by Teddy Hester
“I’m glad you’re here. I don’t think I’ve ever walked into my house in the dark.”
Mick turns off the car engine and pulls the key out of the ignition. “Do you have timers on any of your lights?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Hmm. Your safety is an issue. Let’s look into that tomorrow.”
He leaps out and comes around to the passenger side to open my door before I have time to do it for myself. “The dark here reminds me of the beach where I live. We’re in an area that’s not too built up, so there aren’t a lot of street lights. The ocean’s black at night. The sky’s lighter than the ocean because of all the stars.”
While he’s talked, he’s walked us under the arbor with its sweet, heavy scent of wisteria to the back door. I unlock it and let us in. “Where you live sounds beautiful. I’ve only seen the ocean a few times. When I was in England.”
“Where are the light switches, Menuett?”
I flip the one for the anteroom and key in the alarm code. “You hungry?”
He shakes his head. “No, I’m bushed. I’m going to go on up to bed. I’m glad to see you have an alarm. I didn’t notice it before. Do you want me to go around with you and check the doors and windows?”
“No. We never use any door but this one. Well, and the section we open for the tourists. But that won’t be for another month.”
“I want to check all the doors and windows tomorrow.” He starts up the steps, his feet heavy on the stone. He really must be tired. I keep forgetting he had surgery less than two weeks ago.
Since there’s nothing to keep me downstairs, I climb up after him. “Do you still feel like you’re healing, Mick?”
“Sure. Why?”
“Just checking. Alfred worked you pretty hard the other day.”
“That’s for damn sure. My hands ached so bad, I thought I’d developed carpal tunnel. Never mind that I could barely move my arms. I downed two of the pain killers they gave me after the operation, soaked in a hot tub, and jer—relaxed—until I could fall into bed. I’ve had football coaches who weren’t that tough.”
We arrive at the top of the stairs. Mick keeps walking to his room. “Good night, Angel.” Finally he stops and stares at me, his mouth gaping. “Who’s going to cook breakfast?” Then he winks and closes his door behind him.
Mine remains open.
I luxuriate in a bath and anoint myself with fragrant body wash.
I don a thin, pale pink nightgown.
I glide across the hall.
Hand raised to knock on his door, I chicken out and run back to my room, cursing myself for a fool.
*****
The smell of coffee and sausage guides me to the kitchen. My first visual impression is how good Mick looks in jeans and t-shirt manning Birgitte’s cast iron skillet at the stove. I was feeling pretty good before I came downstairs. Now I float above the floor and hover in the doorway, feasting on masculine beauty. My hands remember the strength in those shoulders, the solidness of that chest. There are plenty of other attributes my hands would like to explore as well. Right after I taste those lips.
“You just about done checking me out?” He throws me a knowing smirk.
I gasp and want to hide from embarrassment. But wait. This is my house. He’s in my kitchen. Guys drool over girls all the time. Well, just like Dieter and his books, what’s good for the gander is just fine for the goose as well.
Hmm…I just called myself a goose.
“Not quite. Would you mind flexing something? Perhaps stir that pot more vigorously?”
Micks throws back his head and laughs. “Well done, Angel! Glad to see you’re in form this morning. Your regal tone adds something. It’ll stand you in good stead when you have to deal with Dieter today.”
That deflates my balloon. I’m no longer floating. My legs feel too heavy to lift for walking, much less hovering in the air. “Thanks for reminding me. I’ll just go set the table now.”
With another laugh, his free hand shoots out and grabs my arm. “I was teasing. Poor joke. Here, this is for you.” He makes his chest dance, first one pec, then the other.
“You can make your chest undulate? Do it again.”
He turns back to the stove. “Nope, gotta cook breakfast. But if you’re a good angel today, I’ll wiggle my ears for you later.”
I’m a little ashamed of how good his offer sounds. Banter and charm come so easily to him. Part of me envies that talent, part of me wonders how much it can be trusted, and another part of me just wants to bask in it. I tell him so.
His laugh this time is hollow. “Yeah, that’s me. Just call me Mr. Charm.”
“You say that like it has no value.”
He sighs and turns off the flame. “There are worse things, I suppose. Ready for some eggs?”
I fetch two plates and set them on the table. “Your humor makes me feel good. The ability to make people feel good is very special.”
He spoons some food onto my plate, then his, while I top off our mugs. “It’s not enough. It should be combined with something more substantive.”
The phone in my pocket vibrates. I reach for it. “Sorry. It may be Birgitte.”
But it’s not. “Oh, dear. It’s Dieter.”
He smirks. “Karma’s catching up with you early this morning.”
Now my legs won’t even support me. I collapse into my chair. “So it would seem. Hallo, Dieter.”
“No, Ms. von Sternau, it’s Leon.”
Why is Dieter’s man calling me? “Guten morgen, Leon. Is Dieter all right?”
“Yes. He asked me to tell you that he’s been called out of the country on business, and will call when he can.”
My gaze jumps to Mick, who’s digging into his breakfast, ignoring me. “When will he be back?”
“I’m not certain, Ms. von Sternau. He tried to call you yesterday but had to leave a message in voicemail. Did you receive it?”
“Oh! I had my phone turned off. We’ve had some excitement around here, too. Alfred’s in the hospital.”
“I’m very sorry to hear that, ma’am. Mr. von Weiss will want to know.”
“Yes, Leon, I’ll check my messages. Thank you for calling.”
When we hang up, I go through the menus and screens to my list of messages. I listen to Dieter’s, but it doesn’t tell me much more than Leon did.
I slide the phone back into my pocket. “Dieter’s out of the country for the foreseeable future.”
Mick nods, but he’s frowning, so he’s not happy about the news. In fact, he looks like he’s taking it harder than I am. No Dieter means I can put off telling him about my huge gaffe yesterday. If he’s gone long enough, Alfred may be home, and it won’t be necessary to tell him at all.
Oh. But no Dieter also means no backup if I need help while Alfred’s in the hospital. That explains Mick’s frown. He feels trapped. Between two women who need him. A rock and a hard place, I believe the Americans say.
“I need to call Nina.”
The idea of trapping a man—any man—is unthinkable. Be brave. “I can handle things here, Mick. Alfred’s trained me well enough, and I have Richart and Lukas. We can’t get into too much trouble for the week or so Alfred will be absent. Go ahead and make your travel plans.”
His crinkled brow tells me he’s still troubled. “Yes, you can handle things around here, Angel. I have no doubts about that. When we got the word on Alfred, I knew I had to stay for a couple of days to make sure all the bases get covered and you aren’t left in the lurch. So, let me call Nina.”
“You go do that, and I’ll get Richart and Lukas here so we can tell them what’s going on.”
“So you can fill them in. You’re the boss now. They need to listen and respond to you.”
He’s right. I’ve been raised for this. Even before my parents died, I was being groomed to take over the estate. Funny. For the first time, it feels real. It’s not fear I’m feeling; it’s excitement. I can do this.
I
t was always going to happen at some point. I’m glad it’s happening while Alfred and Birgitte are still here. This way, I can spread my wings, safe in the knowledge that they’ll be back soon to help me clean up any messes. Like a trial run before…before I have to do it for the rest of my life. Without Alfred or Birgitte. Without anyone.
When I look up at him, one side of Mick’s mouth is curled into a smile, and his eyes are a soft caress. He’s been watching me process.
I love the way he makes me feel. Like I have important contributions to make and the confidence to bring them about. Something warm rolls through my veins, and I fight the urge to throw my arms around him.
Instead, I weave as much gratefulness into my words as I can. “Go make your call, Mick DePaul. There’s work to do.”
“Atta girl.” His voice is as gentle as the look on his face.
My chins lifts slightly, but I can’t help my smile. “I beg your pardon?”
He grins. “Yes, boss. Will do. But it’s one in the morning there. How about we check your doors and windows for now?”
I should have thought of that. Seven hours’ difference. “Doors, windows, and a visit with Alfred.”
“Then lunch with Nina. Sounds like a plan. So, show me your place, Angel.”
CHAPTER 12
Mick
“Nina? How was last night, honey?”
Say you’re doing better. I need you to be better. Being pulled in two directions makes me want to buy a plane and fly off to parts unknown.
“Rough, Mick. But the days are okay. I have plenty to keep me busy with the kids and the move. How about you? Still having nightmares?”
“Not every night.”
“Well, that’s good, right?”
“Yeah, it’s good.” Except for the sense of loss roiling through me. The certain knowledge that Moon shouldn’t have died. That I should have flown straight back to the airstrip before the final sequence of maneuvers so he had no choice but to follow me.
Fuck.
And now I have to let her down, too. “Uh, we’ve had a situation arise here, Nina.”
“A situation?”
“Yeah. The elderly gentleman here broke his thigh bone and needed surgery to fix it. He’ll be in the hospital for a week.”
“Oh, no! Will he be all right?”
“So far the doctor thinks so, but they’re watching for complications. Blood clots, stuff like that. Right now the bigger concern is keeping the estate running in his absence.”
Her pause stretches my guilt strings tighter and tighter. “So you’re not coming?”
I feel so awful, it’s like worms crawling around in my guts right now. “I need a couple more days here, if you can handle it.”
“Yes, I can handle it, but didn’t you say there was a fella at a neighboring estate? Couldn’t he help? I thought he was supposed to be in love with the girl there or something.” Her voice jumps up a pitch with every statement.
“He’s out of the country on business for a few days.”
“Oh, my gosh. Oh, dear. Well, of course you need to stay there…”
“Only until things die down. The girl—her name is Menuett—has been learning to take over eventually anyway, so it shouldn’t take too long.”
“And then you’ll come.” She sounds calmer.
“Wild horses couldn’t stop me.”
“Okay.” And now she sounds withdrawn. Dammit. I can almost feel Moon’s disappointment in me, and I want to find a deep hole someplace. We've all been best friends for ten years--hell, I even paced the waiting room for both his kids' births. So many of my adult memories tied up with them. And I can't get home when she needs me most?
“Honey, you sure? I feel terrible about standin’ up my best girl.”
She sort of laughs. It’s good to hear even an echo of spark from her. “I’m sure, Mick. I have my parents to lean on here. It sounds like that girl, Menuett, doesn’t have anybody. She needs you more than I do right now.”
“You’re a peach. Thanks, Nina. Do you need anything for you or the kids? How’s the money holding out? Got enough for the movers? I can wire you whatever you need.”
“Mick. No. I’m fine for now. I’ve already received Greg’s life insurance and his salary from the studio for y’all’s flight scenes. I understand there’ll be some sort of settlement coming from the studio’s insurance company, too. Dad’s helping me.”
Things like that. That’s what she needs me for. To hassle with folks like the studio bureaucracy. Or at least find her the best damn lawyers money can hire to fight the fuckers if they give her any trouble. Which I’m sure they will. “Keep me posted about that, okay?”
“I will.”
“And I'll call you twice a day.”
Her gurgled laugh’s a little stronger this time. “Whoa, pardner, let’s not get carried away.”
“It’s good to hear you laugh, Nina.”
“You know what? It’s good to laugh. Maybe I’ll try it more often. Thanks, Mick.”
*****
“Pass me the mustard, please.”
I’ve been waiting days for this. An almost-American bacon cheeseburger. It took a few days to gather all the ingredients, what with running back and forth from the hospital to visit Alfred and keeping things running around the estate.
I had to get a butcher to grind beef that wasn’t too fatty or worse, cut with pork. And I had to rig something for the fireplace so I could get the right amount of char. The dill pickles don’t look like the ones I buy in a jar back home and probably have a ton of garlic in them instead of that vinegar tang I love so much. And for buns we’re using Kaiser rolls that we let sit all day in a plastic bag to soften them up. We did find French’s yellow mustard, though, thank heavens. To me, a burger’s no good without French’s yellow mustard.
Alfred’s scheduled to be released tomorrow afternoon, and after getting him settled in, there might not be enough time to really enjoy this gastronomic treat. So that means tonight’s burger night at the von Sternau house.
“Menuett, mustard?”
A slurp tells me why my mustard isn’t being passed across the kitchen table. She can’t get enough amaretto milkshake. She’s already finished one glass, and it sounds like she’s at the bottom of her second, too. Granted, they’re small glasses, and I only poured a little in the first one, just to see if she liked it at all. But I worried for nothing.
Damn, she’s adorable. I can’t believe I was so angry with her just a few days ago. Any man would be happy to be this woman’s fake fiancé for even an hour. With her soft red-blonde hair, the fire behind her lighting it up like a halo, her peaches and cream skin that looks so smooth and healthy, and her beautiful pink lips puckered around a green and white striped straw we found in the kids’ party section of the grocery.
Luscious.
Good enough to eat.
Just like this burger’s going to be.
I blink and banish the unclean thoughts and images from my head.
“Need that mustard, Minnie.”
Her eyes widen. “Minnie? I was just getting used to Angel.” She grins and shrugs. “Well, Minnie wants more milkshake. Is there any left?”
I reach across the table, grab the mustard, and squirt a generous dollop on the underside of one bun. “Not until you’ve eaten at least three bites of your dinner, young lady.”
A good, high-powered smash, and my almost-American masterpiece is ready for consumption. I start to hand her the plate, take a look at her little face with its big eyes staring over at me, and set the plate down again to cut the colossal burger in half. I’m not sure I’ll be able to eat the whole thing. She sure won’t be able to. Especially since she’s already stuffed with ice cream.
“I’m not a child.”
God, even her pout is gorgeous. “You still have to eat some of this burger before I make you more dessert.”
She rolls her eyes. Hmm…I’ve never seen her do anything so unladylike before. Hope I’m not the cause of
a new bad habit. This calls for stern. “Eye-rolling is very rude.” I hand over her plate with its half a burger.
The eye-thing happens again.
I’ve created a monster.
A delectable one that makes my whole body tighten. One my hands want to reach out and touch.
That whole body of mine lights up until I remember that she’s also one who’s inexperienced and belongs to somebody else.
A cough clears the lump in my throat. “I’ve been meaning to ask—when we were checking the locks the other day, did I see a golf cart shed?”
She lifts the bun and pokes around at the bacon sunk into melted cheddar. Picking the pickle chips off the bun where I smashed them, she arranges them just-so before putting the bun back on the sandwich. “Yes. We have a few carts for the tourists.”
I’ve had three bites in the time she’s played with her food. It’s not a bad burger. “You have a golf course here, too?”
Her tongue forms a point and licks French’s yellow mustard off a finger. I can’t take my eyes off that tongue. I’m sure I can feel it trailing down my chest, setting my body on fire. I take a sip of my milkshake.
The burger’s in her hands now. “No. We use them to go between the winery and the house tour.” She takes a bite, and I start thinking about what else that beautiful mouth could hold.
Get a grip, perv. “They drive themselves?” My mind can’t contemplate what kind of liability insurance that takes, but I try, glad for the distraction.
“I like this burger, Mick.” She leans forward and grins. “But I still want more milkshake.”
No man on Earth could resist that face. I pour some from my glass into hers. “The carts?”
She swallows another bite of burger. “I have guides. Docents, I think you call them?”
“How many employees does that take?”
“I use special children.”
A montage of spit-takes runs through my head. “I don’t understand.”
“I made an arrangement with a therapeutic boarding school to send me troubled teenagers on a sort of work-release program. Many of the youths have Asperger’s autism. They usually like working alone or with one or two buddies. The vineyard offers that. So does the stable.”