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She let out a soft groan, and he knew he was driving her crazy. He’d always been able to drive her crazy, just like this. A highly emotional person—easily swinging from the highest highs to the lowest lows—Caroline had been a perfect foil for someone like Mick, who was so difficult to rile he’d been accused of having no feelings at all.
She’d been the one to accuse him of that, come to think of it. Then she’d stormed out, missing the damage Mick was capable of when his feelingsreallygot the better of him.
“Want to sit down? You look flushed,” he said, thinking she was doing a good job getting riled up all on her own this time.
Ignoring the offer, she shook her head and walked across the office, leaving them separated by a few feet and an ocean’s worth of emotional baggage. “You haven’t changed a bit.”
She was wrong there. Hehadchanged. Not that she’d see it, not that he’d admit it out loud. But he wasn’t the same guy she’d known.
Actually, he wasn’t sure who Mick Winchester was these days. But that was okay. Because nobody else was quite sure who he was, either, other than the black sheep of the Winchester family. The playboy of Derryville. The tattooed bad boy who was much more often found playing poker with the guys on a Sunday than having a weekly after-church gathering with family. And, apparently, a lawn-mowing exhibitionist.
“Still Mr. Cool, aren’t you?” Caroline said. “Still trying to pretend you’re untouchable.”
Untouchable. Perhaps, but only in the emotional sense.
Caroline wasn’t the only one to accuse him of hiding his emotions behind an easy laugh and a charming grin. His little sister, Sophie, had told him more than once he was an emotional teakettle, at full rolling boil just beneath a calm, smooth surface.
Sophie was probably right. No one had ever been able to get Mick to completely lose his control and erupt. Except once. By the woman standing right in front of him.
Of course, Caroline hadn’t been around to see. That had been after she’d left. After she’d waltzed out of his life, accusing him, judging him, sentencing him and walking away without even giving him a chance to defend himself. Hell, he hadn’t evendoneanything. He’d been guilty of what hemightdo in the future, and that was enough for her.
Such trust from the girl he’d asked to marry him.
That was the only time Mick had ever lost himself to roaring anger. He still had the scars on his knuckles from where he’d broken several fingers punching holes in the wall of his room.
Not that her lack of trust and his perceived inability to commit were the only things to break them up. There had also been geography. She wanted west. L.A. Big city, bright lights. All that star-studded stuff a lot of college girls seemed to want. Mick had never been able to picture anything but what he’d always known. Small-town life. Home.
So she’d taken off. He’d torn apart his dorm room and gotten kicked out of school. End of story. Until now.
“Why are you here?” he finally asked again, unable to keep baiting her when he simply felt weary and off balance. “Why after eight years did you track me down?”
“Ididn’ttrack you down. I’m your appointment.”
He simply stared, not sure what she meant.
“Your renter.”
His renter. One of the studio executives looking for a place to rent in Derryville for a month.
Caroline Lamb was moving here? To this tiny town where they’d be running into each other all the time?
His dismay must have shown in his expression, because for the first time since she’d stumbled into the office, a genuine smile brightened her face. “Doesn’t that just make your day?”
He couldn’t even fathom what life would be like if he had to get used to Caroline being back in his world. The thought of having his youthful stupidity and heartbreak thrown into his face on a daily basis was more than he could stand.
Striding out of his office, he nearly tripped on something, but kicked it out of the way. He continued down the darkened hallway, reached the front door and yanked it open.
“Louise,” he bellowed into the street. “Get back here and shoot me!”
CHAPTER THREE
“SO, TELL ME, what is this rumor I’ve heard about you renting a room to one of these TV people?”
Sophie Winchester smothered a groan as her peaceful Monday morning was interrupted immediately after she’d stepped into the church office. There was no mistaking that voice. It was Miss Hester, sister of Pastor Bob, her boss at the United Church of Derryville. Miss Hester’s sweet tones—so often heard dispensing wisdom, advice and fortitude to the congregational flock—usually spewed criticism and gossip in private.
“Is it true?” Miss Hester shut the door and turned around. “I heard the rumor yesterday.”
So much for keeping her plans a secret. Good grief, she’d only told her brother, Mick, two days ago that she wanted to rent out her house while it was up for sale. And already, the grapevine had gift-wrapped and hand-delivered the rumor to the proprietress of all things proper and good in Derryville, Hester Tomlinson. The one who’d been preaching from her own bully pulpit against allowing any Hollywood types near Derryville.
