by Lisa Plumley
Was it just her, or was his regretful expression a little at odds with the way he kept impatiently revving the car’s engine?
“Sure.” Predictable, he’d said. Unspontaneous. “I understand.” When she got done with her plan, Brad wouldn’t know what hit him. “I just wanted to tell you, I need your house keys back.”
He grinned. Then he laughed. She felt like kicking him.
“What for?” He twisted his key ring to release his set of house keys. He dropped them, warm from his fingers, in her palm. “You’ve found another roommate already?”
Predict this, Holly thought. “As a matter of fact, I have. And he’s moving in this weekend. See ya’.”
Nothing like a little competition to enliven the game, she told herself. Didn’t every man want what he couldn’t have?
Tempting as it was, she didn’t even linger to savor the sight of Brad’s mouth hanging open in surprise. She couldn’t—she had to get busy finding that new roommate.
“I told you, I’m not interested in having a roommate.”
Easing his pickup truck into the early morning traffic that streamed into town, Sam McKenzie glanced away from the road long enough to be sure his cousin Clarissa was listening to him. She wasn’t. Oh, she was nodding her head, all right, but he’d known Clarissa since they were both four feet tall—long enough to realize that with her, a nod didn’t necessarily indicate agreement. Sam sighed.
“I’m only in town until after the holidays, then I’m back to Tucson. I’m sure your friend Holly is terrific, but I’m not in the market for a roommate. I like to live alone.”
Beside him across the wide bench seat, Clarissa snorted. “Is that why you’re staying with your folks, because you like to be alone? You know I love you like a brother, Sam, but I’ve got to be honest, here. That’s truly pathetic.”
“Don’t hold back. Tell me what you really think.”
She hit him in the shoulder, a punch probably aimed at his upper arm but sent awry by the bouncing of his old truck.
“Ouch! Does David know he’s married to such a bruiser?”
“My husband doesn’t give me any reason to punch him,” Clarissa returned archly. “Unlike my knot-headed cousin. Besides, I barely touched you.”
She twisted in the seat, nearly crushing the sack of bargain-priced Christmas wrapping paper Sam’s mother had left in his truck yesterday. He grabbed it, then deposited it in a safer spot—beside the six cans of cranberry sauce and packets of instant turkey gravy she’d also purchased.
Turning his attention to the road again, Sam automatically scanned the streets and buildings around them. Everything looked the same as it ever did in Saguaro Vista, the same as it had since he’d been a kid steering a bike down Main Street instead of his pickup. The old adobe buildings looked a little more worn, and now there were strip malls sprouting up like weeds at the edges of town, but all in all it was nice to come back to. Comforting.
His mouthy cousin was anything but.
“Anyway, the only time you’re alone is when you’re between girlfriends,” she was saying, sounding so primly sure of herself he couldn’t stand it.
“I’ve never lived with any of them, either,” he protested, but Clarissa overrode him, giving Sam a look that allowed no argument.
“I’m not asking you to marry Holly, for God’s sake! She’s got a boyfriend she’s dead-set on already, though I can’t imagine why.”
Clarissa gazed out the passenger-side window, the very picture of nonchalance. Sam didn’t buy her act for a minute. This roommate thing mattered a lot to her, or she wouldn’t have been nagging him about it for the past two days.
“This boyfriend doesn’t object to her having a male roommate?” Either the guy was very, very sure of himself—and her—or he was just plain stupid.
“Well, technically they’re separated.” She must have sensed him weakening, because Clarissa smiled and moved in for the kill. “Come on. Do it as a favor to me, if nothing else. I know! Consider it an early Christmas present.”
“Ha. I know you, remember? You’ll still expect a boatload of gifts under the tree.”
“Naturally.” She grinned. “But you’ll be one ahead, won’t you? That’s got to count for something. And all before Thanksgiving, too.”
Considering it, Sam jerked the truck to a stop in the mesquite-shaded parking lot of the Downtown Grill. He still didn’t want a roommate. “Nope.”
“What?”
Clearly, she couldn’t believe he was refusing her.
“Bah, humbug,” he said for emphasis. “You’ll have to wait until Christmas morning for your presents, just like all the rest of the kids.”
She snorted, not the least bit deterred by his Scrooge impression. Snapping open her seat belt, Clarissa gave him a no-nonsense look. “Listen. I just want the people I care about to be happy, that’s all. If your answer’s still no after you meet Holly, then I’ll drop the whole thing, okay?”
Sam stared at her suspiciously. Maybe it was because she’d worn him down, or maybe it was just because he was starving and wanted their conversation to end. Whatever the reason, he found himself nodding.
“Fine. I’ll meet your damn friend.”
“Great!”
Clarissa hopped out of the truck. She came around to Sam’s side to meet him. Apparently undaunted despite the fact he’d used his best, most grumbly, feet-dragging tone, she grabbed his arm and swept him along beside her toward the Downtown Grill.
“There’s Holly’s car right over there,” she said, her wave indicating a white convertible parked a few feet away. “She must be inside waiting for us right now.”
Sam stopped walking. “Did it never occur to you I might say no?”
“Nah.” Clarissa stepped back to let him open the door for her, offering him a self-satisfied smile. “I usually get what I want.”
With an answering grin, Sam ushered her through the door. “Must run in the family,” he said. “So do I.”
Chapter Two
All right. Maybe it was just a teensy bit juvenile to try to make Brad jealous, Holly admitted to herself as she sat alone in a cracked leather booth at the Downtown Grill waiting for Clarissa to meet her for breakfast. Granted, she’d been provoked into her boast about a roommate she didn’t have yet. And her decision had certainly been a spontaneous one, which was some consolation to her bruised ego. Still, she was almost starting to regret the way those words had just popped out of her mouth.
“Hey, Holly Berry!”
Clarissa’s voice, loud enough even to carry over the din of the restaurant, yanked Holly out of her worries. Glancing up, she saw her friend wending nearer between the rows of customer-filled booths.
She wasn’t alone. There was a man with her. Tall and shaggy-haired, dressed in paint-splattered Levis and a white T-shirt, he somehow managed to look both friendly and slightly disreputable at the same time. He didn’t seem familiar, but then Holly had been working such long hours she’d fallen out of touch with many of the people in town.
“I’ve solved your roommate problem!” Clarissa announced gaily when she’d reached the table. She waved one arm in the general direction of the man beside her. “Holly Aldridge, meet Samuel McKenzie.”
“Sam,” he corrected. “Clarissa’s told me all about you.”
His smile was so inviting that, despite her better judgment, Holly smiled back at him.
“I hope everything she said was good,” Holly said, accepting the handshake he offered.
His palm was callused but clean, and big, like the rest of him. She felt his gaze sweep over her, from the collar of her black suit jacket downward and back again. His appreciative expression took her by surprise. How long had it been since Brad had looked at her like that? Since any man had looked at her like that?
Too long.
“Every bit of it was good,” he assured her. “It’s nice to meet you.”
He actually sounded as if he meant it. Holly gave herself a mental shake and wi
thdrew her hand, watching as Sam and Clarissa settled themselves in the opposite side of the booth.
He was the answer to her roommate problem? Okay, so Sam was pretty attractive in a relaxed, just-rolled-out-of-bed sort of way, but by the looks of him Holly doubted he even had a job, much less the means to pay half her mortgage payment each month.
She slid the hot water and tea she’d already ordered for Clarissa over to her friend, along with a curious glance.
Clarissa ignored Holly’s questioning look. Uncharacteristically, she remained absolutely silent as she fussed with her tea. In fact, Holly noticed, her lips were pressed tightly together, like a child zipping her lips to keep a secret. Something was definitely up.
“Clarissa says you’re looking for a roommate,” Sam said, filling the silence at their table.
He turned over the thick white porcelain cup in front of him and settled it in its saucer. Like magic, a pink-skirted waitress appeared and filled it with coffee. Holly wondered absently if Sam got service like that every place he went. She decided he probably did.
“Yes, I am. My last roommate just moved out.” Why had she called Brad her roommate? “And I’ve been looking for someone to, um, replace him.”
Sam nodded. Clarissa snickered and dunked a teabag in her cup with far more interest than the Earl Grey required. She looked like the cat who ate the canary. Holly frowned.
“Is it a house or an apartment?” Sam asked.
As though pulled by his voice, she looked at him again. He had nice eyes, too—clear blue beneath a pile of sandy-colored hair. Hair that looked way too straightforward to have been gelled or moussed or fussed with the way Brad’s always was.
“It’s a house. One of those old bungalows downtown,” she replied. Why wasn’t Clarissa saying anything?
“Those Craftsman-style bungalows near Spring Street?”
She nodded, surprised he was familiar with the architectural movement that had spawned row after row of houses downtown in the first decades of the century. Hers was one of the few examples of the style that remained unchanged. Many had been demolished to make way for shops and newer stucco houses.
“Those are great houses,” he was saying. “Ahead of their time, I think. It’s too bad there are so few left now.”
“Holly’s renovating hers,” Clarissa chimed in. “It’s going to be beautiful.”
“Tell me about it.”
Sam handed her a leather-bound copy of the Downtown Grill’s menu as though the motion was the most natural thing in the world. As though they’d shared meals together forever.
Holly blinked. Get real, she ordered herself, pushing that wild thought out of her mind. She couldn’t really be interested in him, could she? Muscle-bound laborers had never been her type. She wanted a man with a future, a man with intelligence and wit, a man who thought beyond his next conquest…a man like Brad.
Besides, a guy like Sam probably favored leggy blondes in spandex, not sensible redheads in Chanel-knockoff business suits. Holly put down the menu without opening it.
“I’m still looking for a contractor to handle the bulk of the renovation,” she told him. “There are parts I can do myself, but I’d like to get an expert’s input, too.”
Sam raised an eyebrow at Clarissa, giving her an odd look. “What a coincidence,” he remarked. To Holly, he said, “I know a little about whole-house renovation. I’d love to have a look at it sometime.”
“Sure.”
The waitress, pen and pad in hand, chose that moment to take their order. Holly declined anything but her coffee, but Clarissa and Sam both ordered plates of the Grill’s special pecan pancakes, his with a double side of bacon. Scooping up their menus, the waitress went on her gum-snapping way toward the restaurant’s kitchen.
“Sam’s doing some work for my uncle’s construction company,” Clarissa explained. “He’s one of the ‘and sons’ in McKenzie & Sons.”
At least this potential roommate Clarissa had found for her was employed. “Do you like it?” Holly asked.
“I like the work. It’s absorbing, doing a job just right, seeing a vision come to life. Done well, renovation is demanding, but creative.” Sam’s eyes met hers. “Besides, I’m very good with my hands.”
Very good echoed in her head as her gaze flew to his hands. Her mouth went dry. Had he meant to say those words that way, so…loaded with erotic meaning? Surely it was only her imagination.
“I could give you a demonstration.” He leaned against the booth again, his shoulders nearly reaching the top of it. “How about tonight? Say, 6:30?”
“Tonight?” For a few confused seconds, Holly actually thought he was proposing some sort of illicit meeting, some personal presentation of those hands’ promised abilities. One glance at Sam dispelled that illusion, however. He was asking to see her house, nothing more.
Before she could reply, Clarissa said, “You sound just like your dad, Sam. Straight down to business.” Turning to Holly, she added, “My uncle Joe has got to be the most single-minded guy in town.”
How she was supposed to react to that statement, Holly had no idea. Then the significance of Clarissa’s words dawned on her. Sam McKenzie was Clarissa’s “little cousin Sam.” Funny how she’d never mentioned that in this case, at least, “little” meant he was a couple of years younger. Sam was most definitely not the Little League-sized relative Holly had always assumed him to be. She glared at Clarissa and silently mouthed, “I’ll get you for this.”
With feigned innocence, Clarissa raised her eyebrows. Who, me? her expression asked.
“That’s why I thought Sam would make such a perfect roommate for you, Holly,” she said. “He’s dependable”—Holly couldn’t decipher the look that passed between the two cousins—“great with old houses, and he’ll only be in town for the next couple of months.”
“Through the holidays?” Holly asked.
“Until next semester starts,” Sam explained, going on to describe his work as an English professor at the university in Tucson.
Holly was surprised—they definitely hadn’t had professors like Sam when she was a student at the University of Arizona. She’d bet his students loved him.
A few minutes later the waitress slid two enormous plates of pecan pancakes on the table, followed by an aromatic pile of bacon she set in front of Sam, along with the bill. Holly’s stomach rumbled as the sugary smell of maple syrup reached her.
Sam swallowed a bite of pancake, speared another with his fork, and held it out to her. “Want a bite?”
She couldn’t imagine doing anything so intimate as eating from his fork, Sam guiding the bite of food into her mouth as Clarissa and the whole world looked on. Brad would have been appalled by the very idea, had she ever suggested it to him.
With Sam on the other end of the fork, though, the idea had a new appeal. Some small, hidden part of her wanted to try it, urged her to try it. Holly considered it as, spellbound, she watched an amber drop of maple syrup gather on the tip of his fork tines, tremble, then drip slowly to join the butter and syrup puddle on Sam’s plate.
Oh, boy. She was really losing it. This whole debacle with Brad had clearly sent her around the bend.
Sam raised his eyebrows. “It’s delicious. Do you want to try some?”
Holly shook her head. “Um, no, thanks. I already ate breakfast,” she managed to say.
“Anyway, Holly Berry, wouldn’t it be perfect if Sam moved in with you? I mean, as your roommate, of course,” Clarissa said with a wicked grin. “Aren’t you expecting your, ah, former roommate to move back in by the new year anyway?”
Naturally, she meant Brad. “Maybe even sooner,” Holly felt compelled to say. “In fact, I’m starting to rethink this whole idea of finding a temporary roommate altogether.”
Clarissa looked stricken. “But that’s not what you planned,” she said. “I think Sam here would really help with your plan, don’t you?”
Her emphasis on the word plan left little doubt what she was
referring to: Holly’s plan to win back Brad. A broad wink or two would have made their resemblance to Lucy and Ethel complete.
Sam cleared his throat. They both looked at him. “Isn’t that up to Holly?” he asked mildly.
Holly liked him better already. She smiled. “Sam’s right,” she said, gathering up her day planner, purse, and car keys. “And I’m going to be late for work if I don’t get out of here.”
“It’s Saturday! You’re not taking the day off?” Clarissa asked, looking appalled.
“And leave my inbox full of work?” Holly shook her head.
The office was always quietest on weekends. She’d get tons of work done and be that much further ahead by Monday. Besides, Thursday was Thanksgiving. She wanted to make up for the productivity she’d lose during the holiday.
“Oh, right—what was I thinking?” Clarissa smacked her forehead with the heel of her hand. “You probably only put in sixty hours last week, huh?”
Okay, so Holly would be the first to admit she was ambitious. What was wrong with that?
There’d been a time when Clarissa had put in just as much overtime as Holly did. They’d become friends over deli-delivered sandwiches, eaten long past five o’clock in one of their adjoining office cubicles. Once she’d married David, Clarissa had decided she was happy where she was, but Holly still yearned for an office of her own and the title that went with it.
“You’ve got to stop and smell the roses sometime, you know,” Clarissa warned. “Life’s passing you by.”
“There’s no need to be so dire,” Holly said, feeling exasperated. “Once I make senior-level accountant, I’ll have plenty of time to stop and smell the roses.”
Clarissa’s expression said she’d believe that when she saw it. Holly sighed and let go of their old argument. She couldn’t explain what drove her to work more and more hours, to achieve yet another of her ever-multiplying goals. She only knew her efforts hadn’t quite measured up. Not yet.
“We’re firing up the barbecue later,” Sam said, calling her back to their conversation. “Clarissa and David and I—sure you don’t want to come? It would be great to have you.”
