In Seconds

could tell, she didn’t ask anyone in. Except maybe Claire and Vera Soblasky, who occasionally watched Jake and Mia for her.

Curious to see how she lived, he heard himself accept. “Sure. I can come over right now, if you want.”

“Marley won’t mind?” she asked.

His daughter had a friend over; they were watching a movie upstairs on the big screen in his room. They wouldn’t miss him if he stepped out for a few minutes. “No. She’ll be fine.”

Vivian’s face lit up. “Great. Thank you so much.”

When that rare smile shot like an arrow to his groin, Myles cursed the testosterone that made him so… male. He had single women coming on to him all the time, but he wasn’t interested in them. Instead, he wanted this complicated neighbor who’d let him know in no uncertain terms that she wouldn’t welcome him even as a friend.

But tonight she needed help. And he was planning to make sure she got it. Apparently even the gruesome murder of an upstanding Pineview citizen couldn’t lessen her impact on him. “I’ll grab my toolbox and come over.”

2

Vivian sat at the kitchen table while the sheriff unplugged her fridge and tore apart the motor. She hadn’t been sure he’d agree to help, but now that he had, she hoped he wouldn’t be able to tell she’d sabotaged it herself. She also hoped the job would take long enough to strike up more than a superficial conversation with him. It hadn’t required much effort to cripple her fridge. She’d yanked out a few wires and was afraid he’d simply reconnect them before she could learn anything about Pat Stueben’s murder, see if he had any idea who might be responsible.

“Kids in bed already?” he asked as he worked.

“Yeah. They’re usually out by nine.” He looked better in a pair of jeans than any man had a right to. She tried not to let her gaze drop to the assets those jeans displayed, but it wasn’t easy. She hadn’t allowed herself to get this close to a man in the two years she’d been living in Pineview—especially a man who made her so aware that she’d soon be heading to bed alone. Just like every other night.

“What do you do after they’re asleep?”

A screw fell to the floor. She bent to pick it up so he wouldn’t see the warm blush that’d infused her cheeks. “Work. The hours from nine to one are my most productive.”

“You must not get much sleep. Not with kids who wake up at…what, eight?”

“Or earlier.” She rolled her eyes for emphasis.

“Where’s Jake and Mia’s father?”

He’d spoken conversationally but this was information he and almost everyone in town had been dying to get out of her since she’d moved here. They didn’t like how closed off she was; they weren’t used to it. But she hadn’t revealed any details about her ex so far, and she wasn’t starting now. If she didn’t give Pineview’s good citizens a loose thread to tug on, they couldn’t unravel the whole ball. “He’s no longer part of our lives.” And that’s all I’ve got to say on the subject. She didn’t add that, but her tone implied it.

“I see.” If he was offended by her clipped response, he didn’t show it. His fingers brushed hers as he took the screw and her stomach did an inconvenient little somersault. “So once they go to bed, you design purses?”

He smelled like soap. She wondered if he’d come home and showered. Probably. Anybody would want to wash after seeing what he’d seen. She knew because she’d watched two men gunned down four years ago. In some ways, it seemed as if eons had passed since that night. She’d come so far since then, had changed so much. In other ways, it felt like only yesterday, as if the horrifying sights and sounds of those murders were forever etched onto her brain and would stay there, as vivid and constant as the moment it happened.

Myles had stopped to look at her; she hadn’t answered. “I do some designing, yes. I also handle orders, do the accounting, check out my competition or look at the photographs for my new catalog.” Or, occasionally, Claire talked her into taking the night off and watching a movie. “I’ve got more than enough to stay busy.”

“Your job is unusual for someone living in the wilds of Montana.” He put the screw she’d picked up in his back pocket and she had to fight to keep her gaze from lowering to his ass. “How’d you get into designing?”

Although they’d never discussed this—they typically exchanged nothing beyond a few pleasantries—she was fairly sure he’d heard the story through the grapevine. That much of her past she’d already divulged. But if he wanted to make small talk while she waited for an opening to bring up the murder, she had no objections. He didn’t seem to think there was anything strange about what had happened to the fridge, thank God. “I entered a contest sponsored by Coach purses and Vogue magazine while I was living on the East Coast and—” she shrugged “—my design won.”

The interest in his green, brown-flecked eyes felt as good as a long massage. Maybe it was the two glasses of wine she’d drunk to get up the nerve to go next door, but a warm tingle swept through her whenever he looked up or smiled. She missed having a man in her life. She hadn’t realized how much.

“Were you surprised?” he asked.

“Shocked.” Even that was an understatement. Other than the births of her children, winning that contest was the best thing that had ever happened to her.

“To what do you attribute your success?”

To an intense fascination with fashion and design. To watching every show there was on the topic. To reading all the beauty magazines. To trial and error. She was self-educated, but careful not to miss the tiniest detail. She had too many handicaps to overcome, she couldn’t afford to be halfhearted or sloppy. But exposing the desperation that had fueled her dream seemed too personal. “Luck,” she said to make it simple.

“That contest must’ve opened the right doors.”

“It did. Coach asked me for other samples of my work, so I quickly came up with a few.”

“They liked those, too?”

“Even more than the one that was selected as the winner.”

“You must have natural talent.”

With the kids asleep, the clock ticking rhythmically above the sink and the wine circulating in her blood, it was easy to let down her guard enough to enjoy his company. “That’s what my boss at Coach said when he offered me a job. Before I went out on my own.”

“Had you been to fashion school?”

She laughed out loud. There’d been no time or money for that. “No.”

“Where did you go to college?”

Her levity vanished. Inevitably one question led to another. And so much of her past was too painful to talk about, or would be too dangerous to reveal. That isolated her from others, kept her from being able to connect…?. “I didn’t.”

Once again, he paused. “You didn’t have the opportunity?”

“No.” She jerked her head toward the fridge. “That looks pretty complicated. Have you ever fixed one before?”

Taking the hint, he continued working. “Actually, I have.”

“Did they teach you that at the police academy?” She grinned to make up for her coolness. Prickly wasn’t her true nature. It was a learned response, the only way she could create the space and privacy necessary to function somewhat normally.

He changed the head on his electric screwdriver. “Not quite. My father was an attorney, but he was raised by the most frugal individual on earth. Fortunately, he didn’t turn out to be quite as tightfisted as his old man, but he refused to hire anyone to fix what we could learn to fix for him. He believed boys should grow up to be self-reliant. And there were four of us, so he had a lot of ready labor.” He raised his voice to compensate for the hum of the screwdriver. “He’d find broken garbage disposals, toasters, fans—you name it—at the dump and haul them home just to make us fix them.”

“What’d you do with those things after you got them working? Four boys could potentially fix quite a few toasters.”