Meeting Miss Mystic (25 page)

Julie’s eyebrows knitted together briefly before looking back at her computer to bury herself in her work with unflinching attention. Zoë was curious, but Julie’s nickname would have to be a story for another day. A day when her uncle and cousin weren’t there to tease her.

“Okay,” Nils said, his gruff, business voice returning, “So, do you want to go? For the two nights?”

“Yup. Sign me up.”

He stood up and went to his desk, returning with some forms. “Just fill these out.”

“Oh, um. I forgot to ask…how much walking’s involved?”

“Usually a fair amount. But this tour is special, so not as much.”

As relieved as Zoë was to hear that, her curiosity was piqued. “Why’s this tour so special?”

Nils rolled his eyes. “You ever hear of the Blazin’ Grannies?”

She shook her head slowly, eyes widening.

“Well, you’re about to.”

***

With her tour organized and paid for, Zoë headed back toward the Prairie Dawn to get a cup of coffee. On the short walk, she considered the plan she’d just paid for, wondering if she’d made a massive mistake.

The Blazin’ Grannies was a group of older ladies who had decided “not to wait for death lyin’ down.” The group of forty-five ladies between the ages of seventy-five to ninety lived year-round in Tampa, Florida. They planned three annual trips with their retirement money, always to adventurous places, always with a flair for danger. The tagline of their peculiar club was “I’d rather die living!”

This fall’s trip had twelve of them visiting Yellowstone Park under the protection and direction of Nils and Carl Lindstrom, although Zoë couldn’t help but wondering if the Lindstroms maybe needed a little protection of their own from such a feisty-sounding group. Nils seemed pleased—and perhaps a little relieved—to have one other young person joining the excursion, and Zoë couldn’t deny that she was sort of looking forward to the adventure. Or would have been, if it didn’t mean leaving Paul.

She opened the door to the Prairie Dawn and it swung back fast on its spring, that old familiar summer camp sound reverberating in her ears as she made her way to the coffee counter where Maggie stood, elbows on the counter, laptop in front of her. Is this how she’d first found Zoë? She couldn’t help wondering.

“Heya, Zoë,” she said, pushing the laptop away and gesturing to a bar stool.

“Morning, Maggie,” she answered, taking a seat. “Think I could get a cappuccino?”

“Extra foam?”

“Sure,” Zoë said.

Maggie turned to the counter behind her, then glanced back at the three or four patrons scattered around the café before catching Zoë’s eyes.

“I’m glad you stopped by. Been wonderin’ about you.”

She stared at Maggie’s back as she measured grounds, pushed a button and steamed some milk.

“I haven’t told him yet,” Zoë whispered.

“Didn’t think so. He’d have come in here ragin’ if you had.” Maggie turned to her as the coffee brewed. “What’re you goin’ to do?”

“I’m going to go out of town for two nights. Put a little, um, distance between us. Get my courage up. Then I’ll come back and tell him first thing.”

“Where are you goin’?”

“Tour. With the Lindstroms. With, um, Nils and Mr. Lindstrom. And a bunch of old ladies.”

“A bunch of old ladies? Heaven help Carl Lindstrom,” Maggie grinned. She slid the hot mug over to Zoë then headed to a table in the corner who had gestured for service.

Graham sauntered up beside Zoë, hands on his hips, which had a leather utility belt slung low and manly. His eyes grew heavy and soft as he stared at Zoë. They dipped meaningfully to her breasts and lingered there before catching her eyes again. “Mornin’, Zoë. You’re lookin’…fine.”

She shook her head lightly at his flirting and felt her cheeks flush. “You are a very bad boy.”

“You dinna know the half of it, lassie.”

“But I’m betting you’d love to show me.”

“You name the time and the place. I’m easy.”

“You don’t say.”

“Hey. You’re the hottest thing Gardiner has to offer.” He straddled the stool beside her, legs wide open, facing her, one knee lightly brushing her hip.

“You think so?”

His eyes slipped to her breasts again briefly and his mouth turned up into a teasing grin. “Yeah, I’m pretty certain.”

“What if I said I’m taken?”

“Do you have a virtual someone too?” he asked mockingly, making air quotes with his fingers when he said “virtual someone.”

“What if I did?”

He scoffed. “I’d say ‘screw virtual.’ The real thing’s right in front of you.”

“A very,
very
bad boy,” she amended, sipping her coffee and grinning playfully at Graham.

***

Paul loved Monday mornings. He loved the way every Monday felt like a fresh start, a chance to touch kids’ lives and make their teenage years the best they could possibly be. But tossing and turning until two o’clock in the morning didn’t make for a very bright-eyed and bushy-tailed principal this particular Monday. His body clock still woke him up at 6:30, but he was hurting from a lack of sleep. There was only one answer for it: a double espresso from the Prairie Dawn. Paul had just enough time to get there and still make it to school.

Giving himself permission to explore his attraction to Zoë hadn’t helped diminish his guilt over Holly. Paul still had serious feelings for Holly, despite his pull to Zoë. He was in deep, dark water with these two women and he knew it. One of them was going to be rejected. One of them was going to be hurt in the long run.

And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to text Holly the truth—not that she’d been answering his texts anyway while she was at her conference—and tell her that he’d met someone who was distracting him. He knew he should; he prided himself on being truthful, practicing integrity, living his life above-board. But the honest reason was that he was sure Holly would break things off with him, and after weeks of the most amazing correspondence of his life, he wasn’t prepared to lose her.

Nor, however, was he interested in staying away from Zoë, even going so far as to show her a respect borne of true affection last night when he refused to join her in her bedroom. He saw her eyes. He knew that if they’d ended up on her bed, there was every likelihood they would have slept together. But he didn’t want that for them. He liked her too much to jump the gun on sex, no matter how much he wanted her.

Not to mention, if he slept with Zoë, his hands would be tied and he’d need to break off things with Holly immediately.

It hadn’t been easy to say no to Zoë, especially once he realized how much it had hurt and embarrassed her, which was never his intention. There was nothing, literally nothing, he wanted more than to feel his skin pressed up against hers, his lips against hers, thrusting into the soft, wet heat between her hips as she raked her nails down his—

He forced his thoughts to safer waters, but Zoë’s face emerged in his head again quickly. What was it about Zoë that was so irresistible to him?

He sighed. He didn’t need to enumerate her virtues. The list was long and grew with every moment he spent with her. Something about her called out to something about him. He couldn’t stay away.

Which is why seeing Graham pressed up against her at the coffee bar made him want to strangle the kid. He flinched, watching through the window as Zoë giggled and flirted with the randy twenty-year-old. Something inside of him clenched with jealousy and anger at the sight of them together.

He pulled open the café door and strode to the bar, pushing the seat beside Zoë out of the way so that he could stand directly behind her, facing Graham.

“Paul! I never get to see you before school!” Maggie smiled warmly as Zoë shifted in her seat, turning to face him, her knee and elbow touching him, her brown eyes warm and surprised as a smile spread out across her pretty face.

“Morning,” she said, in that sexy, breathy voice of hers.

He couldn’t help smiling back, despite the close proximity of Graham. “Morning.”

Was she thinking about how they parted last night? Of his confession of how much it hurt to say no to her? Why the hell had he said no? What an idiot!

“How’d you sleep?” she asked.

“Not great,” he answered honestly. “I was…distracted. You?”

“What’re you drinkin’?” Maggie interrupted, her hands braced in the counter before him.

“Double espresso, Mags. To go.”

He glanced down at Zoë to find she was still staring up at him. Graham peeked around her shoulder.

“Och! Don’t you look smart today. Sharp as a bloody tack.”

It took Paul a moment to realize that Graham was referring to his unfashionable tie. It was a drab tan color, covered in moose antlers, interspersed with the words “Moose on the Loose.” It had been given to him at Christmastime last year by one of the kids in the Special Education class, and Paul made a concerted effort to put it in the rotation more frequently than others. Whenever Ida saw him wearing it, she gasped, running down the hall to hug him, chanting “Moose on the Loose, Moose on the Loose” in her high-pitched, childlike voice. Okay. So, it wasn’t the sharpest tie ever, but seeing Ida’s blue eyes so pleased and excited made it one of his favorites, hands down. Not that Graham would understand or respect such a story anyway.

Paul turned to Zoë, ignoring Graham’s smart mouth.

“You still coming for dinner?”

“Planning on it,” she said, but her smile faded a little from happy to tentative. “Should I bring anything?”

“Do you have a specialty?” he asked, hoping to cajole that big smile back.

“I do, actually,” she said, grinning. “Don’t plan dessert. I’ll bring what I need.”

“A dinner party!” exclaimed Graham. “Why, I’d love to come! Thanks so much for the—”

“Thanks, Maggie,” said Paul, interrupting Graham and taking his coffee from Maggie. “Does seven work?”

“Works fine for me,” said Graham.

“You’re
not
invited.” Paul finally acknowledged him with a curt glance, before looking back down at Zoë.

“See you then,” she said, biting her lip.

He shouldn’t have.

He knew it even as he bent his head toward her.

He had no business kissing her in a public place in front of his friends and maybe even on display for one or two of his student’s parents.

He had no business staking that sort of claim on her. The sort of claim that says
She’s mine.
But between Graham flirting with her and knowing he had to make it all day before seeing her again, plus that damn blood-heating lip-biting thing she kept doing, he just couldn’t help it.

He brushed her lips with his, sighing as he felt her hand move to rest on his cheek, cupping it gently. When he drew back, she looked dreamy, drunk, definitely wanting more.

Good. Remember that when I leave and Graham is all over you.

“Seven,” he said again, gazing into her dazed eyes.

He didn’t dare look back up at Maggie as he turned and headed out the door.

***

It had been a long day not thinking about Zoë.

He reminded himself not to think about her when he made the morning announcements and he forced himself not to think about her when the president of the school board stopped by with new budget guidelines. He pushed her out of his mind when he got between two fighting seniors in the lunch line and he made sure she didn’t cross his mind when he visited the music room to check on the freshman play rehearsal.

By the time he walked home that evening, it was all he could do not to stop by her inn, take the stairs two at a time, knock on her bedroom door and bury his tongue in her mouth, his hands in her hair, his…

Instead he tried not to look over at the temptation that was the Mountain View Inn as he passed and hurried to his own house where he had a shower to take, a salad to make, and steaks to marinate before grilling. He was no gourmand, but any man worth his salt could grill a steak.

By the time the doorbell rang at seven, everything was ready. The table was set with matching plates and he had lit candles, feeling a little silly, but unable to remember the last time he’d invited a woman to dinner. He was dressed casually in jeans and a long-sleeved gray t-shirt and ran his hand through his drying hair once before opening the door.

She was wearing the long black skirt she’d worn for coffee on Saturday night, but she’d paired it with a white button-down shirt left opened at the neck and tied in a knot at her waist. He didn’t know how she’d gotten her hair mostly into a little stubby ponytail, but she had, and wisps of black hair framed her face. She had silver bracelets on her wrists that clinked together and a silver anklet that jingled as she walked past him. Blood rushed from his head, racing south with gasping speed.
Miss Temptation.

She smiled and sidled past him into his house, slipping off her shiny black flip-flops by the door and turning to hand him a brown paper bag of groceries.

“I promised I’d make dessert,” she said, cocking her head to the side.

He knew he was staring at her. He’d barely moved since opening the door, but he raised his hands to take the bag.

Damn! Get it together!

“You look…” he started, letting his eyes start at her pert ponytail, trail down her neck to the swell of her breasts, to her small waist, down the column of her skirt to the anklet that sparkled over her foot, teasing him. “…like Susanna.”

She chuckled lightly, holding his eyes, pleased. “She’s fictional.”

“Not anymore.”

“I’m not that exotic.”

“You are to me.”

Her cheeks flushed pink, but she didn’t look away. “Why?”

“Because you look like you look and you show up here suddenly out of nowhere and make me feel…”

“Feel what?”

His lungs filled and emptied painfully as he searched her eyes.
Helpless.

“Oh,” she breathed, looking down before turning and walking away from him, toward the kitchen.

Paul glanced down at the bag in his arms, trying to compose himself, which was difficult since he wanted to drop the groceries on the floor, grab her arm and carry her up the stairs to his bedroom like a Neanderthal.