He gave her a long look. Her nipples peaked as his eyed drifted over her breasts, down to her thighs and back. "Dessert, huh."
"I, um, was thinking apple crisp." She swallowed. "There are plenty of apples, and it'll be fast."
"Were you? Sure, apple crisp," he whispered.
She started for her bedroom and hesitated. "Well, you think about it. Let me know what you'd like."
"I'll do that." Chris gave her that devastating smile and turned to the frozen meat, appraising it.
Diane slipped away to her quarters for a long soak.
After sharing what turned out to be a delicious dinner, Chris insisted that she return to her first floor bedroom, while he took the couch again. Puzzled by his mood change, she reluctantly closed her door and leaned against it.
Nice! He'd rather sleep on the couch than in here with me. What's with that? From what he said and those looks he gave me...I really thought he liked me! Now I feel stupid. I'm so glad I didn't come right out and invite him to spend the night with me. It's just like last October when he was after that guy. He's just pretending to be interested in me. But why?
Chris stood for a long moment staring at the closed door, feeling like a fool. I should be in there with her! Damn it! I'm here to catch a fugitive who has a remote connection with Diane. I've never felt this tempted before, but the boss would have my ass if he knew I slept with a potential suspect. Is she really a potential suspect? It's conceivable, but I know she's innocent. He sighed and regretfully turned away from her door and headed for the couch and some much needed sleep. I'll figure it out in the morning.
* * *
Owen woke in darkness to the ringtone that signaled an incoming text message. He'd trained himself to sleep lightly and wake easily. Sighing, he lifted the sleeping cat off his chest, grabbed his smart phone from the coffee table and squinted at the luminous screen. Colby-Jack scowled at him, unhappy with the disturbance.
Owen sat up and rubbed his face. "Shit! A text at this hour can't be good." Scrolling through his messages, he sighed. "Seriously? It's four o'clock in the morning and I've already got messages from the boss in New York and another from my favorite ex-partner, Agent Rodriguez." He shook his head, disgusted and then silently began to dress.
Quietly, he gathered his things and went into the kitchen with the cat trailing behind him. "I can't just walk out on her," he muttered. "I've got to let Diane know I'm leaving, but the last thing I want is a personal text on my work phone." He kept his two worlds strictly separate. Unfortunately, he'd left his other phone at home.
Hunting through the drawers, he found pen and paper. Taking his time, he wrote a note to Diane explaining to her about the text from his boss. He thought for a moment, tapping the pen nervously on the table surface, before deciding to omit any mention of Agent Rodriguez. Telling her how much he'd enjoyed their stolen day together, he promised to be back as soon as he possibly could. Signing the note, he left it in the center of the kitchen table where she'd be sure and see it first thing.
He turned off the lights and slipped noiselessly onto the porch. As he'd predicted, warm air had arrived from the south and thawed the ice overnight. There was barely a trace of it on his vehicle. Starting the engine, he switched on the headlights, and saw the incredible wreck of the ancient oak tree in front of him. A minute later he was on the road, headed north.
When the first morning birds began their song, Colby-Jack leapt onto the kitchen table to watch them. For ten minutes he studied them as they fed from the dish of sunflower seeds outside the kitchen window. His tail swished nervously until, bored, he strolled down the table to Owen's ballpoint pen. With one paw he reached out and he batted at it. In full attack mode, he rocked it back and forth between his paws until it fell from the table and disappeared. Disappointed at the loss of his toy, he sniffed suspiciously at the sheet of paper, sat on it and began to clean his face. Then gathering all four paws beneath him, he launched himself halfway across the kitchen and ran to the living room to see the view from the windows there. He sent Owen's carefully composed note sailing into the air. It fluttered to the floor where it slid out of sight beneath the refrigerator.
Chapter 3
Not wanting to wake Chris, Diane closed the door to the living room after Bella and Colby-Jack slipped into the kitchen.
"Good Girl!" she whispered, stroking Bella's smooth head. The dog wagged her tail in greeting, her nails clicking on the hardwood floor, but Colby eyed her warily and walked sedately to the door.
"Seriously, cat?" she muttered, pulling open the door to the back porch. A gust of considerably warmer air blew in, carrying the scent of damp earth as they both scampered outside. Bella ran gleefully in circles around the yard while Colby turned his back and ignored her as she set down their food dishes. Shaking her head in disgust, Diane went back inside.
She smiled remembering their day together. Chris was so sweet yesterday. He's really a nice guy and I think he really does like me, even if he chose to sleep on the couch last night. He cooked such a great dinner, so I'll make a nice breakfast to surprise him. Then we can eat together, maybe in front of the fire. It's a good thing I stocked up on groceries. I'll have breakfast all ready and waiting when he wakes up. She couldn't remember feeling this good about herself in ages.
Back in the kitchen, she found bacon in the refrigerator, spread it on a foiled baking sheet, turned on the oven and popped it in. Next, she took out eggs and butter and dropped two slices of bread into the big, family sized toaster. She flew around the room, still humming softly, cracking eggs into a bowl and setting two places at the table. The eggs were beaten; a skillet was heating on the burner. She quickly checked the bacon. Almost done.
Returning to the bedroom, she changed from her worn flannel shirt and jeans to a pretty blue dress that revealed considerable cleavage, and then decided a little make-up couldn't hurt. She studied herself in the mirror. Not bad!
She rapped softly on the doorframe to the living room, but received no answer. Peeking inside, she saw that the room was empty. The blankets and pillows Chris had used were folded neatly on the couch, but all his belongings were gone as if he'd never been there.
Where'd he go? I know. He must've decided to sleep upstairs in one of the bedrooms. Sure, that's it.
At the foot of the stairs, she called him, but heard nothing except the ticking of the tall case clock in the foyer. She quickly mounted the steps and checked the rooms, but they were all empty. Even his duffle bag was gone. Where the hell did he go?
Puzzled, she returned to the kitchen. There was a soft sputtering from the oven and she smelled burning bacon. "Man! I forgot the bacon." Pulling open the oven door, she grabbed for a pot holder, reached for the sheet pan, and carefully laid it on the stove. Her thumb touched the hot pan and she grimaced. The bacon was obviously overdone. Dismayed, she slumped against the big farm sink and ran cold water over her thumb.
Wandering over to the side window, she looked outside at the huge oak laying on its side with its massive branches spread over the driveway and across the lawn. Amazingly, all the snow and ice had melted. Chris's SUV was gone too, as though he'd never been there at all. Just like every man she'd ever wanted, he'd vanished.
Angrily, she tossed a pat of butter into the hot skillet. The butter sizzled as she expertly tilted the pan to distribute it. The eggs followed the butter into the pan and they sizzled as she slid her spatula under them. Her temper rose and sizzled right along with them.
"What a bastard," she growled. "He just walked out without even a goodbye. What's wrong with men anyway?" With more force than necessary, she slammed around the room as she finished cooking her breakfast. "Are they all such bastards? Or just the ones I like?" Switching off the fire, she jammed the lever down on the toaster and the bread slices disappeared into their slots. "I'll just eat this by myself." Sliding the fluffy eggs into a bowl, she slammed the skillet down on the stove and yelled, "I hate all men!"
Startled by loud rapping on
the back door, she screamed, nearly upsetting the eggs. She stared in confusion at the door. The shadow of a large man was outlined on the curtain hanging over the window.
"Hold your fire!"
Her heart pounding, armed with her dripping spatula, she approached the door. "Who's there?"
"Miss Diane? I surely hope you don't mean that you hate me," a voice called through the glass.
"Oh! Mr. Evans." Relieved, Diane pulled the door open. "Good morning."
Shielding his face with his arms, he peered at her. "Is it safe?"
Diane laughed. "Yes, it's safe. You're not in my line of fire."
The big man smiled at her, one hand touching the brim of the ball cap in greeting. Standing next to him was a younger, thinner, version of himself. Just as tall as his attractive father, the younger man was extremely good looking. His eyes were laughing as he too smiled and nodded.
"This is my boy, Kyle. We didn't mean to startle you so early, Ma'am, but we seen that big old oak tree come down in the ice storm and thought you might want it cleared away."
Confused, Diane dragged fingers through her long curls. "Oh yeah, the tree," she stammered. "It blew over yesterday morning after the storm, but I didn't call anyone yet."
"Your vehicle's stuck in the garage. Am I right?" asked Kyle.
She turned her stare to the younger Evans and frowned. "I'm sorry. Does Sandy usually hire you for this kind of work?"
Amused, his bright blue eyes twinkled and he pushed a shock of red-gold hair off his forehead. "Ma'am. Just let us know what you want done with that tree. You got a couple of cords of right nice firewood there. We could stack it back there next to the rest." He gestured to the neatly stacked logs at the bottom of the hill.
Behind them on the porch she saw two large chain saws and a gas can. "I guess that would be okay, but how much do you charge?"
"Unless I miss my guess Darlin', smells like you've got somethin' cooking." Mr. Evans looked at her hopefully. "Some hot coffee and breakfast, and we'll call it even." They both turned their charming smiles her way.
"Oh." Diane looked over her shoulder at the food she'd prepared. "Yeah, sure. Come on in."
The men slipped off their muddy boots and followed her eagerly inside.
"That coffee sure smells good!" said Jesse Evans.
Her mind was still whirling as she filled two cups and set them on the table. I made this special blend coffee especially for Chris. "The hell with him," she muttered angrily.
"Pardon?" Jesse raised his brow in question.
Absent mindedly, she slipped the overdone bacon onto a plate and brought it to them. "Sorry, I kind of burnt the bacon. I've got plenty of eggs though, if you'd like."
"That would be mighty nice. Don't mind if we do and I like my bacon on the crispy side anyways," said Jesse, popping a piece into his mouth, crunching noisily.
In another minute she was serving them eggs, toast, and putting butter and jam on the table. She topped off their coffee and felt like a waitress in a diner as she served them. As the food rapidly disappeared, she realized if Chris came back there would be literally nothing left.
Man! They can eat! I'd better mix up a big batch of pancakes, just in case. After all they are working for this. She moved a large, empty cookie jar over to make room on the counter, got out the largest mixing bowl, and began to measure dry ingredients. Maybe I should make some cookies and fill that empty jar, she thought absently.
"Are you making griddlecakes?" Startled, she looked up at Jesse. He'd turned from his clean plate, leaning over the back of his chair watching her intently. "My wife used to make real fine griddlecakes. Do you use buttermilk?"
She hesitated. "Umm. Yes, I do."
Jesse smiled and nudged his son. "She makes buttermilk griddlecakes."
Kyle grinned at this revelation.
Then Jesse asked her, "Do you like to cook?"
Puzzled, she looked over at them and said hesitatingly, "Yes."
"See there, Kyle. There's a woman who likes to cook." He leaned back in the chair to watch her. "A big stack of griddlecakes would be real nice. Now don't you hurry, Darlin'. We got plenty of time. That tree out there ain't goin' nowhere."
The eggs and toast were gone. They're still hungry? Seriously? I'd better double the recipe in case Chris comes back. Finishing the batter as quickly as she could, Diane set the huge bowl to rest, laid more bacon on the pan, and popped it back in the oven. While she worked, the two men sipped coffee and sat back to watch her as she moved around the kitchen.
She heated up the B & B's extra large griddle and started cooking. I can fit eight pancakes on this thing at once. It's a good thing, at the rate they eat.
As they were finishing their second stack of pancakes, she heard a vehicle outside and rushed to the window. Maybe it was Chris!
Disappointed, she watched as a man in jeans and flannel shirt got out of a pickup truck and stood, hands on hips staring at the fallen tree.
Jesse saw her looking through the window. "Now then, don't you worry. We'll get that there tree cut up, directly. Kyle, you get those dishes over to the sink."
The younger Evans gathered up the plates, carried them to the sink, and began to rinse and stacked them. They made eye contact and he winked at her.
Surprised, Diane studied Kyle. He was good-looking and around her age, but sadly, he wasn't Chris Owen.
A sharp rap came from the front door and she started. Chris is back! I'll bet he just went out to the store for something. She turned to answer the knock at the door, but screamed when she collided with a strange man whose broad shoulders filled the kitchen doorway.
Tall and dark, his coal black eyes gave her a cool appraising look. A firm thin lipped mouth was framed by the largest handle bar mustaches she'd ever seen. He was dressed entirely in black, from the Stetson hat that sat on his black mane of hair, down to his highly polished cowboy boots. His entire appearance was decidedly sinister and icy fingers of fear tickled her spine.
"Can I help you?" she stammered.
"Sandy about anywhere," he said in a low rumble, taking in the room and its occupants. He nodded to Jesse, who grinned back at him.
"She's away for a while. I'm looking after things for her."
He grunted, pulled out a kitchen chair and joined the other two at the table. The man was huge, dwarfing Jesse and Kyle.
Frightened, Diane stepped back and said, "I'm sorry, but we won't be accepting any guests until after the end of the month."
He nodded and pulled off the Stetson. "Not a paying guest. Name is Woodruff. Come for the music mostly. Sandy knows we come Saturdays, leastways, when we've got good weather."
"Well, I'm not aware of anything," her voice trailed away.
"Mornin', Woodruff," said Jesse.
"Mornin'." The big man looked around for a place to rest his hat as Kyle handed him a mug of coffee."
"You eat yet?" Jesse asked. Diane here just made us some fine griddlecakes. I haven't had the like since my wife passed."
"I could eat somethin'," said Woodruff.
"Diane will bring you a plate. We're about to help her out with that downed tree."
"I guess that's my cue," she muttered, heading back to work. Irritated, she spooned eight circles of batter onto the hot griddle. Another guy for breakfast? When do I get to eat?
Woodruff was at her elbow as soon as they were ready, so she piled a stack of four on his plate and waited for him to sit down. He stood there staring, until, reluctantly, she added another stack beside the first.
The next stack is mine! Eight more circles on the griddle. I'm hungry and I'm running out of batter. She heard the sound of an engine. Fuming she stepped into the hall to see if Chris had returned. Another pickup and a van turning into her driveway, and more men climbed out to join the crowd. They all had big white mugs of coffee, just like the ones the B & B had. Where did they buy coffee way out here?
Back in the kitchen, she was just in time to flip the batch on the griddle and
stack them on her plate. Finally. Now where can I hide these?
The big creepy guy in black looked up from his coffee, scowled at her, and then stared at her pancakes. His plate was clean. Sighing, she extended her arm, and he slid her breakfast onto his plate. That's when she noticed Kyle.
He grinned at her from the other side of the room where he was serving coffee from a party sized coffee urn. "Didn't think you'd mind darlin', if I put the big pot on. It'll make things easier on you than making lots of those little bitty pots. Don't want you to go to no trouble on our account."
"I see," she murmured as the empty package from the expensive special grind coffee flew across the room, hit the side of the trash can, and rolled away. Outside, more vehicle doors slammed and several chain saws began to growl.
"We best get a move on, son. Looks like the boys out there got a head start on us. We'll get that wood stacked once we get 'er cut up," said Jesse as he drained his coffee, set the cup down with a decisive thunk, and headed for the door.
"They're crawling over that tree like ants on a sugar cube," said Kyle watching the growing chainsaw gang.
Dismayed, Diane tried to grasp what was happening. "What are they all doing here?" she asked, leaning over his shoulder to watch. A few men were slicing through the old tree and hauling the brush away, but most of the men were sipping coffee and gesturing to the others. Obviously, they were pointing out how they thought the job should be done.
Shaking her head, she went back to the kitchen, and found herself alone with the big, dark, scary man in black.
Oh, my god! Please Mr. Evans! Come back. Don't leave me alone with that creepy guy. She glanced anxiously at the fierce man eyeing her over the rim of his coffee mug. Swallowing nervously, she stepped back to the griddle and spooned the last of the batter on. There was just enough for three pancakes.
"I'm sorry I ran out of bacon, Mr. Woodruff, but I hope you liked your breakfast."
He watched intently as she flipped the pancakes making her even more nervous.
Finding Floyd Page 3
