Fatty Patty (A James Bay Novel) (13 page)

Damn right he does. He should have known better. He should have had things under control. I struggle not to give in, not to let him off so easily. But Mother Nature isn’t helping. The breeze picks up and I catch a whiff of his cologne again. Why does he have to stand so close? Why does he have to smell so good?

“Don’t be mad.”

I feel my resolve start to crumble like a dry cookie. “I’m not. I’m just…”

“Frustrated?”

“You could say that.” I rub my forehead with the heel of my hand. Maybe I’m making a big deal out of nothing. Nobody got hurt. Nick learned his lesson. Why not simply let it go?

“You make everything look so easy,” he says as I turn to face him. Admiration flashes in his eyes. “The kids like you. They respect you. I hope someday they look at me that way.”

How can I stay angry? Everyone makes mistakes. Especially new teachers.

“Don’t worry about it.”

He grins, my heart lifts, and suddenly everything between us is okay again. “Hey, what’s up with the
Miss P
. bit?” he asks. “I’ve heard your kids calling you that all morning.”

Hearing the familiar nickname puts the smile back on my face. “It’s something that started my first year of teaching. You know kids. It’s hard enough for them to spell, let alone pronounce a name like Perreault. They dubbed me
Miss P.
the first day of school.”

“Miss P. I like that.”

He likes the name, but what about me? We come attached.

“Patty, are you finished eating?”

Priscilla’s voice drifts across the memory of this afternoon’s open meadows and yanks me back into the salty reality of tuna fish casserole. “I guess I’m not very hungry.”

“Sam, what about you? Would you like dessert? We’ve got ice cream.”

“Thanks, Priscilla, but no dessert for me.”

I scoot back my chair and muster up a smile. “Ready for our little walk-around?”

He grins. “If the rest of the house looks anything like the outside, this should be some tour.”

“I take it you’re referring to the pink.”

He chuckles. “Patty, your house isn’t just pink. It’s
pink
.”

I laugh and nod. “You can blame that one on my mother. It’s all her fault.”

Priscilla frowns as she stacks plates. “I happen to like it just the way it is. Besides, Mama always said it made the house stand out.”

“It sure does,” I mutter. “Come on, Priscilla, the dishes can wait. The two of us are going to give Sam a tour.”

She wrinkles her nose. “Does this tour involve the basement?”

“It’s part of the house.” I don’t like the basement any more than she does, but the furnace is down there and Sam needs to see it. Besides, I could use some moral support—her physical presence. My plan to throw them together is working nicely. This dinner couldn’t have gone better. Even Mama would be impressed. Sam is exactly what Priscilla needs. A true gentleman, pleasant and polite. And as for Priscilla? I haven’t seen such admiration in her eyes since… well, since that day we were at the mall and she pointed out Dr. Brown. But he’s out of the picture as far as I’m concerned. I don’t care if he is a doctor. Sam’s much more manageable. Not to mention, he likes tuna. He and Priscilla make a good match. She’s a great cook and Sam likes to eat.

“You two go ahead without me.” Priscilla carries the dishes to the sink. “I’ll stay here and clean up.”

“But—”

“No,” she answers firmly as she fills the sink with hot, soapy water.

Sam leans near me as I start down the hallway toward the main foyer. “You know what this house reminds me of? One gigantic Pepto-Bismol bottle decorated with gingerbread trim.”

I giggle in spite of myself. “Better not let Priscilla hear you say that.”

“I think your sister needs glasses.”

The grin on my face widens. Not only did Sam finish off the last of that nasty tuna, he’s also got an eye for bad taste in decorating. He could definitely teach Priscilla a thing or two.

I look at him brightly. “So, where do you want to start the tour?”

He eyes the ornate, winding staircase. “How about at the top and work our way down?”

“Fine by me.” I lead him up the stairs. Maybe it’s a good thing Priscilla isn’t with us. At least I can talk freely. And knowing Sam, he’ll see soon enough that this house is a one-hundred-year-old eyesore in need of more than just paint. It needs a loving touch and an open wallet… I’ve got neither.

We reach the second floor. I point to a trapdoor in the ceiling at one end of the hallway. “The attic’s up there. I can show you, but there’s not much to see.” Except for mice. I stay out of the attic as much as possible.

Sam shrugs. “Don’t bother. If you had a new roof put on last summer, it’s probably in good shape.”

I throw open the door to Priscilla’s bedroom—an airy, spacious room done up in pretty pastel pinks and soft apple greens. Lacy white curtains hang at windows overlooking the front lawn. Underneath one of the windows is a shabby chaise lounge that Priscilla puts to good use on days when she doesn’t have much strength.

We wander through the hallway, me opening bedroom doors, Sam peering inside. Finally we reach the far end of the hall and my own bedroom door. I’ve come to love the odd-shaped little room tucked under the eaves. I moved in shortly after I started college. With its own tiny, separate bathroom just off the bedroom it feels like my own private wing in the house.

His gaze lingers. “This is your bedroom? Nice.”

“It’s okay.” I quickly tug the door shut behind us. Thank God I made my bed this morning.

“This is a big house.” Sam trudges behind me through narrow corridors.

“Seven bedrooms and four bathrooms. It needs a family.” A family with plenty of kids and plenty of money.

Sam is thorough. He takes his time eyeing cracks and stains in the walls, stomping his feet for loose floorboards, inspecting bathroom faucets and sinks. Finally we wind our way back down the stairs and end up in the foyer. I wave one hand toward the spacious living room. “The fireplace works fine.”

He glances around. “Where’s the furnace? I want to take a look at that.”

I nod toward a door tucked under the staircase. “It’s down there. But are you sure you want to see it? The basement is creepy even in the daytime.”

He flashes me a wide grin. “I’m a big boy. I think I can handle it.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” I grasp the knob with both hands, but the door doesn’t budge. I roll my eyes and sigh. “Sorry. Sometimes it sticks.” I try again with no luck.

“Allow me.” He nudges me aside and gives the door a hard yank. It groans and flies open.

“Nice job.” I stand back, admiring him. “Can I hire you?”

“You can’t afford me.” He pauses, grins. “But I’ll cut you a deal.”

I laugh out loud. Sam makes being broke almost sound like fun.

“There’s nothing wrong with this door that a little WD-40 won’t cure. I’ll bring a can with me next time I come over.”

I stare down into the gloomy darkness, then flip the wall switch. The basement remains shrouded in murky black. I peer down the narrow steps, then turn to Sam. “The light bulbs are burned out again. I guess we might as well forget about the furnace tonight.”

“Get me a flashlight and I’ll change them for you.”

“You don’t have to do that.” He’s got better things to do than poke around in our basement.

“Do you hear me complaining?”

He’s so close behind me I feel the warm breath of his words on my neck. Suddenly I’m grateful for the hallway’s dim lighting. When did it get so hot? Why is he so close? His arm brushes mine, his face mere inches from my own.

That soft little moustache over his lips is intriguing. Did he just have it trimmed?

“All I need is a flashlight,” he says softly.

And all I need is just one little kiss…

He reaches past me and grabs the industrial-sized flashlight atop the basement ledge. “Voila.” He twists it in one hand. “This is one heavy-duty flashlight. You don’t mess around, do you?”

I shake the dizziness out of my head, grab the railing. “Be prepared, that’s my motto.”

Especially when it comes to things that matter. Like a dark, damp basement.

And men.

“You must have been quite the Girl Scout,” Sam says as he brushes past me and starts down the narrow basement steps.

“Not really.” I think about those flashy sashes all the Girl Scouts wore as I slowly start down the stairs after him. Given the chance, I could have earned a few of those merit badges, too.

Just as the bouncing flashlight disappears into the gloomy darkness, a hand grabs me and yanks me backward.

“Good God, Priscilla!” I halt on the third step, stare into my sister’s eyes. “You scared the crap out of me.”

“Why didn’t you tell me he was so nice?” she whispers from the landing. “He’s adorable, Patty. I really like him. He’s smart, funny, and just the right age. He’s just… perfect.”

“Do you really think so?” I climb a few steps and meet her at the top, hugging myself with a smile. Things are working out better than I expected. Priscilla likes him, and from what I saw at dinner, Sam seems to like her. too. Given a little encouragement, the two of them could be dating soon. Who knows what might happen? By Christmas they could even be engaged and we might be planning a Valentine’s Day wedding. “I’m so glad you feel that way. I think Sam’s perfect, too. Perfect for—”

“Oh, Patty, yes! And he obviously feels the same way about you.”

“Me?” I blink.

Priscilla beams. “I watched the two of you over dinner. Sam was so cute. He couldn’t take his eyes off you. He likes you, Patty. He likes you a lot.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I hiss, giving her arm a little shake.

“Really?” She tilts her head with a soft smile and lifts a finger to her lips. “Shhh, he’s coming back.”

I eye Sam as he gingerly picks his way up the rickety basement steps.
Cute
isn’t exactly the word I’d use to describe him, especially with his flushed face and those cobwebs in his hair.

“You’re going to have to fix these stairs if you’re serious about selling the place.” Sam puffs his way up the last few steps, wipes the sweat from his forehead. “They’re a lawsuit waiting to happen.”

Priscilla’s smile dissolves into a steely frown. “Who said anything about selling? I’m not selling the house.”

“Calm down, we’re just changing a few light bulbs.” I shoot Sam a warning look. Has he already forgotten how Priscilla feels about the house?

He catches my eye, nods slightly. “The bulbs down there are burned out. I’ll change them for you if you’ve got some extras.”

“They’re in the pantry. I’ll be right back.” Priscilla disappears, but not before shooting me a stern warning look. Light bulbs? Yes. List the house? No!

“See what I mean?” I blow out a deep sigh. “She’s adamant about not selling.”

Sam leans against the uneven stone wall. “What do you plan to do?”

I shrug. “Talk to her again, I suppose.”

“Should be quite the conversation. Remind me not to be anywhere close.”

“Close for what?” Priscilla returns with two packs of light bulbs.

“For more repair jobs.” I grab the light bulbs from her and flash him a quick smile. “Thanks again for helping.”

He halts at the top of the stairs. “You coming?”

“Right behind you.” I’m not stupid. I’ll take my chances alone with Sam in the basement rather than upstairs with Priscilla and all the questions she’s sure to ask. I grab the railing and trail him down the rickety steps. It’s been months since I was in the basement and it’s just as dismal and dank as I remember. The flashlight beam bounces off the walls as we reach the bottom.

“The furnace is over there… on your right.” I shiver as the light settles on the hulking cast-iron monster, which looks just as threatening as always, and I shut my eyes tight. Plus, I dread the thought of spotting some furry little creature scampering away in the darkness. I back up slightly toward the stairs.

“Hey, where are you going?”

I blink in the sudden brightness as Sam forces the flashlight into my hand and grabs a light bulb from me. He strains to unscrew the dead bulb hanging near the furnace. “Hold that flashlight still, will you? It’s hard to see what I’m doing.”

“Sorry.” I do my best to keep the light steady. “This basement gives me the creeps. Every time I’m down here, I end up having nightmares.”

He reaches for the cord and I try to keep the flashlight from bouncing, but my nerves aren’t cooperating. The circle of light jumps in jerky movements, illuminating Sam, the walls, the naked light cord hanging from the ceiling.

A soft scurrying sound comes from a dark corner.

Goose bumps pop up on the back of my neck, and I nearly drop the flashlight. “What was that?”

He strains to adjust the bulb. “Probably just a mouse.”

“A mouse!” Two quick steps and I’m so close to Sam, I nearly knock him off his feet.

Light suddenly floods the basement and the naked glare of the sixty-watt bulb illuminates the surprised grin spreading across his face. “Don’t tell me you’re scared of a little mouse? What happened to that Girl Scout spirit?”

“That’s not fair and you know it.” Without thinking, I bonk him on the forearm with the flashlight.

“Hey, that hurt.” He rubs his arm and eyes me with an uncertain smile. “That’s all the thanks I get for doing you a favor? Some Girl Scout you turned out to be.”

“I don’t like mice and I don’t like being teased. And for your information, I was never a Girl Scout.”

“Can’t say I’m surprised, the way you go around whacking people with flashlights. I doubt violence is something the Girl Scouts advocate.”

I stomp my foot on the cement floor. What I wouldn’t give to wipe that smirk off his face. He’s purposely goading me, trying to make me mad, and he’s doing a good job. The air between us snaps and I lunge into his space. We’re close enough that I can reach out and touch him…

Slap him…

Kiss him…

Sam grabs my arm and tugs me close into his arms. “Forget what I said. You’d have made a great Girl Scout.” The flashlight slips from my hand and hits the floor. His shirt is rough against my skin. His eyes hold a challenge, warm and inviting.