Secretly Smitten (38 page)

“Thirty’s not so bad,” Tess said.

Easy for her to say. She was halfway to Blissville with Ryan. Clare couldn’t find Blissville with a pair of long-range binoculars.

“So back to McBad Boy . . .”

“She’s a dog with a bone,” Clare said.

“You’re a free agent now that Josh is out of the picture,” Zoe said. “And I’m determined to help find your true love, whether you want my assistance or not.”

“And you thought a convict would be a good match for me?”

Zoe waved away the comment. “Oh, no one really believes that. He’s probably just a loner. Hmm. Maybe I can get him to sign up for Cupid’s Arrow.”

Clare laughed. “Yeah. Don’t think so.” That’s the last thing Clare imagined Ethan doing. And she had to admit, she’d been imagining him doing all kinds of things.

“Invite him to the picnic tomorrow,” Zoe said. “We can vet him.”

“He’s my employee. Besides, he’s just passing through.”

“Where’s he staying?” Tess asked.

“I’m not sure.”

“You don’t know very much about this man, Clare,” Anna said. “I’m surprised you hired him.”

Clare tipped her chin. “I can be spontaneous.”

Her first impulsive decision and it was a home run. Maybe she could practice being a little more fun, a little less predictable. Something had to give if she wanted to find a man before she turned into a lonely old spinster.

And maybe Ethan would make the perfect target practice. She could flirt and stuff. He didn’t know her, and he wasn’t sticking around. What could it hurt?

“Just be careful, dear. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

Sometimes it was like her mother could read Clare’s mind. “I’m fine, Mom. Ethan’s perfectly safe.”

Zoe gave a wry smile. “Don’t kid yourself. There is absolutely nothing safe about that man.”

Two days later the unanswered questions were still haunting Clare as she rode with Ethan to the Carriage House Bed-and-Breakfast. The cab smelled like him now, a slightly piney, musky scent.

Smell aside, she was beginning to realize Ethan possessed some indefinable quality that made her aware of his presence. Sometimes she knew he was nearby before she even saw him. Here in the confines of the cab, that quality was almost unnerving.

His weathered jacket lay on the seat beside her, brushing her thigh. The label had a name scrawled in faded ink. She squinted.

Luke
Fletcher.

Clare frowned and looked out the passenger window as they passed a grove of Norway spruce. A borrowed jacket? From the thrift store? Or was Ethan Foster a borrowed name? It did sound kind of . . . planned.

Clare rolled her eyes at the thought.
Of
course
his
name
was
planned, Clare. By his parents.

Even so, a niggle of concern wormed through her. What did she really know about him? It was time for answers.

“So, Ethan . . . you never mentioned where you’re from.”

He spared her a glance as he turned onto Maple Street. “Originally from the South, here and there.”

That was helpful. “You don’t have an accent.”

“Nope.”

“Any family back home?”

“Just me.”

She picked at the sleeve of her shirt. “Can’t imagine that, surrounded as I am. You haven’t met my sisters. Tess is older, a real mother hen, and Zoe’s the youngest.”

He cocked a grin. “Guess that makes you the troubled middle child.”

Was he flirting? The thought made her middle all warm and gushy, a feeling she hadn’t enjoyed in a while. Nice. She’d have to return the favor.

Hmm.

She came up blank.

“Middle children are usually opposite of the oldest,” she said. “Where did you fall in the birth order?” Not flirty, but she congratulated herself on the clever segue, and for her ability to think past his distracting grin.

“Only child.”

“Oh. What with Mom and two sisters, there was never a dull moment in our house. Add Grandma, Aunt Violet, and Aunt Petunia to the mix, and it was an estrogen fest around our place.”

“What about your dad?”

“He left my mom ten years ago—for another woman. Lives in Arizona now.”

“Tough break.”

Clare shrugged. “We tried to keep in contact, but he’s not very responsive. I guess he traded in one family for another.”

“His loss.”

He turned onto Main Street. Spring had arrived in the village. Colorful pansies and petunias sprang from window boxes, and the newly planted maples along the sidewalk budded with fresh growth. Couples mingled, window shopping, holding hands. A couple on a park bench stole a kiss.

They passed Outdoor Adventures, and Reese turned from the picture window she was washing to smile and wave. Clare waved back. Marriage agreed with Reese, that was obvious. Soon Clare’s mom and even probably her sisters would join the Parkers in blissful matrimony. Clare sighed.

“Everyone knows everyone around here.”

And
everyone’s business,
Clare thought, remembering the rumors circulating about Ethan.

“That’s about the size of it. What brought you to Smitten?”
Have
fun
with
it, Clare.
“I assume you’re not on your honeymoon.” She threw in a crooked little smile of her own, then wondered if she looked like a victim of Botox.

Ethan, braking for a group of pedestrians, missed it entirely, thank goodness.

“Just looking for work. When you came upon me in your tool shed, I thought you’d call the sheriff. Sure didn’t think I had a shot at the job.”

“I’m not usually so spontaneous.”

“You don’t say.”

She gave him a look. “Do I detect a note of sarcasm?”

His eyes lit just before a grin tugged his lips. “Little bit.”

That warm feeling invaded her belly again. She looked away, wishing she had some cute quip. Zoe made it look so easy. Clare remembered the name on the tag of his jacket, and Zoe’s warning floated to the surface.

“So what’s with your grandma and aunt?”

Clare sighed. “That. They’re not usually like this.”

“They had me relaying information between them last week. It’s tense as all get-out in the nursery.”

“I’m sorry. Don’t let them drag you into it. I told them to pass notes if they had to, but I was not going to be in the middle.”

“Must’ve been some argument.”

Clare told a quick version of the story of David Hutchins. Finding his dog tags in the attic, Aunt Violet’s secret that he’d survived the war, David’s refusal to return to Smitten and be reunited with Grandma Rose. No sense hiding it—the story had circulated around town after the Valentine’s Day dance. By the time Clare finished the story, Ethan was pulling along the curb at the Carriage House.

He turned off the ignition. “Sounds like your whole family’s in knots.”

“Aunt Violet felt horrible at first when we found out what she did. I thought it was going to work itself out.”

“But your grandma is taking too long to forgive—in Miss Violet’s opinion—so now she’s resentful.”

“Basically.” She spared him a smile. “Welcome to my world.”

“How long’s this been going on?”

Clare exited the cab and met him around back, where she lowered the tailgate. “Let’s just say it’s been a long, cold winter.”

An hour later Ethan pulled up to Clare’s house so she could let Dixie out.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m thirsty. You can come in if you want.”

They’d reached the porch steps when Ethan sighted a man on Clare’s porch. He wore a dress shirt, a navy tie, and a frown. He tucked his hands in the pockets of his khaki trousers as he met them on the edge of the porch.

Clare’s cheeks bloomed a pretty shade of pink. Her boyfriend?

“Hi, Josh.”

“Clare.” He bent in for a hug that connected only at the shoulder.

Not a boyfriend.

“I brought your sweater—I know it’s your favorite.” He grabbed it from the table he’d laid it on and handed it to her. “You left it at my place.”

Ex-boyfriend then. He’d lay all the money in his wallet on it. Not that it was much.

“Oh. Thanks.” She took the sweater.

Josh’s neatly clipped hair shone with hair product and his smile revealed too-white teeth. Ethan supposed he was nicelooking enough, if you liked the pretty boy sort. Which Clare apparently did.

She flashed a look at Ethan. “Josh, this is Ethan. Ethan, Josh Campbell.”

Josh’s grip was firm as he looked between them. “Nice to meet you. You’re the new guy at the Red Barn.”

“Word gets around.”

Clare’s elfin chin inched up. “I hired him the night he arrived in town.”

What was that all about? An awkward pause ensued.

“Well . . . ,” Josh said.

“Well.” Clare’s face went two shades deeper. “Thanks. For the sweater.”

Josh nodded at them both. “Nice to meet you, Ethan. See you around, Clare.”

Ethan watched him go as Clare fumbled with her key.

Josh slipped into a white Saab and pulled away without a second glance.

“Darn it.” Two more tries and the knob twisted.

Dixie’s full rear end was wagging as they slipped inside. “Come on, girl, let’s go out.”

Ethan followed her through the house. She stopped on the way through the kitchen and handed him a water bottle.

As soon as she opened the back door, Dixie shot out.

Ethan stepped out onto the stoop, stopping as he caught a view of Clare’s backyard.

High leafy canopies draped over a garden the likes of which he’d never seen. Flowers and shrubs everywhere, but instead of looking like a nursery run amok, it looked like the garden of Eden.

“Wow.” It wasn’t a word he used much. Maybe never. But the sheer beauty of the—he hated to give it such a name—
yard
deserved it. Dixie meandered down one of the cobbled walkways, stopping to smell something. It seemed a crime for a dog to use the space as her own personal bathroom.

“Did you do this?”

Clare smiled, seeming more relaxed since they’d stepped outdoors, and no wonder. A person could rest in a place like this.

“I did.”

A small gazebo sat off to the side. A waterfall splashed into a pool of water, fern fronds dipping down into it. A couple of benches beckoned visitors into the depths of the garden. It didn’t look fake, like some landscaping he’d seen, but seemed like it was all part of God’s natural creation. The woman was gifted. She was skilled at her nursery job and all, but this . . . this was art.

Clare sat on the stoop. “Sort of a perpetual part-time project.”

Ethan joined her. “How long did it take?”

Clare shrugged. “It was just a lawn when I bought the place seven years ago. I’ve been adding to it since.”