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Lucy watched as deep lines appeared around Banner’s mouth again. Apparently, he hadn’t spent much time around children—and judging by his expression, he would have been content to leave it that way.
“Why don’t you take care of the children,” Lucy suggested to Joan. “They’re tired and unsettled. I’ll clean up in here.”
The harried mother sighed and nodded. “I suppose that would be best.”
“There’s a TV in the living room,” Banner said. “I have satellite. Maybe you can find something to entertain the kids.”
Nodding again, Joan ushered her children out of the room, leaving Lucy alone with Banner.
“I can take care of this,” Lucy assured Banner when he reached for a dirty bowl.
“I’d just as soon clean the kitchen as go back in there.”
She couldn’t help smiling at his tone. “You must feel as though your home has been overrun.”
“A bit,” he agreed.
She wondered again if he ever smiled. She couldn’t help imagining what a smile would do to his already spectacular face. For the sake of her peace of mind, it was probably just as well that he continued to glower.
“I’m sorry your peaceful evening was so rudely interrupted,” she said as she carried a stack of bowls to the sink.
“Couldn’t be helped. Too dangerous out on the road, which is why none of you should have been out driving. Especially the Carters.”
“I suppose all of us were so anxious to get to our holiday destinations that we didn’t pay enough attention to the weather forecasts—even though the guy I listened to got it all wrong,” she added in a grumble.
Without responding, Banner squirted dishwashing liquid into the warm water filling his deep sink. No dishwasher, Lucy noted as he reached for the first bowl. She supposed he didn’t need one just for himself and Hulk.
She picked up a dish towel to dry the bowls after he washed and rinsed them. There wasn’t a lot of room in front of the sink, so they stood nearly shoulder to shoulder—or rather, shoulder to forearm, since he was a good ten inches taller. Another reason he wasn’t going on her prospect list, she reminded herself. When a woman was just under five-three on her tallest days, men six feet and over were simply too tall for a comfortable match.
Because his silence was making her nervous, she asked, “Do you have any special plans for Christmas, Banner? Or did the weather interfere with your travel, too?”
“I had no plans.”
“Oh. You don’t celebrate Christmas?” Not everyone did, she reminded herself belatedly. She should have thought of that already.
But he shook his head. “I do observe Christmas—I just didn’t have any plans this year.”
“You don’t have a family?” Her admittedly overtender heart immediately twisted. How sad to be alone, especially during the holidays.
“I have family. I simply wasn’t in the mood to travel this year.”
“None of them live close by?”
“No.” He put another bowl in her hands, seeming to take care not to touch her in the process.
Okay, maybe she was asking too many questions. Not everyone liked talking about themselves, though most of the men she had encountered lately seemed obsessed with the subject. Maybe he would rather hear about her, instead.
“I love Christmas. I always spend it with my favorite aunt and uncle in Springfield—my father’s younger sister and her husband and their two sons. My father is an Army major stationed in Texas, and he’ll fly in on Christmas day—weather permitting, of course.”
A hard wind blew against the window over the sink, and the lights flickered again, staying out a bit longer this time. Lucy sighed in relief when they came back on, though she figured it was just a matter of time before the power went out.
Since that thought made her even more nervous, she chattered on. “My mother died when I was almost thirteen. My father sent me to live with my aunt and uncle after that, so they’re almost like parents to me.”
“Here.” He set the clean, wet stockpot in her hands. “This goes in the cabinet next to the stove.”
So maybe he wasn’t interested in talking about her, either. “Do you think this ice storm will stop soon?” she asked, seizing on the weather as a last-ditch conversational gambit.
He dried his hands on a paper towel, studying her with a slightly quizzical expression. “You’re not one to let a moment of silence slip by, are you?”
Something about his wording amused her. Totally unoffended, she chuckled. “I’m afraid not. I tend to talk a lot, anyway, but especially when I’m nervous.”
“You’re nervous now?” That seemed to surprise him.
“Maybe a little.”
“Because of the storm?”
It seemed an innocuous enough excuse. “Okay.”
“You’re safe here, you know. Even if the power goes out, I have plenty of firewood and a gas stove to cook on.”
She found his somewhat awkward attempt to reassure her rather touching. Darned if she wasn’t starting to like him—at least a little—despite his curt manners. “I know we’re safe. It’s just a little…awkward.”
“Tell me about it.” He glanced toward the doorway as if he still wasn’t particularly looking forward to joining the others.
Lucy glanced at her watch. It was only seven-thirty. What were they going to do for the rest of the evening?
Bobby Ray wandered through the kitchen door, pushing a meaty hand through his bushy hair. “Miss Annie is asleep,” he informed them. “I talked Pop into lying down, too. Poor old guy’s wiped out, though he won’t admit it. Stubborn old bird. Reminds me of my grandpa.”
“I had a great-uncle like that,” Banner said. “Lived on his own until he was eighty-two, when he died in his sleep of a heart attack. Never would accept any help or advice from anyone.”
It was the most Banner had volunteered about himself since they’d arrived. Lucy wondered exactly how much Banner had in common with the great-uncle he seemed to have admired so much.
“I threw some more wood on the fire,” Bobby Ray said. “Getting kind of low in the wood box. You want me to bring some more in?”
“I keep a good supply on the back porch, under cover.” Banner motioned toward the back door on the other side of the bar.
Bobby Ray nodded. “Good. We’re probably going to need it. I just caught a local news report on the TV, and they said electricity’s going out all over this part of the state. I imagine we’ll be in the dark ourselves directly.”
Lucy shivered and wrapped her arms around herself.
Banner looked at her in question.
“I’m not really crazy about being in the dark,” she admitted.
“Does it make you nervous?”
She smiled wryly. “Yes.”
Banner glanced at Bobby Ray. “At least we won’t have to worry that it will get too quiet.”
It was another example of Banner’s odd sense of humor—and once again he’d said it without even a hint of a smile.
“Very funny, Banner,” she muttered.
He gave her a look that might have held a gleam of amusement. And, darn it, she felt her toes start to curl in response to that hint of a smile.
Time to get control again. “Okay,” she said, “so what are we going to do with everybody? You have only two bedrooms, right?”
Banner nodded. “The Carters can have mine, and Joan and the kids can have the other. Bobby Ray and I will bunk in the living room and you can sleep on the couch in my office.”
“Your office?”
He jerked his head toward a closed door on the far side of the kitchen. “In there.”
She nodded. “That will work. What about—”
Someone pushed her from behind. She turned to find Banner’s dog standing behind her, taking up most of the spare room in the kitchen. It was the first time she had seen the beast standing up, and he was nearly the size of a small horse. She hardly had to bend over to look straight into his lazy eyes.
“He needs to go out,” Banner said. “You’re standing in his way.”
“Excuse me,” Lucy said to the dog, scooting to one side.
The dog made a grumbly sound that might have been a response, then ambled to the door, where he gave Banner a look over his shoulder. A gust of damp, icy air entered the room when Banner opened the door. The dog gazed dolefully out past the covered porch to the wet, ice-coated yard beyond. He gave a deep sigh, then walked out, his shaggy head already hunched in preparation for the elements.
Lucy couldn’t help smiling at the mutt’s behavior. “He’s a very…interesting character.”
Banner gave her another one of those looks that wasn’t quite a smile. “He’s excited by all the company.”
“That’s excited? How can you tell?”
“He’s awake.”
She laughed. “I see.”
Lucy stood back and watched as Banner pulled a big towel out of a cabinet. He opened the back door, letting dog and cold air inside again. After toweling the mutt off, he gave him a bone-shaped dog treat from a box he kept on the counter near the door. With a low “woof” of thanks, the dog strolled out of the room.
Lucy grinned as she watched the long scraggly tail disappear through the doorway. She was beginning to like that dog a lot.
She was still reserving judgment about his owner.
Chapter Three
Banner couldn’t remember this many people being in his house since—well, ever. Having brought in one of the straight-backed chairs from the dining room for himself, he sat uncomfortably in one corner of his living room, studying the others, who were watching a Christmas special on TV.
The Carters were still resting; Banner wouldn’t be surprised if they were down for the night. They had both looked exhausted after dinner.
Sprawled in Banner’s big leather recliner, Bobby Ray rubbed his bearded chin. His eyes were focused on the television screen, but his thoughts were obviously elsewhere.
Joan and Tricia sat on Banner’s brown suede couch, Tricia’s head cradled on her mother’s lap. Tyler lay on the floor, using Hulk for a pillow. The dog seemed perfectly content to serve in that capacity; his head was on his paws and quiet snores escaped him every so often.
Though he barely knew them, the children seemed subdued to Banner, probably still upset that their holiday plans had been disrupted. They watched the TV, but without much enthusiasm.
Finally Banner turned his gaze to Lucy, who sat in the brown-and-tan-striped easy chair, leaving the Windsor rocker as the only unoccupied chair in the room. Banner had been trying to avoid looking at Lucy, but it wasn’t easy. She fascinated him. No matter how hard he tried to concentrate on the others, it was Lucy who kept drawing his attention.
She seemed to be trying to watch the program, but judging by her restless fidgeting, she was having trouble concentrating. Banner got the distinct impression that she would rather be moving around and talking at her usual mile-a-minute rate. There was a lot of pent-up energy in that tidy little package, he mused, letting his gaze drift down her figure.
He and Lucy seemed to be opposites. While he was content to spend days, even weeks, with no company but his own, Lucy probably preferred having lots of people around. She was gregarious, extroverted, impulsive, emotional. He was none of those things.
A woman like Lucy would certainly have no interest in a socially awkward, frequently tongue-tied, oddball loner like Banner. But that certainly didn’t make him any less mesmerized by her.
Another strong gust of wind rattled the windows, and the lights flickered again. Once, twice, three times before they stabilized.
Tricia whimpered and Joan comforted her. Banner noticed that Lucy had paled a little and seemed to be chewing on her full lower lip. The prospect of being in the dark made her nervous, and when she was nervous she tended to babble, he reminded himself. She must be making quite an effort to remain quiet so the children could enjoy the television program.
The singing and dancing gave way to a commercial, and Lucy looked away from the screen. Her gaze met Banner’s, and she gave him a tentative smile. “You don’t look very comfortable over there.”
“I’m fine.” He didn’t know squat about being a host—and even less about running a bed and breakfast, which he seemed to be doing at the moment. He suspected he should be doing more than sitting in a chair staring at everyone like a silent sphinx. “Um, does anyone need anything?”
Apparently, no one did. The room fell silent again except for the sounds from the TV speakers and the storm outside. Banner sat back to watch the show, but his attention kept wandering to Lucy, to his annoyance.
The Christmas special ended at 9 p.m. By that time Tricia, Tyler and Hulk were all asleep, and Bobby Ray looked ready to join them.
“I’d better get these two into bed,” Joan said, looking at her sleeping children.
Bobby Ray stirred and rose to his feet. “Want me to haul the boy in there for you?”
Joan glanced at him, then quickly away, and Banner wondered if the timid woman was unsettled by Bobby Ray’s size. But then, she seemed intimidated by Banner, too, and he was two inches shorter and a good seventy pounds lighter than the truck driver.
“I can manage,” Joan said in the tone of a woman who was accustomed to taking care of herself and her children without assistance.
Bobby Ray yawned again. “Then I’ll have a drink of water before turning in. You take the couch, Banner. The recliner’s comfortable enough for me.”
Banner stood, compelled again to do something host-like. “There are extra blankets in the guestroom closet,” he told Joan. “If you need anything else, just let me know.”
“We’ll be fine,” she assured him, her arms around her sleepy children.
He nodded. “I put a flashlight on the nightstand in case the power goes out. If it gets too cold, you and the kids can bring blankets and pillows in here and bunk in front of the fire.”
He had a small gas log fireplace in the master bedroom, so even if the power went out, the Carters should be okay. They had an attached bath, which would give them privacy and keep Miss Annie from having to walk too far. He had already carried blankets and a pillow into the office for Lucy.
He waited until Lucy emerged from the face-washing and tooth-brushing line for the bathroom, letting Bobby Ray go in after her, and then he motioned toward the doorway that led to the kitchen and office. “I’ll walk with you,” he said. “Just to make sure everything’s okay.”
“Thanks.” Slinging her big duffel bag over one shoulder, she went ahead of him, giving him an intriguing view of her tight, compact backside. He lifted his gaze to the back of her head, reprimanding himself for the thoughts running through his head—thoughts she certainly wouldn’t approve of from a total stranger upon whom she was temporarily dependent.
The office was a small, single-windowed room stuck onto the far side of the house. It was furnished with a large desk that held a computer, printer, phone and fax machine. A copier on a stand was shoved into one corner, and a faded and rather worn green corduroy couch had been pushed against one wall. A white-cased pillow, clean sheets and two blankets waited on one end of the rather shabby green couch.
“It’s not pretty, but it’s comfortable,” he said, motioning toward the couch. “I’ve napped on it a few times. So has Hulk, I’m afraid, but I tried to brush off all the dog hair.”
