Читать книгу Lovers And Other Strangers - Dallas Schulze - Страница 10

For the past few years, the fourth Thursday in November had been just another number on the calendar to Reece, and he was perfectly content to keep it that way. So what was he doing standing on Shannon Devereux’s doorstep holding a spinach salad?

The door opened, saving him the necessity of having to come up with a satisfactory answer to his own question. He’d been expecting Shannon and had to adjust his gaze five inches lower and his thinking fifty years older. Suspiciously black hair topped a thin, wrinkled face. Reece had heard of someone applying makeup with a trowel, but he’d never seen anyone who looked as if they might actually have done just that until now. Foundation, blusher, concealer and possibly a bit of spackle coated every inch of skin from forehead to chin. False eyelashes, black eyeliner and royal-purple eyeshadow were balanced, more or less, by stoplight-red lipstick that had bled into the fine lines around her mouth.

Her clothing was no less colorful. A purple sweatshirt with a design of teddy bears at a picnic topped a pair of hot-pink pedal pushers. Her calves were bare and colored a streaky orangey brown that suggested either a severe nutritional problem or a badly applied tan-in-a-bottle. Purple sneakers with pink glitter and black laces completed the ensemble.

“What is that?” Her voice, surprisingly deep for a woman, brought Reece’s dazzled eyes back to her face. She was staring at the bowl in his hands, dark eyes full of suspicion.

“Spinach salad.”

“Does it have meat in it?”

“No.”

Her dark eyes flickered suspiciously from the bowl to his face. Reece half expected her to insist on an inspection, but she must have decided he had an honest face or maybe it just occurred to her that spinach salad was an unlikely place for meat to lurk. Whichever it was, she shuffled back into the entryway, letting the door open wide, spilling laughter and voices out into the warm afternoon.

His first impression was of wall-to-wall people. His second and third impressions pretty much confirmed the first. There were people standing in the entryway, clutching plastic cups holding liquid of assorted colors. There were more people in the living room, sitting on the sofa, the chairs, perched on the hearth, leaning against the wall next to the front windows. Yet more people standing in the hallway, which he assumed led back to the bedrooms. Everywhere he looked, there was someone standing or sitting. Fat people, skinny people, old, young, enough variations of skin tone to make a liberal cheer or a conservative weep. Male, female and…well, he wasn’t willing to hazard a guess about the one wearing the leather pants and a pink Mohawk.

“You can take that out to the patio.”

Reece blinked and focused his attention on the woman who’d let him in. Compared to the Mohawk wearer, she looked downright conservative. “Patio?”

“Go through the kitchen,” she said, reading the question he hadn’t asked.

Reece nodded his thanks and made his way across the entryway. He exchanged greetings with three total strangers and one woman who looked vaguely familiar before ducking through the doorway into the kitchen. More people. Food smells. Voices raised in argument over the correct way to make gravy. He had enough experience in hand-to-hand combat to lay odds on the skinny woman. Her opponent was male and outweighed her by a good forty pounds, but size wasn’t everything, and the way she was gripping the wooden spoon suggested she meant business. He was willing to bet that roux was going to win out over slurry, whatever the hell that meant.

And then he was outside and there were more people but they were scattered across the surprisingly spacious patio and out onto the lawn, still dull and mostly brown from summer drought. The weather was typical of a southern California autumn—clear blue skies and warm enough to qualify as summer in some parts of the country. Not exactly your traditional crisp Thanksgiving weather but nostalgic in its own way. Not so much for the years spent with his grandfather—holidays with the old man had generally been long on tradition, short on feeling—but for the years when his parents were alive. They’d been very short on any recognizable traditions—dinner was as likely to be McDonald’s as it was turkey—but there had always been plenty of love and laughter.

“You did come.”

Reece turned to greet his hostess, feeling that now-familiar little kick of awareness when he saw her. Shannon was wearing a long, soft skirt in some bluey, greeny shade and a simple scoop-necked top that hovered between rust and gold. The color brought out the red in her hair, which was drawn back from her face with a pair of gold clips and left to tumble on her shoulders. Her eyes sparkled, bluer than the sky, sapphire bright and warm. Her mouth was warm coral, and he wondered what she’d do if he kissed her, right here in front of God and half the populace of Serenity Falls.

“How could I resist the possibility of a turkey stuffed with Froot Loops?” he asked, reining in his suddenly raging libido.

Her smile widened into a grin, her eyes laughing at him. “Sorry, I couldn’t get near the stuffing. Sally actually held up a cross when I got too close to the oven.”

“So, it’s safe to eat the stuffing?” he asked, raising one eyebrow.

“Coward. Froot Loops provide an important assortment of vitamins and minerals.”

“Not to mention artificial colorings and preservatives,” he murmured, following her to the long table, set up on one side of the patio and already groaning under a vast array of bowls and platters.

“I think we can wedge this in here,” Shannon said, turning to take the bowl from him. She found a space between a bowl of iceberg lettuce and carrot shreds and an elaborate, layered vegetable aspic. “The turkey came out of the oven a few minutes ago. Sally says it has to rest for half an hour, which seems ridiculous. How much rest can a dead bird need?”

“It’s to let the juices settle back into the meat,” Reece said absently. She really had the most amazingly kissable mouth.

Shannon gave him a look that mixed surprise and faint disapproval. “You know how to cook.”

Reece shrugged. “I’m no Wolfgang Puck, but I’ve lived alone for a long time. I got tired of going out to eat.”

“You can buy a gourmet meal in a box, like any other civilized human being.”

“Depends on your definition of gourmet, I suppose,” he said mildly. She shook her head in apparent despair.

“Be sure and take some of the aspic,” she said, gesturing to it.

“Good?” Reece asked, eyeing it with interest.

“Probably not.” Shannon frowned down at the aspic. “Last year, Vangie brought a coffee cake that was so hard someone suggested selling it to NASA to replace the ceramic tile on the shuttle.”

“And that’s supposed to encourage me to eat the aspic?” Reece asked.

“Oh, I didn’t say you had to eat it. I just said you should take some.” She saw his raised eyebrow and shrugged. “Vangie has sensibilities,” she said, as if that explained everything and it probably did.

Reece cleared his throat and tried to look regretful. “Actually, I’m allergic to aspic.”

“Aspic and grape jelly?” Shannon’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Grape—” He caught himself, remembering that first morning when she’d offered him toaster waffles and grape jelly and he’d claimed allergies. He coughed a little. “Not many people know that one of the primary ingredients of aspic is grape jelly.”

“Really?” Shannon cast a doubting look at the shimmering aspic. “Wouldn’t grape jelly make it purple?”

“The, um, baking soda in the aspic neutralizes the, uh, chemical additives that give grape jelly its characteristic color.”

“Wow.” Shannon shook her head in amazement. “Have you always been such a good liar?”

“Always. It’s a gift.” He said it with such simple pride that it startled a quick, choked laugh from her.

His eyes flickered from her eyes to her mouth. She couldn’t possibly taste as good as she looked. Could she? He couldn’t possibly be thinking about finding out. Could he? Maybe she read something of what he was thinking because her smile faded abruptly and her breath caught a little. Reece dragged his gaze from her mouth, saw the awareness in those clear blue eyes. Did he lean down? Did she sway toward him?

The screen door banged behind him, and Reece straightened, abruptly aware of where he was—standing on a sun-splashed patio with a dozen people in plain sight. Shannon threw him a quick, uncertain smile, a murmured—and unheard—comment and moved past him toward the kitchen door. Reece turned to watch her walk away. The phrase, “Danger, Will Robinson” drifted irresistibly—ridiculously—through his mind.

What the hell had just happened? Nothing. That’s what had happened. Absolutely nothing. And nothing would have happened, even if they hadn’t been interrupted. Right. Nothing would have happened.

Oh, hell. Who was he kidding? If they hadn’t been standing right here in front of God and half of Serenity Falls, he’d probably be trying to give her a tonsillectomy with his tongue right about now. And the fact that he was fairly sure she wouldn’t have objected did nothing to alleviate the sudden snugness of his jeans. Reece shifted uncomfortably, moving away from the table to lean against one of the redwood support posts, one that happened to be in shadow. Forty freaking years old and he was showing all the self-control of a sixteen-year-old. No, come to think of it, he hadn’t made a habit of getting erections in public when he was sixteen.

He wasn’t here to start an affair, he reminded himself. The last thing he wanted was any kind of involvement. He had enough to do with cleaning out his grandfather’s house and figuring out what to do with the rest of his life. Beautiful neighbors with gorgeous red hair and legs that went on forever did not fit into his plans.

The only way the aspic could have tasted worse was if it had actually been made with grape jelly and baking soda. Reece managed to swallow the single bite he’d taken and then pushed the remainder of it to one side of his plate, concealing it under a slightly wilted piece of iceberg lettuce. The unknown Vangie might have sensibilities but she apparently lacked taste buds.

The food was as eclectic as the guests. Tofu and turkey. Couscous and three-bean salad. Pearls and blue jeans. Retired professors and born-again hippies. It was a guest list right out of a hostess’s nightmare or maybe a Marx Brothers movie. Potential disaster lurked around every slice of jellied cranberry sauce and dollop of…what exactly was the brown stuff with the little orange bits in it? Reece poked it cautiously to the side of his plate, hiding it under the lettuce leaf with the aspic.

“Darva Torkelson’s family secret rice pilaf,” someone said, and Reece looked up guiltily. “The secret is that no one knows what the orange things are, and I haven’t found anyone brave enough to actually try tasting it to find out. I’m voting for M&Ms.”

A stocky man with stoplight-red hair was standing just to his left, his blue eyes bright with amusement and…expectation? It only took a moment for the memory to snap into place.

“Frank? Frank McKinnon?”

“You know anyone else who looks like Howdy Doody on steroids?” Frank grinned and held out his hand. Reece felt memories flood over him as he shook it.

“How are you, man?”

“Good. I’m good. Is Rich here?” Reece scanned the crowd around the buffet table, looking for more of that bright-red hair. Rich McKinnon had been his best friend during the years he lived in Serenity Falls. The two of them had gone through football, detention, first dates and first cars together. They’d kept in touch for a while after Reece left town—Christmas cards, a few phone calls, but they’d gradually lost touch.

Frank shook his head. “Rich lives in Montana now. He’s a gen-u-ine cowboy.” He drew out the words with a thick Western drawl. “Got hisself a little ranch with horses and cows and all that good stuff.”

“A ranch, huh?” Reece grinned and shook his head. “What happened to becoming a world-famous wildlife photographer?”

“He found out that wildlife photographers spend a lot of time sitting in huts, freezing their privates off, waiting for a ring-necked wallaby to wander into camera range and hoping a hungry grizzly bear doesn’t wander by first.”

“I can see how that would take some of the fun out of things. How are your parents?”

Ruth and Daryl McKinnon had always treated him as if he were one of their own. They’d had a rambling old house where everything was always covered in a fine layer of plaster dust from the ongoing series of remodeling jobs that were never quite finished. Dogs, cats and kids wandered in and out in an ever-changing parade of fur and faces. It had taken him a while to figure out that only three of the kids actually belonged to the McKinnons, and he never had figured out which of the animals were theirs.

“Dad retired three years ago, and he and Mom bought an RV. They spend most of the year on the road. Kate is married and has a couple of kids. She lives in Boston now, and Rich married a woman with three kids and then they had two more so Mom and Dad divide their time among the grandchildren. They spend a couple of months here in the spring so Mom can catch up on the local gossip and Dad can make sure I’m not running the hardware store into the ground, and then they take off again.”

“Did your dad ever finish remodeling the house?” Reece asked.

Frank laughed and shook his head. “Hell, no. When we moved in, three out of four bathrooms were torn apart and the back hall was halfway through a wall-papering job.”

“And three years later, two bathrooms are still without tile and the wallpaper is up but the floor is only half-refinished,” a new voice said.

“What can I say? It’s genetic,” Frank said, his smile softening as he turned to slide one arm around the woman who’d joined them. She was small, not just short but slim, with the kind of delicate build that made Reece think of pixies. Big brown eyes set in a heart-shaped face and a tousled cap of blond hair reinforced the impression. He had the fanciful thought that if she turned he might see wings on her back. But her bright, interested expression was human and familiar. The first few times he’d seen that particular expression, he’d had the urge to check to make sure his fly was zipped or look in a mirror to see if a third eye had appeared in the middle of his forehead, but it hadn’t taken long to figure out that it wasn’t the possibility of imminent indecent exposure or extra body parts, it was just him. His mere presence was enough to elicit interest.