by Warren, Pat
Megan narrowed her gaze, watching as Alex stood behind Ryan now, showing him the proper way to wear his glove, how to hold his hands waiting for the throw. The blond head bent to the dark-haired boy. The question was, why was he being so nice to her son, so anxious to please? She couldn’t pigeonhole the man. Handsome to a breathtaking fault, undoubtedly as rich as Trump, yet here he was, playing catch with Ryan. Go figure.
So, why did he bother her so much? “He’s different, Grace,” she said quietly. “It’s as if he wants something and I don’t yet know what that is. He’s so confident, so sure he’s right, so...so...”
“Handsome and sexy?”
Frowning, Megan turned. “That’s not at all what I was thinking.” Liar, said that small inner voice.
“Maybe it should be. Maybe he’s interested in Ryan’s mother and that’s what scares you.”
Interested in her? She doubted it. A man like that could have most any woman he wanted. He certainly didn’t need a small-town woman who came with a child attached. “I have to think of Ryan.” She swung her gaze back to the unlikely twosome and watched her son leap into the air to try to catch a fly ball. He caught it though he fell to the ground with the effort. Alex gave him a thumbs-up. “He’s going to be here at least a week, he said. Two days and Ryan’s already getting attached. How will he feel when the man leaves?”
“Honey, you can’t wrap that boy in cellophane and keep him from reaching out to people just because they may walk out of his life. Ryan’s dying for male attention. Has been all his life. You don’t give him enough credit. He knows the people who stay here come and go. He’ll handle it. Let him enjoy a little male bonding while he can.” She stepped closer, watching out the window as Alex leaned down explaining something. Ryan nodded solemnly, his face a study in concentration. “If you ask me, he’s doing something for that boy you and I can’t do.”
Hating to admit defeat, Megan sighed. “I suppose you’re right.” The truth was, Alex Shephard was doing something for her that no one else had done in a very long time, either.
At the barbecue dinner table, Alex was seated between Ryan, who’d insisted he sit beside him, and Mrs. Julia Kettering, a widow in her eighties who’d taken a shine to him. A small, thin woman wearing a floral print dress and tennis shoes, her snow-white hair in a long braid down her back, Mrs. K, as she liked to be called, wore granny glasses and smelled of talcum. She could also talk the wings off a butterfly.
“My poor departed husband, Horace, used to make ribs now and again,” Mrs. K went on. “You didn’t need teeth to eat them, they were so tender.” She leaned closer to Alex. “These run a close second.”
Alex set down a clean rib bone and picked up his napkin. “They’re mighty good.” He reached for a piece of chicken. “So, are you staying here for long?”
“You could say that. It’s been over a year now.” The old woman dug into her corn with false teeth clicking.
“A year? You mean you live here?” A permanent resident? Alex hadn’t been aware that a bed-and-breakfast could be someone’s home. “Are you a relative of the Delaneys?”
Swallowing, Mrs. K shook her head. “Might as well be, as good as Megan treats me.” She dabbed at her thin lips with her napkin. “I used to live across the street from Megan and her mama, used to baby-sit her and her sisters a lot. My husband was sick for years and our insurance money ran out. I had to borrow, then sell my little house to pay our creditors when he died. By then, Megan already had this place, and when she heard, she came to get me, moved me in that day. I got no other family.” She gazed at Megan through her thick glasses. “Hardly lets me pay for a thing from my small pension. That girl’s a saint, is what she is.”
Small wonder she had to sell baked goods to make ends meet, Alex thought, if she takes in a poor little widow and puts on free barbecues. There wasn’t that much profit in small businesses. His gaze drifted to the lady in question, his eyes narrowing as he studied the dent in her small, stubborn chin.
But what had happened to the insurance money?
“You like crossword puzzles, young man?” Mrs. K asked.
“Yes, I do,” Alex answered.
“Me, too. The one in this morning’s paper stumped me. What’s a Buddhist movement in ten letters?”
“Hmm. I’ll have to think about that.” Then a noise at his elbow had Alex glancing at Ryan, who was fiddling with his silverware. “How come you’re eating everything but your potato salad?”
“I don’t like potato salad.”
“Really? Too bad. You ever hear of Tony Gwynn, right fielder for the Padres?”
“Sure. Everybody’s heard of him.”
“I hear he eats potato salad three times a day sometimes.”
Ryan’ s expression was skeptical. “You kidding me?”
“Would I lie about potato salad?” Alex took a heaping forkful, chewed away. “Man, this is good. Builds muscles, too.”
From across the table, Megan watched her son gamely take a small bite, then another. She saw Ryan look up at Alex and tell him it wasn’t so bad, he guessed. Mrs. K on the other side of Alex clawed at his arm with her long, thin fingers, wanting his attention again. His fair head bent to the old woman as he listened closely.
All right, so the man was a charmer. Billy the Kid probably had been, too. And Neal. Charming and totally irresponsible. There was something definitely unnerving about Alex Shephard. Whatever it was, Megan imagined it would come out soon. Secrets had a way of being revealed at the darnedest times.
Neal had taught her that.
Grace and Megan got up to clear while the anniversary couple, Walter and Jean, danced on the brick patio to a golden oldie from the portable radio, then held court reminiscing about their wedding day. The Donahues, married only a year, were listening intently, probably finding it hard to imagine being married for forty years. The businessman from Sacramento who was leaving in the morning thanked them and excused himself. The two middle-aged couples from Spokane who were staying in the center connecting rooms upstairs smiled and interjected marital anecdotes of their own.
By the time Grace set out dessert plates and Megan placed the beautifully decorated cake in the center of the round table, everyone was in a jolly mood. Megan lifted her glass of iced tea and gave a warm, sentimental toast to Walter and Jean, and the rest followed suit.
“Mom, where’s the watermelon?” Ryan asked. Cake was great, but he positively adored watermelon.
“I’ll get it,” Grace said, passing out dessert forks.
“Please,” Alex said, rising, “allow me. It’s really heavy.” Not looking at Megan or waiting for a reply, he left the yard and hurried to the kitchen.
Megan poured iced tea, milk or coffee all around, very aware of Alex at the buffet table slicing watermelon and Grace serving.
“This cake’s delicious, dear,” Jean said to Megan. “But then, everything at your table always is.”
Passing her chair, Megan touched the older woman’s shoulder. “Thank you, Jean.” She carried the tea pitcher to the buffet table where Alex had just finished. All right, bite the bullet, she told herself. “Thanks for helping.”
“My pleasure.” Stepping closer, he took her hand in his, turned it over to examine her bandaged finger before she could pull away. “How’s your cut? Those knife slices can hurt like the devil.”
There were four tiki torches placed around the backyard. They’d been enough at twilight, but nearly two hours later, the lighting was dim and romantic from the flickering flames. The radio played softly in the background. Overhead, tree branches swayed in a gentle breeze and a lone cricket could be heard serenading nearby. For a long moment, time seemed to stand still as Alex watched Megan’s blue eyes darken, saw awareness leap into them as their look held.
“It’s fine, thanks.” But she didn’t pull her hand back.
She was wearing a scoop-necked white peasant blouse with a multicolored full skirt and white sandals, her hair falling softly to her shoulder
s. He felt a crazy urge to touch the ends to see if her hair was as soft as it looked. His free hand started up and...
Alex cleared his throat and stepped back. What the hell was he thinking?
Megan swallowed hard and prayed he couldn’t tell how her heart was pounding beneath the thin cotton material of her blouse. Moving aside, she busied herself getting extra napkins and the bowl of lemon slices.
Why did Alex Shephard have to come here and upset her nice, safe, boring life? She liked boring. It sure beat having her husband come home drunk as a skunk, embarrassing her in front of their guests, or forget to come home for days at a time. Yes, she’d choose boring every time.
Only she’d bet that no one around Alex Shephard was ever bored for long.
Within ten minutes, the party had broken up, the guests going off to their rooms or wherever. Though he knew she didn’t really need the assistance, Alex offered to walk Mrs. K to her room, listening to her chatter all the way. Walking back out, he passed Ryan, who’d been sent up to get ready for bed. “See you tomorrow, sport,” he called after the thundering feet on the back stairs.
Ryan stopped. “Hey, Mr. Shephard, my next game’s tomorrow night. Maybe you could come?” The small voice was hopeful.
“I’ll see what I can do. Good night, Ryan.” He opened the screen just in time for Grace to walk through, her arms laden with bowls of leftover food. “If you’ve got a tray, I can start bringing in some dishes.” He caught her dubious look. “What, you, too? You want to spend half the night cleaning up here?”
“Not especially, but Megan doesn’t—”
“Grace, give me a tray. I’ll handle Megan.”
She handed him a tray, then smiled to herself as he went back out. So he was going to handle Megan, eh? This should be good.
Out in the yard, he didn’t wait for permission, but started stacking plates onto the tray. He had only a moment to wait for the anticipated reaction.
“What are you doing? I thought I told you that—”
“Yeah, you did.” He was ready for her. Stopping, he turned to face her. “You told me it was your kitchen, your flower garden,your bed-and-breakfast. That’s fine because I have no intention of taking over. But look at you. You’ve been working since six this morning and now it’s nine at night. You’re ready to drop you’re so tired and your finger’s wet all the way through the bandage and probably throbbing like hell. Why can’t you accept a little help?”
She didn’t have the energy for this right now, Megan thought. “Listen, Mr. Shephard, I can handle this without your help, like I’ve been doing for years. I take my responsibilities very seriously.”
“That’s very admirable, Mrs. Delaney. But right now, you’re exhausted. Please, go inside and upstairs to your son. Grace and I will finish up here. You can yell at me tomorrow if it’ll make you feel better.”
To his surprise, she set down the towel she’d been holding, turned from him and went inside. Letting out a big breath, Alex went to work.
Moments later, Grace came out carrying two plastic trash bags. “If I hadn’t seen and heard that with my own eyes and ears through the open window, I’d have bet good money against it ever happening. Alex Shephard, I think I’m going to have to rethink my opinion of you.”
In the dim light of a glimmering tiki torch, he smiled at her. “All right, but when you do, as they say, please be kind.”
Her robust laugh rang out in the evening air.
Cruising along in his Porsche, Alex spoke on his car phone. “The bank’s not going to give us any trouble, Dad. But I need you to order a feasibility study for me. I’d like our people on it instead of using someone up here. It’s a good parcel and wouldn’t require much clearing. There’s gas and electric at the street. But I’m not sure that this town can support an influx of middle-income residents.” He’d already talked earlier with his secretary and Mitch, but Alex knew his father liked a personal report.
“I’ll get right on it. Did you meet with the owner?”
Alex turned, heading up the hill. “Owner’s incapacitated. I met with his three adult children. The one with the power of attorney’s giving me a bit of a hassle, but I think he’d come around if we got serious.”
“Good. So you’ll be heading home?” Ron Shephard still wasn’t happy having his son away too long. Transplants were tricky.
“Not yet. I’m checking a few other things out.” Namely one widow and her son.
“But you’re feeling all right, taking your pills?” He knew it would irritate Alex to be asked, but he couldn’t stop himself.
“I’m feeling fine and being a good boy, so stop worrying.”
“Yeah, all right. Just take it easy.”
If he took it any easier, he’d be comatose. “Talk with you later.” Alex hung up and swung into Delaney’s lot. He’d gone running this morning, skipping the inn’s breakfast, hoping to give Megan a little more time before facing him. He wasn’t sure just what reaction he’d get after her surprising turnabout last night.
After showering, he’d gone into town, walked through the shops and had an early lunch before meeting with a couple of bankers. So he hadn’t seen Megan at all, or even Grace.
Strolling into the lobby, he noticed Walter and Jean playing gin rummy in the lounge and waved to them. Grace was behind the check-in desk punching in figures on an adding machine. “Hi,” he said.
Grace glanced up and smiled. “Well, if it isn’t the miracle man.”
Alex glanced toward the kitchen. Since it was nearly five, he figured that Megan was probably there either fixing Ryan’s dinner or already starting her nightly baking. “How is she today? Happy as a clam or gunning for me?”
“Nah, she’s fine. A little subdued. Still tired, I’d guess.”
“She works too hard.”
“You don’t have to tell me.” She paused, her fingers poised over the keys. “What I would like you to tell me is why you’re so concerned.”
The woman was blunt, but Alex knew it was probably because she cared a great deal for Megan. “I hate to see anyone, especially a young, attractive woman, bury herself in work day after day. When did Megan last take some time off?” When Grace shook her head, he knew he was right. “See what I mean?”
“Yes, I do, and I agree. But I still can’t figure you.” Pointedly, she glanced outside toward his blue Porsche, then at his gold Rolex watch, his casually expensive clothes. “I’d wager you’re pretty well off, your daddy owns the store, and you’re here on a business trip, one of many in your travels around the state. What’s it to you if Megan, or any of us, for that matter, work hard or not at all?”
Guilty knowledge had Alex jamming his hands into his back pockets and gazing down at his shoes. Because if it wasn’t for me, Megan would have her husband here beside her and she wouldn’t have to work so hard.
“You’re right, Grace. My daddy owns the store. But he started off as a young apprentice carpenter and worked his way up. He still puts in more hours a day than most men half his age. Before my mother got sick and died, she used to work in the office. Both my brother and I started doing odd jobs on his construction projects after school as soon as we hit our teens. I know what hard work is and that it can take you over. I’ve always believed that you need to balance work with pleasure. And I don’t think Megan takes much time out to play. Am I right?”
“You’re right. She runs around here at top speed. I’m always telling her to slow down. But I repeat, why do you care whether or not she does?”
Alex saw the shrewd way she was watching him. “Are you trying to make me say something here, Grace? All right, you caught me. I find her attractive and I’d like to show her some fun. Is that so wrong?”
Grace pursed her lips thoughtfully a moment, feeling certain that Alex Shephard could show a woman all manner of fun things. “No, as long as you don’t hurt her. Anyone who does will have to answer to me.”
He smiled. “I’ll remember that. Is she in the kitchen?”
> “No, she’s at Ryan’s ball game.”
“Oh, right. He invited me yesterday and it slipped my mind.” He wasn’t used to considering an eight-year-old’s activities when he thought about a woman. “Where’s the game being played?”
Grace told him, then watched him hurry back out to his car, wondering if she’d done the right thing. Sure, she’d wanted someone in Megan’s life, but this guy was coming on awfully fast. She’d never been one to trust fast.
Megan held her breath as the boy at bat swung, hitting the ball directly toward her son at shortstop. Ryan saw it coming, moved into position and waited, shuffling his feet nervously, his eye on the ball. His teammates began chanting for him to get it. Some of the two dozen or so parents and relatives in the bleachers rose to their feet. The ball arced high. Ryan took one step closer and trapped it in his mitt.
“Fly ball. You’re out!” yelled the umpire.
It was the third out, putting Ryan’s team up to bat. The boys came running in, high-fiving the shortstop, cheering. One grabbed Ryan’s baseball cap and turned it around backward on his head. And through it all, Ryan’s grin grew and grew. Finally, he had a chance to catch his mother’s eye. She gave him a big thumbs-up and whistled through her teeth. Ryan grinned some more.
“Where’d you learn to whistle like that?” Alex asked as he slid into the empty space on the bleachers beside Megan.
Startled, she jumped. What on earth was Alex Shephard doing here? Was there no place she could go where those penetrating green eyes wouldn’t be watching her?
Shifting over, she made room for him on the bench. “I was the oldest of three sisters and the only tomboy. A kid down the street nicknamed Sharkey taught me how to whistle, how to do wheelies and how to shoot marbles. Then he got mad when I beat him and took all his marbles.”
