Holiday Hideout

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  He pictured the roaring fire he would enjoy once he finished this chore. The temperature had dropped significantly in the past hour, and he was ready to go home and settle in for the night. He knocked briskly.

  When the door opened, he blinked in surprise. He hadn’t thought much about who was renting the cabin, but in the back of his mind he’d wondered what sort of woman would deliberately spend Thanksgiving weekend alone in a mountain cabin. He might have expected some eccentric old lady who’d had it with the Thanksgiving Day hype and wanted an escape. He certainly hadn’t expected Beth Tierney to be young and beautiful.

  Not that she was trying to be beautiful. She wore a faded UNR sweatshirt, baggy sweats, and—he couldn’t help smiling when he saw them—sock-monkey slippers. Her dark brown hair was caught up in a haphazard ponytail, and her face was bare of makeup, which only emphasized the soft green of her eyes. Any woman who could look that appealing without trying captured Mac’s attention.

  “I’m Mac McFarland, the handyman,” he said. “Ken and Jillian called me about a potential leak.”

  “Oh!” She glanced at the toolbox in his hand. “I’m sorry you’ve made the trip, especially in this weather. I fixed it.”

  “So there was a leak?” He didn’t want to insult her by implying that she hadn’t fixed it, but he loved this cabin and he was crazy about those oak cabinets. A leak that could threaten the finish he’d painstakingly applied had to be investigated. By him.

  “Yes, but I handled it. Thank you for coming by, but everything’s under control. Happy Thanksgiving.” She started to close the door.

  He put his hand on the door. “I believe you…” Although he didn’t, not really. “But would you mind if I double-check the situation to see if it’s dripping again? Leaks can be tricky.”

  “You don’t think I fixed it, do you?”

  She seemed pretty confident, but he still wanted to look for himself. “I’m sure you did, but I promised to report back to Ken and Jillian after I checked on things.” He smiled. “It’s what they pay me for.”

  She hesitated and finally shrugged. “I suppose you wouldn’t want to jeopardize your work relationship with them.”

  “I’d rather not. They’re good customers.” He gave her points for being understanding.

  “Okay, then.” She stepped away from the door with obvious reluctance. “I’m sure the pipes are fine, though, and I’m kind of busy right now.”

  He glanced at the cozy fire, the glass of wine, the cheese and crackers, and a yellow legal pad with some things scribbled on it. “Are you a writer?”

  “No.”

  So much for that attempt at conversation. Damn, now he was curious. Maybe she’d recently broken up with someone and this was how she was dealing with it. He couldn’t imagine anyone giving up on a woman who looked like her, but she could have a boatload of bad habits.

  As he walked into the kitchen area he noticed a toolbox sitting on the floor beside the row of cabinets. He gave her more points; no women he knew traveled with a toolbox.

  And it was definitely hers, because Ken and Jillian kept whatever tools they needed hanging inside a locked closet by the back door. Ken had made the decision not to give renters access to the tool closet, which Mac thought was a wise move—not so much for fear of theft as for incompetence.

  Mac took off his heavy parka and draped it over a kitchen chair. Then he crouched in front of the sink and opened the cabinet doors. They moved smoothly on their hinges, exactly as he’d intended when he’d put in all-new hardware last summer.

  Nothing was dripping now. He rolled onto his back and scooted under the sink to examine the pipes and fittings. All was well. “Would you turn on the faucet for me, please?”

  She walked over, her monkey slippers whispering against the wooden floor, the scent of cinnamon arriving with her. Water splashed into the stainless-steel sink, but none of it dripped from the fitting.

  “Thanks, that’s good.”

  The splashing stopped and she walked away again.

  He waited. Still no drip. That left him with no reason to stay, no reason to satisfy his curiosity as to why this beautiful woman was here during what was, for most people, a family holiday. He certainly would be dealing with his family tomorrow—along with Stephanie, the woman his mother hoped would become the bearer of McFarland sons.

  Easing out from under the sink, he sat up and leaned his arms on his knees.

  Beth stood looking at him, her expression more open than it had been a few moments ago. “No leak?”

  “Not that I can see.” Something else was different about her, too. Then he realized she’d taken her hair out of the ponytail. It fell to her shoulders in soft waves and he noticed tinges of red mixed with the brown. “Whatever it was, you’ve obviously taken care of it.”

  “Thanks.”

  He stood. “Guess I’ll let you get back to your fire. I appreciate you allowing me to come in.” He walked over to the chair where he’d hung his parka.

  “It seems a shame that you drove over here for no reason.”

  He picked up his coat and turned toward her. “No worries. It’s okay.”

  “I don’t know if you have somewhere you need to be, but…would you like to stay for a glass of wine?”

  He had no idea what had prompted that invitation after her initial chilly response, but he wasn’t opposed to her idea. At all. “I have nowhere I have to be, and that sounds great. Thanks.”

  “I hope you like red.”

  “Absolutely.” And this would give him a chance to stay a little longer and try to unravel the mystery that was Beth Tierney. “But I should call Jillian and let her know the leak’s not a problem.”

  “Sure. While you do that, I’ll pour you some wine.”

  “That’s a deal.” He pulled his phone out of his jeans pocket and punched in Ken and Jillian’s number.

  Jillian answered on the first ring. “Mac? Did you take care of the leak?”

  “No, Beth did and it’s fine now.”

  “Oh. I see. So I guess you didn’t need to go out in the snowstorm, after all. Sorry about that.” Jillian sounded a little subdued.

  “Guess not. You have a capable renter here.”

  “Right. So you’re heading home?”

  “Not quite. Beth offered me a glass of wine, so I’m taking her up on it.”

  “Oh! That’s great! I mean…how nice of her.”

  The puzzle began to click into place. “Jillian, what’s up?”

  “Nothing, nothing. I just think you two might have some things in common. She’s Irish, too, you know.”

  Turning away from the living room, Mac lowered his voice. “Did you arrange this?”

  “Not exactly. Well…sort of.”

  “Honestly, I’m beginning to think you’re in league with my mother.” But Jillian was a customer, so he couldn’t be too hard on her. Still, it was an under-handed trick.

  “Mac, it’s harmless. I just thought you two might get along. If you don’t, no harm done.”

  He glanced toward the living room where Beth sat on the couch with her wineglass on one end table and his on the other. She’d put the plate of cheese and crackers on the couch’s middle cushion. A guy would have to be dead to turn down the chance to spend time in front of a fire with a beautiful woman on a snowy night, even if it was technically a fix-up.

  He angled away again, once more shielding his conversation with Jillian. “I’ll say this,” he murmured. “You have good taste. Talk to you later.” He disconnected the call and tucked the phone in his pocket.

  Now to solve the mystery…

  CHAPTER TWO

  INVITING THE HANDYMAN TO STAY for a glass of wine hadn’t been part of Beth’s game plan. But Mac McFarland was serious eye candy, a fact she hadn’t been able to ignore, especially after he took off his coat and started to inspect the pipe. Between the faded jeans that showcased his tight buns and a blue chambray shirt that required no padding to emphasize his broad should
ers, he was outfitted like a certified hunk.

  His dark, wavy hair brushed the back of his collar in a most attractive way, and his eyes were the kind of startling blue that won guys modeling and movie contracts. On top of all that, he smelled good. From the moment he’d come through the door, she’d breathed in a heady combination of pine boughs and wood smoke.

  Even though she was concentrating on the joys of singlehood this weekend, that didn’t mean she couldn’t invite a guy for a drink.

  She wasn’t exactly dressed for company, though. It was too late to apply makeup, but at least she’d spritzed a little of her favorite spice body mist on after her bath.

  Maybe she’d share a drink with Mac and then he’d go on about his business. But if not, and his arresting blue eyes continued to fascinate her, she might try out the new ground rules she’d devised for her sex life and see what his reaction might be. Assuming he was interested in her and didn’t have some sweetie in the wings, that was.

  Once he’d joined her on the couch, she picked up her wineglass and searched for an icebreaker.

  He took a sip of the wine. “Good stuff. Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome. So…did you decide in kindergarten that you wanted to be a handyman and that was the end of that?”

  He laughed. “No, I wanted to be a superhero, but sadly my superpowers never developed, so I had to settle for household maintenance instead.”

  She could imagine him in spandex and a rippling cape. He had the classic square-jawed superhero look about him. “I’ll bet your customers think you’re heroic. A good maintenance man is hard to find.” As she knew from her experience as a hotel manager.

  “That, as a matter of fact, is true. Just about anyone can hang out a shingle. But I learned from an expert—my dad. I worked for him all through high school and college.” He reached for a cracker and put a piece of cheese on top of it.

  “But now you don’t.”

  “Nope. I developed an independent streak. But at least by working on this side of the mountain, I’m not in direct competition with him.” He popped the cheese and cracker into his mouth and began to chew.

  “So he’s in Reno?”

  He finished chewing and swallowed. “My folks live there.” He picked up his wineglass and gestured in her direction. “Your turn.”

  “I manage the High Sierras Hotel.”

  He nodded. “I can see you doing that.”

  “You can?” She glanced down at her sweats. “I don’t look much like a hotel manager at the moment.”

  “No, but you act like someone who makes plans and carries them out, which would make for a good manager.”

  She gazed at him, intrigued. “How can you tell?”

  “The fire, the wine, whatever you were writing when I got here. That looked like part of a plan to me.”

  “It was.” She was impressed that he was so observant and wondered what he’d think of the manifesto she was creating.

  But she didn’t know him well enough to talk about it, at least not yet. When she didn’t offer to tell him her purpose in coming here, he didn’t ask. She took that as a promising sign that he respected boundaries.

  He swallowed another sip of his wine. “I’d think this would be a busy week for you at the hotel.”

  “It is, but my assistant is excellent and he has my cell number in case anything unexpected crops up. I can get back there fairly fast if necessary.”

  Mac glanced out the window where snow continued to come down. “Or not.”

  “Or not.” She smiled. “To tell the truth, I wouldn’t mind being snowed in. I’m a bit of a workaholic, and a heavy snow would force me to stay away from the hotel for the whole weekend.” She swirled her wine in the glass. “I love my work, but I have a tendency to obsess over it.”

  “At least you have an assistant.” He helped himself to another cracker and piece of cheese. “I’m the whole show, and sometimes that means working 24/7. Well, not quite, but it can feel that way.”

  “So why don’t you have an assistant?” She had an idea of the answer, but was curious as to whether she was right.

  “Damned if I know. I should hire one, but…”

  “A good maintenance man is hard to find?”

  “I just think I can do the job better than anyone else. I have a bit of an ego, I guess.” He grinned at her.

  Her heart rate picked up. That smile of his was killer. “So I’m lucky that you’re not rushing off to repair someone’s broken pipes or faulty light fixture tonight.”

  “It could still happen. I’ve notified all my customers that I’ll be in Reno tomorrow at my folks’ house for Thanksgiving dinner, but I’ll be here until morning, and my people know that.” There was a note of pride in his voice.

  She thought of his childhood ambition of becoming a superhero. He hadn’t strayed all that far from his dream, after all. “Which is why Jillian Vickers called you.”

  He nodded and swallowed a mouthful of wine. “About that.” He glanced over at her. “You should probably know that Jillian loosened that fitting on purpose.”

  Beth stared at him. “On purpose? But why would she… Oh, my God.” She started to laugh. “Oh, my God.” She put her wineglass on the end table so she wouldn’t spill on the couch, a real danger because she was shaking with laughter. “That’s hysterical!”

  “Care to tell me why?” He sounded a little miffed.

  “Because…” She gasped for breath and realized her hilarity might have offended him. “I’m sorry. It’s not hysterical that she’d try to fix me up with you. You’re gorgeous.”

  His eyebrows lifted. “Well, I wouldn’t go so far as to say—”

  “It’s just that the reason I stayed away from my family’s Thanksgiving celebration in Sacramento is because I knew they’d have a blind date for me there. Then Jillian pulls this trick.” She threw both hands in the air. “I can’t get away from people trying to find me a man!”

  He frowned. “And you prefer women?”

  “Heavens, no!” She suppressed another fit of giggles. “I like men just fine. But I’m sick of my family trying to marry me off, which is what these blind dates are all about. My three siblings are married, and I, the eldest, am not. Apparently that bugs them.” She wiped her eyes and gazed at him. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to lose it like that.”

  “No need to apologize. Actually, we’re in the same boat.”

  She cleared her throat. “How’s that?”

  “My mom is determined to find me a wife. In fact, she’s invited someone named Stephanie to dinner tomorrow.”

  “Oh, dear. I know exactly how awkward that can be. You have my sympathies. And on top of that, Jillian’s trying to play matchmaker.” She looked at him. “You don’t have to stay, you know. I mean, first I’m dumped on you, and then tomorrow you’ll be dealing with Stephanie. I’ll bet you’d rather spend the night on your own.”

  “Actually, it’s comforting to be with somebody who’s stuck with the same problem.” He polished off his wine.

  “In that case, would you like a refill?”

  “Sounds good.”

  “All right, then.” She stood. “Be right back.”

  “Do you mind if I stoke up the fire while you do that?”

  She paused for a moment to absorb the fact that he’d asked instead of assuming that, as the guy, he had dominion over the fire. Interesting. “That would be very nice. Thank you.”

  As she walked back into the living room with the wine bottle, she admired how good he looked tending the fire. She’d never dated a handyman before, and the idea of being with someone who was good with tools had an erotic component that she liked. Still, she couldn’t lose sight of the fact this was a fix-up, and this weekend was supposed to be about putting an end to those.

  It helped that he was tired of being fixed up, too, and after all, he’d been inconvenienced by Jillian’s meddling. She glanced at the nearly empty cheese-and-crackers plate, and her natural tendency to be hospitable kic
ked in. He was a big guy, and big guys usually had appetites to match.

  She refilled his wineglass. “I have a large frozen pizza I was going to cook for dinner. Want to share it with me?”

  He looked up, fire tongs in one hand. “I hate to eat your stash of food.”

  “Don’t worry. I brought plenty. I’m planning a single girl’s version of Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow— Cornish game hen, sweet potatoes and some other veggies. I’ll have leftovers to take me through the rest of the weekend.”

  After positioning another log on the fire, he replaced the screen and stood. “Pizza sounds great.”

  She set the wine bottle on the end table next to his glass. “Then I’ll go pop it in the oven.”

  Mac followed her into the small kitchen area. “Matter of fact, your whole plan sounds great. I envy you having the guts to tell your family you weren’t going to play their silly game.”

  “If I can’t do it now that I’m thirty, when can I?” She opened the freezer, took out the boxed pizza and opened it.

  “You’re a very young-looking thirty, Beth.”

  “You didn’t have to say that, but thanks.” She appreciated a man who knew how to give a well-placed compliment. She’d decided not to be paranoid about being thirty, but it didn’t hurt to have someone claim she didn’t look it.

  “I’m thirty-one, and I haven’t been that bold. Then again, my mom keeps reminding me I’m the ‘hope of the McFarlands.’”

  She turned to him. “You’re what?”

  He leaned against the counter—six feet and a couple of inches of heart-stopping masculinity. He stuck his hands in the front pockets of his jeans, which stretched the material over his package. “If my father’s line is to be continued, I’m the only one to do it.”

  A sudden image of how he would do it crossed her mind, and she resisted the urge to fan herself. “You’re an only child?”

  “I have a younger sister, but in my father’s world-view, the son is the only one who can carry on the family name. According to my mother, my dad lives for the thought of me fathering a son.”