Yarned and Dangerous

KENSINGTON BOOKS

All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

Table of Contents

To Mike and Will, for making my life as close to perfect as it ever needs to be.

To my mom, sisters, and aunts, for being my most enthusiastic cheerleaders, and for listening to me prattle on about books. Love you, ladies!

To my agent, John Talbot, my editor, John Scognamiglio, and the dedicated folks at Kensington, thanks for your help and guidance as this book came to life.

And as always, to the members of the Connecticut Chapter of Romance Writers of America, the finest writers' group of this or any other time.

 

—From
The History of Needlework
by Cora Lloyd

“D
on't ask me to do this. Please.” Josie Blair set her coffee mug down on the table. Hot brown liquid sloshed over onto the mess of papers spread across the surface, which served as a desk as well as a place to eat. “Darn it.” She crossed the floor of her tiny Brooklyn kitchen, opened a drawer, and pulled out a paper towel.

“There's no need to swear at me,” her mother said.

“Sorry. And ‘darn it' isn't exactly a cuss, Mom. It wasn't directed at you.” Josie began to blot at the mess. She took a deep breath. “I can't go back to that hick town to take care of Uncle Eben. I barely remember him.” Her cat, Coco, twined around her feet. She reached down and stroked the soft black fur. Coco allowed the petting for a moment, then trotted off on her little white paws.

“The man is recovering from a broken leg. And he's grieving. He and Cora weren't married long, but they cared about each other. There isn't anyone else, Josie.”

“Only because he's scared off every visiting nurse in the county.”

Her mother grinned. “As soon as I get back, I'll relieve you. It'll only be a couple of weeks.”

Right. A couple of weeks of drop-dead boredom. “Mom, all you have to do is cancel your cruise. Simple.” Josie felt awful even as she said it and wished she could take it back.

Her mother, bless her, didn't seem to mind. “It's nonrefundable, as you well know. You said you've got vacation time coming. Why not take it in the country? Connecticut will be beautiful this time of year, with all the snow.”

Josie poured herself a fresh cup of coffee and filled her mother's mug. She set a plate of cookies from her favorite bakery in Greenwich Village in front of her mother, selecting a macaroon for herself.

“You can bring some work with you,” her mother continued. “Uncle Eb lives in the boondocks, but he has electricity and a telephone. Your computer will work. Cora's yarn shop has to be closed up, and Eb can't do that alone.”

Josie's eyes fell on the pegs she'd installed near the front door. On one peg hung a classic camel Burberry coat she'd found in a consignment store. Around the collar of that coat hung a lacy scarf, hand-knit of yarn in the colors of the ocean—azure, aqua, and green. Cora, her great-uncle's wife, had sent Josie the scarf just before she died in the car accident that injured Eb. Guilt pricked Josie's gut. She had never met Cora, and she never would now.

Josie looked at her mother and felt her resolve crumbling. The last place on earth she wanted to go was back to Dorset Falls, where she'd lived for a couple of years as a teenager. But her mother had sacrificed so much to raise Josie alone on a teacher's salary. If anyone deserved a Mediterranean cruise, it was Katherine Blair.

“I'll drop you at LaGuardia tomorrow so you can catch your flight to Italy. Then I'll head up to Connecticut on Sunday,” Josie said, dropping a kiss into her mother's highlighted hair.

Katherine smiled, gratitude evident in her eyes. “That's my girl.”

Her girl hoped she wasn't making a big mistake. And wondered whether her car would make it all the way to the Litchfield hills.

 

Josie switched off the radio. She'd been out of range of any listenable station for miles, and the combination of the static, the drone of the tires of her ancient Saab, and the bright glare of the sun made her head ache. Unfortunately, her aspirin were packed away in her tote bag in the backseat. She'd finished her coffee around New Rochelle and her diet Mountain Dew somewhere around New Haven, so there was nothing to swallow the pills with anyway.

She was also rather urgently in need of a rest stop, which were few and far between on this interminable stretch of highway. Not only could she not recall how far back the last rest stop had been, she could not recall the last time she'd actually seen a commercial building along this road.

According to Antonio, the deep, Italian-accented voice of her portable GPS unit, she'd arrive at Uncle Eben's place around eleven a.m. if she didn't stop for lunch. Why couldn't all men be like Antonio? He was always calm, and kind, and he never got mad at you if your plans changed. He understood if you had to go a different way for a while. He just recalculated the route and gave you your next direction, all with that same smooth, nonjudgmental voice.

Unlike some people I know.
Last night's argument with Otto still had her fuming.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Otto had said, pointing a yak kabob at her over dinner. “The magazine goes to press in ten days, and you're leaving now? Unacceptable.”

Josie took a bite of her asparagus risotto, letting the cheesy richness melt on her tongue before she answered. His stare was making her uncomfortable. She should have loved her job. Otto Heinrich was a well-known, some said brilliant, fashion designer, and as his assistant she had nearly unlimited access to him. If she wanted to sell her own designs someday, she couldn't ask for better experience. Still, Otto had his moods and he often took his frustrations out on Josie.

“Jennifer can handle anything that comes up. She knows the magazine as well as I do.”

“She's not you. When are you going to take this job seriously?” He stabbed his fork into the pile of whole grain pasta on his plate and began a vicious twirl. He shoved the pasta into his mouth and let his eyes rest on her chest as he chewed.

God, she hated him when he was like this, all snotty and self-righteous. And lewd. “My collection is coming along just fine.” Okay, that was kind of a fib. She'd been working on designs for next fall, but her drawings stunk and she knew it. She had a great eye for fashion and a talent for writing about it, but it was becoming apparent, after a Master of Fine Arts degree she was still paying for and would be for years to come, that she might, possibly, not be a designer.

“I find it hard to believe that you'd rather go take care of some old geezer you hardly know than work with me.” Otto whipped his head around, and his shiny blond ponytail swung out in a wide arc, barely missing a passing busboy. Otto had better hair than she did. “Waiter! Another glass of this wine, please.”

“He's family, Otto,” she said, crossing her arms defensively. “He's old, and he needs me.” So what if she hadn't seen Uncle Eben in years? She would get to know him now, that was for sure. Maybe her memories of his crotchetiness weren't accurate. Maybe he'd turned into a big sweetie in his old age, with a faithful, friendly dog by his side.
It would be nice to have a dog,
she thought.
I could take it for walks along Uncle Eb's quiet country road, and not worry about picking up after it.

“What about me? Don't I count for something?” Otto almost, but not quite, managed a convincing pout. “We could be very good together, you know.” He ran a finger up her arm.

Josie recoiled. Otto was an equal-opportunity lech, gawking unabashedly at every woman in the Haus of Heinrich offices. She knew for a fact that he'd been sleeping for months with the receptionist, a dark-haired sylph with modeling aspirations. Up until now, other than a few lascivious glances that Josie had ignored, he'd behaved himself around her. But since he broke up with Anastasia, something had changed, and he'd been dropping hints to Josie, which she'd also ignored. If she had to guess, she'd say that Otto probably didn't like the idea that Josie had a life and obligations that didn't revolve around him and his company. And he was arrogant enough to think his Germanic charms would be enough to keep her in New York and working for him forever.

But no job was worth doing . . . that. She'd studied hard and worked hard to get where she was, and she was not going to become Otto's Flavor of the Month no matter how much she needed the income. Anger bubbled up, and she swallowed it down. “No, we couldn't be anything together.” Purse slung over her shoulder, she stormed off toward the front of the restaurant, then stopped and returned to the table.

Otto sat back in his chair, smiling. There was a sound of leather-on-leather as his hand-tailored jacket scraped against the upholstery. “If you leave again, don't come back.”

Josie picked up her plate of risotto. She hefted the plate. It was made of good, solid white china. There was still a lot of food left on it, and, if she threw it at him, it would make a very satisfying mess. It might even hurt. Certainly, the leather suit jacket would be ruined.

Otto's face went serious again. “Don't do anything we'll both regret, Josie,” he warned. She looked at the plate again, and the delicious cheesy aroma drifted up into her nostrils.

“Miss?” She addressed the server passing by with a tray of drinks. “Could I get a to-go box?” Turning to Otto, she said, “I quit.”

“You can't quit.” He threw back the rest of his wine. “You've already been fired.”