Her Passionate Plan B

by Dixie Browning

  She said, “Open that grease can for me, will you? Photocopies of what?”

  Only too glad of the distraction, Kell leaped to obey. She still wore a bandage on her right forearm, but at least she hadn’t added any more burns. Holding a lid on the pan, she drained it, then lowered the heat and set it back on the burner, all without looking directly at him. Kell had a feeling it wouldn’t take much to send her running for cover.

  “So tell me,” she said finally after adjusting the heat and the lid to her satisfaction. “You found something good, right? Does Egbert know?”

  Steering his mind back on course, he said, “Not yet. I never set out to prove anything to him, just to myself.” While it wasn’t quite true, at this point it was irrelevant. “You ready to look at what I found?”

  She moved, almost reluctantly, it seemed, closer to the table, still holding the fork. No wonder she was spooked. What had happened the night before had started when they’d shared a few photographs in an old album. Not that those had proved anything conclusively, as there were no captions. The kid pulling the wagon could’ve been anyone, but Kell knew in his bones that it was a young Evander giving his kid brother a ride.

  As for the Valentine…

  Ah, jeez. Harvey, I’m sorry, old man.

  “Okay, here we go. Exhibit one,” he said, cheering immediately when he produced the copy of a page from the R. L. Snowden High School album, class of ’69. “Class pictures, eleventh grade. Check it out.”

  Laying the fork aside, Daisy braced her forearms on the table and leaned over to study the faces, some grave, others smiling. Kell leaned over her shoulder, trying not to be distracted by her warmth, her scent. Dressed in full body armor, she would still be risky business.

  “What did I tell you?” he gloated. After all these years of wondering—well, maybe not years; he hadn’t started on this quest until a few months ago—he felt like a bottle of champagne that had been shaken and then opened too quickly.

  Forcing his feelings back under control, he pointed to the top row, then read aloud the fine print beneath a picture of a boy with unruly hair and a shallow cleft in his chin. “Evander Lee Magee. Childhood Delight—Barney Google.” He cocked his head at an angle to look up at her face. “What the hell is a Barney Google?”

  Daisy laughed softly and shook her head. “Who knows?” So he went on to read the small print. “Radio club, photo club, archery. Notice the chin? Add a few pounds and a few years—well, maybe a lot of years—and that’s my dad. Color would help, but even in black and white you can almost tell he had red hair and freckles.”

  “You can? I mean, he did?”

  “Sure did. Only thing I inherited from him was maybe the color of his eyes and that split on his chin.” Kell fingered the shallow cleft in his bristly chin, reminding himself that he was overdue for a shave. It wasn’t a fashion statement; he was simply a twice-a-day shaver. “Hey, you know what else? You see these check marks?” He shuffled through several pages and pointed to two other student pictures. “I found both these guys listed in the Elizabeth City phone book.” He leaned over her to point out the surviving classmates, and her behind brushed against his groin, setting off a chain reaction. Catching his breath, he inhaled the faint, familiar scent of roses and bacon grease. “You flavored your canoodle oil again, didn’t you?” he teased.

  When she glanced up, her face almost collided with his. Desire hit his bloodstream like a shot of tequila. Her lips parted in surprise as her eyes widened warily.

  “Daisy,” he rumbled softly.

  “No. Oh, no.” But she didn’t move away fast enough, and then, somehow she was in his arms.

  He said, “I was hoping I’d just imagined it.”

  Daisy shook her head. She hadn’t imagined anything. But before she could reply, much less pull away, he was kissing her. Softly at first, a mere brushing of warm, moist lips that dragged slightly against her own—back and forth, back and forth, tugging her lips apart. The softness quickly escalated into something far more intense, more invasive. The rasp of his beard brought a rush of goose bumps that spread like wildfire down her flanks.

  How could his taste be so familiar when she’d known him so briefly? She was reminded for no reason of warm summer evenings, of fresh-cut grass and honeysuckle and fireflies…. When his hands stroked down her back to cup her against his groin, warning bells went off in her mind. Break away now, while you still can. Else you’ll never be able to settle for less.

  This time she didn’t even bother to tell herself that Egbert wouldn’t necessarily be less.

  “Daisy, I stopped off at the drug store. I bought—”

  “So did I,” she whispered, trying not to feel embarrassed. She’d always prided herself on being sensible, and a sensible woman prepared for the unexpected.

  The unexpected?

  Hardly. She hadn’t been able to focus her mind on a single task after what had happened last night—the way she had come apart in his arms. He could hold seminars on the fine art of kissing alone, she thought, as parts of her body that had lain dormant for too long once again came to life.

  She twisted her face away from his, her voice uneven as she murmured, “This isn’t very smart.”

  Panting as if he’d just finished a ten-mile run, he said, “Why not?”

  Daisy hung on to his upper arms until the room stopped spinning and then she reached for a chair back for support. Aware of her burning cheeks and the urgency that grew steadily in spite of the fact that he was no longer touching her, she said, “Because—because I need to finish what I was doing.”

  As pathetic as it was, it was the only excuse she could think of at the moment. She wasn’t about to tell him how long it had been since she’d even kissed a man before last night, much less how long since she’d had sex. Or even wanted to have sex.

  “Believe it or not, Daisy, I didn’t plan it this way.” His voice was sincere, but his pupils were dilated, his breathing uneven. A quick glance revealed that that wasn’t the only evidence of his arousal.

  Of course you didn’t, she thought, amused in spite of herself. Neither did I. That’s why we both stocked up on condoms.

  Swallowing hard, Kell glanced down at the pages scattered across the table. “I guess I just got carried away, finding all those pictures of my dad. It was better than winning the lottery. You feel like celebrating at a time like that, you know what I mean?”

  If that kiss had anything to do with his dad, Daisy didn’t want to know about it, she really didn’t. Taking another deep breath, she reached for something cool and intelligent to say—something that would put everything in perspective. “I’m sick of fried chicken, but the freezer was full of it and it’s all got to go. Bags and bags of it—Harvey liked chicken. Help yourself if you’re hungry. Day after tomorrow I’ll finish the last of it for the box supper, then I can unplug the freezer.”

  Well, that ought to cool his ardor, she thought, amused in spite of the fact that she was still aroused.

  “Anything I can do to help?” He stacked his copies and ruffled the edges, looking awkward and all the more appealing for it. She wondered fleetingly if that was a part of his seduction technique.

  If so, it was working. From wanting to kick him out she’d gone to wanting to—

  At this point she didn’t know what she wanted, she only knew that irresistible or not, some short-term treats had long-term consequences. Any woman who’d ever tried to lose weight knew that much.

  “I suppose now that you’ve found what you were looking for, you’ll be leaving.” Turning away, she began packing fried chicken into a container to take to an ex-patient who lived alone.

  “I’m planning to stay a couple more days, but I can move to a motel if you’re uncomfortable having me around.”

  She was tempted to take him up on it, but that would be as good as admitting she didn’t trust herself around him. She didn’t, but he didn’t need to know it. Besides, staying in the house where his father had once lived
obviously meant more to him than it was ever likely to mean to anyone else. She had a feeling Harvey would have approved. “Stay if you’d like to,” she told him. “Faylene and I plan to wind up things here by the end of the week, so we’ll both be busy.”

  If he was relieved, he hid it well. “Right. I’ve got a couple of appointments tomorrow, then I’d like to drive around, check out a few places I’m pretty sure my dad mentioned. A lot’s probably changed since then, but some things are bound to be the same. I picked up a map showing the Dismal Swamp and the Outer Banks.”

  He left her feeling a mixture of dismay and relief. At least he wouldn’t be underfoot much longer, Daisy rationalized, tempting her to throw away all her plans for a brief, wild fling.

  The best medicine wasn’t always easy to swallow.

  On Monday evening Daisy looked for something to read from Harvey’s collection to help her fall asleep. Nothing appealed to her, but at least the books were clean now. Today she’d done the linen closet, packing away scores of yellowed sheets and monogrammed pillow slips, leaving only a pretty spread for each bed. It wouldn’t be long before she was ready to move out.

  As to where she would move, that was another matter. Her apartment still wasn’t ready—something about a mold problem now. If she didn’t know better she might think the owner was stalling.

  She hadn’t seen or heard from Kell all day. Tired and oddly discouraged, she ended up driving into town. As flaky as they sometimes were, her friends never failed to cheer her up.

  “How’s the studly gentleman?” Marty asked after Daisy had picked out half a dozen romantic suspense titles and set them aside.

  “How’s who?”

  “That’s what people are calling him around here. It didn’t take long for word to spread. You should’ve heard Gracie—she moved here from Edenton this past August to take over Miss Hattie’s job at the courthouse? Well, to hear her tell it, he looks like that guy from Norfolk—the reality show bachelor, Evan Marriott? Only Kell’s taller, broader in the shoulder and narrower in the hips, not to mention—”

  “Marty,” Daisy wailed. “Don’t! Whatever you were going to say, just don’t, okay? Granted, he’s sort of nice-looking, but—”

  “Sort of nice-looking. Right. And Bill Gates is sort of solvent.”

  “Anyway, he’ll be leaving in a day or so.”

  “Too bad. I was thinking about inviting him to the box supper. Not that I’m interested in anything long term, but I wouldn’t mind a little light entertainment.”

  Daisy thumbed through a Sandra Brown large print, wondering if she’d read it before. “You’ll be too busy stage-managing Faylene’s and Gus’s opening act. That should be entertainment enough.” She glanced up, a spark of amusement lighting her tired face. “She knows we’re up to something. How could she not, after all you two have done to her—”

  “For her, you mean.”

  “Whatever. Just don’t be surprised if she comes after us with a meat cleaver when she finds out who you’ve picked out for her.”

  “Well, jeez, she doesn’t have to marry him, all she has to do is show up and eat supper with him. So…what does Egbert think about him?”

  “Think about who, Gus Mathias?”

  “No, silly, your cowboy.”

  “Does it really matter? Kell’s not interested in the estate. All he wants is to find out something about his father. He’s done that, so he’ll probably be headed West again tomorrow—that’s if he hasn’t already gone.”

  He hadn’t. She’d peeked into his room to see. His bomber jacket was hanging on the chair, his open bag on the bed. The room smelled like whatever soap and shaving lotion he used. She’d been tempted to check out the brands, but then she might have done something extremely foolish, like buy a bar or a bottle or a tube of whatever it was just so she could sniff it and remember him.

  As if she could forget.

  Marty went on stripping covers from new paperbacks to return to the publisher for credit in case she ever opened another bookstore. Glancing up, she said, “I’ll bet Egbert wasn’t too happy when he came nosing around. Poor sweetie, I knew Egbert in high school. Even then he was a stickler.”

  “Egbert? I’d hardly call him a stickler,” Daisy hedged. “Although in his profession, it’s probably required.”

  “So tell me more about him.”

  “You’ve known him longer than I have.” Daisy had gone to school in Elizabeth City, which was two counties away.

  “Not him, the hottie. We know he drives a Porsche, he has black hair, blue eyes and a truly bodacious bod. Sasha wanted to bet me you’d have him in your bed by now. How about it, do I owe her a seafood platter?”

  “Oh, hush up! If that’s all you can talk about, I’m taking my books and going home.”

  “Don’t blame you one bit, sugar. If I had what you’ve got waiting at home for me, I’d be in a hurry, too.”

  Daisy had to laugh. “And you’re the one who claims she’s sworn off men?”

  “Hey, I can swear on again, can’t I? Has Faylene said anything about Wednesday?”

  “The box supper? No, but like I said, I’m pretty sure she suspects something. I saw her smirking after we talked on the phone yesterday.”

  “She’ll have a ball, you wait and see. You wanna stick around and help me strip books?”

  “No thanks. I’d better go—and wipe that smirk off your face. I’m going to make a peanut butter sandwich, pour myself a glass of milk and go to bed. To read,” she stressed.

  “Yeah, yeah, I hear you,” her friend jeered. “When’s your apartment going to be ready?”

  “Who knows? Now they’re talking about mold, and you know what that means.”

  “I heard he had a buyer on the hook wanting the property. Those old apartments don’t bring in all that much revenue with land values going up so fast. Taxes and maintenance probably eat up any profits.”

  Well, that made sense, Daisy thought morosely. “The good news just keeps on pouring in, doesn’t it?”

  “Hey, you’re not alone. My wiring’s acting up and I can’t get an electrician to even look at it, much less give me an estimate. The last one—oh, by the way, he’s single and not bad-looking, so I’ve already added him to the list. Anyway, he said he wouldn’t touch it with a ten-foot pole, not even with insulators.”

  “Tough. Did y’all decide who’s going to tip Gus off as to which box to bid on tomorrow night?” With one hand on the doorknob, Daisy juggled her stack of books.

  “Sasha said she’d do it. Show me the man who can refuse her anything. The joys of being a redhead.”

  “Or the joys of having an hourglass figure,” Daisy said dryly.

  “I keep telling her if she doesn’t change a few habits she’ll be all butt and boobs by the time she’s forty.”

  Daisy laughed, feeling some of her earlier depression lift. Friends were invaluable, and she had the best. “Thanks for the books. I’ll return them as soon as I’m finished.”

  “Hey, used is used. Just don’t drool on the pages if you-know-who happens to pass by on his way to the shower.”

  Nine

  Some two hours later when Daisy pulled into the driveway, the house looked dark and unwelcoming. It hadn’t occurred to her to leave a light on, as she hadn’t expected to be gone this long. While she was out she’d taken time to drive by a few rentals in case she had to move. Actually, a house would suit her better than an apartment, anyway. With a yard of her own, she might even get a cat or a dog for company.

  But then, when she married Egbert, her plans might change. Something temporary, then…

  There was no sign of Kell’s car. Could he have come back, packed his few things and left without even saying goodbye? One part of her, the sensible part, hoped he had.

  Another part—the one that lacked even a single grain of common sense, felt like crying. But at least, she rationalized, she wouldn’t be able to make comparisons later on.

  She refrained from looking to see
if his things were still in his room. She had enough to worry about without wasting time on any adolescent daydreams.

  She ended up having half a glass of buttermilk and a few stale saltines for supper. By the time she heard Kell come in, she had read the same page at least three times. Before she could switch off her light and pretend to be asleep, he rapped on her door.

  “Daisy?” he called softly. “I’m in for the night. I locked the front and checked the back. All secure.”

  If the door had been transparent she couldn’t have been any more aware of him just on the other side. He lingered, and finally she blurted, “I thought maybe you’d gone back home.”

  “Nope, not without saying goodbye. I drove down the Outer Banks. I thought as long as I was this close I might as well see where Dad used to fish.”

  She waited to see if he would leave. When he didn’t, she said, “It’s probably changed all out of recognition since he was there.”

  “Probably.” Long pause, and then he said, “There’s a bag of chicken in the refrigerator. Want me to do something with it?”

  “That’s the last of it. It’s thawing for the box supper. Thanks, though.”

  “No problem.” Even strained through a paneled mahogany door, his voice resonated on every nerve in her body.

  Hours later when she finally fell asleep, she dreamed of Kell wearing western boots, a Stetson and nothing in between. He was standing in a kitchen she only half recognized with a cooking fork in his hand, and then he was galloping off on a big white stallion with her sprawled across his lap.

  No more reading historical romances in bed—at least, not until the covers had been stripped. While she bore no resemblance to a heroine, Kell was the epitome of every romance hero in the history of the genre.

  He was gone when she woke up the next morning. Daisy told herself she was perfectly within her rights to open his door, to see if this time he was gone for good. If so, she could strip his bed and wash his linens along with her own.