by Cindy Stark
Perhaps Rick really missed his girlfriend, and that was why he’d seemed so unhappy. Or maybe he was an introvert and had a hard time in social situations. Either way, he would be much easier to be around knowing he was taken. For whatever reason, attractive, eligible men always left her tongue-tied and awkward.
Erin left her aunt inside and walked back into the Colorado autumn sunshine, pausing on Annabelle’s front porch to fill her lungs with the closest thing she’d ever found to pure oxygen. The stuff was heady, addicting, and she knew her two weeks would pass far too fast.
She barely had one suitcase out of her trunk when she sensed him. She wasn’t quite sure how she knew he was behind her, whether she’d subconsciously heard him or what, but when she glanced over her shoulder, Rick was there looking as solemn as when she’d first met him.
Chapter Three
“Let me help you,” Rick said as he approached. He more or less pushed Erin to the side and removed her second suitcase. “You’re not moving in, are you?”
She ignored his implied barb and the way her pulse spiked. “No, why?”
“It seems like a lot for a short visit.” He glanced down at her, his dangerously dark eyes daring her to argue.
She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d affected her. “I’ll be here two weeks.” Besides, she couldn’t be blamed for the amount of clothing she’d brought with her. When she’d questioned Aunt Annabelle on what she should bring, her aunt had said to be prepared for any kind of weather this year. So she’d packed a little bit of everything.
“Like I said, short visit.” He lifted a hand to shut the trunk.
“Wait.”
He paused, raising questioning brows at her.
“I need my table.”
He glanced back in the trunk. “That thing? What for?”
She really wanted to tell him to mind his business. “It’s my massage table.”
A glint struck in his eye, and he looked her over again as though viewing her differently. “Do you usually take it everywhere you go?”
She folded her arms in front of her. “Not everywhere. But Aunt Annabelle had mentioned her back bothered her, and I thought I might be able to help.”
“I see.” He set the suitcases down and pulled out her table, then shut the trunk with a loud bang.
She flinched. He had no reason to be annoyed. She hadn’t asked him to help her. He’d volunteered.
He tucked one suitcase under his arm, grabbed the other with the same hand, and then picked up her table like it didn’t weigh thirty pounds.
“I can carry something.”
“I have it.” The muscles in his arms bulged, but he seemed quite capable of carrying the weight. She fought to keep her gaze from wandering to the wicked-looking tribal tattoo adorning his bicep.
“I’ll get the door.” She hurried ahead to make sure she had it open by the time he reached the porch. She held it as he passed, not failing to notice the mixed scent of spicy cologne and woodchips that wafted from him as he passed.
She followed him up the narrow stairs, not missing the opportunity to notice the nice way his jeans fit his muscular thighs and butt.
He stopped on the landing and glanced back at her. “Which room?”
“The green one.”
He drew his brows together. “Annabelle put you in the green room?”
She wasn’t sure why he questioned it, but the fact that he had, left her slightly uneasy. “That’s what she said.”
He shrugged and moved forward. Erin followed, nearly colliding with him as he barely stepped foot inside the doorway and dropped her suitcases and table to the side. “I hope you’ll be comfortable.” His words seemed to be a generic response to the next in a line of guests.
“Thank you,” she said as he passed by her and headed down the stairs.
She stared after him for a moment and then turned. Was he this bad-mannered with all of Annabelle’s guests? Or just her?
And if so, what had she ever done to the man?
* * *
Erin hastened down the polished wooden staircase after she’d finished unpacking. She’d hated wasting her precious vacation on such a menial task and was eager to spend more time with Aunt Annabelle, instead.
Late afternoon sun filtered through the stained glass window above the front door, casting prisms on the opposite wall. She paused to admire nature’s creation. The rays had been shattered by colored glass and had come out more beautiful on the other side.
Perhaps with Aunt Annabelle’s sage wisdom and guidance, Erin could be transformed as well. She’d already decided she’d never be emotionally abused by another person she loved. Life was too short. She was better off divorced from her ex-husband and her mother.
A breath of lavender-scented air caressed her cheek, and she knew Aunt Annabelle must be in the vicinity.
She found her in the kitchen with a large pot simmering on the stove. She’d donned a ruffled red apron that looked like it belonged in the late 1800s. Erin could easily pretend she’d gone back in time if not for the modern appliances.
“What are we making?” Erin inhaled, the delicious smells stirring her hunger.
Annabelle looked up, a dusting of flour on her cheek. “Chicken and dumplings with a spinach salad and apple crisp for dessert. Our guests have already arrived and are upstairs in their room. I told them supper would be ready by five. If you could throw together the apple crisp topping, that would be a great help. The recipe is right there on the counter.”
It took Erin a moment to spot the handwritten recipe amongst all the ingredients for dinner, but she found it peeking from beneath the flour canister and pulled it out. The yellowed-paper had been encased in plastic, but not before receiving a few grease stains first. “Is this your personal recipe?”
“Rosa’s,” Annabelle said without looking up.
Erin held the paper a little more gingerly as she studied the flowery handwriting. “As in Rosa’s actual handwritten recipe?”
Her aunt stopped stirring and turned toward Erin, looking alive with energy. How could Erin have thought her dead earlier when she’d found her in the atrium?
“Yes, Rosa’s actual recipe.”
“How did you end up with it?”
Annabelle cocked her head, a smile creasing her wrinkles. “Did I not mention earlier that Rosa was my great-grandmother?”
Interest flared inside her. “No. You’d mentioned that Henderson owned a house that used to belong to your family, but not that you were a direct descendant of Rosa.”
That meant Rosa was also related to Erin through her father’s side of the family. Her mother would have a coronary if that skeleton ever popped out of the closet. A prostitute. In the family. She let that interesting thought sink in and then she frowned. “But I thought Rosa’s husband killed her after they’d been wed for only eight months. How could she have had a baby if she died?”
“Secret child she had before meeting John,” her aunt said with a grin, obviously enjoying this aspect of her family’s history. “Rosa told Henry that the child belonged to one of the other women.” She shrugged. “Might as well have been. Rosa and the other two women working with her all raised the baby.”
“Did she have a boy or girl?” She struggled to keep all these people—correction, all of her relatives straight in her mind.
“Boy. William. He was a wild one. By the time he was eighteen, he’d killed a man and sired a child. A girl this time.”
Erin did the calculations in her head. “Your mother?”
“My mother. Louise Hardwick.”
“And my great-grandmother,” Erin said. “Wow. I didn’t realize our family was so colorful.”
Annabelle snorted and glanced at the clock. “You have no idea.” She turned and began dropping dough into the bubbling liquid.
“Of course, your grandmother lived a totally different life than I did,” she continued. “Here, let me help you with that topping, or we’ll never get thi
s done in time.”
Erin measured oats and flour and poured them into a bowl while Annabelle added the cinnamon and butter.
“How was my grandmother’s life different than yours? Didn’t you both grow up here? Do you have other siblings?”
“So many questions, love. Let’s get this going, and then we’ll have time to sit and talk.”
But they didn’t.
Before they put the apple crisp in the oven, their two guests joined them in the kitchen. Though they were newlyweds, they were older than Erin had expected, maybe somewhere around their early thirties. Annabelle introduced them as Scott and Mary Fincher.
“I hope it’s okay if we nose around the house a little bit,” Scott said as they stood inside the doorway. His head missed the doorframe by a few inches, and his round glasses and unruly chestnut hair gave him the appearance of a forgetful professor.
His wife raised hopeful eyebrows at her husband’s comment, and Erin glanced between the two of them, trying to figure out how a petite blond who seemed very well put together ended up with a guy like him. The unpredictable characteristic of love, she supposed.
“It’s one of the reasons we chose your place, Miss Annabelle,” Mary said. “The thought of staying in the red-light district sounded so fun.”
She grinned at her husband, and he furrowed his brows for a moment before his lips split in an understanding smile. Erin could only guess there might be some role-playing later in the bedroom.
Her aunt wiped her hands on her apron. “Of course. You’re free to wander where you like. You’re our guests here, and we want you to be comfortable. I was just telling my niece here about Madam Rosa. The infamous town madam who used to own this house. A hundred and thirty years ago, the road you drove in on divided the town. The upstanding, God-fearing citizens lived on the north side, and the rowdy and unruly lived on the south.”
“That’s fascinating,” Mary said. “I’d love to know more about Rosa.”
“Me, too,” Erin said, eager for more stories.
Annabelle flashed a quick look in her direction and then focused a smile on the newlyweds. “Tomorrow when you’re in town, make sure you stop at Coraline’s on the east end. She has a book that gives a great history of the famous residents of Argent Springs. Rosa is included.”
Mary’s eyes lit up at the suggestion. “Definitely. I’m a travel agent, and I’m always looking for fun, out-of-the-way places to recommend to my clients. Stories and people like Rosa intrigue the hell out of me.”
“That’s wonderful,” her aunt said. “Now that our little mining town relies mostly on tourist dollars to survive, we appreciate all the advertising we can get.”
A timer went off and her aunt turned to pull the apple crisp from the oven before lifting the lid on her pan of chicken and dumplings.
“Good god, that smells good.” Scott groaned in anticipation. “Better than restaurant food, that’s for damn sure.”
Mary elbowed him. “Thanks for agreeing to let us have dinner here. We’ve had a long drive today, and we’re grateful we won’t need to venture out until tomorrow.”
“I don’t mind a bit,” her aunt replied. “I’d be cooking anyway. Now, if you’ll give us a couple of minutes, we’ll get everything on the table.”
Rick picked that moment to walk into the kitchen, and Erin immediately went on alert.
He introduced himself to the newcomers, sticking out his hand in greeting, a full smile on his face. “Can I get you a drink? Beer? Wine? I believe Miss Annabelle has a good Riesling picked out for the meal.”
“I’d love a glass of wine,” Mary said, glancing at her husband who agreed with her choice.
Erin couldn’t believe it. She split her focus between dishing up the roasted carrots with rosemary and watching a charming version of the man she’d met earlier interact with Annabelle’s guests. Her earlier thoughts about him being less than social because he was an introvert flew right out the window. The man wasn’t a backward, unmannered person. He was funny and social, and already had Scott laughing. So why the hell had he been such a jerk to her?
Her emotions stewed as she carried several serving dishes to the table before taking a seat. The couple sat across from her. Rick took the spot next to her, saving the seat at the head of the table for Annabelle. Earlier, the table had seemed massive, but with Rick sitting so close, the space was much too crowded for her comfort. She wished she’d sat across from him so she could keep an eye on him. Instead, she was forced to glance out the corner of her eye.
“Would you care for some wine, Erin?” Rick asked in a pleasant voice. His charm now apparently extended to her. But she wasn’t buying it.
She turned to him with a raised brow, giving him a look full of accusation. “That would be lovely.” She held out her glass, keeping her gaze zeroed on him.
He blinked and focused on her glass as he filled it, and she recognized the guilty look in his expression.
Good. First chance she got, she intended to call him on it.
* * *
Dinner was excellent despite the fact she had to sit next to Rick and pretend she didn’t feel the uncomfortable energy running between them. If he would have been distant but still pleasant from the beginning, they wouldn’t have a problem.
After dinner, Erin insisted on clearing the table, allowing Annabelle to sit and enjoy her guests. Rick was gracious enough to help her, but she wouldn’t thank him. It would take more than a couple of trips to the sink to get back in her good graces.
The apple crisp was still warm when she served it with vanilla ice cream on top. The dessert earned a few more groans from their guests and Rick, too.
“You haven’t told us much about you yet, Scott.” Annabelle pinned him with a smile that reminded Erin of her first meeting with her great aunt. The woman could pull out a gold pan full of charm when she wanted to.
He wiped his mouth with his napkin. “I’m a stock market analyst, and I consider myself the luckiest man alive to have Mary as my wife.”
“Ohhh…” Mary smiled into her husband’s eyes, obviously as in love with him as he was with her. She tugged him to her, giving him a passionate kiss.
Erin focused on her plate. She’d expected to have that kind of love with Craig, but it never manifested. Even now, the pain from his rejection still stung.
Rick choked, and Erin eyed him from the side as he took a large swallow of wine to clear his throat. “Excuse me. Bad timing on my part. No disrespect meant. I just had a little…” He cleared his throat.
“It’s so good to see a couple in love,” Annabelle said, saving them all from embarrassment. “My Henderson was a good man, and I can tell Scott is, too. You hang on to him with all your might.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Mary said with a bright smile.
Annabelle focused on Rick. “You’ll make a fine husband one day, too. As soon as you find the right lady.”
He stared at her with an unspoken warning in his eyes.
“I’m serious,” she countered.
“We’re not having this discussion again, Annabelle. Especially not in front of our guests.”
“Of course we’re not. There’s nothing to discuss. I know what I know, and you’ll have to deal with it.” She ended with a dare-to-defy look aimed in his direction.
Erin tucked in her lips to keep from laughing. She didn’t mind one bit watching her aunt put him in his place. Though she might not appreciate it if Aunt Annabelle turned the tables on her.
“Never say never, man,” Scott said to Rick. “Having the love of a good woman is highly-underrated.”
Rick gave him a half-baked smile and stood to gather the dessert dishes.
Annabelle stood with a flourish. “I say we all reconvene in the atrium. I love to pull out my favorite music on nights like tonight. You’re not opposed to listening to the oldies, are you?” she asked her guests.
“Look out,” Rick whispered under his breath.
Erin glanced at him, but he’d
turned away, and she wasn’t sure whether his comment was meant for her ears or not.
When Annabelle tried to help with the dishes, Erin shooed her away. “I have this. Go enjoy your guests.” Running a bed and breakfast was a difficult job, even more so for a woman her aunt’s age. Rick must help out more than Erin had realized, and she did appreciate that.
“But you’re a guest. You shouldn’t be working.”
“I’m your niece, and I don’t mind helping one bit. These people want to hear you talk, not me.” She gave her a smile and a little shove out the kitchen door.
“Rick, love? Could you be a dear and light a fire for us?” Annabelle asked as Rick joined her and the newlyweds in the hall.
When they had disappeared from sight, Erin refilled her glass of wine and turned on the hot water. She took a sip and began piling plates into the suds.
As much as she’d enjoyed meeting the couple from California, she was used to being alone and the reprieve from conversation and Rick’s overwhelming presence was a relief.
By the time Erin finished the dishes and her second glass of wine, her muscles had relaxed along with her nerves. She made her way down the darkened hall toward the atrium at the back of the house. She hoped she hadn’t missed any more of Annabelle’s stories about Rosa.
The lights had been lowered in the room and a crackling fire burned in the wood stove. A popular song from the sixties echoed from a sound system Erin hadn’t noticed earlier. Mary and Scott laughed at something Annabelle must have said.
“Erin, love. There you are. I was about to send Rick looking for you.”
Rick glanced at her and stood as she entered.
“I’m perfectly fine. Sometimes washing dishes can be a relaxing thing.”
“Of course, dear.” She patted the leather couch next to her. “Come sit with us. We were just discussing the winters we get here in Argent Springs.”
Rick waited for her to take her seat before he resumed his. “It’s not uncommon for us to have a couple of inches of snow by now.”
A jerk and a gentleman? Or was he trying to mess with her mind? Or convince everyone else he was something other than rude?
