"You—you mean he lives there?" Paige had thought he must be occupying one of the compact servants' rooms in the Manse's basement. It had never occurred to her that he might be installed in the Sea House.
"Why, of course. Where else would he live?" Aunt Biz was looking at her as though she doubted Paige's good sense.
"I thought—I mean, the basement—"
"We couldn't very well let him live there, dear, especially after the skunk."
"I—I see," said Paige, not really seeing at all.
Aunt Biz rose from the table and went to the sink where she ran water over her dishes. "I want to get out in the garden, so..."
"You go right ahead," Paige said, getting up and putting an arm around Aunt Biz's shoulders. For the first time, she realized that Aunt Biz seemed smaller, stooped. Aunt Biz had always been so robust and so hearty. For a moment Paige felt a great surge of tenderness toward her aunts. If only she'd realized sooner, she would have visited before this—long before Chad Smith ever arrived on the scene to complicate matters. In fact, if she had come to St. Albans earlier, maybe her aunts never would have needed him at all. She felt a quick pang of regret. Well, there was nothing she could do now except solve their problems as best she could. And she would, as soon as she figured out what was going on here.
Aunt Biz might be slightly frailer than she'd ever been, but there was nothing fragile about her spirit. She paused as she pulled on her old gardening smock and the floppy straw hat that protected her skin from the sun. "Now if you decide to take Chad his breakfast, he likes a soft-cooked egg in one of those little cups from the top shelf of the cupboard and an English muffin with—"
"I'll let Chad Smith cook his own meal," Paige said tightly. If the aunts enjoyed catering to their handyman, that was one thing, but she had no intention of waiting on him, even to see the Sea House. She carried her own breakfast dishes to the sink, trying not to show Aunt Biz her agitation at the very idea of becoming Chad Smith's resident cook.
"Well, all right," said Aunt Biz uncertainly, and then as she glanced out the door her expression brightened. "It looks like he's on his way over here to do just that." She hurried out the back door and exchanged greetings with Chad before disappearing down the path toward her garden plot.
"Good morning, merry sunshine," said Chad brightly when he saw Paige glowering at him from her place at the sink. "What makes you so cheerful this morning?" He opened the refrigerator door and removed an egg. "Care for an egg? I understand you turned down the opportunity to cook my breakfast, but I don't mind cooking yours."
"No, thanks," said Paige. "I've eaten."
Chad closed the refrigerator door and found a pan in the cupboard. He filled it with water, placed it on the stove burner, and began to prepare his egg, whistling through his teeth. He seemed in fine fettle this morning, on top of his world and all that was in it. Well, why shouldn't he be? To even the most casual onlooker, it would be clear that Chad Smith was in control on St. Albans.
Paige continued to dry her dishes, but Chad's aimless whistling began to grate on her nerves. "Would you please stop that!" she burst out finally.
"Stop fixing my breakfast? Surely you jest. Why, Aunt Biz and Aunt Sophie allow me full run of the Manse, including the kitchen. And since you didn't want to prepare my meal, what choice do I have? Would you rather I go hungry? I doubt—"
"I'm not talking about your breakfast and you know it!" exploded Paige, throwing down the dish towel. "It's that awful whistling of yours that I can't stand."
Chad stood regarding her with one raised eyebrow, arms crossed across his chest. His face looked freshly shaven and she caught a whiff of his aftershave, a pungent lime scent.
"Temper, temper," he said, bending with an athletic grace to pick up the towel. "I wouldn't go throwing things around like that. The aunts like to keep everything shipshape around here, you know."
"That's exactly what I want to talk to you about," she retorted, but Chad looked at his watch. It was slim with a sweep second hand, probably gold and obviously expensive.
"Sorry, but our talk will have to wait until after I eat," he told her, turning away to take the egg from the water. He deposited it carefully in an eggcup and leaned against the counter, holding the cup in his hand and dipping into the egg with a spoon. "Delicious. The secret is to let it boil exactly four minutes—no more, no less. You'll have to let me cook you one some time."
"You are the most infuriating man," she commented, watching him eat with exasperation.
"Because I eat four-minute eggs? That shows an uncommon sort of prejudice. I wouldn't have thought it of you." He eyed her brief costume of lavender shorts paired with a T-shirt in pale pink. "Now it happens that I have a prejudice too. I just can't stand the color combination of pink and purple. It brings out the worst in me, especially when worn by a gorgeous brunette." He set aside the eggcup and bent over and kissed her quickly on the cheek. "You see? It brings out the worst."
Paige retreated to the opposite side of the kitchen. "I don't know what you're up to, Chad Smith, but you'd better stop it. You may have my aunts buffaloed, but you'll have a hard time getting around me."
Chad fished his English muffin out of the toaster and sent her a calculating look. "I can see that, all right. I'll just have to win you over, that's all."
"And exactly how will you do that?"
"Oh, leave it to me. You can't expect me to outline my plan of action to the enemy, can you?"
"I suppose not," she said, wishing she'd never become involved in this exchange. And although the talk resembled good-natured joshing, she sensed an underlying seriousness behind Chad's words. He was letting her know that he wasn't to be run off so easily.
"Of course, I read somewhere that in order to rid yourself of an enemy, you must make him your friend. Do you suppose, in your case, that it's possible?" He finished off the muffin nonchalantly, but she sensed that he was waiting for her answer.
"Possible? Yes. Likely? No." She tried her best to look indifferent, which wasn't easy. Chad called up a number of reactions on her part, and indifference, sorry to say, wasn't one of them.
Chad washed his dishes with quick efficiency and dried his hands on a paper towel. Paige couldn't help noticing how strong they were, with capable squared-off fingers, broad calloused palms, and wide sinewy wrists.
"Now, I believe you wanted to talk to me," and he stood, hands on his hips, regarding her with a challenge in his eyes.
Paige closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. When she opened them again, she saw that Chad was looking at her with that unfathomable concentration of his, a deep piercing look that seemed to plunge beneath the surface to grasp her very soul. She turned her back to him so he couldn't see his effect on her and walked briskly across the room to the pantry. She had made up her mind not to let his intense masculinity rattle her.
"Since you're the handyman, I think you need to take more responsibility for the Manse and its upkeep," she said. She opened the pantry door and rummaged on the shelf where she knew the aunts kept a supply of light bulbs. She found several of the flame-shaped variety used in the dining room chandelier and held them out to Chad. "Last night I noticed that three bulbs in the dining-room chandelier need replacing."
"Well," he said reluctantly, "all right. I'll need a ladder."
"I'm sure you can find one."
His eyes locked with hers, not giving an inch. He might get the ladder, he might change the bulbs, but he would in no way let Paige be in charge, and she knew it. "There's a ladder in the basement," he said before stalking out the back door.
Paige waited for Chad in the dining room, wishing that she felt free to complain to the aunts about him, but how could she when they clearly doted on him?
It was a sticky situation. And after all, maybe having Chad Smith around wasn't all bad. As Aunt Biz had pointed out, most people didn't want to live on isolated St. Albans, and at least he'd be there to help in an emergency. She shuddered to think about the aunts
alone during a storm or the possibility that one or both of them might fall ill. She gritted her teeth and made up her mind to tread lightly, at least at first.
He was certainly taking his time finding that ladder, Paige thought, glancing restlessly at her watch. When finally he did show up, he dawdled at pulling aside the huge dining-room table and stalled at setting the ladder up beneath the chandelier which, because of the twelve-foot-high ceilings of the Manse, was uncommonly high.
Paige watched him wrestle with the ladder for a few minutes before she exclaimed impatiently, "Chad, anyone would think you've never seen a ladder before in your life. I'm beginning to think I should have done this myself."
He ignored her and climbed to the top, swaying awkwardly as he reached down for the bulbs. She watched as he replaced the old ones, thinking how incongruous he looked at the top of the ladder, how ill at ease he seemed with this whole chore.
When he'd clambered down the ladder in obvious relief, and Paige had tried the light switch to make sure the new bulbs were functioning, he said, "I'll put this ladder away and be right back."
After he'd gone, Paige found a pencil and paper in a drawer and headed her list WORK TO DO. She'd decided to make a list of chores that needed to be done. Maybe all Chad needed was a bit of organization and a certain amount of direction. And she, rather than the aunts, seemed to be the one to supply it.
First on the list was PAINT OUTSIDE WOOD TRIM, and she was just starting to write PAINT KITCHEN when Chad strode whistling up the back steps.
"What's that?" he asked, leaning down over her shoulders and resting his broad hands on the table on both sides of her. The insides of his arms pressed lightly against the outsides of hers. With anyone else, the touch wouldn't be suggestive, but with Chad Smith it most definitely was. She felt his warm breath on the back of her head. It was a mesmerizing feeling, being so near to him, and she was glad that she couldn't see his face. She'd kept her distance this morning, both physically and emotionally, and she was determined that he wouldn't capture any part of her suddenly unsteady emotions.
"I'm working on a list of things for you to do."
He scanned the list and whistled. "Oh, sorry, I keep forgetting that you don't like my whistling. You don't waste time, do you?"
"I can't think of what you've been doing all day every day since October. The Manse is in a shocking state, and why the aunts let you get away with it is beyond me. I won't let you take advantage of them any longer."
Chad's eyes hardened and he looked as though he were about to say something, but apparently he thought better of it. He turned away from her and said lightly, "Never would I take advantage of two lovely ladies like Aunt Sophie and Aunt Biz. Now you, I might."
He'd ruined the effect of his words when he added that bit about her. Well, she was determined that he wouldn't take advantage of anyone around here. Including her.
She pushed her chair away from the table. "Don't you have work you could be doing?"
"Indeed I do. A special request from Aunt Biz, and I assured her I'd get to it this morning. Trouble is, she said I should take you along with me. Said you know all the good places to go." His gaze was easy, casual.
"Good places for what?"
"Crabbing, of course. And I said that was obvious, since you seemed to be so crabby yourself. Will you go with me? Aunt Biz said you would." He smiled at her appealingly.
"I am not crabby," she began, but when she saw the teasing merriment in his eyes she couldn't go on. Of course she had been out of sorts ever since she'd met him. And like it or not, they were going to have to coexist on this small island while she decided what to do about him.
"All right," she said, taking a deep breath, "I'll go."
"Great!" Chad said, looking jubilant. "The aunts have planned a shindig for tonight in honor of your presence—on the beach, with a bonfire. We're going to cook the crabs then."
"A party? But who'd come?"
"Why, you and me and the aunts. Don't spoil it for them. They've been planning it for days. I've hauled driftwood for the fire and hunted up folding stools that were lost, which meant grubbing around under the Manse and becoming too well acquainted with resident spiders. You and I have no choice—we'll party on demand. But first we grab those crabs. Tasty little critters, no doubt about it."
Paige remembered with a touch of nostalgia how she'd loved to go crabbing in the marshes with the children of the fishermen who used to live here. Poking through the marsh grass, looking for a likely spot, then dropping the bait and waiting for a crab to take it. She'd never even minded tying the bait—fish heads or chicken necks—on the lines.
"All right, you win," she conceded. She abandoned her list and followed Chad down the path to the shed at the edge of the forest, where they paused while Chad rummaged for nets.
"Did the aunts tell you that they no longer have to walk wherever they want to go on St. Albans? They travel first class these days," said Chad. Paige followed him around the back of the shed where a lean-to had been constructed. It sheltered a jaunty white golf cart with a fringed red-and-white canvas top.
"When did they get this?" asked Paige, charmed. Getting around St. Albans on a series of rutted paths had always been something of a problem, and she knew that walking the distances involved could be difficult for the aunts at their age.
"A few months ago," said Chad. "Let's get in and you can direct me to the best crabbing places."
Paige remembered a tiny salt-water creek on the north end of the island, so she told Chad how to get there and settled back on the cushioned seat to enjoy the ride. And she might as well enjoy it, she reflected. After all, there she was on St. Albans, her own particular version of paradise, in the company of a virile man who was undeniably attractive. It was up to her to keep her emotions in check, and suddenly she felt equal to the task. She raised her chin and shot Chad a totally unexpected smile. He reacted with a surprised look and seemed to relax. He smiled too, which seemed like a good omen. For once, he wasn't making a pass at her, and Stephen McCall had never been further from her mind.
The golf cart hummed over the woodland path, taking in stride broken bits of shell and gnarled tree roots.
"The aunts remember how their father rode an old mule around the island," said Chad, "so they've nicknamed the golf cart the Mule. I'm afraid the name's going to stick."
Paige smiled. Aunt Biz and Aunt Sophie seemed to imprint everything on St. Albans with their unique personalities.
The path wound through a forest of red cedars which sheltered them with thick tufts of blue-green foliage. Here and there they saw yellow jessamine vines, their five-lobed yellow flowers lending sweet fragrance to the air. Fuzzy black-and-yellow striped bumblebees buzzed among the blossoms, gathering nectar to take back to the hives near the Manse.
Chad didn't speak, and Paige felt no urge to begin a conversation. She couldn't admit even to herself that she was overpoweringly aware of his presence beside her, of the skilled manner in which he steered the Mule along the tricky path, of the golden hair that covered his tanned arms.
The Mule lurched over an exposed tree root, sending Paige sideways and off balance. Chad put out his hand to steady her, letting it remain on her knee for a moment too long. Her hip rested lightly against his on the narrow seat. The contact of their bodies brought to mind her own unbidden sensations the night before when he kissed her. She'd almost lost control of herself, and that had never happened before. When Chad had kissed her, she had felt strange, dangerous responses rising to the surface. Remembering them, embarrassed by them, she edged over to her own side of the seat, willing him not to notice.
But he did notice, she could tell from the way he flicked his gaze toward her and back again to the path. He chose to ignore the way she had imposed a space between them, though, and she studied him as he concentrated on driving the Mule. His profile was strong, with a fine high brow and a straight well-shaped nose. His lips betrayed a hint of sensuality, the bottom lip fuller than t
he top, and his chin had a determined set to it with a barely perceptible cleft. All in all, it was a very nice face, patrician rather than plebeian, and certainly not the kind of face you would expect to find on an itinerant handyman.
They reached the edge of the cedar forest and traversed a meadow trail to the bank of the creek. The creek was as Paige had remembered it, bordered by big rose mallow shrubs interspersed with clumps of milkwort, now blooming with thick orange flowers.
Paige led Chad, who carried the crabbing gear, to the place where the creek emptied into the marsh. They donned high boots and waded through the pungent pluff mud into the shallows. Beyond the mouth of the creek, water shimmered like a hundred thousand sequins cast adrift amid the pale shafts of the tall marsh grass.
"Here," said Chad, clearly expecting an indignant objection as he handed her a line and a chicken neck. She merely smiled and proceeded to tie the chicken neck on the line without a complaint. This earned his respect, and they stood quietly, dangling their lines in the water, waiting for a crab to bite.
Paige was the first to get a bite.
"Way to go," Chad said, watching admiringly as she scooped a six-inch crab into her net. "You're good at this," he told her as she shook it into a bucket. "Aunt Biz was right."
"My aunts wouldn't tolerate a niece who couldn't bait a line or gut a fish. I guess that's better than expecting me to become a debutante socialite who's afraid to get my white gloves dirty." She grinned and tied another chicken neck to her line.
Today the crabs were hungry, and before long they had a bucketful and decided to quit. Chad suggested that Paige drive back to the Manse, and she took him up on the offer to get better acquainted with the Mule.
"Tell me about growing up on St. Albans," Chad said as she steered around a tree stump.
"It was beautiful," she told him, long-forgotten scenes from her memory flooding her mind. In a rush she found herself telling him about shelling expeditions on the beach after a hurricane had passed by far out to sea, dredging up shells in all colors, sizes, and shapes. She remembered oyster roasts around bonfires on the beach when they and their guests sat on thick logs and told ghost stories. He smiled along with her when she told him about climbing the spreading live oak trees and gathering huge clumps of Spanish moss to decorate her tree house.
The Beach Bachelors Boxset (Three Complete Contemporary Romance Novels in One) (The Beach Bachelors Series) Page 20
