but some nasty calls to her unlisted home number she could not. They’d concerned her, which was why this trip to Trouble had been so perfectly timed.
“So,” she said, trying to fill the silence, “your grandfather said he just moved here last year?”
He nodded.
When he didn’t say anything, she reached in and tried to pull a few more teeth…er, words…out of his mouth. “I thought most people chose to move away from Trouble. My father certainly did. He took off right after high school and never looked back.”
“My grandfather’s not most people.”
“I noticed.”
He glanced over, as if to see if she was being snarky. She wasn’t. She had noticed what an intriguing man Mr. Potts was. And if she didn’t want to drag her two aunts out of town so badly, she would probably have liked to get to know him better.
Apparently seeing the lack of criticism in her expression, he admitted, “He bought the town last year.”
Jen’s jaw dropped. “Bought?”
“Most of it,” he clarified. “I guess due to some mismanagement and embezzlement, the place was on the verge of bankruptcy. Or extinction. So they advertised for an investor—” he sighed “—and Grandfather answered the call.”
She didn’t know people could buy entire towns, unless they made $20 million a movie or were dictators of small countries.
He shrugged. “The place is getting back on its feet.”
Not that Jen would have noticed.
“He sold them back their municipal buildings—at a loss.”
“Not much of a businessman?”
Mike laughed—for real this time—a low, lazy sound that sent shivers of awareness bursting through her. Seeing him genuinely amused, complete with the flash of a dimple in his cheek, nearly melted her into a puddle on the seat. Lord, the man was handsome.
He quickly stopped laughing, as if surprised by his own reaction. “He doesn’t give a damn about business, but Grandfather inherited Midas’s fingers because there’s nothing he touches that doesn’t turn to gold.”
They were passing a dilapidated old shopping center, obviously abandoned for years, with weeds growing up through the cracks in the parking lot. The boards on the windows were either completely obscured by graffiti or else falling off altogether. Jen glanced at it, then back at him.
“Don’t say it,” he said. “My brothers and I have been working on him to unload this place since the day he bought it.”
Mr. Potts had mentioned grandsons—plural. She just hadn’t been able to wrap her mind around the idea that there could be more than one man this sexy in Trouble. “Well, it seems we both have elderly relatives we’d like to get away from this place.”
“I think your job is going to be tougher than mine. Grandfather will find something else to distract him. A gold mine for sale in Nevada…a desert island up for auction. Something.”
“He sounds wonderful,” she murmured, meaning it.
Mike looked over, flashed that devastating—but scarce—smile, and nodded. “He is.”
Jen suddenly wanted to keep driving. To bypass the aunts’ houses and keep riding around in this Jeep with the smelly dog in the back and the wind whistling by the closed windows. Where she could get this guy to smile at her, and maybe even laugh again. And make more comments about her soft thighs.
But suddenly, they reached their destination and she realized how right he’d been. His task definitely seemed easier than hers. Because her aunts obviously hadn’t had a change of heart about moving.
Their feelings were underscored by what was awaiting Jen in Ida Mae’s driveway. When they pulled up in front of the house, Jen spotted her car, pointed out toward the road, the driver’s side door standing open. A big scratch marred the passenger one.
“Son of a bitch,” she muttered under her breath.
A tic started in her temple. It quickly turned into a pounding when she noticed the rest of the things on the ground, beside the car. Her makeup case lay open in the dirt, a new bottle of foundation and a tube of toothpaste—without a cap—beside it. She suspected the shiny, glisteny liquid winding a snail-like trail from the case to the grass beyond it had been caused by the expensive shampoo she’d picked up at a Manhattan salon.
Her nice new Italian leather suitcase—one of the few things she’d upgraded after her recent financial upswing—lay half-open. A splotch of pink fabric, visible from the road, said her new silk dress had been yanked off a hanger and shoved inside. And if she wasn’t mistaken, that was the strap of her new Cole Haan sling backs sticking out of the obviously broken zipper.
Okay. She’d upgraded her shoes, too.
“Think they want me to leave?” Sarcasm dripped from her words as Mike Taylor pulled into the driveway she’d directed him to.
He followed her stare and whistled. “Yeah. I think so.” Then, getting a good look at the houses, added, “Good God, someone actually lives here? I thought these places were abandoned the first time I came to town.”
Weary, and not wanting to get out and fight the battle lying ahead, Jen leaned back in the car seat and closed her eyes.
He obviously noticed, and sighed. “You want me to drive you around the block a couple of times before you get out?”
It was as if he’d read her thoughts and the offer tempted her. She’d listened for a note of sarcasm in that gruff voice, but instead heard only a quiet resignation. As if he’d accepted the possibility of being stuck with her for a few more minutes and, despite not liking the idea, was willing to help her out for a little while longer.
How very nice.
And how very strange that suddenly some unexpected moisture stung the corners of her eyes. Moisture. As in tears.
Jen never cried…almost never. Yeah, yeah, she’d cried when Sirius Black had died in the Harry Potter books, but she sure never cried at stupid, sappy movies like Titanic or The Lake House. So why, for heaven’s sake, had tears appeared in her eyes just because a man was being grudgingly considerate?
It had to be because of the lousy day she’d had. On top of the lousy week she’d had. On top of the lousy month of hate mail and nasty phone calls she’d had.
Bad timing and exhaustion, that was why she was being such a girl. During her visit with the aunts, she’d spent half her time shuffling them to their doctors appointments and their hair appointments. When not chauffeuring them, she’d been cleaning their carpets, washing their linens, scrubbing their dirty kitchens—all because they refused to let her pay a “stranger” to come in and do housework. Not to mention the fact that her feet were bloody and raw. Good Lord, it was a wonder she hadn’t bawled like a baby when she’d seen her ruined Cole Haans.
Those were the real reasons for the tears. Definitely.
Not this guy. Not his gruff consideration.
