MacDougal whined and wriggled between them as if to silence the conflict.
“You’re gay?” Wyatt asked.
She threw up her hands. “That is so typical. Men always assume the only reason a woman would refuse to shackle herself to a man is because of her sexual preference. Did it ever occur to you that I might value my freedom as much as a swinging bachelor such as yourself does?”
“I—”
“Of course it didn’t! You see a single female and immediately classify her as a man-hungry predator who will do anything to snag a mate. If I didn’t owe Nora so damned much, I’d walk out of this house and let you spend your miserable Thanksgiving all by yourself. It would serve you right.”
His jaw clenched. “Then why don’t you?”
“Because Nora seemed a little concerned about leaving a rough-and-tumble character like you alone among her antiques,” she said with a note of triumph. “And after being around you for less than an hour, I understand her concern.”
“Oh, is that right?” His vow to be polite evaporated. “Just name one thing I’ve broken.”
She glanced pointedly at the door.
“That was your fault!”
She arched an eyebrow in that maddening way some women had of looking superior. “You just said a few moments ago that you’d claim full responsibility when Nora came home.”
He stepped forward and pushed his face closer to hers. “I offered to take the blame because I was trying to be a gentleman.”
She didn’t flinch. “I can see that’s a difficult role for you.”
“So help me—”
“Yes?”
There was that calm air of superiority again. It challenged something male and primitive in him, something he wasn’t particularly proud of, but an emotion that had him securely in its clutches right now. He wondered how long it had been since she’d been with a man who could make her cry out with desire. He fought the urge to strip away that oh-so-civilized manner of hers to find out what the woman underneath had to say.
He won the fight and started rebuttoning his coat. “I’ll fix the door, and then I’ll catch a cab back to the train station. I’m sure you’d rather spend Thanksgiving here alone than with me, a member of that lowly species called man, hanging around.”
“Oh. Oh, dear.”
He glanced into her eyes and was surprised to see genuine distress there. “Isn’t that what you want?”
“Well…no.”
“Couldn’t prove it by the way you were acting.”
“The thing is…” She looked genuinely miserable.
“The thing is, you hate men.”
“No! I don’t hate men. And I think Nora will be very unhappy if she comes back and discovers I drove you away.”
“She won’t. I’ll tell her that one of my rodeo buddies called from New York and wanted to get together. I won’t blame it on you.”
“Oh, please, don’t be nice.”
He produced his most condescending smile. “And spoil my image?”
She took a deep breath. The action brought his attention to a fact he hadn’t noticed before. She had lovely breasts. Too bad God had given them to a woman like Charity, who probably didn’t care whether a man would find pleasure there or not.
“Look,” she said, sounding very uncomfortable. “I’m sorry. Could we start over? Neither of us has any particular place to go for the holiday, and it would be a shame to let that turkey go to waste.”
“Now that’s a Yankee talking, if I ever heard one.”
Rebellion flashed in her blue eyes, but she seemed to make a conscious effort to stamp it out. “Maybe that’s part of it. The other part is that your aunt is the kindest, most generous woman I know. Without her, I wouldn’t even have a bookstore to open on Friday. I’m not certain what her motives might be for suggesting we celebrate Thanksgiving together, but she’s such a feminist, I can’t believe it’s some sort of elaborate plot to throw us into each other’s arms.”
“Don’t bet on it.”
She lifted her chin. “And even if it is, so what? Neither of us is interested in that sort of arrangement, so it won’t do any harm to accede to her wishes.”
Accede to her wishes. She was definitely brainy, which meant he didn’t have to worry about being romantically ensnared. In his experience, brainy women made a guy work too hard in the relationship, and that wasn’t his cup of tea.
“Tell you what,” he said. “Let’s fix the door, and if we’re still speaking to each other after that, we’ll give it a try. We’re only talking about twenty-four hours, anyway.”
“That’s what I estimate.”
“Then it’s a deal?”
“Yes. Thanks.” She let out her breath, which made her breasts quiver beneath the silky white blouse.
Wyatt told himself to ignore things like that. As a point of honor, he couldn’t succumb to temptation with this woman. He felt certain that if he did, he’d be falling in with Nora’s scheme. Because he believed she had one. The storm might have been a happy accident, but Nora had planned to introduce him to Charity Webster, and he only knew one reason why his aunt would do such a thing. Just like his parents, she wanted him to find a nice girl and settle down. For some unknown reason, she’d imagined Charity was the sort he’d find to his liking. Which showed how much his Aunt Nora knew.
AS WYATT WENT OUTSIDE to get the plywood, Charity tried to regain some measure of poise. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so unsettled, and it was all Nora’s fault. Well, the weather was part of it, too, but Charity couldn’t quell the suspicion that from the beginning, Nora had intended to introduce her to Wyatt while he was in Saybrook for the holiday.
For one thing, just before Nora had left for Maine, she’d casually mentioned that Charity was welcome to have Thanksgiving dinner at her house, yet she’d made no mention that her nephew would be there. An oversight? Charity didn’t think so. You didn’t plan a meal with two guests and forget about one of them.
Charity couldn’t imagine why Nora would think such a meeting was a good idea. Even if Charity was looking for a man, which she wasn’t, Wyatt was the exact opposite of the type of man she’d seek. She’d look for a shy, intellectual man, not some boisterous cowboy who rode bulls. The very thought made her shudder.
Maybe Nora thought she’d be drawn in by Wyatt’s looks, which were okay, if you liked that square-jawed, outdoorsy type with shoulders that filled a doorway and hands big enough to span your waist. And if you had a weakness for brown eyes, Charity admitted, his eyes might seem very attractive. When they weren’t dark with anger, they warmed to the color of caramel.
But none of that made any difference to Charity. No difference whatsoever.
He came through the door with the plywood, a piece about four feet square, way too big for the hole in the door. “I’ll have to cut it down,” he said.
Charity pictured clouds of sawdust billowing over Nora’s elegant antiques and flinched. But she couldn’t make him cut the wood outside, and the garage was nearly as cold. “The laundry room,” she said in sudden inspiration. “You can brace it over the washer and dryer.”
“Good idea.” He carried the plywood through the kitchen into the laundry room and rested it on top of the washer and dryer. On the way back into the kitchen to retrieve the saw, he shucked his jacket and hung it over the back of a chair. His Western-cut shirt was midnight black and trimmed with silver lightning bolts. He left his hat on.
“Don’t you want to measure first?” Charity asked.
He pushed his hat back with his thumb. “I’ve already eyeballed it.”
“I think the wood’s going to slip on that surface when you start sawing.”
He gazed at her with those caramel eyes. “I thought you didn’t know anything about carpentering?”
“I don’t. It’s just logical.”
“Are you offering to help hold it, then?”
“I guess I am.”
“Well, come on. We d
on’t have all day.”
Wyatt was right-handed, so he went in first. Charity followed and stood to the right of him. The wood extended out over the tops of both the washer and dryer by nearly two feet, which made it a very tight fit for both of them and the wood in the tiny room. When MacDougal squeezed in, too, maneuvering became impossible.
“We’ll have to put him out,” Wyatt said.
“You’re right.” Charity took MacDougal by the collar and led him back into the kitchen. “You stay here,” she ordered.
The Scottie looked very disappointed, but he sat, facing the laundry room door to wait.
“Good dog.” Charity went back in the laundry room and closed the door after her.
“I figure about two-and-a-half feet by three feet should do it.” Wyatt positioned the saw. “If you’ll steady it on the dryer, I’ll cut right through here, where there’s a space between the two machines.”
“I still think you should measure.”
He paused and glanced at her, his face very close. “Do you want to do this, instead, Charity?” he asked softly.
For some silly reason her heart started beating faster as she looked into his eyes. “No,” she said quickly. The room suddenly seemed much smaller.
“It must be tough for you to let a man be in control of something.”
Her gaze drifted to the curve of his lower lip. “That’s not it. I—”
“I think that’s exactly it. But don’t worry. Once the door’s fixed, you can call the shots. I don’t have half the macho hangups you imagine I do.”
She swallowed and looked back into his eyes. Oh, God. There was sexual awareness there, and amusement. He was flirting with her. With a man like Wyatt, flirting was probably a reflex, but no one had flirted with her in a long time. She was more vulnerable than she’d realized. “Let’s get this done,” she said in a strangled tone. “Before the storm gets any worse.”
“You’re right.” He turned his attention to the saw and rasped the blade back and forth several times across the edge of the wood to create a groove. Then he settled in with long, sure strokes that bit through the wood, his arm and shoulder muscles flexing rhythmically.
As Charity braced the wood against her hips, vibrations from the saw’s motion set off a pleasant but disconcerting sensual response deep within her. Under different circumstances she couldn’t imagine reacting this way, but she’d already felt this man’s arms around a very sensitive part of her anatomy. Then there had been all that talk about Nora’s intentions in bringing them together, followed by Wyatt’s knowing glance and the intimacy of this little laundry room.
The sawing stopped.
“Charity?”
She took a deep breath and tried to get control of herself before she looked at him.
“Are you all right? Is the sawdust getting to you?”
“No.” She closed her eyes and tried to blot out the image of satisfying her sudden, and quite embarrassing, craving.
“Something is wrong.” He gripped her by her upper arms and turned her to face him. “You’re all flushed.”
“No!” Quickly she opened her eyes and tried to pull away. “Fair-skinned people just naturally—”
“Do they, Charity?” He held her fast and looked deep into her eyes.
She knew he’d guessed her secret when a slow smile spread across his lips. He pulled her nearer, and her heart thundered in her ears.
A steady pounding from the back door made him pause.
“Hello-o!” Alistair called. “Anybody home?”
“Who’s that?” Wyatt whispered, looking annoyed.
“The neighbor,” Charity whispered back. “And he knows somebody has to be here. He’s probably heard the sawing and he can look through the window and see MacDougal stationed by the laundry room door. If we don’t go out, no telling what he’ll think.”
“Ask me if I care.”
“I care. He’s a good customer at the bookstore and Nora wants to stay on his good side, too, living alone like she does.”
Wyatt sighed and released her. “Then let’s go out and meet this wonderful neighbor.”
“Make sure MacDougal doesn’t get in here,” Charity said. “Or he’ll track sawdust all over the house.”
“Okay.”
Charity went out first. “Coming, Mr. Updegraff,” she called, walking over to the door. As she opened it to let Alistair in, Wyatt emerged from the laundry room and grabbed MacDougal’s collar before he had a chance to dash inside. Then Wyatt shut the door firmly in the dog’s face.
Alistair stood dripping on the floor. “What was that strange noise I heard coming from in there?” He angled his head toward the laundry room.
“Sawing. We’re cutting a piece of plywood to patch the hole,” Charity replied. “I’d like you to meet Nora’s nephew, Wyatt Logan. Wyatt, this is Alistair Updegraff, who lives in the house next door.”
“Glad to meet you, Mr. Updegraff.” Wyatt stepped forward and offered his hand to the little man.
“Nora’s nephew, huh?” Alistair looked Wyatt up and down as they shook hands. “From what I hear, you’re the end of the line.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Heirs. Nora doesn’t have any except you.”
Wyatt laughed. “I suppose that’s true, if she should decide to leave me anything. As you know, she’s a great one for causes, especially women’s causes, so they might get it all. I really don’t care.”
“You don’t, huh?” Alistair sounded as if he didn’t believe a word of it. Then he turned his attention to Charity. “Surprised to see you here. I thought the nephew was supposed to take over.”
Charity groaned to herself. But she might as well tell him. He’d find out eventually, considering how closely he watched Nora’s house. “Well, Nora called and suggested Wyatt and I might want to have Thanksgiving together, since she won’t be able to make it. So I’ll be staying on a little longer.”
“Is that so?” Alistair looked from her to Wyatt. “You two know each other from before, then?”
“We’d never met before today,” Wyatt said.
Charity almost laughed. The truth, stated so baldly, sounded like a cover-up. Or maybe she was just thinking the way Alistair would. “It’s true,” she said. “But Nora knew we’d both be alone for Thanksgiving, and she has the turkey thawing in the refrigerator, so—” Charity stopped babbling when she realized the polite gesture would be to invite Alistair, who might also be alone tomorrow. She just couldn’t do it.
Alistair glanced back at the laundry room. Charity could imagine what he thought she and Wyatt had been doing in there with the door closed. She wondered if sawing wood might possibly sound like something creaking back and forth if you were—oh, dear. She felt the blush creeping up her neck.
“Was there something we could help you with, Mr. Updegraff?” she asked, desperate to get him out of the house.
“Yes. I was trying to remember the name of that bed and breakfast in Maine where Nora is staying. She’s spoken so highly of it that I thought I might call and make a reservation for the spring. Wasn’t it The Latchkey, or something like that?”
“That’s right.” Charity didn’t for a minute think Alistair wanted the information so he could make a reservation. He would call tonight to tattle about the doggy door. And perhaps ask if Nora realized that Wyatt and Charity were living in sin while she was gone. Charity decided to let him do his darnedest. She’d tried her best to keep everything nice for Nora and that would have to be good enough.
“Was there anything else?” she asked. She didn’t dare suggest he take off his coat, or he’d never leave.
“Well, I guess this doesn’t matter, now that you’re planning to stay here and all,” he said, “but the highway patrol’s shutting down all the roads and the trains aren’t running. This storm has paralyzed the state. Everyone’s advised to stay inside and keep warm.”
“In that case, you’d better get back to your house,” Wyatt said. “Thanks for
your concern, but we’re fine here.”
“Need any help with that sawing?” Alistair asked, moving as if to take off the muffler wrapped around his neck.
“We’re handling it,” Charity said. “But thanks.”
“Okay, then. Holler if you need anything.” At last he left.
Charity closed the door after him and turned toward Wyatt. She’d never thought she’d thank Alistair for anything, but he’d just prevented her from making a total fool of herself with Wyatt in the laundry room. “Let’s finish the repair,” she said briskly.
Wyatt nodded, as if he understood the mood had changed and the opportunity for intimacy had disappeared. “Well, that settles one thing,” he said.
“What’s that?”
“Looks like whether you like it or not, you’re stuck with me until the weather changes.”
3
ALISTAIR UPDEGRAFF unlocked his back door, hurried inside and secured the dead bolt. Some folks in Old Saybrook might leave their doors unlocked, but Alistair didn’t believe in such carelessness, not even for a quick trip to the neighbor’s house. He wiped his feet on the welcome mat by the door.
And speaking of carelessness, Nora would be furious when she found out about that door, Alistair thought with some satisfaction as he wrenched off his knit cap and unwound the muffler from his neck. She might just disinherit that flashy nephew of hers and think twice about putting her faith in Charity Webster. Served Nora right, entrusting her house and dog to Charity when Alistair would have been more than happy to take care of things while Nora was away. More than happy.
He reached for the pulley clothesline that ran from the back door down the hall to the living room and pinned his damp hat and muffler to it. Then he took off his jacket and attached that to the line before reeling it to a red nail polish mark that indicated the garments were directly positioned over the living room radiator.
As he leaned on the kitchen counter to pull off his boots, Alistair wondered what Charity and the nephew might get up to, left alone in the house like that. Alistair didn’t believe for a minute that it had been Nora’s idea for Charity to stay on to cook Thanksgiving dinner for an unattached young male. No, sir. The cat was away and the mice would play. Well, they hadn’t figured on Alistair Updegraff. He lined his boots precisely by the back door and headed down the hall toward the living room, his socks slipping a bit on the plastic runner. Nora was going to hear about this.
Stuck With You Page 3