by Geeta Kakade
She hadn’t missed the expression in O’Keefe’s eyes as he’d looked at her yesterday.
Spoiled rich girl.
The suitcases she’d packed held clothes in the latest style, more suited for golfing, dining, and dancing than working.
O’Keefe’s opinion didn’t matter.
Christy headed for the stairs. Thinking of O’Keefe wasn’t the right way to begin the day. She might as well get started on the cleaning.
Ten minutes later, voices stopped her on the threshold of the kitchen. The man with his back to her was O’Keefe. The other man sitting at the table looked as if he had just finished posing for Norman Rockwell. Old pants, an oversized coat, a hat that had seen a lot of wear. Boots that had no right on her kitchen floor. A wrinkled face, red from the cold, gray blue eyes.
"Good morning ma’am."
O’Keefe swung around from the stove while his companion got to his feet slowly.
"Morning. Want some breakfast?”
"No thanks." Ignoring the pile of pancakes with butter melting on top of them, the fried eggs sizzling on another pan, and the urgent rumblings of her stomach, Christy looked at the other man.
"Name’s Toby, Ma’am. Originally from Hampshire, England. I’ve lived in these parts for thirty years." The hand he put out was drawn back quickly before she could shake it. Christy noticed him wipe it on his coat. He shot her a quick look from under shaggy white brows and continued, "The gardener, that’s me. Fog’s real mean today. I can’t see as far as my nose to do my work, so O’Keefe, he suggested, I come in and get a bite to eat. I had to take me dog to the vet yesterday but I’ll make up the time."
O’Keefe watched her carefully. This is where she had a fit and threw Toby out of the kitchen. What was it Jake had said once about his wife and her family? Connections were everything.
Entertaining the staff in her kitchen would not be tolerated.
Christy looked into Toby’s eyes. Recognizing the apprehension in them took only a second.
"I’m pleased to meet you Mr. Toby." Christy put her hand out. After a moment’s hesitation it was taken and shaken. "Maybe on a better day, you’ll teach me about your flowers. The roses in front are beautiful."
The smile that split Toby’s lined face revealed the gap in his teeth. "That I will ma’am, that I will."
"Call me Christy."
She smiled at Toby in a way she’d never smiled at him, O’Keefe realized. Not that he wanted her to, of course, he told himself quickly.
"And whenever it’s cold, you come right into the kitchen whether anyone asks you to or not. Just make sure your boots don’t track mud in from the garden though, once I’ve cleaned the floor. This black walnut is beautiful."
“Thank you ma’am. I won’t track any dirt in,” Toby promised. “This is a beautiful floor once you get the top layers of grime off.”
O’Keefe poured coffee into three mugs. Christy Hathaway’s words had reminded him of Jake. His friend had always kept Open House every day of the week.
"Join us." His tone was more cordial than it had ever been before.
Christy sat down. She needed the coffee very badly to still the rumblings of her stomach. The peanut butter and jelly sandwich she’d had for dinner seemed to be a very long time ago.
"You from Beverly Hills, Ma’am?” Toby asked chattily. "Jake told me all about you."
"Originally, yes" Christy said, surprised Jake had discussed her with Toby. "My mother lives in Beverly Hills, but I’ve lived and worked in Green Valley, a suburb of L.A. for the last two years."
She still shopped in Beverly Hills most likely, thought O’Keefe. The red sweater and jeans she wore this morning were high end boutique quality. He’d been shopping with Jennifer enough times in the early days of their marriage, to know. Christy Hathaway looked as if she’d just stepped off the cover of a fashion magazine. Her blonde hair could have fallen out of an ear of ripening corn, her blue eyes sparkled. Her nails were free of polish but O’Keefe could bet all the work her manicured hands had ever done was make Christy Hathaway look good.
One thing surprised him though. She’d bought very few groceries yesterday…peanut butter, jelly, bread, a packet of cheese slices, some sandwich meat, milk, sugar and coffee powder.
That weren’t things that contributed to a Beverly Hills menu. Was she on a diet?
He didn’t think so. She had eaten the pancake and fried egg he’d slipped in front of her while she talked as if she were starving. He put another pancake on her plate. Calling Toby yesterday and asking him to get some eggs, butter and pancake syrup had been a good idea.
"Are you going to be staying long, ma’am?”
Toby’s question had O’Keefe holding his breath. Maybe he’d gotten lucky and she’d changed her mind in the course of the night.
Christy didn’t look at him, as she said, "I plan on staying here for quite a while, Toby. I want to re-open Cupid Lodge as a bed and breakfast. Maybe you’ll spread the word around."
Toby made no effort to hide his surprise. "It’s a tough business in these parts, ma’am. Competition’s as keen as my mower blade."
"I know," Christy replied evenly. "But Jake managed, and I think I can with a little bit of luck. I’m hoping people will come here because I have something different to offer. Home cooking, more space, the private beach. I can offer them a light supper or a packed lunch as options."
"Get rich quick schemes won’t work," O’Keefe interjected. "Jake’s charges were low,"
The spark in her eyes warned him she didn’t care for his comment. "I’m going to stick with the old rates for the time being."
The empty plate in front of her told her she’d gone back on her determination not to accept anything more from O’Keefe. Taking her plate and mug to the sink she said, "There’s so much to do to the place before that, though. I’d better get started right away. Thanks for fixing breakfast."
O’Keefe raised his glance from his plate. "What do you plan to do to the place?”
Christy didn’t miss the defensive note in O’Keefe’s voice. She held back the impulse to tell him she was going to paint the walls purple and the trim hot pink. Teasing wasn’t going to improve the man’s mood.
"Vacuum, dust, polish the wooden floors and furniture, clean the rooms," Christy said briskly.
O’Keefe was positive it was only relief she wasn’t changing anything right away that prompted his offer. He’d been afraid she’d want to modernize everything.
"I’ll do the vacuuming," he said curtly. The fog was going to curtail his keeping watch from the lake or the beach. On days like this he knew the watch was tripled inside.
Not to be left out, Toby added. "I’ll do the polishing Ma’am. Fog’s not going to lift till noon and I can’t abide to do nothing. Where would you like me to start?”
"Upstairs please." Every bit of help would make things easier. "I’ll start with the kitchen floor because I got the things I needed for it yesterday.” A stop at the library, some help from the reference librarian and she had found out what a black walnut floor needed. “No one’s going to be able to come in here for a while."
"I’ll plug the coffee pot into the bar counter by the family room," O’Keefe said.
Christy watched as he piled a tray with paper plates and cups, bread, peanut butter, jelly, and fruit.
"Lunch," he explained as his gaze met hers. Christy nodded, wishing she hadn’t been caught staring. Opening the pantry, Christy took out the polishing supplies she’d bought. Working would help her calm down.
Halfway through the morning, O’Keefe saw the photographs missing from the living room. The one of Christy on the swing. The one of Jake and himself.
His mouth tightened. It only confirmed his assumption about women. They were experts at ignoring anything that upset them. Whatever made them uncomfortable had to be swept out of sight.
He kept a covert eye on what she was doing in the kitchen while he moved the furniture and vacuumed downstairs. Surprised, he
noticed her sanding the kitchen floor lightly before polishing it and applying a clear sealer to it. It needed to be done on all fours and it took a long while for the work to be completed, but she kept at it without a break.
It surprised him that Christy Hathaway understood wooden floors. It surprised him even more that she wasn’t a stranger to work. O’Keefe wondered where she’d come by the knowledge. He could have offered to sand it for her, but stubbornness had kept him quiet. The sooner she realized how hard it was to run the place, the sooner she would leave.
When he stopped for a coffee break she was nowhere in sight. Sleeping it off, he thought, till he saw her come into the kitchen with a couple of roses that she’d stuck into a milk jug. Without looking at him, she went right back to work.
He heard the shout as he was working on the last bedroom upstairs, an hour later. As he rushed downstairs, O’Keefe told himself it was probably nothing more serious than a broken fingernail. Memory served up a picture of Christy with her hands clasped around her mug of coffee. Her nails were no longer than his.
He found her in the living room, clinging to a curio cabinet. Huge and heavy it was tilted at a dangerous angle towards her.
"Get the cabinet before it falls," she said, as soon as she saw him.
Coming up behind her, he put his arms out alongside hers and tilted the cabinet back on its base. The muscles in his neck and shoulders strained as he made sure it went back gently.
This close he caught the scent of lilacs from her, and frowned. It was a fragrance he associated with the house. He’d helped Jake move some things to the attic. The scent had been very strong there. It was a strange coincidence that Christy Hathaway used the same scent.
Irritation that she’d gotten through to him put a snap in O’Keefe’s voice. "What on earth were you doing?”
Christy didn’t seem to hear him. She was running her hand over the side. "Oh, I’m glad it hasn’t been scratched."
The relief in her voice made him repeat his question, "That’s an antique. What were you doing with it?”
The clear eyes mirrored surprise as she turned to look at him. His arms were at his sides but he didn’t move away.
"I know it’s an antique. I had to move it to clean behind it."
Behind the frosty words, O’Keefe saw the tiny spark of alarm in her eyes. Was his nearness scaring her? Fear wasn’t a reaction he expected from her. Wasn’t this her cue to bat her eyelashes at him and go into her ‘oh-thank-you-you-big-and-strong-man-you’ act. She said nothing and he stared at the smudge of dust on her chin. The sudden urge to reach out and wipe it away, made him angry. He knew she felt trapped between him and the cabinet, but he didn’t step back.
"You could have asked for help. If the cabinet had fallen it would have been destroyed."
"I know," Christy’s tone sounded repentant. "I thought I could do it myself. I didn’t realize how heavy it was. I moved it and it tilted forward because it’s top heavy. I couldn’t straighten it up without damaging it."
Surely she meant she wasn’t used to doing things by herself. Jake had told him how she’d had the best of everything growing up in Beverly Hills. Private schools, a personal maid, a chauffeur.
He looked into her eyes and was lost. This close she seemed tinier than ever. About heart high. O’Keefe’s gaze fell lower. He stared at her full, lower lip. Tension made his insides clench. He was a thought away from leaning down. From kissing her. The urge had built in him since he had first seen her. Maybe giving into it, would put it out of his mind.
“Don’t."
The strangled sound was like a pistol shot in the quiet room. Their gazes meshed and he noticed the fear in her face. Was she scared of him?
O’Keefe dropped his hands and turned away, cursing himself silently. Forgetting his promise to himself would only end in disaster. No woman was going to take over his life ever again.
Shaking with nerves, Christy wondered what was happening to her. For a moment there she had wanted to be kissed. Had O’Keefe noticed the tiny step she had taken towards him? Putting a hand up Christy rubbed her forehead as if to erase her thoughts. She’d never felt like this around a man. Sensitive, unsure, excited.
After Tim, Christy had decided she would never hand anyone her heart on a platter. To stay in control of her life, she had to remain in charge of her emotions. Relationships didn’t last...all they left in their wake was a lifetime of pain and misery. Her parents were proof of that. Mother had said she and Jake had fallen in love in college; a whirlwind romance.
When she’d found out she was pregnant a few months before graduation they’d gotten married and come home so she could have help with the baby. Six years later, Jake hadn’t wanted to be tied down to family and a job so he had left them.
The vacuum roared to life then a little later Christy heard the kitchen door open and close. Picking up the rag, Christy dipped it in the special oil she was polishing the furniture in the living room with.
Emotion whipped up in her like an angry tornado as she worked. She didn’t like the way she felt around O’Keefe. Why had he offered to help her clean? He certainly didn’t look the domestic sort. Those wolf-like eyes and that unshaven face made her feel he had `wild’ tattooed on some part of his body.
Knowing him was like walking a tightrope. Without a net underneath.
To someone like him a kiss was probably no big deal. Christy wondered if she should tell O’Keefe she wasn’t in the market for casual kisses. She was stuffy, serious, and not his type at all. Not any man’s type for that matter.
Tim had made that very clear to her. To think she’d almost married him. At twenty she’d fallen in love with Tim as soon as a classmate introduced them. She had believed he loved her back. They’d been going to tell Mother at Christmas. Only Christy had overheard Tim talking to another student, a friend of his. He was making plans for the Hathaway fortune. For that kind of money, Tim had said, he could overlook the fact Christy was as frigid as the North Pole and a prissy little bore.
She hadn’t told Mother about the pain Tim had caused her, because Mother had her own assortment of men lined up for Christy to meet. Ambitious men who would make it big one day. Later over the summer she’d gone out with a few just for the sake of peace. None of them had made her want to repeat the experience twice and they had only firmed up her decision the Beverly Hills life was not for her.
Christy sighed. She was dull. Except for her work and reading, she did very little else. All those classes Mother had insisted she take every summer in high school seem to have gone to waste. Entertaining, dancing, golf, tennis.
Christy sat back on her heels and looked at the side table she’d spent the last fifteen minutes on. Another half hour and she would be done in here. She was making good progress in all but one area.
If only there was something she could say to put O’Keefe in his place once and for all. The space he was occupying in her mind was increasing. She didn’t need the additional tension. She had to get rid of the rough-around-the-edges caretaker quickly.
When she was done in the living room, Christy straightened her aching back. The room held the patina of well cared for furniture and the shine gave her a feeling of satisfaction.
There was time for a cup of coffee, before she tackled the family room.
On the up side, she found the coffee already made. On the down side, she saw O’Keefe sitting on the couch in the family room, a mug in his hand. Without her consent, her heart began to race.
He glared at her moodily forced to admit to himself she’d worked very hard all morning. She didn’t seem to care that her hands had varnish on them or that her fancy top was stained. Her hair had escaped from the kitchen towel she’d used as a scarf and her gloves were plastic bags. If this was an act she deserved an Oscar.
So far there had been no crack in the perfect front Christy Hathaway presented. As hard as he tried, he couldn’t seem to stop being aware of her or realize with each passing moment she might actu
ally be putting everything she had into getting Cupid Lodge ready for paying guests.
Uncomfortable with the way he was watching her, Christy took her mug into the formal dining room. Large double doors opened from the living room into this one, the archway between providing a perfect frame. This was her target for tomorrow. The enormous dining table, hutch and sideboard were very beautiful but they could all do with a good dusting and polish. Cobwebs had gathered even under the dust cloths.
Suddenly her imagination provided her with a picture. The dining table had a family gathered around it. There was a grand dinner laid on. Best of all, the room was filled with love and laughter.
Christy blinked. She’d seen herself at the foot of the table. The man at the head hadn’t been clear. Gulping down her coffee she hoped the caffeine would clear her brain. It was time to stop seeing mirages and go have a long soak in the tub.
It must be the house that had lured her into thinking of things she never allowed herself to dwell on.
Marriage, children, a man to hold and to cherish.
“You did that, didn’t you,” asked Phillip angrily.
“Did what Pa?” said Agnes innocently.
“Tilted that cabinet? It could have hurt her badly.”
“I made sure it did not, didn’t I?”
“He was about to kiss her Ma.”
“Pity he didn’t.”
Phillip harrumphed. “I don’t think he’s the right man for her. Look at his clothes. Why doesn’t she mend them?”
“Women don’t mend men’s clothes nowadays. But she is a really hard worker.”
Before Pa could ask her who did, she was gone.
Agnes had to help Christy and quickly. There was no point in killing herself with work.
CHAPTER FIVE
The ringing of the doorbell woke Christy Wednesday morning. A glance at the alarm clock showed her it was seven. She jumped out of bed, grabbed her jacket and ran downstairs. It was too cold to show up in her robe and besides the jacket would protect her from the x-ray vision the caretaker had. Where on earth was O’Keefe anyway? Couldn’t he answer the door?
