Bachelor In Blue Jeans

Dredging up a smile, Kristin called out a hello as she closed the distance between them. “Mrs. Arnett?”

Anna Mae’s elderly cousin came forward and stretched out a hand. But as Kristin attempted to shake it, the woman slapped a set of keys into her palm. “Call me Mildred,” she said, her sharp bird eyes taking in Kristin’s white sweatshirt and jeans. “Just go on inside and do whatever it is that you do.”

Kristin hesitated. “You aren’t going with me?”

Will Arnett answered irritably, “Mother refuses to go inside Anna Mae’s home after dark, and of course, it will be dark soon.” He sent Kristin a deadpan expression and wiggled his fingers in the air. “Ghosts, you know.”

Mildred scowled at her son, then spoke to Kristin. “I don’t like thinking of Anna Mae dying in that house all alone, without someone to guide her spirit to the next level. I—I hear things in there.” She cast a brief, nervous eye at the stately maples close to the house. “I’ve been trying to contact Ellysa all day, but I haven’t been able to reach her. She’d know what the sounds mean.”

Mildred seemed to expect a reply, so Kristin ventured, “Ellysa?”

Will rolled his eyes. “Ellysa Spectral, Mother’s voodoo medium from the psychic hotli—”

“Ellysa is my spiritual advisor,” Mildred cut in sharply.

“And she’s draining your bank account. Every time you consult with her it’s $5.95 a minute. What a colossal waste of money!”

“You’d know all about wasting money, wouldn’t you? Maybe you should worry about getting a job instead of watching my bank balance!” Mildred swung a look at Kristin. “If there’s anything you want to buy, let me know. I’ve already tagged the things I want. As I said on the phone, the rest will be auctioned off and the house put in the hands of a Realtor.”

The mention of auctions brought back the compelling image of Zach in a tux, but Kristin quickly and determinedly chased it away. “Thank you for your trust. Shall I bring the keys to the motel when I’ve finished?”

“Yes, I’m in 103 and William’s in 104—but bring the keys to me.”

Kristin murmured her agreement, not daring to look at Will. “I’ll see you in an hour or two. I’d like to take a good look.”

“Whatever.” Mildred jutted her chin skyward. “Come, William. I’d like to take a nap before that police show I like comes on the TV.”

His face livid, Will Arnett nodded curtly at Kristin, then seated his mother in the blue sedan. She could hear them starting up again as they backed out of the driveway and roared off.

Kristin blew out a ragged breath. Chad hadn’t exaggerated. They really were a strange twosome.

Not surprisingly, the inside of Anna Mae’s house was clean, but cluttered—primarily because the rooms were small, but partly because the woman had been a pack rat. Downstairs, Kristin found several pots and vases that interested her, along with a bookcase full of classic literature, two of them, first editions. As Harlan had mentioned, frogs in all sizes were scattered from the kitchen to the upstairs bedrooms.

It was upstairs that she made her best finds, though the condition of the bedrooms disturbed her. The Arnetts hadn’t taken much care as they’d gone through Anna Mae’s things. Dresser drawers hung open, and most of the photos on the walls were askew. She tagged a pair of hurricane lamps and an old chest whose contents had also been tossed, then moved into the hallway to label a lovely old chair and occasional table before opening the door to the attic.

Several pairs of shoes sat just inside, and metal curtain rods that had never made it to the upper repository stood upright in the corner. Kristin snapped on the dim light and ascended the narrow staircase. She glanced around as she neared the top, smiling when she spied a dressmaker’s dummy and several iron pipes hanging heavy with dated coats and dresses.

Suddenly glass smashed and the attic went dark. Kristin screamed as someone pushed past her and she tumbled midway down the stairs. She grasped for purchase, found the handrail, her mind on fire as footsteps banged down the remaining steps. The attic door slammed shut.

Afraid to move, afraid to breathe, Kristin crouched, nerves rioting, in the stairwell.

Something banged and bumped in the hall. Terrified, she backpedaled her way up several steps. She drew a trembling breath. He was moving furniture.

The thin strip of light beneath the attic door went out.

Kristin’s pulse hammered so loudly in her ears it was nearly impossible to pick out other sounds. But after several long minutes, she sensed that the intruder had gone. Could she leave now? Did she dare tiptoe from the stairwell and call the police? What if he came back? What if he thought she’d seen him—could recognize him—and came back for her?

Dear God, he had to have been inside the entire time she was tagging merchandise!

Kristin felt her way down the last few steps, then located the light switch and prayed that the intruder had merely turned the light off upstairs and the sound she’d heard hadn’t been the bulb smashing. But it had been.

She tried the door. Her heart sank when she realized he must have wedged the antique chair under the knob.

Frantic now, she pushed against it, shoved and pushed again—reared back and put her shoulder into it, banging until her arm ached. She dropped to the bottom step and thrust both feet against the door, again and again, harder, faster, harder.

Kristin screamed as the vibration sent a shower of curtain rods clattering down on her head.

They were a godsend.

Quickly, she maneuvered one of the flat metal rods under the door and rammed it hard against a chair leg. The chair flew out from under the knob and fell to the floor. Kristin burst into the hallway, fumbled shakily for the light switch, then raced downstairs and out of the house to use her car phone.

Patrolman Larry McIntyre was on the scene in less than five minutes, sirens wailing and lights flashing. After taking Kristin’s statement and asking if she needed medical attention, he disappeared inside Anna Mae’s little colonial home. Kristin was still sitting in her van when more headlights pierced the darkness and Chad brought his truck to a skidding stop behind the prowl car. He was in “civvies”—a gray sweatshirt bearing a police academy emblem, jeans and sneakers.

“What happened?” he asked tensely as he hurried to her open window. Lights strobed over his face. “Are you all right? I heard the call as I was getting out of the shower.”

“I’m okay,” she said with more confidence than she felt. “I’ll probably have a few bruises from my graceful tumble down the steps, but I’m fine.” Although, now that the crazy adrenaline rush had ceased, she was aware that her shoulder ached, and her right cheekbone felt tender.

“Thank God. Did you get a look at the guy?”

“No. To be honest, I can’t even say for sure that it was a man. Everything happened too fast.” She paused. “Larry thinks someone read the obituaries and decided to help himself while the house was still empty. He said he wouldn’t be surprised if whoever broke in was looking for valuables to sell for drug money.”

A deep scowl marred Chad’s features. “We can’t know that for sure, but it’s possible. We’re close enough to a major city to have our share of problems.”

Kristin understood his anger. Everyone had their own causes. For Chad, it was drugs. From the day he’d apprehended a bucket-toting drug dealer collecting money for Anti-Drug Education outside a supermarket, that had been Chad’s focus. Now he was tireless in his fight, speaking annually to school kids about the dangers of drug use. He believed that if he could reach them before the dealers did, they had a better chance of staying clean. He was still angry that a recent sting by state and tri-county police departments had failed because someone warned the dealers they were coming. Someone with inside information.

Chad sighed and looked toward the house. “Will you be okay while I see if Larry’s come up with anything?”

“I’ll be fine. Do your job.”

“You’re sure?” he said backing away.

“I’m sure. Go.”

Kristin stared after him, wishing she could feel more than friendship for him. He truly did care about the town he protected and served. No one she knew would dispute that. At the same time, occasionally he did things that made her feel less kindly disposed to him. He was her friend. But he never passed up an opportunity to be photographed for the papers. Being a prime player in a major drug bust would’ve been a huge feather in his cap.

Minutes later, the lights went out in Anna Mae’s home except for a lamp in the front window, and the two men came back out. With a wave, Larry climbed inside the prowl car, turned off the strobing lights and left. She’d given Larry the keys to Anna Mae’s house when he arrived. Now Chad handed them back to her.

“I phoned the Arnetts,” he said. “It’s obvious from the splintering along the door frame that someone gained entry through the kitchen—probably after 5:00 p.m. and before eight o’clock when the Arnetts met you here. Mrs. Arnett’s coming by tomorrow to see if anything’s missing.”

Chad paused, staring at the keys she held. “Why don’t you let me return those for you? You should go home and rest.”

“Thanks, but I can do it.”

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

She smiled. “Don’t hover.”

A ragged sigh escaped him. “Okay, then I’ll help Larry knock on some doors—see if the neighbors saw anyone hanging around here tonight. To be honest, I suspect he’s long gone, but…that’s the job.” Chad’s gaze softened, and he reached inside to touch her hair.

It made her a little sad. “Chad…”

“Yeah, I know,” he murmured. “But if you ever change your mind, I could give you a good life.” He smiled. “And we’d have great-looking kids.”

“Thanks for coming by,” was all she could say. Then he stepped away from the car and Kristin backed out of the driveway, wondering if the day would ever end.

The Wisdom Inn was a one-story, U-shaped series of units that opened directly onto a courtyard. It didn’t have a presidential suite, but it was clean, well kept and, according to the neon sign near the road, offered a continental breakfast. But, Kristin thought as she walked in the cool darkness up to unit 103, she’d never stay here, particularly after tonight. Spotty, outdoor lighting and a door chain wasn’t her idea of security.

She cringed as harsh words came through 103’s wooden door.

“Ellysa knew something terrible would happen tonight!” Mildred shouted. “She says the person who broke in is someone I know.”

“Oh yes, Mother,” Will bellowed dramatically. “The great and powerful Ellysa Spectral knows all.”

“She knows plenty. Where did you go while I napped tonight?”

Feeling herself pale, Kristin knocked loudly while Mildred continued to rail at her son. It couldn’t have been Will Arnett who’d knocked her down those stairs tonight, could it? How could he have entered the house and made his way to the attic without her knowledge? More to the point, why would he take a chance like that?

Will yanked open the door and greeted her wearily. “Hello, Ms. Chase.”

“Hello. I’m just dropping off the—”

“Yes, I know, the keys. I’m so sorry for the trouble you ran into tonight. Is there anything we can do? Offer you some tea—a glass of wine, perhaps?”

Not in this lifetime. The last thing she needed was a drink at ringside. “That’s very kind of you, but I need to get home. Chief Hollister said that you and your mother were coming by to check the house in the morning. Would you mind if I met you there again? I’d still like to look through the attic.”

Mildred pushed forward, elbowing her son out of the way. “How about ten o’clock? I like to sleep in.”

Kristin felt a faint smile form on her lips. There was no “How are you dear?” from the strange little woman, no apologies for the scare she’d experienced tonight. “Ten o’clock will be fine,” Kristin said, backing away. “I’ll see you at the house.”

“Take care,” Will said tiredly.

“You, too,” she replied, meaning it. He probably needed all the care he could beg, borrow or steal to deal with his mother.

She couldn’t imagine living in such an explosive household. She’d grown up in a warm, loving home with warm, loving parents who treated each other and their children with respect. Nothing like the behavior she’d seen from the Arnetts. Even in the last days of her life, Lillian Chase had never stopped smiling and encouraging her daughters. And Kristin had never stopped missing the father she’d lost in a car accident five years earlier.

“Kris?” A deep, familiar male voice called her name over the sound of dispensing ice. From Zach’s tone, he was as surprised by their meeting as she was.

Kristin turned reluctantly toward the brightly lit alcove housing the soft drink machines. Dark sweatpants rode low on his hips, and the matching sweatshirt he wore was unzipped and hanging open. He was barefoot.

“Looking for me?” he asked, grinning faintly as he came forward. It was the closest he’d come to smiling since he’d returned—at least in his dealings with her—and for some ridiculous reason, that pleased her.

“No, I was returning Anna Mae’s keys to Mrs. Arnett.” Kristin kept her eyes above the dark, springy hair covering his chest. Thirteen years ago, only a strip of soft down had bisected his breastbone. “I thought you’d be staying at the farmhouse.”

“I will be as soon as the water and power are turned back on. How did it go at Anna Mae’s? Did you find some pieces for your shop?”

“A few. I was…I was interrupted and had to stop for a while. I’m going back tomorrow after church.”

Zach ambled closer.

Kristin glanced toward the office where her car was parked, nerves skittering beneath her skin. His thick black hair was wet, and a soapy fragrance wafted on the night air. He kept his voice low in deference to the hour.

“I passed the church we used to go to on my way back to the farmhouse last night. Hasn’t changed mu—”

Suddenly, his face went slack, and he set the ice bucket down. “What happened to you?”

“Nothing,” she replied, startled.

Reaching out, he turned her face toward the light. “Nothing? Your cheek’s swollen and there’s blood in your hair. Who did this?”

Blood? “No one. I fell.”

“Come on.” Grabbing her hand, he tugged her toward a unit several feet away. She cried out softly when the action jarred her aching shoulder.

Zach’s gaze hardened. “You fell?”

“I’m fine.”

“All right, you’re fine. Don’t tell me what happened. And don’t accept my help. But if you don’t get some ice on your cheek pretty damn soon, you’re going to look like a poster girl for domestic abuse.”

“All right!” Striding through the door, she moved past the disheveled bed with the plain blue coverlet, and entered his tiny bathroom. It seemed even smaller with shower mist and the intimate smells of soap and shampoo still hanging in the air. Butterflies battered her stomach as Zach reached past her to wipe the steam from the mirror, then stood behind her, staring at their reflections.

Kristin sighed. Blood was caked near her temple, and there was a reddish-blue bruise on her cheekbone.

Zach grabbed a washcloth, dropped some ice into it, then put the pack in her hand. “Now,” he said gravely. “What went on tonight?”

She told him. He wasn’t much happier when she finished.

“Chad didn’t insist that you get checked out at the hospital? And why in hell didn’t he deliver the keys to the Arnetts so you could go home and take care of yourself? Or didn’t he even notice that you’d been hurt?”

“Zach, please,” she said, pressing the ice pack to her face. “I’m tired, and I don’t feel like defending Chad’s actions to you tonight. He did offer, but I refused. It was more important that he investigate the break-in. As for his not noticing, I was sitting in the dark, and my right side was turned away from him.”

“You were standing in a dark courtyard and I noticed.”

She shook her head. This was a mistake. She should never have let him bully her into coming in here. When he made sounds like a man who cared, it was too easy to forget that he’d nearly destroyed her, and too easy to remember that they’d once owned each other’s souls.

“I need to go,” she said, shoving the ice pack in his hands. “Thank you.”

“Wait. I want to see something.” Dropping the pack into the sink, he moved closer and turned her face up to his. After the ice, his hand was warm against her skin, and tiny nerve endings responded. “It’s still red,” he said quietly.

“Makeup will cover it.”

“Will it?”

“Yes, I’m sure it—” She stiffened. “What are you doing? Zach—?”

Warm breath fanned the hair at her temple as his lips brushed her cheekbone. “Just kissing it to make it better.”

Kristin rammed both palms into his chest and shoved him away. “How dare you?” she demanded shakily, more furious with herself for allowing the kiss than she was with him. “You gave up the right to do that the night you slept with Gretchen Wilder.”

Chapter 4

Zach’s gray eyes churned angrily as he looked down at her. He was a big man, and even the full force of her shove wasn’t enough to do more than shift his stance.

He reached for her shoulders, then suddenly seemed to remember her injury and backed off. But he was still so close, she could feel the heat of his body, could count every black whisker in his day-old beard, every eyelash fringing his accusing gaze.

“Still throwing all the blame in my lap? Well, you know what I think? I think you were glad I slept with Gretchen. No, not glad—ecstatic. It saved you from manufacturing even more reasons why you couldn’t marry me.”

Kristin bolted through the doorway, her sneakers punishing the walk as he followed her out. “I never manufactured anything. Everything I said was true.”

“Like hell! You never told me how sick your mother was!”

She whirled to face him. “The news was too new. I couldn’t. Not until you broke off our relationship. Then I realized that no matter how deeply into denial I was—no matter how frightened I was that saying the word ‘terminal’ would make it true—I had to tell you the truth before I lost you, too. And when I finally found the courage to say that word, where were you? Lying in the weeds with Gretchen. Four hours, Zach! Four lousy hours away from me, and you were making love to someone else!”

Nearby streetlights threw his face into bold relief, anger still burning in his eyes. “I didn’t make love to her, I had sex with her. They’re two different things.”

“Oh, yes, let’s split hairs.”

“I told you how sorry I was. It meant nothing!”

“It meant everything! It meant I had no one to hold me and help me through her illness! It meant I could never trust you again.”

Kristin brought her lips together, suddenly aware that their shouts were echoing in the courtyard. They had to stop before they had an audience, if people weren’t already peeping through the cracks in their drapes. She lowered her voice, and it trembled as she struggled for control. “Never mind, it doesn’t matter anymore.”

“It does matter, or you wouldn’t have brought it up.” Zach lowered his voice, too. “You knew how insecure I was about you. You knew about my life and my past, and you knew that a long string of excuses not to marry me would make me doubt your feelings.”

“What string of excuses?”

“First, you were afraid I’d always be on the road and you’d be alone in unfamiliar surroundings. When I told you I’d be working with the permanent crew in Durham, it barely made a difference. Then it was the scholarship that stood in the way, even though I told you we’d find a way to pay for your out-of-state schooling. By the time you told me that you were refusing the scholarship to stay with your mom, why wouldn’t I have had doubts? Especially when you let me think she was going to get better. When you couldn’t even look at me that day, I thought I had my answer, and it was no. No marriage, no me and you.” He expelled an impatient breath. “That’s why Gretchen happened.”

Kristin’s voice shook. “Don’t you dare try to justify what you did. Gretchen ‘happened’ because you let it happen. I’m sorry you had a lousy life. But I didn’t have time to wonder that day if what I said was what you heard.” Her voice broke. “My mother was dying, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.”

The night stilled around them, every molecule frozen in time and space as her words hung heavy in the air. For several very long seconds, neither of them moved, the hum of tires on the highway punctuating the long silence.

“If I’d known that,” he said finally, “things would’ve been different.”

Instead of making her feel better, his reply hurt her all over again. If he’d really loved her and thought their relationship was over, he would have been too devastated to want anyone else. That’s how she’d felt. Instead, he’d made love to his free-spirited, easy neighbor while Kristin was reeling from their breakup and trying to come to grips with her mother’s cancer. She’d had to handle it all without him. And she’d needed him more desperately then than she’d ever needed anyone or anything since.

Turning away, she headed toward the neon sign near the office where her van was parked.

Zach didn’t try to stop her, and she didn’t look back.

He did get in the last cold words. “I told you how sorry I was the night it happened and again at your mother’s funeral. I phoned you and wrote letters that came back unopened. I’m through groveling, Kris.”

Kristin managed to cling to her anger and keep her tears at bay until she pulled into the concrete drive beside her town house and entered her apartment. Then there was no holding back.

Dammit, she thought as the tears fell. She wasn’t responsible for their breakup! He was. His immaturity—not his insecurity—was to blame. And after thirteen years, why did she still care what he thought or didn’t think?

But minutes later as she stood in the kitchen holding more ice to her cheek, the scene outside Zach’s motel room came back to her.

Was there a kernel of truth in what he’d said? Had she, unknowingly, been looking for excuses to put off their wedding?

She’d been completely devoted to him—no one could tell her that she hadn’t been. But at eighteen, had she been ready to leave her home and family to start a new life in a new state? Could she have been making excuses that she wasn’t even aware of?

Kristin threw the ice into the sink and heated water for tea. The hold he still had on her was incomprehensible. Tonight, she’d been shoved down half a flight of steps, locked in an attic stairwell and frightened to the soles of her feet.

And still, all she could think of was Zach.

Zach jerked open his briefcase on the bed, shuffled through the copies of the strip mall estimates he’d brought along with him, then dropped to the bedspread and picked up the phone again. He cradled the receiver on his shoulder while he located the specs for the space they were converting to a popular toy franchise.

“Okay, Dan, I’m looking at the floor plan now,” he said to his foreman. “And yeah, that half wall has to come down. You know the drill. All the stores in the franchise have to look alike for easy shopping.”

“Can’t get even a little creative?”

“We save our creativity for the beach houses.”

“Fine by me, just thought I’d ask before we ripped it down.” He paused, his Carolina drawl growing slightly curious. “Things goin’ okay there? You don’t sound happy.”

“I’m so happy, I’m damn-near delirious,” he growled sarcastically. “It shouldn’t take me more than two weeks to finish here, then I’ll be home. In the meantime, call if you run into any problems, and I’ll continue to phone you daily for updates. Is the other crew ready to start the Hart’s beach house?”

“Day after tomorrow.”