by Temple Hogan
“Wow, Phil!” Charlie was the first to speak. Phil had known she would be. “This is some luncheon. I’ve loved the entertainment.”
“Oh, Charlie, for once in your life be quiet.” Her words seemed to release everyone from the miasma that held them spellbound.
The stranger turned to Phil. “You’re Phil Spencer?” he asked, his blue eyes sparking with exasperation.
“Yes, who are you?” she asked with more courtesy than she’d shown before. After all, he’d helped her get rid of Killie.
“I’m Beck Crawford. I’m here to build your pergola.”
Chapter Two
Thankfully, calm followed chaos. Beck Crawford set to work on the pergola, and the nearly purloined items had been restored to their proper places. Phil had been able to serve lunch with the family silverware, and her sisters seemed content to lounge in the drawing room observing her shirtless handyman work. Phil drew a sigh, sipped her margarita and tried her best to relax.
“He’s really quite attractive,” Charlie said idly.
“Oh, my, yes,” Sera echoed with a little more heat than Phil would have expected from her shyer sister.
“What are you going to do about him?” Charlie asked.
“What do you mean, what am I going to do?” Phil snapped in some irritation. She was still troubled by her reaction to Beck Crawford’s hard muscular body and keen blue eyes with the hint of knowledge in them. Nothing like having all the dirty little secrets of your love life and its aftermath exposed before a stranger. What must Beck think of her now and why should it matter to her?
“You didn’t make a good first impression,” Charlie said, echoing Phil’s thoughts.
“It really doesn’t matter, does it?” Phil snapped. “Since he’s here only to build a pergola and then he’ll be gone.”
“I bet not,” Charlie said. “Wonder what he’s like in bed?”
“You’re welcome to find out,” Phil said nonchalantly, although she’d already wondered that herself. “Of course, his wife might object.”
“He doesn’t have a wife,” Charlie answered smugly. “I already checked.”
She smiled, waiting for them to ask her for more information. Phil refused to get caught up in her sister’s machinations although her curiosity was aroused.
“Oh, all right, I’ll tell you,” Charlie said as though they’d begged her to reveal her secrets. She picked up a clear glass ball with a village scene in it and shook it so the snow swirled around inside. Staring at it intently, she began to speak. “He’s widowed. His wife died two years ago.” She frowned and glanced at her sisters.
“Go on,” Sera said and Phil pinched her lips together not to add her own urgings. She was seriously thinking of doing bodily harm to Charlie for her play-acting.
“His wife was murdered and he’s a primary suspect in her death. They still haven’t found the killer.” She lowered the ball and looked at them then out the window at Beck Crawford standing on a ladder pounding nails into a support beam.
“Do you think he did it?” Sera asked sadly.
“I don’t know,” Charlie said quietly. She held the ball on her lap.
“Well, what does your crystal ball say?” Phil asked curtly. “You’re the one who started this.”
Charlie stirred and glanced at the swirling snow. “He and his wife were in the midst of a nasty divorce. He has a little girl, but she’s been taken away and is staying with his wife’s mother.”
“How awful!” Sera cried. “To lose her mother and father at the same time. That poor child.”
“Yoohoo!” Claire Spencer’s voice rang out from the front hall and Charlie slapped the ball back on the table as she and Sera hurried to greet their mother.
Slowly, Phil crossed to the open French doors and looked out at Beck Crawford. His muscles flexed in the sunlight, a slight sheen of sweat covering his chest and shoulders. He finished driving a nail and glanced up. When he caught her gaze, he paused, a nail still between his chiseled lips, the hammer in his hand. Their gazes held and she felt something deep inside her stir, not in the way it had when she’d first met Killie and all the other men, but in a more profound way. Instinctively, she knew he hadn’t murdered his wife. She felt his frustration over not having his child, his hidden anger that no one believed him or trusted him. He was a man filled with a lot of private pain, but he’d never show it and he wouldn’t welcome anyone intruding on it.
She reached for the French door and slowly drew it closed, as if shielding herself from some intense emotion beyond her experience. But with the door closed, she could still see him through the glass and he could see her watching him. Then he turned away, took a nail from his lips and began hammering it into the beam. The blows of his hammer matched the pounding of her heart.
“Oh, there you are, Phil,” Claire Spencer cried, entering the room. “How was your luncheon? I’m sorry I couldn’t be here, but the meeting for our ladies’ club was very important.”
For once, grateful for her mother’s exuberant presence, Phil turned to greet her.
“Did you get a lot resolved?” she asked, going to hug her mother. Claire Spencer was fashionably dressed in a light summer dress and sandals and a matching red hat.
“Oh, yes, dear. We set up our programs for the coming year. We’re going to do some exciting things. I wish you were old enough to join us. You’d enjoy yourself, but of course, you’re far too young.”
“Thanks for the thought, Mums. Would you like some tea?”
“Oh, no, dear, I drank way too much at the meeting. I was sitting beside Matty DeMott and she went on and on. She so loves to tell everyone about her latest ailments and there was nothing for me to do but sip my tea and listen. I will have a glass of whatever you girls were drinking, if what you’re drinking is a margarita.” She glanced around at her three daughters. “Well, what on earth is wrong? You all look subdued and I know that means you’ve been at something you ought not to have been.”
She waited expectantly and finally turned to Sera who flushed and looked away. Still, she was compelled to answer her mother’s enquiry.
“We were just talking about the carpenter Phil hired to build her pergola,” she explained and smiled at the sudden knowledge she’d sidestepped the dilemma of lying to her mother or tattling on her sisters.
“Dear, you’re having a pergola put up? How lovely,” Claire cried and went to open the French doors to peer out. “Oh, my, he’s quite good looking.” She smiled at her daughters and stepped out onto the patio.
“What a lovely job you’re doing,” she called.
Startled, Beck wavered on the ladder, grabbed a beam and looked down at this new intruder. “Thank you, ma’am,” he said politely and wiped at his brow.
“I’m Claire Spencer, Phil’s mother. And you’re…” She let the rest dangle and there was nothing for it but that he must answer.
“Beck Crawford, ma’am.”
“Oh, I’m so glad to meet you. That looks like very hot work up there. Why don’t you come down and have some tea? Phil makes sun tea and it’s really quite good.”
“That’s kind of you, ma’am, but…” he began but Claire brushed his words away before they were uttered.
“I insist. Now come down and rest.”
She waved her hand at him so he had little choice but to descend the ladder and follow her into the parlor, but not before he grabbed his shirt and put it back on. Claire smiled her approval and sent Phil off to the kitchen for the tea then bustled around making sure he was comfortably seated with a glass in hand. A silence settled over them all. He sat uneasily, fixing his gaze on the glass of ice tea then he took a deep breath and drank it down as if taking a hated medicine. When the glass was drained, he got to his feet.
“Well, thank you all,” he said, holding out the glass.
Phil stepped forward and took it and he met her gaze. Once again she felt the shock, clear down to her toes and in all the right places between. She forced a smile.
/> “I’m sorry we’ve rather overwhelmed you,” she said. “These are my sisters, Charlie and Sera, and this is my mother, Claire.”
“Pleased to meet you.” He nodded politely. “I’d better get back to work,” he said and stalked toward the patio doors with purpose.
“Well, what a perfectly lovely man,” Claire said when he’d climbed his ladder again.
“Oh, Mums, how would you know?” Phil said, heading to the kitchen with the glass.
“Why, dear, don’t you like him?” Claire trailed after her and of course, where one sister went the others must follow. It seemed to be a golden rule for them all. Too much togetherness.
“It has nothing to do with liking or disliking him,” Phil said. “He’s simply here to build the pergola, then he’ll be gone and we’ll never see him again.” The thought caused a hitch in her heart, but she’d certainly never let them see it.
“You’ll have to forgive Phil, Mums,” Charlie said affectionately. “She just got rid of Killie and here’s another man to take his place.”
“Charlie, I’ve had enough,” Phil snapped. “It’s time for you all to go home.”
“Well, really, are we being kicked out?” Charlie asked with a grin.
“Oh, yes, we should go,” Sera said. “This has been a hard day for Phil. She must be so saddened by what Killie did.”
“What did that man do?” her mother demanded, causing a lengthy description of the earlier events.
“Don’t you worry, dear, he wasn’t a good man to treat you like that. There’s bound to be someone better for you.” Her mother hugged her and patted her shoulder as if she were a hurt child. Phil wanted to scream.
Even family time must come to a reasonable end and everyone left but not before Charlie had a last say.
“Mums, Phil made an absolutely delicious dessert. It tasted like ambrosia. You will give us the recipe, won’t you, Phil?” Charlie’s expression was innocent but her eyes danced with mischief.
“I’m afraid I can’t,” Phil replied, giving her mother a kiss. “It’s an old family recipe.” Claire drew back and looked at her daughter in bewilderment.
“I don’t remember an ambrosia recipe, dear,” she said, her brows drawn together, “so it can’t be an old family recipe, unless you found one of Aunt Hattie’s concoctions.” She spied Phil’s expression. “Oh, she’s kidding, Charlie. Of course, she’ll give you the recipe.”
Chatting nonstop, they made their way through the entrance, commenting once again on Killie and his ignominious departure before moving out onto the sunshine-filled porch and into their cars. Phil stood on the porch step waving goodbye, her lips curved in a grin, schooling herself to hold the pose until the last car rolled out of the driveway then her shoulders slumped.
What a day! It wasn’t that she didn’t love mums and her sisters. They were just so exhausting! And Charlie had been in high form today. No matter what she said people found her amusing and her jokes never fell flat, unlike Phil’s lame ‘family recipe’ attempt.
Closing her door behind her, she stood enjoying the peace and quiet of her home. No family, no Killie. She deserved a special reward, she decided and headed back to the parlor where she poured herself a hefty glass full of her favorite red wine and sprawled in an overstuff chair. She might not move for the rest of the afternoon. She sipped her wine and contemplated Killie’s exit. He was Marlene’s problem now and one she well deserved. The woman had wanted Killie ever since she’d met him here in this very room. Her eyes had gone wide and avaricious, her large mouth with its ring of blood-red lipstick had opened displaying her perfectly aligned, whitened teeth and the contest had begun. She’d wanted Killie and she was prepared to do whatever it took to have him, even if it meant giving up her rather tenuous friendship with Phil.
Phil tucked her long, bare legs beneath her and chuckled to think how she’d maneuvered Marlene into believing she’d won, that Killie had secretly fancied her ever since they’d met as well. Phil drew a deep, satisfied breath, finished her wine and closed her eyes. Just for a minute. Having family was exhausting! Her eyes drifted closed and she smiled as she pictured Killie arriving at Marlene’s mansion with his tail between his legs, whining that Phil had chucked him out. Of course, he would never admit that. He’d come up with some tale to feed Marlene’s ego. At some point, Phil would have to subtly let Marlene know the truth.
A tap at the door brought her out of her contemplations. She gasped and sat up, looking around, bleary-eyed. Long shadows lay over the room. Had she fallen asleep? A dark shadow loomed and shifted. Phil screamed.
“It’s just me,” Beck Crawford said, moving so she could see him better. “I wanted to let you know I’m leaving for the day.”
“Oh, I must have dozed off. Is it that late already?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He towered over her, his eyes studying her with that unblinking seriousness that unnerved her.
Suddenly, she was aware that her shorts had ridden up revealing even more of her long, pale legs. She leaped up, nearly bumping into Beck in the process. He stepped back, but made no comment.
“Sorry,” she said. “I…I had a leg cramp.” She bent and began massaging her calf.
“Pickle juice,” he said and turned back toward the patio doors.
“What?” She couldn’t help noticing his muscular shoulders, tapering waist and truly magnificent butt. She would always be a male bum aficionado, she thought briefly and his was outstanding. She wondered what it looked like bare. Trim and taut, she’d bet. Belatedly, she realized he had turned and was watching her watching his butt. She flushed and to avoid meeting his gaze, bent to rub her calf again.
“Here, let me,” he said, coming back to her.
“What?” she said again.
Lord, he was going to think she hadn’t a brain in her head, but he was already taking hold of her shoulders and guiding her back to the chair she’d vacated. He reached for her foot and propped it on his knee.
“I used to be a football coach. When a team member got a cramp, we took turns massaging them out. We also kept a jar of pickles on hand because the juice helped calm the cramp.” While he talked, his large hands had begun to knead the muscles of her calf. It felt heavenly. His calloused hands seemed to leave a trail of heat wherever they touched, and she longed for him to go higher to her thighs and beyond. She was shocked to realize she was wet and horny. She hadn’t shared a bed with Killie in months. And all the while Beck kept on kneading and talking.
“This isn’t a bad one,” he observed. “I can’t feel any knots.”
“It hurts though,” she lied, trying to tighten her calf muscles into the semblance of a cramp. All right, she was shameless.
“I think I have it worked out now,” he said, getting to his feet and gazing down at her.
Her eyes were on level with his belt buckle and below. Did his pants seem a little fuller or was that her wishful thinking? She couldn’t pull her gaze away. When she did, she found his fixed on her chest, which wasn’t voluptuous but adequate enough from a certain angle. Fortunately, he was at that angle.
She barely stopped herself from arching her back. Too obvious. She thought about putting a spell on him so he would be completely in her power and have him make mad, passionate love to her. Of course, she’d have to block his memory. Sanity returned. Wouldn’t that be like a date rape, except there was no date? She couldn’t do that! Could she? No, definitely not.
Sighing, she got to her feet once again and was surprised when he didn’t step back. They were close, too close, wonderfully close. She could smell his skin, his dried sweat, and it filled her head like an aphrodisiac. She swayed, and he caught hold of her elbows.
“Careful there,” he said softly.
“Don’t let go,” she said faintly. “I might fall.”
She heard the intake of his breath and leaned forward. She wasn’t sure when his hands left her arms and moved across her back, pulling her closer. One hand skimmed lower, smoothing over h
er buttocks even while his head dipped and he kissed her. At first, only his lips claimed hers, letting her feel the texture of his touch, then his mouth opened and his hot, probing tongue entered. There was no practiced seduction in his kiss, only a raw need that plundered her very soul. The hand on her butt began that mesmerizing kneading motion that brought her closer to him. She felt his belt buckle dig into her stomach, felt his hard cock push again her mons and she drew in a breath. He deepened the kiss. His hands moved from her back to the sides of her breasts. One hand cupped her flesh and suddenly, she, who had always been satisfied enough with her anatomy, wished she was more voluptuous, but then her breasts swelled with desire.
He ended the kiss. God save her from a man with a sense of propriety at a moment like this. She had managed to find the only one that existed in known mankind. Where had she heard that men never stopped, that it was up to the woman? Whoever had said that had been dead wrong, because he had ended the lovely moment. He stepped back and stared at her.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
“I was to blame, too,” she said honestly.
“I won’t do anything like that again.”
Damn!
“I was to blame, too,” she repeated, but he had already turned and was heading toward the door.
“Wait!” she cried.
He hesitated and glanced back. His expression said he’d clamped down on his emotions and she had little doubt he’d not let this happen again. He was waiting for her to speak.
“W-will you be back tomorrow to finish the job?”
“If you want me.”
“I want you.” She was totally aware of the full meaning of those words but made no effort to change them.
With a final nod, he stepped through the door. She stood as he’d left her, trying to sort out what had just happened, not wanting to let go of the sensations he’d aroused. Then the earlier events of the day came to her.
What must he think of her? She’d just thrown out one man who was obviously her lover and now she was throwing herself at the next man to appear. What should she think of herself? But try as she might, she couldn’t regret what had happened between Beck and herself, except to wish it had gone further.
