Page 2 of In This Moment

“You, too.”

The screen door slammed shut with a clack on the house beside Gammy’s, and a man stood on the stoop, hands on his hips. Oddly, he was wearing a gray suit, even in the late day spring warmth. Most people wore casual dress in these parts. He had longish black hair on top, but cropped close on the sides, and appeared to be around her age. A shadow of a beard dusted his jaw. She couldn’t make out his eyes from her spot, but tension knotted his shoulders as he stood motionless, stance wide, posture rigid. She’d not seen him before, but in a town with twenty-five hundred residents and constant tourists, it wasn’t like she knew everybody.

Harold drove right past the neighbor’s box, tossing mail onto the grass, and kept going.

Rebecca tried and failed to suppress a laugh.

“Damn it!” The man flew off his stoop, vaulting the three steps, and marched toward the curb. “What in the hell are you doing? I’m getting real tired of…”

Harold turned the corner, and with a wave out the window, disappeared from view.

“…talking to myself.” The man dropped his arms, hands slapping his thighs.

Rebecca rolled her lips over her teeth. “Sweets.”

He turned, brows raised as if surprised to find her there. “Hi.”

Green. His eyes were a shocking shade of green. Wicked Irish hellion, this one. Great athletic body to boot. Taller than her by a head, putting him at about six feet, with wide shoulders, and a lean waist. His accent wasn’t from this side of the Mason-Dixie line. Midwest, maybe?

She smiled, still firmly amused. “Hello.”

He scratched his jaw. “Sweets?”

“Yep.” She pointed to his mail littering the ground. “Harold has an affinity for sweets and an aversion to newcomers. Put cookies in your mailbox with the door open. He’ll see it as a sign of respect and warm up to you in no time.”

He stared at her, unblinking, like she’d gotten hit one too many times by the stupid stick. “Cookies,” he replied, deadpan.

“Make sure they’re homemade. Don’t want to add insult to injury.”

“Homemade cookies.” More staring. After a moment, he swiped his hand down his face. “What kind of fresh hell is this?”

“Not from around here, are you?”

“No. Where I come from, carriers actually put mail in the boxes and don’t require sweets by way of a bribe. I should call the post office and file a complaint.”

Someone was ornery.

“Harold is the post office. The whole post office.”

He crossed his arms, brows wrenched in disbelief. “What?”

She shrugged. “There’s a few people who sort packages or answer phones, others who deliver mail to the shops and businesses, but it’s pretty much just him running the joint.”

He huffed a dry laugh devoid of humor. “Of course, he is. Why would I expect any different in this hillbilly backwater town?”

Now he was just showing his ass. Irritation tapped her temples. He was a handsome devil with an angular face and wide jaw, thick lashes and full lips, but he was so stuck up, he’d drown in a rainstorm. “We might be simple folk to you, but you’d catch more flies with honey. Best remember that if you intend to hang around.”

Done with him, she strode toward the house. She got up the stoop and was digging for the keys in her purse when he shouted behind her.

“You bought the house?”

She turned, glaring at him, not bothering to reply. His nose didn’t belong in her business.

“They haven’t cleared out Mavis’s things yet.”

Tilting her head, she debated how to respond. If he had an ill word for her Gammy, she might fillet him where he stood. “I’m aware. You knew her?” Gammy hadn’t mentioned him in their weekly phone chats.

“I did.” He took a few steps closer and stopped, crossing his arms. “She lived next door, after all. She was one of the few redeeming qualities of Vallantine, thus far. I cut her grass every Sunday and she baked me a peach pie.”

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