I’m dog meat. Or Mickey meat. Fortunately, Tiger yelled something at the dogs, causing them to stand at attention, although they still growled menacingly.
Kate, holding her breath, shifted her gaze to Tiger, who watched the can. He was oversize with longish blond hair, hence the name “Tiger,” she guessed. He was dressed in loose olive green pants and matching top, much like what hospital orderlies wore. Kate had the irrational urge to curl up and roll out in the hopes Tiger would think she was just another can, too.
“See, baby?” said Tiger, looking up at Free, “it was just a can from the can room.” He turned to shut the door when his eyes widened. “There’s a flamenco dancer in your can room!”
As though on cue, both dogs began barking again.
Toby moved in front of Kate, shielding her. She was immensely grateful because Kate, a cat person, had never owned a dog, much less faced two vicious Dobermans. And her mother thought Kate was incorrigible for traipsing around the inn with a naked man? What about being mauled by a Mickey, Minnie and Tiger in a pantry? Of course, her mother might find the pantry part somewhat redeeming.
As these thoughts, and a hundred more unrelated ones, ran amok through Kate’s brain, Toby calmly stepped forward, his fists bunched. “Get control of your dogs, man,” he said in a low, threatening tone.
Tiger, looking wide-eyed at Toby, grabbed both dogs by their collars. Kate followed Tiger’s line of vision, her eyes growing wide, too.
It was as though Toby had become the pirate. He stood tall, his legs spread wide, his hands fisted, as though ready for battle. His eyes never wavered from Tiger’s, daring him to make the wrong move.
“He’s my guest!” Free squealed, hopping off the stove. Her golden-blond hair fell in shimmering waves to her waist. She wore a long, Indian-print dress decorated with beads. She looked more like a summer-of-love child than Kate ever could.
Free swerved her gaze to Kate. “Who’s she?”
“She’s my guest,” Toby answered coolly, his eyes locked on Tiger.
Free put her hands on her hips. “She’s no guest, she’s that bed-and-something person from next door! The one who blows up cars.” Free cocked an eyebrow at the pantry, then at Kate. “What were you doing in my can room?”
Kate attempted to smile, a difficult feat with a top lip that threatened to quiver out of control. “Canning?”
Free exhaled so hard, Kate heard beads clinking. “Get out!” Free pointed to the hallway door.
With the Dobermans securely collared by their owner, Kate started walking toward the door, then stopped. “Uh, Toby, are you coming with me, or…?” Oh, be a grade A idiot, Katherine Corrigan. Why should he go with you? Toby had taken refuge with Kate, not moved in with her. “I mean, uh, if you want to leave—which you don’t have to, of course—I just thought, considering Tiger is already here, and Mickey and Minnie look a little hungry, you might not want to hang around….” Where had Kate the one-word wonder gone? She was babbling, big-time. She clamped shut her mouth.
“I’m not leaving until he does.” Toby growled.
Tiger narrowed his eyes. “Make me.”
“Tiger!” Free, her arms folded tightly, stamped her foot. “Stop it! Go home, I’ll call you later.”
Tiger turned into a pussycat. “But, baby, I thought we were gonna…”
Free tossed her head back and forth in a big, slow no motion. As her head rotated, her hair glinted and glistened as in a shampoo commercial. “I don’t want a brawl on my hands,” Free continued. “Go home.”
Tiger, looking shattered, shuffled obediently out of the room, pulling Mickey and Minnie with him.
“I’ll leave, too,” Kate said. “You two need to be alone,” she whispered, following Tiger—walking bow-legged like his dogs—at a safe distance down the hallway. Why had Free messed around with that green-clad orderly when she had a swashbuckling hero like Toby under her roof? Some women didn’t know how good they had it.
Moments later, Kate was heading down the sidewalk toward her inn as Tiger and his canine entourage headed in the opposite direction. It was a lovely morning. Against the clear blue skies, her inn looked like a fairytale castle—pink with white trim, a mauve conical tower in one corner. To add to the ambiance was the scent of roses from her garden. A perfect day for two lovers to end their spat. Free was probably in Toby’s arms, telling him it had all been a terrible mistake. Toby was probably stroking Free’s shampoo-commercial hair, forgiving her, telling her how he needed her for tomorrow’s dinner, needed her for the rest of his life.
“I should feel happy for them,” Kate muttered to herself. “After all, I’m always happy when I matchmake people.” Not that she’d exactly been a matchmaker for them, but she’d graciously left them alone to work out their problems.
Okay, maybe not so graciously deep inside, but it probably looked that way. The truth was, her heart ached, as though it had been kick-punted. “Get a grip, girl. You’re feeling this way not because something life-altering happened between Toby and you, but because you got to dress him like a pirate. That’s what you’re going to miss—Raymond’s clothes, not Toby.” She tried to laugh at herself, but it came out more like a raspy sob.
She trudged up the steps to the front porch of Beau’s Bed-and-Breakfast and stopped on the landing, not wanting to go inside. Melanie’s mother antennae would pick up signals. Then she’d see the hurt on Kate’s face, zero in on the truth, and try to force-feed her a brownie. Or Verna would see Kate’s face, intuit what had happened, and feel badly that she’d tried to play matchmaker.
Kate paced a few steps, stopping to pluck a dead leaf off the ivy that curled over the white porch banister. “He was just a figment of your pirate fantasy,” she told herself. “And you’ve had your share of figments. The next time you fall in love, really fall in love, it will be the genuine thing, not with some pseudo swashbuckler.” This self-talking was supposed to help, but it didn’t ring true. Toby was far from pseudo. She thought of him in the darkened pantry, breathing his anger, stepping forward to confront Tiger and the woman who’d cheated on him. A man of integrity. A man who was the real thing. A pirate in the flesh.
Kate tossed aside the leaf and headed toward the front door. Such thoughts were getting her nowhere. She had a life to lead. An inn to run. A cat to feed.
She started to turn the brass knob when the door jerked open, pulling Kate inside. Catching her balance, she stood face-to-face with Melanie.
“It’s about time you’re back!” Melanie’s hazel eyes flashed. “We’re having a problem with The Wild One!”
“How did Free get in?”
Melanie rolled back her shoulders. “Free’s the word all right. The gentleman from The Wild One refuses to pay!”
In the background, a man’s gruff voice was bellowing something about “like hell I’ll pay” and “who’s gonna make me?”
That wild one. The guy dressed in the dark polyester suit who’d checked in yesterday afternoon. As Kate had sat behind her desk, it’d been hard to avoid staring at his protruding stomach because it met her at eye level. Every time she looked up, it was like facing down the Pillsbury Dough Boy. She’d put him up in The Wild One, as she did with most men traveling alone, because of its masculine, motorcycle atmosphere. Although she’d had to smile to herself imagining the Dough Boy on a Harley.
Kate didn’t feel like smiling now. “Where’s Verna?” she whispered. The two of them had dealt with nonpaying customers before. Verna would threaten to call the police while Kate acted as though that action was a bit extreme. They’d play it back and forth, Verna getting tougher while Kate got sweeter. It was their personalized rendition of good cop, bad cop.
“Verna said she needed to arrange somethin’,” Melanie explained in a strained voice. “Said she’d be right back.”
For the first time in her life, Kate saw a side of her mother that was far from perfect. Her mother was obviously anxious, distraught. Of course. Dad always handled the business side of the marriage. And n
ow she’s turning to me for advice?
Kate looked over her mother’s shoulder at the far end of the hall where the burly guy in the polyester suit stood, apparently taking a break from his ranting. From this distance, a good thirty-five feet, she could see he was scowling at her. Those had to be some deep grooves in his face, probably carved into his forehead from years of frowning. Kate had a tough enough time facing everyday stuff, like not getting enough almond flavoring in her latte or asking her neighbor to turn down Beethoven. How was she going to face this Pillsbury Dough Boy gone bad? She swallowed, hard, but it barely moistened the inside of her dry mouth. “I’ll comp the room,” she said in a cracked voice to Melanie. “I can’t face this guy.”
“But I can,” said a male voice behind her.
Kate turned. Toby stood on the doorstep, the sun infusing his red silk shirt with so much light, it appeared the top half of him was on fire. “What’s the problem?” he asked, stepping inside and setting down a computer case. His face looked different—more defiant—as though the world should step aside. And that lock of hair hung dangerously over his brow.
Melanie wrung her hands. “He won’t pay his bill.”
Toby didn’t ask anything else. He simply strode down the hallway and halted when he reached the man.
“Is there a problem?” Toby asked, his tone civil but firm.
The guy smirked. “Yeah, your clothes. The slippers are a nice touch, too.”
Toby didn’t react to the insult. Calmly, he said, “The lady says you’re refusing to pay your bill.”
“It’s none of your business, buddy.”
“Yes, it is my business. And we can settle it as gentlemen—” Toby removed his glasses and set them on a walnut table nestled at the bottom of the stairs “—or we can settle it outside. Your choice.”
“Heavens,” Melanie whispered. “He’s getting into another fight.”
“Another—?” Kate looked at her mother.
“Whatever his name was, Toby creamed him. I offered ice, but he refused.” Releasing a shaky breath, Melanie murmured, “He might be a woman’s man, but he’s a man’s man, too.”
“He creamed Tiger?” Kate murmured, amazed that she’d somehow missed this event. In between her leaving the can room and arriving here? “He’s a dangerous, marauding pirate,” Kate whispered in awe.
“Uh-huh,” Melanie answered, drawling out the “huh” until it sounded like a groan. Both women turned and watched Toby.
The two men were deep into a staring match. “You got a bad attitude, buddy,” the guy snarled.
“And you,” said Toby, his voice edged with ice, “have bad manners. You don’t stiff people, especially nice people. Pay your bill and let’s call it a day.”
Seeing Toby wasn’t going to budge from his position, the guy finally huffed something under his breath and extracted a money clip from his pocket. “How much do I owe?”
Kate cleared her throat. “One hundred,” she said loudly.
“Plus tax,” Melanie added.
Kate cut her a glance. This was a first—she and her mother operating as a team.
The guy peeled off some bills, stomped down the hall and slapped the money on the pine desk. “Satisfied?”
Toby sauntered down the hallway, a smile creasing his handsome features. “Yes,” he said pleasantly. “Have a nice day.”
The guy stormed past Kate and Melanie. They watched him tramp across the porch, down the stairs and turn right onto the sidewalk.
Just as he’d disappeared from view, Verna walked up the sidewalk from the opposite direction, a bag in her hands. Heading along the walkway to the porch, she asked, “Wasn’t that The Wild One?”
While Melanie began chattering the entire story to Verna, Kate slid a look at Toby, who had picked up his computer and was heading toward the staircase. He walked with the same sinewy, powerful grace she’d observed earlier. Small currents of electricity skittered crazily across her skin. No, you’re The Wild One, she thought, not wanting to ponder what had happened with Free. Because all she cared about was that he was back. Her wild, dangerous pirate was back.
It dawned on her that, except for the computer, he’d brought nothing else with him. No clothes. No belongings. He was back, but for how long?
KNOCK-KNOCK.
Toby, busily typing on the laptop computer, looked over at the door. “It’s open,” he called. He had nothing to hide, except his body, and that was finally covered. It hit him that, for the first time in his life, he had nothing to protect, to negotiate, even to fight over—except his own self. It didn’t matter if he locked doors anymore. What could anyone take from him except his self-esteem? And that, he’d decided in the kitchen of his home a few minutes ago, wasn’t negotiable.
Knock-knock.
Whoever it was probably hadn’t heard him. He set the computer aside, got up and crossed the room to open the door.
There stood Kate holding a plate with one of those mishmash sandwiches. Next to it were some more biscuits and orange slices.
“Hi,” she said. She did a little wave with her free hand.
He liked how the scent of lilacs trailed into the room, softening his harsh mood. Or maybe it was looking at Kate and her spiky, sexy hairdo that took the edge off. “Hi.”
“You’ve been up here for a while. Figured you might like some lunch.”
He accepted the plate. “Thanks.”
“Turkey and cheese sandwich. On rye.”
He fought the urge to grin. It was probably second nature for Kate to describe her sandwiches.
“Want someone to talk to?” She gestured toward herself. “Like me?”
Sweet. And to think he had ever viewed her as a dangerous, car-bombing woman. “I don’t really have much to say.” It was the truth. His insides felt gutted after his conversation with Free. But he wasn’t ready to discuss that, yet. Maybe not ever. “Besides, I’m putting the finishing touches on a proposal for my potential employer.”
“Well, if you want me—I mean, if you want to talk with me—I’ll be in the garden with Beau. That’s my cat.”
So that was the Beau in Beau’s Bed-and-Breakfast. From his home, he’d often seen a big, yellow tabby lounging in the inn’s windows. Or curled up in some guest’s lap outside on the porch. Or at night, prowling the neighborhood as though it were his personal kingdom. No wonder that feline had such an I’ve-seen-it-all-done-it-all attitude. The cat owned his own business!
“Thanks for the food,” Toby said, “and the offer for company. I just have a lot on my mind right now—the job interview tomorrow night, stuff like that.”
“Right! The job interview! For—?”
“Director of Software Development. Local company.”
“I didn’t know they had to travel all the time.”
So she’d noticed how often he’d been gone. “Uh, they don’t. I traveled before because I was analyzing companies.”
“Analyzing?”
He’d cut to the chase, not try to whitewash it. “I was a corporate raider.”
Her blue eyes widened. “Corporate raider?” “Raider” sounded more like a release of heated breath than a word. “Like a plundering pirate,” she whispered hoarsely, her face flooding with color.
He started to deny the pirate charge, but Kate was too busy backing up and talking at the same time. “Well, just wanted to drop off a sandwich, which wasn’t really dropped, by the way.”
“Thanks.”
“And I wanted to tell you that—” Kate stopped and fidgeted with a lock of her hair “—you were pretty darn wonderful the way you faced Tiger.” She clutched her hands to her chest, as though holding back the emotions within. “And you were great handling that dough-boy guy. I was ready to comp him and then you showed up…looking so…so…” Her gaze roamed over him, and Kate gulped a few breaths as though the room suddenly lacked enough oxygen again.
“So…?”
She blinked rapidly, then waved her hand wildly through the air. “
So like a pirate.” The words tumbled out fast, and it took him a moment to realize what she’d said. He’d barely digested being called a pirate a second time when she began bobbing her head while walking backward. He wasn’t sure what worried him more—the digesting, the bobbing, or the walking backward. Rather than tackle all three concerns, he opted first for her safety. “Please turn around. It makes me nervous when you walk backward.”
“Oh.” Without missing a beat, she pivoted and continued walking, her back now to him. “Better?”
He didn’t mean to, but his gaze dropped to that blue behind. “Better,” he whispered.
KNOCK-KNOCK.
Was Kate back already? Not with another sandwich, he hoped. It wasn’t that the last one was bad. Actually, he’d been hungry and it had satisfied the rumblings in his stomach. It’s just that he liked to be able to visually identify what he was eating.
Again he set aside the computer and crossed the room, grabbing the plate on the way. “It was great,” he said, opening the door.
Melanie arched one of her penciled eyebrows. “I’m glad,” she said. It hit Toby that Melanie was trying to act cheery but was actually nervous. She didn’t bob her head like her daughter, but she kept pressing the tips of her manicured fingers together.
“Did you…need something?” Toby finally asked.
“Yes, it’s about The Wild One.”
“Free showed up?”
“What?” Melanie twiddled her fingers in the general direction of downstairs. “No, I wanted to thank you for helping us with that man, the one in that hideously dark suit.” Under her breath, she added, “I’ll never get used to summer colors in this part of the world.”
“You don’t need to thank me.”
“Oh, yes, I do,” Melanie said. She looked at him expectantly, as though waiting for something.
“Would you like to come inside?” he asked, taking his cue.
“Why, thank you,” she said in that drawn-out Southern accent as she sashayed past him. Once inside, she stopped, looked at the room and shuddered. “The way my daughter loves red, she must have been a bullfighter in another life.” She sat on the edge of a red ottoman next to the tub and carefully adjusted her skirt over her knees. “I’m here to ask you a favor.”
In Bed with the Wild One & In Bed with the Pirate Page 22
