Stu grinned, apparently as friendly as his brother was not. “I am, but I ’spect you’ll have someone you prefer to work on her.”
He did. But that didn’t serve his purposes at all.
He went around and pried open the passenger door wide enough to pull his leather duffel from where it was wedged behind the seat, along with the driver’s license he’d stashed in a tight fold of leather upholstery the day before when the ambulance had arrived. He stuck the license in his pocket and backed out of the car.
“Write up the estimate,” he told the man, “and call me. I assume you know the number at Tiff’s.”
Stu’s friendly expression chilled. Seemed he was more like his brother than Dane had thought. “You’re staying at Tiff’s?”
Dane nodded and walked away before the man could say more. Judging by that expression, Stu would have the repairs done on the Shelby in record time. The guy may have been happy to work on the rare car, but his enthusiasm evidently didn’t extend to the idea of Dane taking a room at his sister’s boardinghouse.
By the time he’d walked the length of Main Street, Dane had a renewed appreciation for warmer climates. Not that it didn’t get cold in Seattle or Louisville, where he had homes. But it was nothing compared to the chip of ice Lucius occupied.
Fortunately, Tiff’s was just as Hadley had described. The Victorian looked perfectly maintained with its curlicues and lace. But it was painted in pink and green, resulting in what was about the most god-awful color combination Dane had ever seen.
He went up the front steps. As long as it was warm inside, he didn’t much care if there were naked ladies painted on the outside. The door was unlocked and he went in, not entirely sure what to expect. He was used to staying in five-star hotels. Not Podunk-town boarding houses.
The door opened directly on to a wide hall with several doorways leading off it. The floor was carpeted in a pale pink as ugly as the exterior paint, and a narrow tapestry carpet runner stretched along the length of it. Looking straight back, beyond the dark-wood staircase tucked against the wall, he could see what was obviously a kitchen.
And the painstaking piano music coming from one of the rooms off the central hall seemed completely in place.
“Hi.” A very pregnant young blonde walked by, an enormous cereal bowl in her hand. “You must be the new guest.”
Why not? He nodded, and the woman pointed up the stairs. “All the way up the stairs. Two flights. Tower room. You’re lucky. You’ll have your own bathroom.” Then she padded, barefoot, out of sight again.
He went up the stairs to the first landing, glanced down the hall at the collection of doors—mostly closed, and went up the second flight. There was only one room at the top and he went inside, closing the door behind him.
There were windows on three sides of the room. All were covered with filmy white curtains, and Dane tugged aside one set to look out on a wide expanse of snow punctuated periodically by winter-nude trees. In the distance he could see the thin, glittering ribbon of a stream backed by a row of evergreens.
He shrugged out of his coat and retrieved his cell phone from his duffel. As soon as he turned it on, it beeped with messages. He ignored them and dialed his sister. She answered after only a few rings.
Dane didn’t waste time. “How is he?”
“Stable for now,” Darby answered.
“Still unconscious?”
“Yes.”
Dane stifled an oath. “Is Felicia there?”
Darby laughed a little at that. “Are you kidding? Our mother doesn’t do hospitals, you know that. Not even for our dad. She’s staying at the house, though.”
“If Roth knew she was staying under his roof, he’d probably have another heart attack,” he said. Once Roth and Felicia Rutherford divorced, they’d never had another kind word to say about the other.
More than twenty years ago, yet neither one of his parents had managed to move on.
He gingerly rubbed the pain in his forehead and turned away from the view.
He was a fine one to judge others about moving on.
“Call me on my cell if anything changes.”
Darby promised to do so and hung up. She’d never have bought it if he’d claimed to be taking a vacation and it had been easy enough to convince her he was in Montana on business. Her interest in Rutherford Industries had always been minimal, and since she now lived in Minnesota with her husband, the five kids he’d come with plus the one they’d had together, that interest had decreased even further.
Only, now Darby was back in Louisville, staying by Roth’s hospital bedside. He knew she didn’t approve of him being absent right now even if she understood it to be business. But it was better if she didn’t know Dane’s real reason.
His sister had been through enough when it came to Dane’s quarry. Alan Michaels had kidnapped and tormented her when she was a child. He had no intention of telling her that the man was at large again. Hell, Roth had suffered a heart attack the same day he’d learned it.
Dane looked around the room. It wasn’t going to win any awards for spacious design, but it had the necessities and was appealing in a comfortable sort of way with its clean, light looks. The bed was wide enough, covered by a quilt that he figured was handmade, and there was a narrow desk and chair beneath the set of windows that overlooked the street.
He ached from head to toe and the bed looked inviting, but he had work to do. So he sat down in the chair and dealt with the phone messages. He called Wood and broke the news about the car. His friend mostly groaned. But since Wood already had three other Shelbys in his collection, he could afford the luxury of being patient for the repairs. Then Dane called Mandy Manning. The message he left on her voice mail was brief.
“I’m in Lucius. Call me.”
* * *
“I’m late, I’m late for a very important date.” The words echoed inside Hadley’s head as she hurried up the steps of Tiff’s. She’d spent an hour longer than she’d intended at the church, and had still had to stop off at the grocery store before going home.
Since sharing a table at Luscious with Wood Tolliver that morning, it’d taken her twice as long to accomplish everything she’d attempted, because her thoughts kept straying into foolish directions.
She’d mangled his car and that was that. She didn’t figure a man would be likely to overlook that particular detail.
She maneuvered the front door open with her two free fingertips, worked a foot inside, followed by her thigh, then hip.
“Here.”
She nearly jumped out of her skin when Wood seemed to appear out of nowhere on the step beside her, his hands easily plucking three of the bulky canvas bags out of her hands.
“Where do you want them?”
“Kitchen,” she said faintly. He was polite enough not to mention her gaping expression, and she was grateful for it.
He pushed open the door the rest of the way for her and waited. She could feel cold air rushing past her and she hurriedly closed her mouth and went inside.
He followed her into the kitchen and set his bags on the counter next to hers. Then she tried not to gape all over again when he tossed his jacket on the counter and—as if he’d been doing it for years—poured himself a mug of coffee. Well, she tried and failed, anyway, and managed to shake her head when he held up the mug, offering it to her first before lifting it to his own lips.
“You look surprised,” he said after a moment. He leaned his hip against the counter and smiled faintly.