Nights Under the Tennessee Stars

“Tomorrow, okay?” He didn’t want to get into a disagreement now, not after how worried he’d been. He just needed his life to feel normal again tonight.

“Tomorrow? While I’m on an overnight field trip?”

“When you get home.” He wished he could get on a flight home. Now. “I promise.”

Disconnecting the call, he hoped Sarah understood. She’d been through so much.

He’d love to surprise her and show up in Miami by the time she was back from the field trip. Except he hadn’t scouted jack squat for locations unless Erin Finley could be talked into a spot.

The nail-gun-wielding store proprietor would be a great guest. Everything about the store was perfect, too, except he didn’t see many antiques besides those used as decor.

He set the store’s phone on a shelf—a shelf that used a tarnished silver cake stand to display an assortment of brooches from cameos to cubic zirconia cartoon cats. The store seemed to be a hybrid consignment shop where used and new items rubbed elbows comfortably. On second glance, he realized the “shelf” was actually a repurposed plantation shutter.

He definitely wanted to discuss the show with Erin, but dripping wet on her floor at midnight didn’t seem like the best way to make a pitch.

“Thank you,” he called over to her.

“All done?” She finished driving a few more nails into a piece of trim around a window casing and then strode over.

“Yes. Guess I need to try and find a hotel.” He turned back toward the glass door and stared into the darkness. “Sounds as though it might be slowing down.”

“Wishful thinking. And you might have to head back to Franklin for a hotel. Heartache just has a bed-and-breakfast, but Tansy Whittaker might not answer the door at this hour if you don’t have a reservation.” Erin carefully switched the safety on her nail gun and set the tool on a peeling green apothecary cabinet. “She told me she runs a white-noise machine at night because it masks the sound of the most, er, enthusiastic newlyweds’ vacations.”

“Right.” He wondered vaguely if she was flirting with him. No. The risqué reference was just normal conversation. “That makes me all the more grateful you heard when I knocked.”

“I don’t like surprises anymore.” Her voice had an edge to it as she leaned down to reach for something alongside him, her sudden proximity bringing the scent of her perfume and freshly cut lumber. She had a tattoo of a bluebird at the top of her spine just below her hairline. “Here.”

He looked at what she had handed him. A plain black umbrella. His gaze moved to the wrought iron stand near the door where two other umbrellas remained.

“Thanks, but I don’t want to take yours—”

“You’re a tough man to help, you know that?” She rested a hand on one hip and surveyed him through narrowed eyes. “All of those umbrellas have been there for at least a year, so I assure you, no one will be back to claim it now.”

“Then...thank you.” He tucked it under his arm. He didn’t have trouble accepting help. Much. “I might try the local place first, but I appreciate the tip about Franklin. Would you have time to meet tomorrow? I actually might be in the market for some specialty antiques.”

He liked to play it safe when interviewing prospective guests for a show. That way, if something didn’t pan out or they didn’t have the right temperament for television, there were no hard feelings afterward. But damn...if he could firm things up with Erin’s place and two more dealers, he could justify the trip and head home.

“Sure. Stop by anytime. If you want to block out some uninterrupted time, though, we’ll have to meet after five. We close early tomorrow, but I’m the only one here until then.”

“Great. Five sounds good.” He had made business appointments hundreds of times in his line of work. But this one felt oddly personal. Partly because Erin didn’t know the real purpose of his visit and might assume he simply wanted an excuse to see her again. But maybe also because they were alone at midnight with the steady hum of rain drowning out the rest of the world.

“Until then, safe travels, Remy Weldon.” Erin stuck a hand out to save him from his stupid line of thinking.

Right. This was business and he was just overtired. He took her hand and shook it. A brief, warm contact that was there and then gone.

“Thanks for everything.” He really did owe her big-time. If there was any way that Interstate Antiquer could put her store on the map and improve her business, he planned to make that happen. He owed her that much for her kindness.

But as he turned to head out into the storm—a black umbrella now sheltering his head—he wasn’t thinking much about her business. Instead, he saw cornflower blue eyes and the wry smile of a sharp, self-possessed woman who didn’t play games.

It made him uneasy to think he wasn’t going to put her out of his mind anytime soon.

CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_f5afced0-2a29-528e-96a4-04fbd4871c21)

THE STORE WAS surprisingly busy the next day, keeping Erin on her toes all morning and well into the afternoon. She hardly had time to think about her visitor from the previous night, which was just as well since Remy Weldon had occupied far too much mental real estate the night before.

Just when she thought she’d beaten her libido into permanent submission, a compelling stranger had to enter her store with a cleft in his chin and a trace of a sexy Cajun accent. She told herself he was just a test of her new powers of restraint—a six-foot-plus hazel-eyed handsome man dropped into her path just so she could prove to herself she’d learned her lesson about attraction to men from out of town. But it unsettled her that a shared smile could make her pulse flutter.

“Miss?” a woman called from behind one of the dressing room curtains shortly before closing time. “Could I get your opinion on an outfit?”

Erin was only too glad to shove thoughts of Remy to the farthest reaches of her mind.

“Be right there.” She excused herself from another customer—a thrifty local who came in mostly to barter and browse—and hurried over to the middle of three curtained dressing areas. “Should I come in or do you want to step out?”

“If you could come in.” The curtain was swept partially aside and Erin noted the woman’s thin hands and worn nail polish.

A tiny size two at most, the customer had been in the store for about twenty minutes and had spent a long time searching through the clearance rack. Erin saw now that she had five items on hangers while a too-big dress slouched on her trim frame. From her worn shoes and scuffed bag, Erin guessed maybe she was an overworked mom looking for a bargain outfit to spruce up her wardrobe, but Erin tried not to make too many assumptions about clients. Sometimes the ones who dressed the most humbly or spent their money the most carefully were the secret millionaires.

“Would you like me to look for some smaller sizes?” Erin offered.

“There aren’t any.” The woman bit her lip. “Not on the clearance rack, anyway.”

Something about the dark worry in her eyes made Erin wonder what the dress was for.

“We’re having a dress sale, though. Thirty percent off—”

“It’s not enough to make anything else affordable.” She shook her head and turned to face herself in the mirror. She pinched a handful of fabric at her waist to pull the blue cotton jersey tighter to her body. “But I sew well enough. I can take this in.”

“Oh.” Erin tried to picture the simple shirtwaist dress with a few adjustments. “If you can do that and maybe trim the bodice a little—”

“Do you think it’s right for a job interview?” Worry lines creased her forehead.

“For what kind of job?” Erin tried to keep one ear tuned to the sales floor in case anyone else needed her help. At least she didn’t have to worry about theft since Heartache was a safe small town where the local police spent more time directing traffic at church functions than they did solving crimes.

“Finleys’—the home building supply store— advertised for a bookkeeper.”

Erin smiled. “That’s my brother’s store. It will be Scott or his wife, Bethany, who interviews you.” Her smile faded as she remembered why they probably needed a bookkeeper. Their marriage had been teetering on the verge of divorce this year. Bethany normally handled the books. “I think this will be a great dress for an interview, although if you have a jacket—”

“I don’t have a jacket.” The woman’s voice was tight as she shook her head, a limp strand of pale blond hair sliding loose from the tight ponytail. “I can’t afford more than the dress. This is a lot to spend on a job I might not get.”

“You definitely don’t need a jacket,” Erin blurted, sensing she’d touched a nerve. “I think you could style this a lot of ways—”

Her customer slumped onto the small wooden stool in one corner of the dressing room. “I don’t even have shoes to go with this. Or a bag.” She covered her face with both hands and shook her head. “Don’t mind me. I didn’t mean to have a meltdown in your nice store.”

“It’s okay.” Erin’s heart went out to the woman, whatever her story. Erin had been blessed. She had never had those kinds of financial worries, and she hated to think she had neighbors who fought battles like that. “Can I get you a tissue or—”

“No!” Her head lifted, and although there were tears on her cheeks, her eyes blazed with a fresh determination. “God, no. I am not crying over my rat bastard ex-boyfriend who took everything when he ditched his son and me to screw his home-wrecking whore of a secretary.”

She swiped her face fiercely to get rid of all trace of moisture while Erin reeled from her words. Even six months after finding out she’d accidentally cheated with a married father of two, the accusation of “home-wrecking whore” jabbed her chest as sharply as if it had been meant for her. Kind of like this woman had peeked into Erin’s personal ghost closet.