Chapter 5
Sean wondered how anyone as hot as Maggie could say such things to him. Women usually ... but this wasn’t usual. He didn’t look the way he used to, and he had a hard time remembering that.
He glanced at Denise. No help there. She was convinced he’d snubbed her yesterday, and today he didn’t have his macho sex appeal working to soften her up. She would be overjoyed to help Maggie buy the property out from under him.
That meant he had to work on Maggie . . . somehow. So far he was batting zero. First he’d scared her to death, and just now he’d dissed her pet project. ‘‘Tell you what,’’ he said. ‘‘Let’s get a cup of coffee at the Hob Knob and discuss this.’’ Belatedly he remembered to tack on another inducement. ‘‘I’ll buy.’’
Yesterday any woman he approached with that offer would have fallen all over herself snapping it up. Maggie seemed completely unimpressed with the invitation.
Behind her trendy little glasses, her blue eyes remained steely with resolve. ‘‘I’m afraid there’s nothing to discuss. I’m planning to make an offer on the property as soon as Denise tracks down the owner.’’
Sean turned to Denise. ‘‘Have you done that?’’
‘‘I’m pretty sure I have.’’
Desperation gnawed at him. ‘‘Will you at least tell me who it is?’’
‘‘No. It would compromise my agreement with my client, SaveALot, Inc.’’
‘‘Damn it, I’m your client, too!’’
‘‘We never had a client agreement.’’ Denise lifted her chin. ‘‘To be honest, most of the time you did your level best to ignore my efforts.’’
‘‘That’s because you were stringing me along, hoping you and I would end up—’’ No, wait. He shouldn’t say that. He needed to be charming to Denise if he wanted information. Too late. She’d already figured out what he’d almost said, and he could see the steam coming out of her ears.
‘‘I think you’d better leave,’’ she said.
This wasn’t good. He needed to convince at least one of these women to support his cause, preferably the redhead with the drop-dead figure. He wanted her to give up on the property. He also wanted her to like him enough to go out with him.
He gazed into her eyes and almost lost track of what he’d been about to say. Finally he remembered. ‘‘Have you had breakfast?’’
The question seemed to startle her. ‘‘No, but—’’
‘‘Then come over to the Hob Knob and let me buy you some. They make the fluffiest scrambled eggs in the world.’’ He detected a spark of interest for the first time. ‘‘And cinnamon rolls to die for.’’
She ran her tongue over her lips.
He picked up his cue. ‘‘They serve them warm so the frosting melts and oozes down into the roll, which is loaded with butter, sugar and cinnamon. They use really fresh raisins, too, and they get all plumped up in the heat.’’
‘‘No fair,’’ Denise said.
Maggie swallowed noisily. ‘‘I’d love a cinnamon roll.’’
‘‘Then let’s go.’’ He recognized Denise’s coat, so the trench coat must belong to Maggie. He grabbed it off the rack and held it for her while he avoided looking at Denise, who was sending out waves of hatred.
‘‘Maggie, do you have a cell phone?’’ Denise said out of tight lips.
‘‘Yes.’’ Maggie transferred her hold on her purse so she could shove her other arm into her coat. Then she rattled off her phone number.
Ordinarily Sean didn’t have a good memory, but that phone number stuck in his brain as if it had been superglued there. He’d need the number as he navigated the next few days.
‘‘I’ll call you when I get the information.’’ Denise’s words had icicles dripping from them.
‘‘Thanks, Denise.’’ Maggie headed for the door. ‘‘I hope you’ll excuse me, but I didn’t have much dinner last night and I’m starving. Want me to bring you a cinnamon roll?’’
‘‘No, thank you.’’ Denise made it sound as if Maggie had offered her a cow patty.
Sean held the door for her and followed her outside, where weak sunlight was beginning to dry up the puddles. Sean remembered hearing about a guy who’d thrown his coat down across a puddle so that the woman of his dreams wouldn’t muddy her feet. That seemed a bit extreme, but he could at least take her arm and steer her around the worst parts.
She shook him off. ‘‘Thank you, but I’m perfectly capable of crossing the street by myself.’’
‘‘I know that.’’ He was so busy watching how the pale light touched her cheeks that he stepped in one of the puddles he’d been trying to help her avoid. He had work boots on so his feet didn’t get wet, but the cuffs of his jeans did.
As they started across the street, he kept expecting women to show up, begging for his attention. They always did when he was out in public. But nobody called out to him. Nobody drove by and propositioned him. He almost wished they would, because that might impress Maggie.
Maybe whatever had been in the brandy and the chocolate cake had messed with those pheromone things Ambrose had been talking about. Apparently without his full quota of sex chemicals, women weren’t drawn to him like before. That was exactly what he’d asked for, to be left alone, but he didn’t like it as much as he’d expected to.
Instead of attracting every female within his range of vision, he was the one feeling the heat every time he looked at Maggie. In a way, he hated to take her into the Hob Knob. Every guy in there would be gawking and hoping for a date. If Sean had anything to say about it, they wouldn’t get the chance.
‘‘Why didn’t you tell me that you wanted to buy the property?’’ She sounded annoyed.
‘‘I was too busy convincing you I wasn’t an ax murderer.’’ And controlling my lust. He was amazed at how much he wanted her. Helping her on with her coat had been like foreplay, at least for him. Obviously not for her.
‘‘What do you do for a living?’’
He took it as a good sign that she was asking personal questions. ‘‘I do renovation and restoration of houses.’’
‘‘Then why don’t you have some sort of sign painted on your truck?’’ That seemed to irritate her, too, as if she resented not being able to identify his job without asking.
‘‘Don’t need to in Big Knob. Since Abe Danbury retired, I’m the only guy who does that kind of thing. If anybody needs work done on their house, they call me.’’ He tried to think of ways to make his job sound more interesting. ‘‘I was just asked to build a fold-out sex bench.’’
She stumbled while stepping up to the curb and he grabbed her arm, glad for the chance to play hero.
Instead of thanking him, she stared at him as if he were some kind of pervert. ‘‘What did you say?’’
‘‘I’m building a sex bench. It will fold out of the wall when needed, and go back in when it’s not.’’ He waited for the glow of desire to light her eyes, but nothing was happening. ‘‘See, it’s better than a chair, because it’s made specifically for—’’
‘‘Okay, okay. I get the idea.’’ She sounded completely turned off. ‘‘Let’s have breakfast.’’
He was so confused. Twenty-four hours ago a discussion of a sex bench with any available woman in town would have led to her requesting a similar bench, plus a demonstration of how it worked. He might need to reconsider his approach now that he looked less like a movie star and more like an extra.
At least she couldn’t fault him on manners. He opened the door of the Hob Knob and let her go in first. She moaned softly as the scent of fresh cinnamon rolls and coffee rolled over them. That little moan was enough to fill his brain with X-rated thoughts and jack up his already excited penis.
He had to cool it, though, because he was about to face Abe’s wife, Madeline, who waitressed most mornings at the Hob Knob. He’d apprenticed himself to Abe ten years ago when the old man had been close to retirement. While Abe had taught Sean all he knew about restoring houses, Madeline had tak
en every opportunity to lecture Sean about the evils of sex before marriage.
About a year ago he’d stopped sleeping with every woman who asked him, which meant he and Madeline got along much better. She and Abe were the closest thing to family Sean had, and Madeline would be very curious about why he was buying breakfast for the new girl in town.
‘‘By the way, I’m paying for my own breakfast,’’ Maggie said.
Well, that settled that.
Maggie was dizzy with hunger and it seemed she’d come to the right place to do something about it. A plump white-haired woman who radiated comfort showed them to a table by a window where red-checked curtains were tied back with white rickrack. Cream was on the table and coffee was poured the minute they sat down. The waitress didn’t even ask, just poured.
Sean’s description of fluffy scrambled eggs and cinnamon rolls had made such a vivid impression that Maggie ordered them without opening the menu. Sean did the same. Belatedly Maggie remembered she hadn’t asked for separate checks. Oh, well. She had a company credit card, so she could pay for both. H.G. wouldn’t care as long as she brought home the goods.
Maybe she’d looked as hungry as she felt, because the cinnamon rolls appeared seconds later. They were huge, the kind that required a fork and copious napkins. Maggie dug in with a sigh of pleasure.
‘‘Was I right about the rolls?’’ Sean asked.
‘‘Mm.’’ Her mouth full, Maggie nodded. She was too busy wolfing down the roll to make conversation. Nothing had ever tasted this good to her, and she’d had some five-star meals, thanks to H.G. when she’d first hired on at SaveALot, back when he’d had more faith in her potential. Recently those invitations had dwindled.
While she ate, Sean tilted his head toward a table across the room. ‘‘Those two guys—Jeff’s the owner of the Big Knobian Bar, and Hank’s a mechanic over at the gas station. Horn dogs, both of them. If either one of them asks you out, say no.’’
She nodded, not wanting to stop eating in order to explain that she wouldn’t be dating anyone on this trip, horn dog or not.
‘‘And over in the corner is Johnny, who manages the Knobby Nook. He may look harmless, but I wouldn’t want him dating my sister, if I had a sister.’’
She nodded again. Very strange that Sean would be so intent on warning her about the guys in the diner, as if they’d be ready to pounce on her at any minute. They’d given her a casual glance when she’d arrived, but not one had acted particularly interested. Long ago she’d accepted the fact that she wasn’t the kind of woman who elicited wolf whistles and hot stares.
As she was polishing off the roll, the eggs arrived, paired up with fragrant hash browns and two strips of crispy bacon.
The waitress balanced the plates on one arm and held the coffee carafe in her other hand. She’d obviously been at this a long time. ‘‘Another cinnamon roll?’’ she asked as she poured more coffee.
Maggie swallowed the bite she’d been savoring. ‘‘They’re fantastic, and I’d love another one. Somebody should franchise those rolls.’’ She was already thinking there should be a cinnamon roll concession at every SaveALot in the country.
The waitress laughed. ‘‘I’ll tell Joe, but don’t hold your breath. He hates big business. He and Sherry moved here to get away from that kind of thing.’’
‘‘Oh.’’ Maggie decided she might not want to mention why she was in town to either Joe or Sherry. They might cut off her supply of cinnamon rolls.
‘‘Madeline, I’d like you to meet Maggie Grady,’’ Sean said. ‘‘Maggie, this is Madeline Danbury. I apprenticedwith her husband, Abe, a few years back. Abe’s also our mayor here in Big Knob.’’
‘‘And doesn’t he love the job,’’ Madeline said. ‘‘Nice to meet you, Maggie. You here for long?’’
‘‘A few days.’’
Madeline nodded. ‘‘Staying with Sean?’’
‘‘No! I mean, uh, I’m staying . . . um, that is, I haven’t—’’
‘‘We have an extra room you could use,’’ Madeline said. ‘‘There aren’t any hotels or motels anywhere close.’’
‘‘Sean mentioned that.’’ Maggie thought quickly. She’d hoped to get some housing help from Denise, but Denise obviously had a quick temper and was prone to revenge plots. Maggie decided she might do better with the woman who was in good with Joe and Sherry, keeper of the cinnamon rolls. ‘‘I’d be happy to pay rent,’’ she said.
‘‘Don’t be silly. The room’s going to waste. Our son’s married and living in Indianapolis. They’ll be down next week for Thanksgiving, but until then, we have the extra space.’’
‘‘That’s very kind of you,’’ Maggie said.
‘‘It’s no trouble. Sean stayed with us for a while, but his extracurricular activities forced me to ask him to get his own place.’’
Maggie glanced over at Sean, who was turning red. ‘‘Boys will be boys,’’ Maggie said, but she had trouble picturing this particular guy with his funny-looking glasses and his bad haircut cutting a swath through the female population.
Of course, looks weren’t everything. Maybe he was an exceptional lover disguised as a loser without a clue. That thought gave her a twinge of sexual desire, but it was a controllable twinge.
‘‘Fortunately he’s not like that anymore.’’ Madeline patted Sean on the shoulder. ‘‘He’s reformed the last year or so. I think he’s saving himself for the right woman.’’
Sean looked embarrassed. ‘‘I’ve been concentrating on work, is all.’’
‘‘Which is good.’’ Madeline peered at him. ‘‘But I’ve been meaning to ask ever since you came in this morning, why are you wearing those glasses?’’
‘‘They’re temporary. For some reason my eyes aren’t focusing right, and a friend loaned me these. It’s probably eyestrain. It’ll go away.’’
So he hadn’t worn glasses all his life. That made the lover-boy image a little easier for Maggie to imagine. When he was younger he’d probably been in better physical shape, too, and maybe he’d had a different barber.
‘‘Eyestrain?’’ Madeline didn’t look convinced. ‘‘That doesn’t seem right somehow. I can’t imagine how your eyes would suddenly go bad.’’ Then she gasped and clapped a hand over her mouth.
Sean stared at her. ‘‘What’s wrong?’’
‘‘Nothing.’’ Madeline blushed and looked away. ‘‘Excuse me. I need to check on my other customers.’’ She started to leave the table.
Sean caught her arm. ‘‘Hey, Madeline, you can’t gasp like that and not tell me why.’’
‘‘I most certainly can. It’s too embarrassing to say out loud.’’
‘‘What is?’’
She leaned down and whispered in his ear.
Sean let out a bark of laughter. ‘‘Trust me, that’s not the problem.’’
‘‘You wouldn’t tell me even if it was! I don’t know which is worse: the way you were carrying on before or what you’re up to now.’’ Her color high, Madeline bustled away.
Sean laughed again and shook his head.
He looks good when he laughs, Maggie thought. And she was dying of curiosity as to what Madeline had said to him. She waited, hoping he’d explain.
Instead he picked up his coffee mug and drained it. Then he glanced out the window, obviously still struggling with his amusement. ‘‘It’s raining again.’’
‘‘You’re not going to tell me what she said, are you?’’
He looked at her, laughter brimming in his green eyes. ‘‘Probably shouldn’t.’’
‘‘Come on.’’
‘‘She thinks my eye problem is related to the sort of activity that will make you go blind.’’
‘‘Omigod.’’ Maggie couldn’t help laughing with him. ‘‘Nobody thinks that anymore.’’
‘‘She does. I respect the hell out of her, but she’s very conservative. According to her, nobody should have sex until they’re married. She used to get so upset with me.’’
‘‘I take it you were on the wild side.’’
‘‘Wild by Madeline’s standards, anyway.’’
She still had trouble imagining it, but not as much trouble as before. He did have great eyes and a good smile. ‘‘But Madeline said you’ve changed.’’
‘‘Yeah. It was all just sex, which got old. I wanted . . . well, never mind. TMI, right?’’
‘‘No problem.’’ Maggie’s suspicion that he was a great lover increased, which gave her a stronger twinge of lust. She repressed it. She didn’t need lustful twinges right now. What she needed was to buy this land and get out of Big Knob.
In the meantime, though, she had another cinnamon roll on order and she’d received no call regarding the property’s owner. If she and Sean would be in the Hob Knob a while longer, they could use another topic of conversation besides sex. Only one thing came to mind.
‘‘I assume you plan to develop the property, as well,’’ she said.
‘‘Not exactly.’’
She looked at him in surprise. ‘‘Surely you weren’t planning to renovate that dilapidated wreck of a house?’’
A shadow passed over his face and was gone. ‘‘I thought I’d try.’’
‘‘Didn’t you see that old movie The Money Pit? That’s what that monstrosity would be. It’s been sitting vacant for years, according to Denise.’’
‘‘I know.’’ He twirled his mug back and forth between his hands. They looked capable, adept at reshaping a house and giving it new life.
‘‘I suppose you’d welcome the challenge.’’ She thought about the spooky old house she’d seen this morning.
‘‘I would, as a matter of fact. It has potential.’’
‘‘And then what? Sell it?’’ She couldn’t imagine what a single guy like Sean would want with a renovated Victorian that had to be at least three thousand square feet.
‘‘No, I thought I’d live in it.’’
‘‘Really? You and what army?’’
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