“And because I’m charming, funny and about the only person in the world who’s willing to put up with the crappy attitude.”
Micah laughed now. He had a point. Right from the beginning, when they’d met on the aircraft carrier they’d served on, Sam had offered friendship—something Micah had rarely known. Growing up in the foster care system, moving from home to home, Micah had never stayed anywhere long enough to make friends. Which was probably a good thing since he wouldn’t have been able to keep a friend, what with relocating all the damn time.
So he appreciated having Sam in his life—even when the man bugged the hell out of him. “That’s great, thanks.”
“No problem. So what do you think of your landlady?”
Frowning, Micah silently acknowledged that he was trying to not think about Kelly Flynn. It wasn’t working, but he kept trying.
For the last two months, he’d done everything he could to keep his distance because damned if he didn’t want to get closer. But he didn’t need an affair. He had to live here for another four months. If he started something with Kelly, it would make things...complicated.
If it was a one-night stand, she’d get pissy and he’d have to put up with it for four more months. If it was a long-running affair, then she’d be intruding on his writing time and spinning fantasies about a future that was never going to happen. He didn’t need the drama. All he wanted was the time and space to write his book so he could get out of this tiny town and back to civilization.
“Hmm,” Sam mused. “Silence. That tells me plenty.”
“Tells you nothing,” Micah argued, attempting to convince both himself and Sam. “Just like there’s nothing going on.”
“Are you sick?”
“What?”
“I mean, come on,” Sam said, and Micah could imagine him leaning back in his desk chair, propping his feet up on the corner of his desk. He probably had his chair turned toward the windows so he could look out over Manhattan.
“Hell,” Sam continued, “I’m married and I noticed her. She’s gorgeous, and if you tell Jenny I said that I’ll deny it.”
Shaking his head, Micah looked down and watched Kelly work in the yard. The woman never relaxed. She was always moving, doing something. She had ten different jobs and today, apparently, still had the time to rake up fallen leaves and bag them. As he watched, she loaded up a wheelbarrow with several bags of leaves and headed for the curb.
Her long, reddish-gold hair was pulled into a ponytail at the back of her neck. She wore a dark green sweatshirt and worn blue jeans that cupped her behind and clung to her long legs. Black gloves covered her hands, and her black boots were scarred and scuffed from years of wear.
And though she had her back to the house, he knew her face. Soft, creamy skin, sprinkled with freckles across her nose and cheeks. Grass-green eyes that crinkled at the edges when she laughed and a wide, generous mouth that made Micah wonder what she would taste like.
Micah watched her unload the bags at the curb, then wave to a neighbor across the street. He knew she’d be smiling and his brain filled with her image. Deliberately, he turned his back on the window, shut the image of Kelly out of his mind and walked back to his chair. “Yeah, she’s pretty.”
Sam laughed. “Feel the enthusiasm.”
Oh, there was plenty of enthusiasm, Micah thought. Too much. Which was the problem. “I’m not here looking for a woman, Sam. I’m here to work.”
“That’s just sad.”
He had to agree. “Thanks. So why’d you call me again?”
“Damn, you need to take a break. You’re the one who called me, remember?”
“Right.” He pushed one hand through his hair. Maybe he did need a damn break. He’d been working pretty much nonstop for the last two months. No wonder this place was starting to feel claustrophobic in spite of its size. “That’s a good idea. I’ll take a drive. Clear my head.”
“Invite the landlady along,” Sam urged. “She could show you around since I’m guessing you’ve hardly left that big old house since you got there.”
“Good guess. But not looking for a guide, either.”
“What are you looking for?”
“I’ll let you know when I find it,” Micah said, and hung up.
“So how’s our famous writer doing?”
Kelly grinned at her neighbor. Sally Hartsfield was the nosiest human being on the face of the planet. She and her sister, Margie, were both spinsters in their nineties, and spent most of their days looking out the windows to keep an eye on what was happening in the neighborhood.
“Busy, I guess,” Kelly said, with a quick glance over her shoulder at the second-story window where she’d caught a glimpse of Micah earlier. He wasn’t there anymore and she felt a small twist of disappointment as she turned back to Sally. “He told me when he moved in that he would be buried in work and didn’t want to be disturbed.”
“Hmm.” Sally’s gaze flicked briefly to that window, too. “You know, that last book of his gave me nightmares. Makes you wonder how he can stand being all alone like that when he’s writing such dark, scary things...”
Kelly agreed. She’d only read one of Micah’s seven books because it had scared her so badly she’d slept with a light on for two weeks. When she read a book, she wanted cheerful escape, not terror-inducing suspense. “I guess he likes it that way,” she said.
“Well, everybody’s different,” Sally pointed out. “And I say thank goodness. Can you imagine how boring life would be if we were all the same?” She shook her head and her densely-sprayed curls never moved. “Why, there’d be nothing to talk about.”
And that would be the real shame as far as Sally was concerned, Kelly knew. The woman could pry a nugget of information out of a rock.
“He is a good-looking man though, isn’t he?” Sally asked, a speculative gleam in her eyes.
Good-looking? Oh, Micah Hunter was well beyond that. The picture on the back of his books showed him as dark and brooding, and that was probably done purposefully, considering what he wrote. But the man in person was so much more. His thick brown hair was perpetually rumpled, as if he’d just rolled out of bed. His eyes were the color of rich, dark coffee, and when he forgot to shave for a day or two, the stubble on his face gave him the air of a pirate.
His shoulders were broad, his hips were narrow and he was tall enough that even Kelly’s own five feet, eight inches felt diminutive alongside him. He was the kind of man who walked into a room and simply took it over whether he was trying to or not. Kelly imagined every woman who ever met him had done a little daydreaming about Micah. Even, it seemed, Sally Hartsfield, who had a grandson as old as Micah.
“He is nice looking,” Kelly finally said when she noticed Sally staring at her.
The older woman sighed and fisted both hands on her hips. “Kelly Flynn, what is wrong with you? Your Sean’s been gone four years. Why, if I was your age...”
Kelly stiffened at the mention of her late husband, automatically raising her defenses. Sally must have noticed her reaction because the woman stopped short, offered a smile and, thank heaven, a change of subject.
“Anyway, I hear you’re showing the Polk place this afternoon to a couple coming in from California of all places.”
Impressed as well as a little irked, Kelly stared at the older woman. Honestly, Kelly had only gotten this appointment to show a house the day before. “How did you know that?”