Dating A Silver Fox (Never Too Late) (6 page)

“Sure. Sure. Sounds great. Call me Morrie. Why don’t you and Jane make dinner plans and include me sometime?” Morrie said smoothly, shaking the young man’s hand and appreciating the firm grip.

Walter Graham might not work out for the long haul, but Morrie would bet this boy wouldn’t let Nathan Waterfield get within a mile of Jane. And he might reset his daughter’s opinions of what made a good man. The thought of Walter pursuing Jane cheered him greatly.

“You really do favor your grandfather, and not just in looks,” Morrie said sincerely.

“That’s a great compliment. Could you make sure you tell Harrison that? He loves thinking of me as his progeny. In fact, I thought ‘progeny’ was my name until I was three,” Walter said easily, liking the man’s sense of humor as he heard Morrie laugh.

***

Lydia cleared her throat as she stepped back out of Jane’s office doorway, trying to find a way to rescind her offer now that she knew Jane’s father was in charge. But before she could come up with a good reason, Morrison Fox had a hand under her elbow steering her outdoors and across the grounds.

“Let’s go check out the renovations, Lydia. The kitchen is being finished this week and is being set up for catering. That really just leaves the matter of the bathrooms and the sitting area to redesign. Want to have lunch so we can talk about it?” Morrie asked.

“No I do not want to have lunch. Besides, it’s four in the afternoon,” Lydia said, digging in her heels and wrenching her elbow from his grasp. “What is wrong with you?”

“Dinner then?” Morrie suggested, watching her face flood with irritated color.

“No—I have—plans. And I’ve just remembered some pressing business that will not leave me time to help after all. Good luck with the project, Mr. Fox,” Lydia said, spinning around to walk back to the Lodge.

“Now don’t use that formal tone to dismiss me. The name is Morrie and you know it,” he said, dashing ahead of her, stepping into her path to stop her from leaving. “Are you going back on your word about wanting to help? You don’t look like the kind of person who would do that. You practically pushed young Walter Graham out of the way to volunteer.”

“You have no idea what kind of person I am,” Lydia declared.

“No, but I’d like to find out. It’s just dinner, Lydia. A little pasta. Maybe a glass or two of wine,” Morrie said, shrugging and smiling.

“What is with all the shrugging nowadays? Everybody is shrugging. That body action is stupid and means nothing. It means the person can’t be bothered to articulate their thoughts, that’s what it means. Now get out of my way,” Lydia demanded, starting around him, only to find him blocking her path again.

“Okay, if you don’t want to have dinner, let’s have a business meeting. You can pick the location, so long as it’s an Italian restaurant with pasta and wine. A business meeting is nothing personal—though someone who looks as good as you being afraid of going out for a simple dinner is a terrible shame—not to mention a waste of fine womanhood,” Morrie said sincerely. “You look amazing, Lydia. A woman who looks like you needs to be taken out for a public showing now and again.”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “Who are you? I don’t know you. What I do know, I don’t like. Now move out of my way, Mr. Fox. I took self-defense lessons and I know how to take out your kneecap. My daughter has a black belt in—in—I don’t know, but something lethal. You should be afraid.”

Morrie lifted his hands and let her walk by. “I know you’re interested, Lydia McCarthy. I can see the truth in your eyes.”

“I am
not
interested,” Lydia declared, stopping her exit and turning back.

“Really? Then why are you chickening out of helping me? I know you’ve been asking to work on the decorating project all along,” Morrie declared, fighting not to show he’d seen the flash of defeat in her gaze. “Do I make you nervous? You can say yes.”

“No, I am not nervous, and I am not afraid of working with you. I’m just—busier—yes, I’m busier than I thought I was. Memory and age, you know,” Lydia said stiffly, turning again.

She stopped once more at the sound of a chicken cackling behind her.

“Oh stop being a ridiculous old fool about this. Give me something productive to do and I’ll do it. But I am not going out with you socially, Morrison Fox. Do not ask me again,” Lydia said flatly, turning to walk away again.

“Where are you going right now? Don’t you want to see the kitchen renovations?” Morrie asked, fighting not to laugh about the fact he’d managed to dare her into helping.

“Not today,” Lydia declared, not looking back again at the man cackling like a chicken behind her.

Chapter 5

Jane looked every bit as miserable as Lydia felt when the younger woman informed her to find her father and help him. Despite her irritating parent, Jane Fox was a decent woman. Lydia had thought that more than once over the time Jane had been working to improve North Winds.

In fact, she thought Jane probably didn’t even want her father helping on the project but had felt sorry for him and gave him work just so he’d have something productive to do. The man seemed to show up there every day. It likely frustrated Jane.

Besides, men typically didn’t know anything about decorating. If she didn’t help, Morrison Fox might put up neon beer signs in the seating area. Or maybe even paintings of naked women. She could definitely see him doing that because he was nothing but a big flirt. From what she knew of him, Lydia imagined black velvet paintings of saloon girls with big breasts were probably Morrison’s style.

As she walked from the Lodge to the Common House, Lydia told herself that fear of his art choices was reason enough to remain involved.

He was talking to one of the contractors when she finally located him. Head bent over the papers in his hands, he studied whatever was on them wearing a pair of ridiculous, tiny reading glasses perched on the end of his nose.

Was that glitter along the edges? Surely not. And why did he even bother? Not only did they look like a woman’s glasses, they were virtually useless since Morrison was obviously reading over them. Maybe he thought they made him look serious or some such vain thing. Who knew with that strange man? Morrison Fox was a total nut case every time she interacted with him.

Today she took notice of his relaxed stance and masculine clothes. He dressed well enough for the most part, but it was obvious there was no woman in his life. Nothing he wore went with the silly glasses he had on, that was for sure. Personally, Lydia thought he looked like he’d stepped out of a Dickens novel. He was a tad bit portly—not bad—but with a defined middle that fortunately for him was so far only threatening to hang over his belt.

With his close cut silver hair, he looked like a time traveling Ebenezer Scrooge in the middle of the now thoroughly modern kitchen. All the man needed was a Victorian dressing gown and a knit sleeping hat with a tassel ball on the end. If she hadn’t been so angry with him for tricking her—okay daring her—into helping, Lydia might have laughed at the picture he made.

She stopped a short distance away, crossed her arms and waited. Since she was in no hurry to interact with him again today, the contractor was doing her a favor keeping Morrison occupied. When his gaze lifted to her, Lydia braced herself for his words.

“Hello, Lydia. I smelled you when you came in the door,” Morrie said sharply, looking up from his papers to grin at her tightly crossed arms. “Not that you smell bad, quite the opposite actually. Your scent is very nice. Unusual. What are you wearing?”

“I don’t see what my scent has to do with my volunteer work, but if satisfying your curiosity will move the social niceties along, my daughter is an organic perfumer. It’s a scent she made just for me,” Lydia said, lifting her chin and hoping he knew it meant she was not answering any other personal questions.

Morrie grinned at the pulse jumping at Lydia’s throat, which he could see just above the snug fitting pink T-shirt she was wearing. It hadn’t missed his notice that she was proud enough of her body to wear clothes that fit really, really well. And she wore them all the time. If Jane hadn’t told him Lydia’s actual age, he would have guessed she was younger than him simply from the way she looked.

“Actually, I think your daughter must have made that scent for me,” Morrie said, pulling the glasses off his face and tucking them into his shirt pocket as he walked over to her. “I’m definitely the one enjoying it. Biology you know—like a bee seeking a flower.”

“Do you have something productive for me to do? Or can I go fold towels at the pool house until you actually have something in mind? I didn’t finish the task yesterday,” Lydia said stiffly. “Harrison came back and got all chatty. There’s no ignoring that man when he’s in the mood to talk.”

“Good to know. Maybe he can share his chatting secrets with me,” Morrie said, laughing when Lydia turned her back to walk away.

He let her go off a bit just so he could get a look at her hips in the snug fitting white pants that stopped at still shapely calves. The more he looked at her; the more thrilled he was thinking he might get a chance to see more of her. Odd how the best chemistry between people always seemed to work that way, and he had a bad case of physical longing for Lydia McCarthy, more in fact than he’d ever had for a woman since he was a kid.

There was only one thing a guy could do under the influence of that kind of attraction—which was any damn thing it took to find out more.

“I thought maybe you could tell me your ideas about what kind of decorating scheme we need to do. Picking colors and wall art was never my thing. I’m better at cabinetry and bar stools,” Morrie said companionably, pleased to see Lydia had stopped and turned partially back to face him. “I’m glad you’re going to help. Seriously. I’m not teasing about that.”

Lydia sighed, and then crossed her arms to prop up her nerve to deal with him.

“Did Jane have anything in mind?” she asked, trying not to sound hopeful that Jane had no preferences.

“Not really. Or at least she never said.” Morrie shook his head, fascinated by the gleam in Lydia’s gaze.

“Okay. What. . .what kind of budget does Jane have for decorating?” Lydia asked, looking away to hide as much excitement as she could.

“Donations of two thousand so far,” Morrie said, quoting the amount he’d committed to Jane. “We could probably squeeze out another thousand if needed.”

“We should be able to find a couple gently used seating arrangements for that amount. That budget won’t cover the wall art, but I have some stored that needs to be donated. Also, the country club was just recently redone. Maybe they kept some of their old art. I mean, it’s going to be ducks and still life paintings from their stock, but we can probably work with that theme for North Winds,” Lydia said, stopping to make sure she hadn’t rambled on too much and bored him.

Seeing Morrison was patiently waiting for her to continue, Lydia cleared her throat before speaking again. She had no choice but to ask him what he thought, no matter how much she preferred to do it all herself. Morrison was in charge of running the project after all.

“So what do you think?” she asked.

Morrie smiled. “I think you should do what you think best and tell me how I can help make it happen,” he said. “It will be our secret that you’re the true mastermind.”

And then his heart almost stopped when Lydia laughed deeply from her belly as she beamed at him. She pushed a hand through her hair and sighed as she shook her head.

That’s the real her
, Morrie thought, the insight hitting him hard.
That is the woman Lydia is meant to be.

Unexplainably happy about his discovery, Morrie rashly decided he just might be the only man alive that had ever seen her in quite that way. The delight he got from learning what made Lydia laugh was almost unnatural.

And Jane was going to kill him if she ever found out how he felt.

“I have to hand it to you, Morrison Fox. You’re very charming when you try to be, but I’m still not going to lunch with you, no matter how nice you are,” Lydia said firmly.

Morrie rubbed in the middle of his chest trying to ease the pain that had bloomed suddenly there at her refusal. It was either a heart attack, heartburn, or he was falling in love with Lydia McCarthy. Since he hadn’t had lunch yet, heartburn didn’t seem like a genuine possibility. His last checkup hadn't shown any health issues with his heart, but then he hadn’t met Lydia before they checked his ticker either.

Oh damn
, Morrie thought,
too much, too soon. This isn’t good.

“You missed your chance for a real meal when you turned me down yesterday, Lydia. No time for lunch today,” he said briskly, his throat tight with his epiphany. “We’ll have to pick something up on the way back from the country club. Are you a member? I’m not. Always meant to join, but never took the time. I used to be a workaholic. Maybe I still am. But I’m mostly reformed. At least Jane thinks I’m better. And I'm babbling for no reason.”

He ran a hand over his short white bristles as he contemplated his fate.

“Yes, I’m a club member but—” Lydia frowned as she noticed the strange look on his face.

“Great,” Morrie said brightly, walking to stand close to her, breathing her scent in deeply as he looked for balance where there was none. Lydia’s proximity was doing strange things to him, like make him look at her carefully streaked hair and wish she'd just let it grow out natural and be the color of his. A bizarre thought, but in his line of work, he had indulged all kinds of literal wild hair thinking. A good part of Jane’s problem with men was that they couldn’t keep up with her brain.