Sealed With A Kiss. Mae Nunn

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СКАЧАТЬ ticking. Tara hurried through the entryway to the front door, giving a last glance at her appearance in the mirrored hall tree. As usual, wavy red wisps managed to escape the somber braid. Attempting to plaster them into submission, she licked fingertips and brushed moisture across the errant curls.

      She slammed the heavy door of the huge luxury vehicle and muttered, “I thought these things were illegal.” She fumbled with the ignition and the navy blue beast purred to life. It eased out of the driveway and lumbered through the streets of town.

      Passing the tired old five-and-dime store next door to the boring grocery market, she grimaced at the work of community elders who clung to traditional ways, voting down proposals that might usher in expansion and change. Frustrated young people graduated from the respected college and fled for the nearest big city, depriving Beardsly of their talent and energy. What kind of business would bridge the obvious generation gap?

      “Hmm,” she fell into her old habit of thinking aloud. “What can I possibly bring to the town-time-forgot that will stand out and fit in at the same time?” Having felt like a misfit most of her life, Tara knew how important it would be for her idea to seem more like part of the scenery than something entirely new. Then there was that other pesky issue.

      Sam Kennesaw would be her partner.

      As the brown-brick two-story building came into sight, her stomach churned. Heat crept up the back of her neck.

      “This is ridiculous.” She dropped her right hand from the wheel and spread her fingers across her abdomen while she inhaled through her nose and exhaled through parted lips.

      “I wasn’t this nervous when I asked for the summer off from work to settle Grandmother’s estate. If placing my future at The Heritage in jeopardy didn’t send me into a panic, a twenty-minute meeting with Sam should be a piece of cake.”

      She steered the land yacht into the alley and slammed on the brakes to avoid a two-wheeled chrome-and-leather monster angled across the drive. She poked her head out the window.

      “Only an idiot would stop there. Are you trying to get yourself killed?” she shouted over the car’s engine. “Didn’t you see the parking spot out front?”

      Eyebrows raised, he glanced over his shoulder regarding the ostentatious sedan.

      “Yeah, I noticed it, but I figured you might need it for your limo.”

      She squashed down the desire to smile at his wise-guy tone and familiar drawl. Instead, she switched off the ignition and pushed open the door. Since he hadn’t budged from his comfortable spot, she’d be forced to go to him.

      With one leg slung over the seat of the bike and muscular arms folded across his chest, there sat the man she’d idolized since they were kids. Her heart drummed a frantic beat. Beneath the five-o’clock shadow and shaggy dark hair was a glimmer of the serious boy who had done his homework at her grandmother’s kitchen table.

      Obviously unaffected by her arrival, Sam resumed his apparent study of the building’s rear wall. It would take the patience of Job for her to readjust to this town. Life moved at a snail’s pace and the uniform of the day was jeans and a T-shirt bearing an advertisement. Sam seemed to be no exception.

      “I suppose I should thank you for your consideration.”

      “Forget it,” he assured her. “Being considerate of you is pretty low on my list.”

      She winced as the comment hit its mark.

      “Actually,” he continued, “I wanted to see the condition of the alley side first.”

      “That’s a good idea,” she recovered, glancing down the length of the building. “I have the keys to the back entrance.”

      A fast rifle through the black clutch produced the cluster of keys.

      She stepped toward the security door, then hesitated as Sam shifted his weight off the bike. He gestured for her to continue the lead.

      He followed, his nose detecting a delightful scent as he watched with genuine approval. He noted how the afternoon sun glinted off her copper hair. Here and there, strands had worked free and the natural curls leapt to life.

      Uninvited, the vision of a little girl’s curly red hair against a kitchen’s sunny window invaded his mind’s eye. He heard the spray of an aerosol can and smelled lemon furniture polish as his mother dusted in the next room. She checked on him from time to time, making sure he finished his homework while she completed her cleaning duties.

      Homework wasn’t half as much trouble as Miriam Elliott’s pesky granddaughter, but she’d grown on him as a kid and invaded his heart as a teen. He shrugged off the familiar moment and refocused on the steel door where his flame-haired nemesis struggled to throw the heavy bolt.

      “Here, let me.” He reached for the keys, tapping Tara’s hand in a signal to move.

      She jerked her fist against her body as if he’d soiled her.

      So that’s how it’s gonna be. You probably think I’m just a dirty mechanic. Okay, Rusty. Works for me.

      He turned the bolt, pushed the door wide and stepped through first. A few feet inside the building he paused while his pupils adjusted to the darkness. Though the place was swept clean of the former tenant, spiderwebs indicated many months without attention. Possibility permeated the cavernous, empty space.

      He faced Tara, interested in her reaction to the building.

      “This place always reminded me of a dungeon,” she complained. “The best light exposure is upstairs. There should be more to work with on the second floor. Maybe we’ll use this main floor for storage.”

      “And what is it you plan to store in here, if you don’t mind telling me?”

      “Well, inventory mostly. Since my expertise is in antiques, I naturally want to sell vintage furnishings.”

      “Is that so?” He crossed his arms and waited, amazed at her new air of self-confidence. “And how does that meet the requirements of a ‘profitable enterprise that will serve the financial interests of Beardsly, Texas’?” He quoted from the will.

      “A lot of consumers stay away from antiques either because they think they can’t afford them, or they don’t know anything about them.”

      Tara’s eyes flashed a spark of excitement in the dark room. “If you know where and what to search for, Southern collectibles are quite valuable.”

      He couldn’t resist squashing her idea like a bug. “Before you wear your arm out patting yourself on the back, you might want to consider selling something besides old furniture in an old town. Not exactly a commodity that’s in short supply.”

      The slight droop in her shoulders said he’d driven home the supply-and-demand theory he’d taught hundreds of college freshmen.

      “I hope the second floor works for whatever you sell. Just don’t get any ideas about keeping your inventory down here. I have a business plan of my own.”

      “But I’m sure I’ll need this space, too,” she insisted.

      “Now listen.” He fixed her with СКАЧАТЬ