Sweet Caroline

by Micqui Miller

  "Give or take."

  "Never seen you stare after a woman quite like that before."

  "Never met a woman quite like that before."

  "Snuck up on you when you weren't looking, eh?"

  "Somethin' like that."

  "She's the first one tall enough to look you in the eyes, mate."

  Mick grinned. "I'm not thinkin' about her eyes." He'd been so startled, he almost tripped over his own feet when he'd walked into the bar through the back way and saw the fabulous redhead from the plane. Watching her stride through the door, purse and laptop slung over her shoulder, never hesitating as some women might walking into a bar alone, something so unexpected had happened to Mick, it still had him off kilter. A sudden, inexplicable feeling of tenderness mingled with raw sexual desire, the likes of which he hadn't 42

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  known in years, surged through him. He'd just stood there, car keys in hand, and watched her get settled. She was dressed in the same clothes she'd worn on the plane, although they were more rumpled now. That somehow added to her appeal, perhaps because fatigue had softened the tough exterior she'd worn so well when she'd tried to claim her seat. Or maybe it was the silky red tendrils that had won the battle with her topknot and curled delicately down the back of that fabulous neck to tickle the collar of her blouse.

  First thing, she'd slipped off her shoes and wriggled her toes. God, how he loved women in high, high heels, and those sexy strapped sandals had pushed all of his buttons. Mick loved women—the way they walked, the way they talked, their softness, their toughness, the scent of them, their very essence. He loved teasing and flirting with them, relished every minute he made love to them, and on occasion, even found one who bested him. Caroline Spring could be one of those rare females. Not pliant, not needy. He'd known from the moment he'd opened his eyes and saw her glowering in his face that if he were given the chance to know her better, she'd definitely be someone to remember. He'd bet his last dollar, she'd felt something ignite between them, too. He saw it in the smile that played on those inviting lips at his assessment of her waspish tongue. In that smile, he was reminded of one of his favorite Shakespearean plays. But would he be as successful at taming Caroline as Petruchio had been at taming Kate?

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  Mick set down the glass of water he'd switched to after his second pint of ale, rubbed his palms together and said to Seth, "Wish me luck, mate. I'm going in."

  * * * *

  CAROLINE FOUGHT TO keep her eyelids from drooping shut as she slid deeper into her chair, dabbed at her lips with her napkin, and released a slow sigh of satisfaction. That had been one of the best meals she'd had in a long, long time. A delectable crab and lobster stew, served with a yard-long loaf of freshly baked sourdough bread still warm from the oven. Coffee was on the way, and if only Dr. Mahoney would walk through the door with her keys, she'd be a completely happy woman.

  She blinked away her fatigue and looked around the room. The dinner crowd had thinned, leaving only a dozen or so diners who dawdled over cappuccinos or dessert. Some of the patrons had headed to the bar, but most were families ready to go home. Caroline liked the "feel" of the Calla Lily Inn, from the friendliness of the hostess who'd seated her, to the efficiency of her server, Ivy. The carelessly decorated room possessed an intrinsic warmth and charm, almost as if it reached out to her and said, "Stay awhile." She heard footsteps approaching the same time she smelled coffee coming her way, a rich, dark Kona blend she'd know anywhere.

  "Mmm," she crooned and looked over her shoulder, expecting to see Ivy. But it wasn't Ivy, it was him. And he looked ridiculous. He wore an apron tied snugly around his 44

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  narrow waist, a towel draped over his forearm, and a pencil propped behind his ear. The white starched linen reached the hem of his shorts and blended in so well, he looked like he was wearing a short white skirt—a miniskirt over muscled, hairy legs. Yet he looked appealing, too, in a bizarre sort of way.

  In one hand he carried a mug of coffee, and in the palm of the other, a sugar bowl and creamer. "I believe the lady ordered coffee."

  He plunked the mug in front of her, pushed the creamer and sugar bowl close to her fingertips and without waiting to be asked, lowered himself into the chair across from her.

  "How was dinner?"

  "Fine," she said. "Are you the late shift?" He rubbed a hand along his cheek although his skin was still smooth from an afternoon shave. "Thought I'd drop by and say hello to Dr. Mahoney." He surveyed the room.

  "Where is the good doctor?"

  No way. He's not pulling me into this one again, even if I have to sit in my car and wait. She looked at her watch.

  "Look at the time. It's late."

  Her table butted against a large palm plant, stopping her from pushing any further backwards. To leave, she'd have no choice but to step over those long legs stretched so leisurely in her path.

  "I missed him, eh?" Mick said. "Since you have your keys, why don't I walk you home? It's not safe for a beautiful young woman to be walkin' in the dark alone." Hey there, Little Red Riding Hood...

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  "Thanks, but I've walked alone in far darker places." Darn it—why did he have to remember she was waiting for her keys? "Dr. Mahoney hasn't stopped by." She paused, hating that she had to ask the question. "By any chance, did you see him in the bar?"

  He shook his head. "Can't say I was looking for him. Why don't you ask Ivy?" He pointed to the waitress, who sans her apron, was headed straight toward them.

  "Mick, you devil, what are you up to?" Ivy called across the span of several tables. "Why are you still here? You ought to be home in bed."

  "Oh, Ivy, m'girl, I don't need a cold bed, I need a warm heart."

  Ivy sidled up beside him, put an arm around his considerable shoulders and squirmed her hip into his side. A woman in her late fifties wearing a shovelful of make-up beneath big, BIG hair, Ivy chuckled and said to Caroline, "Like this one's ever seen the sun rise alone."

  "You misjudge me, gal," Mick answered, a crushed look on his face. "I'm just a lonely old bachelor lookin' for someone to care for me in my dotage."

  "I'm not interested in your dotage, Mick, just my apron. Come on, off with it."

  Mick untied the bow and handed the apron back to her.

  "Now can I get either of you anything else?" Ivy asked. Caroline shook her head, and Mick said, "Thanks, not for me, I'm still laggin' a bit."

  "Of course you are, you poor darlin'." Ivy tousled his hair and said to Caroline, "Mick's been half way 'round the world 46

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  and back—twice in the last two weeks." She glanced back at him. "Poor baby," she crooned. "What you need is a rub down and a nice hot bath."

  Staring at Caroline, Mick asked, "Where might I find someone kind enough to take pity on a tired traveler?"

  "Knowing you, it won't take long at all." Ivy laughed and playfully slapped his shoulder. "Give me my pencil, please. I'm still workin' even if you're not." Oh, he's working all right. She'd be damned if she'd fall under the spell of his Irish charm. "Excuse me, Ivy, do you know Dr. Mahoney?"

  From the corner of her eye, Caroline saw Mick sit back, and smile.

  "Doctor who?"

  Exasperated, Caroline tried not to lose her patience. "Dr. Michael Mahoney. The man who works in the office next door."

  "Oh, that Dr. Mahoney."

  "He's supposed to meet me here. Have you seen him tonight?"

  "You're kidding, right?"

  "I'll be living in the apartment above his office. He has the keys, but I don't know what he looks like."

  "Oh, he's a rake, that one," Ivy said. "Handsome enough to make a mother cry. Broken the heart of every girl in this town."


  "Bully for him," Caroline said dryly. "Is he here?"

  "Yes, Ivy," Mick interrupted. "Don't keep Ms. Spring waitin', darlin'. Point out Dr. Mahoney." 47

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  "Hmmm," Ivy said. Eyes twinkling, she anchored her hands on her hips and gave the room a wide sweeping glance. "Let's see, he was over there a few minutes ago." She nodded toward the kitchen, pulling Caroline's gaze along with her. "Or was it over there?" She started to point in the opposite direction then stopped and snapped her fingers. "No, no," she said as if the answer had just come to her. "I know where he is."

  "Oh, for heaven's sake, where?"

  "Oh, for heaven's sake yourself, girl. If you're looking for Michael Mahoney, open your eyes." She pointed a finger at Mick. "He's sitting right beside you." On cue, Michael Gabriel Mahoney rose to his feet. From his considerable height, he dipped a hand in his pocket and pulled out a set of keys dangling from a ring. "Michael Mahoney at your service," he said with a bow. "Welcome to Sebastopol, Caroline Spring."

  * * * *

  SO MANY THOUGHTS raced through Caroline's mind she didn't know which to grab and hold onto first. Towering over her was a positively gorgeous man, who'd alternated between flirting with her and playing practical jokes. If he really was Michael Mahoney, he'd been expecting her. She'd sat across from Ian during his call to tell Mahoney she was en route, and yet this despicable man had let her dangle like a mouse on a string. She had to ball her fists to keep from raking her nails across the table in frustration.

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  If he had been any other man, with any other last name, who'd teased and fought her from their first words, she would have given him a verbal dressing down that would have kinked his already curly hair. But there was too much at stake. She'd taken this job in order to discover the truth. No way she'd back down now.

  She pushed her chair back as far as the palm tree yielded.

  "Very funny, Dr. Mahoney." She picked up her purse and laptop, and to Ivy said, "May I have my check, please?"

  "I'm sorry, Caroline," said Mick. "I shouldn't have teased you that way." This time his expression seemed so sincere she almost believed him—almost. There was still too much devilment in his eyes to believe he felt contrite. "Please, can't we start over? I'm—"

  "Forget it." She opened her purse and pulled out her wallet. "May I have my check, please? "

  "Sorry, Caroline," he answered before Ivy could respond.

  "Your money's not good here."

  She rolled her eyes. "Very heroic, Mahoney, but I'm not sure management would appreciate a customer giving away their profits."

  Standing next to Mick, Ivy grinned sheepishly and cleared her throat.

  "Now what?" Caroline demanded.

  The waitress glanced at Mick. "He's the owner."

  "Of course he is." She should have known he'd managed to get the last word. She reached across the table and snapped the keys out of his hand. If he wanted to pay for dinner—fine!

  To Mick, she said, "Thank you very much." And to Ivy, "I 49

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  hope he adds a huge tip, because if you have to work for this guy, you deserve it."

  Caroline slung her laptop over her shoulder, and with her head held high, she crossed the room in five long, graceful strides and walked out the door.

  She had already reached her car and was lifting file cases out of the trunk when Mick hurried down the sidewalk and stopped beside her. "Don't be angry." He put a hand on her arm to stop her from removing the rest of the heavy pieces.

  "I was only jokin'."

  She pushed away his hand. "Thanks, I can do this myself."

  "I'm sorry, I was very rude. Can't we start over?" He watched as she looked at the two file boxes, at her suitcases, briefcase and garment bag, and knew he recognized the weariness despite her attempt at a brave front.

  "Dr. Mah..."

  "Mick," he corrected. "I'm not a healer or an academician. I'm a scientist. The alphabet soup on my office door is for my clients' benefit. I'm just plain Mick, Mick Mahoney." He thrust out his hand again. "Friends?"

  She glanced at her full trunk then sighed and slid her fingers against his palm. His hand felt warm and soft, yet sent a jolt through her she'd never expected. "Friends," she managed, and hoped he didn't hear the tremor in her voice.

  "Good. Now give me those." He tucked the two file boxes under one arm as though they weighed no more than boxes of facial tissues. "You shouldn't be carryin' something this 50

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  heavy." He hooked her garment bag over one shoulder and, with his free hand, grabbed one of the suitcases.

  "We don't have to do this in one trip." He glanced toward the end of the block. "Pull your car

  'round back. You'll have to circle the block to find the drive. I'll take these up and meet you downstairs."

  "Really ... I..."

  "I know, I know, you can do it yourself." He smiled. "Go on with you now. We don't need to stand out here arguin'." At the doorway, he stopped and called to her, "I switched on the outdoor lights. Pull in beside my Jeep." True to his word, Mick was leaning against the back fender of his Wrangler when Caroline turned in alongside the Jeep. She locked her car and handed him the last of her things.

  "I've given you two keys," he said, leading the way. "The longer one opens the front and back doors. The shorter one is for the door at the top of the stairs and your flat." She walked ahead of him, up a flight of twenty steep steps. The building was old, but it smelled like pine cleaner and fresh paint. At the top, he opened the interior door, a fire door that looked impenetrable. "If someone were to get into the building, they still couldn't get into our hallway." Had someone tried? Was this a high crime area?

  "Not that anyone's ever tried."

  Once inside, Caroline found a well-lit hallway. The floor, made of oak planks, was polished to a high gloss, the walls painted a pleasant, soothing light melon with golden accents. A strip of dark green carpeting served as a walkway. 51

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  They walked past two doors that Caroline guessed were other flats. Neither had numbers, and both had extra dead bolt locks as well as padlocks and chains.

  At her questioning glance, Mick said, "That's a storage area on the right, and my lab's on the left. This is where I keep my files and research."

  "Your laboratory?" She stopped in mid-stride. "You're not one of those mad scientists who's going to blow up the place in the middle of the night, are you?"

  Mick laughed, a tight humorless sound. "You needn't worry about that, Caroline. I leave the explosives to the rest of my family."

  She frowned. An odd answer. She saw his lips thin and his jaw tense. Obviously, he had nothing more to say.

  "I'm sorry. A bad attempt at humor." His face relaxed. "The rooms have been fireproofed because I do a lot of classified work. As a precaution, I've installed double locks, but this is a very safe place. In fact, I don't bother to lock my flat. No one comes up unless I invite them."

  He stopped at the front of the hallway and pointed to the door on his right, the one with the numeral two in shining brass. "Welcome to your new home." She peeked around him, to the apartment on the opposite side of the hallway with the numeral one in matching brass.

  "Your place?"

  "When I'm in town I stay over. Weekends, I go to the ranch."

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  "You're a rancher, too?" She shook her head. "Rancher, scientist, restaurateur. What don't you do?" He took the keys from her, slipped the shorter one into the lock, and twisted until the latch gave. "There's a lot I don't do. We can talk about that another time. Striker said you'd be staying about eight weeks. Is that right?" She cocked her head to the side. "Striker?"

  "O
f course you wouldn't know him by that name. Ian Foy."

  "Striker's an unusual nickname. What does it mean?" Mick turned his back to her, twisted the knob, and opened the door to her apartment. She saw by the purposeful way he stepped inside and motioned her to follow that he'd closed the subject of "Striker" Foy.

  As soon as she crossed the threshold, the lights came on, bathing a beautifully decorated living room in a soft glow. She looked around. "Lovely. Don't tell me you're an interior decorator, too."

  Mick chuckled. "'Fraid not. If you'll come for coffee one day, you'll see my tastes run to Spartan. You can thank my sisters for the frou-frou and frills." He gestured toward a hallway off the kitchen. "The bedroom and bath are that way. Come along for the three-penny tour."

  Inside the bedroom, he opened one of the doors to a walkin closet and hung her garment bag. This room, too, bore all the signs of a talented decorator, one who liked greens and yellows.

  "The television's wired to the satellite," Mick said. "You'll find a modem connection at the back of the desk."

  "You've thought of everything, haven't you?" 53

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  He stifled a yawn and flexed his shoulders. "Not quite. There's no food in the pantry or the fridge, but I rise early. If you smell coffee, walk right in."

  "The perfect landlord."

  His lips curved into a warm, beckoning smile. "Trying to make up for our ... rocky start."

  "We're past that, remember? Friends." Caroline watched Mick think about her verbal reminder, and wondered what he'd come up with next. This man was a true paradox, presumptuous and irritating one moment, charming and gracious the next. And always with a smile that took her breath away. Out of the blue, he leaned forward, almost as if he planned to seal their new friendship with a kiss.

  Alarmed, she drew back.

  He pulled away. "Friends it is, Caroline Spring," he said.

  "Sweet dreams."

  Later, face scrubbed clean and dressed in her favorite Dallas Mavericks nightshirt, Caroline sat cross-legged on the desk chair surfing through the e-mails of the day. A couple of jokes, the usual spam, a message from her best friend lamenting the fact that she'd have to attend Sunday's Fuzzy Friends fundraiser alone, and a post from her brother. Hi, sis. Glad to see you arrived in one piece. How goes the Mahoney hunt? Anything concrete? I'll drop your boxes at FedEx on the way to work tomorrow, so they should be there by Thursday.