Awakening Beauty Part 3

He shrugged. "I use what I can."

"The last time I was with a child, I was one. Besides, the kids have parents to volunteer. PTA, bake sales. I really have nothing to offer." It was sad but true. A couture designer wouldn't be much good in a pie-baking contest.

The bell over the door tinkled and a woman stepped inside. She paused at the entrance, which was the foyer of the old house, and looked around. Inspecting a bit, Lane decided. She was slim and pet.i.te, her silver hair cut to perfection in a sleek bob. Her clothes, the next thing Lane focused on, were cla.s.sic. Camel cashmere slacks and a navy blouse with a camel wool jacket. She'd draped a printed scarf over her shoulder and across her chest, secured with a small glittering pin. Elegant, Lane thought as the woman moved forward.

She stopped beside Tyler, and from Lane's perspective, he seemed to loom over the woman.

"h.e.l.lo, Mother," he said in a tone tinged with annoyance. "Didn't our discussion yesterday mean anything?"

"You dictated, I didn't listen. I'm your mother, I'm allowed." She gave him a backhanded smack in the middle of his chest. "Introduce us."

Lane's gaze shot to Tyler as she moved out from behind the counter. "Welcome, Mrs. McKay. I'm Lane Douglas. It's a pleasure to meet you. Diana Ashbury talks of you often."

"It's a pleasure, dear. And call me Laura. I popped in once with Diana a while back. She loves your store."

"She hides in the corner with a cup of coffee and the latest thriller."

"I think she comes for the cappuccino and quiet more than the books."

Lane offered them coffee, crossing into the old living-room area to make it. While she prepared the coffee, the noise from the steam pressure drowned out whatever Tyler and his mother were saying. A quick glance caught Tyler's scowl and his mom shooing him off.

Mother and son approached the counter, still talking. About her.

"I was trying to convince Lane to join the festival, and seeing as that won't work ... yet, I'm trying to settle for help with the pageant."

Lane glared over the counter at him. "So you brought out the big guns?"

He glanced briefly at his mother. "I knew it would be a heavy battle."

"Have you no manners? No means no, McKay."

"My mother was just commenting on my manners the other day." He winked at his mom. "Must have been those college years out from under her iron thumb."

"Tyler, behave."

"Yes, ma'am."

Lane had to smile. At least someone could get him to back down.

"We could really use extra help," Laura Mc-Kay said.

"She thinks that's what parents are for."

Lane pinned Tyler with a hard look. "I can speak for myself, thank you." She looked at Laura as she came around the edge of the cappuccino bar with two froth-filled mugs. "I hope you understand that I really don't want to spread myself so thin when I've just opened the store this year and I'm running it alone."

Laura sipped her cappuccino, licking froth from her lip. "This is fabulous. No wonder Di takes refuge in here." She set the cup down and looked at Lane. "I can understand that your business comes first. It should. However-" she paused, giving Lane a sweet smile "-we just need a few extra pairs of hands. The parents are helping as much as they can, and Tyler is in charge of making the sets."

Lane's gaze slid to his. "Volunteered or arm twisted?"

"A little of both," he said, lifting his cup and licking the froth off the top.

Lane watched him, biting the inside of her mouth and wondering if he knew what she was thinking, feeling. One look in his eyes said, oh yeah. Every womanly instinct to outright flirt with this man screamed through her, telling her to get close enough to learn if that smiling mouth tasted as good as it looked. Another part of her brain was busy reminding her that she was alone for a reason. Another man had wanted something from her and hid it under the guise of friends.h.i.+p, then love.

Now there was Tyler. And people wanted her to work with him?

As if he knew her thoughts, his eyes darkened and seared her with a strange heat. Oh, so not good.

"Please, Lane," Laura said softly. "The way you've decorated this house proves you have talent for design."

"Thank you. It's a hobby." Lane almost choked. She hated lying, especially to this nice woman. She felt herself caving in. It was as if she had to pay for the lie, although the lie was to protect her.

Now that was twisted.

She surrendered to the guilt. "How long would you need me?"

Laura smiled again, pleased. "Just a couple of hours in the evening. The festival starts next week and we must be finished in time for the opening children's show and play."

"All right. A couple of hours after I close up shop for the night." She ignored the grin spreading across Tyler's face. "Do I need to bring anything?"

"No, the local businesses have contributed materials. Say seven o'clock at the theater?"

Lane agreed.

Laura said a quick goodbye and was out the door. Tyler stayed behind. Picking up his coffee again, he said, "The first session is tonight."

"A promise is a promise, McKay. I'll be there."

He looked at his watch.

"You have to go? What a shame," she said. "Take that car when you leave." When she reached for his mug, Tyler latched onto her wrist.

Lane felt warmth burn through her skin to her blood. He let go, sliding his hand under the sleeve of her sweater and pulled her near.

Lane's heart did a wild dance and she could barely swallow. "McKay."

"Your skin is so soft," he said.

"Good lotion." His fingers played over her bare skin, and it was silly, it was just her arm, but Lane felt as if they were playing somewhere else entirely. And if he didn't stop, she was going to yank him into the back room and try a kiss on for size.

He searched her gaze. "I don't know what it is about you that's driving me nuts, Lane Douglas, but I'm willing to wait to find out."

"There's nothing to learn, so it'll be a long wait."

He leaned closer, tipping his head, and Lane thought, Come on, kiss me.

"I'm a Southern boy." She felt his warm breath on her lips. "We're long on patience."

"Tell that to the back end of my car."

The alarm on his watch went off, and he clucked his tongue and eased back. He stared at her for a second longer, then releasing a heavy sigh, made an about-face and headed to the door. She looked down and saw the car keys on the counter.

"McKay, take these keys."

He ignored her and reached for the k.n.o.b.

"Tyler!"

He flashed her a look over his shoulder that said triumph. Then he was out the door and sliding into a matching black SUV.

"Talking to that man is like talking to wood," she muttered, then picked up the keys. They were still warm from handling. She pocketed them and did what she did best. Ignored them. Ignored him.

It lasted all of ten seconds, and she dropped into a chair, plucking at her clothes and letting the buildup of steam in her system escape.

Oh, yes, that man.

Definitely dangerous.

Because Lane knew that she could fall for him, and there would be no getting back up this time.

Chapter 3.

The lights in the town theater were almost blinding. Adults and children were scattered across the stage and the wide area meant for the orchestra, each small group working on different projects.

Lane had made her way down to near the stage when Tyler came through the outer doors, carrying a stack of two-by-fours on his shoulder. He stopped short when he saw her, and a grin spread across his handsome face, warming her right down to her toes. His gaze dropped to her boots and he made a face, shaking his head. She stuck out her tongue at him.

"I knew you'd show."

"Don't gloat, McKay. I knuckled under matriarchal pressure, nothing more."

"Good to know something gets to you."

You do, she thought when he gave her a long, heated look that said more than she wanted. Why was he so interested in her? She'd have to check her appearance, dowdy it up a bit more, she thought, watching him trot off. Well, more specifically, she watched his behind in tight, worn jeans, the toolbelt rocking low on his hips.

Lane found the chairperson, Diana Ashbury, easily. The woman was short and dark-haired, with a porcelain complexion that reminded Lane of her own mother's. Lionetta Giovanni, of course, wouldn't be caught dead volunteering for a children's pageant. She'd much rather throw money at a charity so she could attend the parties in one of her daughter's designs. Diana, on the other hand, was hip-deep in coordinating tasks, wearing jeans and a sweats.h.i.+rt, both covered by an ap.r.o.n bulging with craft supplies.

"Thanks for coming, Lane."

"Two hands, ready and willing," Lane said.

Diana blew out a short breath and waved at the stations positioned all over the theater. "Pick a job," Diana said, then scanned her notes on a clipboard.

"Put me where I'm needed most," she told the woman.

"We don't have costumes even remotely finished." Diana's voice held a little bit of plea.

Costumes? A long-buried corner of Lane's heart leaped to life. Sewing. Maybe some designing. It wouldn't be couture, but she could design clothing again. Even if it was for a children's play. She tried to disguise the eagerness in her voice when she said, "Say no more. I'm on it."

Lane headed to the orchestra pit where a large table was set up with a sewing machine at each end, manned by two young women. Yards of bright felt, fabric and trims were scattered over the table and nearby chairs. A half-dozen children raced around the aisles, while two little girls sat in the middle of the floor, their heads together, oblivious to everything but the dolls they played with. Between st.i.tching and cutting, the moms hollered for the kids to calm down. Lane introduced herself to the two women, Suzanne and Marcy.

"Why don't you both take a break and let me handle the sewing?" Lane said.

"You sure?" Suzanne clipped a thread as Marcy spotted a small child climbing onto the stage, where men were wielding dangerous saws and drills. Lane nodded and both women shot after the children.

Costumes were something Lane could do without thinking. She quickly organized the mess at the long table, checking fabric length and yardage against necessary colors and trims. After a quick glance through the patterns, she slid into the chair at the machine. The noise of hammers and kids, of adult chatter and the whine of drills didn't penetrate her concentration.

When she looked up to call for Anna, the pageant's fairy princess, Tyler was staring down at her from the stage. He had his hand on his hip, the other twirling a hammer like a six-shooter.

Her heart sped up, and she felt herself blush like a teenager. Then her stomach clenched in a tight knot. Oh, the man had power, she thought. It didn't hurt that he was wearing a blue cable sweater that made his eyes look deeper, and jeans that molded to every feature from the waist down.

"I was wondering if you were coming up for air." Lane glanced at her watch and realized she'd been at this for an hour already.

"You were not."

His smile faded a bit and his gaze narrowed. "I never lie, Lane."

He looked angry all of a sudden, she thought, and her own lies struck her like the hammer he held. She had good reasons for hiding, she reasoned. For lying.

"I'll remember that." And remember that he wouldn't tolerate that she was lying to him, she thought, reaffirm-ing her decision to keep her distance.

"Will you be my date for the Winter Ball?"

She blinked at the abrupt s.h.i.+ft in the conversation and couldn't help but notice that a couple of people stopped what they were doing and stared.

"The what?" She'd heard him. She was just stalling. Needed time to think.

"The Winter Ball is the last event of the festival. Big bash, catered, at the country club."

"I see." She took a deep breath and ignored the piece of her that wanted to say yes. Instead, she simply said, "No, thank you."

He let out a sigh. Clearly he'd expected that reaction. "Then I'll settle for you having dinner with me." He squatted at the edge of the stage, looming over her.

"No, thank you again." She tore her gaze from him and called to Anna. The girl raced over and Lane took her hand, then looked at Tyler. "Excuse us, the princess has a fitting."

"You have to eat," he called.

"Not with you."