Still no Rick.
Maya glanced down at her outfit. The sweater sagged from her shoulders. The temperature in the kitchen plus constant motion conspired to make the home-knit magenta sweater wilt. She should have changed into a blouse earlier when she started to work up a sweat. She didn’t because she wanted to wear the sexy birthday sweater Sin had given her. Well, she wore the sweater all right—only now the snug ensemble hung like a loose sack. To top things off her hair was frizzing on the top.
****
Rick paused before pounding on the door of Maya’s cabin.
A moment later, Pilar opened the front door looking plenty awake.
“Hello, Rick. May I help you?” She was dressed in an ankle length red-and-black skirt.
“Hi, Pilar. I’m here to fix the railing.”
“I thought you’d come to do that.” Her smile warmed him.
“Do you have tools?” Inside, cooking aromas filled the house. Rick’s home never smelled like this. With the business, he’d forgotten how much he enjoyed the simple pleasures of cooking, the aromas, the food, the creativity.
“Yes. How would you like some breakfast first?”
“Oh no, I don’t want to be a bother.” His stomach rumbled.
Pilar winked. “I insist.”
He extracted the information about the tools. Down in the basement he did inventory while Pilar made breakfast. He’d have to get some lumber, a drill, and some screws. But Maya did have a hammer and nails.
He trotted back upstairs. A little voice in his head whispered, “What are you doing?” In two weeks he was going back to California. He’d become involved because this was Maya’s family. Yet he’d never been compelled to make sure Loraine’s family was safe. They hadn’t seemed to need anything from him. Maybe that was why.
****
Maya wiped her brow for the tenth time in as many minutes. The truck was steamy, creating its own weather system. Even Jason looked bedraggled. She’d sent the poor guy home.
She was always at her worst at four o’clock, so of course that would be when Rick would finally arrive.
“Hi.” Rick stood below the service window.
She blew a strand of hair off her face. “Hi.” It was all she could do to keep from parking her hands on her hips. She planted them on the truck’s windowsill instead.
Rick shifted on his feet and studied his sneakers. He looked as good in a T-shirt as he did in a jacket. From the truck, she had a good view of the top of his head. He had brown hair with a nice wave that brushed his collar. Dang he was hunky. No. She was not going to make things easy. Was that sawdust on his shirt? What could he have gotten into in Lobster Cove when he was supposed to be on vacation?
“Been busy?” Maya said.
“Long story.”
“Am I going to get to hear it?”
A smile flashed. Damn. He was handsome. Her heart stuttered. Not good. He seemed so genuine, but was it real? Maybe this was a practiced move. It had to be. He was the type to practice his moves.
She managed a bright—but distant—tone. “Well, it’s no big deal, really. I’m here every day. You can come by seven days a week for a muffin.” Oh no. That sounded like she was the muffin! Rick didn’t seem to take her comment that way, though. Garth would have milked the opportunity to make a dumb joke.
The late-afternoon sun played off the shards of gold in Rick’s eyes. He read the menu. “Lobster roll sandwich, corn on the cob, steamers, Lobster Thermidor, Oysters Rockefeller, New England style clam chowder bread bowl, fried clams, flounder three ways, breaded and fried, boiled, and baked with bread crumbs on top, lobster bisque, steamed lobster, lobster tail, cracked claw salad.” Something about the way he was reading it made the menu sound ridiculous.
“What?” Who was he to criticize? He hadn’t said anything specific; maybe it was the permanently ironic eyebrow.
“I don’t get it.”
“What? You don’t understand clam chowder in a bread bowl? I’m not really sure what’s complicated about my menu.”
“I just came from your house where your mother was cooking the most phenomenal-smelling tamales…sprinkling in spices and herbs like epazote. Yet I come down here to find you serving up this—good—but typical—New-England fare. It would be different if you were in Silicon Valley. There, this menu would stand out. But here, you would stand out more with your family cooking.”
“But what were you doing at my house?”
He looked guilty. “Construction.”
“Construction?” He looked so chagrined—hard mouth turned into a frown, tan eyes looking so mortified—she felt sorry for him. Well, she’d get back to that question. One thing at a time. “Back to the menu. I happen to sell enough of this New England also-ran stuff to make a living, FYI.”
Rick regarded her, his face so earnest it was like they were discussing some multi-million dollar deal. “But if you made authentic Mexican food you’d do more than make a living. You’d make a killing.”
It took a moment for the full impact of his words to sink in. Shoot. He was right, which infuriated her all the more. “You’ve just arrived. Yet you know all this because you’re Mister big CEO in Silicon Valley. You think you know more about my business?” She couldn’t help it; her fists parked on her hips.
Rick’s eyes grazed down her body to her hips. His mouth curved through a frown to end on a half-smile. Why did he have to keep winning? For that matter, why was everything a contest with him? It must be him. She wasn’t competing. Was she?
“Looks like it’s going to be a nice evening,” Rick glanced at the sky.
Maya shrugged, then hitched the sweater back onto her shoulder.
“Anyway, sorry I’m late.”
“So, let’s get back to just exactly what you were doing at my house this morning.”
“I…er…fixed the railing.”
“What!” He’d said he was going to do that...Mama had invited him to do that…but she never expected him to actually do it.
“I was worried about your mother falling.”
“She never goes upstairs.”
“Oh yeah? She was up there cleaning your sisters’ rooms today.”
“Oh…she’s not supposed to do that.” Maya’s heart sank. Ripper’s hurt paw came to mind next. Rick was doing a better job at everything in her life. It was like he’d shown up just to show her how to do everything better. “I cannot believe you went to my house without me there. That you did construction. I need to go home to see for myself.”
“Do you want me to come?”
“No, Rick. I can take care of my family. Remember, I was doing fine before I met you. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Maya pulled down the corrugated metal screen. She was going to have to walk by Rick to get to her car for her grand exit. After changing back into her high heels, she walked on her toes so she wouldn’t get a spike stuck in the metal grating on the steps. She had to grab onto the rail to regain her balance, though.
Once Maya reached the parking lot, she marched to the van. Rick’s amused gaze burned her back the whole way, but she was still fairly dignified. She climbed in the van and slammed the door. Then sat there staring straight ahead.
Key in the ignition. Key in the ignition.
She rolled out, head held high, catching a glimpse of Rick. At the edge of the parking lot she stopped, looking both ways and in the rearview mirror. Rick remained in front of the food truck, arms crossed, and a closed-lipped smile on his face. Shoot. Had she put the cream cheese away? She jammed on the brakes.
She’d have to leave the cream cheese on the counter. She could not go back. But it was 72 ounces of cream cheese. Too much to let go to waste. Maya turned back and parked at the foot of the truck’s staircase. Under Rick’s watchful gaze, she climbed out of the car. Could she march past him, climb the stairs, take out her keys, unlock the door, go inside, put the cream cheese away, come back out the door, march back down the stairs and return to her van, all without saying anything? No,
that would be way too weird. He hadn’t even done anything so bad.
She stopped on the bottom step. “You better tell me how you got the bruise on your arm.”
“I kind of lost an argument with a two-by-four.”
He really had done construction at her house. Panic accompanied images of surly Herb, her landlord. “Two by four? I cannot believe it. What will the landlord say? I’m going to get in a boatload of trouble.”
“Are you kidding? He would never dare. He had a safety hazard there. Believe me, you would win so much in court you’d never have to work another day in your life.”
His comment brought her up short. It wasn’t that she didn’t want the railing. She worried about Mama too. The stairs would be safer for her now. This may not be such a bad thing. “You should have asked.”
“I know.” He looked relieved.
“Did you go there this morning because you knew I would be at work?”
“Yes.”
“That is really conniving.” Again he looked guilty. What did she expect? He didn’t get to be CEO without being strategic. “If you’ll excuse me, I left something out.”
“Can I come in?”
Into her food truck? Her domain? Not even mister millionaire jerk-off last summer was allowed into her domain. At least she’d been able to walk away from the relationship disaster with her safe-zone intact. In fact, Garth had been the best thing ever for her business. Thanks to him she threw herself into her work with very lucrative results. She saved $54,000 after expenses, which helped her get through winter with enough money left over to expand the menu.
She thought about Mama’s home cooking. Maybe Rick was right. Just…why did he have to be right about her business? The worst part was she was too practical to ignore his advice because she wanted to be the one who’d thought of it. She had to do what worked, no matter the idea’s source. His idea felt like it might work. There was endless competition in Lobster Cove for seafood and blueberry muffins.
“Okay, come on in.” She took a deep breath. “By the way, you win. I’ll try it.”
To her surprise, Rick frowned. He didn’t like winning?
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Oh, so the way to get Rick to apologize was to let him win? Now there was an interesting twist. She stuck out her hand. “Truce?”
He nodded but didn’t let her hand go. Instead he pulled her close for a kiss.
For a moment she drank in his scent, which was a subtle spice, like Earl Grey tea. “What did you do that for?”
“I didn’t have any other defense.”
“A kiss is not a defensive move!”
“What about this?” His firm tug landed her against his chest.
She arched her back, trying to get away from him, but only succeeded in raising her face. He planted another kiss. This time his touch was neither hard nor hurried. The kiss was a slow nibble. Oh, God. The thing was—she couldn’t escape. His hands rested on the wall of the truck imprisoning her. She had to take it.
Her heart stampeded in her chest. His minty taste teased her senses while the earthy spiciness of his male scent filled her lungs.
No! “Hold it, buster, I’m not a pushover for some Silicon Valley slicker.”
“Was there something wrong with the kiss?”
“There sure was. I didn’t ask for it.”
“Sure seemed like you did, but sorry if I misread things. I’ll leave you alone.”
“Well...no...the kiss was fine. I mean, it was good. I mean—”
“What do you mean?” He still held her, a wicked half-smile curving his hard mouth.
Her body didn’t want his embrace to end. “I don’t know. I just met you. I don’t usually go around kissing men I just met 24 hours ago.”
“How many hours does it take?”
Oh! “Enough from you, mister.” She pressed against his chest with the flats of her hands. “Let go of me.”
He let go. Taking all the fizz out of life.
Chapter Four
Wednesday was Rick’s third day not counting travel. Today was a day for serious relaxation after the serious stimulation of Maya Cruz. He’d started the day with breakfast at the diner. Now it was time to rediscover the joy of reading a bound book, a novel pleasure.
The library at the rental consisted of a set of built-in white bookshelves. Mass market paperbacks, trade paperbacks, hardcovers, college texts. Rick crouched to skim the titles of the hardcovers first. The scent of old paper and leather was very pleasant. He dragged his fingertips across the spines of the hardcovers, over the varied textures of embossed leather and engraved card-stock. The titles included his favorite types: historical fiction, biography, a set of the classics.
Maya would quiz him on the romances. With a grin, he stood. The paperbacks were two paces to the left of a paned-glass window that framed a forest scene. Something moved in a tree branch about 20 feet away. A brown and white bird sitting amid deep green leaves lit by a triangle of sunlight. Maybe he should read outside in the sun.
His eyes settled on a sideways stack of books. A racy cover caught his eye. Oh, this was interesting. The book was written by Scarlette LaFlamme, bestselling romance author, but the interesting part was she lived in Lobster Cove!
Seducing Sarah.
Rick grinned. This looked like a good one. He’d start with it. Maybe he’d run into the author in Lobster Cove. Outside he settled in the wrought-iron chair with his feet propped on an ottoman. Not comfortable. A wooden swing chair with a cushion beckoned. He sat sideways with his feet on the wide chair.
He wasn’t too far into the book before he discovered this was one of the really hot ones. It was surprisingly enjoyable.
“Rick?”
He blinked against the light. Pilar’s lined, friendly face came into focus. He sat up, sending the book to the wooden deck where it landed with a thump. Pilar handed it to him, her smile broadening.
Embarrassment met with a chuckle at the situation. Maya was responsible for him reading from the wild side of women’s fiction, not that he could say so.
“I came to see how you were doing.”
“Please—” He cleared his throat. “Would you like to come in?”
“Oh no, I don’t want to bother you. Since I was on my way to the store, I wanted to see if you needed anything.”
“Now that you mention it, I could use some supplies.” Was he going to let Pilar shop for him? When Maya killed him it would be justifiable homicide. “How is Maya?”
A conspiratorial smile appeared. “She loved the railing.”
“No.”
“Oh, si. She tried to hide it from me, but I could tell. When she looked upstairs, she broke out in a big smile.” Pilar said this with a big smile of her own.
Rick grinned, pride expanding under his ribs like a helium balloon.
“Maya put on a frown like this,” Pilar scowled, her eyes sparkling at his chuckle, “when she saw me watching. Oh! Rick shouldn’t have taken over her home, a whole performance. I know my daughter, though. She loved the sturdy railing. Then she told me not to clean the girls’ rooms. But I can’t help myself. Looking after my girls is my job.”
“Not any more.” He followed Pilar into the cool house. “Let them clean their own rooms.”
“What supplies do you need?” Pilar reached the kitchen where she started wiping the perfectly clean counters with a sponge.
“I’ll tell you in a minute. But you’re not off the hook.”
Pilar continued wiping the counter as though it was covered in grit, which it wasn’t, given he hadn’t eaten anything here yet, except for the cookies, after which Pilar cleaned up the counters anyway.
“Pilar.”
She met his gaze. She had nice eyes and was an attractive older woman. Pilar was the kind of mother Rick wished he’d had, but she was also becoming a friend. There should be more to her life than taking care of her adult children.
“As I was saying, you don’t need to take care of you
r girls any more.”
“What else am I going to do?”
“Lots of things.” Maybe if he learned more about her life, he’d understand her better. “Do you mind my asking what happened to Mr. Cruz?”
“Eduardo.” Pilar set down the sponge. She stood for a moment with her hands on her hips. Maya resembled her so much—especially in that particular stance. That was how Maya looked when she was mad at him. Which was pretty often. “Have a seat.”
She told him how they had met in Texas, where, “Eduardo had fled from Mejico. After an oil spill killed all the fish. We met at church. Soon we fell in love and married. Then another oil spill killed all the fish in the Gulf. At least the ones that were Eduardo’s specialty. So finally, Eduardo said, ‘Pilar, we’re going to move someplace where they don’t drill for oil.’ So we ended up here.” She said this all with a smile on her face. Rick chuckled at her light version of her life story. Humor ran through this family. He and his dad had been grim by comparison.
Pilar’s smile lingered. At the end of Pilar’s story, though, all smiles were gone. The poor man had drowned at sea.
Maybe talking shop would lighten the moment. “I think I’ll do the stocking up, Pilar. I can’t let you do that. Does the Lobster Cove Grocery Mart have stuff for bread? Like bread flour, yeast, extra gluten?”
“Oh yes, we do. I’ll get you all of these things. I know you need more supplies. I wanted to leave you with groceries, but Maya wouldn’t let me. I’ll feel better if you let me get them.”
“Tell Maya having a refrigerator, freezer, and pantry stocked with the basics is part of the boutique feel.”
“I suggest you tell Maya yourself,” Pilar said.
“She’s not speaking to me at the moment.”
“What do you mean?”
“I am…we kind of had an argument.” Their kiss was an argument. Okay.
Pilar caught his grin. “I see,” she said, slowly. “Well, if I may make a suggestion—”
Rick held up his hand. “Before you offer to help me with Maya, Miz Matchmaker, I think it’s time we talked about you starting to date.”
Mama’s expressive face froze. Her ever-busy hands stopped midway through the air on their way to setting the freshly washed fruit plate on the counter. She began wiping the counter again. “Don’t be fresh, young man.”
Love Caters All Page 5