A Man to Waste Time On

by Nina Barrett

  “Hitchhiking during a Nevada summer?” He shook his head. “Brave man.”

  “Magdalena said he told her it’s his favorite way to see the country and meet people. When he gets here, we can ask him about the tea blend. Find out if he’s ever experienced, well not personally experienced himself, but um…” Her cheeks flushed. “Heard about side effects, consequences of a combination like ours.”

  Flustered, her cheeks pink, she looked more like the young girl he’d known in Des Moines a dozen years ago than the more than occasionally harried co-owner of a new business.

  “So how long have you been working with him?” Maybe she’d relax if they talked about other things.

  “Ever since we opened. He sends us newsletters and sample packs of things he’s run across along with his shipments. We order through a website operated by his sister in New Zealand.”

  “Tea scout dot com?”

  “Something like that.” She drew a breath and glanced toward the front where chimes were announcing the arrival of customers. “I better get back to work and let you get to your job, too.”

  “Sure.” He stood and pulled back her chair. Standing close, her head was near his chest, her ash-blonde curls tumbling back as she looked up.

  “About Saturday night. How would six-thirty work to pick you up? Cocktails are from seven to eight with the dinner afterward.”

  “Six-thirty sounds fine.” She smiled as she moved past him, the fragrance of jasmine, vanilla, and ginger trailing after her. She didn’t seem as if she were looking forward to it as much as he was, but at least her parting smile had been more genuine than the first one she’d given him today.

  Chapter Seven

  It had to be him. As she let herself in, two dark heads were bent over the counter deep in conversation. Neither seemed to have noticed the door chimes.

  She cleared her throat.

  Magdalena’s head snapped back and the figure beside her straightened up.

  And up. And up.

  Six-eight? Six-ten? Seven-feet?

  Automatically, she held out her hand, her jaw dropping. In pictures from his newsletters, he’d always dwarfed the tea growers he was standing beside, but she’d assumed that was because they were really short. Maybe not so much.

  “Magdalena found me here on your doorstep, took pity on me, and let me in.” The accent didn’t come from anywhere within a thousand miles of Las Vegas.

  She had never seen anything that looked less like a lost puppy.

  “I got into town about midnight. Got a lift from a lorry driver out of Carson City. Found a place to doss down and woke up early this morning. Did a bit of a walkabout, you know. Found Magdalena here, keys to the kingdom in her hand. David Witheroe at your service. Cinnamon Smith, I presume.”

  She nodded as he squeezed her fingers and beamed down at Magdalena who seemed oblivious to the fact she was even there. Six-ten easily with a head of unruly black hair, dark eyes, and a smile even Rosemary couldn’t help but approve; there wasn’t a fat cell on his body. Maybe scaling the Himalayas and walking across most of the Indian sub-continent had that effect.

  “David, how nice to finally meet you. We’ve been looking forward to meeting you in person. I see Magdalena found something for you.”

  At the sound of her name, her partner’s face turned toward her blankly.

  “Ah, yes, this.” David raised his mug. “Capital. A green tea blend with an interesting top note.” He took a sip, rolling it around in his mouth. “Yes, I think jasmine with perhaps a soupçon of lemongrass, dare I say?”

  What the heck was a soupçon? She hadn’t encountered it in any of the scientific measurements back in college.

  “That’s it. It’s one we developed last winter, didn’t we, Mags?” Get into this conversation. Her roommate was acting as stunned as she’d been when Tom had asked her out.

  Magdalena smiled.

  “I’m…ah, I’ll go get things started up in the back so we’re ready for our morning. You can stay out here and talk to David.” Like Magdalena needed to have her arm twisted.

  Cinna paused in the act of pushing open the connecting door to the kitchen. The grassy, smoky odor of the Brazilian yerba mate they had roasted the day before still hung in the air. Behind her, Magdalena and David were already bent over the counter again deep in tea talk. She shook her head. Somehow she didn’t think tea was what her friend was interested in today.

  She found a clean apron in the closet and used the mirror in the restroom to secure her curls back with a barrette. Adding water to the potpourri pot, she studied the row of simmering fragrances.

  “Well, well, well.” She picked up a clear vial from the back and studied it. “Passion fruit?” She shrugged, sprinkled it in the water, considered it briefly, and upended the vial.

  An advantage of starting a new business in a new city had been its usefulness as a time filler, much as school, post-graduate work, and other jobs had been. But while those distractions had worked during the day, nights left her longing for dawn and the chance to lose herself in busyness again. She had hoped a new city, a seismic change in her career path would fill that empty space the intervening years hadn’t. That is she had hoped that until she had looked up to meet Tom’s eyes and the oxygen had evaporated from the room.

  Since then, no amount of activity had been enough to make up for nights haunted by thoughts of someone’s mouth, someone’s hands, someone’s body. Wondering…

  Get real, girl. She put the container back on the shelf. If Tom was between girlfriends, it was surely only temporary. She drew a breath. After this silly awards banquet, they’d both be free.

  Back to reality. She turned on the oven to warm the buns and muffins. Soon, the fragrance of brown sugar, vanilla, and passion fruit would perfume the shop.

  Magdalena was freshening David’s cup when she returned to the front.

  “So what are you trying now?” she asked.

  “Monkey orchid oolong.”

  “It was part of the shipment David sent us from Formosa a couple months ago,” Magdalena said.

  It seemed her partner had caught on to the fact she was there.

  “Ahh, excellent.” David took another sip. “Wonderful place, Formosa. Quite a varied geography for a small island. Amazing variety of tea grows on the cliffs there. One finds the best in the Fujian province, but, of course, the local demand is tremendous. Not easy to get the growers to part with their harvest for export. And you’ve enhanced it with allspice.”

  “All Magdalena’s doing.” She took a seat at the counter beside their tea scout. Even sitting, she had to tilt her head back to talk to David. “She’s the one with the gifted taste buds.”

  “Well, it certainly shows.”

  Was her friend blushing? After a career as a Las Vegas showgirl, she hadn’t thought there was much left that could embarrass Magdalena.

  “So did you fill David in on our problem?”

  Magdalena looked lost.

  “You know, with the Celestial Harmony blend.”

  “Oh, yes. David, remember, I told you about what happened with the guests at the Imperial Hotel after they tried the samples we’d left for them.”

  “Right. What a story! I wish the tea could claim credit, but apparently, other than its well-known relaxing benefits, I think the most likely causes were simply being in Las Vegas, on vacation and in the company of an attractive partner.”

  He shook his head and took a deep sip of his tea as Magdalena propped her head on a hand and smiled at him.

  ****

  Tom paused in the doorway of his outer office and waited until Candace finished her conversation, laid down her headset, and looked up at him.

  “How’s it going?” he asked.

  It seemed that since he’d left the previous evening, a new collection of houseplants had been added to his secretary’s workspace. Candace appeared cheerfully undeterred in her quest to add a touch of nature to the office despite the inevitable, silent demise of th
eir predecessors. He was fairly confident that somewhere in her desk was a new sample of plant food she felt sure would counteract the office’s artificial light and ventilation.

  “Fine. That was the design team from the architect’s office calling to re-confirm the meeting on Monday. They’ve finished the re-design on the West End project and are ready to present it.”

  “Good. I was wondering how they’d incorporate the new features Jim’s interested in.”

  “It didn’t sound like there was any problem.”

  “Okay, would you let Mr. McMasters know? I’m sure he’ll want to sit in on it.”

  His secretary nodded and reached for her headset again as he pushed through the door into his private office. After a year, he was just beginning to get used to the Thomas Marco, General Manager sign on the door.

  The new theater area was another extension of the original Outpost property, an addition that entailed additional expense. The concept of modeling their dinner show area/concert venue on one of London’s West End theaters had been Gentleman Jim’s. And as with most things when done properly, it came with a hefty price tag.

  When work was completed in the spring, they’d be able to bring in the kind of big-name entertainment that properties on the Strip did. The buzz such headliners generated would add cachet to their name and eventually, they’d recoup their investment. Eventually. Just had to keep their ship afloat ’til then.

  He picked up the messages in his inbox, opened his desk drawer, and found his reading glasses. He didn’t like using them unless he had to, but reading Candace’s dainty script was beyond him. Was it male pride that kept them concealed in a desk drawer? He resisted acknowledging being anything less than one hundred percent. Being physically fit had been a priority stretching back to his need to stay out of the reach of some of Mom’s boyfriends.

  Later, defending himself in a few of the foster care situations he’d found himself in had been easier. By that time, his build plus a certain look in his eye had been sufficient to back most bullies down. His last patrol in Afghanistan had left its mark, but minor problems with vision as well as setting off metal detectors when he went through airport security were small inconveniences compared with what so many others had left half a world away from their fellow Americans.

  He scanned the first message.

  Steve Carrillo from personnel on expanding the hours of operation for the pool and cabana area; he needed to get together to discuss estimates of projected new hires and budget. Fortunately, for the bottom line, most of the job openings would be minimum wage. It wasn’t fun being a penny pincher, but that was the long and short of it.

  Message from food services—their seafood supplier in Tacoma had notified them that projections of this year’s salmon run were down and consequently prices were expected to rise.

  He inhaled sharply as he read the final one. Edmund Chancellor had called from the U. K., Candace had written, with a question about the quarterly report. Would it be possible to send it via e-mail instead of trusting it to the post this time? Thank you ever so much.

  Edmund Chancellor was one of Gentleman Jim’s principle British investors. First Elspeth Porter-Hayes, now Chancellor. The buzzer on the intercom beeped as he shook his head.

  “Yes, Candace.”

  “Tom, Sandy Korman from the auditing firm in Henderson is on the line. She wanted to let you know they’ve received notice from the lender holding the note on the West End construction project asking for the latest quarterly fiscal statement before they renew the loan. Shall I put her through?”

  “Sure.” He took a deep breath and picked up his phone. Was it living in a desert climate that made him picture huge birds circling lazily overhead, eyeing the Imperial speculatively?

  ****

  Finishing up in the kitchen, she joined Magdalena and David in the pantry. Magdalena was holding an open canister for their tea scout. David opened his eyes to look her way with a smile.

  “Magdalena tells me this is your winter blend. Currants, cloves, orange peel, cinnamon, and vanilla along with something tart.” He studied it.

  “Cranberries,” her partner supplied. “We spotlighted this tea in our holiday gift baskets last year.”

  “We gave out samples of it during the Christmas season to put shoppers in the mood even if December in Nevada isn’t the stereotypical winter scene.”

  “I can understand. Speaking of holiday gifts, have you two ever thought of offering tea sets and the like? Some of my clients sell whole tea services, cream and sugar duos, mugs with lids that double as coasters.”

  “We have our travel mugs, but that’s been it.” Magdalena turned to her.

  “Those are popular with the locals. We offer a discount on refills. Of course, a lot of our business is one-time, people here on vacation.”

  “Well, I can forward information to you, if it’s something you might want to pursue. The chap and his wife I visited in Monterrey call their line sip ware. And what is this?” He opened another canister and took a breath. “Oh, yes, chai. Unparalleled when steamed with warm milk and honey.”

  Could the man live on tea? With his negative body-mass index, it didn’t seem out of the question.

  “And I see you’re incorporating some Native American products.” David ran his finger down a line of jars. “Blackberry leaves, orange bergamot, lemon verbena. Sometime next year, I want to get back into the rainforests of India and Ceylon. See what the native peoples are using. One can learn so much that way. I’ve tasted some wonderful cardamom from there, gingery with a pinch of fire.”

  Magdalena made a soft sound like a moan.

  “I’ll make a note to send some your way. Ah, chamomile. Excellent. Nothing better for insuring a good night’s sleep.”

  “Usually not a problem for us after a full day on our feet.”

  Magdalena’s fingers seemed to linger on David’s as he handed her the chamomile.

  “Jasmine, yes. And silver tips, lovely, peachy character those. Tickles the palate, doesn’t it?” David seemed to be talking to himself as he surveyed the shelves, his acolyte Magdalena trailing in his wake.

  Cinna was turning to go when David stopped abruptly and tapped a glass container with a forefinger.

  “Organic rooibos, yes. Use this much?”

  “Occasionally someone will ask for it.” Magdalena looked up at him. “And it makes a good caffeine-free herbal blend with other teas.”

  He turned to them both, wrinkling his brow.

  “Just mulling something over. I’ve heard it used… Yes, I’m sure I have. I’ve heard that some Asian herbalists use it in combination with ashwagandha root and a bark. Can’t quite place which one now.” He tapped the container with his fingers before shaking his head. “It’ll come back. Anyway, as I recall, it’s a folk medicine to enhance the midnight hours, shall we say.”

  Wonderful. She looked at Magdalena gazing up at her tea guru.

  Why didn’t this stuff come with warning labels?

  Chapter Eight

  Tom checked the time on the dashboard as he headed west down Route 159. Behind him, the sun was already over the horizon. Getting ready for the day had entailed a detour over to the Imperial to collect the climbing gear from his old room where he’d dumped it after his last climb. He’d waved to Elspeth Porter-Hayes and her companion breakfasting in the Cork and Cleaver where he’d grabbed a double espresso to go.

  It’d been a while. His last climb had been B.C.—Before Cinna. The weeks since finding her again had been split between his work at Imperial and drinking more tea than he could have imagined. All while doing his best to insinuate himself into her life. He lowered a window and adjusted the mirror.

  The asphalt rolled smoothly under his tires. His SUV might be no comparison to the Jag, but on a venture like this, it couldn’t be beat. Even with the odometer set to turn over.

  Once an ancient seabed, the oxidized red and orange remnants he traveled through were usually enough to command his inter
est. Today with other things on his mind, he barely noticed them.

  The unexplained cash drain at the Imperial continued. He drummed a hand on the steering wheel. He’d had the business office run the interim numbers before he’d left the night before, a clear loss of several thousand dollars already this month. In the larger scheme of millions of dollars flowing in and out of Vegas, it was a drop in the ocean, but it was a loss he couldn’t explain. It was keeping them on the red side of the balance sheet and investors didn’t care for questions that couldn’t be answered.

  He bit his lip and willed himself to relax. This excursion was all about working off some of the tension he was feeling in his back and shoulders before the awards banquet and the chance at winning industry recognition for their hard work. Besides boosting their marketability, winning would surely impress his girl. His girl?

  He had to be making progress there, didn’t he? The slight intake of breath when he casually moved a fraction too close, the start when his hand brushed hers, the catch in her voice and the way her long lashes trembled when she looked up at him had to be good signs. And last Monday morning when he arrived at the shop in his new suit, her smoky blue eyes had lingered an instant too long on the way it showcased his shoulders, before looking away as if guilty.

  Down, boy. He loosened his grip on the steering wheel letting his speed slow as the Red Rock Canyon National Conservation Area sign came into view. Fifteen miles west of Las Vegas, the sandstone peaks and rock formations could be seen from the Strip.

  Tonight was just another step in his campaign to win her. Fortunately, she lived with a roommate so he could avoid any temptation to rush things when he brought her home. And if the Imperial took the award for best small independent hotel-casino, another date would be in order to celebrate.

  He pulled in back of a Humvee, the driver leaning out to talk to the Bureau of Land Management ranger. Maybe he could arrange a quiet table at the Reserve and show her the Imperial’s fine dining, followed by an after dinner drink at Keys, their piano bar, and a little slow dancing, her body curving into his, his hand on her lower back. If the signals looked promising, his room was still available at the Imperial. If not, well, it wouldn’t be his first cold shower.