OK, she'd admit it wasn't any of her business, but it still bugged her. Ilka had so much to offer. She was smart. Funny. Warm. Loving. Roxanne's face softened. Ilka had been a great mom—when Bram had been born, she'd flown home to see her sister and the baby and she remembered vividly the expression on Ilka's face as she had looked down at her son. Maybe Ilka had dragged her feet when it had come to facing up to Delmer, but no one disputed that Ilka had adored her children and had tried to do her damnedest for them. It wasn't that Roxanne necessarily wanted Ilka to run out and marry and have more children, although she suspected that being a wife and mom was probably what suited Ilka best, she just wanted her sister to have a life again. To do something that was separate from their parents, even if it was nothing more than showing and raising yippy little schnauzers like Sam did. She grinned. Oh, and wouldn't her parents love that! They loved animals, dogs included, but Roxanne didn't think they'd be exactly thrilled to have a pack of always-looking-for-trouble schnauzers underfoot all the time. Her grin faded and a steely glint entered her fine eyes. Whether it was any of her business or not, somehow, she was going to shake Ilka out of her shell.
She brooded over Ilka as she moved about the room. She'd invited her to see the progress on the house several times, half hoping that seeing the house would spark some desire to have a home of her own. It hadn't. She'd even torn herself away from the house and endured a couple of overnight trips to San Francisco, dragging a reluctant Ilka along with her. They'd spent the time shopping and wandering around downtown, finally eating lunch at the Japanese Tea Gardens, staying that time in Sausalito across the bay from the city. Roxanne had made plans with a couple of male models she liked and knew in the area and had invited them out for dinner. Ilka's date, Charles Blackman, had been utterly smitten. But had Ilka been the least bit flattered or interested in one of the most eligible bachelors, and nicest, that Roxanne knew? Nope. Ilka had been totally unfazed to be the object of interest of such a charming, stunningly handsome man. Poor Charley, Roxanne thought. He'd tried several times after that to see Ilka but her sister always said no. Politely. But no. The next time they'd stayed in San Francisco itself, at the Top of the Mark, browsed through the museum, and lunched at Fisherman's Wharf, then explored Pier 39 before dining in regal splendor in the hotel. Ilka went along, but didn't seem to care one way or another. Desperate, Roxanne had suggested they spend a weekend in the Napa Valley. Ilka dutifully accompanied her, but seemed happiest when they were heading home. It wasn't that Roxanne really thought any of those things would necessarily set Ilka on fire. She was just trying to find her way, trying to understand her sister, working at getting to know Ilka and trying to find a clue, a hint of something that interested her sister other than living quietly at home with their par ents. She'd hoped that spending time together exploring all the little shops, that she would have discovered some topic, some activity, that would put a spark in Ilka's eyes. Nothing had. Ilka seemed perfectly content to live with Mommy and Daddy and arranged her life around theirs. It drove Roxanne nuts. Ilka had her stumped.
The rumblings of her stomach interrupted Roxanne's thoughts. Looking at her watch, she realized it was long past lunch, almost two o'clock. She took one more glance around the room and decided she'd done what she could for the present.
Shrugging into her jacket, she said to Theo, who was busy putting up the last of the sheet rock in the great room, “I'm gone for now. There's supposed to be a furniture delivery this afternoon. Tell them the mattress and box springs go in my room and the other stuff in the spare bedroom for now.”
“Will do.” He cocked a brow. “You still planning on staying out here tonight?”
“Yes. Mattress or not. If it doesn't arrive I'll sleep on the floor. Another night at home will probably drive me 'round the bend.”
He chuckled. “You know what they say—you can't go home again.”
She shook her head. “No. You can come home again—I'm proof of that. You just can't go home to your parents again.”
His laugh rang in her ears as she left the house and sprinted to the Jeep. A few minutes later, she was pulling into the parking area of The Blue Goose. When she'd left home, the place had been named The Stone Inn and had been in a state of disrepair. That was no longer the case. About six or seven years ago, Hank O'Hara and his sister, Megan, had bought the place, renovated it, and presently served breakfast and lunch.
Stepping out of the Jeep into the steady downpour, Roxanne scurried to the door of the restaurant. She'd noted that the rain had brought in several patrons and recognizing a couple of the vehicles, she wasn't surprised to discover the place half full and several people she knew seated at the big table in front of the wood stove at the side of the room. Her heart took a nosedive right down to her toes when she caught sight of the tall, dark man seated at one end, then returned to normal when she realized that it was Mingo Delaney and not Jeb. Thank God.
She had been doing a very good job of avoiding Jeb—she didn't think it was solely because of her efforts either that they hadn't run into each other. She'd be willing to bet money that he was doing his best to avoid her. Oak Valley was a small place, but it helped that she was out at the construction site most of the time or at home and that Jeb's work kept him out of the valley most days. Still, she never knew when their paths might cross and she'd gotten into the habit of always checking out vehicles before venturing into Heather-Mary-Marie's or McGuire's Market or any of the places she might run into Jeb. So far, she'd been lucky, but the sight of Mingo had given her a start.
Spying an empty table near the window, she scooted into it, waving to Mingo, Don Bean, who had done the tractor work on her place, Profane Deegan, who sometimes worked with Don, and Danny Haskell, one of the local deputies. She recognized the other three men, too. One was a local volunteer fireman named Monty Hicks; the other was a retired logger, Hugh Nutter, who was a friend of her parents'. The last man, wearing the ubiquitous baseball cap, was Hank O'Hara.
The moment she sat down, a wide smile on his comfortable face, Hank jumped to his feet. “I'm on my way, darlin',” he called, and grabbing a menu hustled over to her table.
Roxanne grinned at him. “You didn't have to leave your friends for me,” she said.
“Ah, now darlin', why would I stay with a bunch of raunchy men when I can have your charming company?”
There were some catcalls and hoots from the table containing the raunchy men. Hank laughed and said, “Just ignore them. What can I get for you on this cold rainy day?”
“What have you got that I'd like?”
Hank tugged at his gray goatee. “Megan cooked up a nice thick cream of potato soup for today. And a hearty stew—lots of meat and vegetables.”
“The soup sounds wonderful. I'll have a bowl of it and a green salad. Garlic dressing. And coffee to drink.”
Megan came out of the back room and seeing Roxanne greeted her through the glass divider that separated the cooking area from the main part of the restaurant. “How are you doing today?”
“Fine. I guess I'm glad to finally see some real rain. We need it.”
Megan nodded. Several years younger than her brother, Megan was small and blond, her hair worn short and tidy, and looked to be in her forties. Hank was probably on the shady side of sixty, a tallish, slim man with laughing brown eyes. Roxanne liked them both and thought they'd done a marvelous job with the restaurant. Food and decor.
The Blue Goose had a cozy air about it. A black wood stove at the far side of the room heated the place. The main room held perhaps ten tables of various shapes and sizes and was capable of seating about forty people. The tables were made of thick redwood slabs and the flooring was a bright blue carpet. The walls were white and white lace curtains hung at the windows; fat geese strutted and cavorted on pale blue wallpaper edging near the ceiling. And the food was great as far as Roxanne was concerned.
Her meal arrived and she busied herself with eating, only half listening to the bursts of laugh
ter and teasing that were coming from the table containing Mingo and the others, her gaze on the weather outside. It was really pouring, the day becoming darker and darker. But not my mood, she reminded herself sternly. Tonight she would sleep in her own house—on the floor if necessary and despite any protests her parents might make. I just hope, she thought mournfully, that they don't get those “oh, but honey, we'll worry about you out there all by yourself … and we're hurt that you don't want to stay with us” looks on their faces. If they did, she'd just have to harden her heart or she'd be sunk. An Bka I am not going to be.
A vehicle door slammed outside and there was the stamping of feet and the next second the door to the restaurant flew open. Jeb Delaney, his black Stetson dripping water, his maroon leather bomber jacket speckled with rain, and his black western boots muddy, filled the doorway. The room seemed to compress; it was as if he were larger than life, and had brought the storm inside with him, the scent of cool wet weather, a hint of the winds of winter overpowering the warmth of the wood stove and the smell of cooking food.
A spoonful of Megan's thick, chunky soup half lifted to her lips, Roxanne froze, her eyes on Jeb. Oh, God! He looked so good, so virile and masculine that her heart pounded with excitement despite her best intentions. And he's still an arrogant obnoxious dick-head, she reminded herself. You don't like him. Remember? He doesn't like you. Remember that, too? OK. OK. We hate each other. But, why, oh, why, does he make me feel so alive? And why, dammit, can't I forget how great it was to make love with him? You had sex with him you did not make love. For that, she reminded herself grimly, you had to have respect, ad miration, liking, and love. … None of which you have for him. He's a creep. A bossy Neanderthal. The sort of man you can't stand. Remember? Right. I remember that.
It was a good thing she did, because Jeb's eyes unerringly met hers, and her silly little heart almost jumped right out of her chest. She wanted to look away but she couldn't and when he began to walk toward her with that sexy long-legged stride, tight black jeans molded to his muscular thighs, his dark face intent and those black eyes of his fixed on hers, she thought she'd have an orgasm right then and there. Uh-oh. I'm in trouble. There is something very strange going on. This is Jeb Delaney, not my favorite person. This is the man I've been avoiding for weeks, months. The man I always get into a fight with. So why am I tickled to death to see him? Boredom, she thought desperately. Yes. Yes. That's it. I'm bored. And he's here. Right here in front of me.
Jeb's face was expressionless as he nodded to Roxanne and slid easily into the seat across from her. He took off his hat and put it on the empty seat next to him. “Afternoon,” he said softly.
Angry at the jumble of emotions that just the sight of him created, she put down her spoon and said with saccharine sweetness, “Now why don't I remember inviting you to join me?”
Amusement glimmered in the depths of his dark eyes. “Now, Princess, why do you have to get allfrosty with me? Can't a fellow just sit down and have a chat with a pretty girl?”
Her chin lifted. “I was never just 'pretty' and I haven't been a 'girl' for a long time.”
“Yeah, you're right about that. Guess you are getting a little long in the tooth.” He cocked a brow. “That why you retired? Too many younger, prettier, ah, forgive me, more beautiful women climbing over your back?”
Roxanne waited for the surge of outrage to come, but it didn't. And surprising herself as much as him, she muttered, “Yes. That's exactly why I'm sort of retired. It was getting harder and harder to stay on top. And since I knew I was going to lose the battle and that I'd had a good long run, I abdicated while I still could.” She grinned. “Abdication is much easier on the ego than an overthrow.”
His eyes roamed over that lovely, untamed face of hers, the elegant cheekbones, eagle eyes, and the flyaway mane of black hair. He'd known she was in here. He'd recognized her Jeep and instead of continuing on his way home, like some poor, lovesick schmuck, he had pulled off and come inside to find her. And at the sight of her just sitting there at the table, something fierce and wild had happened in the region of his heart—that and the odd sensation that he'd found something he'd been looking for all his life. He wasn't exactly happy or thrilled about any of it and it proved that he'd been wise these past weeks to stay clear of her. The woman, he thought grimly, was just plain trouble. And he sure as hell didn't want her to be his trouble. Why in the devil couldn't she just have stayed in New York? Why did she have to come back here and mess up his perfectly nice life?
His mouth seemed to have a mind of its own, because he said none of those things. Instead to his horror he heard himself saying, “They're crazy to have let you go—at sixty you'd still be lovelier than any twenty-year-old … girl.”
Roxanne blinked. Her heart pounded. Her gaze dropped to her bowl of soup and for one of the first times in her life, she found herself speechless. Jeb Delaney thought her lovely. Now why did that warm her as nothing ever had in her life?
Jeb was wondering if he could rip his tongue out by the roots. A flush stained his cheeks and the collar of his shirt felt as if it would choke him. What a weapon he had just handed her. She'd stab him with it every chance she got. Why in the devil had he ever stopped? He took a deep breath. Of course, he remembered gratefully, he did sort of have a reason for seeking her out. And it wasn't just because he'd been hungering for the sight of her. It absolutely was not because of that!
The situation was saved by Hank. “Well, well, look what the storm blew in,” Hank said, brown eyes twinkling as he walked up to the table.
Jeb mumbled something about finishing up early and deciding to head home before the weather got any worse.
“Don't blame you,” Hank replied. “Supposed to be a big storm. Was the road bad when you came in?”
Recovering himself, Jeb shook his head. “Not yet. There were some rock slides along the river stretch, nothing very big, but come nightfall …”
Rock slides were a constant danger anytime on the winding, twisting road to Oak Valley, but they were much worse and more prevalent during stormy weather. The rain turned the steep ground to mud and the rocks and boulders buried within it tumbled regularly onto the road. During the day, it wasn't so bad, but at night, on wet slick pavement, the pavement shiny from headlights, a driver could come up on a slide in a heartbeat. Sometimes the slides were small, other times. …
“Remember that night, that big boulder came down? Big as a Volkswagen?” Hank asked.
“Yeah. Just glad that there was only pavement beneath it when it landed and not a car. Would have been nasty,” Jeb answered.
Hank agreed and then asked, “So what can I get you?”
“Just coffee and some of Megan's walnut cake.”
Roxanne and Jeb said nothing while Hank bustled around filling Jeb's order. By the time Jeb's coffee and a three-layered slice of cake exploding with walnuts was put in front of him, Roxanne had managed to regain some of her poise.
Pushing her spoon around in her bowl of soup she muttered, “Thank you for the compliment.” She risked a glance at his face. “It was a compliment, wasn't it?”
The suspicion in her voice made him smile. He nodded. “Yeah, it was a compliment. But don't let it go to your head—there are a lot of uncomplimentary things I could think to say about you instead.”
She smiled, but it looked more like a dog lifting its lips in a snarl. “And I about you.”
They ate and drank in silence for a moment. Then unable to stand it any longer, Roxanne demanded, “Why are you here? And don't try to tell me it's to pay me compliments.”
“OK, I won't,” Jeb replied equitably. He hesitated. Took a sip of his coffee. Fiddled with his fork. Finally when Roxanne was on the verge of smacking him, he looked at her and said, “It's about Ilka.”
Chapter
8
Roxanne frowned. Jeb and Ilka? Now that was a depressing thought and she didn't want to discover why either. “Ilka? What about her?”
Jeb
smiled wryly. “I know it'll come as a shock to you but Ilka and I are good friends. She actually thinks I'm a nice guy and happens to like me—we enjoy each other's company.”
“Gee, I find that hard to believe,” Roxanne muttered, ignoring the cold creeping into her heart. If he told her that he and Ilka were lovers, she'd just die. Right here. Right now. “Beats me what she sees in you.”
“Maybe it's my kind nature,” Jeb drawled, enjoying the exchange, enjoying watching her lively features, the glint in her eyes, the ebb and flow of color in those elegantly sculpted cheeks. Yeah. He did enjoy watching her, no denying it. The only thing he'd enjoy more at the moment, he admitted, was kissing some of the sass off that smart mouth of hers.
“Kind? Doubt it. At least I've never seen any sign of your being kind.” She stopped, honesty forcing her to admit, “Well, that's not exactly true—it was kind of you to adopt Dawg and Boss, so I guess you do have one redeeming feature.”
“Thank you,” Jeb said dryly.
Roxanne fiddled with her soup spoon. “So what is it about llka that you want to talk about?”
His eyes dropped to his coffee cup and a mixture of sadness and anger crossed his dark face. Roxanne's heart stopped. Oh, God, she prayed more fervently than she ever had, please don't let him apologize again for what happened between us … but most of all, please don't let him tell me that he's in love with Ilka.
His eyes fixed on the cup, he said slowly, “Did you know that I was one of the first deputies on the scene the night that Delmer wrapped his truck around that tree?”
Roxanne started. “No. I didn't.” She swallowed. “It must have been terrible.”
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