Bolted (17 page)

“I brought you some lunch.” She lifted the picnic basket.

“Great. Hang on a minute.” He disappeared into the excavation again, then climbed up the ladder much more quickly than the boy had. But then he didn’t have a sack of rocks on his shoulder.

The boy stared longingly at the basket. “Lunch break?”

Hank glanced at him. “Give it another twenty minutes.”

“Oh.” The boy’s expression turned tragic.

Hank rolled his eyes. “Meet my missing intern, Marty Petersen. Marty, this is Greta Brewster. And no, the lunch she has in that basket isn’t for you.”

Marty looked even more tragic. “Figures.”

“Marty here apparently landed in the college infirmary without bothering to tell anyone. He just got out yesterday, right, Marty?”

The boy nodded morosely. “Flu. Flat on my back for a week. Still don’t have all my strength back.” He cast another longing look toward the picnic basket.

“You’ll have to remember to bring your lunch with you tomorrow, then,” Hank said crisply. “Bring up the rest of those rocks and then you can take a break.”

Marty headed back down the ladder with considerably more energy.

“You’re mean,” Greta murmured, hiding her grin.

Hank made a sound that was remarkably close to a growl. “He deserves it. Little jerk didn’t tell his adviser where he was and he didn’t even try to send me a message. Says he was too sick. I’m thinking he was enjoying being waited on hand and foot by the infirmary staff. He’s got a lot of digging to do to make up for it.”

He headed toward the battered table at the end of the clearing, pushing aside enough rocks to make room for the picnic basket. “What have we got here?”

“Pretty much the same thing we had last night, unfortunately.”

“What we had last night was great.” He glanced her way, smiling, and she suddenly had a quick vision of just what last night had been like. Her cheeks promptly heated to something that was probably close to brick red.

“Sit down.” He waved toward the camp chairs at the side. “Let me clean up a little bit, and then we can eat.” He poured water from the cooler on his hands, rubbing them on a bar of soap and scrubbing with a rag from the table.

“When did you find out you still had an intern?”

“When he showed up this morning.” He opened the basket, handing her a sandwich, then grabbing one for himself before he sat down on a camp chair. “If I didn’t need him so badly, I’d tell him to forget it. But I need somebody for scut work if I’m going to get anything done by the end of the summer.”

He smiled up at her again, the sunlight through the leaves still catching glints of gold in his hair, his teeth white against his tanned skin. “How are you? I missed seeing you this morning.”

She felt suddenly shy, staring down at her sandwich. “You were gone before I got up, and I got up really early.”

He shrugged. “Should have joined me for a nightcap. I might have stayed in bed all morning.” His teeth flashed again.

She could feel her cheeks flaming. “At least I didn’t keep you from meeting Marty.”

His smile turned wry. “Yeah. That would have been a tragedy. What are you doing tonight?”

“Tonight?” She frowned. “Cooking dinner. I haven’t thought much beyond that.”

“Have dinner with me.”

“You mean tonight?” Which was an incredibly dumb thing to say, of course. When else could he be thinking of?

Apparently, he thought so too. The grin was back. “Yes, tonight.”

“Like I said, I have to cook dinner.”

“So? Make dinner for the Dubrovniks and then let’s go out.”

She did a quick mental review of what she’d planned—Asian shrimp salad with spring rolls. All of which could be made in advance and left in the refrigerator, along with the gratin from last night if they wanted something hot. “Okay. Where shall we go?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “There’s an inn in Promise Harbor.”

“No,” she blurted, then shrugged when he narrowed his eyes in surprise. “The food’s not very good.” Plus the last time she’d been there she’d been wearing a hoopskirt and carrying a bridal bouquet. Not exactly a moment to revisit.

“Okay, well, there’s a place on the edge of town. Seafood, I guess. Would that be all right?”

“Barney’s Chowder House?” She shrugged again. “Yeah, sure. They’ve got good diner food.”

“Okay then.” He took another bite of his sandwich. “I’ll see if I can get Marty moving enough to finish up around five or so.”

Greta glanced down at her T-shirt and shorts. There might be time to go into Merton and buy something more suitable. Somehow she didn’t think the braless look would go over big at Barney’s. Although now that she thought about it, Hank probably wouldn’t mind.

He finished the last bite of his sandwich and smiled again, licking mustard from his fingers. “Very nice. Delicious, in fact. Thank you. I guess I’ll give my peanut butter and jelly to Marty, assuming I don’t want to starve him.”

“Dr. Mitchell?” Marty called from the hole. “I think you need to see this.”

Hank rolled his eyes again. “He’s been doing that all morning. So far, he hasn’t shown me a damn thing I haven’t seen twenty times already.”

“Maybe I’ll get going,” Greta said quickly. “I’ve got a few things to take care of before we go out. Do you want me to leave the basket?”

“What’s in it?”

“Chips, soda, cherry tomatoes, and cookies.”

“Cookies?” His eyes grew wide. “Homemade? What kind?”

“Of course homemade. Peanut butter.”

He gave her a slow grin. “Leave the basket, sweetheart. I can always use a cookie to bribe Marty into getting something done. Assuming there’s enough for me too.”

“There’s enough. I packed extra. I thought you might like an afternoon snack.”

Hank’s eyes took on a faint gleam. “Woman, you are worth your weight in whatever cooks regard as most valuable—saffron? Anyway, whatever it is, you deserve it.” He leaned over quickly and brushed his lips across hers. “Thanks.”

Her heart rate kicked up a notch. “You’re welcome. Now I’ve got to go. Give Marty a cookie for me.”

“Right,” he muttered. “Only if he doesn’t piss me off too much. Of course, I’ve always got tonight to improve my mood.” He gave her a last grin before he headed back toward the excavation.

She took a quick breath. “I’ll look forward to it.”

Oh yes, definitely time to go to Merton for some new clothes.

Normally, the drawbacks of the showers at Casa Dubrovik didn’t bother Hank too much. All he really asked was that the water be clean enough to rinse off dirt and sweat, of which he usually had quite a bit. Now he found himself simmering with exasperation at the low flow trickling from the showerhead and the distinct lack of heat. He had a feeling his hair was going to be standing on end, particularly since he had no way to dry it except with one of Alice’s limp towels.

But, of course, those towels had never bothered him before. Greta Brewster was having one hell of an effect on his routine and his general satisfaction with life. Not that he minded all that much.

He checked his closet, settling on a clean pair of jeans and one of the Hawaiian shirts he wore when he wanted something besides a T-shirt. This one had some kind of vaguely tropical white flowers against a turquoise background. Spiffy.

It was a little weird going out with somebody who lived in a room across the hall. He wasn’t sure whether he should knock on her door or wait for her at the foot of the stairs. He’d peeked across the hall once before he’d changed his clothes, but it looked like she wasn’t there. Well, that eliminated option one anyway. He headed downstairs.

Alice stood waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs with her perpetual sardonic smile. “Going out?”

He nodded. “Taking Greta to Promise Harbor.”

“Don’t bring her back too late. She’s got muffins to bake for the store tomorrow.”

Yes, Mom.
“She’ll know when she needs to be back so that she can get up in time.”

“Maybe.” Alice shrugged. “You know this is all Nadia’s idea, right?”

Hank gritted his teeth. “Believe it or not, Alice, Nadia’s plans have very little effect on my social life.”

“You just keep telling yourself that.” She gave him another grim smile.

The door to the kitchen swished open behind them, and Hank turned to see Greta wiping her hands on a towel as she turned toward Alice. “Your dinner’s in the refrigerator—it’s salad and spring rolls. No heating required. But there’s a potato gratin in there too if you want something hot. In that case, put it in the oven at three seventy-five for forty-five minutes or so. Then just set the table and serve.” She paused when Alice narrowed her eyes. “Or have Nadia put it in the oven while Hyacinth sets the table. What I’m trying to say is you’re all ready to go here.”

Hank worked on controlling his slightly elevated pulse rate. Greta was wearing a short-sleeved, emerald-green sweater along with slacks in a lighter shade. The color somehow made her brownish hair glow red, while the slacks hugged her hips and thighs in a way that gave him a very vivid flashback to the blanket they’d shared under the full moon. He wasn’t sure about the bra situation yet, but right now it looked like she’d gone without again.

He wondered if it was too late to suggest another picnic.

Greta flashed him a quick smile, turning to toss the towel on the desk. “Ready?”

Oh my god, yes!
“Sure.” He reached for her hand, ignoring the annoying way Alice’s lips had quirked up. On closer inspection, Greta was wearing a bra, but at least it looked easier to dispose of than the one she’d had on last night.

The drive to Promise Harbor was surprisingly quiet. He had the feeling Greta was thinking about something else. “You’re from Promise Harbor, right?”

She gave him a quick smile. “Right.”

“Does your family still live here?”

She nodded. “My mom and brother do.” She paused for a moment, seeming to consider something. “Want to see the house where I grew up?”

“Sure.”

She directed him through a series of neighborhoods—nice midsized houses, lots of elm trees. “There it is,” she said, leaning forward quickly.

The white clapboard house sat on a large lot with its own set of spreading elms. “Nice. Your mother still lives there?”

She nodded, squinting. “I don’t see her car. Looks like nobody’s home.”

He gave her level look. “Would you have gone inside if she had been here?”

Greta shrugged. “Yeah. Maybe. I’m not sure.”

“You’re not ready to talk yet?”

“My week’s not over yet,” she said flatly.

He nodded slowly. “So what happens when it is over? You come back here to Promise Harbor?”

“I haven’t thought that far ahead.” She shrugged again. “I’m not making any decisions at the moment. I’ll figure it out when the time comes. Meanwhile, why don’t we head over to Barney’s for some chowder?”

“Sounds good to me.”

Ten minutes later, he pulled in to the parking lot next to what looked like a classic silver-sided diner with a red brick addition at the far end. Judging from the number of cars in the lot, the addition was justified. “Popular place.”

“Yeah. There’s not a whole lot going on in the harbor in terms of entertainment. Barney’s sort of fills the gap.” She gave him a quick smile. “Ready?”

“Sure.”

He took her hand, leading her toward the building. “Do you know people who work here?”

“Maybe.” She sighed. “I’m not exactly looking for old acquaintances right now. I’ll probably keep my head down.”

He paused, glancing at her tight smile. “We don’t have to do this, you know. We could go back on the highway and see if we can find an Applebee’s or something.”

She shook her head. “No. It’s a good place to eat. And I’m a big girl.”

His lips spread in an involuntary grin. “Yeah. Thank the good lord.” He drew her to the door while she was still laughing.

Inside, the place was packed. The harried hostess grabbed a couple of menus and led them down a narrow aisle to a booth tucked beside one of the windows. “This okay?”

“Great.” He slid in one side, watching Greta slide in opposite him. Given his choice he’d have preferred to have her sit alongside him, but he’d take what he could get.

“What’s good here?” He picked up the vinyl-covered menu.

She shrugged. “Clam chowder and fried clams are the two big things. The lobster roll’s respectable. My brother likes the hickory burger.”

“Are we likely to run into him?” Hank worked on keeping his voice neutral. In reality, he was beginning to be very curious about her family. The family she was apparently trying to avoid at the moment.

She shrugged again. “Not likely. He took off after the wedding that didn’t happen. I’m not sure where he is right now.”

He nodded. “Because your phone is dying and you’re keeping it turned off.”

“That’s right.” She narrowed her eyes.

“You know, I’ve got a universal charger. I’d be glad to lend it to you.”

She rolled her eyes. “Thanks a bunch. That would really simplify my life.”

A waitress stepped to the their table. For a moment she frowned at Greta, as if she were trying to remember her. Then she seemed to shrug it off. “What’ll you folks have tonight?”

“Fried clams,” Hank said. “And the largest, coldest beer you’ve got.”

Greta gave him a tight smile. “That sounds great to me.”

He deliberately moved away from the topic of Greta and her hometown during dinner. He wanted her real smile back, if only until he finished his order of fried clams.

“Good,” he muttered through a mouthful. “Tasty.”

She frowned, moving a fried clam with her index finger. “Not bad. A little greasy. Either the oil needs to be hotter or the clams need to be warmer when they cook. My guess is they dump them in straight from the freezer. Which, of course, is the way most people cook them. I mean, it’s not like Barney’s is doing anything wrong. And when I was a teenager I ate a ton of these with no complaints at all.”

“Right.” He took a swallow of beer. Very good, very cold. There was even frost on the glass. “Can you enjoy eating in a restaurant anymore, or do you always find yourself doing a critique?”