and from the satisfied gleam in her eyes, convincing the woman she’d become to give up the bookstore was a long shot.

Still, he welcomed the quickening of his pulse. Romancing the beautiful artist, with an eye toward winning back his building was a challenge he couldn’t resist.

****

“Did you know Michael Finnegan was Ryan Espizitto’s cousin
and
his best man?”

Across the booth, Meggy Calhoun paused with her slice of pizza midair. “Actually, I did.”

“Were you going to tell me, or were you just going to let me walk in blind to the fact that I am going to have to put up with him for several hours on Saturday?”

Her friend’s pixie like face contorted in a grimace. “Not to mention Friday night at the rehearsal dinner.”

Cara dropped her head into her hands.

Meggy leaned on her elbows. “By the way, I won’t be there Friday night. We’re short staffed. I have to work.”

Cara groaned.

“It won’t be that bad, Cara.”

“He was there that night, Meggy.” Cara glanced up, hoping the familiar haunting the memory delivered didn’t show in her eyes.

“There were a lot of people there. Besides, it was a long time ago. He probably doesn’t remember.”

She would like to believe that, but couldn’t. She never told Meggy about bumping into Finn shortly before his divorce, but like every other encounter she had with Palmerton’s football hero, the meeting left a lasting impression. She’d been too flustered to notice at the time, but he had greeted her by name that night.

And she knew exactly
when
he’d learned her name.

Without ever having met, never having spoken a word, she and Finn shared the second worst moment of her life. The worst moment happened only hours earlier, on the afternoon of her high school graduation, when she spotted her father slipping into the motel on the edge of town with his secretary, Hannah Dunn.

Heartsick, and wanting nothing more than to find a quiet place to cry out her broken heart, she let Meggy convince her to go ahead with their plans to visit several graduation parties that evening. Though she’d always avoided the drunken gatherings the other kids claimed were so much fun, she gulped down the first beer someone handed her and by the time they arrived at Brad Murphy’s back yard, she was more than a little tipsy.

At Meggy’s heels, she passed through the open gate, following her friend to one of the tables by the edge of the pool where several friends were seated. Meggy sat, immediately drawn into conversation. Swaying a bit, Cara stood to the side, her gaze roaming the raucous crowd. Her eyes immediately caught on a dark head of blue-black hair beyond the pool, rising above the surrounding group of teenage boys.