Mr. Congeniality

by Sherry Lewis

  He groaned low in his throat and forced himself to remember what she’d said. She was leaving. Getting involved with her would be foolish. And yet…

  He leaned closer, just inches from her mouth. He ached to hold her and touch her lips with his, no matter how briefly. And he could tell from the look in her eyes, the uneven sound of her breath, the slight shudder when he moved his thumb against her cheek, that she wanted it as much as he did.

  She moistened her lips in anticipation, and that was Dean’s undoing. He inched closer, hardly breathing, unable to take his eyes from hers until her lids fluttered shut and she lifted her mouth to meet his.

  “Mom?”

  Dean jerked backward in surprise. Annie’s eyes flew open.

  “Mom? Where are you?”

  Footsteps pounded on the back porch and Dean backed away from Annie just as Nessa burst through the back door. Annie stood quickly, nearly knocking over her stool in the process.

  Aching with frustration, struggling to get his brain working again, Dean crossed to the refrigerator and stood in front of the open door to cool himself off.

  Nessa didn’t even seem to notice him. “You’ve got to come see this, Mom. Can you? Please? Or are you busy with dinner?”

  Annie’s hand fluttered to her chest as if she was having as much trouble returning to reality as Dean was. She nodded hesitantly and sent a silent apology to Dean over her shoulder. “Of course I can come, sweetheart. What is it?”

  “You have to see what Gary taught me. It’s so cool.” The door closed behind them and their voices faded away.

  Dean stared after them, mopped his face with one hand, then closed the refrigerator door and gathered his lunch from the counter. He made a face at the cold chicken and carried it toward his office. He could stop his stomach from growling, but the other hunger Annie’d awoken in him was a whole lot stronger.

  And he had no idea how long he’d have to wait to satisfy it.

  DEAN COULDN’T REMEMBER ever being so nervous before in his life. He was forty-five minutes into his first Little League practice, and he was failing miserably. Sweat poured down his back and dripped into his eyes. His head felt as if a brass marching band was practicing inside it. He was edgier than he’d been on his first day at spring training and more nervous than when he’d stepped onto the field to play his first Major League game.

  And he was completely on his own.

  He shouldn’t have been surprised that Tyler had refused to come with him. The softening he’d seen that day in town had disappeared again almost as quickly as Dean’s pain had. But it had been enough to convince Dean that he would eventually be successful. He just couldn’t give up.

  Right now, he needed to pay attention to the job at hand. He stood on the pitcher’s mound with a dozen sets of little eyes watching his every move, painfully aware of his own inadequacies.

  Why had he ever agreed to this? Much as he hated doing it, he’d been taking his pain pills more regularly. His aversion to needing the medication was losing ground against his desire to be the kind of man Annie could admire, the kind of uncle Tyler needed, the kind of friend Gary, Les and Irma deserved. Still, his muscles screamed in protest at every movement, and he alternated between a love for the game he’d tried hard to forget and a slight case of envy that these children could do what he couldn’t.

  He took a slow, calming breath and checked the kids to make sure they’d taken the positions he’d assigned them. The team’s ringleader, an auburn-haired, freckle-faced nine-year-old named Rusty, stood on the pitcher’s mound.

  Rusty’s hands were parked on his hips and impatience wrinkled his narrow face. “Now what?”

  Dean resisted the urge to massage his shoulder. “Now,” he shouted loud enough for everyone to hear him, “you’ll spend some time throwing the ball from one position to the other. Zachary, Zoe and Nicole need to be able to hit the pitcher’s mound from the outfield. Rusty, you need to hit each of the basemen without even thinking.”

  “I don’t want to hit anybody,” Nicole protested. “I’m not supposed to hit. And I don’t want Rusty to hit me.”

  Dean waved away her concerns. “He won’t, Nicole. I only meant that you need to get the ball to them.”

  “But I can’t throw that far.” Nicole gave her blond curls a toss and sat hard on the ground. “I don’t even want to play baseball.”

  Ah, but her parents wanted her to, and so here she was. Lucky for everyone else on the team.

  Zoe, a fellow outfielder, made no effort to hide her disgust. “You can, too, throw that far. Quit being such a big baby.” She turned to Dean with a roll of her eyes. “She’s always such a crybaby.”

  Nicole shouted something in reply. Rusty snapped at both girls to be quiet. Bobby Baker on second base got into the act by offering his opinion, and Dean turned away to check his watch. This had been one of the longest afternoons of his entire life.

  He stepped onto the field and waved his good arm over his head. “All right, team! Let’s can it, okay? Nicole, I want you to do your best. If you can’t get the ball all the way to Rusty, then throw it to…Pudge at shortstop.”

  Dean hesitated over the nickname. Why any kid would prefer to be called “Pudge” instead of Chris was beyond him, but that’s what the kid said he wanted, and who was Dean to argue? Now, if only Pudge would stand up and stop looking for shamrocks in the grass…

  Dean called him once, twice, three times before Pudge glanced up from the great shamrock hunt and blinked in surprise at hearing his name. When he realized that Dean was actually speaking to him, his dark eyes grew wide in his round face and he scratched at the buzz cut on his head. “What?”

  “Stand up, please. I need you to be ready for the ball.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we’re practicing.” Dean pulled a couple of balls from the canvas equipment bag on the ground beside him, tossed one to Rusty and said a silent prayer for a sudden rainstorm to put him out of his misery.

  Rusty caught the ball and hurled it back to Dean without even taking a breath. “Why don’t you hit the ball to us? That’s what our other coach used to do.”

  Dean caught it and lobbed it right back. “Because I’m not your other coach and you might have to get used to a few changes.”

  Rusty wound up and let the ball fly again. “But just throwing the ball around is stupid.”

  This time the ball stung Dean’s palm when he caught it. He held on to it for a few seconds, debating how to handle the challenge from a nine-year-old. He glanced at the other team members, who were watching with rapt interest—except for Pudge, who didn’t seem to care about anything but whether or not shamrocks grew behind second base.

  Dean turned away from Rusty and tossed the ball to Zachary on first base instead. “Okay, Zach, if Rusty’s not ready, we’ll let you start.”

  “Zach-a-ree,” the boy corrected him. “My name’s Zach-a-ree, not Zach.”

  “Right. I won’t make that mistake again.” Dean nodded toward the boy’s twin sister in right field. “Okay, Zachary, you throw to Zoe. Zoe, you throw to Bobby. Bobby to Nicole, and so on around the field. Pudge, stand up. We’re ready.” Dean moved toward the backstop and checked his watch again.

  Bobby sneezed violently and rubbed his eyes with both hands. “Wait a sec. I need to take a hay-fever pill before we start.”

  Of course he did. Dean dropped the ball into his glove and mopped his forehead with his sleeve. “Do you have your medicine with you?”

  Bobby started toward the short stack of bleachers at the edge of the field. “In my backpack.”

  Even so, it took five full minutes to find the box, squeeze out a pill, and choke it down with water. It took another ten minutes to get the team back into order when Bobby returned. But the short break hadn’t changed Rusty’s mind. He still wanted nothing to do with anything Dean suggested.

  He watched the ball go around the field for a few minutes, then threw down his glove and stormed away from the pitch
er’s mound. “I don’t know why they asked you to coach,” he shot at Dean as he walked away. “You stink at it.”

  Yeah? Well, Dean could’ve told him that.

  He picked up his glove and worked his hand into it. Watched as the ball hit the ground in front of Pudge and rolled away. Winced when Nicole started crying about a grass stain on her shorts. And sighed softly when another fit of sneezing cost Bobby an easy catch.

  He took Rusty’s place and spent the last few minutes of practice disobeying doctor’s orders. He couldn’t do much and his shoulder burned like hell when he was finished, but he thought a couple of the kids had made a little progress by the time practice was over, and in a strange way he felt better than he had in a long time.

  ANNIE HUMMED SOFTLY as she put away the groceries she’d picked up on a quick trip into Whistle River with Irma and Les. She’d been lucky enough to find fresh pears and blackberries at a roadside stand, which she planned to turn into individual pear charlottes with vanilla bean crème anglaise and blackberry compote—a hit at Holladay House. She hoped the guests at the Eagle’s Nest would be equally impressed by the dessert.

  She worked quickly, mindful of the time as she made room in the pantry for the few extras she’d added to the shopping list at the last minute. She had a lot of work to do before dinner, and she’d discovered long ago not to skimp on cooking time or to rush herself through preparations. She did her best to keep her mind focused on the task at hand. But ever since that near-kiss with Dean two weeks before, she’d been having serious trouble concentrating.

  She really should be glad Nessa had interrupted. Annie wasn’t ready to embark on another emotional roller coaster—and only a fool would imagine that a relationship with Dean, no matter how brief, could be anything else.

  Kissing him might have put a salve on her bruised ego, but that’s the only good that could possibly have come from it. It was nice to know that someone found her attractive, but that’s all she felt. It’s all she could possibly feel. And using Dean to bolster her spirits would be wrong.

  So why was she having such trouble putting that moment out of her mind? Why was she so painfully aware of Dean whenever he was around? And so easily distracted by daydreams when he wasn’t?

  She forced her thoughts into line and clenched her teeth to help her stay focused. She concentrated so hard that when the phone rang a few minutes later she didn’t consciously hear it until the fourth ring. When she realized that Irma must be out, she hurried out of the pantry and snagged the receiver before the caller grew tired of waiting.

  “Eagle’s Nest Dude Ranch.”

  “May I speak with Annie Holladay, please?”

  Spence’s voice on the heels of her thoughts about Dean jerked her firmly into the moment. What did he want now? Determined not to start an argument, she tried not to sound irritated. “It’s me, Spence.”

  “Don’t tell me they have you playing receptionist now?”

  “It’s not like that.” Annie stretched the phone cord toward the counter and pulled a few cans from a grocery bag. “I’m a little busy right now, so can we skip the part where you pass judgment on my decisions and go straight to your reason for calling?”

  To her surprise, Spence laughed softly. “I didn’t call to pass judgment. I called to present a business proposition.”

  Annie carried the cans toward the pantry and nudged the door open with her hip. “What kind of business proposition?”

  “I’m going to ask this again. Straight out. Come back to Chicago. Work with me, even if you don’t want to be with me.”

  Annie dropped a can of garbanzo beans dangerously close to her foot. She hopped out of the way and leaned against the door while the can rolled to the other side of the kitchen. “Are you kidding?”

  “Do I sound like I’m kidding?”

  “No. But you should be. It would never work.”

  “Why not? We’ve worked in this restaurant together for sixteen years. We ran it for twelve. For you to walk away now is just…well, it’s foolish, that’s what it is.”

  “Not from where I stand.”

  “Are you honestly going to tell me that you’re satisfied with what you’re doing now? Or that you really want to spend the rest of your life teaching people how to do the job you love?”

  Annie wanted to argue with him, but she wasn’t satisfied making meat loaf and pot roast. Dean hadn’t complained about the items she’d added to his meal plans and she’d received glowing compliments from the guests, but the artistic challenge she loved just wasn’t there. And her doubts about how happy she’d be teaching Knife Skills 101 and the Basics of Béchamel Sauce had been growing steadily.

  Spence knew her too well.

  “That’s not the point,” she managed to say after an uncomfortably long pause. “I can’t do what I was doing before.”

  “That’s exactly the point,” Spence argued. “You can. I’m offering you the chance to do what you were doing before. I’m asking you to do it.”

  “I’ve severed my ties with Holladay House. I’m not interested in moving backward.”

  “What’s backward about doing what you were meant to do?”

  Annie felt a deep-seated resentment begin to stir. As he had done too often during their marriage, Spence was blindsiding her, leaving her off balance and ill-equipped to fight back. While he presented an argument he’d perfected to a T, she had to scramble just to answer coherently.

  “What about the legal agreement?” She regretted asking the instant the question left her mouth. It sounded as if she was considering his offer.

  “The agreement can be amended in court. There’s no sane reason not to come back, Annie.”

  “There’s no sane reason to go back, Spence. You can’t really think I could come to work and see you every day, knowing that you’re going home to Catherine.”

  “Look,” Spence said, sighing heavily as he always did when something began to try his patience. “I know it wouldn’t be easy. I’m not that naive. Believe it or not, it wouldn’t be easy on me, either. Facing you every day after what I did to you…?”

  He broke off for a minute and Annie could almost see him lowering his head and cradling his forehead in his palm. “But it’s bigger than both of us, Annie. This restaurant needs both of us. We’re not children. We ought to be able to get through the rough times, just like we always have.”

  Annie opened her mouth to say no again, but Spence kept talking. “If nothing else, think about Nessa. She’s not happy with this arrangement we have, and you know it. She needs you, Annie. You’re her mother. Catherine will do her best, but she’ll be no real substitute for you.”

  Annie bit back the refusal she’d been about to offer. Damn Spence. Did he believe that? Or did he know that it was the one argument she couldn’t stand up against? She sat at the table again. “This is all coming out of left field,” she said uncertainly. “I’m not sure how I feel about it.”

  “That’s fair. At least you’re listening. Don’t answer me right now. Take your time and think it through, okay? If you decide to come back to Chicago, we’ll take the fee for breaking your contract with the institute out of the restaurant’s profits. It will be worth it.”

  “Spence—”

  “Think about it, Annie. That’s all I’m asking.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  LATER THAT EVENING, Annie sat on a camp stool near the dwindling fire and tried to savor the success of another successful meal. The guests had raved about the Dutch-oven stew and the pear charlottes, but their comments weren’t enough to satisfy her and she hated Spence for making her so aware of it.

  Earlier, after spending all afternoon caramelizing pear slices in sugar and assembling the charlottes, the blaze from the fire had seemed blistering and unwelcome. Now, with the sun behind the mountains, the temperature had dropped so dramatically, she leaned eagerly toward the flame and held out her hands for its welcome heat.

  Four more families had checked in that afternoon, an
d everyone on staff had spent the evening making sure they had everything they needed. The guests seemed pleased and Dean had been all smiles as they’d reluctantly wandered away from the fire to retire for the night.

  But Spence’s phone call had left Annie distracted and jumpy all evening—and painfully aware that a full month had gone by and her plans to spend the summer bonding with Nessa were going up in smoke. If Nessa wasn’t busy, Annie was. If Annie had a free moment, Tyler was being especially charming and Nessa just couldn’t tear herself away.

  She glanced at Dean, who stood across the clearing with Gary discussing plans for the next day. Irma and Les had disappeared, presumably back to Whistle River for the night. She searched for Nessa and found her walking toward the far edge of the clearing with Tyler. Nessa had stopped complaining about boredom, but her growing closeness to Tyler was starting to concern Annie.

  What had started as friendship was quickly becoming something more. Annie’s feelings for Dean made her even more aware of the sparks flying between Nessa and Tyler, and at Nessa’s age, sparks could be dangerous.

  Suddenly eager to have some control over some aspect of their lives, Annie called out. Both kids stopped walking and turned back toward her as if they were joined at the waist.

  Nessa leaned forward slightly and peered through the dark. “What, Mom?”

  “I’m about ready to go back up to the lodge. Do you want to walk with me?”

  Even in the dark, Annie could sense Nessa’s frown of disapproval. “Not now. We’re going for a walk.”

  “In the woods? This late?”

  Nessa glanced at the trees behind her. “Um…yeah.”

  Annie tried not to sound unduly worried. “Would you come here for a minute before you go?”

  Nessa hesitated, waited for Tyler’s reaction, then trudged back across the clearing with Tyler a step behind. When they reached the flat stone circle Dean had built around the fire pit, Tyler held back.