Nerd Gone Wild (6 page)

Ally glanced at Betsy and Rudy, astonished by this new piece of information. “He told you guys?”

They both nodded.

Oh, God. Mitchell must really have it bad if he’d confided in the first two people he’d met in Porcupine. How unbelievably awkward. She couldn’t be furious with a guy who’d impetuously followed his heart. She just wished his heart hadn’t led him to her.

Mitchell cleared his throat. “Ally, I think—”

“We have to talk. Alone.”

He nodded. “Yep.”

And yet she had more pressing matters than public humiliation to think about. If they both went back to the Loose Moose to talk without getting any food first, she would be in terrible shape. “The thing is, I’m starving. I need to eat something, especially after four Irish coffees.”

“
Four?
” His eyes widened.

“Yes, four, and there’s enough mellow mood left over to get me through this unfortunate episode. I would suggest, however, that you have several more glasses of beer. You’ll be amazed at how that helps neutralize the shock.”

He shook his head. “I just need to eat.”

Betsy punched him on the arm. “Shame on you, Mitchell! You told me you didn’t want anything! I was ready to feed you leftover moose-meat pie and you turned it down!”

Rudy groaned. “He turned it down? Can I have whatever you were plannin’ to give him?”

“No, you cannot.” Betsy stood and pulled on her coat. “Mitchell, Ally, come with me right this minute. I’m going to warm up a hearty portion of my famous moose-meat pie.”

Mitchell exchanged a look of dismay with Ally, and for the first time in their relationship, she felt a common bond. Neither of them was ready to face Betsy’s famous moose-meat pie. But they didn’t have a lot of choice, now that they’d both admitted they were hungry. If they turned down a chance to eat one of Porcupine’s greatest delicacies, they’d be outcasts.

Mitchell might not care, but Ally did. She wanted to be accepted here, because this was where she intended to launch her career as a wildlife photographer. When she was an internationally famous photog, she planned to refer fondly to the tiny town of Porcupine, whose residents had taken her into their hearts. She didn’t want anything to screw with that.

“Sounds wonderful, Betsy.” She stood and put on her jacket, knit cap, and gloves.

Rudy stood, too. “How much pie you got, Betsy?”

“Never you mind, Rudy. You’re not going over there with us. I can be discreet and retire to my private quarters, but you’d end up hanging around and ruining their private moment.”

“No I wouldn’t. I’d just eat and leave. I haven’t had some of your moose-meat pie since before Lurleen left. And don’t forget, I’m the one who brought you the moose meat in the first place.”

“Only because you were in the right place at the right time!” called out one of the other men. “Lucky son of a bitch, to come along right after that logging truck hit it.”

Ally winced and snuck a peek at Mitchell.

He stopped zipping his parka. “You mean this moose was… roadkill?” He looked somewhat green around the gills.

“Very
fresh
roadkill,” Rudy said. “The truck didn’t even run over it. Just knocked it to the side of the road, neat as you please. Dented up the truck grille some, but the loggers are used to that.”

“Doesn’t matter about the details.” Betsy pulled up the hood on her stoplight-red coat and tied the string under her chin. “Once I get my hands on moose meat, it becomes food for the gods. Now let’s move, people. I’m getting a hot flash.”

Clyde hurried over. “You’re not really leaving, are you?”

Ally heard the plea in his question. He’d hoped Betsy would hang around.

Betsy glared down at him. “Why, yes, we are, Clyde. I wasn’t aware I was supposed to ask your permission.”

“But… but you’re taking away two new paying customers. And I heard you say you’re going to
feed
them. I suppose you’ll stay over there and eat, too! So how’m I supposed to make a living if you do that, Betsy?”

“Clyde, these two have recently experienced a humiliating moment, and they need some privacy. Can you be a little sensitive to that?”

“Me?” Clyde got red in the face and drew himself to his full height of at least five-four. “You’re calling me insensitive? I put aside an excellent caribou steak for your dinner! And now you’re leaving!”

“Did I ask you to do that?”

“Yes, you most certainly did. This morning when I saw you over at Heavenly Provisions.”

“Did not.”

“Did, too.”

“Did not. Clyde, I’m leaving now. Ally and Mitchell, let’s go.”

“Did, too!” Clyde called after them. “Standing right by the smoked salmon on special!”

Ignoring him, Betsy led the way out of the Top Hat. Ally had the presence of mind to grab her backpack from the corner where she’d stashed it before she followed Betsy out the door. At first Betsy blocked some of the wind, but once she moved away from the door, the arctic blast belting Ally in the face made her gasp.

Ducking her head, she leaned into the wind.

“Jesus!” Behind her, Mitchell came out the door and it slammed behind him with a heavy clunk. “How does anybody stand this?”

Ally wondered the same thing. The wind brought tears that froze to her cheeks. But she’d never admit to anyone, especially Mitchell, that she found the weather intimidating. This was her first full day. She’d get used to it. By next winter, she’d spit in the face of a wind like this.

But not tonight. And not literally. Anybody who spit into this wind would get stabbed in the eye when that spit came back as an icicle. She’d never been so cold in her life.

She’d be willing to eat roadkill moose-meat pie for the privilege of getting warm again. Even more significant, she’d be willing to end up in a kitchen alone with Mitchell if she were guaranteed a toasty place with zero wind.

Ah, Mitchell. What a dork. She hated the idea of hurting the tender feelings of any human being, but Mitchell had to face facts. Despite his delectable-looking mouth and his sense of rhythm, despite the glint of humor that had made him seem semi-sexy for a split second, he was still Mitchell the Nerd. And she would never, ever, in a million, trillion years, be his main squeeze.

* * *

Mitch wondered what he’d done to deserve this—plowing his way through nut-numbing wind and snow so that he could dine on roadkill. He’d tried to live a decent life, pay taxes, contribute to charity, and support the Dodgers, win or lose. He recycled. He’d thought his reward for all that had been Madeline Jarrett hiring him. It appeared that, instead, he was being punished for some unforgivable transgression.

He should be working on whatever story he planned to tell Ally once they were alone, but his brain was frozen solid. Madeline had made it very clear that he was not to reveal that he’d been hired to guard Ally unless her life was in immediate danger. A woman like Ally, Madeline had said, would hate the idea of a bodyguard and would sabotage his efforts if she knew about them.

This damn weather was enough sabotage to deal with. If he had to live in a place like this—which would never happen, but say he was forced at gunpoint by aliens with superhuman strength—then he’d construct a series of heated tunnels between buildings so that he never had to go outside in the winter.

He trudged along behind Ally, who seemed to be using Betsy as a windbreak. Mitch didn’t blame her. As the tallest member of the three blind mice, he caught the gale full in the face, or what used to be his face. He couldn’t feel his lips anymore. When he finally got inside, they might crack and fall off.

After what seemed like about a hundred years, Betsy opened the front door of the Loose Moose and they all funneled inside, stomping their boots on the mat in front of the door. Stomping was good, Mitch decided. If he stomped hard enough, he might get some circulation back in his toes.

“Hang your coats on that rack by the door and stick your boots underneath the bench.” Betsy unzipped her coat and flipped back her hood. “With you two being the only ones in the lodge, you might as well use that spot for your stuff, instead of letting it drip all the way up the stairs. I’ll go on back to the kitchen and turn on the oven.”

Ally’s teeth chattered as she took off her coat and draped it over a brass hook by the door. “I wonder if I c-could c-crawl in the oven with the moose-meat pie.”

Mitch itched to tell her
I told you so
, but he didn’t. He needed her to like him a little bit so she wouldn’t dig in her heels at every suggestion he made. “Does Betsy have a dog?” He hung up his coat beside hers. God, it was orange. It hurt his eyes every time he looked at it.

“I haven’t seen a dog since I’ve been here.” Ally sat down on the bench and tugged off her boots. The extreme cold seemed to have sobered her right up. “Why?”

He lowered his voice. “We need a way to make the moose-meat pie disappear.”

“I’m thinking the garbage disposal. But then what will we eat? I really am hungry.”

“Yeah, me, too. Maybe we can find some bread and peanut butter in her cupboards.” He was a little sorry to watch tipsy Ally being replaced by in-control Ally. She might be more of a problem for him under the influence, but she sure was funny.

She thought he’d been paralyzed by humiliation back at the Top Hat, when in fact he’d been clenching his jaw to keep from laughing. When she’d sent her loaded question sailing right into that moment of dead silence, he’d nearly lost it. Talk about hilarious.

Now that he was thawing out, he could appreciate it all over again, except he had to be careful not to start smiling for no apparent reason. People tended to get nervous around that kind of behavior. He sat down next to Ally and began taking off his boots, too.

“Whatever you do, don’t let on that you’re not looking forward to eating her special dish,” she said.

He was offended that she’d even feel the need to warn him. “You think I’m that much of a social klutz?” Then he realized that she probably did think so. And he had made that remark about roadkill, which had popped out of his mouth before he could stop it.

“I just want to make sure we don’t insult Betsy’s cooking,” Ally said.

“Don’t worry. I won’t insult her cooking.” An aroma that wasn’t half bad drifted into the hotel lobby. “Who knows? Maybe we’ll like it.”

Ally shuddered. “I’ve never eaten anything that was hit by a logging truck.”

“I know what you mean. Personally, I’d rather stick with the stuff that was hit by a Toyota.”

She looked at him, her eyes wide. Then she broke into a slow grin. “I’ll be damned. You just made a joke.”

“Is there a law against that in Alaska?”

“I didn’t think you had a sense of humor.” Then she clapped her hand over her mouth. “Geez, that sounded awful. I meant to say that I’d never seen that side of you. You’re always so serious.”

“I’ve been dealing with serious business.”

“True.” She gripped the edge of the bench and swung her feet, which were covered with thick white socks. When she looked at him, her gaze was assessing, as if she’d never really observed him closely.

He fell back on nerdspeak. “Under the circumstances, it wouldn’t have been particularly appropriate for me to walk around the mansion cracking jokes.”

She nodded. “Although I probably could have used a few. Still, I see your point. When someone is handling an estate that size, he probably has to be careful about being funny.”

“I figured that.” He realized they’d never sat this close to each other, or spent this much time gazing into each other’s eyes. He should interrupt the moment before it got too cozy. But he didn’t.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever said this, but I’m grateful for the way you took care of all the details after Grammy died. I couldn’t have. I was a real basket case. Your calm attitude helped to keep me steady.”

Maybe that was why he’d continued to sit here, because he’d wanted that validation from her. Sure, he got paid well, but he liked knowing that he’d been of help. “I think she anticipated you would be very upset, which is why she brought me in.”

The longer they sat there, the more he found himself staring at her soft cheeks, tinged pink by the wind, and her full mouth, which had been rubbed free of all lipstick. Her eyes looked very green. It occurred to him that he was within kissing distance. The fact that he even thought of that showed how much trouble he was in.

Ally nodded. “She was always watching out for me. And a good part of the time I resented that.”

“You were all she had.” Unable to stop himself, he drifted closer to her.

“I know. And I did understand, but…”

“You felt smothered.” Not much distance remained between his mouth and hers.

“Yeah.” She didn’t move away. For some reason, she was acting as if she wouldn’t mind being kissed.

“Moose-meat pie is ready! Come and get it!” Betsy’s command galloped out from the kitchen, stampeding the possibilities starting to gather around the bench.

Ally smiled and stood. “Moose-meat’s on. We wouldn’t want to let it get cold.”

“Nope.” Mitch looked into her eyes and wondered if she felt the tiniest bit frustrated, too. “God knows I need something hot right now.”

“Yeah.” Her gaze simmered. “Me, too.” She turned and sashayed into the kitchen.

Mitch had to take a moment to control his reaction before he could stand up and follow her. Wow. So much for platonic.