Getting Lucky Page 8

  “Pretty much.”

  Which meant Lynda did, too.

  “Hey, don’t hold it against her. She was hiring you to work on her precious house. She had to be certain you were what you claimed to be.”

  He didn’t blame her at all for checking him out. It was just common sense. In her place, he would have done the same thing. But he wasn’t in her place. He was the one whose life had been snooped through. Just how much, he wondered, was “pretty much”? Did she know about his arrest record? Did she know that his parents had abandoned him or that he’d turned his back on his own kid? None of it was a secret, but he preferred to think that at least some details wouldn’t follow him out of state.

  “Don’t take it so seriously—and please don’t get mad and quit,” Melina said, exaggerating the seductive tone that seemed to come naturally to her. “Lynda would kill me, and I couldn’t even blame her. She says I have a big mouth, but I don’t, really. Normally I’m the soul of discretion. It’s just that you’re so much handsomer than I expected, and there’s just something about a Southern drawl, and I’m a sucker for men with blond hair and green eyes, and—” She gave him a sidelong look. “Are you buying any of this?”

  “Nope.”

  “I didn’t think so.” She pouted more prettily than any Georgia girl he’d ever known. “And here I thought you Southern gentlemen were highly susceptible to the dim-witted female routine.”

  “I’m a Southerner, but I’m not a gentleman. That was your first mistake.” He glanced down the hill as the sound of a finely tuned engine broke the silence. Looking back, he tapped his finger below Melina’s full lower lip. “Poke that lip out any farther and you’re gonna trip on it. Suck it in, darlin’. I’m not quitting, and I don’t see any reason to tell Ms. Barone you blabbed.”

  She rewarded him with a brilliant smile. “I knew you were a sweetheart. So how about dinner? Just you and two beautiful women. You’ll be the envy of every single man in this whole county.”

  Ben chuckled at her confidence. If he had a weakness for black curls, big doe eyes, long lashes just perfect for batting, and a megawatt smile, he would accept her invitation without hesitation. Since he was beginning to think his biggest weaknesses were straight black hair, intense dark eyes, long legs, a husky voice, and neither talent for nor interest in batting lashes, he had no doubt the wisest action would be to refuse.

  Before he could do either, the Mercedes crested the hill, then pulled into the space on the far side of the Beetle. When Lynda got out, she was wearing a blinding smile of her own that made her look younger, softer, prettier. Of course, her clothes helped with the softer part. Her snug-fitting dress was sleeveless, the same color as the flesh of a freshly picked peach off the tree in Emmaline’s yard back home, and exposed an awful lot of shapely leg.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” she asked, juggling jacket, briefcase, and purse to hug the shorter woman.

  “Because I didn’t decide until about five hours ago.” Grinning, Melina said for his benefit, “It’s a five-hour drive from Buffalo to Bethlehem.”

  “For anyone who doesn’t drive like a bat out of hell,” Lynda said dryly.

  “Don’t insult me to a man who obviously has a well-developed appreciation for fast cars and fine engines.” Melina drew her fingertips lightly over the GTO’s front fender. “What do you have under here?”

  “A 389 with tri-power.”

  “Three deuces,” she murmured appreciatively.

  He nodded toward the Beetle. “What do you have? A couple of rubber bands attached to bicycle pedals?”

  She feigned a wounded expression. “That is the best automobile I’ve ever owned. She’s a classic.”

  “Back home we’d park it in the front yard, fill it with dirt, and call it a planter.”

  After smacking his upper arm, Melina said dramatically, “It’s only due to the fact that my mother did a better job raising me than the wild animals did with you that I don’t rescind my dinner invitation. But I’ll be gracious in spite of your insults and let you escort us anyway. Lyn, the three of us are going to dinner. Change your clothes, let your hair down, and put on your dancing shoes. Let’s find some nightlife.”

  If Ben hadn’t been watching, he would have missed the emotions that flashed across Lynda’s face—surprise, discomfort, aloofness, disapproval. It made a part of him want to say no, thanks, then get out before he got frostbite. The rebel in him, though, wanted to second Melina’s instructions and make her squirm.

  “I don’t own any dancing shoes,” Lynda said, “and the nearest nightlife is forty-five miles away in Howland. Feel free to go and enjoy, but I’m staying here.”

  “Aw, come on, Lyn. Dinner, a drink or two, maybe a twirl around the dance floor.” Melina smiled slyly. “You could wear your heels. Ben’s tall enough to handle them.”

  He was that, Ben thought, though just barely. He stood two inches over six feet. In her heels, she was about an inch taller. Fortunately, his ego had never been tied to meaningless things like height.

  The discomfort returned to Lynda’s expression—at the idea of dancing with him? Or was it the prospect of socializing with the hired help in general that made her look as if she’d rather parade down Main Street in a housecoat, pink foam rollers, and flip-flops?

  Feeling the flush of heat starting at the back of his neck, Ben politely moved Melina away from the car. “You came to visit”—he wondered which name would annoy his boss most—“Lyn, remember? And I’ve put in a long day. I don’t really feel much like dancing tonight. Enjoy your weekend, darlin’. See you Monday, Ms. Barone.”

  Chapter Six

  Though he’d had every intention of going back to the motel and staying there until Saturday morning, a few hours later Ben found himself at the Starlite Lounge, the most reputable of the few bars in town, sharing a beer with a pretty woman named Leanne while she waited for a friend who was a half hour late and counting. She hadn’t said whether the friend was male or female, but he suspected male—and she suspected he wasn’t coming.

  He didn’t care that her mind was on someone else, because his was, too—on the two women who’d just walked into the tavern. He could imagine Melina going damn near anywhere she pleased, but not Lynda. If asked to describe her preferred hangout, he would have said quiet, elegant, with fancy hors d’oeuvres, expensive wines, and not a square of denim anywhere in the place. The only time places like the Starlite were quiet was when they closed up for the night, they didn’t have even a wave-from-a-distance acquaintance with elegance, and the hors d’oeuvres were pretzels and peanuts. As for any wine they might serve, it was cheaper by the gallon than a single glass of her kind.

  The two women sat at a table away from the dance floor, giving him a side view of them both. Melina hadn’t changed clothes—she wore khaki shorts that were a scant inch from indecent and a snug-fitting top—but Lynda had traded her dress for navy pants and an ivory blouse, probably linen and silk. The outfit was dressier than most of the women in the place would choose for work or a date, but somehow she didn’t look out of place. In fact, she made the others look underdressed for the occasion. You could do that when you were rich and accustomed to setting standards rather than meeting them.

  “See someone you’d like an introduction to?”

  “No,” he replied, feeling foolish at having been caught watching Lynda. “I just noticed my boss over there.”

  “Who?”

  “Lynda Barone.”

  “Really?” Leanne looked and sounded surprised. “I didn’t know she ever put in public appearances, except when mandated by her boss. I’d heard she spent her days at the office working and her nights at home working. I don’t think I’ve ever even seen her at the grocery store, though I have heard of a sighting or two at Harry’s—unconfirmed, of course.”

  “You don’t know her?”

  “Never met her. Of course, she’s only lived in Bethlehem a year and a half or so. And I’m hardly of her standin
g. But who is, besides the McKinneys and the Flynns?” Leanne gave him a curious look. “What do you do for Ms. Barone?”

  “I’m working on her house.”

  “Is it befitting a multimillionaire?”

  He wanted to ask how many millions multi covered. He’d known she was wealthy, but he hadn’t considered that she might be gaspingly, eye-poppingly, downright filthy rich. “It’s a great house.”

  “So what have you found out about her?” Leanne asked, resting her arms on the tabletop. “Is she as difficult as people say? Does she live up to her reputation as an ice maiden? Is it true she’s kissin’ cousins with the Big Bad Wolf and considers the Wicked Witch of the West her role model?”

  Ben glanced at Lynda, sitting quietly while Melina flirted with a lumberjack. Did she know she was the subject of gossip around town? Probably. Did she care? Most people would guess no. Why should she? But Ben thought she probably did.

  Leanne laughed, lightening up for the first time since she’d joined him. “What’s that saying? ‘If you can’t say anything nice, come sit by me.’ ”

  Ben shrugged. “I hardly ever see her. She works long hours.”

  “With nothing secret, wicked, or decadent going on at home, huh? So she’s as boring as she seems.”

  Not boring. Never that. But before he could say so, her gaze shifted to the door and a smile stole across her face. “I appreciate the company, Ben,” she said as she gathered her purse and drink. “You’re a great distraction. Maybe I’ll see you around.”

  He responded with a nod, then watched her weave her way between tables to meet the man who’d just come in. He also caught the guy slipping a gold band from his left hand and sliding it into his pocket. Who was he fooling? Leanne? Or everyone else in the place? Not that it was any of his business. He just thought if a person was going to make promises to someone else, he should do his best to honor them.

  He drained his beer, ordered another from a passing waitress, then glanced around the bar again. Of course, his attention ended up on Lynda again. Naturally.

  She sat alone while Melina danced with Paul Bunyan, and she looked as if she’d rather be anyplace else in the world than alone in a bar. It wasn’t her expression that gave her away, at least not overtly. No, she looked poised, cool. But there was a muscle in her jaw clenched too tightly for cool, a rigidity to her posture, and the hint of desperation that underlaid her steady gaze.

  He watched her until one song ended and another began. When Melina didn’t return, he picked up his beer and made his way to her table. “Mind if I join you?”

  Faint relief joined the nearly invisible desperation as she gestured toward the empty chairs. He chose the one to her right and dangled the bottle above the table.

  She was watching Melina, but her gaze kept shifting to him, obviously waiting for him to initiate a conversation. Deliberately he remained silent and drank his beer.

  After the fourth or fifth glance in thirty seconds, she smiled awkwardly. “I imagine, somewhere in this room, there are wagers being made even as we speak.”

  He glanced around and saw that they did, indeed, seem to be the topic of more than one discussion. “On how long it takes you to run me off?”

  “Or how long it takes you to decide I’m not worth the effort.”

  Maybe it was the long day he’d worked, or being alone in a strange town on a Friday night, or hell, maybe it was the beer. But at that moment, Ben honestly couldn’t imagine ever making that decision. Maybe she was difficult, but Emmaline always said the harder you worked to get something, the sweeter the having was.

  “We could outwait all of them,” he remarked. “Or we could walk out the door together. That would blow their minds.”

  She gave an acknowledging nod, then silence settled between them. After a time, she glanced his way again. “I thought you didn’t feel like dancing tonight.”

  “I’m not dancing. I came in for a beer. This is my second.”

  “And is that your limit?”

  He’d never set limits for himself before, which explained the times he’d been arrested, as well as the barroom brawls and most other troubles in his life. But in Bethlehem, limits seemed like a good thing. No getting drunk, in fights, or arrested … or involved in unwise affairs. No doing anything that might embarrass his daughter, if she ever found out she was his daughter.

  “Yeah,” he said, giving the bottle a long look. “That’s my limit.”

  But avoiding unwise affairs didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy a slow dance or two in a crowded bar with her best friend nearby, did it?

  He looked at Lynda and imagined sliding her chair back, taking her into his arms. Feeling the cool soft silk of her blouse covering the warm soft silk of her skin. Breathing deeply of the rich fragrance that perfumed the long line of her throat. Hearing the slow, steady rhythm of her breathing. Discovering how snugly her body fitted against his. Seeing the slow, lazy awareness seep into her dark eyes. Touching his mouth to the lush curve of hers and tasting …

  Swallowing hard, he finished the beer in one drink, but it didn’t provide the cooling he needed. Okay, so asking her to dance was out of the question. Apparently, even thinking about it was off-limits. What did that leave? Polite, friendly conversation. Surely he could handle that for a few minutes.

  “I wouldn’t have pegged this for your kind of place,” he said, half-surprised that his voice sounded normal and didn’t echo the raw, achy way he suddenly felt inside.

  “You think I’d prefer someplace elegant and quiet where the dress code is only slightly south of formal?” She folded her hands on the tabletop. “What would you say if I told you our first stop tonight was going to be Five Pines Lounge, but we came here instead because Melina wanted to?”

  “And Five Pines Lounge is …?”

  “A bar outside town. The kind of bar where, instead of a hat-check girl, they have a pistol-check guy named Vito.”

  “I’d say you’re full of crap. Or you think I am.”

  For a long, still moment she looked at him, then quietly said, “No, I don’t think you are. Truthfully, I don’t like bars of any kind. The music’s too loud, the air’s too smoky, and I’d rather have ice cream than liquor anytime.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  “Melina thinks I need more of a social life. She thinks she can take me to places like this, and some of her gregariousness will automatically rub off.” Her smile was rueful. “So far it hasn’t worked.”

  “Do you think you need more of a social life?”

  She looked at the couples on the dance floor for a moment before smiling that little smile again. “I like my life the way it is. I have everything I want—a great job, a great house, a great friend, financial security, a good relationship with my family. What else is there?”

  Someone to share it with. Someone to go home to. More than one friend. But who was he to give advice? He was currently living in a motel, and when he returned to Atlanta, he would rent an apartment as he always had. He had plenty of buddies, but not one really good friend, and at the moment he wasn’t on speaking terms with his family. He should fix his own life, and then maybe he’d have the right to tell her how to fix hers.

  “Yeah, what else?” he murmured.

  After another silence, she asked, “How is the work on the house going?”

  He figured she was asking because she found the silence awkward. He answered for the same reason. “It’s fine. Considering how long the place has been neglected, it’s not in bad shape.”

  “And how is your assis—Sophy working out?”

  “She’s fine, too.” And she was, at handing him tools, steadying boards, helping to carry supplies. Unfortunately, her construction experience had been just a little bit exaggerated. She didn’t know how to use half the tools on the site and couldn’t level a board to save her life. He was afraid to let her use the power tools, figuring she’d reduce their entire supply of lumber to kindling or slice off a few body parts. She’d al
ready narrowly missed tacking his hand to the sheathing the day before, instead of the roofing felt.

  “She’s not from around here, is she? I can’t recall ever seeing her before, or hearing of her.”

  “And do you know everyone in town?”

  “I’m … familiar with a lot of people.”

  “Then why doesn’t anyone know you?” he asked mildly.

  Discomfort wrinkled her forehead and tightened her jaw. “Believe it or not, some people do.”

  Ben shook his head. “People know of you. They know who you are. No one I’ve met actually knows you besides Melina.”

  “And how many people have you met in your few days in town?”

  “More than you, I think.” Inwardly, Ben grimaced. He hadn’t meant for the conversation to veer off like that. He was trying to think of a way to redirect it when soft warm hands grasped his shoulders from behind. When he glanced over his left shoulder, the woman bent around the right and gave him a sexy smile.

  “Hi. Remember me?”

  She was blonde, tanned, flashy, and he would certainly remember her if he’d met her. Blankly, he shook his head, and her smile turned seductive. “Give me tonight, and you will. I’m Kelli. Want to dance?”

  Ben glanced at Lynda, who was looking aloof again, then he smiled at Kelli. She was pretty, but didn’t interest him; sexy, but didn’t turn him on. In other words, she was safe.

  “Sure,” he agreed, letting her pull him to his feet. “See you later,” he said to Lynda, whose face could have been carved from stone for all the emotion she showed.

  The music was slow, the dancing intimate, and Kelli, he’d bet, was willing to get more so. But when the dance was over, he’d have no trouble telling her no and going home alone.

  He wasn’t sure he could say the same about Lynda.

  You’ve forgotten how to flirt.”

  Lynda gave Melina a long, dry look. “I never knew how to flirt.”

  “Sure, you did. Remember back in high school?”

  “You may have been an accomplished flirt in high school, but I was six feet tall by my fifteenth birthday. There were only three boys in my senior class who were taller than me. Believe me, in high school, size matters.”