A Place for Family. Mia Ross

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СКАЧАТЬ humor of the situation dispelled some of the terror she’d felt watching the car she’d just been sitting in erupt in flames. “I know it’s been a while, but I can’t believe you didn’t recognize me.”

      After assessing her from head to toe, he came back to her face with a disapproving frown. “You look a lot different than the last time I saw you.”

      Thirteen years ago, she recalled sadly. The day she hugged him goodbye and got on a plane, headed for UCLA.

      “I guess so.” Shoving the bittersweet memory aside, she asked, “How have you been?”

      “Fine.” He gave her wheels a skeptical look. “Where’d you get this heap?”

      “From a girl in California,” Amanda replied as vaguely as possible. Although she was looking directly at John, it was hard not to notice that he was focused on the car. She had a feeling he wasn’t any more pleased about their unexpected reunion than she was.

      “Hope you didn’t pay her too much.”

      It had cost her a valuable vintage watch, but Amanda thought it was best to keep her dire financial straits to herself. For now, and maybe forever. She hadn’t decided yet. “She gave me a good deal.”

      Obviously uncomfortable, he glanced around before meeting her eyes. “So, what brings you by?”

      “I had an interview in Kenwood and was on my way back to that cute new B and B outside of Harland.”

      “It’s been there ten years.”

      Amanda felt a flush creeping over her face, but she forced a smile. “It’s new to me.”

      After an awkward silence, he asked, “How’d your interview go?”

      “I was overqualified,” she confessed with a sigh. “Just like yesterday and the day before.”

      John gave her a long, hard stare. She wasn’t fishing for sympathy, but she didn’t know what to make of his nonreaction. She’d known him most of her life, and she’d never seen him this closed-off. No, she corrected herself. She’d once known him very well, but she’d been gone a long time and hadn’t gone out of her way to keep in touch. They might as well have been strangers.

      To avoid his cool gaze, she glanced around at the fields surrounding them. The tractor he’d obviously driven up on sat across the road from her car. It was mid-May, and green shoots of various crops stretched out for what seemed like miles. The buzz of more tractors floated in on the warm breeze, and she took a deep breath of air scented with the first cutting of hay. Accustomed to the exciting, nonstop pace of L.A., she’d forgotten how it felt to stand somewhere and just breathe.

      “The place looks great,” she complimented him. “You must be really proud.”

      Folding his arms, he pinned her with a suspicious glare. She couldn’t recall his ever being anything but wide open and friendly, and she had a feeling she was one of the few who’d ever seen that scowl on his sun-bronzed face.

      “We’re scraping by,” he said curtly. “Some folks prefer hard work to glitz and glamour.”

      “I’m done with all that, and the advertising and PR agency, too. I’m coming home.” Not completely by choice, but she had no intention of discussing that with him.

      “Uh-huh.”

      “I don’t care if you believe me or not. It’s the truth.”

      “Whatever.” When she glowered back at him, he shook his head in typical male bewilderment. “You look a little flushed. We should get you in outta the heat.”

      The thoughtful suggestion soothed her frayed nerves, and she gave him a grateful smile. “Sounds good to me.”

      She opened the back door to get her one bag. A no-name duffel, it made her long for her matching set of Louis Vuittons. Then again, you didn’t need Louis when you’d sold most of your clothes. At least she’d managed to keep the gorgeous Prada shoes she was wearing. Custom-made, they wouldn’t have fit anyone else. Still, she’d worn them to the auction, just in case any of those bargain-hunting divas got any bright ideas.

      After slamming the door closed, she realized that her bag smelled like smoke. That meant all the clothes inside did, too. Considering the endless string of horrible circumstances she was currently mired in, she should be glad they hadn’t been reduced to ashes. Fortunately, her suit had escaped the worst of the smoke, which meant she could avoid the cost of dry-cleaning it. Although pickings were proving to be very slim, she was hoping she’d need it for more interviews.

      John held out his hand, and she couldn’t imagine what he wanted. “What?”

      “I know you’ve been in the big city awhile,” he answered with a crooked grin, “but around here, guys don’t let ladies carry heavy bags.”

      “Oh.” She blinked, then said, “It smells awful.”

      “That’s okay,” he replied as he swung it onto his shoulder. “So do I.”

      * * *

      They both laughed, and John saw some of the tension leave her shoulders. As he started across the open field, she stopped him with a disgusted noise.

      “You’re kidding, right?” she demanded, as if he’d suggested they walk to the moon.

      He pointed toward the house in the distance. “It’s quicker to cross lots.”

      “Not in these.” She angled her ridiculously high heels so he could see what she meant.

      “So take ’em off.”

      “And drag these gorgeous Armani trousers through the mud? I don’t think so.”

      “It’s half a mile if we walk up the road.” She gave him a chiding look, and he sighed. “Fine. Whatever.”

      John changed course and fell in step beside her. She seemed preoccupied, which gave him a chance to assess this near-stranger who had interrupted his plowing.

      He didn’t like what he saw.

      As if the shoes weren’t enough, her navy pantsuit was cut pretty close to the bone, giving her an angular, almost masculine appearance. Maybe it worked in L.A., but John didn’t think much of it. For some crazy reason, she’d flattened her natural curls so she resembled a blond version of Cleopatra. Then there was the makeup. Applied with a trowel, it was photo-shoot perfect but covered the dusting of freckles that used to pop up on the bridge of her nose.

      Even her personality seemed to have changed. He didn’t remember her being so fussy, but spending years in a big, hectic city like Los Angeles would probably do that to anyone. Since he’d never lived anywhere but Harland, he wouldn’t know.

      When he realized they’d trudged along in silence for quite a while, he searched for something to say. “How’re your parents liking Arizona?”

      “Fine. Dad’s dropped six strokes off his golf handicap. He says if he’d retired sooner, he’d be headed for the Champions Senior Golf Tour by now.”

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