“Sure I do. I’m paying for the heat down there.”
“But the windows are my responsibility, not yours. I’ll get someone else to put them up.”
“Why do that when I’ll do it for nothing?”
“Why drive to the other end of town for something to eat when I can fix you something here? I’ll even fix it to go.”
Damon went silent. He simply stared at her, his eyes narrowing as if he was either trying to figure her out, or wondering if he should even try.
“I think I know why you win most of your arguments,” he finally said, his voice as flat as a griddle. “You just confuse the point so much that whoever you’re arguing with finally gives up.”
She thought her argument perfectly logical, in a roundabout sort of way. But she rather liked him confused. It softened his edges, lowered his wall. Since he confused the daylights out of her, she thought it only fair that he share the condition.
“So is clam chowder and sourdough all right?”
It was better than all right, but his sigh held pure frustration when he snagged his jacket from the end of the sofa and motioned her back to the kitchen.
Chapter Seven
It took longer than Hannah expected for the locals to realize that she had a tenant. Because there was nothing between the back of her building and the dock on the inlet, other than empty land, there hadn’t been many people around to notice Damon moving in. Apparently, the only one who had was Dorothy Yont’s son. Peter Yont had been on his way up the hill from the dock when he’d seen Damon back his boat into the shop, but he’d forgotten to mention it to his wife until just before they’d left to play cards at Millie and Gunnar Erikson’s house a couple of nights later. At least, that was what Hannah was told by Hattie, the florist, who’d run into Millie at the beauty salon the morning after the card party.
Where the sheriff had heard it, Hannah had no idea. But Pine Point’s highest ranking law officer was in the café’s kitchen and looking none too pleased with his reason for being there.
Sheriff Jansson’s rangy frame filled the doorway of Hannah’s tiny office. His broad-brimmed uniform hat had left a hat-dent in his hair, and the strands at his crown stood on end, despite his attempt to flatten them with his palm. His sharp, angular features were grim. His manner, almost patronizing.
“I don’t think you realize what you’ve done here,” he informed her, keeping his voice low so their conversation wouldn’t be overheard by the customers Brenda waited on out front. “I understand why you’d want to rent that space down there. It just makes good economic sense. I kept telling Lilly that she ought to get someone in there after Olaf retired,” he added, speaking of the café’s previous owner and the welder who’d last occupied the space. “But Jackson’s not the sort of person you want for a tenant. He’s not the sort you want around at all. I advised you of that myself.”
Hannah stood by the elaborate wreath-in-the-making on her desk. Her expression was far more cordial than she felt. “I understand he has a reputation,” she conceded, aware that the sheriff was not at all happy with the way she’d ignored his dogmatic “advice,” “but he’s paid his rent and he’s quiet. I don’t judge my tenant any more than I do any of my customers.”
“There’s a difference between judging people and thumbing your nose at the advice of your friends, Hannah. You’ve got a reputation for being a soft touch. That’s not a bad thing in itself,” he hurried to add, clearly willing to allow for compassion. “Everybody knows they can count on you to help out if you possibly can. And I suppose a nature like that makes you sympathetic to the underdog,” he surmised, clearly figuring she didn’t have the brains to avoid being taken advantage of. “But that kind of thinking blinds you to a person’s flaws. In this case, you’ve allowed a man of questionable intent...a man no one wants around, mind you...to come right into the middle of us.”
Hannah’s stomach knotted, but she didn’t even blink. “I’ve rented a man space to work on his boat,” she calmly explained, irritation fighting dismay. She’d expected talk, but she’d thought it would simply be more of the same. The same stories of Damon’s transgressions. The same warnings. The last thing she wanted to do was create enemies. She especially didn’t want to make an enemy of someone as influential as the sheriff. “From what I understand of Damon, he wants even less to do with the people here than they do with him. I can’t imagine that his being in that shop is going to cause any trouble for anyone.”
The man’s hazel eyes turned sharp, assessing. “From what you understand of him, huh?” He tipped his head to study her closer. “What about you?” he asked, his voice a little too mild. “Aren’t you nervous having him around?”
As loaded questions went, that particular one packed the potential of a small nuclear bomb. The sheriff was clearly measuring her reaction. But his question had Hannah considering something she hadn’t realized before. It had never occurred to her to fear Damon. Even as rude as he’d been at first, as rough as he’d looked—still did, for that matter—she’d never been afraid of him.
Growing more cautious by the second, she chose her words carefully. “No more so than I would be with anyone else. He’s been an excellent tenant.” So far.
“You’d better be more nervous than that,” he admonished, pointedly overlooking the commendation. “Having him here could be dangerous for you, Hannah. If you’re as smart as I think you are, you’ll break your lease or rental agreement or whatever it is you’ve got with him and get him out of there before you find out for yourself just how much grief he can cause a person.”
He was undoubtedly thinking of the grief Damon had personally caused him, as well as whatever he’d caused the town. But no matter how self-serving or well-intentioned his warnings, the threat behind them made her throat feel tight. The sensation was disconcerting, a little like she imagined a noose might feel being drawn around a person’s neck.
“I can’t do that,” she replied, hoping desperately that she wasn’t hanging herself. The sheriff was forcing her to choose, and her choices were between Damon and her integrity, and the town.
It occurred to her, vaguely, that even though Damon would never offer himself as a choice, he would never put her in such a position.
“I told him he could rent the space until spring, and I’m not in the habit of going back on my agreements.” Consternation shadowed her features. “I can’t imagine that you are, either, Sheriff.”
The skin above the tight collar of his khaki shirt and necktie turned a pale shade of fuchsia. “I’m trying to help you here, girl. You’ve got yourself and us into a situation that no one else in this town would have even considered.”
“It’s only a situation if people let it become one. For heaven’s sake,” she said, irritation leaking through her composure, “he keeps to himself so much I don’t even know when he’s there.”
That was the truth. She hadn’t heard or seen Damon since she’d prepared takeout for him a few nights ago. He’d watched her fill a carton with chowder and box up sourdough rolls and a generous slice of pie. Then he’d thanked her and left before the tension snaking between them had them arguing about something stupid again. She’d gone downstairs twice since to thank him for putting up the storm windows. He hadn’t been there either time.
“I know he’s there. And I’ll be keeping my eye on him,” the sheriff added, sounding as if he were warning her rather than keeping her informed. “You can count on it.”
He pushed his hat down over his cowlick and was gone seconds later, the kitchen door swinging behind him. It was as clear as the consommé simmering on the stove’s back burner that he’d expected her to be more cooperative, and that he wasn’t at all pleased by her refusal to back down to his authority. She wasn’t terribly pleased, either. She had started out defending a principle. Now it seemed she was defending herself.
In the process, she was standing up for Damon, and that, she felt certain, was why the sheriff had looked as if he was about to p
op a vein when he’d walked out.
Hannah heard nothing more from Sheriff Jansson that week. He didn’t come in for lunch. Nor did he stop for coffee and pie to catch up on gossip as he often had when he hadn’t been able to make it in for a while. Hannah noticed the absence of a few of her other regulars, too. Mostly friends of the sheriff. But the weather had been pretty nasty lately, and she wanted to believe the miserable wind and rain was what kept those particular customers from venturing out. Neil Lindstrom and his cronies from the Snow Daze committee had been in a couple of times, pushing the tables by the front window together for their meetings, and she still had her truckers and travelers, people who couldn’t have cared less what she did so long as she kept her coffee hot, fresh and strong and she got their orders right.
Dinner business, already slow, dropped off even further.
Hannah continued blaming the weather, and even though she wanted customers, she almost began to dread the tinkle of the bell over the café’s front door. She couldn’t count the number of times she’d been asked if the rumor about her renting to Damon was true, but it was equal to the number of times she’d pasted on a smile, said “As a matter of fact, it is” and promptly, politely changed the subject.
Brenda said she was the only person she knew who could grit her teeth without clenching her jaw. Her wonderfully supportive waitress also told her not to worry about the people who hadn’t been in that week. Before long, they would see that Damon wasn’t doing anything but working and they’d be back. It was just a change having Damon literally right under their feet, and people were wary of change in Pine Point. As for herself, Brenda said that if Hannah didn’t have a problem having him around, then she didn’t, either.
Damon, too, had once mentioned how reluctant the locals were to accept change. Only he’d been a lot more cynical about it. Hannah didn’t mention that, though. She told Brenda only that she hoped she was right about people getting used to him being there, and tried to put thoughts of Damon from her mind.
She was engaged in that same effort when she flipped the sign on the door to Closed the following Thursday night and headed back to the kitchen to finish cleaning up.
She had no more luck banishing Damon from her thoughts than she usually did. It had now been a week since she’d seen him, and as far as she knew, he’d done nothing but mind his own business. She knew he wouldn’t seek her out. He was keeping his distance from her the same way he did with everyone else. Which was exactly what she wanted, she reminded herself. Even if they hadn’t made it clear to each other that neither was interested in a relationship, he was a definite threat to her acceptance in the community.
So why did she keep listening for him, waiting for his knock on her door? Why did she worry about him working alone with all that barbaric-looking equipment? What if he got hurt?
With a sigh of disgust, she gave the stove one last swipe and tossed her sponge toward the sink. The sponge had no sooner hit its mark than she turned to see Damon in the open door of the stairwell.
Her heart slammed against her ribs, as much from the start he gave her as the way he looked standing there.
His broad-shouldered frame filled the doorway. A long-sleeved black T-shirt hugged his wide chest. Jeans, worn soft and streaked with grease on one powerful thigh, molded his lean hips. He stood still as stone, one hand on the doorknob and a day-old growth of beard as dark as his sable hair shadowing the stubborn line of his jaw.
His narrowed eyes darted to the darkened service window, then swept dispassionately over her pale features. “Are you all right?”
Willing her heartbeat to slow, determined to look as unaffected as he did, she dropped her hand from her throat. “I didn’t realize you where there.”
“I knocked, but I guess you didn’t hear me. The door was unlocked.”
She’d left it that way. In case he’d needed something.
“The dishwasher.” She motioned toward the chugging machine that had masked the sounds of his heavy boots in the stairwell. “It’s pretty noisy,” she explained, quite unnecessarily since he could hear it himself.
“You’re closed, aren’t you?”
The dark rumble of his voice skimmed along her nerves. Disquieted by the effect, by him, she looked away before she could search his guarded features too closely, or give away too much of the ambivalence she felt at his presence. She didn’t want to be affected by him at all—or to care that he looked so tired.
“I closed about ten minutes ago. I’m just cleaning up. But I can still get you something to eat, if that’s what you want.”
Damon watched her uneasy glance stray back to him as he stepped inside and closed the door. The overhead lights exposed the strain behind her smile and caught the strands of ruby and topaz in her deep auburn hair. The lovely contours of her face were more pronounced with her hair pulled back as it was, but the severity of the style also made it easy for him to see the faint lines of worry in her fragile features.
Those delicate lines weren’t new, but they were deeper, as if she harbored some concern that was beginning to weigh on her.
“I’ll get something at home. But thanks,” he added, surprised by the desire he felt to soothe the faint lines from her brow. It wasn’t like him to offer comfort. He wasn’t even sure he knew how. He did know, however, that touching her was not in his best interests. If he did, he’d want to ease his hands into her hair, take it down so he could see it tumbling around her shoulders the way it had that first day on the dock. He already knew its softness. That silken mass would feel like heaven in his hands.
He shoved his hands into his pockets, intent on blocking the next scenario unfolding in his thoughts. “I just came up to see if you have any spare fluorescent tubes. A couple were burned out when I moved in and another one went just a few minutes ago. I need the light.”
“There might be a box in the storage area behind the water heaters.”
“I already looked there. All I found was an old neon sign and a moose head.”
She needed to get rid of that thing. Heading for the utility closet, knowing she had a box there, she glanced back over her shoulder. “Do you want it? The moose head, I mean.”
“No, thanks.”
“You’re not into antlers?” she asked, trying for a lightness she definitely didn’t feel.
“Only if they’re on something that’s walking around. I just need the tubes so I can finish what I’m doing.”
All he wanted was to get what he’d come for so he could leave. No small talk. No polite conversation. Taking his not-so-subtle hint, she opened the door to the shelf-lined space and snagged the step stool with her foot. Just as she did, the telephone rang.
“Hang on,” she murmured to him, and grabbed the portable phone off its station in her office next door. Thinking to take the call while she searched for light tubes, Hannah answered with a vaguely distracted “Pine Café” and started for the utility closet again.
Her foot had hit the first step on the step stool when she smiled. Her caller was Carin Holmes, Eden and Erica’s mom. But she’d no sooner lifted the narrow three-foot-long box from the shelf behind the window and floor cleaners, and climbed down to see how many were inside when the last traces of her smile vanished like smoke in a stiff breeze.
“You want them to quit? Of course, I understand,” she insisted, when Carin paused to let the dust settle from the little bomb she’d dropped. “I’m just really sorry to lose them. They’re terrific with the customers.
“Absolutely,” she replied after Carin hesitantly asked if the girls could still use her as a reference. “And if they want a job this summer before taking off for college, I’d love to have them back.”
Hannah meant what she said. As long as she could afford them on the payroll, either or both of the girls were welcome back anytime. But as Carin thanked her, then hurried to add yet another excuse for why the girls had to quit so suddenly, Hannah began to suspect that there was far more than what Carin was saying a
bout why she no longer wanted her daughters to work at the café.
By the time she switched the phone off a few moments later, the same sick feeling she’d had the day the sheriff showed up had settled like a hot rock in the pit of her stomach.
She looked at the box in her hand, then held it out to Damon.
“There’s only one in here.”
“It’ll do for now.”
“I’ll get you the other two as soon as I can.”
He tipped his head, something suspiciously like concern encroaching on his hard features. “What’s going on?”
She couldn’t quite meet his eyes. Skimming a quick glance past the strong cords in his neck, she made it as far as the masculine cleft above his upper lip before she turned to set down the phone.
“Two of my waitresses won’t be working here anymore.”
“Two quit at once?”
“They’re twins,” she explained, wanting to play down their defection. She had the feeling this wasn’t the girls’ choice, anyway. She could be wrong. Maybe they had suddenly found themselves so busy with their other commitments that they really couldn’t handle working weekends. But why wouldn’t they have told her that? “It’s their last year of high school and they’ve got tons of homework and activities. Their mom said working here was just taking too much time away from everything else.”
She started to mention that the holidays would be especially busy for them, too, since Carin had tossed that excuse in with the rest, but that rationale would undoubtedly sound as lame to Damon as it had to her. Thanksgiving was more than two weeks away. Aside from that, the girls had been looking forward to having extra money for Christmas. And the day before Damon had moved his boat in, in fact, Carin had been going on about how good it was for the girls to work for her, and how much she appreciated Hannah sticking by them when Inga’s patience had run short because they were so young. They’d been busy with school then, too. The only factor in the equation to change since then was Damon’s presence.
Hannah And The Hellion (Silhouette Treasury 90s) Page 14
