by Annie Rains
“I’m not done yet.”
“Done doing what?”
“There are a bunch of branches on the roof of the veranda.”
He followed her gaze and noticed that the second-story windows were open too. Wreaths now hung on each one. He imagined her dangling out the windows to hang them. A low growl emitted from his throat. “There are a dozen things to take care of and you decide to hang Christmas wreaths? It’s still two months away.”
“I found the box of wreaths when I was in the storage building getting the ladder,” she explained. “And it’s only seven weeks away. Christmas will be here before you know it.”
He could only pray that was true as his hands anchored the ladder. Because the sooner the holiday got here, the sooner he could leave.
He looked back up where he had the perfect view of her perfect backside. A surge of unruly, unwanted attraction curled through him.
“You can let go. I’m not going to fall, you know. Unless you start yelling at me again.” She glared down at him.
He hesitated before stepping away. “I didn’t yell. I was concerned. Now, please come down. I’ll get the branches myself.” His shoulders relaxed as she started to do as he asked. She traveled down two rungs and then missed the third and her body went into free fall—straight into his ready arms.
He gripped her against him. “I got you,” he said, noticing how wide her brown eyes had become. And how delicious she smelled, like a rose garden in bloom. “If I hadn’t been here, you’d be laid up on the couch for the rest of the week.”
“I don’t have time for that.” She didn’t move to get out of his hold on her though. Not immediately. Resting against his chest, her face was dangerously close to his. They spoke in quiet voices because they were only inches apart. Close enough to lean in and kiss her, if he wanted to. And yeah, there was some foolish part of him that thought that was an excellent idea.
“How do the wreaths look?” she asked.
His gaze shifted momentarily. “Like you could’ve broken your neck putting them up.”
She smiled, and that spoke to the foolish part of him that desperately wanted to taste those lips. Therefore, the only reasonable thing to do was put her down and take a step back, which he did, quickly and efficiently.
“The front of the house is the first thing people see when they pass by,” she explained. “First impressions are everything.”
“How about this? From here on out, you take care of the inside of the house, and I’ll manage things out here,” he said.
“Okay. There are plenty more things to do in the guest rooms. But I might need your help with a few of them.”
“You got it. And next time you decide to climb up on the roof, don’t.” Not unless he was here to catch her, because he wouldn’t mind holding her in his arms again. What the hell was wrong with him?
He watched her stubborn chin tip up and fully expected those plump lips of hers to spout off something smart.
Instead, she whirled on her heel, turning her back to him. “Don’t fall,” she called back to him. But her tone of voice made him wonder if she wouldn’t mind seeing him bust his butt.
Mitch worked steadily until dark and then stepped inside to say good night. He purposefully walked with heavy feet on the hardwood floors to make his presence known. Kaitlyn had proved to be a little jumpy since he’d met her. Granted, her first impression of him had been to think he was an intruder. But every time he’d rounded a corner over the last week, she’d seemed to stiffen.
She turned to acknowledge him. “Hey.”
She had soft music streaming in from an old-time radio off to the side of the room. Thankfully, not Christmas tunes. A few of the tarps he’d gotten earlier were scattered on the floor along with a couple cans of paint.
“I found the paint and brushes in the laundry room closet. What do you think of the color?”
His gaze settled on the soft yellow of the walls. “It looks great. You did all this while I was outside?” he asked, winning a smile from her.
“It still needs a second coat but it’s amazing what a difference a little paint can make.”
“Seems so.”
“I also named a few of the guest rooms while I worked.”
He lifted a brow. “Have you been sniffing the paint too?”
She laughed. “All the guest rooms are going to be named after a famous couple in books or the movies. The whole room will have a theme to match.”
“I think that’s a great idea. Who do you have so far?”
She set her paintbrush in the roller tray and wiped her hands on the apron she was wearing. Then she ticked off her responses on her fingers. “I’m starting with my favorites. Anne of Green Gables and Gilbert Blythe. Scarlett and Rhett.”
“Good ones,” he said.
“Those are both books that were made into movies, so two birds with one stone. I was thinking Scarlett and Rhett’s room could have a Deep South décor. There is actually some Civil War–era furniture here that I can relocate to that room.”
“I’ll help you with moving furniture,” he said, enjoying how her whole face lit up as she talked about her ideas. Her passion was evident. “Any other couples?” he asked.
“Just one more right now.” She pulled her lower lip between her teeth. “Baby and Johnny.”
He shook his head, trying to figure out who she was talking about.
She gave him a look of total disbelief. “Oh, come on. From Dirty Dancing.”
“Oh, right.” He nodded. “Let me guess. That room will have a sixties vibe.”
She grinned. “Wouldn’t that be fun?”
“It would.”
“Any other suggestions for me?”
He scratched his chin beneath his beard. “I prefer action movies,” he said, noting how her smile wilted just slightly. He guessed she stuck strictly to romance. “Also nonfiction books. The books I read don’t really talk about well-known couples. How about I handle the repairs and you do all the decorating, including naming the guest rooms?”
She nodded, smiling easily again. “Seems like we make a good team.”
He was usually more of a solo kind of guy. As an MP, he’d never had a partner, unless one counted his police dog, which he did. Scout was retired a few months before Mitch got out of the corps. The lucky canine now lived with a nice civilian family, hopefully spending his days chewing bones and barking at birds.
“Yeah,” Mitch said, knowing he should say his goodbye and walk out the front door. Instead, he stared at Kaitlyn for a moment longer. She was marked with paint and beaming with creative energy. Seeing her in her element unhinged something inside him. There was nothing more attractive than a woman having fun. It made him want to stay and have fun with her.
Bad idea.
He cleared his throat. “Okay, well, I’ll see you in the morning. Don’t climb any tall ladders while I’m gone,” he teased, and then grinned as her mouth dipped into a playful frown.
“I won’t. And come hungry. I’ll have breakfast and coffee waiting for you.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I figure I better get used to serving others. I’ll practice on you.”
When she put it that way, it was hard for him to say no.
* * *
Kaitlyn had been up since five thirty. She’d grabbed a few groceries the day before, hoping they’d last a week, but she’d already burned the toast, twice, and was on her second batch of scrambled eggs because the first batch had been a disgusting mush.
She glanced at the clock above the stove. Mitch would be here any minute. She pulled a cast-iron frying pan to one of the vacant burners and began placing sliced bacon inside.
“You’re supposed to wait until it’s hot first,” a voice said, coming up behind her.
She jumped and whirled in one simultaneous motion while also pulling a hand to her chest. “You snuck up on me!” she snapped, suddenly buzzing with adrenaline.
Mitch stopped for
a moment, giving her an unreadable expression, and then stepped beside her. “You should lock the doors.”
“I did last night but I guess I left it unlocked when I went out to get the newspaper this morning.”
He surveyed her breakfast display. “You didn’t cook the eggs long enough. It helps to add a little milk if you want them fluffy. Maybe put in some shredded cheese for flavor too. Did you add salt?”
She pressed her lips together. “I grew up with two working parents. They were always in a rush so breakfast was usually a Pop-Tart on the way to school.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “I would’ve given my right arm for a Pop-Tart. They were too expensive. Our neighbors had chickens and gave us eggs in exchange for my mom doing odd jobs for them. So that’s what we had every morning.”
He took a commanding step closer, causing her to move aside. Then he began lifting the bacon off the pan and placing it on a napkin. He adjusted the dial from high to medium heat.
She watched him work, taking mental notes and trying not to let her emotions get in the way. So she wasn’t a fantastic cook—yet. She’d learn. She’d do whatever it took. How hard could cooking for a house full of guests be?
“Eggs, bacon, what else?” he asked, grabbing a mixing bowl from one of the cabinets. He expertly cracked several eggs with one hand.
“What do you mean what else?”
“Well, if I were a guest, this wouldn’t be enough. You usually want a starch as well. Mable was famous for her made-from-scratch biscuits but I don’t expect you to tackle that.”
Kaitlyn shoved her hands on her hips. “Why not?”
“No offense. Mable used to say it took her the better part of a decade to get them right. It’s not fancy but you could serve grits.”
Kaitlyn wrinkled her nose, which made him chuckle. It was a reserved, quiet sound that reverberated through her. She liked it and suddenly longed to hear it again.
“You are definitely not from the South, are you?” He splashed some milk with the egg yolks and beat them with a wire whisk that he’d located in a drawer beside the stove.
She was amazed at his cooking skills. A man who knew his way around a kitchen was a definite turn-on. And a woman who didn’t…probably not so much.
“Did my grandmother teach you how to cook?” she asked.
He looked almost apologetic as he nodded. “Yep. She ran the gamut with her meals. Sometimes she offered up a simple country sampler breakfast like this one. Other times, she treated guests to gourmet omelets and pastries. She was a talented chef.”
“And you know how to make her famous made-from-scratch biscuits?”
“I’ll teach you,” he said. “Mable tended to exaggerate. It only took me a couple years to master her biscuits.” He winked in Kaitlyn’s direction.
Her insides turned mushier than her eggs. “Hopefully it won’t take me that long to master them.” She needed to learn fast, before the guests started making reservations and Mitch left. “I’m expecting customers to start booking after next week. Josie told me that the magazine hits stands and mailboxes a couple weeks before each new month.”
She stepped aside and watched as Mitch took over preparing the bacon and eggs. Then he set a saucepan of water to boil and retrieved a cream-colored bag from the pantry. “You can’t move south and not love grits. I’ll make them, and you’ll wonder where you’ve been all your life.”
She folded her arms across her chest, watching him work. “I’ve been in New York having my food delivered. I have all my favorite places on speed dial.”
“Well, today is the day you’ll learn the art of making breakfast, the most important meal of the day,” he said, measuring out the contents of the bag of grits.
Twenty minutes later, they sat down together at one of the dining room tables with full plates. The aroma wafted under her nose and made her mouth water. So did the man in front of her. She’d been snuffing out little fires in her belly ever since he’d entered her kitchen this morning. Ever since he’d walked into the B&B a week ago.
She picked up her fork and stabbed at a fluffy lump of perfectly golden eggs. “Long jog this morning?” she asked, making small talk. There was something about that strong, silent alpha vibe Mitch had going that made her uncharacteristically nervous. She could usually talk to anyone. But the man sitting across the table had her stomach fluttering and her tongue leaden.
“Only about seven miles.”
She choked on the lump of eggs that she’d just forked into her mouth.
Everything in Mitch seemed to stiffen as he watched her. She held up a hand to ward him off, guessing he was about two seconds away from hopping over the table and performing the Heimlich. And while the thought of his arms wrapped around her again was appealing, having her breakfast fly across the room in front of him was not.
“I’m fine,” she choked out. She took a drink from her glass of orange juice. “Just surprised that you jogged so far.”
“You wouldn’t believe how good it feels when you’re done. Better than sex.”
She started to choke again. “You…did not just say that,” she said on a laugh.
A smile crept through his angled features. “Sorry. I’m used to being around a bunch of marines, I guess.”
“Well, if you’re going to be helping me with the B and B, you can’t talk to the guests like they’re marines.”
“I’ll just try not to talk to them at all. I’m good at flying under the radar.”
She raised both brows. “I’ve noticed. You’ve been sneaking up on me ever since we met.” She bit into a piece of salty bacon, chewed, and swallowed. “You said your mom still lives in town?”
He nodded while continuing to eat. “Yep.”
“What about your dad?”
His fork paused momentarily. “He died when I was nine.”
Her heart broke a little for him. “I’m sorry. That must’ve been hard for you.”
“It was. And watching my mom work two jobs to make sure we had what we needed was hard too.”
“Is that why you’re so set on leaving again?” She regretted asking as soon as the question had come out of her mouth. It was none of her business why he wanted to leave. He’d agreed to the stipulations of the will, and that’s all she needed to know.
“It’s more complicated than that,” he said after a long moment. “Sweetwater Springs represents my past. Not my future.”
“I see.”
“My turn to ask questions,” he said, locking her gaze and holding it captive.
“Okay.”
“Who hurt you?”
She nearly choked again. “Excuse me?”
“Every time I walk into the room, you stiffen. Why?”
Her heart was beating fast now. Thanks to Bradley Foster, she was jumpy. He hadn’t gotten what he’d wanted but he’d still taken something from her. Her trust. “No one. I’m fine,” she lied, pulling her gaze to her plate. But she had every intention of making that lie a truth. Her nerves would eventually settle. Her memories of Bradley’s hands on her would soon fade—hopefully.
Mitch didn’t speak again until she looked back up at him. “You don’t have to worry about me,” he said in a quiet voice, his eyes steady and sincere.
She nodded. “I know.”
“A friend of mine says I’m just a big bear.” The hard angles of his face softened as he smiled.
Her insides turned to mushy eggs again. “Well, I’ll try not to poke you.”
One of his eyebrows shot up, and heat flooded her cheeks. That comment had unintentionally sounded sexual. The entire vibe between her and Mitch was unintentionally sexual, and that’s what she had to worry most about with him. He was temporary, and she wasn’t looking for a relationship. It wasn’t the right time in her life to get romantically involved. She had a life to reconstruct, one room at a time.
CHAPTER FIVE
On a late Friday afternoon, three weeks into the contract, Kaitlyn checked off yet another to-d
o item on her dwindling list of things to be done. Mitch had been taking care of the outside of the house all day. She’d barely laid eyes on him since breakfast when he’d given her another cooking lesson. This one on Grandma Mable’s famous made-from-scratch biscuits.
She glanced around the large, open front room of the B&B. In less than a month’s time, it had transformed from dusty and shabby to a warm and welcoming home. She’d left a lot of things the same but she’d added her own flair to the place. Her bachelor’s degree in interior design had to be good for something now that she’d lost her dream job.
Gah, she’d been such an idiot to think Bradley Foster had seen something in her that the other newbie designers didn’t have. Yeah, he’d seen something, all right, but it hadn’t been talent. That should have been clear as his excuses to have her come over had increased. His advances had become more blatant every time she went. Why had she been a fool to keep going to his place alone? Why hadn’t she listened to her gut before things had gotten so out of hand?
A chill ran up her spine. Bradley had been harder to push off that last night. There’d been an arrogance about the way he’d leaned over her, touching her even after she’d told him she wasn’t comfortable.
Sexual harassment, for sure. Would it have turned into more? She didn’t know.
“Who do you think you are? You’re nobody,” he’d gritted out as he’d pawed her like a cat on its scratching post. “You don’t deserve to be here. The only reason you’re here is because I wanted it. Working for someone like me will look good on your résumé. You owe me for pulling you ahead.”
“Stop.” She’d tried to yank her wrist out of his grasp as his other hand crept higher on her thigh. “Bradley, stop!” she said a little more forcefully.
Did I say it forcefully enough?
Then she’d heard the downstairs door slam. He’d pulled back just for a moment, and she’d swung away from him. But not before shoving a knee between his legs—hard.