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The way she smiled at him was a little surprising. Although he didn’t know her that well. So far, she’d been a reliable worker, someone who didn’t complain about filling in with double shifts. She probably just liked the idea of looting the gift shop.
His attention went back to the pumpkins. They were being stacked in front of the stage, on two levels, some on the carpet, some on bales of hay. The tables had been equipped with multicolored markers, stencils, ice-cream scoops for the innards, big bowls and lots of paper towels. Of course, each table was covered in thick plastic and paper, and the rules of the contest were in block letters, posted on four walls. Even so, he would read them aloud before the competition got started.
The monitors were on stage, still recording evidence of the supernatural, but during the contest itself, there would be music of the Halloween kind piped in. The food table wasn’t festooned with prize-winning pastries, but it was certainly cheerful. Punch and fruit and too many candy treats, all holiday themed, would please guests of any age. The two bars were in the process of being stocked.
The rules were pretty simple. All cutting into pumpkins was done by a staff member. All participants, either as individuals or teams, drew their design on a pumpkin. At the end of the evening, the crowd voted on the winner. Not only did the winner receive an in-room massage, but their pumpkin would also be featured in the Crider City newspaper on the front page.
He heard Jody’s voice behind him and when he turned, she was pushing a cart that carried her pumpkin creations. They were so expertly crafted and clever they should have been displayed in a gallery.
Sam went to help her set up. Dry ice swirled in the corner just under the table and around Jody’s feet.
“I heard you were all over the place with the buyers this morning.” She kept her voice low as she placed the first pumpkin.
“Yeah. They couldn’t stop talking about last night’s meal, though.”
“That was the plan. By the time Heartly leaves, he’s never going to forget my name, or my cooking.”
“You’d better work fast. He and Mr. Mori are out of here tomorrow. Early.”
“I know. And don’t sweat it, sweetie. I’ve got it covered.” She placed another pumpkin, then shifted the first. Before she got to the third, she took a long sweeping look at the room. “She’s not here yet.”
“Who?”
Jody shook her head. “Everyone knows, Sam. Even Mikey, and he never even leaves the kitchen.”
“Knows what? “
“That you’ve got it bad.”
He almost argued. Then sighed. “I used to be more subtle than this. How is it possible I’ve gotten worse at picking up women? It’s got to be the sale messing with me. ‘Cause this is not how I roll.”
“How you roll?” Jody laughed, loudly and long. “Who are you talking to? I’ve known you since we were freshmen, buddy. I’ve seen your moves. James Bond, you’re not.”
He stared at her, openmouthed. “What the hell are you talking about? You’re just jealous you didn’t marry me when you had the chance.”
“We’d have been miserable and you know it. We both had a lot of growing up to do. But you know what? You’ve turned into someone I like quite a bit. Not as much as my husband, but still.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“I heard you were down here last night after one in the morning, when you should have been getting some beauty rest.”
“How do you know this?”
“I work in the kitchen. We know everything.”
He handed her the next damn pumpkin. “Yeah, well. I’m not sure it did any good.”
“Stop. You’re gorgeous and wonderful and she’d be an idiot not to like you. Just a thought, though. Tomorrow I’d go back to flannel and hiking boots. Let those bigcity boys get a taste of the real Crider experience, and let this woman see that you’re a rugged outdoorsman.”
“Talk about false advertising.”
“What do you care? It’s only for another couple of days. And you look damn good in those old jeans of yours.”
“Does your husband know you talk like this?”
She grinned at him happily. “He thinks I’m adorable.”
“I’ll have to talk to him about that.”
“Speak of the devil,” Jody said, nodding toward the entrance.
He expected to see Jody’s husband, but it was Carrie standing by the door. Although he wanted to, he didn’t turn. “So, everybody’s talking about me and Carrie, huh?”
“You know the kitchen staff, Sam. Biggest bunch of gossips in the world. Except for maybe housekeeping. Or would that be reservations and front desk?”
“Fine. How about using those extraordinary eavesdropping skills on something useful? Like finding out who’s going to buy this joint and for how much.”
Jody put another pumpkin in place. “Go talk to her. She keeps looking at you.”
“You’re just making shit up now.”
“Am I?”
Sam studied Jody’s face. She was still a beauty. Marriage and having a kid agreed with her. He knew some of that glow was due to working again after such a long hiatus, and that pleased him. He hoped she and Heartly could make a deal. As for her being all-knowing and wise, that was a bunch of bullshit. Nevertheless, he had no qualms about leaving Jody without a second glance.
AND THERE, LIKE A GIFT, was the very man Carrie had been searching for.
He looked good. Skinny black pants, hunter-green button-down shirt all very hotel-ownerish. But his hair, that was all renegade filmmaker. It wasn’t quite as messy as just-rolled-out-of-bed. No, it was more just-finished-making-out-in-the-backseat hair.
As he approached his smile swept away all doubts that she’d screwed up her chance with him. She adjusted her sweater, smoothed her hair, although she’d just checked out the ponytail five minutes ago. She was just doing the mating dance of the Prowling Twentysomething Female, dressed in her finest plumage. Well, the finest she’d brought, which consisted of jeans, a thrift-store cardigan, navy ballerina flats and an estate-sale broach she’d found in East L.A. Sam looked her up and down, and from what Carrie could see, he approved.
“You’re early,” he said as he stepped in close. “That means you can have your pick of pumpkins.”
“How nicely alliterative. Perhaps I’ll pick the prettiest pumpkin.”
He opened his mouth, then let it close with a sigh. “I’m just going to give that one to you. I’m not up to the challenge.”
“Why not?” she asked as she walked with him to the pumpkin patch.
“I’d have to think. That’s probably not gonna happen tonight.”
“Ah. How about answering questions? Up to that?”
“Depends. What’s the question?”
“Who, exactly, will be giving the prize-winning in-room massage?”
Sam put his hand on the small of her back. They were almost at the pumpkins so this was going to be a fleeting moment. As fleeting moments went, this one was a little bit spectacular. Her body broke out in little bumps, her breath hitched and her step slowed to stretch things out to the last second.
Yeah, she definitely wanted to see how Sam looked when he rolled out of bed.
“We have a terrific masseur who comes up to the hotel. His name is Michael, and he’s studied touch therapy for years. He runs a well-known studio and school in Crider. Even if you don’t win, you should try and make time for one of his massages.”
“Oh,” she said, as she looked at the great pile of pumpkins.
“What’s wrong? You sound disappointed.”
With her heart beating fast, her courage at maximum, she turned to look him straight in the eyes. “I was hoping, if I won, that you’d give me my massage.”
His pupils dilated. She’d wager he was blushing as hard as she was, but she didn’t move her gaze an inch.
“I think that could be arranged.”
“What if I don’t win?” she asked.
He smiled. She could tell by the lines at his eyes. By his eyebrows. “It could still be arranged.”
She let out her held breath, then turned back to pumpkin picking. It wasn’t that she was playing it cool. On the contrary. If she’d kept staring at him like that, and if he’d kept looking back at her with the blatant hunger in his hazel eyes, she’d have kissed him. The last thing she wanted to do was embarrass him or herself, not so early in the evening, at least. Besides, now there was this between them. Much stronger than before, when it wasn’t a sure thing. Now, it was all tension and subtext and potential. So delicious she shivered with it.
“People,” he said, just above a whisper.
“What about them?”
“They’re coming. I should … do … things.”
She nodded, still not looking at him, smiling at his failure to be the least bit suave. It was tempting to tease him, to discombobulate him as the conference attendees came rushing into the ballroom, eager to snatch the best seat, the best pumpkin. It was quite possible that Erin was among them, and Carrie should have cared about that as she was supposed to have picked out their seats. Not that they’d discussed the contest arrangements, but between them, it was the way things were done. The first one there secured seating or tickets or places in line. But Carrie didn’t care where they sat. Or if they sat. She wanted to think about the sex, think about Sam. Think about sex with Sam.
“Have you decided?” he asked, startling her with his volume.
“What?”
“Which pumpkin you’d like.”
“Oh. Okay, sure. That one.” She pointed down and to the right, which turned out to be not the most perfect of pumpkins. In fact, it was unusually tall, but as soon as she saw, she knew exactly what she was going to draw.
He picked up her selection and when he stood, he met her gaze once more, only something had changed in the few seconds since his question. Somehow, she guessed through some decision he’d made, he’d become far more confident, relaxed. And damn, sexier than ever. “Let’s get you a seat.”
She followed him, not saying a word as he found a table near the back, on the end. He put the pumpkin on the butcher paper between the markers, then he touched her upper arm. “Do you think Erin has a particular pumpkin type? “
Carrie shook her head. “Oddly, we’ve never discussed the issue.”
“If you had to guess?”
“I’d said asymmetrical. Something interesting.”
“I’ll be back.”
She watched him walk through the burgeoning crowd, and though his hair still rebelled, he was all long legs and easy grace, and Carrie gave herself a quick hug, so proud of herself and her bravery she could just spit. She wasn’t one of those women who could snare a man with a come-hither glance. Her confidence was primarily in her pen, on paper. In sharp retorts and wicked double entendres, all the things she’d promised to keep under wraps for the duration of the conference. And yet, she’d managed to say just the right thing at the right time. What would happen from here was anyone’s guess, but things were definitely looking up.
7
BY THE TIME ERIN sat down on the opposite side of the table, Carrie was already into her first sketch.
People were still settling in, raising their voices with excited chatter as they found their pumpkins and their seats. According to the program, there would be announcements about the nighttime activities, then a talk about the contest itself, explaining the rules and demonstrating how to make a pattern and transfer it to the gourds.
“You look happy,” Erin said, gripping her coffee cup with the strength of one not fully awake. “Did you get laid?”
Carrie darted a glance at the long-haired woman sitting next to Erin, who smiled at her enquiringly. “No,” Carrie said, trying to give Erin the eye, which didn’t work. “I didn’t. But I clearly got more sleep than you. What time did you hit the room?”
“Too late. Or would that be too early? Sorry I missed you for breakfast. I had the best pancakes in the history of pancakes. I think I’m going to put on twenty pounds while I’m here, and I couldn’t care less.”
Carrie ignored the complaint as she decided she wasn’t thrilled with her drawing. She crumpled it, then took another sheet of paper. “So, still no ghosts?”
“Not yet. Some more suspicious temperature readings, though. The honchos are setting up inside the inn for later tonight. I’m going to be in the Old Hotel tonight. I’m so excited. It feels … Something’s going to happen tonight. I feel it. You know?”
“Absolutely not, but good for you. Keep that positive thought. I mean, come on, what ghost wouldn’t want to meet you? They’d have to be insane to pass up the opportunity.”
“Yeah.” Erin’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “I’m a bundle of delight.”
“Shut up. You are.”
“I need more caffeine.”
“I’ll say. What do you think of your pumpkin?”
Erin gave it a look, but her expression didn’t change a bit. “It’s a pumpkin.”
“You don’t want to change it for another?”
“I don’t care. I’m not gonna do anything with it. You’re going to win, and I want to bask in your reflected glory.”
“I know just what I want, but I’m not quite getting it,” Carrie admitted. “I’m a bit distracted.”
“Oh?” Only her best friend would have made the connection directly from that banal sentence to “something happened with Sam.”
“Yes, oh.”
“Do tell.”
Carrie looked at Erin’s neighbor. Unabashed, the woman, who had a nice heart-shaped face that shouldn’t have been so hidden by her lank dark hair, smiled and waited.
“Later.”
“Spoilsport.” Erin moved the pumpkin and the supplies to one side, then put her head down in the hollow of her crossed arms. “Wake me when something juicy happens.”
Carrie stared at her blank paper, but before she touched it with her pencil, she looked up. Sam was two aisles away, his back to her. Even though she knew it was a little sexist and definitely shallow, she loved the contrast between his broad shoulders and trim hips. With his hair over his collar and the way his black jeans hugged his ass, he was kind of perfect.
There wouldn’t be time to discover the inevitable annoying things, for either of them. He didn’t have to know she liked to eat her cereal with juice instead of milk, or ketchup on her cold spaghetti. Or that sometimes she would get so involved with her comic that whole days would pass without her realizing it.
