Done With Men Forever (Clairmont Series Book 3)

by S. Jane Scheyder

  “Homemade orange juice this morning, compliments of you.” Deciding not to wait and see if he was going to heave it back at her, she pulled out the eggs, bacon, and butter. Coffee, first.

  “By the way, I’ve had breakfast ready early every morning this week.” She glared at him. “Coffee will be ready in five, the rest will follow whenever. Why don’t you wait outside?”

  The rain beating against the windows almost drowned out his reply. “Hospitality business really suits you.”

  “Yes, I was born to take care of helpless grown men. It’s what I live for.”

  She ground the coffee good and long, hoping that the noise would irritate him and he would leave. No luck. She made a production out of measuring the coffee and pouring the filtered water. He still hadn’t moved. Finally she turned around with arms crossed.

  He was gone.

  Becky glanced out to the porch - had he gone out to sit in the rain? She refused to look for him, or be curious about how he’d escaped the kitchen unnoticed. She didn’t care how he did his disappearing act, as long he kept doing it.

  Fifteen minutes later, the omelets were finished and sitting in the warmer. Of course, Tank was nowhere to be seen. This time she did hunt him down. If he was going to get her out of bed, he was going to choke down the food she’d made for him while it was hot.

  He wasn’t in the parlor, front office or dining room, and she knew he wasn’t in the sunroom next to the kitchen. Had he really gone out to the porch? She walked to the window and peaked out. No one there. She followed the route he must have taken up the back stairway to the second floor and all but stomped down the hall to his room.

  Knocking sharply on the door, Becky waited with her hands on her hips. She knocked again, and was just about to call out when she heard the bed creak. She waited an eternity for the beast to make his way to the door.

  He didn’t even open it. “Yeah?”

  He actually sounded like he’d been sleeping. For the briefest moment Becky doubted that he’d even awakened her, but she shook that off. He’d been down there alright. No way she’d imagined that whole debacle.

  “Your breakfast is ready, Mr. Kimball.”

  Hearing no response, Becky grew impatient. What was his deal?

  “Fine.”

  Fine. That was it? He got her up early to make his breakfast just so he could go back to sleep? “You’ve got five minutes, then I’m giving it to Burt.”

  The door creaked open, and she kept her eyes averted from his too-tight T-shirt.

  “Leave it in the warmer.”

  “No.”

  “Leave it in the warmer.”

  “No. They’re omelets.”

  “They’ll be fine.”

  “Why did you get me up if you’re just going to sleep?”

  He shrugged, yawning.

  “You are impossible.” She bristled with the urge to shove him, which must have been evident, because he half-smiled.

  “You gonna take a swing at me?”

  “I’d love to, believe me, but my sister wouldn’t approve.”

  “Your sister, the real innkeeper.”

  “I really, really can’t stand you.”

  Tank smiled.

  Burt whined from down below, giving Becky her out. “Sounds like I have another animal to feed. You have four minutes.”

  ***

  Becky tried a new dish on Wednesday morning. Tank didn’t deserve it, but she figured it was a good time to try a new recipe. If it didn’t turn out, no big deal. She had no doubt she’d hear about it one way or another.

  The blueberry french toast bake that she left for him disappeared before noon, and Becky shook her head with a grudging smile. The man should be a spy, the way he could sneak all that mass around, undetected. She wondered what kind of football player he was. It seemed like he was too big to be a running back, and he didn’t have the charisma she thought necessary to be a quarterback. Probably some kind of lineman; big, scary, and mean.

  She was happy that the big, scary, mean guy had taken to playing outside with Burt. Besides her morning run, she hadn’t really spent any considerable time with him. The poor dog missed Maddy so much it was almost comical. Becky was glad that Tank distracted him. At least he was good for something.

  She decided to take some leftovers to Maddy’s neighbor, Otis Jensen. He rarely cooked for himself, and a warm meal might be appreciated. Walking out onto the porch, she winced as the door banged! behind her. She noted that Burt’s leash was missing; Tank must have taken him for a walk.

  Otis was on his screened porch, reading the newspaper, and Becky called out to him as she approached. “Hey, Otis! Want to try one of my latest experiments?”

  He stood with a smile as she let herself through the door. “I’d love to. Thank you, Becky.”

  “It’s a new french toast bake I tried.” She set the plate on the table. “Beats making individual pieces, especially when the house is full of guests.”

  “Sounds delicious,” Otis said. “Been busy over there?”

  “It’s slow this week. Just one guest. Had several couples last week; that’s probably good for mid-October.”

  “Well, word will get out, and Maddy’s Inn will take off. I just feel sure of it.”

  “You don’t mind the extra neighbors?”

  “At my age, it’s fun to watch life still happening around me,” Otis replied. “Everyone coming out to a B&B on the water is here to relax and enjoy themselves. That generally makes for good neighbors.”

  He reached for the plate and lifted it close. “Mmmm ... smells wonderful. I think I’ll have it for lunch.”

  “I hope our current guest hasn’t given you any trouble.”

  “Tank?” Otis looked up with concern. “Why would he be trouble?”

  “You’ve met him?” Becky wasn’t sure she liked the idea of Tank helping himself to her friend. Besides, she didn’t want him bringing Otis down.

  “Tank’s been good company the last few days. I’ll be sorry to see him go.”

  “Really? You’ve spent time together?”

  “Sure. He introduced himself, oh, a few days back while he was out walking on the beach. He joined me one evening for a meal and we play cribbage in the afternoons.”

  Becky was absolutely stunned. Tank had been Mr. Sociable with eighty-year-old Otis, but had barely shown his face around the inn?

  “Well, I’m glad he’s been, um, friendly.”

  “He’s a fine young man. Always out there playing with Burt, which is no small thing. Too bad about the football. Can’t imagine how disappointing that must be.”

  Becky clearly didn’t have the right audience for venting about Tank. “Well, I hope you enjoy your lunch. I’d better get back and, well, get busy,” doing absolutely nothing ...

  “Thanks so much for stopping by - and for lunch.” Otis stood, always the gentleman. “Have you heard from Maddy and John at all?”

  Becky shook her head. “I don’t suppose they’re thinking about me right now.”

  Otis chuckled. “I suppose not. I’m sure they know you’ve got everything under control here.”

  Yes, everything was going perfectly.

  ***

  “Can you move your Jeep? I need to water the yard and your vehicle is about to get doused.”

  Tank didn’t even look up from the book he was reading. His long legs stretched to the middle of the wicker coffee table. Irritating. The man just took up too much room.

  “It rained yesterday.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s been dry lately and the grass needs water.”

  He eyed her cynically. “And where will my Jeep be safe from your horticultural expertise?”

  Big words for the dumb athlete. “Bar Harbor.”

  The corner of his mouth almost lifted, but Tank caught it in time. “How ’bout I water the lawn and you go to Bar Harbor?”

  The three-hour trip sounded very appealing. Tank had made it a point to be underfoot all afternoon, which is to
say he’d been hanging out on the porch, and she’d had enough. It was another unseasonably nice day, and Becky wanted the porch so she could paint. If she couldn’t paint, she was going to water his Jeep.

  “I’ll go set up the sprinkler. We’ll see where the water falls, and then you can decide.”

  That got him to his feet. He was surprisingly quick for a big guy. “You’d enjoy that wouldn’t you?”

  He trailed her around the house to where she already had the sprinkler attached to the hose. She bent to turn the water on and he reached for her arm.

  “Easy! I’m not really going to spray your car - yet.”

  He backed off, leaving her plenty of space. “I have to go inside and get my keys. Do you think you can hold off that long?”

  “I really couldn’t say. You’d better run.”

  Tank gave her a look of utter exasperation and jumped up the front steps to the porch.

  Becky smiled, thoroughly enjoying having the upper hand for a few, brief, satisfying moments. Tank returned in record time, and Becky made sure she appeared nice and relaxed as she leaned against the side of the porch, filing her nails.

  He barely spared her a glance as he hopped into his Jeep and roared out of the driveway. Becky watched with surprise as he peeled down the street. She hadn’t really expected him to leave altogether.

  Well, good riddance.

  She scanned the yard. Who watered their grass in October? She went back to the porch to paint.

  five

  Tank walked onto the porch and stopped short. A pair of long, bare legs, crossed at the ankle and perched on the far railing, caught his eye. Even in the dim light from the few flickering candles, Becky’s outline was clear. He’d been inclined to think of her as too skinny, but there was nothing wrong with the legs that graced the porch this evening.

  He contemplated going back inside, but there was no way she hadn’t already heard the bang! of the screen door. He was tempted to fix the silly thing himself; it drove him crazy every time he left the house.

  Tank sighed and waited for a moment to see if she’d react. Nothing. He took a tentative step forward. Finally, a wineglass swung into view, then Becky’s arm, shoulder and head followed. She waved him over with her beverage.

  “Mr. Kimball!” she said, with much more enthusiasm than he’d ever heard from her mouth regarding him. “It’s you! Come and sit. It’s beautiful out here tonight.”

  It really wasn’t. It was chilly, almost cold. He didn’t know what she was doing in shorts.

  Becky sipped her wine and waved her glass again. She barely seemed to have a hold of it with her two fingers. Tank wasn’t sure he wanted to be around to clean up after her.

  “I have more wine!” she said, as though he’d won the lottery.

  He advanced slowly. Becky had turned to face the beach again. She wore a big, baggy sweatshirt, but the rest was still uncertain. She’d definitely made a dent in that bottle she was offering.

  “Sit!” she said, slurring the word a little, and making the invitation sound a bit like an expletive.

  Raising his eyebrows in surprise, he found himself obeying by perching on the edge of a hardy Adirondack chair. The wood creaked and groaned. There would be no perching. Tank sat down in the chair and waited. This was probably not the time to hassle her or pick a fight. In a few minutes she might even need to be hauled to bed. He decided to see how things played out.

  “You never talk,” Becky complained, reaching for the bottle on the table. “Here, have some.” She looked around and giggled. “No more glasses!”

  It was much funnier to her than it should have been, but Tank found himself smiling, in spite of himself.

  “You can use mine, if you like,” she offered, almost dropping her glass, again. “Or just drink from the bottle. That’s what real men do, right?”

  He eyed her and considered the offer. Then he reached over and picked up the bottle. Shiraz. Figures. He lifted it to his lips and took a swig.

  “It’s good,” he lied.

  Becky grinned, and he found her smile almost attractive in the candlelight, especially since it wasn’t filled with venom.

  “I’m just having a little party,” she informed him, sipping again from her glass. “We have new guests.”

  “I noticed.” The couple, probably in their late thirties, had arrived early in the evening. The husband, or so he assumed, had been very attentive to Becky. Tank wondered what she made of that constant attention.

  “They’re very nice,” she went on. “Verrry friendly,” she snickered, though the amusement had left her eyes. She took another drink.

  “Where are they now?”

  “All tucked in,” Becky sighed and blew the hair out of her eyes. He’d seen her do that before. It was distracting.

  “Mr. Reynolds said he’d be down later, you know, in case I was lonely,” she told him, swinging her glass some more. “I thought maybe it was him,” she stopped and tried to focus, “he, when you came out just now.”

  Drunk and grammar conscious. Tank shook his head. Apparently she was planning to hook up with her married guest. Here was the Becky he’d come to dislike so intensely. He took the glass from her hand.

  “Do you want me to leave?”

  She looked at him wide-eyed, almost fearful; the first honest response he’d seen from her. She caught herself and shrugged. “Do whatever you want. I’m done with men forever.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’m done with men, forever,” she repeated, as though talking to a very small child.

  “Got it. Does your friend know that?”

  “Dunno. Where’s my glass?”

  “Here,” Tank said, replacing it gently between her fingers. “Careful.”

  Becky swung the glass to her lips. “Men are so predictable. They all want one thing, even if they’re married.” She glanced at him. “Except you.”

  “I don’t?” Tank asked, his mouth curving up a little. He might as well have some fun at her expense.

  “Not with me, you don’t.” She shifted in her seat so she was facing him. “That’s why I’m safe with you.” She pointed unsteadily with her glass. “You don’t like me.”

  “I see.” The fact that Becky felt safe with him kicked in his protective instinct. He wished he could kick it back out.

  “Most men like me. Actually, all men like me,” she leaned her head back and rolled her eyes. “I’m done with men forever.” She swung her gaze back to his. “But we can be friends.”

  “We can?”

  “Yeah, cuz you’re immune to me.”

  That was probably true.

  “You should probably stop drinking and get some sleep,” he suggested.

  She turned with a pout and faced the water again. “Maddy loves the water. My sister, I mean. The real innkeeper, remember?” She raised a brow. “Maddy would not be drunk on the porch while she had guests.” She sipped her wine. “Maddy would not be drunk on the porch, ever. Good ol’ Maddy,” she sighed. “Too bad for you, huh?”

  Tank shook his head and let her talk.

  “She can look at the water and and just calm right down. I don’t get it.” Becky ruffled her hair and took another sip. “I need this to calm down, so don’t bother telling me to stop.”

  An admission of weakness? Interesting. “Okay,” he simply replied.

  She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t pretend to be nice. I like not liking you.”

  Tank grinned and reached for the bottle. Might as well get rid of some of her supply.

  “I mean, what’s not to not like?” Becky continued, looking at him a little too intently.

  He took another swig and grimaced. Nasty stuff.

  “You’re big and scary and mean.” She cocked her head. “Well, you’re bigger than most. Why are you so big?

  “Wait!” She waved her wineglass, as though to stop him from answering her question. Like he would.

  “Football, right? Big, fancy, po-fressional football flavor.”
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  Becky started to giggle at her string of mistakes. “Bet no one’s ever called you a flavor before.” She leaned back and laughed.

  “Nope.” He shook his head again, trying to ignore her laughing smile. It was unaffected and ... he decided not to think about it. Just like he wasn’t going to think about her legs. What he did allow himself to think about was the fact that she wasn’t going to be in any kind of shape to make breakfast for her guests in the morning. Then he wished he hadn’t thought about that, either.

  “I don’t think I ever dated a football player,” she chattered on, “but I went out with everyone else.” She closed her eyes and the smile left her face. He had the feeling she was about to pour her heart out, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear it.

  “Everyone.” She opened her eyes and swung her head in his direction. “No one’s safe from me.” Her gaze was surprisingly piercing for her inebriated state.

  Tank shrugged. He wasn’t much of a conversationalist to begin with, and this was definitely uncomfortable territory. He really didn’t want to know anything else about her. Not this way.

  “Of course, you have nothing to say. What can you say?” She squinted at the water, as though she was still trying to extract some of her sister’s magic out of it. “I slept with someone after Maddy’s wedding.”

  That got his attention. He watched Becky’s face as she continued to recount something that clearly pained her. She kept her eyes closed, but her delicate brow furrowed as she unloaded.

  “Someone. Didn’t even know him. That’s what I am now.”

  Tank fought the urge to feel sorry for her. Wasn’t she just confirming everything he’d suspected? He played with the label on the bottle, mostly to keep it out of her reach.

  “People sleep around all the time,” he finally replied, not sure why he was trying to comfort her.

  “Not my sister. Not her hubs ... hubs ... John.” She shook her head. “Not even on their wedding night.” Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oops! I wasn’t ’spose to tell.”