Mortified, she patted her neck. “What is it?” Her skin felt warm to the touch.
“I left a hickey on your neck.”
“Gee, thanks. Does my hair conceal the evidence? I feel like this is high school all over again.”
“Sort of.”
Not the best reassurance, and Cat breezed forward with the moisture in her mouth evaporating. Tilda waved merrily, no doubt elated to begin the weekend with grade A gossip.
Ruth favored Ryan with a glittering stare while Norah, her long, highlighted tresses dancing in the air like plum-colored snakes, folded her arms with a harrumph of disapproval.
Silvia lobbed Cat a questioning look before planting her startled attention on Ryan.
With her brain entering deep freeze, Cat searched for a suitable opener. The Arctic at dawn, with her neurons crystallizing. How to explain trooping out of the forest with a man loping on her heels? Her lips were love bruised from so much kissing, and the hickey now felt tingly hot. It took all her self-control not to clamp a hand over the evidence.
Miraculously Ryan strode past her with an air of self-possession stronger than his yummy cologne.
“Mrs. Mendoza, hello.” Taking her hand, he shook heartily. “Ryan D’Angelo. A pleasure to meet you.”
Cat imagined Norah’s sexual radar blinking on as the older woman asked, “Did you enjoy your romp in the forest? Cat certainly looks like she did.”
“Ah, well, she showed me the tree house.”
“Freddie’s tree house? I imagine you put the cozy abode to good use.”
To his merit, Ryan kept his cool. “We only stayed for a few minutes.”
“Some events only need a few minutes, young man. Care to explain yourself?”
Silvia stared her into silence. “I’m wondering the same thing,” she growled.
Ruth said, “Are you both stupid? There’s a love bite on Cat’s neck.”
Tilda clapped her hands. “So there is!” She shimmied her dainty shoulders, a voyeur thrilled with the peep show. “Oh, look. There’s another one beneath her ear!”
Cat’s stomach dropped to the vicinity of her ankles. “Mosquito bites,” she blurted. “Big swarm in the forest—weird for October. Must be the heat wave. Who needs July with an Indian summer like this one?”
Jangly embarrassment pinged through her. She angled toward Ryan with the quixotic belief he’d perform a second rescue operation. He opened and closed his mouth, his language skills presumably AWOL. She pitied him. He looked like a guppy hurled from a fishbowl.
Her mother came forward. “Ladies, Ryan, if you’ll excuse us.” She dragged Cat toward the shoreline. Once they were out of earshot, she let go and flapped her arms. “You were in Freddie’s tree house making whoopee? You do realize I’ll have to arm wrestle Tilda before she gets into her car. She won’t surrender her cell phone without a fight. A strong breeze could blow her to next Tuesday, but her upper-body strength is nothing to mess with. Just what I need to start my Saturday.”
“We were only talking in the tree house.” Kissing too, but that was miles away from making whoopee.
“Give me a break. You’re covered in hickeys and your lips are puffy. I wonder why I don’t believe you?”
“Because you’re too angry to listen,” Cat pointed out. “It’s not easy talking to you when you get like this.”
“Don’t even try to turn the tables on me. I can’t believe you’re being this reckless. Didn’t you say at Frances’s house you couldn’t make sacrifices for love? When you said you’d enjoy your time with Ryan for as long as it lasts, I assumed you meant dinners out. A man can be intimate without risking his heart.”
“I hope Papa never hears you talking like this. Aren’t you selling men short?”
“I’m not talking about your father. Maturity teaches a man to shape the fires of youth. At Ryan’s age, desire is a wild flame.”
She’d heard enough. “Stop jumping to conclusions,” she snapped. “You don’t know the first thing about Ryan.”
“Cat, listen to me. Why set yourself up for heartbreak when he’s leaving after the concert?”
“He’s not leaving me—only the Wayfair account, although it’s a safe bet he’s reconsidering the decision.” Fighting for patience, she added, “He came this morning to talk. We’ve decided to begin seeing each other.”
The news elicited a barrage of unintelligible complaints. When she’d finished, Silvia added new combustion to her tone. “You said he couldn’t leave Cincinnati under any circumstance.”
“Only because of Julia,” Cat blurted. “He takes care of his mother—she lives with him. Julia really likes their home in Cincinnati, and she doesn’t go in much for change.”
“You’re assuming if things work out, she’ll agree to move here?”
The incredulity in her mother’s voice made Cat defensive. “Why wouldn’t she? I mean, if Ryan is on board with the idea?”
“Are you nuts? People my age don’t change.” Silvia thumped her chest. “Our personalities become brittle like our bones.”
“You’re wrong. We’re capable of change at any age.”
“My foolish little dreamer. Julia D’Angelo may come to love you nearly as much as I do—but she’ll have expectations, and you’ll toe the line.” Silvia inhaled sharply, her bosom shuddering with the full brunt of her imagined suffering. “How can you leave me and your father? Who’ll keep us company when we’re old, or drive us to the doctor? I’m not spending my golden years in a retirement home if you run off to the city. Those poor souls live on canned tuna and trust their pedicures to strangers.”
The guilt trip, on top of a remarkable morning, galled her. “Alberto moved to Columbus,” she said of her younger brother. Her parents even threw him a going-away party. “You didn’t freak out when he left.”
“Yes, I did. I wept for days.”
An exaggeration. “You erupted like Mount Vesuvius, and Papa wept for days. You drive him bananas when you get frothy.”
“I can’t believe you’re arguing with me.” Her mother splayed her hands across her generous bosom. “I’d expect this type of sass from your older sister. Not you. Not my sweet Catalina.”
“I’m not leaving Sweet Lake. Val won’t either. You’ll always have both of your daughters within shouting distance.” She hesitated. “We’d prefer you shout at us less often.”
Not the best stab at a peace offering. Luckily the tart comment went unnoticed.
Looking toward the forest, Silvia heaved a sigh. “Now what does she want?”
Norah, whose fear of her volatile leader bordered on nonexistent, prowled across the sands with the avidity of a lion scenting a meal. She’d left Ryan fending off questions from Tilda and Ruth.
“Cat, why have you been hiding Ryan from us? You should’ve made the introductions weeks ago. He’s glorious.” With dreamy abandon, Norah swished her feather crown through the air. “How long have you been seeing our fabulous Mr. D’Angelo?”
“Oh, for about twenty minutes.”
“My, you are eager. Sex on the first date. In a tree house, no less.” The fashionable Siren regarded her with newfound respect. “Intrepid.”
Silvia whacked her, drawing a yelp. The pain she inflicted seemed to satisfy her, but only for a moment.
She returned her disenchanted regard to Cat. “Is Ryan spending the weekend? I won’t waste my time lecturing you on the dangers of mixing business with pleasure since he’s already put his teeth in your neck.”
“No, he’s not spending the weekend.” Cat allowed her fingers to move her hair more advantageously. She stood hiding the evidence in an awkward pose. “He might spend next week.”
“The entire week?”
“If he does, he’s bringing Julia. They’ll stay in the south wing. He wants her to see Sweet Lake.”
The implication wasn’t lost on her mother. “He’s confident she’ll agree to a visit?”
Cat shrugged.
Dismissing the ambiguous reply,
her mother pivoted away. She paced across the shoreline, bobbing her finger to keep time with her thoughts. “All right,” she said, “take Monday night to yourselves. We’ll have the three of you over for dinner on Tuesday.”
An evening of “meet the family”? Given Julia’s introversion, she’d never survive a night of nonstop questions. Better to let her acclimate to Sweet Lake and leave the social visits for a later date.
“Mami, don’t fill up my social calendar just yet. Let me talk to Ryan first.” Hopefully he’d nix the idea, putting her in the clear.
“Talk? What talk? I’m not packing my daughter off to Cincinnati without a fight.”
Norah peered down her hawkish nose. “You’re leaving Sweet Lake, child? How traitorous.”
Cat wanted to supply the meddling Siren with a second whack. Recalling Norah’s boob job and her subsequent punishment of the gossipy Tilda, she thwarted the urge.
“On Wednesday, let’s all dine in the Sunshine Room,” her mother continued, undeterred. “On Thursday we’ll have a small barbecue, just a few friends. Easier to get Julia D’Angelo alone and make my opinions clear if we have privacy.”
“I’ll bring my shrimp casserole,” Norah told her. “A cooling complement to the Mexican hellfire you’ll undoubtedly serve.”
“Watch it—”
“I’m merely stating fact. Your intestines were forged with titanium, but I wouldn’t presume Mrs. D’Angelo has a solid constitution. If Marco serves his spicy watermelon salsa, have him tone down the serrano peppers. You can’t wage war effectively if the enemy spends the evening in the toilet.”
Cat stepped between them. “Both of you, stop gearing up for war. Julia is a sweet old lady.” Pure conjecture since they’d never met, but it was a safe assumption. “Well, maybe she’s not old, but she’s not the enemy.”
Norah flared her nostrils. “We’ll see about that.”
“Norah, I’m not inviting you,” Silvia decided. “Five minutes into the festivities, you’ll start grilling Ryan about the sex he’s enjoying with my daughter. I can’t have Julia keeling over in shock. Not before I put her lights out.”
“Will you both stop? We weren’t doing the nasty, and no one is declaring war!” The retort drifted across the lake, unheard.
Norah looked to Silvia, aghast. “What do you mean I’m not invited?”
“You heard me.”
“Fine, Silvia. Party on without me.”
“I will, thanks.”
Norah spun off, her feather crown fluttering in her fist.
Glad for the privacy, Cat said, “I mean it—don’t make any plans for us. I’m not committing without clearing this with Ryan first.”
“He’s already telling you what to do? Tell him you’re dining at your parents’ house, and Julia’s coming too.”
The opportunity for another squabble disappeared. Down the beach, someone shouted.
Jada raced toward them, waving madly. She wasn’t in the habit of running around in long johns and the silly zebra slippers Linnie had given her as a joke gift last Christmas. Only trouble of the first order would send her racing outside in her pj’s.
Cat left her simmering mother and dashed off.
“What’s happened?”
Wheezing, Jada bent over to suck in deep breaths. “Mr. Uchida called up to my room,” she got out between gasps. “The boy demons . . . raining chaos on the inn.”
“Midnight Boyz are here? They aren’t due to arrive until this afternoon!”
“Have to stop them . . . destroying the ballroom.”
“What?”
At last Jada regulated her breathing. She felt around for pockets in her long johns, frowning at the stretchy fabric. “Monkeybums. I left my phone on the nightstand.”
“You haven’t notified Linnie of trouble in paradise?” Meaning she was still blissfully asleep at Daniel’s house, unaware of the chaos.
“Do you have your cell? We need her to send Daniel over to beat the crap out of the little monsters. I’d ask Ellis to do the honors, but the kitchen crew hasn’t come in yet.” Ryan jogged up, and Jada latched on to the collar of his shirt. “Never mind—you’ll do, big guy. C’mon.”
Behind the front desk, Mr. Uchida was stationed for the day shift. Cat was certain he wished he’d stayed home. As a screech resounded from the ballroom, he flung himself against the wall. Then a boing, boing, boing reverberated through the lobby, the odd sound combining with the squeal of wheels rolling fast. Something crashed, and Mr. Uchida fled toward the safety of the kitchen.
Ryan charged to the ballroom. Pushing Jada forward, Cat followed.
A split second later, Ryan’s voice boomed out. “What the hell are you doing?”
Feet planted wide apart, he inconveniently halted two paces inside the ballroom. Cat and Jada were unable to stop in time, ramming full on into his back. Ryan was solid muscle, and the impact hardly budged him. He righted Cat before her feet disappeared from beneath her.
Jada wasn’t as lucky. She tumbled backward, landing on her butt. One of her zebra slippers flipped skyward in a crazy arc.
In the center of the ballroom, Midnight Boyz had rigged up an electric skateboard with ten feet of bungee cord. All four of the band members wore knee pads; most of Davy Keen’s face was hidden behind large swim goggles. Evidently the lead singer was the most recent thrill seeker—his sandy-brown hair stuck out in all directions.
“Hey, Cat!” The loose-limbed youth ambled forward, presumably to wrap her in an unwanted hug.
The demon was barely in his twenties, but a waltz with fame in the regional market of midwestern rock bands had made him unusually hands-y. If the band reached national stardom, no rear end would be safe.
From behind the goggles, he winked at her. “I’ll bet you’ve missed us. How are you?”
She eyed the other band members and the bungee cord. “I’ve been better.”
“Why’ve you been holding out about the playground? This place is cool. We had no idea the ballroom was so big!” Davy opened his arms wide.
Ryan let him get within striking distance before lifting his palm like a traffic cop. “Touch her, and you’ll be picking your teeth up off the floor.”
Davy’s eyes rounded. Weighing the threat, he tapped anxious fingers across his chompers. He had nice teeth.
He also reeked of pot, a circumstance that Ryan also appeared to pick up on.
Ryan’s voice lowered to dangerous levels. “What. The hell. Are you lunatics doing?”
“Geez, man. We’re not doing nothing.”
“Anything.”
“What?”
“Speak properly. You were raised in Pepper Pike, not the Badlands.”
“What are you, one of those stalker fans? How do you know where I grew up?”
The remark brewed storm clouds around Ryan. A typhoon in the making, and the lead vocalist slowly pulled off the goggles. Recognition hit his dizzy skull like a brick.
“Mr. D’Angelo?”
“The one and only.”
“What are you doing in Sweet Lake?”
“At the moment? Reading you the riot act.”
Cat recalled that Midnight Boyz had lost out on a lucrative commercial deal by adding a list of ridiculous demands. Ryan had pulled his sporting goods client out of the negotiations.
Apparently Davy, licking his lips and searching for an expression in the vicinity of contrite, remembered too.
The singer dredged up a smile. “Running into you at the Wayfair—talk about handy. When we wrapped up last night’s concert? Man, we drove right by Adworks. We were wondering why we haven’t heard from you. After Cat shows us where we’re playing next weekend, can we have a sit-down about the commercial? The one for the sporting goods stores?”
“Not on your life. In fact, if you pull any more stunts, I’ll advise Cat to fire you. Losing out on the commercial will be the least of your worries.”
“You’re handling the Wayfair?”
Ryan gave a stiff nod.
“Hey, we’re looking forward to playing on the beach. There won’t be any problems.” Davy raised his hand, a repentant Boy Scout swearing an oath. Ryan merely grunted, and the singer strapped on the charm sure to make him a favorite pinup for adolescent girls across America. “About the commercial. We weren’t serious about the all-expenses to Joshua Tree. Throw in the free rock-climbing equipment, and we’re ready to sign.”
From the floor, Jada said, “Someone hold him. I get the first shot at wiping the stupid grin off his face.”
“Save your strength,” Ryan said. “Why don’t you go upstairs, get dressed? I’ll handle this.”
The suggestion brought Jada to her feet. With a salute, she went out.
Cat’s second-least favorite member of Midnight Boyz sauntered up. The carnivorous drummer had demanded porterhouse steaks with every meal during the band’s stay at the inn. The sticking point had put Cat at odds with the kitchen staff and their tight-fisted budgeting. Heavyset, with curly blond hair framing a moon-shaped face, Nathan Dukowski gave her a look that was one shade from lecherous.
“Good to see you, Cat.” He scratched the beginnings of a beer belly. “Kitchen open yet? We couldn’t find a diner on the road.”
“Sorry, Nathan. The kitchen doesn’t open for another hour.” She studied him warily as he began rooting around in the book bag slung across his beefy shoulder. “What are you doing?” If he pulled out Silly String, she’d kill him.
“I write the blog posts for our website.” Taking note of the anger still brewing around Ryan, he kept a respectful distance. When he spoke again, the genuine contrition layering his words came as a surprise. “Mr. D’Angelo, the bit about putting Joshua Tree in the contract was Davy’s idea. I swear, I didn’t go for it. The other guys didn’t either. I told him Adworks is a big agency, and it’ll help our careers to get one of our songs in a commercial.”
“Tell you what. Give a stellar performance on the beach, and I’ll keep Midnight Boyz in mind the next time.”
“Sure thing, Mr. D’Angelo.”
“You’ll use the ballroom for rehearsals, not play. Understand?”
The Comfort of Secrets (A Sweet Lake Novel Book 2) Page 14
