That Special Smile/Whittenburg (8 page)

“Yes,” she agreed. “Great.”

Max smiled his acceptance of the overwhelming appreciation. “Would anyone like to go for a drive?” he asked.

“Let’s!” Juliette clapped her hands, dropped her purse, and bent to retrieve it.

“Let’s break into your house instead.” Sylvie stopped to wait for her sister, but Max merely shortened his stride. “First things first.”

“Well, afterward we can go for a drive.” Juliette passed by Sylvie to catch up with Max.

“Not me,” Sylvie said, although it seemed somewhat unnecessary. “The only place I’m going is to bed.”

“Now that you mention it,” Max observed, swinging an amused glance in Sylvie’s direction. “Bed sounds like the perfect place to be. I think I might be coming down with something.”

“Oh.” Disappointment and concern blended in Juliette’s voice, but Sylvie thought he was just asking for trouble. “Well, I guess if you both....”

Juliette turned her concern toward Sylvie. “You’re not coming down with a cold or anything, are you?”

“Of course not.” It was the most definite answer she’d ever given to that particular question, but she wanted to leave no doubt in Max’s mind.

Satisfied, she drew a deep breath of the clean, pine-scented air...and sneezed.

Once and then again.

* * * *

“Are you about to get it?” Juliette leaned closer, peering over Max’s shoulder as he tried to jimmy the window.

He sighed and slowly straightened. “Why don’t you let Sylvie hold the flashlight for a while?”

“Oh, that’s all right,” Juliette assured him. “I’m not tired.”

Max turned a look of appeal to Sylvie and she took pity on him. She rose to her feet from the low balustrade where she’d been sitting for the past twenty minutes while Juliette and Max had gathered the break-in equipment and gone to work on the window. So far there had been little progress, but then Juliette was having a problem holding the light steady.

“Need some help?” Sylvie asked as she crossed the porch and took the flashlight from her sister. “I thought you were experienced with this sort of thing, Max. Why is it taking so long?”

“Nothing was said about experience or time requirements.” He bent to the window again. “But I’m sure it would go faster if I didn’t have to give on-the-job training to my accomplices in crime.”

“Oh, my God,” Juliette whispered, “I never thought of that.”

“On-the-job training?” Sylvie asked.

“No, crime. What if we get arrested?”

“We’ll show the arresting officer your driver’s license or some kind of identification,” Sylvie said as she tried to position the light so Max could see what he was doing. “You’ll think of something, Juliette. I’ve seen you explain your way out of situations that were more incriminating than this. Although if Max doesn’t hurry up….”

“Hold it steady, would you?” Max took hold of the flashlight and directed the beam at the sill.

“I don’t have my license.” Juliette leaned against the side of the house and began rummaging through her purse. “My billfold wouldn’t fit. Oh, wait, here’s something.” Paper rustled, but Sylvie didn’t pay much attention. She just wanted to get the window opened, the door unlocked, and herself into bed.

“It’s that letter,” Juliette said. “I meant to tell you about this, Sylvie Anne. But after I read it, I stuck it in this purse and…” She bumped against Sylvie as she tried to hold the piece of paper toward the light. “…I didn’t think of it, again. Until now.”

“Watch out, Juliette.” Sylvie managed to keep the flashlight steady.

“What? Oh, sorry. It’s from an attorney in Fayetteville about the house.”

“This house?” Sylvie watched as Max carefully pried the window up a bare quarter of an inch.

“No. Hannah Lee House. The one we bought for the business. There’s a…” She held the paper closer to the flashlight. “…a lien on the property.”

“What?” Sylvie turned the light fully on the paper. “A lien? Are you sure?”

“Hey! How am I supposed to break in if I can’t see?”

Sylvie ignored Max’s grumbling as she read the letter. “Benton Prestridge,” she said when she’d finished. “You were supposed to contact him, Juliette. Did you…by any chance?” It was a foolish question, but Sylvie felt she ought to ask.

Juliette stiffened in self-defense. “I just
found
the letter, Sylvie. How could I have contacted him when I didn’t even remember I
got
it until just now?”

There was no point in asking how she had come to misplace the letter in the first place. “When did you receive it, Juliette?”

Max sighed in frustrated patience. “Look at the date, Sylvie. Then please hold the light so I can get this damned window open.”

The flashlight beam flicked to the upper right-hand quadrant. “Two weeks ago. Didn’t it occur to you to do something then, Jules?” Sylvie let the useless question fade and mimicked Max’s sigh. “I’ll phone him first thing in the morning.”

She pointed the light downward and found Max frowning up at her, his eyes indigo in the darkness. “I thought the business belonged to Julie,” he said.

“It does. Of course, it does. But as you can see, she doesn’t always take care of things.”

“She can handle this.”

Juliette folded the letter, her discomfort obvious in the noisy way she crumpled the paper. “Max is right, Sylvie. Let me handle this.”

Sylvie had no idea how she had become the bad guy in the overall scheme of things, but Juliette certainly wasn’t upset with Max for butting in. And she didn’t seem overly upset with Mr. Benton Prestridge either. So that only left Sylvie to take the blame.

Max should have kept his unsolicited opinion to himself.

There was a splintery sound as the wooden sill gave way. Max pushed open the window. “All right, Julie,” he announced. “You can slip through the opening and go around to the front door.”

“Thanks, Max.” Juliette tugged at the front of her pants’ legs before putting one foot over the sill and into the room.

Once inside, she leaned out to smile in triumph. “I knew you could do it, Max.”

Her voice was perfectly innocent, but it irritated Sylvie nonetheless. She resolved that she wouldn’t, absolutely would
not
, feed his ego. Holding the flashlight steady and with equally steady intent, she reached to touch the sill and examine the damage done to the window frame.

“I’ll fix that tomorrow.” He straightened and moved away from her, and Sylvie wished she hadn’t let her irritation goad her into such pettiness.

After all, what difference did a few scratches in the wood make?

“Unless, of course…” He turned to her with a smile that, in the darkness, might have been teasing or challenging. “…you want to take care of it.”

Her hands clenched, but she maintained her composure. “I’ll have you know that my wood refinishing skills are topnotch. But I’m not the one who caused the damage and I don’t think I ought to be the one to fix it.”

A subtle tension steeped in the silence and Sylvie willed Max to give her an excuse, any excuse, for telling him what was really on her mind.

Instead, he picked up his tools, flipped the herringbone jacket over his arm, and walked to the end of the porch.

“A simple
no, thank you
will suffice, Sylvie Anne.” He stepped over the balustrade and started across the yard.

Moonlight caught at the midnight dusk of his hair and then she couldn’t see him at all. The door beside her opened and Juliette stood in the lighted hallway.

“About that letter…,” she began hesitantly, looking anxious. “I’ll call that man tomorrow, but I just…. Well, I need to know what, exactly, is a lien?”

“A lien on property is....” Sylvie tried to focus her attention on Juliette and the latest complication, but she couldn’t seem to pull her eyes or her thoughts from the darkness on the other side of the balustrade.

She wanted to apologize to Max.  Felt she
ought
to apologize.

Which was ridiculous since she’d done nothing to apologize for.

He
was the one who ought to apologize. He’d done all the teasing. He’d been goading her all evening with his flirty comments and seductive glances. He’d been the one to state an opinion that had been neither needed nor asked for.

But the apology stayed on her tongue and would not go away. So, all right, she could admit she had overreacted – a little – but then Max didn’t understand about Juliette and how she handled things by not handling them and....

“Sylvie?”

“Hmm?”

“The lien?”

“I don’t know, Juliette.” Sylvie lifted her hand in a distracted gesture. “Look it up in the dictionary or something.”

“I know what it
is,
Sylvie, I just don’t know what it means.” Juliette paused. “What’s wrong with you anyway? Why don’t you come inside? I’ve been holding this door for the longest time.”

Sylvie turned in sudden decision. “I want to tell Max something. When I get back, we’ll talk about the lien, all right?”

Juliette frowned uncertainly. “Do you want me to go over with you?”

Sylvie shook her head. “I can handle Max.”

“If you’re not home by dawn, I’ll know you did just that.” Juliette flashed her back-to-normal, saucy grin and closed the door.

Sylvie approached Max’s house with brisk confidence, but she had a sudden awkward feeling as the front porch came into view and she saw him sitting on the top step. The house behind him was dark, but the moon illuminated the porch and Max with a silvery, dusky light. She was struck by the very real, very masculine appeal of his dark hair and blue eyes, his strong facial features, and the secure confidence that was such an integral part of him.

“Well, hello, Miss Congeniality,” he said. “Has she locked you out again? Or are you casing the neighborhood?”

Sylvie pressed her glasses firmly against her nose and forced herself to offer him a smile. “No, I came to….” The apology she had felt she ought to offer was nowhere to be found, snuffed out, she supposed, by his snippy greeting. “I came to tell you, Max, that no matter how you feel about my sister, her business is none of yours. I’m here to help her set up the dress shop, and we do not need your advice or your opinions. I’d appreciate it if you’d keep that in mind.”

He pursed his lips, thinking that if his hands hadn’t already been clasped, he would have put them around her neck.

And kissed her senseless.

“Sit down, Sylvie.” With a tilt of his head he indicated she should sit beside him on the steps. “I think there are a couple of points here that need clarification.”

She stood stubbornly at the base of the stairs and Max decided to bide his time and see what developed. He didn’t think Sylvie would walk away from the chance to clarify anything.

And if she did? Well, he had a healthy supply of crossword puzzles to challenge him through the winter. No doubt, they’d be a lot better for his mental health.  His ego, too.

But even as he waited, he felt the tug of attraction between them and knew she felt it too. Why else would she hesitate to sit beside him? Why else would she have followed him home?

He stifled a smile as she moved, with self-assured steps, to sit next to him. As if she’d decided that not sitting beside him would in some way incriminate her and make him think that she was afraid to sit beside him.

Which he did anyway.

Max waited as she adjusted her feet, her dress, and her glasses to their respective and appropriate positions.

“All right,” she said crisply. “What points do you need clarified?”

“Oh, the clarification isn’t for me, Sylvie. It’s for you.”

She didn’t like that. He could tell by the tilt of her chin.

“Really?” she asked, her voice cooling by a degree or two.

“Really.” He turned toward her, resting his back against the concrete column, clasping his hands loosely on his knees. “First point: my relationship with your sister. Clarification: I like Juliette. I’d even go so far as to say I like her a lot. I consider her a good friend. But that’s as far as it goes, Sylvie. As far as it will ever go.”

Sylvie crossed her arms, a sure indication of doubt.

Max tapped his hand against his leg. “I don’t know what Juliette has told you, but that’s the truth. We’re friends. End of story.”

“Juliette has been my sister for a long time, Max. I know better than to believe everything she says.”

“Yet, you don’t seem to believe me, either.”

She glanced at him and a faint shadow of wry amusement touched her lips. “Let’s just say I’ve heard the
this-is-as-far-as-it-goes
line before. And from better men than you.”

His lips curved, too, but his eyes held hers with an underlying truth. “Not better men, Sylvie Anne. Fools, if they were with you and talked only about your sister.”

Sylvie laughed despite the tension closing around her throat. “Very prettily said, Max, but it lacks a certain something. Raw conviction, maybe.”

“Raw conviction,” he repeated with a shake of his head.

Ignoring his soft echo, Sylvie continued. “And now that you’ve clarified for me just how you
don’t
feel about Juliette, let’s move on.”

“I think the lack of conviction is all on your part, Sylvie.” The teasing quality was missing from his voice, the night shadows hid the expression in his eyes, and her heart began to beat an odd, unfamiliar pattern. “I think you’re afraid to give the benefit of the doubt to any man who pays attention to you. It’s safer to believe Juliette is the main attraction, isn’t it?”

Sylvie did not want to answer. His question was too personal, probed a tender spot in her heart. And yet, she didn’t want to give him the impression that she was afraid to answer. So she hedged. “That’s  hardly pertinent to a discussion of Juliette’s business.”

“
Juliette’s business
is something of a misnomer, don’t you think?”

“No. It’s her idea, her responsibility, and her headache. I’m only here to….”

“…take care of the details. Yes, I remember.” He watched Sylvie for a moment, watched the way she finger-combed a strand of hair behind her ear, watched the way she pretended not to watch him. “Where do the details end and the responsibilities begin?”