“But you’re the boss—”
“I’m a working boss!”
“Listen,” he said softly, serious now that he saw she was. He started to touch her again, but resisted and left his hand on the back of the seat. “Listen, don’t send me so far away,” he said. “I can’t stay long. The season’s going to pick up pretty soon, but I’ve got a break now. Bear’s running the rafting outfit alone. I hired a couple of college students for the lodge, but I can’t stay away indefinitely because of Pop. I’ve only got some time—two or three weeks or so. Let’s not waste it.”
Common sense deserted her. She felt her resolve melt like butter in the sun.
“Jack—”
“I’ll behave. I’ll stay out of your way during the day. I’ll find a river or two—something to keep me busy.”
“Promise?”
“Promise,” he swore.
Luckily for him, Abby couldn’t see into the depths of his gray eyes. After a moment’s hesitation, she turned the car around a final time and headed north to Mount Dora and the Paradise Café.
For a restaurant that was still closed for remodeling, it sure was busy! Mrs. LaRue and her cochairman of the garden club, Flo Hopcik, were sitting inside Flo’s air-conditioned Cadillac. The seafood distributor was there, water dripping from around the ice-filled crates in the back of his pickup. He was leaning against the cab of the truck, smoking a cigarette and talking to the linen-supply salesman, whose van was parked alongside his. Betty Hogan, from the Chamber of Commerce, was sitting in the shade on the porch swing with Candy Milsap of the Economic Development Council, admiring Abby’s geraniums and the new paint job and shutters on the café.
“Gallagher, I could just murder you!” Abby choked out, panic-stricken. She swung the car into the parking lot and jumped out. “Take the car. Find a room. Call me tomorrow,” she hissed through the window, then turned around with an apologetic smile. “Hi, everyone. So sorry I’ve kept you all waiting—”
“No problem, sugar,” Candy drawled, speaking for them all. “Boy, the place does look good. I like what you did with the window boxes.…” But her glance was focused on the stranger in Abby’s car.
Flo and Betty emerged from the Cadillac, bringing streams of cool air with them. “Hurry and open that door, Abby Clarke, before we wilt!” Flo said, laughing, but both women slowed just enough to peek at Abby’s unintroduced passenger.
Abby ushered them all in, forbidding herself to look back even once at the parking lot. In moments she was pouring her famous limeades for them all. “Anyone mind if I write up a quick order with Harry first, before his grouper bakes?” She led him into the kitchen and let the door fall shut.
As it did, another opened and Jack Gallagher stepped through the front door into the Paradise Café. The chitchat stopped. Everyone stared. It wasn’t often they saw anyone quite like Jack in Mount Dora. It was if a hunk of mountain had tumbled into the Everglades. Standing there, he seemed to fill the doorway, his shirt plastered to the hard, broad muscles of his shoulders and chest, the planes and angles of his handsome face glistening with sweat. It made the women wonder if he was, perhaps, dangerous. The linen-supply salesman would have bet money on it.
Jack stood for a moment, looking around, as much at the place, Abby’s place, as at the people. Then, satisfied, he gave an easy smile and walked in.
“We—ah, um—the café’s not open for business yet, sir,” Candy said, trying to keep her mind on her words while the rest of her memorized that smile.
“I know,” Jack answered, pulling a chair away from the nearest table. “I was just hoping for a glass of ice water.”
“Let me get you one!” Flo said, leaping to her feet. The women all looked at each other, slightly dismayed but enjoying themselves. Not that much happened in Mount Dora.
“Thank you,” Jack said as Flo handed him the frosted glass. He swallowed the contents. “Quite a scorcher, isn’t it?”
Edy LaRue lifted one brow. “This is only the end of May. You should see July. But then, you must not be from around here—”
“No.”
When he paused they all held their breath, curious but too small-town well-bred to ask.
“I just flew in from Colorado. I’m a friend of Abby’s. The name’s Jack Gallagher.”
They were all in the midst of introductions and handshakes when Abby opened the kitchen door.
“Jack!” She swallowed her surprise, put on her best face, and joined the group. “Well, I’m glad you’ve gotten to know some of my friends. I would have invited you in for introductions, but I thought you were in a hurry to—uh, to check in to your motel!”
“I am,” he replied, grinning, holding her eyes with his brash gaze. “But you rushed off so fast you didn’t tell me where to go.”
Abby tipped her chin up, matching his grin. “I’d love to tell you where to go, Mr. Gallagher—but it might be easier if I just showed you on a map. There’s one in the glove compartment.”
She led the way back out to the parking lot. The asphalt surface was shimmering in the heat, and the air was thick as soup. Tiny beads of perspiration jumped out along Abby’s brow. “Whew! I can’t wait for the rainy season to start. Midafternoon the clouds will pile up along the horizon and just sweep in over us, full of thunder and lightning, and it cools everything off.”
“Sounds good to me, darlin’! You didn’t warn me about this heat.”
She jumped down his throat. “There was no reason to warn you, since I never expected to see you again!”
With an intimate touch, Jack brushed the sweat from her forehead. “Now, that would have been a crime, Abby.”
Her heart leaped to her throat. Quickly she pressed her fingertips there, as if to hide her far-too-obvious reaction. “Jack, please go. I’ve got to get back inside.”
“I know. I’m going. Can I see you later?”
“I don’t know. If I get done early, I was supposed to go to my folks’, but you’ll have my car.…” Her eyes glazed over with confusion, and sharp little lines appeared between her brows. “And now I’m way behind schedule—”
He caught hold of her wrist, a light, loose grip that nonetheless held her captive. “Easy, Abby, easy,” he whispered, turning to put himself between her and the café. “I didn’t come here to cause you any pain. If you want me to leave, if you really want me to go back to Colorado and make everything simpler, just say so now and I’ll be on my way.”
Her lips parted. She looked at his face, deep into his slate-gray eyes. Her own eyes darkened with desire. “No, that’s not what I want,” she whispered.
A smile curved his lips. “Okay, darlin’, see you later.”
“Tomorrow.”
“Sure. Whatever you say.” He got in the car and drove away, and Abby went back to work.
Five
At midnight Abby turned the stove off and locked the back door. She called a cab and dropped into a chair, her knees wobbly as Jell-o. She had perfected her sauce, tested the whole opening-night menu, appetizers to desserts, and prepared four dozen puff-pastry shells. Now the last thing she wanted to think about was food! What she did want was … Well, better not to think of what it was she wanted.
The minute the cab lights swung into the parking lot, she stepped out the front door and locked it, then turned around. “Oh!” she gasped, her breath catching in her throat. Happiness swam into view like a golden fish emerging from murky waters.
Her car was parked there in the center of the lot, a dark shadow waiting behind the wheel.
Already running toward the car, she waved the cab away. “Sorry! My mistake.”
“But, lady—”
“It’s okay. Go on!”
Abby ran the last few steps to the car and peeked in. Jack was asleep behind the wheel, his head fallen back against the seat. The streetlamp lit a wedge of dark hair, the angle of his jaw. He was so handsome, it took her breath away, and without thinking she reached out and touched his cheek lightly with her fi
ngertips.
“What?” He jumped, banging his head against the roof and jamming his knees against the steering wheel. “Ow! Damn, woman, can’t you give a man some warning?” he asked with a growl, rubbing his head.
“Sorry.” She laughed, too happy to be truly contrite. “What are you doing here? Why aren’t you asleep in some motel or watching HBO on cable TV?”
He glanced balefully in her direction, and then she saw the cut across his forehead, the blood caked on his brow, the already purpling bruise across his cheek. Her throat tightened with fear. “Oh, Lord, what happened to you?”
“I’m fine,” he assured quickly, reaching through the open window to take her hand. He flashed her a wry grin. “Honest, I’m fine! Hop in here and I’ll explain all about my first day in Florida.”
“I don’t think I’m ready for this—”
“That’s all right. Neither was I.” His grin widened, his brashness gleaming as brightly as his teeth.
“Gallagher, you slide over. I’ll drive.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He chuckled, shifting his muscular body out from behind the wheel and farther along the front seat. But not too far. When Abby sat down, the warm, hard length of his thigh pressed against hers. The closeness made her suddenly shy. “So, what happened?” she asked, concerned. “I thought you were looking for a room.”
“I found a river.”
“Jack!”
“I was looking for a room, heading north on 441, scouting out the territory, eyes peeled for a likely motel, and there was this lake, Lake Eustis, lying flat and deep. Not a ripple on it. And these long-legged birds were high-stepping along the shore, right there off the highway—”
“Herons,” she said with a sigh, and pulled the car onto the road.
“I know. I asked. Stopped to ask some fishermen about the lake—fishing—rivers, and the next thing I knew, a fellow and I were in his canoe heading down the Dora Canal. Abby”—he grinned in the darkness—“it was damn beautiful. The trees were thick and dark, hanging low over the river—”
“Live oaks—”
“I know. I asked,” he said teasingly. “And the branches were hung with moss, like in some Tarzan movie, with the heat shimmering over the surface of the water. Anyway …” He slid her a mischievous glance.
“Anyway?” she prompted.
“I saw an alligator. Got so damn excited I stood up for a better look and got whacked in the head with a branch. Knocked me clear out of the canoe.”
“Jack! Oh, heavens to Betsy, you really could have gotten hurt. And if it was a ’gator, he could have taken a hell of a bite out of you!”
“Oh, it was a ’gator, all right. I scared the heck out of him: Saw a hundred ninety-five pounds of river rafter heading his way and he gave one good swing of that tail of his and took off.”
Laughing, he let his head fall back against the seat. Then he reached over and wound his fingers into her hair. “Hey, I don’t want you worrying about me all the time. I get out of more trouble than I get into.”
“Just an old habit of mine. Hard to break.”
“I’ll help,” he whispered, slipping his fingers beneath her collar. “So … you think you can put me up for the night?”
“Do I have any choice?” she asked, turning the car onto the gravel road that led to her trailer park. But in the dark she was smiling.
They bounced over the loose gravel, passing ghostly rows of trailers; low, narrow rectangles lined up one after the other. Abby made a sharp left and pulled to a stop below an angled aluminum awning that jutted like the worn brim of a cap from the nearest trailer. “Here we are, Gallagher,” she said, half out of the car already. “Come on in and meet Boots and Rascal. But be quiet.”
“Do Boots and Rascal like quiet?” he asked jokingly, unfolding himself stiffly from the cramped front seat. Grimacing, he rubbed a kink out of his back, then bent and rubbed his left knee.
“My neighbors like quiet,” Abby hissed out. “But they like gossip even more, and I want to give them as little excuse as possible.” She unlocked the door, snapped on the light, and waved him in. “Hurry up, Jack! Come on.”
Inside, he stopped in the middle of the narrow living room, reached up, and touched the ceiling. “Nice place,” he said, looking around.
It suddenly seemed a lot smaller than it had when she’d left that morning. “Thanks.” She sighed as she saw it all through Jack’s eyes. But with a toss of her head she added, “You wouldn’t believe what a bargain this was! It belonged to some fisherman, and one day he just took off on a shrimp boat for the Caribbean. I’d been living in one room over the drugstore, and a friend called and said this was available cheap. Well, y’all can bet I raced over. And I got the trailer and everything he left behind: a frying pan, a pair of jeans, and a great collection of hand-tied flies. I’ve still got the flies.”
“Sounds like the deal of a lifetime.” He looked at her with a mixture of humor and admiration. What a little winsome particle of energy she was.
With one broad hand he scooped her up, pulling her close against him, feeling the soft yielding of her breasts against his chest. He bent his head to kiss her and she lifted her face to his, holding her breath, letting her lashes flutter to her cheeks. His mouth was warm and sweet, moving with a firm, hungry pressure over her lips, parting them to let his tongue slip through. Playfully she nipped at the tip of his tongue, then curled her own sensually around his, reckless, and astonished by his nearness. Nothing had ever been so exciting. She felt her tiredness wash away.
Just then a yowling and howling broke the silence. Jack spun, expecting a mountain lion but finding instead two small, fat cats who immediately slipped into the space he had vacated and became busy wrapping themselves around Abby’s feet.
“Boots and Rascal,” she said apologetically, laughing. “They hate to be ignored.”
“Great! I’ll remember that.”
“Okay, guys, I’m home. Yes, yes, I love you too. Now, let me feed you, and then we’ll have our introductions. Jack?” She lifted those great cornflower-blue eyes to his face as she opened a can of cat food. “Are you hungry? Can I get you something?”
“I grabbed some barbecue earlier. I’m fine.”
“Coffee?”
“Sounds great.”
He watched her move around the tiny space that passed for a kitchen, hypnotized by her quick, neat gestures, her serious, lovely face. She poured fresh black coffee into a pottery mug and set it on the counter in front of him.
“I think I love you, Abby Clarke,” he said softly, resting his chin on the palm of one hand.
Abby blushed crimson, the breath stolen from her chest as though some huge hand had just reached in and given her a fierce squeeze. But she cocked her hands on her hips, shook her blond, curly head, and gave him a wry grin. “A mere ‘Thanks for the coffee’ would be sufficient, Gallagher,” she said. “I think that bump on the head was worse than you thought.”
He watched her silently, his handsome face unreadable but for the small, sure smile on his lips.
“Cut that out, Gallagher!” she yelped finally. “I’m going to get you something for that cut and then we’re—I mean, you and I, separate but equal, are going to bed—I mean, to sleep. Understand?”
He didn’t say a word, just sipped his coffee, probably the best cup of coffee he’d ever drunk, and watched her, having probably the best time he’d ever had, sitting in the old, tiny trailer in the middle of the night.
She felt his gaze like a touch on her cheek, her throat, her breasts, the small of her back. “Sit there a minute,” she ordered, and vanished into the bathroom. She came back with peroxide, iodine, Band-Aids, a washcloth. “Do you want to do this or should I?” she asked gruffly.
“I’m at your mercy, darlin’.”
Standing between his knees, she cleaned the cut on his forehead, painted it with iodine, and patched him up with Band-Aids. Then she rested her hands on his shoulders and kissed the top of his head. “There. I
think you’ll live.”
“Thanks,” he said, and reached up to wrap her in his arms.
Dizzy with excitement and plain old exhaustion, Abby slipped away. “Oh, nononono …” she warned with a shaky little laugh.
Quickly she pulled sheets and a blanket out of the linen closet and handed them to him. She pointed at the couch. “Good night, Jack,” she whispered. “See you in the morning.”
She vanished into her room and shut the door.
Minutes later he was knocking at the bedroom door.
“What do you want, Gallagher?” she asked with a groan, jumping into her nightgown.
He walked in and stood grinning at her through the darkness. “Half of me hangs over that couch, and there’s not room even on the floor to stretch out. I’d have to carry your furniture into the yard, and then the neighbors would surely wonder. Besides, it’s not fair, woman. I comforted you when you were hurt. Seems like you could do the same for me.”
She eyed him warily, desire fighting with the last remaining shreds of her sanity. “But then I knew nothing would happen.”
“How did you know that?”
“I—I trusted you.”
“And you can trust me now. Besides, you’ve been working for sixteen hours straight, and I flew two thousand miles, got hit on the head, and fell in the river on an alligator. You’re safe with me tonight. Trust me.”
“Gallagher!”
“Abby …”
“Okay, but behave.” She slipped into one side of the bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. In the dark, he stepped out of his jeans and shirt, slipped in beside her, edged closer.
“Stay on your side, mister!”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She reached up to the night table, fumbling in the dark.
“What are you looking for, a gun?”
“No.” She laughed. “The alarm.”
“Forget it. I’m always up at dawn. Just tell me what time you want to get up.”
“Seven. What luxury! But do not let me oversleep; I’ve got to go to my parents’ for breakfast. Jack …?”
Paradise Cafe Page 7