Amazing Gracie (8 page)

Not that she wouldn’t enjoy a little pâté de fois gras about now. Maybe some escargots or the local seafood,
for that matter. She was tiring of fast food hamburgers and scrambled eggs. She might have managed some of the finest kitchens in all of Europe, but her own culinary skills were sadly lacking. Why cook when she could eat gourmet cuisine every night free?

Actually, that was the one sticking point in this bed-and-breakfast idea. If her guests ate food she’d prepared, they’d probably die within hours. They’d certainly never come back again.

Well, if there was one thing she was good at it, it was hiring the best chefs available. She wondered exactly what caliber of chef she could get on a shoestring budget. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to see if the bookshop in town had a few decent cookbooks, just in case. How difficult could it be to master a few breakfast selections?

Not until she’d slammed into her house and poured herself a very large glass of iced tea did she stop to consider the pure coincidence of Kevin Patrick Daniels showing up at that house at the same time she had. Now that she thought about it, it didn’t make a lick of sense. It was obvious from that overgrown tangle of weeds she’d traipsed through that he never came near the place, so why today?

She thought back to the call she’d had earlier, from a Mrs. Johnson. In a quavery voice, the woman had said she feared there was someone inside the Daniels house next door to her. Supposedly she’d checked with other neighbors and no one had been home to investigate. Would Gracie mind coming over?

Naive jerk that she was, she hadn’t recognized a setup. In fact, she’d jumped at the chance to have a legitimate reason for poking around on the property. Now, belatedly, she realized there was no logical reason on
earth for Mrs. Johnson to have called on her. They didn’t even know each other, though she supposed by now everyone in town at least had some idea of her name and where she lived. Still, if Mrs. Johnson had been truly worried about an intruder, it would have made far more sense to call the police than to call a woman she’d never even met.

Which suggested to Gracie that Mrs. Johnson had been motivated by something other than concern for her neighbor’s property. Gracie’s guess, with the twenty-twenty vision of hindsight, was that Mrs. Johnson had wanted her to be caught by Kevin. But why? Had she been in cahoots with someone? The answer to that eluded her.

Maybe the woman was just old and housebound and bored. Maybe she was just plain sneaky and conniving. Or maybe Gracie’s imagination was running away with her and Kevin’s arrival was a coincidence, after all.

Gracie didn’t much believe in coincidences.

She did believe that Kevin Patrick Daniels was not above using an old lady to do his dirty work. Maybe he was the one who’d suggested Mrs. Johnson lure her there with that cockamamie story of an intruder.

But why? She was back to that again. That was the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question. He hadn’t looked especially pleased to find her there. He hadn’t even looked triumphant, as if he’d caught her in an act he could hold over her head. He’d looked…amused, as if she’d fulfilled his expectations in some way. He’d dangled that patch of yellow silk in front of her as if it were surprise evidence in a trial.

While she was still trying to puzzle it out, the phone rang. It was Max again. It had to be. Since she’d interceded with the florist, he’d called twice more to get her
to smooth over the pastry chef’s ruffled features and to ask which plumber in town to call to fix a clogged drain. He probably figured she’d see sooner or later that she was desperately needed and come back to France without him having to beg.

Actually, the prospect of supercilious Max Devereaux begging cheered Gracie considerably. The prospect of caving in and going back to Worldwide Hotels did not. She let the answering machine pick up, then smiled with satisfaction when she heard Max’s muttered oath, then the irritated crash of the phone. She could practically see his exasperated expression as he realized he was going to have to deal with whatever crisis it was this time without her assistance.

Okay, so it was only a tiny step toward distancing herself from Max and Worldwide, but it was a step. If she intended to take a giant leap toward a new life, it meant dealing with Kevin Patrick Daniels, she concluded with a sigh of resignation. Telling her no had been tantamount to throwing down the gauntlet. She wouldn’t let up now until that house was hers. She’d worry about the details of running a bed-and-breakfast later.

Perhaps supper wouldn’t be such a bad idea. Perhaps if they managed to get through it without skewering each other with the silverware, she could discover his greatest weakness and use it to get that neglected old Victorian away from him.

Reluctantly, she dialed his number. The phone rang and rang before he grabbed it up.

“Hey, Gracie,” he said, as if he’d been as sure of her call as she’d been of Max’s.

“How’d you know…Never mind. Caller I.D., I presume.”

He chuckled. “Nope, lucky guesswork. Maybe a little wishful thinking.”

She ignored that. “About dinner?”

“What time shall I pick you up?”

“Did I say yes?”

“You wouldn’t be calling if you weren’t going to say yes,” he said reasonably. “Seven o’clock. How does that sound?”

“You mean you don’t already know?”

“Darlin’, sarcasm doesn’t suit you. Settle down or you’ll ruin your digestion.”

“You let me worry about my digestion,” she said grimly, already regretting her decision to call. “Seven will be fine.”

“Dress casual. We’re going for crabs and it’s going to be messy.”

“What if I don’t eat crabs?”

“Then it must mean you’ve never had ’em here. See you soon.”

He hung up, which was just as well since she didn’t have a smart retort to his confident comment.

She dressed in the most casual outfit she owned, linen pants and an expensive, starched cotton blouse. Kevin shook his head when he saw her.

“What’s wrong?”

“Don’t you own a T-shirt and some jeans?”

“No.”

“We’ll stop at the bargain store.”

“Kevin, I’m not buying a cheap T-shirt to go to dinner. I’m not a messy eater.”

“Whatever you say. I suppose it’ll give the dry cleaner in town some business.”

Gracie scowled. She set out to hate the crabs. She
really did. But the next thing she knew she was up to her elbows in shells and butter and sweet, rich crabmeat. Kevin was right. She’d never had anything quite like them before.

He was also right about the T-shirt. There was no tidy way to eat the crabs. Picking them was messy and slow, but the reward was wonderful. There was also a certain amount of stress reduction in wielding that mallet she’d been given. Kevin, to his credit, didn’t give her a single reason to want to use it on his head. Of course, the conversation had been mostly limited to his patient explanation of the best way to go about getting all the crabmeat out of the shells.

When there was a mound of red shells in front of her and she’d emptied two bottles of the locally produced ginger ale, Gracie sat back with a sigh of pure contentment.

“Enjoy yourself?” Kevin asked.

“Oh my, yes.”

“Told you so.”

“Are you one of those annoying men who has to be right about everything?”

“I don’t have to be, but I usually am.” He grinned at her. “How about dessert? Homemade pie, maybe? There’s almost any kind you could want.”

“Not a chance,” she insisted. She looked at the pile of shells in front of him. It was at least double her own. “What about you?”

“I wouldn’t miss a slice of the strawberry pie. Are you sure you won’t change your mind?”

“Absolutely.”

“You’ll be sorry,” he warned.

Gracie couldn’t imagine ever being hungry again. “I don’t think so.”

Naturally, though, when the pie came, with its huge strawberries and its whipped cream topping, her mouth began to water. Kevin took a first bite and then a second, before glancing her way and grinning.

“Change your mind?”

She scowled at him. “Yes, dammit.”

“You want a bite of this or your own slice?”

The thought of sharing whipped-cream-coated strawberries with Kevin aroused images that were way too provocative. “I want one all my own,” she said quickly.

His knowing expression made her regret her decision. “Never mind. I’ll share yours.”

Still grinning, he stabbed a huge strawberry, made sure it was dipped in the whipped cream and held it out. When Gracie reached for the fork, he shook his head. His gaze locked with hers as he waited for her to take a bite.

Two could play at that game. Swallowing hard, Gracie reached out a hand to cover his and hold the fork steady. She was pretty sure his skin heated a good ten degrees at the contact. She oh-so-slowly licked every trace of cream off the berry, then bit into the sweet, juicy flesh. By then there was no mistaking the rapid acceleration of his breathing. She ran her tongue over her lips.

“That was—”

“Exhilarating?” Kevin suggested, that amused expression firmly back in place.

“I was going to say wonderful,” she contradicted.

“Same difference.”

Gracie didn’t like the gleam in his eye or the direction of the conversation.

“About the house—”

“Off limits,” he reminded her.

“But—”

“Ms. MacDougal, surely you are not so conversationally challenged that that’s the only thing you can think of to talk about.”

“It’s all we have in common.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Mr. Daniels, I’m a workaholic. As near as I can tell, you avoid anything remotely resembling work. All you do is laze around in a hammock.”

“I’m surprised at you. Don’t you know appearances can be deceiving.”

“I doubt it in this instance. The state of that house proves my point.”

He sighed heavily. “We’re back to that again. I’m beginning to think you don’t have a very vivid imagination.”

“My imagination is just fine.”

“One-track mind then?”

“I have a lot of varied interests.”

“Name one,” he challenged.

Gracie desperately searched for something unrelated to the hotel industry or at least something that could be perceived as unrelated.

“Flowers,” she said finally. “I love flowers.”

Kevin looked skeptical. “You do much gardening?”

“I didn’t say I gardened. I said I like flowers.”

“Looking at them, smelling them, what?”

“Mr. Daniels, this isn’t getting us anywhere.”

“Sure it is, darlin’. We’re getting to know each other.”

“But I don’t want to get to know you,” she said.

“Then you have a lot to learn about business. It always pays to know the man sitting across the desk from you when you’re doing a deal.”

“As if I’d take business advice from you,” she muttered.

“Maybe you should. You might learn a few things.” He leaned back and looked her over as if assessing her. “For example, I already know that for the past eight years you’ve devoted all your energy to Worldwide Hotels, that you’ve left your job, that you’re at loose ends, and that you want to turn that old Victorian into a bed-and-breakfast. That makes you anxious to deal, which improves my odds of getting top dollar for that house, assuming I decide to sell.”

Gracie’s heart sank. He was right. He had done his homework and she hadn’t. She’d assessed and labeled him based on a single meeting and concluded she could wear him down eventually by throwing more and more money at him. She wasn’t even taking advantage of this dinner to pump him for information or to search for any weaknesses she could exploit in her own behalf.

“Okay, Mr. Daniels, why don’t you tell me a little about yourself?”

He chuckled at that. “No way. I’m not making it that easy on you. If you want information, you’re going to have to work for it.”

“Dammit, can’t you just give me a straight answer?”

“Sure,” he said agreeably. “As soon as you ask me a straight question.”

Gracie sighed.

“Relax, darlin’. This won’t be half as painful as you’re anticipating.”

“It’s already way past painful. It’s excruciating.”

“You must not have gone on many dates, Gracie.”

“What makes you say that?” she asked, instantly defensive.

“If you don’t mind my saying so, you’re not very good at small talk,” he observed.

The accusation stung. She’d heard it before. She could see to the comfort of hundreds of hotel guests a month, but she couldn’t make small talk with a man sitting across the dinner table from her. How many times had she been told she was too serious, too focused, too uptight? More times than she could count. The only reason she and Max had gotten along halfway decently was that he’d had a singletrack mind as well.

It was ironic that she was so good with the hotel staff, so deft at handling the vendors who supplied everything from soap to mushrooms. She made it a point to learn and remember little details about all of them, so she could ask about family members, favorite hobbies, whatever. Obviously she needed to apply the same skill to Kevin.

“Okay, let’s start over,” she suggested. “Tell me about your family. Any brothers or sisters?”

He took another sip of the same beer he’d been nursing all evening. “Nope.”

“Parents alive?”

“Nope.”

“You rattle around in that big old house all by yourself?”

“Nope.”

Gracie fought her exasperation. His deliberate, single-word responses were not going to derail her attempts to get to know him. She was just going to have to become more clever at phrasing her questions.

“Who lives there with you?” A horrifying thought struck her. “Your wife?”

He grinned at that. “It’s a little late to be panicking that I might be married, don’t you think? We’re already well on our way to getting downright intimate.”

Gracie choked on a sip of ginger ale. She stared at him. “Are you crazy?”

“Nope.”

“Would you stop that?”

“What?”

“Saying
nope
to everything I ask.”

“If it’ll make you happy.”

“It will make me deliriously happy.” She frowned at him. “Just don’t go getting any wild ideas about the two of us, okay?”