by Carol Grace
Still on the floor, Mandy leaned against the overstuffed chair and threw her head back on the cushion. "This was your idea," she yelled at Adam over the din. "You offered. Do something."
Adam kneeled on the floor and banged two pots together, but Jeremy wasn't interested. He threw himself on the floor and continued screaming.
"Maybe he's hungry," Adam suggested.
"What’ll we give him?"
"Whatever we're having for dinner."
"We?"
"It says in the brochure..."
Mandy crawled on her hands and knees to where Adam had taken refuge against the wall so she wouldn't have to shout. "No, it doesn't. It says bed and breakfast, not bed and dinner. I don't do dinners."
He didn't argue. He went back to the little boy, lifted him by the elbows and carried him into the kitchen, with Mandy following close behind. "Give him something—anything," Adam said. "If you can get him quiet, I'll cook dinner."
Mandy grabbed a blueberry muffin from the freezer and popped it into the microwave oven, then installed Jeremy at the table by stacking phone books on a chair. His screams had turned to snuffles, but he still wasn't a happy camper. She broke off a corner of the muffin and held it up in front of him. He took it, looked at it, and threw it across the floor.
"Not much of a testimonial to your baking skills, is it?" Adam remarked with a grin.
Mandy retrieved the crumbs and gave Adam a look of desperation. "Are you really going to make dinner?" she asked hopefully.
"That depends," he said, his head in the freezer. "Aha, chicken. You're in luck. After ten years in the bush I am known as the best chef in the Arctic Circle."
"Is there much competition for that honor?" she inquired, taking a chair next to Jeremy and preparing another bite of muffin to pop into his mouth.
Adam tossed the frozen chicken onto the drainboard. "Plenty," he assured her.
"Then how come no one's snapped you up by now, or have they?" she inquired casually. If they had, why wouldn't they be here together, here at this romantic bed and breakfast? Still, it didn't hurt to ask.
"Women don't like living miles from the nearest shopping mall."
"What about someone who already lives up there, who works with you?"
"Nobody works with me, except one other person, and he's a man. How would you like it, living in the Arctic with only your dog team for company?"
"I don't know," she said thoughtfully. It wasn't the first time she'd wondered about it. Ever since she'd been writing to Jack, she'd tried to picture herself there. Even though Jack told her he was planning to leave the Yukon and work somewhere else. "What’s it like?" she asked. Even though she knew what it was like from Jack's colorful letters, she wanted to hear somebody else's opinion.
"It’s cold, it’s bleak, but it’s beautiful, too. We've got Mt. Logan covered with snow even in summer, the Yukon River rushing to the sea. And it's so quiet you can hear the snow fall."
She looked out the kitchen window as the sun dipped into the ocean, leaving behind a magical green flash. "It's pretty quiet right here," she observed.
"As long as you keep your little friend's mouth full," he said with a glance at the boy who was scattering crumbs in a widening circle around his chair.
She nodded and gave the boy a drink of juice. She watched while Adam defrosted the chicken in her microwave oven, and then chopped onions and celery, admiring his smooth, efficient motions, his large, capable hands. The same hands that peeled wallpaper. How could she charge him anything after he'd done all this work?
Was he sorry he'd checked into a B and B only to find himself working harder than be did as an engineer? He didn't look sorry. He looked as though he was concentrating on the preparations for dinner. And after all, he was the one who had volunteered than as baby-sitters.
"Why did you tell those people we were married?" she asked suddenly.
He threw the onions into a large frying pan. "I didn't. They just assumed."
"You could have told them we weren't married."
"So could you."
"Oh, well. They'll be gone tomorrow and we'll never see them again," she said in a rush. It wouldn't be too good an idea to explore this with him. She picked Jeremy up off his makeshift seat and balanced him on her hip. "What are you making?" she asked, looking over Adam's shoulder.
Before he could answer, the phone rang.
She went to the counter and picked up the receiver. "Miramar Inn," she said. Then she held it out to Adam. "It's for you."
Adam turned off the front burner and frowned. Only one person knew where he was and he didn't want to hear from him right now.
"Yes?" he answered warily, mouthing a silent "thank you" to Mandy for having passed him the phone.
"Adam, old friend. How's it going? Was that her? What’s she like?"
"I really couldn't say," he said brusquely.
"Oh, I get it. She's right there with you."
"Obviously," Adam said through clenched teeth. "I'm in the middle of something right now. Could I call you back later?"
"Wait a minute. I can't stand the suspense. Just tell me if she's as good as I imagined. Can't you just do that, just say yes or no?"
"Yes."
"Yes. What does that mean? Can't you be more specific?"
"No."
"No, she's not what we thought? Or, no, you can't be specific?" Jack's voice rose. Adam couldn't blame him for being frustrated, but what did he have to do to explain that he couldn't talk?
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Mandy wave to him and go out the back door to the yard, holding Jeremy against her shoulder. When the door closed firmly behind her, be turned his back to the window and growled into the phone.
"Okay, she just went outside. What do you want to know?"
"Everything."
"I haven't got time for everything. She's nice."
"Nice? That’s all?"
"She's nice-looking, too."
"On a scale of ten."
"I don't know, eight, nine, maybe." Liar, she was a ten-plus. What was wrong with him?
"Is she interested in starting a family? Does she object to cigar smoke? Is she after my money?"
"Slow down, Jack. I just got here, I don't want to come on too strong, she'll get suspicious."
"When can you find out?"
"I don't know. It’s going to take longer than I thought."
"What am I supposed to tell Julie from Illinois? She's getting anxious. She wants to come up here."
"Stall her. Tell her it’s going to take longer than you thought. I'll call you when I learn anything. But I can't just barge in here and ask a lot of questions, not unless you want me to tell her who I am."
"No, don't do that. That we'll never find out if she's for real or not."
The back door opened and Mandy came in with Jeremy toddling behind her.
"Well, thanks for calling. Talk to you later," Adam said, and hung up. He looked at Mandy before he wait back to the stove to add a dash of cooking wine to the mixture.
"Never give out your phone number when you're on vacation," he said. "Some people just won't leave you alone."
"A friend?"
"An associate who had a problem with a piece of equipment."
"Oh."
"I found some stuff for a salad in your refrigerator," he said, serving up two heaping bowls of crisp lettuce with an oil and vinegar dressing.
"It looks wonderful." She picked Jeremy off the floor where he was chasing a lost blueberry. She put him back on the stack of phone books and unfolded her napkin.
Adam set the salad bowls on the table, along with a small bowl of rice for Jeremy, and sat down across from them.
"How are things up there in the Yukon?" she asked.
"Long days and short nights. Hard to sleep, hard to work. Too much time to think," he observed. "And worry."
“Can't your friend, I mean your associate, get away?''
"Not while I'm gone. We're a two-man team."
<
br /> "I guess he misses you," she said, chewing thoughtfully.
"You could say that. Or you could say he misses having somebody to listen to him. Anyone would do."
"You're a good listener?"
He leaned forward. "Just try me," he said with a gleam in his eye.
She gulped and tore her gaze away from Adam's. She imagined he'd be a good listener, she thought he'd probably be good at anything he did.
Adam approached Jeremy from across the table with a heaping spoonful of rice in his hand. When the little boy opened his mouth, Adam shoveled it in and gave Mandy a triumphant grin.
His grin faded fast when Jeremy spat the rice out onto the table. Mandy shook her head and mopped it up.
"So much for your reputation as the premier chef of the Arctic Circle," she teased. "I hope this doesn't get back to the Yukon."
He shook his head. "Remind me not to have children," he said.
Mandy offered the boy another sip of juice. "A lot of men want children," she observed, thinking of Jack, who'd confessed, in one of his letters that he wanted at least half a dozen.
"They do? Why?" he asked.
"To carry on the family name, to have a stake in the future, all the usual reasons."
"Well maybe they need a few days with Jeremy here to think things over. Before they make any rash decisions."
"Did you, before you got here, I mean, want to have children?"
"Yes. Right up to a few minutes ago, I'd planned to have an even dozen. But since I've given up on women, it's probably just as well I changed my mind." He gave her a teasing grin and reached across the table to catch Jeremy before his forehead landed in his bowl of rice. Jeremy wasn't hungry but the poor little guy was definitely tired out.
Adam stood and lifted Jeremy into his arms.
"I'll put him to bed," Mandy whispered, and got to her feet.
Adam nodded and gently handed him to her. "Do you have any candles?" he asked as she shifted the child to her shoulder.
"On the bottom shelf," she said, pointing to the pantry. "In case of power outages. But I don't think we'll need them tonight," she said over her shoulder.
He watched her walk out of the room with the boy's head bobbing against her shoulder. Then he went looking for the candles and holders in the walk-in pantry. As he lit the wicks he thought that he knew who she meant by "a lot of men." Jack made no secret of wanting a big family. It was Jack who she was thinking of. It was Jack, with his scintillating letters, all of which were written by Adam, who was his rival.
"We may not need the candles tonight," he muttered to himself, "but we need something." Something to exorcise the presence of Jack, unseen and unspoken of, that great correspondent, that thoughtful, sensitive son-of-a-gun.
"Sorry, old buddy. But I'm here and you're not. Tonight's my night and not yours."
Chapter Three
Mandy tiptoed down the stairs and into the kitchen. With the dim light and the delicious aroma coming from the stove, she hardly recognized her own kitchen. She paused in the doorway to accustom herself to the flickering candlelight.
Adam left the stove, wait to meet her and bowed low. He had a dish towel draped over his arm. "Dinner for one?" he inquired in a seductive voice.
She nodded and he kissed her hand. His lips were warm. She felt a shiver of anticipation go up her spine.
"And where is monsieur tonight?" he asked in a deep voice.
"He, uh, decided to retire early," she murmured. "Perhaps he had a bit too much to drink."
"Ah," he said with a knowing wink. "The apple juice will do it every time. Your usual table?" He pulled her chair out for her.
"Do you have something else, farther from the kitchen?" She looked over her shoulder at the old-fashioned stove, wrinkling her nose just slightly.
"If I had only known. I just gave that table away."
"Gave it away?" she inquired, unfolding her napkin.
"Yes, to the Goodwill. Such a worthy organization. They were here this afternoon asking for donations. May I take your order?" He bent low over her shoulder, exuding a suave, debonair charm that was totally phony. After all, he was a rugged Yukon man, and yet... and yet... His hand brushed the nape of her neck and chills raced up and down her back at the same time heat rushed to her head.
"I—I..." she stammered.
"May I make a suggestion?" he asked, so close that she could fed his breath warming her cheek. "Have the chef. I mean, the chefs special. If you don't, he'll be very unhappy, and when the chef is unhappy..."
"I understand," she said, tilting her head just slightly in his direction until his mouth was only inches away. His lips hovered over hers, his gaze locked on hers. The distance between melted away and his lips brushed hers, just hinting at the hunger there.
She twisted the napkin in her lap. She knew it was wrong, but she couldn't help it, she wanted more. She wanted a kiss. A real kiss.
He tilted her chin with his thumb. "You're radiant tonight," he said, gazing into her eyes.
She lowered her lashes. "It must be the candlelight," she murmured.
He shook his head. It wasn't the candlelight that made her skin glow and her eyes shine. It was her. She was lovely with her curly hair in tendrils around her face and the candlelight reflected in her eyes. He dropped his hand from her face. "As you can see, we're overbooked."
She looked around the room. "Really?"
"Yes, it’s always like this. Packed."
"Don't I wish," she said.
"Ever since the new chef arrived. So, I was wondering. .." He picked up a curl from the nape of her neck and wound it around his finger. It was soft and silky, just as he'd known it would be. "Wondering if you would mind sharing your table?"
She felt his fingers laced in her hair and she exhaled a sigh of pure pleasure. The man knew what he was doing. He had magic in his hands and he was using it to tantalize her. She sat up straight and he let go.
"No, of course not. Depending on who it is, of course."
He moved to the other side of the table and gave her a slow smile. "It's someone who would like to get to know you better—me."
"You?" She studied his face, all planes and angles in the light from the single candle. "Well, all right," she agreed, feeling the corners of her mouth tilt upward to return his smile. "This is an unusual place."
Unusual, yes, to be a guest in her own kitchen, to be swept off her feet by this rugged stranger.
"First, our house wine," he said, holding the gallon jug of red wine as carefully as a fine vintage.
She lifted her glass and he filled it. "Nothing extraordinary, you understand," he said, "but it may amuse you."
She took a small sip and swirled it around in her glass. "Yes," she agreed. "I can see the humor in it."
"And now for the main course." He went to the stove and in a few minutes he had heaped some savory concoction onto two plates. Then he shoved another chair to the small oak breakfast table and sat down across from her.
She took a bite and tasted hot and spicy chicken served on a bed of fluffy rice. "What is it?" she asked.
"We call it chicken surprise. The surprise is we never know how it’s going to turn out. I hope you like it."
"I do. I don't suppose the chef would share his recipe?"
"Not a chance, because there isn't one."
They ate in companionable silence. Mandy was enjoying the novelty of eating someone else's cooking, of eating something that wasn't breakfast. And when he wasn't looking, she studied the face of her companion and wondered if this was really happening.
He looked up suddenly and caught her staring at him. "What’s wrong?"
She looked away. What was wrong was that there was nothing wrong. It was all too wonderful. He was too nice, too good-looking, too virile, too good a cook—she set her fork down. She had to know now. Before it was too late. Before she lost her head.
"I was just wondering about your wife."
"What wife?" he asked.
"
The one who... who..."
"Who walked out when she saw there was no decent shopping or hair stylist in the Yukon?" There was a note of bitterness in his voice that made her wish she hadn't asked, wish that she hadn't spoiled the mood.
"Sorry, it’s none of my business."
"That’s all right," he said. "It was my fault."
"Your fault for not providing a mall or a hairdresser?"
"My fault for getting married."
"Couldn't you have transferred?" she asked.
"I tried to, I'm still trying."
"But to a drilling platform. That would make it hard for any woman to share your life," she said with a frown.
"That would make it impossible," he said firmly.
"I see," she said thoughtfully. And she did see. At least he was up front about what he wanted, and it was better that she understand that right now.
He got to his feet and refilled her wineglass. "Enough about me," he said. "What are you doing out here on the edge of nowhere with no guests and no husband? Or is he out catching fish for tomorrow's breakfast?"
She shook her head. "No husband. I only fall for men who don't want to make commitments. Laurie says it’s because I'm afraid to make one myself.''
"What does she know about it?"
"She knows me pretty well. She says I won't compromise, either."
"Will you?"
"There's nothing to compromise when the man you've been going with for three years decides to take the plunge and marry your best friend." Her eyes suddenly filled with tears. Why on earth did she have to tell him the awful truth? He wasn't interested. He didn't care. He was just making conversation. She'd come all the way to this out-of-the-way locale to forget, and here she was dredging up the past the minute she found a sympathetic ear.
The next thing she knew she'd be crying on his shoulder. And what a shoulder to cry on, she thought, measuring the width of his shoulders through blurry eyes. She pushed her chair back from the table intending the clear away the dishes and put an end to this conversation. There wasn't a man in the world who wanted someone dampening his shirt over the guy who got away.
