All That You Are

by Stef Ann Holm

  Dana did a lot, too. And yet she had a little boy who counted on her to be his mom. And from what Mark had seen, she seemed able to handle it.

  “So we’re going to St. John’s Church for pie and coffee,” Dana said, entering his thoughts. “You can come, if you want.”

  Dana—so gorgeous and confident. He loved the curly hair.

  He loved looking at her. But these were her people, her parade. Her town. Not his.

  “No, that’s cool. You go ahead.” Rising from his chair, it felt good to stretch his muscles.

  If she was disappointed he’d passed, she didn’t show it. But Sam seemed happy about Mark’s departure, collecting his things to make ready to leave.

  “Mark,” Dana said, and to his recollection, it was the first time she’d called him by his name. “The Blue Note’s operating hours are from two to two.” Her teeth snagged her lower lip, a gesture that he read as her uncertainty about discussing business within the earshot of others. “Can you renovate outside those times?”

  “Yeah—maybe,” he replied. “The outside stuff’s going to have to continue after two in the afternoon. The inside shouldn’t be that big of a deal. I’ll arrive early to get a jump on it. Probably six in the morning.”

  “That would work.” She allowed Sam to gather her things, as well as Terran’s. “How long do you think it’ll take to complete?”

  “It has to be done by the first of September.”

  “Why’s that?”

  Puzzlement creased her smooth forehead, an inky black curl teasing her brow. Heat flashed through him, fierce and strong. The set of her mouth, the flesh-pink color, tempted beyond reason. If he hadn’t been on a public street with people milling around, he would have taken her into his arms and kissed her.

  He damned the direction of his thoughts.

  Dana could make him forget obligations to his family, and the life he had back in Boise.

  “’Cause that’s when I’m out of here, sunshine,” he said, then left her to enjoy the rest of her afternoon.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “HOT TAMALE, BABY. Somebody should take that man’s picture and put it on a calendar.” Presley’s animated caliente reference to Mark brought out a frown in Dana.

  “Who’d buy it?” Dana stood in the Blue Note’s kitchen, her friend and cook assembling an order of seviche.

  “You know you would.”

  “Not even.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Dana was annoyed by Presley’s throaty response that meant something like yeah, right.

  Knowing herself the way she did, Dana was sure of her reply. She wouldn’t buy a hunk calendar. Never had. But she did have to admit one thing—if only to herself. Tracking Mark with her gaze as he worked around the bar was a nice diversion.

  She’d hired help in the past to repair something here and there. Those guys had had beer bellies, or had been scrawny with a visible butt crack. Mark was neither of those.

  Tall and muscular, he moved with a commanding presence that said he knew exactly what he was doing. His shoulders were wide, his muscles evident in the long-sleeved T-shirts he wore.

  He’d been deep into the demo for two weeks, having knocked out the one wall and tarped the bare studs and conduit with plastic sheets as he installed a doorway and widened the area. Dust floated throughout the bar, a pain to stay on top of. Mark managed to keep the renovation as functional as possible, so as not to interrupt her normal business operations.

  “I told him not to get here so early,” Dana remarked, the warm scent of toasting bread filling the space. Which was very true. Mark’s strong work ethic, while admirable, was going to run him into the ground with exhaustion. “He said he’d start work at six o’clock. But when I’m locking the door just after two and leaving to go home—he’s coming in. The guy doesn’t sleep normal hours.”

  “He doesn’t strike me as the type to listen to anyone’s advice,” Presley said, squeezing lime juice over her creation just as a waitstaff worker whisked the tall glass away for serving. Glancing at her next order, Presley added in a yummy voice, “Have I mentioned, that man is smokin’ hot?”

  “That would be a yes,” Dana said shortly, leaning into the stainless counter. “And remind yourself you aren’t shopping.”

  Presley Reid had had the same on-again, off-again boyfriend since their senior year. Ten years of yo-yo dating had left Presley strung along, waiting for more. Dana wouldn’t have tolerated it.

  A gleam lit the cook’s bright eyes. “No, but I can look at the beefcake.” Then in a rush, she added, “Which reminds me—I saw Tori Daniel at the Chevron station this morning. Her skirt was so short you could see her goodies when she leaned over to pump her gas.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Well, she had tights on. You know how she is.”

  Dana had seen Tori around town since her Safeway days, but the woman was a nonentity in her life. She had a glossy starlet look but a brain the size of a whiskey shot.

  Sometimes Dana wished she was tall and blond, but she had no imagination when it came to that sort of thing. She’d lived with what she’d been born with, and she’d gotten used to it.

  There were always high heels to add inches to a woman’s confidence.

  She didn’t often wear them to work, but on her off days she loved heeled boots or pumps with jeans. Practicality won most of the time when it was pouring rain. Nothing beat Gore-Tex on a slippery sidewalk. Dana feared she’d kill herself in some designer heels if she dared wear them during a typical Ketchikan deluge.

  Another round of orders arrived at the counter, and Dana left Presley and her assistants to fill them. Out in the barroom, she scanned the crowd and found Mark.

  He’d quit working early today after his materials hadn’t been delivered when they’d been promised. He must have gone home, napped, showered, and now he’d returned to the bar as a customer.

  Mark sat at the end of the bar, talking to Bear and Cardelle as if they were old buddies. He’d integrated himself nicely into their small town, making friends.

  Friendships weren’t easy for her. She had too much to do, so little time to do it. Each day was filled before she could take a deep breath. The weeks she had her son, she spent every minute with him that she could. When he was with his dad, she tried to catch up on all the mundane things. And every hour in between—she was here at the Blue Note.

  Aside from her mom, Presley, Walt and Leo were the closest things to confidants Dana had and, even then, there was only so much she’d discuss with each of them. Her true best friend had been her brother. They’d shared a closeness growing up that would never be duplicated by anyone else.

  Sometimes she missed Terrance more than she could bear; her dad, too. Oscar had been the bar’s soul, and his presence was missed to this day by the patrons. It seemed like holidays were the worst because they had special meaning. But a day like July Fourth had created new memories because of Terran, and that helped heal a place in her heart.

  Dave Brubeck’s quintuple-time rendition of “Take Five” played through the expensive speakers, and customers’ voices carried across the room. All was well. Everyone appeared happy.

  The need to visit with Mark tugged strongly. She could ask him how things were falling into place. A legitimate question.

  Although she’d never admit this to anyone, like Presley, Dana thought Mark was “hot” as well when it came to his looks.

  But that day at the parade, she’d seen a different side to him. The easygoing interaction between Mark and Terran hadn’t gone without her notice. They had somehow formulated a joint effort to collect candy, although it had been unplanned. Terran had caught on quickly, dodging left and right, and staying out of the line of fire for Mark to snag flying candy.

  Smiling in remembrance, Dana gave Mark another glance, and this time she found he was looking directly at her. His eyes caught hers, and he gave her a look that said more than she cared to know. Too intimate for words. He did that to her, a
ll too often. She didn’t like it. Or maybe she liked it more than she dared admit. The way he made her feel without even being close by or talking to her.

  Dana changed directions, and went into her office to work on her six-month expense forecast. With the economic downturn, every dollar had to be accounted for the best way she could. She had made a detailed cash flow list with food receipts, beverage sales and sales receivables. She’d tallied her cash disbursements and the controllable expenses such as operating—including utilities and the music entertainment she hired, and miscellaneous expenses, payroll and…contract labor.

  Settling back in her chair, she stared at the spreadsheet on the computer screen. Mark was saving her a fortune. She could never have afforded a loan to get everything completed.

  His generosity still perplexed her.

  What was he all about? Too many whys kept circling through her thoughts. There were times when she wanted to get to know him better, to find out what was behind his offer to help. Not just any guy would do this for her. Motives were a strange thing. She knew too well how a false motive could manipulate a situation.

  A person had to want to do something for themselves. When they did it for someone else the result could get emotionally messy.

  Mark drew her attention like nobody else had in the past. He was an enigma of sorts. Maybe she could invite him out for dinner or coffee…talk to him about himself.

  Dana rolled her eyes. Stupid idea.

  Still reclined in her chair, she rolled the computer’s mouse to minimize her document. In its place, she visited an Internet site with pages of shoes she’d been looking at earlier. She loved the ubber expensive cranberry-red, peep-toe pumps with the stiletto heels.

  The spreadsheet forgotten for the moment, she clicked on the shoes to enlarge the photo. The heels were four-inchers. That was about her limit. Any taller, she’d risk falling while walking in them.

  “Those are some sexy pimp kicks, boss.” Mark’s voice drawled through her office with a honey smoothness. As he leaned next to the door frame, his black hair fell over his brow. “You’d look good in them. Little black skirt—”

  “Why are you like this?” she snapped, sitting upright with a jolt of her body.

  “Practice, I guess.”

  With a fast click, Dana minimized the shoe images. Her cute desktop background photo of Terran came into view.

  Heart beating, and not just from being startled while salivating over a pair of Christian Louboutin shoes—which she could never afford anyway—she glowered at Mark. Just his appearance in this small nook of her life, her tiny office, affected her sensibilities. She felt as if he took over the entire space with his presence.

  “What do you want?” she asked bluntly, not meaning to sound so cold, but he’d snuck up on her. She hated being surprised.

  He wore a button-down shirt, a soft grayish color that brought out the few silver strands at his temples. “How’s life treating you, sis?”

  “I’m not your sister.”

  “And then they all said—Amen.” He gave her the rakish grin that went straight to her…

  “So what is it you really want, Mark? I’m busy.”

  “I can see that. A little shoe shopping on company time. But you’re the boss so you shop all you want.”

  Flustered, she replied, “I wasn’t interested in any of them. I was just—”

  “Looking.” He pushed away from the door. “Nothing wrong with that. Giving something a look over before you buy it is actually damn smart.”

  “Are you talking about shoes?”

  “Are you?”

  Closing her eyes, she held her breath for a ten count. Then when she was ready to face him, she blinked. “Is everything okay with the remodel? Leo said you cut out early.”

  “Lumber delivery didn’t make it like they promised. Happens all the time.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “What for? You didn’t do it.”

  Mark examined the office walls, taking in the numerous framed pictures of Terran.

  “He’s a good-looking boy.” Mark studied the Halloween photo featuring lit pumpkins on the porch steps and her son outfitted in his Batman costume with the muscled chest in gray flame-retardant fabric. “But so is his mom.”

  She accepted the flattery without comment.

  Mark’s gaze drifted from the photo. “Bear had told me you had a son. And about what happened to your dad and brother.”

  That news caused her to impose an iron will not to show any reaction. While it was common knowledge about her brother and father’s deaths, she didn’t care to discuss it with Mark.

  Mark went on, “That’s why you were bent out of shape in the aviation office that night. My dad passed away, too. I understand.”

  “You don’t understand anything about me.”

  “If that’s what you want to think.”

  He gave a cursory examination of her desk and the contents strewn on top. The items on the floor. A briefcase. Black patent leather heels she’d kicked off one afternoon when she needed to help haul in beer kegs. In the corner, a musician’s case leaned against the wall.

  “Satisfied?” she questioned. “I’m not the best housekeeper, but I know where things are.”

  “I suppose you do.”

  He managed to make himself at home without being invited or even sitting in the other chair in the room. The confines were tight and she wished he’d say his piece, then go.

  “So what’s up?” she inquired pleasantly, hoping that kindness would disarm whatever intent he’d had when he’d entered.

  His day’s stubble had been shaved, his jaw’s razor smoothness beckoning. She ignored the lure.

  Mark leaned next to the doorway once more. “I want to buy you a drink and get to know you better.”

  “I don’t drink when I’m working.” On a pretext of being overly involved in paperwork, she shuffled paper around to look busy. “And that reminds me, I hope Leo’s not charging you at the bar. I told him you could have anything you wanted. Just don’t abuse it.”

  “I haven’t gotten stupid drunk since I was twenty-three.” His dark brown eyes lowered, traveling across her narrow shoulders to the dusky-rose sweater that fit over her small breasts. “And never tell a man he can have anything he wants, unless you mean it.”

  Fire sparked through her every nerve ending and she shot to her feet. Needing to stand up to him, or rather trying to, she only came to his chest. “I was talking about liquor, and you know it.”

  This close to him, she could smell his aftershave or body soap. It didn’t matter which. He smelled too good and she didn’t like that she thought so.

  She tipped her chin upward, holding her ground. “You bring out the worst in me when I’m trying to like you for all your help.”

  He got that cocky grin on his face that infuriated her. “If you get this excited about my worst, I could really make you happy with my best.”

  While childish, she shoved him just to get her frustration out. His hands clamped over her arms, holding her still. Pumping fast, her heartbeat betrayed the calm she presented. She could feel her pulse at her neck, the obvious sign she was affected by him.

  Trying to slow her breathing, she remained motionless while his face loomed over hers and his breath caught on her cheek.

  For the longest time, he drank in her features, looking at her face as if he wanted to memorize it. She grew nervous, unsure how to respond. Her mind said one thing, her body said another.

  She wasn’t immune to his startling good looks, the feel of him this close. His warmth, his scent, the dark glint in his eyes. But she wasn’t going to jump him, not for anything.

  Dana had a lot of reserve in her. She could wait this out for as long as he wanted. She wouldn’t flinch or bolt. She could stand still and simply breathe.

  In the end, Mark’s hands slid over her arms and toward her chin. He caught the point in his strong fingers, then lightly brushed his thumb over her mouth. She couldn’t
suppress the shiver that came with a thousand hot pricks of assaulting pleasure. Angry with her lack of resolve, she finally jerked back, needing to be free of him.

  “Get out—go have a drink,” she ordered.

  Then in a tone that both exasperated and caressed her like a light kiss, he replied in a rich timbre, “I’m not the one who needs it, Princess Bubble Gum.”

  “What did you call me?”

  “Pretty sweater. You look amazingly good in that color.”

  Then he turned and left as quietly as he’d appeared. Dana let herself watch him retreat, standing still. Her chin lowered and she gave her pink sweater a glance. Its cable knit was delicate and woven with ruby-pink metallic yarn to create a startling pink illusion of rich color. It was probably the most expensive sweater in her closet; her mother had bought it for her.

  For long seconds after Mark left, Dana stood wondering what all this had really been about.

  But she didn’t have time to overly ponder it because the hour had grown late—it was nearly eleven o’clock. Opening the hard-shell black case, she took out her father’s saxophone. She had her own, back at the house. He’d bought it for her and taught her to play. But she kept Oscar’s sax at the bar. This was his place, his music, and when the notes on his saxophone filled the Blue Note, it was as if he was here again rather than on the recordings.

  Finding Leo, she told him to cut the music when he saw she was ready. This was their standard operating procedure when she opted to play. Normally she did so a couple times a week, but it had been nearly a month since she’d played.

  Standing on the short riser where other performers played live jazz, Dana held her shiny saxophone, and Leo was right on cue to cease the jukebox tune.

  Posture straight, head erect, she fought to stave off the flush that had crept over her face. Mark sat at the bar once more, and she could feel his eyes following her every move.

  When she’d prepared, taking her place, she had it in her mind to play “Somewhere Over the Rainbow,” but as the room stilled to a hush, she heard rain pounding on the rooftop. Fat drops fell on her corrugated roof, sounding like a brass-tack staccato over metal. A thought hit her—they didn’t need the buckets anymore.