Читать книгу Wanting Something More - Kathy Love - Страница 10

Marty awoke to singing. A male voice, muffled, distant.

She lifted her head from her pillow and squinted around, disoriented. Pale blue wallpaper with darker blue flowers and a faded picture of Michael J. Fox greeted her. That’s right, she was in her room. Home.

Then she saw the chair wedged under the doorknob, and she remembered that she and Michael J. were not alone. Nathaniel Peck was here, and apparently singing.

She let her head fall back onto the pillow and considered cocooning herself in her quilt and trying to sleep until her unwanted guest left.

Then she sighed. This was stupid. She had to go to the bathroom, and she was starving. Plus, this was her house; why was she hiding?

She rose and struggled with the chair, trying to remove it quietly. Now, in the broad daylight, with the sunshine beaming off the snow outside her window, she felt a bit stupid for barricading the door. She really hated it when her nerves got the best of her. And her nerves seemed to be in control a lot lately.

With purposeful calmness, she tugged open the door and stepped out into the hallway. The singing was louder but still distant. Nathaniel wasn’t upstairs.

She listened for a moment. He actually had a nice voice. Low and a little raspy. Beneath the soothing sound of his voice, she could tell he was moving around. She heard the occasional scrape of a drawer opening, the swish of metal on metal.

What was he doing? Singing his way off with the family silver? Okay, there was no family silver, but Grammy’s Green Stamp flatware was still pretty valuable, to her anyway.

The bathroom forgotten, she headed down the stairs, ready to defend her grandmother’s cutlery. But once she got to the kitchen doorway, she didn’t charge in. Instead she stopped, motionless, listening and watching.

He stood in front of the stove, waving a fork like a drumstick as he belted out the chorus to “Ready for Love” by Bad Company. The soft material of his faded gray T-shirt stretched against his back and accentuated the muscles of his torso and the cut of his shoulder blades with each drum beat. Marty’s gaze drifted lower to the faded denim of the jeans that hugged his firm, tight…

Her eyes widened and she forced herself to look away. What was she doing? She was done with men, and she was especially done with this man. She couldn’t stand him. So why on earth would she be admiring his…

Her eyes strayed back to him and that very nice derriere. Just because she was through with men didn’t mean she couldn’t recognize nice assets—no pun intended—when she saw them. And she did have to admit he did have some pretty nice assets. Too bad they all disappeared as soon as he opened his mouth.

“Hi.”

It took a few moments for Marty to realize that mouth had spoken to her.

Her eyes snapped up to discover Nathaniel was watching her over his shoulder. An irritatingly relaxed smile curved his lips.

Nate fought to keep his smile from widening as Marty’s cheeks colored a deep pink. But to her credit, she recovered quickly, crossing her arms across her chest as she leaned against the doorjamb. “What are you doing?”

Again he tried not to grin at her surly tone. Man, she disliked him.

He lifted the frying pan off the stove and tilted it so she could see the yellowy contents sizzling away. “I’m making eggs. Want some?”

She frowned at him.

It was a good thing her smile had been documented on the covers of magazines; otherwise, he wouldn’t have believed she ever smiled. Of course, her glower was as attractive as her smile. Not many people looked lovely when they were shooting daggers with their eyes. Marty did.

“They’re good,” he said cajolingly, waving the pan toward her. “And I made toast.”

He could see her hesitation, and although there were no overt signs of nervousness, he still got the feeling she was very wary. Again, he wondered why.

She didn’t say anything but, to his shock, she did move to sit down at the large kitchen table.

He returned the frying pan to the stove top and flipped off the burner. After scooping the eggs onto two plates, he headed toward the table.

Marty stared, watching his approach and the way he walked, the hitch of his gait. Her eyes moved down to his knee, then she seemed to realize she was being rude and looked away. Embarrassment colored her cheeks again.

He didn’t take offense at her stare. His limp was hard to ignore. Not to mention that he’d also done too much on it this morning, so the limp was even more pronounced than usual. Doc Hall would give him hell at his next physical-therapy session.

“These were supposed to be omelets,” he explained as he set a plate in front of her, feeling the need to ease the awkwardness. “But it’s surprisingly harder than you’d think to flip those suckers. So they ended up scrambled.” He smiled at her again and was met with a cool glance.

“Thank you,” she mumbled and picked up her fork.

He nodded and took the chair across from her.

They both ate in silence for a moment, until he said, “I don’t really like eggs. But they are a good source of protein, and if I add enough cheese, they’re tolerable.”

“There are other sources of protein,” she said, the words clipped.

“Did I mention that eggs are easy to cook?”

“Except omelets,” she reminded him.

He chuckled. “Exactly.” Wow, had that been a joke? Maybe she would loosen up with him yet.

“So you’ll be able to get into your house tonight, right?”

Or not. “Yeah, I should be able to get Derek Nye—you remember Derek, don’t you?”

She nodded, a slight, indifferent dip of her chin that clearly stated that if she did remember Derek, she didn’t care for him any more than she cared for Nate.

“Well, anyway, he has a plow, so I should able to get him to clear out my road.”

She nodded again, never taking her attention off her breakfast.

Nate took advantage of the moment to study at her. Her short, dark hair was tousled, one side sticking out prominently from where she’d slept on it. Her baggy, red sweatshirt completely hid the lithe, willowy body that had graced so many magazines. There was no hint of make-up on her smooth skin. Sitting in the morning sun, she didn’t look like a supermodel. She looked like a real woman, her features more striking than beautiful. Although her big, dark eyes and wide, lush lips were pretty darn gorgeous.

But again, he couldn’t help noticing that her pale complexion wasn’t totally natural. And the sunlight also revealed the purplish smudges under her eyes and the tense set of those full lips.

She was definitely stressed about something. And despite her dislike of him, Nate believed it was something more than his presence. He just wasn’t helping her stress level.

He took the last bite of eggs and pushed back from the table, stretching out his long legs. His knee protested. He massaged it, feeling the ridges of scar tissue even through his jeans.

When he looked up, Marty was watching his hand on his knee intently. But she didn’t say anything.

“So, are you staying through the holidays?”

She stopped watching his hand, but still didn’t look at him. Instead she reached for a piece of toast. “Yes, maybe longer.”

“Well, I know your sisters will be thrilled.”

She raised an eyebrow, although her attention was still on her eggs. “It seems you know my sisters quite well these days.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve been hanging out with Mason and Chase quite a bit lately.”

She nodded, again all her tenseness masked with a look of indifference.

“Okay,” he sighed, realizing that she had no intention of warming up in any way. “Well, I guess I’d better get these dishes washed and head to the shower.”

“I can do the dishes.”

He had no doubt that a sink full of dirty dishes was far more appealing to her than his company.

“Okay, if you want to, have at it.” He rose and limped toward the door. Then he turned back to her, his tired muscles reminding him. “Oh, your car is all dug out. And the driveway too, if you want to move it off the street.”

“You shoveled the driveway?” she asked, shocked.

“Yeah.”

“That had to have taken hours. When did you do that?”

Nate shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep, so I figured I might as well be doing something.”

“You were out there shoveling in the middle of the night?”

He shrugged. “Nah, more like early morning. Fiveish, maybe.”

If he had expected a thank-you or even a look of appreciation, he didn’t get it. Instead she frowned again. “That’s crazy.”

A dry laugh escaped him. “Yeah, I’m getting that a lot lately.” In fact, it was one of the things he was getting a little tired of hearing. He ran a hand through his hair.

Marty’s eyes widened just slightly as she stared at a point just to the right of his eyes.

She hadn’t noticed the scar, he realized. His hair must have hidden it. That probably mixed with the fact that she hadn’t really looked at him all morning. Not his face anyway.

The combination of the crazy comment and the reaction to his scar suddenly annoyed him. He stood there for a moment until he knew she felt uncomfortable with his stare. Then he said flatly, “A steel-toed boot was the doctor’s best guess.” He didn’t elaborate more, but just left her there with a stunned expression.

Here she had been thinking Nathaniel was the jerk, and she’d been the one who’d acted terribly rude.

Marty finished rinsing the last dish and placed it in the dish drainer. He hadn’t made one lewd comment. He hadn’t even flirted, really. He’d just made her a good breakfast, saving her from the old, hard granola bar in her purse, and tried to make small talk. She’d been the jerk.

She wiped her hands off on a dish towel, tossed it over the back of a chair, and headed upstairs.

Of course, she did know men, and they could act like perfect gentlemen when it served their purpose. How many times had she fallen for that act before? Hence her wise decision to avoid men. She’d fallen for the charade one too many times.

When she reached the top step, she could hear Nathaniel in the bathroom, the splashing sound of him in the shower. She got a sudden, vivid image of him, naked, the water sluicing over the muscles she had seen outlined by his gray T-shirt.

Okay, who was the lewd one? What the heck was wrong with her? Was swearing off men like dieting? Because she couldn’t have any men, she suddenly wanted all men. Even horrible men like Nathaniel Peck? Eek.

She cast a look at the closed bathroom door, then went into her room and shut the door tightly behind her. She grabbed the handles of her tote bag and plopped both herself and the bag on the bed. After much digging, she located her cell phone. She had a signal and no messages. Her initial reaction was relief, then for just a moment, it changed to disappointment. She pushed the feeling aside. It was too early for anyone to even realize she was gone, and she didn’t want to deal with anyone anyway.

She put the phone on the nightstand.

A steel-toed boot? Someone had kicked Nathaniel in the face. And then there was his limp. Was it from the same incident? It seemed rather unlikely, and unlucky, that he would have two serious injuries from two unrelated events. But he was a police officer. It could happen, she supposed.

A knock at her door gave her a start. Before she could scramble off the bed, Nathaniel called through the wooden panel. “Marty, I’m leaving. See you around.”

By the time she reached the door, she could hear his uneven gait clomping down the stairs. She considered following him and apologizing for her behavior, but decided against it. She shouldn’t have been rude to him today, but one day of rudeness was minor compared with the days she’d spent after that school dance. The snickering in the hallways. The teasing. The cruel pranks. He owed her the apology and had for a long time.

So instead, she marched to the bathroom. A long, hot shower would get her back to normal.

She shed her clothes and was just about to turn on the shower when the bathroom door opened and Nathaniel walked in.

Marty squealed and jumped into the tub, pulling the blue vinyl curtain in front of her.

“Oh, shit,” he said, averting his eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were in here.” He edged farther into the room, still not looking in her direction, even though she was shielded by the shower curtain.

“Well, I am,” she shouted. “So leave!”

“I will. I just left—” He scanned the room, still being careful not to look in her direction. “This.” He went to the white wicker hamper in the corner and picked up a brown cowboy-style police hat. “Sorry.” He exited, still never looking her way.

Marty waited a minute, then stepped back out of the tub.

She covered her face with her hands, heat burning her cheeks. Well, he’d gotten an eyeful there. Far more than the Calvin Klein ads. She groaned.

The rest of her shower was uneventful, and when she finally was clean and dressed, the house was very empty. But her peace was going to be short-lived. As tempting as it was, she couldn’t avoid the outside world for long. If her sisters learned that she was in town and hadn’t come directly to see them, they would be very hurt. And now, she didn’t even have the excuse of her car being snowbound. Just another reason to be annoyed with Nathaniel Peck.

In truth, she felt guilty that she was tempted to avoid her siblings for a bit. She was excited to see them, she just dreaded the questions. And there would be questions. Why was she here after she said she’d be busy the whole holiday season? Was there something going on with Rod? And what would they think when she told them what she was considering: leaving modeling altogether?

She wandered to the window. It was truly a winter wonderland this morning. Snow glistened. Icicles hung from the eaves of the house across the street. Bundled and rosy-cheeked children played in the whiteness, building snowmen and snow forts.

Marty sighed. It was nice to be home. Nice to feel normal after living in a whirlwind for so long, even if her return had started off a little shaky. Then she noticed her car cleared completely from the snow and the driveway that couldn’t have been more snow free even if a commercial snowplow had cleared it.

She shook her head. Out in the dark, shoveling. Maybe that’s why Nathaniel hadn’t hit on her or made offensive suggestions. He was too exhausted.

And no wonder he was limping so badly. If his leg had been injured in an accident, he probably shouldn’t have been shoveling heavy snow in the dead of night. The man obviously had some serious frustrations to work off to be doing such intensive physical labor.

Who knew, maybe he’d sworn off women like she’d sworn off men. Wouldn’t that be ironic if they actually had something in common?