by Dawn Atkins
No. What was over was over. The whole point of that little "come logging with me" bit was cold proof of that. Forget it. She shut the door, rested her back against it, and looked at the empty trailer that would never again host a steamy moment between her and her cowboy. Tears dropped onto her folded arms.
Oh, get a grip. She palmed away the tears. The ridiculousness of her plan to sleep with Max suddenly overwhelmed her and she laughed at herself. She'd actually been ready to take a crack at gathering wood in the forest, dodging bears and snakes, just to be with Max. The thought made her hot with embarrassment.
Going to bed with Max had been a stupid goal. Not without its charms, but not worth going to extremes for. If she wanted to have wild sex with a he-man, it would just have to be someone besides Max McLane. For whatever reason, he didn't want to play.
And at least Max had helped her get rid of Pierce. That was the important thing. If a by-product of that was that she'd gotten rid of Max, too, then so be it. All the same, tears kept filling her eyes and spilling over her lids.
Oh, stop it, she told herself. It was just sex. Nothing earth-shattering. Except she was pretty sure that with Max it would come close.
* * *
This was it. The morning of the opening. Two months' work would come to fruition tonight and Lacey's nerves jumped like water on hot oil. Her excitement almost made up for her disappointment about Max. Almost. She'd resigned herself to the decision to stop trying to get him to bed, but it hadn't been easy.
As the pace of the work escalated, they'd worked more closely together. Max was practical, knowledgeable and calm, and running an idea past him always resulted in a better one.
Unfortunately, when she bounced something off him, it always came back with a jolt of desire so intense she could hardly focus on what they were talking about. Every accidental touch was like brushing against a hot stove. She was forever bracing herself against the sensation, trying to hide the way she trembled when he got close and lost all rational thought when he looked at her a certain way.
Once she'd come around a corner too quickly and crashed headlong into him. He'd caught her in his big hands and held on for a long tense moment, his eyes glittering with longing. She'd barely kept herself from lunging upward to kiss him.
She told herself it was just the forbidden fruit phenomenon – the thing denied became the thing most craved – but that didn't help much. Nights were the worst. Sometimes, as she lay sleepless, she imagined dashing across the highway in her nightie to wordlessly pounce on him in the bunkhouse, like some lace-trimmed temptress of the night. Of course she had more sense than that. Barely.
Luckily, working on the coffeehouse kept her hands and mind busy. And tonight everything was coming together. A few last-minute things had to be handled. The new chairs for the cocktail tables hadn't arrived when expected and neither had the cocktail napkins, but she'd been promised on-site delivery of the chairs and overnight shipment of the napkins. Ramón was swearing in Spanish and banging things in the kitchen as he prepared the hors d'oeuvres for tonight. At least Ramón was acting normal.
To calm herself, Lacey surveyed the room. Everything looked just as she'd envisioned it. The stage's wood gleamed, flanked by expensive speakers. The new round faux granite tables looked both elegant and trendy. The walls, painted a rich plum and cranberry, with salmon accents, held some of Jasper's funky art pieces including a rendition of the Grand Canyon made out of wine and champagne corks, Van Gogh's "Starry Night" in bottle caps, and an impressionist self-portrait of Jasper made from shellacked hot dog condiments – ketchup, relish, chopped onions and mustard.
Suspended from the ceiling were kidney-shaped pieces of plywood painted with animal stripes or spots. The zebra-striped bar stools complemented the swaths of fabric in leopard spots and tiger stripes that swagged here and there on the walls. The effect was trendy and retro, colorful and lively. Exactly what she'd had in mind.
The black lacquer on the new bar shimmered and the diner area shone with new paint, fresh accents, a gleaming brass espresso machine and a stunning selection of baked goods. Even the Amazatorium looked better. She'd dusted everything, added new pedestals and had the signs painted in the same typeface as the new neon sign out front. She'd even designed a new costume for Monty Python.
At the grand opening they would serve special coffee drinks at reduced rates along with a selection of Ramón's pricey hors d'oeuvres. Max had convinced her it was worth the expense to make a splash. Ditto the fabulously expensive band. It worried her a little, but she trusted Max. Thank God for Max. He'd been her rock this last month. Even if he hadn't been her lover. The thought made her ache.
There he stood, a few feet away on the ladder, tacking up the last piece of faux animal skin to the top of the stage. She sighed. He still looked so good. He made a much better employee than a sex object, she told herself. This was a much more sensible way to behave. Every time she was tempted to go for a redo on that last visit to her trailer, she thought about how humiliated she'd felt when she took his joke about sheep shearing seriously.
There was some satisfaction in the fact that he seemed to be suffering too. Now and then she caught him with a look of raw heat that stopped her heart.
This was better, she kept telling herself. She'd just gotten carried away, fixated on sex with Max as if it were part of the café renovation. Now she had one focus. Much better. More clear, more purposeful.
More lonely. Just looking at Max made her feel empty inside. But that was how it had to be. You had to make sacrifices for the things that mattered.
Speaking of which… She opened her phone to call Wade to remind him about tonight. Damn. Voice mail again. Ironically, Wade had been so hands-off with her since that first week she'd had trouble getting his attention when it counted. She'd invited him to come at six for an early dinner, when she planned to wow him with a tour and then a PowerPoint computer presentation – complete with bullets and sound effects – about the project.
Now her gaze was drawn to Max, who climbed down from the ladder and backed away, admiring his work.
"You think the staples will hold?" she called to him. The fabric sagged heavily in the middle. "Maybe you should use nails."
"You're the boss," he said, grinning at her, completely nonplussed by her micromanaging.
"I just want to be sure," she said. "I want everything to be perfect for Wade."
"Forget Wade. It'll be perfect for you. That's what counts."
"The way I handle this project will show Wade what I can do. Things have to go like clockwork."
"You want the coffeehouse opening to go perfect so you can leave it?"
"Pretty much."
"But you love it here."
"It's great, but this is just one restaurant. Soon I'll have all of the Wellington properties to worry about. This is only short-term." Every time she got Wade on the phone she made sure to ask about the California buyout, so he'd know she was interested in the bigger picture, even while every ounce of her energy felt locked in to what she was doing at the Wonder Coffeehouse.
"Happiness is happiness, short-term or not." Max's dark eyes locked on hers. Whenever he looked at her she felt so seen. He had the uncanny ability to read clear through her.
"All the same, I'd feel better if you nailed the swag," she said to distract him from her simmering doubts.
"Okay," Max said, sighing. He started back to the ladder. Watching him walk away she automatically wanted to call him back. She felt better when he was nearby – even if she couldn't really have him. It was stupid – some biological response she couldn't control.
"Truck's here with the chairs!" Rodney yelled through the archway. "And a UPS carrier dropped off some boxes."
"Must be the napkins with our logo," she said. Great. The chairs and the napkins. Two things off her last-minute checklist.
"I'll help unload," Max said and headed out. For the next few minutes, the place swirled with movement as Max and Rodney placed the ch
airs around the café tables, and Jasper carried in boxes and boxes – and boxes – of napkins. She hadn't ordered that many, had she?
She went outside to sign for the chair delivery and see the truck off. She returned to the coffeehouse and noticed something awful. The chairs were only two inches below the table height. No human could sit on one and fit his legs under the table. No wonder they'd been a steal! They were off-size.
At that realization there was a huge thud from the kitchen. "Madre de Dios!" Ramón shouted.
Before that catastrophe had a chance to sink in, Jasper said, "Uh-oh," from where he'd opened one of the napkin boxes.
"What?"
Jasper held up one of the cocktail napkins. It showed the silhouette of a well-endowed woman's torso and said The Rack. Great. The napkins were wrong. Vulgar and wrong.
Ramón marched through the archway holding the oven door in two mitts. "This fell off!" he said accusingly, as if she'd deliberately sabotaged the thing.
"I'll handle it," Max said, pulling a screwdriver out of his jeans and following Ramón to the kitchen. The phone rang, so she hurried after them to pick it up in the kitchen. Jasper came with her. This better not be bad news.
Max answered the phone before she got there.
"That's too bad," he told the caller. "No, we'll be fine," he said, then hung up, looking perplexed. "The band can't make it."
"No!" she said, ice filling her veins.
"They're stranded in New Mexico. Food poisoning."
"Oh, wow," Jasper said.
"Great," Lacey said. "What else can go wrong?" A sudden cry from the stage area answered her question.
The four rushed to the archway. The swag of tiger-striped fabric Max hadn't had time to attach more firmly had dropped onto Rodney, toppling, as it fell, the statue of Venus in sugar cubes beside him. The faux-fur-covered Rodney staggered around in the mound of shattered sugar cubes.
At that moment, the lights dimmed, went black and the AC stopped dead. The power was out.
Great. Everything was falling apart around her. Lacey felt panic lock her chest and go for her throat. "What am I going to do?" she whispered to herself. She wanted to burst into tears, but she knew she couldn't.
"You can handle it," Max said softly, near her ear. "You know you can." He leveled his gaze at her in the gray daylight.
And she did know it. She had to handle it. Everything had to go perfectly tonight. She took a deep breath and surveyed the scene. "Okay, we just blew a fuse," she said in her most managerial voice. "Ramón, go flip the breaker."
Ramón ran outside and in a few seconds, the AC and lights kicked back on. Whew! One down, bunches to go. Then her eye fell on the circular saw Rodney had used the day before on some moldings. She went to it and picked it up.
Ramón's eyes filled with horror. "Hold on, chica. You don't want to hurt anybody." He backed up, holding up his hands.
"Don't be ridiculous," she said, sparing a smile. She plugged in the saw, revved it up and marched over to one of the chairs, which she set upside down on the stage. She buzzed exactly four inches off each wooden leg, flipped the chair back up and slid it smoothly under the table. "Voilá!"
Everyone applauded, so she took a little bow. "Can you handle the rest, Ramón?"
"No hay problema, boss."
"Great, because…" She looked at her watch. "I've got to orient the waitresses to the Wonder Coffeehouse customer philosophy."
"How can I help?" Jasper asked. For once, she had his undivided attention.
"Get the list of bands we auditioned and call for backup, would you?"
"You got it," Jasper said and hustled off.
"Rodney, would you fix the oven? It'll need welding." If it weren't an emergency, she'd have liked to do it herself. She liked welding and had actually done a couple of plumbing joints under Rodney's supervision. Rodney set off, so she turned to Max. "Would you nail the swag, please, and maybe clean up the mess?"
"Your wish is my command."
"Thanks. After you're done, would you go into town and snag some generic napkins to hold us over?"
"I'm on it."
Blowing out a breath, Lacey headed for the diner where the new waitresses would gather any moment. So far, so good. Assuming Jasper got a decent band, they'd be back on track. Just a broken brick on the road to the Emerald City. There was no way she'd let tonight go wrong. Everything depended on it.
* * *
Two hours later, Max returned from his errands. He entered the diner, then moved into the stage area where he stopped to watch Lacey in action. The four waitresses were huddled around her at the computerized cash register behind the liquor bar. They all wore the zebra leotard, skirt and beret Lacey had modeled for him that long-ago day. None of them looked as good in it as she had.
He watched her explain the machine, demonstrate, then let them try it on their own. He wanted to remember her exactly this way – a ball of happy energy – coaxing, checking, fixing, adjusting, making things happen. He wouldn't have many more chances to see her like this. After the opening, he'd have finished his favor to Wade and his supposed handyman job, and he wouldn't have any reason to hang around Lacey.
He would stick it out on the ranch a little longer, though. Riley Stoker was making progress on his business plan and wanted a little more help. Riley had soaked up his advice like a sponge and already had some accounts for his halters. Plus a friend of Riley's was a custom bootmaker who wanted to pay Max for a consultation or two. That would be fun.
Max had also helped Jasper get a small-business loan for his gallery. He'd enjoyed that, too. Interestingly enough, the loan officer had mentioned that the chamber of commerce got lots of requests for small-business start-up advice, which made him wonder about maybe starting a consulting business…
Nah, he'd decided he wanted to work with his hands. He was probably just looking for things to distract himself from how much he wanted Lacey. Luckily, the Tucson construction firm could take him anytime, so that would take his mind off all this. Lacey, most of all.
She'd be gone soon anyway, he reminded himself. Back to Phoenix to the stupid corporate job she thought she wanted. She loved it here, he could tell. When she talked about that business baloney, her eyes went dead.
Lacey must have felt his eyes on her, because she looked up at him and her face filled with joy. "Max!" she said, rushing toward him.
His heart skipped at the sight. He was such a sap.
They kept having moments like these when their gazes locked and he couldn't hide how much he wanted her. At least after she left he'd no longer suffer the constant temptation of her nearness. He would be glad of that. Sort of.
"You brought flowers!" she exclaimed, when she reached him.
In his pleasure at watching her, he'd forgotten that he'd bought tiger lilies to put at each table – his contribution to the grand opening.
She took the large bundle, buried her nose in their blossoms, then looked up.
The look on her face – gratitude, pleasure and hope – made him want to yank her into his arms, flowers and all.
"There are so many," she said. "You sweet man. You shouldn't have." She took a step toward him, her eyes full of emotion. Oh, God, she thought they were for her.
To correct her impression, and keep her from hugging him, he said, "They're for the tables," he said. "For color."
"Oh, sure." The light in her eyes faded. She set the bundle on a nearby table, then looked up at him, her face composed. "They'll be perfect. Thanks, Max."
"You've done a great thing here, Lacey," he said to change the subject. "No matter what anybody says."
"What would anybody say?" She looked panicked. "Nothing. No one will say anything. Everything's great. Don't worry."
"Sure. I'm just nervous, I guess." She was so easily shaken, so uncertain of herself, his heart ached for her. He longed to hold her, make her feel better with a comforting hug, a touch of her cheek, a gentle kiss…
"I'm going to miss the he
ll out of you, Lacey," he blurted. He'd meant to think the words, not say them.
"Miss me? Where are you going?"
"I'll be … um, moving on soon."
"Oh. That's right," she said glumly. "You're going to Oregon to log. I guess I hadn't thought that far." Her eyes held his.
"You'll be leaving, too, remember?" he said.
"I know. I'll miss you, too, Max." Her eyes searched his face, wanting to know how he felt about that. He fought like hell to hide from those green lasers.
"I'll think of you," he said, knowing he shouldn't say it.
"Me, too."
"A lot." Why couldn't he shut the hell up?
"Me, too."
Acting on impulse, he touched one springy curl of her hair. "I just regret one thing," he said. Shut up, shut up, don't say it! But looking into the depths of her green eyes, touching her hair, he just had to. "That I never … that we never…"
"Had sex?" she finished breathlessly.
The words grated on him. Made love. That's what he wanted – to make love to her. But he couldn't say that, so he only nodded.
"Oh, Max," she said, and threw her arms around him. The suddenness of her move caught him off guard. He took a backward step, then another, but couldn't catch his balance and crashed into a plaster pedestal, dislodging the stylized globe it held, which delivered him a glancing blow on the head before bouncing away. Max landed on the floor.
Lacey crouched beside him. "Are you all right?" She studied his head where the globe had conked him. "You've got a lump already. I'll get something."
And then she was gone, leaving him with a lump on his head and regret in his chest. He didn't know if he was more sorry about the kiss or the fact there wouldn't be any more. The gods of physical calamity had smiled on him again, though, and kept him from getting carried away with Lacey. This had to be the last time. He might not survive another encounter. As it was, he'd be lucky to live through whatever cure Nurse Lacey de Sade returned with.
