Old Mrs. Matheson’s room. But the illusion curtains the breeze blew into the room were the same, as was were the dotted swiss tiebacks that framed them. And it smelled the same in here—a combination of floor wax, fresh linens and a hint of the cheap girlish cologne they’d applied so lavishly it must be imbedded in the very walls. There was a world of memories associated with this room, both of the good and the bad variety.
Mostly, though, they were good.
Her cousin was asleep sitting up in the chair when she let herself into the converted study several minutes later, and Macy debated waking her to get her into bed where she’d be more comfortable. Deciding the pain of the move probably wouldn’t be worth what Janna would gain in exchange, she left her where she was. Gently, however, she straightened Janna’s head and propped a pillow alongside it to keep her cousin from getting a nasty crick in her neck on top of everything else. Then she grabbed an ancient pair of jeans out of the suitcase she’d yet to finish unpacking and exchanged her tap pants for them before going back to lend a hand to Aunt Lenore.
Her uncle got home a short while later, and they sat at the worktable catching up as she shucked peas into a bowl. At a quarter to six, she went back to the study and found Janna leaning on one crutch, peering into the mirror as she tried to fluff up the wig where it had flattened on one side. Fixing it for her, she then handed her cousin the lipstick to refresh her makeup and ushered her in baby steps down the hall.
Voices could be heard coming from the dining room, along with the sound of chairs scraping back from the table as her relatives’ boarders gathered for dinner. Macy smiled to herself at the discovery that she was still every bit as curious and fascinated to see what the dynamics would be of the current group Lenore and Bud had taken in as she’d been as a kid.
But when she reached the doorway she stopped in her tracks, causing Janna to bump her crutch’s rubber tip against her heel. “Seriously?” she demanded incredulously.
Because there, seated midtable, his big shoulders taking up a small person’s worth of space on either side of him, a slight smile on his face as he placed a napkin on his lap and listened to a young man she didn’t recognize, sat the very last man she expected to see.
Freaking Fire Chief Gabriel Donovan.
CHAPTER THREE
GABE HEARD MACY’S VOICE and for a second everything stilled.
Then the planet recommenced its rotation, platters clattered onto the table as Lenore transferred them from the cart and he got his game face on before turning away from Mike Schwab, one of the three boarders studying farming methods at AAE, the experimental agricultural project outside of town. Because what the hell? Women didn’t stop his world. Not to mention it didn’t say a helluva lot for his deductive abilities to be caught flat-footed at finding O’James here. He knew she was the Watsons’ niece; this was the only logical place for her to be.
But, observant wonder boy that he was, he looked across the table and didn’t even recognize her at first. His gaze went straight to that sassy blond hair, only to realize it didn’t jibe with the face of the wearer. Janna’s full-leg cast probably should have been his first clue, and he looked away from her to the woman holding Janna’s crutches while she eased onto a chair.
Heat promptly streaked down his spine.
He ignored it by focusing on the reasons he hadn’t copped to Macy being Macy right away, because, face it, she wasn’t exactly a woman who was easy to ignore. Yet except for the sailor shirt she still wore, nothing about her looked the way it had out on the road.
Her hair was a different shade of blond—actually more the amber-brown of good ale—and its long style and blunt-cut bangs emphasized her cheekbones while the short platinum wig had been all about her eyes. Which, he saw in the early-evening sunshine pouring through the windows, were hazel, not green. Well, part of her irises were a clear green, but they were ringed in a darker shade and striated with amber near the pupils. As for her clothing, she’d ditched the shorts for worn, snug jeans and was currently barefoot. She looked more farmer’s daughter than forties pinup. Same woman, different fantasy.
Maybe that was why she did so well on all those music videos—she was a chameleon, able to change her look at will without losing her ability to remain the average guy’s dream girl.
“Hey there, Mr. Grandview,” the dream girl said in her throaty voice, looking at the old man two seats down from him as if he were God’s gift. “It’s so nice to see you again. You still breaking hearts right and left?”
For God’s sake, Gabe thought in disgust, the man was eighty-five if he was a day. Apparently O’James’s sole requirement for flirting was a pulse.
Not that Grandview appeared to object. “Yes, ma’am.” He agreed with a chuckle. “Come senior afternoons down at the grange hall, I got wimmen buzzing around me like bees on mint.”
She flashed him a smile of admiration. “You always were a devil with the ladies.”
Lenore handed a big bowl of peas to Dawson on her left and took her seat. “Let’s get my food passed around before it gets cold, people. Everyone, this is my niece, Macy O’James. Macy, this here is Brian Dawson,” she said of the man with the bowl. “He and Mike Schwab and Jim Holstrom—” she indicated the men as she introduced them “—are studying farming methods at the Experimental. The lovebirds there,” she continued, nodding to a young couple whispering and exchanging surreptitious touches at the far end of the table, “are Justin and Tiffany McMann.”
“Newlyweds?” Macy asked them, accepting the platter of pork chops from Tyler and spearing one onto her plate. She turned to her cousin. “You want to split one of these?”
“Sure,” Janna agreed, taking the platter and passing it on. “Just don’t expect me to relinquish my share of the potatoes.”
Macy turned back to the couple. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to ask a question, then not listen to the answer.” But tumbling to what the rest of them already knew—that the just-wed teens paid attention to no one but each other—her lips crooked in a wry smile. “O-kay. Who says talking’s required to get a straight answer?”
Lenore snorted. Pointing to Gabe as he speared two pork chops onto his plate, she said, “The big boy across from you is Gabriel Donovan. Our new fire chief.”
He half expected Macy to pretend this was the first time they’d seen each other. But she merely gave him a brief nod before turning her attention on her aunt. “We actually met out on the highway,” she said. “Johnny Angelini pulled me over for driving ten above the limit and Fire Chief Donovan was with him. I didn’t know he was living here, though.”
“I’m in the process of building a house,” he said with the aloof courtesy that was his default manner with anyone he didn’t know, then shot Lenore a smile. “I’m not sure how I’m going to tear myself away from your cooking, though, when the place is finished.” Turning his attention back to Macy, he invited perfunctorily, “Call me Gabe.”
When Brian, Mike and Jim tripped all over themselves inviting her to call them by their first names as well, he shook his head. Not that he had a problem with them seconding his invitation. But Jesus. You’d think three grown men would have more pride than to tumble all over themselves like a litter of eager puppies.
He transferred his attention to Janna, absorbing the change in her appearance. “You sure look nice tonight.”
Color
