by Alison Kent
She was not going to get into this with him today. She was not going to let him draw a dark cloud over her fun. And yet she found herself asking, “What did you mean that my scarf smells like me, only closer? Wouldn’t I smell the most like me?”
“Your work holds your blood, sweat, and tears.”
“And that’s what you smell.”
“Call me…”
“Crazy?” she finished for him when he let the sentence trail. Except crazy wasn’t the right word. He was intuitive, intelligent, the strangest being she’d ever met, and he frightened her more than a little bit, the way he saw her. Knew her.
She didn’t want anyone being that close…which was exactly what Will was saying. He had looked at her work and learned the things weaving drew out of her. The stories she told in her work because she couldn’t share them elsewhere. She swallowed, wondering about his magic.
He held her gaze, lifted a hand, and moved his thumb a scant quarter inch from his index finger. Then he smiled. Then he winked. And her heart flipped as if from a high wire. Crazy wasn’t the right word. He was dangerous—to her, certainly, but she couldn’t help but wonder if he was a danger to himself.
Returning the skein to the pegboard, he said, “Your father raises the sheep, shears them. Your mother spins their wool and dyes the yarn. And then you get to play. This is some kind of gig you’ve got going on.”
“It’s not play.” But it was, wasn’t it? She played and had fun and got paid ridiculous money for a job she sometimes went days without doing. “Okay, yes, I play. I work the hours I want. I work when the mood strikes. I answer to no one but myself. When I try to help around the house, I get shooed out. It’s a wonderfully amazing life.”
“And you keep waiting for it to fall down around you.” He walked back to her loom, dragging a finger along the frame, bending to peer through the shed of yarn, raising only his gaze and snagging hers as he said, “No, wait. It already has, hasn’t it?”
“What has what?” she asked, because she was caught by the look in his eyes, piercing, seeking, as if he’d found a crack and peered into places she no longer looked.
He straightened, picked up an empty boat shuttle, and turned it over and over in his hands without looking at it at all. “Your life. It’s not the amazing wonder you say it is. Something happened and you’re living a lie because of it.”
“That’s nonsense,” she said, grabbing the shuttle and returning it to the shelf. He had no idea. She was not that transparent. Surely she was not that transparent. “You have secrets. I have secrets. That doesn’t mean either of us is living a lie.”
“What if I am?”
“Then you probably don’t need to be working for Ten Keller. He’s not big on dishonesty.” She narrowed her gaze. “Besides, I don’t think you could get away with living much of one. Not while you’re on parole.”
He gave her that with a nod that had his hair falling forward to his brow. “That leaves your secret, and I’m thinking it’s more than keeping a father from his child.”
Avoiding his gaze, she glanced toward the door, wondering how Mitch was faring, knowing who Kaylie was, unable to say anything. Had he stayed after seeing her? Or had he let Luna’s father take over the cooking chores and driven away?
“It’s Mitch, isn’t it? The friend who came home from the service to find his daughter gone.”
She pressed her lips tight, holding in the truth and then looking over to ask, “What makes you say that?”
“Seeing the two of you together. I’d say you’re as close to him as you are to Harry, who’s a great guy, by the way. I dig him.”
Dig him? Really? “I’m not talking about this with you. It’s done. We put the subject to bed a week ago.”
“Any regrets?”
“About what? Inviting you here today?” She nodded, being honest. “A few.”
He laughed, that wicked-sounding thing he did deep at the base of his throat. “Then I appreciate the tour. Since I won’t be seeing you for a while.”
“Are you finished working for Ten?” she asked, confused.
He shook his head. “I’m not ready to get mixed up in anything.”
“Anything?” Arrogant, arrogant man. “You mean me.”
“It’s complicated. I’m complicated. I’m pretty sure you’re more complicated than anyone I know.”
It was probably for the best, Luna mused, as they walked toward the door, Will continuing to lift the scarf to his nose, rubbing against it. She wasn’t sure how to react, or what to think about this man who, in the end, hadn’t made a pass at her but still brought to mind hungry, devouring wolves.
“It’s Kaylie. She’s Mitch’s daughter.”
How in the world…“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
She shook her head, not admitting, not denying. Not giving him the satisfaction, or herself a reason to keep him close. She turned away and opened the door to make her escape before it was too late.
“Hi,” said Kaylie, stepping forward, her gaze going from Luna to Will and back. “Am I interrupting anything?”
Two Owls’ Nutty Chocolate Brownie Buddy
a peanut walked into a chocolate bar
The Chocolate Part
½ cup unsalted butter
4 ounces semisweet chocolate
2 ounces unsweetened chocolate
⅔ cup flour
½ teaspoon baking powder
¼ teaspoon salt
¾ cup sugar
3 large eggs
2 teaspoons vanilla
The Peanut Butter Part
¼ cup melted butter
½ cup powdered sugar
¾ cup smooth peanut butter
½ teaspoon vanilla
Preheat oven to 325°F. Grease or spray with cooking oil and flour (or line with aluminum foil) an 8 x 8–inch baking dish.
The Chocolate Part
Melt the butter, the semisweet chocolate, and the unsweetened chocolate in a double boiler (or in a microwave), stirring often so as not to burn the chocolate. Cool. Whisk the sugar into the cooled chocolate mixture. Add the eggs one at a time, mixing until smooth, then stir in the vanilla. Sift the flour, the baking powder, and the salt into a bowl. Fold the flour mixture into the chocolate mixture.
The Peanut Butter Part
Stir all the ingredients together in a bowl until smooth.
Pour half the batter into the prepared pan. Drop the peanut butter mixture by tablespoons on top. Cover with the remaining batter. Swirl the peanut butter mixture into the batter with a dull knife.
Bake 40–45 minutes, or until an inserted tester comes out with a bit of batter attached. Cool completely before cutting.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Ten made his reluctant way from the third floor of Kaylie’s house to the first, slowing his steps the closer he got and grimacing. While tearing into a kitchen wall this morning, he’d found one of the studs slightly damp. Knowing the only water she’d been using besides that on the ground floor was in her bathroom, he’d headed upstairs. And sure enough, he could hear dripping beneath her pedestal sink.
He didn’t like being the bearer of bad news. Especially on top of Will discovering the termites not even two weeks ago. Thing was, until the pipes in the rest of the house were checked, he wouldn’t know the full extent of the damage. It would be hard to give her an estimate of the delay or the repair cost. And figuring the best way to let her know that was stalling him further. But he was mostly stalling because of the way she’d looked at him yesterday when she’d asked him to kiss her. Her mouth, her eyes…it had taken willpower he didn’t know he had not to tumble to the grass on his back and pull her on top of him—
“I can hear you not walking out there,” she called, her voice carrying through the empty house as clearly as his footsteps. Or the lack thereof.
He found her in the front parlor, sheets of butcher paper on the floor cut and taped into squares. He liked this about Kaylie
. No computer programs for this one. No mockups of how the tables she’d ordered would fit. She got down and dirty and figured things out for herself. “You decided on the four-tops for this room?”
“I think so. The space is smaller. Makes sense for seating smaller parties. Or not. But I think so,” she said, nodding as if she’d won the argument with herself. Then shaking her head before nodding again. “What do you think?”
“I think it’s fun to watch the two of you argue.”
She glared at him, but did so while still looking at the floor. “What was with the not walking?”
He shoved his hands to his waist, weighing the words, not weighing them fast enough, obviously, because his delay earned him a “Spit it out.”
“I’ve got some bad news.”
“Then never mind. Don’t spit it out.”
“Okay,” he said and turned for the kitchen.
She groaned. “Can it at least wait until I finish getting over and paying for the last bad news you brought me?”
“It could, but since it’s more of the same, I thought you might want to take care of it all at once.”
She pushed a hand from her forehead into her hair. “More termites?”
“Not bugs this time. Water.”
“Water?” she asked, cocking her head as if she didn’t understand. “You mean from the damage to the shutters and window casings? A leak where rain got in?”
He shook his head. “An inside wall. The third-floor bathroom. I doubt it would’ve showed up had you not been using it there the last couple of weeks.”
She blew out a breath bursting with frustration. “So you’re saying it’s a good thing.”
“No, I’m saying it’ll be a whole lot easier to fix now than later.”
“Then it’s a bad thing.”
“I don’t think the one leak is that bad, but I won’t be able to say until I get a plumber out here to go through the whole house.”
“The whole house?”
He nodded. “The whole house. Unless you want to risk another leak from the second floor dripping onto your customers’ heads while they’re eating.”
She groaned louder this time, pulled at more of her hair. “Fine. Get a plumber out here. The sooner the better.”
“I know a guy—”
“Of course you do.”
When he laughed, she gave him a look that had him thinking of backing away. Then had him thinking of pushing forward and slamming his mouth down on hers. She was beautiful. Angry beautiful. Aggravated beautiful. Just beautiful. “Would you rather I ran my finger down the yellow-page listings and had you yell stop?”
“No,” she said, her gaze withering, her tone skating straight into sarcasm. “I’m very glad you know all the guys you do. Now call one of them so I’ll know the money part of the damage. If I’m going to have to sell my soul, I’ll need to start lining up buyers.”
He thought she was probably exaggerating; she’d paid cash for the house, after all. But just in case…“We can slow things down, you know. If you need to. But I don’t think it’s all bad.”
“How can it not be all bad? Do you know how soon Memorial Day weekend will be here? What if all the plumbing has to be replaced? How many walls will have to be torn apart, and floors and ceilings, and…I can’t deal with this right now. I just can’t.”
“Yeah. You can. You’ll figure out a way because that’s what you do.”
She looked up when he said it and asked, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
That was more like it. “It was a compliment, sweetheart. You’re better than anyone I know at that making-lemonade thing. I just hate having to be the bad guy.”
“Ten, you’re my contractor. You’re not a bad guy—” She stopped herself, then swallowed, then added as if she’d been thinking about it for a while, “Yesterday at the farm proves that, don’t you think?”
He liked that she had yesterday on her mind. It had certainly been on his. And now she’d brought it into the open, into the right time, the right place, and it was growing, heating, taking up space he needed to breathe. The tension in the room rose with the beat of her pulse in her throat, and beneath his skin, his blood raced.
“Say it.” He nearly strangled getting it out.
She shook her head. A brief shudder. “I said it yesterday.”
“Yesterday doesn’t count. Say it now.”
Her breathing as ragged as his, she smoothed a hand over her head to the band holding her ponytail, tugging it free and shaking out her hair. It wasn’t the practiced sort of move he’d seen from celebrity starlets. It was just Kaylie being Kaylie, finding her balance, taking her time.
Or so he thought until she bit at her lip, and he realized the truth in her intent. She stepped on the paper on her way to him, but her gaze held his, unwavering. He left his hands at his hips; he wasn’t sure he could’ve moved them with a crowbar. He was mesmerized, hypnotized, growing hard.
When she reached him, she wasn’t fast to move, placing her palms against his chest. His heart pounded, and she smiled, and she liked it, and he liked that she did, liked her, too. Slowly, she flexed her fingers, as if testing the play in his muscles, then slid her hands to his shoulders, then behind his neck, then to the base of his skull, then her fingers found their way into his hair.
She lifted her gaze, met his, held it as she pulled him down for her kiss. At the first touch of her lips to his, he wrapped his arms around her waist and brought her into his body, sliding a boot between hers and pressing his thigh to the vee of hers. She wiggled closer, whimpered into his mouth, and he let go of his reserve, slanting his mouth over hers and going in search of her tongue.
She rubbed against him, a cat arching, purring, and played her tongue along his. He thrust, he stroked, he tempted her into his mouth, returned to love her in hers. He wanted her closer, he wanted more, and placed one hand between her shoulder blades, sliding the other lower, to the small of her back, then lower still, past her waistband to her bottom, cupping her, pulling her higher against him.
She squirmed in response, her hands slipping to his shoulders, kneading there, gouging there, digging in to hold him, and then she raised up onto her tiptoes as if she wanted him closer, wanted more, too. Wanted the same things he did, without clothing, without stopping, never coming apart until they both were racked and spent.
It was Magoo’s bark signaling the arrival of visitors that came between them, echoing as it did through the near-empty house, bouncing off the walls and into their kiss like an explosive charge. Kaylie took a step back, stumbled, her eyes wide as she brought both of her hands to her mouth, pressing her fingers there, smiling behind them.
“Wow,” she finally said. “That was nice.”
Nice? Nice? Did that mean they were done here? That she’d gotten her kiss and that was it? Except when Magoo barked again he knew they were, at least for now. He also knew what they’d started was headed for a big finish. And with the house a veritable beehive these days, he’d been stupid to think anything about kissing her in the middle of it was right.
“It was nice,” he said. “Next time it will be even nicer.”
“If there is a next time,” she replied, her tone and her smile both teasing as she reached for his biceps. Holding him, she pressed her lips quickly to his, then brushed by him and scampered off to answer her dog’s insistent call. All Ten could do was shake his head, and hope they could get to a time and place that worked before the wait killed him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
At the sound of yet another truck door slamming, Kaylie decided to buy noise-canceling headphones. Or else sell the house and buy a Caribbean island. Not really, of course. She loved her house. And a Caribbean island would’ve been out of her price range even before she’d had the funds transferred to the Colemans.
A vacation in the Caribbean sounded really good right about now, though. Things would calm down once the construction was finished and Two Owls was open for business. Or at least th
e slamming doors would mean customers instead of delivery trucks and installers and locals stopping by to introduce themselves. Which she did not mind at all. Most of the time.
But today she was tired. She shouldn’t be. She wasn’t the one wielding power tools, the one hoisting sheets of drywall and buckets of paint up the driveway and through the house. She was making a lot of decisions, a lot of trips up and down the stairs. She was visiting the clearing at the back of her lot where her garden would go. She was the one throwing the ball for Magoo, at least until he lost interest and left it for her to retrieve, but that was about it.
Still, the last few weeks of very little sleep were catching up with her, and today was the first day since moving to Hope Springs she felt she could take time for a nap. She wanted to close her eyes and dream about yesterday’s kiss with Ten. But the knock on the back door followed by the squeaky opening of the screen meant she’d have to put both on hold. She needed to see who’d come a-callin’.
Uh, yeah. Full-on sleep deprivation here.
“Hello?”
Hmm, she mused, rubbing at one eye. That sounded like Mitch Pepper. “In here,” she said, raising a hand and waving over the top of the wingback chair.
“Kaylie? Am I interrupting?”
“Nothing but a nap.” When Mitch came into her field of vision, she gestured toward the other chair. Ten’s chair. “Sit, please.”
“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said, perching on the edge of the seat.
“I wasn’t really asleep. Just…daydreaming.”
“Ah, fake napping. I do it a lot. Usually to Doyle Bramhall’s Jellycream album. Then it’s back to business.”
“I might have to try that. Though I can’t imagine anything called jelly cream being good for me.”
He thought a minute, his mouth twisted. “Give Neko Case a try. Middle Cyclone. I think it would be a good fit. Or Amos Lee’s Mission Bell.”
“Thanks. I will.” She curled her legs to the side in the chair. “It was good to see you this weekend. I’m sorry we didn’t have more time to talk.”
