Awakening Beauty

“So…what did you think of the owner. Diana shops there all the time. She adores Miss Douglas.”

“Adores?” Tyler almost choked on a sip of soda. He couldn’t imagine anyone adoring the Lane he knew. The woman was witty, yes, but she was very cool. And she had eyes that said, “Don’t even think about it,” and that just made him want to think about it.

“Oh, yes, Di says she can find any book and doesn’t charge extra for getting it.”

That was good business sense and Tyler appreciated that. Too bad Lane didn’t spend more effort on charm. Then again, maybe it was just him she didn’t like. “She isn’t participating in the Winter Festival.”

His mother looked up from stirring her tea. “Oh? How come?”

Tyler finished off the sandwich, and when he grabbed a dish towel to wipe his mouth, his mother tossed him a napkin and muttered, “I swear, Tyler McKay, your manners are terrible sometimes. I know I taught you better.”

“You did. Sorry.” He gave her a sheepish grin. “I don’t know why she’s not joining in. I got the feeling she just wanted to be left alone.”

“Well, she’s fairly new to town and she should meet the other shopkeepers. Everyone talks about what a wonderful job she did restoring that house. And as a member of the historical society, I’m delighted. If she hadn’t restored it, the town council would have torn down that lovely old place.”

Tyler admitted the two-story house did look spectacular. Painted soft yellow with green shutters and door, it had a white wraparound porch with some curly fretwork in the eaves. But what killed him was that he hadn’t noticed it until today.

Had he had his face that deep in work not to see the simple things going on around him? He’d been working long hours lately. Getting McKay Enterprises into the big-league competition with larger construction companies had been his father’s dream before he died. His father had taken the business regional last year, and in another year Tyler would take the company statewide.

“Yes, I agree Ms. Douglas should join in,” his mother said, breaking into his thoughts. “Perhaps I’ll ask her myself. Diana is the festival chairperson, you know.”

“When is she not?” His mother and her friend headed nearly every committee that existed in Bradford, South Carolina.

“I’d rather you two didn’t march over there and instigate something.” Lane would blame him for it, he thought.

“Really? Why?” When he didn’t jump in with a response, his mother eyed him for a second, then her face lit up.

Oh, man.

Before he could stop her, she blurted, “You’re attracted to her!”

“No, of course not. Well, maybe. It’s hard to say.” Heck. He rubbed his face for a second. It was plain strange. Lane was definitely not his type, whatever his type was. But this was something he sure didn’t want to speculate about with his mother. “I don’t know her at all, but she doesn’t let anyone get close, that’s for sure.”

“Anyone—or you?”

Tyler hadn’t seen her with anyone else but Davis and to the kid she was kind. But to him…well, she’d practically kicked him out the door. “Me.”

“Oh, nonsense. You’re making assumptions, Tyler. You just met her. And let’s remember, you met her after wrecking her car. Not exactly the best first impression, son. But as I recall, she isn’t like the women I’ve seen you date before.”

“It wouldn’t matter. I’m not looking for a wife, so get that gleam out of your eye, okay?”

His mom made a face. “Clarice was never the woman for you. Can’t you get beyond it?”

“No, and you liked her.” It sounded like an accusation, even to him.

His mother frowned distastefully. “I tolerated her because you loved her.”

Well, this was news. “Good grief, Mom, why didn’t you say anything before?”

“It’s a mother’s duty to accept and love the woman her son loves.”

There was no doubt in his mind that she believed that bunk. And no doubt she’d meant well. “In the future, I’d like to hear your opinion.”

She blinked, obviously taken aback. “Why?”

“Because you’re a good judge of character, and besides, it might have saved me the humiliation of learning the truth when I did.”

The week of his wedding. Literally just hours before people were getting on planes to come witness the event. He’d been at a party that some friends were giving them when he heard Clarice say to one of her bridesmaids that she could “put up with anything, even him, for McKay money.” Tyler had ended his engagement in the middle of the party, taken back his grandmother’s ring and left on his honeymoon trip, alone. It still hadn’t been easy coming back to gossip. And he hadn’t told a soul what had happened except his best man—his brother Kyle—and his parents. They had a right to know the truth, but no one else.

He hadn’t cared what Clarice had told anyone. He’d heard enough of her lies to last an eternity, and he wasn’t rising to the bait to defend himself, either. As far as he was concerned, the door was closed on that part of his life. He wasn’t about to repeat the mistake by opening it again. Ever.

“It’s been nearly three years, Tyler.”

“Who’s counting? I’m enjoying myself, Mom, so leave it alone,” he said, then kissed the top of her head and was out the door before she had a chance to hunt him down and reopen the wound.

And just the reminder of that staggering humiliation told him he couldn’t trust his own judgment. Especially when his heart was in for the ride.

Lane curled up in an overstuffed chair, setting the teacup on the end table and wrapping herself in an afghan she didn’t really need. It was a process, she thought, preparing for a ritual evening of reading. Tea, blanket, soft lights and music. The scent of cinnamon cookies on the plate beside her teacup from the bakery next door. Simple pleasures.

She’d never had rituals before moving to Bradford. Never thought she wanted them, never thought how lonely she was, only how alone she wanted to be. In her old life she’d be getting ready for a late dinner and the theater. And turning away from flashbulbs, and microphones shoved in her face.

She shivered and pulled the afghan closer. Her apartment, above the bookshop, had four rooms with a small kitchen. Another kitchen was still downstairs, and she’d had its old breakfast area retooled for moments just like this. A place out of the store traffic where her customers could curl up and read for a bit, chat with friends, discuss a new book.

A small sound broke the silence.

She glanced over her shoulder toward her bedroom. “Hello, Ramses. Too wet outside to prowl?”

The coal-black cat purred, prancing toward her, then paused to rub his cheek against her foot. Satisfied that Lane knew he was gracing her with his presence, the cat lowered his bulk on the braided rug.

The phone rang, startling her. She blinked at it, thinking it might be her father calling to badger her again. At last she answered it.

“Hello, Lane.”

Tyler McKay. He was the last person she’d expected to call. “This is a private number. How did you get it? I should sue the phone company.”

“Can’t. I got your number from Diana Ashbury.”

“I’ll have to overcharge her for the next batch of books she buys.”

He laughed.

“What do you want, Mr. McKay?”

“First, for you to call me Tyler.”

“Will that make you go away?”

“Can’t bet on it. I’m calling to ask if you’ll help with some community service.”

“And what service might that be?”

“The children’s pageant.”

“Oh, no.” Lane shook her head as if he could see her. “I’ve never worked with children. Besides, I have no talent to contribute.”

“Come on, you can swing a hammer.”

“You mean at an actual nail?”

He laughed softly, it was an intimate sound, and for a second she wondered if he was in bed. “I love it when you talk tools.”

“You’re pathetic.” But the smile she wore was starting to hurt.

“What are you wearing?” he asked.

“Excuse me?”

“Do you wear those ugly boots in your house?”

“No, they’re sitting on the back steps standing guard against the fashion police. They’re outlaws, you know.”

His chuckle melted through her blood, and she curled more deeply into the chair.

“Let me guess—you’re wearing flannel up to your throat.”

Lane looked down at the satin chemise and matching blood-red robe. “Yes, with little flowers on it and a pink bow. And they’re footie pajamas too. Now the point of this conversation is…?”

“Curiosity.”

“It killed the cat.” Ramses whined at her feet. “Sorry.”

“Are you talking to me?”

“No, to my cat, Ramses.”

“Why Ramses?”

“Because the Pharaohs worshipped cats and they have never let us forget it.”

His laughter was a quick short burst that made her smile.

“A woman with cats and flannel living alone has potential for a lonely life, Lane.”

“I guess I’m doomed, then. Should I break out the doilies?”

He chuckled again and Lane felt the sound coat her. “Not quite yet.”

“Why do you care?” she asked.

“You’re too sexy to be locked away.”

She blinked, looking down at her cat and mouthing “Sexy?” Only Tyler McKay would think combat boots and long drab skirts were meant to entice a man when they were meant to play down her looks and hide her identity.

“Do you need glasses?”

“I see fine…and I like what I see.”

She felt herself flush with excitement. “Good night.”

“No, it’s good night, Tyler,” he said patiently. “Say it. It won’t make you go up in flames.”

Feeling playful, she said in her sexiest throaty voice, “Good night, Tyler,” then hung up.

Torture goes both ways, she thought, and knew that would probably get her into the very trouble she was trying to avoid. Just the same, her insides were tickled, and she realized he was on some quest to learn more about her. While she was flattered beyond belief, she couldn’t let him that close.

If anyone learned who she really was, her neat little life would be over.

Lane glanced up as a customer came through the door. She recognized the designer suit—the Italian-milled fabric, the exceptional fit—before the woman in her recognized the man wearing it.

Okay, she was impressed, and she had to swallow to keep her jaw from dropping to the counter. Tyler McKay could have been one of her runway models at her design shows, he looked that good. A thought she was definitely keeping to herself.

“Is this proof you work for a living, or are you playing dress-up?” she said, gesturing at the suit. His crisp white shirt, she could tell, was an exquisite silk-and-cotton blend, and her fingers almost itched to inspect the seams and facings.

“I’m between appointments.”

He stopped at the counter, and Lane remembered the sound of his voice late last night. Soft and deep, wrapping around her and dragging her down. After the call, she couldn’t even concentrate on her book.

“What are you doing here again?”

“I brought your car.” He pointed out the window at the black vehicle sitting at the curb.

“That’s not my car, Mr. McKay.”

“I know. Yours was nearly an antique, and it’ll take a while to get parts. This is a loaner.”

It was black SUV. One of the smaller models and it looked brand-new.

“My insurance offers a loaner.”

“So does mine,” he said. “That’s it.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Look, I’m at fault. My insurance pays.”

“That’s a McKay Enterprises car. I’ve seen them.”

“It might look like one, but it’s not.” He studied her for a second longer than she wanted. “You’re spoiling for an argument, aren’t you?”

“Yes. Can’t you tell by my tone?”

“If I knew you better…”

She gave him a thin look that said it wasn’t going to happen.

“Okay, stay a stranger, but you still need a car.” He dangled the keys.

“I have one and as soon as it’s repaired, I’ll—”

“—still have a piece of junk.”

Her chin tipped up, her lips twitching. “I like to think I’ve been driving cars with character.”

“That one was a bad seed, trust me. It’s time you made better friends.”

Her pride reared. “Do you dictate to everyone or just me?”

“If I thought I could, I’d try harder to get you to join the festival.”

Another thin look. “Don’t get off the subject,” she warned. “I don’t need your car or your money, McKay. I don’t want it, in fact.”

Tyler grinned. Big. And Lane felt her heart skip all the way to her throat and shiver with pleasure for a couple seconds. It made her light-headed. When was the last time she met anyone who smiled so much? Who was just plain happy with life?

Oh, gee, said a voice in her head. Doesn’t the fact that he’s worth millions have something to do with that? He didn’t have much to worry about, did he?

Money made people strange. But from her experience, it didn’t generate an attitude like his. Which she was still trying to figure out. Why was he flirting with her? Or was he just testing his charm on the homely girl? In her present lackluster state of dress, hair and makeup, she knew she wasn’t attractive. It was intentional. A goal to blend into the woodwork and not be noticed. The less recognizable she was, the better.

She’d been a designer with her own couture showrooms in Paris and Milan. She knew what clothing flattered, what hid, what exposed. Now she chose not to expose anything, using the wrong colors and styles, and wearing her normally short hair longer and whipped tight to her head. She wore glasses because she needed them, and she had a darling trendy pair upstairs in her apartment. Yet when she was in public, she wore round, plain, tortoiseshell glasses. They were too large for her face and the color of her eyes. Another good shield to hide behind.

“I’ve come to ask for community service again.”

“My store is my community service.”

“But the children,” he said, pouring a little whine into his voice.

Inside, she was cracking up over this guy. He made her want to smile, but he’d take the smile as encouragement. “That’s unfair.”

He shrugged. “I use what I can.”

“The last time I was with a child, I was one. Besides, the kids have parents to volunteer. PTA, bake sales. I really have nothing to offer.” It was sad but true. A couture designer wouldn’t be much good in a pie-baking contest.

The bell over the door tinkled and a woman stepped inside. She paused at the entrance, which was the foyer of the old house, and looked around. Inspecting a bit, Lane decided. She was slim and petite, her silver hair cut to perfection in a sleek bob. Her clothes, the next thing Lane focused on, were classic. Camel cashmere slacks and a navy blouse with a camel wool jacket. She’d draped a printed scarf over her shoulder and across her chest, secured with a small glittering pin. Elegant, Lane thought as the woman moved forward.

She stopped beside Tyler, and from Lane’s perspective, he seemed to loom over the woman.

“Hello, Mother,” he said in a tone tinged with annoyance. “Didn’t our discussion yesterday mean anything?”

“You dictated, I didn’t listen. I’m your mother, I’m allowed.” She gave him a backhanded smack in the middle of his chest. “Introduce us.”

Lane’s gaze shot to Tyler as she moved out from behind the counter. “Welcome, Mrs. McKay. I’m Lane Douglas. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Diana Ashbury talks of you often.”

“It’s a pleasure, dear. And call me Laura. I popped in once with Diana a while back. She loves your store.”

“She hides in the corner with a cup of coffee and the latest thriller.”

“I think she comes for the cappuccino and quiet more than the books.”

Lane offered them coffee, crossing into the old living-room area to make it. While she prepared the coffee, the noise from the steam pressure drowned out whatever Tyler and his mother were saying. A quick glance caught Tyler’s scowl and his mom shooing him off.

Mother and son approached the counter, still talking. About her.

“I was trying to convince Lane to join the festival, and seeing as that won’t work…yet, I’m trying to settle for help with the pageant.”

Lane glared over the counter at him. “So you brought out the big guns?”

He glanced briefly at his mother. “I knew it would be a heavy battle.”

“Have you no manners? No means no, McKay.”

“My mother was just commenting on my manners the other day.” He winked at his mom. “Must have been those college years out from under her iron thumb.”

“Tyler, behave.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Lane had to smile. At least someone could get him to back down.

“We could really use extra help,” Laura McKay said.

“She thinks that’s what parents are for.”

Lane pinned Tyler with a hard look. “I can speak for myself, thank you.” She looked at Laura as she came around the edge of the cappuccino bar with two froth-filled mugs. “I hope you understand that I really don’t want to spread myself so thin when I’ve just opened the store this year and I’m running it alone.”

Laura sipped her cappuccino, licking froth from her lip. “This is fabulous. No wonder Di takes refuge in here.” She set the cup down and looked at Lane. “I can understand that your business comes first. It should. However—” she paused, giving Lane a sweet smile “—we just need a few extra pairs of hands. The parents are helping as much as they can, and Tyler is in charge of making the sets.”

Lane’s gaze slid to his. “Volunteered or arm twisted?”

“A little of both,” he said, lifting his cup and licking the froth off the top.

Lane watched him, biting the inside of her mouth and wondering if he knew what she was thinking, feeling. One look in his eyes said, oh yeah. Every womanly instinct to outright flirt with this man screamed through her, telling her to get close enough to learn if that smiling mouth tasted as good as it looked. Another part of her brain was busy reminding her that she was alone for a reason. Another man had wanted something from her and hid it under the guise of friendship, then love.

Now there was Tyler. And people wanted her to work with him?

As if he knew her thoughts, his eyes darkened and seared her with a strange heat. Oh, so not good.

“Please, Lane,” Laura said softly. “The way you’ve decorated this house proves you have talent for design.”

“Thank you. It’s a hobby.” Lane almost choked. She hated lying, especially to this nice woman. She felt herself caving in. It was as if she had to pay for the lie, although the lie was to protect her.

Now that was twisted.

She surrendered to the guilt. “How long would you need me?”

Laura smiled again, pleased. “Just a couple of hours in the evening. The festival starts next week and we must be finished in time for the opening children’s show and play.”

“All right. A couple of hours after I close up shop for the night.” She ignored the grin spreading across Tyler’s face. “Do I need to bring anything?”

“No, the local businesses have contributed materials. Say seven o’clock at the theater?”

Lane agreed.

Laura said a quick goodbye and was out the door. Tyler stayed behind. Picking up his coffee again, he said, “The first session is tonight.”

“A promise is a promise, McKay. I’ll be there.”

He looked at his watch.

“You have to go? What a shame,” she said. “Take that car when you leave.” When she reached for his mug, Tyler latched onto her wrist.

Lane felt warmth burn through her skin to her blood. He let go, sliding his hand under the sleeve of her sweater and pulled her near.

Lane’s heart did a wild dance and she could barely swallow. “McKay.”

“Your skin is so soft,” he said.

“Good lotion.” His fingers played over her bare skin, and it was silly, it was just her arm, but Lane felt as if they were playing somewhere else entirely. And if he didn’t stop, she was going to yank him into the back room and try a kiss on for size.

He searched her gaze. “I don’t know what it is about you that’s driving me nuts, Lane Douglas, but I’m willing to wait to find out.”

“There’s nothing to learn, so it’ll be a long wait.”

He leaned closer, tipping his head, and Lane thought, Come on, kiss me.

“I’m a Southern boy.” She felt his warm breath on her lips. “We’re long on patience.”

“Tell that to the back end of my car.”

The alarm on his watch went off, and he clucked his tongue and eased back. He stared at her for a second longer, then releasing a heavy sigh, made an about-face and headed to the door. She looked down and saw the car keys on the counter.

“McKay, take these keys.”

He ignored her and reached for the knob.

“Tyler!”

He flashed her a look over his shoulder that said triumph. Then he was out the door and sliding into a matching black SUV.

“Talking to that man is like talking to wood,” she muttered, then picked up the keys. They were still warm from handling. She pocketed them and did what she did best. Ignored them. Ignored him.

It lasted all of ten seconds, and she dropped into a chair, plucking at her clothes and letting the buildup of steam in her system escape.

Oh, yes, that man.

Definitely dangerous.

Because Lane knew that she could fall for him, and there would be no getting back up this time.

Three

The lights in the town theater were almost blinding. Adults and children were scattered across the stage and the wide area meant for the orchestra, each small group working on different projects.

Lane had made her way down to near the stage when Tyler came through the outer doors, carrying a stack of two-by-fours on his shoulder. He stopped short when he saw her, and a grin spread across his handsome face, warming her right down to her toes. His gaze dropped to her boots and he made a face, shaking his head. She stuck out her tongue at him.

“I knew you’d show.”

“Don’t gloat, McKay. I knuckled under matriarchal pressure, nothing more.”

“Good to know something gets to you.”

You do, she thought when he gave her a long, heated look that said more than she wanted. Why was he so interested in her? She’d have to check her appearance, dowdy it up a bit more, she thought, watching him trot off. Well, more specifically, she watched his behind in tight, worn jeans, the toolbelt rocking low on his hips.

Lane found the chairperson, Diana Ashbury, easily. The woman was short and dark-haired, with a porcelain complexion that reminded Lane of her own mother’s. Lionetta Giovanni, of course, wouldn’t be caught dead volunteering for a children’s pageant. She’d much rather throw money at a charity so she could attend the parties in one of her daughter’s designs. Diana, on the other hand, was hip-deep in coordinating tasks, wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, both covered by an apron bulging with craft supplies.

“Thanks for coming, Lane.”

“Two hands, ready and willing,” Lane said.

Diana blew out a short breath and waved at the stations positioned all over the theater. “Pick a job,” Diana said, then scanned her notes on a clipboard.

“Put me where I’m needed most,” she told the woman.

“We don’t have costumes even remotely finished.” Diana’s voice held a little bit of plea.

Costumes? A long-buried corner of Lane’s heart leaped to life. Sewing. Maybe some designing. It wouldn’t be couture, but she could design clothing again. Even if it was for a children’s play. She tried to disguise the eagerness in her voice when she said, “Say no more. I’m on it.”

Lane headed to the orchestra pit where a large table was set up with a sewing machine at each end, manned by two young women. Yards of bright felt, fabric and trims were scattered over the table and nearby chairs. A half-dozen children raced around the aisles, while two little girls sat in the middle of the floor, their heads together, oblivious to everything but the dolls they played with. Between stitching and cutting, the moms hollered for the kids to calm down. Lane introduced herself to the two women, Suzanne and Marcy.