Lake Magic (14 page)

Her heart stuttered then kicked into overdrive. He was close.
Too
close. It had been hard enough to ignore him when they’d been separated by the peninsula, but now that he was mere inches from her . . .

How long had it been since she’d stood this close to a man who wasn’t her father or brother?

“Somethin’ sure smells good.”

Him. He smelled good. Like fresh raindrops, crisp morning air, and everything forbidden.

“Thanks,” he said, reaching for the plate between them. “I’m starved.”

Embarrassed at where her mind had been and embarrassed at her horrible cooking, she was about to tell him to get his own breakfast, when she remembered the burned toast and ruined eggs. At that moment, all of her grievances toward Jared piled up between them. He’d barged into her life, into her business, into her
house
without so much as an ounce of remorse. It was no secret what he thought of her or how she ran her business, while she couldn’t seem to keep her eyes or thoughts off of him. It took less than five seconds for all of those thoughts to converge into a good old solid fury.

She looked down once more to the plate between them and had never been more proud of her cooking skills. One taste, and he’d be gagging and running for the phone book, desperately seeking a new bed-and-breakfast—one where he’d get the kind of melt-in-your-mouth home-cooked meals Mrs. Murphy was famous for.

With a smile as bright as a July sun, she relinquished her breakfast, even going so far as to get him a napkin and fork from the drawer.

“Thanks,” he said again, pulling out a kitchen stool and sitting down. He’d forked up a bite of eggs, then paused. “Is that orange juice?”

She looked at the hand-squeezed juice she’d made from two of the puniest oranges ever. She’d been going to throw it out. All that work, and all she’d gotten was a couple of sips of juice, seeds, and globs of pulp. She slid the glass across the counter toward him. “Have at it,” she said with another bright smile.

He took a bite.

She held her breath as gleeful anticipation ran through her. Briefly she wondered how he’d manage to choke the rubbery eggs down. Of course, on further thought, she didn’t want him
dying
—just gone. She thought back to when she’d learned the Heimlich maneuver and ran the process through her head. Yes, she could do it. She could save this miserable lout when he choked on eggs that he’d insisted on eating. She would save him (unfortunately), but then, with his gratitude overflowing, he would ask her what he could do to repay her.
Leave
, she’d say with a serene smile.

Lost in her fantasy, it took her a moment to realize he was talking.

“Great breakfast. Best eggs I’ve had in a long time.”

“What?”

“Great scrambled eggs.”

Was he for real? “They’re fried.”

He shot her a smile, one that had undoubtedly been charming women of all ages since he was two. He polished off the OJ. “Fresh-squeezed. My favorite.”

She stared at his plate—his
empty
plate. Not a rubbery bit of egg left. Or a partially eaten piece of burned toast.

He set his glass down on the counter and wiped his hands off on his napkin. “You sure can cook. After that meal, I can’t wait for lunch and dinner.”

She couldn’t cook. Everyone knew that. Even
she
admitted it most the time. And lunch and dinner? Just who did he think he was?

“Hope you’ve eaten.” He wadded up his napkin and dropped it onto his plate.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”

Who was he, her mother?

“Besides,” he continued, “you’ll need to keep your strength up. We have a busy day ahead of us.”

“I don’t know what your day consists of, but I already have my schedule, thank you very much.”

He ignored her. “I’ve spoken to Zeke.”

Zeke? How did he know how to get in touch with Zeke?

She hadn’t realized she asked the question out loud until he answered it.

“I met him the first day I arrived. When you were at lunch.”

The way he said
lunch
made her cringe. Like she was blowing off work for some frivolous girl thing. Believe you me, if she could get out of lunch with her mother, she would. “How?”

“How what?”

“How did you know how to get in touch with my pilot?”

“
Our
pilot’s number is on the side of your fridge.”

She shot her fridge and the large sunflower magnet that held the list of numbers a furious look. She even had her parents’ and Paul’s and Anna’s. Though why, she couldn’t say. It wasn’t like she didn’t know them by heart.

“Why did you need to contact
my
pilot?” There was no
ours
, now or ever.

“I’ve called a meeting.” Jared looked at his watch. “He’ll be here in thirty minutes. Don’t be late.”

“It’s Saturday.” Not that she had any intention of attending his so-called meeting, no matter what day of the week it was.

“So?”

“So Zeke has the day off.”

“He’s been more off than on since I got here.”

“Zeke sets his own hours.”

“Now, why doesn’t that surprise me? Either of you ever heard of a work schedule?”

His superior attitude was really starting to piss her off. “You are not going to barge in here and start changing anything. Zeke and I have a system.”

“Not an effective one.”

“You are not the boss.”

“No,” he said with a barely there patience that reminded her of a harassed parent. “I’m your partner, and we’re having a meeting in half an hour. Changes need to be made.” He picked up the towel he’d used earlier and ran it back through his nearly dry hair, dismissing her as clearly as if he’d said the words.

“We don’t need any changes.”

He looped the towel around his neck, holding on to the ends. “Plan, brief, execute.”

“Excuse me?”

“Plan.” He said it with infinite slowness. “Brief.” Another infuriating pause. “Execute.” He gave her that look she was fast growing to hate. “First, I devise a plan how to turn this train wreck around. Second, I brief you on the plan. Third, I direct you on its execution.”

“You are insane.” It was fast becoming her favorite saying around him. She turned to leave. No way was she staying around and listening to any more of this, and no way was she walking out of here without letting him know exactly where his place was around here.

“I cooked,” she told him. “You clean. Dish soap is under the sink.”

“KP isn’t my specialty.”

“Don’t worry. It doesn’t take much skill. You should be able to handle it just fine.” She thought she heard a chuckle, but when she whipped back around, his face was a blank slate.

“Don’t you want to know what my specialty is?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Debriefing.” A wolfish grin appeared that did funny things to her insides. “I’m nothing if not thorough.”

His comment left her frozen in her tracks, blushing clear down to her toes.

He began to walk out of the kitchen but paused when he reached her. “Oh eight hundred. Don’t be late.”

Moments later she heard him heading up the staircase. From the sounds of it, he was taking them two at a time.

Jenny looked at the messy kitchen and wondered what had just happened. She eyed his empty plate, wanting nothing better than to throw it at his gorgeous, arrogant head.

Plan. Brief. Execute
.

When pigs fly.

She grabbed her purse, cell phone, and a jacket and was outside and in her car in moments. Before she had cleared the driveway, she was punching in Zeke’s number.

Unfortunately, his wife answered and told Jenny that Zeke was already on his way over to her place. Jenny then called Zeke’s cell, which went right to voice mail. No surprise. He’d told her at least a dozen times how he didn’t like the darn thing. She left a message anyway, explaining that this meeting was not her idea, and Zeke was in no way obligated to be there. He could—and should—take the day off as planned.

Jared could plan, brief, and execute all he wanted, but she and Zeke were not going to be a part of it.

Debriefing. It’s my specialty
.

It wasn’t until she was nearly to town that she realized she had nowhere to go and was no closer to getting rid of Jared.

Jared was on his way to the bathroom to take a shower when he heard the Corvette start up. Cotton Tail was on the run. Now why didn’t that surprise him?

Running this business was at the bottom of her list of priorities; the evidence was all around him. Her office was a nightmare, her dedication a joke. She had no set business hours—no set anything, as far as he could see. And when he offered to help formulate a plan (not that he had any intention of carrying that out), she ran away.

If Jared thought for one minute that she was serious and wanted to run the business Steven had started, he might have felt differently. But her actions proved she was not only incapable but unwilling to do what was needed to make this place a success.

As he waited for the hot water to make its way through the antique pipes, he couldn’t help but smile. Somehow he’d known that by insisting on staying here, he would drive her over the edge. Or, more accurately, over to the bank or to her parents.

Stepping under the hot water, Jared almost felt like singing. By the time his shower was over, the money would be as good as his.

Damn, he loved it when things worked out exactly as he planned.

Early Monday morning, Anna strode briskly through the halls of Seattle Trinity Hospital. She nodded and smiled at the nurses she passed and several of her colleagues.

One of her residents jogged up beside her. “Dr. Adams?”

“Yes?” Anna tried not to let her impatience show. On any other day, she would have been fine with the interruption. Making time for the residents was near the top of her list; the only thing ahead of them was her patients. But today was a different story. Still, she gave the resident her full attention.

“I was wondering if you had a moment to discuss the patient in two fourteen.”

“Of course.” Anna began to walk once more. “Mrs. Keller. Third trimester. Twins.”

“Yes.” The young man hustled to keep pace. “Baby A seems to be in distress.”

“What is the heart rate?”

“One twenty and has been steady, but has been down to ninety.”

“Has a nonstress test been done yet?”

The resident flipped open the chart, read for a few moments. “No.”

“Do it. And page me the instant you have the results. We want to keep those babies in the womb as long as possible.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

Before she released the resident, Anna asked him several questions, assuring herself he had a full and complete understanding of the patient’s condition and needs. Mrs. Keller was under Anna’s care, and as such, Anna would allow nothing less than absolute competency when it came to her patients.

“My meeting shouldn’t last any longer than half an hour,” Anna said as the reached the elevator. She hit the up arrow. “I’ll be back down to check on Mrs. Keller then.”

The resident nodded and was about to leave when Anna said, “And, Doctor . . .” He stopped and faced her. “I don’t want to see you out of uniform again.”

Perplexed, he stared at her.

She pointed to his empty lapel. Rules were meant to be followed. “Your hospital ID badge. Find it.”

“Yes, Dr. Adams.” He couldn’t hurry away fast enough.

Anna had no doubt that when she checked in on him later, his ID would be in place.

She took the elevator to the sixth floor. As she made her way down the carpeted corridor, she could see outside through the large windows that lined the hallway. It was a dull, drizzly May day. Typical for this time of year. Veteran Seattleites knew that while they might get a few nice days during the summer months, the early fall was when the true beauty of the Pacific Northwest was revealed. But even the dismal weather could not dampen her mood.