Mulberry Moon

by Catherine Anderson

  “There’s more than one way to skin a cat,” he told her, his tone laced with suppressed laughter. “I’ll turn my back while you strip off and put your clothes in the machine. You can run upstairs and shower. I’ll wait here. When you’re clean and dressed, come downstairs, holler at me, and go into the kitchen. If you promise not to peek, I’ll strip off, start the washing machine, and go upstairs to grab a shower myself.”

  It sounded like a workable plan, except for one detail. “But after you shower, you’ll have nothing clean to put on. You won’t fit into anything of mine.”

  “Got it covered. I’ll call Jeb and have him drop off a set of clothes for me. When he gets here, you can take them upstairs and put them on the floor just inside your apartment door.”

  Sissy considered her options and realized she had no others. “And I’m supposed to feel certain you won’t peek?”

  The corners of that distractingly sexy mouth twitched. She suspected he was making a huge effort to control a guffaw. “I give you my word that I won’t look while you undress. I guess it’s a question of whether you trust me, Sissy.”

  Sissy’s mouth popped open to tell him she’d learned as a teenager never to trust any guy, no matter what he said. She shut it again immediately. The word trust always did that to her. She’d made only a few exceptions during the years since high school. Except for Gus, her last boss, who’d tutored her over the phone while she learned to cook in a commercial kitchen, and a couple of guys she’d worked with who hadn’t done her dirty, nearly all her personal encounters with men had been disasters, and she wasn’t going to add Ben to the list. No way in this world.

  Deep down, though, she knew that wasn’t fair. He’d worked hard for her and he’d been paid with only food. Before burying her chickens, he’d shown her a depth of compassion and caring that had touched her heart. And honestly, with her covered from head to toe in lice powder, what man in his right mind would make a move on her?

  This one, something inside her insisted. This one.

  “All right,” she agreed. “Turn your back. All the way around.”

  He turned to stare at the wall, which bore hooks for drying clothing on hangers. “No threats? I figured you’d tell me that if I look, you’ll drown me in bleach or shove my head through a wall.”

  Sissy felt a grin tug at her mouth. “No violent threats. You’re on your honor. You said you won’t peek. I’m trusting you to keep your word. If you don’t, you’ve had your last piece of green apple pie with cheese.”

  “Damn. I can’t risk that.” He sighed, spread his booted feet, and put his hands on his hips. Even dusted pure white, he cut a fabulous outline. Now she knew for sure where the old adage broad at the shoulders and narrow at the hip had come from. “I hate it when a woman trusts me. It spoils all my fun.”

  Sissy jerked open the door of the front loader and began tossing in articles of clothing as she undressed. “Don’t move,” she reminded him. Okay, she felt nervous. And jumpy. It felt all wrong to be getting naked with him in the room. What if he suddenly turned on her? She doubted anyone would hear if she screamed for help. But, of course, he didn’t turn, and she silently scolded herself for thinking he might. She’d been around Ben enough to know he wasn’t like that.

  “Okay, I’m going up to shower,” she told him, glad that she’d locked the front door of the café and put up the CLOSED sign. “I’ll let you know the minute I get back downstairs.”

  “Leave your shoes,” he said. “While you’re showering, I’ll give them a hot rinse to remove any larvae.”

  “Okay.”

  Sissy darted from the storage room area and took a sharp right to race up the stairs. Once in her apartment, she released a pent-up breath. She’d kept her eye on him, and he’d never once turned his head, not even slightly. Imagine that: a guy who honored a promise.

  She wasn’t sure if she was pleased or disappointed. For her, the bottom line was that Ben’s trustworthiness made him all the more tempting, and she wasn’t sure how much longer she could resist him.

  * * *

  Ben felt better after showering. His brother Jeb had dropped off clothes for him. He and Jeb were of the same height and build, so the borrowed threads fit him perfectly. His boots were still damp from the good rinse he’d given them, but he could live with that.

  As he finger-combed his hair in front of Sissy’s bathroom mirror, he sniffed and grinned. He smelled of lavender, probably from her soap. Oh, well, he’d shower again before bed.

  Ben had never been given to snooping, but Sissy’s bathroom was so tidy that he couldn’t resist opening the medicine cabinet. His was a mess; hers was the epitome of neat and organized. He turned, taking in her neatly folded red towels, which hung on a chrome rack. One felt slightly damp, telling him that she’d used it to dry off after her shower. He’d rented motel rooms less tidy than this.

  On his way from the bathroom, he surveyed her bedroom. Again, all he saw was orderly and neat. Her small living room impressed him, too. The surfaces of her coffee and end tables shone as if they’d recently been polished. Her entertainment center, also dust-free, sported an assortment of organized DVDs, all in their cases. He leaned closer and thought, Yep. In alphabetical order. He always left his remote sitting on his recliner, but hers lived next to her TV, perfectly lined up at the edge of the stand. Hmm. He had to face it; he was extremely attracted to a neat freak.

  She was also one of the sweetest individuals he’d ever met, and the better he got to know her, the more convinced he became that he’d finally found Miss Right. Today she had struggled not to cry, but she’d forfeited the battle by allowing one tear to slip down her cheek. When she looked at Blackie, her eyes reflected her fondness of him. She was a person who felt things deeply yet tried to hide that fact. She worked her tail off in that café, and yet he’d never once heard her complain. After so many hours of standing, her feet had to hurt at night, but she never grumped about it.

  For a little gal, she had a lot of pride and strength of character. He admired those traits in almost anyone. In short, he admired Sissy. It had pleased him earlier when she’d trusted him not to look while she undressed. He was making headway with her. Slow and steady wins the race. The problem was, he wanted to step up the pace. Considerably.

  The café was filled with customers when Ben went downstairs. Before trying to find a seat at the counter, he went to the laundry room and threw the freshly washed clothing into the dryer. As he turned the knob to start the machine, he decided to forget his clothes. That would give him an excuse to come back one extra time, and he’d be sure to do it when her business was slow so he could spend a few moments alone with her.

  Shit. He was in trouble.

  Back out front, he found one vacant stool at the bar next to the street-side window. He was glad to be tucked away where Sissy might not notice him at first. She had been through a long and trying day, both physically and emotionally. He intended to stay after she closed to help her clean up and do breakfast prep. She wouldn’t like it. But if he left her to do all the work alone, he’d like that even less.

  When she spotted him at the counter, she missed a step, almost coming to a stop. Their gazes locked. For an instant, the loud hum of voices around them seemed to disappear, making Ben feel as if he and Sissy were the only two people in the café. He could have sworn that the air between them was charged with some weird electricity that no one but them could feel.

  Then, as if it never happened, the moment was gone, and she reached the counter. “What’ll it be tonight?”

  He wanted to say, You. Nothing else but you. But he knew she wasn’t ready. That felt weird to him, too. Nowadays women quite often went to bed with men they barely knew. “What do you recommend?”

  “The meat loaf is getting rave reviews, and a number of people are saying the beef bourguignon is the best they’ve ever tasted.”

  She p
ronounced it bur-gey-non, definitely an English butchery of the French word, but Ben didn’t care. Sissy’s knowledge bank, though different from his own, enabled her to cook like few other people he’d met. She had her talents, he had his, and all he wanted was to meet her somewhere in the middle.

  No maybe to it—he was falling hard for her. And that scared him. What if she could never return his feelings?

  * * *

  Two hours later when Sissy argued with Ben about him staying at the café after closing to help her, he said, “Think of training me in the kitchen as a form of insurance. If something ever happens and you need help, I’ll know your routine.”

  “Cooking for yourself at home is not the same as cooking in an industrial kitchen. If something happens, you can’t take over running this place for me.”

  Ben enjoyed it when her eyes sparked with indignation. They grew as blue as laser beams. “You might be surprised by how much I know about industrial kitchens.”

  “Don’t tell me. You flipped burgers at McDonald’s in high school.”

  “Um—have you seen a McDonald’s in this town? We’re talking about Mystic Creek, where chains never set foot.”

  “You’re changing the subject. If not at McDonald’s, where did you get experience cooking with commercial equipment?”

  “As a rodeo stockbroker, I helped cook at large ranches with industrial equipment during events. Granted, I don’t know how to make your menu of dishes, but if I had recipes, I think I could manage. Besides, I’m not cooking tonight. I’m just helping with cleanup and breakfast prep. Relax. Go get my poor, freezing, abused dog and feed him some dinner.”

  * * *

  Sissy went to get Finn. Before returning to the café, she stepped inside the lighted coop to check on the two hens that had looked weak that afternoon. She half expected to find them dead, but instead, though still huddled near the feeders and looking listless, they were alive and appeared to be no sicker. That lightened her heart.

  “The two listless hens are still alive,” she told Ben as she joined him at the prep counter. “Maybe I won’t lose any more chickens.”

  “Maybe,” he agreed, but there was a note of doubt in his tone. “Just don’t bank on it, okay? You may lose several more. I hope not, but we’ve done all we can, and some of the sicker ones are up against bad odds.”

  “If you’re so sure more of them are going to die, why don’t you just go out and dig several extra graves then?” Sissy knew she sounded waspish and wanted to call back the words. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t take it out on you. It’s just—damn it. Life is so unfair. One time—just one time—why can’t I be lucky?”

  Ben stopped chopping onions. “You’ve never gotten lucky, not even once?”

  “Well, Aunt Mabel did leave me the café.” Sissy felt ashamed for not counting her blessings. “I did get lucky then. But that’s the only time.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice so low it moved over her skin like a caress. “Life hasn’t been easy for you, has it?”

  Dangerous ground, Sissy thought. But for once, she didn’t care. “No, it hasn’t. I know it’s crazy to love my chickens so much, but they’re the only pets I’ve ever had for any length of time.”

  “Then don’t give up,” he said. “They could all pull through. As long as you understand the odds, there’s no harm in hoping.”

  “Oh, yes, there is. Every time I hope for something, I get kicked in the teeth.”

  He said nothing more, and Sissy regretted everything she had said, so she took refuge in silence as she grated hills of cheddar cheese. As the minutes passed, the tension slipped from her body. Ben brought a huge package of bacon from the cooler and began laying out slices on stackable racks so they’d be easy to access during breakfast rush. With a start, she realized they had developed a rhythm while they worked together and that she had come to enjoy it. What would she do when her debt to him was paid and he no longer came for meals? She would miss seeing him.

  Finn, satiated and drowsy, fell asleep on the floor at the end of the kitchen. When Sissy had to step around him, he didn’t so much as twitch. That told her a lot about his master. Finn trusted Ben never to hurt him. He’d grown from puppyhood in an environment of kindness and caring. Maybe she’d finally met a man who was as nice as he pretended to be.

  Don’t even go there, she told herself.

  * * *

  Over the next week and a half, Sissy’s hens began to recover. She wondered if it was some sort of omen. Maybe her luck was changing.

  Ben continued to stay after closing to help her in the kitchen. Every night after he left, Sissy told herself that would be the last time and she would put a stop to it the following evening. But she didn’t. Slowly they moved beyond merely working in tandem with each other. Before she knew it, Ben began taking the initiative to start tasks on his own during breakfast prep, which allowed her to do something else. That resulted in the work getting done in half the time it took her to do it alone.

  And somehow, without her even realizing it was happening, she began to relax around the only man who had ever made her feel that he had the power to break her heart. They joked. They laughed. He entertained her with funny stories about his childhood, even though she never shared any of her own. Sometimes she was tempted to make something up. He had to have noticed that she didn’t reciprocate with personal information, but thankfully he hadn’t made an issue of it.

  Sissy dreaded the night when he would come in to eat the last dinner that she owed him. Silly, she told herself. She’d still see him every now and again. But it would be different when he came to the café as a paying customer. And she couldn’t continue to let him help her without paying him. She couldn’t afford that if she intended to remodel the café. Because of Ben, she hadn’t depleted her savings that much, and she could dream about the changes she wanted to make. Penny by penny, she was determined to make it happen.

  Ben startled her from her thoughts. “You know how you detest feeling indebted to someone? I’m like that, too. But I’ve got a problem. I’ve been banging my head against a wall for weeks, and I can’t figure it out. Are you any good with computer accounting software?”

  Sissy used a version that worked well for her. “I’m fair, I guess.”

  Ben told her what software he used, and Sissy said, “I’m your person, then. That’s the program I use.”

  “Pay dirt!” He smiled broadly. “If I send you my files, will you have a look? I know it’ll be time-consuming.”

  Until now, Sissy had been the recipient of favors from Ben. It felt good to have him ask her to do something for him in return. And it wasn’t a small request, which made it even better. Depending upon how badly he’d screwed up, it could take her hours to get it straightened out. “I’d love to take a look.”

  He sighed. “When I get home, I’ll send you the files, then.”

  When Sissy got upstairs later and checked her e-mail, she saw that Ben had tried to send her his records. Only, they wouldn’t open. She called him on his cell. “You e-mailed me a dud.” She stayed on the phone with him to walk him through the correct steps to send her the file. When she got it and could open it, she said, “Oh, God.”

  “What? You still can’t open it?”

  “No, it opened.”

  “So what’s wrong with it?”

  Sissy bit back a laugh. “Just at a glance, everything. Taking a guess, I think you screwed up the settings or something. Even your bank deposits are red.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “Red is an expense and deducted from your balance.” Sissy scrolled to his last entry. “According to this, you’re over seven hundred K in the hole.”

  “Shit!”

  She did laugh then. “Ben, don’t worry. I understand this program. I’ll get it all fixed for you.” And I may never let you touch it again, she thought with a smile.
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  * * *

  The days passed in a relentless cycle. For an hour each evening, Sissy worked on Ben’s books, trying to get months of bungled entries repaired. His last night to receive a free meal arrived all too quickly. Sissy had little to say as they worked side by side in her kitchen for the final time. She didn’t trust her voice or her heart.

  Just as they were polishing the counters, Finn, snuggled on the floor in his customary spot, came suddenly awake and began to snarl. His ferocity startled Sissy. Normally Finnegan was a sweet, playful little fellow.

  “Whoa, buddy. Did you have a bad dream?” Ben asked the dog. “It’s okay.”

  But Finn continued to growl, all the fur on his back bristling. He stared up at the kitchen shelves—or at something Ben and Sissy couldn’t see in front of them. The hair on Sissy’s arms stood up as straight as Finn’s ruff. The pup’s body drew taut, as if he were bunching his muscles to attack.

  “What do you see, Finn?” Ben asked, turning to study the shelving.

  Something that isn’t visible, Sissy thought. Something that only a dog with keener senses can tell is there. What she considered to be “the ghost incidents” in her building had not ceased. There wasn’t a day that went by that something weird didn’t happen.

  “There’s something up there,” Ben said.

  Brilliant, absolutely brilliant, she almost said. But her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth. Of course there was something up there, and Finn knew what it was. Unfortunately, all he could do was sound the alarm.

  Unlike Sissy, Ben was tall enough to reach the top shelves without standing on a stool, and reach them, he did. He began pawing through canned goods on one shelf and spices on a lower one. Sissy winced. She kept everything organized, and he was scattering stuff with every sweep of his hands.