Moorehouse Legacy: Beauty and the Black Sheep Part 8

One thing was clear. The man was a h.e.l.l of a chef. Tonight's coq au vin was so good Mr. Little had sent his regards to the chef. The man had actually been smiling with satisfaction as he'd pushed back his chair at the end of the meal. Even his wife seemed to relax as if the pin was back in the grenade.

Their other diners had similar reactions. Mr. and Mrs. Barclay came in from town for their anniversary dinner and commented that Chuck's skills had dramatically improved. When Frankie told them there was a new chef who'd come from New York, they'd been suitably impressed. And given Mrs. Barclay's penchant for talking, it was a good bet phones would be ringing all around Saranac Lake with the news. Thank G.o.d.

As she got to the head of the stairs, Frankie was wis.h.i.+ng that someone else could floss and brush her teeth for her when Nate stepped out of the bathroom.

Not exactly the someone she was looking for, she thought.

He'd changed into a Boston Red Sox T-s.h.i.+rt and had a towel draped around his neck. His smile was casual. His eyes were not.

"I thought you'd never come upstairs," he said, as if he'd been waiting for her.

She began to struggle for words, especially as his smile widened. Being tongue-tied was a new one for her, but around him, she was getting used to it. Tragically.

"You work too hard, Frances. Good night." He turned away and went down to his room.

She felt as if she'd been left behind, somehow.

Which was crazy, she told herself. You couldn't be left if you were in your own home. And the person in question was just across the hall. And you didn't want to be with him, anyway.

Oh, h.e.l.l, she thought, shutting herself in the bathroom. She was still muttering under her breath when she came back out, turned off the hall light, and headed for her room.

Nate's door was open and she paused in front of it. To do otherwise would have required a disciplined purpose she seemed to have left downstairs in her office.

He was sitting up in bed, back against the wall, legs kicked out. A book was open on his lap and he looked up from it with a grin as if he'd set a trap that had worked. That spider/fly parlor saying flared in her head and she was about to mutter a quick good-night when his hand crept to the side of his neck and he scratched.

"Didn't you put calamine on that?" She looked over at the bag that she'd put on his dresser. It was unopened.

"No. I forgot."

Frankie went over and took out the pink bottle. "Put this on and the itching won't keep you up all night."

But when she held the lotion out to him, he merely tilted his neck.

"Would you mind doing the honors? I have a feeling you'll do a better job."

"I'm not a nurse."

"And we're not really talking about brain surgery here, are we?" He smiled more widely and she noticed that one of his front teeth had a very good cap on it. "Please?"

Grabbing a couple of tissues from a box, she cracked open the bottle and tipped it over. Gently, she dabbed his skin with the chalky pink lotion.

"Mmm." The sound he made was something between a moan and a sigh. He closed his eyes and leaned towards her. "That feels great."

She paused, thinking she wished he wouldn't say anything. And no more noises, either, please.

"Are you finished already?" he asked. His voice was a low growl, husky and deep. She imagined what it would sound like in her ear when he kissed her on the neck.

"Ah, no."

Frankie snapped into action, going back and forth between the bottle and the inflamed blisters until the job was done. When she pulled away, he opened his eyes.

"Thanks."

"It doesn't look like it's spreading." She tossed the tissue into the trash can across the room and put the cap on the bottle.

"Good shot." He was looking at her, with speculation in his eyes. "You mind if I ask how old you are?"

"Yes, but I have nothing to hide. I'm thirty-one."

"And how long have you been running this place?"

She hesitated, not wanting to get into particulars with him. His questions about her past had disturbed her earlier in the day. At night, alone with him, they felt even more intrusive.

She turned away and headed for the hall, thinking there was no way the conversation could continue with her out of the room.

"Good night, Nate."

"Wait-"

She shut her door on his question and the searching look on his handsome face but a moment later, she heard a soft knock. Pivoting around, she grabbed the k.n.o.b and opened wide, shooting him the level stare that usually got her what she wanted from people.

Which was to be left alone.

"Yes?"

He smiled, utterly impervious to her warning signals. "I don't mean to pry."

"Yes, you do."

Nate smiled. "You're very blunt. I like that in a woman."

"It's a handy trait to have. Especially if you're being hara.s.sed."

"Is that really what you think I'm doing?"

She looked down. He put her on edge and she resented it, but not enough to keep up the lie she'd started.

"I just don't understand why," she said softly. "I'm not..."

She pushed her hair back as if the gesture of exposing her face would explain what she didn't want to put into words. It was hard to say she was plain, even though it was a truth she'd come to accept.

He reached out, cupping her chin gently. "Not what?"

She felt him taking off her gla.s.ses. With nothing to hide her eyes, she felt as naked as if she'd left all her clothes in the bathroom.

"Not what?" he repeated.

"Like Joy." It was as close as she could come.

"I know." He stroked her cheek with the pad of his thumb.

"So why are you pretending that you find me so interesting?"

He leaned in close and she felt his lips brush against her cheek as he spoke. "I'm not pretending."

She thought about putting her arms around his neck and pulling him into her bedroom. But then she pictured the morning after. The awkwardness because she'd hope it was a beginning and not an ending. The strained politeness because he'd gotten what he'd wanted and now had to pretend to be nice so he didn't feel like a complete a.s.s. She'd done that G.o.d-awful dance once before and the only thing remotely bearable about it then had been the fact that the guy was from out of town. Nate worked for her. Was supposed to be at White Caps for the whole summer. The last thing she wanted was to be reminded daily of another bad decision when it came to men. She was already pretending everything was fine with the business around her family. Did she really want to have to put on an act about her love life, too?

She stared up into his eyes and tried to read the future in the flecks of green and gold.

Pulling back, she reached for her gla.s.ses and thought there was a d.a.m.n fine line between self-preservation and cowardice. "I think it's best that we not take things any further."

"I'm sure you're right."

"Good. I'm glad we agree."

"We don't." He smiled slowly. "What's life without a little excitement? Risk?"

Easy for him to say.

She pointed across the room, trying to ignore his charm the same way he disregarded her ire. "You want a charge? There's an electrical socket over there. I'm sure we can find something metal for you to stick into it."

He was laughing as he grabbed her hand and put it on his heart. "And if I go into cardiac arrest, will you revive me?"

"I'd call 911. And pray that two men with garlic breath come to save you."

She tried to turn away but he held on. "I just want to know one more thing."

"Somehow I doubt that." She firmly removed her hand and crossed her arms over her chest.

"When was the last time you went out on a date?"

"Do you ever give up?" She started to shut the door.

"You didn't answer my question," he said, putting his body in the way.

"Why do I have to?"

"It's generally considered polite."

"Even if someone's being nosy?"

"I'm not nosy. I have a reason for wanting to know. Nosy is much more gratuitous."

"Look, you're being paid to cook here. That's it. So unless you've got questions about supplies or the kitchen, everything else is none of your business."

His eyebrow c.o.c.ked.

"You're one tough lady, aren't you?" He was talking to himself, his eyes narrowed, a.s.sessing.

Frankie had to laugh. "Right now, I'm tired. My feet hurt. I just want to go to sleep. If that's your version of tough, you've nailed me dead to rights, but I think you need to check the dictionary. The rest of the world thinks the word means something else."

She pushed at him, but it was like trying to budge a parked car.

"Are you going to answer my question?"

"Fine. Sure." She kicked up her chin. "My life's one long party. Calendar's so packed I have the men come with name tags otherwise I forget who they are. Yippee."

"Well, if you can fit it in, how'd you like to go out somewhere with me?" He smiled casually, but she wasn't fooled. His eyes had that purposeful look in them she was beginning to recognize all too well.

She couldn't believe she'd mistaken him for an aimless drifter. The guy didn't have a wayward bone in his body.

"h.e.l.l," she murmured.

"Not exactly the response I was hoping for. Doesn't answer the question, either."

"I just have a feeling that's where I'm headed if I get involved with you," she said, pulling away.

"Why's that?"

"Good night, Nate."

"I'm not going to give up, you know."

"Do you always come on this strong?"

He traced her lips with his eyes, in what was apparently becoming a habit for him. "When I find something I want, absolutely."

"Then it's going to be a long, lonely summer for you."

This time, he let her shut the door.

Leaning back against the panels, she closed her eyes and let herself enjoy a stolen moment of insanity. She imagined that instead of shutting him out, she'd let him come in. Let him take off her clothes and lay her down on the bed- "It's going to be good between us." Nate's voice came through the wood, right next to her ear. "I promise you."

Frankie jumped like she was the one with a finger in the socket. She stuck her head out in the hall, ready to tell him to go back to his room, but his door was just clicking into place.

So it was hard to know if he'd meant her to hear him or not. And she had to wonder whether the words he'd spoken were an empty entreaty or a vow.

Getting into bed, she pondered the two possibilities until all she thought about was the dark, starving expression on his face when he'd stared at her. The image was inescapable and her body temperature soared. Smoldering, she proceeded to kick off her comforter, her blanket and her socks. She opened the window a little further and then got the box fan out of the closet. She put it on her bedside table and tuned it up so it blew great gusts over her skin.

She'd probably have had better luck if she'd just put her head down on her desk and slept in her office. She might have woken up with a paper clip or two stuck to her forehead, but surely that would have been better than trying to find REM sleep in a wind tunnel.

Nate got up with the sun, pulled on an old pair of cutoff jeans and went looking for a ladder. He wasn't interested in the step variety he'd run into the day before in the pantry. He was looking for the real deal, the house painter's kind, the dual layer, extendomatic, break-your-head, trip-to-the-Emergency-Room special. The Big Daddy of ladders.And White Caps being what it was, he was confident he'd find one somewhere. He'd learned in the past forty-eight hours that the barn and the house's cellar were repositories for all manner of things. You had to wonder how a WWI bazooka, a gin distillery and a printing press came to be housed under the same roof.

Then again, maybe that did make sense.

It took twenty minutes and a brush with a spider the size of his head to find the ladder of his dreams. Grabbing a screwdriver from a toolbox, he took the aluminum nightmare over to the spot where he and Frankie had argued over lawn mowing duties. Tipping it up, he extended the thing as quietly as he could, but it was like whispering in church. The sounds were amplified by the silence around him and he felt like he was putting a jackhammer to the side of the house instead of carefully inching the rungs up to the broken gutter.

He was supposed to be helping Frankie, not tuning Mr. Little up for another explosion she'd have to smooth over. And Nate could have waited until people were awake, but he knew she would insist on helping him or doing it herself so he was willing to take the risk.