Midnight Sons Volume 3 (19 page)

With precision movements, he pivoted and walked away.

“I wouldn’t mind a salad,” Tracy said.

Duke thought he’d be safe if he ordered the same thing. “That sounds good,” he said, and set aside the menu.

Tracy ordered the
salade printanière Monte Carlo.

“I’d like a salad, as well,” he said, looking the waiter in the eye although he nearly had to stand on the seat of his chair to do so. “But all I want is some lettuce and maybe a few other vegetables sliced over it.”

“Celery and radishes?” the waiter suggested.

“Fine.” Duke was easy to please.

“Alfalfa sprouts?”

“That’s fine, too,” he said, and smiled over at Tracy.

“Asparagus?”

Duke nodded.

“In other words you’ll have the
salade printanière Monte Carlo?
”

“Exactly,” Duke said as if he’d known that all along. He was beginning to think this waiter wasn’t interested in receiving a tip.

“Very well, sir.”

Duke returned his attention to Tracy.

“Might I suggest the
scallion vinaigrette
dressing for your salads?” the man continued.

“Please,” Tracy answered.

“I prefer ranch dressing.”

The man’s nose angled even higher. “I’m afraid we don’t carry ranch dressing.”

“Blue cheese then.”

The waiter sighed, clearly disapproving of Duke’s choice. “As you wish.”

As soon as he left the table, Tracy smothered a laugh. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I was just thinking of that waiter working at the Hard Luck Café.” She giggled. “He wouldn’t last five minutes.”

Duke grinned. “At least Ben serves ranch dressing.”

“Speaking of Ben, how is he?”

“Doing great. He recently hired a chef, Mrs. McMurphy—”

“A woman?” Tracy asked, elevating an eyebrow.

“Is there something wrong with that?” Duke asked.

“Of course not! It just surprises me. I didn’t think Ben was the type who’d let another person in his kitchen—particularly not a woman.”

“We Alaska men are a lot more fair-minded than you give us credit for,” Duke said, pretending to be insulted. But his eyes caught hers, and soon they were both smiling.

A few minutes later, their drinks came in crystal glasses and their salads arrived under silver-domed lids. Duke had eaten plenty of lettuce in his day, but he’d never seen anything so artfully arranged. The asparagus fanned out like a starburst in the middle of the plate. It looked almost too pretty to eat.

“No wonder the prices are so high,” he murmured, staring at the vegetables on the gold-rimmed china plate.

“It tastes even better than it looks,” Tracy promised, and she was right.

But it wasn’t enough. Duke recognized that even as he paid the bill. Once he’d dropped Tracy off at her home, he’d head to the closest hamburger joint and get himself a real dinner.

“How about a walk along the waterfront?” Tracy said on the elevator ride down.

“Sure.” Duke didn’t want their evening to end so soon, even if he felt half-starved.

“I love the Seattle waterfront,” Tracy said as they strolled downhill toward Elliot Bay. Friday-night traffic filled the streets, and Duke stared at it, still overwhelmed by the noise and the number of people. He didn’t mention that he’d spent much of the day sightseeing. He’d been particularly impressed by the waterfront area—Pike Place Market, the fish market and the produce stands. Why, there were fruits and vegetables he’d never even heard of before!

Before he returned to Hard Luck, Duke decided, he’d buy a few of the delicacies he’d discovered for his friends. Seedless watermelon would be a sure hit with the youngsters.

“Tell me about everyone,” Tracy said as they walked to the end of the pier. The wind whipped her hair about her face. She leaned against the railing, staring out over the choppy green waters. The evening had begun to fade, and the streetlights had come on, casting a warm glow over the area.

“Karen’s really looking pregnant these days,” Duke commented. “Abbey, too, come to think of it.” Tracy had seen both women when she was in town for Mariah and Christian’s
wedding. It hardly seemed possible that it was only weeks ago; it felt like a lifetime. He’d changed in those weeks. So had she.

“Ben’s getting more ornery every day,” Duke said with a chuckle. They’d reached the end of the pier.

“Dotty, Sally and Angie?”

“Doing just fine. They send their love.” His voice fell on the word
love.

He had no intention of kissing her with people milling about, but it was asking too much not to hold her. He’d dreamed of little else for too long not to give in to the temptation. Later, he promised himself. Later, he’d kiss her.

With only one good arm, holding her proved to be slightly difficult. He moved closer and slid his arm about her waist.

Tracy placed her hand against his chest, and Duke suddenly decided he didn’t want to wait. Slowly he leaned forward and kissed her. He reasoned that it was evening and there weren’t
that
many people. Anyone who didn’t like it could look elsewhere.

Duke almost lost himself in that kiss. Somewhere deep inside, he managed to find the restraint to break away.

Tracy trembled, her eyes wide and uncertain. “When…will you be going back?”

That was the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question. Duke didn’t know. The way he felt just then, it wouldn’t be anytime soon.

“How long are you staying? A few days?”

He heard the dread in her voice and nearly kissed her again. What they were doing wasn’t smart; Duke realized that at the same time he realized he didn’t care. Some might call him selfish, and he’d be the first to agree, but right now, he needed her. He needed this.

“I don’t know,” he said.

“Longer than a week?” she prompted.

Because he couldn’t answer her question, he kissed the delicate curve of her neck. It felt so good to touch her like this.

“Duke?”

“More than a few days,” he whispered.

“A week? Longer?”

Her scent intoxicated him. “Yes,” he whispered.

She exhaled softly, and his heart constricted. All these years he’d assumed he had to be ten-thousand feet above the earth to get this high. He’d never known a man could experience this exhilaration with a woman.

Tracy was teaching him things he’d never discovered. Never suspected.

The sound of children giggling pulled them apart. Duke took her hand and together they strolled back up the pier.

“There’s so much I want to show you,” she said.

They passed a fish-and-chip place, and the smoky scent of grilled salmon was enough to make Duke’s stomach growl with hunger. Tracy might be satisfied with a mere salad, but a bunch of fancy lettuce decorated with alfalfa sprouts simply didn’t fill him.

“You’re hungry,” Tracy accused.

He shrugged. “A little.”

Her eyes lit up with excitement. “I know a fabulous Mexican restaurant that’s just four or five blocks from here. There’s not much ambience, but the food is terrific. You game?”

He chuckled and nodded. “What about you?”

“I’m starving,” she admitted, smiling broadly.

“Then lead the way.”

“One thing first,” she said. “You’ll be in town tomorrow evening?”

Duke nodded.

“Then I’ll treat you to dinner.”

Duke stiffened. “I don’t know how men and women do it here, but in Alaska a man buys.”

Disagreement flashed in her eyes, but Tracy didn’t argue with him. “What if I cooked the meal myself?”

He hadn’t considered that. “You cook?”

She grinned. “You haven’t eaten until you’ve tasted my cooking.”

This woman was full of surprises. “I’ll be there. Just tell me where and when.”

B
EN WAS ASTONISHED
at how well the Friday-night special went over with the married folks in Hard Luck. Mary sold out of the prime rib during the first hour. This Friday she’d decided to cook two complete roasts, using his recipe.

For years Ben had catered primarily to the men on Friday evenings. Some of the pipeline workers always flew in for a little rest and relaxation. The guys got a chance to catch up with each other, talk, share a few laughs. It wasn’t uncommon for them to play pinochle or bridge, either.

Ben hadn’t given much consideration to what the married couples in town did for entertainment. He knew from Bethany that Mitch usually rented a movie from Pete Livengood’s store or had one of the pilots pick up a video in Fairbanks. They spent the early part of Friday night in front of the television with a big bowl of popcorn before Mitch, a public-safety officer, went out on patrol.

“You sure we’re going to sell enough of the specials to use up both these roasts?” Ben asked Mary.

She nodded. “We could have doubled our sales last Friday, and I’ve been advertising all week. Don’t you worry. If there’re leftovers, I’ll make roast-beef sandwiches the lunchtime special on Saturday.”

Ben didn’t have much of an argument. He’d come to trust Mary’s judgment and was willing to give her free rein in most culinary matters.

At six that evening, Sawyer and Abbey showed up, holding hands.

“We’re on a date,” Sawyer told Ben, and winked at his wife. “The kids insist they’re old enough to stay on their own and we’re giving them a chance to prove it.”

Abbey slid into the booth, and Sawyer sat next to her. Abbey’s tummy was growing nice and round these days, Ben noticed. She looked prettier than he’d ever seen her, and he suspected the pregnancy had something to do with that.

No sooner had Abbey and Sawyer seated themselves than Christian and Mariah walked into the café.

“You meet up with the nicest people at Ben’s,” Abbey teased.

“Do you mind if we join you?” Christian asked.

The two brothers sat across from each other, their wives at their sides. The sight produced a sense of rightness in Ben.

There’d been a time not so long ago that he’d assumed the two older O’Halloran boys would remain bachelors. For some reason, Ben had always assumed Christian would marry, but not his older brothers.

Ben was well aware that the women moving to town were responsible for the vast changes in Hard Luck. It astonished
him every time he thought about it. Why, their community was growing by leaps and bounds. They’d become a real family town, a good place to raise kids—and to grow old.

Ben spent the evening helping out where he could. He found himself busy, pleasantly so, but not overworked. With his permission, Mary had hired two part-time employees, a couple of high school girls who were excited about the job. She’d trained them herself.

He wasn’t sure what it was, but Mary McMurphy had a way about her he didn’t quite understand. She’d approach him about some issue he adamantly opposed, and then—before he knew how she’d managed it—he’d find himself agreeing.

Hiring the two part-time waitresses was a perfect example. When she suggested that they needed serving staff, he’d decided he’d take on one and only one waitress. The funny part was that Mary had accepted his decision and even agreed with it. But before long she’d brought up a number of excellent points on the advantages of hiring additional help. The next thing Ben knew, he had two part-time employees, just what Mary had suggested in the beginning.

The evening went well, and as she predicted, Mary sold out of both roasts. One of the things he liked best about her was that she didn’t gloat.

“I’ll finish this,” he told her when he found her washing up the last of the pans. “You’ve been here all day.”

“Actually,” Mary said, drying her hands on a clean towel, “I…waited because I had something important to ask you.”

Ben noticed that her eyes didn’t meet his. The woman hadn’t worked for him a month and she was going to ask for a raise. Ben could see it coming.

She’d planned this all along, he’d bet. She’d made herself
indispensable just so she could turn around and demand all kinds of unreasonable things. He braced himself for the worst.

“What is it?” he asked gruffly.

Mary’s head jerked at his tone, and her eyes filled with shock. “I—I wanted to know if you’d mind if I used your kitchen to bake my cinnamon rolls for the Caldwells,” she blurted out. “I’d be willing to pay you whatever you felt was fair for the use of the electricity and all.”

It was then that Ben saw tears shining in her eyes.

“Never mind,” she said, reaching for her coat. “I should’ve realized that would be unfair to you. Forgive me, Ben.” And she was out the back door before he could stop her.

T
RACY STOOD
in the middle of her small kitchen and closed her eyes, groaning aloud. Here it was, almost seven on Saturday night, and she was nowhere near ready. She didn’t know what she could’ve been thinking when she invited Duke to dinner. Especially a dinner she’d made herself.

She didn’t cook. She’d never cooked an entire meal in her life—at least, not one people could actually eat.

When she’d so blithely said Duke hadn’t lived until he’d tasted one of her dinners, she’d been challenging the fates. Opening her eyes, she regarded her normally spotless kitchen and wanted to weep. The room was a disaster. Every pan she owned was filled with one abandoned effort or another.

Sauces—she’d supposed that if she followed a recipe, she could make a decent sauce, not this foul-smelling stuff burned to the bottom of her brand-new saucepan. But the only reason she’d ever used her stove before was to light candles when she couldn’t find matches. Well, that was a slight exaggeration; she’d
boiled water and heated canned soup. All her other meals were delivered or came in a package she warmed up in her microwave.

She checked her watch and groaned again. Duke would arrive soon, and she didn’t know what to do. The sirloin-tip roast had sounded so easy. The butcher had been kind enough to give her detailed directions—a little salt, a dash of pepper, rub it with a garlic clove, then slap it in the oven. The same with the woman at the Pike Place Market where she’d picked up the fresh asparagus. A little water, she’d said, and a pinch of salt. Why, even a child could cook asparagus.

Tracy had paid a king’s ransom for these culinary jewels, but the hollandaise sauce she’d intended to pour over them was an unmitigated disaster. She’d really wanted to dazzle Duke with that sauce.

The mashed potatoes were…disgusting. She’d wanted everything to be perfect for Duke, so she’d peeled, boiled and mashed the real thing. Her mistake had come when she’d put in too much milk. Then, in desperation, she’d attempted to fix her mistake by adding instant potato flakes. Now the whole sorry mess looked as if it would be better used as wallpaper paste.

As for gravy, hers resembled a watered-down drink from some sleazy bar. Not a thick rich sauce redolent of an expensive cut of meat.

The one bright spot was dessert. She’d been smart enough to pick up a strawberry torte at the bakery. It sat safe and protected on the bottom shelf of her refrigerator.

Her table, set with china and crystal, looked elegant, Tracy willingly admitted. She’d bought a book that showed how to fold linen napkins and spent a good hour learning how to turn each one into a bird. They sat, poised for flight, on her china plates.

Tracy barely had time to change out of her jeans and into slacks and a silk blouse when the doorbell chimed. She slipped her feet into shoes and looped gold earrings into her earlobes as she hurried to the front door.

Taking an extra second to survey her condominium, she noticed that a magazine had been left out. She raced across the room and hid it under a pillow.

“Duke, hello.” She greeted him as though she’d been lazing around all day. Little did he know that she’d spent her entire Saturday on this disastrous dinner, agonizing over each and every detail.

He stepped inside and handed her a bouquet of flowers and a bottle of merlot. “How sweet,” she said, bringing the rosebuds to her nose. Their scent was light and delicate. Tracy hoped it was enough to overpower the aroma of the scorched egg mixture she’d attempted to turn into hollandaise sauce.

“Make yourself at home,” she said, draping the roses across one arm like a beauty queen and tucking the bottle under the other.

He stepped farther into the room and looked around. “Nice digs.”

Tracy was proud of her home. The high-rise condominium offered a fabulous view of the islands that dotted Puget Sound. The rooms were spacious, giving the place a wide-open feel. She’d purchased it shortly after her first visit to Alaska and realized only later why it had appealed to her so much. The land in Alaska seemed to stretch on forever, and she’d wanted to capture that same sense of freedom in her own home.

Duke walked over to the chrome-and-glass dining-room table and the black lacquered chairs. The table setting was indeed lovely, if she did say so herself.

“Wait here,” she said, backing away from him, “and I’ll get a vase for the roses.” She didn’t dare let him anywhere near her kitchen. The second he saw the mess she’d created, he’d know the truth.

She opened the swinging door just enough to squeeze through and returned a few minutes later. The roses were the perfect complement to her beautiful table.

“Wine?” she asked.

“Please.”

Tracy poured them each a glass, then set the open bottle in an ice bucket on the buffet. With a slightly manic smile, she led the way into the living room.

She sat down in the chair across from him, balancing her wineglass. Tracy feared her perfume hadn’t completely covered the scent of smoke in her hair. If Duke got close enough to catch a whiff of that, he’d guess that she’d nearly set her kitchen on fire.

Duke leaned toward her as if he felt the distance between them was too great.

“What’s for dinner?” he asked enthusiastically. “I’m starved.”

Tracy’s heart sank, and she swallowed her rising sense of dread. Doing her best to appear calm and serene, she listed her menu in detail. Duke’s eyes grew more appreciative with each item.

“I have to admit, you surprise me.”

“I do?” she asked, feeling giddy.

“You must’ve spent all day in the kitchen.”

“Nah,” she said and gestured weakly with her hand. She sipped her wine, wondering just how she was going to escape this nightmare she’d created. Sooner or later—probably sooner—he’d learn the truth.

“How’d you spend your day?” she asked.

Duke studied his wine. “I went to a house designer in Tacoma and looked at plans.”

“You’re building a home? In Hard Luck?”

He nodded. “It’s one of the things I’ve been wanting to do for a long time now, but kept putting off. The accident made me realize how much I was looking forward to building it with my own two hands.”

“You must know a great deal about carpentry, since your father worked in the trade.”

Duke was very quiet for a moment. “How’d you know that?” He looked at her intently.

Tracy boldly met his stare. “How do you think I’d know? You told me.”

“When?”

“While we were waiting for the rescue helicopter.”

Slowly Duke eased against the back of the chair. “Did I by chance mention anything else?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Like what?”

“Well, for one thing, your real name is John Wayne Porter, which is how you came to be called Duke.”

He sprang to his feet so fast that Tracy’s neck snapped up, following his movements.

“I told you that?”

“Is it a deep dark secret you don’t want anyone to know?” That seemed downright silly to her.

“Yes…no.” He rammed the fingers of his right hand through his hair. “Is there anything else…I said?” He turned and glared at Tracy, as if he wasn’t sure he could trust her.

She shook her head, not mentioning what he’d said about
his parents. Instead, she swallowed hard. Silence fell between them while she composed her thoughts. Plainly Duke didn’t want her knowing these things about him.

“We were alone, and I was miserably cold and more afraid than I’d ever been in my life,” she whispered. Despite her efforts, her voice trembled. “When night fell, I never realized how black and…and suffocating it can feel. You were obviously hurt, and my greatest fear was that you might die before we could be rescued. I felt so…so utterly helpless.”

Tracy held back the emotion, but with difficulty, taking a moment to calm herself before she continued. “You seemed to sense my panic. When you were conscious, you calmed me with words. You…” She paused and moistened her lips. “You told me about your dad and growing up in Homer and about the time you were ten and decided to play Superman. You tied a bathroom towel around your neck and flew out the upstairs bedroom window.”

“I nearly broke my fool neck,” he said with a rueful grin.

“But you didn’t. You broke your leg, instead.”

Duke laughed softly. “It sounds like I developed foot-in-mouth disease out there.”

“You don’t remember any of it?” How could he have forgotten? It was during those times he’d held her close, sharing not only his body heat, but a part of himself. In retrospect, Tracy didn’t know which had brought her more comfort, his warmth or his words.

“I remember very little,” he answered starkly.

“You don’t need to worry, Duke,” she assured him, meeting his gaze. “Your confidences are safe with me.”

He relaxed. “Not even the O’Hallorans know my real name is John Wayne.”

“It’s a perfectly good name.”

Duke frowned, apparently disagreeing with her. “I suppose I should be grateful I didn’t do or say anything really embarrassing.”

“You mean like telling me about the women in your life?”

Duke’s eyes narrowed.

“You did mention Laurie. And Maureen,” she said, despite knowing she should keep her mouth closed.

Duke went pale. “I told you about Maureen?”

“Your first love…er, lover.”

“Isn’t it time for dinner?”

“We can wait. I’ve got everything warming in the oven.”

“Tracy…”

“All right, all right,” she said. “I’ll shut up, but I promise you have nothing to fear. Like I said, your secrets are safe with me—mostly safe.” She set aside her wineglass, got up and headed for the kitchen.

“Did I happen, uh, to say anything about you?” He was addressing her back.

“About me?” She turned, pressing one hand dramatically to her chest. Briefly enjoying herself, she let her eyes grow huge. “As a matter of fact, you did.”

He waited expectantly.

Once she felt he’d suffered enough, she answered his question. “You claimed I was the sassiest, most opinionated woman you’d ever met.”

His shoulders went slack with relief. “You are, no argument there.”

“Then you said I had the best-looking legs of any woman you know.” Having said that, she disappeared into the kitchen, leaving the door to swing in her wake.

Her smile died as she viewed the room. She left the sliced meat and mashed potatoes in a warm oven and took the green salad from the refrigerator. This part of dinner should be edible. She’d bought one of those packages that had the vegetables already sliced in with the lettuce. She’d wanted to impress Duke with a homemade dressing, but that was a lost cause. The bottled stuff would have to do. She dumped some on and tossed vigorously, splashing the sides of the crystal bowl. At least it was ranch dressing.

She carried the salad into the dining room. “Would you like to start with this?” she asked.

“Sounds like a good idea.”

Tracy smiled sweetly and prayed he’d fill up on salad, because everything else was a mess. She tried to delay the inevitable, but Duke made it clear that he was eager for the main course.

Her heart beating with trepidation, Tracy delivered the meat, potatoes, limp asparagus and gravy to the table. Duke’s smile revealed his anticipation.

“I have to admit,” he began, reaching for the meat platter, “that I was skeptical when you said you cooked. As far as I’m concerned, keeping a home is becoming a lost art. Too many women—and men, too, I suppose—don’t value domestic skills anymore.” He helped himself to a generous portion of sliced roast.

Silently Tracy forked one thin slice onto her own plate.

Next he piled a mound of mashed potatoes on his plate and liberally poured gravy over both.

Tracy held her breath when he sliced into the meat and sampled his first bite. He winked at her and chewed.

And chewed.

And chewed.

An eternity passed before he swallowed, and when he did, she saw the lump slowly move down his throat.

“I—I hope the roast isn’t too tough,” she said.

“Not a bit,” he assured her, but she noticed that he reached for his water glass and drank until it was empty.

Filling her fork with mashed potatoes and gravy, Tracy tried her first taste of the dinner. The potatoes stuck to the roof of her mouth and the burned taste of gravy, which she’d tried to cover with powdered garlic, was so awful it brought tears to her eyes.

Duke was about to take a bite.

“Stop!” she cried, as if the mashed potatoes were laced with arsenic. She stood up, plate in hand.

He hesitated, fork poised in front of his mouth.

“Don’t eat that,” she shouted, then raced around to his side of the table. He stared at her in shock. Tracy grabbed his plate and rushed into the kitchen to scrape the contents of both plates in the garbage.

The time had come to tell the truth.

Duke was still seated at her beautifully set table when she returned. Rarely had Tracy felt like such a failure—and rarely had she felt so dishonest.

“What you were saying earlier—about women who lack domestic skills,” she said weakly. “I’m…I’m afraid I’m one of them.”

Tracy expected Duke to laugh and taunt her. What she didn’t expect was silence.

Duke dropped his napkin on the table and slowly exhaled.

“Say something,” she pleaded.

“Chinese or pizza?” he asked after another moment.

Tracy didn’t hesitate. “Chinese.”

He grinned. “You know, I would’ve eaten every bite, then complimented you on your efforts.”

“And died in the process,” she added. “I don’t require that kind of sacrifice from you.”

Duke looked away, and Tracy saw that he was struggling not to laugh.

“You knew, didn’t you?” she said, figuring out the source of his amusement.

“I guessed.”

“You might’ve said something,” she muttered, fighting down an attack of righteous indignation. “Instead, you let me make a fool of myself and—”

“What could I say?”

She didn’t know. Sighing, she shook her head.

“I’m honored you were willing to put yourself through this on my behalf,” he said. “Not every woman would’ve gone to all this trouble.”