Jessica R. Patch - Concealed Identity

Gigi nodded. “Okay,” she whispered. “But no more keeping things from me. Got it?”

Blair pursed her lips. “From this point on.” Meaning what she’d found in the bedroom was off-limits. She had to protect Gigi. She was already terrified enough.

After trying to take their minds off things with TV and a light dinner, Blair changed into a pair of work jeans and boots. Might as well start on unloading the items from the auction before the sun went down. She drove the truck out to the barn and raised the rolling door. A wave of musty heat popped her in the face, sending sweat trickling down her cheeks. She paused at a noise outside the barn and waited. Hairs rose on her arms and she could hardly breathe.

After what seemed like forever, she wrangled herself inside the truck.

She should have taken Holt up on his muscle.

“Hey,” a deep voice sounded from behind.

Blair jumped and shrieked, clasping her hand to her chest. “Holt.” So not telling him that she was just thinking about him. “You scared me.”

“I’m sorry.” He swept his dark bangs from his eyes. “Thought I’d check up on you.”

In the barn? Prickles ran up her spine. She wanted to trust him. She honestly did. “Did you see anyone out there?” Or had the noise been Holt?

“No. Why? Did you?”

“No. But I thought I heard something. Must have been you or my neighbor’s horses. I’m jumpy.”

“Understandable.” Holt scanned the barn and cocked his ear, listening. After a moment, he relaxed. “How’s Gigi?”

Blair forced herself to loosen up. “She’s doing all right. I thought I’d come out and work on unloading the truck, take inventory. Get a look at everything I purchased.” As Ronnie Lawson had pointed out, this was her ritual. Just her and all the goods. She would determine what went into the store, and what would stay stocked in the barn, for now. She liked to imagine the previous owners and the stories behind the objects.

“Can I help?” He stood there, all broad shoulders, no danger in his eyes—just tenderness and concern that nearly sent her reeling. Had anyone ever looked at her like that? Mateo at first. But it had all been lies. “I know you have a thing about going through it alone, but I’d really like to help you, Blair. In so many ways.” His whisper clung to her insides, disarming her guard.

A few Appaloosas grazed near the fence. She’d meant to bring them apples. “I’m used to doing things alone.” It was safer than offering her trust only to have it betrayed.

“I get that. And you seem completely capable. But...I’m here and I have two capable hands, too.” He splayed them on his sides, his white T-shirt clinging to rock-solid biceps and chest.

Could she trust him? They were just collectibles, but she did love her routine. She also dreaded some of the heavy lifting.

“All right. Sure.” She didn’t like being out here alone anyway. If she was really alone. It felt as if a million eyes were staring at her.

She grabbed her work gloves and donned them, her hands instantly turning clammy from the insulation. “I might have an extra pair.” She held up her gloved hands. “Over there on that worktable.”

Holt nodded and rummaged through tools and odds and ends until he found some. “How long have you lived in Hope?”

“Couple of years. My grandparents grew up here. They were happy in Hope. Plus, I love the name of the town and I needed it—hope—when I first settled in.”

“Where are you from originally?” He grabbed a tote from the truck, and Blair motioned for him to stack it near the back wall.

“All over.” She laughed. “Military brat. What about you?”

“I grew up in Memphis. Spent a lot of summers in a town like this. Glory, Mississippi. My grandpa was the sheriff and my grandmother ran a lot of women’s groups...and kept me and my cousin Bryn in line.”

Blair liked the way his eyes lit up as he talked of his grandparents. “My grandpa died when I was very young, but I treasure the memories. Grandma Viola passed shortly after I graduated high school. What about yours?”

“My grandpa died a few years back, but Grandma Mavis is still kickin’ and thinking she’s thirty and not eighty-two. I haven’t seen her since last summer.”

“You should go. See her. You never know how much time you have with someone you love.”

“You’re right.”

Blair heard the heartache in his voice. Who had he lost? That was private and she didn’t want to pry by asking, but she was curious. She focused back on the task at hand. “We can arrange everything in categories. After that, I’ll log each item with a short description, how much I think it’s worth—unless I need an expert. Once I nail down prices, I’ll determine what will go into my store and what will stay in inventory.”

“I know we’re not supposed to covet, but right now I’m coveting your organizational skills. You should help me organize my store.” He continued unloading totes, bags, furniture and garbage sacks full of junk.

Holt lifted a hefty tub and carried it to the housewares piles. “Clearly, you’re in great shape, but some of this is seriously heavy. You never have any help?”

Heat crept into her face, and she brushed the hair sticking to her sweaty cheek with her forearm. “My brother helps out sometimes, after I’ve looked through it. But he’s...unavailable. And Gigi mostly whines, so I don’t even ask. Occasionally, Jace Black from the Black-Eyed Pea helps. Or Mitch Rydell. Have you met him yet? He’s my neighbor. Owns those horses.” She pointed toward the pasture.

“I haven’t met anyone officially.” He sat on the tub, took off his gloves and raked his hands through his damp hair. “Maybe you can introduce me around.”

“Maybe.”

“So, why’s your brother unavailable?” Holt surveyed the barn, taking his sweet time, as if hunting down something. Or maybe she was being paranoid again.

Dread filled her stomach. Sometimes Jeremy liked downtime and took off on his own, but he generally called to check in. “I’m not sure. He’s a loner.”

“He live nearby?”

“Memphis.”

“Cool.”

Holt continued to pepper her with questions. Some she answered; some she dodged. “Okay, enough with the twenty questions.” She wiped her hands on her jeans and surveyed their piles.

“I’m just trying to get to know you, Blair.” Holt threw a dazzling grin her way. In the past, it would have sunk her to her knees. Not anymore. Well, maybe she felt a flutter.

Two hours in, the sun had dipped, but the temperature was still in the lava levels. Blair’s clothing stuck to her skin, stray hairs that had escaped her topknot clung to her cheeks and chin. She headed for an old but working fifties fridge, opened it and handed Holt a bottle of water. She downed hers in record time.

“Not a bad unit.”

No, it wasn’t. She’d overpaid. But sometimes her gut told her it would be worth it—to take the chance. Too bad her gut was always wrong in the romance department.

A turn-of-the-century dresser with intricate piping, a few embroidered decorative pillows and a collection of what appeared to be gorgeous hand-carved wooden ducks—nearly a foot long and several inches wide and deep—still hung in the back of the truck, along with two boxes she hadn’t combed through yet. “I’m wiped out, and I need to check on Gigi. How about we call it a day? I can log these items in the morning.”

“Sounds good. Thanks for letting me help.” He scanned the barn again. She’d noticed him poking around a few times. Was he looking for something in particular or was he simply curious?

They walked toward the house. Holt stopped in his tracks and slowly pivoted toward the barn, head tipped.