Careful not to hit his head on the eaves as he sat up, he remembered the evening before and Lizzie’s blush as she backed into her bedroom door. She was a charming, elusive thing, for sure. The lady definitely ran hot and cold where he was concerned, though.
Collecting clean clothes and a shave kit from his bag beside the bed, hopping back and forth on the chilly floor, he wondered again what it was that caused Lizzie to scowl so viciously at times. From what he’d seen of her, she had an affable and easygoing personality. He tugged on his trousers, socks, and shirt from the day before and with his toiletries in hand headed down the hall.
As he made his way down the steps and into the living room, he shook his arms to ward off the cold. In the dim light the night before, his focus had been mainly on Lizzie so he hadn’t noticed the room much, but now it was a wonder to him. This is how Grandma’s home would have looked in the old Thanksgiving song “Over the River and Through the Woods.” Except, maybe, for the crazy lamp, antique license plates, and angel wings.
He paused in the kitchen doorway to watch Lizzie. Her back was to him and she was humming as she turned the crank handle of an old-fashioned coffee grinder. “Morning,” he said, causing her to jump and nearly fling the coffee grinder off the counter.
“Oh!” she gasped as she whipped around, one hand steadying the coffee grinder, the other on her chest.
Elliot’s grin faded as he took in her outfit. “What happened to your clothes?”
Lizzie glanced down at her white pants and blouse, and the crisp lab coat, one hand brushing at the hem in concern. “What’s wrong with them?”
Belatedly realizing he’d been rude, Elliot blushed and stammered, “No, nothing, I just meant—” He meant he was confused at her clean, professional attire. Surprised at himself, he realized that he’d been expecting another crazy outfit. Lying in bed the night before, he’d contemplated her wearing a long skirt, like the one she’d been wearing the night they met. Thoughts of that skirt swinging from her hips had wandered through his mind repeatedly. And her hair, all those jet-black ringlets, today was tucked neatly into a bun, giving her a sleek, professional appearance.
Somewhere in the vision of Lizzie in a skirt, the sunset at her back, and the breeze blowing her curls, he realized there was silence hanging low and heavy over the kitchen.
Embarrassed, he scrambled to collect his thoughts. “I see you’re dressed to open the spa. I guess I’m surprised, given the lack of power there.” He smiled, proud that he’d managed to pull something intelligent out of his hat.
“Oh…well, the ladies will be showing up, power or not, so I figured I’d better be ready. Besides, they’ll probably have the power back up by early afternoon. First impressions and all that, you know.” She smiled wickedly.
“Right,” he chuckled, giving her credit where credit was due. Silence sat comfortably between them as they grinned across the room. He cleared his throat again. “I could smell you grinding the coffee from upstairs.” He gestured toward the forgotten grinder.
“Yeah.” Lizzie glanced back at the coffee grinder as she smoothed one hand over her carefully collected curls, assuring herself the bun was still intact. “I love fresh-ground coffee.”
Elliot smiled when she touched her hair. She looked completely different today, surprisingly pristine, but still absolutely mesmerizing. “What time do you need to be at the spa? I don’t want to make you late.”
With her attention back on the coffee grinder, Lizzie’s shoulder blade moved up and down as she twisted the handle. “You’re fine, I need to feed Lily, Ingrid, and Lucky, I just wanted to get the coffee started first.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Will you hand me the percolator?”
Elliot pushed away from the doorjamb and headed into the kitchen, his eyes casting about for a coffee maker. “Sure…” Turning a full circle, he couldn’t locate a coffee pot or machine or any sort.
Lizzie pointed toward a blue-speckled enamel percolator pot on the top shelf. “Right there, it’s blue.”
“This?” he asked, holding up the pot in question.
She crossed the room to take the pot from him. “Yes, you’ve never used one of these I take it?”
“Never, looks like something out of a Louis L’Amour novel.”
She returned to the counter and lifted the lid, then pulled out the center workings. “Makes the best coffee,” she assured as she carefully loaded grounds into the basket. At the sink she filled the percolator with water and fit the basket stand back in the pot, then placed it on the antique stove, lit the burner, and turned back toward Elliot.
He stood silently watching her.
“I had it upgraded from wood to gas.” She gestured to the stove.
“Of course you did,” he acknowledged.
“Well, I need to go out and get chores done,” Lizzie said, brushing past him toward the mudroom. “Tara called and said she was bringing donuts and bagels, so if you don’t mind, we can eat when we get to the inn.”
“That’s fine,” he said, following her. “Can I help with the alpacas?”
Tugging her coveralls off the hook on the wall, Lizzie slipped out of her lab coat and stepped one leg into the coveralls. “Didn’t do enough damage to your clothes last night, eh?” she teased, stepping into the other leg of the coveralls.
He grimaced. “Don’t you have something I can wear?”
Lizzie shrugged the coveralls up over her shoulders and shook her head. “I don’t think so. I’ve only been here a week and I don’t get much company.”
Elliot watched glumly, disappointed, as she zipped the coveralls over her white outfit.
She paused, amused that he was feeling left out. “Hang on, wait right there, I may have some overalls.” Quickly, she tucked her feet into her rubber boots and bustled out the back door.
Elliot rubbed one hand across the back of his neck, wondering what he’d gotten himself into. He didn’t know anything about feeding animals. What was it about women that turned men into idiots?
He wandered to the window over the sink, peering across the yard toward the barn. Bright rays of morning sun beamed through the tree branches, casting long shadows across the little valley. The scene looked like a postcard.
As he turned back toward the kitchen, the aroma of coffee curled through the room, filling the kitchen. He usually didn’t function at all in the morning until he’d partaken of a cup, or three. Moving to the stove to soak up the warmth, he clasped his hands behind his back and leaned over to peer curiously at the top of the percolator.
Lizzie tromped in the back door with a bang of the screen and he turned. Triumphantly she held up a filthy pair of stiff blue-striped overalls. “Look what I found hanging in the barn!”
Elliot didn’t consider himself a picky man. He appreciated his fine clothes and thought he wore them well, but he also loved old jeans and well-worn T-shirts. However, even in his most casual moments he had never considered putting his body into something as disgusting as those overalls.
Her expression fell and she glanced back and forth from him to the overalls in her hand. “I guess they’re pretty dirty, aren’t they…”
Unwilling to accept her frown, he stepped forward and gingerly took the overalls from her. “I’m sure they’ll be great.” The light returned to her face and after a moment of magnetic silence, he headed toward the bathroom. “I’ll just be a minute, don’t leave without me,” he said over his shoulder.
Three minutes later Lizzie heard the bathroom door open and close. Carefully, she placed the lid back on the percolator and turned from the stove. The sight made her clamp her hand over mouth.
Elliot stood before her wearing the filthy, ragged overalls that were at least five sizes too wide and ten inches too short in the inseam. Cobwebs hung from the hem of one leg, and only one strap was hooked onto the bib across his stained shirt. The other tattered strap swung down his back, causing the overalls to hang crookedly. There was a hole in what should have been one knee but hit E
lliot mid-thigh. She could see the tops of his dark socks below the tattered hem of the pant legs, and he’d rolled up the sleeves of his designer shirt.
As soon as Elliot saw the burst of happiness in Lizzie’s face, his day was made. Slowly, he lifted one arm to flex his muscles. He then pivoted to flex the other arm, one arm up and one arm down, causing her to snort and finally burst out in full-blown laughter.
“You look ridiculous!”
He bowed with a flourish. “Why, thank you ma’am, it’s a gift.”
Lizzie circled him, her eyes dancing. She reached out to brush bits of hay and spiderwebs from his back, and he joined her in the effort to brush off the grime.
“And I smell luscious too, don’t I?” he asked, wafting his hands in the air over his chest, as if to raise the nearly overpowering scent of manure.
Her nose crinkled. “Indeed you do, sir.”
“It’s a matter of pride,” he stated confidently, cocking his chin up a notch.
Lizzie leaned against the table, her head shaking. “You’re a case today.”
“I’m ready to feed alpacas, ma’am, all I need is a hat and boots.”
She hurried toward the mudroom. “Oh, I’m sure I’ve got something here you could wear…”
Elliot joined her near the back door and Lizzie held out a floppy straw garden hat, complete with a pink band. “This should fit you,” she said with a straight face, waiting to see if he’d actually take it.
“Excellent choice, madam,” he stated with a British accent as he plopped the hat on his head.
Lizzie tilted her head to one side, her lips quivering. “Oh my.”
“Boots?” he asked hopefully.
She scanned his stocking-clad feet, obviously concerned about their size. Looking back up, she shook her head. “Sorry, I’m sure none of mine would fit you.”
“No problem then,” he said, dropping to the bench to tug on his shoes from the night before. “I can clean them again.”
When he stood, Lizzie could hardly contain her laughter. The expensive loafers added the final hilarious touch to his costume. “You aren’t seriously going out there dressed like that, are you?”
“Like what?” he asked with an offended expression, glancing down to his clothing as if he saw no problem.
“Okay then!”
As they stepped out onto the back stoop, the crisp morning air immediately surprised Elliot. More than just the temperature shocked him; it was the feel, the smell, the very texture of the air that felt fresh. Inhaling deeply, he followed Lizzie across the yard, slapping his arms in an attempt to stay warm.
She turned to watch, walking backward, shaking her head.
Taking great pleasure in her amusement, Elliot reflected on how much fun he was having. With a chuckle he realized that he’d never “spent the night” with a woman in quite this way. Perhaps, he’d been far too uptight back home and had taken himself much too seriously.
* * *
Lizzie leaned against the frame of the barn door, the pitchfork handle gripped in one hand as she watched Elliot tromp around the paddock, the straw hat flopping with each step. Ingrid had taken to following him, her eyes bright with curiosity, her head bobbing with each step.
“Look at her, Lizzie! She’s following me!” he called, proud as could be. He stopped and carefully turned to face the animal. Ingrid stopped as well, her head tilted to one side; then, she stretched out to sniff the hat. With a snort, the creature turned to walk away, obviously having decided that Elliot was insane. He grinned at Lizzie, his arms spread wide in amazement.
Her stomach did a flip-flop. The man was absolutely charming. With a weak smile and wave, she turned away to prop the pitchfork against the barn wall and pat Lucky on the head. “He’s not my type, you hear me?” she lectured the dog. Lucky simply gazed up at her through ratty fur.
“What did you say?” Elliot asked, strolling into the barn. He reached down to tug a strand of hay from the feeding trough, then clamped it between his teeth and grinned like a fool.
Lizzie’s frown deepened and her heart sank. He was gorgeous. Even in filthy, outrageous clothes he was undeniably stunning. Her head tilted to one side. And he was funny too. Damn.
His smile dimmed and he crossed the small space to her, tossing the hay strand to one side. “What is it? Did I offend you? I’m not making fun of you, I swear.”
She shook her head miserably. “It’s not that, it’s not you…”
His forehead crinkled with concern and he reached for her hand. “Lizzie, I’ve had a nice time here.”
His touch was warm, sending tingles up her arm. She allowed him to hold her hand for a few moments, enjoying the currents of electricity that surged under her skin. “Right, a narrow bed that’s too short, filthy clothes, manure on your shoes. Every man’s idea of a good time.”
He turned her hand palm up, noticing for the first time the open blisters spotting the skin of her palm and fingers. He looked up to meet her eye, pretending he didn’t notice. “No, seriously, it’s been a riot. I don’t get to act like this back in D.C. It’s been forever since I was this relaxed. I’m usually far too serious.” And the guys at the firm would die if they saw me now, he didn’t add.
Unsure what to think or how to feel and grasping to recall her plans for the first time since she’d left Boston, Lizzie allowed herself to drown momentarily in his gaze. She’d never thought a barn could be romantic, but here she was, basking in this man’s attention. She tensed and tugged on her hand, but Elliot held on.
His gaze returned to her palm, and his other hand reached up for one finger to carefully touch a rising blister left by the pitchfork.
Lizzie flinched and Elliot’s gaze slid up to meet her eye.
Once again her knees felt weak and she hunched one shoulder.
Caught up in the moment as she submitted to his touch, Elliot slowly lifted her hand to lightly kiss her blistered palm.
She froze, realizing it had been ages since someone had offered comfort or sympathy for her injuries. Let alone a man in a floppy pink hat.
He gently let her hand go, then turned and headed toward the door. “Think that coffee is about ready?” he asked over his shoulder in a carefree manner, his step jaunty.
Lizzie shook her head, trying to get a grasp on reality once again.
Back at the house, she clambered out of her rubber boots and shrugged out of her coveralls, hanging them on a hook over the old bench.
Elliot deposited his shoes on the back step and headed straight for the kitchen table, where he plopped into a chair in mock exhaustion, his legs spread out to display his stocking feet. “That was a workout!”
Lizzie laughed. “All that prancing around with Ingrid wore you out?”
He made a shocked face, his hand on his chest. “Excuse me? I don’t prance.”
“Oh, sorry,” Lizzie corrected, soaping up her hands at the sink. With a dishtowel in hand, she made her way to the stove.
“That coffee smells amazing,” he commented, glancing toward the stove where the percolator bubbled, rattling the lid.
Lizzie moved the pot from the burner using the dishtowel as a potholder. “It’s been brewing for a while, it should be good and strong,” she said, placing the pot on a trivet on the table.
“My favorite.” Elliot grinned in anticipation, stood, and headed to the sink to wash up. When he turned back around, she held out a towel for him. Their eyes locked, his hand brushing hers as he took the towel.
Lizzie froze, her expression bleak. The dog barked outside, bringing Lizzie back to the farm, and she glanced out the window.
Elliot soaked her up with his eyes.
Reassured all was well outside, Lizzie regrouped, either unaware of or ignoring his gaze. She retrieved mugs from a nearby shelf and carefully poured them each a steaming cup of coffee. “Black or with cream?” she asked, placing a mug in front of his vacated chair.
“Black is perfect, thank you,” he said, dropping into the chair to
circle the mug with his hands, warming them. He leaned over the cup to take a deep sniff. “Mmmmm…”
Lizzie settled across the table with her cup, watching him fuss over his coffee. “Why did you take off the hat?” she asked, stirring in sugar and cream, looking him up and down, still not quite able to believe his appearance.
“It’s too fancy for coffee,” he replied, lifting his mug to tentatively touch his lips to the rim.
A smile threatened at the corner of her mouth. Finally she spoke. “I have to get going as soon as I finish my coffee, but feel free to take your time with a bath.”
His eyes rose from the mug poised at his lips to meet her gaze, steam rising from his cup.
A vision of Elliot soaking in a steamy bath came to her mind and she frowned. “Careful, it’s really hot.”
He nodded, still engrossed in getting coffee in his mouth without burning himself. Finally, he managed a tentative slurp.
She rose from the table, a wicked gleam in her eye. “I snapped a few great pictures of you outside… figured I’d email them to Justin later.”
Elliot spit scorching coffee halfway across the table, causing Lizzie to hoot with laughter.
* * *
At the end of her driveway, Lizzie stared down the highway, lost in thought as she waited for a truck to pass. Her fingers clutched the steering wheel tightly as she aligned her thoughts, lining them up in her mind like a row of sums in a notebook. The truck passed but still she waited, her mind a jumble.
“Yes, he’s fabulously sexy. And funny. And sweet,” she mumbled. “Yes, I’m drawn to him, so what? I am a woman, after all.”
She smoothed her hand over her hair. “He’s only here for a week, he’s not staying. He’s exactly what I don’t want. He’s not part of my plan.”
She sighed. “Mother would adore him, and she will never meet him.”
Looking both ways, she saw a car approaching so she waited. “What I’m feeling is only sexual tension, nothing special. I’m going to stay away from him for the rest of his visit. He’ll leave and I’ll forget I ever saw him.”
Hometown Series Box Set Page 64
