Beauty and the Brit (7 page)

It’s quite the showplace now
. Was he so jaded he couldn’t see what he had?

One more room faced the house front. Its walls bore faded flowered paper and the floor was stacked with neat plastic bins along with a folding table and a sewing machine in its case.

“Mum uses this as her sewing room when she comes,” David said. “The bins are full of fabrics, I guess. I don’t come in here much.”

“How long does your mother stay when she visits?” Rio had to wonder about a woman who specialized in drive-by interior decorating.

“A solid six weeks. Long enough to indulge her decorating fantasy-of-the-moment and get a bit of visiting in, as well. She’s quite a girl is Mum.”

Rio swallowed back the slightest twinge of envy. She’d been four when her mother had died, and she remembered her mostly from stories and pictures.

“This room is purely storage.” David opened a door on the opposite side of the hallway.

The small, white-walled room had a sloped ceiling, a small window facing the back, and was filled nearly floor to ceiling with cardboard boxes and random pieces of furniture. The not-unpleasant scent of age filled her senses.

“It’s my version of an attic,” he explained. “I don’t even remember what’s in some of the boxes. There’s a trunk in the corner came from England ten years ago. Shows you that, unlike my mother, I’m basically disorganized.”

After showing them more rooms, each a different size and filled with a random assortment of junk, extra beds, exercise equipment, and horse tack, David pushed open a door at the end of the hallway. “The last room,” he said. “Completely untouched although it probably has the most potential, as an office or lounge or some such thing.”

The room was slightly bigger than the other bedrooms. Bare hardwood covered the floor, and the walls bore faded, purple-ish paint. Although the sloped ceiling reduced the back half of the room to three-quarters height, three windows brought in an abundance of light, and half-height bookshelves lined the back wall. A single bed covered in a quilt of periwinkles, purples, and turquoises stood on one side, and a large antique wardrobe served as a closet.

The barren space seemed to call her name. “This is beautiful.”

“We call it the nothing room,” said David.

“Could I stay in here instead?” she asked, before she could lose the bold nerve.

“Here?” He seemed honestly astounded. “But there’s nothing to it.”

“There’s character. And a bed, and a place to put what’s in this suitcase. We aren’t going to be here long, and I’d rather have the . . . sparseness.”

“Of course,” he said, still nonplussed. “You’re welcome to it. But you know you can stay, you must stay, until the threat toward you and Bonnie is gone. Don’t you want something more comfortable?”

To her, this space was steeped in more comfort than any
Better Homes and Gardens
room she’d already seen, as if it was perfectly suited to holding her tiny suitcase of possessions and her enormous trunk loads of mental junk.

“This is plenty comfortable.”

“All right then.” He swept his arm toward the room. “If you want it, it’s yours.”

“Do you have a plan? For this room?”

“Ah? Not in the near future.”

“I thought maybe if you had a paint color chosen I could paint for you.”

He turned in place to face her squarely. “Look here, love. Are you taking this bare room and offering to work for it out of some wrongheaded idea that you don’t deserve simply to be here and be safe? You don’t have to earn the right to be here.”

He rested his fingers on her upper arm as casually as the word “love” flowed from his lips. The touch meant nothing, and yet her stomach filled with frenetic butterflies. A mix of spicy musk, sawdust, and faint farm odors befuddled her, and for an embarrassing moment she found no words—she only stared and swallowed. Then annoyance with herself returned and, ducking from his touch, she hardened her features and stared him down.

Long, long ago she’d learned not to accept free help. Free help equaled ulterior motives and ulterior motives usually required payment due later.

“I don’t do charity well, Mr. Pitts-Matherson. We’ll earn our keep, and we’ll be out of your hair as soon as I know the police have Hector Black in custody.”

He half-chuckled. “Please don’t backslide into the ‘Mister’ title. Nobody even calls my father Mr. Pitts-Matherson. My great-grandfather, perhaps, the one who saddled us with the mouthful.”

He so charmingly ignored her point, Rio couldn’t decide whether to laugh or scowl harder. “Do they call you Dave? Or Davy?”

“Not if
they
want an answer. It’s David. Or, if you must, Hey You.”

She gave in at last to his incorrigible charisma with a small smile. “Hey You. I need you to understand that we’re not here as charity cases. We’re grateful, but I’ll find a way to get back into a place of our own just as soon as possible. And, like it or not, I’ll somehow work off our room and board.”

For a moment he looked ready to argue further. At the last second, he nodded. “All right. Under one condition. Tell me
you
understand that I do not view either of you as a charity case and we agree today is a free day. You both unpack, and I’ll show you around the place. We’ll go into town, get acquainted with the area. No fires, no Hector, no police, no worries. Even your brother doesn’t know where you are, right?”

“Yes,” Rio said. “Since he took my car, it’s safer for all of us if he can’t find me.”

“Then everything’s good for now. I’ll fetch your case and leave you to it.”

Bonnie tripped back to her pretty green room, and Rio buried a twinge of envy at her sister’s ability to forget and adapt. “I can go get my own suitcase.”

“If you like. But I’m happy to do it.”

All at once the whole situation—this amazing house, with this seriously attractive man she didn’t know a thing about—seemed ludicrous. Who was he? What was she doing here?

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are you ‘happy’ to get my suitcase? Why are you perfectly okay with having two city girls running from trouble invade your house?”

He laughed without hesitation. “I don’t know any differently, Rio. Before my parents married, my mother and grandmother ran a guesthouse in northern England. When she married, Mum continued with her own version of the same in Kent. I grew up with guests coming in and out all the time. It seems perfectly natural to take in visitors.”

A very,
very
slight weight lifted from Rio’s shoulders. He was serious. And although the situation sucked, at the moment her life was as calm and safe as it had been in a while. She made a conscious effort to diffuse her anger.

“Rio? David?” Bonnie emerged from her room. “What was that you said about no police?”

Rio’s heart skipped a beat at the pale confusion in her sister’s eyes. Gone was the effervescent excitement. “What’s wrong?”

“Why do you ask?” His eyes narrowed.

“There’s a squad car sitting right out front of your house.”

Chapter Five

A
T THE SIGHT
of the black-and-white cruiser, Rio’s first reaction was relief. They’d found Hector and Paul. This whole exercise here at David’s was moot, and she could go back home—or at least back to her neighborhood, start looking for a new place, and get her job back.

“This might be good news,” she said.

Bonnie remained sober. “Police are never good news.”

The attitude saddened Rio. Bonnie had never had run-ins with police. Even so, the place she’d lived all her life had shown her that help only came when something awful happened.

“I guess we’d better see what he wants,” David said. “No worries. I’m sure Rio’s right.”

By the time they filed out the front door, the police officer, along with his gun, flashlight, and nightstick, stood frowning at the house.

“Good morning, Officer.” David extended a hand. “You must be our new chief. We haven’t met yet. I’m David Pitts-Matherson.”

“Tanner Hewett,” he replied crisply. “I replaced Chief Gunderson six weeks ago.”

“And how is he doing?”

Chief Hewett scowled a little impatiently. “I haven’t kept in touch with him, I’m afraid. I’m here on official business, Mr. Pitts-Matherson.”

Without a blink at the curtness, David nodded. Bonnie stepped closer to Rio, and the fact that her sister still needed her calmed Rio’s rising nervousness.

“What can I help you with, Chief?” David asked.

“I’ve been in touch with the Minneapolis PD who alerted me to the presence of one Arionna Montoya and her sister, Bonnie Montoya.” Hewett’s eyes swung slowly to Rio. “Can I assume you are Miss Montoya?”

She knew plenty of city cops, some wonderful and helpful, others suspicious and tough. This one’s tone raised the hairs on the back of her neck. “Yes, I’m Arionna. This is Bonnie.”

“Ran into a little trouble in the city, I hear.”

“My home was set on fire. In some places that would be considered more than a little.”

She’d learned long ago that using sarcasm to a police officer was unwise no matter what. She walked the line now, but, to her shock, David offered a sidelong smile of support.

“Have you come with news about the men involved in the fire?” he asked.

“I’m afraid there’s been no sighting of the accused or Miss Montoya’s brother.”

Rio gritted her teeth. “The guilty, do you mean?”

“Miss Montoya, around here nobody is guilty until proven so. I came by to let you know we’re aware of the situation and of why you’re here.” He turned back to David. “You do fully understand what you’ve taken on?”

“I understand my guests need a place to remain in safety until the men who started the fire in her home are caught.”

“Miss Montoya, I’ve heard you were involved in a heated altercation with Mr. Black before the fire that may have contributed to him seeking revenge,” Chief Hewett said. “I hope you’ll work to keep your profile low here. Once we find these boys, there’ll be a lot of questions for you as well as for them.”

She didn’t know how to respond. It sounded more like a threat than a promise of protection.

“Like, why would we want to do anything else?” Bonnie stepped out of her shadow. “We don’t exactly want them to find us.”

“Shhh, Bons, it’s fine,” Rio said.

“We definitely don’t want them to find you first,” Chief Hewett agreed. “This is a quiet place, and I’ll be watching closely to make sure your big-city crime doesn’t find its way to Kennison Falls.”

Rio’s mouth fell open.

Her
big-city crime? Damn it, she hadn’t even wanted to come here. Her neck hairs bristled again but a light touch on her arm startled her, and she looked into David’s composed features.

“The town will remain quiet, Chief,” David said. “With your help, of course. Can I assume that if we have any problems we can come directly to you?”

“Of course. But Miss Montoya, if you do hear from either Mr. Black or your brother, I expect you to contact my office immediately. We don’t want problems escalating.”

“Of course.” Her mimicked retort came out more mockingly than she intended, and the chief’s eyes pierced her with distrust.

He opened the door of his patrol car. David smiled pleasantly.

“Thanks for your time, Chief Hewett,” he said. “I appreciate it.”

Appreciate?
She added brownnosing sycophant to their host’s list of personality traits—this one not his most attractive. Once the cruiser had turned slowly around in the farm’s gravel driveway and rolled far enough down the driveway so its driver couldn’t see them, Bonnie stuck her tongue out.

“Ass,” Rio muttered under breath.

“Quite so.” David snorted, equally quietly.

His agreement surprised her. As did the pleasant expression on his face. Her insides roiled at the injustice of the veiled warnings, and yet David Pitts-Matherson looked as if he’d just shared a beer with a buddy.

“You seemed to get along with him just fine.”

“I don’t know him,” he replied. “He strikes me as an arrogant sod, but it seemed wise to avoid antagonizing him while we need his help.”

Rio backed down, chastened. She’d thought exactly the same thing, and still she’d let her underwear not only bunch but start chafing. She knew better.

“You’re right,” she mumbled.

“Rio.” His voice pulled her eyes back to his. “This is a small town. Everyone has his or her own way even though as a rule they’re all pretty friendly. Hewett is new, and he’s trying to look tough. Ignore him.”

His words didn’t excuse, but his voice held certainty and promise that all was fine. Suddenly, his fitted riding pants and the black leather boot tops rising up the length of his calves seemed tough, protective, and anything but wussy.

“Thank you,” she managed, still not willing to give up her wariness. “All police are nervous when it comes to gangs. I shouldn’t react to one cop’s skepticism.”

“But he was a condescending jerk.” Bonnie still watched the dust from the cruiser, her lip curled.

“He was,” David said. “Let him bluster. At least he’ll be on the lookout for us.”

True enough. Better a cop with a tough attitude than one who didn’t care at all. Hector was acting like a big-time gang leader even though he was no such thing. Mean, yes, but hardly important. Maybe a rigid hand was exactly what a street punk too cruel for his britches needed.

“Right, then.” David smiled. “I’m going to change from my riding clothes, and after you unpack let’s go have a look ’round town. We’ll stock the kitchen, and if you’re hungry for lunch, there’s a nice café with excellent food.”

“All right!” said Bonnie.

The familiar twist of resentment clenched in Rio’s stomach. Lunch at a restaurant would mean another bite, beyond grocery shopping, out of her meager savings, or more charity on his part. She wanted neither. Since the fire, she had, maybe, two hundred dollars in her dwindling account, most of which had been earmarked for utilities, groceries, and back-to-school supplies for Bonnie.

She didn’t need the utility money any longer . . .

Her throat constricted.

And she had no idea where Bonnie would even go to school or when she’d start. In Minneapolis school started after Labor Day, five weeks away. Please, God, she thought. Let them be well away from here in five weeks’ time.