by Peggy Jaeger
I didn’t need to explain the reason it had to Lucas.
He nodded.
“Now seemed like a good idea to start exploring my options. Here.” I handed him the shopping bag filled with the wrapped tin-foiled leftovers. “This should be enough for the three of you for dinner.”
Lucas stared down at the bag, then back to me. With his tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek and his head titled at an angle again, he looked a little confused. About what, I hadn’t a clue.
“Dad? Are we going, or what?”
He pulled out of his musings and, with a deep breath, nodded. “Thanks for this.”
I swiped my hand in the air. “Don’t forget Nanny’s party starts at twelve. Sharp,” I told them. “And she hates—”
“When anyone’s late,” Lucas finished. “Yeah, I know. I’m always on time, so don’t worry.”
“Your dad’s invited, too. Nanny specifically asked for you to bring him.”
“Easier said than done,” he mumbled.
Robert groaned. When he realized he’d been heard, a deep flush drenched his face and neck.
“I can only promise to try,” Lucas said. “If he’s in a mood, well…”
“Let him have one of those”—I pointed to the box of cupcakes—“tonight, and tell him I’m baking more for the party. It might persuade him to come.”
His grin shot out so fast I wasn’t prepared for its power over me, so I didn’t have time to brace myself. Instead, my breath hissed in audibly and my neck grew hot.
“I know it would convince me to,” he said, oblivious to my reaction.
With one last glance at Boyd, he tossed me a nod. “Catch you later. And thanks again.” He lifted the bag of food.
Once my kitchen was empty of the Alexander men, I took a calming breath and smiled at my guest. “Okay. I need to start cooking soon, but I’m all yours for the next thirty minutes.”
The charming grin on his face widened when he said, “Now there’s a proposal a man would have to be daft to refuse.”
The half hour flew by as Boyd showed me the ideas he’d drawn up.
I was impressed. By both the time and effort he’d put into the drawings and layouts, and with the man himself.
The subtle mirth in his smile and the concentrated way his eyes held my own for a beat longer than was required showed me he was a bit of a flirt, not unlike my grandmother. The two of them could have been cut from the same bolt of flirt fabric, in fact. While I was used to the way my grandmother acted around any human with an X and Y chromosome, it was an unfamiliar sensation having that kind of attention focused on me.
Before he left, we made another appointment for the following week to give him enough time to draft the changes we’d discussed. Once again he agreed to come to the inn.
“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it,” I said as I held the front door open for him. “Running this place takes up most of my time and leaving even for a few hours during the day can be hard at times, so thanks again.”
While he shook my hand and continued to hold on to it, a tiny line sprouted between his brows. “You’re busy during the day.” He nodded. “But do you never take a night off, then? Just to relax and maybe pop down to the pub for a bit?”
I laughed before I could think not to.
“And that’s amusin’, why now?”
I shook my head. “Not amusing, sorry. This is a twenty-four-hour-a-day business. There’s not a lot of room to pop out anywhere for a drink, a quick meal, or much of anything else.”
“You’ve got assistants, though, haven’tcha? The lovely woman who let me in, Sarah, it is? Sure, she could spot ya a time or two?”
“I couldn’t run this place without her, that’s the truth. But she’s got her own family to go home to every night. I live here, and truthfully the last thing I want to do after being on my feet all day is to go out, especially when I have to be up at an early hour each day to get breakfast for my guests.”
He tilted his head and leaned a shoulder against the door jam, his concentration centered on me. “So if I suggested we meet at, what’s it called now? The Love Shack, aye?”
I nodded.
“If I asked ya to come and join me for a pint one evening when you’ve an hour to spare, would you?”
I shouldn’t have been surprised by the invitation. He had been, after all, giving me signals he was interested in more than just the plans while we’d gone over them. It had been years, though, since I’d been involved with a man. In any capacity, be it meeting for a quick drink, or dating. Not since I’d walked out on my last boyfriend when he’d selfishly ordered me to choose between him or my sister.
“Ah, I can see you’re debating the pros and cons, as such,” Van said, laughter in his voice. “You’re a dying breed, Maureen, darlin’,” he added, his mouth twisting into a grin.
“A dying breed?”
“Aye. A dedicated business owner who puts the needs of others ahead of her own. ’Tis charmin’ and a wee bit daunting for a man.”
As far as compliments go, it was a lovely one. Why, then, didn’t it fill me with pleasure?
“Well, I’ll be heading out, now.” He lifted the cylinder. “I’ll work on these and incorporate the things you want included for next time.”
He stopped and turned before he was through the threshold. With a glint in his eyes, he cocked his head as he regarded me. “Let me know if you decide there’s more pros than cons to my idea of sharing a pint or two of an evening.”
He bent and kissed my cheek, then walked to his car, whistling as he did.
When I closed the door behind him, I leaned my head against it and dragged in a breath.
Eileen, my deceased twin, had been the sister the male population had been drawn to as naturally as hummingbirds are to nectar. Vivacious, mercurial, and an apprentice at my grandmother’s knee in the coquette department, Eileen was the sister who’d never gone dateless one weekend in high school or college. She’d been Prom Queen, voted Best Liked by our graduating class, and elected Class President during our senior year. College had been no different.
My entire life I’d watched from the sidelines as she’d brought sunshine and warmth into the life of every boy she’d dated. Her breakups were never dramatic or torturous, and she was able to remain friends with all her exes.
I was labeled the quiet twin. Shy and unobtrusive. A thinker and a loner.
The descriptions were spot on. I was happy to stay in the background while Eileen shone in the foreground. Her death hadn’t changed the dynamics of my personality one whit. I was still the private, silent one who spent a lot of time in her head and alone with her thoughts.
So, to have a man like Donovan Boyd show his interest in more than a professional way toward me—well, it was a little strange, a little baffling, and a whole lot of flattering.
And I had no idea how to deal with those strange emotions.
Now, if only a certain chief of police could show the same kind of interest.
Ah, well.
With a sigh, I got back to work.
Chapter 4
Nanny was, as usual, prompt for her party. More than prompt, actually, since she’d arrived with my sister Colleen and her husband Slade right after ten-thirty mass ended.
My ninety-three-year-old grandmother had been a fixture in all our lives ever since the eldest, Cathleen, was born. A professional pianist, Nanny had toured the globe performing with various symphonies until my father married my mother and they began having babies. Nanny had given up touring for several years to help raise us—in her word—properly. My mother and grandmother had never gotten along, each vying for the love and attention of the man of the house. Because of their barely concealed animosity, our home was many times a battle of wills between the two for household dominance.
Case in point: our names. My mother wanted to play up our Irish roots, especially when we’d all popped out with red hair, fair skin, and blue eyes, by calling us similar-so
unding, traditional names. Cathleen was the eldest, next Colleen, then Eileen and me, four minutes apart. Nanny considered our names ridiculous and began calling us by our birth order ranks as a way to protest the names and, I’d always thought, annoy my mother. Cathy was referred to as Number One, Colleen was (horribly) Number Two, Eileen, Number Three, and because I was the youngest, I was christened Number Four.
In all fairness to Nanny, when our names were spoken collectively, it did sound obnoxious: Cathleen, Colleen, Eileen, Maureen. But referring to us by number was equally as unpleasant, especially for Colleen who suffered terribly as a child with the moniker. Nanny taught religious education classes for a time when we were kids, and we were all in her class at one time or another. Calling her granddaughter “Number Two” in front of a room full of childish seven- and eight-year-olds had damaged my sister in ways none of us could really relate to. To this day, her color still blanched whenever Nanny set her sights on her.
From the time she arrived at the inn, Nanny had been talking, nonstop.
“Now, Number Four, I’ve dropped enough hints these past few weeks about the flavor of me cake. I hope, lass, you’ve heard them.” She took a sip of the post-church tea I’d made her.
“Loud and clear, Nanny.”
“Ah. There’s a good girl, you are. Now, remember: no candles. At this age there’s a chance we could burn the inn down when I blow them all out.”
“She ain’t kidding,” Colleen mumbled beside me as she helped me plate the first course.
“I heard that, Number Two.”
Colleen’s hands went still, and she bit her bottom lip.
“I may be ninety-four today, but I’ve the hearing of a bat, I do, young lady.”
“Did you just call yourself an old bat?” Slade, Colleen’s husband, asked, with a cheeky grin. When Nanny shot him a squinty-eyed glare, his grin grew and he kissed her cheek.
“You’re quickly losin’ status as me favorite grandson-in-law.”
“I’m not worried since I’m your only grandson-in-law,” he told her, then bent and took a sip of her tea as way to divert her attention away from Colleen. The way he always protected my sister warmed my heart no small amount.
“Hey!” Nanny cried.
Into this, Lucas and Robert walked.
“Ah, here’s the law now,” Nanny declared. “First time you’ve ever shown up when I needed ya. Officer Alexander, I’ve been mugged.”
“It’s chief, not officer,” Lucas said, as he bent to kiss her cheek as well. “And what do you mean you’ve been mugged?”
“Slade took a sip of her tea,” I told him. “She calls it being mugged because”—I pointed to the cup now in Nanny’s hand and lifted my eyebrows—“mug. Get it?”
My insides went into convulsions when his thick lips pressed tightly together. I nearly melted to the floor in a heap of lust when he lost the battle on his control and burst out laughing. And when those tiny laugh lines creased from the corners of his eyes to his temples, I had to physically restrain myself from grabbing his face and planting a kiss across his mouth.
“There’s never a dull moment when you’re around, Fiona.” He bent and kissed her other cheek. “Happy twenty-first birthday. Again.”
Nanny doesn’t get flustered easily. Her lifelong habit of being the one in the room who always said something outrageous to get a reaction was well known by everyone in her realm. So when the tops of her cheeks turned ripe cherry red I wanted to high-five Lucas.
Nanny’s recovery was quick, though, when she spied Robert, hands slung in his pockets, standing behind his father.
“Well now, lad, look at you. You’ve grown a foot since last I saw ya, and you’re more handsome than ever. Come and give us a kiss, Bobby-Boy.” She lifted her arms to him.
With a shy smile, he did, allowing himself to be pulled into a hug.
“Ah, there’s a good lad. How’s your mother? Got married recently, I heard.”
I kept plating while Lucas came to stand next to me.
“Hey.”
“Hey. Where’s your father?” I asked softly, after peeking first at Nanny to make sure she didn’t overhear.
Lucas sighed audibly. “Couldn’t convince him to come, no matter how hard I tried.” He shook his head, and for the first time I noticed the shadows playing under his eyes. I’d thought him tired a few days ago, and here was physical proof of it. “Even the knowledge you’d be the one cooking and baking, and he still said no.”
He shook his head. “He’s getting worse, Mo. Harps on Robert all the time, and when I defend the kid, he starts on me. I can take it since I’ve been hearing the same crap all my life. It’s not fair to my son, though. I can’t thank you enough for giving him a place to go every day so they don’t have to be alone together. I’m not sure one night I wouldn’t come home to a crime scene if they were left to their own defenses every day.”
I wanted to tell him he was being dramatic, but one look at the defeated expression crossing his face and I knew he wasn’t.
“Anyway.” He shrugged. “At least your grandmother is being sweet to him. I don’t want him to think all older folks are mean and grumpy like his grandfather.”
“Don’t let her hear you call her old. You may not get out of here alive.”
The melancholy cast in his eyes eased, and those thick, perfect lips curled into a sinful grin that made my heart rate quicken and my hands tremble.
“I’m not worried,” he said, a cocky smirk on his face. “I’m the one in the room with a gun.”
I snorted and then immediately felt heat run up my cheeks from my neck.
In a feeble attempt to hide my embarrassment, I grabbed a few plates of salad and carried them out to my dayroom where we were due to celebrate.
I was surprised when Lucas tagged after me, holding two plates in his own hands.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Helping. What does it look like I’m doing?”
“Lucas, you’re a guest. You don’t need to help. Go back and visit, I’ve got this.”
He laid the plates at two table settings, then fisted his hands on his hips as he regarded me. Brows grooved, chin dropped a few notches, and his head cocked at a bit of an angle, his expression seemed…vexed.
“What?” I asked.
“Guest?”
I nodded.
His eyes narrowed.
“You’re here to help celebrate Nanny’s birthday so, duh”—I lifted my hands from my sides—“that makes you a guest.”
He took a step closer, the intensity in his gaze, alien to me.
“What’s the matter? You’re looking at me like I have three heads.”
Another step and he was right in front of me. I had to lift my chin to keep his face in focus.
“That’s really how you see me? As a simple guest?” He wrapped one of his hands around my upper arm and gently squeezed, all the while his gaze lasered on mine, the expression drifting across his eyes questioning.
“Of-of course you’re not simply a guest.” I amazed myself I was able to get that much out. The heat from his hand was as hot as a branding iron. It was a wonder my skin wasn’t smoking. “You’re a-a friend, too. Good golly, you’re practically family.”
“A friend?”
I nodded. “A good one.”
I didn’t have a clue what was behind his head tilt, but it was no wonder Lucas was so good at his job. I can imagine all kinds of criminals vomited up confessions when he trained his heated, pointed, and spill-your-guts glare at them.
“That’s what I am, Maureen? A good…friend?”
I swallowed, the sound cutting through the tension between us.
Why did he make it sound like an accusation and not a fact? He was a friend.
“Aren’t you?” I asked, my voice now a whisper.
We stood so close I could discern the palette of individual greens in his eyes. So close it would take nothing to lift up on my toes and press my mouth to his like I’d
dreamt of doing for most of my life.
“Is that what you want me to be?” he asked.
In truth, no, it wasn’t. Not even close.
I could never say those words out loud, though, no matter how much I ached to.
But dear God, I wanted to. So much.
Fear was the reason I didn’t now, and never had, told him what I really wanted of him, how I felt about him. Lucas was too important to me, too much a fixture in my life. Confessing I loved him, and not in a good friend kind of way, was something I feared would change our relationship forever, and possibly not for the better.
I swallowed again to buy precious time to answer.
Cathy’s voice stopped me from doing so when she entered the room.
“Hey,” she said from the doorway, peering at the both of us. “What’s going on?”
I would have jerked out of his grip, but Lucas held me in place for a beat, as if knowing my intent.
“I’m helping Mo set up,” Lucas told her with his trademark calm when he finally let go of my arm. I put as much distance as I could between us. He turned to her, a smile on his face. “Hey. Just get here?”
She nodded.
“Where’s Mac?”
Her head ping-ponged from him, to me, then back to him again, her left eyebrow lifting high on her forehead. “In the kitchen, flirting with Nanny. Why?”
“Good. I need to talk to him about his bachelor party. I’ve got a couple ideas I want to run by him.”
“Oh, good Lord.” Cathy shook her head. “Please tell me it doesn’t involve strippers or anything illegal.”
He kissed her cheek and grinned. “I’m the chief of police, Counselor. I’d never condone illegal activity of any kind.”
“I didn’t hear you deny anything about strippers,” she said to his retreating back.
His deep laugh echoed in the breezeway.
Slowly, she zeroed her attention in on me, folded her arms across her chest, and pulled her face into what Colleen calls Cathy’s killer lawyer stare.
