Homeward Bound. Marin Thomas

creaked and popped—wood rot. The mortar in the brick walls had all but crumbled away, leaving holes big enough to shove a fist into. Oh, hell. The building needed a wrecking ball, not a For Sale sign. “Heather doesn’t want anything to do with the feed store. The place will have to go on the market as is.”

      Nodding, Telmon returned the file to his briefcase. “First smart decision the girl’s made in a long time.”

      Royce bristled at the insult to Heather. He himself could talk about her that way, but he sure didn’t approve of others criticizing her. Heather was smarter than most people realized. Although she’d skipped a lot of classes and had driven her teachers nuts with her rebellious behavior, she’d scored higher on her college entrance exams—Scholastic Aptitude Test—than two-thirds of her high school graduating class.

      The Realtor shut his briefcase. “If you’re sure she has no plans to make repairs before listing the place, then I’ll write up a contract and get back to you in a couple of days.”

      Royce offered his hand. “Thanks for your help.”

      “My pleasure.” Walking toward the front door, Telmon shook his head, his loose jowls reminding Royce of a bulldog.

      As soon as the door closed behind the man, Royce flipped open his cell phone. He’d give Heather the bare facts, then let Telmon answer any questions she had. His finger froze over the keypad.

      Once Heather graduated and sold the store, she’d no longer be his concern. And maybe, just maybe he’d finally be able to put the memories of their passionate kisses behind him for good. He waited to feel a sense of relief—it didn’t come. Annoyed, he smacked the counter with an open palm.

      No, his sanity wouldn’t stand a chance if Heather decided to move back home. He should thank his lucky stars she wanted nothing to do with Nowhere.

      Or him.

      Chapter Three

      “Drat!” Heather sputtered into the warm shower spray, as she listened to her cell phone in the bedroom play the theme song from Gilligan’s Island. Lathering her hair, she sang along to the music. Already thirty minutes late to a pregraduation party for two of her friends, she didn’t have time to chat. Since she’d be starting her new job at the law library tomorrow, she wouldn’t be able to watch her friends graduate at the Saturday-morning ceremony. Tonight’s party would be her last chance to say goodbye and wish her friends well.

      Abruptly, Gilligan shut up.

      A moment later, the phone went off again. Okay, already! Worried that her supervisor might be calling with a change in Heather’s work schedule, she ignored the shampoo in her hair and turned off the water. She grabbed the towel from the hook on the door and made a mad dash into the bedroom. “Hello?”

      “It’s me.”

      The sound of Royce McKinnon’s low, rusty voice shot a bolt of heat through Heather’s body, causing the phone to slip from her slick hands, smack the desk, then land on the floor with a thunk. The towel followed. Naked, shampoo bubbles streaming down her back and front, she gaped at the phone, which lay next to her big toe.

      As if in a trance, she lifted her gaze to the mirror on the wall in front of her, and gasped at the bright red color rolling like great ocean waves down her body. She looked as if she’d been dunked in a life-size jar of maraschino-cherry juice. The garbled sound of a human voice pulled her out of her stupor. Good grief! He couldn’t see her naked body. She scooped the phone off the floor. “Hello?”

      “Is everything all right, Heather?”

      “Yes. Just a minute.” Annoyed by her adolescent reaction, she set the cell on her desk, then swiped the beach-size towel off the floor and wrapped the terry cloth around herself. Twice.

      She drew in a deep, calming breath and put the phone up to her ear. “Sorry. I’m here.”

      “Did I call at a bad time?”

      More than likely, he assumed he’d interrupted an in-between-class quickie with one of the porch boys—her roommates. “You caught me in the shower.”

      Dead silence. Then he cleared his throat. “I’ll call later.”

      “No, no. I’m covered now.” She swallowed a groan at the stupid remark. Time to turn the conversation in a different direction. “The funeral…did everything get—”

      “I took care of things.”

      Although she assumed he would follow through on his promise to arrange her father’s burial, she’d been hoping for at least a brief phone call explaining the details. Evidently, he hadn’t thought she deserved even that. Not that she could blame him, after she’d shoved the responsibility onto his shoulders. “Thank you for handling the arrangements.” She tensed, waiting for some kind of smart remark about accountability, commitment…whatever. Only a faint huff filtered through the connection. Odd, she could have sworn the huff sounded tired.

      Like a swift kick in the butt, guilt caught her by surprise. Of course Royce was worn-out. He arranged not only her father’s funeral, but more than likely he handled everything else that had come up as a result of the trailer fire. He had every reason to be short with her—

      “I’m calling about the store,” he said.

      A twinge of disappointment pinched her. Stupidly, she’d hoped he’d contacted her because he wanted to find out how she’d been coping with her father’s death. Agitated, she shoved a hand into her soapy hair, then glared at the sticky residue coating her fingers. “What about the store?”

      “An offer came in.”

      “There’s a buyer already?”

      “Yeah. Surprised the heck out of me, too. The owner of a chain of ranch-supply stores in eastern Arkansas called F & F Supply is interested in buying the business. He doesn’t seem concerned about the condition of the building and money isn’t an object.”

      “If he’s rich, why doesn’t he build a new store?”

      “Telmon thinks he’s looking for a tax write-off. The guy checks out. He’s legit.”

      “But—”

      “The good news is that after the sale, there’ll be money left to tide you over until you figure out what you’re going to do after graduation.”

      She struggled to summon some excitement. “Great.”

      “You don’t sound ‘great.’ What’s the matter?” he demanded.

      “I’m just surprised that anyone would want to buy the business.” What was wrong with her? The store was her last remaining tie to Nowhere—except for Royce. She should be elated someone wanted the dump. If she sold the business, she’d have no reason to return there. All the better. Nothing waited for her in Nowhere anymore.

      Crazy as it seemed, the thought of saying a final goodbye to her birthplace saddened her. After her mother had abandoned her, she’d stopped thinking of Nowhere as her home…it had been just a place she’d survived.

      “The offer is one hundred and fifty thousand.”

      “That’s all?”

      “Considering the financial mess your father made of the business, the amount is damn generous. You’ll be left with five thousand after paying the bank note, back taxes and creditors.”

      “Oh.” Sighing, she collapsed on the end of the bed.

      “Heather—”

      The ominous undertone in his voice set off a warning bell in her head.

      “You’re not having second thoughts, are you?”

      “Maybe.” If not for Royce’s visit last week she’d probably have jumped at the offer.

      But Royce