by Lisa Hendrix
Mason felt a rush of triumph. So, she was interested in sex after all. He’d been wondering if marriage to Caro would be as icy as her appearance. Apparently not. He backed her against one of the wooden supports, sliding one leg between her knees. A soft moan was all the permission he needed to reach for the buttons on her blouse. Negotiations were definitely progressing.
“Ahem. Uh. Excuse me.” An apologetic voice cut into the arousal that was beginning to fog Mason’s brain. He looked up.
A girl was standing at the opposite end of the arbor. A very dirty girl, wearing shorts and a faded green shirt with a name over the pocket. “What the…?”
Caro leaped aside like she’d been caught with the pool boy.
“I’m really sorry,” said their visitor. “I didn’t mean to disturb you, but I need to get through here to get out of your way.”
“Who the devil are you?” demanded Mason.
The girl slipped off her leather work gloves and wiped one hand on her khaki shorts. “I’m with Johnson’s. The landscape service.”
“You won’t be for long,” Caroline said. “How dare you spy on us.”
“Settle down, Caro,” said Mason. “I’m sure she has some legitimate reason for being down here.”
“Transplants,” the girl said quickly. “And weeding. I was cleaning up the rock garden back there.”
“And rolling through it, apparently,” muttered Caro.
“You can finish later,” Mason said, shooting Caro a warning look. “Next week.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll just get my things and get out of your way.” She disappeared out the far end of the arbor and reappeared a moment later pushing a wheelbarrow piled high with seed flats, tools, and assorted jugs. The muscles in her well-tanned arms bulged as she steered the awkward load toward them.
The arbor was narrow, and with the table in the middle, she couldn’t get through. She started to set the wheelbarrow down.
“Allow me,” Mason said. He dragged the two chairs away and pulled the table to one side. The ice tinkled prettily against the sides of the crystal pitcher.
The girl flashed him a grateful look and started past the table, but the barrow hung up on something.
“Oh, hurry up,” Caroline snapped.
“Yes, ma’am.” The girl backed up a few inches and gave the wheelbarrow another shove just as Mason reached to move the table again.
His elbow bumped the end of a hoe handle. It was just enough to throw the whole pile off balance, and the wheelbarrow tilted crazily for an instant before she caught it. “Whew. That could have been a—”
One of the jugs sloshed once and tipped over. The top popped off as it hit the edge of the wheelbarrow, and a stream of filthy brown liquid shot out, drenching Caro from knee to toe.
“—disaster. Oh, geez.”
A stench like the bottom of an old bait bucket rose around them. Mason took an involuntary step back.
“Oh. Oh, God.” Gagging, Caro danced backward, as though she could escape the odor that engulfed her. A squishing sound revealed that some of the glop was in her shoe.
The girl grabbed for the jug and set it up before it could discharge the rest of its contents onto Caroline’s shoes, then reached for a towel that hung from one handle of the wheelbarrow. She blotted frantically at the stain on Caro’s pants, but the towel left as much dirt as it picked up.
“Get away from me.” Caroline kicked at her, narrowly missing her shin. “Haven’t you done enough?”
“I’m so sorry. Just let me wipe some of it—”
“Get away, you little bitch. You did that on purpose.”
“She did no such thing,” Mason said quickly and firmly. He pulled one of the linen napkins off the table. “It was my fault. Here, let me help.”
Caroline snatched the cloth away and flung it at his head. “That won’t do any good. It’s ruined. The whole outfit’s ruined. I’ve got to go change.” She glared down at the girl. “I’ll have your job for this,” Caroline snarled at her, then stormed off toward the house.
The girl sighed and straightened up. “Gee. There goes the Maserati.”
A smile tagged at the corner of Mason’s mouth, and he turned to give her a closer look. She must be older than he’d thought. He doubted that an eighteen-year-old could display such nonchalance about getting fired.
“I must apologize for my friend. She’s usually not so high-strung.” He moved upwind a little as a fresh whiff enveloped them. He recognized it as the smell from the rose garden, magnified a thousand times. “What is that stuff, anyway?”
“Fish emulsion for the plants,” she said as they stepped out from under the arbor. “You ought to smell the kind that’s not deodorized.”
“I think I’ll pass.”
“It goes away in a couple of hours. I’m really sorry, Mr. Alexander.”
Twenty-three, Mason guessed as he got a good look at her in the sunlight. Maybe a couple of years older. “I’ll take your word for it. You have an advantage. I don’t know your name.” He held his hand out.
“Raine. Raine Hobart.” She started to shake his hand, then pulled back awkwardly. “I’m pretty grubby.”
“It’s my dirt. It won’t hurt me.” He kept his hand out until she took it. Her lightly callused palm felt lean and strong in his, almost masculine after Caroline’s delicate grip. “I’ll make sure you aren’t fired, Miss Hobart.”
“Thank you.” The relief in her smile proved she wasn’t as cavalier about her job as she let on. “Speaking of which, I’d better get back to work, or what you say won’t make a bit of difference.”
She started rearranging the contents of the wheelbarrow, bending over the tools in an unself-conscious way that gave Mason a ringside view of legs that were as remarkable for their healthy curves as for their grimy streaks. She carefully settled the half-empty jug of fish emulsion into a spot where it couldn’t possibly spill again, then straightened and looked around.
“Is there something I can help you with?” he asked.
“There should be a hose bib around here somewhere.” She held up a neon yellow sports bottle. “I need to fill this.”
Mason glanced around, but couldn’t spot the faucet either. “How about some iced tea instead?”
“Isn’t your friend coming back?”
Mason thought of the look on Caro’s face. “I doubt it. Allow me.”
He took her bottle and braved the arbor, stepping carefully over the pool of fishy slime. Holding his breath, he quickly filled her bottle plus a glass for himself, and ducked back out into the fresh air.
“Thanks,” she said as he handed her the sports bottle. She lifted it in a mock toast and took a workman’s hearty swallow. “Are you sure you can talk your friend out of going to Mrs. Johnson? I didn’t get the impression she’s the type to forgive and forget, and I have rent due.”
“Don’t sell me short. I’m pretty persuasive.”
“So I noticed,” she murmured.
Mason shot her a sharp look, and she started laughing. She had a great laugh, low and rippling, the kind of laugh that could pull a person in, and despite the situation and the inappropriate comment, he let himself be drawn along. Gradually, they trailed off into chuckles, and then into an awkward silence as their eyes locked and held.
The color rose in her cheeks. She quickly swiped at her forehead with the back of her hand and took another sip at her glass. “Um, thanks for the tea. What kind is it? It’s got an unusual taste.”
“I don’t know.” He sipped at his glass. The aftertaste was familiar, but odd, like the flavor belonged to a smell he’d… Oh, no. They wouldn’t. They hadn’t. He took another sip and rolled it around on his tongue like a good brandy. As the cool liquid slipped down his throat, silvery letters formed in his mind’s eye: For Love. He spluttered and nearly choked. “I’m going to kill them. I swear to God I’m going to kill them.”
“Who?”
“My mother and sister. And not a court in the land will convict m
e.”
“Isn’t that a little drastic? I mean, it’s just iced tea.”
“It’s not the tea that’s the problem.” Mason shook his head vigorously. “No. Those two—”
“Mason?” His mother’s voice trickled down through the shrubbery from somewhere on the path. “Mason, are you still down there?”
He opened his mouth to answer, then paused and straightened a bit as an idea hit him. No. It was too outlandish. But then again… He turned back to Raine and looked her up and down. Young, unkempt, totally unsuitable.
“Perfect. Miss Hobart, you’re about to fall in love with me.”
*
Two
« ^ »
“Now there’s a new approach,” said Raine. She started to take another sip of tea.
“No!” Mason batted the sports bottle out of her hand. “Don’t drink any more of that.”
So, this was what it looked like when a rich man went crazy. And he was so gosh-awful handsome, too. What a shame. Raine sidled away a couple of steps.
“Mason?” called the voice again, slightly closer.
“Come here.” He grabbed Raine’s arm and dragged her into the cover of the arbor.
“Now hold on.” She yanked free and drew one fist back instinctively, fight-or-flight hormones racing through her bloodstream.
“Whoa.” Mason lifted his palms in surrender. His low voice was barely audible over the fitful breeze that riffled the vines. “My apologies, but I have an urgent need to teach my mother a lesson, and I need some help. Can you act?”
Humor him. She lowered her hand, but kept her fingers in a fist. “A little. I played Chava in my high school’s production of Fiddler on the Roof.”
“That’ll do. Here. Hold this, but don’t drink it.” He spilled a little of his tea out on the grass and handed his glass to her, then hurriedly poured a second glass, filling it only halfway. “Pretend you’ve just this instant fallen in love with me.”
“I don’t know,” Raine began. “This is pretty weird.”
“Mason, darling?” The voice was almost to the terrace. “I hope we haven’t come all this way for nothing.”
“I know he’s down here,” said a second female.
“We don’t have time to discuss it,” Mason said urgently. “Just go along with me, and I’ll explain everything later.”
Raine hesitated.
“Please,” he said. The corners of his mouth turned up a fraction, and tiny laugh lines appeared around his eyes, so that he looked less like a lunatic and more like a man about to pull off a great joke. “Be a sport. I’m persuasive, remember?”
You’re a nut case, is what you are, she thought. Nonetheless, she found herself shrugging. “Oh, all right.”
He took her free hand and lifted it chest high just as an older, silver-haired woman appeared on the terrace, followed by a lanky blonde female. The mother and sister in question, no doubt. She could see the family resemblance. They came toward the arbor.
“Oh, there you are,” the woman said. “What on earth happened down here? Caroline came storming up to the house, filthy dirty and smelling like a cesspool.”
Speaking of which, the arbor didn’t smell so swift, either, now that the breeze had petered out again. Raine blinked hard twice.
“Look at me,” Mason whispered. Raine obeyed, meeting his deep-set eyes just as an expression of total rapture spread over his face. A misplaced shiver lifted every little hair on her arm and tickled its way across her shoulders.
“What are you doing in there?” Mrs. Alexander demanded. She raised a hand to shield her eyes against the sun and peered into the shadows. “Oh. Oh, my.”
“Just having some tea, Mother.” His voice sounded vague and distracted. He lifted Raine’s hand higher and brushed a kiss over her knuckles. Her knees wobbled a bit, and the ice in her glass—er, his glass—clinked slightly as she swayed. Method acting, she told herself.
“Oh, my heavens.”
Mrs. Alexander tottered over to the terrace wall and sat down heavily.
“Tish?” The blonde woman hurried to her side.
Mason tore his eyes away from Raine—at least, that’s how it felt on her side—although he kept his fingers firmly curled around hers. “Mother? Are you all right?”
“It’ll be okay,” the sister was saying. “We can—” She bit off her words as Mason approached them, dragging Raine along.
Mrs. Alexander smiled up at them, a bit wan. “Don’t worry about me, darlings. I just got a little warm.”
“You know how she hates the heat,” said the sister.
“She’s probably dehydrated,” Raine said. “You should drink something cool.” She held out her glass of tea.
She could have sworn Mrs. Alexander got even paler. “Oh, no. No, thank you. I simply need to sit a moment. Mason, why don’t you introduce this … friend of yours?”
“It would be my pleasure. This”—Mason squeezed Raine’s hand and gave her a smile so warm and intimate that she blushed like a teenager—“is Raine Hobart. Raine, this is my mother, Tish Alexander, and my sister, Miranda.”
Raine nodded politely, unable to do more because of the iced tea in one hand and Mason’s grip on the other. “It’s very nice to meet you, ma’am.”
Mrs. Alexander returned the nod.
Miranda just stared. “You’re one of the grounds crew, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” Mason said, before Raine could answer. “Isn’t it amazing that we’ve never met her before? She’s been here at least three weeks, right under our noses.” That warm smile again. Raine’s heart did an inexplicable skip as she answered with an adoring smile of her own. Geez, if this were all real, she could fall for him big-time.
After all, he was her type: tall and lean, with the facial structure of a Viking and Nordic-blue eyes to match. He even had the chestnut hair she preferred on a blue-eyed man—blond over blue made a man look too surfer-dude, in her opinion, but a rich brown provided just the right contrast. He definitely had the right contrast.
Yep, it’d be really easy to fall for the kind of line Mason Alexander was obviously capable of dishing out. She wondered how long she’d be able to stand here and help him gaslight his mother without forgetting it was all an act.
Fortunately, she was saved from finding out by a squawk from the walkie-talkie that hung on her belt. “Hey, Raine!”
All three Alexanders looked at her expectantly.
“My crew boss,” she explained. She extricated her right hand from Mason’s grip and raised the walkie-talkie to her mouth. “Here, Craig.”
“What’s taking so long down there?”
“I was just heading up.” Time to wind down this little floor show. She gave Mason an apologetic shrug as she slipped the walkie-talkie back into its holster. “I guess this is goodbye.”
“Do you have to go?” Mason asked.
“Of course she does. Don’t be an ass,” Miranda said brusquely. She inserted herself between her brother and Raine and removed the glass of tea from Raine’s hand. “She’ll get fired. And besides, you need to see to Caroline.”
“Caroline’s perfectly capable of seeing to herself.” He stepped around Miranda and trailed Raine as she retrieved her sports bottle. His voice was low and urgent, but loud enough to carry to his family. “I don’t even know how to get hold of you.”
Apparently he was going to drag this out to the end. Well, in for a dime, in for a dollar. Raine boosted the barrow and wheeled it off toward the foot of the path, meanwhile giving him the “I’m being torn away from my love” look that had won the audiences in Fiddler. Poor little Chava.
“I’m in the book,” she breathed. “Or you can reach me through the service. Johnson’s Landscaping.”
“Johnson’s,” he repeated, as though committing the name to memory. “You’ll hear from me. Soon.”
Three long strides carried Mason to her side, and then he leaned over and kissed her. It was no little peck on the cheek, either, but a real, li
ve, incredibly sexy, on-the-mouth kiss that could have curled Great-aunt Alice’s toes, much less Raine’ s. The man should win an Oscar. She was vaguely aware of the gasps of the Alexander women, and of the tingle of her lips as he stepped back.
“I’ll see you soon,” he promised again, giving her a private wink that said he wouldn’t. His mother looked like she wanted to cry.
Stunned into silence, Raine pulled herself together and started the wheelbarrow up the steep grade toward the main gardens. She was still in shock when Craig Stevens, her crew boss, appeared on the trail ahead of her. The awed look on his face told her that Tish and Miranda Alexander hadn’t been the only audience for that little curtain-ringer.
“Holy Moley,” he said with no preamble, his usually hearty voice held to a low rumble so it wouldn’t carry to the level below. “What was that all about?”
Raine glanced over her shoulder, but the Alexander clan had disappeared behind the curtain of cedars. “I don’t know, Craig. I honestly don’t know.”
*
That would teach them.
It was with a deep sense of satisfaction that Mason watched his bogus lady-love disappear up the path. For all her grime and earthiness, Raine Hobart had been both a sport and a believable actress—not to mention an excellent kisser—and if his mother and sister had any sense of shame, they would now confess their sins and apologize for inflicting their ridiculous potions on him and that innocent young woman.
Apparently they had none at all. His satisfaction evaporated on the sound of whispers from the peanut gallery. The words “reverse” and “elixir” particularly grabbed his attention.
Damn it all. They ought to be squirming with mortification, not plotting to work up some counterspell to try out. Well, if any man could make them squirm, he could.
He drained his tea glass.
When he turned to face his tormentors, their eyes were as round as barn owls’.
“Are you all right, darling?” His mother’s voice crackled with unnatural brightness.
“Maybe I should offer to help,” he muttered, as though he hadn’t heard her. “I don’t want Raine to hurt herself.”
“Oh, surely Miss Hobart is used to pushing her little cart up and down hills. She’s a sturdy young thing. I, on the other hand, am your old mother. Come help me instead, darling.”