Ranch At River's End. Brenda Mott

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      CHAPTER THREE

      JORDAN DRAKE SLOWED his SUV as he passed the pale yellow house in the middle of his quiet, tree-lined block. The house had been vacant up until a few days ago, but now a petite woman with short blond hair and a young boy were busy scrubbing what looked like graffiti from the door of the attached garage.

      Darci? Unlikely. But as she turned in profile, he recognized her—and that was her little red Chevy parked in the driveway. He’d had no idea she lived down the street from him.

      He frowned at the graffiti. They’d already wiped away part of it, but Jordan could make out what was left of the word leave.

      What was that all about?

      “Dad, someone moved into Mimi’s old house,” Michaela said. “Oh, my gosh, it’s the lady who helped us with our tire yesterday.”

      “It sure is.”

      “Dang! Someone graffitied her garage door. Who would do that in River’s End?”

      “I don’t know, honey.”

      Crime happened everywhere.

      A sudden thought hit Jordan. When the previous tenant—Mimi Hopkins—had lived in the rental house, he’d painted that very garage door for her. In fact, he and Michaela had done the entire exterior of the house and garage for their eighty-year-old neighbor to help her save a little money. Her landlord had agreed to give Mimi a month’s free rent if she looked after the much-needed paint job.

      When his neighbor had moved to the assisted-living apartments in town, Jordan had forgotten all about the half gallon of yellow paint still in his shed. Until now.

      He slowed the Explorer and pulled halfway into Darci’s drive. She looked up, then laid down the rag she was holding.

      He lowered the window as she approached the driver’s side door, her hand cupped over her brow to shade her eyes from the afternoon sun.

      “Hi, there,” she said, then grimaced. “We had an uninvited visitor.”

      “So I see. How would you like some free paint to cover that up with?”

      She raised her brows. “You have some?” Then quickly added, “I’ll pay you for it.”

      “No need.” He shrugged. “I painted this house for the woman who used to live here. I’ve still got about a half gallon of that pale yellow sitting in my shed. I don’t need it. You might as well put it to good use.”

      She bit her bottom lip, obviously hesitant to accept his offer.

      “Consider it repayment for helping me with my tire,” he said, before she could protest.

      “That’s not necessary,” Darci said. “I didn’t expect any payment.”

      “I know.” He smiled. “I’ll go get the paint. Be right back.” He raised the window, relishing the air conditioning as he put the SUV in Reverse. This late in the day, and the temperature was still rising. Or was it just the way he felt, being so close to Darci?

      Idiot, Jordan chided himself. He hadn’t dated in so long—maybe it was Darci’s pretty, blue eyes and cute smile that was affecting him. Or the vanilla perfume she wore. He’d noticed it at the hospital and again when he’d reacted to the sound of the truck backfiring, pressing his body against hers.

      She’d felt warm and soft, her smooth skin damp from the rain. Her blond hair was wet, curling a little on the ends. He’d felt a quick rush of attraction right before it was replaced by embarrassment at his overreaction to the noise.

      You’re losing your mind, Drake. Just get the paint.

      He told Michaela what he was doing, then walked out to the shed, feeling a strange kind of anticipation at the thought of seeing Darci again.

      Chewy ran out of the doghouse to greet him, and he paused to scratch the dog behind one ear. The gallon bucket of “lemon ice” was right where he’d left it last spring, sitting on a shelf along the shed’s far wall. He wondered if Darci had a brush or roller. Probably not. Jordan gathered a paint pan, stir stick, an old screwdriver to open the lid and a clean roller, before heading back outside. He hesitated. A tarp. She’d need one to keep from splattering her driveway. Might as well bring his own along, in case she didn’t have one. He opened the driver’s door of his SUV and reached inside to flip the lever beside the seat, raising the hatch. Jordan placed the paint supplies inside, intending to return to the shed for a tarp. For a moment, he stood without moving, staring at the vast, mostly empty cargo space. His stomach churned as Sandra’s voice came to him clearly in memory.

      Let’s get the seven-seater, babe. I want to fill the thing with kids and soccer balls and football equipment and ballet shoes…

      He’d laughed at her enthusiasm. Sandra had been brave and optimistic, no matter what life had thrown at her. She’d suffered a miscarriage prior to Michaela’s birth, and two more afterward. But as Michaela’s tenth birthday approached, she’d begun to talk about adopting, quickly catching Jordan up in her excitement. With their daughter growing so fast, Sandra was already dreading the day they’d have an empty nest, and she’d wanted to do something about it.

      Jordan slammed the hatch shut.

      After her death, he’d folded every one of the five extra passenger seats down, leaving only the two in front for him and Michaela. The only time he raised the other rows was if Michaela had friends along. But afterward he laid the seats back down, not wanting the reminder of what should have been. He’d thought about selling the Explorer, but it was handy in the harsh, snowy conditions winter often brought to River’s End, and for pulling his cabin cruiser. Plus he hadn’t wanted to upset his daughter with yet another change. She and her mother had loved the big, black SUV.

      Shaking off his thoughts, Jordan got the tarp and drove back to Darci’s.

      Christopher was in the driveway on a skateboard when Jordan pulled back in. The kid glanced his way, then pushed off down the sidewalk. Jordan had barely gotten out of the vehicle when Darci’s next door neighbor—Eileen Hathaway—strode across her front lawn in Chris’s direction. Eileen’s enormous black Newfoundland bounded ahead of the older woman, barking at the boy.

      Christopher halted the skateboard and faced the monstrous dog without a bit of fear. The kid’s face lit with a smile, and he reached out to ruffle the dog’s thick fur. The Newfoundland slobbered all over him, lapping at his hands and wrists with a tongue as long and wide as a two-lane highway.

      “Saylor, come here!” Eileen called. “You, too, young man!” Appearing not to notice Jordan or Darci, who’d been waiting near the garage, Eileen focused on Christopher as he turned his board around and reluctantly came back her way.

      “It is against the law to ride a skateboard on the sidewalk,” Eileen scolded, grabbing hold of Saylor’s collar. She shook her finger at Chris, causing the loose skin above her elbow to jiggle. “I heard about what you did in Denver, and if you don’t stop roaring past my house on that thing, I’m going to call the police.”

      Christopher smirked. “Fine.” With some fancy footwork, he popped the board into the air, carried it into the street where Darci’s car was parked, and set it back down, СКАЧАТЬ