Cabin Fever

by Marilyn Pappano

  “One thing? You stole enough books—though, granted, one at a time—to create your own library.” Though he’d never admitted it, Cole had been relieved it was just books Ryan had taken from the variety store near their apartment in Cleveland. It would have been just as easy for him to walk out with knives or even a gun from the sporting goods section, or with drugs from the pharmacy or cash from an unwatched register.

  Rolling his eyes, Ryan stuffed the list and the money in his pocket. “I’ll be back soon—with a receipt and your change.”

  Cole felt another twinge of guilt as he watched the kid leave. Maybe he wasn’t helping any by treating Ryan more like a grown-up than a kid, though a grown-up he could still boss around. The trouble was, the kid had never been much of a kid. His mother had never been much of a mother—that seemed to be a common complaint—and she’d left him pretty much on his own since he was little. By the time he’d come to live with Cole, he’d already skipped childhood. He’d been a thirty-year-old in a nine-year-old body, and he hadn’t gotten any more childlike as he got older.

  Maybe that was something Leanne could help him with.

  Then he thought of her, of the time they’d spent dancing a week before, of the way he’d kissed her goodnight in the Starlite parking lot and how she’d kissed him back, and he grinned.

  Ryan was only one of many things Leanne could help him with.

  And he sure intended to ask.

  Chapter Ten

  WHEN CHASE AND RAINE ARRIVED AT Nolie’s a few minutes after seven, Micahlyn greeted them at the door. “Mama’s out back,” she announced through the screen door. “She says we can eat outside ’cause it’s a pretty night, and ’sides, her quilt stuff’s all over the dining table.”

  “Do we get to come in, or do you want us to walk around the house?” he asked.

  The kid somberly looked from him to Raine before shifting her dolls to her other arm, then unlatching the screen door. “Who are you?” The question was directed to Raine, and Chase left her to answer it and headed for the kitchen.

  He wasn’t too eager to see Nolie, was he?

  “I thought he was the bogeyman,” Micahlyn was saying as he turned the corner into the kitchen. “He was scary and mean-looking, and—”

  Nolie was just coming in the back door. Her hair was up on her head in that style that shouldn’t possibly be sexy but was, and her dress was soft, summery, and reached almost all the way to her bare feet. She stopped short when she saw him, tucked a loose tendril of hair behind her ear, then moved to the sink. “Hi.”

  It took a couple of tries to get out a simple response. “Hi.” Then he cleared the huskiness from his voice. “Micahlyn says we’re eating outside so you won’t have to clean off the dining table.”

  “Why, that—” She gave him a warning look. “She did not.”

  “No, she didn’t. But she gave that impression.” He stopped beside the counter, where six quilt blocks were laid out. It took him a moment to figure out the pattern, but once he did, he recognized it as the same pattern of the quilt on her bed. Where that one was done in pastels, the colors of this one were richer—burgundy, hunter green, navy-blue, rich purple. “Pretty. Who is it for?”

  Finally she dared come closer, gathering up the squares and moving them to the table to join other pieces and yardages of the same fabric. “It’s not necessarily for anyone. I just like to quilt.” But there was a flush in her cheeks, making him wonder if just maybe she’d started the quilt with him in mind.

  “Where is Raine?”

  He looked over his shoulder into the living room, but it was empty. “I guess she and Micahlyn went upstairs.”

  “She probably made the mistake of pretending an interest in Micahlyn’s dolls, so now she’ll get to meet the whole family—and there’s a lot of them. Mostly blond, buxom, and beautiful.”

  When she would have walked past him to the kitchen, he caught her wrist. “Some people don’t care for blond and buxom.”

  The color in her cheeks deepened. “True. Some prefer dark and petite.”

  Like Fiona. Like Raine. “And some like red hair and curves.”

  The comment surprised him almost as much as her. He hadn’t known where he was going with the conversation, and didn’t know why he’d chosen that path. But he wouldn’t take the words back even if he could. Why would he, when they were true?

  Now her face was crimson, the color extending underneath the rounded neckline of her dress. Her pulse beat against his fingertips, and her breathing grew shallow and uneven.

  After a moment, she regained her composure and gently freed her wrist. “I need to check on . . .” Without finishing, she grabbed a stack of plates and silverware and disappeared outside again.

  Chase went to the sink to watch her through the window. The patio table was covered with a green gingham cloth that went well with the green-striped cushions on the chairs, and Nolie was setting four places around the table. He’d bet money she would put Raine and Micahlyn between them if she could. But that was all right. It would leave him directly across from her, and he liked looking at her.

  The aroma of warm, fresh bread drew his attention to the stove. The towel-covered basket held rolls, kept warm by the heat of the mushroom gravy simmering on the front burner and the red potatoes on the back. Steaks were marinating in a dish nearby, a corn-onions-and-peppers dish sat next to them, and some sort of flaky pastry was cooling on a wire rack next to the oven.

  Raine hadn’t suggested dinner until early that afternoon, and Nolie had worked until six, picked up Micahlyn, gone to the grocery store, and gotten all this done. He was impressed. The only thing Fiona could make for dinner in an hour or less was reservations.

  Nolie came back inside. That strand of hair had fallen again, and he thought about brushing it back—hell, about kissing it back. But if he kissed her once, he wouldn’t stop until he’d done it again and again and dinner would be ruined and he . . . he would be lost.

  Or found.

  “I don’t suppose you’ve ever grilled steaks before,” she remarked, her tone making it clear she knew the answer.

  “Nope. But you can teach me.”

  “Grab the meat and those tongs.” She gestured with a bottle of ketchup, then picked up two bottles of steak sauce, plus salt and pepper shakers.

  It was a warm evening, the sun low on the horizon, the air still and fragrant with the scent of pines and, the instant she placed the steaks on the grill, the hunger-inducing aroma of beef cooking.

  “Do you know how Raine likes hers?”

  “Medium.”

  “And yours?”

  “Rare.”

  She went to the table to arrange the bottles in the center, then turned back, hands on her hips. “I don’t imagine many men remember how their former secretaries like their steaks.”

  “Raine was as much a friend as a secretary. Probably the only real friend I had in Boston.”

  She hesitated, bit her lip, then quietly asked, “Just a friend?”

  He watched the flames leap and sizzle from the meat drippings before glancing at her. “Maybe it takes someone who doesn’t have many friends to understand how important they are. No, not just a friend. But not a girlfriend, not a lover. A very good friend who stood by me when things went wrong, when no one else did.”

  She came a few steps closer. “What things?”

  It was an excellent opening to tell her the last of his secrets. How someone he worked with, someone he’d probably considered a friend of sorts, had embezzled more than a million dollars from the firm. How whoever it was had planted evidence to make him look guilty. How he’d been trapped so thoroughly, the second-best defense lawyer in Boston—he’d been the best, of course—hadn’t had a chance in hell of winning an acquittal. How he’d spent six hundred and ninety-three days in prison.

  In his first months in prison, he’d lived for the day he could get out and somehow prove his innocence. He’d wanted revenge against whoever had set him up, wan
ted to make them, and everyone who hadn’t believed in him, pay dearly. Six months inside, though, and he’d forgotten about clearing his name and seeking revenge. What good would it do? It wouldn’t win Fiona back. It wouldn’t make him forget all the people who’d thought he was guilty. It wouldn’t give him back the six hundred and ninety-three days he’d been locked up, or his career, or his good name.

  Vengeance wouldn’t give him back Nolie once she found out the whole truth.

  When he answered, he offered only a partial truth. What things had gone wrong? she wanted to know. “Fiona. The divorce.”

  And that bit of truth satisfied her, because she thought he was being honest. She trusted him. That made him feel lower than dirt.

  But it didn’t make him pour out the rest. “How was business today?”

  “Steady.”

  “How’s the kid working out?”

  “Trey’s great.”

  He walked to the table and poured lemonade from the pitcher into one of three matching glasses filled with ice. There was a plastic cup with a lid for Micahlyn, pink-and-white with Barbie dolls smiling from its sides. Stopping in front of Nolie, he took a long drink, then remarked, “We can’t have a conversation if all your answers are going to be two syllables or less. You want to try again?”

  The smile she gave him was meant to be mocking but was tempered by too much sweetness. “Business was fine—not too busy, not too slow. Time to get things done, but not enough time to sit and pray for six o’clock to crawl around. And Trey’s working out great. He’s sweet, funny, reliable, responsible, and a good worker. Even though someone thought I should have hired some guy full-time, I couldn’t ask for a better employee than Trey.”

  “Smart ass.”

  Surprise flashed across her face, then she smiled. “You asked for it.”

  “Is that your policy—ask and you shall receive?” He gave her a long look from head to toe, then smiled. “I’ll have to keep that in mind.”

  She turned pink from head to toe. “I, uh . . . the steaks need to be turned. I’ll, uh . . .” She gestured toward the house, then bolted.

  Chase flipped the steaks, rested the tongs in the dish, and gazed off to the west. For the first time in longer than he wanted to remember, he felt utterly, totally, completely contented. It was a simple thing—spending the evening with Nolie, Raine, and Micahlyn, grilling steaks, watching dusk descend—but he couldn’t think of anyplace else he would rather be, or anyone else he’d rather be with. The only thing he would change would be the inevitable end to the evening. He would much rather spend tonight— and a few thousand more—with Nolie than alone.

  When the back door creaked open, it wasn’t just Nolie, but a parade of females bearing dishes. Micahlyn came first, clutching the corn dish in both hands. Behind her was Raine, carrying serving spoons plus the potatoes. Nolie brought up the rear with the bread basket, a tub of butter, and the mushroom gravy. As soon as she set her load down at the table, she came to the grill and moved two of the four steaks to the edge.

  “Reinforcements?” he murmured.

  She replied in an equally soft voice. “I didn’t ask them to come out. I simply told them dinner’s ready.”

  “You lied.”

  “That’s such an ugly word. I, ah, overestimated how quickly you could finish their steaks.”

  “Oh, sure, blame it on me.”

  “What are you two whispering about over there?” Raine asked.

  Chase and Nolie both turned to look at her. While they’d talked, Raine had none too subtly rearranged the settings at the square table. Instead of seating one person per side, now it was set up for two on one side, two opposite, and she and Micahlyn had claimed the two seats opposite.

  He grinned. Nolie looked more than a little wary.

  “We’re not whispering,” he replied. “We’re talking softly. And if we wanted you to hear, we would have raised our voices.”

  “Ooh, personal, private, intimate conversation,” Raine teased. “Maybe Micahlyn and I should have stayed inside a while longer.”

  He chided her. “Don’t embarrass your hostess.”

  “I’m not embarrassed,” Nolie denied. Then, apparently feeling the blush the others could see so clearly, she shrugged. “It’s just the heat from the grill.”

  “Uh-huh. Of course.” Raine was grinning broadly, like a proud Italian mama who’d been proven right for the thousandth time.

  Saved by the steak. That was the first thought in Chase’s mind when Nolie gratefully declared the last two pieces done, transferred them to a serving dish, then took them to the table. “Raine, you should probably let me sit next to Micahlyn,” she suggested as she dished the steaks onto their plates. “I’ll have to cut her meat, and she sometimes spills stuff.”

  “Oh, I’m used to eating with kids,” Raine replied. “I’ve got four nieces and three nephews, and I still get stuck at the kids’ table at family dinners. Can I cut your meat for you, Micahlyn?”

  “Yes, please,” the kid answered, earning an eye roll from her mother.

  “Nice try,” Chase murmured as Nolie sat down next to him. He earned a scowl from her.

  The food was outstanding, and so was the company. By the time they finished, darkness had fallen, leaving only the light above the door to illuminate the patio. For a few minutes, they sat in silence, until finally Raine groaned. “Oh, Nolie, you are an excellent cook, and Chase, you’re a good helper.”

  “And Raine ’n’ me are gonna be good cleaners, ain’t we?” Micahlyn added.

  “Yes, ma’am. As soon as I can move.”

  Micahlyn sprawled back in her chair, trying to mimic Raine’s relaxed position. “Mama, does this mean you’re off your diet and we can eat real food again?”

  Nolie gave her own groan. “Don’t mention the word diet. After two weeks of doing so well, I totally blew it today.”

  “Woo-hoo! No more diet!” Micahlyn practically swooned. “We can have fried chicken again!”

  Raine straightened. “Do you fry your own chicken, Nolie? Hell, Chase, marry this woman so I can eat someone’s fried chicken besides the Colonel’s.”

  From the corner of his eye, he saw Nolie lower her gaze abruptly as if the mention of marriage made her uncomfortable. And why not? It made him damn uncomfortable. After the divorce, he’d sworn he would never marry again, and he’d meant it. Fiona had provided him with enough misery to last a lifetime. He would never go looking for more.

  And even if he did, he wouldn’t go looking with Nolie. She wasn’t his type. He wasn’t hers. She was staying in Bethlehem. He wasn’t. She needed another husband like Jeff, and Micahlyn needed another father like Jeff, while he needed . . . he needed . . .

  Not to get involved in a relationship that had no future. Not to get himself hurt again. Not to hurt Nolie.

  But not getting involved, not getting hurt or doing the hurting, would require strength he wasn’t sure he had. He didn’t think he could stay away from her. All he knew for sure he could do was regret what happened after the fact.

  “I have a suggestion.” Raine leaned her arms on the tabletop, and beside her Micahlyn did the same. “It’s such a pretty evening. Why don’t you two take the Camaro, put the top down, and go for a leisurely drive while Micahlyn and I put away and clean up and play with her dolls?”

  “You don’t have to do that,” Nolie said at the same time Chase said, “All right.” She gave him a warning look, then went on with her protest. “I can help with the cleanup, and heaven knows, you don’t have to play dolls—”

  “But, Mama, she likes dolls,” Micahlyn broke in. “D’you know she has an old, old, old Barbie doll from when she was a little girl?”

  “Honey, I’m not that old,” Raine gently corrected her. “But I do play with dolls. I told you, Nolie, I have seven nieces and nephews. I play dolls, war games, video games—you name it. They think I’m the coolest aunt in the world. You guys, go on, have fun. Micahlyn and I will take care of everything, won’t
we?”

  Micahlyn’s enthusiastic yes was the push Nolie needed. She rose from her chair and picked up a handful of dishes. “All right. But we won’t be gone long.”

  “Oh, honey, you’re both adults. You can stay out all night if you want,” Raine said with a wink.

  Chase would vote for that.

  Even if it might be the worst mistake he’d ever made.

  “ANYWHERE IN PARTICULAR YOU WANT TO GO?” Nolie glanced across the small car at Chase. They were sitting at the end of the driveway, the highway in front of them stretching off in either direction. They could turn left and climb out of the valley, could drive for miles passing occasional houses but not find another town until they reached Howland. Or they could turn right and be in Bethlehem in a matter of minutes. “You decide.”

  She expected him to go left. When he didn’t, she directed a surprised look his way but didn’t say anything. She just settled back in the plush leather seat and relaxed.

  The engine sounded like a powerful, undomesticated cat—loud and rumbly. The car was one of the last Camaros made, Raine had told her, and she intended to keep it forever, or until Chevrolet came to their senses and started production again, whichever came first. Though Nolie had never developed that kind of attachment to any vehicle, she could understand it. The car was sleek, flashy, and drew more than its share of attention—rather like Raine herself.

  Amazingly, Chase drove right through the heart of Bethlehem—but not so surprisingly, when they reached the far edge of town, he didn’t turn around but kept on going. The road climbed and twisted its way up the mountain. Where it went, she had no idea, since she’d never gone as far as the town limits on this side, but the traffic was sparse, as were the road signs.

  After six, maybe eight, miles, he slowed, then turned onto a narrower road. It was paved but, judging from its condition, saw little use and less maintenance. He had to drive slow enough to dodge potholes, a few of which looked capable of swallowing the Camaro whole. She didn’t mind the lack of speed, though, because the night was so comfortably cool and the stars were twinkling overhead and the absence of the rushing wind made conversation possible. “Where are we going?”