Sugar Pine Trail

Her tenant was home. Somehow in all the commotion of the party, she had missed his return.

Not that she had been watching for him or anything.

She shivered again, more from the lie she was telling herself this time than from the cold. Of course she had been watching for him. She had a man living in her house, and this was the first night he had spent under the same roof.

How would she possibly make it through the next six weeks?

CHAPTER THREE

HE HAD A VISITOR.

At the third plaintive yowl in as many minutes from the landing outside his new apartment, Jamie set down his book and headed to the door. When he opened it, he found one of Julia Winston’s cats, the same lithe black beauty he had held earlier. She bounded inside to rub against his leg and instantly began to purr.

He chuckled and picked her up, holding her out so he could gaze into her green eyes.

“Hi there. I don’t think you’re supposed to be up here, but maybe you didn’t get the memo.”

She meowed in answer, giving him an unblinking stare.

“Are you looking for something? Did you leave your favorite toy up here?” he asked, stroking her silky fur.

She purred and rubbed her head against his hand, making him smile.

It had been a long time since he’d had much to do with cats. His mother had always loved them, but the succession of big, boisterous dogs he and his brothers and Charlotte were constantly taking home to Winterberry Lane in Hope’s Crossing didn’t always make for the most comfortable environment for its feline occupants.

His poor mother had put up with so much from her brood. As always, he felt a pang when he remembered Margaret Caine, gone too young from cancer.

He petted the cat a few more moments, finding an odd sort of peace in it. He would like to have taken her in, charmed more than he might have expected by the idea of sitting by the gas fireplace in his apartment on a cold night, with a good book and a cat on his lap. He couldn’t just commandeer a cat. His landlady would probably be looking for her.

“You’d better go home,” he said, trying to set the cat down. She yowled in protest and wriggled to stay in his arms.

“Fine. I’ll take you down myself,” he said.

Jamie didn’t bother with shoes as he headed down the steps to the entryway. He was about five or six steps from the bottom when the doorknob to the outside door turned and a moment later, Julia walked inside.

Her hair looked a bit messy, as if tangled by a stiff wind, and she wobbled a little as she pushed the door open. She was humming a song, and it took him a few bars before he recognized the tune. “Blue Christmas.”

She didn’t appear to notice him as she came inside, still humming and looking a little unsteady.

Jamie decided he had to announce himself, since she still didn’t appear to notice him even when he walked the rest of the way down the steps.

“I think I have something of yours.”

She shrieked and jumped a foot into the air, then whirled around with her hands in front of her in a classic martial arts defensive pose.

Whoa. Ninja librarian.

He knew the instant she recognized him. Color soaked her cheeks, and she dropped her hands.

“Oh! You scared the daylights out of me!”

“Sorry about that. I should have announced myself somehow.”

“It’s not your fault. I... I guess I must have been...thinking about something else.”

The words something else came out slightly slurred and as he approached her, he noticed her cheeks seemed a little bit more flushed than he could attribute to a normal blush and her violet eyes looked a little dazed.

Unless he was very much mistaken, his prim, uptight landlady was slightly tipsy, maybe from the gathering that had just broken up down here within the last half hour or so.

He had to admit, he found this soft, flustered version of Julia Winston rather appealing.

“I had a visitor upstairs, and I thought you might be looking for her.”

He held out the cat, who still seemed reluctant to leave his arms.

“Oh. Audrey Hepburn. You rascal.”

He couldn’t hold back his smile. “Your cat’s name is Audrey Hepburn?”

“Not my cat,” she corrected. “My mother’s cat. They’re all my mother’s cats. Yes, her name is Audrey Hepburn. My mother was a big fan of Roman Holiday.”

“Charade is my favorite of her work.”

“Same here!” Her eyes were wide with disbelief, as if she couldn’t fathom the idea that they might share a favorite movie.

It surprised him a little, too. He might have figured her for someone who preferred dry literary movies or the kind of foreign films he couldn’t understand without subtitles. Then again, she was tipsy in her hallway after a wild gathering with friends on a weeknight. Maybe he wasn’t as good a judge of character as he thought.

“Sounds like you were having quite a party earlier.”

“Oh. I’m sorry I didn’t warn you about my book club. I hope we didn’t bother you.”

“It sounded a little raucous for a book club.” He didn’t mention the fact that she seemed a little buzzed.

“We’re not usually this crazy,” she confided. “Roxy Nash brought this really great autumn sangria. It had apples and cinnamon and pears and was so good. We all got a little carried away. I think we might have underestimated slightly the alcohol content. I promise. I don’t have wild book club parties very often.”

“Too bad. Make sure you invite me to the next one. I’d love to see Hazel and Eppie get smashed.”

Much to his shock, her gaze seemed fixed on his smile.

Or his mouth, anyway.

Now what would a prim and proper woman like Julia Winston find so fascinating about his mouth? Did he have something stuck in his teeth?

He gave her a closer look and his interest sharpened. Her lips parted and then she swallowed hard. If he didn’t know better, he would swear that was a little hint of attraction he saw in her eyes.

Who would have guessed?

“You know Hazel and Eppie?” she asked after a long moment.

“Oh, yes. They’re two of my favorite people in Haven Point.”

“Mine, too,” she said, in that same surprised tone. He had the feeling she wasn’t all that thrilled at finding more points of commonality between them.

He decided to quit while he was ahead.

“Anyway, here’s your cat.”

He tried to hand the little beast to Julia, but once more she clung to him and yowled her protest. “Sorry. Apparently she likes me.”

“Of course she does,” Julia muttered darkly. “She likes you and she hates me. They all hate me.”

He heard a little thread of despondency in her voice that troubled him.

“Who all hates you?” He had to ask.

“The cats. My mother’s cats. Audrey hates me the least, I guess. Empress and Tabitha despise me.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” he answered, with no other idea of what to say in this circumstance.

“It is true. All they do is turn up their noses like they’re too good to even notice me. It’s not fair. I feed them, I house them, I clean up their... Well, you know. You would think they might show a little gratitude.”

“Cats aren’t exactly known to be overflowing in appreciation for others.”

“I know, right? They act like I should be the grateful one that they’re letting me clean up after them. Seriously. It’s so unfair.”

She glared at him, as if the temperament of the entire feline species was his fault. “Look at her. I should have known Audrey would love you. Everything female does.”

What was he supposed to make of that particular statement? Was he supposed to apologize? He also wasn’t quite sure what he should do about his tipsy landlady. He didn’t feel right about leaving her alone in this condition.

On the other hand, he barely knew the woman. For all he knew, maybe she went on a bender every Monday night.

He didn’t think so, though. Julia Winston struck him as someone who rarely let herself unwind.

While he was trying to figure out his best response, she apparently decided she was done talking with him.

“Come on, Audrey. Let’s go.”

She stepped closer, and he caught the scent of apples and pears and cinnamon, with a heady undertone of white wine. As she reached out again to take the cat from him, her hands brushed his chest. Was it his imagination or did they linger there a little longer than strictly necessary as she tried to scoop up the reluctant animal?

That tentative touch combined with the awareness he had seen in her gaze earlier sent heat curling through him.

Seriously? He was starting to be turned on by his half-drunk, stuffy librarian?

Only because it had been way too long since he’d had a woman’s soft, warm hands anywhere on his body, he told himself.

She didn’t look much like a stuffy librarian now, with that soft hair slipping free and her cheeks pink and her little tongue darting out to lick her bottom lip.

Somehow seeing this unexpectedly unbuttoned side of her was more sensual than if she’d shown up at his door wearing sexy lingerie.

The cat still didn’t seem inclined to leave his arms, but between his efforts and Julia’s, they managed to extricate her. Julia set the cat down, and after a moment, the animal sauntered inside, probably to share her evening adventure with the other two cats.

Julia frowned after her.

“Sorry if she bothered you.”

“She didn’t. I like cats.”

“Of course you do,” she said, that grumpy tone in her voice again. She gave a heavy sigh. “Why do you have to be so gorgeous? It’s not fair.”

The inappropriate attraction he heroically had been trying to suppress slithered back as if someone had set a match to a detonating wire.

“It’s not?” he said stupidly.

She shook her head so vigorously that more hair came loose from her messy bun. “No. Can’t you do something about that? I mean, I wouldn’t want you to have a disfiguring accident or something. That would be horrible. A scar, maybe. Something that would make you not quite so...perfect.”

He wasn’t perfect. Far from it.

“Maybe I could develop adult-onset acne,” he suggested.

The scowl disappeared as her eyes widened with approval. “Yes! That would be great.”

He laughed. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“See? You’re so nice. That’s why all the girls like you so much. The girl people and the girl cats.”

He laughed again, more intrigued than he had been by a woman in a long, long time. Maybe living upstairs from the town librarian wouldn’t be such a hardship, after all.

“Thanks for that. Are you going to be okay? I’m not sure I feel right about leaving you alone in your...condition.”

“What’s my condition?” She narrowed her gaze at him like a confused baby owl.

“Sleepy. The best thing for you right now, trust me, is to get some rest.”

As if his words had planted the seed, she yawned suddenly. “I am tired. I guess you’re right.”

“Good night, Ms. Winston.”

“You can call me Julia. If you want to.”

As she stood with her hand on the door and her hair falling loose, she looked vulnerable and alone and a little lost.

He had the odd thought that the two of them just might be kindred spirits.

The moment the idea entered his brain he pushed it violently away. Kindred spirits? He and an uptight, prickly librarian?

How stupid was that?

“You got it, Julia. And I’m Jamie.”

“I know,” she whispered.

He had to get out of here before he did something stupid.

“Good night.”

He started to close the door behind her, but she stuck her foot it in and stood with her face wedged between the door and the frame. “Wait. If we were on a date, you would kiss me.”

Her lips suddenly seemed eminently kissable, plump and pink and delicious looking. What would she do if he pulled the rest of her wayward hair down, buried his hands in it and pressed her back against that door?

She was impaired, he reminded himself.

“Maybe. If you wanted me to.”

“I would,” she whispered.

She was impaired, plus she was a stodgy librarian and totally not his type, he reminded himself. Still, he couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to taste her.

Because she looked so lonely and because he tried to be that nice guy to girl people and girl cats alike, he leaned in and kissed her forehead.

“Good night, Julia. Sleep well.”

She gave a wistful-sounding sigh and closed the door.

Heart pounding far more than it should be, Jamie headed for the stairs.

Julia Winston was trouble.

Who would have guessed? His tight-laced, no-nonsense landlady had a core of passion and heat inside of her. The man who could unleash that would be very lucky, indeed.

He wasn’t that man. He could never be—no matter how hard he might wish otherwise.

CHAPTER FOUR

“HOW ARE YOU holding up, my dear?”

Julia managed a half smile for Barbara Serrano as she scanned her pile of library books into the system.

“I’m here and I’m breathing. That’s something, right?”

Barbara laughed. “That sangria was lethal. Trust Roxy to get us all hammered, right before Thanksgiving. I haven’t had a hangover since my sorority days.”

The very dignified restaurant owner still didn’t appear to have a hair out of place. Lucky.

“I’m doing okay so far. Over the last few hours, my headache has slipped down to this sucks level, which is a big improvement from this morning’s, when I thought I was going to have to borrow a power drill to relieve the pressure in my skull.”

Barbara chuckled. “It was a fun night, though, wasn’t it? I hope we weren’t too loud for your new neighbor.”

At the reminder of Jamie, the vague, unsettling feeling that had been haunting her all day returned with a vengeance.

She couldn’t seem to shake the feeling that something...untoward had happened with him the night before.

She had these odd snippets of memory, and she wasn’t sure if they were real or some fantasy-fueled dream. She could picture him, clear as day, standing on her stairs in his bare feet, holding a cat.

Would she have conjured that up out of her imagination? Possibly. But what about the masculine scent of him, bergamot and cedar with a little hint of cloves? Why did that seem so clear in her memory bank?

Worse than that, somehow the words Jamie and kiss had become intertwined in her mind. That was ridiculous, of course. Wasn’t it?

She hadn’t seen the man the night before. She was almost positive of it. But then, she only had loose recollections of the evening from about her fourth sangria on.

She hoped with all her heart that she was imagining those little flickers of memory. It would have been beyond humiliating if Jamie had seen her in that condition.

“How are your tatted snowflakes coming for the booth at the Lights on the Lake festival?” Barbara asked.

“Fine,” she lied.

The truth was, while she had loved the craft she learned from Mariah—the delicate knots and rings with thread to make lace—lately she had struggled to summon any enthusiasm. Sitting in her huge Victorian with her cats and her tatting made her feel so old and spinsterish.

“Can you believe it’s Thanksgiving in two days and then all the holiday craziness is upon us?” Barbara’s eyes gleamed with an anticipation that made Julia tired.

“Where did the year go?” she asked rhetorically. She knew too well. It went to working, dealing with the house, fixing the furnace, visiting her mother, then arranging her mother’s estate after her death.

“Are you sure you won’t come over for dinner?” Barbara asked when Julia finished checking out her books. “We’ll have a full house and would love one more.”

“Thank you again for the kind offer but I’ll be fine. I’m already signed up to help out at the nursing home. I’m taking Muriel Randall.”

“Oh, that will be good for her.”

The place in Shelter Springs where her mother had spent her last few months had several patrons without families. Julia didn’t love it there but also couldn’t bear the thought that anyone might feel alone.

“Well, I’d better run,” Barbara said after they chatted a bit more. “I would love to finish a few chapters of that new Nora Roberts book before some of our houseguests show up in the morning.”

“Enjoy,” she said.

Julia was busy most of the afternoon with patron questions and checkouts. She answered three phone calls to the reference desk, asking how to thaw a turkey. There would be more the next day, she suspected.

By early evening, her headache had abated, leaving just an echo of throbbing.

She made the rounds to the few groups of teenagers at the study tables to make sure they knew the library would be closing soon. When she rounded a corner of the stacks, she found Davy and Clinton, the boys from the day before, quietly playing a card game at a table.

She hadn’t seen them come in. Perhaps they had entered the library when she had been taking a break.

Both boys looked up with wary expressions when she headed in their direction.

“Hi, Davy. Hi, Clinton. How are you boys this evening?”

Davy gave a dramatic sigh. “I’m hungry, but Clint says he’ll make me another peanut butter sandwich when we have to go home.”

That particular statement disturbed her on several levels. Julia tried to conceal her reaction. Where were their parents? From what she had seen firsthand and from what she had inferred from Davy’s comments, it seemed Clint was doing more parenting than an eight-year-old boy should.

Something was going on here, but she had no idea how to figure out what or how to fix it. She did know Davy was hungry, and she had the means to remedy that.

“You know,” she said casually, “I happen to have a sandwich in the back. It’s turkey instead of peanut butter, but I think you’ll find it quite tasty.”

“Really?” The little boy’s eyes lit up. “I thought we weren’t s’posed to eat in the library.”

“Food isn’t allowed out here in the book stacks, but you’re fine to eat in the back. I do it all the time. Do you know, if we cut the sandwich in half, I think it would be more than enough for two boys.”

She’d had such good intentions that morning when she packed her lunch, but her hangover had been too wicked earlier in the day to tolerate anything solid. She had ended up heating a cup of soup in the microwave.

“Did you hear that, Clint? Miss Winston has a sandwich she said we could eat!”

While the younger boy looked thrilled, his brother’s reluctance showed through. He shook his head with a stubborn look. “No. We’d better not. Thanks anyway, Miss Winston.”

“Nonsense,” she said in a brisk tone. “You’re hungry, and I have an extra sandwich that will only go to waste if you don’t help me out by eating it. Think of it this way—you would be doing me a favor.”

Davy looked at his brother. “Mom said we’re supposed to help other people out when we can, especially this time of year. Remember? Miss Winston needs someone to help her eat her sandwich.”

Clinton didn’t look particularly convinced by that argument, but after a moment he shrugged. “I guess it would be okay. As long as we’re helping you.”

She smiled, touched beyond words that these two boys in their threadbare coats were concerned about helping others—but she was also undeniably troubled. She admired their mother’s sentiment about helping people out, but where was the woman? And why was she allowing her young boys to go hungry?

“Why don’t you both come to the back with me, and I’ll find the sandwich for you? There might be a cookie or two in my desk, as well.”

They stuffed their belongings back into their backpacks and followed her through the door that read Library Staff Only, to the inner workings of the library. Three doors down, she led them to the small room her staff used for breaks.

“Sit down and I’ll find the sandwich for you.”

From the refrigerator she pulled out her favorite reusable lunch bag with the pink and purple flowers and pulled out the sandwich. It was an easy matter to cut it in two and set it on paper plates for the boys.

“Look at this. There are chips and carrots here, as well as a brownie.”

She had been looking forward to that brownie, a leftover from last night’s book club, but she would willingly sacrifice to these two little boys, who inhaled the sandwich as if it were the best thing they had ever eaten.

Once she set the bounty in front of them, Julia took a chair at the table and sipped at the water bottle that hadn’t left her side all day. Hydration was one of the best cures for a hangover, she had read online that morning through the blur of her headache. It hadn’t worked yet, but she could still hope.

“I bet your mom fixes you nice lunches for school, doesn’t she?”

Davy looked at his brother, then quickly back down at his plate. Neither boy answered her. They simply shrugged. Obviously this was a sore spot.

“What about your dad?”

“Our dad died,” Clint said, his voice flat. “He was in the army, and he got shot three years ago.”

Emotions clogged her throat at the no-nonsense tone. “Oh, no. I’m so sorry.”

“I was only three,” Davy informed her. “I don’t even remember him much. Clint was five, though.”

They couldn’t have been from Hope’s Crossing or even Shelter Springs. She would have heard about a soldier from the area being killed in the line of duty. And why were the sons of a dead soldier wearing such ragged coats and eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches?

“That must have been very hard for you and for your mother.”

“It was,” Clinton said. “Our mom was in the army too, but she came home right away. She cried a lot. We were living with our Aunt Suzi then.”

“Are you going to your Aunt Suzi’s house for Thanksgiving?” she asked, trying to probe for answers as subtly as possible without it sounding like a blatant interrogation.

Clinton gave her an exasperated look. “That’s all the way by Disneyland! That’s too far. And she’s not there anyway.”

“That’s in California,” Davy informed her. “It’s warm there all the time—not like here, where our house is cold all the time.”

Clinton poked his brother, giving him a shushing sort of look that Julia pretended not to see.

“California does have beautiful weather. That’s true. Why did you move away?”

“Our mom got a new job here, but then she got sick and had to quit,” Davy said.

It was obvious Clinton thought his brother had said too much. He set down his napkin and slid away from the table. “We should probably go now. Our mom will be wondering where we are.”

“Really?” Davy said.

“Yes,” Clint said with a meaningful look. “Thank you for the sandwich, Miss Winston. It was very good.”

“You’re welcome.”

Julia was at a loss as to what to do next. Did she tell the boys she suspected something wasn’t quite right with them? That she wanted to have a talk with their mother to find out a little more about their situation, but she had no idea where they even lived?

The boys hadn’t left a scrap, Julia realized. They had all but licked the plates clean, poor things.

She was suddenly ashamed of herself. She had so very much—good friends, a job she loved, a beautiful home that kept her warm in the winter.

At this time of Thanksgiving, she realized again how very blessed she was. In the four months since her mother died, how much time had she wasted feeling sorry for herself?

What about the years and years before that?

The three of them walked out of the library offices together and out into the stacks. Very few patrons remained.

“I guess I’ll see you later, then.”

“We’ll probably be here tomorrow since we don’t have school,” Davy said.

Why? She loved libraries as much as the next person. More, probably. Still, what kid with free time would choose to spend every moment of it in one?