Can't Take My Eyes Off Of You (v1.2) (30 page)

“And you did this on your own? You decided to come to me, share my adventure?” She cocked her head to one side and looked at him closely. “I don’t believe you, Uncle Alfred.”

“Al, darling. Call me Al, if you please. And of course you don’t believe me. Whoever knows me
would
believe me, in anything?” He sighed deeply. “I’m financially embarrassed, darling, and, because of your example, Somerton decided to toss me out into the great wide world to fend for myself. Said it would straighten my spine, if you can believe that. Jeremy lobbied for me, explained quite succinctly that your brother was being quite unreasonable—he actually told Somerton he was being recalcitrant, Jeremy’s new word of the day—but all pleas, alas, fell on deaf ears. So here I am, and here I will be until I can show Somerton a paycheck.”

“Which was it, Uncle Alfred?” Shelby asked, shaking her head. “Cards or the ponies?”

“A little of both, dearest, but most unfortunately with the same quite unlovely group of people. Terribly worried about their money, you understand. So I thought it might be best to, um,
disappear
until my next allowance is due. Your brother had no sympathy for me, no care for my old, frail physical form and what a few fists might do to it, so I asked Jim to bring me here, sure you must already be in town. How surprised, pleasantly, I’m sure, I was to hear that a Miss Shelley Smith worked as hostess. I knew in a moment that she must be you. Serendipity, that’s what I call it.”

“I don’t think that’s what I’d call it,” Shelby said, positive that Quinn had told Uncle Alfred where she was, not Jim. Deeper and deeper. The more she thought about it, the deeper the hole she’d already put Quinn Delaney into got. Until it would take him a dozen shovels to find his way out of there.

“You working today?”

Shelby spun around to see Tony standing in the doorway, allowing the doorjamb to hold up his long frame. “Oh, Tony, forgive me. It turns out that Al here is an old friend. We were just catching up.”

“Well, ain’t that grand. Catch up on your own time,” Tony said, then slowly pushed himself away from the doorjamb and shuffled back to the kitchen.

“He’s a sweetheart, really,” Shelby told her uncle as the two of them headed back inside the kitchen.

“A diamond in the rough,” Uncle Alfred agreed amicably. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Pedro promised to teach me how to skin carrots. Or was that
peel
carrots? Never mind. I’m sure Pedro knows.”

Shelby pushed open the swinging door to the restaurant and stopped just on the other side of it, trying to collect her thoughts, until Tabby slammed the door open, carrying out three platters of Tony’s special hamburgers.

Shelby quickly turned to help balance the platters, apologizing as she remembered she’d been told never,
never to
stand in front of the single swinging door to the kitchens. “I’m so sorry, Tabby.”

“No harm, no foul, babe,” the waitress said, then leaned her head closer. “Did you see the new guy? Al? We’re going out tonight. Hot, hot, hot babe!”

“How, um, charming,” Shelby said, then winced as the customers yelled to Tabby that they didn’t have all day to wait for her to serve them—to which Tabby replied, “Hold your water, boys; I’m coming.”

“Yes,” Shelby mumbled, withholding a grimace. “How very charming… all of it.” She kept her smile tight as she watched the thin, wiry waitress with the rubber band-wrapped ponytail and the black high-top sneakers head for the nearest table. “So very, very charming,” she repeated to herself dully, shaking her head.

She snapped to attention as she felt a sharp poke in her side, and turned to see that Mrs. Miller had entered the restaurant. Her day was just getting better and better.

“Hello, Mrs. Miller,” she said as cheerfully as possible, looking down at the five-foot-nothing woman with the largest store-bought teeth in the history of the world. Scary, that was what Mrs. Miller was. And, as always, armed. “How are you today?”

Mrs. Miller slowly lowered the pointy umbrella she carried in good weather and bad, and which she employed to poke Shelby in the ribs every chance she got “Hummph! As if
you
care. Bet you’re the one making my lumbago act up. Lumbago was fine till you got here. Now step aside. I know how to find my own table. Don’t need no idiot girl leading me around like a dog on a leash.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Shelby said gratefully, then watched the old woman all but skip across the room, her lumbago miraculously in remission all of a sudden.

Mrs. Miller was the one conquest Shelby had been unable to make. Everyone in East Wapaneken had been so nice, so welcoming. But not Mrs. Miller, who was, unfortunately, a twice-daily customer. Carol, one of the part-time waitresses, had finally told her that Mrs. Miller believed Shelby to be an alien. “And I don’t mean you don’t have your green card,” Carol had said. “She’s talking Mork from Ork alien. But don’t worry. She also calls Bert down at the police station twice a week to say there’s a man under her bed. She should be so lucky, the old bat. She hates everybody.”

And that was when Shelby smiled. She shouldn’t be smiling. Lord knew she had little to smile about, even less since Uncle Alfred had shown up, ready to play out his little farce. But still, Shelby smiled. She pushed open the door to the kitchen and found her uncle. “Al? I need you out front for a setup. The lady at table six. Get her a place setting and a cup of coffee. And be sure to ask her how she is today. Mrs. Miller is a positive doll. She just loves to chatter.”

“That was mean,” Tony said, sidling up to her in that slow, soundless way he had. “I thought you said Al was an old friend of yours.”

“True enough, Tony. But I wouldn’t want you to think I would play favorites, just because I know Al.”

“Sounds more like you hate his guts,” Tony remarked, scratching his head. “Women. I’ll never understand them. Yeah, well, gotta get back to work. Ostrich filet tonight, you know. We’re going to be crowded, which should make you happy, because ostrich is low in cholesterol, and tastes a whole lot better than cottage cheese.”

And Tony had been proved right in his prediction. The restaurant was crowded, starting at four o’clock with the early birds, and not slacking off one bit. And Mrs. Miller, hogging a table for four, still showed no signs of budging. Not with “Al” hovering over her every other minute, kissing her hand, telling her little nonsense stories, calling her—Shelby couldn’t believe it—”Althea, dear.”

Uncle Alfred had hours ago—about the time Mrs. Miller arrived at Tony’s—abandoned his “tough boy” pose for one of professional courtesy and his own innate elegance that had all the women swooning— and it wasn’t all that easy to make the geriatric set swoon. How could she have forgotten that Uncle Alfred could charm the birds out of the trees? In fact, the only two things he couldn’t seem to charm were cards and ponies. Not that he hadn’t spent a lifetime trying.

The regulars had also spent the day, two of them coming in and three of them leaving for a time, then all six of them digging into ostrich filets after an afternoon of coffee and talk.

Two other customers had spent the entire afternoon at Quinn’s usual corner table, and showed no signs of leaving anytime soon, before Quinn appeared, wanting his dinner.

Shelby didn’t recognize the two men, which wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for her, but these two she was sure she would never forget. They were both huge. Huge heads, huge arms, huge bellies, huge thighs. They both smoked incessantly, and had already ordered four plates of spaghetti between them. And that was just a snack, for now they were eating porterhouse steaks with all the fixings. They both wore open-throated, patterned polyester shirts and plaid polyester slacks that strained to hold together below their bellies.

And they didn’t talk. Not a word beyond grunting out their orders to Tabby, who rolled her eyes as she wrote on her pad, then shuffled away. “Big bad boys,” the waitress stage-whispered to Shelby at one point. “Very big bad boys, and I should know. Had their kind around more than a few times before my idiot husband took off, knocking on my door, scaring the kids. Stay away, honey; they’d eat you for a snack.”

The strangers didn’t seem to bother Uncle Alfred, who had been assigned to bus tables and serve drinks for the remainder of his shift. In fact, he had lingered at their table for quite a long time, refilling their coffee mugs and passing the time of day with the two mute, unsmiling men. But, again, that was Uncle Alfred. He could charm anyone. Even Mrs. Miller. Although he didn’t seem to be having much luck with the two polyester men.

She wondered, thought about Tabby’s assessment of the two men, and wondered some more. Could it be? Could these two men be here to watch
Uncle Alfred? Hurt Uncle Alfred? No. That was silly. Just silly. She was seeing plots everywhere now, from the regulars, to Quinn, to the polyester men. And yet…?

“Hi, am I too late for the ostrich filet? I saw it listed on the sign outside. And should filet be spelled with two is, or did you just give up?”

Shelby turned to see Quinn standing behind her, smiling. Her stomach dropped to her toes, then shot back up into her throat. God, but she loved this man she hated.

His eyes twinkled, so that she remembered how they clouded with passion. His smile hypnotized her, so that all she could think about was how he had felt, tasted, as his mouth had devoured hers.

She wouldn’t even dare look lower than his neck, for there lay real trouble, especially as she tried to remember that he was the lowest of the low, a bodyguard. A hired baby-sitter who had taken his client’s sister to bed. Lower than low…

“You really want the ostrich?” she asked at last, unable to think of anything else to say.

Quinn smiled, shook his head. “Not on your life,” he told her, flicking at a wisp of blond hair that had somehow dared to be out of place. He wondered what would happen if he were to pick her up, throw her over his shoulder, take her back to the apartment, and make love to her until her bones melted. Would her eyes look more alive then? Would her smile be more real? Would she finally tell him she loved him… or at least tell him what in the hell was making her look so sad, seem so distant? Even if he was pretty sure he didn’t want to know. Not, at least, until he had her in his arms, well loved, and then made his idiot confession.

“Some… er… your table is occupied, I’m afraid,” she said finally, handing him a menu and indicating that he should follow her as she headed toward the worst table in the house, and the only one still unoccupied. She pulled out his chair, then stepped back. “Is this all right?”

“It will be, if I’m on time for your dinner break and you’ll agree to eat with me.”

He watched as her eyes went dull, as her shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly before she returned to her usual model-erect posture. “I’m afraid I’ve already eaten. Sorry.”

“Then I’ll see you later? Walk you back to the apartment?”

She shook her head. “Thank you, no. Brandy and I are going to the movies. We saw the coming attractions the other night, and decided we’d really like to see Julia Roberts’s new romantic comedy. But really, thank you for asking. I’ll… I’ll see you tomorrow… the next day. I’m sure you have a lot of work to catch up on, considering you’ve been spending most of your days here. I thank you for your concern about those men, but I’m fine now, I promise. So you can just concentrate on your book.”

“Sure,” Quinn said, nodding as he lied, pretending not to realize he’d just been given the proverbial brush-off. “Thanks. I do need to do some catching up, maybe type up some of my interview notes. And I’ve got to write George’s speech for him…”

This was so awkward. Shelby could see that Quinn thought so, too. So damned awkward. Two people who’d been to bed together, for crying out loud, acting as if they were both trying to find some polite way of saying, “thanks, but no thanks.”

She dipped her head and looked at him again. “Look, Quinn, I… I just need some time, okay? You said… well, you know what you said.” Everything but the truth, she reminded herself. “I’m afraid I need some time to think about that. About us.”

“Sure, Shelley,” Quinn agreed, wondering if it would be possible to kick himself all the way up the street. It was Tuesday. She was leaving Saturday, after the big dinner. And he was rapidly running out of time. “But how about Thursday night? A late dinner after work? Two days apart, Shelley, two days for thinking. Is that enough time?”

“Thursday night,” she repeated, relaxing slightly, believing she’d have herself back under control by then. If she didn’t think, didn’t dream, didn’t love him so much.

The rat.
“Yes, that would be fine.” And then she stepped back as Uncle Alfred approached the table, a glass of water in one hand, a glass coffeepot in the other.

“Good evening, sir,” Uncle Alfred said smoothly, putting down the plastic glass. “Would you care for coffee this evening? I highly recommend the brew.”

“Yes, I know,” Quinn said, holding up his cup. Here we go, he thought, refusing to look at Shelby, to see her reaction. She had to believe they didn’t know each other, that Uncle Alfred—Al—had really discovered her whereabouts on his own. Otherwise there could be only one other answer—and that answer was him. She’d already been looking at him strangely, been behaving strangely, so that he’d worried she might have finally remembered him.
Damn Uncle Alfred!
Damn everyone who was making a rotten situation even worse. And that would include the two muscle-bound thugs sitting at
his
table, damn them twice. “You’re new here, aren’t you?”

“Oh, indeed, indeed,” Uncle Alfred said. “Such a lovely little hamlet, don’t you think? I’ve already found myself the loveliest apartment just up the street, in a converted school building.”

“Really,” Quinn said. “I happen to live there as well, as does Miss Smith. Isn’t that a coincidence?”

“Yes, isn’t it?” Shelby said, her smile so bright it hurt her cheeks as she turned away from the table.

She might not have seen through Quinn’s lies as he pretended not to know her uncle, but she’d spent her entire life around Uncle Alfred. Jim hadn’t told him where she was. He hadn’t questioned Jim and come to some happy conclusion that brought him to East Wapaneken when Somerton tossed him out to fend for himself.