“All right,” Ernie boomed, waving his gavel. “What am I bid—”
“One hundred dollars!” Jay called from the back.
“One hundred and ten!” another man yelled. Betty darted a look at the man and cringed inside. Claymore Perkins lolled back in his chair and smirked at her over the cigarette in his lips. Claymore owned the local pawn and salvage shop, where he displayed his collection of Elvis portraits on velvet. Claymore had already asked her for a date several times, and he’d gotten sarcastic after the most recent of her diplomatic refusals. She had nothing against his work, but his attitude was sleazy.
“One hundred and twenty!” Jay countered, but he didn’t sound as enthusiastic this time.
“One hundred and thirty,” Claymore said immediately, his cigarette bobbing. “I got a taste for some of your sauce.”
“One hundred and thirty … five,” Jay grumbled.
“One-fifty,” Claymore retorted.
Jay shook his head and gave Betty an apologetic look. Her dread increased, as well as her absurd disappointment toward Max. His lack of interest hurt her feelings even as she kicked herself for caring.
“Anymore?” Ernie asked, glancing around the room.
Betty refused to look at Max, but realized that she was grinding her teeth. She rebuked herself for being so certain that he’d make a grand gesture just to pursue her. You aren’t exactly a femme fatale, my dear. And didn’t you want him to leave you alone?
“Going once,” Ernie said, raising his gavel. “Going twice.”
She bit the inside of her cheek. She’d never speak to Maximilian Templeton again.
“Going—what? What’s that, Max?”
Her mouth dry, Betty jerked her gaze to Max. He was holding up his hand, palm forward, fingers and thumb spread. A knowing, wicked smile curved his mouth, and he studied her through narrowed eyes. “Five hundred,” he called softly, his voice so rich and full that it carried through the room regardless.
Everyone gasped. Betty looked at him shrewdly. His smile grew smug. He had not only bought her time and attention, but he’d let her squirm first, just to show that he had the upper hand.
“Claymore, are you done?” Ernie inquired.
Claymore grunted, looking disgusted. “Yeah.”
“Sold!” Ernie rapped the gavel. “A catered barbecue dinner for twenty people, to Max Templeton. Thank you, Max. Thank you, Betty.”
She swiveled woodenly and nodded to Ernie. “It was my pleasure.” Then she left the microphone and glided regally past Max, ignoring him, trying not to clench her fists.
“Later, babe,” he said with challenge in his voice as she swept by. “My mouth is watering already.”
Five
Max tracked her down on Monday as she was hanging lace curtains over the windows in the restaurant’s main room. “Here comes the judge,” Andy Parsells announced.
Standing on a stepladder, she glanced hurriedly over her shoulder. Max stood in the double doorway to the house’s central hallway. His hands were shoved into the pockets of handsome gray slacks. From his polished loafers to his white windbreaker and crisp white shirt, he was dressed for a laid-back business day as a rural magistrate. He wore his string tie, of course.
“Thanks, Andy,” she said distractedly, nodding to her manger as a signal that he could leave.
Andy headed back to the kitchen, where he was unpacking utensils and pots. He was short and rotund, with a bulbous nose and a head full of cantankerous gray hair. In clothing he was strictly a biker type—faded jeans, a white T-shirt with a pack of cigarettes rolled into one sleeve, black boots, and a black jacket. It was hard to imagine him as a grandfather of seven and a deacon in one of the local churches, which he was.
He was also a master at running a restaurant. He’d already lined up a dependable, mature staff of kitchen workers and servers. Betty knew that her good wages had helped him acquire them, but also they’d wanted to work for Andy, who’d developed a fine reputation as the Hamburger Barn’s head cook.
“Getting him was quite a coup,” Max commented, walking toward her. “I wouldn’t have believed that he’d work for a woman.”
“He was a tough cookie. When we were negotiating, he went along on one of my catering jobs and saw how I ran my business. I think he was impressed that I toted and fetched alongside my employees. He said I wasn’t a snob.”
A long swath of lace hung over Betty’s left shoulder. She swept the tail of it around her neck and posed like a grande dame, one hand on her jutted hip. “Do you feel threatened by women in power?”
Max stopped at the base of her ladder and looked up at her slyly. “Only if they demand a rate increase on my electric bill … Oh, you mean women in power.”
“Cute, Maximilian.”
“I approve. I like the new order of things. There are fewer games.” He sighed dramatically. “Or different games, at least.”
She took her time coming down from the ladder, fiddling with the curtain draped across the front of her long-sleeved T-shirt. Then, feeling awkward in his presence, and to emulate his cocky, casual attitude, she stuck her hands in the front pockets of her jeans.
The slit-eyed appraisal Max gave every inch of her was hard on her nerves. She rocked back and forth on her heels, eyeing him with all the nonchalance she could muster. “Sorry I missed the dancing on Saturday night. My escort had to leave early. He had a long drive back to Atlanta.”
“Poor guy. Then he made the long drive back here on Sunday, so he could spend the day with Ann.”
“He what? He did?”
“Hmmm. I saw them having lunch together at the deli.”
She recovered her composure a little. “Well, that’s nice. I hope they enjoyed each other’s company.”
“You’re chicken-livered, Betty. You should have stayed and danced with me Saturday night.”
“I have a tough liver, thank you. I know how to avoid trouble too. I don’t dance with men who are manipulative and devious.”
He dismissed her complaint with a lazy wave of one hand. “I’m here to schedule my catered barbecue dinner. Instead of one shindig for twenty people, I’d like ten dinners for two people. You and me.”
“It doesn’t work that way.”
“For five-hundred dollars, it ought to.”
“You probably could have had me at your beck and call for no more than two hundred. Claymore Perkins isn’t an extravagant man—except where his velvet paintings of Elvis are concerned.”
“So I have you at my beck and call? I like that way of putting it.”
She shifted impatiently. “When do you want your party? I’m booked up for the next few Saturdays. I haven’t done much catering lately because I’ve been busy here, but that’s about to change. People around the lake have lots of parties at this time of year because the mountains are so pretty. They invite all their friends up.”
“Do you do any catering on weekdays?”
“Certainly.”
“How much advance notice do you need?”
“For a small group, one day.”
“I can have you at my beck and call tomorrow then?”
She thought for a moment. She’d have to go down to her folk’s house in Atlanta and get the bus this evening, then spend all day tomorrow preparing food. Well, she’d been planning to move the bus up here this week, anyway. And it would be best to get the ordeal with Max over with as soon as possible.
“Tomorrow is fine. Can you actually get nineteen friends together on such short notice? Are there nineteen people around here who can put up with you?”
“I’ll just pare down the list of my old girlfriends. Pick the top fifty and draw names.” He chuckled dryly at the deadpan look she gave him. “Actually, I’m going to give my prize to a couple of people who are getting married tomorrow night. I want you to cater their reception.”
Her double take made him sigh. “See? I’m not such a jackass. They’re elderly and they don’t have much money. A widow and a widow
er marrying for the second time. Their friends from the senior center are all invited, and they were going to have a reception with cheap cookies and punch. If you’ll provide the barbecue, I’ll provide a wedding cake.”
“All right.” She was surprised and once again thrown off balance. “What time?”
“Seven.”
“Okay.”
Around Max her emotions had a disturbing way of flip-flopping. Now she wanted to just gaze at him in melting wonder. He looked-down at her with a somber, troubled expression. Neither of them moved, but she felt as if they’d stepped closer. She realized after several seconds that her lips were parted and that she was, indeed, staring at him in wonder.
“I’ll see you at six,” she mumbled, lost in his eyes. “You’re a nice boy, Maximilian. Always full of surprises.”
“I can be Incredibly good. Better than your wildest dreams.”
“And so humble.”
“See you tomorrow. At six.”
After he strolled out, she got her hypnotized muscles in gear and followed quickly to the veranda’s screened door, so that she could watch him. He descended the steps and went down the walkway without looking back, but when he reached the street, where he’d parked his Jeep, he turned and saw her in the doorway.
“You’re beautiful in lace and denim,” he called gruffly.
She touched the curtain hanging across her breasts. By the time he drove away, she’d succumbed to a long, yearning sigh, and wished desperately that she had stayed to dance with him at the chamber of commerce party, where it might have been safe to indulge a little.
Max paced the small foyer outside the wedding parlor, his long black coat shoved back behind his hands which he’d sunk into his trouser pockets. Norma came out of the parlor, unfastening the buttons of the white sweater she’d donned over her considerable bosom and blue dress. She considered the dress, with a tiny heart embroidered beneath its lace collar, her work uniform.
“It was chilly in the parlor. I turned up the furnace so the old folks won’t get the shivers,” she noted, eyeing Max curiously. “What’s wrong with you, son?”
“I’m just wondering where the barbecue queen is. It’s six-fifteen. How can she set up food for twenty people by seven o’clock?”
“It’s not like you to fidget.”
He halted and frowned in thought. “I know. Dammit, I’m acting like a fool.”
“Are you worried about the food or Betty?”
“I’m not worried about her, I’m—”
“I heard she’s set on finding a husband and thinks you and your bachelor ways are bad news.”
Exasperated, he coyly wagged a finger at Norma. “It’s not nice to listen to gossip. Especially when it’s true.”
“What are you goin’ to do about that truth?”
“Change her mind.”
Norma crossed her arms over her chest. “Sweet talk the lady? Even if she’s off limits?”
“She’s not off limits.”
“If she’s the marrying kind and you’re not, you ought to let her alone. Or overhaul your ideas about marriage, so you won’t end up like your daddy.”
“Pa never needed a marriage license to be happy.”
“He wasn’t happy. He put on a big show whenever you were visitin’, telling you how many lady friends he had, but he was lonely a lot of the time, and he told me more than once that he envied old folks who had a wife or husband. And he wished he had more children, and grandchildren too.”
Max stared at her in disbelief. “No. He could have remarried if he’d felt that way.”
Norma shook her head. “He waited too long. Nobody’d have him. His reputation was too scary. See, lots of ladies invited the old tomcat home for a little caterwauling, but none of them wanted to keep him.”
Max studied the blunt honesty in her serious brown eyes, and his astonishment gave way to dull sorrow on his father’s behalf. So Pa hadn’t been as carefree as he’d wanted everyone to think. Max gritted his teeth. That still didn’t mean he would have been happier married.
“I’m not my father. I’m going to have someone important in my life, someone I love and who loves me. But I’m not going to pledge all the impossible promises in a marriage vow to another human being. Two people shouldn’t have to promise the world to each other. That only leads to disappointment.”
“You won’t have much of a ‘someone’ then. And you sure won’t have Miss Betty Quint, because from what I’ve heard, she wouldn’t put up with second best.”
Max knew when he’d lost a debate with Norma. He bit back his frustration and released it on the foyer’s flowery carpet and wallpaper. “Dammit! This room is so old looking, dinosaurs must have squatted in it. I’m going to have it redone.”
“You forgettin’, Maximilian? Your Pa left this place to me. Don’t you go rantin’ and ravin’ about my perfectly fine foyer just because you’re mad at your old cynical self.”
He threw up his hands. “I’m not mad at … I wish Betty would get here!”
“Calm down. I see headlights turning off the road.”
Max swung the front door open so hard that he shook the beveled-glass Insert. Lumbering into the small graveled parking area beyond the house’s lawn was a remodeled school bus, painted silver. “Betty’s Barbecue” was scrolled on the side in large maroon letters.
Betty honked the horn at him and brought the bus to a stop. Crossing the lawn with long, angry steps, Max arrived in the parking lot just as she cranked the door open.
“You look worried,” she commented, peering at him from the driver’s seat. She looked calm, neat, and gorgeous in slim black trousers and a gold sweater, with lacquered black-and-gold combs pulling her hair back from her face.
“You’re late,” he announced sharply.
She drew back, obviously startled. “I said six o’clock.”
“It’s six-twenty.”
“That’s still more than enough time.”
“And you’re not exactly dressed to work.”
“I’ll put a big white chefs apron over my clothes. What should a barbecue caterer wear—overalls, a straw hat, and a name tag that says, ‘Hi, I’m Betty. Enjoy my pork butts’?”
“All right, all right, never mind.”
He leapt onto the bottom steps and glanced impatiently around the bus’s interior. What he saw startled him. The back half of the bus had been converted into a restaurant-quality kitchen.
But in the front half of the bus were windows covered in chintz curtains. Behind the driver’s seat was a small booth with a table that bore a checkered cloth. The effect was warm and inviting.
“This is the first time I’ve ever had the diner delivered along with the dinner,” Max told her.
Betty flicked a switch, and the bus filled with light from large fluorescent fixtures in the ceiling. “Clear out of my way, Major,” she said firmly. “I’m about to charge.”
“Now you’re panicking about the lack of time.”
“No, I’ve been doing this work for years, and I’m a professional. I know exactly how much time I need to set up the food.” She unbuckled her seat belt and tossed it aside, frowning at him as she did. “Why are you angry with me?”
“I think you need to be more punctual.”
“I think you woke up on the wrong side of the foxhole this morning. You’re in a terrible mood.”
He jerked a thumb toward the house. “Just haul your tail. Hand me something to carry inside.”
She stood slowly, put her hands on her hips, and met his eyes with a look of dangerous intensity. “I can handle this alone. Scram.”
He climbed the steps and planted himself in front of her. She threw her head back and silently defied him, a challenging, stubborn expression on her face.
“I spent five-hundred dollars. I bought your services for this shindig,” he said between clenched teeth. “I’m in charge.”
He was standing so close to her that he could smell the rose scent of her perfume and see
the charcoal shadow that accented her gray eyes. Now that gray turned as dark as a thundercloud. “This is my ship, and I’m the captain. You’re about to be thrown overboard.”
“Why are you refusing my offer of help?”
“Because you’re not offering, you’re ordering. I don’t respond very well to the whims of authority. That’s why I’ve always preferred to be my own boss.”
“I think that you hate like hell to be anywhere near me, and you waited until the last minute to come here.”
She hesitated, her eyes searching his. Then she said softly, “You’re right.”
Tense silence hung between them. Taken aback, he said finally, “You’d never make it as a diplomat.”
“Every time I’m near you, I feel as if I’m walking a tightrope. I’m terrified that I might fall. And you enjoy making me feel that way. Why should I want to be around you under those circumstances?”
“Let yourself fall. I’ll catch you.”
“Please, could we drop this subject? I have work to do.”
He glared down at her, but she didn’t budge. Elemental warnings ran through him—desire and respect and a deep, compelling decision to get her into his bed soon, no matter how he had to do it. He didn’t need marriage, but he did need her—more than he wanted to admit at the moment.
“I’ll go if you agree to one request,” he told her. “I want you to serve my barbecue to me at my house, after the wedding reception. And I want you to eat dinner with me.”
She nodded primly. “All right. If no more than eighteen people attend the wedding, you’ll have two dinners left. But if twenty people show up, I’ll serve you diddly squat.”
“Great. Put some extra sauce on my diddly.” He shook his head. “There won’t be more than eighteen people.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I called the bride-to-be and asked her.”
Honey and Smoke Page 7
