In The Stranger's Arms

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly before getting into his car. “Could we go back and start over?”

He stared down at her, obviously surprised by her abrupt reversal. What an unpleasant woman he must have decided her to be—and who could blame him?

“If we go back, does that mean I’d have to give up this prime parking spot?” he asked.

She was about to ask what he was talking about when she saw the humor lurking in his eyes. “No, not good enough,” she said in an equally serious tone. “I’m afraid that really starting over means you have to drive back to San Francisco.”

To her surprise, a fleeting frown crossed his face before he smiled and gestured for her to get into his car. “Let’s just go on from here,” he suggested, leaning down to tuck in the edge of her skirt.

When he shut the door, it occurred to her that she had no idea what he had done in California or why he’d left. Perhaps he couldn’t return.

A string of possibilities marched through her mind. Was he on the run? A recently released ex-con, ashamed of his past? A grifter in search of his next victim? A car thief? A serial killer?

Oblivious to her dark thoughts, Wade slid behind the wheel, donned his sunglasses and started the engine.

“Which way?” he asked, glancing in his rearview mirror before pulling out.

Reminding herself that Bertie knew where she had gone and with whom, Pauline relaxed against the luxurious leather seat. The instrument panel was made from some exotic wood—real, not some phony laminate—and the carpet beneath her feet was as thick as her neighbor Mrs. O’Connelly’s brogue. “Follow Harbor Avenue up the long hill,” she directed him. “When you get to the top, you’ll see the big sign on the right. Turn into the parking lot.”

They rode slowly in silence while he braked for all the jaywalking pedestrians who stepped into the street without looking.

“So you worked construction down in California?” she asked as they drove past the marina.

“I was a partner in an investment firm,” he replied after an infinitesimal pause.

She couldn’t have been more surprised if he had told her that he used to be an astronaut. Imagining him in a silver space suit was only slightly more difficult than a dress shirt and tie.

“Do you plan to open an office here?” she asked. If a good profile was an indication of noble character, she had no worries. His was positively elegant.

Wade stopped at a red light and glanced at her, but his shades hid his expression. “Don’t people in this town invest their money?” he asked. “Or do they just bury it, like pirate booty?”

“For the most part, they work hard for it,” she cautioned. “They may not be eager to entrust it to a stranger.”

“I’m not a total stranger,” he replied. “My grandfather, Morris Garrett, worked in the mill here. When I was a kid, I came up to see him a couple of times during summer vacation.” He accelerated when the light turned green. “I’ve been seriously considering a career change, though, so it may not matter.”

“If you become a full-time handyman, you’ll have to trade your car in for a pickup truck with oversize tires and a toolbox in the back,” she teased, expecting him to deny the idea.

His expression was unreadable. “I’ve learned that giving up material goods isn’t that difficult,” he said enigmatically before slowing for the turn into Builders’ Supply. “Is this place always so busy?”

Even though his previous comment stirred her curiosity, she had no choice but to go along with the change of subject. To do otherwise would invite him to return the favor and question her about things she would rather not discuss.

“Restoring the old Victorians has gotten quite popular,” she said as they drove down the row. “Some of them sell for over a million dollars.”

“Have you ever considered selling your house?” he asked as he slid into an empty spot. “Maintaining a place like that must be a lot of work.” Perhaps he was thinking about going into real estate.

“No, I would never consider selling Mayfield Manor,” she replied, unfastening her seat belt. “Someday I hope to finish the renovation that my mother started.”

“A noble ambition,” he said as they walked together toward the entrance.

As they passed the outdoor display of plant pots and barbecues, Pauline spotted a big man with shaggy blond hair coming straight toward them.

“Hi, Steve,” she said. “I should have known you’d be hanging out here.”

“Hey, doll,” he replied with a grin and a questioning glance at Wade. “Did the tarp hold okay?”

“Yes, thanks.” She glanced back at Wade, who was hanging back. “Steve Lindstrom, Wade Garrett,” she recited with appropriate gestures.

The two men exchanged wary nods, hands remaining firmly in their pockets.

“Sorry I haven’t finished writing up your bid,” Steve told her. “Since the last storm, I’ve been slammed. The price of lumber’s shot up like a rocket, too, so I’ve had to recalculate everything.”

“Wade’s going to do the repairs for me,” she replied.

“Oh?” Steve’s gaze sharpened as he took the other man’s measure. “I haven’t seen you around, Garrett.”

“Wade’s from California,” Pauline explained hastily. “He’s staying at the house, so we made a deal.”

Steve’s eyebrows shot up. “I see,” he drawled knowingly.

A muscle jumped in Wade’s cheek, but he remained silent. Pauline refused to justify herself in front of an audience, but she was beginning to feel as though she should have cards printed up.

It’s just business.

“Well, let me know if you need any help,” Steve said with a nod at Wade. “Garrett.”

“Lindstrom,” Wade replied gravely.

“Thanks, Steve,” Pauline said, marveling at the male protocol, so different from that of her own sex.

“Steve’s the contractor I originally thought you worked for,” she explained once he was out of earshot.

“Oh, the contractor,” Wade echoed, snapping his fingers. “I guess his attitude had me fooled.”

“What do you mean?” she asked as she led the way into the store.

“He seemed a little territorial,” he replied. “As in, personal relationship.”

His comment caught her off guard and she didn’t even think about it being none of his business. “I’ve known him forever, but I don’t rob cradles,” she protested. “He was two years behind me in school and he dated my sister, so that makes him kind of a surrogate brother.” For some reason she didn’t fully understand, she wanted Wade to know that she wasn’t interested in Steve romantically.

“Good to know,” Wade murmured.

She didn’t bother to puzzle out his comment as she reached the door to the store manager’s office. “I’ll see about opening an account,” she said instead. “Where should I meet you?”

He glanced around. “I’ll be over in roofing.”

As Wade walked away from his landlady-slash-boss, he reminded himself that he wasn’t doing half bad after a shaky start with Wallingford and his damned lease. Wade had shelter and work to keep him occupied, while the truck with the rest of his stuff would be here this afternoon. So what was his problem?

It certainly didn’t have anything to do with meeting Pauline’s friend, Steve-o, or the fact that he’d called her “doll,” as if they had something going despite her protest to the contrary. When had Wade become afraid of a little competition when it came to a woman who interested him?