by Ruth Langan
Lizbeth lay in that pleasant limbo between being awake and asleep. She could feel the warmth of the morning sun as it slipped between a gap in the drapes and danced against her closed eyelids.
She was about to snuggle deeper under the blanket when she suddenly sat straight up in bed. Sunlight? What in the world was she doing drowsing away the morning. What time was it? A glance at the bedside clock told her she should have been downstairs fixing breakfast an hour ago.
She rushed through her shower and dressed hurriedly, leaving her damp hair to curl as it pleased. Then she raced downstairs and came to a skidding halt in the doorway of the kitchen.
“’Morning, sleepyhead.” Colin was just pouring coffee into a mug. “Would you like some?”
“Thanks.” It felt strange having someone else at home in her kitchen. “I’m sorry I’m late. I’ll get breakfast started right away.”
“No hurry.” He handed her a cup and couldn’t help smiling at the way she looked. As fresh as one of the flowers in her garden. And as sweet, in a long denim skirt and peppermint-striped shirt, her hair a riot of curls around a face that was, as usual, slightly flushed.
“Don’t you have to get to the Yardley house?”
“Not today. It’s Saturday.”
“Oh.” She hadn’t remembered. In fact, her mind felt completely muddled. She blamed it on the fact that her sleep had been disrupted by so many dreams.
She resented the fact that Colin looked rested and refreshed. Apparently nothing had disturbed his sleep.
He drained his coffee. “I think I’ll wash the truck.”
“What about breakfast?”
“Don’t bother. If I get hungry later I’ll fix something. That is, if you don’t mind having me in your kitchen.”
“Don’t think of it as mine. It’s your kitchen too, for as long as you choose to stay at Stafford Cottage.”
“Thanks. I’ll remember that.” He turned back to pour a second cup of coffee. Then he strolled out the door. Minutes later she heard the sound of running water. Through the window she watched as he used the hose to fill a bucket, and began to wash his truck.
With each movement his T-shirt strained against the ripple of muscles. He bent over the hood, scrubbing, polishing, and she studied those long muscular legs encased in tight-fitting jeans. He had the most beautifully sculpted body. She sipped her coffee and decided it wouldn’t hurt to simply linger here a few minutes longer, indulging herself. After all, it was the weekend. And he was, quite simply, wonderful to watch.
Lizbeth couldn’t believe the number of weeds that had found their way into her garden. Nestled between the peonies. Wrapped around the budding irises. They’d even taken root in the crevices between the rocks that formed a border along the side of the cottage wall.
She knelt in the grass and talked to the flowers as she filled the wheelbarrow.
“Just look at you. Aren’t you pretty? That feeding of fertilizer I gave you last week must have done the trick. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you looking so fine. In another week or two you’re going to fill this little bed to overflowing with your blooms. Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.” She picked up a broken stem of flowers and nestled it in a basket. “But don’t fret. You’ll look just perfect on the dining room table tonight. Now, let’s see if I can pull these weeds without disrupting any more of you…”
Out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of Colin leaning against the porch, his arms crossed over his chest, regarding her with a grin.
“You startled me. I didn’t notice you there.”
“Obviously. You were too busy talking to your buddies.”
She flushed. “I suppose that’s what comes of living alone. Pretty soon I’ll be talking to the walls.”
“Well, at least they won’t talk back.”
They both looked up as Jack Nowack unlatched the gate and walked up with a handful of mail.
“Afternoon, Jack.”
He tipped his hat. “Beth. Colin.” He turned to Lizbeth. “You got a letter from your grandfather.”
“Oh, how nice.” She slipped off her garden gloves and accepted the mail with a smile. “He’ll be gearing up for another busy season.”
“You think he’ll ever retire?”
“Grandpa Sully?” She laughed and shook her head. “I can’t imagine such a thing. He’s like you, Jack. He just loves meeting people, stopping to chat with everyone who walks through the door of his inn in Lake Como. I can’t imagine what he’d do if he didn’t have that to look forward to.”
“Well.” The older man paused to polish his sunglasses. “Seems to me his granddaughter takes after him.” He slipped the glasses on and turned to Colin. “Bill and Sue Yardley gave me a tour of their place. You’re doing some fine work.”
“Thanks.” It occurred to Colin that there were no secrets in Stafford.
Jack smiled at Lizbeth. “My wife wanted me to thank you for the cupcakes you baked for our daughter’s birthday. She said little Taylor was the most popular girl in school.”
“I’m glad she and her classmates enjoyed them.”
Lizbeth waited until he walked away and latched the gate. Then she dropped down in the grass and tore open her grandfather’s letter.
“Are you finished weeding?”
She looked up, surprised to see Colin standing beside the wheelbarrow. “Yes. I’ll empty that in a little while.”
“I’ll do it. You read your letter.”
He picked up her gardening tools and shoved the wheelbarrow toward the potting shed, leaving her alone to savor the news from her grandfather.
Minutes later Lizbeth tucked the letter into her pocket and looked around at the sound of hammering.
She walked toward the shed, where Colin was repairing some loose hinges.
He looked over his shoulder as she approached. “If these had pulled free, you were in danger of losing this door.”
“I know. I kept meaning to fix them. But there always seemed to be something more important that needed my attention.”
“Like that?” He pointed toward the rear fence, lined with budding lilac and magnolia trees.
Lizbeth shook her head in defeat. “I know those broken pickets need replacing. But they’re just one more thing that will have to wait until I have the time and money.”
“No time like now.” He tested the door. Satisfied that the hinges were solid, he strode toward the back fence, with Lizbeth trailing behind.
“This isn’t such a big job.” He began pulling away the rotted boards.
“It isn’t? Byron Porterfield told me it would take him a couple of days and cost me at least three hundred dollars in supplies and labor.”
“That’s if he had to buy the wood cut to size from a lumber company, then install it and paint it. But what if I buy a couple of boards and cut them myself? Would you mind painting them?”
“Of course not.”
“Good. I think if we work together we could have the fence repaired by this evening. And all for the cost of a couple of pieces of lumber and a little paint.”
“Oh, Colin. Could we?”
“I don’t mind if you don’t.” He glanced at her in that way that always had the breath catching in her throat. “But while I’m picking up the lumber and paint, you might want to change. You do own something besides all those fancy lady clothes, don’t you?”
She glanced down at herself, then laughed delightedly. “Of course I do.”
She turned away, the hem of her skirt dancing around her ankles.
As he strolled to his truck it occurred to Colin that he’d be very happy if she decided to put on a pair of skimpy shorts. But that was probably too much to ask of the very prim and proper Lizbeth Sullivan.
They weren’t shorts. But she wore a pair of faded jeans that hugged her bottom. And what a shapely one it was, Colin thought as he bent to his table saw. She’d topped them with a cast-off shirt worn loose. But after a few minutes she realized the shirttails were
brushing across the fresh paint, and she’d had no choice but to tie them midriff-style to keep them out of the way.
Much better, Colin thought with an appreciative smile. There was just a hint of pale white flesh teasing him as she moved the paint brush back and forth in smooth, even strokes.
The freshly-cut pickets lay across a pair of saw horses. As soon as Lizbeth had finished painting them on one side she turned them over and neatly painted them on the other. Though the work was tedious, she attacked it with a vengeance.
Colin took a break from his sawing. “I can see you’ve painted a time or two.”
She nodded. “Every wall in the cottage.”
“You did it yourself?”
“Of course.” She looked up. “I also hung the wallpaper, sewed the drapes and upholstered several of the chairs in the parlor.”
“Uh-huh. And you also bring home the bacon, fry it up in the pan. ’Cause you are woman,” he sang off-key.
She couldn’t help laughing at his teasing. “That’s right. And don’t you forget it.”
He gave her a long, slow look that had her cheeks turning pink. “Believe me, lady, I’m not apt to forget that.”
She returned to her painting, acutely aware of the appreciative glances he kept sending her way.
A short time later he finished cutting the last board. By then, the first pickets were dry, and he was able to begin nailing them to the fence rails. Before long, with the sun directly overhead, he’d tossed aside his shirt and bent to his work in earnest.
Lizbeth found herself so distracted by the sight of him that she could hardly concentrate on her job. She stared, fascinated at the play of muscles along his shoulders and back. With each ring of the hammer against a nail she felt a similar ping to her heart.
He cocked his head and caught her staring. “You almost done there?”
“Hmm? Oh, yes.” She took a final swipe of paintbrush over wood, then set the brush aside.
“Maybe you could start handing the dry ones to me.”
“Sure.” She picked up a length of picket and carried it to him.
“Thanks.” He smiled, and it occurred to her that he had the most wonderful smile in the world. “If you could just hold it in place here, I’ll drive in the first nail. Then while I’m finishing, you can get the next piece. We’ll have this job done in no time.”
Without even being conscious of it, they developed a rhythm. Lizbeth choosing a length of wood, fitting it in place and holding it until the first nail had been driven to hold it securely. Colin finishing the job, while she moved on to the next, and the next.
Less than an hour later Colin nailed the last board in place. Then they stood back to admire their handiwork.
“Oh, Colin. It’s beautiful.”
“Yeah.” His body slick with sweat, he picked up his wadded T-shirt and used it to towel his face before he shot her a grin that had her heart doing a series of somersaults. “We make a good team, don’t you think?”
She nodded.
He turned away to dismantle the table saw and coil the extension cord, before heading for his truck. For a minute longer Lizbeth watched him. Then she picked up the bucket of paint and the brushes.
With a rag and water from the hose she began to clean the brushes, before wiping the paint from her hands.
“Just what I needed.” Colin walked over and picked up the hose, before helping himself to a long drink.
He held the spray toward her. “Want one?”
“Yes. I’m parched.” She leaned close and allowed the icy spray to flow into her mouth.
“Umm. That’s wonderful.” Smiling, she used the rag to dry her chin.
“Wait a minute. You missed a spot.” He tossed the hose aside and reached for the rag in her hands. Before she could ask what he meant he cupped her chin in his hand and dabbed the rag to a spot of paint on her cheek.
Maybe it was the heat of the day, or the satisfaction of a job well done. Certainly the mood was enhanced by the proximity of his naked, sweating chest, and the fact that they’d worked so closely together all afternoon. Still, they both seemed caught off guard by the sudden storm that engulfed them at that single touch.
One minute they were laughing together. The next, his big hands were framing her face. His eyes, so blue they seemed to burn with an inner fire, were fixed on hers.
Her hands reached up and closed over his wrists, before sliding up his arms. Her smile faded as, without even realizing what she was doing, she stood on tiptoe to reach his mouth.
He’d had no time to prepare. All he knew was that her mouth was on his. Willingly. Without any effort on his part. And now the explosion of feeling was ripping through him. Tearing him apart, piece by piece, until he jerked back, feeling as if he’d just taken a grenade to the chest.
He saw her eyes go wide. Knew that his reaction had stunned her. And then, because she looked as if she might turn and run, he dragged her close and held on. His hands massaged her upper arms, her shoulders, then his fingers began tangling in all those silken curls. On a moan of desperation, he lowered his face to hers and captured her mouth, hungry for another taste.
She was so sweet. And so afraid. He could taste her fear. He wanted, more than anything, to soothe it. To stop the trembling he could feel on her lips as he traced them with his tongue before taking more.
He could feel his blood heating, surging in his veins. Could hear it roaring like thunder in his temples. Could feel a mist of passion clouding his vision. And he was helpless to stop it. She was so sweet, so good, so innocent. She was, quite simply, everything he’d ever wanted. The woman of his dreams.
It took him a moment to realize that she’d gone very still in his arms.
He drew in a breath and took a step back. But it wasn’t far enough, or fast enough for Lizbeth. She could still feel the heat from his body. Could still feel the shocking vibrations she’d absorbed at the first contact with his naked chest. Could still taste the passion.
Colin had learned his lesson the previous night. This time there would be no recriminations. No serious discussion. The best way to handle this was to keep it light.
He forced a smile. “Well, as I see it, we have two choices here.”
“Choices?” She struggled to focus.
“Yeah.” His smile grew. “I can go grab a cold shower before dinner. Or, if you’ve a mind to, you could join me and…scrub my back, or something.”
She was determined to follow his lead this time. If he could smile after what they’d just shared, so could she. “It’s the ‘or something’ that might be a problem. Why don’t you shower alone and I’ll do the same.”
“Spoilsport.”
She managed to turn off the hose, aware that her hand only shook a little. Over her shoulder she called, “But since I helped you with the fence, I don’t see why you can’t help me with dinner.”
“I’ll do even better.” He nodded toward the charcoal grill stored alongside the potting shed. “Before I shower I’ll get a fire started in the grill. And after I’ve cleaned up, I’ll make dinner.”
When she opened her mouth to protest, he lifted a hand. “In fact, I’ll even provide dessert. Now why don’t you go take a long, leisurely bath or something.”
She couldn’t help laughing. He was a constant surprise. “There’s that ‘or something’ again.”
“Yeah.” He shot her a wicked grin. “So if you’re smart, you’ll get out of here before I decide just what that might be.”
Chapter 7
Lizbeth hurried to her room, wondering at the feelings swirling inside her. Why should she feel so excited at the prospect of Colin fixing dinner? After all, it was only a simple barbeque. But it had been so long since anyone had cooked for her. She supposed it was because she was so competent in the kitchen. Most of her friends here in Stafford were more than happy to let her do something she took such pride in. But here she was, about to let someone else cook for her. Feed her. And the anticipation was delightful.
>
She stripped off her paint-stained clothes and settled into warm, fragrant bathwater. It felt so good to soak after a day of hard, challenging work. After scrubbing the last of the paint smears, she stepped from the tub, her skin glowing, her wet hair wrapped in a towel.
She blew her hair dry and left it to fall in soft, loose curls secured off her face with combs. Then she slipped into a knit dress of pale peach with a softly rounded neckline and a long column of skirt that fell to her ankles. On her feet were canvas slippers in the same shade of peach.
When she descended the stairs she caught the wonderful scent of meat and vegetables cooking on the grill. She couldn’t wait to see what Colin had prepared. Her step was light as she raced toward the dining room and glanced at the small round table beside the bay window. Except for the bouquet of peonies she’d set earlier in the center of the table, it was empty.
With a shrug, she made her way to the kitchen. But that table was empty as well.
Puzzled, she crossed the kitchen and threw open the back door.
Colin was standing beside the grill, turning something that smelled simply wonderful. Beyond him, in the middle of a grassy area, was a blanket, set with plates and silverware. A bottle of wine protruded from a small ice bucket.
“Colin. A picnic.” She flew down the steps toward him. “Oh, how lovely.”
He had to absorb a jolt at the sight of her. With all that porcelain skin and that tangle of golden curls, and that regal-looking dress swirling around her ankles, she reminded him of a beautiful, fragile princess from some other time and place.
“It was too perfect to spend indoors. Who knows when we’ll get another day like this? Do you mind?”
“Mind?” She clasped her hands together. “It’s a wonderful idea.” She peered over his shoulder. “What’re you fixing?”
“Shish kabob. A little beef, a little chicken and whatever vegetables I could find in the refrigerator, basted with my own special, secret ingredients.”
“Special secret ingredients?” She breathed in. “It smells wonderful.”
