“I just wish half the town hadn’t heard it.”
“You’re exaggerating, honey,” Mick murmured.
Honey. Ouch.
“Anyway,” the woman said, extending her hand toward Caro, “welcome. I’m glad you might be interested in the house. I’m anxious to move, especially now that I don’t have to worry about how it will affect my job. My name’s Sophie Winchester.”
Good Lord. Winchester. Had she been stricken so numb at seeing Mick again that she hadn’t even noticed a gold band on his left hand? Then she remembered something. Her instant relief surprised her. “Sophie. You’re Mick’s baby sister, right?”
The woman looked surprised. “Yes. How did you know that?”
Caro felt heat rise into her cheeks as Mick watched, an obvious grin on his face. He was enjoying this, enjoying watching her sweat as she tried to explain to his sister that she and Mick had once been very close. Often close enough that not a thing had come between them—including clothes. “Mick and I were college friends,” she said. “I remember him mentioning you.”
“Small world.” Sophie graciously dropped the subject as if she read Caro’s discomfort. “Come on inside.”
Ten minutes later, after touring the house with Sophie, who was both funny and charming, Caro had reached two conclusions. First, the house was perfect for her.
And second, it would never, never work.
Because Sophie had a cat. A big fat cat who reacted as every cat did when Caro came in contact with one. As if knowing which people either didn’t like or were allergic to them, felines always curled around her, purring and wanting to be petted.
Just breathing the air in the house was clogging up her throat. Petting Mugs, as Sophie called him, could put Caro in the hospital. There was no way she could live here, even with a thorough cleaning. Caro’s allergies were simply too severe.
Which left her stuck, again, in two ways. First, she still had no place to live. Second, and even worse, she had to get back in the car to do more house-hunting with Mick Winchester.
MICK SHOULD HAVE known better than to take the side streets back to downtown Derryville to his office. He should have stuck to the main road, getting Caroline to her car and out of his life as soon as possible. He should have done everything in his power to bring their interaction to an end, letting her figure out on her own where she was going to live.
He’d done none of the above. Instead, some demon deep inside him made him cut through a quiet neighborhood with which he was very familiar. He told himself it was shorter. That was bullshit.
The truth was, he was still ticked at her. Still affected by her. Still wanting her gone but not wanting her to leave.
Still stunned that she was here.
Caroline Lamb, right back in the center of his world, and sending it as crazily off balance as she always had. Things had never been peaceful and calm with them. They’d struck sparks off each other from the time they’d met, and Caro had always known how to push his buttons.
Like today. The never-ending house hunt was pure Caroline Lamb. Okay, so old man Snorkle was a heavy smoker and every surface in the house was a sickly beige nicotine color. And yeah, Mrs. Spencer was color blind and the spare room in her house would have been perfect for a patriotic leprechaun. And right, the McKenzies were old and deaf but refused to use hearing aids so their conversations were at the decibel level of a jackhammer.
Picky, picky.
The fact that she’d refused Sophie’s place had really ticked him off. It would have been perfect for her, and would have helped out Sophie. Not that Sophie needed the money. He almost chuckled at that one, remembering how shocked he’d been to learn his bratty kid sister was a famous hack-’em-up horror novelist. So successful she could probably buy and sell him ten times over.
But it would have helped her out to know that someone quiet, respectable and responsible was taking care of her house while she was living with her fiancé.
His jaw tightened at the thought of Sophie living with a man. Then he eased up. Divorce was so common, he’d rather Sophie and Daniel give things a try now than have regrets later.
But Caroline hadn’t wanted Sophie’s house. When he’d accused her of rejecting it to try to avoid him, she hadn’t denied it.
So, she wanted to avoid him. Huh. That’d be a trick in Derryville.
What really bugged him was the evidence that Caroline had turned into such a coward. The girl he’d known back in college wouldn’t have given a damn where he went, what he thought or what he did. Caroline had been all fire and energy, a whirling ball of excitement, always up for adventure, whether it was going four-wheeling up in the mountains in a borrowed Jeep or taking a spontaneous twenty-hour road trip to the beach one weekend.
That girl was gone. Long gone. Not at all in evidence in the tight-lipped, tight-formed woman sitting in his car.
So he couldn’t really say what had made him choose this particular street—his anger, his sense of adventure or his need to once again see Caroline Lamb sweat. Probably all of the above.
“Stop!” She pointed. “There, that one.”
He knew which house she was pointing to. The one on the corner. The big old two-story with the nicely treed lot and the driveway that circled around the front.
“There’s a Room For Rent sign.”
Yeah, there was. “Not this house, Caroline.”
“You only have one sister.” She reached for the door handle. “Don’t tell me another one of your family members lives here.”
He shook his head. “Nope, I’m not telling you that.”
Then, because Mick just could never resist giving someone enough rope to hang themselves with, he let Caroline get out of the car and walk toward the house. He followed her, coming close to telling her the truth, but deciding against it.
Caroline went to the sign and pulled out a flyer. Her eyes sparked with indignation. “You have this place listed for rent.”
“Yep.”
“So why didn’t you tell me about it?”
Because I’m not a freakin’ lunatic?
“I didn’t think it would suit,” he replied, wondering why the hell he didn’t just admit the truth so they could get out of here. Somehow, though, he was starting to have a little fun.
Caroline kept reading. “It has an in-law suite and there’s only one resident. How bad could that be? I mean, there’s no ax murderer or psychopath living here, is there?”
“Not as far as I know,” he said with a chuckle, “but you can never be too sure about some people.”
As if on cue, the front door to the house opened and a very familiar older woman walked out. Mick smothered a sigh, having no doubt what she had been doing inside. Baking.
