“Here I am, dear.” Agnes appeared from the kitchen and kissed her daughter. It was an apricot day—lightweight summer slacks, blouse and turban. Her hair remained an unsettling shade of purple. “I have good news for you.”
“What’s that?”
“I’ve already rented one of the offices to a charming gentleman, and he’s taken the garage, too.”
“Mother, I thought you were going to wait—”
Tyler straddled the arm of the couch. “Grandma’s been going crazy. The phone’s been totally ringing off the hook about the ad in the paper.”
“It has?” Joanna had assumed it would take some weeks to rent the offices, and she hadn’t been entirely confident the oversize garage and storage shed would rent at all. If only the Forest Service hadn’t decided to vacate the property in an effort to consolidate their facilities and save money, she wouldn’t be in such a difficult financial bind.
“I have several more gentlemen coming to see the property later this week, and one is coming up from the valley this evening after work. They all wanted to wait until you were home. But this gentleman— Kristopher Slavik is his name—was anxious to move right in.”
“I hope you got his references?”
“I didn’t think that was necessary, dear. He and I hit it off right away. I’m sure he’ll be a fine tenant.”
Joanna mentally groaned. Relying on her mother’s judgment, particularly since Joanna’s father had died nearly two years ago, was like walking through a heavy fog. It was easy to lose your sense of direction.
“Maybe I’d better meet him,” Joanna said. “Did he sign a lease?”
“Yes, and he paid cash, too. First and last month, just like you said they should.”
Tyler added, “Man, he pulled out a wad of money so fat I nearly choked. He’s got to be loaded, Mom! Totally fat city!”
“A roll of one-dollar bills can look like a lot of money and not amount to a great deal,” Joanna re minded her son. Some smart operators also tried to con elderly women with scams that made them appear wealthy when they were nothing more than bums set on separating innocent victims from their money. “Do you think this Mr. Slavik would still be there now?” And if so, would he be easily evicted if he turned out to be a con artist?
“Oh, yes, dear. In fact, he said he’d be camping out in the office until he can find a house to buy nearby. I’m sure he’s anxious to meet you.”
He might not be so thrilled when Joanna called his bluff. She wasn’t about to have an aging Lothario trying to take advantage of her mother. From now on Mr. Slavik would have to deal with her.
After leaving her suitcase in the middle of the living room, Joanna headed out the front door. The heat of summer still hung in the air and dust coated the pines and oaks that formed a canopy above the street It would be another month before cool weather arrived and the leaves on the black oaks began to turn a bright yellow. The change of season would also bring the possibility of rain, she recalled grimly.
She reached the end of the block and checked traffic on the two-lane blacktop road that led into Twain Harte, then hurried across the street. Her sensible low-heel shoes clicked on the asphalt.
A single vehicle was parked beside the one-story building, an aging Oldsmobile Cutlass with one crumpled fender and a trunk so full the lid wouldn’t close. A mountain bike was tied precariously to a bike rack on the roof.
Protruding from beneath the car was a very masculine pair of denim-clad legs, the man’s running shoes as old and worn as the vehicle. Apparently the “charming” gentleman had only found one sock to wear that morning, a white athletic sock that lacked any remaining elasticity and drooped accordingly.
Joanna cleared her throat. “Mr. Slavik?”
“Be right with you. I’m checking a bearing seal that’s leaking.”
Her mother had been right about one thing. The clear baritone voice of the stranger had a warm, mellow charm to it. Or maybe all men naturally projected a certain added sense of masculinity when they worked under a car.
Slowly, Mr. Slavik edged toward her, revealing his long legs an inch or two at a time. There was a tear in one knee of his faded jeans, the denim fabric pulled tautly across his pelvis and the material covering his zipper looked worn from many uses. When a flat belly appeared, washboard muscles visible where his white T-shirt hiked up, Joanna concluded that Kristopher Slavik, Lothario or not, was in great shape. And maybe considerably younger than she had thought.
She stepped back a foot or two to give him room.
Completing his exit from under the car in an agile movement, he stood and smiled at her. A streak of grease marked the exact spot where his cheek creased into a dimple.
Definitely too young for her mother, Joanna thought, her heart suddenly doing a staccato beat. The guy was about thirty, closer to her age than her mother’s.
“Hi. You must be Joanna.” Intelligent gray eyes swept over her in an interested perusal that left her slightly breathless.
“Yes, ah…”
“Your mother told me all about you.”
Rarely speechless, Joanna tried to gather her wits. “She omitted a few details about you.” Important ones, such as that his height topped out at about six foot two and his rumpled sandy-blond hair made a woman instinctively want to smooth it.
“Really? Like what?” He pulled a rag from his back pocket and wiped his hands. His fingers were long and tapered, lean like the rest of his body.
Setting her wayward thoughts aside, she said, “Mother didn’t happen to mention what business you’re in.” His examination of her grew more intense, and Joanna suddenly wished she was wearing a gunnysack instead of a low-cut, summery blouse and a formfitting skirt—professional attire appropriate for a teachers’ meeting but somehow more revealing given the way he looked at her.
“Guess you could call me an inventor,” he drawled.
“Oh? What is it you invent?”
“Whatever comes to mind.”
“That doesn’t sound very lucrative.”
“It can be if you invent the right thing.”
“Yes, well…Mr. Slavik—”
“Please call me Kris.”
She ignored his request. “You’ve signed a lease that says you’ll pay the rent the fifteenth of every month. My mother neglected to get your bank ref erence, names of former landlords, that sort of thing. If you don’t mind—”
“I think I’ll invent a dual mountain bike.”
She blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“You know, a bike two people can ride at the same time.”
“Hasn’t someone already invented that? It’s called a tandem bike.”
“This will be different. A two seater to ride on mountain trails—side by side.” His lips slid into another grin. “Maybe you’ll come for a test ride with me. After I get it invented, of course.”
She struggled with the unsettling feeling he was flirting with her, a rare occurrence in her rather humdrum life. “Is there a big market for that sort of bike?”
He gave an unconcerned shrug. “Guess I won’t know until I invent it.”
That struck Joanna as a dicey way to run a business. But as long as the man could pay his rent, she supposed