Читать книгу Trouble In Tourmaline - Jane Toombs - Страница 9

D avid Severin parked the Tourmaline Nursery truck he’d borrowed in front of his aunt Gert’s old Victorian home/office and began unloading lilac and forsythia shrubs. Late May being warm in the high desert of northern Nevada, he shed his T-shirt, wishing he’d put on shorts rather than jeans. He knew very well his psychiatrist aunt’s insistence that he do a complete revamp of her landscaping was no more than a psychological ploy to get him out sweating in the fresh air, but what the hell, at least she wasn’t trying to psychoanalyze him. Actually, he was enjoying the work as much as he’d enjoyed anything in the past year, so maybe she knew what she was doing.

Yesterday he’d dug up an old hedge and hauled the scraggly looking shrubs away. Now he needed to dump some topsoil in the deep trench he’d had to dig and then put in these new ones. After he finished with the topsoil, David noticed a fine layer of dirt clinging to his sweaty torso, so he strode over to the hose and sprayed himself clean. He was shutting the water off when a woman’s voice said, “Excuse me.”

Turning, he saw a stunning blonde in a pale blue suit that skimmed all the right places. She gazed at him with eyes as green as the forsythia leaves, asking, “Is this Dr. Severin’s office?”

Realizing belatedly he’d been staring at her like a thirsty man at a cool drink, he gathered his wits. He figured she might be what Gert called a detail person from a drug company, wanting his aunt to try some new antidepressant, or she could be a patient. Either way, she was out of luck.

He spoke brusquely to cover his momentary lapse. “The doctor isn’t in town, won’t be back for two days.”

“Oh.” He could hear the disappointment in her voice.

Maybe she was a patient, in which case he ought to try to help her. Reluctantly—he was definitely not ready to get even minimally involved with a woman right now—he muttered, “Is there anything I can do?”

Her gaze drifted over him and she hesitated for a long moment. “Is there a good place in town to get a sandwich and a cold drink?”

From out of town, then. Gert had quite a few patients who were. He hadn’t heard a car drive up earlier, so he glanced around, noticing a blue SUV parked so closely behind the nursery truck that he wasn’t sure they weren’t touching.

“The best place is hard to find,” he said more gruffly than he intended, still wondering whether she had, in fact, hit the back of his truck.

“I can follow directions.” Her tart tone amused him, snapping her back into focus.

“This is a well hidden hole-in-the-wall. Easier to walk there from here than drive.”

“I’m capable of walking.” This time her words held a definite edge, which, for some reason, made him ignore his uneasiness at being attracted to her.

“Easier to show you than tell you,” he said.

Amy Simon eyed the dark-haired man uncertainly as he grabbed a T-shirt from the porch railing and yanked it over his head. In the back of her mind she thought it was a shame to cover that muscular torso glistening with droplets of water. Definitely a hunk. No wonder she’d been momentarily attracted—any woman would have been—until his brusque manner turned her off. Now he was practically ordering her to go with him to wherever the hole-in-the-wall was, something she didn’t care for, either. It reminded her unpleasantly of the psychologist who’d been monitoring her in L.A. Her grandmother would have called Dr. Smits a little tin god on wheels. Smits was a good part of the reason she’d opted to answer Dr. Severin’s ad for a psychologist.

But this guy wasn’t Smits, and she was hungry and thirsty. A walk would do her good after the drive over here from her brother’s horse ranch in Carson Valley, where she’d spent the night. “Thank you,” she said finally. Hoping to pry a name out of him, she added, “I’m Amy, by the way.”

“David,” he told her, and started down the sidewalk, away from where her car was parked.

She followed, hurrying to keep up with him. David? She’d have thought a yard maintenance worker would go by something more macho, like Dave. Immediately she made a face. Shame on her, that was stereotyping, something she’d thought all those psych courses had taught her not to do.

He strode along without talking. Strong silent type? More than likely he had nothing intelligent to say. Oops, more typecasting. Why did she keep downgrading the guy? Could it be because she didn’t want to acknowledge that he turned her on? But that would make her a snob, wouldn’t it? Deciding conversation would dispel such disturbing thoughts, Amy cleared her throat and asked, “Did you grow up in Tourmaline?”

“No.”

“Nevada?”

“No.”

Tamping down exasperation, she persisted. “Where, then?”

“New Mexico.”

End of conversation, as far as he was concerned, apparently. She lost count of the corners they’d turned when he finally stopped, turned and looked at her. His eyes, she noted, were as dark a blue as she’d ever seen. They revealed nothing.

“Why?” he asked.

She blinked, finally understanding he must mean why did she want to know where he grew up. “I was just making small talk,” she muttered.

“This is it.” He gestured toward a green door. The sign over it read Tiny Tim’s. Opening the door, he waved her in ahead of him.

Four minuscule tables were crowded into the small space inside. When they were seated at number two, the only empty one, David said, “Your turn.”

To do what? Order? Talk? She shrugged.

“What state?” he asked.

Oh, where had she grown up. “Michigan,” she told him.

“Not a real good way to start a conversation,” he said.

“Whatcha having?” a gruff voice asked.

Turning her head, she saw a bald man’s head framed in an open hatch on the side wall.

“Got a special, Tim?” David asked.

“Egg salad with alfalfa sprouts, mustard and pickle on rye.”

David glanced at her and she nodded. It sounded sort of weird, but so was the day, so far. “Root beer’s good, they make it locally,” he added.

Not what she’d usually order, but she decided to go with the flow. “Okay.”

Tim’s head disappeared from view.

“So what is your idea of a good conversation starter?” she asked David, trying to ignore how really small their table was. It was impossible to move without her feet or legs brushing against his, each touch heightening her awareness of the sizzle arcing between them.

David looked across the table into her green eyes. Murdock, the senior partner of the law firm he used to be with, had green eyes. Murdock’s were a murky color, though, like his manipulations had turned out to be. Amy’s eyes were clear and filled with light, enhancing her heart-shaped face. No doubt about it, she was the prettiest woman he’d seen in a long time, with a lower lip that begged for… He forced his gaze away, telling himself he wasn’t going down that road. Even if the air between them was all but crackling with electricity.

What had she asked him? Before he could bring it to mind, she spoke. “I’ve never been in favor of starting out by asking what someone does for a living. The emphasis then tends to be on what you do rather than what you’re like.”

“Fine with me. So what do you think I’m like?”

“You’re supposed to tell me.”

He shook his head.

“Table two, yours is ready,” Tim said from the open hatch.

David rose, retrieved the tray from the shelf below the hatch, brought it back to the table and served them both, then slid the tray back onto the counter.

He took a bite of his sandwich, chewed and swallowed, washing it down with a slug of root beer. “I always figured people show enough of what they’re like, so you get clues,” he said. “Take you—I already know you don’t live in Tourmaline and that you’re an honest Midwesterner.”

Amy’s laugh was unexpectedly deep, charming him against his will. “Where’d you get the idea Midwesterners were more honest than anyone else?”

“From TV, where else?”

She rolled her eyes. “All right, then, from clues I know you’re either a landscaper or that you work for one. But I certainly have no notion of whether New Mexicans are more or less honest that Midwesterners.”

With Murdock in mind, his “Definitely less” came out tinged with bitterness, which vanished when the rest of what she’d said filtered in. This woman thought he was Gert’s yardman? He half smiled. Wasn’t she right in a sense? He hadn’t done any kind of work in more than a year other than mowing his aunt’s lawn and keeping the shrubs trimmed and the weeds under control. Why not play the part? Besides, he could use a little fun in his life.

Without saying one way or the other whether Amy was right or wrong, David finished his sandwich and drink. Since she was through eating at about the same time, he gathered she really had been hungry.

“You know, that weird sandwich wasn’t bad,” she told him. “And I haven’t had root beer in years. Thanks for letting me know about this place.” She reached into her purse and removed a wallet.

David quelled his impulse to offer to pay for hers as well as his, deciding that Aunt Gert’s yardman wouldn’t. Dutch it’d be. He thought of Cal, the worker who’d helped him load the shrubs at the nursery. Though he didn’t own a baseball cap, he could adopt Cal’s swagger and mannerisms.

“Rather have a beer,” he told Amy, getting out his own wallet, “but Tim doesn’t sell the stuff.”

“Oh. Um, so do you have a dog?” she asked, another lame attempt at small talk with the handyman.

Actually he’d just acquired a cat, a stray that had meowed so persistently at his apartment door one night a week ago that he’d let the animal in. When Gert saw her she told him the cat was pregnant. Soon he’d have kittens. A case of no good deed going unpunished.

Cats and kittens didn’t suit the role he’d decided to play, so, remembering something Cal had said, David decided to use it. “Had two dogs,” he told her. “Rottweilers. Some rotten dipstick stole ’em right out of my pickup.”

“What a shame.”

“Yeah, you’d think they’d’ve put up a fight. Who ever heard of wimpy rottweilers? Just as well they’re gone.”

He could tell by her quickly masked expression that he was rapidly turning her off. Which was what he wanted, wasn’t it?

The bill taken care of, they left the café and walked back toward Aunt Gert’s.

“You said Dr. Severin won’t be home for two days?” Amy asked.

“That’s what she told me.”

“I suppose I should have called ahead.”

He stated the obvious, which she ought to know if she was a patient. “The doc works by the appointment system.”

“Well, yes, but I was hoping…” She let the words trail off.

Maybe she was a new patient and had hoped Gert could work her in. What could Amy’s problem be? She didn’t seem depressed, and he ought to know depression when he saw it—he was an expert.

“I guess I’ll just stay over,” she said. “Is there a quiet place in town?”

An arousing mental picture of Amy naked in his bed tonight flashed into his head, but he resisted the temptation to tell her his apartment was about as quiet as it got. To banish the vision, he said tersely, “The local hotel’s not bad.”

“What’s ‘not bad’ mean?”

She never let anything alone, did she? “It’s old but clean. Serves a decent meal, and it’s quiet.”

“Where is it?”

“I’ll show you.”

She stopped and looked up at him. “Maybe you could just tell me.”

Obviously he’d overdone the Cal routine. Now he was stuck with it. Deliberately ignoring her words, he said, “The hotel is up this way,” then took her elbow to turn her to the left, which was a mistake. He hadn’t actually touched her before, and, if he’d sensed the electricity between them in the café, he damn well felt it now.

For a moment neither of them moved, then she jerked free, frowning at him.

He gave her a one-sided smile. “Coming?”

He thought she might not, but then she fell into step beside him. “Shouldn’t you get back to your job?”

“Hey, it’s my lunch break.”

The Cottonwood Hotel was in the next block and nothing more was said until they reached the front entrance. She stopped and peered inside. “It’s got slot machines,” she said accusingly. “That’s not quiet.”

“Most commercial places in Nevada have slots. Take another look. You see anyone playing those machines?”

“Not at the moment.”

“No smoking.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Gamblers are mostly smokers. Old Hathaway, who owns the place, won’t let anyone smoke inside his hotel. The hard-case gamblers go where they can.”

Amy raised her eyebrows, hesitated, then said, “I suppose I can give it a try. Goodbye and thanks.” Without giving him a chance to respond, she pushed open the door to the lobby and slipped through it into the hotel.

That was that, David told himself as he sauntered back toward Aunt Gert’s. A brief encounter and a goodbye. The end. Well, it was fun while it lasted.

Before he’d gotten half a block away, he saw Hal Hathaway coming toward him. “Just sent you a customer,” he told Hal.

Hal stopped beside him. “I certainly can use all you send me. I hope this one is pretty.”

David nodded. No argument there.

“Is your aunt back yet?” Hal asked.

“Not until the day after tomorrow.”

“The reason is, I’ve been wanting to ask her if she wants that vacant lot on the street directly in back of you. I’ve decided to sell and she gets first refusal.”

“I don’t know. You’ll have to ask her.”

Hal went on to list all the reasons why Gert should buy the lot, then remembered something in the hotel basement he wanted to show David.

When David finally was able to get away, he shook his head. He liked the old man, but he was sure long-winded. By the time he got back to his aunt’s, the blue SUV in back of the nursery truck was gone. The time he’d spent with Hal had given Amy long enough to walk to Gert’s and drive the SUV back to the hotel parking lot. He’d missed a last goodbye.

Or would it have been one? If Amy was a patient of Gert’s he might run into her sometime. Best to stay away from his aunt’s patients, though. He didn’t need anyone else’s problems while he was still struggling with his own.

He’d have to consider the fact he usually ate breakfast at the Cottonwood. Giving it a miss for the next two mornings would be a good idea. When he went to bed that night, he kept the thought in mind and wound up dreaming he was in a Manhattan theater watching a follies-type stage show, especially the chorus girl on the left end of the row. He was seated close to her, so close he could see her eyes were green, though her eyes weren’t what he was paying the most attention to….

While shaving early the next morning, he told himself he damn well wasn’t going to change his routine on the off chance he might run into Amy. She’d probably sleep late and no place in town served a better breakfast.

Amy woke at her usual hour and groaned. Here she was more or less on vacation for today and could have slept in. As always, once awake, hunger stalked her. She could never understand those who made do with just orange juice or coffee for breakfast, she needed a meal. David had been right when he said the hotel served decent food—dinner had been delicious. She looked forward to breakfast.

David. Why was he still on her mind? At least she hadn’t dreamed about him. Not that she could recall, anyway. Being a psychologist, she did try to track her dreams, but, oddly enough, couldn’t remember any this morning. Perhaps she’d suppressed them and she actually had dreamed of David. There’s an unsettling thought.

Actually she probably would see him again, however briefly, because the yard work Dr. Severin was having done had looked quite extensive, but it’d be no more than a “Hi” sort of encounter. The last thing she needed at the moment was a man in her life. Never mind what Dr. Smits had told her about her denial state where men were concerned. He was another example of a controlling man himself. Sometimes she wondered how his wife could stand him.

On the off chance that Dr. Severin might come home earlier than expected, Amy put on a dark green skirt with a lighter green shirt, ran a brush through her short curly hair and left her room.

As she entered the dining room, she noticed the waitress seating a man—David. Annoyed because her heart gave a lurch, she wished she could walk past him without a word, but that would be confirming Smits’ diagnosis of denial. Okay, she’d acknowledge David’s presence by a courteous hello. Why was she making such a big deal of it, anyway?

The waitress came to seat her and Amy was almost at his table when he saw her. He stood up, unsmiling, and gestured toward an empty chair.

“I guess you’re with David,” the waitress said, plopping the menu she held onto his table. “I’m Vera and I’ll be right back.”

Telling herself it’d be awkward to back out, Amy let David seat her.

“You didn’t tell me you ate breakfast here,” she said.

“I expected you to sleep late,” he told her.

“Why?”

He shrugged.

“Do I impress you as someone who doesn’t work for a living?” she asked.

He shrugged again.

Realizing she sounded defensive, which would never do, Amy took a deep breath and decided to start over. “Good morning, David.”

His lips curved slightly, not quite a smile. “’Morning, Amy.”

“I see the sun is out.”

“Usually is in May hereabouts.”

“You don’t make small talk easy.”

“I don’t?” His gaze met hers.

The deep blue of his eyes fascinated her. What color were they? Darker than cobalt or azure, but lighter than navy. They dominated his face, making it difficult for her to look away. When she forced herself to, she found herself examining the curve of his upper lip. He had a rather full mouth, as she did. She found his attractive. What would it be like to feel those lips touching hers?

Wrong place to go. “Once I wake up I’m hungry,” she blurted, throwing the words at him as a barrier.

“Likewise, I’m sure. Coffee, then food, fast. You?” When she nodded, he lifted the coffee server and poured some into her cup.

“Thanks.” She took a swallow. As she remembered from last night, it was excellent.

“Black’s the only way to drink it.” He actually sounded approving.

To discourage any more approval, remembering his comment about beer the day before, she said, “I don’t like beer in any way, shape or form.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What’s beer got to do with coffee?”

“Nothing much, you ask me,” Vera, the waitress, told him, having arrived unobserved. “You guys ready to order?”

When she’d taken their order and left, David said, “Vera said it all. Beer and coffee, apples and oranges.”

He really did have a habit of picking every comment apart, didn’t he? Two could play that game. “So you decided you weren’t likely to run into me at breakfast since I was obviously a late sleeper.”

“Can’t be right all the time. Figured you didn’t have anything to get up for this morning. Didn’t tie in hunger.”

Something flashed into his eyes as he said the last word, but it was gone before she could be sure what she’d seen. A different kind of hunger? Damn chemistry, anyway—she could feel the tension between them like a palpable chain. He certainly gave off irresistible pheromones. Or was it only females who did that? Looking at him across the table seemed to be turning her brain to mush.

David tried to focus on his coffee, but he couldn’t keep his gaze away from her. Today she wore a skirt and a polo shirt, green like those deep-sea eyes of hers. A bad mistake to come here for breakfast. He should have stayed away. Far away.

No woman had tempted him for more than a second or two since his divorce, but he couldn’t make himself ignore Amy. While any man would give her a second look, this was more than reacting to a pretty face atop a well-built body. He seemed to be drawn to her in a way that scared the hell out of him.

Vera’s arrival with their food was a welcome break. He wondered if it was for Amy, too, since she concentrated on her food and didn’t talk. If she didn’t want to sit with him, why hadn’t she declined his offer to share a table? For that matter, why had he made it? Courtesy? He knew better.

Yeah, Severin, and you know better than to get into a tangle you’ll regret.

He tried to come up with something Cal might say, something that might turn her completely off him, and found all he could think of was that Cal was actually an all-right guy. What he’d been doing was parodying Cal’s speech patterns and making a mockery of the guy’s lifestyle. He scowled.

“Is something wrong with your food?” Amy asked.

He glanced up at her. “Why?”

“You’ve been glaring down at your plate forever.”

“The food’s fine.”

“Oh, then it must be the company you’re annoyed with.”

“I asked for the company, didn’t I?”

She raised her eyebrows. “That doesn’t mean you can’t have regrets.”

“If I’m annoyed at anyone, it’s myself.” He picked up his cup, downed the last drop of coffee and reached for the carafe. “Care for a refill?”

“Just warm it, thanks.” She waited until he poured more coffee into her cup, then said, “Anger’s destructive.”

“So I’ve been told.” By his aunt, more than once in the past year. He poured himself another cupful and took a swallow. Been told that and other cautions he hadn’t wanted to hear. Ethically, Gert wasn’t allowed to psychoanalyze him because he was a relative. Which didn’t prevent her from dropping loaded hints. Or making a yardman out of him, like Amy believed he was. The last thought made him smile.

“That’s better,” she said.

“You catch more flies with honey than vinegar, too,” he deadpanned.

“Always supposing you’re looking to catch flies.” Her words challenged him.

“I’m not looking to catch anything.” He spoke flatly, his gaze crossing hers.

He watched her face turn expressionless, but her tone was light when she said, “And here I felt sure you were a fisherman.”

“Every yardman doesn’t fish.”

He could see he’d managed to offend her. “I was not trying to categorize you,” she snapped.

He glanced at the egg congealing on his plate and knew he couldn’t finish his breakfast. Just as well, because this seemed a good time to split. He flipped a couple of bucks on the table for a tip, rose, nodded to her and walked to the cashier to pay his bill. Not hers, though it might annoy her more if he did. But he figured he’d done enough damage. He was safe. Amy wasn’t likely to give him the time of day again, even if she became a regular patient of his aunt’s. Just the way he wanted it.

Then why didn’t he feel relieved?

Amy watched David leave the hotel, then pushed her plate to one side, her appetite gone. What a boor. Though she hadn’t wanted to explore what might have been between them any more than he did, he didn’t need to be so abrupt. With time maybe they could have managed to become friends.

Friends? Ha. Who was she trying to snow? Hadn’t she learned not to fool herself? If anything had ever been going to happen between her and David, it wouldn’t be friendship. She’d never gone in for brief, hot affairs—like any relationship with him would have been—so it was just as well their acquaintance had ended on a sour note.

She should be glad. She was glad. With luck he’d finish the yard work at Dr. Severin’s quickly and then be out of her life completely. He was as forgettable as any other man.

And if he knew what was good for him, he’d better keep out of her dreams, too.