Driving Miss Lucia: Ranger’s End Book Three Read online

  After a look behind her that shoved him down in his seat as if she had her hands on his shoulders, she climbed in the Rolls, and the car zoomed forward with the old woman behind the wheel.

  Lanie Carpenter.

  He followed them to a mansion set almost smack dab in the middle of town. A black wrought iron gate allowed entrance to the property and hedges and shrubs wrapped the inside of the fence. As he pulled up across the street, he watched Lanie almost vault out before the car rolled to a complete stop. She clutched her chest and batted her wide eyes three or four times.

  Taking a chance he wouldn’t normally take—this was a find-and-report-only mission, not a meet-and-greet—he pulled in behind the cream-colored car, turned his cap around to shield his eyes from the sun, and climbed out. Old crush or not, it was time to end this thing. Now. For Dad’s sake.

  But Lanie Carpenter.

  The old woman pulled Lanie behind her back, lifted her head to meet his gaze, and spoke. “State your business here, or I’ll have you bound and gagged until the police arrive.”

  With that tone, he didn’t doubt it. “I’m, um…” He didn’t miss the fear blazing in Lanie’s eyes as she peeked around the old woman’s shoulder. He didn’t miss the purple spot on her jaw either.

  Before he could finish his thought, the old woman snapped her fingers. “Oh my goodness. Where is my mind? I forgot the agency was sending over the new gardener today.” She stepped forward and squeezed his biceps. “Oh, yes. You will do nicely.”

  “I’m not…” But she winked, and the words died on his lips.

  The old woman turned. “Help her with the bags, and we can all sit down for tea inside.”

  A gardener—which he most certainly was not—invited to tea? And did that old woman just pat him on the ass?

  What was he thinking? He didn’t know a shrub from a hedge. But as Lanie winced when she leaned inside the car, he reached in and grabbed all the handles in one fist. “Let me.”

  She nodded but kept her gaze pointed firmly at the toe of her sneakers. “Thanks.”

  God, she was as beautiful as he remembered. The seventeen-year-old inside him responded in the way a seventeen-year-old body would when in the company of a girl way out of his league. Down, boy. He turned quickly toward the door.

  Before he climbed the last step, she put a hand on his arm. “Do I know you?”

  He stopped and turned to her. “I don’t know. Do you?” Since high school, he’d traded his glasses for contacts, shucked the braces, grown a foot and gained about a hundred pounds. The John Alexander she would remember—if she remembered him at all—no longer existed. Only the barest trace of his Alabama accent might have given him away.

  She stared hard. “I guess not.” But she didn’t move. “Where you from?”

  Should he refresh her memory? Put a bit of the twang he’d lost over the years back into his tone? Mention the high school where she’d been homecoming queen, and he’d been little more than a peon? Maybe later. “I move around a lot.” Especially since his daddy gambled away the house where John had grown up sometime shortly after John went away to college.

  “Sorry. I shouldn’t be so nosy.” Color washed her cheeks in a glow, and she shook her hands back and forth as if fanning herself or shooing away a horde of flies. “Ignore me. I’m losing it.” With a quick military turn on her heel, she marched inside.

  3

  Full run of the guesthouse. That was what Lucia said. Her own space to live and relax, to not have to worry about saying the wrong thing or having a shirt torn off her because he didn’t like the color. Her own space. She threw herself backward onto the mattress. Oh, the taste of sweet freedom.

  Lucia had given her the day to get settled, and she wanted nothing more than to sink into the thick blankets and sleep the rest of the afternoon away, but peaceful slumber wasn’t going to come until she figured out this gardener and how she knew him. Oh, who was she kidding? Peaceful slumber. Such a novel thought. How many thousands of miles between her and Chad would it take for her to get a good night’s sleep? Sure. Chicago to California was a good start, but maybe something European would be better. If she scrimped and saved the money she made… She saw herself in Paris in a wide-brimmed hat in front of the Eiffel Tower. Then in front of Buckingham Palace marching in time with the Queen’s guards. Daydreams again pulling her through her loneliness. Her usual crutch allowed her to ignore the details she should have been focusing on. Getting as far away as she could. Before Chad or anyone else found her.

  Just a mention of his name brought the nerves back, quaking inside her, shooting sparks through her trembling fingers. She cursed her weakness. But the thoughts nagged. The gardener again. What if he was one of Chad’s spies? She thought she knew them all, but what if he was new or someone Chad had hired for the sole purpose of finding her? Someone hired because she didn’t know him. Honestly, though, for as big he was—a qualification to work for Chad—he was a bit too good looking—blond hair, blue-eyed, make her panties damp kind of good looking. Chad wouldn’t have hired someone he perceived as competition. And, if she was completely honest, this guy made Chad look short, fat and dumpy. Probably made a lot of perfectly decent looking guys seem short, fat, and dumpy. No. He didn’t work for Chad. What she didn’t know was if she was willing to bet her life on being right.

  While she’d been given the afternoon off, the gardener had been sent outside to start working. Bending and sweating, planting and shoveling in the hot summer sun. He’d yanked off his shirt at some point and used it to wipe the sweat from his forehead.

  Oh my.

  He had muscles in places she’d thought only happened with airbrushing in magazines. Muscles that contracted and expanded, made her mouth water, made her want to touch him. A lot.

  As if he felt her eyes on him, he turned and waved. She let the curtains brush back into place. Okay. It had been more than a year since Chad shared her bed, more than two months since he’d found her internet search history. Less than a week since he’d locked her away in the basement without any contact with the outside world. This was just an attack of neglected hormones due to the close proximity of what could only fairly be called pure male perfection. At least Chad hadn’t ruined her completely. She knew that now.

  And damned if she planned to give him one more thought. A second chance, a new start, and she wouldn’t let the thought of Chad ruin it. She had a place to stay, a great place with a huge fence surrounding her and an alarm system, not to mention a guy who looked like he could hold his own right next door. One hell of a new start.

  For having been vacant since Lucia’s granddaughter went to live on a commune somewhere in Sonoma, the house smelled fresh, and nary a dust bunny existed. A floor-to-ceiling bookshelf lined one wall, and Lanie ran a finger over the selection of romance novels and…romance novels and…more romance novels. Someone certainly liked their half-naked male cover models. Good bedtime reading, she supposed and moved on to stare around her, taking in every detail.

  The entire house was washed in white, from the shiplap walls to the vaulted ceiling, the billowy curtains on the bed and the pristine white sofa and carpet. From the wall of windows on the front side of the living room, she had a view of the pool and the gardens surrounding it. Out the back she could see the gardener’s cottage—a log structure built to look rustic, but she suspected its infancy, since no way the varnish on the outside had faced any real weather.

  A voice came through a speaker in the ceiling. “Jane, this is Lucia. Come in, Jane.” Lanie looked for a control panel, some sort of gizmo to allow the two-way conversation Lucia seemed to expect.

  Finding nothing, she looked up at the speaker and spoke to the air. “Yes?”

  “Jane? Are you there, Jane?”

  Lanie used her fingernails to try to pry open a seam in the wall by the door. Nothing but a broken nail for her trouble. Damn.

  “Jane? Are you sleeping, Jane?”

  Instead of fumbling with the panel furt
her, she opened the front door and rushed to the main house. She rang the bell and waited. And waited. What if the old woman needed medical attention? What if she called because she’d fallen and she couldn’t get up? Lanie twisted the knob. Poking her head inside, she looked left and right then stepped out from behind her shield of cover. “Lucia? Mrs. Gilden?”

  From a wall of plates with intricate patterns to what could only be an authentic Monet, the house showcased expensive art and trinkets. The hardwoods shined her reflection back up at her so that she almost felt guilty walking on them. However much Lucia paid the housekeeping staff, they earned it.

  “Lucia?” The old woman bounded around the corner, and Lanie stopped short. “I couldn’t find the panel to answer you back.”

  Lucia frowned. “Remind me to show you. Can’t have you out there without communication.”

  For a moment, Lanie stood in front her employer wondering what to say next. “Did you need me to take you somewhere?”

  Lucia smiled and put her hand out for Lanie to take hold of. “I thought we could have an evening drink by the pool.”

  Lanie smiled, still marveling at her freedom to move about, to have an evening drink by the pool, to throw her arms out and spin circles just because she wanted to. “I would like that so much.”

  Lucia picked up a bell, gave it a tinkle, then gestured for Lanie to lead the way. When they were seated at the table—a table with a real linen cloth over the top and a bouquet of fresh flowers in the center—Lucia smiled and waved the gardener over. She leaned in close enough Lanie could smell she’d already sampled the wine. “He’s quite handsome.”

  Lanie couldn’t shake the feeling she knew him from somewhere. But where? “Yes.” Memory or not, she could agree. He did add something to the landscape, for sure.

  As he approached them, Lanie noticed the streak of dirt that formed a line from one shoulder to the opposite rib cage. And holy ab muscles, Batman. Her mouth went dry.

  Lucia waved another woman forward. “Jane, this is Maryanne.” Rather than acknowledging Lanie, Maryanne stared as the gardener made his way around the pool toward the table. The tray she held clinked against the table and a crystal wine goblet—goblet, no way it could be called a simple glass—teetered on the edge of a fall. Without taking her eyes off him, Maryanne adjusted the tray and deposited the teetering tableware down with a thunk.

  “I don’t know where you find them, Lucia, but the help around here gets better looking every year.” The housekeeper whistled under her breath and gave a slight headshake.

  “Maryanne has been with me for years. She’s seen things…” Lucia winked.

  Maryanne laughed. “Oh, you’ll know exactly what I’ve seen when I write my tell-all book about the life and loves of Lucia Gilden.”

  Lucia lifted her glass. “And a bestseller it shall be.”

  Maryanne set the bottle in the middle of the table. “I’m going home now. Do you think you can manage to pour your own wine, your majesty?” She smiled at Lanie as the gardener reached down and braced his hands on the backrest of an empty chair.

  “I’m certain I can find a way.”

  Lanie envied their relationship, almost enough that she could savor her wine without thinking of the man standing next to her. But his voice…there was no ignoring the deep, sultry tone of his almost-southern accent. “Yes, ma’am?”

  “I thought we could all enjoy a drink with our sunset.” Lucia’s smile left no room for refusal.

  “I should clean up first.”

  At Lucia’s nod, he turned and Lanie liked his backside almost as much as she enjoyed the front. Lucia smiled. “He does improve the view here.” She looked at Lanie head-on. “’I'll bet he could protect a girl, too.” She waved a finger in front of her own jaw. “If she needed it.”

  “I don’t.” Not anymore. She’d found her freedom. For today anyway. She’d worry about tomorrow, well, tomorrow.

  “He still makes a lovely addition to my staff.”

  Lanie nodded and took another sip. “Do you know where he’s from?” Not that she cared more than making sure he didn’t work for Chad.

  “Not yet.” Lucia set her wine on the table. “Tell me about you, dear. What brings you to Rangers End?”

  Lanie swallowed hard. How much should she tell? She’d covered the marks on her arms with sleeves and the fresh bruises on her face were mostly concealed by pounds of makeup, but Lanie had a feeling nothing much got past Lucia. “I needed to get away.”

  Lucia nodded. “Well, you couldn’t have picked a better time. The new mayor is simply a love, and he’s restructuring, rebuilding, and there’s been an influx of new families and young people moving in. I’ll have to arrange an introduction. He was my gardener, too, for a while.” She winked as if she had a big secret she was about to share. “And his wife was one of my rug cleaners. They found love by the azaleas.” Lucia sat back in her chair and sighed one of those contented breaths that said all was right in the world. “This house is blessed by romance.”

  Lanie’s face heated. “Oh, Mrs. Gilden, I’m not looking for love.” Or lust either, so her damned hormones could just knock their crap off, too.

  Lucia nodded. “It doesn’t matter if we’re looking for love, dear. If it’s meant to be, love will always find us.”

  A gardener? How the hell… Lanie Carpenter, that was how. He needed to watch her. Make sure she didn’t bolt before he told Wright where to find her. Which he should have done already. But, he sighed. He just couldn’t make the call. Those bruises. The way she checked rooms before she walked in. The haunted eyes.

  So he’d agreed to the gardening thing. And how stupid was that? He didn’t know a spade from a hoe. He could lie about it to everyone he met, everyone he’d ever known, but not himself. Yeah, he wanted the truth before he sent her back to Wright—if he sent her back—but the idea of being close to Lanie… Yeah, he’d spend a few afternoons digging around in the dirt, working up the kind of sweat no amount of hours in the gym produced if it meant even the chance of watching a sunset with her from Lucia’s patio. And if he’d had to say he was a rodeo clown, no doubt he would have padded up and jumped in front of a bull if that was what it took to be close to her.

  He closed his eyes and a picture of her flashed in front of him, would have knocked him backwards had he not already been leaning against the wall.

  God, what he wouldn’t have done back in the day to be so near her. But she wasn’t the kind of girl who ever looked at boys who didn’t have letters on their jackets. Not because she’d been a snob. She just hadn’t been able to see around the crowd of jocks and popular boys vying for her attention. Didn’t explain how the hell had she managed to wind up with a guy like Chad “the money man” Wright. God help Wright if John found out she’d suffered those bruises at Wright’s hands.

  He pulled a clean shirt from his bag. Shit. He shouldn’t be waxing poetic about her. He couldn’t afford to get rolled up in her personal issues. Or with her at all. He only had six days left to come up with the money for Mean Mac, the pit boss his father owed. Wright expected action and fast results. He’d said it again and again when he’d hired John and at least once during their daily chats. Of course, the idea of rolling around with Lanie Carpenter had his blood thrumming through his veins in a distinct southerly flow.

  But goddammit. Lanie Carpenter. And if he didn’t hurry up he’d miss sunset.

  * * *

  Even her laugh was perfect, a melodic tinkle of joy, a sound so pure he almost closed his eyes to savor it. How long had it been since he’d been able to so thoroughly enjoy something as simple as a laugh? Easy answer. Never.

  In his world, he delivered the bad news—cheating husbands, corporate scams, missing persons who either wanted to stay missing or couldn’t help it. Tears paid his salary, formed the soundtrack of his life.

  Like everything else, this brought him back to thoughts of Lanie. Lanie on the run. From Wright. The safe bet—and those were the only kind he was ma
king these days—was that all was not as perfect as her husband had made him believe in the Lanie and Chad Wright household.

  Of course, there was always the chance she was running from something else. A slim chance. Very slim.

  “Ah, there you are.” The old woman smiled up at him and motioned to the chair beside Lanie. “Sit here so I can look at you both at the same time.” As she handed him a glass, he inhaled a whiff of Lanie—flowers and sunshine. “We’ve just been getting to know one another.”

  Perfect. “Well, someone will have to catch me up.” He stretched back, shoved his aching legs straight out in front of him and called on his good-old boy charm—what he had left of it anyway—and a smile he hoped looked pleasant.

  “Jane, why don’t you tell Mr. Alexander about yourself while I fetch us another bottle of wine.” For an old woman—he couldn’t even guess at a number—she moved like a panther, sleek and wiry, as if untouched by time.

  He didn’t even have time to stand before she disappeared inside. “I’m John, by the way.”

  “Jane.” Her voice was barely a whisper.

  “Jane.” She didn’t remember him or she wouldn’t bother lying. Was that better or worse? He couldn’t decide while she sat so close and smelled so sweet.

  Her eyes flashed, now pointed at him. “Yes, Jane.” The legs of her chair grated across the concrete when she stood. “Please tell Lucia I’ll see her in the morning. I’ve suddenly grown tired.”

  “Jane…”

  But she walked away.

  4

  John Alexander. From Mr. Budreau’s fifth hour English. He’d grown, bulked up, learned to dress better, but...John Alexander. No doubt about it. His eyes gave him away. Clear and as blue as an Alabama sky in the summer. The same eyes a happier version of herself had stared into once, the only time they’d talked in high school. Even back then, she’d thought what nice eyes he had.