“Well?” Gracie prodded.
“Not bad.”
“Kevin Patrick!” Mrs. Johnson chided.
He grinned. “Okay, it’s sensational.”
Gracie studied him worriedly. “Really? You’re not just saying that?”
“Have you ever known me to be diplomatic?”
“Hardly.”
He ate another chunk. “Delicious. Every bit as good as Mrs. Johnson’s.”
Gracie jumped up and threw her arms around the older woman. “Thank you,” she said fervently.
Her face flooded with embarrassed color, Mrs. Johnson quickly extricated herself from the embrace and patted Gracie’s hand. “You’re the one who did the work.”
“But Kevin was right. Your recipe had to be foolproof.”
“Aren’t you going to taste one yourself?” he asked, amused by her enthusiasm.
“I guess I should,” she said, eyeing the muffins cautiously. Clearly, she thought he might be exaggerating the quality.
Finally she took one, neatly broke off a tiny piece and ate it. A smile broke across her face. She tried a second bite, then sighed contentedly. “It is wonderful, isn’t it?”
“Don’t even think about resting on your laurels,” Mrs. Johnson said briskly. “Tomorrow we’ll do scones.”
“Cranberry-orange?” Kevin asked hopefully.
Mrs. Johnson sighed. “I suppose you’ll be back here begging a sample, if they are.” Despite the sigh, she didn’t look particularly displeased by the prospect.
“You bet.” He glanced at Gracie. “That is, if Gracie doesn’t mind.”
“Whatever,” she mumbled, her mouth stuffed with another chunk of muffin.
Kevin grinned. “If I’d known what it took to make you so agreeable, I’d have arranged for cooking lessons days ago.”
“Okay, you two, get along with you,” Mrs. Johnson said. “I’m tired.”
“We can’t go until I’ve cleaned up,” Gracie protested.
“Leave it be. It won’t take me but a minute. I’ll do it after I’ve fixed supper. No point in cleaning up, only to mess it up again an hour from now.”
“Are you sure?” Gracie asked.
“I said it, didn’t I?”
“Come on, Gracie. I recognize that tone,” Kevin said. “She’s fed up with both of us.”
“Okay, if you’re sure,” Gracie said, taking one last look at Mrs. Johnson.
“Go,” she said succinctly, then glanced at Kevin with a tolerant smile. “Take the muffins along with you, why don’t you? You know I’m not supposed to have them.”
Kevin grabbed a paper sack from the drawer where they’d always been kept, then dumped all but one of the muffins into it. He dropped a kiss on Mrs. Johnson’s weathered cheek.
“Thanks. If I could have found a woman who baked like you, I’d have married her years ago.”
“Give Gracie a little time,” she suggested with a wink. “Maybe she’ll fill the bill.”
“Could be,” he agreed, and turned to find the woman in question blushing furiously. “Come on, Gracie. On the way back to your place, I’ll explain the function of locks.”
“Locks? I know what locks are for.”
He winked at Mrs. Johnson as they left. “Then why don’t you use them?”
He saw the precise instant when Gracie figured out the implication of the question. Bright patches of color appeared in her cheeks and her eyes flashed sparks.
“You’ve been in my house, haven’t you?”
“That unlocked door was the next best thing to an invitation,” he replied unrepentantly. “By the way, your buddy Max called.”
She stared at him indignantly. “You answered the phone, too?”
“Not until after he’d started his message. I didn’t like his attitude.”
“What’s wrong with his attitude?”
“You’ll see.”
“Kevin, you can’t just barge into other people’s homes and start taking their phone calls because you disapprove of the caller.”
“Not normally, no. You made it easy for me.”
She sighed. “I suppose there was another crisis.”
“So he claims.”
“Did he say what it was?”
“Nope. I suggested he try to solve it all by himself.”
She stared at him. “You didn’t.”
“I did.”
A smile began working the corners of her mouth. “And what did Max say to that?”
“Let’s just say I doubt we’ll ever be buddies.”
“That was a given,” she said, chuckling. “You and Max are as different as night and day.”
Kevin nodded. “One question, darlin’. Does that work in my favor or his?”
She reached up and patted his cheek. “I think I’ll keep the answer to that to myself.”
12
T
hough torture couldn’t have forced her to admit it to Kevin, Gracie was delighted with the pattern that was developing. Every afternoon precisely at four, she went to visit Mrs. Johnson for another cooking lesson. An hour later, Kevin showed up to taste the results.
So far, she’d mastered two different kinds of scones, a second type of muffin, and a pecan coffee cake that was to die for. She’d lengthened her walk every morning just to burn off the extra calories. Given his apparent lack of energetic pursuits, she had no idea why Kevin hadn’t turned into a blimp. That he hadn’t raised all sorts of fascinating questions about what he was up to when they weren’t together.
She studied him as they walked back to her house after consuming most of that pecan coffee cake. His stomach was flat as a pancake. Though she couldn’t see his abs at the moment, she knew exactly what they looked like—taut and well defined. She allowed him to get a step ahead of her and assessed his rear. Definitely calendar pin-up material.
“Enjoying the view?” he inquired lightly, not the least bit embarrassed by her blatant inspection.
Gracie, however, was humiliated at being caught. She tried feigning innocence. “Excuse me?”
“I asked if you were enjoying the view.”
“Um, sure,” she mumbled. “The water’s lovely this time of day.”
He glanced at her with that same tolerant amusement she found so infuriating. “Darlin’, if you were looking at the water, you’d know a storm’s brewing. It’s choppy as the dickens out there.”
She glanced at the Potomac. Sure enough, it was churning with whitecapped waves. “So it is,” she acknowledged. “If a storm’s rolling in, I guess you’d better hurry home before it breaks.”
“I’m not scared of a little thunder and lightning.” He peered intently at her. “Are you?”
“Of course not,” she denied a little too vehemently, unable to hide the shudder that washed over her.
His eyes widened. “You are, aren’t you?”
“I said I wasn’t.”
“It’s just a little bowling going on up in the heavens,” he offered.
Gracie wasn’t going to be placated with that particular tale. She’d heard that one and more as she’d cowered in her bed as a child with the blankets pulled over her head. For reasons she’d never been able to fathom, storms had always terrified her. It was a weakness she hated in herself and wasn’t about to admit to.
“I’ll protect you,” Kevin promised, just as the first rumble of thunder sounded in the distance.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, feigning nonchalance. “It’s just a silly old thunderstorm.”
“Then why did you just turn white as a sheet?”
“Must have been something in the coffeecake.”
“Gracie, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Everybody’s scared of something. Storms shake up a lot of people.”
“I am not scared,” she protested, then shivered unmistakably when lightning slashed through the rapidly darkening sky. The air was charged with electricity. She could practically taste it in the air, feel it in the prickling of her skin. She quickened her pace. She really, really wanted to be safely inside when this sucker broke, preferably inside a windowless closet.
Kevin kept pace with her easily over the last block, but instead of dashing for his car as the first scattered fat drops of rain fell, he followed her inside.
“You don’t have to stay,” Gracie insisted. “I’ll be fine.”
“You have any wine?” he asked, ignoring her protest.
“In the wine rack in the pantry,” she said, more grateful than she liked that he wasn’t leaving despite her protests.
“Candles?”
She chuckled. “I’m glad to see your priorities are in order. First wine, then candles.”
“Where are they, sweetface?”
She couldn’t recall for the life of her. “I think I saw some in the drawer by the stove.”
He rummaged around in there for a minute, then held up a package of birthday candles. “I doubt these will last long. What about an oil lamp?”
She should have remembered that in the first place. After the first storm of the season, which had caught her off guard and lasted less than an hour, she’d searched high and low until she found one so it would be ready for the next such occasion. “In the living room.”
“Any oil in it?”
“Yes. I saw to that right away.”
“Matches?”
“Right beside it. There’s a flashlight there, too.”
“Good.”
She worried over the implications of all the preparations. “Kevin, are you expecting the power to go out?”
“It’s not a given, but I wouldn’t bet against it.”
Gracie sighed.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll be right here. We’ll be safe and cozy. Do you have any cards?”
“Cards?”
“You know, playing cards. It’s either that or cuddling on the sofa.”
She trembled at the choice, almost opted for the more dangerous one, the one that guaranteed the storm outside would pass by unnoticed. Eventually, though, common sense ruled. “I’ll hunt for cards.”
Kevin grinned. “Too bad. Cuddling’s a lot more distracting, especially if it leads to something more.”
Oh, yes, Gracie thought. She’d bet her dream house on that. She practically tore the kitchen apart looking for a deck of cards. She finally found an old, grease-stained poker deck in the back of a drawer.
They were playing their first hand when the rain began in earnest. This wasn’t the soft rain of spring. It was a hard, driving rain, accompanied by increasingly loud crashes of thunder and brighter slashes of lightning.
The power went a half hour later with a cracking sound, the explosion of a nearby transformer, Kevin assessed. Though it was still daylight—or should have been—the sky was so dark with rolling clouds, it could have been late evening.
Even so, Kevin laid down his next bet before getting
the oil lamp and lighting it. The man had the concentration and competitive instincts of a cardsharp.
“Where’d you learn to play like this?” Gracie asked when she lost the fifth straight hand, either because the cards were all falling his way or because she wasn’t paying nearly enough attention to the ones she’d been dealt.
“Family hobby,” Kevin said, dealing the next hand.
“You come from a family of poker players?”
“It’s not a career, darlin’. Like I said, it’s a hobby.” He gestured toward the pile of cards in front of her. “Pick up your hand.”
Gracie picked up the cards and looked them over, then discarded two, accepting two more in return. Nothing, absolutely nothing. Not even a piddly little pair. Even so, she bet to win. Kevin wasn’t fooled. He raised her bet.
“Do you all take your hobbies so seriously?” she asked.
“Yep,” he said, as he spread a full house onto the table and raked in yet another pot.
“Do you think it’s fair, then, to be taking advantage of a rank amateur?”
“Absolutely. I almost never win at home. Those people play for blood. Took me for five bucks and change the other night.”
Gracie grinned. “That much, huh? I’m astonished you didn’t have to declare bankruptcy.”
“If I ever let ’em raise the stakes above a penny, I might have to. My niece is particularly bloodthirsty.”
“Is that Abby?”
“Yeah. You’ll have to meet her one of these days. She’s an angel, though I’ll deny I ever said it if you tell her. Just don’t play poker with her.”
The next flash of lightning lit the room as bright as noontime sun. Thunder shook the house and set Gracie to trembling just as violently.
Kevin reached across the table and clasped her hand. “Hey, darlin’.”
Thoroughly embarrassed, Gracie refused to meet his gaze. If the gesture had been meant to steady her nerves, it had backfired. She was shivering uncontrollably now, though the blame for it couldn’t be placed entirely on the storm.
“Look at me,” he commanded softly.
She finally dared a glance up and into his eyes. She saw compassion there and something more, the kind of heated look that inspired a renewed trembling all its own. She swallowed hard and wished desperately she were the kind of woman who could indulge in sex for the sheer fun of it. The offer—the desire—was plain enough on Kevin’s face, in his touch. No matter that the caress of his hand on hers was only slightly less innocent than a handshake, the vibrations it sent through her were pure sin. Her blood raced.
“I’m fine,” she said firmly, extricating her hand from his.
“Any idea why you’re so afraid of storms?”
“None,” she said, seeing no point in further denials. “It’s silly, I know. I probably saw some report on TV once about somebody getting struck by lightning or a house burning down and the image stuck.”
She glanced outside, hoping to see clearing skies. Instead, the vicious dark clouds went on as far as she could see, dumping out torrents of hard rain. “How long is this supposed to go on?” she asked plaintively.
“There’s no telling.”
“And the power?”
“Could be hours before it’s restored. Do you have anything in the refrigerator that’s likely to spoil?”
She thought of the pricey ice cream she’d discovered and become addicted to in recent days. It was filled with cherries and chocolate and nuts.
“Just some ice cream.”
Kevin’s eyes lit up. “Can’t waste that. I’ll get it.”
He came back with the carton and only one spoon. Gracie grinned at him and reached for both. “Thanks,” she said.
Kevin held the ice cream out of reach. “Back off, kid. Nothing gets between me and my ice cream,” he warned. “Especially this flavor.”
“It
is
my ice cream,” Gracie pointed out.
“And I’m a guest.”
“I suppose it shouldn’t surprise me that no one ever taught you to share.”