A Woman To Blame (4 page)

"Change?" Shoving his sunglasses into his shirt pocket, he rested his hands on his hips and lifted his chin toward her. "Except for a few minor repairs, there wasn't a need for this much change. This is a local bar, for locals. Friends. Real people."

"I have no problem with that. They'll be more than welcome at Chez Madison," she said, folding her arms as she backed up and bumped into the butcher block. "As long as they don't insist on a bucket of peanuts for an appetizer."

"Look," he said, his voice searching for a reasoning tone. The muscles of his jaw twitched with effort. "I know these people and I know Pappy. I think you ought to stop all of this remodeling business and wait until Pappy sees how far overboard you've gone."

"Pappy knows what I have in mind. What I want to know is, how does this concern you?"

"I'll tell you how," he said, tapping his chest with his fingertips. "Anything that happens on Malabar Key is my business." Striding to the opposite side of the butcher block, he leaned over it toward her. "Lady, wake up. People here don't want or need a formal, fancy-ass fern grotto with an unpronounceable menu, expensive wine list, or," he said, taking a folded napkin from the basket, "these toy sailboats, for crissakes."

She tugged the napkin from his hand. "This one is not a sailboat."

"Well, pardon me. A bird."

"It's a bishop's hat. But more importantly, it's made of cloth and has no dirty limericks printed on it." She made a face to lighten the tension, but he wasn't nibbling. Sighing audibly, she allowed a frown to replace her attempt at humor. "Can't you give Chez Madison a chance? I'm not closing the place, I'm simply giving it style."

"Pappy's Crab Shack had style," he said dryly.

"Well, now it will have a different style," she said as evenly as she could manage. "This key needs an upscale restaurant, and not only for the pleasure it will bring to the people living here. It's bound to attract tourists, seasonal residents, and perhaps locals from some of the other keys."

"More outsiders are not what we need around here."

"If it brings prosperity—"

"That remark just goes to show how little you know about this community. If people were interested in that kind of prosperity, they'd have sold their land to developers long before now."

"What is it specifically that bothers you about my changes?"

Rick shook his head. "Can't you see? You're setting up a situation here that Pappy won't be able to handle. He's an old man. He and his staff can boil crabs, tap a keg, and shoot the breeze. And that's about it, Bryn. Don't you care that you're going to set up this place, then leave him with more than he can handle?"

He'd sneered at her plans. He'd insulted her common sense. He'd even managed to steer her thoughts close to libidinous mutiny. But he wasn't going to get away with questioning her love for her grandfather.

"I would never do that to that dear man. I love him too much to ever allow such a catastrophe to happen."

"I'm not saying you don't love Pappy. You're simply not thinking this through from his angle." Pointing at her, he said, "And don't tell me you care about Malabar Key or its people, because you've already proved to me that you know nothing about them. There's a way of life here worth maintaining, Bryn. What you've got in mind will only disrupt it, and your venture will fail."

"Rick, we're only talking about a restaurant."

"No," he said, turning in frustration to slam his palm on the wall.
"You're
talking about a restaurant;
I'm
talking about a community institution. Pappy's Crab Shack is... is..." His words trailed off as he plowed his fingers through his hair, then reached for the edge of the block again.

He glared at her and failed to contain a low growl. And she glared back, certain that her eyelashes must be on fire. Rick Parrish was the most stubborn, most guarded, and most gorgeous man she'd ever met. And for any and all of those reasons, she wasn't giving in or giving up. Not now. Not later.

Tapping her nails on the wood surface, she slowly shook her head. "I still think there's something else you're not telling me. Besides your concern for Pappy and your devotion to the people of Malabar Key, what really bothers you about this?"

"What are you talking about?" he asked, eyeing her closely.

She started to circle him. As he turned his head to follow her with his eyes, Bryn watched his light brown hair play against his collar. When she was behind him, he gave up trying to look at her and took a deep breath instead. She was surprised that he held it so long. She sensed Rick Parrish wasn't the type to turn his back on many people. He most likely took things head on, yet she had managed to provoke him to a tense silence.

He continued holding his rigid posture, keeping the fabric of his shirt taut over his shoulder blades. The message he wanted to convey was lost in the truth she saw before her: Rick Parrish needed touching. The knowledge streaked through her like a tiny lightning bolt. But she wasn't going to touch him. She wasn't going to run her hands over the masculine delta of his back or trace the contours of his spine with her fingertips. Or her mouth. She felt for the back of her earring, pinching it hard enough to make an indentation on her thumb. Rubbing the mark, she silently applauded herself for removing the treacherous idea. She'd spent too many years building her professional reputation to commit such a rash act with a stranger. Walking around to the other side of him, she stayed close enough to see the muscles begin twitching in his jaw again.

"Rick, are there personal reasons—" She left off in midsentence when he jerked his head in her direction. Suddenly he was in charge of the moment, holding her in his dead-on gaze.

If he kept on staring like that, she would most definitely have to touch him to prevent herself from keeling against him. All five feet seven inches of her vibrating female form against his six-feet-plus wall of stubborn masculinity. And he would have to catch her in his arms, but he couldn't do that because he was folding them tightly across his chest.

Turning fully in her direction, he lowered his chin. Under other circumstances, he could have been lowering his head to kiss her, or inviting her to kiss him. From the intensity of his expression, she was certain kissing wasn't on his list of things to do to her. For one wild moment, she thought,
With lips like yours, it should be on your list of things to do to me.
The brazen idea had her cheeks scalding.

Rick considered pulling back from her, but he hadn't been near this much
life
in years. He closed his eyes long enough to remind himself about the important things in his world, and this woman was not one of them. "If you cared about Pappy, this place, and these people... but you don't."

She inched up closer to him. "But I
do."

He lowered his face nearer hers. "The hell you do!"

"Will you please stop swearing?" she asked, scissoring her hands between them.

"Will you stop meddling?" he asked, countering her with his rising voice.

"Meddling?! I am not meddling. You – you just want someone to blame because you won't have your favorite hangout to do whatever you do. You're not at all concerned about the people –"

A third voice broke in, startling both of them to near-military attention.

"If you two cared any more about the people on this key, we'd all have to get earplugs."

Rick felt the breath rush from his lungs the second he realized who it was at the barroom door. Malabar Key's oldest cheerleader. "Hello, Liza. I didn't see you there."

"I'm not surprised," the gray-haired woman said before chuckling. "If you two can pull yourselves away from this engaging display of emotion and step out of the kitchen away from the knives, I'd like to talk with you."

He hadn't missed the not-so-hidden message in the older woman's voice. She was talking about the volatile male-female chemistry building between Bryn and him. A chemistry he could neutralize any time he wanted. Except for that unwanted physical arousal, he could turn off this feeling. What was bothering him had nothing personal to do with this flighty female with the expensive haircut and obvious time on her hands. Yes, she'd managed to stir up forgotten needs and touch him down deep in those dark and lonely places in less than twenty minutes, but that didn't mean a thing. Dammit to hell. He didn't want Bryn Madison.

All he wanted was his bar back!

Chapter 2

Rick never thought a surprise encounter with Liza Manning could be considered a blessing, but today that was a distinct possibility. The sixtyish widow with the steel-colored braid usually had a problem she insisted only "Captain Parrish" could solve. Right now he'd be delighted to row the indefatigable woman all the way to Havana if she requested it.

No matter how anxious he was to end this emotionally charged discussion with Bryn, he hadn't turned into a raving lunatic. He knew Liza, and to offer her blatant encouragement would be a mistake. The widow's life was dedicated to community service, along with drawing everyone she could into the same endeavor. As often as possible he managed to sidestep her efforts to involve him in her projects. True, no one cared more about Malabar Key than him, but it wasn't his style to get himself included in Liza's endless committee meetings. Not that he or anyone could escape her for long. Liza had talked him into painting the fire hall, signing a petition for an enhanced version of the recycling program, and taking the kindergarten class on a fishing trip—a trip that had cost him two good rods and an afternoon of unrelenting depression. All this in one seven-day period.

"I got back this afternoon, Liza. I just heard about Pappy," he said, moving away from Bryn. Standing in the doorway, Liza gave a sympathetic shake of her head as Rick strode by her and headed toward the bar. A bar with no beer. Balling his fists, he resisted the urge to cringe. Bryn Madison was ruining the place.

"Pappy's accident was shameful, wasn't it, Captain?" Without waiting for Rick's response, Liza went on. "Bryn visits in the morning and I get over to see him in the afternoon. We both agree that there's nothing worse than being alone in the hospital."

Liza motioned for Bryn to come into the barroom. "I know you're busy, dear, but won't you join us?"

"I... really shouldn't."

Without the jukebox playing or the customers' noisy chatter, he could hear clearly the hesitation in Bryn's voice. Had he been so aggressive that she was trying to avoid him? Or was she trying to get rid of him gracefully? And why the hell was he thinking about any of this? He had places to go, people to see, and a business to run. As far as Bryn Madison was concerned, she could "hesitate" her sexy body right off Malabar Key.

"Look at this, Liza." Bryn appeared in the doorway with a handful of purple cloth. "The order arrived from South Carolina a few hours ago. This screaming heliotrope isn't going to work with the pastels. They're going back as quickly as I can wrap them."

"Are you sure you want to?" Liza asked. "I think festive colors bring out the best in people," she said, touching the brim of her lemon-colored hat.

Seizing the opportunity to get away from the stew of emotions he was up to his neck in, Rick said, "Since I don't have an opinion on purple napkins, I'll leave you two to discuss their fate while I get on over to the marina."

If he hadn't been looking at Bryn, he would have been halfway to the stairs by the time he'd finished his sentence. He should have waved and left, but he made the fatal mistake of watching her a second too long. The way she crossed her arms and leaned against a doorjamb shouldn't mesmerize him, but it did. With the purple material caught in a casual crush between her arms and breasts, she'd again managed to expose that luscious few inches of flesh at her waist. From that handy spot his gaze took a slow tantalizing journey north to her unrelenting stare. Knowing her for less than an hour, he was already recognizing "the look." That confident expression daring him to say something else stupid. Before he had the chance, his view was suddenly eclipsed by Liza's ample body.

With her spine straight and her blouse puffing around her, Liza sailed into his line of vision like a magnificent ship. "Hold on, Captain Parrish, I have something to say that you'll want to hear."

Doubting that, he winced. Twice. Once at Liza's refusal to let him leave. And again at Bryn's reaction, a whispered repetition of "Captain Parrish."