Debbie Macomber's Cedar Cove Series, Volume 3 (98 page)

“Then who's it for?”

“Customers,” she said irritably. “Is that a problem?” She'd done him a favor and Will acted as if she'd brought poison into his precious gallery.

“We don't get that many children—”

“Isn't it time you met your sister?” she asked, interrupting him.

Will gave her a startled look. “Right. I shouldn't be longer than a couple of hours. Three at the most.”

“If you aren't back by five, I'll close for the night and head home.”

“I'll be back by then.”

“So he says,” Miranda muttered under her breath. If Will heard her, he pretended he didn't.

The rest of the afternoon was busy, much busier than she would've expected. She sold another Beverly Chandler painting, a sculpture and a quilt. Will should be pleased, but knowing him, he'd invent reasons to find fault. She just hoped he realized that if she hadn't given up most of her afternoon, they wouldn't have made three rather large sales. If he'd placed a closed sign on the door, he might never have known what he'd missed. After all, there was no guarantee those customers would've come back.

A little after five, as she was putting the cash from the till into the bank deposit bag, Will walked into the gallery, looking completely worn out.

“We had a great afternoon,” she said, eager to share her news.

He nodded absently. “Olivia and I are shocked. You wouldn't believe the monthly fees these adult residences charge.”

“I sold the quilt,” Miranda bragged. It'd been in the gallery for three months and she'd almost lost hope that it would sell.

Will still wasn't listening. “Of course, when you take into account that the fees include meals and utilities, I don't suppose it's
so
bad.”

“Another Beverly Chandler painting, too.” If nothing else, this should get his attention.

“They have a lot of programs for the elderly,” he continued. “They do everything they can to keep the residents physically fit. The social activities sound great. Both Olivia and I think this mental stimulation is exactly what Mom needs. Ben, too.” He shook his head.
“Still, we'll have to talk to Ben's son—and I don't mean David—”

“Have you heard a single word I said?” Miranda asked.

Will glanced up. “What?”

“Never mind.” She tossed the deposit bag on the counter and went into the back room for her coat and purse.

He followed her. “Why are you in such a state?”

“Because of you.”

“That figures. Apparently everything I do annoys you.”

“You have no idea how true that is. And you seem to be just as annoyed by me. I'm not even sure why you keep me on.”

“I'm wondering that myself,” he murmured. “Furthermore I doubt
you
heard a single word
I
said.”

“Yes, of course I did.” She marched into the outer room and grabbed the plastic pumpkin.

“Where are you going with that?”

“Home. You don't appreciate it, so I'm taking it with me.”

“I didn't say I didn't appreciate it. Anyway, I didn't have a chance to pick up any treats, so I was going to use it tonight in case any of the neighborhood kids stop by.”

“That's unlikely.”

“Okay, fine. Whatever.” He glared at her.

Miranda glared back.

“Why are you like this?” he demanded.

“Like what?”

“So…so moody. You jump all over me every chance you get. I don't understand what your problem is.”

Miranda took offense at that. “I am the most even-tempered woman you're likely to meet. Ask anyone.”

“You fly off the handle over nothing.”

“That is not true.”

He gestured toward her. “Just listen to how defensive you are. Can't we have a civil conversation without you making all kinds of false assumptions?”

“I…I—” Perhaps she
was
being defensive. Okay, true, she was, but she had no choice. It was either that or own up to how attractive she found him….

“What are you thinking?” he asked, frowning slightly. He didn't seem to know how he should react when she didn't have an immediate comeback.

“I…I—” she started again, and then, without considering her actions, she stepped forward and kissed him.

For an instant they were both too shocked to do anything but stare at each other. Then Will reached out and caught her by the shoulders as if to shove her away. Instead, he brought her close, kissing her deeply, passionately.

They both seemed to realize what was happening at the same time. Breaking apart, they retreated, gazing at each other in shock.

Miranda could feel her face heating up with acute embarrassment. In all her life, she'd never been the one to take the initiative and kiss a man. Well, not the first time they kissed, at any rate. This was completely out of character.

“What was that about?” Will asked, frowning.

Miranda could play this one of two ways, she decided. She could be nonchalant about the whole thing and dismiss it as unimportant. Irrelevant. Or she could simply say he'd made her so angry that it was either kiss him or slap him across the face. And that being the case, she'd opted for the lesser of two evils.

Before she could choose which approach to take, Will
raised one hand to his face and narrowed his eyes. “You just kissed me.”

“No one's ever kissed you before?” she asked flippantly.

“Not like that.”

“What's
that
supposed to mean?”

Not answering, he turned away and then abruptly turned back. “Do you do that often?”

“Do what?” she said, playing stupid. Because that was how she felt. Stupid.

“Walk up to a man and kiss him,” he said. His voice seemed to echo around the gallery. Thankfully they were closed; otherwise, some unsuspecting customer might breeze in. But maybe that wouldn't be so bad because she'd be able to escape.

“No, I don't usually go around kissing men,” she admitted. “It seems to me you enjoyed it, though.”

“I most certainly did not.”

“Oh, please!” She laughed outright.

“What's so funny?”

“You. Come on, Will. I don't understand why you're so thrown by a little kiss.”

“Why'd you do it?”

There wasn't going to be an easy way to extricate herself from this awkward situation. She could confess that she was strongly attracted to him. No, that would be totally the wrong move. It would give him the upper hand, always dangerous with a man like Will. Acting defensive and ill-tempered protected her, although she'd rather burn at the stake than admit it.

“Explain,” he insisted.

“Ah…” She'd really done it this time. “It was a mistake.”

“Yes, it
was
a mistake. A big one.”

“Whatever.”

“As your employer, I'm finding this all rather…amusing.”

“You
would
find it amusing.” Leave it to Will to use this to embarrass her even further—although a moment ago, his reaction had been quite different.

“I prefer to kiss rather than be kissed.”

“Oh, you have rules for such things,” she murmured, not pointing out that he'd done his share of the kissing. This entire conversation was ridiculous. She yanked her raincoat from its hook and thrust her arms into the sleeves.

“Everyone has rules about kissing,” he said.

“Like I told you, it was a mistake. An accident…”

“An accident,” he repeated. “You're joking. That kiss was probably the most deliberate action you've taken since the moment I hired you.”

“I moved the first Chandler painting,” she was quick to remind him, “the one that sold a month ago.”

He ignored that. “When I kiss a woman, I prefer she not be a big-boned, opinionated windbag.”

So now he was going to insult her. Miranda didn't need to hang around for that. Grabbing her purse, she stomped out of the gallery.

“Where are you going?” he asked, following her.

“Why do you care?”

“I don't. I'm just…curious.”

She was at the door, which stubbornly refused to open. She twisted the handle several times, but couldn't budge it. So much for making a grand exit.

Will reached over and flipped the lock so that when she tried again she stumbled backward and almost fell into his arms. He clutched at her shoulders to steady her. It didn't take much effort to shake herself free.

As soon as the door opened, she hurried around to the rear of the building where she'd parked. Again, Will followed her.

“What are you doing?” she asked sharply.

He didn't answer, and it occurred to her that he was as bemused as she'd been. He didn't know what he was doing or why. That was comforting—at least a little.

Before she could open the car door, Will planted his hand on the side window and turned, leaning against the vehicle so she couldn't leave.

“What?” she said heatedly.

Then Will hauled her into his arms and kissed her full on the mouth. When he released her, she faltered for a second or two.

He looked as shocked as she'd felt when she'd kissed him.

“Where are you going?” he asked again, his voice faint.

“Home.” He wasn't the only one with voice problems. Her own sounded as if a mouse had gotten control of her voice box; her words came out like a high-pitched squeak.

“Will you be back in the morning?” He seemed anxious, as though concerned that she might resign her position.

“Yes, why wouldn't I be?”

“I didn't want a little thing like a kiss to stand between us,” he said with a frown.

“You kissed me.”

“Yes, I know.”

“And I kissed you…first. Okay, I'll admit it.”

“Do you plan on doing it again?”

“Why are you asking?” After all, he was the one who
claimed she was a big-boned, opinionated windbag. “Do
you
want to kiss
me
again?”

His head shot up. “Let's just call this whole episode a slip in judgment.”

“On both our parts,” she added.

He offered her a tentative smile. “On both our parts,” he agreed.

Twenty

T
he puppy's soft mewling cry woke Grace from a sound sleep. Cliff had been feeding Beau in the middle of the night, and usually seemed to hear the puppy before Grace did. Often she got up, too, but there really wasn't much she could do. So, after a few minutes she simply returned to bed.

“Okay, okay, I hear you,” she muttered as she threw aside the covers. Cliff continued to sleep peacefully, which told her he was especially tired. It was her turn to get up with the puppy.

Beau slept in a cardboard box in the corner of their bedroom. She didn't like it, but there wasn't anyplace else they could keep him where he could be heard at night. Unfortunately, he still needed to be fed every few hours.

Reaching for her fleece housecoat at the end of the bed, Grace slipped it on and tucked her feet into the warm, fuzzy pink slippers that had been a gift from her daughter Maryellen last Christmas.

Cliff had the puppy formula ready, so she got it out of the kitchen and carried Beau into the living room. As she set him in her lap, he latched on to the small rubber nipple and sucked greedily.

“You're not as cute as you think you are,” she felt obliged to inform the puppy. “Buttercup was a great-looking dog,” she said aloud. Sighing, she realized she actually wanted this small, runt-of-the-litter dog to feel jealous. Beau wouldn't grow up to be half the dog Buttercup was. Nope. Not in a million years.

“I hope you're happy,” she said. Beau might think he'd finally got her where he wanted her, but he was dead wrong. Grace had no intention of letting this puppy, or any other dog, capture her affections. The
only
reason she'd agreed to take him was as a favor to Beth. Even now she was sorry she'd allowed herself to be talked into this.

Grace had managed to steel herself against the puppy—so far. In fact, she went out of her way not to pay attention to Beau. During the day Cliff looked after him, which helped. Unfortunately, he had a meeting with fellow horse-breeders the next day and wouldn't be able to bring Beau with him. That meant she'd have to take the puppy to work for the first time—something she'd rather not do.

Holding the baby bottle, she focused her gaze on the opposite wall. “Buttercup would've looked after you,” she said. It was still difficult not to tear up when she thought of her beloved golden retriever. Not a day passed that she didn't think of Buttercup. Her dog had always greeted her when she returned from work, and in the evenings Buttercup would lie at Grace's feet while she read or watched television.

“You could pet him, you know.” Cliff's voice startled her. Grace looked up to see her husband leaning against the archway that led into the living room.

“What time is it?” he asked.

“I didn't see. Early. Too early for either of us to be up. This dog isn't worth losing sleep over,” she grumbled.

“Sure he is,” Cliff said, crossing his arms. “Just look at him, cuddled up on your lap. Pet him, Grace. He needs affection.”

“He's not getting it from me.”

Cliff shook his head. “You're a hard woman.”

She ignored that. “You think I don't know what you're doing?”

“Which is what?”

“You're trying to coax me to be friends with Beau. Well, it isn't going to happen.”

“You bought him the chew toy.”

She had, but that was for self-preservation. “I didn't want him cutting his teeth on my shoes.” Because she was often on her feet for long periods of time, Grace purchased high-end pumps that were both attractive and designed for comfort. The last thing she wanted was for Beau to make a meal out of one of those.