Stirring Up Trouble

by Kimberly Kincaid

  Oh, for the love of God. He’d been trying to be polite about it. Did she have to take it so personally?

  “Look, I don’t have time for this,” he started, but Carly cut him off.

  “No, you really don’t. It’s Friday, and as much as I’d love to tell you I can run the front of the house without you all weekend, the truth is that I can’t. But I do think the solution is right under your nose.” She tilted her head at her friend. “I meant it when I said Sloane’s a good choice. You already know her, she’s responsible, and she just happens to be looking for a little extra income.” Carly shot her friend a look that dared her to argue.

  Of course, Sloane’s infuriatingly pink lips popped open in protest. “Well, yeah, but—”

  “And Gavin,” Carly interrupted with her best don’t-fuck-with-me smile. “You said Bree needs help in school, right? What subject?”

  “English, but—”

  “Perfect,” Carly continued smoothly, and he had no choice but to shut up. “Sloane’s an excellent writer. Look, what doesn’t make sense here? You need someone to look after your sister and tutor her in English. And you”—she pointed a warning finger at Sloane—“are a writer who has the time and could use the money. Hate to break it to you, but despite both of your misgivings, it seems you two need each other. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve really got to help Adrian with the tasting menu.” She narrowed a help me out, here glance at her friend, then lobbed a matching one in his direction before disappearing into the kitchen.

  Gavin blew out a hard breath. The restaurant was no place for a moody preteen to spend thirty-five hours of her weekend, no matter how badly he wanted to keep an eye on her, but still. Miss I-Don’t-Do-Kids couldn’t possibly be his only hope.

  “Just out of curiosity, what’s the going rate for a babysitter these days? Not that I’m considering doing this,” Sloane qualified with a lift of her hand. “Because it’s a really bad idea.”

  “And why is that? You don’t have a criminal record or anything, do you?” God, part of him wanted her to give up a reason that would make this conversation a done deal so he could come up with a decent fallback plan, one that didn’t involve a candidate with a sassy mouth and bravado to spare.

  Sloane shocked him with her quick burst of laughter. “Of course not. Carly wouldn’t have recommended me if I was a degenerate, now would she?”

  Okay, so she had him there. He wouldn’t have asked Carly for help if he didn’t trust her judgment. “Sorry. I guess you’re right.”

  Sloane raised a shoulder toward the long, graceful line of her neck, releasing it noncommittally. “So you still haven’t answered my question.”

  Gavin blinked, recalculating their conversation with a quick nod. “Oh, right.” He told her Mrs. Teasdale’s weekly rate, and her eyebrows shot skyward.

  “And you just need somebody for the weekend?”

  He hesitated. “Well, not really.”

  Her almond-shaped eyes crinkled with a look of confusion. “It’s kind of a yes or no question.”

  Damn it, he was really out of options. “If it works out this weekend, I’d need somebody until the babysitting service can find a replacement. Probably for a couple of weeks.”

  Sloane’s smile turned shrewd. “If I do this, I want time and a half.” Her stare offered no quarter, but he met her head-on anyway. He wasn’t that desperate.

  “First of all, I still haven’t asked. And secondly, what makes you think you’re worth time and a half?” How much experience could she have if she didn’t even like kids?

  “Kid wranglers who double as English tutors don’t come cheap, and this one in particular needs the cash. You said she has a lot to catch up on; plus, you need someone to babysit on top of it. You’re getting two-for-one here. Take it or leave it.”

  He folded his arms over his chest, not quite convinced. “You’re not going to teach her how to write trashy novels, are you?” Gavin asked, wary. Bree was only thirteen, for God’s sake.

  Sloane’s pretty blue eyes shrank to slits. “The correct terminology for that perfectly legitimate subgenre is erotica. And of course I won’t teach her how to write it—in addition to being inappropriate, it’s not what you’re asking for. If you’d ask about my background instead of just passing judgment, you’d find that I earned an MFA from NYU, and I’ve taught several creative writing courses for adults online. Like it or not, this trashy author is probably more qualified to tutor middle school English than anyone else in Pine Mountain.”

  He blinked. “You have a master’s degree?”

  She served up a smile more syrupy than dessert wine. “Summa cum laude, buddy.”

  Wonderful. All he wanted was to make sure Bree would learn Proust, not porn. So sue him for being a little protective and having his sister’s best interests at heart.

  The antique grandfather clock by the double-door entrance echoed three distinct chimes through the muted chaos of kitchen prep, a literal signal that Gavin was running out of time. “Okay, what do you say we start over, here? I didn’t mean to offend you.”

  Sloane’s saccharine smirk lost some of its caustic edge. “Well, you did a pretty good job of it.”

  A tiny quirk tickled the corners of his mouth, daring it to bloom into a full-blown smile. “Come on. It’s a little tough to blame a guy for jumping to conclusions after overhearing all that talk about orgasm this and toe-curling that, don’t you think?”

  But rather than get defensive or try to change the subject, Sloane chuckled. “Okay, you might have a point. But just so you’re aware, terms like trashy and smut are pretty derogatory. I take my job seriously, and I expect other people to do the same.”

  Jeez, he’d really put his foot in his mouth. “Understood. But for the record, I take my sister’s welfare seriously, too. While I didn’t mean to insult you, it’s my responsibility to make sure Bree’s sitters are good enough to take care of her.”

  Sloane’s lips parted for a split second before she pressed them together and dropped her head into a tight nod. “I hope you find someone who fits the bill.”

  She shifted her body back toward the table and shouldered her bright red bag. As she stood and moved to scoop up her untouched bowl of soup, something high-pitched and fierce hollered at him to stop her. Risqué books aside, he really was out of options. Plus, despite Bree’s complaint about not needing a tutor, letting her fail English wasn’t an option.

  “You fit the bill.” The words flew out before Gavin could finesse them into an actual request, and he scrambled to try again. “I mean, ah, I’d really like it if you could help me out with my sister until the babysitting service can send someone to relieve you. Please.”

  Sloane looked at him with a shocked blink-and-start combination, and her spoon plopped to the tablecloth with a velvety orange splash. “I don’t know,” she said, finally. “Like I said, I’m not really a kid person. To be honest, I might fit the bill less than you think.”

  “But you’re responsible, right?” God, any second now, Bree was going to walk through the door with a truckload of attitude and a backpack full of English assignments. Sloane nodded. Think . . . think!

  “If you need more money, I’ll pay you double,” he said, taking a step toward her.

  Her mouth popped open, silent for only a second before she protested. “No, no, that’s not what I meant. I’m not trying to bargain with you.”

  “But I’m trying to bargain with you.” Gavin moved forward, taking steps until he was close enough to smell the spicy cinnamon notes of Sloane’s skin. “Look, my sister might not be the easiest kid to deal with, but she took our mother’s death hard. I just want someone to keep an eye on her so she doesn’t have to be alone all weekend, and I don’t want her to fail English. I’m worried about her.”

  It was more than he’d said about taking care of Bree since their mother had died, and as soon as he heard the words, he wished them back.

  “Your mother passed away recently?” Sloane’s long fin
gers migrated up her breast bone, splaying in a gentle arc as she pressed them over her chest, and the gesture caught Gavin’s attention enough to fumble through an answer.

  He nodded. “Ten months ago. She had cancer. But I’d appreciate it if—”

  “I’ll do it.”

  “You’ll . . . what?”

  Sloane’s hand lowered in an abrupt drop, her hair framing her face in a shadowy fringe that rendered her eyes unreadable. “What can I say? You wore me down, and I really could use the cash.”

  A strange sensation Gavin couldn’t quite pin with a name flooded his chest. “Thank you.”

  She laughed, tossing her bangs from her face to reveal an expression that was all business. “Don’t thank me yet. I’ll make sure she catches up with her schoolwork, but I’m holding you to that offer of paying double. And just so we’re on the same page, despite the company I keep, I don’t cook. Unless Bree has an unnatural fondness for PB and J, we’ll be doing the takeout thing.”

  Gavin exhaled in relief. Finally, an easy fix. “Double the pay is fine; it’s what I offered. And you don’t have to worry about meals. We’ve got plenty at our place, and Bree is an excellent cook.”

  “You make your thirteen-year-old sister cook for you?” Sloane’s eyes widened, the color of lush, ripe blueberries on a warm summer morning.

  The corners of his own mouth twitched in response, surprising him with the repeat performance of a long-forgotten sensation. “Bree cooks with me, not for me.” Well, she had before their mother died, anyway, but Gavin wasn’t in the mood to split hairs. “I learned restaurant management in culinary school.”

  Okay, so the zinger felt better than it should. The look of pure shock on her face was priceless. “You went to culinary school?”

  He nodded. “Three years. But I didn’t graduate summa cum laude.”

  “Oh.” She scuffed the carpet with the toe of one purple suede boot. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions.”

  “I accept your apology.” A quick glance at his watch reminded him that the newly delivered bar inventory wasn’t going to tally itself, and he was behind as it was. “I’ll be on shift tonight until about midnight, then back on tomorrow at nine. We have a guest bedroom, so you’re welcome to stay if that’s easier.”

  “No thanks, boss. I’m kind of particular about my space. Coming and going works just fine, but I can’t make any promises about my mood in the mornings.”

  Great. Two moody females in the same house. What had he done? “Speaking of which, I should probably warn you. Bree’s a little bit—”

  Gavin’s words were summarily cut off by a rush of winter wind, and the shrill voice that accompanied it from the heavy mahogany doorframe was no less bitter.

  “Do you have any idea how embarrassing it is for the whole school to see you get a ride from the vice principal? Do you?”

  He turned just in time to catch the flash of liquid hatred in his sister’s eyes, and his gut churned like a stand mixer gone terribly wrong. “I was in a jam, Bree. I can’t be in two places at once, and she offered to drop you off,” he started, but her interruption was swift and merciless.

  “How come you couldn’t just send me home on the bus like normal? Anything would’ve been better than this!”

  “I thought you hated the bus.” He was dangerously close to losing his cool, so he scrambled to defuse the situation. Taking a breath, he calmed his voice, hoping she’d take the cue and at least listen to reason. “Mrs. Teasdale had an emergency, and I had to make other arrangements. If I’d sent you home on the bus, you’d have been alone.”

  “Like that’s such a crime. Everybody thinks I’m a huge brown-noser now, thanks to you!” Bree jammed her hands over her hips, refusing to back down, but Gavin wasn’t about to give in and make a scene, especially in front of someone he barely knew. He inhaled as deeply as possible and reached for his poise. Clearly, he needed enough for both of them.

  “Don’t be melodramatic, Bree. I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

  But the voice that piped up didn’t belong to his sister. “You sent her here with the vice principal?” Sloane cocked her shadowy head at him, her disbelief as plain as the afternoon sunlight pouring in through the windows.

  “Yes. I didn’t have a choice.” Gavin crossed his arms in an unforgiving loop over the front of his dress shirt and stood firm. He didn’t care how much he needed the temporary help. No way was he apologizing for the way he took care of Bree, not to Sloane or anyone else.

  “Who are you?” The challenge in Bree’s voice was punctuated by an obvious hint of curiosity, but she quickly canceled it out with a disdainful glance at Sloane’s trendy clothes, right down to those crazy high-heeled boots.

  “Bree, this is Sloane. She’s going to look after you and help you catch up in English.”

  Bree’s eyes glittered with anger. “Are you kidding me? You’re making me work with a tutor? On the weekend? This is so unfair!”

  Gavin winced. Okay, maybe he should’ve saved that part until she wasn’t quite so worked up. “Not all weekend. Look, let’s be reasonable about this. It’s a great chance for you to improve your grade.” Why did she have to be so difficult? He’d practically gift-wrapped a way for her not to fail English, only she was too damned stubborn to take it.

  “Didn’t you learn the last time that I don’t need any help from your girlfriends? They don’t stick around, anyway.”

  For just a breath, he was utterly paralyzed. The words were a dare, he knew, to admit things he’d tried to forget. But giving those things airtime now was pointless, and so was arguing with Bree.

  As much as she hated it, he was all she had.

  “That’s enough,” he said, putting enough frost on the words to catch her attention. “You can wait until tomorrow to start your classwork if you want, but Sloane’s in charge while I’m here at work. Are we clear?”

  Bree shrugged and mumbled a whatever under her breath, turning toward the front entrance. Gavin clenched his jaw hard enough that his muscles ticked, and he forced himself to meet Sloane’s eyes.

  “Sorry about that. Like I said, things have been rough.” The last thing he wanted was to go into this now, with his nerves frayed and a late night ahead of him. He braced for a barrage of questions, but to his shock, only one came.

  “You weren’t kidding about that warning, were you?” Sloane pulled her bright red coat over her shoulders, flipping her keys into her palm with a jingle.

  “No.” This had disaster written all over it. She didn’t have any experience with kids, and here he was, throwing her to a walking, talking pile of angry-girl hormones. He’d be shocked if Sloane didn’t end their deal right on the spot.

  But to his relief, she just smiled. “It’s a good thing you hired me, boss. I love a challenge, and you need all the help you can get.”

  Chapter Four

  It took less than five minutes of one-on-one for Sloane to realize she’d kicked a hornet’s nest of epic proportions when she impulsively signed on for this job.

  “Just so you know, I don’t need a tutor in English, and I definitely don’t need a babysitter.” Bree slumped in the passenger seat of Sloane’s Fiat, fiddling with the iPod in her lap.

  “Good. That makes two of us.” She eased the car onto the main road outside the grounds of the Pine Mountain Resort and tapped out an imaginary beat over the steering wheel with both index fingers. Maybe if she just played it cool, they’d get somewhere. After all, how hard could it be to have a casual conversation with this kid?

  “Soooo, what’ve you got on there?” Sloane popped her chin toward the iPod, and Bree promptly lowered another three inches in her seat.

  “Music.”

  “Anything I might like?”

  “Probably not.” Bree plugged her earbuds into place and looked out the window, flicking the round dial on the iPod to life with the pad of her thumb.

  Right. So much for casual conversation. With the exception of the GPS chirping
out directions to the address Gavin had offered up just before they’d left, the rest of the ride passed in silence. Good thing Sloane didn’t have to rely on her sulky passenger to get them there. Not that she could blame the kid for being a little bit hacked off about her day. Having to hitch a ride with a school official might’ve been the only way for Gavin to get her to the restaurant safely, but that didn’t make it any less mortifying for Bree. Even Sloane, who didn’t know squat about kids, could figure that one out.

  On the flip side, Bree had lit into him pretty hard over it. Not that it had put a dent in his cool demeanor, but still. Sloane knew fighting words when she heard them. Her curiosity sparked to life as she tried to picture the ex-girlfriend-in-question. Pretty, no doubt. After all, what pretty girl wouldn’t be a sucker for those melty brown eyes and classically handsome face?

  Well, besides her, of course. Chiseled jaw line or not, the Ice King was so not her type.

  “Anyway,” she breathed, her cheeks flushing with too much warmth at the blast of heat cranking from the vent. She flipped it toward Bree in case she was cold, then pulled off of Rural Route Four to a winding residential road dotted with lakeside cottages, thinking all the way.

  Although Sloane still wasn’t quite sure what had possessed her to agree to it, she was about to spend the better part of two weeks with this kid. She needed a plan of attack, especially for the tutoring. She’d never worked with a preteen before, but she hadn’t been bullshitting Gavin about those online creative writing classes she’d taught. In the grander scheme of things, this job couldn’t be that different than teaching adults. If anything, the challenge might kick-start her creative juices. At the very least, this gig would pad her anemic bank account, which put her that much closer to packing her bags and saving her career.

  If the kid would give her something more than the cold shoulder and a mountain of attitude.

  “Well, here we are. Home sweet home.” By the time Sloane had the Fiat in Park, both of Bree’s black Converse All-Stars had hit the gravel drive in a blur of motion. She crunched her way to the single-story clapboard cottage, withdrawing a set of keys from the side pocket of her backpack without breaking stride. Only when she’d bumped the thick wooden door from its resting place in the frame did she turn back to look at Sloane.