âHow come youâve neverââ
Radar, intuition, whatever he wanted to call it, Leif knew exactly what she was asking. âRemarried? Because I canât imagine ever replacing her. I donât see how anyone can ever measure up. No woman wants to settle for replacement status.â
âSo your alternative is to keep yourself locked up in this gorgeous prison of a house.â
He didnât like where this conversation was going. âI have a job. I go out every day. Iâm hardly locked up here.â Why did he feel so defensive?
âTrue, but not convincing.â Marta leveled her gaze to his, and he wanted to squirm out of it. âThe difference between you and me is that Iâve never turned my back on love. Loving comes easily for me. It always has. Isnât that the point of being on this planet? Weâre here to share love with each other.â
He wanted to get angry for her broaching a tough topic at the drop of a hat, but instead he fought that constant urge to comfort her, to wrap her in his arms and let her know she didnât have to be alone.
* * *
Home in Heartlandia: Finding home where the heart is
LYNNE MARSHALL used to worry that she had a serious problem with daydreamingâthen she discovered she was supposed to write those stories! A late bloomer, Lynne came to fiction writing after her children were nearly grown. Now she battles the empty nest by writing stories that always include a romance, sometimes medicine, a dose of mirth, or both, but always stories from her heart. She is a Southern California native, a dog lover, a cat admirer, a power walker and an avid reader.
Chapter One
The last place Leif Andersen wanted to be was the Portland airport. An avowed loner, he didnât look forward to sharing his homeâhis sanctuaryâwith a stranger. But that was what he got for owning the biggest and emptiest house in Heartlandia, and it was the imposition heâd accepted on behalf of the town mural.
The absolute last thing he expected to find was this woman sporting a female version of a bolero hat, black gaucho boots and a sunset-colored wrap waiting beside the baggage claim. That had to be herâwho else could it be? In all honesty, what should he have expected from an artist from Sedona? She was probably dripping with turquoise underneath that poncho, too.
Attitude adjustment, buddy. This is for the greater good. You volunteered.
Approaching the conspicuous woman, he called out, âMarta Hoyas?â
She turned her head and nodded demurely. All business, or plain old standoffishâhe couldnât tell from here. Maybe she thought he was a chauffeur, but he worried about a long and awkward ride home in either case.
He approached and, seeing her more closely, was taken aback by her appearance. The term striking came to mind. He offered his hand. âIâm Leif Andersen.â Sheâd already been notified by Elke Norling that sheâd be staying at his home for the duration of her mural painting.
Marta had olive skin with black walnut eyes, the color of his favorite wood for woodworking projects. They tilted upward above her cheekbones, accented by black feathery arched brows. A straight, pointy-tipped nose led to her mauve-colored lips. Nice. Rather than smile she made a tense, tight line, jutting out a strong chin. Her raven hair was pulled back under the hat brim in a low ponytail that hung halfway down her back. Sheâd qualify for beautiful if she didnât look so damn stiff.
âGood to meet you.â Marta said the words, but combined with her weak handshake, Leif had a hard time believing them. However, years in construction had left him unaware of his own power. Maybe heâd crunched her fingers too hard.
âJust point out your bags and Iâll get them for you,â he said, focusing back on the task at hand and not the unsettling woman to his right. Again, she nodded. Hmm, not much for conversation, and truth was, that suited him just fine. He wasnât looking for a friend or female company. Having lived alone for the past three years in his five-bedroom, three-thousand-plus square foot home that heâd built, well, having another person around was going to take major adjustment. So far, she seemed as much of a recluse as him, and sheâd probably get lost in that great big house just like he did. Theyâd probably never even run into each other. Good.
She pointed at a large purpleâwhy wasnât he surprised?âsuitcase rounding the corner on the carousel and he pulled it off. Then another. And another. Had she moved her entire wardrobe?