Sharon Swan - Four-Karat Fiancee

Something told her that just might be the case as she issued an absent goodbye to the people gathered around and fell into step beside him.

Dev’s blood gradually cooled as he concentrated on shortening his stride to match his companion’s. Their footsteps tapped out a slow rhythm as they walked down a darkening street. There was no point in wondering whether he should have kicked Feldon’s butt for good measure, he told himself. Hopefully, the jerk would take the advice he’d been given and leave town. If not, Dev vowed to personally see to it.

He might be a successful businessman—he might be a millionaire—but he could still get a dirty job done if necessary. This evening’s brawl had proved that. He hadn’t lost the knack of putting his fists to good use. Except these days he knew when to back off. Seeing Amanda Bradley safely home had been more important than continuing to pound on the man who’d been forcing himself on her.

A man who’d had more to drink than he should have at the Heartbreaker, Dev’s conscience reminded him.

He frowned in response, thinking that if someone was known to be driving, he and the two bartenders working for him didn’t hesitate to shut them off or take car keys away. But how the hell was anyone supposed to know that a man—a customer—would practically assault a woman steps from the saloon’s doorstep?

Sure, the Heartbreaker’s male regulars could get rowdy at times. But assault a female? No way. Most of them would have liked nothing better than to pound on Feldon themselves, given the chance. So instead of letting guilt nag at him over what had happened, Dev figured everyone would be better off if he just tried to do his damnedest to make sure it never happened again.

“Nice night for a stroll down Mega Bucks Boulevard,” he said in a bid to make conversation.

Amanda glanced up at him and spoke for the first time since they’d started their walk. “Do you find our mayor’s habit of renaming streets since the lottery win to be as bizarre as I do?”

The question, while straightforward enough, was issued in a softer tone than Dev was accustomed to hearing from the Ex-Libris’s owner—who, he remembered, had informed him somewhat haughtily during one of their go-rounds that the store’s name came from a Latin phrase that loosely translated meant “from the books.” And it was just as well she had told him, because he knew he’d have never figured that one out.

He lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Can’t see how renaming a few streets hurts anything.”

Jester’s mayor, Bobby Larson, had also been touting the idea of building a hotel on land now dedicated to the community park, and Dev was less sure how he felt about that plan. The one thing he was dead certain of was a definite desire to avoid town politics. He had plenty of other things to occupy him.

Such as his house, he thought as they crossed Maple Street, where the new Devlin residence would soon reach the move-in stage. He’d been headed there for the daily check he made on it when he’d found himself trading blows with Guy Feldon instead.

“Were you hurt in that fight?” Amanda asked, as though she’d caught the direction his thoughts had taken.

“No.” He had no intention of whining about a few aches and pains. “What have you got there?” he asked, changing the subject as he glanced down at the book she held tightly to her. All he could make out were the edges of a dusky rose cover.

“Oh.” She hesitated a moment. “It’s, ah, a novel, just something I thought I’d try.”

“Something different than you usually read?”

Again she paused. “Well, let’s just say it’s a change from what I’ve been reading lately.”

Her reply was just vague enough to have him wishing he could get a better look at that book. Maybe it would tell him more about the woman he’d come to think of as a thorn in his side. He still believed the best thing he could do was buy her part of the building they shared. He could even knock down the wall separating their properties, make a few changes to spruce up the bar area and expand his business—which was thriving, if he did say so himself.

Her business was another story, he more than suspected. If it weren’t for the pastries usually on hand in a sitting area at the back of the bookstore, along with tea served in fancy cups to wash down a helping of the local news of the day, how many customers would regularly visit the place? Probably not enough to turn a healthy profit. If only he could convince her to sell out to him.

They arrived at Amanda’s one-story white frame house in a matter of minutes. Dev took note of the fact that although it was a long way from new, it appeared well cared for. It was a far cry from the rundown house he’d grown up in on the outskirts of town, that was for sure. This place looked…homey, he guessed was the word, with its front yard enclosed by a short picket fence and what seemed to be, judging by what he could make out in the light coming from a nearby streetlamp, a circle of dried lavender decorating the plain wood door.

“I’ll wait until you get in before I take off,” he told her when they reached the covered front porch.

“All right.” She retrieved a key ring from her shoulder bag and opened the door, then switched on an inside light and turned back to him. “Thank you again for…” Stopping in midsentence, she stared up at him, her gaze narrowing. “You are hurt. There’s blood on your lip.”

That came as no surprise, since he’d started tasting it when they were halfway to her place. “It’s nothing,” he said.

“It’s something,” she replied with a trace of the brisk tone he more often associated with her. “Come in and let me have a look at it.”

He thought about declining. But it could be he’d get another opportunity to bring up the subject of buying her out. Deciding to take his chances, he said, “Okay,” and let her lead him into the house.

The inside seemed as homey as the outside, Dev concluded with a glance around the living room. Again everything looked far from new, but it also looked comfortable, even cozy—a lot cozier, certainly, than anywhere he’d ever lived.

Amanda laid the book she’d been carrying on a small end table and propped her leather shoulder bag on top of it. “Take off your jacket and have a seat,” she told him as she switched on a short brass lamp. “I’ll be right back with a washcloth and the first aid kit.”

He obeyed orders, tossed both his jacket and hat on an overstuffed moss-green chair and sat down on a plump flowered sofa. His gaze was drawn to a photo standing on a narrow wood wall shelf, one he recognized as a shot of a younger Amanda with her mother, who he recalled had passed away about ten years earlier after a short illness. By then, Amanda’s father had long since left town, and under circumstances no one living in Jester at the time had probably forgotten.

Dev leaned his head against the back on the sofa and waited for his hostess to return, then waited some more before he finally began to wonder if something was wrong. Could she be the one who was really injured? After all, she’d been putting up a considerable struggle when he’d yanked Feldon away from her.

She might not appreciate his roaming around her place, but he was going to check on her anyway, he decided. If she got teed off, well she’d been teed off at him plenty already.

Dev got up and started down a narrow hallway toward the rear of the house. Off to one side, he saw light spilling through an open doorway. Not about to stop now, he kept going and soon poked his head in what turned out to be a small bathroom. There, he found Amanda standing at the sink with thin tears running down her cheeks.

She jumped when she spotted him. “I was coming back in a minute,” she said, brushing the tears away. Her face had gone nearly as pale as the high-necked white blouse she wore with pleated wool trousers.