Hot Licks (8 page)

Annie’s laugh rang out from where she was building more sandwiches from the counter. “I already know a man’s love language. Sex.”

Gwen nearly spit out the potato salad she’d just stuffed in her mouth, but Melinda only grinned. “It’s not only men who crave sex, Annie. Besides sex is separate from the languages. It’s like this.” She turned back to look at Gwen.

“You figure out what you’d rather have from your partner and that’s your love language.”

At Gwen’s raised brow Melinda continued. “For instance, what would make you happier? Having alone time with your significant other or having him wash your car?”

Gwen paused, the sandwich halfway to her mouth, and considered the question. “Wash my car.”

“Okay. Would you rather have your honey praise you or give you a massage?”

“Massage.” No hesitation that time.

“Hmmm. How about choosing between a hug or doing the laundry.”

“The hug.”

“All right. Would you feel more loved by your husband putting his arm around you or because of a gift he gives you, whether big or small, and had no ties to a holiday or your birthday?”

Gwen hesitated again. Not that she had a husband, but if she had, would his touch make her feel more loved or a gift? “The gift I think. To me, a special gift meant thought went behind the getting of the gift which in turn means I’m on his mind.”

Melinda nodded. “So your love language could be gifts.” Gwen frowned down at her plate. “So I’m materialistic.”

“No, not at all. It can be as simple as a rose from your own garden or even a hand drawn card. Mine is gifts as well, followed closely by quality time.”

“All right.” That confession didn’t make Gwen feel any better about her own greedy self, which must have shown on her face because Melinda waved her hands in the air like she was erasing a chalkboard.

“You seem worried, so here’s a real example. Andreas once bought me a jigsaw puzzle because he knows I like them. And when the dear man sat and worked it with me, I was in seventh heaven. Not only because I understand just how well my husband hates to be idle, but because we spent time together. He fulfilled my love languages without complaint because he wanted to make me happy. In turn I was more than happy to fulfill his love language. Physical touch.”

Annie snorted. “I told you so.”

Melinda didn’t even blush. “Physical touch is more than sex, Annie. It can be as benign as holding hands.”

“And holding hands leads to sex.”

Gwen butted in before Melinda could argue on that.

“So how do you know what another person’s language is, without asking them I mean.” Not that she was curious about a certain male that had been on her mind all morning long.

Melinda tapped her fingers on the table. “Well. Again, generally speaking, watch what the other person does. If they have a tendency to give gifts, that might be their language. If they tell people of their appreciation for them, then words of affirmation might be their language. Or, in the case of my Andreas, and frankly I think in all my boys, if they like to hug or tend to clap each other on the shoulder in approval or appreciation, physical touch may top their list. It works not only with spouses, but in all relationships. With siblings, parents to children and between friends.”

Gwen chewed over that as thoroughly as she did the rest of her sandwich, realizing she’d gone from feigned interest to consideration over the course of the conversation. She looked over at Annie who was transferring potato salad from one container to a fancier one for the guests. “So, Annie, does that mean yours is acts of service?”

Annie let out a belly laugh. “Heavens no. That just happens to be my job. One I excel at I might add.”

Melinda and Gwen shared a grin. “Behind Annie’s need to order us about, she’s an affectionate one, aren’t you, Annie?”

Annie paused at Melinda’s question. “Maybe.”

Gwen almost let out a chuckle, seeing where her boss was going. “So tell us, Annie. What would you rather have from Bob? A gift or a hug? For him to wash your car or tell you that he loves you? Or how about spending some quality time together?”

Annie turned to face them, arms crossed over her ample chest. “All right, all right. The hug. A massage.

Physical touch. That’s my love language.”

Chin in her hands, Gwen smiled over at the

housekeeper. “That’s lovely.”

Melinda, eyes twinkling with mischief, added, “You naughty girl. Always wanting sex.”

Annie’s face reddened all the way to the roots of her gray hair, but the amused glow in her own eyes belied any embarrassment. “Simply holding hands will do. And now this naughty girl has some guests to feed.” With that parting remark, she picked up the large tray of sandwiches and marched out the swinging double doors that divided the kitchen from the dining room.

Dennis left after lunch. When Gwen had entered the
crop shop in search of him, she found him sitting on one of
the cots in the lounge, eyes closed, head back against the
wall with an expression of pain across his face. Her advice
to go home, get some rest and heal had been met with a
fierce scowl and a male arrogant reply that he was just fine,
thank you very much. So she’d given him three options.

One, go home. Two, work in the office, or three, go out to
inspect the fence. But if he choose the latter and ended up
passing out or injuring himself, she would leave him there
for the rain, wind and mosquitoes to torment.

So maybe the latter course of action wasn’t completely
true, but something in her expression must have convinced
him otherwise because he left, grudgingly, shortly after.

Dennis hated paperwork as much as she did.

Now she was making her way through the reserve on
her own, only, instead of taking the right trail which would
lead her to the east fence-line, her feet pointed her straight
ahead and to the clearing where the old cabin sat. Not that
she was hoping Rome was on guard duty or anything.

Nope. Not at all. Which meant she wasn’t bummed when
Santos came into view.

Halting at the edge of the clearing, Gwen watched his
retreating back, pressing her lips together to hold back a
bubble of laughter. A pair of headphones covered his ears
and he swung a metal detector from side to side, his
shoulder-length hair held back in a dark tail, eyes focused
on the ground in front of him.

“Treasure fever has struck once again.” Though her
words weren’t overly loud, Santos glanced over his
shoulder, his expression resigned.

“Not really.” He slid the headphones down to circle his
neck. “Frankly, I figure any loot old Morgan had was used to
buy this place.” He shrugged. “But we though what the hell.

Especially since we’re out here anyway until the cameras
are installed.”

Gwen moved closer. “Find anything?”

Rather than a verbal answer, Santos dug into a back
pocket of his jeans and pulled out...a bottle cap.

Plucking it from his hand, she looked at the faded top.

“A beer cap?

The tiniest of smiles tugged the corners of lips as
sensual as Rome’s. A bit taller and broader than Rome or
Porter, Santos was neverthe-less every bit as sexy and
gorgeous as his siblings, but only Rome managed to make
her body stand on high alert when he was near. Like a
primal awareness of him as pure male and she as
intrinsically female. As basic as two people can get.

“Probably from Rome or I.”

With a twitch of her own lips, Gwen handed the cap
back. “Don’t tell me. You two used to sneak out here when
you were young and drink beer.” That’s what her older
brothers did on more than one occasion, only it was the
tree house in the back yard. If they had this much space to
run around in, her wild siblings would have gotten into a lot
more trouble.

His grin was a little wicked and nearly took her breath
away. He rarely smiled, though his eyes might light with
amusement, and seeing it now she realized it was a damn
shame. Grooves slashed at the sides of his mouth,
transforming his features from ruggedly imposing to
charming reprobate. He had an air of mystery about him,
enhanced by his private nature and reserved manner, and it
fascinated many of the single women who stayed at the
bed-and-breakfast. Only they eyed him from afar, his brisk
manner and steely gaze keeping all but the most brave at a
distance. Gwen didn’t know if she pitied or envied the
woman who eventually took this big boy on.

Santos flipped the cap deftly through his fingers. “We
did. Until the twins found us.”

Enchanted at this peek into the Felix siblings’

childhood that so resembled her own, Gwen tuned
everything else out. “Threatened to tattle?”

“Yeah. So we gave them a bottle to split.”

Of course they did. Boys. Enough said. “How old were
you guys?”

He rubbed a hand across the dark stubble on his
cheeks. “Guess I was sixteen, so that made the twins,
what? Eleven? Twelve?’

“You gave two eleven-year-old boys alcohol?” Never
would Gwen have thought the no-nonsense man she’d
come to know had ever had an irrational bone in his body.

“It shut them up. Until Porter fell out of the tree and
broke his arm. Then he screamed like a girl.”

“Wait. What? He was in a tree?”

“We all were.” Santos looked over and up into the thick
foliage surrounding them. “All of us climbed these trees as
high as we could and just hang.”

“And drink beer? When you were under-aged and
twenty feet off the ground?”

He lifted one shoulder like it was no big deal. “Why
not?”

Why not indeed. “Because somebody could have
fallen and really hurt themselves, which Porter apparently
did!”

Santos waved away that observation as if it were an
annoying fly. “We didn’t even have time to hide the
evidence. Dad was out here within minutes because of
Porter’s squealing. ”

Gwen shifted to look back at the trail from were she’d
come before turning a questioning gaze to Santos. “Your
dad heard Porter crying from all the way out here?”

His eyes went dark and flat for a brief second, then he
dropped them and pocketed the bottle cap. “Parent’s
intuition or something. Anyway, the accident ruined things
for Rome and I. We were grounded from the reserve for six
months.”

“Idiots.” Gwen shook her head, oblivious she’d been
neatly sidetracked. “You got off easy. I would have chained
you both to your beds.”

“That’s what mom wanted to do. Instead she turned us
into slave labor and we started the renovations on the
house.”

“When Rome mentioned it took five years to renovate
the house, I didn’t realize you did it yourselves.”

“All that physical work saved our sanity, instilled good
work ethics, taught us a lot about a lot of things, and give us
a sense of pride at a job well done. It was actually very
clever of our parents.” Santos looked away from Gwen,
toward the trail leading to the west section of the reserve
and she had the feeling he was at his social limit for the
day. Given that this was by far the longest conversation
she’d ever had with the enigmatic oldest brother, Gwen
debated on whether she could get some information out of
Santos about Rome without it appearing she was fishing,
or leave the man alone so he could get back to his own
treasure fishing expedition.

She toyed with the end of her braid, saying almost
absently, “Hmm. Kids do have a tendency to think their
parents smarter as they themselves get older.”

Lost as she was in the internal deliberation, Gwen
didn’t realize how long the silence stretched out until Santos
spoke, startling her with his voice. “Rome and Dad are over
at the west fence-line.”

“Rome? I’m not looking for Rome. Why would I be
looking for Rome?” Did she have a neon sign on her
forehead or something?

Santos looked down at the controls of the metal
detector, his tone as void of emotion as his profile. “I never
said you were looking for him.”

“And I’m not looking for him.” Uneasy, Gwen shifted her
weight from one foot to the next. “What are they doing out
there anyway?”

“Checking for entrance points.” Santos slipped the
headphones back on his ears.

Not quite done with the conversation, Gwen hopped
over to walk along side Santos as he retraced his steps.

“Entrance points for what?”

“For whoever dug the hole.” As close as she was, she
had to dodge the brawny arm that came up to point at the
cabin.

“So you don’t think it was an employee?” She asked.

Santos swiveled at the edge and nearly ran her over
as he started down another path. “The truth will come out.”

Yeah. Gwen sighed. It was time to go. His sentences
had become shorter and sharper, a clear indication that he
was done. “All right. See you later.”

Yet as she turned from him and headed east, Santos
called out to her. “Where are you going?”

Gwen peered over her shoulder. “Checking the east
fence-line.”

Santos pulled down the earphones and looked around
as if just now realizing she was out here with him alone. “By
yourself? Where’s Dennis?”

“Sent him home after lunch. He’s still not up to par, but
he did work the front east-line with me.” She wasn’t going to
let Santos think Dennis was slacking. The kid really did
look bad.

Santos let out a soft curse and, after looking around
once again said, “Hold on.” He set down the detector and
headphones against the cabin and trotted over to where
Gwen stood.

She frowned up at him. “What are you doing?”

“Going with you.”

“Why?”

He looked at her in amazement. “Because one, there’s
a storm brewing and two, until we catch our trespassers,
you’re not safe out here alone.”

While it made sense and she was more than happy to
have the big guy watching over her, the comment still
bristled. “You’re out here alone.”

“Do you really want me to pull out the man card?”

Her lips twitched. “Yeah, I know. You the big, tough
male and I’m just a defenseless female.”

His eyes took on that steely bent, the sunshine
seemingly to give them a green glow, not unlike Rome’s on
Friday night in the garden. It made her think what she had
seen that night wasn’t her imagination after all. “You don’t
know the half of it.”

“Oh really?” Gwen set a hand on her hip. “You going to
tell me the whole of it?”

Santos shook his head and started out for the east
section, Gwen hustling to catch up to his much longer and
very fast strides. “Not now and not for me to tell.”

Well. Wasn’t that a mysterious statement from the
equally bewildering brother, and Gwen did like herself a
good mystery. Narrowing her eyes, she set to work,
contemplating who she could make talk. Definitely not
Santos. Porter, maybe. Melinda or Andreas? No. Which left
Rome.

Rome. Wasn’t there a saying about all roads leading
back to Rome or something? In Gwen’s case, all her
thoughts arrowed back to Rome.

Talk about a mixed up mess.