All Shook Up

by Susan Andersen

  But somehow it was his socks, not the stunning fitness of his body, that really got to her. They were dingy, which was exacerbated by the brand-new brilliance of his tennis shoes, and there was just something sort of…lonely about them. She could picture him in a laundromat all by himself, stuffing everything willy-nilly into one load. It really brought home the fact that he’d been raised pretty much on his own, kicked from place to place. A warm kernel of tenderness unfurled inside her, and stretched toward him like a blossom to the sun.

  Dru came to abruptly. Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no. He wasn’t a motherless child, and hadn’t been for a long time. He was a fully grown man who was long on opinions and short on charm, and she wasn’t about to offer to wash his socks for him. Good God—what was the matter with her?

  He walked up to her. “Everything fits. You have a good eye.”

  She eyed the slight gap at his waist. “The shorts look a little big.”

  “They’re fine. My waist is a thirty-three, but it’s a difficult size to find, so I usually buy thirty-fours and have a little extra breathing room.” He shrugged. “No biggie.”

  “Fine. Now, about your socks—”

  He looked down in surprise, then shocked her by flashing a crooked grin. “Sorry about that. This pair somehow got in with a load of jeans. I usually wear them for work. Want me to go get a pair that are actually white?”

  Okay, that proves it, Drucilla Jean—you’re an idiot.

  She couldn’t make herself smile back. “They should be fine for one day. You’ll be behind the desk.”

  God, she couldn’t believe she’d had that come-and-let-me-mother-you moment. If she’d thought about it for a few lousy seconds instead of reacting with sappy emotionalism, she would have remembered that his T-shirts were always dazzlingly white.

  Well, fine. She became all business. “You’re all set, then. Put your stuff under the counter here, and let me find Sally so you can get started.”

  8

  J.D. pulled out his watch and checked the time. Blowing out an impatient breath, he clicked it shut and stuffed it back in his pocket. It was only ten minutes later than the last time he’d checked, and he still had an hour to go before he’d be free of the front desk. The good news, though, was that he’d be free of it forever.

  He’d never realized that days could drag on so long. If he could just hold on these final sixty minutes, he intended to loosen some of the knots in his neck by putting in an hour or two rebuilding the railing around the Eagle’s Nest balcony. If there was one thing he’d learned in the six days he’d manned the front desk, it was that he’d go nuts working at a job that kept him confined and inactive.

  Not to mention dealing with the public. He’d had to grit his teeth against his basic nature all week. Some of the guests gave new meaning to the word “rude,” and his natural inclination was neither to simply take it nor to turn the other cheek. That went against every precept for survival he’d ever had drummed into his head.

  Thank God he had the weekend off for good behavior before he started in a couple of new divisions next week. At a meeting with Dru, he’d been given a list of all the departments, and they’d hammered out a schedule for him for the next several weeks. Starting Monday, he’d split his time between the ground maintenance crew and learning the workings of the elegant restaurant. Of the two, he had no doubt about which he’d like best.

  The phone rang. Sally was chasing down information for a guest, which left him to answer it. Damn. He could run any power tool ever invented, but this phone system made him feel like an idiot. It rang again. Lights blinked on the myriad buttons, and he punched one as he picked up the receiver. “Star Lake Lodge.”

  “Ben Lawrence, please.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Lawrence isn’t available. Can I take a mess—”

  “Damn, I’ve already tried him at home. How about Dru? Is she around?”

  “Yeah, sure, let me put you on hold for a second.” But when he looked down, Dru’s line was blinking. “Nope, I’m sorry. Looks like she’s on the phone. Can I take a message?”

  “Yes. This is Henry Briggs. Tell Ben I’m sorry it took so long to get back to him, but I finally got that information he wanted, if he’d like to give me a call.”

  “Got it. Henry Briggs. Sorry. Has your information. You can call back.”

  The man laughed. “You’re a bit different from their usual front-desk type, aren’t you?”

  “So I’ve been told.” J.D. looked down at the blanks on the pink message slip. “Does Ben have your number?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, then. I’ll see that he gets the message.”

  Briggs thanked him and wished him a good day.

  The entrance doors opened, and two women entered. One was elderly with lavender hair and large, crusty diamonds on her fingers and ears; the other was middle-aged with defeated shoulders, wearing an expensive-looking but unflattering dress. The old lady had a querulous, carrying voice as she gave her companion step-by-step directions and warnings regarding the suitcases the younger woman juggled. J.D. rang for a bellboy, then braced himself, recognizing trouble when he saw it.

  “Good afternoon, ladies,” he said when they came up to the desk. “Welcome to Star Lake Lodge. How can I help you?”

  “How may I help you, young man.”

  “You could tell me the name your reservation is under.”

  The middle-aged woman’s lips curled in a slight smile, but the older woman straightened in affront. “I wasn’t asking how I could assist you, you imbecile. I was correcting your abominable Engl—”

  Something of what he felt must have shown in his eyes when he lifted his gaze to meet hers head-on, for she abruptly cut herself off and drew back slightly, bristling.

  “Manion,” the middle-aged woman said in a soft voice. “The reservation is under Mrs. Roberta Manion. I’m her daughter, Estelle.”

  “I hope you enjoy your stay, Ms. Manion.” Smiling at her caused her to blink rapidly, and since it wasn’t his aim to make her nervous, he dropped his gaze to the keyboard, where he hunt-and-pecked out their name. A second later the information he sought appeared on the screen. “Here we go. You’re in the Timberline Suite.” He selected the appropriate envelope of keys and information from its cubby and slid it across the countertop to Estelle.

  The old lady reached out and snatched it before her daughter could pick it up, and swallowing the hot words that rose in his throat, J.D. completed the check-in process. Looking up, he saw the bellboy approaching and swallowed an oath as well.

  He wished to hell it was anyone but Sean. It was the kid’s first job and he was still easily flustered. An old barracuda like Mrs. Manion was unlikely to add to his confidence.

  But it couldn’t be helped, so he introduced the young man to the two guests. “He’ll help you with your luggage, ladies. Sean, Mrs. and Ms. Manion will be staying with us in the Timberline Suite.” He turned to the women and indicated the small suitcases Estelle had brought in. “Do you have more luggage in your car, or is this it?”

  “Of course we have more luggage,” the elder Manion snapped. “We’re going to be here for a month.”

  “Come with me,” Estelle interjected softly to Sean. “I’m parked out in the valet drive.”

  J.D. didn’t know whether to be relieved or to curse when the old lady immediately followed in their wake, complaining with every step she took. God, give him a crew of belligerent construction workers any day.

  Only moments after the doors had closed behind them, J.D. heard Roberta Manion’s voice rise in fury. “Shit!” He vaulted the counter and pushed through the doors.

  Sean had retrieved the luggage from a late-model Mercedes, hauled it up onto the wide, covered porch, and was stacking it on the luggage cart in accordance with the old woman’s commands. As J.D. approached, she demanded that the bellboy rearrange a piece, and if the strained patience on Sean’s face was anything to go by, it wasn’t for the first time.

&n
bsp; “No,” she snapped as he set it down. “I said I wanted it here. Here, you see?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Ears red, he moved the piece to the place that she indicated on the luggage trolley. Unfortunately, just as he went to set it down she slapped the cart’s hanging post in irritation, and the cart wheeled away from him. The piece of luggage tumbled to the ground.

  “Oh! You stupid, incompetent boy! Look what you’ve done! I’ll see you fire—”

  J.D. had had enough. “If you find so much disfavor with Sean’s work, Mrs. Manion,” he said, stepping forward, “perhaps you ought to do it yourself.” Giving the kid’s shoulder a brief, encouraging squeeze as he passed, he squatted and swept up the case, arranging it on the cart with swift efficiency.

  “Why, you rude hooligan! I’ll see you fired, too.”

  “Mother,” Estelle whispered in mortification, but J.D. slowly rose and stared down at the old lady.

  “You’re welcome to try. You might find it a little difficult, however, since I own part of the place. And Sean here works for me, so it won’t be possible to terminate his employment, either.” He rolled the newly arranged cart to the bellboy. “Here you go. See them to their room.” Turning to Estelle, he said, “I’m counting on you to see that your mother behaves herself with him.”

  He heard about it, of course. It was too much to hope that the old woman wouldn’t complain, and with only two minutes left on the clock, he was called into Dru’s office.

  “Are you totally crazy?” she demanded before he’d even cleared the door. Spine poker-straight, arms crossed militantly, she glared up at him.

  “Possibly.” He crossed his own arms over his chest and looked at her. Her cheeks were pink and her eyes so electric they all but shot sparks. “Depends on who you’re talking to, I imagine.”

  “I’ve been talking to Roberta Manion.” She relaxed her aggressive posture, clearly deciding that sweet reason would be more effective than an outright attack. “Listen, I know she can be rather difficult—”

  “Rather difficult? That little old lady could give lessons to a piranha. The way she chewed up Sean, I half expected to see her spitting out his bones.”

  “That’s no reason for you to exacerbate the problem by being rude in return. Star Lake Lodge prides itself on its exceptional service. We didn’t get that reputation by telling our guests that if they don’t like the way we do something, to go do it themselves.”

  Hell, you would have thought he’d goosed the old broad rather than offered a simple suggestion. He liked Dru in her attack mode a hell of a lot better than being talked to as if he were some sixteen-year-old who needed to be shown the error of his ways.

  Before he could dispute her claim, however, she said, “Since this is your last day on the front desk, I was able to calm Mrs. Manion by assuring her you would no longer be manning it. And I comped her and Estelle dinner in the restaurant, so this particular incident has been smoothed over. But in the future, J.D., please keep in mind that—”

  “You did what?” Raw, hot fury shot through his veins, and he reached her desk in a single stride. Slapping his hands down without regard to the stacks of paperwork, he leaned foward aggressively and felt a spark of satisfaction when she drew back. “And just where does Star Lake Lodge stand when it comes to its employees? Is no abuse too gross, as long as the guest is happy?”

  “Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “What the hell is so ridiculous about it? Roberta Manion called Sean stupid and incompetent. She threatened to see him fired because he fumbled one of her cases after she smacked the damn cart away. She browbeat the kid, and you’re fucking rewarding her by comping her to a free meal in your precious four-diamond restaurant?”

  She shot to her feet and leaned across the desk in turn. “Don’t you use your foul language with me, J.D. Carver! You’re not on a construction crew any longer.”

  “The hell with my language!” Only a scant half foot separated their faces, and he thrust his nearer still. Spreadsheets skittered to the corner of the desk and accordioned to the floor. “What kind of message does that send to our employees?”

  “My God, your gall just recognizes no bounds, does it? They’re not our employees, you—” She snapped her mouth shut, apparently realizing her mistake, and J.D. gave her a feral smile.

  “Oh, yeah, sweetheart, they are. Yours and mine and Auntie and Uncle’s. In fact, I’m not all that certain about the ‘you’ part of this equation. If I’m not mistaken, you’re my employee as well.” He saw her eyes narrow and her cheeks flushed a deeper rose. The pulse in the hollow of her throat thumped fifty miles an hour, and his smile grew even more barbarous.

  “I don’t pretend to have your expertise in this field,” he said, “so I sure don’t intend to mess with that reputation for fine service you’re so friggin’ proud of. I can even swallow a great deal of rudeness from the guests and still say, ‘Yes, ma’am; thank you, ma’am.’ But understand this, Drucilla.” He leaned in until their noses were a millimeter apart. “I’ll be damned if I’ll stand by and watch some old battle-ax whose manners are yellower than her diamonds terrorize a kid who’s knocked himself out to uphold the lodge honor.”

  She surprised him by slowly straightening and nodding, the anger draining from her expression. “It’s possible I may have acted rashly simply because you were involved in the complaint,” she conceded.

  “What?” He clapped a hand to his heart in feigned amazement. “You didn’t find it difficult to believe I might have been rude to a guest without provocation?”

  “Not even for a second.” She picked up the phone and punched a two-digit number. “This is Dru,” she said a moment later. “Please send Sean to my office.”

  The bellboy knocked a moment later, and came in with an apprehensive look on his face when Dru bade him enter.

  She offered him a seat, and as soon as he’d perched on the edge of the visitor’s chair, she said, “I owe you an apology.”

  “Ma’am?”

  “You’ve probably heard by now that I comped Mrs. Manion and her daughter to dinner in the restaurant. I’m sorry, Sean. I failed to obtain all the facts before I did so, and as J.D. has so rightly pointed out, that amounts to rewarding her for abusing you.”

  “Oh, uh…”

  “J.D. told me what Mrs. Manion did, and how you handled the situation. I assume that she continued to be verbally abusive when you took their bags to the suite.”

  Shifting uncomfortably in his chair, Sean clearly didn’t want to admit any such thing and perhaps be labeled a complainer. Then a way to put a positive spin on the situation must have struck him, for he brightened. “Ms. Manion gave me a huge tip.”

  “Good for her. It sounds as if you earned every penny of it. I’d like to give you a two-hour water-skiing party as well, as both an apology and a thank-you for handling a difficult guest in a professional manner. Call Joe in the sport shop and set up a time that works for you and your friends.”

  “Oh, wow. Thanks, Dru. Thanks, Mr. Carver.”

  “J.D.,” he reminded him.

  “Yeah, right—J.D. Thanks.”

  He left the office, and J.D. watched as Dru called the sport shop to alert Joe to the arrangements. This keeping-his-distance business would be a hell of a lot easier if she’d clung to her superior attitude instead of turning reasonable on him. There was probably a subversive reason behind her sudden about-face, but he couldn’t figure out what. Something, no doubt, designed to drive him away.

  Or perhaps just to drive him crazy.

  He thought about that rapid pulse he’d seen fluttering in her throat, and the urge he’d had to lick it, to feel it throbbing beneath his tongue. Swallowing a curse, he left the office before he did something irrevocably stupid.

  It wasn’t until he’d unwound with some straightforward carpentry on the Eagle’s Nest balcony that he remembered the message for Ben. Damn. Reluctantly forgoing the lure of a cold beer and some sports talk with the bartender, he
cleaned up his work area, then went to collect the message slip from the front desk.

  Sally looked up in surprise when he approached. “Hey, J.D. I thought you were long gone.”

  “Look who’s talking. What are you still doing here? You putting in overtime?”

  “In a way. Cheryl had a late appointment in town, so I agreed to stay for a couple of extra hours.” She eyed the tank top, jeans, and boots he’d changed into and the carpenter’s belt slung around his waist. “Looks like you’ve been working on that railing again.”

  “Somebody has to.”

  She grinned. “Not only are you a world-class fix-it guy, but word has it you’re now our hero of the hour as well.”

  “Huh?” What the hell was she talking about?

  “Your defense of Sean. It’s the talk of the employee grapevine.”

  “You’re kidding.” He stared at her in amazement. “How come? I didn’t do anything.”

  “Mrs. Manion has been a thorn in the help’s side for fifteen years. It warms the cockles of our hearts to hear that you went to bat when she started in on Sean. He worships you now, of course.”

  J.D. shifted uncomfortably at the thought, but it warmed him a little, too. “Why do the Lawrences put up with her, if she’s such a pain?”

  “Oh, you get some like that sometimes. Most of the guests are sweeties, but a few can be pains, and fewer still, thank God, turn out to be royal pains. It doesn’t take much stretch of the imagination to figure out which category Roberta Manion fits into, but she brings in a ton of money. She books suites, eats in the restaurant, and drops a bundle in the gift shop.” Sally smiled wryly. “And, of course, Estelle tips really well.”