Hudson picked a poinsettia leaf from his face and swiped at the fetid water dripping from his hair. The flowers had been a gift from the last woman he’d entertained in his bedroom. “Are you finished?”
“I warn you, I know Tai Chi.” She assumed a position that was a cross between a bird and a garden gnome and Hudson laughed. Big mistake. The woman reacted by lunging for the vase and swinging it over her head like a club. “Laugh this off, you pervert!”
“Stop! I’m sorry! But if you want me to take you seriously, you’d better put some clothes on. You’re about as threatening as the Pillsbury Doughboy.”
“Get out,” she hissed. Her eyes slitted furiously.
“I didn’t say you looked like the Pillsbury Doughboy—you don’t.” Hudson tried not to stare but she was right there in front of him—naked breasts, hips, thighs. “Believe me, you don’t.”
“They say men think about sex every twenty seconds.” Her voice was low and even. The hair on the back of Hudson’s neck prickled. “Your twenty seconds are up. Get out—now!”
“I can’t,” he rasped. That vase looked lethal. “I live here.”
“Nice try. Get out before I call Grace. Who are you—Grace’s boyfriend? Her husband? What kind of pervert takes advantage of a sleeping woman?”
“Who is Grace? I’m not a pervert—you got into bed with me. If anything, you’re the pervert. This is my house. Nine Larkspur Road.”
The woman shook her head slowly. “No, no, no, no. I’m billeted with a Grace Hudson until 12:01 December twenty-fourth at nine Larkspur Road.”
Hudson groaned heavily and rubbed his hands over his eyes. “You’re six hours earlier than I expected you, and the wrong sex. Not that I’m complaining but I did specify a guy.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m a ‘Grace Hudson’ as in Grace comma Hudson. My name is Hudson Grace and I agreed to billet a guy named Michael Shannon from New York for three days to serve a community service sentence. I’m to monitor his hours and file a report, in exchange for which he assists me on patrol in Green Mountain Park.”
“That’s me, I’m that guy! I’m Michael Shannon.”
“I gathered that.”
“But I’m a woman.”
“So you are.”
“Well, this is never going to work.” Michael marched out of the bedroom, stark-naked.
“Where are you going?” Hudson called after her. He snatched up his tee-shirt from the bedpost and pulled it on, trailing her to the living room. The moon shone hard through the large living room windows, washing her body in blue light.
“I’m calling my lawyer—where’s the phone? They wouldn’t let me bring my cell.” She moved briskly about the room, pawing through the piles of clothes, newspapers and dirty dishes that littered the sofa and coffee table. “My God, it looks like a frat house in here. Where is the damn phone?”
“You can’t call your lawyer at one o’clock in the morning. By the way, you realize you’re naked, right? I’m running out of places to put my eyes.”
“If it bothers you that much, you should have brought me a robe.”
“Who do I look like—the pool boy?” Hudson grabbed a throw blanket from the back of the sofa and tossed it to her. “Here. Put that on.” He snapped on a table lamp.
Michael wrapped the blanket about her, toga-like. “We all walk around in our underwear at work. It doesn’t bother the men. They don’t even notice.”
“Oh, I see. I get it now—you’re an exotic dancer. That explains a lot. You strip for a living, but you’re not at work now. Here in Mandrake Falls we try to keep our clothes on.”
“Don’t be obtuse. You know perfectly well what I mean. Some of those costume changes between takes are pretty tight. Oh come on, you’re looking at me like you don’t know what I’m talking about! Like you didn’t know who I was the minute I told you my name!”
“Aside from thinking Michael Shannon was a guy, I have no idea who you are. I’ve never met a woman named Michael before.”
“My dad had a thing for Michael Learned, the actress who played the mother on The Waltons. I was named after her. But everyone knows that. Everyone knows who I am.”
“I don’t. Who are you?”
Her face scrunched in astonishment. “I’m Vickie Webber on Tomorrow Never Comes!”
“Oh.”
“You don’t recognize me?”
“I don’t own a TV.”
She glanced around the room wildly. “Oh my God,” she breathed. “You don’t own a TV.”
She met his eyes in anguish. Green eyes, Hudson noted. Pond-green only without the scum. “It’s not against the law is it?” he answered absently.
“What have they done to me?” Michael Shannon slumped to the armchair.
“Who?”
“The New York State justice system.”
“From what I understand, you were arrested for being a public nuisance.”
Michael drew her chin up haughtily. “I was trying to save a tree from being cut down and accidentally caused a minor traffic jam that my judge was unfortunately caught in. Hardly a new experience for a New Yorker, but he didn’t take it well.”
“And you were sentenced to Mandrake Falls for three days right before Christmas?” Hudson whistled. “That must have been one hell of a traffic jam.”
“He was stuck for four hours.”
He whistled through his teeth. “You are a public nuisance.”
“I’m a political prisoner, Mr. Grace.”
Hudson laughed and shook his head. “Whatever you say, lady. I’m going back to bed. We’ll get your living arrangements sorted out on Monday. Nothing we can do about it now.”
“I can’t stay here! Put me up in a hotel. I need a TV for one thing.”
“Tough. I don’t have a TV and Mandrake Falls Inn is fully booked for the ski season. We’ll talk to Sheriff McIntyre on Monday and see what can be done but I’ll be honest with you, it doesn’t look good. When the request came through for a supervisor for Michael Shannon, I was the only one who put my hand up. Most people have family for the holidays. Anyway, you’re here to do community service, you’ll be too busy to watch television.”
She glared at him from under a shock of tousled hair. “I don’t want a TV to watch it,” she hissed. “Vickie is in a coma. I have to keep tabs on the situation.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, that’s rough. Is she a relation of yours? How did it happen?”
“Vickie is my character on Tomorrow Never Comes!”
“What?” Hudson stared at her, bewildered and then shook his head and turned away. “No, never mind. I don’t want to know. I’m going back to bed. Your room is across the hall from mine, on your right. Good night, Vickie or Michael or whoever you are.” Hudson stumbled as he walked down the hall to his room and then stubbed his toe on the crystal vase on the floor beside his bed. He bit back a yelp of pain and fell onto the bed.
The pillow was still wet from Michael’s assault with a deadly vase of flowers. Hudson shoved her body and her eyes out of his mind. No point in torturing himself. As her supervisor, she was off-limits until he could get her reassigned. The thought came to him as he was drifting off to sleep that maybe he should have told her about Simon. Oh well, he yawned, she’ll find out about him soon enough.
MICHAEL WATCHED as Hudson walked away, leaving her in the room by herself. She waited until she heard the click of his door closing behind him and then pressed her face to the seat cushion and screamed. Hudson Grace was walking, talking, mind-blowing male sexuality. And there was Gregory to consider. Michael tried very hard to get a fix on Gregory’s face but Hudson Grace’s steel gray eyes kept intruding. What was the point of entering into a monogamous relationship if she couldn’t remain monogamous for twelve hours?
Clutching the blanket tightly over her breasts, Michael started for bed. When she committed to Gregory, she hadn’t factored in meeting a man like Hudson Grace in the middle of nowhere. She tiptoed past hi
s bedroom door, recalling how he’d touched her and she felt her face go hot. Shoot, Michael—are you blushing? But seriously—what kind of guy responds like that to a strange woman in his bed? No hesitation. No questions asked, just bam! Ready to go—a totally sexual response.
Well, her conscience was clear. She and Gregory Shaw weren’t married or even planning to marry. That was the whole point. Greg Shaw was the perfect boyfriend. Intelligent, handsome, not on the radar; he squired her to red carpet events, he adored her when she needed to be adored and left her alone when she didn’t. They agreed never to ask the other to marry or even bring it up. They would share no property and they would have no children. Greg was free to have children with other women if he wished but they would not become part of their shared life. It went without saying that the mother of the child would not be part of their life either. They had an arrangement. Michael could not get her career to the next level if the man she was seeing was constantly messing around. Gregory understood that. They promised to give each other all the benefits of married life without any of its compromises. However, they both agreed monogamy was the only rational approach.
Monogamy, yes—celibacy, definitely no, she thought as she climbed into bed. Greg’s sudden absence from their bedroom was taking its toll. Her environmentalist boyfriend blamed stress. How stressful could it be saving trees? Stress was being denied sex for months and then catapulted into close quarters with a man like Hudson Grace. That was stress.
Get a grip on yourself.
She was over-thinking the situation, as usual. Hudson Grace was just another good-looking man. He had absolutely nothing she wanted or needed. She already had everything—an exciting boyfriend, fame, money, career, a gorgeous New York City brownstone—Michael Shannon had it all.
Remember that, Michael thought smugly and snuggled under the blankets. Hudson Grace has nothing to offer you.
And she fell instantly to sleep.
Chapter II: Two Turtle Doves
IT WAS raining. But only on one eye. Michael Shannon pondered this miracle for a moment before peeling open her delicately shadowed eyelid. A patch of pristine cloudless blue rewarded her. She winced in the bright light, feeling her head contract with the effort. How did she get outside? She foggily blinked water off her eyelid. In slow-motion instant replay, she remembered the cabin, no curtains on the windows and Hudson Grace. She was inside a cabin in the Vermont woods. Where was the rain coming from?
“Uncle Hudson!” A little boy’s voice screeched in her ear. “Come see! I waked her!”
Michael bolted upright and was blasted in the face with a full volley of water from a large neon orange water gun. “Hey!” she bellowed.
Hudson charged into the room, wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts and a tie. He was carrying a mug of coffee in one hand that he slopped over his chest as soon as they made eye contact. Wincing in pain, Hudson disarmed the small blonde boy. “Good job, kid. Now go get dressed. I’ll take over from here.” The little boy darted from the room.
“What the hell is going on?” Michael’s rage was abruptly derailed by the sight of Hudson Grace in the clear winter daylight. His hair was wavy and wheat-colored like the boy’s. Michael especially liked the way his black brows pulled his dark grey eyes down at their outer edges. When he smiled, the crinkles from his eyes and mouth met.
“Sorry about that, Miss Shannon.” Hudson’s eyes darted upward to the ceiling to avoid staring at her. “You’re still naked by the way.”
Michael snapped out of her trance and grabbed the sheet to her chin. “I couldn’t find my pajamas last night. I didn’t think it would be a problem in the privacy of my own room. I didn’t expect children.” She looked at Hudson apprehensively. “Are there more?”
“No, just the one. My nephew, Simon. We’re going to church.”
“Oh, thank God.” She fell back against the pillows and closed her eyes. “Have fun.”
A cold blast of water hit her square in the forehead. “Hey!” Michael sat up, sputtering water from her eyes. “What is the matter with you?”
“Wake up! I said we are going. I can’t leave you here alone until we get this arrangement straightened out.”
“I don’t want the arrangement straightened. You need a helper; I’m a helper.” Michael snuggled under the blankets. “Let’s just leave it at that.” A volley of water hit her smack in the face again. “Will you stop that!” she bellowed.
“Get up! We’re late as it is. If you want to stay here then you’re going to have to help out.” Hudson waved the water gun threateningly. “Get dressed and round up Simon for me.”
“No one said anything about childcare.”
“I’m saying it now. He’s three.”
“Look,” Michael said forcefully, “I’m not good with kids. Especially the real little ones. My friend has one of those and let’s just say we aren’t crazy about each other.”
“You don’t have to be crazy about him; you just have to keep an eye on him.”
Michael tried another approach. The dude obviously had a problem with basic logic. “Babysitting your nephew is not part of my community service sentence.”
“It is if I say it is. My reading of your sentence is that it’s community service—as in whatever this community needs doing, you do. A member of the community needs you to babysit, so babysit. Chop, chop, Miss Shannon. Your sentence began eight hours ago.” Hudson handed her the mug of coffee. “Here, you’ll need this. Now, get going. He’s fast.”
“Where are you going?” she yelled as he slammed the door. She took a sip of the coffee and grimaced. Horrible—the coffee and this set-up. She was being treated like a servant and she wasn’t going to stand for it. Michael grabbed the sheet off the bed and wrapped it about her toga-style. She followed the sound of running water to the bathroom and opened the door just as he was stepping into the shower. His boxers were in a heap on the floor and his tie was hanging over the shaving mirror. The water gun was in the sink. Michael observed these small details even as her breath caught and garbled somewhere in her throat. She’d seen naked men before. Hudson wasn’t equipped with anything new. But what he had was much more masculine than anything she’d encountered before. He met her eyes without a trace of self-consciousness as though he’d been naked in front of her every day of his adult life.
“What?” he asked simply.
Michael cleared her throat. “I can’t do the kid-thing. I have no experience.”
“Just keep an eye on him while I’m in the shower. He’s a good kid, really.”
“I’m sure he is, but—”
“Look, we’re always late and I can’t stand the way they look at me when I walk in. I promised my brother. Help me out, okay?”
A crash loud enough to be heard over the shower caught their attention.
“Take this,” Hudson said and thrust the water gun into her hand. “You’ll need it.” He shoved her out of the bathroom and locked the door.
Nerves tingling, Michael held the gun aloft and made her way stealthily down the hall, following the noise. Where was the little darling? Michael peered around the corner into the living room. Empty. Her heart pounded in her chest and she told herself to calm down, for pity’s sake. She was a professionally-trained actress at the top of her game. She ate daytime television directors for lunch. One little kid was no match for her.
She stepped into the kitchen.
Simon was sitting on the kitchen table—an island in a sea of disaster. The mess was staggering. Everything had been pulled out of the cupboards and either tossed to the floor or hurled against the walls. Every element on the stove was turned on, some with pots on them, their contents burned beyond recognition. The smell was revolting. Michael hurriedly flipped off the burners before the whole house went up in flames. She turned to Simon. “Do not ever touch the stove again. Not until you’re married and have a wife and kids to feed.”
Simon stared at her, his eyes alight with mirth. “I make you befess.”
“Befess? Oh! Breakfast.” Michael surveyed the mess critically. “You failed miserably.”
Anger lashed a white streak across Simon’s forehead. He opened his mouth wide, a howl threatened to issue forth from the back of his throat. Michael clapped her hand over the open hole. “Don’t even think about it. I have a hangover that would kill an elephant. Get off the table. Your uncle wants you to get ready for church.”
“No.” The boy gripped the edges with hands that were filthy with grime.
Michael’s eyes narrowed. “Get off that table and go and get cleaned up.”
“No!” His voice was pitched to an octave that vibrated through the fillings in Michael’s teeth.
“Do that again,” she threatened in a low voice, “and I won’t be held responsible for my actions.”
Simon grinned, sucked in a deep breath and opened his mouth wide with an unreleased scream. Without hesitating, Michael raised the water gun and blasted him in the round ‘O’ of his open mouth. “Now, get off that table and get ready for church!”
The child emitted a shriek worthy of a horror film and bolted from the kitchen. He pounded down the hall with Michael following him, still waving the water gun. He darted into his room, yelling for his uncle but Hudson’s shower drowned out his cry. Michael skidded to a stop in the doorway and lowered the water gun. She met his frightened stare coolly. “I see you have found your room. That’s very good. Now find something clean to wear and put it on.”
Simon moved to his overstuffed dresser, not taking his wide blue eyes off Michael. He struggled to pull open his middle drawer but it was stuck. His lower lip trembled with fear or remorse she couldn’t tell, but feeling a twinge of guilt, Michael moved to help him. The drawer was stuffed with clothing—most of it unusable. Either the shirts were too small or the pants were torn. Michael ground her teeth as she sifted through the clothing. “When was the last time your uncle took you shopping for clothes?”
“Me don’ like shopping,” the boy said.
“You don’t have to like it; you just have to do it once in awhile.” She found a striped sweater and a clean pair of corduroy trousers to match. “Here, these will do for now.”
The Way Home: Winter (Mandrake Falls Series Romance Book 3) Page 2