The phone rang, cutting her off, and while she took the call, Guy grabbed a few items he needed and several more he didn’t, including a handful of chocolate bars. The woman rang up the purchases while still on the phone, obviously arguing with one of her sons about using the truck Friday night. Guy quickly paid and headed out before she hung up.
He took his time on the short walk over, waved back at a battered green truck that drove by and gave a friendly honk. He felt the eyes on him from windows, saw the three women in the hair salon who rushed to the window and gawked at him, one with tiny curlers all over her head, another with some black goo on her hair. When he stopped and winked at them, their mouths dropped open.
He dug a chocolate bar out of his bag as he rounded the corner, unwrapped it, polished it off in four bites, then shoved the wrapper back into the bag as he stopped in front of the third building down. He frowned as he read the small wooden sign over the entry. Twin Pines School, Grades K-6.
What was Holly doing here?
She hadn’t mentioned that she taught, but then, she hadn’t mentioned anything about Bob or Nicholas, either. No doubt there were lots of things he didn’t know about Holly Douglas. He wondered why that bothered him, why it mattered one way or the other how much he did or didn’t know about her. Strangely, it did.
He went into the building, walked down the wide, polished green tile corridor to the back of the small building. The last door was opened halfway. Inside, someone was speaking. A child?
“‘What do I want those silly shoes for? Zachary the Zebra said. I like my feet just fine the way they are. Those shoes will only slow me down, make it hard to skip through the meadow and run up the hills.”’
He peeked around the door. It wasn’t a child speaking, Guy realized, though the voice was high-pitched like one. It was Holly. Her thick hair was swept up in a ponytail; she wore an emerald-green short-sleeved sweater and slim black jeans. On the floor in front of her, a dozen or so youngsters sat cross-legged, spellbound by her story.
Holly scanned her rapt audience as she deepened her voice. “‘These shoes are called hooves, Zachary, and they will protect you, said Horatio the Hoof-maker. You’ll still be able to skip and run, only faster.”’
Intrigued, Guy kept out of sight, watched as Holly told the story of Zachary, a zebra who lived in a time before zebras were born with hooves. Soon, Guy himself was as captivated as the children, hanging on Holly’s every word, every gesture, every animated expression on her face as she told her story about a recalcitrant little zebra who was happy with his hoof-less state and preferred to remain that way. Holly acted out the characters in the story, changing her voice and mannerisms to fit each one. A rhinoceros named Randy, an elephant named Elroy, and Andy the Anteater.
When Zachary lost the annual zebra race because he couldn’t run as fast or as far as the other zebras, all the children frowned with disappointment. But when Zachary finally realized that he had no reason to be afraid of wearing his new hooves and leads the Animal Parade, all the children smiled with delight.
Guy smiled, too. So this was what she did on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Read to the kids here at the school. He had to admit she was terrific. She obviously enjoyed telling the stories as much as the children enjoyed hearing them. At the moment, they were all clapping and begging for more.
He watched her for a long moment while she laughed and spoke to the children, careful not to let her see him, not wanting to see the light in her eyes dim or her smile fade. Something he couldn’t name shifted in his chest. His own smile faded.
She deserved to know the truth. He’d already waited longer than he should have to tell her. He’d told himself that he’d waited because she wasn’t ready, that he hadn’t prepared her, but the fact was that he hadn’t been ready. He’d enjoyed spending time with her and hadn’t wanted it to end just yet.
He stepped away from the door, though he could still hear the sound of her laughter from inside.
Tonight was the night.
All the way up the stairs and even as she opened the door to her apartment, Holly told herself that this time when she faced Mr. Guy Blackwolf, he would not ruffle her feathers. He would not get under her skin. He would not bother her in the slightest.
He would not.
Since he’d kissed her, she’d wasted way too much time and energy on the man. Two days worth. Two days of thinking about him, of constantly reliving that kiss, the way his mouth had felt on hers, the heat of his tongue against hers.
Two aggravating days wishing he would kiss her again, in spite of the fact that he’d rejected her.
But she was a big girl. Life went on, even if the man who’d finally made her toes curl and her skin sizzle didn’t feel the same way she did. She’d learned how to survive disappointment in her life. Every frustration, every obstacle had made her a stronger, wiser woman.
She was calm now, composed. Indifferent.
Nothing was going to rattle her today. Nothing at all. She opened her front door, paused, then frowned.
What in the world was that strange screeching sound?
Her heart slammed against her ribs as a thin cloud of smoke circled her.
Oh dear Lord. The apartment was on fire!
“Guy!” Dropping her purse and the small bag of groceries in her hand, she rushed into her living room. “Guy!”
“What?”
His response, something between a snarl and a bark, came from the kitchen. Relief washed through her when she turned and saw him bent over her stove, enveloped in a cloud of smoke. At the moment, he was swearing like an angry truck driver.
He wore two cow pot-holder mitts on his hands and a white, ruffled apron around his waist.
Smoke billowed from the metal baking sheet he yanked from the oven. Muttering furiously under his breath, he stalked past her, tray in hand, and dumped it on her front porch.
He stalked back in, his face a tight mask of anger as hot as the burned—she glanced at the still smoking tray on her front porch—biscuits?
He jammed his pot-holdered fists on his lean hips and narrowed his eyes. “Don’t say it. Not one word.”
There was something about a six-foot-three, muscle-bound man in cow pot holders and a frilly apron that inspired laughter. But she didn’t dare. Not with the murderous look he was giving her. Even a flicker of a smile might elicit death. So she pressed her lips together in a thin line, clasped her hands together and rocked back on the heels of her boots.
“I had everything under control.” He jerked the mitts off his hands. “Your oven must be off.”
“I’m sure that’s it.” She tried to keep her gaze level with his, she really did, but it was impossible not to glance down at the rumpled, food-splattered apron he still wore over his jeans. A spot of flour dusted his cheek and nose. She pressed a hand to her lips to cover her cough as well as the twitch in the corner of her mouth.
He glared at her, then yanked the apron off. “I made a macaroni and cheese casserole, too,” he snapped. “If you have a chainsaw, we can cut it. And bring some straws for the chocolate pie while you’re at it.”
“What is all this?” she asked carefully.
“A thank you, that’s what this is.” With the smoke alarm still shrieking, he stomped to the kitchen, opened both windows. “It was supposed to be, anyway.”
He did this for her? She followed him into the kitchen, looked at a baking bowl sitting on the countertop that contained the macaroni. At least, she thought it was macaroni.
She watched him wave the apron at the smoke like a flag of surrender. He really had done this for her, she realized. No man had ever made such a grand gesture for her before. It didn’t matter that the meal he’d prepared was ruined. The attempt alone was enough to make her insides soft as warm butter.
“You didn’t have to do this,” she said over the screech of the alarm, told herself that her eyes burned from the smoke, nothing else.
Muttering under his breath, he stood on a kitchen cha
ir and disconnected the alarm, then climbed down again. With a sigh, he tossed the apron down on the kitchen table and faced her. “Yeah, I did. Not just to thank you, but to say I’m sorry.”
Her pulse jumped when he moved close. “Sorry?”
The anger faded from his eyes as he glanced down at her. “You rattled me the other night, Holly. I’m not used to that.”
“I rattled you?” She sounded like an idiot, repeating everything he said. But standing here, with those wolf eyes of his locked on hers, smoke swirling around them, she simply couldn’t find her balance.
“You rattled me. Big time.” He cupped her chin in his large hand. “I acted like a jerk.”
“No.” She didn’t lean into him, but didn’t pull away, either. “You were right. You were smart enough, responsible enough, to stop us both from heading down a dead-end street.”
“Holly, I assure you, smart and responsible had absolutely nothing to do with me stopping.” He sighed, dropped his hand away. “And now, I owe you a dinner, not to mention a new baking sheet. Get your coat, m’lady. We are going out.”
The summer evening was pleasant, and they walked the two blocks to Twin Pines Lodge. In 1904 the original structure had been nothing more than a six-room log cabin, but over the past few decades, with asphalt roads and the ever-increasing word-of-mouth regarding the town’s plentiful fishing and hunting, the lakeside lodge had continued to expand. There were fifty guest rooms now, a dining room that held up to one hundred patrons, and a fully staffed kitchen complete with a New York chef. The decorating scheme was mounted mooseheads, five-foot-long salmon and a variety of Alaskan artifacts. In the center of the dining room, hanging from a heavy, rough-cut timber beam, a kayak with two mannequins dressed like fishermen with paddles, seemed to float in midair. Candles in red glass holders flickered on the heavy pine tables.
After they ordered their meals and the waiter brought water and drinks, Guy raised his bottle of beer to Holly’s glass of iced tea. “To restaurants.”
“You might be sorry we came here,” she said, tapping her glass to his bottle. “Now that there’s been a Blackwolf sighting, everyone will be wanting a closer look. By tomorrow, the entire town will know that you ordered a Moosehead beer, Italian dressing on your salad and a porterhouse steak, medium rare.”
Guy glanced around the room, saw several heads, male and female, turned in his and Holly’s direction. So much for a quiet, intimate dinner. He was almost sorry he’d brought her out. After he told her why he’d come here, everything would be different between them. And tonight, if just for a little while, he’d wanted her for himself.
After they ate, he told himself, then he’d gently ease into why he was here. For the moment, he simply wanted to enjoy being with her.
“If you sit next to me and let me nibble on your neck,” he teased, “we could spice up the gossip.”
The flush of color on her cheeks pleased him as much as the thought of actually sinking his teeth into that smooth neck of hers.
“Nibble on a roll.” She pushed the bread basket at him, then sipped at her tea. “I have enough spice in my life, thank you very much.”
He had an overwhelming desire to taste her, with a smile on her lips and the ice-cold tea still on her tongue. He squelched the thought, took a long pull on his beer bottle. “Ah, yes. Bob told me about Nicholas. You sure you can handle that much spice?”
She frowned. “You met Bob?”
“This afternoon.” Guy noticed two well-rounded women with identical Dutch Boy haircuts whispering and watching him from a nearby table. In fact, he realized, the women looked identical, too, except one wore a green sweater and the other red. Like Christmas, he thought, then turned his attention back to Holly. “She told me her son has a thing for you.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Holly rolled her eyes. “He’s seventeen. I’m sure he thinks I’m ancient.”
“Darlin’, that’s the last thing that boy is thinking, and you certainly don’t want to know what the first thing is.”
“Nicholas is a sweet kid,” she insisted. “And you have a dirty mind.”
He shrugged, reached for a roll. “When a woman who looks like you walks into the room, every red-blooded male, seventeen or seventy, can’t help but think about sex.”
“If that’s your idea of complimenting a woman, Blackwolf, you better rethink your technique.” Still, her eyes glowed and the flush on her cheeks deepened. “We’re in the twenty-first century now. Women like honesty and integrity, not empty flattery and sex-talk.”
“So you wouldn’t like it if I told you that you’re the sexiest, most beautiful woman I’ve ever met?” He leveled his gaze at her. “And that I want you more than my next breath?”
She hesitated, met his gaze. “Not if you didn’t mean it.”
“What if I did mean it?” he asked quietly.
She went still. The moment hovered there between them, shimmered with possibility…
“Hello!”
Both Guy and Holly jumped at the loud, enthusiastic greeting. The Christmas Twins who’d been watching him stood beside the table.
“Sorry to bother you, Holly,” the twin wearing green said. “We just wanted to say hi and remind you that you’re bringing the punch for the fund-raiser on Saturday.”
“Thank you, Lois.” Holly smiled at the women. “I nearly forgot.”
It was obvious to Guy that Holly hadn’t forgotten at all, but she knew why the women had come over to the table. “Have you met Guy Blackwolf yet?” she asked.
The twins looked at him in tandem. “Why, no, we haven’t,” Red Twin said.
“Guy, this is Lois and Lilah Benthauser. Lois, Lilah, Guy Blackwolf.”
The sisters’ eyes disappeared when they smiled. In stereo, they said, “Hello, Guy.”
“Ladies.” He nodded, narrowed his eyes as he stared at them. “Have we met before?”
“We saw you through Mildred’s window at the salon,” Lois said, then exaggerated a wink at him. “Remember?”
Oh, yes. The women standing in the window he’d winked at. He couldn’t help but grin at them. They were like two bubbles of energy ready to burst. “Of course I remember. Nice hair.”
“Thank you.” They both touched the sides of their new styles, then Lilah said solemnly, “We heard about your accident, you poor thing. Imagine, surviving a plane crash. You must be the luckiest man alive!”
“Well, I’m sitting here surrounded by three lovely ladies,” he drawled, “so I guess I am pretty lucky.”
The twins giggled. Holly rolled her eyes.
“Oh, you go on,” Lois chirped and gave him a hearty poke on the shoulder with her finger. “I hope you’re feeling well enough to come to the fund-raiser with Holly. You look like a man who knows how to dance.”
“Not a step.” He shook his head. “But maybe you ladies could show me one or two.”
Wide-eyed, the twins looked at each other, then back at him. “We’d love to,” Lilah said breathlessly. Lois nodded.
“Well, we’ll leave you two to your dinner, then.” Lois waggled her fingers and Lilah followed suit. “See you Saturday, Guy. Holly.”
When the twins were gone, Holly shook her head at him in disgust. “Here we are in the middle of summer, and I just witnessed the biggest snow job I’ve ever seen.”
“What?” He clasped a hand to his chest. “What did I do?”
“You know exactly—”
Their food came at that moment, effectively cutting her off. After the waiter left, she leaned close and whispered loudly, “That’s exactly the kind of blarney I’ve been talking about. ‘I guess I am pretty lucky,”’ she mimicked him in a Goofy voice. “‘And golly, gee, maybe you ladies could teach me how to dance.”’
“Why, Holly, I do believe you’re jealous.” He dug into his steak. “I had no idea you cared. Don’t worry, I’ll save a dance for you, too. Why don’t you tell me what the fund-raiser is for?”
She closed her eyes in exasper
ation, opened them again on a sigh. “The school. We’re too small to be subsidized by the state, and we don’t want our children to ride in buses two hours every day to go to the next closest school.”
“So the town pays on their own?”
She nodded, took a bite of her salad. “A lot of people help out. Teaching, bringing food in, cleaning up.”
“Reading to the kids?”
She glanced up sharply.
“I saw you today. At the school with the kids.”
“Well.” She leaned back, arched a brow. “You certainly had a busy day.”
“You were great.” He watched her eyes narrow in distrust at his compliment. “No snow job, Holly. No blarney. I mean it. You were terrific. The kids were all crazy about you.”
And I was, too, he almost said, but caught himself in time. He wasn’t crazy about her, he told himself. But he just might be crazy for her.
“I’m crazy about them, too,” she said, cutting off his wayward thoughts. “They’re all so innocent, so sweet and trusting. They give me so much more than I give them.”
“What do they give you?”
“Something to believe in,” she said quietly as she stared at the chicken on her plate. “A renewal of faith in mankind. Unconditional love.”
That was a big order to fill, Guy thought, surprised at the intensity in her voice. “Why haven’t you married the local lumberjack and settled down with little lumberjacks and lumberjills of your own?”
“I intend to.” She shrugged. “But only when it’s right.”
Guy had the oddest sensation of something tightening around his neck. “And how will you know when it’s right?”
“I’ll know.” She pushed the butter around inside her baked potato, then took a bite. “What about you? Why haven’t you taken the plunge?”
“Not me.” He shook his head. “I’m up in the air more than I’m on the ground, and kids are one of life’s mysteries to me. A terrifying mystery, at that.”
She laughed softly. “You’re a mystery, Blackwolf. Every time I think I’ve got you figured out, you take a sharp turn. Who are you really?”
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