скачать книгу бесплатно
* * *
BARBI DROVE OUT of town, both excited and nervous about her first tutoring session. She hadn’t taken a test since she was sixteen, and even when she was a kid she hadn’t done so good on them—she froze when she saw a list of questions and her head wouldn’t work. As for all that proper English and math, those things scared the crap out of her.
She got to Huckleberry Lodge and groaned when she saw a silver Lexus parked in front of the guesthouse. There weren’t that many fancy cars in Mahalaton Lake. It had to be Brendan Townsend.
God, what a prig.
He was conventional about everything—even his pizzas always had the same three toppings. She’d bet that in bed it was missionary position all the way—some action on the breasts, a quick swipe on the thigh and wham, bam, thank you, ma’am. Sex was probably too earthy for him to do it right.
The first time she’d delivered a pizza to Brendan was on a hot day the previous summer, and she would never forget his expression when she’d arrived. She had been wearing skimpy shorts with a tube top and his eyes had narrowed with cool scorn. After that she’d started chewing gum whenever she brought food to his condo, making sure she snapped it loudly and blew at least two bubbles before he managed to pay her.
Not that she’d actually get mouthy while delivering a meal to him, but it was the sort of thing Brendan expected and she had to have a little fun. Besides, she’d grown up as the girl whose drunken father was in and out of jail for disorderly behavior, so there was no point in trying to fit in now. She might as well wear the clothes she liked and let the biddies gossip. And it wasn’t as if she was staying in Mahalaton Lake, as much as she liked it here. She wanted to get away from any reminders of her father, and having her GED would make getting a good job easier.
Of course, Brendan didn’t try to fit in, either. He wore a suit to everything, including the Founder’s Day picnic and the fire department’s monthly fund-raising dinners. Jeez, he’d been living in Mahalaton Lake for over a year; he should have loosened up by now. But there was one thing she could say for him—he tipped well.
Barbi debated for a minute before turning off the engine. She’d rather leave, but Hannah was expecting her and it would be rude. Besides, it was a chance to yank Brendan’s chain—she wasn’t delivering a pizza to him now, any more than when she saw him at one of the town’s events.
Grinning, Barbi got out of her battered Chevy; she undid the buttons on her shirt and snugly tied the tails beneath her breasts for a nice display of cleavage. Let Mr. Big Shot Attorney get a load of this.
Glancing up, she spotted a man standing at a window of Huckleberry Lodge. She waved to him. He must have gotten an eyeful when her shirt was open, but it wasn’t as if she had anything to be ashamed of—she’d stack her breasts up against any woman in Mahalaton Lake.
She trotted up the broad steps to Hannah’s porch and knocked. It seemed strange not to be carrying a pizza box; she delivered one to Hannah and Danny practically every week. And when a crowd of weekend skiers were staying at the lodge, she sometimes delivered a stack of giant pies to them three nights in a row—skiing worked up an appetite.
“Hi,” she said brightly when Brendan opened the door. “Whatcha doing here?”
“I brought dinner out for Hannah and Danny.”
“Really? I didn’t know I had competition—things must be slow at the office if you had to go into the delivery business. But I doubt you’ll get my tips—you don’t have my equipment.” She wiggled her shoulders provocatively.
It was satisfying to see Brendan focus directly on her chest. He might not approve of her showing some skin, but he wasn’t above getting his jollies at the sight. Men were predictable that way.
“For your information, I just...that is, Hannah and I...we had a meal together,” he spluttered.
“Maybe I should come back another night.”
“Nonsense.” It was Hannah and she elbowed Brendan to one side. “Brendan is just leaving. I told him we were planning to watch a movie or something.”
It was nice of Hannah to make up an explanation like that. Barbi didn’t exactly mind people knowing she was studying for her GED, but she also didn’t want to look idiotic being taught kid’s stuff in front of Brendan that she should have learned fifteen years ago in high school. He was such a snot, he’d probably think it was hilarious.
Uneven footsteps sounded on the stairs below them and Hannah’s face got tense. “Is there something you need, Mr. Hollister?” she asked.
“I just need to know where the spare lightbulbs are. The lamp in the living room blew.”
Barbi turned around. It was the hunk she’d caught watching her earlier. Yum. Tall and trim, with hair so dark it was almost black, and intense brown eyes. Brendan might be sexy if he got serious help; this guy was pure heat without even trying.
“They’re in the utility room,” Hannah said in a tight voice. “I wanted to show you where everything is, but you refused a tour of the house. Remember?”
The hunk just shrugged.
“Hi, Mr. Hollister,” Danny chirped, jumping down to the first step. “How’re ya doing? Mommy said you didn’t feel so good.”
“I’m better today.”
Danny smiled. “Super.”
“Go on inside, Barbi. You, too, Danny,” Hannah urged. She gave Brendan a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks for dinner. Maybe we can get together next week. Call me in a few days.”
“I’ll look forward to it.”
He fixed his tie and checked the buttons on his coat before hurrying to his Lexus. Honestly, the guy was so stuffy and correct, Barbi didn’t know how he could get by without a book of etiquette in his back pocket and a yardstick up his ass. Hannah was way too nice for him, but there weren’t that many single men in Mahalaton Lake and she’d already been married to a louse. Brendan wasn’t a louse, just dull.
Barbi winked at the hunk, and as she went into the house, she could hear a low conversation between him and Hannah.
A minute later Hannah came in and closed the door. “Let’s get started,” she said. Her tone was light, but she sure looked flustered.
* * *
ON THE TUESDAY after Jake Hollister’s arrival, Hannah knocked on the door of Huckleberry Lodge. She’d agreed to do the cleaning every Tuesday and Friday at one o’clock during the summer. Once the school year started, the time would shift to late afternoon.
“You don’t have to knock,” Jake said by way of greeting as he opened the door.
“In polite society, knocking is considered appropriate.”
“I didn’t grow up in polite society. That is, I should say traditional ‘Western’ polite society. They haven’t always had doors in the places I’ve lived. Every culture has its customs about proper behavior—the trick is learning those customs.”
“Have you made any effort to learn them here?”
Jake seemed genuinely startled. “I don’t need to. I was born in Iceland, but I’m a U.S. citizen.”
“Citizenship doesn’t guarantee you know American customs. You don’t get that kind of knowledge through an umbilical cord.”
“I’m getting by just fine.”
“Whatever.”
Hannah bent over and picked up a stack of books piled haphazardly on the floor near the native stone fireplace in the living room. Her great-aunt and uncle had loved books, and they were in abundance around the lodge, especially the classics and nonfiction.
She put the books on the built-in shelves flanking the fireplace and went into the kitchen. Phew. There was a pizza box on the sandstone counter by the stove, one on the floor, another on the window seat behind the breakfast nook and a fourth was on the table. The sink and nearby surfaces were covered with dirty dishes and cups and wadded-up napkins. A jar of raspberry jam was tipped over on its side and red syrup dripped from it onto the floor. An empty jar of peanut butter sat nearby.
Jake limped past her. He dug a slice of pizza from the box on the table, liberally sprinkled it with crushed red pepper flakes and chomped down on the crust end.
“Uh, have you eaten anything except pizza and peanut butter since you got here?” She set the jam jar upright and wiped up the mess with a wet cloth.
“I don’t cook and Luigi’s only delivers pizza. And that’s only Friday through Sunday, as you’ve pointed out.”
“Ask for Luigi when you phone and sweet-talk him into sending one of his other dishes at the same time you sweet-talk him into delivering Monday through Thursday.”
“I don’t sweet-talk well.”
She widened her eyes in mock astonishment. “Really? That’s hard to imagine when you’re so charming and tactful.”
Jake snorted and ignored her sarcasm.
Wrinkling her nose, Hannah got a plastic garbage bag from under the sink and began collecting trash. Huckleberry Lodge was equipped with the latest in kitchen appliances, yet her tenant was eating delivery pizza and peanut butter. She was appalled at his diet, but it was his concern; he was an adult, capable of choosing his own food.
“There’s still half a pizza in here,” she said, picking up the box from the floor and putting in her bag.
“It’s old. Got it on Friday and wasn’t that hungry.”
“Then this one must be from Saturday,” she said, peering into the box from the window seat. There were several pieces in that one, as well. “There’s a refrigerator, you know. It’s that large, rectangular thing over there.” She pointed to the stainless steel commercial-grade refrigerator. “Amazingly, it keeps food at a safe temperature for future consumption.”
“Very amusing. But I have an iron stomach after the way I’ve lived. Besides, I don’t cook.”
“There’s also a stove, microwave and toaster oven—reheating doesn’t require any culinary ability.”
“Neither does ordering another pizza. Got two on Sunday and figured they’d last awhile. So don’t throw those away.” He gestured to the boxes on the table and countertop.
“Well, I guess it’s a break from PB&Js.”
“PB&Js?”
“Peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches. Seriously, how much time have you spent in the U.S. if you don’t know that?” Hannah swept dried crusts of bread and wadded-up paper towels into her sack of trash.
“Almost none,” Jake admitted. “I’m normally on assignment fifty weeks out of the year. And usually in remote areas. I have a small work studio in Costa Rica, but I’m hardly ever there, either.”
Lord. Hannah couldn’t imagine living like that, with no real home, just a suitcase, or whatever passed for a suitcase in his line of work. She glanced out the window at Mahala Lake, the water so blue it almost hurt her eyes. Except for the years she’d been at college, it was a sight she’d seen every day of her life, yet she never tired of it.
“Traveling can be fun, but I’m mostly a homebody,” she said, raising her chin and practically daring him to say something else that was rude. Jake had made his opinion about staying in one place quite well-known.
“Yeah, I figured that out. The domestic stuff is okay if that’s what you like, but home, marriage, kids—those things end my kind of career.”
Hannah stared. “That isn’t the first time you’ve mentioned something along those lines, and it’s starting to sound like a warning. I don’t need to be told to keep my distance. My ex-husband was a thrill seeker and I have no intention of making that mistake again. If I get married again, it’s going to be to someone stable and caring who can put me and my son first. It certainly won’t be to a man with one foot out the door and a habit of risking his neck.”
“I didn’t mean it that way,” Jake protested. “It’s on my mind, that’s all. I talked to my former photography assistant this morning. We won’t be working together any longer because he’s getting married, and all he could talk about was the house they’re buying and his great new job. He may be better off on his own, but he already had a great job. With me.”
“You fired him because he’s getting married? Is being single a rule in the photography business?”
Jake sank down on one of the chairs, rubbing his left leg. “I didn’t fire him, but most spouses don’t appreciate being left alone for months at a time, and Toby’s fiancée is no exception. Vera must have given him an ultimatum after the accident and he caved under the pressure.”
Hannah began putting cups in the top rack of the dishwasher, thinking about the mixed emotions on Jake’s face when he’d mentioned Toby’s enthusiasm for his new job...emotions too complicated to fathom. One thing was quite clear, however—Jake Hollister didn’t understand people who wanted a home.
“Maybe your assistant didn’t ‘cave.’ Maybe he made a choice,” she offered finally.
Jake shook his head. “Toby liked the travel. He complains about stuff, but that’s just his way—he’s the one who suggested going to the Gobi Desert three years ago. For Pete’s sake, it’s not as if he was cheating on Vera, and they talked on the satellite phone almost every day.”
“A phone call is hardly the same as having someone with you. And if Toby loved the travel that much, he didn’t have to quit.”
“But he is quitting.”
She rolled her eyes at Jake’s sulky, little-boy tone.
“Well, your feelings about domesticity are hardly a secret,” she informed him. “Whenever a reporter or an interviewer asks about marriage, you declare you’re a confirmed bachelor.”
“You’ve read about me?”
“Don’t read anything into it. The rental agent for Huckleberry Lodge was excited about the idea of a celebrity living in the area. Lillian gave me copies of various articles and talked about you incessantly.”
“I’m not a celebrity.”
“You’re the closest thing to it in Mahalaton Lake.”
Hannah put detergent in the dishwasher and started it, uncomfortably aware of Jake watching her.
“Don’t you have work to do?” she asked finally.
“Nothing important. I’m on a forced hiatus except for the fluff book I’m doing on the Cascades.”
“Excuse me?” She turned and raised her eyebrows. “Fluff?”
“The Cascade Range has been done by half the nature photographers on the planet. It’s boring.”
Hannah’s temper began to simmer again. This was her home he was insulting.
“The Cascade Mountains are among the most beautiful places in the world,” she said crisply. “We have active volcanoes, varied animal life, gorgeous wildflowers...it’s a scenic wonderland.”
“But it’s also commonplace.” Jake made a dismissive gesture. “Nothing can compare to the sight of a polar bear in its natural habitat or the power of an Amur leopard climbing up a rock face with its prey.”
“Oh? Have you ever heard the cry of a loon across the water? It’s haunting. And how about the way dogwood blossoms seem to hang in midair, glowing in the low light of a forest? A place doesn’t have to be remote to be breathtaking.”
“Yeah, I’m sure it’s nice.”
Hannah could tell he wasn’t convinced, but she hadn’t expected to get through to him—he’d made up his mind and that was that. She took the bag of trash out to the cans behind the garage and headed back to find Jake sitting at the farmhouse table with a laptop computer in front of him.
Pressing her lips together, she continued putting the kitchen to rights. Removing the trash was a big improvement. It was even possible that the mess was more the result of him feeling lousy than of his truly being a slob; she’d find out over the next few months as his condition improved.
“By the way, where’s your son?” Jake asked after a few minutes.
“With my parents. They went down to Portland for the day and I didn’t think you wanted him here.”
* * *
SHE’D SENT DANNY to spend the day with her parents?
A twinge of guilt went through Jake. He wasn’t a kid person, but he usually got along okay with them. It was just that first day he’d instantly envisioned having Danny underfoot all the time and hadn’t wanted to encourage that. On the other hand, he hadn’t expected to be so bored.
“You can bring him next time,” he offered, surprising himself. “I don’t mind.”
“Can I get that in writing?” Hannah asked drily.
