* * *
“Who was he?” Jeannie asked as she set out an array of ceramic pitchers and bowls in her assigned booth at the fair. The morning sun was already taking the damp chill out of the air and making the muted blues and greens of her pottery glisten with silver-gray highlights.
“Who was who?”
“Don’t play games with me, Victoria Marshall. Who was the man who had you so rattled you didn’t even recognize my voice when I called?”
“What makes you think there was a man there?”
Jeannie groaned. “Your tone of voice for one thing. You always get this nervous little flutter in your voice when you’re feeling guilty. I noticed it first when we were seven and you were trying to convince your mother we hadn’t eaten an entire box of strawberries, even though we had red juice from head to toe.”
Victoria glowered at her. Jeannie had been her friend for entirely too long and knew far too much. “What would I have to feel guilty about?”
“You tell me. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that you’re denying the existence of a man, when I saw an incredibly gorgeous hunk walk into your back yard with a saw in one hand, a two-by-four in the other and bare shoulders that should be outlawed in the presence of unmarried females.”
She studied Victoria closely. “Have you taken up with a handyman? It’s nothing to be ashamed of, you know. In fact, it’s about time you stopped being so blasted choosy. You’ve always wanted Clark Gable, Albert Schweitzer and a knight in shining armor all rolled into one. They don’t make `em like that anymore. I’m glad you’ve finally decided to settle for what’s out there, just like the rest of us. You’ll be much happier in the long run.”
Victoria burst out laughing at her friend’s determined attempt to be broad-minded and encouraging in the face of what she obviously assumed to be Victoria’s unexpected indiscretion. “Thanks for your vote of confidence, but I don’t need it. I have no intention of settling for anybody. As for Tate, he is not a handyman and, even if he were, I would never be ashamed of being involved with him.”
“Then you are involved,” Jeannie said triumphantly. “I’m so glad. It really is about time. What’s he like? He certainly is scrumptious looking. Have your parents met him? When’s the wedding?”
Victoria groaned. “You’re worse than my mother.”
“Then she has met him?”
“Oh, she’s met him all right. For years I’ve thought her standards were tougher than the USDA’s, but she practically branded Tate with her enthusiastic seal of approval on first sight. Before you even ask, he also has my father’s blessing.”
“That must mean he can discuss politics and has a decent job.”
“He definitely has a job,” Victoria replied dryly.
Jeannie regarded her curiously. “The way you say that, it doesn’t sound as if you’re impressed.”
“Impressed is not the issue. He works for IRS.”
“Oh, my,” Jeannie murmured, her voice an interesting blend of surprise and confusion. She managed to rally quickly, though, adding cheerfully, “Well, that’s certainly respectable.”
“Isn’t it, though.”
“Why do I get the feeling that I’m missing something?”
“He is auditing my taxes,” Victoria admitted casually, her eyes focused carefully on the large salad bowl she’d been fiddling with for the past five minutes.
“He’s what?” This time Jeannie didn’t even attempt to cover her shock.
“It’s ridiculous, of course,” she mumbled with a wave of her hand. “Something absolutely absurd about my making a claim for a refund the agency thinks is slightly exorbitant.”
Jeannie’s hazel eyes widened, and the vase she was holding slid from her fingers. Victoria grabbed for it as it fell and placed it safely on a shelf in the back of the booth.
“Oh, my…” Jeannie said.
“Stop looking at me like that. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“But if they’re auditing you…”
“I did something stupid, not illegal. Tate says it should all be cleared up in a day or two.”
“Are you sure? Do you trust him?”
Trust Tate? Victoria thought. Oddly enough, considering the rather unorthodox manner of their meeting and their short acquaintance, she did. She knew instinctively that she could trust him with her life. “I’m sure,” she said confidently, then added dryly, “Just in case, though, if they cart me away to jail, you can bring me a hacksaw.”
“It’s not funny.”
“You’re telling me.”
Jeannie studied her for several minutes, until Victoria thought she would scream. “What’s wrong with you?” she finally demanded. “I’m not a criminal.”
“I know that. I’m just trying to figure something out.”
“What?”
“If he’s auditing you, what’s he doing in your backyard with his clothes off…?”
“Oh, for goodness’ sakes,” Victoria snapped indignantly. “He had his pants on.”
“Whatever. He didn’t look like he was checking out your financial records when I saw him.”
“He wasn’t. He’s fixing up the house.”
“He’s what?” Jeannie exclaimed.
“Have you gone deaf?” Victoria muttered, her voice filled with growing irritation, even though she realized the whole thing did sound unbelievable.
“He’s fixing up the house,” she finally repeated.
“Is that a new government service?”
She glared at Jeannie. “No. He’s worried about me. I’ve told him I’m perfectly capable of fixing up my own house, but he doesn’t think I’m doing it fast enough.”
“Ahh,” Jeannie murmured, nodding with sudden understanding.
“What does that mean?”
“Clark Gable and a knight in shining armor all rolled up in one. Tell me, does this hunk have a brain?”
Victoria knew exactly where Jeannie was headed with that one. “Don’t push it.”
“Don’t push what?” she replied innocently. “Unless I’ve lost every smidgen of intuition I ever had about you, you’ve fallen for this guy. Am I right?”
Victoria sighed. “You may be right.”
Jeannie chuckled. “It’s great to hear so much conviction in your voice.”
“Well, it gets a bit confusing.”
“I can imagine. An IRS agent doesn’t sound like your type at all.”
“He’s not, at least not on the surface.”
“But underneath?”
“Underneath there is something about him that I can’t get out of my system. He drives me absolutely crazy one minute and the next I want to be in his arms. Does that make any sense?”
“Of course it does.”
“It does?”
“You’re in love.” Jeannie was disgustingly gleeful.
“But he’s so unsuitable.”
“Apparently it doesn’t matter.”
“It should.”
“Why?”
“Just because.”
“Explain, Victoria Ann!”
“I’ve always wanted somebody who’d sweep me off my feet. Tate’s at home sweeping off my porch.”
“He sounds wonderful. When you’re through with him, send him to my house.”
“Not on your life!”
“You are a goner,” Jeannie said delightedly. “I love it. I can hardly wait to meet him.”
“You’re not going to meet him,” she said firmly.
“Why not?”
“I do not need another frustrated matchmaker actively plotting against me.”
“Against you? Or for you?” Jeannie taunted.
“Oh, go spin your pottery wheel,” Victoria retorted grumpily.
“I will,” Jeannie said agreeably, smiling smugly. “I’ll start on your wedding present.”
Chapter Nine
By four o’clock that afternoon every muscle in Tate’s body, including some he’d never even been aware he had, ached
. Instead of recommending expensive equipment and aerobics classes, fitness programs ought to be pushing the regular use of paintbrushes and a routine of ladder climbing. He’d gotten more exercise in one afternoon at Victoria’s than he’d had in the last ten weeks at the gym.
He had replaced every one of the remaining broken stairs. The constant bending over to perform that task probably accounted for the dull, burning pain in his lower back. He’d also found the worst of the boards in the living-room floor, ripped them up and put in new ones. He’d had to yank, then stoop, over and over again, which most likely explained the tightness across his shoulders and the steady throbbing in the constricted muscles of his thighs and calves. He had patched the cracks in the walls and put on one coat of paint, constantly stretching over his head. His arms felt as though they weighed one hundred fifty pounds each and were going to fall off.
It had taken him a while to get the knack of all this unfamiliar home repair work. But he’d tackled the assignment with his usual methodical approach and, as he stood back and surveyed the nearly finished job, he was exhausted but triumphant and more than a little proud of what he’d accomplished. He had some small inkling now of what Victoria had been talking about. There was a lot of satisfaction to be had in working with your hands. The room was actually beginning to look habitable, though he was tempted to take Victoria’s perfectly ugly sofa straight to a junkyard and put it out of its misery. He had a feeling, however, that Victoria would never forgive him. She probably believed the visible stuffing and threadbare upholstery gave it character.
He stretched and groaned. Surely the human body was not meant to do the sort of awkward physical contortions all of this activity had required. He looked at a paint roller lying on the floor and scowled. No more. His body couldn’t take it. He would give anything for a long, hot shower that would soothe his tight muscles.
Well, why not? If he knew Victoria, she wouldn’t be home for ages, and the bathroom had been one of her early projects. It probably had plenty of steaming hot water. He went out to the car and got the change of clothes he’d brought with him. Then, with a deep sigh of anticipation, he climbed the stairs, searching for her extra towels and went into the bathroom. He turned on the faucets full force, undressed, climbed into the tub and searched for the control to turn on the shower. There wasn’t one. He looked up, hunting for the shower nozzle. Nothing. He practically cried, though he had to admit he wasn’t surprised. Houses this age did not have showers, and women like Victoria preferred to soak in bubble baths anyway. The image of mounds of nearly transparent, shimmering bubbles strategically placed across Victoria’s body suddenly appeared in his mind. It did not do a thing to relax him. In his mind those bubbles popped slowly and steadily, revealing more and more until his own body was taut with tension.
He muttered a low curse, plopped the stopper over the drain and watched the tub fill with almost unbearably hot water. When it was high enough, he sank down in it gratefully and felt the sore achiness begin to float away. He let his mind drift, dismayed that he still couldn’t get it to focus on one of his more complicated work assignments. Instead, it was filled with more taunting images of Victoria. He remembered her almost plaintive suggestion that he spend the day thinking about their relationship and what he wanted from it.
What did he want? He wanted the feeling of being vitally alive that he seemed to have discovered since meeting her. He wanted to learn to take chances, to explore life as she did with unabashed enthusiasm and excitement. Was it possible, though, to learn to do that? How could he give up a lifetime of caution and precise, carefully thought-out behavior? He had a feeling if he tried to be as impetuous as Victoria, he’d always fear that the police were only one step away. Yet that seemed better than never taking a dare. Without risks, life would certainly be safe and boring. He should know. He was coming to realize that his had become a tedious repetition of work, unsatisfying dinner dates and distant intimacy.
He grinned at the thought: distant intimacy. Now he was beginning to pair mismatched words just as Victoria did. They made sense, too. Despite the physical intimacy of his relationships, there had been a mental distance. Those women had never touched him, never captivated his heart as Victoria had. He had no idea why this was and perhaps it didn’t require his understanding. Perhaps it was enough that it had happened. If one believed in a higher being controlling destiny, Tate thought, then one had to agree that in this case He had certainly worked in mysterious ways.
Suddenly he realized that the water had grown cool and the room was filled with the deepening shadows of twilight. He quickly got out of the tub, dressed in a fresh pair of jeans and a knit shirt and went downstairs. He’d made a decision while he was taking that bath, at first subconsciously and then with full awareness. Maybe later he’d attribute it to his mind becoming waterlogged, but right now it made sense. He was going to change, and he was going to start by fixing Victoria a gourmet dinner during which he could tell her all about the conclusions he’d reached about their future.
When Victoria finally got home, it was nearly seven o’clock, and she was almost surprised to find Tate still there. All day she’d been half fearing and half hoping that he’d realize how ridiculous this whole thing was and drive back home to Cincinnati where he belonged. Instead, here he was in the middle of the kitchen with flour on his nose, a recipe book open in front of him on the counter and dirty pans piled high in the sink. The place was an absolute mess. It was wonderful and amazing and horrible all at the same time.
“I know I’ve been encouraging you to be less orderly, but did you have to start practicing in my kitchen?” she teased. He barely looked up at her.
“Can it,” he grumbled. “Don’t interfere with the cook. I’m having enough trouble without your snide remarks.”
“I hate to ask, but have you ever actually made a whole meal before? I had the impression that chopping carrots and peeling potatoes the other night was a first.”
“It was.”
“Then don’t you think you should have started with something simple?”
“This was simple.”
Victoria surveyed the mess disbelievingly. “Okay,” she said wryly. “Then even simpler.”
“Like hamburgers?”
“I was thinking more along the line of boiled eggs.”
“Very funny.”
Victoria leaned against the counter and gazed at him, suddenly serious. “Tate, what is this all about?”
“What does it look like? I’m fixing dinner. I figured you’d be too tired to do it.”
“That’s not what I mean and you know it.”
He glanced over at her and shrugged. “Okay. I’m trying to prove to you that I can change, loosen up, experiment.”
Victoria didn’t have the heart to point out that fixing a meal was not exactly the same as flinging caution to the wind and going up in a hot air balloon. He seemed to consider it a breakthrough.
Instead, she asked simply, “Why?”
Tate returned her gaze solemnly. “Because you have more fun than I do.”
Victoria chuckled. “That’s probably true enough, but I had the distinct impression you didn’t approve of my idea of fun.”
“Well…”
“See what I mean?”
“No. What do you mean?” He glowered at her. “Are you suggesting that I can’t change? I can do anything I put my mind to, Victoria Marshall. You are going to see a transformation the likes of which hasn’t been seen since…since…”
“Since Count Dracula turned into a vampire?”
Brown eyes bored into her. “Hardly.”
“Tate, don’t you see? If you change, you won’t be Tate McAndrews anymore. I can’t ask you to do that for me.”
“Then you admit you’d like me to change?”
“I’m not admitting anything. I’m just saying it never works, if you’re changing for another person.”
“I’m not. I’m doing it for me.”
Victoria reg
arded him skeptically. “Tate, you’ll never be comfortable taking life one minute at a time, the way I do. You’re a planner.”
“Maybe so. But isn’t it possible that we might be able to compromise? Take life one day at a time?”
She grinned in spite of her misgivings. “That’s some compromise.”
“It is when you’ve had your entire life mapped out for the last ten years.” He gazed at her, his eyes intense and filled with an intriguing blend of hope and desire. “Give me some time, Victoria. Please. Help me to know if there can be more to my life than auditing tax returns and going to the gym.”
She shook her head. “Tate, I’m sure your life has more to it than that. You love your work and you’ve had fun in the past. You’ve certainly had other relationships, haven’t you, relationships that made a whole lot more sense than this one ever could?”
“That’s exactly my point. They’ve all made perfect sense. I’ve been with people like me, people so caught up in their careers and in doing the right thing that they don’t take any chances. I’ve taken more chances today than I ever have in my life. It was wonderful.”
Victoria’s eyes widened. “Chances? Here?” she asked anxiously. “Tate, what have you done? You didn’t break any more windows, did you?”
“Of course not,” he huffed. “Just wait until you see.”
Victoria wasn’t sure she had enough insurance to cover the possibilities or the stamina to withstand the shock. Still, she said bravely, “Let’s go.”
He shook his head. “Not now. After dinner, I’ll take you on a tour.”
“Don’t you think you’re being awfully optimistic?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Do you actually think you’re going to get a dinner out of this mess?”
“Just you wait, Victoria Marshall. You’re going to regret making fun of me.”
“I wasn’t making fun of you. I was trying to be realistic.”
“That has to be a first.”
Yesterday's Love Page 10
