He glanced into the hotel lobby, where Natasha and Morwenna would appear any moment, and found the answer there.
No. Not any time soon.
* * *
“So, this stalker of yours... Is he shy and quirky or just totally creepy?”
Natasha pulled a pair of jeans from the armoire and went into the bathroom to change, closing the door only partway so they could talk. “Well, he’s been around two weeks short of a year, and I’ve never seen him. I think he pushed my ex-fiancé down the stairs, he followed me to Oklahoma and he set my car on fire. What do you think?”
In the mirror, she watched as Morwenna considered her words. “Well, pushing the guy down the stairs was horrible. Not having the backbone to out himself and meet you... I have some friends who could overlook that. Probably the fire, too. You know the type—my friends, not him. They grew up thinking that the absolute only thing they could be as an adult was married, and now they’re twenty-four or twenty-seven and still single, and it’s upset the balance of the universe so much that it’s about to explode.” She made an explosive sound, miming a nuclear mushroom cap.
Grinning, Natasha came out of the bathroom, retrieved socks from a drawer and boots from the armoire then sat down. “What about you? Is marriage in your plans?”
“God, no. Not for at least another twenty years. My mum and dad are married. She lives here. He lives in London. My brother’s married, too, to a total prat whose whole family are prats. When they came here to visit, they had to stay here at the Prairie Sun because Mum doesn’t tolerate prats, and Fee got little bird-wing and beak bruises all over her backside.” She gestured to the string of birds decorating both headboard and footboard of the bed. “She offered to show proof to Claire when she complained—and trust me, Fiona always complains—and I was like, ‘Ew, no! Are you trying to scar her for life?’”
This time Natasha laughed out loud, easing the tension in her neck by a few degrees. There were times when she felt like Morwenna’s friends whose universe was on the verge of exploding, though for clearly opposite reasons: theirs for lack of a man, hers for the presence of one. If she couldn’t laugh now and again, she would cry.
“Going back to the subject of marriage...”
Ah, Tasha said in her smug tone. See what happens when you ask people personal questions? They get to ask them right back.
“You’ve been engaged four times, so it’s safe to assume that you want to get married. But you’ve called off four weddings, so it’s safe to assume that you don’t want it as much as you thought. What’s the deal?”
Natasha shoved her feet into the boots then zipped each one. “That’s the million-dollar question,” she said drily, one she’d discussed multiple times with everybody who’d thought they’d had any kind of stake in the event. That had included her father’s girlfriend’s grown daughter, her mother’s third mother-in-law and pretty much anybody who’d bought a wedding gift.
Except the fiancés. She hadn’t seen Eric or Zach, and apologizing to Kyle and Daniel didn’t constitute a discussion.
“I really did love Kyle...and Eric...and Daniel...and Zach. At the time, we seemed such perfect pairs. But as the weddings approached, the perfection looked more and more an illusion. It seemed ridiculous to think that I could make a marriage work when so many smarter, braver, more normal people than me couldn’t. Suddenly I couldn’t see us five years down the line, still happy and in love. I couldn’t see us five months down the line. I couldn’t invest one more minute in a marriage that wasn’t going to last.”
“But every marriage, no matter how improbable, has a chance,” Morwenna said quietly.
“Your mom and dad, married and living half a world apart. My mom and dad still live together but have been divorced for fifteen years. Mom’s added four more husbands, and Dad’s had eight girlfriends. Most of them moved in with him and Mom and the husband of the moment.”
“Ew. No offense, but that’s just...” Morwenna shuddered for emphasis. “Is that all they do together? Live together? I mean, it’s not like some kinky sex thing?”
It was Natasha’s turn to shudder. “I try not to think about my parents having sex, with each other or anyone else.” Or everyone else. “No, as far as I know, it’s just weird.” After a quick look in the mirror, she picked up her slicker and purse. “This isn’t the same room where your sister-in-law got cozy with the birds, is it?”
Morwenna laughed easily as she crossed to the door. “Oh, no. And trust me, Claire sanitized every little feather and beak on that bed. I still don’t want to imagine how Fiona’s bum came into contact with them.”
They left the room and headed down the stairs. At the bottom, Daniel’s dark SUV came into sight, parked only a few steps from the main entrance. “I told him to park here before,” Morwenna commented, “but he was talking to Ben about the man you were talking to. He can be so stubborn.”
So he’d seen her with Rob, which meant that Rob checked out okay. If there had been anything questionable in his background, anything to indicate he could even possibly be her stalker, Daniel would have warned her.
Even if it was just out of an abundance of caution and lacking even a whiff of jealousy.
Breathing deeply, Natasha climbed into the back seat while Morwenna settled in front. As Daniel pulled back into traffic, he told them to let him know if they got too warm from the blasting heat. Morwenna hmmed in response. Other than that, the only sound was the swiping of the wiper blades as they tried to keep up with the rain.
Natasha didn’t have a chance to get uncomfortable in the silence, or to even get warm. A couple of minutes, and they’d reached their destination. They approached from the rear, the headlights flashing across a faded sign for Creek Café. The area was too dimly lit, too wet, too shiver-inducing to be appealing, with ruts in the driveway practically deep enough to swallow the SUV.
“Poor Mrs. LB,” Morwenna said, twisting to see Natasha as the vehicle rocked from side to side. “This street is city property, which means it’s their responsibility to maintain, but the only place it goes is to the back of the diner. Mrs. Holcomb, who owns two of the competing restaurants in town, is a city councilwoman and she keeps them from ever doing work on the road. Luckily, only stubborn people ever come this way because if we’d gone ’round the block and used the main entrance, we would already be seated by now.”
Even in the dim light of the dashboard, Natasha saw the look Daniel gave her. To someone who didn’t know him, he might appear annoyed, but she knew the annoyance was feigned and the affection was genuine. He really liked Morwenna, and it was clear as air that she really liked him, too. Natasha wasn’t sure how far it went, or in which direction, but she was glad for both of them. Daniel deserved every friend, girlfriend and so much more. He really did. And she really was happy.
Really, damn it.
There was a large ill-defined lot behind the restaurant, four rows of vehicles parked in crooked rows on puddle-saturated gravel, with a tall chain-link fence providing a barrier on the east side. Daniel nosed the vehicle into the space between it and an oversize black pickup truck.
“I guess we’re going in the back door,” Morwenna said brightly.
“Remember? Keeping a low profile?”
She paused, her open door lighting the vehicle. “Then why’d you invite me? I’ve never kept a low profile in my life.”
“You invited me. Remember? Better things to do?” Abruptly, his gaze met Natasha’s, as if his mouth had spoken without permission and he’d heard the words the same moment she did. Discomfort played around his mouth, then after Morwenna slammed the door shut, he stiffly muttered, “Sorry.”
Not sorry he’d thought it. Just sorry he’d said it. Aloud. To her.
Natasha forced a smile and opened the door. The powerful rushing of water immediately filled her ears, drawing her gaze past the fence and below. Even with illumi
nation from the restaurant and along the street in front of it, it was impossible to make out anything but shadows: big solid ones hunched in piles down the hillside, and rushing swirling ones that cascaded past with enough force to carry a good-sized vehicle along like a leaf. Mother Nature’s fury was impressive.
“Cedar Creek.” Daniel’s voice came from nearby. He’d circled to the back of the vehicle and stood a short distance away. “Normally, you can’t hear the water over the birds singing.”
“It’s scary.” Could anyone who fell into such tumult make it out alive?
“Yeah,” he agreed. Awkwardly he gestured toward the restaurant. “We should get inside.”
Before she’d taken more than a few steps, the floodlight nearest them flickered then went out, leaving only a small bright glow in the center that was slow to fade. Natasha wasn’t sure whether the sharp intake of breath was hers, or if it had come from Daniel, since the tiny hairs on her nape had risen and his right hand automatically pushed back the edge of his slicker to reach his gun. She had a crazy urge to grab onto him with both hands, or to shove him out of the way and make a wild zigzagging run to the rear door of the restaurant, but by the time she’d managed to suck in a breath, that same door opened, spilling light into the night.
Ben Little Bear stood there beneath the protective overhang, his dark gaze directed to the light post. “Damn light always goes out at the worst time possible. Come on in.”
“Wouldn’t the worst time possible be any time it’s dark?” Morwenna asked as she slipped past him.
In spite of the recent spike of her blood pressure and the new high she’d reached on her thrill meter, Natasha couldn’t resist smiling at the other woman’s response. Behind her, Daniel snorted.
Ahead of them, Ben did nothing but give Morwenna a stark, flat look that should have cowed her but made her smile sunnily instead.
“I like her,” Natasha whispered, expecting no one to hear. Of course Daniel did. Of course he snorted at her, too. It felt familiar. Comfortable.
The small room they entered appeared to serve as both a coatroom for employees and an overflow storeroom. They left their raincoats there before following Ben through the kitchen, where a lot of people called hellos to him, nudged or swatted him on the way past or ignored him pointedly. Mrs. LB owned the restaurant, Morwenna had said—no doubt, Mrs. Little Bear. A family business, and maybe a few relatives on the line tonight who were jealous of the one who had his Friday off to do what he wanted.
Even if he was apparently babysitting her. And even if Morwenna and Daniel had confessed to the babysitting gig from the beginning, she still would have come along. There was only so much sitting alone in a room she could bear.
How much sitting in a room with Daniel could she bear?
* * *
Ben got sidelined by his mother, so Daniel stepped around him and proceeded through the kitchen. At the front, a door led into a hallway that bisected the building from side to side. The main dining rooms were to the left; the bathrooms and Mrs. Little Bear’s office were the other way. Past the office, an unmarked door was their destination: the family dining room.
The hallway was the only place they risked being seen by other diners, and he said a crisp, “Hurry up,” when they reached it. He stepped out, scanned the dining room, then motioned for the two women to turn right. Seeing only familiar faces in the dining room eased his nerves somewhat. He wasn’t a strong proponent of letting people in danger go out and about as they pleased, but Morwenna had insisted dinner would be safe, and when Ben had taken her side, Daniel been outvoted.
The only other option, she’d said, was for him to take Natasha home and cook for her.
Not in this lifetime.
“It’s a shame he’s not warm and fuzzy like his dad,” Morwenna said, “but no, he’s gruff and grumpy like his father.”
“Oh, you know Jeffrey and Archer?” Natasha responded. Their voices were soft, vastly familiar and different and...important.
“Yes! Aren’t they great?” Morwenna paused, and her comes-and-goes British accent came. “Though Archer gets pretty warm and fuzzy with Jeffrey.”
“I know,” Natasha agreed. “They’re really sweet together.”
Daniel stepped past them to open the dining room door. What would tough-guy Archer think of being described as fuzzy and sweet? He would probably consider the sources, then take it as a compliment. He liked Morwenna and, together with Jeffrey, he had loved Natasha more than anyone else could have.
Except Daniel. With the emphasis on had loved. As in no longer did. He was one of those people who learned from the past, so he wasn’t doomed to repeat it. When RememberMe was out of Natasha’s life and she’d disappeared again, he would be okay again. Satisfied again. Good without her again.
He would.
Absently rubbing his chest, he walked the perimeter of the room, adjusting the blinds on one window, lowering them the last inch on the next. The room wasn’t overly large; getting between some of the tables required turning sideways and squeezing past the chairs. Like the main dining room, it had a tile floor, but this one was mostly covered by area rugs. There was a fireplace at one end, with a couch, a cradle and a changing table grouped around it. Family pictures hung on the walls, and decks of cards and board games were stacked on the fireplace mantel.
“This looks more like someone’s house than a restaurant.”
He glanced over his shoulder as Natasha came to stand beside him. Somewhere between the last two feet of the hallway and the room, they’d lost Morwenna, probably gone to say hello to someone. It seemed she knew everyone.
Daniel leaned against the back of the sofa, his hands resting on the frame at his sides. “When Mrs. Little Bear started the diner, she never was home for dinner. They didn’t have enough customers to use the whole place, so she had this room blocked off and made it into a family room. The kids came here after school, did homework, watched TV and ate dinner with her before going home.”
While tables for four were pushed against the walls, the main tables were two old trestles, rough and primitive, bearing the scars of decades of work, enough chopping to dull a thousand blades and carved hearts and tic-tac-toe games. Mismatched wood chairs butted up to the sides with armchairs at the ends: one for Mrs. Little Bear, the other for Great-Aunt Weezer.
Now there was someone who was gruff and grumpy. She made Daniel appear the soul of friendliness and light.
Natasha walked in a slow circle around the trestle tables. “I used to think that the smaller the family dinner, the better. In our case, it meant the people eating with us were actually family and not girlfriends, boyfriends, exes, prospective exes, friends, neighbors or casual acquaintances. Usually at our table, everyone there was someone’s family. Just not ours.”
Which had left her and her siblings feeling marginalized. It had been hard to believe she was important when the elder Spencers had treated everyone equally. The mailman’s daughter or a regular customer’s son got the same praise and ego strokes as their own children did. Mom and Dad were proud of everyone; they were happy for everyone; they loved everyone.
In theory, such harmony and balance sounded good. In reality, it had hurt six-year-old and eight-year-old and ten-year-old Natasha to never be singled out as special. There had been a time when Daniel had thought he could make that up to her. It had lasted right up until that last party.
That spot on his chest ached again. Probably the chocolate bar he’d had for a late-afternoon snack. He’d better not let Mrs. Little Bear know, or she would surely have some dietary solution that would prevent him from ordering her excellent fry-bread tacos.
“Your parents meant well,” he said as he went to one of the smaller tables and pulled out a chair facing the door. True to stereotype, he didn’t like having windows at his back, but with the blinds closed, no one could see in and, with the iron grates outside, ce
rtainly no one could come in. Any threat they faced tonight would have to use the door, like everyone else, or hunker in the parking lot shadows.
“They did.” She took a seat, too, directly across from him. “I swear, I was switched at birth. Somewhere out there, an incredibly free spirit is having dinner with her hidebound, traditional nuclear family and wondering, ‘How did I get here?’”
Daniel didn’t expect the smile that tugged at his mouth. “That would be easier to believe if you didn’t look just like your mom.”
A smile tugged at her mouth, too. She fingered the faded flowers embroidered on the place mat for a moment, a sign she was about to change the subject. “I like Morwenna.”
“So do I.”
“Do you two date?” She was trying to sound perfectly casual, as if she had zero interest in his personal life—as if she hadn’t once been his personal life—but he heard the emotion in her voice, saw the intense curiosity in her eyes. Like it somehow mattered.
How could it? She’d dumped him. Broken his heart. Discarded him like all her other fiancés. He hadn’t mattered enough to her then; he didn’t matter now.
“No.”
He didn’t need to say more—that they’d considered it, that they were aware enough of their mutual attraction that it had been worth a discussion. It was none of Natasha’s business. Just as it was none of his business that there was a hint of relief in her blue eyes.
“So...” She rested her hands in her lap. “What were your better things to do tonight?”
Now it was his turn for nervous behavior, lining up the silverware, straightening the edges of the faded linens that, a long time ago, someone had taken the time to embroider with a fancy, curlicue LB on one point per napkin.
Killer Smile Page 9
