It's In His Smile (A Red River Valley Novel Book 3) (23 page)

The home page of his browser was set to the local news in Seattle, and Trinity Falls was headlining. He clicked on the link. The damn nervy reporter had obviously been desperate enough to dig for a real story. The article talked about Trinity Falls, a good idea in theory that had turned into an environmental nightmare. A blemish on the country’s most beautiful natural landscape. And who was at fault, but one of the most acclaimed green architects in the world. A crusader for sustainable living who had a wall full of awards in his field was going to single handedly blight out several miles of nature because of his folly. And where was he, the reporter demanded to know. On sabbatical, nowhere to be found, not answering his messages, and unwilling to take responsibility.

Talmadge could imagine the protestors picketing outside his firm in Seattle and chaining themselves to trees around Trinity Falls. His investors pulling out to point the finger at him, because someone had to take the fall. And it was sure to be him.

He dialed Larry Jameson’s number.

“Yeah, I’ve seen it,” Larry said without a greeting. “What do you want me to do, boss?”

“Get Ellen on the phone. Have her schedule an emergency video conference with the investors. We need to get the tribal councils on board with my plan.”

“Will do, boss.”

They clicked off, and he sent Miranda a text that he would be late. Instantly, a response dinged back.
K. Got a quick meeting with planning committee. Last-minute details. I’ll bring you a gooey cinnamon roll from the O’s bakery if you’ll make it worth my while ;)

He smiled. Texted back.
Bring 2 and I’ll make sure you have enough Os to last a year.

Her response was a blushing smiley face.

Twenty minutes later he was live-streaming a business meeting with a multitude of people, all of whom stood to lose a fortune if Trinity Falls went down the toilet.

“Any news from the tribal councils?” Talmadge asked.

“None, but it would help if you were here to meet with them in person.”

True. But he’d given Miranda his word that he wouldn’t leave before the inn and gazebo were finished.

“I’ll schedule a video conference with them as well,” Talmadge assured his investors.

“Not a good idea. The tribes like to do things old-school. When are you coming back to Washington?”

Good question. One he didn’t want to answer.

When he hesitated, one of his investors spoke up. “Look, Talmadge, we know you needed some time to deal with your family matters.” He shifted in his chair, his head bobbing all over the laptop screen. “But we need you to come back here and make this work.”

Another one of the investors intervened. “We’ve been discussing this, and we’re willing to stay in.” He hesitated, tapped a pencil against his desk. “If you’ll get back here to speak to the councils yourself. We feel it’s the best way to move the project forward.”

Talmadge resisted the urge to rake a hand over his face. That probably wouldn’t inspire much confidence in the men holding the purse strings at the other end of the Internet connection.

“When do you want me to meet with the council leaders?” he asked.

“This Friday. Be here, or we’re pulling out of Trinity Falls completely.”

That was the day before the festival. And before the inn would open, unless he could rush the inspections. But inspectors didn’t like to be rushed, especially in small towns where things tended to move at a snail’s pace. That would give him no other option but to break his promise to Miranda.

He had no choice, though. It might be possible to fly to Seattle the day before the festival, do the presentation, and fly back to finish the inn. It wouldn’t be a total breach of his promise, but he’d still miss the festival. Still, the festival wasn’t nearly as important as Trinity Falls, and surely Miranda would understand that.

“I’ll be there.” He had to be. He couldn’t leave an entire town half-built and uninhabitable after disrupting so much of the ecosystem. It went against every principle his profession stood for. “But keep this quiet until the day of the presentation.”

First he had to tell Miranda the truth. His conscience wouldn’t let him
not
tell her. He’d known what a worthless shit he really was since he caused his parents’ death. By some miracle, no one else had seemed to figure it out. Once he told Miranda the truth about Bea’s will, she’d know how far out of her league he really was, and she may not want him anymore.

Which was the same reason he’d hidden the truth from his grandparents.

C
hapter
N
ineteen

An hour later, Talmadge was back
at the inn on all fours laying new kitchen tile when Langston walked in. Yellow paint was splattered all over him, goggles shoved on top of his head, and a painter’s mask hung around his neck. Sitting in his doggie bed, Lloyd sported a sweater with a skull and crossbones on the back. He yipped at Langston, then resumed watching Talmadge work.

“What’s up?” Talmadge said without looking up. His latest problem, the one that involved breaking his promise to Miranda by leaving Red River before the inn and gazebo were officially done, ground on his nerves.

“Your cousins stopped by. They’re yelling for me and Jamie to take off our shirts.” He poured coffee into his thermal cup. “It’s a good time for a coffee break.”

Ah, Clydelle and Francine, no doubt. “You threw Jamie to the wolves, in other words.” Talmadge hammered in another spacer and placed the level on a new square of tile.

Langston shrugged. “It’s a tough world out there. The kid has to learn to sink or swim.”

Talmadge smiled but couldn’t bring himself to laugh. He had too much on his mind to find anything funny.

Langston picked up the bouquet of lavender and yellow flowers Talmadge had gotten on the way back to the inn. “For me?” He sniffed the flowers and laid them back on the counter. “You shouldn’t have.”

Talmadge shot him a go-to-hell look.

“So you and Miranda.” Langston sipped his coffee, leaning against the counter.

An involuntary twitch started in Talmadge’s jaw. “What about it?” He hammered in another spacer.

“She lives here and you don’t.” Langston hooked a thumb into the pocket of his jeans.

“Your point being?” Talmadge still hadn’t looked up. He couldn’t, because he knew Langston was looking out for Miranda, his friend since childhood.

He shrugged. “Just curious. She’s like family. So are you.” Another slurp of coffee. “I wondered how it was going to shake out.”

Hell if Talmadge knew. He’d been wondering that himself nonstop since they started sleeping together. He wanted her to come to Seattle with him, because he couldn’t stay here. Sure, he could find plenty of work. He always did. The casinos and movie studios going up around the state were tempting, and he’d considered submitting bids. He’d been approached with enough work right here in Red River to last a long while. Not the massive, high-profile projects he was used to. But massive and high-profile wasn’t exactly working out for him lately. The projects here were smaller, more manageable, and meant something to the people who were trying to do something to preserve their little piece of the world.

Talmadge liked how that made him feel inside. That’s how he’d started out in his specialized field, until his career snowballed and it became more about celebrities and fundraisers and hotel owners who were going green for PR reasons. But he had too many loose ends back in Washington to walk away now. And Miranda had the inn to think about. So he hadn’t known exactly how to bridge the gap between Red River and Washington, and every time he brought it up, she shut him down.

He hammered the spacer too hard, and the tile chipped.

“Whoa,” Langston said. “Didn’t mean to strike a nerve.”

“Don’t you have painting to do?” Talmadge grabbed a tool from his belt to pry up the broken tile. “Or are you going to pussy out and make the kid do it all?”

“You mean the painting I’m doing for free on my days off? When I’m not saving lives, rescuing lost hikers from the wilderness, and life-flighting critical patients to the city?” Langston laughed over the rim of his cup. “Is that the painting you’re talking about?”

“You’re an asshole, you know that?” Talmadge sat back on his boots.

Langston laughed harder. “I do know that. But I’m a good friend who doesn’t want to see either of you get hurt. Especially since you’re both looking so happy.”

Talmadge rested a hand against his thigh. “You’re giving me advice? How long did your longest relationship last?”

Something flashed in Langston’s eyes, and he stared down at his mug. “You’d be surprised.”

Talmadge lifted a brow. “Is there something I don’t know?” He moved the broken tile aside and pulled a new one from the box.

“Yup.” Langston straightened to head back outside. He stopped and stared down at Lloyd, who’d rolled onto his back and stared at Talmadge upside down, legs limp and hanging open. Langston’s forehead crinkled. “Uh, have you thought of getting your dog neutered, Tal? Because I gotta say, that’s disturbing.”

For being such a little dog, Lloyd was pretty well endowed. Talmadge shook his head and eyed the level to make sure the bubble was dead center. “The fluffy haircut has already stolen too much of his manhood. No way am I taking the rest.”

Langston laughed and went back outside.

Talmadge stared at Lloyd. If he didn’t figure out a way to make this situation
shake out
, as Langston had so eloquently put it, Talmadge would likely be the one getting neutered.

Miranda drove back to the inn after the planning committee meeting, gooey cinnamon rolls in the passenger seat.

The festival was almost ready. A dry run was scheduled so there would be time to make last-minute changes if needed.

Maybe it was time to let Talmadge finish that discussion he’d been trying to have with her. She’d been too scared to talk about it. Too scared the dream they’d been living would end.

Every part of her life was invested in Talmadge.

Miranda sighed. Including her heart. One hundred and fifty percent of it.

As she turned off Main Street toward the inn, Clydelle and Francine meandered down the lane, Clydelle with her cane and Francine with that ginormous purse of hers hiked on one shoulder. Miranda slowed to a stop and rolled down the window.

“What are you young ladies doing so far out of your way on foot?”

Clydelle lifted her cane at Miranda, waving her off. “We’re getting exercise. Doc Holloway’s orders. The young men working on your inn weren’t very hospitable.”

Miranda’s brow wrinkled.

Clydelle waved her cane again. “That handsome paramedic even went inside until we left.”

“That’s because you offered to stuff a twenty into his waistband if he took off his shirt.” Francine rolled her eyes. “The view was just fine with their shirts still on.” She leaned toward the Jeep window and whispered. “They’re painting. On ladders.”

Miranda couldn’t stop a frown. Painting the outside of the inn? She hadn’t bought the paint yet.

Francine kept talking. “Their butts jiggle when they move the paint sprayer back and forth.” She shot a disgusted look at her sister. “Until she went and ruined it.”

“I would’ve gone as high as a fifty,” Clydelle huffed.

“If we get to heaven, I’m telling Mamma on you,” said Francine.

“You do that.” Clydelle repositioned her weight against the cane. “Who do you think taught me to watch the firemen when they’re washing the truck on a hot summer day? She used to bring them sweet iced tea after they were good and wet all over.”

Okay. Too much information.

“You ladies need a ride back?” She sized up Francine’s purse. What on earth did she carry in that thing? “That purse looks kind of heavy. Maybe I should drive you home.”

Francine clutched the bag like it contained a treasure. “We can walk. The senior center van is waiting for us in front of Joe’s.”

“Well, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” Miranda smiled at them.

“Dear, we’d love to do what you’ve been doing.” Clydelle waggled her bushy eyebrows.

Miranda drew in a pained breath, because really, talking about sex with those two old women was just wrong. On so many levels. “Have a nice day, then.” She rolled up the window and started moving again.

Since the warming temperatures had melted a lot of snow on the slopes, the lifts had shut down for the season. The afternoon sky was crystal clear against the small amount of snow that still capped the mountaintops as she pulled her Jeep into the parking lot beside the inn. She lurched to a stop.

She leaned over the steering wheel to look up at Jamie and Langston on ladders spraying pale yellow paint onto the outside of the inn.

Where’d they get the paint? And why was it yellow? She’d planned to paint it blue. Besides, she didn’t have the money to buy paint. The inside of the inn was almost finished, and so was her savings. There wasn’t much left for the outside until she could open to paying customers.

She hopped out of the Jeep and hurried over to them. Shielding her eyes from the sun, she yelled up at Jamie and Langston. “Where’d the paint come from? That isn’t the color I picked.” Although, she had to admit, it was a really nice shade of buttercup yellow. Soothing and peaceful and quaint. Just the look she wanted for the inn. The same warm, inviting look she’d thought a dusty blue would create.

Jamie and Langston both pointed behind her, neither lowering their masks. Instead they kept the paint guns spraying the pretty yellow paint onto the siding.

“We’re not expecting another storm for at least a week.” She whirled to find Talmadge behind her, holding a color chart and some printouts in one hand, the other hand behind his back. “I thought we could get started on the exterior and make good use of the weather.”

“I told you I can’t take your money, Talmadge.” Bad enough she was taking his help free of charge. And all the sex he could give her while he was still in town.

Her heart thumped against her chest.

“You can pay me back if you want. This color with black and white trim will look soft in the sunlight and bright when it’s overcast. We can paint over it if you don’t like it, but I wanted you to see the front side of the inn first before you decide.”

Oh. Well. Okay.

It
was
beautiful. Even more so than the dusty blue she had imagined. “It’s really pretty.”

“And these are for you.” He pulled out a bouquet of fresh yellow roses that matched the color of the paint he’d picked. Small lavender mountain asters—the same color his eyes turned when he wanted her—filled the spaces between each rose.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He laced an arm around her waist and pulled her against his chest. A very broad chest. And firm. Yes, it was really firm. She’d explored it quite thoroughly, and firm was the best description she could think of. Except maybe tasty.

No, tasty wasn’t the right word. Delicious. His chest and neck and mouth were delicious, like expensive chocolate, and she’d tried to devour him many times with her lips and tongue. Hence the hickey that had faded and was only slightly still visible.

Her mouth watered just thinking about the taste of him. “They’re pretty too.” Her voice sounded all croaky again.
Real nice.
And attractive.

His head dipped and he kissed her.

“Get a room,” Jamie called down.

“Some of us have work to do. We don’t need the distraction,” Langston yelled too.

“Our gossip stalker is probably photographing us as we speak.” She picked at a petal.

“Then let’s go inside where they can’t see us.”

Yes, his eyes definitely matched the mountain asters when they were filled with lust. Her girl parts screamed for more purple.

“Your flowers need water.” His gravelly voice told her he wasn’t just talking about the flowers in her hand.

She pulled in a lip. “I think I have a vase inside.”

He led her up the steps without another word. Inside, Talmadge closed the front door and turned the key in the lock until it clicked.

He took slow steps toward her. When he reached her, he brushed her nose with his. “I was thinking you could come visit me in Seattle.”

Her chest tightened, and she measured her words. “We’ll see.”

He pulled her closer. “That sounds . . . noncommittal.”

She fisted his shirt in her hands and stared at his chest. How could their future sound any other way? “It’s just that I have a business to run here, and I mean, really, it’s not like you were here all that often before, so what reason is there for you to come back now? Sure, visiting you in Seattle would be fun, but you’ll be busy, being all successful, and I’ll be busy with the inn, and I have to build clientele the first few years while you’re saving the world, and then I’ll keep wondering how long before I hear from you, and I’ll miss you, and you won’t miss me because, well, you’ll have lots of other options
—”