“Christine?”
Grace glanced about. They were alone. Had a gear slipped in his brilliant brain? Probably from all that jogging and jiggling. “I’m Grace, Dan.”
He grinned and started to stretch—arms over the head, reaching for the sky, revealing the taut belly, making Grace crazy. Grace yanked her gaze from his stomach, and her sudden fantasy of running her fingers through that soft hair, then pressing her lips to each individual muscle evaporated. She really needed to get a grip.
“I haven’t lost my marbles—not yet anyway. I’m talking about Olaf s Fury, which, by the way, makes your car theory seem pretty plausible.”
“How so?” She’d always thought Olaf s boat of a car fit him, too, but she wondered why Dr. Dan, the incredible, edible stiff agreed with her.
“It’s a Christine car.” He came up from a runner’s stretch and caught the look of complete blankness on her face. “You know . . . Stephen King? Christine? Killer car? Very Olaf.”
Down he went again, head reaching for his knee. That had to hurt, but he seemed to like it. Grace’s idea of stretching came when she reached for the coffee in the freezer.
Well, that wasn’t exactly true. She did yoga when she had time, which was rarely, but yoga never seemed like exercise—more like relaxation and alignment. Grace cracked her neck. Maybe she should dust that videotape off. Just watching Dan made her tense.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said. “Except that Stephen King is a writer.”
Up came his head, surprise on his face. “You’ve never read him?”
She shook her head. “Not me. I figured you for the medical journal type.”
“I am.” He went up on tiptoe, stretching his feet. “But sometimes I have to read something else. Don’t you?”
“I don’t have time for fiction.” For some reason her voice sounded stiff, snotty. She couldn’t believe it. Dan was rubbing off on her.
“Too bad. Reading fiction relaxes me. You might want to try it.”
“Do I seem stressed to you?”
“Uh . . . yes.”
“I am not!”
He shrugged, beginning to jog in place again. “Maybe you should cut down on the caffeine.”
The man had the nerve to preach to her? He lived alone in a broken-down Boy Scout camp, jogged at the crack of dawn, and was afraid of raccoons. She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t drink; I don’t smoke; I don’t do drugs. Touch my coffee and you die.”
Incredibly, he laughed. Her blood pressure soared.
“See you soon?” he asked.
Grace walked inside, not bothering to agree or disagree. She had no choice but to see him soon.
The door hadn’t closed completely behind Grace when a window on the third floor slammed open with a bang.
“Yoo-hoo, Doctor!”
Dan glanced up to find Em hanging out the third- story window. He raised a hand in greeting, but she waved that off like a fly in front of her nose. “When I wake up in the morning, my gluteus maximus has no feeling.”
Before Dan could open his mouth, not that he’d know what to say about her butt falling asleep, the window to the right of hers slipped up and Garnet popped through. “I can’t hear out of my left ear.”
“You never could, dear,” Em pointed out.
“What was that?” Garnet shouted.
Wham! The window on the other side of Em banged skyward. Ruby leaned through the opening. “My corns itch at night.”
Laughter drifted from the front door. Dan lowered his gaze. Grace stood behind the screen, the mesh making her look ethereal, even more beautiful than usual. Or maybe it was just because last night he had touched her, kissed her, dreamed of her. When morning came, he could not wait another second to see her face, or hear her voice.
Then he’d annoyed her—though she was cute when she wanted to kick his butt—and now she laughed at him. He just couldn’t figure the woman out, or any woman for that matter.
Another window banged open and Dan jumped, yanking his gaze from Grace and up to the fourth story, just in time to see a sheet of water tumbling down. Too late to move, he caught the water right in the face. Someone had taken it out of the ice-cold section of the refrigerator. Dan discovered what it was like to fight for your next breath.
“What is all the shouting at this un-Jesus-ly time of the day? And what are you doing outside my Em’s window?”
My Em, my Gracie—did every woman belong to Olaf?
Dan blinked the water out of his eyes. After the initial shock, the coolness trickling over his heated body didn’t feel too bad. He probably looked pretty stupid, but he was used to that. A lifetime of having feet too big, hands too wide, and a head too tall, had let him in for some mighty embarrassing moments. He had just hoped not to look stupid in front of Grace. Too late.
Dan lowered his gaze to the front porch. She was gone. Maybe Lady Luck had been on his side for a change and she had missed the looking stupid part.
“Olaf!” Em scolded, hanging out the window at a dangerous angle so she could look up another story. “What do you think you’re doing, throwing water on the doctor like that? He’ll never come back.”
“That is why I did it, sweet Em. He is a very bad man.”
Dan sighed.
“Bad?” Em turned her head and stared down at Dan in confusion. “Well, he is a doctor . . . ” She wrinkled her nose. “But he seemed different from the others.”
Dan had always been different from the others. But no one he’d known had ever liked that in him. In his world being different was an insult, not a compliment.
“Are you different, Doctor?”
Dan met Em’s gaze. Her kind green eyes urged him to tell her all his secrets. “Yeah, I’m different all right.”
Olaf snorted, but before he could insult Dan any further, there came a bang, a slam, and a shout: “Olaf! Get your big head back in here!”
Olaf’s big head disappeared in a flash and shouts drifted through his window. Dan couldn’t understand the argument, probably because it was in an unintelligible mix of languages, but he knew the sound of Grace’s voice, even on high volume.
The window slammed shut, causing Dan to flinch, but the Jewels weren’t bothered. Perhaps they were all a bit deaf.
“Never mind that, dear. Grace has a temper. So does Olaf They’ll scream, and shout, and throw a few things. Then it will all be over and everything will go back to normal.”
“Or as normal as we like it around here,” Ruby added.
“There’s a horrible pike soaked in beer?” shouted Garnet. “Olaf promised he would quit making luttafisk. I’m not eating that stuff again.”
Dan should run home. Run, Dan, run. His clothes no longer felt cool, just wet, and sticky, and kind of . . . He shifted his shoulders and the shirt clung. Kind of yucky. But he couldn’t get the idea of Grace shouting and throwing things out of his head. A temper seemed so . . . so . . . so un-Grace.
Something thudded against the upstairs wall. Dan scowled. “He wouldn’t hurt her, would he?”
“Bite your tongue, young man. Olaf never laid a hand on a woman in his life.”
“Now, Em, that’s not true,” Ruby corrected. Dan started for the front door. “He lays hands on women every day when he massages them.”
Dan stopped and sighed. He was getting a headache. “What’s Grace so mad about anyway?”
“Why, you, Doctor. What else is there?”
“Me?” What had he done now?
“Olaf threw water on you.”
Dan winced. Grace had seen that. Lady Luck had never been kind to him before, why would she start now?
“That was very discourteous,” Em continued. “Although in Olaf s defense, he loves Grace to the very corners of his huge heart.”
Dan found the image of Olaf loving Grace with all his heart very disquieting. No wonder Olaf had thrown a fit upon finding Dan and Grace in the mud last night. Dan was lucky to be alive.
Slam! Bang! Bump! echoed from the ups
tairs room. Em grinned, as if their behavior were just the cutest thing she’d ever seen. “She’s furious. You may as well go home and get cleaned up. Those two will be awhile.”
Dan nodded, bemused. In his family one would never deign to shout. And to throw things? So inappropriate. So bourgeois. No one raised their voice; no one swore beyond a polite “damn.” And no one seemed to give a damn about anyone else either. At least passion lived in this house.
Crash.
“Oh, dear, that sounded like glass,” Em murmured.
A lot of passion, Dan amended.
He trotted back down the sidewalk, but Em called, “Come for dinner tonight. I insist.”
Glancing over his shoulder, Dan found the ladies waving “bye-bye,” except for Em, because it hurt when she did that. The sight was so sweet he waved back, and in doing so, discovered he’d agreed to dinner without saying a single word.
Grace arrived at the old Boy Scout camp on Lake Illusion before 9 A.M. She felt ever so much better after throwing a few things at Olaf. After she’d gotten that out, she explained to him that though he might not like Dan Chadwick, that was just tough tootsies. Grace had to work with the man for the next several weeks or forfeit Project Hope. She was not about to do that for anyone, or anything. After much mumbling, grumbling, and shouting, Olaf agreed to keep his big nose out of things—as much as he was able to, at least.
Grace had an Irish temper, which her mother always insisted she’d gotten from her great-granny, the flame-haired witch. Grace’s father had never understood her volatile nature; her paternal grandparents had been horrified.
Stoicism in the face of adversity was their way. A Lighthorse did not scream and shout. Obviously they had never seen their son in court. But then Joseph Lighthorse had always danced to his own drum, and to hell with everyone else. Funny, but when Grace did the same dance, he had not found it half as admirable as his own.
What no one but Em had ever understood was that Grace did not choose to be this way. This was the way she was.
Most days found Grace calm, cool, and competent. But on others the top of her head felt ready to explode, and if she didn’t shout or throw something, her brains would be on the outside instead of in. Those days seemed to be on the upswing with Dan in town.
Grace knocked on the door of the cabin. Several moments later she still stood on the porch alone. Since Dan’s car remained at Mrs. Cabilla’s, along with her own, Grace couldn’t tell if he was home or not. But where could he be? She didn’t have time to wait around. She had a noon appointment.
With a shrug, Grace tried the door. It swung open with a loud squeak. Seemed Dr. Dan hadn’t been keeping up on the maintenance at Camp Illusion.
Grace stepped inside. A feeling of otherworldliness swept over her at the sight of a full laboratory set up within the log cabin. Once upon a time this place had been the mess hall and kitchen, which made the building the largest of any other at camp. The shoulder-high windows were all shut, keeping out the breeze. But the room wasn’t unpleasant; in fact the temperature was perfect.
Grace sniffed the air and caught just a trace of artificial coolness, a scent like iron in ice-cold water. Dr. Dan had air-conditioning, courtesy of Mrs. Cabilla no doubt. He didn’t have the air on full blast, but still it must cost a bundle to cool this barn. She had an image of money burning on a campfire. Her money.
“This can’t be very sterile,” she observed.
“Actually, it is.”
Grace jumped right out of her skin at the sound of Dan’s voice. He leaned in the doorway of what had once been the kitchen, drying his hands on a towel. He looked good enough to eat, too. His hair still damp from his shower, looked darker and curlier than usual. His khaki pants and blue, short-sleeved dress shirt, looked like they had been washed but not ironed. He got several points for being rumpled.
He walked toward her. Grace liked to watch him walk. Dan might be large, but he moved lightly enough on his feet. Lighter than Olaf anyway, which wasn’t saying much. Olaf had flat feet.
Grace’s gaze went to Dan’s feet. They were bare. She gave him three points for that. Not only were they bare, but very, very nice. As nice as the rest of him—and she was in a position to know exceptional body parts when she saw them.
“Grace?”
She glanced at his face. He’d been talking to her while she stared at his feet. Jeez, she was never going to be able to work with this guy if she couldn’t stop staring at every bare part of his body. What was wrong with her?
“Yes?”
Luckily, he didn’t seem to notice her preoccupation as he was interested in talking about his work. “I was explaining that as long as we have sterile fields and hands, the work is safe.”
Grace made a noncommittal sound. Whatever. “Temperature is nice in here. Must be a bear to air-condition with that ceiling and all those windows, but then I suppose you don’t get the bills.”
The intent, almost happy gaze he’d turned upon her while explaining his work became a frown. “I don’t spend money needlessly. The work needs to be kept at a constant temperature or I wouldn’t bother with artificial cooling.”
He said “the work” like other people said “the pope” or “the attorney general.” Grace sighed. Or like she said “Project Hope.” She was being prickly and had no cause. She’d agreed to help the man and help him she would. For three weeks.
“What would you like me to do?”
“Right now, come with me.” He spun on his heel and headed back toward the kitchen without bothering to see if she followed. Obviously he expected her to do so without question.
Grace gritted her teeth and did just that. No sense getting in an argument over the first order he gave her. She’d already had a great big argument today, and while it had felt wonderful at the time to get all the tension on the outside instead of in, right now she had no desire to exhaust herself any further with emotions and temper.
Dan disappeared through the open doorway. Grace followed and discovered a kitchen gleaming with silver countertops and cabinets. The place was spotless. Had Dan done this, or did he have a maid? A maid would really annoy her.
A door slammed at the back of the cabin, and Grace hustled through the kitchen in time to see Dan crossing the small bit of yard between the main building and a smaller cabin. She hurried across, catching the door as he slipped inside.
Hesitating there, she took stock of the room. While the lab had been spotless, and organized in a near-military fashion, this place had an absentminded professor quality—books jumbled on every available surface, papers poured across the floor, clothes stuffed into a free-standing closet.
A king-sized bed dominated the cabin. He must need a big bed—just look at him—but the way the thing consumed the room . . . well, it made Grace nervous. Especially since Dan stared at her from the other side of the bed as if waiting for her to meet him in the middle. She continued to hover by the door.
“Listen to this.” Dan pushed a button on the answering machine, which sat between two precarious towers of books atop the nightstand. Perry’s voice filled the cabin and Grace couldn’t stop herself from scowling.
“Don’t bother to come looking for me, Chadwick. Mrs. Cabilla has given me leave and I’ve already left. You and Miss Lighthorse are on your own. Play nice. And your distributor caps are in the lake.” He hung up snickering, and Dan jabbed the erase button with a curse.
“What do you make of that?” he asked. “Think the guy has finally gone to the dark side?”
“He didn’t have far to travel if he did. Weasel spirit.”
Dan laughed. The sound was so infectious, Grace laughed, too. “I figured it was just me who thought he looked like a weasel,” he said.
“How could it be just you when the guy does look like a weasel? I think his aura would be muddy gray.” She wrinkled her nose. “That shade indicates a sneaky person.”
“Aura?” Dan’s smile died. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Why
would I kid about something like that?”
“You see auras?”
“Well, I don’t see floating colored clouds, though I’ve heard some people do. The aura is an energy field that surrounds every living thing. I feel things about people, and for me, feelings have colors.”
He didn’t look convinced, but what did she care? There was no use trying to explain feelings to people. Especially people like him.
“If Perry is gray, what am I?”
She caught a glimpse of a vulnerable little boy within those midnight eyes. A little boy who wanted her to tell him he was gold. Gold was very good.
Grace refused to tell him what he really was, because passion was red, awareness orange, and those little silver twinkles meant fertility.
She crimped her lips together and shook her head, and the little boy fled. Dr. Chadwick came back. He was kind of gray, too, but a shade of gray that meant he left no job undone.
“This is serious work here.” Dan’s voice had gone stuffy again. “I need serious help.”
Damn, she was good. The guy needed to loosen up, or at least let go of that gray part of himself once in awhile. Maybe a few rounds with Olaf would help Dan more than it had helped her, but she doubted Dan would see it that way.
“I am serious. Just because you can’t see something doesn’t mean it isn’t there. Do you see the air you breathe? Do you see love? Do you see the wind? No wonder you can’t find a cure. You need to look past the nose on your face.”
“That’s what Mrs. Cabilla said.”
“She was right.”
He looked at her for a long time, and while his eyes looked storm-tossed, his voice, when he spoke, was as calm as a lake ‘round about midnight.
“We should get back to the lab. I already called the service station in town, told them about the distributor cap theft at Mrs. Cabilla’s, and asked them to drive the cars home for us once they’ve fixed them.”
Grace had to wonder if he’d heard a thing she’d said. The man was infuriating. “Such service,” she mocked. “Are you buying? Or is this on Mrs. Cabilla?”
He didn’t take the bait. Dan was a very hard man to rile. From the muscle working in his jaw, he also looked to be a prime candidate for an ulcer. “Nope,” he said. “It’s on Perry.”
When You Wish (Contemporary Romance) Page 8