A MAN TO TRUST

by Justine Davis

  "And how soon were you running everything?"

  Kelsey grinned. "After about a year. It's really amazing that she trusted me to manage the place, even though I was so young and had no real management experience. And she let me buy in more each year, until I owned a quarter of it."

  Cruz smiled back at her, imagining the stubborn determination she must have had even then. Six years, he thought. She'd been running this place for three years, and she'd told him she'd spent a year getting it ready. That was four, plus the six, and the year before she'd started managing the restaurant, plus however long she'd spent at that… No matter how you added it up, Kelsey Hall had been working hard for a long time.

  She tilted her head to look at him when he didn't speak, and the sunlight turned her hair to warm fire. An answering warmth kicked through him, and his breath caught at the force of it. He wanted to bury his hands in that silken mass, wanted to plant a kiss on her upturned nose in the moment before he took her mouth with all the hunger that had suddenly awakened in him.

  And if she could read his thoughts, she would probably dunk him in the pond, he told himself.

  "But the place took off," he said hastily, trying to divert his wayward thoughts.

  "It did. We hit the right combination of food and atmosphere. It was as much luck and the fact that the public taste ran in our direction at the right time as anything else. We sold it for twenty times what we'd put into it."

  "If it was doing so well, why did you sell?"

  A shadow crossed her face. "Mrs. Lerner got ill. Her heart. She had to retire."

  She was staring at the glassy surface of the pond, her eyes distant, unfocused. And sad. Cruz floundered a little, not sure what to say; it was obvious the woman had been special to Kelsey.

  "Is she … all right?" he asked finally, wondering if perhaps the woman had died and left her an inheritance, if that was the real source of the money she said she'd come into.

  Kelsey brightened a little, and he knew that wasn't the case. "As well as can be expected for someone who never wanted to retire." She gestured toward the inn. "She's in Florida now, but she owns part of this place. She wanted to invest part of her share from the restaurant, and I couldn't talk her out of it." She smiled, a little sheepishly. "But then, I didn't try too hard. If it hadn't been for her, I wouldn't have been able to do it."

  Cruz considered that for a moment before he said quietly, "All the more reason you had to make a go of it?"

  She looked startled, then rueful. "Yes. I couldn't let her down. She was so good to me, all those years."

  "She must be pleased with how you're doing."

  Kelsey's mouth quirked. "Well, she hasn't lost any money, and she says that's enough. But I'm hoping for the day when I can actually pay her some dividends on her investment."

  He looked at her steadily. "To go along with the dividends on her judgment?"

  He knew she'd worked it out by the faint color that tinged her cheeks and the pleased smile. He wondered if compliments had been so few in her life that she still blushed at them.

  "Thank you," she said softly. "I hope she feels that way."

  "How could she not?"

  "I'm not doing too badly for a kid with no degree and a mere three years of running a restaurant under her belt."

  He couldn't help doing the math again; she'd run the Sunset Grill for three years before they sold it? That meant, he thought, backtracking quickly in his head, that she… Damn, it meant that she'd been sixteen when she started working there. Amazed, he stared at her.

  "You've done well," he said at last.

  He meant it. Not only had she started working younger than most kids, she'd also made a success of herself at a young age, in a very tough business, not to mention as a woman alone.

  Or at least it appeared she was alone. He had an uneasy sense that Kelsey had spent too much of her life alone, one way or another. He was suddenly filled with a compulsive need that he couldn't explain, a need to know so much more about her, about who she'd been, about what kind of life had made her the capable yet vulnerable woman she was.

  The compulsion made him uneasy, but he doubted it would matter in the long run; he was fairly certain she would dodge any attempt to make the conversation more personal. But he was going to try anyway.

  "Have you always lived in California, then?"

  He purposely made his tone casual, but his eyes never left her face. It was almost imperceptible, but because he'd been watching for it, he saw it, that faint tightening of her mouth, of the delicate skin around her eyes, as tension—or wariness—flooded back into her. He almost regretted doing it, but he couldn't seem to stop.

  "I… Since I was sixteen."

  And she'd gone to work right away, he thought. But he didn't pursue that, he kept the conversation on general things, feeling his way carefully, as if he were dealing with a frightened victim and everything he said, every move he made, were crucial.

  "That's a tough age to move, having to leave all your friends behind in… Where'd you move from?"

  "Back east," she said shortly, unspecifically. She pulled her feet out of the pond and drew her legs beneath her, as if she wanted to be able to spring up quickly. To run? Cruz wondered.

  "You must have liked it here," he said, as if he hadn't seen her action or heard the edge that had come into her voice. "You stayed."

  "There was nothing to go back to," she said, then looked as if she wished she hadn't said it.

  She sat up on her heels, her hands moving restlessly over her knees. He noticed she had gotten her feet under her now and knew he'd been right when he thought she was acting as if she were preparing to run. Apparently it wasn't just his questions she would dodge, it was him, too. Her new interest in him did not, it seemed, mean it was a two-way street.

  "I'd better get dinner started," she said, not looking at him

  "We just ate lunch."

  She glanced at him, surprise mixed with that still-evident wariness in her expression. "That was nearly three hours ago."

  He blinked. Had they really been here that long? He glanced at his wrist. It was bare. His watch was still sitting on the dresser in his room. For a man whose life was usually run by a clock, it was a big step to forget to put the thing on.

  "Guess this means I'm really on vacation," he said, a little sheepishly.

  Her wariness seemed to vanish, and she gave him a dazzling smile. "And it means Oak Tree is working its magic."

  She did get to her feet then, but the feel of impending escape had vanished with the wariness. Now she looked like what she should be: an attractive woman well pleased with her world and what she'd accomplished in it.

  "How does a pot roast sound?"

  "Wonderful. But you don't have to feed me dinner. That isn't in the meal plan. I can go into town and get something."

  "You're my only guest now. Until the first, in fact. I should take good care of you. Besides, it's no more hassle to feed one more. Especially when Dolores fixed it so all I have to do is put it in the oven."

  His mouth twisted into a crooked grin. "Far be it for me to refuse a meal I didn't have to cook. But you have to promise me you'll let me take you out for dinner in return before I leave."

  She drew back a little, as if startled, and she wasn't quite able to hide the look of surprised pleasure that glowed in her eyes. It warmed Cruz in a way he'd never known before; it had been a very long time since a woman lit up at the simple prospect of having dinner with him. But then, it had also been a long time since he asked a woman to dinner.

  In fact, he admitted wryly as he walked with her back to the inn, trying not to notice the graceful, smooth way she moved, with that trace of a feminine sway to her hips, it had been too long, period. That must be what had him thinking this way, what had him fighting off heated, erotic thoughts even at the most ordinary times.

  That, and the fact that Kelsey was more fascinating than he'd ever realized.

  It's the cop in you, he told himse
lf. You just can't resist a puzzle. And she's one heck of a puzzle. Wrapped in one heck of a package.

  On a physical level, he supposed some men, those who preferred the kind of woman who graced most magazines these days, would find her just a bit too curved for their taste. Personally, he found her damn near perfect and enjoyed the fact that she didn't bemoan every mouthful she ate, worrying about her weight.

  He also found himself spending far too much time gazing at those luscious curves, wondering if they felt as good as they looked, and knowing the answer deep in his gut, where an intense heat had been building for days now.

  Maybe it was a good thing he was only here for two more days.

  * * *

  She couldn't remember an evening she'd enjoyed more, Kelsey thought as they left the restaurant and walked back to Cruz's big blue four-wheel-drive. The service had been amazingly quick, the meal delicious, topped off with a strawberry pie that had her wishing she could get the recipe. The talk had been friendly and painless, and looking across the table at Cruz Gregerson had been anything but a hardship.

  Except when she found her heart speeding up at silly things, such as when he reached for his glass and she noticed how beautiful his hands were, lean, strong and long-fingered. Or when he was reading the menu and she noticed the long, thick sweep of his lashes. And then when he looked up at the waiter and she noticed the way the cords of his neck delineated the hollow of his throat.

  And such as the moment when, because she was stealing glances at him, she nearly missed a step in front of the restaurant. She was struck by his solid strength as he caught nearly her full weight, righted her, then steadied her, all with one hand. She'd never felt so secure. So safe. Protected. Almost … cherished.

  She was being silly, she told herself. Cruz was simply being … kind. He had exerted himself to be charming, had acted as if he'd looked forward to this as much as if it were a date with a woman he liked, rather than payment for a few extra meals that wouldn't show on his bill when they got back tonight and he checked out.

  At least that was what she kept telling herself; she knew that to think there was anything more to it would be beyond foolish. And she tried to ignore the tiny voice inside her that was saying she would truly miss him when he was gone. Listening to it would be even more foolish.

  So foolish that she had limited herself to a single glass o wine with her meal, since she rarely drank. Cruz was driving, but she was feeling far too attracted to him to risk exceeding her tolerance for alcohol.

  He opened the door for her and handed her up into passenger seat. As he walked around to the driver's side, she remembered the warning he'd given her when they first got into the vehicle.

  "You may regret this," he'd said.

  "Why?"

  He'd given her a wry look. "Dog. I try to keep him out of the front seat, but the hair seems to migrate."

  "What kind of dog do you have?" she asked now, when he was in the driver's seat.

  "Who knows?"

  Kelsey smiled; she liked that kind of dog. "Who's taking care of him?"

  "A friend who doesn't mind feeding the zoo."

  "The zoo?"

  He gave a long-suffering sigh that she was reasonably sure was feigned as he maneuvered out of the parking lot.

  "At last count, besides the dog and I don't know how many fish, it includes a baby raccoon, a possum, two rabbits, a couple of birds and a squirrel. And," he added, a look of sheer abhorrence on his face, "Slither."

  She stared at him. "Slither? Is that … what it sounds like? A snake?"

  "It certainly is."

  There was no mistaking his tone. "Er … why do you have a snake, if you dislike them so?"

  "I hate them," he corrected as he made the turn onto the highway that would take them back to the road to the inn.

  "Then why have one?"

  "I don't. Sam does. She loves the damn thing."

  "Sam?"

  "Samantha." He gave her a sideways glance as he pulled the car to a stop in the left turn lane at the bottom of her hill.

  "My daughter. She has a habit of bringing home every wounded stray for miles around. Including, unfortunately, the legless ones."

  Kelsey blinked. She'd forgotten. Cruz had mentioned, on perhaps his second stay, that he had a little girl. But she'd been trying so hard not to succumb to the interest he sparked in her that she hadn't wanted to hear any more, hadn't wanted—or hadn't dared—to indulge her curiosity about him.

  "I'm sorry," she said hastily. "I'd forgotten her name."

  "I'm not sure I ever told you," Cruz said. "And you never asked."

  It wasn't said in an accusing tone, but Kelsey winced anyway. She was very aware that, for all her trying to keep him occupied, she had stayed away from really personal questions. She even knew why: asking him personal questions about his family and background would imply license for him to ask those questions of her, and she was in no way ready for that.

  "Where is she now?"

  "She's at camp, up near Lake Arrowhead. That's why I have to leave tonight. She's getting a ride home with one of the other parents, but I want to be there when she gets there." There was a break in the traffic, and he made the turn onto the hill road smoothly, evenly. "That's why I come here, close to home, rather than someplace a plane flight away. I want to be able to get to her if anything happens."

  Kelsey felt a sudden tightness in her throat at his words and at the lack of any trace of resentment in his voice; it was clear that, in his eyes, this was nothing special. He said it as if such compromises in his more important adult life for the sake of his child's were … natural. Expected. And not at all cause for complaint.

  "She's got my pager number if she needs me," he added, and Kelsey felt a pang of guilt at her assumption that he wore the pager because of his work, as if there could be no other reason, simply because he was a cop and therefore had no other life. "And from here I can get to her in a couple of hours."

  If he only knew how special that seemed to her, she thought, blinking rapidly as they turned onto the drive to the inn.

  "Does she look like you?" she asked, grabbing at the first thing that came into her mind to say before he noticed the moisture in her eyes.

  "No, lucky for her. She's blond, and got the brown eyes. She's only like me in temperament." He stopped the truck in one of the guest slots, turned it off and turned in his seat to look at her as he added with a grin, "Stubborn."

  Kelsey smiled; she couldn't help it. "How old is she?"

  "Ten. Going on thirty."

  Her smile widened. She didn't know why she'd shied away from this; she loved learning more about him. "Precocious?"

  "I think she was just born with an old soul," Cruz said. "But she's smart as a whip and has more energy than I can deal with sometimes."

  He leaned toward her, and for one heart-stopping moment Kelsey thought he was going to kiss her. She fought down an embarrassed flush when she realized he'd only been reaching for something on the back seat.

  It was, she saw then, a spiral notebook like the one she'd seen him with in the great room last night, like the ones he always brought with him. Up close now, she saw that it was not a writing notebook, as she'd thought, but rather a sketchbook, and it seemed full of pencil drawings. This was what he'd been doing? He wasn't a writer, but an artist?

  He flipped through a few pages, slid them to the back, then handed the sketchbook to her. And she had her answer; he was indeed an artist. A very, very good one.

  Kelsey's breath caught. Her gaze shot to his face, then back to the pad she held. "Oh, Cruz…"

  She didn't know if it was a reaction to the quality of the drawing itself or the image portrayed there, but she felt stunned. The sketch was a marvelous piece of work, capturing not only the young, innocent beauty of the little girl, but the glint of mischief in her eyes, and the determined slant of jaw and chin that gave the truth to his words about her temperament. And while he might be right in saying she didn't look lik
e him, there was nevertheless a sense of quiet strength, evident even in this child, that spoke clearly of her father.

  "She's lovely," Kelsey said softly. Then, looking up at him, she added, "And if I had to guess, I'd say she's a handful, too."

  Cruz grinned. "That she is. But she's got such a good heart, it's hard to stay mad at her for long. When she gets in trouble, it's usually because she's trying to help somebody else."

  "Or something? Like a raccoon, rabbit, or the like?"

  "Exactly," he said. "And they sense it, I swear. Every living creature she's around gravitates to her."

  Kelsey stared at the drawing as Cruz got out of the truck. She hadn't assumed he would open the door for her, it was simply that she'd been so entranced that she forgot to open it herself. But he seemed to assume he would. He made no comment, merely nodded when she thanked him as she slid to the ground.

  "She sounds … very special."

  "She is. She's the best thing that ever happened to me."

  Kelsey stared at him as he said it with no trace of hesitation or doubt, not a trace of false sincerity. He meant it, she thought. He absolutely meant it.

  "She's going to do some good in this world," he said softly. "Maybe become a vet, if she doesn't outgrow the animal thing. It would suit her, I think. And she'd be a darn good one."

  The intensity of the love and pride and protectiveness in his voice made Kelsey's eyes begin to brim anew. What must it be like, to have your father love you so very much? She stared down at the lively sketch. Lucky, lucky little girl, she thought. I hope you know how lucky you are.

  She knew she was going to lose her composure, so she quickly flipped the page. And smiled at the vivid portrait of a shaggy dog, one ear pricked, the other flopping over, a tongue-lolling grin on his face.

  "Frisbee," Cruz said in explanation.

  She smiled at the engaging portrait as they walked up the steps onto the porch. "Frisbee? I gather he catches them?"