Taming Tess (The St. John Sibling Series) (5 page)

Wrong.

Even if St. John wasn't exactly like her father, he was the second to last man on earth to whom she should turn for help, her father being the first.

She yawned again and eyed the double bed with its fluffy comforter. Clearly she was overly tired if
she was contemplating asking Roman's help fixing The Castle. First thing in the morning, she'd inspect the house and determine the extent of damage.

She flicked off the switch beside the door for the overhead light and the room plunged into
blackness. Immediately, Tess' body reacted. Her heart skipped a beat then began a familiar jack hammer dance. Her throat tightened. Sweat popped out along her spine. She switched the light back on.

Roman had
warned her the nights were dark out here in the country. Maybe if she opened the drapes.

But the room's
dormered window wasn't covered with draperies, curtains, or even a shade. She scowled, torn between the lack of privacy that bare window presented and its isolating blackness. She needed a nightlight.

But there was no reading lamp on the nightstand beside the bed or
on the dresser beneath the window, just that harsh, glaring overhead fixture. How was she supposed to sleep with a hundred watts of light shining in her face?

#

Roman was aware of Tess the moment she stepped into his open doorway. He should have closed his bedroom door. He would from now on for as long as she insisted on inhabiting his spare bedroom.

But, at the moment, she stood in his doorway in his
t-shirt but clearly no longer wearing his shorts. Did she know what she did to him, standing on the threshold of his bedroom with all that bare leg showing?

He lowered the book he'd been reading and demanded, "What?"

"There's no reading lamp in my room," she said.

"Can't you read
by the overhead light?" he asked.

"I wasn't planning on reading."

"Then why do you need a reading lamp?"

She blinked, frowned briefly then peeked up at him through a heavy fringe of lashes.
"In case I have to get up during the night." One corner of her mouth twitched. "You wouldn't want me tripping over anything, now would you? You wouldn't want me to have any additional reasons to sue you?"

Was she goading him
, or flirting with him? Whichever, he refused to rise to the bait.

"Then leave the hall light on and your door open," he
said.

She swept her little, round chin into
its ever familiar imperial angle and pursed her lips. "I don't want to leave my door open."

He half expected her to stomp her foot
…her little, perfect, bare foot with its painted nails. She should have stuck with the seductive approach. He might have succumbed to that. But the harpy tempted him to show her he could give as good as she gave.

"What's the matter, Princess," he said, bringing his gaze back up to her face, "you afraid an
open door is more than my male libido can resist?"

She folded her arms over her chest, the cock of her chin more challenging now than imperial.
"I should point out, St. John, I have a killer uppercut."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?"

"Because I'm a woman who can take care of myself, perhaps?"

"Or maybe because you're a lot like the woman in these pages."
He wagged the book he held loosely in his lap. "She has a wallop that would stop any man in his tracks, too."
And a tongue to match
.

She looked at the book
, no doubt curious to know who he was comparing her to. He palmed the book, hiding its faded title from her.

"I don't have a spare reading lamp
," he said.

"How about a table lamp from the living room?"

"How about a flashlight?" he retorted.

Her shoulders drooped
, a crease scored her broad brow, and her gaze dropped to the floor. She looked so uncertain he had the urge to gather her in his arms and promise everything would work out, and this wasn't the first time he'd had the urge to protect her. How did she do that, flip from harpy to vulnerable in a blink of the eye?

"Okay, St. John," she said, looking him in the eye.
"Here's the facts. I need a nightlight. It's pitch black up there, and I've never slept without one."

The eyes blazing at him dared hi
m to make something of her revelation. Little did she know he couldn't kick an opponent when she was down, harpy or not.

Roman tossed his book aside, threw back the covers, and
slid out of bed. She glanced down the front of him and, for an instant, looked startled. Then a smile spread across those lips he'd have liked to sample, were she a sweeter sort of woman.

"What's the matter, Princess?
Don't my pajama bottoms live up to your royal standards?"

"On the contrary.
I think smiley faces are adorable." She grinned up at him as he stopped in front of her, her deep, brown eyes twinkling.

"They were a gift from my sister," he
said. "A gag gift."

"And you wear them even though
they were a gag?"

"Not wearing them would be a waste."

"Practical Roman," she said, tsking in a way that reminded him of his sister's own good-natured ribbing about his practicality. He wasn't sure he liked the shrewish Tess teasing him.

"I'll bring you a nightlight if you go wait for me in your bedroom."

She gave him a crooked smile, pivoted on her heel, and bounded up the steps.

A
ll that leg wasted on a woman too ornery to live with. He shook his head, retrieved the nightlight from the kitchen junk drawer, and headed upstairs.

She was sitting on the bed, covers drawn up over
the knees she hugged up under her chin. Thank goodness for that quilt. A man could take only so much tempting before he broke. Still, he couldn't help but speculate at what he'd find under that old quilted bedcover. How would Tess Abbot react if she knew what primal thoughts heated his blood?

Then
he realized she was taking her own time perusing his bare chest.

Run
, urged a tiny voice inside his head.
Run fast and far.

"
Here." He thrust the nightlight at her, but she didn't take it. She just stared at it, eyebrows raised.

"I bought it when my nephew visited."

"You babysat your nephew?"

"No, I eat little children.
You'll find his bones in the bone pile out back. Jeez, Tess. What kind of man do you think I am? I'll plug in the nightlight for you." He dropped to one knee beside the dresser where there was an electrical outlet.

"Aren't you the gentleman," she all but purred from the bed.

"Anything your little heart desires, Princess," he grumbled, fighting the nightlight's bent prongs into the outlet.

"In that case, St. John
--"

He rose and faced her, dread
inching up his spine.

"-
-Turn off the overhead light on your way out…please."

That was it?
No tirade about the Spartan accommodation, or the lack of curtains on the window? Even a
please?
He was almost disappointed.

"Sure," he said.

"And leave the hall light on…in case I get up during the night."

"Anything else Her Highness requires before her humble servant retires for the night?" he parried.

"I'll whistle if I think of anything."

"I just bet you will."

CHAPTER THREE

The third time Tess opened her eyes and squinted into the sunlight streaming through the bedroom's unclad window, she knew she wasn't having a nightmare. The lumpy bed beneath her and the slanted ceiling over her head were real, as real as yesterday's fire at The Castle.

Tess winced.
She'd put everything she had into that project. She'd even had a couple prospective buyers interested, buyers expecting a livable house. Now what was she going to do?

She could call Aunt Honey and hash out options with her.

No, she couldn't. Not for the next three weeks. Aunt Honey had gone to a monastery somewhere in the Andes. Spiritual enlightenment was Aunt Honey's latest passion. No cell phones allowed. Besides, she needed to assess the damage at The Castle before she could determine any plan of action.

Tess climbed out of bed
, slipped on Roman’s shorts, and stumbled down the steps. Roman's door was shut. Obviously the fire for which he was responsible wasn't nagging Prince Charmless awake this morning. After all the times he'd hammered on her front door at the crack of dawn, it would serve him right if she returned the favor and knocked on his door right now.

She yawned.
Maybe she'd do just that…right after she had her first cup of coffee.

She shuffled into the kitchen to the coffeemaker.
There was already coffee in it. Just enough to fill a mug. But the pot was cold. Yesterday's brew?

Not in Mr.
Neat's domain.

Alarm tingled at the base of Tess' skull.
If the cold coffee wasn't from yesterday--

She charged Roman's bedroom door and threw it open.
No Roman. No happy face pjs. Just his made-up bed.

She dashed out the front door.
The driveway was empty as well. He'd abandoned her. That countrified version of her father had up and stranded her in the woods!

Blood
pounding in her ears, she stormed back into the house. A yellow sticky note on the kitchen table fluttered with her passing. She backed up and read it. It stated simply, "Taxi," followed by a phone number.

Okay.
He hadn't stranded her.

She drew a deep breath
in through her nose then blew it slowly out her mouth, a calming technique she'd learned in some long ago yoga class. She'd overreacted. Couple yesterday's emotional roller-coaster ride with not having had her eye-opening cup of coffee yet, it was no wonder. She'd feel better after she got her caffeine fix and some food.

She found a coffee mug, filled it from the cold pot, and stuck it in the microwave.
The yellow sticky note with the cab number beckoned her from the table. It would take some time for a taxi to drive out here. She should call and set a time for them to pick her up.

She dialed the number.
One ring. Two rings. The microwave timer went off. The long cord on the wall mounted phone let her reach the mug. Gratefully, she wrapped her fingers around the steamy cup.

Three rings.

She popped a couple slices of bread in the toaster.

Four rings.

The toaster lever jammed and she wiggled it.

Five rings.

What kind of cab company took this long to answer its phone? The toaster lever jerked loose and the bread popped up. She hammered the lever back down and the bread with it.

She was about to give up on the cab when a woman answered on the sixth ring, a baby squalling in the background.
"I'm sorry," Tess said, "I must have called the wrong--"

The woman shouted over the caterwauling infant.

Tess pulled the receiver away from her ear, reiterating, "You
are
Penetti's Cab Company?"
Small towns and their casual business practices
. "I need a cab at--"

"I have to talk to your husband?
" Tess asked with more than a little confusion. "Is he the dispatcher?"

Another shouted response, this time with the added backup of another child intoning, "Mommy.
Mommy. Mommy."

"Your husband is the cabby
. Okay." Tess rolled her eyes.

She sipped at her coffee as she waited for the husband to respond to the wife's shouts and come to the phone.
These people would never make it in Chicago.

And what was that singed smell?

She zeroed in on the smoking toaster and tried to raise the burning bread, but the damned lever stuck again. She jerked the toaster cord from the outlet, accidentally hitting the toaster with her hand and sending it flying across the counter top. It crashed to the floor just as the cabby came on line.

"I need a cab," she said, flinging her coffee on the flaming toast now ski
dding across the inlaid. Just as the cabby spoke, the smoke detector in the hall squealed to life.

"Just a minute," she shouted into the mouthpiece, dragging a chair under the smoke detector.
"Let me shut this thing up."

She tucked the phone receiver under her chin, climbed onto the chair, and dislodged the battery.
But the alarm kept squealing at ear splitting decibels.

"It's hard wired," she muttered and cursed Roman's attention to code even though she would have been every bit as safety-conscious and connected the alarm directly to the house current.

She ripped the detector off the ceiling and the squeal gave way to an annoying blip. "Internal back up battery," she explained into the phone receiver. Roman had covered every base. "I'll just be another second."

She dropped from the chair, set the phone down, went to the front door, and flung the alarm outside.
Silence once more reigning, she picked up the phone. "Now, about that cab."

"What do you
mean, the cab is in the shop? You can't possibly have just one--"

"You have only one cab and it's getting a new transmission today."
She managed a tight, "Thank you," and hung up.

"You did this on purpose, Roman St. John.
You left me the phone number of the lamest cab company in town."

She
found a phone book in the nearest kitchen drawer and opened it to the yellow pages. Just as she thought. There were two other listings. She phoned both companies only to be informed that the only thing they had in common with Penetti's Cab Company was a listing in the yellow pages that served two other small towns. They were both fifty miles away and neither serviced Pine Mountain.

"Damn you, St. John," she howled.
"Leave me here without any way to get to town--without a change of clothes. What am I supposed to do?"

She could
wash her clothes and then walk to town…if she knew the way. Why hadn't she paid attention to how they'd gotten here last night?

Tess thumbed the thin phone book still in her lap.
At least she could call the fire department and find out what conclusion they'd drawn about the fire at her house.

Fifteen minutes later, she'd concluded her conversation with the local Fire Chief.
It hadn't been Roman's cousin's cigar that had started the fire. That news had dropped the floor out from under her. She had only minimal insurance. Anticipating a speedy turn-around on the house, she'd chanced saving money by relying on her contractor's insurance for protection.

Then
came the reprieve she desperately needed. The fire had started as the result of an over-heated electrical cord Roman's cousin Raymond had admitted to using.

At least those were the preliminary findings.
The Fire Marshall still had to investigate for himself and write up his own report. But, with the only Fire Marshall servicing all of Michigan's Upper Peninsula gone on vacation, they'd have to wait for a downstate Fire Marshall to fit them into his schedule. No rush since there hadn’t been any deaths or injuries as a result of the fire. Apparently the entire Upper Peninsula was as remote as small town Pine Mountain.

Meanwhile,
the Fire Chief had said she was free to
enter her property
. "Just don't go into the area where the fire occurred."

Don't go into the fire area
? What kind of security was that? Roman and his henchmen could be at The Castle right now removing incriminating evidence. Could that be the reason he’d left her stranded, so he could get into the fire damaged area of The Castle before she did?

Tess paced
the plaid and pine living room, debating whether the man who'd come with a sterling recommendation from her aunt--whether the man she'd come to know during long phone conversations would tamper with evidence. She picked up the photo of Roman's sister and nephew from the end table. Could a man who babysat a preschool nephew--who bought the boy a Winnie-the-Pooh nightlight for when he visited be so dishonest?

Being a good uncle to an adorable little boy didn't guarantee honesty.

She put the picture down and faced the fireplace that dominated the side wall of his living room. Made of fieldstone it created a handsome focal point for the room and certainly fit the rustic charm of the cabin. Okay, St. John had some design sense of his own.

She harrumphed. Having rustic taste didn't negate financial troubles, though. He sure wouldn't want to be found responsible for the fire at her place in that case. Then again, no contractor wants to be found at fault for a fire on his job.

That had to be his angle, remove all evidence his crew was at fault for the fire. All men had angles. And St. John had plenty…like the angles planing his cheeks.

She groaned and
began searching the collection of photos on the fireplace mantle as though she might find motive among them. There was a five by seven of a long-haired, young man with Roman's coloring and features dressed in knight's regalia and standing in front of two horses. The younger man had a wide grin and lively eyes. Another was of a younger Dixie in Dutch attire complete with wooden shoes, her pose flirtatious in a girlish way, her eyes inviting the viewer to join in her fun. An eight by ten landscape captured four blond-haired, blue-eyed teens in ski clothes on a snow covered mountainside, cheeks wind reddened. Siblings, no doubt. Something in the background reminded her of the Alps, but that couldn't be. World traveler just didn't fit her impression of Roman.

S
he picked up a photo of the four blond siblings with a fourth, dark haired boy all in orange cold weather gear on a background of snow. They were all a tad younger in this shot, the boys down on one knee with Dixie stretched out on her side on their upraised knees while behind them stood an older couple. Their parents, judging by the eye color the blonde siblings shared with the man and smile all five youths shared with the woman. And that smile wasn't just for the camera. Genuine happiness shown in their eyes, even those of the oldest looking boy with the dark hair and dark eyes.

Who were these people
who appeared so open and guileless? Had Roman retained the honesty she saw in his younger self and of those he grew up with?

She
needed to hash this all out with someone. If only Aunt Honey weren't incommunicado. She could talk to Kitt who lived across the street from The Castle, the young mother she'd hired to help her clean out The Castle and pick through Honey's cast offs. They'd formed a close bond over a like-minded work ethic, their individual man troubles, and a shared appreciation for her contractor's physique.

But she
didn't want to impose her issues on Kitt whose priority challenged husband left her short on funds for bills most months. Besides, she knew what Aunt Honey would tell her. The Fire Chief had already found the contractor's equipment to be at fault for the fire. There'd be no reason for Roman to remove evidence now.

And hadn't he
already accepted responsibility? Honesty personified. Add reliable, neat, clean, and physically fit. He was damned near a Boy Scout. She needn't be worrying about him and his access to The Castle. Her worries should be focused on how to get The Castle cleaned up, repaired, and sold before her balloon payment was due.

"I need coffee
." Tess charged the kitchen. A charred remnant of toast crunched under her foot, releasing new scorch fumes into the air and stopping her dead in her tracks.

Last evening, jogging the hilly neighborhood where The Castle held court, she'd smelled the smoke.
Being an old neighborhood full of aged shade trees, she'd thought someone was burning pruned branches. Green wood burning would have explained the smoke plume spiraling into the sky.

But the childhood campfires and college bonfires
of her youth had had a pleasant scent. This one did not.

The fire truck siren that had moments
before turned the heads of the small town folk but not that of a city girl suddenly took on an importance to her. The hairs at the nape of her neck had stood on end and she'd picked up her pace when she should have been slowing--cooling down. Each stride brought her closer to the smoke and hammered foreboding up her spine. By the time she rounded the last corner before The Castle, her muscles were burning.