Some Like It Hot (13 page)

What they really needed was a location where a number of vehicles wouldn’t seem out of place. Someplace like...

Oh.
Harper snapped upright. “That just might work,” she murmured. “It might actually be perfect, in fact.” Glancing at her watch, she smiled. She had almost an hour and a half before her yoga class. She grabbed her keys and started for the door.

* * *

I
T
SEEMED
LIKE
mere minutes later that she was letting herself into the reception room fronting Mary-Margaret’s office. She’d barely crossed the threshold, however, before she realized no one was around. About-facing, she headed down to the building where the kids spent a great deal of their indoor time. She’d been coming out here enough to understand that where the kids were, Mary-Margaret was likely to be found nearby.

When she reached the game room, she poked her head in and asked the boys inside if anyone had seen the director. Moments later, following their directions, she turned right where her corridor intersected another. Her gaze was on the open door of an office at the end of the hall when she heard a boy’s mumble, then Max’s deep voice, coming from within the room she’d just passed. She came to a halt, her heart inexplicably picking up its pace.

All right, so maybe there was no real mystery to the sudden
thud-thud-thud
against her rib cage. God knew she was seriously attracted to the big deputy. She took several slow steps backward.

And heard Max say in his brusque, matter-of-fact way, “You don’t have a damn thing to apologize for, and you’re sure as hell no baby. You lost your mom, kid. Of course you’re gonna cry sometimes.”

Peering through the barely cracked open door, all she could see of Max was his big hand rubbing slow circles on the seated teen’s back. Nathan, an anger management kid who was having a tough go of his therapy, sat slumped over a wooden worktable, his head buried in the arms he’d crossed atop it. As she watched, the teen lifted his head. He turned it in Max’s direction and through the gap between door and lintel, she saw wet silvery streaks of tears down his cheeks.

“I miss her so much,” he said, and the crack in his voice raised tears to her own eyes.

“Hell, yeah.” Max’s hand lifted from the boy’s back to give Nathan’s hair a rough stroke from crown to nape, which he gave a squeeze before dropping his hand. “I bet you do. It’s only been—what?—two months since she died?”

Voice stronger—and harder—the teen snapped, “Tell that to my old man. He thinks it’s time I snapped out of it. Started actin’ like a
man.
”

Harper watched the boy’s jaw jut out rebelliously. From the set of his shoulders, however, it was fairly clear he was braced for either condemnation or we-must-learn-to-get-along therapistlike advice.

“He’s an idiot.”

“Yeah, well,
you
try living with hi—” Cutting himself off, Nathan stared up at Max, and Harper wished she could see whatever he saw, but Max was behind the solid panel of the door. “What?”

“I know I probably shouldn’t say that, because I’m pretty sure the counselors would have my head for dissing someone else’s parent. But your dad is wrong if he thinks he can dictate the timetable for anyone’s grieving process but his own.”

“If he’s even grieving at all,” Nathan muttered.

There was a beat of silence, then Max said, “Were your folks divorced?”

The boy shook his head.

“Separated or fighting all the time?”

“No, man. I thought they were solid.” He pushed back from the table and sat back. “That’s why I’m so pissed at him. If they were okay, how can he just—I don’t know—bounce back so damn fast?”

“I don’t know your father, but I do know that everyone handles death differently. If your parents seemed solid, they likely were. Trust me, even if your folks were trying to hide it, you’d have known it if something was off. So maybe trying to move on is just the way he deals, and he thinks it will work for you, too. Or maybe he was raised to suck it up when it comes to emotions.”

“Yeah.” Nathan shifted forward. “My grandpa is a total hard-ass.”

“So maybe you should ask your counselor to help you to talk to your dad about the way you feel about losing your mother.”

Harper so wanted to jump in to tell the teen about the way she had felt when her father died. To share the gulf that had lain between her and her mother ever since his death.

But this wasn’t about her, and not only would he likely be mortified to learn she knew he’d cried, but it wasn’t as if she had a solution to impart. Much as she loved her mother, they were still worlds apart.

So, blowing out a soft breath, she tiptoed past the door once again and went to find Mary-Margaret.

But remembering the comment the director had made the day they met about how the boys related to Max because of his rough childhood, and the certainty in Max’s voice just now when he’d told Nathan that kids recognized dysfunction within their family, she made a promise to herself.

First opportunity she got, she was totally asking Max to tell her more about himself.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

D
AYS
LATER
,
WHILE
telling Mary-Margaret about the discounts she’d negotiated for the Village with several more Razor Bay retailers, it occurred to Harper that her mother hadn’t called to break the news that their grant application had been approved.

She couldn’t believe she’d forgotten to follow up on it. During her first two visits to the compound after giving her mom the go-ahead, she’d fully expected to hear the news and share in the excitement. But that hadn’t happened, and somehow, between one thing and another, it had drifted from her mind.

Clearly, Mary-Margaret had yet to hear. If she had, Harper was pretty darn sure every employee and volunteer at the Village would’ve spread the news by now.

Pulling her phone from her purse as soon as she entered the parking lot a short while later, she called the foundation.

Her mother’s assistant put her on hold. Unlocking her car, she threw her purse on the passenger seat and was leaning against the car when Gina finally picked up. “Hey, darling. Sorry to keep you waiting.”

Harper had been raised from the cradle to always,
always
be polite and diplomatic. And still she heard herself demand, “What the hell, Mom? You haven’t told Cedar Village yet that we approved their application? You said you’d call them the day after we talked!”

Silence throbbed in her ear long enough for her to reconsider her words and the inflection with which she’d spoken them. Then her mother’s voice, several degrees cooler than it had been an instant ago, said, “Your Grandmama Summerville would spin in her grave to hear that tone in your voice, young lady.”

“I’m sorry.” Well, she was...and she wasn’t. For a generously sized part of her didn’t feel at all apologetic.
It
merely muttered rebelliously.

“I’m sorry, as well,” Gina Summerville-Hardin said with a quiet graciousness that chafed Harper’s conscience. “When you called that night I was in bed. I’m afraid it quite slipped my mind by morning.”

Harper’s well-taught manners clapped their flippers together like the trained seals they were, barking their longing to apologize yet again.
Your turn,
they yapped.
Tell her you’re sorry that she’s sorry. Abjectly distressed that you distressed her. Full of remorse regarding Grandmama’s grave whirling.

Yet beneath that impulse lurked Bad Harper, and she had to fight that bitch to a standstill to bite back the words crowding her throat. Bad Harper cared for neither her mother’s nor Dead Grandmama’s concerns.
She
wanted nothing more than to snap, “Hey, it’s hardly as though I woke you from a sound sleep that night. Weren’t you the one who told me you were reading? And since when have you forgotten a single thing to do with the foundation?”

She was disconcerted to realize that she didn’t quite believe her mother was telling the truth. Still, what was she going to do, call the very dignified, very upstanding Gina Summerville-Hardin a
liar?

“Hey, there,” a deep voice suddenly drawled behind her, and Harper barely stifled a guilty start. She wasn’t fast enough to prevent herself from instinctively hunching a shoulder against him to mutter hastily into the phone, “I have to go.” Her heart slammed against the wall of her chest—more with guilt than the usual surge of lust she felt whenever she saw him.

“Is that Deputy Bradshaw?” her mother demanded, but Harper disconnected without replying. Sliding her phone into her purse, she turned to Max.

“Hey,” she said so cheerfully it was all she could do not to wince. She could only hope that it didn’t sound as falsely perky to him as it did to her. If the piercing inspection he subjected her to with those all-seeing eyes was anything to go by, however, that was probably a futile wish.

But when all else failed, deflect—that was her shiny new motto. And an idea she’d been turning over in her mind since seeing all the junk food in his cupboards suddenly solidified. “When’s your next night off?” she asked.

“Wednesday.” He stepped closer. Heat radiated from his body as he plucked one of her curls between his thumb and fingers and pulled it straight, his mouth quirking when he released it and it immediately sprang back into its original spiral. Then he raised his gaze to meet her eyes, his own dark and intense. “Why? You wanna go on a date?”

She blinked, startled. “Oh, God. I haven’t been on one of those since—” She shook her head “I can’t even remember when.” If the warmth spreading through her veins was anything to go by, however, her body was all over the idea. “Still, I suppose that’s what it would be—since I want to make you dinner.”

He stilled for a second, then gave her a crooked little smile. “Yeah?”

“Yes. A
nutritional
dinner that will taste so good it’ll knock your socks off and maybe change your world—or at least your way of eating. I’d have to cook it at your place, though—all I have in my cottage is a hot plate, fridgie and a micro. But I’d provide everything.”

He shook his head. “I don’t know what it is with everyone and my diet, but I’ll tell you what. You bring the food. I’ll buy the wine. Red or white?”

Yes!
She eased out the breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding. “Do you like fish?”

“I like cod, halibut and salmon. I’m sure there’s others, but I’ve only had those three.”

“Then make it a Pinot Grigio or a Riesling. Or if you prefer red, maybe a Pinot Noir.”

“I prefer a good Bud.”

Her brow wrinkled. “You smoke
marijuana?
” For all that her voice practically cracked on the word, she wouldn’t have been shocked if she’d heard anyone else was smoking it. But
Max?
She was sure as hell stunned at the idea of him doing so. He was the ultimate Mr. Law and Order.

He let loose one of his rare laughs, a deep, loud boom of sheer enjoyment that wrapped around her along with the hard, hot-skinned arm he snaked out to circle her shoulders. Hauling her to his side, he gave her a bone-cracking hug.

Then he turned her loose and grinned down at her, all white flashing teeth and good humor. “I’m talking Budweiser beer, honey. The department frowns on its upholders of the law smoking weed.”

Heat climbed her cheeks. “I knew that.”

He laughed again. “Uh-huh. You stick with that.” He grazed her cheekbone with the pad of his thumb. “You’re such a convincing liar.”

“Funny guy.” She stepped back. Made a production of checking her watch. “I have to run. I have a Kickerama for preschoolers scheduled in half an hour.”

“What the hell is a Kickerama? No, wait.” He looked at his own watch. “You’ll have to tell me Wednesday night. I’m starting a shift soon, and want to grab a shower before I clock in.” He stepped close again and looked down at her. “So, I’ll see you then, right?”

“Absolutely. I have to check my schedule, but if anything interferes I’ll talk to Jenny about getting someone to fill in for me. So, say, six o’clock?”

“Sounds good to me.”

To her, as well. But recalling his silly, and specious, no-sex-until-marriage rule—and, okay, maybe to get a little of her own back for the dumb marijuana misunderstanding—she paused at the door to shoot him a look over her shoulder. “In the spirit of full disclosure, I should tell you that I’m not doing this strictly from the goodness of my heart.”

His thick level brows arched. “No?”

“
Heck,
no. I have big plans for you.”

“Yeah?” He stepped back into her space, his dark-eyed gaze skimming her gauzy blouse and cargo shorts as if it possessed X-ray vision. “Tell me.”

“Well, you do understand that when a girl goes to all this trouble for a guy, she expects a little something in return, right?”

“A little something like, what? We’re not talking engagement ring, are we? Because that’s kind of a steep price for a good meal.”

“No!” Okay, maybe that came out a bit strident. But just the idea of something so...permanent sparked tiny flares of panic. If her father’s death had taught her nothing else, it had taught her that you stop moving, you die.

Then she got a grip, because really, like he was
serious?
Clearing her throat, she said lightly, “That is, you think? It’s our first date, Bradshaw. Althoooough...” Dragging the word out, she blinked up at him in faux innocence. “It’s gonna be a very
good
meal.”

He snorted. “What are we talkin’, then? You gonna make me sing for my supper?”

“Do you have a good voice?” she demanded as if that were an actual consideration, but didn’t await an answer. “Actually, I have something in mind that I’m ninety-nine percent sure you are good at.”

Max twirled a lazy hand as if to say, “So let’s hear it, already.”

“My apologies if I’m holding you up,” she said loftily. “I didn’t mean to turn this into such a production.”

“And yet here I stand, still clueless as to what it is you want for this allegedly fine meal.”

“Fine.” She sighed. “If you’re going to be all say-your-piece-and-get-out-of-my-way about it, I thought you’d be so overcome with gratitude after eating a delicious meal that’s actually—and I know this is a radical concept—
good
for you that you’d...put out.”

His big frame froze, and Harper saw the arrested look that leaped in his eyes before he slowly lowered his thickly lashed lids to block it from sight.

When in the next instant they rose again, his look was hotter than hell. So blistering, in fact, that she almost took a step back.

But his sage nod and dry “Ah.
Screw
for my supper, then” nailed her in place.

“I wouldn’t have put it quite so crudely,” she murmured. “And of course you don’t have to do anything that makes you uncomfortable.” She allowed her gaze to slide down the black T-shirt that hugged his muscular shoulders and the hard curves of his biceps, skimmed his pectorals, then hung straight to the fly of his jeans.

When her gaze reached the latter, she sucked in a breath at the hard length pressing against the worn denim. Okay, clearly he wasn’t
that
discomfited by the idea. She looked back into his eyes.

“And, as I said, it will be a
very
good meal.” Then she waved a hand. “But I repeat myself. The bottom line is that come Wednesday night? We play it
my
way.” She wanted him. He wanted her. It was past time they moved things to the next level.

Besides, that was a pretty dandy exit line. Shooting him a final sultry glance over her shoulder, she sauntered out the door.

* * *

W
HAT
ON
EARTH
were you thinking?
she demanded the following Wednesday evening as she climbed Max’s front porch and tapped the door with a sandal-clad foot, because her arms were full of groceries. Talk about putting pressure on both of them.
God, Harper. You couldn’t just spring a seduction on him instead of setting up all kinds of crazy expectations?

The door opened, and her heart, which had begun tripping with performance anxiety, quieted at Max’s easy posture.

“Hey there,” he said, as if he didn’t expect anything at all. His shoulders were relaxed and his gaze steady as he smiled at her, reaching for the two sacks she hugged to her chest. “Let me take those.” Big, competent hands reached out to relieve her of her burden, then he stepped back. “C’mon in. I’ve been looking forward to being wowed by your cooking all week.”

“I’ve been looking forward to it, myself,” she said as he ushered her into the kitchen. “I like to cook, but since I’m hardly ever home I rarely get the opportunity.” She’d been exhausted after her last job, all the coming and going and living out of a suitcase finally catching up with her. Part of the appeal of taking the job at the inn had been that she would have more than two full months in one spot instead of the usual in and out in a week. She’d needed a break.

Max dumped her groceries on the plywood counter at the same time that Harper squared her shoulders defensively. It wasn’t like she was settling down or anything. Once she caught her breath, she’d be more than ready to go back to her travels.

“What do we have here?” Max started pulling items out of the sacks. “Salmon, romaine, tomatoes, butter, lemon, balsamic vinegar.” His brows drew together as he held up a produce bag of purple-veined green leaves. “What is this?”

“Swiss chard.”

“Huh.” He gave her an I’ll-try-it look but the last thing Max could be called was a prevaricator, so his doubt about actually liking it came through loud and clear.

She patted his forearm. She’d intended it as a there-there gesture, but the heat saturating her palm and crisp hair tickling it made her abort that mission. She pulled her hand back. Good God.
Down, girl.

She cleared her throat. “I think you’ll like it,” she assured him. “But don’t worry. I brought some fresh peas as well, just in case.”

“At least I know what those are,” he said with a self-deprecating shrug and an off-kilter little half smile. Circling the plywood counter, he hauled a stool up to it to perch a hip against its seat and braced one foot on its crossbar, the other against the floor. “I gotta watch and see how you do this. You want a glass of wine?”

“That would be lovely.”

He flashed her a smile so full-blooded she blinked. “What?” she demanded.

“‘Lovely.’” He shook his head. “I love the way you talk.” He plucked a wine bottle off the end of the counter and presented it to her. “This okay? Mary Bean at the General Store recommended it.”

Her hands full of ingredients, Harper leaned in to read the label. “Oh, that’s a nice one.”

“Good. She sold me some wineglasses as well, so you don’t have to drink it out of a Wile E. Coyote jelly jar.” Leaning over the counter, he retrieved a corkscrew from the work surface beneath it, then sat back and went to work on opening the bottle.

Harper watched his hands, large, rough-skinned and competent. They were a bit nicked up and wouldn’t have looked out of place on a carpenter, which come to think of it, considering all the work he’d done on his house, he was. She had the impression he could do just about anything. His hands were übermasculine, yet deft as a sommelier’s as he dealt with the cork.