Any Man of Mine (8 page)

But, I reminded myself, they were only guys—what did I expect? “Now, does anyone want some more cake? Juanita?”

“No, thank you. I'm sorry I didn't know it was your birthday.” She threw Chip an angry glare, but he was too busy finishing off the last of the cake Tracy had brought to catch or even feel it. So she turned to Kent. “Honey, did you want any more?”

Kent stuck out his lower lip and blew out his breath. “Nope. I'm stuffed.” He fidgeted, glancing back over his shoulder at the television that was still on, though out of consideration for our guests, Jace had muted the sound. But all through dinner I was
distracted by the flickering images coming from the living room.

“Hey, sport, do you want to watch the game with us?” Jace asked, pushing himself away from the table. And before you could say “top of the ninth,” Neil, Jace and my father were gravitating toward the television, sucked in by a power beyond any woman's control.

To my surprise, however, James elected to stay behind.

“This deep connection that guys have with sports teams—is that genetic or learned?” I asked of no one in particular.

“Genetic,” David said decisively. I could see his head angling toward the living room, as well, underlining his comment.

He was about to say something else when he frowned and looked at his beeper. He pulled out his cell phone and left the room, which lowered the remaining male portion by half. James still sat at his end of the table, chair titled back, hands folded over his stomach.

“Can I go watch television?” Kent asked.

Juanita shook her head. “I promised Adam and Emily that you would be home on time.” She glanced at me, seeking my approval. I wasn't her caseworker, but I'm sure she figured I had her caseworker Oden's ear, and she was going to mind her p's and q's as long as she was around me. “We should leave in about five minutes. It will take us half an hour to get back to Kolvik.”

Chip looking longingly over at his brothers who
were already cheering on their team. “We better go,” Chip said, dragging his attention back to Juanita. But as soon as he looked at her, he smiled and I could see that she had his complete attention. My little brother was growing up. “I don't want to get you in trouble with Emily and Adam.”

Kent pouted up at his mom, his little arms crossed on the table. “I don't want to go to Emily's. I want to go home with you, Mommy.”

“In a little while,” Juanita said quietly, stroking his head.

“How is your new job, Juanita?” Tracy asked. “Danielle told me you're working at the nursing home in Kolvik.”

Juanita glanced from Tracy to me, as if looking for a hidden agenda. I gave her an encouraging, non-threatening smile.

“I like it,” Juanita said carefully. “Some of the older people make me feel sad, a lot of them are really thankful.” Juanita tucked her hair behind her ears and fidgeted. “I found a place of my own already.”

“That's great,” I said, pleased that she was showing such initiative. Juanita was one of the happy endings that I loved to relive. A mother who used the wake-up call issued when her child was taken away from her to change her life and turn it around. When I saw how Kent's foster parents helped her along, it made me glad to have been a part of it all.

Juanita got up and started clearing the table. “Just leave it,” I said. “You better get Kent home on time.”

“Are you sure?” Juanita asked, looking from me to Tracy.

“It will get done,” Tracy assured her. “Don't worry.”

Juanita thanked me again for having her. I got a little wave from Kent, Tracy got a hug. I understood why I didn't get one. I was the social worker, just like the one that took him away from his mother.

But it was my birthday. It would have been nice to get even one small hug from one small boy. It would have been the only one I got.

Poor little me.

Juanita and Kent left with Chip and an awkward silence fell. Tracy looked from me to James, deciphering the connection, and she was about to ask him something, when David returned.

“Sorry, but we gotta go. Bad foaling at Bredo's.” He gave Tracy a sheepish grin. “I'm going to need you, my dear.”

Tracy took his sheepish grin and passed it on to me. “Sorry, Dani.”

“Don't worry,” I said, getting up from the table, keeping my gaze diverted from the dirty dishes piled on the counter. I was going to be busy all night. “You better go.”

I knew Misty Bredo, and I also knew that she'd had her eye on David from the first blink of his taillights coming into town. Even though David was married and unsusceptible to Misty's charms, Misty still liked to test the boundaries of that relationship.
Better that Tracy went along to defend her territory against any incursion.

“I feel bad leaving you with all these dishes on your birthday.” Tracy's gaze flicked from me to the dishes and then to James, who was also getting up. I was surprised he'd stayed as long as he had, surprised he hadn't bolted for the living room and the game.

“Don't worry, I'll help her,” James said quietly.

I wasn't sure I wanted his help. Staying up until midnight and getting dishpan hands on my special day seemed preferable to navigating past James's presence in my kitchen. “I can manage.”

“You can manage to have a nervous breakdown,” James said with a light laugh, rolling up his sleeves. “I don't mind.”

“Well, I mind. I have a certain way of doing dishes.”

“Yeah. Lather, rinse, repeat.” Tracy raised her eyebrow toward me in a way that I could only describe as annoying. She glanced at James. “Just make sure that you don't put the wooden-handled steak knives in the dishwasher.”

I tried to give Tracy a discreet glare, but James stood beside her, facing me so all I could do was try for a sudden flare of my nostrils and an unattractive widening of my eyes.

Tracy's faint wink told me that she read me loud and clear but that she didn't care. Some friend.

Then they were gone and James and I were alone in the kitchen. “So why don't you go and watch
the game with my brothers,” I said, projecting reasonable tones. “I appreciate the offer, but I'll be okay.”

He laughed. “Nice try.” He ignored me and stacked the empty dishes on the table on each other, dropping the cutlery in the empty water pitcher. He knew what he was doing.

I sighed loudly, to let him know that I wasn't giving in gracefully. He made me feel uncomfortable on many levels. And working with him in such close proximity was only increasing the discomfort level.

So I started stuffing leftovers into containers and stuffing the containers into the refrigerator, all the while trying to ignore James's very real presence as he scraped and rinsed and loaded dishes into the dishwasher. He said nothing, so I said nothing, but through the clink and thunk of dishes I was fully aware of his presence.

Ten minutes later I had filled the last plastic container, scraped out the last pot and put away the last piece of cake for my brothers to eat later. I had nothing else to do but wash the pots and whatever didn't fit in the dishwasher. Which meant working beside James.

I chanced a glance over my shoulder and was thrown off my stride to see James looking at me, a smile hovering over his well-shaped mouth. The dishwasher was almost full and I was surprised to see so few dishes were left on the counter. “You seem to know what you're doing,” I said, in a feeble effort to cover up the sudden flush in my face at his attention.

“I've loaded a few dishwashers in my time,” he said, picking up another plate and slipping it into the lower tray. “I hate doing dishes so much I make sure I pack it as full as I can.”

“I'm impressed. Looks like we'll only have to wash bowls and pots.”

James sucked in his lower lip, holding his hands over the dishwasher as if he were a movie director framing a shot. “If I use the top tier of the lower rack for glasses, I might be able to put one of the medium bowls in the upper rack. Depending of course on the weight of the glasses and circumference of same. Donelli's theorem could come into play here.”

“It's always an inspiration to watch a master at work. But what is Donelli's theorem?”

“Friend of mine. Gord Donelli. Not too bright, but a master at loading the dishwasher. His theorem was ‘if there is no room, make room.' An elegant concept if properly applied.”

He rearranged the dishes and, as he promised, the bowl fit. He closed the door, studied the controls and pushed the right buttons. “So. Now what, birthday girl?”

“Pots and bowls. But you've done enough. Go join my brothers.”

He tilted me a mocking smile. “And leave a woman in the kitchen to do the dishes on her birthday? Recipe for disaster.”

I couldn't stop my smile. “You seem to be the only one around here that acknowledges this special day.”

James glanced over at my brothers, who were cheering on their team in a way that could only be described as silly. He turned back to me and shrugged. “Did you tell them?”

“I had it marked on the calendar.” I filled the sink with warm water and squirted some dishwashing soap in it, watching the bubbles form.

“But did you warm them up to the event, so to speak?” He grabbed a tea towel and snapped it once, guy style.

“They've known all my life what day my birthday is. I can't see how reminding them now will make a difference.” I dropped a set of bowls into the sink.

“Because they're guys, as I hear you're fond of saying,” James said, picking up a bowl I had washed and drying it. “Birthdays aren't an opportunity to score points as much as they are an event that doesn't show up on a guy's radar unless you have an early warning system in place. We need to be told.” James gave a half-hearted shrug. He seemed uncomfortable defending my brothers to me.

I scrubbed another bowl. “But that ruins the spontaneity. I like to be surprised.”

“Have you ever been? Surprised, that is?”

I scraped at a caked-on piece of potato on the last bowl and shrugged. “Not really. They keep forgetting.”

“So what would you sooner have? Spontaneous nothing, or planned presents?”

“I guess I'd like to think that I'm important enough to them that they want to find out what makes
me happy. Then do it.” I glanced over at them again. “I don't think they really care.”

“They might not know exactly what makes you happy, but they do want to see you happy,” James said quietly. “And I think you are important to them.”

I could see that he was firmly in my brothers' corner, which, of course, he had to be. Partners in crime and all.

“You need to be clear with them, is all,” he said.

“Oh, I've tried, trust me.”

“Have you? When your brothers talk about you, they give me the idea that you're tough, strong and easygoing all wrapped in one attractive bundle. I never get the idea that you make demands on them.”

“Of course I have. They simply prefer not to listen. And I'm not really that tough.”

James frowned. “That's interesting. They make it sound like you could help with branding, break a horse, fix a motor and then go and make biscuits for lunch.”

I snorted. “That was my mother. I only helped on the farm because I had no choice. I was always more into manicures and frills, but they don't seem to remember that.”

“Really?”

“Really. I spent most of my life doing what they wanted and working around them. They've never had to do the same for me.” Okay, birthday girl, enough whining. I don't know why I spilled all this in front of James.

“They're good guys and they really care about
you.” James defense of my brothers was both interesting and disconcerting.

“I suppose they do,” I said. I washed the last pot and set it on the drying rack. James dried it, his eyes on me. I looked back, holding his gaze as I leaned back against the counter. Much as I fought his appeal I had to admit I was curious about him. “And how did you meet my brothers, whom you so obviously admire?”

James wiped the last pot and set it on the counter beside him. “I was new in town. My truck needed work. Someone recommended the place where Chip and Neil work. The rest, as you know, is history.”

“And what brought you to Preston? It's hardly the hub of any activity other than farming and logging.”

“I used to work in the oil patch. Contractor. Had a slew of equipment and a bunch of guys working for me but I got tired of the hours and the stress so I sold out and decided to find a small town that I liked. We had done some work north of here a few years ago and I remembered the place, so I came back.” He folded up the towel and draped it over the drying rack.

Another surprise.

“What do you plan on doing here?”

He folded his arms over his chest, a purely masculine gesture, especially considering the breadth of his chest and the play of muscles in his arms. “Open a knitting shop,” he said without changing expression.

I stifled my humor and played along. “Of course. A man who can master the stockinet stitch pretty
much has his pick of women. I imagine you'll be teaching tatting, as well.”

“Silly girl, that's for later. You need a good quality cotton for tatting. For now, I'm focusing on the complexities of yarn.”

I held his hazel eyes. “And you've just spun a good yarn.”

“The lady has a point,” he said with a wink and another smile. He didn't look away and the moment lengthened. I vaguely heard my brothers' cheer but James's eyes didn't even flicker toward the living room. It was as if he was completely focused on me.

As I held his gaze an echo of the attraction I had felt for the pre-unmasking James quivered through me and as his smile deepened. I sensed he felt it, too.

He pushed away from the counter the same time I did, bringing us closer to each other. I could catch the vague scent of laundry soap, the tang of his aftershave.