Her Passionate Plan B (6 page)

Placing a hand lightly on the small of her back, Kell led her from the old-fashioned kitchen. “How about fishing? Did Uncle Harvey ever talk about that? Fishing's something you can do sitting on a bank. Plenty of those around here.”

Arching away from the warmth of his touch, she said, “Not that I recall. Mostly he talked about shipwrecks and how he wished he'd been able to try scuba diving. I think he has books on it—on diving, I mean. He has books on practically everything you can think of, and all of them need dusting.” She was babbling again. If she had a grain of sense she'd shove him out and lock the door, and to heck with good manners and genetic histories.

“And you're going to dust every single one of them, right?”

She was. Call it duty, call it closure—Faylene called it foreclosure—Daisy knew only that she wasn't ready to take on another patient. “Mr. Snow would have hated strangers pawing through his personal belongings.”

“You said most of the rooms had been closed off for years. Why didn't he just move into a smaller house?”
Kell gazed up at the transoms over the doors that enabled warm air to flow freely throughout the house. “Place must be tough to heat with these high ceilings, let alone the maintenance involved.”

“Because he had a deep sense of family responsibility. This house was built by his grandfather.”

“Hmm… Kind of makes you wonder why he never even tried to locate his brother if he had such a deep sense of family responsibility.”

“
If
he actually had a brother.”

“For that matter, I don't know if my dad ever tried to get in touch with him, either. Dad could be…I guess you could call it stubborn.”

Daisy didn't want to hear about his family. The man was enough of a distraction without knowing anything about him personally. As a nurse she rarely had trouble maintaining her objectivity, but as a woman she hadn't always been so successful. A little candlelight, a little music and pretty soon you're confiding secrets you've never told a single soul, not even your two best friends. One intimacy led to another, and before you knew it you were engaged to marry a sneaky, lying, conniving jerk with all the moral integrity of a feral cat.

No candles and definitely no music, she warned herself. As for intimacy, she would simply have to…what was that old saying? Gird her loins?

God, no! Don't even
think
about loins!

“I guess this room would be called a parlor.” Kell opened the nearest door and peered into the gloomy interior. Without meaning to, she stared at his narrow hips, wondering just how hard he'd landed. Should she
offer to rub liniment on his achy parts? Acting strictly in a professional capacity, of course.

“Back parlor,” she informed him, unconsciously mimicking the rental agent who had shown her through her apartment seven years ago. “There are two.”

She might as well get it over with. Obviously he wasn't going to be satisfied until he'd seen all there was to see. She switched on the chandelier, wishing she'd remembered to replace the burned-out bulbs. The shadows lent the chilly room an intimacy she could do without.

Kell shook his head slowly as he took in the horse-hair sofa and matching chairs, a straight chair, an uncomfortable-looking platform rocker and a scroll-based table, its dusty surface taken up by a stuffed owl, a stereopticon and a vase of faded dried flowers laced together with spiderwebs.

“I'm no expert on antiques, but this stuff, heirloom or not, strikes me as flat-out ugly.”

“Try shifting it to clean underneath,” Daisy said dryly. Surrounding an ugly floral rug in the center of the room, the varnished floor gleamed dully under a layer of dust. “I guess you can tell the cleaning hasn't progressed this far.”

“If you're going to clean under all this stuff, you're going to need help. Some of it must weigh a ton.”

For the next few minutes they wandered through interconnected rooms while Kell, using skills developed by working with fragile, at-risk kids, drew her out about the kind of man his half uncle had been—the kind of things he'd enjoyed.

“Your father never mentioned Harvey's…um, situation?”

“Situation? I told you, my father never mentioned anything at all about his family. Or if he did, I was too young and too stupid to listen until it was too late.”

“Mr. Snow was able to drive until a few years ago, but his library was his real pride and joy, from childhood on.” As they entered the library, she nodded toward several shelves of what were obviously children's books. “I don't really know anything about his early life but someone obviously spent a lot on books and board games. We packed up boxes full and gave them to the Salvation Army last Christmas.”

“I imagine there were a lot of medical expenses,” Kell said quietly. “That might explain why my dad left home—to help earn money in case it was needed.”

Or maybe because he was jealous of his needy younger brother, he thought. He would never know, and perhaps that was best.

Daisy said, “I used to read to him. Newspapers were hard for him to handle after his stroke, but books…” She sighed. “He introduced me to some wonderful authors I'd never even heard of. He had a wonderful sense of humor. You'd have liked him.”

“Yeah, I probably would,” Kell said, wondering if it was true that blood was thicker than water. He sank down on the edge of the ugly tapestry sofa, searching his memory for anything his father might have said about his younger brother.

Damn. If only he hadn't waited until it was too late. To come all this way, after all this time, and find…nothing. A funeral and a houseful of relics.

Daisy yawned. “I wish I could help you, but I only moved out here August a year ago. Before that, Mr.
Snow had a nutritionist and a physical therapist—and Faylene, of course. I came three times a week.” She yawned again.

He glanced at his watch, reluctant to see the evening come to an end. By tomorrow she might have changed her mind about allowing him to stay. Or Blalock might find proof beyond a doubt that Evander and Harvey couldn't possibly have been related, in which case, he'd have no more reason to hang around.

Dammit, he wasn't ready to head back. Somewhere over the past few hours his focus had shifted, leaving him off balance and uncertain. Not to mention semiaroused.

It was an uncomfortable combination, he told himself as he studied the woman in the light of three sixty-watt bulbs. Except for a couple of twists up near the top, her braid was all but unraveled. Curly wisps framed her face and nestled at the back of her neck. Unbidden, he pictured her jogging through a flowery pasture in slow motion, like the woman in the allergy medication commercial.

She took a deep breath and he wondered if she was deliberately calling attention to a pair of high, rounded breasts under her faded T-shirt. Probably not, he conceded reluctantly. There was nothing even faintly seductive about either her attitude or her outfit.

“Well…if you'll excuse me, I'm going to turn in. You know where everything is. You're in the first room on the left at the head of the stairs. Bathroom's across the hall.”

Kell managed to hide his disappointment that the evening was ending so early. His head was teeming with new questions. No way was he about to leave until
he had a few answers. “Just don't try to move any of this stuff without me,” he warned.

“How's your back? After your fall, I mean.” Standing in the doorway, she yawned. Lifting a hand to cover her mouth caused her shirt to ride up just enough to reveal a sliver of pale skin at her waistline.

“My jump, you mean. Uh—back's fine. Good to go.” He swallowed hard and tried not to stare as his body shifted into full-alert status. Like any other red-blooded man, he enjoyed looking at a bare-skinned woman—the barer, the better.

But who'd have thought that under the right conditions, modesty could be an even bigger turn-on than full nudity?

“Great,” she said. “Then if you have time before you leave tomorrow you can help us shift some furniture. Most of it hasn't been moved in so long it's probably stuck to the floor.”

Had he said anything about leaving tomorrow? “My pleasure,” he assured her. And it would be, even if he had to herniate himself shifting that monster of a sofa. He might no longer be a professional athlete, but he'd never let himself get out of shape like a few of the guys he knew who'd quit training once they were out of the game. If he had to, he could still do a session in the batting cage and follow it up with a few fast laps around the diamond.

Or the bedroom. When it came to women, he was an old hand. Although not even a certain sexy meteorologist, whose face he couldn't quite bring into focus at the moment, had ever got him this turned on, this fast, with no more than a quick glimpse of waistline.

I
t was just past four in the afternoon the following day when Kell let himself into the house again. Hearing voices from the side porch, he headed that way in time to see an attractive redhead lift her glass in a toast. “Thank you, doll—the mark of a true lady, I've always said, is her ability to pour from a mason jar without spilling a drop.”

“You never said that in your life,” Daisy retorted.

“Comes from emptying bedpans,” teased another woman who was less striking, but pretty in a quiet sort of way. “Besides, it's a wide-mouth bottle, not a jar.”

“Oh, hush, you two!”

Kell didn't know whether to back out or to join the group. Daisy settled the matter. Catching sight of him, she waved him out onto the once-screened porch and introduced her two friends. Before either of them could
voice the questions that were obviously about to spill over, the housekeeper poked her head through the side door. “You want to clean out that library 'fore I leave today or wait till tomorrow?”

Grinning, Sasha said, “Oh, goody, dirty books!”

Daisy's lips twitched in the beginning of a smile. To the housekeeper she said, “I'd just as soon get started now, if that's all right with you.”

“I guess that's our cue to leave. When you're finished here, Faylene,” said the redhead, “Marty could probably use help finding a place to store all those boxes of paperbacks.”

“Just so they're not dirty as them books in the library,” Faylene said. “I never seen so much dust. Poor man, he didn't read 'em no more, but he wouldn't let me touch a one of 'em. Said he knew right where ever'thing was, and I'd put 'em back all wrong.”

Leaning against the wall, Kell enjoyed the byplay among the four women as the party broke up. A few minutes later Marty and Sasha roared off in a red convertible. Faylene handed him a half-empty box of cheese straws. “Might's well finish these up, else Daisy'll do it and she don't need 'em. He'p yerself to the wine.”

A few minutes later, fueled by half a dozen cheese straws, his muscles lubricated by half a glass of a regional wine, Kell followed Daisy and the housekeeper into the library, where he shifted desks, tables and chairs. Under Daisy's instructions, he moved roughly a ton of books so that she could dust the shelves while the housekeeper vacuumed the stacks of books.

By the time it began to grow dark Kell was not only
hot and hungry, he was sore in places that hadn't had a good workout in years. For all her diminutive size—she couldn't be more than five-five and about a hundred-ten pounds—Daisy was a dynamo. So was the housekeeper. “You two in a hurry?” he'd asked, watching the way they worked together.

“Of course we're in a hurry. Don't worry, you'll have plenty of time to look around before you leave.” Daisy picked up a daddy longlegs spider, took him to the front door and dropped him on the porch. Faylene just shook her head and said, “Nice lady, but she's sure got some crazy notions.”

Seeing the look on Kell's face when she returned a moment later, Daisy said defensively, “They're harmless. They eat mosquitoes.”

He nodded slowly and stacked up her eccentricities against her understated sexiness. Sexiness won, hands down.

Daisy lifted an arm to wipe her forehead, then shoved a hand through her hair. “I guess we'd better quit before I get too tired to make supper.”

“Not me,” said the housekeeper. “I got me a play-off game to watch tonight.”

“If you can think of a place anywhere nearby that's still open,” said Kell, not wanting Daisy to feel obligated to feed him again, “call in an order and I'll pick it up. I don't mind driving a few miles out of the way.”

“More like twenty-five or thirty.” Faylene pulled on a bulky pink cardigan embroidered with white poodles. “My game starts in half an hour—I'm outta here. If I was you, Daisy, I'd get me a good hot soak, else you'll wake up stiffer'n an ironin' board.”

That might work for Daisy, Kell mused. In his case, though, a cold shower was called for.

Unbidden, his imagination sketched a picture of the two of them in a hot tub, jets going full blast, soft music in the background and maybe a shot of that eighteen-year-old Balvenie single malt he'd left in his office back home. Man, something in the air around here was affecting his mind, big-time.

As soon as the door closed behind the housekeeper, Daisy turned to him and said, “If you have anything else you'd like to see, then see it now, because I don't intend to be here much longer.”

“Message received. Now, what about that takeout?” He wasn't going to get sidetracked.

“You really don't mind driving all that way? I can tell you how to get there, but first I'd better call to see if they're still open. They do great barbecue, too.”

“Whatever you want, you call it in and I'll go get it. Do we need anything to drink? Beer? Wine?” He grimaced at the memory of that cloying wine.

She smiled then, and as tired as he was, he had to smile back. “No more wine, thanks. I'll make iced tea.”

 

“Baseball!” Faylene exclaimed, pointing a knobby forefinger at him the next morning. Today, instead of a head that resembled a pompom that had been left out in the rain, she was wearing a flowered scarf with her pink sweater, white shorts and stockings. “You used to play with Houston a few years back—or was it Seattle? Told you, I never forget a face. What was it, first base or shortstop?”

Daisy glanced up from the cleaning closet where
she was searching for another can of furniture polish. “You did?”

Kell looked embarrassed. “I pitched a few years. What do you want moved first, the stuff in the middle room?”

Faylene tugged the scarf down over her ears. “'Scuse the stink. Miss Sasha called last night and told me to come by on my way to work 'cause she had something for all them broken ends I was telling you about, Daisy. Goopy stuff stinks something awful, but if it works, I guess it's worth it. I gotta quit wearing my scroogy, though. She said that's what's causing my hair to break off.” Without missing a beat, she turned back to Kell. “Did I tell you my sister's boy plays ball? He's good, too.”

Here we go, thought Kell. He wanted to say he had no more pull than the next guy when it came to getting a kid noticed, but that wasn't quite true. He still knew a few scouts. He always passed on a tip whenever he ran across a promising prospect. “How old is he?”

“Fourteen. He's small for his size, but he runs fast, and man, can that boy swing a bat! He's playing after school in that empty lot at the crossroads there by the Feed-and-Seed if you want to come watch.”

He was small for his size. Ho-kay. And he could swing a bat, too. Connecting might be a different matter. Families weren't always objective where their kids were concerned.

Kell promised the housekeeper he would drop by and take a look, as the place she'd described was on the way into town. He'd been planning to give Blalock another push, anyway. Either the banker was deliberately dragging his feet, or he was a hell of a lot busier than he looked.

Daisy came up with a can of polish and a handful of clean rags. As she led the way, Kell couldn't help but wonder how the two women would have managed if he hadn't come along.

“Okay, you want stuff moved all the way to the center of the room or just out from the wall, or what?” If every piece in the house needed shifting, that might buy him another few days. As to how he'd use the time, that was still open for debate.

He knew how he'd like to use it. In any old bed in the house, with no particular deadline, exploring all the ways a man and a woman could find pleasure. It didn't make sense, but there it was.

“If you can just shift the furniture out and set it on the rug, we can wax and polish underneath,” said Daisy. “I don't know about the rug itself—maybe one of those machines you rent at the grocery store—or maybe we'll just make do with a thorough vacuuming.”

Across the hall, a telephone shrilled. “Oh, shoot,” she muttered.

“You want me to get it?” the housekeeper offered.

“No, I'd better, it's probably Egbert.”

Standing in the doorway, Faylene cocked a hip and shook her head. “That there table might not look it but it weighs a ton. Solid oak. You reckon anybody wants them dried flowers? I might could freshen 'em up some with spray paint.”

“Couldn't hurt—might help.” What the hell did he know about dried flowers? Lifting one end of the sofa, he swung it a few feet out from the wall and then reversed ends, repeating the action, gradually walking it into position.

“I could pick up a couple of cans at the hardware, maybe pink and blue. Monday I'm going shopping with Miss Marty. It's s'posed to be a secret, but I heard 'em talking, her'n Miss Sasha. They're cooking up something and they don't want me wearing my shorts.”

“Uh…right. You want to clear off that table?”

“I'll just set them flowers out in the hall. I don't reckon nobody wants that dead owl—I sure don't. What about that other thing, the picture viewer?”

“Better ask Daisy.”

“Bank'll probably haul ever'thing off to that hotline place. I don't know about the house—that there society is s'posed to get it. If I was them I'd auction it off and save myself a lot of trouble. I heard one o'them big discount stores is looking for property out this way.”

Over my dead body,
Kell thought. He was about to step up to the plate to defend his ancestral home when Daisy appeared and handed him the cordless phone. “Here, it's for you.”

Lifting a questioning brow, he reached for the instrument that was possibly the most modern piece of equipment in the house. It was still warm from her hand. “Who is it, Blalock?”

She shook her head. “A woman. She didn't give her name, she just asked for you.”

Just so it wasn't someone calling to tell him they'd found genetic evidence proving that his branch of Magees was in no way connected to the local Snows. You'd think his being here somehow threatened to topple a dynasty.

“Yeah, Magee here,” he said cautiously, still eyeing Daisy. He liked the way her hair curled around her face
and neck, no matter how hard she tried to control it. Hair with a mind of its own on a woman with a mind of her own…yeah, he liked that.

“Kell, this is Clarice. Moxie's in jail and I need you to talk to Chief Taylor. He won't listen to me.”

He held the phone away to protect his eardrums. “Okay, calm down, honey. How bad is it?” A few of the kids he worked with had a tendency to backslide, fifteen-year-old Moxie being one of the riskiest.

Still holding the phone a few inches from his ear, he listened to the shrill voice on the other end, nodding occasionally. “Uh-huh…uh-huh. No, don't do that.” Daisy had led Faylene out of the room to afford him some privacy, but they had to be hearing every word, at least on his end of the conversation. Possibly the other end, too. Clarice had been one of the kids. Now she was opening her own business. She had a tendency to be loud when she was excited.

“Look, I'll call the chief and explain—yeah, right away. He might not buy it this time, though. In that case, Moxie'll just have to hang in there until—” Closing his eyes while he sieved the resulting flood of information for pertinent data, he waited for her to wind down. Then he said, “You quit worrying now, y'hear? Concentrate on getting ready for the big day. I want to see that neon sign all lit up when I get there, okay?” Sighing tiredly, he waited until she'd finished speaking. “Sure I'll be there. I promised, didn't I?”

Pushing the off button, he took a deep breath, then stepped out into the hall where Daisy and the housekeeper were pretending not to have overheard. Forestalling any questions, he said, “Look, this friend of mine
seems to have run into a spot of trouble. Mind if I make a long distance call? I'll put it on my home account.”

“How did she get this number?” Daisy's eyes weren't icy, but they were decidedly unwarm.

“Seems my cell phone coverage has a few holes in it. Muddy Landing's one of them. I called last night, put it on my tab and gave her this number in case of emergency. I wasn't expecting her to have to use it.”

Daisy had that look on her face again. He'd thought they had gotten past her reservations, but maybe not. He'd have to work on it, but first he needed to settle a few things back home.

“I guess it must be an emergency if you're having to talk to the chief. Chief of what, may I ask? Fire? Police?”

“Uh, police.”

She didn't say another word. Didn't have to, her eyes said it all. Kell got the message, but he had to do what he had to do. “I'll explain everything, but first I need to call Chief Taylor, so if you don't mind?” He held up the receiver and turned away.

The two women returned to the parlor, allowing Kell his privacy. Faylene said, “I thought you had a hot one there, but now I'm startin' to wonder. Did he tell you he used to be this big baseball star till he dropped out of sight? What with ever'body gettin' traded around an' a few of 'em not gettin' picked up, I never thought to find out what happened to him.”

“You and your baseball games,” Daisy said absently as she surveyed the disarranged room. She should never have invited him to stay. Egbert wasn't going to like it. At the time, though, it had seemed like the right thing to do.

“You stick to them romance books if you want to, but
there's nothin' I like better when my very-close veins is killin' me than to kick back with a cold brew an' watch a bunch of good-looking guys in tight pants bendin' over the sack.”

 

Thankful that the rain had ended the day before, Marty lugged the last box of books out of the tiny stand-alone building that had started out life as a service station, morphed into a tackle shop, and for the past seven years—until she was finally forced to admit defeat—had been Marty's New-and-Used Bookstore.