Here Comes Trouble (15 page)

So he did what he instinctively wanted to do, which was take her hand and tug her gently forward. She stutter-stepped into him, still looking poleaxed, and he put his arms around her and nudged her face up so she looked at him, but it was more like through him. “What’s wrong?”

Her expression shuttered then and she ducked her chin.

So he lifted a hand to her face, cupped her cheek, and tipped her face up again. “Maybe I can help. Or at least listen. Tell me what happened.”

“It’s…not your problem.” And then her eyes got glassy and he tensed, because that’s what guys did when women cried, or looked like they were going to. Except this wasn’t about him, or even them, like it might have been in the shower…so he stuck with it.

“It doesn’t have to be my problem to listen, does it?”

“I—you want a nice dinner. Not to hear about—about—” And then her bottom lip was quivering and he could see where this wasn’t so much about not wanting to tell him as about pride and integrity. And being made to cry in front of him about it, when she clearly wished she was being strong, was just making it worse.

So he did the only thing he could do. He kissed her.

And it took a moment, several actually, before she kissed him back. He shifted her arms up to his shoulders and pulled her more deeply into his arms. He let her guide the kiss at first, then slowly took over, taking it deeper, coaxing her to be more aggressive, until he was pretty damn sure they weren’t thinking about anything except the kiss and what it was doing to them, what it was making them want, making them feel.

When he finally lifted his head, his breathing wasn’t all that steady, and there was color in her cheeks now. He stroked her cheek with his thumb, pushed the hair from her forehead, and searched her eyes. “I get that living here, running this place alone, makes you a very self-reliant person. And someone like that probably has a hard time even sharing a problem they might be having. It’s hard to lean once, because there is a fear that the urge to lean would become stronger, and that would make you weaker, if you gave into it like that.”

Now her gaze sharpened on his, and he thought he’d hit right on it. But then she said, “You say that with utter confidence and more understanding than simply being a compassionate person would imply. So…I take it that you know whereof you speak.”

Ah. He was in such a hurry to help take that stark hollowness away, so used to his ability to see into others, to intuit more than the average person, that he hadn’t taken into consideration that he might leave himself vulnerable. He never showed his hand. That was more than a little unnerving. But trust had to be gained somehow. He supposed it wasn’t too big a risk to take. So he took the bet. “You could say that. Maybe more than a little.”

“You’re right, but you know that. I don’t lean. Not anymore anyway.”

“It’s not always a sign of weakness, you know.”

Now her eyes crinkled at the corners and her lips quirked. “Where did you read that? I have a hard time believing you actually practice what you just preached.”

“You might be surprised about that. I certainly didn’t get to where I did all by myself.”

“Me, either.”

“So, you have a support network? Is there someone you want to go call, to talk with, someone you can trust with whatever it is? Dinner can wait.”

“I heard you talking when I was coming through the foyer. You sounded…animated. Your support system?”

He smiled more fully this time. “You’d make a good promoter.”

She lifted one brow. “But not a player, I take it?”

“You’d have to work on your poker face a little.” He grinned. “Okay, a lot.”

To her credit, she smiled, too. “So, why a good promoter?”

“You are good at keeping the focus where you want it, which is usually not on you but on what you want.”

“And what do I want in this instance?”

“To keep whatever just happened on that phone call to yourself.”

Her expression turned considering. “You’re very…formidable. When it comes to reading people. It shouldn’t be a surprise that people might be uncomfortable confiding in you.”

“Why is that?”

“You already know too much as it is. See too much. It would be hard to know exactly how much you’d be handing over, even with the smallest of revelations.”

“And what is it, exactly, that you think I’m going to do with whatever information I’m able to ferret out? I’m harmless.”

She laughed outright at that. “You’ve been under my roof less than forty-eight hours and you’ve already gotten me naked. Hardly harmless.”

He stroked her cheek again, touched her lips. “I haven’t done harm, have I?”

She shuddered under his touch, and his body sprang more fully to life.

“Maybe just to my peace of mind.”

He appreciated the honesty, but it didn’t keep him from pushing. “So, what else then? You share details, whether tedious or important, and you’re afraid I’ll…what, exactly?”

“Play Good Samaritan again. You’re very good at that.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It can be, to a person who maybe doesn’t want to be rescued every time a problem crops up. Falling out of trees notwithstanding.”

“Rescue is something a person does for someone in a situation beyond their control. Like the tree. Otherwise, it’s just called help. We all need that from time to time. It’s not a bad thing. It doesn’t signify failure. Sometimes it’s even a good thing. You learn who you can count on, who is really there for you.”

“And just how often are you the one on the receiving end?”

“Often enough to know it’s there for me when I need it.”

“So, what, are you like the Yoda of poker?”

“Hardly. Just trying to make you feel better about bending an ear or using a shoulder if you need to.”

“You think it should be easier. Or is easy. Asking for help, I mean. Even if a willing ear is all that is needed.”

“That’s what friends, family, are for. I guess I don’t understand what there is to gain from persevering alone if help is available.”

“You gain the peace of mind and security from knowing you can be self-reliant when things get tough. That you can take care of business, no matter what. That’s not a small thing. In fact, it can be everything.”

“So, once you’ve figured that out…is that still the only way it goes?”

“If there are no shoulders to lean on and ears to bend, then sometimes that isn’t a choice.”

He let his hands fall to her shoulders and squeezed gently. “You have that choice at the moment,” he said quietly. “Is that good enough?”

Her lips curved a bit, but her expression remained mostly shuttered. “You sure you’re not an event promoter? You’re pretty good at being focused yourself.”

“It’s a wonder we get anywhere in conversation, I suppose.”

“Actually, I think I’ve had deeper, more thought-provoking conversations with you in the short time I’ve known you than I’ve had with anyone in a long time.”

He tilted his head, searched her face. “But, at least from where you sit, that’s not entirely a good thing, is it?”

“It can be a disconcerting thing. I haven’t quite decided on whether or not it’s good for me.” She straightened and took a step back.

He toyed with the ends of her hair, then reluctantly let her go.

“And, for a guy who didn’t want to talk about himself much, you sure don’t seem to mind nosing in my business.”

“I don’t think I’d mind. Anymore. If it was you asking the questions.’” He was surprised by how easily that truth just popped up. But now that he’d said it, he knew that he meant it. “If you think it would help, or just distract you from whatever it is that’s worrying you—” He spread his arms. “Ask away. Open book.”

She smiled easily then, and it almost reached her eyes. “One night only?”

“We can figure that part out later.”

Her smile faded. “See, that’s the part that trips me up.” She held up her hand when he started to speak. “I hate to renege on dinner; I really do. It smells amazing. But there are some things that require my immediate attention. I’m afraid I’ll have to take a rain check.”

For once, he didn’t push. Knowing when to fold was just as important when it came to winning the bigger prize. “I’ll put some aside for you. You can heat it up later, if you want.”

She nodded. “Thanks, I appreciate that. And…thanks for the rest, too. It’s not that I don’t want the help, or even the ear. I appreciate the offer of both, I do. No insult intended.”

He nodded and shoved his hands in his pockets. “None taken.”

“Good. It’s just…it’s complicated.”

“Most trying things are.”

She ducked her chin, then looked back at him, and some of her defenses were clearly wavering. But he still didn’t push. That wouldn’t be fair. To either of them. If and when she wanted his help, or just a sounding board, she’d ask.

“You’re almost too good to be true. Maybe that’s part of it. Things that are too good to be true rarely are. Or rarely last.”

“I’m just sincere. And honest. The offer stands, okay?”

She nodded, and the defenses crumbled a bit further when she folded her arms in front of her chest, tucking her hands tightly under them and against her sides, as if giving herself comfort and support. She stood there a moment longer, and he was just about to go against instinct and reach for her again, when she turned on her heel and walked away. “Don’t worry with cleaning up,” she called back. “I’ll take care of it later.”

“Just like you take care of everything else,” he said under his breath as he heard her bedroom door close on the other side of the front foyer. “Including yourself.”

He turned back to the stove, back to his sauce, which had cooked down further than he’d wanted it to. He stirred, added a bit more water, a bit more tomato sauce, tasted, then pinched a bit more oregano into the mix and kept on stirring. As did his thoughts.

He should just take a giant step back and leave Kirby to her business. After all, she had a point about things not lasting. She didn’t want to allow herself to lean on someone who might not be there a week, or even a day later. Hard to fault that. Then there was the bigger issue at hand, which was that she’d only be concerned about that if she was worried she’d come to care about how long he stayed or when he might leave.

Which meant maybe she already did.

He tasted the sauce, but was too busy deciding his immediate course of action to pay any real attention to flavor. He knew, if he examined his own behavior right now, he’d be forced to admit that maybe, just maybe, this mental back and forth wasn’t purely about his fascination with Kirby…but also a convenient substitution for his own problems. He’d told Dan that he needed to stop, to think, to figure out what came next. But there was no timetable on that. For once, there was no place he had to be. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever, if that was the way he wanted it.

Right that very second, he was exactly where he wanted to be. With no plans whatsoever to go anywhere else. It was a nice change, to be certain of at least one thing. He’d figure out the rest.

He tasted the sauce again, and smiled. Yeah. But in the meantime, he still wanted to know the rest of Kirby Farrell’s story. Find out what was the best way he could help. Which meant, for now, he wasn’t going anywhere.

K
irby sipped her coffee and shuddered at the volcanic strength of it. But she desperately needed something to kick-start her into the day. Day One of her personal thirty-day death march. Well, her inn’s death march, anyway.

She stared at the computer monitor and the online bank statement she’d opened up; then she finally slid her glasses off and closed her eyes. She’d been juggling bills for almost three months now, pretty much since the day she’d opened. Initially, she’d still had a little something to juggle with. She’d known that without a sudden drop in temperatures and some snow, she was courting total failure. But she’d been trying to remain hopeful, positive. After all, how long could the damn heat wave last? It was unnatural. She’d honestly thought that things would turn around.

The call yesterday evening from Albert, a local tax accountant she’d hired early on to help her set up her books, had made it clear that her turnaround time was pretty much over. Her tax bill come April was going to be the felling blow, but the bank was already grumbling about her loan payments and Albert wasn’t sure she’d even make it long enough to be worrying about the IRS.

At the moment, she was numb. Too numb to even cry. She’d poured so much of herself, of…well, everything she’d had left in her after the disastrous end with Patrick, and every bit of what she’d been able to summon up after her life had taken such a drastic new course. She’d been determined to look at the ending with Patrick as the beginning of herself.

This was her rise from the ashes; this was her celebration of what her life could be. This was the middle finger she’d given to Patrick, to fate, and anyone else who’d ever made her feel like she couldn’t take care of business. Which, when it came down to it, she’d realized, was all on her. As Aunt Frieda had said often enough, “Just because folks don’t understand, respect, or support what you think is true about yourself doesn’t mean you have to listen to them.” Kirby had only needed to listen to herself. But she’d let the other voices, so many of them, drown her own out.

It had taken seeing her chosen partner for who he really was—who he’d always been if she’d just been more willing to see the truth—and the following hard look at what she’d allowed herself to believe, to accept as okay, for her to finally, at the age of thirty-seven, examine her life, her choices, and what she was going to do about it—moving forward.

And she had moved forward. She was proud, almost fiercely so, of what she’d accomplished here. The one thing she knew now was that if the current combination of events conspired to end this new dream, this new path…well, she’d simply find another one.

She dropped her forehead to the edge of her desk. “I just really, really don’t want to.” It would be so easy to wallow, to blame fate, to sink into that place where it was all about being the victim and not being in control of her life. She wouldn’t do that. Couldn’t. But, right at that very moment, she simply didn’t know where she was going to find the strength to rise again.

On a surge of anger, aimed at both the world in general and at herself in particular for not having an immediate plan of action, she shoved her chair back, took up her mug, and stalked into the kitchen. She hadn’t eaten since the middle of the day before and that wasn’t helping the hollow pit of dread in her stomach. Of course, the thought of food at that moment was abhorrent, but it was something she could do instead of staring and swearing. She popped the fridge door open and saw the neatly stacked containers of pasta and sauce. Her stomach gurgled. Pasta for breakfast. She reached for the container. Why the hell not?

She was heating up a bowl of noodles when Brett walked into the kitchen. “Hey,” he said.

“Hey.” She kept her gaze on the microwave door. As if that was going to speed things along. But she didn’t know what to say to him, so it was a handy distraction. The bell dinged and she slid the bowl out.

“Pasta for breakfast?” he said, coming closer but stopping at the cook island.

“Sounded like a good idea at the time.” She fished in the silverware drawer for a fork. “Thank you for saving some for me. And for cleaning up. You didn’t have to do that.”

“I didn’t mind.” He took another step closer. “Kirby—”

He broke off, and she paused in the act of forking up her first mouthful and glanced at him directly for the first time.

“I’m sorry,” he said, surprising her.

She lowered her fork. “For what?”

“Whatever’s going on with you. And for pushing last night. I just wanted to help out. I still do.”

“If I don’t fill this inn to capacity by the weekend and keep it that way until at least the middle of April, I’m going to lose the place,” she said, putting it out there without meaning to but too tired to get back into the verbal cat and mouse game they had played last night. “I don’t think there’s anything you can do about that, but I appreciate the concern.” She realized she sounded less than gracious and was certainly not on good hostess behavior, not by a long shot, but there didn’t seem to be much she could do about it. Brett was a guest, but he wasn’t exactly a guest. And he’d asked for the truth, so she refused to feel bad about giving him what he’d asked for.

“Actually,” he said, just as calm as he’d been before her less-than-cheerful reply. “I could. Help, that is.”

“How? You have a lot of poker buddies who need a place to hole up for a few months, get out of the desert for a while?”

He smiled at that. “You know, that’s not a bad idea. If Vermont had a gaming commission, I could probably get a game going out here, make you all kinds of revenue.”

“We have a lottery, but no gambling that I’m aware of.”

He didn’t respond right away, and it was clear his mind was spinning on something.

“What are you thinking?”

“I was thinking maybe something for charity. There are ways around the rules, or to make them work for you, anyway.”

She straightened from where she’d been leaning against the counter by the sink. “That’s—well, that’s actually a very nice idea, but if anything like that even looked like it was going to happen here, I can bet you the resort would find a way to co-opt it. They’d be equipped for it.”

“Yes, they would. And that would be exactly the way to go.”

She took her bite and then gestured to him with her fork. “So, how would that help me?”

“Because putting on an event like that isn’t just about bringing in a few players. It’s a lot more complex, and there are a lot of tentacles. I’m sure your place and any other place around here with rooms to spare would have no problem booking.”

“Is professional poker that big a draw?”

He didn’t say anything to that, and the light dawned.

“You’re
that big a draw.”

“Do you want me to look into it?”

It was both a non-answer and all the answer she needed. Maybe it was time to do a little research on Brett. She’d been curious, but out of respect for his request, she hadn’t done any digging. Besides, in the past twenty-four hours, her thoughts had been on other issues. But with this offer, it appeared all bets were off when it came to leaving the past in the past.

“Could you honestly set something up that quickly?” She immediately waved a hand. “Forget I said that. I’m sorry. I have no business exploiting your fame, or livelihood.”

“I’m pretty sure I offered. That’s not exploiting.”

“You came here to get away from that. You’re a good guy, Brett, an incredibly nice guy, but I don’t want you to do something that you otherwise wouldn’t do.” She waved off his response again. “It’s amazingly generous of you to even offer. And I am appreciative, even if I don’t sound like it. But even if I was willing to let you do that, I think it would be too late to save me—the inn, I mean. And then you’d have done all of that for nothing.”

Now he closed the gap between them. He carefully took the bowl of pasta out of her hands and set it on the counter. Then he stepped right up into her personal space, pinning her back against the counter before he’d even touched her. Kirby could have scooted away. She could have done a lot of things. But she didn’t. And what that said about how much she’d learned regarding what she should accept, and what she should stand up to, she didn’t want to know.

But sticking her ground, at that moment, felt like the right thing to do. And if she was just lying to herself about that, well she could add that to the list of things to beat herself up over later.

“I want to help you, Kirby. One of the things about having achieved the successes I have is that I am in a position to do things like that. I kind of thought it must be something pretty drastic when you walked in here last night and, barring bad news about a family member, your business was the only thing I could think of that would put that look on your face. So, I gave it a lot of thought, but until just now, I didn’t see a clear path on how to help. Other than just hand you a chunk of cash to bail you out, if that was the problem, which I’d do. Hell, I’ll buy the damn place and you pay me back instead. I’m a lot friendlier than the banks. But I figured you’d be too proud to do something like that, despite the fact that I wouldn’t think one iota less of you for doing so. It won’t put a dent in my world, and it could make all the difference in yours.”

“You’re right. I couldn’t accept that kind of offer.” She looked past his shoulder, then made herself look back at him. “So, you’d already spent time thinking about this before you came in here?”

“Yes. If it was something with your family or a friend, I’d just do whatever I could to ease the situation, but if it was your business, the inn, then I figured a more direct kind of help would be better. I just didn’t know how to do that. But the charity event is perfect. It’s a way to do good, all the way around, without much of a downside.”

“Except putting you back in the world you just drove cross-country on a bike to get away from.”

“That’s my decision.”

“It feels like all of this is your decision.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. You can decide whether or not to take what I’m offering. I can’t force that solution on you. All I can do is let you know it’s available if you think it would help. But it’s your choice, your business to keep or lose, your life. If you have other ideas, then that’s great. I’ll help you there, too, if there is any way that I can.”

“Why?”

That stopped him. “What do you mean, why?”

“Why is it so important to you to help me? I realize we had sex, and I realize that you’re going to move on to whatever it is you decide to do next. This is merely a stop on your journey.”

“What in the hell does that have to do with me helping you? Do you think this is some kind of angle for some other…I don’t even know. What other agenda could you possibly think I have? I know you have some issues you’re dealing with, and I’m not talking about the inn now but with going forward with new relationships. You were totally up front with me about that. But I’m being totally up front with you. I have no other agenda other than I can help, I see you need some, and so why wouldn’t I step up?”

She’d pissed him off. Which she was sorry for, but it also was kind of fascinating to see. He was typically so laid back, matter of fact, but so soft spoken in the way he stated his thoughts. So this…this was different. And she wasn’t going to lie, it had her attention in more ways than one.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I was out of line, but I didn’t mean any insult. You’re right. I’m not as evolved as I thought I was. I still have some hang-ups—”

“I said issues. We all have them.”

“Whatever the case, you’re right. I’ve been too complacent in the past, too willing to let others dictate the course, even when I didn’t agree with it. I don’t want to do that anymore. So, it’s important to me to find my own solutions. To figure things out on my own.”

He surprised her by smiling. “Okay. So…you found me.”

“Actually, you found me. Or the inn, anyway.”

“Chicken and egg. The bottom line is I’m in your life and if you’re someone who looks at fate or things having a bigger meaning, then maybe that’s why I’m here. The point is, you are in control of this. I’m just saying I could be the solution to this problem.” His smile grew and it made that twinkle come to life in his eyes. “Maybe you’re just supposed to be smart enough to recognize a solution when there is one and use it to your advantage.”

She couldn’t help it, she smiled, too. “Either you really believe what you’re saying, or you’re an amazing bullshit artist.”

“It’s possible there is a little of both there.”

“So, what’s in it for you? You probably already know that your chances of getting lucky again are in your favor. And I doubt you’re looking for a free ride on your room charges.”

“Actually, I’m not certain of anything where you’re concerned. A pushover you are not.”

Now she smiled. “Well, then I’m making progress.”

“As for what’s in it for me? It’ll make me happy to help you out, to see you push through this stumbling block and have the chance to make this place be what you know it can be. You can’t help the weather.” He finally reached up and touched her face.

It took remarkable control not to rub her cheek into his palm.

“Let me do something good here. It helps me, too. Okay?”

“You make it really, really hard, you know that?”

He reached for her hips, tugged her up against him. “Well, then, I’d say we’re even.”

She laughed even as she blushed, which was kind of funny given what they’d been doing in this very kitchen just yesterday.

“Eat your pasta,” he told her, reaching past her to pick up the container.

“Now you’re going to ride herd on my food intake?”

He tucked the container into her hands and then framed her face and kissed her. Hard. “No,” he said when he lifted his head. “I just think stamina is probably going to be a good thing.”

“You think so, do you?” she said, going for sanguine, missing by a mile. He was…hell, she couldn’t even quantify any longer what he was.

“Let’s just say I’m hoping.” He pressed a finger to her mouth, then stroked her bottom lip. “And if you say anything else about my offer to help being some kind of insurance for extra favors, I will take that as a direct insult. Other than being one of the many reasons why I’m all wrapped up in you, this,” he said, dropping another hard kiss on her mouth, “has nothing to do with that.”