by Amy Summers
"Okay," he said briefly. "I'll get some stuff you can use for a disguise. And I'll watch your kids for you. You can take my car."
"Thanks." Her smile seemed to shimmer at him and he turned away quickly, going back to cooking to save his soul.
But she didn't take the hint. Instead of leaving the room, she slipped down off the stool and came around to where he couldn't avoid her.
"David," she challenged him, her hands on her hips. "Why don't you like me?"
He looked up, his dark eyes impenetrable. She was close and lovely. All he had to do was reach out his hand and... He pulled himself back.
"Who said I didn't like you?" he asked huskily.
She shook her head, studying him, but not quite sure. "Your eyes say it every time you look at me."
He winced and laughed shortly, turning away from her scrutiny. "Then my eyes are lying," he said, reaching for a large jelly roll pan.
He missed it. It fell and they both bent to retrieve it, coming up, each holding one end.
"I want to help you," she said, not letting go. "What can I do?"
Put on a snowsuit, die your hair green, get an ugly case of chicken pox, and lose that voice. Or just leave town. Nothing else was going to help at all.
"You don't need to do anything," he said aloud, still holding his end of the pan.
"Yes I do. You've given us shelter, and I have to pay you back somehow. Let me help you get things ready."
She was going to hold on to the pan until he cried uncle, that was obvious. He shrugged. "All right."
She let go of the pan, and he turned around to set it on the counter and begin setting chili-wrapped cheese wedges in straight lines. "You can help fix these chilies."
"Okay." She hovered close, ready for whatever he told her to do, but making a rueful face. "There's only one problem. I don't know how to cook."
He stared at her, chilies suspended in midair. "You don't know how to cook? How could you get to this stage of life and not know how to cook?"
She made a face that was so adorable he had to swallow hard to keep from grabbing her with the chili still in his hands. "I've never had to know how. There's always been someone to do it for me."
She said it so simply, with no regret, no embarrassment. A life with servants waiting on you hand and foot—was this for real? And yet he knew it was. He'd seen it himself when he'd visited the Carrington home in the Hamptons.
He tossed the chili down in the pan, frowning. "I would think that simple curiosity would have compelled you to learn how to cook something." He knew he sounded a bit grumpy, but why not? That was the rich for you. Living off the work of others. Looking down their noses at people who actually knew what they were doing. Making love in the afternoon ...
Damn, why couldn't he get his mind off romance?
"I did cook fudge once, with some girlfriends." She looked rather wistful. "That was a long time ago."
"Fudge." He shook his head, narrowing his eyes. She would look better in whipped cream. A little smeared here, a little smeared there... He coughed and blinked, hard, focusing his mind.
"Well, I'll tell you, you come here and take this whisk to these eggs as though it were fudge, okay?" He handed her a bowl into which he'd broken almost a dozen eggs.
"Okay." She took it gingerly. "Like this?" She began to run the whisk awkwardly through the eggs.
Not exactly, but she would surely get it as she went along. "Uh, sort of." He helped her hold the whisk at a better angle, then drew back quickly, not wanting to touch her.
She began to beat, looking clumsy but willing.
"How did you learn to cook?" she asked as he began tossing tomatoes into a large pot over a medium flame on the stove.
"It was a matter of survival. I spent a lot of time being the only one at home when I was a kid. If I wanted to eat, I had to cook."
"Really?" She smiled at him. "Where did you grow up?"
He turned away from her, frowning. How did they get on the subject of his background? It wasn't something he normally liked to talk about. "Los Angeles, mostly,"
"Mostly?"
Women were never satisfied with short answers. "Los Angeles with my father. Kansas City with my mother. And summers I came down here with my grandparents.''
"You did a lot of traveling."
True. And not first class, either. But then, what would she know about economy night flights and taking the bus to save a few dollars? She didn't even know how to cook.
He looked over to see how she was doing and found she'd done a mediocre job beating the eggs. They were going to need more elbow grease. But she looked tired, so he shifted her to wrapping chilies around strips of cheese while he finished mixing together the tomato sauce.
"Oh, do I need an apron?" she asked suddenly.
He glanced at the shirt she was wearing. "No," he said quickly. Despite everything, he couldn't stand the thought of all those lovely curves being hidden behind an apron. She was backlit right now, from the morning sunlight coming in the windows. He could barely see the rounded hips, the swaying breasts beneath the thin cotton cloth. Something caught in his throat, choking him for a moment, and then he looked away. But the image stayed with him. He'd never seen a woman before who turned him on so easily. Maybe if he stuck his head under the faucet and turned on the cold water...
She nodded, then looked up. "David," she asked with some chagrin. "You're going to have to help me out here. What exactly are we making?"
He looked at her and almost laughed aloud. She looked so damn appealing. But it was incredible—he'd never known anyone so sheltered from normal life.
"Right now we're working on the chilies rellenos for the lunch shift. I make a casserole of it instead of the individual chilies like we have at dinner. That way I can cut out a square and use it as a side dish for almost anything else."
"Chilies rellenos," she repeated, pronouncing it pretty well. "I've had that before. It's delicious."
She turned and started working on the eggs again, her lip caught by her teeth as she concentrated, but she was doing it all wrong. Her arm was at an awkward angle and she was splashing half the egg mixture out of the bowl. He smiled and put down the knife he was using, moving toward her.
"No, here. Like this."
As he reached across her to take the whisk, he got too close to her and the scent of her hair filled his head. For just a moment he thought be was seeing stars. From this angle he could see right down the front of the shirt she wore, see her high, firm breasts. They were so softly curved, with the dark, pointed nipples erect as though they'd been rubbing against the cloth. He looked away quickly, his heart pumping something into his veins that felt like liquid gold.
He was frozen, standing stock-still. She turned her face up toward his, so close, a look of wonder in her eyes. The temptation to kiss her was so strong, he wasn't sure he could resist. She had that look in her eyes, that look that said, well, maybe……
He knew she would let him kiss her, maybe even kiss him back.
But he also knew he wouldn't stop there. Once his lips had found hers and her warmth started to fill him, he would have to run his hands up under the shirt and touch her, to arouse her like she was arousing him. Desire was erupting inside him, a throbbing pressure in his body, a beating drum in his head, pushing and pounding and demanding he do something to get relief. He had to get away from her, but he couldn't breathe. It was like a dream where he had to run but he couldn't move,
But he could move, and finally he did, backing away, looking at Madison as though she were an alien he'd suddenly discovered in his kitchen.
"Uh, listen, I can do this later," he muttered, reaching to take off his apron. "I'll run out and get those clothes for you to go to the bank."
"David?" she asked.
But he couldn't talk about this now. Turning, he didn't look back.
"I'll be gone about half an hour," he said as he went out the door. And once outside he leaned against the building and took in
a huge swallow of air, filling his lungs as though he'd been suffocating.
"My God," he murmured as he fumbled with the key to his car. "I've got to get that woman out of here."
Chapter 4
Rosa was full of questions when David arrived at her house asking to borrow a wig and some clothes. He'd known she would be, but he didn't know what else he could do. She was the only one he could trust.
Despite her rampant curiosity, she gave him a bag full of clothes and other items, including a wig she hadn't worn for twenty years.
"It made me itch," she said. "But it looks so real, I couldn't throw it out."
"Thanks, Rosa." David said as he ran out the door, back to the woman who occupied his thoughts, and his home.
When he handed the wig to Madison, it didn't look all that real on her head. Somehow the big black curls didn't go very well with her light skin and silver-blue eyes.
"I look like I belong in some jungle market with bananas on my head," she said, surveying herself in the mirror.
David grinned. "Well, you didn't want to look like Madison Carrington. I think you've succeeded there."
She curled her lip and wrinkled her nose. "I didn't want to look like a character from a Saturday morning cartoon show, either. But I guess beggars can't be choosers."
The chartreuse capri pants and the huge polyester blouse with a parrot printed across it, combined with the wig, worked to create an image very different from what Madison normally looked like, but they hardly looked cartoony. In fact, if anything, they served to help her fit in with the bright colors the locals wore, as well as tourists who traveled into town.
And the clothes did more than that. They helped David feel more comfortable with her.
"Gee, I really wish I'd had these when I was on the yacht," Madison quipped, looking at herself in the full-length mirror in his room. "Just the thing for an afternoon on the high seas."
David nodded, marveling that a wig and some tacky clothes could make her look so much less threatening to his seemingly fragile state of mind. "It might have been appropriate for Carnival in Rio," he suggested.
She laughed and spun around to face him. "Or trick or treat almost anywhere in the world. If only Armand could see me now, he might just give up any hopes of getting me to cruise the coast with him.''
"Was that what he was planning?"
She nodded. "A week here, and then on down to South America. He wanted us to spend six weeks together. He actually used the excuse of Valentine's Day coming up as an incentive."
"Ah, the old Valentine's Day ploy."
Suddenly they were grinning at each other like old friends.
"Has someone used it on you in the past?" she asked him.
He nodded, looking morose. "Not quite the way your ex-husband used it on you, but it was almost as disastrous. Two girls once kidnapped me, dressed me in a cupid's costume, and forced me to sell my favors in a kissing booth at a Valentine's Day fair."
She laughed. "The horror of it all. That must have been really hard for you, considering how you feel about kissing."
His eyebrows rose. "Who said I didn't like kissing?" And then he remembered what had happened in the kitchen just before he'd left to get the clothes. She'd known what he'd been feeling, how much he'd wanted to take her in his arms. She probably thought he was the biggest fool she'd ever known.
But she wasn't laughing at him. Instead she was studying him, her head to the side. "I didn't say you didn't like kissing," she said solemnly. "It's just that you're not the kissy-huggy sort. You're more the dark, brooding type, aren't you?"
He laughed, shaking his head. "No, Madison, I'm not. I think you've got me pegged all wrong."
With her lower lip stuck out in thought, she studied him for a moment more, shaking her head. "I'll get you figured out yet," she said softly, and then she turned back to the mirror. "But in the meantime, I've got to get this right. I do look completely different, but I'm not sure it's enough." She frowned into the reflection. "My face still shows. Maybe some heavy makeup..."
"Here," David offered, handing her a pair of sunglasses Rosa had thrown into the bag.
She put them on and shook her head.
"Where did you have to go to get these, the mid-nineties?"
Old-fashioned though they were, they did the trick. She looked tike a totally different person.
"A totally ridiculous person," she contended, and David had to admit she was right. It was sort of sad to see the tantalizing reality fade away and this tacky fiction take its place. But there were compensations. His risk of a sudden heart attack had gone way down, and he began to feel more like his normal self again.
Jill laughed when she saw her mother dressed up like someone else, but Chris's lower lip began to tremble, and Madison had to sit and hold him for a few minutes until he got used to the idea.
"You two are going to stay with David," she told them. "He's going to take care of you for a couple of hours." The two children turned to stare at him, and he felt as nakedly vulnerable as a man on trial for murder.
"We'll have fun," he claimed with false heartiness. "We'll..." Words failed him. What did kids like to do, anyway?
Madison jumped in to help him out, laughing at him at the same time. "Why don't you two go on down to the cafe while David finishes getting things ready? Chris, you can bring your coloring book. And Jill you can work on your journal."
"Good idea," he chimed in. "Just what I was thinking."
She grinned at him and for once, he smiled back. It was easier to smile when he couldn't see her blue eyes. The sunglasses were so much less intimidating.
He gave her his keys and walked out to the car with her to show her the fundamentals of the controls. She sat in the driver's seat while he demonstrated where the gears sat and which knob controlled the turn signal.
When he finally reached for the door, about to let her go, she stopped him with a hand on his arm.
"David, why is it you're being so friendly all of a sudden?" she asked softly.
He knew why, but he certainly wasn't going to discuss it with her. "Why is it you want to analyze me all the time?" he countered, getting out of the car. "Good luck at the bank." He leaned down and smiled at her. "And don't take too long. If those kids have me gagged and tied to a chair, I'll be the one in need of rescuing."
She smiled and drove off. He turned back toward the cafe where his two charges were waiting for the baby-sitting to begin. At least, they were supposed to be waiting. When he stepped back into the cafe, he came-face-to-face with what handling children was really all about. Complete chaos.
Being of a curious state of mind and age, Chris had opened the back door to the alley—just to see what was behind it—and six alley cats streaked in, jumping on counters, knocking over the trash, fighting over the fish scraps in the sink. Jill had tried to pet one and had been scratched across the nose. She was in a heap on the floor, sobbing her heart out, more out of hurt feelings than pain. Chris was jumping up and down, yelling, "Go, cats, go!"
David didn't waste time going into shock, though that course of action was tempting to him. It took a few minutes to restore order, eject the cats and get Jill comforted and settled back down with her notebook. Chris, however, was not about to be consigned to the coloring book. He wanted to follow David's every move and ended up sitting on the counter where he could watch most everything and not get into too much.
But once his body was stilled, his mouth was free to go into overdrive, and the questions began. They were simple at first. Nothing overly complicated. But there were so many of them, and they just kept coming, no matter what David did or said. Was he really supposed to answer them all? And how was he supposed to keep his sanity?
"If there are hundreds of people on buses, with lots of windows," he asked, his little face furled in concentration on this compelling subject, "how come they don't fly out when the bus goes around a corner?"
Whoa. David shook his head as he continued cutting halibu
t into filets for the midday meal. That was a toughie. It was also something of a non sequitur, but what the heck. He was just a little kid. He just didn't know.
"They're sitting in their seats," David explained calmly. "Why would they fly out?"
Chris blinked. "Birds do. I saw a bird fly out once."
David's smile was patient. "Birds are supposed to fly."
Chris nodded and looked pleased. "I bet I could fly. I had a dream, once."
"About flying?"
"No. 'Bout my tricycle. It has purple pedals. And a horn. I like to blow my horn. I race my tricycle and blow my horn all the time." He kicked his feet against the counter, looking more content than ever. "Could you come to my house and see me ride my tricycle?"
The kid was throwing him. First the questions which didn't make any sense, then the jumping from one subject to another. David was beginning to feel his shoulders tense up, and that meant he was losing it. He forced himself to remain calm.
"I'd like to come to your house and see you ride someday," he said carefully.
"When?" the boy demanded, waiting for an answer.
"Well, we'll have to work that out with your mother."
"How about next Sunday? Mama says we'll be home by Sunday. Could you come Sunday?"
"Maybe. We'll have to see."
"Okay. Are you a cowboy?"
David frowned, getting dizzy. "No, not really."
"Then how come you wear cowboy boots?"
David's shoulders felt as though they'd been encased in cement. He was going to have to count to ten before he dared answer the last one. "Because I like them," he said at last, trying to smile.
"And how come you wear a cowboy hat?"
This time he couldn't keep the brusqueness out of his voice. "To keep the sun off my head," he snapped, beginning to feel desperate.
But Chris didn't notice a thing. "How come you have to cook this food?" he went on blithely.
