It's In His Smile (A Red River Valley Novel Book 3) by Shelly Alexander

could’ve let him tear it down and build a new house. A mansion by Red River standards. But she’d loved this old gingerbread house up on the hill with just enough elevation to look out over the town. His grandfather had built it for her when they first married, and she couldn’t part with it.
    He eased onto the frayed but comfortable sofa, set the dog in his lap so he could grab the remote, and flicked the channel to ESPN. There. Back to the real world. That should help relax him.
    Except it didn’t because all he could think about was his floundering project back in Washington that was still headlining the news across the state. He plucked his cell off the coffee table and Googled press coverage on the Trinity Falls accident. He tapped the link for a Seattle-based channel.
    Talmadge’s chest tightened as the news anchor reported on the accident, the injuries, the ancient ruins, and the unknown future of the Trinity Falls community. A preaching, teaching lecture on the irony of a leading green architect nearly destroying one of the most important archeological finds of the century. Conveniently, the reporter left out the part about how Talmadge himself stopped the project immediately to call in the authorities and every tribal council in the state of Washington.
    He stared at the screen as the reporter droned on.
    And on.
    And on.
    He hit the stop button and tossed the phone onto the lace doily in the middle of the coffee table. He let his head fall back to rest on the sofa cushion and rubbed his tired eyes.
    A new call dinged on his phone. His office assistant’s name popped onto the screen. He touched the green button and answered.
    “Hey, Ellen.”
    “Hey, boss. Sorry to bother you at a time like this. How’re you holding up?” Ellen’s kids were grown, but she still held that motherly tone.
    Probably why he hired her. She reminded him of Bea.
    “I’m makin’ it. What’s up?” Hopefully not Trinity Falls, unless it was good news.
    “That crazy reporter called again. The one who writes the gossip column for the local paper. Wanted an update on you and Monica.”
    That would be Miss January. Talmadge’s eyes slid shut.
    “I told her you were out of the office for a family emergency. Want me to give her any other message? Like maybe to get lost on a deserted island or something?”
    “She’ll just get more relentless. Ignore her for now. I’ll deal with it when I get back to Seattle. Anything else?”
    “I’ve taken up knitting. It helps pass the time.”
    He smirked. “Glad to hear business is that good while I’m gone.”
    “I’ll knit you a scarf.”
    Maybe she could teach him how to knit since he didn’t have much work going on at the moment. He let out a hollow laugh. “I’ll be back in a few days. Call if anything else comes up.”
    Fat chance.
    He ended the call, and Lloyd nuzzled Talmadge’s chest. With his arm wrapped around the pooch, Talmadge used a forefinger to scratch Lloyd’s belly.
    Someone rapped at the front door, and Lloyd yapped. Langston maybe? At the wake, his high school buddy had threatened to stop by for a beer. A beer or four sounded pretty good right now.
    Talmadge drew in a deep breath, left Lloyd on the sofa, and walked into the foyer.
    Bea’s old house didn’t have a peephole, so Talmadge flipped on the porch light and jerked open the door, expecting Langston to be standing there with a six-pack of beer under his arm and a smart-ass smirk on his face. It had become a ritual during Talmadge’s rare visits home.
    Instead, Miranda’s eyes rounded, and she seemed to stop breathing for a beat.
    It wasn’t the gust of frosty evening air that made his skin tingle. It was her big brown eyes cascading over his chest, bared by the gaping shirt. Despite the frigid April temperatures, heat started to gather below his waist when her gaze fixed to the unbuttoned waistband of his jeans. The copper flecks in her eyes blazed to life.
    Still in the clothes she’d had on when