Mistletoe (Clairmont Series Book 4)

by S. Jane Scheyder

  Straightening up, she looked in the mirror and blew a wisp of hair out of her face; another part of her that had taken a hit. No highlights - not a decent cut in months. She reached up to tuck the blonde strands behind her ear, then recoiled in disgust. No way she would touch her hair with that hand. Groaning, she leaned on the sink and looked out through the bedroom windows to the ocean. How did she end up cleaning bathrooms in her sister’s B & B?

  Maddy and John had been on their honeymoon for a week, and Becky refused to think about them. She had enough on her plate running the inn while her sister started her wonderful new life with her gorgeous contractor. There was no point in bemoaning their very different life directions.

  She washed her hands and walked out into the bedroom. Stepping onto the balcony, she breathed in the unseasonably warm-for-mid-October, salty air. She tried to see the ocean through her sister’s eyes. Certainly, she admired it from an artist’s point of view. That particular blue-green of the waves would be fun to recreate on canvas; the white caps broke up the color with a rhythm she thought she could capture. Still, Maddy seemed to draw a kind of inspiration from the water that Becky simply didn’t understand.

  She looked down the beach at the neighboring cottages and homes. How could Maddy stand being out here by herself?

  But Maddy wasn’t by herself, anymore. She had John now, and Blake and Parker. She wouldn’t be tormented by the quiet. Becky shuddered despite the warm sun on her skin. She didn’t like being alone. For someone who’d lived on her own for the past five years, she’d spent very little of that time by herself. These past weeks at Maddy’s had been very eye-opening, and she wasn’t sure she liked what she saw.

  Becky drew in another deep breath. She’d go crazy if she spent another minute alone. Even Burt would be a distraction. She left the balcony, disheartened by the fact that she, the girl who used to have it all together, who always dressed perfectly and surrounded herself with interesting people, was reduced to wearing sweats, cleaning bathrooms, and seeking out the company of a dog.

  It was better than the human alternative.

  Becky tip-toed past the door of the only other person in the house on her way to get bedding from the Anchor Room. It wasn’t likely that the obnoxious, ex-pro-football player would show his face on this Sunday afternoon, but she wasn’t in the mood to take any chances. Hearing nothing as she leaned toward his door, she turned to the room across the hall. She’d be so glad when he finally left.

  Her own shriek startled her. “What are you doing in here?”

  The hulking former athlete turned from the window and scowled at her. “Same thing you are. Nothing.”

  Becky drew a calming breath and imagined herself perfectly coiffed and wearing Versace. Her confidence rallied a bit, and she started pulling sheets from the bed.

  “I’m cleaning. I run the place, remember?”

  He snorted. “Right, the maid. Nice pants.”

  Becky’s dressed-to-kill fantasy evaporated as she looked down at her oldest pair of striped pajama pants. Not even sweats. She hadn’t expected to see anyone this afternoon, least of all the Neanderthal from the Seashell Room. She pulled her T-shirt down to no avail. The gap exposing her midriff would normally escape her notice, but it drew his gaze, and she was determined not to give him any more of a show. She grabbed the sheets and stalked toward the door. She reached back and awkwardly hiked up her pants - holding the sheets in front of her didn’t protect her backside - and immediately dropped half her load.

  He actually laughed. She kicked the sheets out into the hall, refusing to bend down and pick them up while he was in viewing range. Safely behind the door, she leaned back in.

  “I’ll be back here in ten to clean. Please be gone. I’ve already taken out the trash.”

  ***

  The woman drove him crazy. Tank Kimball stepped into the hall and made sure she was gone before heading back into his room. He couldn’t even have a few minutes to look at the ocean without her barging in on his peace and quiet. Why’d she give him a room without a view, anyway? It wasn’t like she had any other guests.

  He walked into his room and slammed the door, rattling the silly seascape painting on the wall. A tiny twinge of conscience made him walk over and adjust the picture. He loved the water, but this painting irritated him. The artist didn’t get it, somehow. He glanced at the bottom right corner, and for the first time noticed the name - her name. She painted? He grunted. No wonder the picture made him mad.

  He stretched and yawned, prowling the room. He’d come back to Clairmont to clear his head and plan for the future. He wanted to get away from people who knew him and who knew football and what a mess his career had become. He came to be alone and to think. The last thing he wanted was to be at the mercy of a blonde know-it-all who brought out the worst in him.

  The bed groaned under his weight as he sat down. When had ignoring each other become open animosity? And what was his sister thinking, sticking him out here with this paper doll who knew nothing about running an inn and everything about irritating him? It’s not like he was known for his charm, but for some reason, he found himself determined to be nasty to the woman whose job it was to take care of him - for another whole week.

  He lay back on the bed and moaned. He’d never make it.

  Footsteps sounded in the hall; she was probably returning to clean the room they’d just left. Was she getting ready for more guests? Who else would he have to try to avoid? He pulled himself off the bed and walked over to the window. Nice view of the neighbor’s house.

  He moved restlessly around the room, tempted to cross the hall and mess with her some more. Why did he feel the need to harass her? He’d managed to stay out of her path for the first few days, and everyone else at the inn as well. He’d taken the plate of food she left in the dining room for him every morning, timing his arrival to avoid interacting with anyone. It had worked until she decided to hassle him about his bill.

  Did she honestly think he wouldn’t pay? She’d come to his door, insisting that he sign some forms. He’d been there for so many days and she didn’t have any proof of his ability to pay. He hadn’t actually spoken to her before that point. Grace, his sister, had handled everything; he’d just moved his things into the room while the women talked. He’d seen enough of Becky to know she was just like all the women he’d spent the last eight years trying to avoid; surface, self-absorbed, determined to suck everything she could from one man before moving on to the next.

  He had no problem giving her a wide berth, until she’d had the nerve to come up to his room. Didn’t she know he wanted to be left alone? He’d decided to cash in on his size and make quick business of intimidating her.

  It didn’t work.

  He’d come to the door in a T-shirt, sweats, and a scowl. He’d braced his hands high on the door and the frame and leaned toward her in a way that made most men squirm. She’d taken a step back initially, wide-eyed and a little disconcerted, then she’d thrown her shoulders back, lifted her chin, and asked him for his name.

  His name! No one called him anything but Tank, and he wasn’t about to tell this nobody his real name. Did he have a credit card? Not likely. She kept pressing him until his blood boiled. People rarely ever dared to push him, but this little ... innkeeper just wouldn’t quit.

  Her big brown eyes didn’t work on him, and he’d never cared for blondes. She could take her little act elsewhere; he wasn’t interested. Maybe that’s why he felt he had to drive her away every chance he had. Her kind was dangerous.

  ***

  Becky actually flinched when she heard the door open across the hall. She took a deep breath and braced herself. Whatever hostility had developed between them over the last few days had to stop. She had to find a way to be civil to him for Maddy’s sake. Determined not to rise to his bait again, she flipped out the sheets. Let him come in and give her grief. At least she had pants on.

  Tank did his ‘arms on the frame, lean in the door’ thin
g. Becky glanced up and refused to be intimidated or impressed by his size. She offered a carefully bland expression. “Can I help you?”

  “Are you expecting anyone else this week?”

  She swallowed her surprise; a normal question? She hardly knew how to respond.

  “You’re it until next weekend.” Gonna be a long week, she added silently. She blew the hair out of her eyes and smoothed the sheets before adding the comforter. Please go away.

  “Can I move into this room?”

  She turned to him with her hands on her hips. “Why?”

  He shrugged, probably getting a workout, just moving those traps up and down. She focused back on his face; his disagreeable, perpetually frowning face. His crew cut only made him appear more formidable. She couldn’t even tell the color of his hair with how short he kept it. Darkish, anyway; just like his personality. She raised a brow, determined not to snap.

  “I like the water.”

  Three non-combative sentences in a row. The man was capable of conversation! She eyed him speculatively. No expression touched his fearsome face. Actually, his face wasn’t so fearsome at the moment - just moderately scary. If she was being very generous, she’d admit that when the dark brows weren’t crowding over them, the deep-set eyes just might be ... interesting.

  Back to the question. He wanted to change rooms. Well, as long as he stayed out of the Captain’s Quarters, the only room booked for the following weekend, she couldn’t care less where he slept. She had to clean his other room, anyhow.

  “Fine. Since you’re asking so nicely,” she smiled at him without warmth, and stuffed a pillow into the pillow case. She grinned genuinely as she considered the peach-colored bedding. “I’m not changing these sheets again. They manly enough for you?”

  Okay, stupid remark. No need to stir things up.

  She glanced at him but he said nothing. Did she imagine the color touching his cheeks? Probably. The man had no soul.

  “Okay, well, I’ll be out of here in a few minutes. You can move in any time.”

  “Thanks.” He turned and left.

  Becky stared at the door. What was that about? He was almost human. Laying the bedspread out, she suddenly felt strange about having her hands all over his sleeping space. She fluffed the pillows and gave the room a quick once-over. Cracking the windows open to let in the fresh air, she left him to his new room.

  ***

  Tank walked along the beach, glad to be out of the house and away from the innkeeper. Apparently, she wasn’t even that. It was just his luck the real owners were gone while he was staying there. He shrugged out of his jacket. At least he’d have a better room for the rest of the week. The view from the Anchor Room, or whatever she called it, was much better than his current room. It was smaller, but that didn’t matter. As long as he could stretch his limbs on the beach during the day and hear the waves at night, he didn’t care about his sleeping space.

  In a few days, he could move into his own place, and he was looking forward to calling someplace home. He’d been running since early spring, and he was tired. He’d sold his condo and traveled, seeking distraction; anything to keep from confronting the truth that he’d probably never play football again.

  The truth of it ripped him up inside. Football had been his life for as long as he could remember. He’d wanted to be a running back or a wide receiver, but he just kept growing. No one expected his speed to keep up with his height and weight, but it did, all through high school and into his pick of colleges. His formidable size made him a linebacker to be reckoned with, right into the draft his senior year.

  He rubbed the back of his neck as he walked. Stupid concussion. He’d felt fine after that last hit, he just needed a few minutes to catch his breath. Turned out it was hours before he came back around, and by then the game was over and his future decided. You could only have so many concussions before they put you on the bench, permanently.

  His appointment two weeks earlier - his last ray of hope - had confirmed it. Another concussion would put him in a really bad place, might even kill him. While any concussion was potentially life-threatening, Tank had maxed out on his luck. No way his team would take him back now. No one would take a chance on him. He was a walking time bomb.

  His gaze swept the water - funny how that could always soothe him - and he wondered how he’d ever come to terms with a life without football. What would he do? Money wouldn’t be an issue for a while, that much was good. He’d been conservative and invested well; didn’t party as much as some of the other boys.

  He picked up a piece of driftwood and heaved it into the water. All the money in the world didn’t make a difference. He wanted to play football.

  three

  Becky put Tank’s breakfast on the warmer and finished cleaning up the kitchen. It felt much more like fall, but the weather was still great for a jog. Burt would be happy; she’d missed taking him out the day before.

  “Alright, Burt, time for a run,” she called as she walked onto the porch. The dog lay under the table pining for his owner, but he did open his eyes when she said ‘run.’ He stood, stretched, and lumbered over to her.

  Becky scratched his ears. “You’ve got less than a week, buddy, and she’ll be back. You’ll make it.” She stepped down to the beach, and after stretching briefly, started her jog. Burt kept up, distracting himself with the birds and the beach treasures. He trotted on ahead.

  Becky concentrated on breathing evenly and avoiding driftwood and rocks. These runs were a mixed blessing. Now that everything in her life was uncertain, it gave her much-needed, and much-feared time to think. What was she going to do?

  Planning for her future, uncertain as it was, was better than thinking about the past. She’d really liked her job at the academy, and had hoped to be offered a contract for another year. The board had debated cutting the art program all summer long, but the headmaster had gone to bat for her. She’d been thrilled until she found out why.

  He’d wanted to sleep with her, of course. Said she’d sent all those signals and was sure they had an understanding. He’d even come to her home to tell her the good news about her three-year contract. When she declined the offer, the art program suddenly lost its funding.

  Becky tossed her head. She was tired of the assumptions that men made about her. She was tired of men, period.

  She focused again on her surroundings. Burt was behaving and trotting happily just a couple yards in front of her. She picked a spot ahead on the beach for her turn-around point and amped up the speed a bit.

  While she was glad for a place to come and sort things out, spending time with Maddy had been challenging in its own way. Thankfully, planning and helping to run the inn while Maddy got ready for the wedding had filled almost every waking moment. Becky had had little time to think about how very happy Maddy was, and how very empty her own life had become in comparison.

  For the last week, however, she’d had plenty of time. After seeing Maddy and John off, she spent the day with her parents before they returned home, then prepared for the couples due to arrive the Monday after the wedding. Tank had been a surprise, but she figured Maddy would be happy for the business, and since he was pretty low maintenance at first, it had been no big deal.

  Once she got into the routine of making breakfasts and doing the minimal clean-up after the guests, she was left with all kinds of time to contemplate where she’d been and where her life was going. The one thing she really didn’t want to contemplate was how she spent the night of Maddy’s wedding, but that seemed to haunt her the most.

  It was almost a relief when she’d picked a fight with Tank. At least she had someone to be mad at besides herself, and there was a whole lot to be mad at with Tank - physically and emotionally.

  All she’d done was ask for a credit card. Any reasonable person would have given her one at check-in. When she’d asked for his name, you’d have thought she asked him to cut off his right arm. What kind of name was ‘Tank,’ anyway?
<
br />   Since it was Grace’s brother, she’d initially given him space and figured he’d come around to take care of business. She liked Grace, loved her coffee shop, and figured her brother would be an interesting distraction, at least.

  Interesting was hardly the word.

  Men like Tank made her want to be done with men. She warmed to the thought. Maybe if she swore off men, they’d stop harassing her, both the ones haunting her dreams, and the all-too-real ones roaming the halls of her sister’s house.

  ***

  “I’m done with men forever.” Becky sipped her Americano as she relaxed in the booth of her friend’s coffee shop. The more she said it, the more right it felt. Who needed men? They caused nothing but trouble and regret. She’d had enough of both.

  Grace Kimball looked at her apologetically. “Is my brother driving you crazy?”

  “Well, yeah, but it’s not just him. He’s just a great big reminder of how terrible they all are.” Becky sipped her drink again. “Okay if I vent about him?”

  Grace laughed, her green eyes dancing. “Of course. I told you to keep me posted. There’s really not much you can say that would shock me.” She sipped her tea. “I’m just sorry he’s been so difficult for you. I should have had him stay at Maplewood.”

  “Yeah, well, he needed his privacy, you said.”

  “I doubt it would have made much difference. It just seemed a little more off the beaten path out there. Besides, I thought Maddy could use the business.”

  “She’ll be happy he was here. I’ll be happy when he’s gone.”

  Grace laughed again. “Do you want me to talk to him?”

  “No, we’re actually doing okay for the moment. He switched rooms yesterday, so at least I got in to clean the other one.”