She knew she was softening.
He must have felt it too, and he pushed his point further. “Everyone — or almost everyone — needs the feeling that there’s a home somewhere. I’m sure you understand that.”
She nodded slowly, reluctance fighting with sympathy. “What are you doing in the area?”
And immediately felt the flush crossing her cheeks. She didn’t want to be interested in him. She wanted to blot him out. She’d opened her mouth, intending to refuse him, but the question had popped out instead. And that had opened the door to conversation. He’d realized it too, and she could almost feel his body relax with relief.
“I’m working on a book on the Old West, so I’ll be poking around the area for a while.”
Alice couldn’t help smiling. “Blake’s Folly’s a great place for history. Lucy Warner’s pig gave birth to fifteen piglets once. That was back in thirty-two, I think.”
His eyes met hers evenly. “Nineteen thirty-three. The fifth of August. A hot month for hard work like that.” He gave a short laugh. “Nothing important gets past us serious researchers.”
Suddenly there was a loud thump followed by a wild scraping of claws. Seconds later, a huge black dog thrust itself past Alice and threw itself against Jace, almost knocking him backward.
“Killer! Down!”
Killer wriggled like an eel, danced a doggie jig on the veranda floor and still managed to stare up at Jace with supplication. He was ecstatic.
Jace bent down and gingerly patted Killer’s head, then looked back up at Alice with slight embarrassment. “Normally I never pat dogs. I never understood why anyone would want to.” He observed Killer again. “There’s pure adoration in his eyes. It gets to me, somehow.”
Killer nestled in closer, wagging his long, seedy-looking tail wildly and Jace patted him again, this time with more tenderness. Alice felt herself relenting. She loved animals — any animal: dogs, cats, rabbits. And snakes.
And this man was touching her too much. Far too much. She had to bring her defenses back into play. “That isn’t the way a dog normally reacts when he meets a total stranger.”
Jace met her semblance of hostility with his limpid green gaze. “I’m not a total stranger. I fed him my packed lunch the other day, remember?” He looked down at Killer, grinned ruefully. “I still didn’t know why I stopped for him. Anyway, we’ve been through all this already. As I said, I’m here about the room.”
She hesitated — just for a fraction of a second — but she knew he’d heard it. And that meant he knew she’d tell him a lie. “There was a room, but I’ve already rented it out.”
So. That should settle it. Now he’d have to turn around, leave, go somewhere else. Find another room in another town. And she’d never have to see him again, never have to run the risk of feeling too much for someone. Someone unsuitable. Someone who would always be unattainable. But at the same time, a faint desert breeze tickled the stray lock of hair on his forehead, and all her fingers ached to do were reach out, caress.
“Couldn’t help overhearing.” A gruff, over-hearty voice sliced into the silence. Both Alice and Jace jumped.
Pa Handy, rubbing his hands against his rather grimy overalls, rumbled out of the house. “Here to rent the room, are you? Well that’s a good thing, isn’t it, Alice? You’d almost given up hope! Now you’ll have a bit more spare cash to feed all those mongrels of yours.”
Pa turned to Jace and grinned. “Lucky thing for you sir, is I just got the hot water boiler going again. The thingamajig got in from Reno this morning on the bus. Well, I guess I’ll be on my way now. Just give me a shout if there’s another problem, Alice. Be seeing you.” He ambled down the front steps and over the dusty yard, whistling a painfully searing tune in an utterly contented way.
Alice didn’t dare look at Jace. “If I threw a rock at Pa Handy’s back, I wouldn’t have much to lose, would I?” She heard Jace laughing. At her, at the whole situation. She was furious. Then the fury vanished, and was followed by her own irrepressible laughter.
“Room and board?” Jace asked, before she could even catch her breath.
Alice fought to regain some dignity. She’d have to come up with a few more excuses. She couldn’t let him into her domain just like that.
“Staying here won’t interest you. Certainly not the meals. I’m a vegetarian.” She hoped that would conjure up a picture of over-boiled carrots, tasteless, mushy peas and gluey cauliflower. “No three inch steaks at my house.”
“Sounds fine.”
She could tell he was forcing himself to sound enthusiastic. “You look like a carnivore to me, not a vegetarian.” Carnivorous, a woman-eater.
“I’m willing to try anything,” he said, with more enthusiasm than he was probably feeling. “I don’t know much about being a vegetarian.”
Now she really was defeated. She knew it. She knew he knew it.
“Do I get to come in now?”
“There are millions of dogs and tons of dog hair.”
“And?”
She sighed, shook her head, and shrugged. “Other things that might be a shock to your system. As a frustrated guinea pig owner, I mean.” Then there was no way she could control her wicked grin.
Their eyes met and she felt absolutely no hostility, no mockery. Instead, there was a probing intensity, a certain tension that bespoke returned interest, appreciation, and warmth. Much warmth. Much appreciation.
“What other things?” he teased. “Ghosts? Ghouls?”
“Nothing so comfortable.” She smiled wickedly. “Snakes.”
“Snakes? Fine.”
Okay, she saw he didn’t believe her. He thought she was just thinking up a few more excuses. But he’d find out the truth soon enough. Fine, he’d said? We’ll see.
Squaring her shoulders, she turned and led the way into the dark interior of the house.
He followed her down the narrow corridor and she could feel his eyes burning into her back, taking in her long, rangy stride and slender legs. The tension was almost unbearable; the whole situation was unbearable, she thought. This couldn’t be happening. How could she have let him into her refuge like this?
She opened the kitchen door at the end of the corridor, and heard Jace whistle with surprise.
“You never begin to know a person until you see the inside of their home,” he mused. “I certainly didn’t expect anything like this out in the desert.”
Alice felt proud: he was able to see the beauty of the old house, after all. This kitchen was vast, with a yellowish hue only time could bring; filling it was a chaotic assortment of ancient wood burning stoves, heavy wooden tables, rustic chairs, old glass bottles, vast cupboards, green plants. And everything was illuminated by the stark desert light gleaming through the wooden frame windows.
“It’s like stepping into a museum!”
Alice shrugged. “For a very good reason. My great-grandfather built the place. When my grandfather took it over, he added on. Then everyone else added on to that. No one in the family threw anything out. They just extended the walls.”
“And you keep it in the same way?”
Her faint smile was wry. “I guess I’ve inherited the pack rat genes. In any case, how could I get rid of anything? I love every single stick of furniture, every crock.”
A narrow, wooden staircase in the hallway twisted up to a low-ceilinged second floor. Alice climbed ahead of him. Then stopped. “This would be your room.” She sounded unsure.
Jace stepped through the doorway and stared with amazement. “I hoped I’d find something different from an impersonal motel room, but I wasn’t prepared for this.”
The slightly uneven floor of wide wooden planks had been waxed and worn to a mirror-like shine. A large four-poster bed was covered with a heavy patchwork quilt, as authentic as the rag rug on the floor, the faded flower print paper on the walls. A beautiful blue vase gleamed on an ancient, simply made wooden dresser; a faint hint of lavender danced on the air.
“It’s wonderful,” Jace murmured. “Out of date, far from reality. It’s what decorators fight to achieve and can’t. This is the real thing.” His eyes came to rest on her. “Naturally beautiful.”
Alice felt doubt. He’d win top marks for flattery, probably always did. That was his style, wasn’t it? “If you really think this is beautiful, what does your home in Chicago look like?”
He laughed. “Touché. You’re right. It’s nothing like this. My condo in Chicago is in the center of the city. It’s filled with modern furniture, and there’s contemporary art on the walls.”
“So this is just a quaint bit of slumming for you.”
His smile vanished and the green eyes met hers. “No. That’s unfair. Being here is not slumming. This is something else altogether.”
It was. She knew it was.
The smile came crinkling back. “But that’s something we can talk about this evening. Over a glass of wine.”
Never! Not as long as she could prevent it. She stepped back into the corridor. “The bathroom’s down the hall.” Her tone was impersonal again. The tone of an efficient landlady. “Or perhaps you didn’t think there was one.”
“The outside of this building doesn’t give you the faintest hint of what’s inside. Besides, we’re in the desert and … ”
She didn’t let him finish. “This is Nevada, USA, Mr. Constant. Not the surface of the moon.”
“Jace, please. Not Mr. Constant. Just Jace. Jace and Alice, okay?”
She swallowed. No. That was not okay. First names indicated intimacy, opened the door to vulnerability. Her body responded all too readily to him; all she wanted was to step in closer, into his warmth. Touch him — his cheek, the errant lock of hair, the tightness of his chest.
“I’ll just let you get settled in. I’ll leave a key for you in the lock on the front door. Don’t forget to take it with you when you go out.” Getting away as quickly as she could.
“What time is dinner?”
The question stopped her flight. Dinner! She’d forgotten about that. “You’re sure it’s room and board you want?”
He nodded, no doubt imagining cozy get-togethers in the yellow kitchen.
“What time is convenient for you?” She said it as coolly as possible, wanting to show him exactly what their relationship was going to be. She hadn’t wanted his presence here. He’d practically forced his way in. As for thoughts of intimacy, he’d better forget them.
“I usually meet up with a team of historians and geologists out at the Winterback Mine every day. I should be back here at around six every evening.”
Alice hesitated, as if she wanted to add something. But what? Then she turned away, headed quickly down the stairs, and rushed out of this turmoil and on to safety.
• • •
If Alice hoped to find refuge in Rose Badger’s secondhand clothes shop, she was sadly mistaken. The shop itself was a mad jumble of hats, shoes, evening clothes, silks, and elegant suits from another era, all displayed with an insouciant disorder. Normally Alice loved coming here, making herself comfortable in the faded plush armchair and listening to stories of Rose’s latest male conquests. But not today. Her life had changed; her territory had been invaded. This evening, she’d have to face Jace Constant again. What an impossible situation!
There was only one thing to do: discourage him, make it perfectly clear he wasn’t really welcome.
“I hear you’ve got a lodger.”
Alice groaned with irritation. “Out of the frying pan and into the fire!” Having Jace Constant in her house as a guest — even for the few days before she finally managed to get rid of him — was going to be a hell of a lot more difficult than she’d imagined.
“Rose,” Alice’s voice expressed infinite fatigue, and forced patience. “I’ve had a lodger for about an hour and a half. How did word get around so fast?”
Rose Badger opened her large blue eyes even wider. “What else is there to talk about in Blake’s Folly? The last piece of gossip anyone heard around here was that Tom Fletcher’s car ran out of gas on the highway near Tonopah, and that was over two years ago.”
“You’ve got a short memory. Didn’t Lucy Hawkins overcook a chicken dinner last May?”
“What does he look like? Lucy Farley told Jane Grimes she saw him when he stopped at the gas station the other day, and he’s gorgeous.” Rose glanced at her own reflection in the broad mirror over the counter of her shop, “Second Hand Rose”, and smiled.
Alice felt a sudden stab of jealousy, then pulled herself up short. She was being stupid. Rose was just the kind of woman who would interest a man like Jace Constant. Her blonde curls framed a delicate oval face. Her lips were just naturally rosy and full. She was tiny and curvaceous and a lot of fun. She was also an inveterate flirt.
“Didn’t notice,” said Alice sourly, crossing her fingers behind her back as she told the lie. The harder she tried to forget Jace Constant, the more she couldn’t stop herself from picturing him. Those eyes that seemed to penetrate deep inside her. The smiling mouth that suggested lazy kisses. The sensuous, teasing lips. And she could imagine the smooth muscles under his shirt, the tightness of his thighs encased in the narrow jeans.
Rose looked at her curiously. “I’ll bet you didn’t, either. You’re a hopeless case.”
“He’s a lodger, Rose. Not a lover. Get that? Never bite the hand that feeds you.”
“That doesn’t sound right, coming from you. How many times have you been bitten by those stray dogs of yours, but that’s never stopped you taking in new ones and loving them all.” Her eyes sparkled mischievously. “Come on, Alice. Life is for fun.”
“I have fun. I just have my own way of doing it,” Alice answered primly.
“Yeah, right.” Rose made a face. “Talking to dogs, and defending the rights of snakes, and spending every available moment wandering around in the desert alone. Great.”
“I love doing those things. Besides, they sound a sight better to me than chewing up and spitting out all the available males west of the Atlantic Ocean.”
Rose giggled and her nose wrinkled in the most adorable way. “I have fun too. That just happens to be my way of doing it. To tell the unashamed truth, I’ve always had a sneaking suspicion that the males I chew up and spit out enjoy themselves just as much as I do.”
“I wouldn’t be so certain of that.”
“Don’t change the subject, Alice. We’re talking about your lodger. Go on. Describe what he looks like.”
Alice sighed with exasperation. “What do you want to hear? I can’t describe people!”
“Tall?”
“You aren’t going to give up, are you?” It was strange. For some reason Alice didn’t feel like gossiping about Jace. It seemed undignified, somehow, but there was no way Rose was going to let her off the hook. “Okay, okay. Tall.”
“Hair color? Eyes?”
“Green eyes. Reddish brown curly hair. Broad shoulders and muscles that ripple. Tight jeans. The sexiest mouth I’ve seen in ages. Long fingers. Really good hands.”
“I see,” said Rose, slowly, staring at her friend with too evident interest.
Alice found herself trying to avoid Rose’s searching glance. “Fine. Now can we drop the subject?” She stood up abruptly and walked over to a clothes rack. “This looks like a new delivery. Come to mention it, I need a winter coat. Mine’s falling to pieces.”
Smiling knowingly, Rose refused the bait. “My dear friend Alice, for someone who didn’t really notice what he looks like, that’s a pretty detailed description. Go on. What else?”
“Nothing else. That’s it. Are you satisfied?”
“Satisfied? Are you joking?” Rose was staring at her with pure, unadulterated astonishment. “How do you feel about him?”
“Me?”
“Yes. You. You sound interested.”
“Well, you’re wrong. All wrong,” Alice answered hotly. “Actually, he’s more your type. Handsome, too sure of himself, sophis
ticated.”
“You’re whetting my appetite.”
“I’ll bet I am.” It was almost a relief to be on safe territory again. Almost … “Rose, I thought you were in love with Lance Potter this week.”
“Lance Potter was last week.” Rose grimaced. “Lance invited me for dinner on Sunday, and I came running. I looked great too — leopard stretch pants, black bodysuit with nothing underneath but Rose. I mean, I imagined candles, wine, a gourmet meal, and some extraordinary passion for dessert — you know my style. His eyes meeting mine, sudden tenderness, then a rush of irrepressible desire searing through us both.” She stopped and then sighed.
“And?”
“Well, that just goes to show you the difference between men and women.”
“I’m still waiting for the good bits.”
“Keep waiting. I’m coming to the conclusion that men don’t understand what the word romantic means. Or if they do, some lucky woman has snapped them up a long time ago. To begin with, what do you think Lance meant by dinner? Frozen pizza. No wine, no candles. No eye contact either. That was out of the question. So was conversation. Darling Lance was too busy watching the game on TV. From the time I arrived until the time I stormed out! He probably never even noticed I’d gone!”
“And that’s the end of Lance Potter.”
“It certainly is. So what’s his name?”
Alice rolled her eyes heavenward. “You don’t give up, do you? Jace Constant.”
Rose looked puzzled. “Sounds vaguely familiar. Tell me why.”
“Because he’s a writer. He’s fairly famous, okay?”
“Fine. This is getting better and better. The man is gorgeous, he’s famous, he’s sexy. Now, Alice, tell me what’s wrong with him?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Why don’t you want him?”
Alice gaped. “Is that a serious question?”
“Why shouldn’t it be?” Rose looked all innocence.
All About Charming Alice Page 3
