by Gina Wilkins
“All she ever does is work.”
“Very admirable.” Scott was obviously speaking tongue-in-cheek. “But everyone needs to take some time off once in a while.”
“I am still here, you two,” Blair reminded them dryly.
“Of course you are.” Scott patted her head, very much as if she were a favorite pet. “And very pretty you look, too, with your cheeks all rosy from your walk.”
Her cheeks immediately flamed hotter.
“What kind of maintenance are we going to do?” Jeffrey asked warily, unconcerned with his aunt’s plans.
Scott looked up. “I noticed some loose shingles on the roof. We need to get up there and nail them down so it doesn’t leak during the next heavy rain. You aren’t afraid of heights, are you, Jeff? Or hammers?”
“I’m not afraid,” Jeffrey answered immediately.
As hard as she had been trying not to interfere, Blair couldn’t help asking Scott rather nervously, “You aren’t going to let him get on the roof, are you? Please remember that he’s only ten years old.”
“Ten? Heck, I was building houses from the ground up when I wasn’t but five,” Scott drawled, wicked dimples flashing.
“No, seriously, Scott...”
He patted her head again. “Don’t worry, Aunt Blair. I’ll take care of the kid.” He added in an aside to Jeffrey, “Women get a little crazy sometimes when they’re protecting their precious little boys.”
Blair started to retort, but realized that Jeffrey was looking at her with sudden speculation, as if it hadn’t occurred to him before that she might feel protective toward him—or that he might be precious to her. “I’ll be careful, Aunt Blair,” he promised, and again, his tone was new to her. Reassuring. Even rather sweet.
Too bad it wouldn’t last, she thought pessimistically. He just wanted to get on that roof.
She leveled a look at Scott. “I’m trusting you to keep him safe.”
“No sweat. He’ll be fine. Now go put your feet up and relax awhile. There are cocoa and cider mixes in the kitchen, if you want. Make yourself at home.” Smiling, he stepped closer to her, lifting his hand.
“If you pat my head again,” Blair warned him in a low, deceptively gentle voice, “I’ll bite you.”
His grin deepened. “Maybe we should save that for later,” he murmured, then abruptly turned away. “C’mon, Jeff, let’s get the ladder.”
He left Blair shaking her head as he walked around the building with the boy.
*
SETTLED INTO A CHAIR with a cup of hot cider beside her, Blair had been reading—or trying to read—for nearly twenty minutes when Scott came inside. It had been a bit hard to concentrate with all the pounding going on overhead. Of course, that had nothing to do with the fact that the critically touted book was as dry as the shingles the guys were hammering, she assured herself. Still, it was with relief that she looked up from the densely printed pages to greet Scott as he came in.
“Jeff and I are thirsty,” he announced. “I’m getting some sodas.”
“I could have brought some out to you.”
He shook his head. “Keep your seat. You look comfortable. Good book?”
“I’m having a little trouble getting into it,” she admitted. “But it came very highly recommended. I’ve been meaning to read it for some time.”
He glanced at the title and scowled. “That’s your idea of relaxing pleasure reading?”
“I don’t have much time to read purely for pleasure,” she answered, going on the defensive in response to his critical tone. “When I do find time to read, I feel as though I should choose something worthwhile. Something informative that challenges the reader to think and draw conclu— What are you doing?”
Scott had plucked the book from her hands and tossed it unceremoniously onto a table. Before he answered, he moved to the crowded bookshelf that took up one full wall of the room and extracted a colorful paperback. “Here,” he said, thrusting it into her hands. “Have you read this?”
She glanced automatically at the title. “No, I—”
“Good. You’re supposed to be taking a break. You can be informed and challenged some other time. This is reading for fun.”
“But I—”
“I have to get back outside before the kid falls off the roof. I’ll expect a full report on that book later, by the way.”
“You didn’t really leave Jeffrey alone on the roof, did you?” she demanded, instinctively starting to rise.
Grinning, he put a hand on her shoulder to hold her in place. “It was a joke, Blair. Lighten up. Jeffrey is safely on the ground—or he was the last time I checked. I gave him orders to stay there until I got back.”
“Maybe you’d better go check again,” she suggested through teeth that were showing a tendency to clench. She was much too vividly aware of his hand on her shoulder, his fingertips straying a bit too close to the low scooped neckline of her T-shirt.
“Good idea.” He made a hasty exit, leaving her to rub her temples with her fingertips and wish she had a roll of antacids handy.
To keep from going outside to monitor Jeffrey and risk interfering with whatever bond Scott was forming with the boy, she opened the dog-eared paperback. The analysis of modern politics she’d been trying to read had been rather uninteresting, she admitted. Not that she expected to like this book any better. The description on the back sounded downright bizarre—which shouldn’t have surprised her, since Scott had recommended it.
Hearing renewed hammering above her, she started to read. The opening was mildly interesting—a man who seemed to be contemplating suicide was distracted when a pitiful but sweet-natured dog came out of nowhere and needed immediate attention. Blair sighed. She wasn’t particularly fond of dogs, but she kept reading. It wasn’t long before she was totally absorbed in the novel, swiftly turning pages as the nerve-racking tale unfolded.
She became so engrossed in the book that she completely lost track of time, paying no attention to the sounds coming from above her head. When a hand fell on her shoulder sometime later, she jumped and gave a muffled shriek.
“Scott,” she scolded, holding one hand to her pounding heart. “You scared me half to death.”
He grinned unrepentantly. “Who’d you think I was? The mutant monster or the sadistic paid assassin?”
Swallowing hard, she set the book aside, careful to note the page number where she had left off. She wanted to know how the story ended. “Did you guys get the roof fixed?”
Looking at her a bit curiously—probably because he hadn’t seen her quite so easily startled before—Jeffrey nodded. “Scott showed me how to nail shingles without hitting my fingers with the hammer. He hit his thumb once, though. Hard. He said—”
“Never mind what I said,” Scott interrupted quickly and rather sheepishly. “I told you not to repeat it.”
Jeffrey flashed a creditable imitation of Scott’s wicked grin. “Oh, yeah. I forgot.”
“Careful, kid—there’s still a woodshed out back,” Scott drawled in mock warning.
Jeffrey did not look notably cowed. “I’m hungry. What’s for dinner?”
“Whatever critter got caught in my trap. Have you ever skinned a coon before, Jeff?”
“We’re having raccoon for dinner? Eeww!”
“You don’t see a supermarket around here, do you? Out in the wilderness, we have to live off the land. Forage in the woods for anything edible. Depend on nature’s generosity for—”
“There’s a stew cooking in the kitchen,” Blair cut in mildly. “I found the ingredients in the freezer earlier. I thawed the meat in the microwave.”
Jeffrey relaxed. “I thought I smelled something cooking. I knew you were joshing me, Scott. We’re not eating raccoon.”
Scott lifted an eyebrow. “What kind of meat do you think your aunt found in the freezer?”
Looking nervous again, Jeffrey turned to her. “Aunt Blair...”
“Beef,” she assured him. “Neatly pa
ckaged and labeled.”
“You two have no culinary sense of adventure.”
Glancing once again at the book she’d been reading, Blair turned resolutely toward the kitchen. “I’ll get the food ready while you guys wash up.”
*
“HEY, BLAIR—this is really good,” Scott said a short while later.
She glanced up from her dinner. Their gazes met across the table and held. “You needn’t sound so surprised,” she said, hoping her teasing tone hid her suddenly renewed awareness of him.
He chuckled. “Sorry. I just didn’t know you brainy lawyer types could cook.”
Brainy lawyer types. Hardly a flattering description the way he said it. She was going to have to get her reactions to this man under control before she made a complete fool of herself. “Throwing together a quick stew hardly qualifies as gourmet cooking. But as it happens, I enjoy cooking, when I have time.”
“She makes good homemade pizza,” Jeffrey said offhandedly. “It’s my favorite.”
Blair blinked in surprise. Jeffrey always ate her pizza without comment. She hadn’t known he had a particular fondness for it. She promptly decided to serve it to him more often.
Scott reached for the iced tea she’d made to accompany the stew. “Homemade pizza, hmm? Sounds great. Maybe she’ll make it for me sometime.”
“Perhaps,” Blair murmured, though she seriously doubted she’d be cooking for Scott after this weekend ended.
Jeffrey polished off his stew. “What’s for dessert?”
“There are some cookies in the pantry,” Scott suggested. “They’re in that sealed plastic thing.”
“Cool.” Jeffrey carried his bowl to the sink, rinsed it and placed it in the dishwasher—one of the amenities of this pleasantly “rustic” cabin.
Watching the boy’s actions, Scott murmured to Blair, “Well, at least you’re training him right.”
“He lives in my house, he clears his own dishes,” Blair whispered.
Scott stood and reached for her bowl, stacking it with his own. “Then I should get major bonus points for clearing away my dishes and yours.”
“I’m not awarding points.”
He flashed her a smile. “Maybe you should start.”
Scott McKay was the strangest man, Blair thought with a bewildered shake of her head. But—in the words of Arnette Gibbs from the bachelor auction—he certainly had one fine butt, which she couldn’t help noticing as he bent to place their bowls in the dishwasher.
Scott glanced over his shoulder. “Did you say something?”
Oh, she hoped not. She swiftly raised her gaze, praying her cheeks didn’t look as pink as they felt. “No.”
Jeffrey finished his cookies, then looked expectantly at Scott, who was preparing a pot of coffee. “What are we going to do now?”
“Still wanting to be entertained? I suppose I could do a song and dance for you. Maybe a scene from Pirates of Penzance. No? How about a monologue? Hamlet? Richard III?”
“Now that sounds like something I would like to see,” Blair murmured.
Jeffrey rolled his eyes. “What are we really going to do?”
“We could turn in for a good night’s sleep.”
“Oh, man. It’s only seven-thirty,” the boy protested. “I never have to go to bed before nine o’clock.”
“Remember when a few extra hours of sleep seemed more like a trial than a luxury?” Scott asked Blair wryly, then turned to Jeffrey before she could answer. “How about a board game? I have several here to choose from.”
“Okay. But pick something I have a chance to win. Not Scrabble or Trivial Pursuit where I don’t know as much as you guys.”
“No sweat,” Scott assured him. “I don’t play games that require actual thinking. Pure luck, that’s what I depend on.”
Jeffrey seemed to approve of that philosophy. “Okay. What’ve you got?”
Blair couldn’t help but be surprised that Jeffrey seemed interested in the game Scott extracted from a cabinet and set out on the table. She and her aunt had tried a few times to interest the boy in playing board games with them, but he’d always declined their offers, choosing instead to play video games by himself. He was definitely responding to Scott. Was it because he’d been so hungry for a man’s attention or because of Scott’s appealing personality?
The game was fast-paced, the outcome determined more by chance than skill. Jeffrey held his own, playing with an intense concentration that made Blair wonder if he was actually having fun. “Your turn, Aunt Blair.”
She obligingly rolled the dice and moved her bright orange playing piece the required number of spaces. She landed on the square where Jeffrey’s blue piece had been sitting. “Oops. Looks like you have to go back to start, Jeffrey.”
“No fair!” he exclaimed, scowling. “Why didn’t you move one of your other pieces? Why’d you have to send me back?”
“That’s the way the game is played, Jeff,” Scott interceded. “You don’t want your aunt to treat you like a baby and let you win, do you?”
Jeffrey was obviously torn between not wanting to be treated like a baby and wanting to win at any cost. He poked his lip out, trying to decide what to say or do.
Scott helped him out. “Roll the dice. Pay her back.”
Choosing to keep playing rather than bring the game to an end with one of his tantrums, Jeffrey reached for the dice. Scott sent Blair a quick smile, and the game went on. And, deep inside Blair, hope continued to grow that Scott would find a way to break through Jeffrey’s anger.
CHAPTER FIVE
JEFFREY WAS PUTTING the game away when he discovered a large, leather-bound scrapbook stashed in a cupboard beneath the bookshelves. “What’s this, Scott?”
Scott shrugged. “Just some of my mementos.”
“Can I look at it?”
“If you want.”
Jeffrey carried the scrapbook to the sofa and sat by Blair to open it. She couldn’t resist looking over her nephew’s shoulder as he turned the pages. The scrapbook was stuffed with photographs and newspaper clippings...and they all seemed to feature Scott doing something daring and adventurous.
She studied a picture of him riding a huge, angry-looking bull. Scott’s left arm was thrown high in the air for balance, his right hand locked beneath a thick rope on the bull’s neck. His hat had just flown off his head, and there was a look of reckless determination on his face. Her stomach muscles tightened. Funny. She hadn’t realized until now that a man could actually look sexy while straddling a bull.
Another snapshot had been taken high above the ground. Scott had been captured in a spread-eagled free fall, his parachute unopened on the back of his colorful jumpsuit. He was grinning broadly at the camera, which was obviously being operated by another jumper. There were photos of Scott racing cars, motorcycles and speedboats, dangling from a harness as he rappelled down a sheer rock face, navigating a kayak through churning white water, doing a full body flip on a snowboard, even hanging upside down from the end of a bungee cord.
“Wow,” Jeffrey breathed, looking at yet another image of a daredevil stunt. “Is there anything you haven’t done?”
“There are quite a few things still on my list,” Scott commented, lounging in a nearby chair and looking as if the pages they were examining held nothing out of the ordinary.
The awed admiration on Jeffrey’s face as he gazed at Scott made Blair uncomfortable. While she could understand his fascination with Scott’s adventures—after all, she felt the same way—this was not the sort of role model she’d had in mind. Jeffrey’s father had already set an example of footloose, irresponsible behavior; she didn’t need Scott reinforcing the notion that life consisted of nothing more than a series of reckless adventures. Despite her own occasional longings for some of the adventures others indulged in, she had learned as a teenager that there had to be more to life than self-indulgence.
She reached over to close the scrapbook. “Why don’t you put this away, Jeffrey? Scott,
tell us about your ranch. It’s quite big, I imagine.”
“It’s a sizable spread,” he agreed in a lazy drawl.
“I’m sure it takes a lot of attention and commitment to keep it running profitably. You studied business in college?”
“I studied girls in college. When I found out they wouldn’t give me a degree for that, I had to pick something else.”
Blair looked hastily at her watch as her nephew laughed. “Well, it’s getting late, Jeffrey. I’m sure Scott has a big day planned for us tomorrow. Why don’t you go brush your teeth and get ready for bed now?”
“Oh, man...”
Scott stretched. “Your aunt’s right, partner. I’ve got a lot of big plans for tomorrow. I think I’ll turn in early myself.”
“That sounds like an excellent idea.” Blair stood, thinking she could use a little time to herself to contemplate the day’s events. She picked up the book she’d been reading earlier, thinking she would read in bed for a while until she was sleepy.
“Sure you want to read that before you go to sleep?” Scott murmured as Jeffrey plodded toward the bathroom. “Might give you nightmares.”
“I never have nightmares,” she replied.
Something odd crossed Scott’s face. “Consider yourself fortunate,” he mumbled.
Before she could decide what he meant by that, he was grinning again. “If you should happen to have a bad dream, just give a yell. I’m sure I can think of something to take your mind off it.”
Something in his tone made her face flame. She cleared her throat and turned to speak to her nephew as he stepped out of the bathroom. “Good night, Jeffrey. Let me know if you need anything.”
He nodded. “Night, Aunt Blair.”
She didn’t kiss him good-night. She never had, though there were times when she ached to do so. But since she’d never been quite sure how he would react, and he’d never given any indication that he wanted her to kiss him, she’d always held back.
Blair glanced at Scott on her way to the staircase. “Good night, Scott.”
She couldn’t quite read the expression on his face. “Sleep well, Blair.”