by Warren, Pat
Megan. Getting out of the car, Alex stared up at the sky, clearing after the morning rain, and thought about the woman who’d sat in her garden last night, wearing her stubborn streak like a badge of honor. Her resistance to any proffered help seemed more than independence. More like a strong determination to make it on her own. Why? he wondered. What could it have hurt if she’d have let him pull up a few weeds? Did all that track back to Neal and their relationship?
He supposed the prudent thing would be for him to quit offering. Even his wiping a few pans had upset her. At breakfast this morning, she’d been polite and smiling, but in an impersonal way. She hadn’t once let her eyes linger on him or spoken to him directly unless he’d asked her a question. Apparently, he unnerved her and again he wondered why.
Alex stepped into the lobby and saw the reddish-haired woman who’d been arranging flowers yesterday behind the desk today.
“Ah, Mr. Shephard,” Grace Romero said, catching his eye. “Just the man I want to see.” Her gaze roamed over him appreciatively.
Alex knew a flirt when he saw one, no matter her age. He read her name on her badge. “Well, here I am, Grace. What can I do for you?”
“It’s more what we can do for you.” Grace ran a hand over her smooth hair, wishing she’d have worn it down today. Men, all men, liked long hair, she’d discovered long ago.
There was that we plural stuff again. “And what might that be?”
“Megan’s decided to put on a barbecue dinner tonight. The couple in our upstairs green room is celebrating forty years of marriage, so all the guests are invited. Chicken, ribs, potato salad, beans, fresh corn and, of course, something lovin’ from the oven. About six on the back lawn, if you’d care to join us.” Her dark eyes watched him think the invitation over.
“Sounds good. I believe my evening’s free. Tell me, are you and Megan doing the cooking or are you having it catered?”
Grace’s laugh was full-bodied and rich. “Catered? Oh, my saints, no. We’re doing it all. Finger-lickin’ good, I promise you. And no charge.”
Alex raised an eyebrow. “No charge?” Not a very good business practice, but perhaps Megan had a reason.
“Walter and Jean have spent every wedding anniversary with us since the year we opened,” Grace went on to explain, “and sent many of their friends to us, as well. Megan wanted to do something nice for them. There’ll be music, too. Do you dance, Mr. Shephard?”
Hands in his pockets, he smiled at her. “The woman who dances with me has to wear steel-toed shoes, Grace. And please call me Alex.”
“Thank you, Alex. Too bad. About the dancing, I mean.”
She was wearing a gauzy, full-skirted dress in bright turquoise. He could picture her swirling in it. “I’m certainly looking forward to watching you.” He decided to give it one more shot, this time with a woman who seemed more amenable. “If you and Megan need any help setting up tables out back or whatever, I’m available.”
“Oh, thanks, but we can handle things just fine. We never let guests help.”
“So Megan told me last night.” He glanced through the dining room at the double doors leading to the kitchen, surmising that Megan was probably in there right now, slaving away on the dinner. “I don’t know why not. Guests are people, and people don’t offer unless they really want to help.”
Grace shook her auburn head, causing her large gold hoop earrings to all but brush her shoulders. “No, guests are to be waited on, not do the waiting on others. House rule.” She flashed him a wide smile.
But Alex wasn’t one to give up easily. “Can I bring something, then? To add to the menu. I passed a store in town just now. Out-of-season watermelons. They’re almost a requisite at an outdoor barbecue, don’t you think?”
Grace considered his suggestion. The man was persistent; she’d give him that. Megan might not like it, but really, what could it hurt? “All right, but remember, I didn’t ask you.”
He gave her his most charming smile. “No, you didn’t.”
“See you later.” She saw him walk out toward his car as she hurried off, her list in hand. She’d invited all the guests and everyone had accepted except for one couple who’d made other plans for the day. In the kitchen, she found Megan putting the finishing touches to a huge pot of baked beans. “Okay, I got to all of them. It’ll be ten for dinner, plus the three of us. Manageable.”
“Yes, and thank you.” Megan brushed the back of her hand across her damp forehead. Her next purchase would have to be a large ceiling fan for this kitchen the moment she had extra cash. The washer would have to wait. She was about to melt in this heat. “Lord, but it’s hot today. Does the weatherman know the first of May hasn’t even arrived yet?”
“It’s not hot outside, only in here with two ovens on, several pots bubbling away and a big dishwasher running.” Grace noticed that Megan’s face was flushed with heat. “Honey, why don’t you go out and cool off?”
“Oh, Grace, there’s too much to do.” She sighed, mentally running through the list. The barbecue was a good idea, and certainly Walter and Jean deserved the extra treat. But it made for a very long day, what with getting breakfast to cleaning all the occupied rooms, then shopping for groceries and now cooking and baking all afternoon. She hoped she didn’t nod off during dinner.
Grace walked over to Megan and yanked off the towel she’d fastened around her waist in lieu of an apron, something Megan refused to wear. “Enough. I don’t want you pooping out on me. You’ve been running around all morning like a crazy woman. Go and grab some fresh air while I frost the cake. Half an hour won’t put us behind. Scoot! Go!”
“Oh, all right.” Megan went to the door, paused with her hand on the knob. “The decorative tips are in the—”
“Third drawer. Don’t you think I know this kitchen by now? Get outta here, woman!”
Smiling, Megan stepped out and drew in a deep breath of air heavy with the fragrance of flowers. It was cooler out here, the ground still damp from the morning shower. She intended to cut some irises for tonight’s centerpiece, but not until later. This would be an ideal time to do a little weeding. And to check on a sickly rosebush, a hybrid that had been a gift from Emily. No matter what Megan did, the poor thing always seemed to be struggling just to survive.
Moving along the grassy path, she bent to her task.
Some twenty minutes later, she’d just finished cleaning out under and around the rosebushes and bagging the weeds when she heard the front gate into the garden open. Straightening, she saw Alex Shephard walk in carrying a huge watermelon. His strides along the brick walk were long and confident until he spotted her. Pausing, looking oddly uncomfortable for a man who exuded self-assurance, he gave her a sheepish smile.
“For the barbecue,” he said, indicating the melon. Though he’d known her but a short time, he recognized that stubborn tilt to her chin. Aware of the frown forming on her face as she strolled toward him, he went on, “Grace told me you had plenty of food, but I spotted this in town at the Green Grocer and couldn’t resist.” He pointed to a small plug at one end. “The owner cut out a wedge so I could taste it. Heavenly. Want to try some?”
Megan watched him try to talk his way out of a situation he had to know she wouldn’t like and almost laughed at how nonplussed he was. Almost. She stopped several feet from him and met his eyes. “Tell me, were you always this good at following directions as a child or is this something new?”
He grinned, shifting the melon in his arms, relieved she didn’t appear truly angry. He wondered if she knew how appealing she looked with her dark hair tied back with a blue ribbon, her face smudged not with flour this time but rather dirt from her weeding, and the knees of her well-worn jeans grass-stained. Appealing and very young. “Oh, I was worse, much worse. My father’s hair was totally white by the time I started high school.”
“I believe it.” She gazed at the huge melon. “Well, I suppose since you went to all that trouble, we should chill that.” Dusting off her
hands, she led the way into the kitchen, holding the screen door for him.
Just finished with the cake, Grace was at the sink drying her hands. “That’s what I call a giant melon.” She smiled at Alex and caught his wink as Megan bent to the sink to wash up, then went to the refrigerator to make room.
“Wow, what is this, thirty cubic feet?” Alex asked, standing behind her as she poked inside the huge refrigerator.
“More like forty, industrial-size,” Megan answered as she pulled out several bagged chickens, then straightened. But she hadn’t realized Alex was so close behind her, so she bumped squarely into him, her backside bumping his hip—and lost her train of thought.
Quickly, Alex shifted the melon, tucking it into one arm like a football, and slipped his other arm around Megan to steady her. She was so soft and more fragile than he’d have guessed. The swell of her breast just grazed his arm. Up close, he inhaled her womanly scent and felt her tense.
At first contact, Megan’s eyes leaped to his face. Why did she get the feeling he’d planned that maneuver even though his expression was painfully innocent? She couldn’t help noticing that he had the greenest eyes she’d ever seen. His hand on her bare arm was large and very warm, strong and protective. His touch aroused a flare of heat within her, one she didn’t welcome. Enough of this. She sidestepped him. “On the bottom shelf, please,” she instructed, her voice just a shade unsteady.
Carrying the fryers to the sink, she dropped them in before checking his progress over her shoulder.
Alex closed the door and turned to find both women watching him. “There. What else can I help with?” As soon as the words were out, he regretted them as Megan’s frown returned.
“Nothing, thanks,” she said firmly. Even her glance at Grace was somewhat irritated. Why couldn’t this man busy himself elsewhere?
“I’m shucking corn,” Grace announced, dumping the contents of a large bag onto the butcher-block table. Her movements efficient, she went to work, watching Megan and Alex through lowered lashes. There seemed to be an odd tension between the two, strange for people who scarcely knew each other.
Annoyed but loath to rudely order Alex to go away, Megan reached into her knife drawer, searching for the one she wanted to use to cut up the chickens. She looked up as he stepped over to the counter, wondering why he was moving closer again, then cried out as she nicked her finger on a sharp blade because she wasn’t paying attention. “Dam!” She sucked at the small cut.
“At the risk of having you impale me with one of those knives, may I please give you a hand cutting up those chickens? I learned how years ago.” His father’s housekeeper had felt it her duty to teach both Alex and Patrick a few basics about cooking so they could survive on their own. Man chores, she’d called them, like grilling outdoors, making a mean omelette and cutting up chickens.
Megan slammed the knife drawer closed and opened the second one, searching for a bandage, her temper rising. Apparently, she’d have to hit this guy over the head before he’d get the message. “I’m sure you can truss, debone and probably teach a chicken to whistle ‘Dixie,’ Mr. Shephard, but this is my kitchen and you’re a guest in my inn and I’d prefer it if you’d leave the cooking to Grace and me. Thank you for the offer and the watermelon. We’ll see you at dinner tonight at six.”
As dismissals went, it was barely polite and quite insistent. Alex watched her give up the drawer search, wrap a napkin around her bleeding finger and resume looking for the correct knife. Not only lovely and independent, but stubborn as hell. He noticed that she’d dropped the plural, not wanting to include Grace in her temper tantrum. Frankly, Grace looked as if she wouldn’t have minded his help.
“As you wish, Mrs. Delaney,” Alex said, matching her formal tone. With another wink at Grace, who grinned at him, he went through the swinging doors.
Bleeding all over the sink, Megan closed her eyes for a moment and prayed for patience. The cut was deeper than she’d originally thought. “Grace,” she said, her voice low with frustration, “where in hell are the bandages?”
“Coming right up,” Grace said, moving to the cupboard. She’d seen Megan Delaney through thick and thin, through sad times and fun days. But she’d never seen her unnerved or flustered by a man yet, guest or not. There was only one reason Grace could think of for her friend’s odd behavior.
Megan was attracted to Alex Shephard and it scared her mightily.
Yes indeed, it was going to be an interesting barbecue.
Stretched out on a lawn chair he’d found in the side yard, Alex had his briefcase on the grass and a pile of papers he needed to go through on his lap when he noticed that the sun was moving into his eyes. Rising, he decided to shift the angle of the chair just as Ryan Delaney came into sight. The boy was wearing a baseball mitt that nearly swallowed his small hand and smacking a softball into it as he cautiously walked over. Alex settled back into the chair.
It was nearly four, so Alex guessed that the bus had dropped him off a short time ago. “Hi, Ryan. How’s it going?”
“Okay.” Slam went the ball into the mitt.
“Uh-huh. What grade are you in? Second? Third?”
“Third.” Two more slams.
“Uh-huh.” What in the world does a grown man talk about with an eight-year-old? He glanced around the yard, remembered the day they’d met. “No puddles to jump in today, eh?”
“Nope.” Ryan dropped the ball, picked it up, kept his eyes averted, wondering how to talk to this guy. He wished he’d had more practice with grown-up men. Maybe he should’ve brought him a cookie. He’d been real happy that time in the kitchen. Maybe he was pretending to impress his mom like that creep, Eddie Jenkins, who came around to fix the washer and didn’t really like boys.
Alex looked down at his papers, knowing he should get back to work, but it was hard to ignore Ryan thunking his ball into his glove. He searched his mind for a kid topic. “You like to read?”
“Not much.” He glanced toward the kitchen window. “I’m not allowed to annoy the paying guests,” Ryan quoted, sounding as if the warning had been drummed into him. But his blue eyes were hopeful.
“Is that a fact? Then I’ll be sure to let you know when I’m annoyed.” He smiled, suddenly anxious to put the boy at ease. He nodded toward the ball and glove. “Are you a ballplayer?”
Pleased not to be sent away and because his mom wasn’t at the window, Ryan plopped down on the grass next to Alex’s chair. “I’m on a Little League team. The Marlins. I’m the shortstop.”
Impressed, Alex raised his brows. “Hey, great. Why’d you pick shortstop?”
“’Cause you get more chances to get the ball, to make outs.” His young face grew cloudy. “Only I don’t get to play that much. Coach said I need more practice.”
A by-now familiar guilt swept over Alex. “I guess your dad used to help you practice, eh?”
“I’m not supposed to talk about my dad.”
More no-no’s. “Why is that?”
“Mom says if you can’t say something nice about someone, you should keep quiet.”
Alex mulled that over, thinking that Megan had revealed a great deal by giving that warning to her son.
Squinting up at him in the sun, Ryan wondered if this guy knew anything about baseball. He seemed neat enough, but maybe he was too busy, like his dad had been. “You like the Dodgers or the Padres?”
“I’m from San Diego. The Padres, of course.”
Ryan grinned. “Me, too. Only I’m about the only one on my team who likes them. Most everyone likes the Dodgers.” He pounded the ball into the glove. “We had pizza day at school today. You like pizza?”
“Who doesn’t?”
“Yeah. I build model cars. Neat ones like yours.”
“Really? Takes a lot of patience.” Alex watched the boy chuck the ball and decided to climb out on a limb. While it was true that he didn’t know much about kids, he remembered feeling like Ryan when he’d been a boy, wanting to connect to another
male adult when his father hadn’t been available. And Ryan’s father would never again be available. He should by all rights finish updating his file, read the others. Instead, he dropped the stack of papers into his open briefcase. “You want to toss a few?” he asked, indicating Ryan’s ball.
The boy’s face lit up. “Yeah, sure.” He scampered up and walked out a ways on the grass. “I don’t have another glove.”
Estimating the approximate distance between bases, Alex paced it off. “That’s okay. Come on. Throw me one.” The throw was loopy and fell short. Alex scooped it up, ignoring Ryan’s embarrassed face. “Ready? Here it comes.” He tossed one to him, slow and easy, and Ryan managed to grab it, but just barely. “Good. Now throw it to me, only put your arm into the pitch.” Assuming the stance, he waited.
Grace stood at the kitchen window looking past the rows of flowers to the grassy area where a small boy and a tall man were playing catch. Through the screen, she heard Ryan’s whoop of delight when he caught one on the skid, followed by Alex’s cheer. Well, well, she thought, smiling.
Megan straightened from basting the second batch of chicken with barbecue sauce and returned the pan to the oven before walking over to the sink. “What’s so fascinating out there?” she asked, then felt her spine stiffen when she realized her son was playing catch with one of the guests. The meddlesome guest, as she’d come to think of Alex Shephard. “What is with that man?” she asked softly, almost to herself. “First the weeds, then the watermelon, then the chickens and now Ryan. Why doesn’t he know his place like our other guests? Does he stay at a Hilton and offer to do the dishes or change the sheets?”
Crossing her arms over her chest, Grace shifted her gaze from outdoors to the woman beside her. “Remember the McPharlins? They brought you fresh peaches from their orchard in Georgia the last time they stayed with us, and she insisted on baking up a couple of pies right here in this kitchen. And what about that traveling salesman from San Francisco who entertains all the guests by singing in the lounge at least one night of his stay? These are folks who pick this place because they feel comfortable and at home here, and they don’t at a Hilton. So why do you suppose this one guy bothers you so much?” Her long friendship with Megan involved many such questions through the years, and Grace felt no qualms asking now.