by L. L. Muir
“Fin’s very capable of keeping me out of trouble,” she said, then ignored the way Mike’s brows suggestively jumped up and down. “Any idea how long it might be before they get the canyon reopened? Even a couple of days could really mess me up here.”
The pity on the deputy’s face told her all she needed to know. “I’m sorry, Mott. A couple of days would take a miracle. It filled the canyon a good twenty feet above the road, honey. But you never know. It’s not like they’ve got to clean it out with a backhoe. They’ll get some big machinery in here and you know, maybe it will be inside a week.”
There was little point in asking, but she did anyway. “And on the outside?”
“Worst case scenario, they’ll have to rebuild the road. Three weeks, tops.”
She forced herself to inhale, even though it felt as if the mountain had come down on her chest. “Thanks, Mike.” She slapped the door a couple of times and stepped back, in a universal signal that their conversation was over. “See you in a couple of days.”
He pointed to the parking lot where her employees were loading up. “Looks like we’re just waiting on them.”
She waved toward the parking lot in general and quick-stepped back inside the restaurant where Fin waited for her in the shadows. As soon as the door closed at her back, her tough façade crumbled. All he had to do was open his arms and she stepped inside. The thick swath of plaid pillowed her cheek in soft, warm comfort. His chin came down gently on top of her head.
“Fin,” she said quietly.
“Aye, lass?”
“I think I’m going to lose my restaurant.”
“I am sorry,” he whispered. “So verra sorry.”
She had never dared utter those words aloud to herself, let alone someone else, as if saying it gave it permission to come true.
Fin suddenly tapped her on the back. “Trouble’s comin’.”
She turned to see what he was looking at and saw Curt headed back inside. Self-consciously, she took a step to the side. By the look on her cook’s face, he hadn’t seen them embracing.
“Forget something?”
Curt nodded. “Yeah. You.” He gave Fin a dirty look. “You can come down into Jackson and stay at my place—”
“You don’t have a place, remember? You’re housesitting.”
“Doesn’t matter. You can either come stay with me, or—”
“Curt. Listen to me. I’m not going anywhere. And if Mike can’t make me, you certainly can’t…”
He wasn’t listening to her. He was too busy staring down Fin, but that made no sense. In all the years he’d worked for her, Curt had always flirted to make sure he could always come back. He was never really interested in her, or worried about protecting her. But the second another guy comes along who does act interested, he’s suddenly the possessive type?
I don’t think so.
She reached out and patted him on the forearm. “You know what? Stay right here.”
The idiot took her comment as some sort of point for his side and smirked at Fin. The Scot folded his arms over his massive chest and said nothing. And while they had their silent pissing contest, she stepped behind the counter and opened the till, pulled out four twenties and folded them up in her hand.
When she stood halfway between the men again, she stopped and faced Curt. “You’re not worried about me, Curt. You’re worried about your job. Worried that if Fin sticks around, I won’t need you.”
He gasped in denial. She kept talking.
“But I’m going to do you a favor. I want you to stop worrying…because you don’t have a job here anymore.” She handed over the twenties. “You worked just a little over three hours. I rounded up.”
“But Angel!”
“Don’t feel too bad. Haggard’s won’t be around much longer anyway. That landslide might as well have come down on the roof.” Over her shoulder, she gave Fin a brave smile, though she was feeling nothing of the sort. “Can’t fight destiny, right?”
He gave her a wink and she turned back to Curt, who stared at the money with his mouth hanging open. And all those times he’d come sniffing back, all those times she wished she could have told him to go to hell, every time she’d imagined the perfect way to tell him off—none of that compared with the perfection of that moment, when she’d said exactly what she’d wanted while Curt said nothing at all.
She almost felt sorry for him.
Curt glanced up and frowned past her as Fin came up behind her and laid his hands on her shoulders. Silent support. It was pure gold at that moment.
For a few seconds, Curt looked utterly defeated, like the buzzer had sounded and he’d forgotten to shoot the ball. But then, in typical Curt fashion, he summoned his dimples and smiled his infectious, calculating smile. “It’s all good. Don’t worry about it.” He moved toward the door. “Just don’t be too honest when someone calls you for a reference, ‘kay?”
“Goodbye, Curt.” It was her nature to thank him for showing up when he had that day, but she stopped herself. She didn’t want to give him any openings he might want to use as leverage down the road.
Not that there would be much road left…
Standing in the dark, watching her parking lot empty and the taillights disappear beneath the overpass, Angel was incredibly grateful for the heavy hands on her shoulders reminding her she was not alone. At least, not tonight.
“Thank you,” she said quietly, for fear of her voice cracking. “It means a lot to me that you were willing to stay. I’m sure Mike would have forced me to go if you hadn’t volunteered. But what will happen if your friend can’t come pick you up tomorrow?”
“I am not much worried about that,” Fin said. “And if my departure is delayed, I’ve little reason to complain, aye? Besides, I’ve nowhere to be of more import than here, with ye.”
If any other man in the world would have said such a thing, she would have thought he was full of crap. But no matter how foolishly honest Finlay Robertson was, she had come to believe he was chronically sincere. It was hard to get used to, and it was natural to suspect him of punking her, at least in the beginning, but not anymore.
An awkward silence fell between them and she had no idea how to break the tension. But luckily, he did.
“Perhaps ye could move the candles into the washroom while I collect the last of the dishes. Have ye hot water, do ye suppose?”
“Plenty of hot water. Whatever is in the tank won’t cool for an hour or two. I don’t dare turn on the gas until they come check the integrity of the lines. And I’ll have to gas up the generators and get them started, to keep the refrigeration units going, but tomorrow, we’ll have to have cold showers.”
“Cold showers?” He laughed. “I suppose, under the circumstances, that would be best, aye?” Thankfully, he went to work clearing tables and didn’t notice how her hands and the candlelight shook as she carried them, set by set, into the back. By the time she picked up the last two candles and used them to light their way into the washroom, she had a firmer grip on herself.
They washed dishes in silence. The flames danced around each time one of them lifted a dish and moved the air. She washed, he rinsed and put the dishes in the trays. The water was hot, the bubbles made it soft and silky, and for a little while, at least, she was able to forget everything but the mindless repetition—except when his fingers brushed hers, seeking a surer grip on the plates as she passed them.
When it happened the third time, she realized it wasn’t by accident and looked up to find him staring into her eyes. The smile she assumed was tugging at the corner of his mouth might have only been shadow. He leaned close, but instead of kissing her, his mouth moved to her ear. “Looks like the last one. Perhaps we should wash it together, aye?”
He rinsed the dish he had and set it aside, then moved slowly behind her. His arms snaked around her sides. Out of necessity, his chest pressed against her back in order to pick up the last bowl and dip it into the suds. He took hold of her right hand, whic
h held the washcloth, and together, they swirled it in the bubbles, then wiped it across the surface of the shallow dish.
“The light is pitiful,” he said. His hushed words raised goosebumps on her neck. “We must make certain we get it clean.”
They repeated the process, playing in the warm silky bubbles until the plate in question was the cleanest piece of dinnerware in the history of all dinnerware. Every cell in her body screamed for him not to stop, and the only bubbles that remained clung to the outer edges of the sink like they were catching their breath after a marathon.
Finally, regrettably, Fin placed a gentle kiss on her neck and stepped aside again, dish in hand. “I believe it would be best to rinse this one with cold water.”
She cleared her throat to help shake herself out of the trance she’d settled into, and to make sure she was capable of speech. “Yeah. Cold water.” The most brilliant of all retorts. “I’ll…uh… I’ll start locking up.”
It took forever to get a hold of the right key to lock the front door. Looking out into the dark parking lot, she kicked herself for not locking it sooner, before they had gone into the back. But then again, there was no one left on the mountain that might sneak inside and empty her till.
Her “open” sign still glowed red and blue against the window, so she reached for the little string that would switch it off, but she hesitated.
Will I ever turn it on again?
In a final act of defiance for the day, she tugged and turned it off, then turned it on and off two more times. No big deal.
No big deal. No big deal. No big deal. Breathe…
She couldn’t waste her forced night off worrying about things she might not be able to control. And she wasn’t going to waste her first date in eons standing around in the dark when there was a dangerously handsome man waiting for her to clock out already.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
With two strong flashlights, Angel and her “date” had the generators gassed up and the first one running in minutes. There was no worry about the food in the freezer. The door had been opened only once since the power went out, to remove some ice cream and desserts that had been consumed. And with everything else shut and unplugged, the first generator should last the night, and if not, the second would kick on automatically.
She glanced up at the sky. Half the stars were blocked by clouds.
So now what?
With only flashlights and candles, there wasn’t a lot they could do to pass the time—other than things they shouldn’t do.
“Angel?”
She jumped. “What?”
He laughed at her. “Ye can relax, lass. I’ve no intention of ravaging ye this night.”
This night? He made it sound like after this night, he couldn’t promise anything, but he wouldn’t be around long enough to test the theory.
“And I have no intention of ravaging you, either,” she said, sounding like a brat. How embarrassing! Of course, her mouth kept moving, trying to make him forget how she’d said it. “I mean… Well, after washing the dishes, I thought you might be worried about your virtue.”
He laughed again. “I was, lass. I was. And so to safeguard us both, I think it best if I sleep outside.”
“I think we’ll be safe enough if you stay inside the restaurant, maybe sleep on one of the padded benches.” There was no worry he’d clean her out, if she was somehow wrong about him. She’d sent the deposit down the mountain with Sherry.
“Nae need, lass. I am used to sleeping out of doors.”
It would drive her nuts imagining him wandering around outside the garage! “Might rain again,” she said.
“No matter.”
She had to give it one more try, even if she sounded like a nag. “Believe me, this little area is Grand Central Station at night. You won’t be able to sleep at all. And I won’t sleep worrying about you.”
“Ye’ll worry?” He stopped smiling and nodded. “Then I surrender. I shall sleep inside.”
She was finally able to relax. “Eat anything you like. It’s not like I need to save anything for the customers, right?”
He shifted his gaze away, bit his lip, and nodded. And she remembered his little talent for predictions, how he’d warned her that the mountain shrugged, and he’d been right to stop traffic from heading down the hill. He’d probably saved lives by risking his own—that’s how confident he’d been in his “vision.”
Did he know what would happen to her restaurant? Was that why he wouldn’t look at her?
She had worried all afternoon about his supposed vision about the two of them, but she was afraid to ask him for details, mostly because she didn’t want to sound gullible. But she also didn’t want to think of him as a lunatic. With the dust settled, though, things were different. He had a proven track record, and to ignore his talent might prove just as dangerous as ignoring his warning about the landslide.
He was suddenly very interested in the sky.
“Finlay?”
“Mmm?” He didn’t look down.
“You wanna tell me about this other vision you’ve had, about me and you?” She wasn’t ready to hear what he thought would happen to Haggard’s.
He sighed and looked at her then. With his head tilted to one side, he shook it.
“All right. Let’s make a deal. I’ll give you two options, you choose one.”
“I doona suppose we are still speaking of sleeping arrangements?”
“Hah! No.”
“May we go back to speaking about sleeping arrangements?”
She mimicked what he’d done, tilted her head, and shook it.
“Then tell me of these options while I escort ye to yer apartment.”
“Fine.”
“Save yer torch.” He gestured to her flashlight. “I see well enough in the black of night.” He smiled to himself. Some private joke, she assumed.
It was a huge relief she wouldn’t be climbing the hundred-yard trail alone. Typically, she had a cook escort her up each night because she hated how wild her imagination ran when she was in the woods by herself, in the dark. In fact, if Fin hadn’t volunteered to stay with her, she might have caved and evacuated with everyone else once she realized she would be making that dark trek on her own.
“‘Tis nae place for a comely lass to trod without escort,” Fin said, reading her mind. “I hope ye have a blade or some such weapon tucked in yer belt.” He put his hands on her hips and started a pat-down.
She stopped and spun to face him, glad it was dark enough he couldn’t see her blush. “What do you think you’re doing?”
He grunted. “‘Tis just as I feared. ‘Tis a wonder ye’re hale and hearty, what with the violence that goes on in yer country. I’ve seen a news report or two, aye?”
“Listen. If I had been alone tonight, I would have brought the gun from the office.”
He looked doubtful.
“I would have!”
“Like ye did in the wood just this morn? Ye were alone then as well, and without defense.”
She lifted her chin, refusing to be chastised. “Maybe I know karate. Did you ever think of that?”
He grabbed her arm, spun her away from him, then stopped her momentum with a jerk. She was suddenly headed for the ground with her feet flying out from under her. The dirt rose up fast to spank her, but a large, quick hand kept her head from smacking the hard path.
He chuckled above her. “Aye, lass. I have now considered that ye might ken the art of karate, and after careful consideration, I have ruled it out entirely.” He pulled her gently to her feet but never let her hand go. Instead, he tucked it around the swell of his forearm and led her back onto the path. “Admit it, Angel darlin’. Ye’re so distracted with ruling over yer wee kingdom that ye forget to care after yerself.”
“I don’t—”
“Wheesht, now. Ye do.”
She exhaled loudly so he knew how exasperated she was. “Okay. Sometimes I can be controlling. And sometimes I forget to protect myself.
But I won’t make that mistake tomorrow. And if you start groping me again, I’ll…”
“Gropin’?” He nodded. “Point taken. I offer my apology,” he said, eliminating her need to finish her threat. “I misspoke, apparently, when I claimed these mortal eyes would see well in the darkness, and I simply wished to ken if ye were armed. I should have asked. As a gentleman should have done.”
He was playing the gentleman, holding her arm between his elbow and his side, escorting her home at the end of a date. Only gentlemen didn’t run around shirtless all day.
Ten feet from the garage, he stopped and faced her. “I should thank ye for making my first day…back…an exciting one.
Angel’s breath caught in her lungs and stayed there, optimistic he might kiss her again, even though they were supposed to be controlling their hormones.
“I can’t take credit for the excitement,” she said. “It’s not as if I planned for a landslide to trap you here.”
“Landslide?” He focused on her lips. “Landslide?” A dimple appeared in his right cheek and his voice lowered. “Who said anything about a landslide?”
He kissed her then. The kneading of his warm lips against hers was so perfect, so romantic, it should have been accompanied by the sound of fingers gliding over harp strings, but instead, they were serenaded by a chorus of crickets and chirping katydids.
Good enough.
“Beg pardon?” He leaned back. “Perhaps I need a wee more practice, lass. Would ye care to give me another go?”
“No! I mean—”
He chuckled and stepped back, holding his hands up in surrender. “I believe ye have a habit of thinking aloud.”
“No,” she said again. “I wasn’t talking about you when I said good enough. I was talking about the music—” Oh, great. Now she was the one sounding nuts.
He cocked his head again and watched her without saying anything while the seconds ticked by. Then he reached forward, took her hand, and pulled her to him, slowly, like he would pull a boat through water. “I do believe that is the prettiest compliment I’ve ever been granted…for my thoroughly adequate kisses.”