Natural Born Charmer (8 page)

Blue flinched. She couldn’t imagine blasting her mother with the f-word, no matter how angry she got. But then, her mother was impervious to verbal attacks.

This woman wasn’t. The bangles slipped on her wrist and a trio of delicate silver rings caught the light as she touched her throat. Long seconds ticked by. She turned away and went inside without a word.

The dazzling charm Dean employed so skillfully was gone. He
looked stony and remote. She understood his need to withdraw, but now wasn’t the time for it. “If I were a lesbian,” she said to break the tension, “I would totally go for her.”

The shuttered look vanished and outrage took its place. “Thanks for nothing.”

“I’m just being honest. And I thought
my
mother drew a lot of attention.”

“How do you know she’s my mother? Did she tell you?”

“No, but the resemblance is hard to miss, although she must have been twelve when she had you.”

“A skin-deep resemblance, that’s for damn sure.” He mounted the steps and headed for the front door.

“Dean…”

But he was already gone.

Blue didn’t share her mother’s intolerance for violence—witness her recent contretemps with Monty—but the idea of that exotic creature with the wounded eyes being its victim bothered her, and she followed him into the house.

Evidence of the renovation was everywhere. A staircase with an unfinished banister rose on the right, along with a wide, plastic-draped opening that must lead to the house’s primary living area. On her left, beyond a pair of sawhorses, lay the dining room. The smell of fresh paint and new wood permeated everything, but Dean was too intent on finding his mother to check out the changes.

“Believe me,” Blue said, “I understand what it’s like to have serious maternal issues, but you’re not in the best state of mind to deal with this. Maybe we should talk it through first?”

“Let’s not.” Shoving aside the plastic, he peered into the living room only to hear footsteps overhead. He headed for the stairs.

She had more than enough trouble of her own, but instead of letting him go, she stayed at his heels. “I’m just saying that I think you need to give yourself a little time to cool off before you confront her.”

“Beat it.”

He’d already reached the top with Blue only a few steps behind. The smell of paint was stronger up here. She peered around his broad back into the big, irregularly shaped hallway. All the doors were missing, but, unlike the downstairs, this area had been painted, new electrical sockets waited for sconces, and the old wide-plank floors gleamed. Just past Dean’s shoulder, Blue glimpsed a bathroom that had been carefully restored with white honeycomb tile, freshly painted tongue-and-groove wainscoting, an antique medicine cabinet, and pewter fixtures.

His mother emerged from a bend in the hallway, a slouchy metallic tote stuffed with papers in her hand. “I’m not sorry.” She met his eyes defiantly. “I’ve worked harder than any real housekeeper.”

“I want you out of here,” he said in a cold steel voice that made Blue flinch.

“As soon as I get everything organized.”

“Now.” He moved deeper into the hallway. “This is bullshit, even for you.”

“I’ve done a good job.”

“Pack up.”

“I can’t go now. Tomorrow, the men are coming with the kitchen countertops. I have electricians showing up and painters. Nothing will be done right if I’m not here.”

“I’ll risk it,” he snapped.

“Dean, don’t be stupid. I’m staying at the tenant’s cottage. You won’t even know I’m around.”

“You couldn’t be invisible if you tried. Now get your crap together and get out of here.” He brushed past Blue and headed downstairs.

The woman stared at his retreating back. Her head came up, her shoulders straightened, but then her weight seemed too much for her. The tote dropped from her fingers. She bent down to pick it up, then sat on the floor instead, her spine pressed to the wall. She didn’t do
anything as dramatic as bursting into tears, but she looked so sad that Blue’s heart went out to her.

The woman bent her knees and wrapped her arms around them, the silver rings showing off her slender fingers. “I wanted…to make a home for him. Just once.”

Blue’s own mother would never have thought of anything like that. Virginia Bailey understood nuclear disarmament treaties and international trade agreements, but she knew nothing of homemaking. “Don’t you think he’s a little old?” Blue said softly.

“Yes. Too old.” The long blunt ends of her hair fell over the crocheted whirls of her camisole. “I’m not a horrible person. Not now.”

“You don’t seem horrible.”

“You probably think I shouldn’t have done this, but, as you can see, I didn’t have anything to lose.”

“Still, hiding your identity probably wasn’t the best way to manage a reconciliation. If that’s what you’re looking for.”

The woman drew her knees closer to her chest. “It’s too late for that. I just wanted to fix up this place for him, then get away before he figured out I was his Mrs. O’Hara.” With a self-conscious laugh, she lifted her head. “I’m April Robillard. I haven’t even introduced myself. This must be embarrassing to you.”

“Not as much as it should be. I have an unhealthy curiosity about other people’s business.” She noticed a little color returning to April’s pale cheeks, so she kept talking. “I don’t actually buy the tabloids, but if I walk into a Laundromat and see one lying around, I’ll dive over a row of washers to get to it.”

April gave a shaky laugh. “There’s a certain fascination in reading about other peoples’ screwups, isn’t there?”

Blue smiled. “Would you like me to get you something? A cup of tea? A drink?”

“Would you…just sit with me for a minute? I miss being around women. The men who work here are great, but they’re men.”

Blue had a feeling April didn’t easily ask for help. She understood all about that. The smell of fresh lumber drifted up the stairs as she sat on the floor across from April and searched for a neutral topic. “I like what you’ve done.”

“I tried to make the renovations fit the bones of the house. He’s so restless. I wanted him to be able to relax here.” She gave a choked laugh. “I guess tonight wasn’t the best way to get a start on that.”

“He seems pretty high maintenance.”

“He gets it from me.”

Blue ran her hand over the worn, polished floorboards. In the sunlight, they’d gleam like honey. “You’ve accomplished a lot.”

“I’ve loved doing it. You should have seen what it looked like when I got here.”

“Tell me about it,” Blue said.

April described what she’d found when she arrived and the changes she’d made. As she spoke, her love for the house shone through. “We’re further along up here than downstairs. All the beds have been set up, but there’s not much else. I was planning to attend some estate sales soon to supplement the furniture he’s already ordered.”

“Where are the doors?”

“Being stripped and refinished. I couldn’t stand the idea of putting in new ones.”

Downstairs, the front door opened. April’s expression clouded, and she quickly rose to her feet. Blue needed to leave them alone, so she stood, too.

“I have to call the contractor,” April said as Dean came up the stairs.

“Don’t bother. I’ll figure it out.”

April’s jaw set. “Spoken like someone who’s never renovated a house.”

“I think I can handle it,” he said tightly. “If I have any questions, I’ll be sure to send you an e-mail.”

“I need at least a week to get everything organized before I can leave.”

“Forget it. I want you out of here tomorrow.” He propped his foot on the top step, blocking Blue’s exit point. He stared coldly at his mother. “I made a reservation for you at the Hermitage in Nashville. If you’d like to stay there a few extra days, put it on my tab.”

“I can’t leave that fast. There’s too much going on.”

“You’ll have tonight to get organized.” He deliberately turned his back on her so he could inspect the bathroom.

The first hint of entreaty came into April’s voice. “I can’t walk away from this job, Dean. Not when I have so much invested in it.”

“Hey, you’re good at walking away. Remember how it was? The Stones arrived in the States. You were gone. Van Halen played Madison Square Garden. Hello, Big Apple. Be out of here by tomorrow night.”

Blue watched April lift her chin. She was a tall woman. Even so, she had to look up at him. “I don’t like to drive at night.”

“You used to tell me that night was the best time to be on the road.”

“Yeah, but I was stoned then.”

Her response was so in-your-face that Blue couldn’t help feeling at least a little admiration.

“The good old days.” A corner of Dean’s mouth curled unpleasantly, and he headed back down the steps.

April followed him, addressing the back of his neck, her show of rebellion fading. “A week, Dean. Is that too much to ask?”

“We don’t ask things from each other, remember? Hell, of course you remember. You’re the one who taught me that.”

“Just…let me finish here.”

Blue watched from the top of the stairs as April reached for his arm, only to draw back before she touched him. The fact that she couldn’t touch her own son struck Blue as sad beyond words.

“The tenant’s cottage is out of sight of the house.” April stepped
in front of him, forcing him to acknowledge her. “I’ll be with the workmen during the day. I’ll stay out of your way. Please.” Her chin came up again. “This…means a lot to me.”

Dean was unmoved by her pleas. “If you need money, I’ll write you a check.”

April’s nostrils flared. “You know I don’t need money.”

“Then I guess we don’t have anything more to say to each other.”

April finally realized she’d been beaten and pushed her trembling hands in the pockets of her jeans. “Sure. Enjoy the place.”

Blue couldn’t bear watching April’s heartbreaking attempt to hold on to her dignity. Even as she told herself this wasn’t her affair, the unplanned, ill-advised words came spilling out.

“Dean, your mother is dying.”

April’s lips parted in shock. Dean stiffened.
“What are you talking about?”

Blue had sort of meant it figuratively—that April was dying inside—but Dean didn’t seem to be in a figurative turn of mind. She never should have spoken. But, honestly, how could things get any worse?

She came slowly down the stairs. “Your mother—The, uh, doctors—” She tried to put it together. “There’s this hole in her heart. Your mother’s dying, but she doesn’t want you to know.”

April’s blue-gray eyes widened.

Blue reached the bottom and curled her fingers around the banister. Okay, so maybe she’d gone a tiny bit overboard, but when it came to maternal relationships, she was too screwed up to be held accountable.

Dean’s complexion had grown ashen. He gazed at his mother. “Is this true?”

April’s lips moved, but no sound came out. Blue’s grip on the rail tightened. Finally, April’s throat muscles began to work, and she swallowed. “It…might not be fatal.”

“But the doctors aren’t making any promises,” Blue said quickly.

Dean shot Blue a hard look. “How do you know about this?”

How indeed? “I don’t think your mother meant to tell me, but she had sort of a…ini-breakdown up here.”

April took offense. “I
didn’t
have a breakdown. Mini or not. I just…dropped my defenses for a second.”

Blue regarded her sadly. “So brave.”

April shot her a lethal glare. “I don’t want to talk about this, and I’d appreciate it if
you
didn’t talk about it, either.”

“I apologize for breaking your confidence, but it seemed cruel not to tell him.”

“It’s not his problem,” April shot back.

If Blue had harbored any hope that Dean would instantly take his mother in his arms and tell her the time had come to work out their differences, he quickly disillusioned her by stalking out the front door. As his footsteps faded, Blue fixed a chipper expression on her face. “I think that went well, don’t you? All things considered.”

April did everything but lunge for her throat. “You’re a lunatic!”

Blue took a quick step backward. “Yet you’re still here.”

April threw up her hands, bangles jingling, rings flashing. “You’ve made everything worse.”

“Frankly, it didn’t look like things could get much worse. But then, I’m not the one with a hotel reservation in Nashville tomorrow night, so I might be missing something.”

The Vanquish’s engine roared to life, and the tires spun in the gravel. Some of the fire left April. “He’s going out to celebrate. Free drinks for everybody in the bar.”

“And I thought I had a twisted relationship with my mother.”

April’s eyes narrowed. “Who are you, anyway?”

Blue hated questions like this. Virginia would have answered that she was a child of God, but Blue doubted the Almighty was all that anxious to claim Virginia’s daughter right now. And explaining about Monty and the beaver costume wouldn’t exactly be putting her best
foot forward. Fortunately, April had come up with her own explanation.

“Never mind. My son’s effect on women is legendary.”

“I’m a painter.”

Her eyes swept from Blue’s untidy ponytail to her scuffed black motorcycle boots. “You’re not his usual type of girlfriend.”

“Once again, my three-digit IQ separates me from the pack.”

April sank down on the next to last step. “What the hell am I going to do now?”

“Maybe you could try to reconcile with your son while you wait for the results from your latest round of tests. Considering the amazing strides doctors have made treating heart disease, I’m fairly confident you’ll get good news.”

“It was a rhetorical question,” April said dryly.

“Only a suggestion.”

April set off for the tenant’s cottage shortly after, and Blue wandered through the quiet, dusty rooms. Even the home’s renovated kitchen couldn’t cheer her up. No matter how pure her motivation, she had no business indulging her fairy godmother fantasy when it came to other people’s family messes.

By nightfall, Dean still hadn’t returned. As darkness settled around the house, Blue made the unpleasant discovery that only the kitchen and bathrooms had any working light fixtures. She sincerely hoped Dean returned soon because the house, so cozy a few hours earlier, had grown eerie. The plastic hanging over the doorways crackled like dry bones. The old floors creaked. Since there were no doors, she didn’t have the option of locking herself in a bedroom, and with no car, she couldn’t even drive into town and hang out at a convenience store. She was stuck. There was nothing to do but go to sleep.

She wished she’d made up a bed while she could still see. She fumbled around in the dark, feeling her way along the dining room
chair rail to get to the trouble light the carpenters had left coiled in the corner. Ominous shadows leaped up the dining room walls as she flicked it on. She unplugged it and crept upstairs, holding on to the banister while the long yellow power cord dragged behind her like a tail.

Five bedrooms opened off the hallway’s nooks and crannies, but only one had a private bath with a working light fixture. By the time she reached it, she was so jumpy from the grotesque shadows shooting across the walls that she couldn’t go any farther. True, only a few faint threads of illumination spilled from the bathroom, but it was better than nothing. She propped the trouble light in a corner and unpacked the linens stacked on the mattress. The new, queen-size sleigh bed had a curving cherry headboard but no footboard. The bed, along with a matching triple dresser, were the only pieces of furniture. Six bare windows watched her like staring eyes with a big stone fireplace forming a gaping mouth.

She pushed the stepladder the painter had left in the hallway in front of the door to let Dean know this room was already occupied for the night. The ladder would hardly keep him out if he decided he wanted to come in, but why should he? After the earthshaking news he’d received about his mother, he’d hardly be in the mood for seduction.

She carried the trouble light into the small bathroom and washed her face. Since Dean had driven off with her stuff, she had to brush her teeth with her finger. She pulled her bra through the armhole of her T-shirt and kicked off her boots but left everything else on in case she needed to flee the house screaming. She wasn’t a jumpy person when it came to dealing with urban boogeymen, but she was out of her element here, and she took the trouble light with her as she slipped into bed. Only after she’d settled in did she turn it off and stick it under the covers where she could get to it quickly.

A branch rubbed the side of the house. Something rustled in the
chimney. She imagined bats lining up for a 5K through the house.
Where was Dean? And why couldn’t this place have some doors?

She wished she’d gone to the cottage with April, but she hadn’t been invited. Maybe Blue had been a little heavy-handed, but at least she’d bought Dean’s mother some time, which was more than April had been able to do for herself. The helplessness of the naturally beautiful.

Blue tried to concentrate on being ill-used, but she wasn’t good at lying to herself. She’d interfered with something she should have left alone. On the bright side, dealing with other people’s troubles had distracted her from worrying about her own.

A floorboard creaked. The chimney moaned. She curled her fingers around the handle of the trouble light and stared at the gaping doorway.

Minutes ticked away.

Gradually, her fingers relaxed, and she fell into a restless sleep.

An ominously creaking floorboard jolted her awake. Her eyes shot open to see a menacing shape looming over her. Her hand convulsed around the trouble light. She yanked it from under the covers and swung.

“Shit!”
A familiar masculine bellow pierced the night quiet.

Her fingers found the switch. Miraculously the bulb in the plastic cage hadn’t broken, and harsh light flooded the room. A very angry multimillionaire quarterback hovered above her. He was bare-chested, furious, and rubbing his arm just above the elbow. “What the
hell
do you think you’re doing?”

She shot up in the pillows, trouble light clutched high. “Me? You creep in here—”

“It’s
my
house. I swear to God, if you screwed up my passing arm…”

“I had the door blocked! How could you sneak up on me like that?”

“Sneak? You had this place lit up like a frickin’ Christmas tree.”

She wasn’t stupid enough to mention the jumping shadows and staring windows. “Only two measly bathroom lights.”

“Plus the kitchen.” He whipped the trouble light from her hands. “Give me that and stop being a chickenshit.”

“Easy for you to say. You weren’t attacked when you were sound asleep.”

“I didn’t attack you.” He flicked off the light, plunging the room into darkness. The insensitive jerk had even turned off the bathroom light.

She heard the whoosh of sliding denim as he pulled off his jeans. She went up on her knees. “You’re not sleeping here.”

“It’s my room, and this is the only bed with sheets.”

“A bed I’m already occupying.”

“And now you have company.” He crawled in.

She took a deep breath and reminded herself he had too big an ego to attack her. If she scrambled around in the dark for another place to sleep, she’d look like a wuss.
Show no weakness.
“You stay on your side,” she warned him, “or you won’t like the consequences.”

“Going to hit me with your tuffet, Miss Muffet?”

She had no idea what he was talking about.

The smell of toothpaste, skin, and the leather upholstery of a very expensive car drifted toward her. He should have smelled like liquor. A grief-stricken man coming home at two o’clock in the morning should be drunk. His bare leg brushed her thigh. She stiffened.

“Why do you have your jeans on?” he said.

“Because my luggage was in your car.”

“Yeah, right. You kept them on because you were afraid the boogeyman would get you. What a chickenshit.”

“Sticks and stones.”

“That’s mature.”

“Like you’re not all about seventh grade,” she retorted.

“At least I don’t have to sleep with the lights on.”

“You might have second thoughts about that when the bats start flying out of the chimney.”

“Bats?” He grew still.

“A colony.”

“You’re a bat expert?”

“I heard them rustling around. Making bat noises.”

“I don’t believe you.” He was a crossways bed sleeper, and his knee poked her calf. Unaccountably, she’d begun to relax.

“I might as well sleep with a damn mummy,” he grumbled.

“They’re staying on.”

“Don’t think I couldn’t get them off you if I put my mind to it. Thirty seconds max, and they’d be gone. Unfortunately for you, I’m off my game tonight.”

He shouldn’t be thinking about sex when his mother was dying. Her opinion of him plummeted. “Shut up and go to sleep.”

“Your loss.”

The wind picked up outside. A friendly branch tapped at the window. As his breathing grew deep and regular, slivers of moonlight crept across the old wooden floors, and the chimney gave a contented sigh. He stayed on his side of the bed. She stayed on hers.

For a while…

In a house with almost no doors, a door banged. Blue’s eyes inched open, disturbing the most delicious, erotic dream. Threads of gray light had crept into the room, and she let her eyes slip shut again, trying to reclaim the feeling of long fingers curling around her breast…a hand nuzzling inside her jeans….

Another door banged. Something hard pressed against her hip. Her eyes sprang open. A gravely voice near her ear muttered an obscenity, a hand that didn’t belong to her cupped her breast, and an
other pressed inside her jeans. A rush of alarm brought her fully awake. This was no dream.

“The carpenters are here,” a woman said from not all that far away. “If you don’t want company, you’d better get up.”

Blue shoved at Dean’s arm, but he took his time extricating himself from her clothes. “What time is it?”

“Seven,” April replied.

Blue yanked her shirt down and buried her face in the pillow. This hadn’t been part of her plan to stay ahead of him.

“It’s the middle of the night,” he protested.

“Not for a construction crew,” April replied. “Good morning, Blue. Coffee and doughnuts downstairs.” Blue rolled over and gave a weak wave. April waved back and disappeared.

“This sucks,” he muttered. And then he yawned. Blue didn’t like that. The least he could do was express a little sexual frustration.

She realized she hadn’t entirely shaken off the aftereffects of her dream. “Pervert.” She threw herself out of bed. She absolutely couldn’t let herself be turned on by this man, not even in her sleep.

“You’re a liar,” he said from behind her.

She looked back. “What are you talking about?”

The covers fell to his waist as he sat up, and sunlight from the bare windows skipped across his biceps, gilding the hair on his chest. He rubbed his bad shoulder. “You told me you had, quote, ‘no boobs.’ Turns out, you were dead wrong about that.”

She wasn’t awake enough for a good comeback, so she glared at him and stalked into the bathroom, where she turned both faucets on full force for privacy. When she emerged, she found him standing in front of an expensive suitcase he’d set on the bed. He was wearing only a pair of navy knit boxers. She stumbled, silently cursed herself, then pretended she’d done it on purpose. “For the love of God, warn me next time. I think I’m having a heart attack.”

He glanced over his shoulder, blasting her with all his stubbled, rumpled glory. “From what?”

“You look like an ad for gay porn.”

“You look like a national disaster.”

“Exactly why I have dibs on that shower.” She headed for her grungy duffel, which he’d deposited in the corner. She unzipped it and rummaged for clean clothes. “I don’t suppose you’d stand guard in the hall while I clean up?”