Fallen Angel (5 page)

He smiled. "The best."

"You’re fortunate."

He sobered instantly. "I know."

Geneva glanced away.

"What do you recommend?" he asked when she refocused on him.

Uncertain about his meaning, she didn’t respond right away. Thomas gestured at the colorfully–labeled jars of preserves and the woven baskets filled with a wide variety of freshly baked breads and pastries.

Geneva resurrected her poise. "Everything. But if you’re partial to preserves, I recommend the strawberry and raspberry."

"Are they your personal favorites?"

"Guilty. They were my first two creations, and they took forever to perfect."

Geneva felt tremendous pride as she looked around. The business that had begun as a form of self–therapy several years earlier had evolved into such a success, a conglomerate had approached her with a lucrative deal. They wanted to create a nationwide chain of retail outlets patterned after her shop and introduce her products to the international market. The transition from building explosive devices to the creation of recipes for jams and preserves still amazed her.

"I have a definite weakness for raspberry," Thomas confessed.

She smiled. "I promise you won’t be disappointed."

He didn’t say anything for a long moment.

She watched his facial expression shift from amused to intense, from engaging to seductive.

"I don’t think you could disappoint me, Geneva. Not ever."

She stared at him, struck by the intimate connotation of his comment. It reached into her heart to tempt and tantalize.

** ** **

Thomas answered Rose’s front door early the next evening.

A nonplussed Geneva scrambled to gather her wits as he loomed in the doorway. "Rose invited me to supper."

"I know. I wangled an invitation, too."

"I don’t imagine you had to twist her arm. She has a low opinion of hotel food."

He stepped aside. "Come on in. You look chilled."

She wiped her feet on the mat before stepping inside, then placed her shoulder bag on a nearby bench. "I think we’re supposed to get at least a foot of snow tonight."

"The ski crowd will be delighted."

"The local merchants, too. Since the army closed the base eight years ago, Cedar Grove has come to depend on the revenue brought in by winter sports."

Thomas took her jacket after she shrugged free of it, placing it on the bench beside her purse. "How about a glass of wine? I’ve just uncorked a bottle of Chenin Blanc that I’ve been saving for a special occasion."

"Please. Homecomings should always be celebrated."

Geneva preceded Thomas into the spacious country–style kitchen she’d visited many times before.

"You’re just in time," Rose said and signed after she deposited a platter on the table already set for three.

Geneva smiled, although still a bit unsettled that Rose hadn’t bothered to mention that she’d invited Thomas to join them for supper. "Fair warning, I’ve brought an appetite."

"Excellent, especially since Thomas badgered me into fixing his favorite meal, and I always double the quantity when I prepare it for him."

"Veal piccata." His delight obvious, he handed Geneva a half–filled wineglass. "The woman is a genius with veal."

She took a sip of the Chenin Blanc, then placed the wineglass beside the nearest place setting at the oak table. "Need any help, Rose?"

"Absolutely not. If I know you, you’ve been on your feet since before dawn. You two sit yourselves down and start on your salads. I’ll be right with you. I just have to get the rolls out of the oven."

Geneva did as instructed. "You worked today, too."

"For seven whole hours." The older woman smiled. "Which is nothing compared to your sixteen–hour days, young lady."

Thomas remained standing. "Every day?"

"Yes," Rose supplied when Geneva hesitated. "Every single day. She’s just like you. A total workaholic."

Geneva laughed. She couldn’t help herself. Rose mothered everyone. Being her employer didn’t exempt her from maternal concern or periodic chastisements, but she didn’t mind. The concern warmed her. "I’m not quite that compulsive."

Thomas drew out Rose’s chair for her when she joined them at the table a few moments later.

Rose patted his arm. "You’re still a lady killer with good manners, I see." Glancing at Geneva, she said, "His mother and I used to despair about the young women who threw themselves at him. His ego had already gone through the roof by the time he was sixteen."

Thomas chuckled. "Rose is overstating her case. I was a pretty shy kid."

"Which did absolutely nothing to stop all those girls," Rose countered. "They reminded me of a shelf of trophies."

Geneva’s smile faded. Guarding her heart was an old habit, especially when men were into trophies. She certainly didn’t plan to become an addition to the Thomas Coltrane collectibles shelf.

"Don’t believe everything she tells you," he advised. "I’m a firm believer in quality, not quantity."

Geneva almost dropped the serving dish of veal she’d just picked up.

Thomas grinned. "Let me hold that for you while you serve yourself." He relieved her of the heavy platter.

Geneva concentrated on her food, allowing Rose and Thomas the luxury of reminiscing about past times. They included her in their conversation by signing at all times. She slowly relaxed, but she was halfway through her meal before she started tasting the food she was putting into her mouth.

The three lingered over dessert and coffee, but the growing lateness of the hour finally prompted Geneva and Rose to clear the table. Over Thomas’s protests, the women banished him from the kitchen. He didn’t reappear until it was time to walk out to their individual vehicles.

"You seem more relaxed," he observed.

Seated in her car, Geneva finished securing her seat belt before she said, "I am now. Rose didn’t mention you were joining us for dinner when she invited me."

"I asked her not to."

"Why?" she signed.

He leaned down, studying her through the open space provided by the lowered window. "I didn’t think you’d join us if you knew I’d be here. I was right, wasn’t I?"

She shrugged. "Perhaps."

"Is this just a simple case of shyness on your part? Or is something else going on with you that I should know about?"

"I don’t like surprises, Thomas. And I’ve always had an aversion to being manipulated, even for the best of reasons."

Geneva spoke in that breathlessly low tone that Thomas knew would haunt him for the rest of his life. "I won’t forget," he promised.

She met his gaze. "Please don’t."

"Drive safely." Straightening, he stepped back.

She nodded, rolled up the window, and turned the key in the ignition. Nothing happened. Nada. She made a second attempt. Dead silence. Not again, she thought in frustration.

Thomas opened the driver’s side door. "Problem?"

"Unfortunately," she said before releasing her seat belt and climbing out of the Jeep. "I need to check under the hood."

"You create designer preserves
and
you repair car engines?"

If you only knew, she thought as she nodded. Her mechanical skills and her proficiency with anything technical had been apparent since childhood. She’d constructed entire towns with multiple Erector sets, solved every electrical problem that came up when she combined several train kits, and excelled at math. Meantime, her female counterparts dressed their Barbie dolls, baked pretend food in toy ovens, and developed their nurturing skills as they gravitated to the social sciences.

Thomas stopped her before she took a single step. "It’s dark out, and it’s snowing again. Let’s deal with this in the morning. I’ll drive you home tonight."

Geneva hesitated. Then, she noticed Rose, who stood under the front porch light.

The older woman lifted her hands and signed, "Car trouble again?"

Geneva confirmed Rose’s query with a thumbs–up gesture.

"What does she mean,
again
?" Thomas asked.

"The starter’s been giving me fits this winter."

"Thomas, tell Geneva I’ll call the garage. They can come out first thing in the morning," Rose called out before disappearing inside her house and turning off the front porch light.

"I guess that’s settled." He looked amused by his aunt’s drill instructor behavior.

"Will she contact the garage in the morning?" Geneva clarified.

"That’s the deal. Come on, let’s get you home. With the hours you apparently keep, you need your rest."

He hustled her into the front seat of his vehicle before she could voice a protest. Feeling vaguely uneasy at the prospect of being alone with him, Geneva fastened her seat belt and gripped the leather shoulder bag in her lap.

He reached out and touched her gloved hand to gain her attention. "Relax. I don’t bite."

She nodded, seeing only concern for her in his gaze. "It’s late."  

Other than to direct Thomas down a series of country roads cast in total darkness, Geneva stayed silent during the twenty–minute drive. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been in a car with a man who wasn’t a part of her close–knit family of friends. She felt relieved that he had to keep his hands on the steering wheel. It eliminated his ability to communicate with her, and she finally relaxed as they traveled deeper and deeper into the dense forest that edged the town of Cedar Grove.

She didn’t bother to explain that Nicholas Benteen owned virtually every acre they traversed, although she suspected Thomas knew that particular fact.  She also doubted that he was the kind of man who allowed details to fall through the cracks.

He pulled into the newly plowed circular drive in front of the three–story cedar chalet Geneva called home. She’d designed it herself, her need for a real home the result of too many years of gypsy–like wandering the globe with her late father.

"The evening wasn’t so bad, was it?" he signed once he’d parked.

She shook her head, then admitted, "My social skills are a bit rusty."

"We can change that, Geneva."

She didn’t hesitate to express her doubt. "I’m not sure that change… real change… is always possible, even when it’s wanted."

"Why don’t we test the theory? You can establish the ground rules, and I’ll observe them."

"That’s not your style."

He smiled. "No, it’s not, but you’re worth the effort."

"How can you know that?"

"Instinct, pure and simple."

"You can be charming and persuasive when you put your mind to it."

"My secret’s out, I see."

Geneva said, "Thank you for driving me home."

Before he could stop her, she slipped out of the car and started up the shoveled path that led to the deck encircling her house like an apron. A gust of cold air buffeted her body and tugged at her hair as she walked, but she hardly felt the sub–zero temperatures.

Geneva’s footsteps triggered motion sensors that illuminated her property. Stately centuries–old pine trees, the branches frosted with fresh snow, swayed in the moonlight on either side of the chalet and gave the area an ethereal appearance.

Although she didn’t hear the crunch of snow beneath his booted feet, she sensed that Thomas was only a few yards behind her as she climbed the wide cedar staircase and crossed the deck to the front door. With every step she took she felt an almost palpable need to reach out to him, to take the first step toward some semblance of a normal life.

She paused, drew in a steadying breath, and turned to look at him.

"You’re afraid of me."

She knew he wasn’t asking. He was telling. She felt foolish. And a little defensive. "Your imagination is getting the best of you."

He shook his head. "I don’t think so."

"Thomas…"

He reached out, fingertips gentle as he stroked her cheek. "You have nothing to fear from me."

But she was afraid. Afraid to want too much. Afraid to dream. Afraid of the confusing feelings and fragile emotions he roused in her.

Geneva edged backward. The front door stopped her. She squared her shoulders. "I’m tired."

"Don’t shut me out," he said, his words easy to read.

Anger sparked deep inside her. "I told you, I’m tired."

Thomas countered instantly, hands moving with sureness. "Your withdrawn attitude for the last half hour has had nothing to do with fatigue, and we both know it. What are you afraid of?"

Geneva pressed the fingertips of both hands to her suddenly throbbing temples. When she lowered them, she answered his question. "I’m not afraid."

"Then what are you?"

She hedged. "I need to think."

"Why don’t you just let yourself feel, instead?"

"You make it sound so simple."

"Nothing important is simple. We’re both old enough to know that, but we’re also both old enough to realize that there’s something happening between us. Something I don’t quite understand, either, but something worth exploring."

"I meant what I said. I am not afraid of you."

"Then tell me what’s going on with you."

"I’m just nervous!"

He looked relieved. "Me, too."

She stared up at him, shocked by his admission.

"You’re important, Geneva. I don’t want to screw this… whatever this is… up."

In for a penny, in for a pound, she decided. "I’m very inexperienced with men."

"I probably have enough for both of us. Experience, that is."

She laughed at his rueful expression. She couldn’t help herself. "That’s one of the reasons I’m so nervous around you. I don’t know what to expect from one minute to the next."

Thomas took one of her hands and brought it to his lips. He pressed a kiss into the center of her palm, the tip of his tongue painting a swath of moist flame over her skin.

She felt her heart stutter to a stop in her chest, then recover sufficiently to slam against her ribs at a hard gallop. She met his gaze when he looked at her. She stroked his hard cheek with shaking fingertips, unable to stop herself from seeking the warmth of his skin. The feel of the stubble that covered the lower half of his face tantalized her.