Secrets in a Still Life, Kari Ganske [best fiction books to read .TXT] 📗

throughout our school years due to the alphabetical proximity of our last names. A fact that at first annoyed me and then pleased me and then annoyed me again as we aged.

"Sexy Lexi. I should have guessed," he said, using the old nickname I hated. His eyes lit with amusement; one corner of his mouth hitched into the annoyingly adorable smirk I wrote embarrassing poems about in high school.

"Lincoln Towncar," I returned. Two could play the nickname game. "Who else is gonna show up? We might as well make it a high school reunion."

"What did you do?" His deep, rich voice was equal parts amused and astonished.

"I'm redecorating." I crossed my arms over my chest and popped a hip defiantly.

He moved his steel-gray eyes from the sign back to me. He gave me a quick once-over—no doubt clocking the ketchup-stained shirt, worn-out leggings, mismatched flip-flops, and road hair—then zeroed in on my forehead.

"You're bleeding." He encircled my wrist in his large hand.

"I can wait for the paramedics, thanks," I said, trying to pull out of his grasp. He held on tighter, dragged me over to the fire truck, and deposited me firmly on the back fender.

He smirked again. "You're looking at the paramedic. It's a small town. We all fill many roles," he added with a chuckle. "Sit. I'll get the first-aid kit."

I was about to tell him where he could sit when a fluff ball that might be a dog—or maybe a Muppet—laid a head on my lap and snuffled my hand. The tension and snark that filled me so completely a moment ago vanished, and I melted into a big pile of goo.

"Hello, there," I cooed in a voice all women reserved for babies and puppies. "Where did you come from?"

"That's Fang," Linc said as he walked away.

"Aren't you a sweetie?" I buried my hands in his soft fur. He drooled on my leg. The dog was so furry, I couldn't even tell if it had eyes.

I was pushing the massive amount of black and white fur out of the way to inspect when the rest of the uniformed calvary arrived. Chief Duncan, who had been chief since I was in high school, rolled out of his car. After adjusting his pants over his rotund belly, he surveyed the scene until his sleepy brown eyes landed on me. I gave him a small finger wave and what I hoped passed for a sheepish smile. He lumbered over, hands on hips.

"When I heard the call come over the radio, I didn't believe it," he said instead of a greeting. "Do you know how long that sign has stood at the town's edge?"

I shook my head forlornly. I'm sure I learned that tidbit in school at some point, but I absolutely had not cared enough to retain it.

Linc came back with the first-aid kit. Chief Duncan gave him a grunt and a nod, then turned his attention back to me. "Since 1947."

"It was an accident," I mumbled stupidly. Linc snorted beside me but covered it by coughing. He pulled an alcohol pad and butterfly Band-Aid from the kit.

"Your mother is going to kill you, Alex, so I'll spare you the lecture. But I am going to have to write you a ticket. And you'll have to appear in court," the chief continued. "Probably pay to have the sign fixed."

Just what an unemployed thirtysomething wanted to hear. I groaned and tried to put my head in my hands. Linc grabbed my chin and lifted it back up.

"Hold still," he commanded in a deep tenor.

As he dabbed at my cut with an alcohol swab, he kept his fingers on my jaw, a lighter touch than I would have expected from someone so muscular. Since his focus was on my forehead, I took a moment to take in his features. Same gray eyes framed by the enviably long lashes that I remembered. But his face was more angular, his jaw more pronounced. And covered in stubble. Somewhere in the intervening years, this annoying teenager had turned into a man. I sat on my hands to keep them from reaching out to touch his arm muscles through his shirt. Man, I was a sucker for arm muscles. And, of course, Linc would have them to spare. So far, karma was not on my side. I'd taken comfort in imagining him as a hunchback with a hooknose and acne one could see from space.

"Alex, are you listening?" Chief Duncan asked.

"She might have a concussion, you know," Colleen said from somewhere beside me. "The airbag did deploy."

"I'll call a tow truck," the chief said.

"I feel fine. Thank you all so much for asking," I mumbled. I was having a hard time forming words. Totally because Linc still held my jaw, not because of his nearness.

Totally.

"Do you really feel okay?" he asked, backing up a little. I could finally breathe. "You don't feel nauseous or dizzy?"

"Nope. I honestly wasn't going that fast when I collided with the sign. I was actually at a dead stop. Colleen honked behind me and scared me into pressing the gas. That's when I hit the sign," I explained, absently rubbing Fang's head. "I swear those poles were dry-rotted for that thing to topple with barely a tap."

Linc and the chief both looked at my fender hugging the remaining stump of the post, then back at me with eyebrows raised. The look was so identical, I swallowed a laugh. They must teach incredulity in first-responder class or something.

"Okay, fine," I conceded. "Maybe it was a little more than a tap."

"Uh-oh," Colleen said, looking at the road.

"What?" I peeked around Lincoln's broad chest.

"I swear I didn't call her," Colleen said with a wince. The way Colleen said "her" coupled with a "please don't blame me" expression meant only one thing—my