Home at Rose Cottage

by Sherryl Woods

  She frowned at him. “Why are you standing there? Aren’t you supposed to be crushing those tomatoes?”

  “Am I?”

  “You said you wanted to help,” she reminded him. “If you can’t keep up with the instructions, maybe you should stand back and let me do this.”

  “No way. I said I’d help and I will.” He eyed the bowl of canned tomatoes with exaggerated wariness. “You want me to stick my hands in there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why not throw ’em in a food processor?”

  “There’s none here.”

  “A blender?”

  “Sorry. And even if we had one, in my family we do this the old-fashioned way. My father’s Italian. He’s taught us all how it was done in the old country. We try to follow tradition. Of course, if you’re afraid to get your hands dirty…” She let the unspoken challenge trail off.

  “I am not afraid of anything,” he said, sticking his hands in and squishing the tomatoes. He hadn’t done anything this disgusting since he’d made mud pies when he was a toddler. “Like this?”

  She watched him for a moment, shook her head, then stepped up and gingerly took his hands in hers and showed him what she wanted him to do. His body promptly stilled, even as his pulse took off like a jet seeking altitude. His response was poking her in the hip. There was no mistaking the moment she became aware of his arousal. She shuddered, then stepped carefully away, clearly trying to pretend she hadn’t noticed.

  “I think you have it now,” she said, her voice shaky.

  “I definitely have something,” he responded, keeping his expression innocent. “Rick!”

  “Yes, Maggie?”

  She gave him an impatient look, then muttered, “Never mind.” She turned her back on him.

  Rick regarded her with amusement. She was trying so blasted hard to keep things cool. She didn’t seem to get the fact that heat was what life was about. All the rest was marking time.

  “Okay, the tomatoes are properly squished,” he said at last. “Now what?”

  “Now you go for a walk or something and stay out of my way,” she replied.

  “Afraid I’ll steal your trade secrets?”

  “Hardly. I think we can both agree that you’re no gourmet chef.”

  Rick had to bite back a laugh. “Oh, really?”

  “It’s obvious.”

  “Just because I asked you to show me how to squeeze a few canned tomatoes?”

  “That was definitely one clue. Then there was the comment about getting spaghetti sauce from a jar.”

  “I said it would be easier, didn’t I? Did I say anything about better?”

  She regarded him with a quizzical expression. “What are you getting at? Do you actually cook?”

  “A few things,” he said modestly. He’d been a bachelor for too long, and somewhere along the way he’d developed a cultivated palate. He knew his way around the kitchen. In fact, he suspected he was a more than even match for her, when he chose to be.

  “You want to make the sauce?” she inquired in a way that implied she was throwing the suggestion out as a challenge she was confident he wouldn’t accept. “Sure.”

  Looking startled, she stood back and made a dramatic sweep of her hand. “Be my guest.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Why not? I have a cast-iron stomach.”

  “There’s no need to be insulting.” And just for that remark, he intended to test her mettle. He’d make an arrabiata sauce that could match the fires of hell.

  With practiced movements, he tossed the ingredients into the saucepan, then began deftly adding spices. Next thing he knew, Maggie was at his shoulder, peering into the pot.

  “Something wrong?” he asked.

  “What did you get out of the cabinet?”

  “Another spice or two.”

  “Which ones?”

  “I think I’ll wait till you taste it and see if you can guess.”

  She reached for the spoon, but he held it away. “Not now. It has to simmer for a bit.”

  “There’s nothing worse than a testy, controlling cook,” she muttered, retreating to her place at the table.

  “Something for you to keep in mind,” he said. “Any wine in the house? You could pour us a glass.” One was usually his limit, but tonight he might make an exception.

  “Oh, goody. An assignment for the little lady,” she mocked.

  “Pouring the wine is a macho thing, a very big responsibility, in fact. I didn’t ask you to set the table, did I?”

  “Good thing,” she muttered.

  Rick laughed.

  Twenty minutes later dinner was on the table. The fragrance of the sauce was rife with garlic, oregano and other spices. When Maggie had been getting the wine, he’d switched the angel-hair pasta for a denser penne that would hold up to the chunky, flavorful sauce. It was a lesson he’d learned from a famous Tuscan chef. Not all pastas were created equal, and the selection could make all the difference in the success of a meal.

  Maggie eyed the bowl in front of her with surprise as Rick grated fresh parmesan cheese over the top. He couldn’t fault the quality of the ingredients in her pantry. Even though she’d just arrived a few days ago, she’d brought in only the best.

  “This looks fabulous,” she admitted. “Smells good, too.”

  “You sound shocked. It’s just pasta.”

  She laughed. “There’s no such thing as just pasta to an Italian. This is the food of the gods.”

  “The Italian bit slipped my mind for a minute,” he said. “I was more panicked about performing to the high standards of the food editor.”

  She tasted her first bite, then sighed. “Not to worry. You passed with flying colors for both the Italian and the food editor. Even my father would be impressed, and he’s a tough critic. He doesn’t think anyone on earth cooks Italian the way his mama did, though it never stopped him from trying to teach all of us. To his regret, Ashley showed absolutely no interest. Melanie can barely boil water, and Jo likes to take shortcuts that make him insane. I’m the only one who took what he said to heart.”

  “I’ll have to cook for him sometime, then.”

  “Sure you won’t suffer from performance anxiety?” she teased.

  “Performing for you is the only thing that ever makes me anxious,” he responded. He gazed into her eyes. “I want to get it right, Maggie. I really do.”

  She swallowed hard, her gaze locked with his. “Are we still talking about cooking?”

  He shook his head. “Not entirely.”

  A surprising hint of a smile tugged at her lips. “You brought sex up first,” she gloated. “And after accusing me of wanting to talk things to death.”

  Rick sighed. “My mistake. Let’s discuss what we’re going to do tomorrow.”

  Maggie looked far more shaken than the suggestion warranted.

  “Something wrong with that?” he asked.

  “You’re not leaving?”

  “No, not as long as you’re here.”

  “You said you’d only be here a few days,” she said, sounding a little panicky.

  He shrugged. “I assumed you’d only be here a few days.”

  “Well, I’m not. I’m here indefinitely,” she said with a note of belligerence.

  “Then I guess I am, too,” Rick replied. That was the blessing of a career in which he made his own schedule. He might have to call his agent eventually and shuffle a few assignments, but he could manage to stay for however long Maggie did. “Why?”

  “I think we’ve established that,” he reminded her. “I intend to get to know you.”

  “Outside of bed?” she asked skeptically.

  He laughed, even though he could see that to her it wasn’t a joking matter. “And in.”

  Unfortunately, there was no spark of amusement in Maggie’s eyes. Obviously she was in no mood to be taunted.

  “Okay,” he relented. “It’s more than that, but I’m not sure I can explain it, Maggie. I have
no idea what you expect me to say.”

  “To be honest, I don’t know what I want you to say, either,” she admitted, gazing at him plaintively. “Do you think we could spend an entire week together here without sex?”

  He gave her a horrified look. “Why would we want to?”

  “Because sex is not the only thing that counts in a relationship. People have to be able to communicate in other ways, too. They have to have things in common, enjoy spending time together.”

  He could see she was totally serious. When he recalled what she’d told him at the beginning, that she’d taken a break from all relationships, it finally dawned on him why she was so gun-shy about the way things were between them. “Is that what happened to your other relationships, Maggie? They cooled down and then they died? Did that convince you that the only thing you were any good at was sex?”

  She seemed startled by the question. “Where did you come up with that idea?” she asked defensively.

  “Added up a few comments,” he said. “Am I right?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes,” she admitted with obvious reluctance. “I seem to have this part down really, really well. The rest is usually a disaster. I’m not even sure I can carry on an intelligent, stimulating conversation with a man anymore.”

  Rick laughed until he realized that she was serious. He sobered at once. “Trust me, sweetheart, you can. In fact, that was one of the first things that attracted me to you. You came into that photo shoot knowing exactly what you wanted, and you didn’t hesitate to tell me.”

  “Well, of course, I did,” she said, dismissing it as if it were nothing. “That’s my job.”

  He grinned at her confidence. “True, but a lot of people tend to be intimidated when they deal with me for the first time. Some expect me to be temperamental, so they tiptoe around me. Others simply let me call the shots, because they figure that’s why they’re paying me the big bucks.”

  “Because you’re the internationally famous photographer?” she asked, her expression thoughtful. “Yes, I can see how that might intimidate some people.”

  “More than a few.”

  “But they’re the client,” she protested. “Besides, you mostly do fashion work. I knew we got you at the last second to do this food layout only because you owed a favor to a friend. I figured you’d welcome some pointers.”

  He laughed. “You gave more than a few pointers, Maggie,” he said, his expression wry. “You never shut up. Most clients don’t have a clue what they’re talking about. You did. I liked that. You challenged me every step of the way, and I liked that, too. We made a good team. The proof of that is in those pictures.”

  “I was fairly certain at the time that you thought I was being a pain in the butt,” she admitted.

  “I did, but a fascinating pain, just the same. Why did you think we wound up in bed that night?”

  “Chemistry,” she said simply. “That and the fact that it’s what you do. You meet a woman you’re attracted to, and you get involved for a bit.”

  “That’s fairly insulting,” he pointed out, then sighed. “But unfortunately, true. This time is different.”

  She looked doubtful. “How?”

  “I don’t know, but I can tell you that you are the first woman I’ve chased to the middle of nowhere.”

  “This is not the middle of nowhere,” she retorted, even though that was hardly the point. “You found a café that serves lattes, didn’t you? Isn’t that civilized enough for you?”

  “The only thing that kept me here, I assure you,” he said, enjoying the quick flags of color that burned in her cheeks. “Well…and you, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  He met her gaze. “Do I get to stay?”

  She looked surprised by the question. “Is it actually up to me?”

  He made up his mind that this would never work if she was having second thoughts. He met her gaze and took a chance. “I want to stay, but if you still want me to go, then I will. So, yes, it’s up to you.”

  She hesitated for what seemed like an eternity, then said firmly, “You can’t stay here. That would pretty much destroy the whole starting-over-slowly thing.”

  “Deal,” he said, relieved. He could play by those rules, for a while at least.

  “And when you’re bored out of your mind in the middle of nowhere and with me, you’ll just say so, right? You won’t feel compelled to stay or take off without a word?”

  “Not going to happen, but okay.”

  “Then you can stay,” she relented.

  Something told him, though, that she wasn’t entirely happy about it. He had a hunch it was the sex thing, that she didn’t trust herself—or him—not to fall back into that old, apparently self-destructive pattern of hers. Maybe a week would give him enough time to convince her that what they had was unique…in bed and out.

  Even though Rick had agreed to her ground rules, even though he was staying out of her path as they cleared up the dinner dishes, there wasn’t an instant when Maggie wasn’t fully aware that he was close by. The hairs on her arms all but stood up and did a little dance each time they brushed by each other, no matter how innocently.

  She had to get him out of here soon, before she weakened and broke one of those vows she’d made him agree to respect not ten minutes earlier. How pitiful would that make her look?

  When the doorbell rang, she raced to answer it, then realized she should have ignored it when she found Melanie and Mike on the doorstep. She had a hunch their arrival while Rick was here wasn’t strictly happenstance.

  “Go away,” she told her sister.

  Melanie simply laughed. “Don’t want me to meet your company?”

  “No, and how do you know he’s here, anyway?”

  “Mike heard it from a friend, who heard it when he went to pick up coffee this morning. I believe Rick was buying lattes and bear claws for two. I called Ashley, who knows everything going on in this family, and picked up a few more tidbits about the intriguing Mr. Flannery.”

  Maggie groaned. “Is there any little detail you’ve missed?”

  “I don’t think so, but I definitely feel out of the loop, since I haven’t even gotten a peek at this hunk who chased you all the way from Boston. I am your sister, after all.”

  Maggie turned a beseeching look on Mike. “Can’t you take her home? Isn’t it time to pick up Jessie or something?”

  “Jessie’s over at Pam and Jeff’s, playing with Lyssa,” Melanie retorted. “She’ll be fine for another hour or so.”

  “You’re going to stay, aren’t you?” Maggie muttered with a sigh of resignation.

  Mike gave her a sympathetic look. “Was there ever any doubt?”

  Melanie pushed past her. “Where is he? Hidden away in your bedroom?”

  Maggie flushed to the roots of her hair. “Mel!”

  Her sister grinned. “Ah, I hear the rattling of pans in the kitchen. Don’t tell me you have a man who does dishes. Marry him now.”

  “I don’t think marriage is on the table,” Maggie said. “Come on, let’s get this over with. Say hello, get a good long look at him and then go.”

  Melanie breezed by her and headed for the kitchen. “Oh, it smells wonderful in here. What did you make for dinner, Mags?”

  “Rick cooked,” Maggie said tightly. “Rick, this is my sister Melanie and her husband, Mike Mikelewski. They won’t be staying.”

  Rick’s expression went from dismay to relief in a heartbeat. Maggie could relate.

  “Would you like some wine?” he asked.

  Maggie groaned as Melanie immediately brightened.

  “Sure. I’d love a glass,” she said at once, pulling out a chair and settling at the kitchen table. Mike shrugged, then straddled the chair next to her.

  Maggie remained standing. As Rick poured the wine, she gave him a surreptitious what-were-you-thinking look. He ignored her and sat down with the others.

  “I didn’t know Maggie had a sister living in the area,” he
said.

  “Actually I lived in this house when I first came down from Boston in March,” Melanie said. “Then I met Mike, and we got married a few weeks ago.”

  Rick’s eyes widened. “Really? That fast? Maggie’d mentioned a whirlwind courtship, but that’s faster than I’d realized.”

  Melanie nodded happily. “I think it had something to do with this cottage. When we were girls and our grandmother lived here, we always thought it was magical. It certainly seemed to work that way for me. I came here miserable and, voilà, I met Mike and his little girl, and now we’re deliriously happy.”

  Maggie kept her gaze on Rick’s face as Melanie related the story. She was pretty sure he turned a little pale at the implication that Rose Cottage was somehow responsible for Melanie’s marriage.

  “I see,” he said, then looked to Maggie for an instant, his expression quizzical. “Do you think this place has magical properties?”

  “Actually, I think my sister is a bit of a romantic with an overly active imagination,” she said flatly.

  Melanie laughed. “Wait and see.”

  Maggie gave her a daunting look. “Do you honestly think Rick will stick around now that you’ve all but warned him that he’s doomed to marry me if he spends another minute in this house?”

  “You could always make it a dare,” Mike suggested. “Men can’t resist a dare.”

  Rick shot him a disbelieving look. “Hey, man, whose side are you on?”

  Mike chuckled. “Melanie’s, of course. I have to go home with her.”

  “And the sooner the better,” Maggie snapped.

  Her sister beamed at Mike. “I think our work here is done,” she said cheerfully. “We’ve checked out the situation, planted a few seeds, now we can wait to see how they grow.” She winked at Rick. “That’s what landscape designers like my husband do, you know. That way it escapes being labeled ‘meddling.’”

  “I doubt Rick’s mind is fertile enough for an idea like that to grow on him,” Maggie said dryly. “You’re wasting your time.”

  “It’s never a waste of time to look out for one of my sisters,” Melanie insisted.

  Maggie scowled at her. “I imagine you’ll be reporting in to Ashley tonight, too.”