She nodded. “Yesterday. They approved the additional time and we agreed on some work I could do from here. I’ll start compiling data for a trend study and— There you go again,” she said, her tone laced with exasperation.
“What are you talking about?”
“Your intimidating scowl,” she clarified, sounding not the least intimidated. “You do that when I talk about work. What do you have against actuaries?”
The corner of his mouth kicked up as he admitted, “Darlin’, I’m not even sure what an actuary is.” Although he’d overhead a joke in line at the bank once, that an actuary was an accountant, “but without the personality.”
Instead of sharing that, Sam gestured toward the coffeemaker. “You know a watched pot never brews, right? How about I scramble us some eggs while we’re waiting?” It seemed only fair. She’d made soup for him on Monday; then when he’d got in last night he’d found a note directing him to dinner leftovers that were easily microwaved. Turned out, Lorelei was a damned fair cook.
“I appreciate the offer,” she said, “but I’ll pass on the sit-down breakfast. Ava will be here soon and I still need to fix my hair and get dressed.” She glanced down at her tank top, and Sam couldn’t help following her gaze. Water droplets from her freshly washed hair had made the ivory material translucent in a few places, just enough to tantalize a man’s imagination. “Finish getting dressed, I mean.”
“Yeah.” His voice sounded like a gravel road. And I have no business going down that road. “I’ll, uh, pour you a cup to go as soon as its ready.”
“Thanks. I should have been drying my hair instead of standing here. Guess I was hoping I could breathe in caffeinated fumes to help get me going.”
She brushed by him, smelling like an exotic flower blooming in the sun—her shampoo or some sort of body wash she’d slathered over her curves? With a hard swallow, Sam realized he no longer needed the coffee to get him going this morning.
AVA BEAMED AT HER FROM the driver’s seat and Lorelei bit the inside of her cheek to keep from spouting statistics about how many wrecks resulted from people not keeping their eyes on the road. “I’m just so happy you’re staying!”
“For the festival,” Lorelei reiterated. Keep your eyes on the road! “Not permanently.”
Ava pursed her lips. “We’ll see. After all, you didn’t think you were staying for the festival, either.”
Lorelei sighed. “There’s a big difference between taking a week off work and uprooting my life. I don’t belong here, Ava.”
At that, the woman jerked her entire head around to gape. “How can you say that?”
“Ava, would you like me to drive? After all, you made the trip clear to San’tone for me. Seems only fair for me to drive us back.”
“Nonsense. My car can be a little quirky sometimes.” She patted the dashboard affectionately. “No one understands her like I do. And stop trying to change the subject, missy. Why would you say you don’t belong? This was home your entire life. People love your family in these parts.”
They loved Mom. And I’m nothing like her. But Lorelei couldn’t say that without crushing Ava, who was childless herself and probably did love Lorelei. The older woman just didn’t seem to know she was in the minority.
Lorelei stared out the window, wondering what she would do differently if she had the chance. Come visit her mother, obviously. But that in and of itself wouldn’t have been enough to change anything. What should I have said to her? Lorelei had tried as an adolescent to explain her feelings to her mother, who’d always offered a vacant smile and assured Lorelei that one day she’d understand.
“Ava, did you ever disagree with Mom?”
“What, you mean like fight with her?” Ava gave a startled frown. “Of course not. Your mother wasn’t one for conflict. She was a gentle soul.”
Lorelei sighed. Gentle? In this case, the apple had fallen so far from the tree, she’d landed in a neighboring orchard. Back in her teen years, she’d been fiercely competitive in her bid for valedictorian. And as recently as Monday, she’d wanted to throttle those two ghost-hunting strangers. Nor did “gentle” describe the way she’d argued with Sam the night before his trail ride. She caught her lower lip between her teeth. She’d been having less-than-gentle thoughts about Sam this morning, too. Not that they’d been arguing.
Maybe it was her morning-brain, often foggy before her first mug of the day, but had there been a moment when the tall cowboy had been undressing her with his eyes? Heat had spiraled through her, leaving her flushed and unsure how to react. One possibility? Pushing him up against the refrigerator and asking him to satisfy her curiosity about his kiss.
“You okay, hon?” Ava’s maternal tone was like a well-timed bucket of cold water.
Lorelei couldn’t believe she was allowing herself to fantasize about Sam at all, much less in Ava’s presence. It was like making out in front of your parents.
“Missing your mother?” Ava asked.
The sympathetic question multiplied Lorelei’s guilt exponentially. “I, ah, actually wasn’t thinking about her just now.”
“Oh?” The woman waited a beat. “Come on, tell Aunt Ava. You’ll feel better.”
“My mind drifted to Sam,” Lorelei mumbled. “I barely know the guy but, for all intents and purposes, I’m living with him. The situation is…” Sexually frustrating? “Tense. Sometimes.”
Ava cut her gaze toward the passenger seat. “You aren’t still mad at him for inheriting the inn, are you? Now that he’s giving it to you?”
“I wouldn’t say mad, exactly.”
“Is this why you asked if I ever fought with your mom? You think she left Sam the place because of some argument you and she had?”
“No, nothing like that.”
What Ava said earlier about Wanda veering away from conflict had been entirely true. The closest mother and daughter had come to outright disagreements in over a decade was when Wanda had stubbornly decided that Lorelei needed to come home for this festival, which had been unlike her. And, after hearing Sam’s abbreviated tale of his childhood—a veritable orphan with no mother and home to call his own—Lorelei could even understand why Wanda might feel moved to leave him the inn. Lorelei was still shocked that he’d told her about his upbringing, trusting her with something that had to sting even though he said it no longer mattered. She had firsthand experience with how the past could wield power long after you’d moved on with your life.
“I need a drink,” Lorelei blurted. She was half joking, rarely the type to indulge. Her favorite self-attributes were a calculator-like mind and control over unruly emotions and baser instincts. Alcohol tended to diminish those.
“Well, we are passing an entire string of vineyards,” Ava said.
Oops. Lorelei didn’t want “Aunt Ava” to think she’d turned into a lush since moving off to Philadelphia. “I was kidding.”
“I wasn’t.”
“But don’t you have sewing to do for the festival?” It had been Ava’s idea to start their trip early, so she’d still have the afternoon to work.
“Festival doesn’t start until Saturday.” Ava lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I’ll get up a couple of hours early tomorrow. Or stay up an extra few tonight. Let’s be impractical.”
With effort, Lorelei managed not to shudder at the suggestion. Impractical was too close to careless, an invitation to risk.
“We can pull over, try out some local labels and toast your mother’s memory,” Ava coaxed. “Our version of an old-fashioned Irish wake.”
“But you’re driving.”
“We’ll wait until close to town and call Clinton to pick us up—you know there are at least four good places within spitting distance of the inn. What do you say, Lorelei? Your mother always worried you worked too hard and didn�
��t do enough to enjoy yourself. When was the last time you let your hair down?”
Lorelei reflexively fingered her tight French braid. “I suppose a glass or two won’t hurt.”
SAM ENJOYED PHYSICAL labor. Normally, he could lose himself in the routine of whatever task he completed and wind up pleasantly exhausted from an honest day’s work. But today’s chores of painting, checking some wiring and changing lightbulbs in hard-to-reach fixtures and repairing rain gutters weren’t demanding enough. While his body was busy at the Jalapeño, his mind wandered back to Lorelei. He kept remembering how alluring she’d looked fresh from the shower…although he might have added a few embellishments over the course of the day. He may have pictured even more water spots dotting her tank top before she’d covered it with a gauzy button-down blouse, may have imagined more heated interest in her dark eyes.
He was so focused on Lorelei that Grace had to say his name twice to get his attention, and he jerked himself out of his fantasies with a start—not a smart move for a guy on a ladder.
Grace smiled at him. “I really appreciate everything you’ve done, but we open for dinner in a couple of hours.” During other times of the year, the restaurant was open for lunch as well, but since she was currently busy with the highly publicized cooking contest going on right now, she hadn’t been opening until four each afternoon.
He should clean up his tools and get out of the way. “Be right down. This was the last bulb.”
She glanced around her and gave a rueful shake of her head. “Considering some of the cracked booth seats and broken tiles that still need replacing, maybe I shouldn’t have added more light. Dim makes for better ambience.”
He descended onto the floor next to her. “Grace, your enchiladas would be delicious even if guests had to sit in the dark on three-legged chairs.” That was the truth, not empty flattery. But no matter how good a cook she was, he knew she was struggling to keep the place open.
He packed up all his stuff and set out a couple of Wet Paint signs, although he’d done the trim work when he first arrived so everything would be mostly dry before patrons began arriving.
“Thank you again,” Grace said as she passed him an envelope of cash. He’d quoted the lowest possible price he thought her pride would accept. “I just wish I could afford bigger changes instead of small patch jobs.”
“Hang in there,” he advised. “Once you win that hotshot competition, you might be able to fix the place up more.” He’d overheard enough other people talking about it to realize winning would be a big deal for Grace.
When Sam got back to the bed-and-breakfast, he wondered if Lorelei was inside. Now that her rental car had been returned, there was no way to tell. Not that it mattered. On the nights when she was locked away reading pages of facts and statistics or harassing coworkers by phone, he might as well be alone at the inn. Considering how preoccupied he’d been with her all day, maybe it was best if their paths didn’t cross.
He unlocked the back door and stepped inside, resisting an insane urge to call out “Honey, I’m home.”
The kitchen was empty, the house quiet.
Sam ignored a brief stab of disappontment and went down the hallway and stopped at the living room, surprised by the sight of two feet hanging over the arm of the couch. One sandal dangled precariously from the wearer’s toes; its mate had already lost the battle with gravity.
“Lorelei?”
“Mmm?”
He walked around the piece of furniture and found not only his roommate reclined across the sofa, but also a purring Oberon curled up on her abdomen. Lorelei lazily scratched between the cat’s ears. Sam was stunned by the cozy picture they made, but had to admit, if he were lying on top of her, he might consider purring, too. He blinked hard, as if he could unsee the mental image now stuck in his head.
She opened one eye, smiled up at Sam, then closed it again. Dark tendrils had slipped loose from her braid, framing her face softly. “Hey. You back from a hard day of riding the range?”
“Actually, I was working closer to oven ranges today. Appears that you two made friends while I was gone.” Although Sam and Oberon were back on amicable terms after the cat’s bedspread sabotage, Oberon continued to act as if he were doing Sam a huge favor whenever he allowed the human to pet him.
“Turns out, Obie’s not so bad after all,” Lorelei cooed. “You just have to know how to rub him.”
“Uh-huh. So. You look…relaxed.” He could have said comatose except for the rhythmic swinging of her foot and the dreamy half smile on her face. There was a day spa one block over; had she gone for a massage?
She arched her back in a full body stretch that made Sam’s throat go dry and disturbed the cat, who hopped off the couch with a mew. Her transparent ivory blouse showed off her graceful arms and the swell of her chest beneath the thin tank top. Lorelei sat, frowning as she looked down. “Shoot, now I have cat hair on me.” She set her hands just below the collar and ran them down over her body, and Sam forced himself to look away. He should mention that she needed brisker motions to brush off any fur—the slow slide of her fingers wasn’t accomplishing anything. Or at least, not what she’d been trying to accomplish.
“Ava took me to a wine-tasting. Several tastings, actually.” Lorelei rolled her neck, then leaned back against the couch’s headrest. She frowned. “Think we missed lunch, though.”
“Ava got you drunk?” he asked disbelievingly.
Lorelei’s frown deepened, making her look more like herself and simultaneously making it easier for him to breathe. “Of course not! I do not get drunk. I just feel…” Her pinched expression faded into a slow grin. “Really loose.”
Sam could hear his uncle’s voice in his head. Before JD went out to dance halls or bars on the weekend, as he applied aftershave and tightened his belt, he’d always pronounced, “Thank the Lord for Lone Star Beer and loose women.” It had been his version of “Thank God it’s Friday.”
“You do not wear expensive suits.”
“What?” Sam mentally replayed the last few minutes of conversation, trying to make sure he hadn’t tuned out while reminding himself that Lorelei was in no interpretation of the word a loose woman.
Lorelei jabbed a finger at him. “I know a lot of good-looking men who wear expensive suits.”
“Like your boyfriend, Rick?” he asked sourly. If she thought clothes made the man, her priorities were more whacked than he’d thought.
“Yes. No. Yes, Rick. No, he’s not my boyfriend. But he does look very good in a suit.”
“How nice for him,” Sam snarled. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to grab a shower, so—”
“Some of those businessmen?” She was still pointing her index finger for emphasis. “I think they need the suit to look that good. You don’t.”
Sam’s jaw dropped at the unexpected compliment. He glanced down at the faded T-shirt he wore and the old jeans, now smattered with specks of paint. Then he looked back to her, hit full force by the avid admiration in her gaze. He wanted to express his own appreciation by leaning in to kiss her…except that her mouth was still curled in that crooked, non-Lorelei smile. She might not be flat-out inebriated, but she wasn’t entirely herself right now, either. And he needed to get them away from this inn, with its many rooms and many, many beds.
“You know what?” He retreated slowly, as if she were a wild animal that might pounce the moment his back was turned. I should be so lucky. “I think you could use some food in your system. And as it happens, I know a great restaurant.”
Chapter Eight
After his shower, Sam changed into clothes not decorated with paint smears. When he went back downstairs, he found Lorelei in the kitchen gulping a glass of water.
He couldn’t help grinning at her. “You need some aspirin to go with that?”
“No, I’m good.” She scowled. “Not that I’m philosophically opposed to taking medicine when it would help me. I just don’t happen to need any right now.”
He raised an eyebrow at her emphatic tone and bizarre words but didn’t pry. “Ever eaten at The Twisted Jalapeño?”
“Nope.”
“It may have been called something else before, but I know it’s been in the Torres family for years. You like Mexican?”
“Sounds fantastic. I probably should have eaten earlier today,” she said sheepishly. “That’s the last time I go wine-tasting on an empty stomach.”
They walked out to his vehicle together, the gravel crunching under their feet. He opened the passenger door for her and she almost stumbled trying to step up into the truck.
“I’m guessing you’re more used to luxury sedans.” His words were involuntary and sounded too judgmental to be mistaken for lighthearted ribbing.
She glared over her shoulder. “I’ll have you know that my little two-door is completely paid for and I intend to drive it until the wheels fall off.”
As he walked around the truck to his own side, he chastised himself. While this might not technically be a date, she deserved some measure of charm—or, at least, not open hostility. He climbed into the truck and flipped the key in the ignition. A rock song blared out of the speakers, making both of them jump. He turned the volume knob as quickly as he could.
“Sorry about that.” On the way home, he’d been trying to drown out his own thoughts. Plus, the radio had been playing a song he really liked.
Lorelei rubbed her ear. “Aren’t you required by law to listen to country music in your truck?”
He laughed. “I’ll make a deal with you. How about we leave our stereotypes here with Oberon and go to dinner—just you and me?”
“I’d like that, Sam. I think I’d like that a lot.”
Claimed by a Cowboy Page 8
