Small-Town Hearts. Ruth Logan Herne

know.” She breathed a tiny sigh and hesitated for long ticks of the clock before adding, “This is good for me.”

      Danny heard the silent exception. “But?”

      “It’s hard.”

      “I know.” They’d buried her fiancé less than a year before, an army officer killed in a roadside bombing in Afghanistan. “I miss him, too.”

      “He’d get a kick out of you being tucked in the foothills of Appalachia. You know that, don’t you?”

      “Yes, I do. But no more so than my friends who make it a point to text me about their weekend plans in the big city.”

      “Harsh.”

      Danny laughed. “It’s pretty here, though.” The word pretty conjured up mental images of Megan Russo. Danny shut them out. “And if you’re doing okay, and it sounds like you are, I’ve got to hang up because I’m about to look at an apartment that sounds ideal.”

      “Wonderful. Thanks for being my sounding board. Again.”

      He smiled, wanting her to succeed, knowing he’d be there at a moment’s notice to help if she floundered, because that was what brothers did. “Anytime, sis.”

      Chapter Four

      Twenty minutes later Danny trudged back to his car, totally frustrated, fighting a headache and a suspicion he might be infested. The state of that garage apartment left a lot to be desired, and he was pretty sure he’d spied a colony of silver-fish beneath the sink, while the faint but lingering smell of a dead mouse wafted from a west-facing wall.

      At this moment the motel he’d booked for the night was looking better and better.

      He stopped to gas up and withdrew a fresh edition of the small weekly paper from a rack inside the convenience store, pleasantly surprised when the cashier waved off the two-quarter price. “We just give them away, sir. You have a nice day, now.”

      The young man’s easy nature brightened Danny’s smile. And the giveaway policy was good business for advertisers. He pulled into a parking space, opened the half size newspaper, noted a full-page ad advertising an upcoming balloon rally and mentally logged in the date.

      His grandfather had been a hot air balloon pilot, and he’d taught Danny the skills early on. If all went well and time allowed, Danny had every intention of having his balloon trucked down to Allegany County. Taking part in the local ballooning event would be his reward for a job well done.

      He flipped back a few pages and scanned the classifieds for new listings. Most were long-term apartments or homes, but his gaze trained on one advertisement. “Available now, immaculate one-bedroom, full bath, galley kitchen, furnished, priced right, short-or long-term lease considered.”

      He withdrew his phone, got a clear tone and dialed the number, hopeful.

      “Hello.”

      “Good evening, my name is Daniel Graham and I’m calling about your ad in the paper. The one for the immaculate one-bedroom apartment. Is it still available? And is it really, truly immaculate? Because I’d be okay with that.”

      Silence. Absolute, utter silence.

      Danny tried again. “Hello?” He pulled the phone from his ear, saw the bars that said he was still connected and frowned. “Hello? Are you there?”

      A sigh echoed through the phone. “I’m here. I…umm…”

      “I can get references if you like,” Danny offered, trying to sweeten the deal. “I’m in town on business this summer and need a place to stay, so I’m looking at short-term. Eight to twelve weeks, most likely. Would that be all right?”

      Another silence descended before he heard another sigh, but there was something about that soft sigh, that voice…

      Obviously he needed food and a good night’s sleep when he started recognizing a stranger’s voice on the phone. “May I come see it?”

      “Now?”

      “I’m available. It’s in Jamison?”

      “Yes.”

      “And I’m just around the corner on Route 19. Can you give me the address? If this is a good time, of course,” he hastened to add, realizing he was steamrolling the woman. The first thing he’d decided upon arriving in town was that these people weren’t the kind to appreciate hardball tactics. New York, Boston, Baltimore, Philly… Those venues admired a guy who got the job done with as few words and left turns as possible.

      Here? Not so much.

      He pressed more gently. “If tomorrow would be better…”

      “Now’s fine.”

      Relief eased the tightness of his shoulders. “You’re sure?”

      “Yes. Come on by.”

      “But where are you? What’s the address?”

      “Oh, you’re sure to find it, no problem. You were here just a few hours ago.”

      He was—

      “Miss Russo?”

      “Yes.”

      She didn’t sound thrilled. Perhaps a touch resigned or fatalistic, as if life had just handed her a worst-case scenario.

      Which would be the case if he put her and her cute little store out of business. But he couldn’t think about that now. Surely there were prime locations far enough away from her store that their ventures could coexist. Wellsville was a good bit south. And it was a tribute store they were talking, not one of their sprawling big-city venues. Down here they were envisioning a smaller edition, a nod of thanks to the hometown of Grandma Mary’s Candies, now a multi-million-dollar-per-year enterprise. A welcome addition to the struggling economy.

      But Danny was fresh out of choices, so he swallowed the nugget of guilt and thrust the car into gear. “I’m on my way.”

      “Wonderful.” She didn’t sound like she thought it was all that wonderful, but at least she was open to the idea of showing him the place. And it couldn’t be as bad as what he’d just seen. Could it?

      “The entrance to the apartment is around back. I’ll be there.”

      “See you in a few minutes.”

      Megan clipped her hair back, smoothed damp palms against her blue jeans and headed downstairs at a quick clip. He must have really been just around the corner because his car pulled into the small parking area as she opened the door. He climbed out, a lightweight zip-up jacket giving him an upper-class look that didn’t exactly jibe with his discount-label jeans and pullover. He strode forward, looking just as good as he had short hours before, sunglasses hiding his eyes until he stood two steps beneath her, tipped the glasses up and gave her a once-over. “Wow.”

      While she appreciated the one-word observation, she’d been “wowed” before, only to crash in total ignominy. She met his gaze, stomped down the spike of her heartbeat and jerked her head toward the back door. “The apartment’s up here.”

      “I’m right behind you.”

      Oh, she knew that, all right. It was written on his face and evident in the sparks jumping between them, but she’d learned to evade electricity. She ignored the hint of appreciation in his voice but noted it was just enough to make the tone almost meaningful. Too much labeled a guy a total come-on. Too little meant he was probably inept and needy. Danny’s voice was neither. It was…perfect.

      But she had no use for men passing through town on business. Since she’d become the head of the Jamison Broken Hearts Society, membership of one, she’d grown smart enough to be jaded without appearing jaded. A good trick.

      “It’s small,” she told him over her shoulder.

      “Small