Runaway: Wolfes of Manhattan Three Page 5

  “Honey, you exude champagne taste. Most teachers are most assuredly on a beer budget.”

  He was on to me. Not that I was overly surprised. I really didn’t know how to put on an act. Why hadn’t I said I was some kind of Hershey heiress from Pittsburgh? He might’ve believed that. Yeah, I’d had everything I could possibly want provided for me since day one.

  I’d also had to deal with a lot of shit I didn’t want. Shit I’d gladly live on a teacher’s salary to be rid of.

  “My parents are well-off,” I said. “They’re both lawyers, and they like champagne. I grew up with it, and even though I can’t afford to buy the really good stuff myself, I still can drink it at their place.”

  The lie tasted bitter on my lips. I wasn’t sure why, but I really didn’t want to lie to Matteo Rossi. I felt transparent around him, as if he could see right through to my soul. I both liked and disliked the feeling.

  “Oh.” He nodded. “I guess that makes sense.”

  Good. Either he bought it, or he didn’t and was going to let me think he did. I was fine either way. Just for a week I wanted to be no one.

  He polished off the can of seltzer. “You sure you’re okay here?”

  “Yeah.” Though I didn’t sound too convincing. Even I wasn’t buying it.

  “I should go, then. I’ve got an early job in the morning.”

  “What do you do, anyway?” I asked.

  “I do pretty well renting out this cabin,” he said. “You know, people like you wanting to escape to a small town. I’m booked almost every week. I’m also the town silversmith.”

  Her brows lifted. “Oh?”

  “Yup. Though it’s more of a hobby. There’s not a lot of call for fine jewelry here in Sumter Falls. Other than that, construction when it’s available, and the occasional odd job around town. That’s what I’ll be doing tomorrow morning. My friend Lucas and I are helping out an elderly widow in town. She needs her fence repaired.”

  “That’s nice of you.”

  “We all help each other around here. It’s the small-town way.”

  I smiled. I couldn’t help it. The crowds walking the streets of Manhattan didn’t even want to look at each other, let alone help each other. I had a sudden inspiration.

  “Do you need any help?”

  “Lucas and I have it under control. Besides, it’s hard work, Riley.”

  “Maybe I want to experience hard work.”

  He laughed. “Most teachers I know say there’s no harder job.”

  Nice, Riley. You screwed that up. Truth be told, modeling was hard work as well. I was no stranger to hard work. But I was a stranger to pure manual labor, and for some reason, it sounded compelling to me.

  “Teaching is very difficult. I won’t deny it. Very challenging and rewarding, but I think I’d like to get outdoors and pound on things.”

  He laughed again. “Pound on things, huh?”

  Oh, he had no idea. Pounding on things sounded like nirvana at the moment.

  “Yes.”

  “You got it, then. I’ll be by to get you at six sharp.”

  “Six in the morning?”

  “You got it. Or have you changed your mind?”

  I could easily get out of it. This was my vacation, after all. But damn, I wanted to spend time with Matt, and I desperately wanted to pound things. Like…desperately.

  “I’ll be ready.”

  “Perfect. Wear jeans and the toughest shoes you’ve got. Steel-toed would be best.”

  Steel-toed? Clearly my flip-flops weren’t going to cut it. I did happen to bring a pair of old cowboy boots, though. They weren’t overly fashionable in New York, but I loved them. I’d bought them on a whim during one of my princess trips with my father in Texas.

  Despite the memories they brought to the surface, I never got rid of them. I always thought they might come in handy someday.

  And tomorrow, they would.

  10

  Matteo

  How anyone looked so gorgeous at six in the morning was beyond me, but man, Riley Mansfield sure did. Surprisingly, she seemed to be dressed appropriately, except for a tank top, which wouldn’t do. Luckily I had some old flannels in my truck. She could wear one of those over her tank. What surprised me most was her footwear. She was wearing cowboy boots—really broken-in cowboy boots. Surprising.

  “Did you get anything to eat this morning?” I asked, once she had seated herself in the passenger side of my truck.

  “Are you kidding? I barely rolled out of bed in time.”

  “Not a problem. Mrs. Carson always has breakfast burritos for us.”

  “I’m not sure if I’ve ever had a breakfast burrito.”

  “Then you’re in for a treat. Hers are the best. Her mother came from Mexico. Mrs. Carson makes the best Mexican food you’ll ever eat.”

  “Oh? I don’t eat much Mexican food. Too much fat and carbs.”

  “You’ll be wanting fat and carbs today, honey. You’re going to be working hard. Pure physical labor.”

  “That’s what I’m hoping,” she said.

  I laughed. Oh, she was definitely running from something. Running fast and far enough that she wanted to get up at six in the morning to help fix a fence. Her manicured nails sparkled in the early morning sunlight. I’d bet she’d never held a hammer in her life.

  She would soon.

  Lucas’s truck was already in Mrs. Carson’s driveway when we arrived. I pulled in and hopped out of the driver seat. I began to walk around the truck to help Riley out, but she jumped out on her own. She followed me up the walkway to the door of the house.

  Before I could knock, Lucas opened the door, holding a burrito. “Hey, Matt.” Then his eyes nearly popped out of his head. “Who’s this?”

  He knew damned well who she was. He’d seen me dining with Riley last night. Still, they hadn’t been formally introduced.

  “Riley Mansfield, Lucas Connors.”

  Lucas swallowed his bite of burrito and held out his hand. “My pleasure.”

  Riley took his hand. “Nice to meet you.” When she took her hand away, she rubbed her fingers together.

  I couldn’t help a chuckle. Lucas probably had burrito hands.

  “Come on in, you two. Mrs. C’s got burritos ready and hot coffee.”

  “Just coffee for me,” Riley said. “Very strong and very black.”

  I laughed again and then said quietly, “Mrs. Carson’s coffee is more like light brown water. We can go into town and get you a decent cup if you want.”

  “Oh. No, that’s okay. I’ll just have some water.”

  “And a burrito,” I said.

  “Tortillas are pure gluten,” she said.

  “Tortillas are pure carbs, which are pure energy,” I said, “and trust me, you’re going to want pure energy this morning.”

  She gave me a semi-smile along with a sigh. “All right. I’ll try one. I changed my mind on the water, though. I need some caffeine.”

  “Afraid you won’t find that here. Tell you what. Luke, tell Mrs. Carson we’ll be back in a jiffy. I’m going to take Riley into town to get her a decent cup of coffee at the Bean House.”

  “I’m not telling her that you can’t stand her coffee.”

  “Shit. You’re right. Yeah, don’t tell her that. Just say Riley only drinks decaf or something.”

  “Her coffee’s as good as decaf, and you know it.”

  “For God’s sake, Luke, make something up. We’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  Riley turned to me. “You don’t need to go to all this trouble on my account.”

  “Coffee shop’s a block away, honey. I’m telling you, it’s no trouble at all. JoJo at the Bean House opens up at five for those of us in a small town who need some coffee.”

  “Okay, thanks.” She smiled.

  And when Riley Mansfield smiled, I felt like I could give her anything in the world. Way more than just a cup of decent coffee. She was that fucking beautiful.

  Our quick detour
to the coffee shop took no more than fifteen minutes. After we exchanged pleasantries with JoJo and I introduced her to Riley, she poured us each a cup.

  “Just hot enough,” JoJo said. “I’ve got this down to a science regarding temperature and brewing. You won’t burn your tongue on my coffee.”

  Riley took a sip, and a dreamy smile split her face. “Now this is fabulous.”

  “Thank you kindly,” JoJo said. “You come around anytime while you’re here. Coffee’s always on from five in the morning to five at night.”

  “I’ll definitely do that,” Riley said. “Thank you.”

  We hopped back in the truck and rode back to the widow Carson’s place. Luke had already finished his burrito and was out measuring the area we needed to repair. “Looks like we’re going to need about sixty pickets,” he said when Riley and I got out of the truck.

  “I’ve got about thirty in my backend,” I said. “We can head over to Jeb’s to get the rest.”

  “One of these posts is going to need to be replaced as well,” Lucas said. “It’s rotted right here where it meets the cement.”

  I walked toward him took a look. Shit. He was right. That meant digging out the cement and replacing it, along with a new post. More work than I had in mind for today. “You got any concrete mix?”

  “I do,” he said, “but I didn’t bring it.”

  “We can go ahead and replace the pickets on this other area here.” I gestured. “Let’s get that done, and then we’ll deal with the post in the concrete.” I looked at Riley. “You ever hammer a picket onto a fence rail before?” I smiled. I knew damned well what the answer would be.

  She shook her head. “Not even once.”

  “It’s pretty easy. You don’t have to worry about lining them up so much on the top. I’ll saw them off when were done so they’re even.”

  “But don’t they have to be even on the bottom?” she asked.

  “As best as you can get it. The ground isn’t particularly even, though. We just need to make sure Reggie and Mary can’t get out.”

  “Who are Reggie and Mary?”

  “They’re Mrs. Carson’s dogs.”

  “Oh? I didn’t see any dogs in the house.”

  “They’re probably out back in their dog run. You want to meet them?”

  “I’ve never had a dog…” Her voice trailed off a little, as if she were wistful.

  “Reggie and Mary are really friendly. You’ll like them.”

  “Yeah, I think I would like to meet them.”

  “Not a problem.” I nodded to Lucas. “We’re going to go say hi to the dogs. Back in a minute.”

  He scoffed jovially. “Sure. Leave me to do all the work.”

  I grabbed Riley’s hand—a spark jolted through me at the contact—and led her around Mrs. Carson’s small ranch home and into the backyard. Sure enough, Reggie and Mary were in the dog run. Reggie wagged his tail and put his forepaws up on the fence as soon as he saw us coming. Mary was drinking some water.

  Riley smiled. “They’re so big! What kind of dogs are they?”

  “I don’t have a clue. They’re rescues from a litter someone found in an old barn a couple years ago. If I had to wager a guess, I’d say a mix of German Shepherd and pit bull.”

  Riley stepped back a little. “Aren’t pit bulls supposed to be dangerous?”

  “Those two look dangerous to you? You won’t meet two friendlier pups. Besides, pit bulls can be really sweet. They have to be trained to be assholes. Kind of like people.”

  “They are really pretty, aren’t they?”

  “They are. I had one of their brothers for a while.”

  “Oh?”

  I still smarted when I thought of Herbie. “He got sick. Cancer. There wasn’t anything the vet could do.”

  “I’m so sorry. How old was he?”

  “Only two.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said again. “Did you get another dog?”

  “Nope. I will eventually. This only happened less than a year ago.”

  “So these guys are about three?”

  “Yep. Gorgeous, aren’t they? If you can believe it, Herbie was even prettier.”

  Riley eased gently toward the chain-link fence. Reggie bobbed his brown and black brindled head, his tongue hanging out.

  “It almost looks like he’s smiling,” she said.

  “Technically, dogs don’t have the muscles to smile, but I agree. He looks darned happy, doesn’t he?”

  “Is it okay if I pet him?”

  “Why do you think he’s standing there wagging his tail? Of course you should pet him.” I opened the gate. Reggie and Mary came running out.

  “Down there,” I said, keeping them from jumping on Riley. “They’re both friendly, wouldn’t hurt a soul.”

  She smiled as she timidly touched Reggie’s soft head. “It feels like velvet.”

  “Herbie’s head felt just like that. Mary’s fur is a little more coarse.” I gave the female dog a pat on the head.

  Riley laughed. “I think they like me.”

  “Of course they do. They’ve never met anyone they didn’t like.”

  “I’ve never had a dog,” she said again. “I guess I never really thought I was an animal person. But if they like me, maybe I am.”

  Reggie and Mary liked everyone, but I didn’t want to rain on Riley’s parade. “I think maybe you are. You should get a dog when you go home.”

  “You know? I just might.”

  “We shouldn’t keep Lucas waiting any longer.” I wrestled the dogs back into their pen and shut the gate. “We can spend some more time with them once the fence is fixed.”

  “I’d like that.” She smiled.

  She looked happy. Genuinely happy. She might be running from something, hiding out in a small town, but a couple rescue pups had put a huge smile on her face.

  At that moment, I thought I might do anything to keep that smile on her face forever.

  11

  Riley

  Matt showed me how to start a nail in the picket, place the picket so it was level and plumb—and I learned what plumb meant—and he demonstrated how to nail it to the two-by-four cross support boards that he and Lucas repaired.

  Then he handed me the hammer.

  It was heavier than I expected, but then I’d never held a hammer before.

  “Watch your fingers, honey,” he said. “If you hit one, you’ll probably lose a nail. Oh…and it’ll hurt like a mother.”

  My fingers were the least of my worries. Right now I wanted to pound that nail in good and hard.

  Wham!

  That one went through one of my dead father’s eyes.

  Wham!

  I took out his other eye.

  Wham!

  His nose, that time.

  Wham!

  His mouth—that surly smile that meant one thing. He wanted…

  Wham! Wham! Wham!

  Each one gouged my father’s body until it was a bloody fucking mess. All those years, I’d imagined his demise and how I could make it happen.

  Now? Someone else had done it and I’d been implicated anyway.

  Motherfucker.

  More accurate—daughterfucker.

  Such a complete sicko.

  Wham! Wham! Wham!

  There weren’t enough nails in Matt’s truck to do all the damage I wanted to do.

  “Easy.” He eased the hammer out of my hand. “That one’s in, Riley. Time to start another.”

  I grabbed the tool back. “I’m done when I say I’m done.”

  “Hey.” He cupped both my cheeks and looked into my eyes. “We’ve got plenty of pickets. Once the head of the nail is all that’s visible, you’re done. Okay?”

  I nodded.

  Fine. I’d hammered that one into my father’s skull.

  Time to start again.

  By noon, we were done. And boy, was I beat. But wow, it felt good to pound those nails with a hammer. My father’s corpse was full of a thousand holes.
<
br />   A job well done.

  “Mrs. Carson usually gives us lunch,” Matt said, “but if you’d rather, we can go into town. I know how you feel about carbs and fat.”

  “Believe it or not, I’m starving,” I said.

  “Of course you are. You just worked your cute little butt off for five and a half hours.”

  “We should probably stay. I don’t want to hurt Mrs. Carson’s feelings.”

  “Carnitas and cheese enchiladas,” Matt said. “That’s what she always fixes for Lucas and me.”

  “What are carnitas?”

  “Slow-cooked pork with onions and spices. It’s to die for.”

  Pork, huh? I never ate pork. Beef and poultry only on occasion. I existed on fish and seafood, vegetables and brown rice. I wasn’t sure what pork would do to my stomach. But I didn’t want to be rude. Maybe if I just took a small portion.

  “Does she serve any vegetables or anything?”

  “Usually some rice.”

  Okay, I could work with that. A very small portion of pork and a big plate of rice.

  I followed Matt to the doorway and entered the small house. My mouth watered when I inhaled. Something smelled utterly delicious. This wasn’t any kind of pork I’d ever smelled.

  “Come on into the kitchen,” Mrs. Carson called.

  At least I assumed it was Mrs. Carson. I hadn’t actually seen her yet.

  “Mrs. C,” Matt said, “this is Riley Mansfield. She’s renting my place for the week, and she helped us out today.”

  “Oh, my.” Mrs. Carson trotted up to me. She was a spry old woman, and she reached up and patted my cheeks. “You sure are pretty.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “Mattie, this one might be a keeper.”

  Matt blushed. Seriously, he actually blushed. I held back a laugh.

  “She’s only here for a week, Mrs. C,” Lucas offered.

  “Only a week? Where are you from, dear?”

  “Pittsburgh,” I said.

  “Steelers fan, are you?”

  “I don’t really follow football.”

  “Neither do these two guys,” she said. “I’m always looking for someone to come over and watch the games with me.”