Heather Horrocks - Who-Dun-Him Inn 02 - Inn the Doghouse (6 page)

I sniffed the air. “Wet noodles?”

Zach exchanged a look with David. “I told you she’s not very good at cooking.”

“Or smelling,” David said solemnly, but the crinkles around his eyes told me he was teasing.

Taking a step, I tripped over something on the floor. I didn’t fall, just looked spastic for a moment.

“Or walking,” Zach said before the two of them laughed.

I looked down. I tripped over a bowl half-filled with water beside the edge of the fridge. “What is this for?” I asked, grabbing some paper towels to mop up the mess.

“That’s for my new dog,” Zach announced.

I looked around the room. “You’d better be joking.”

“I’m not. It’s for the one you said you’d let me get. And we pulled the old doghouse around where I can see it, too, so my new dog won’t get lonely,” Zach said as if I were a bit slow. “David’s teaching me how to
visualize
”—he stumbled over the word much like I did over the dish—“having a dog.”

“Oh, he is, is he?” I asked, shooting David a glare of death. David’s response with a grin ramped up my heart rate more than it should have. “And what else is David teaching you?” I motioned to the steaming pot.

“How to cook spaghetti sauce for dinner.”

“You can teach your mother now,” David said with a smirk.

I nodded. “And I want to take this moment to seriously thank you for the cooking lessons, David.”

He shrugged. “I was thinking of your poor guests.”

Zach said, “I can be a Bear in Cub Scouts now.”

“A rank advancement?” I asked, raising a questioning eyebrow at David. “That’s great.”

David nodded and grinned. Very cute.
Indeed.

“Okay, chief,” David said. “You’re all done here. It just has to finish cooking now.”

Zach jumped down. “Thanks, David.”

They high-fived and Zach took off, calling back to me. “Is it okay if I watch my movie?”

“Sure,” I said as he raced toward the door under the main staircase that led to our rooms. He’d watched
101 Dalmatians
so many times, we all had the lines memorized.

In the quiet following his departure, I leaned against the counter. “Thanks for helping him with the rank advancement.”

“But…?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

I paused, not sure how to proceed. “A couple of buts, actually. First, why are you so willing to help Zach like this?”

“Because he’s a good kid.”

“And…?” I asked.

“And he doesn’t have a dad around to help him. And he told me he doesn’t like the cubmaster very much.” He must have seen the impact his words had on me—they cut deep—because he softened his voice. “My dad died when I was ten, so I get it.”

“I’m sorry about your father.” I nodded. “And you’re right. On all counts.”

“But…?” he asked again.

“I’m just wondering what will happen when the international reporter male role model gets tired of small town life and moves away. What happens to my son then?” I had to think that one through.

“Your son will continue to spend time with an international reporter who has become quite fond of small town life.” He lowered the flame, gave the pot another stir, and covered it. “I understand your concern. He’s your son. I just wanted to help him, like Curt Bennett, the guy who stepped in and helped me. I was determined to do the same as he did for me, if I ever could, by helping another little boy in need.”

“That’s very nice of you.”

“I
am
an Eagle Scout, you know. Trustworthy and filled with merit.” He grinned. “Reporters aren’t all bad, you know.”

“I guess not.” Though I certainly didn’t think much of him when we first met, I found him growing on me. “Speaking of the reporting that you probably are anxious to get back to, I called and placed an ad in the paper for a new cook.”

He shrugged. “Schedule the prospective applicants to come in on a Saturday and I’ll interview them.”

“Are you sure? Don’t you have more important things to do instead?”

He chuckled. “According to most of the people who know you best, you wouldn’t have a clue what questions to ask a chef.”

I tossed the nearest dry dishcloth at him.

He snatched it from the air and laughed.

I pushed away from the counter and walked over to the pot, sniffing the aroma appreciatively. “It does smell awfully good.”

“
Awfully good
. That’s one of those interesting oxymoron word combinations. Like
pretty awful
,
a little pregnant,
and
Army intelligence
.”

I thought of my pale sister downstairs. “
Amicable divorce.
”

“Good one.” He nodded. “How about
low-fat ice cream?
”

“
Truth in advertising.
”

“
Middle East peace.
”

“Oh, wait. I have one.” I leaned back against the counter. “
Double solitaire.
”

“My favorite game.” He took a step in my direction, hanging the dishtowel on a hook very close to me.

“I bet.” I forced my mind away from David to the game at hand. “
Kosher ham.
”

He let his gaze scan my body briefly and smiled at me. “
Luxury compact.
”

I managed to get out, “
Mild-mannered reporter.
”

He laughed. “I keep my Superman suit hidden under my apron.”

“Nice apron, by the way.”

“Thanks.” He looked down to see what was written there. When he saw
Kiss the Cook
, he grinned. “And this
is
truth in advertising. I accept all kisses.”

“Grandma will be happy to hear that.”

The air between us heated up like a mirage, shimmering between us. After a long pause, during which his eyes darkened, I said, almost in a whisper, “
White chocolate.
”

He leaned toward me and his voice lowered, as well.
“One size fits all.
”

Not wanting to step away and show how wary I was of the attraction growing between us, I tried to make him laugh again. “
Journalistic integrity.
”

He didn’t laugh. Instead, he chuckled, a low, husky sound that came deep from his chest. He leaned a little, so that his lips were only inches from mine. “
Definite maybe
.”

I swallowed hard, and for that instant, couldn’t think of anything to say. I found myself leaning in, too. Close enough to catch the nice, manly scent of him mixed with the clean smell of soap. My hands began to tremble and my heart pushed on the accelerator. It was a good thing I had my talk with Robert today instead of waiting, because things were moving a lot faster than I ever anticipated.

When the saloon-type doors slammed the wall behind us, I nearly had another heart attack. David must have, too, as he joined me in jumping back. I sucked in a deep breath, trying to recapture my fleeting composure.

Zach raced in. “Hey, Mom! Germy said their puppies are old enough to leave home now.”

I exchanged a glance with David, whose cheeks showed more color than normal. So I wasn’t the only one affected by our near kiss. Returning my attention to my son, I said, “No puppies, squirt. That was our deal. Remember?”

He sighed deeply and rather melodramatically.

“That’s okay, chief,” said David, and I noticed how husky his voice still sounded. “Big dogs are cool, too.”

“But not too big,” I said.

“
Grown
dogs,” David clarified, winking at me.

I felt my face heating up, too.

“And,” he said in a sexy, low voice, “I think right now is the perfect time for me to drive you and Zach into town to look at dogs at the pet store.”

Reluctantly, I scrutinized both of them.

I didn’t want to go. But if I was to begin seizing the day and opening myself to possibilities, I may as well start now. I promised my son a dog—and he already had a water dish for the stupid canine. A water dish that would be left in the kitchen, but well away from the flow of traffic.

I looked at my son’s eager face. How could I say no?

With a sigh, I nodded. “Okay, but I have to stop at the Moose Muffin Café first and drop off some pans we borrowed for the anniversary party. While I’m there, could you drop off Zach’s library books? And then I’ll meet you at the pet store.”

Chapter Five

IT TOOK US A GOOD HOUR to mosey into town. The roads were dry, which is always preferable when coming down Porter Mountain. I may have had all-wheel drive, but I’d witnessed too many four-by-four pickups stuck on the bottom curve after the lunatics driving them thought engaging all four wheels meant they didn’t have to use their brakes—or their brains.

I dropped David and Zach off at the Silver City Library, a stately, old pioneer building. Zach was returning books and hoping to find more with David, who seemed to enjoy helping him. I wouldn’t be surprised to find a book titled,
How to Hypnotize Your Mother into Adopting a Whole Houseful of Dogs
appear at the Inn. If Zach started singing “I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas,” I intended to put my foot down.

I headed up Main Street toward the Moose Muffin Café, which was only a block and a half away. When I found a parking spot for my Jeep right in front, I considered it a good omen and pushed through the doors to find DeWayne and Paul seated at a booth. Paul waved me over. They were looking at menus, which they always did—before they ordered their usual favorites: DeWayne had chicken-fried steak and mashed potatoes, while Paul liked the half-pound mooseburger, which wasn’t moose at all, just a huge hamburger.

I sat down beside my brother. A moment later, our waitress strutted over with a big smile—Crystal. She looked happy to see us…well, to see
DeWayne
. She barely made eye contact with me. As always, the big doofus seemed oblivious to it all.

If David hadn’t already fixed us yummy soup for lunch, I would have placed an order for my standard Moose Muffin Salad, which was just a glorified chef salad with breaded chicken strips on top. It also happened to be the specialty of the house. I ordered a mug of hot chocolate and watched Crystal sashay her cute little behind back to the kitchen. “That’s some package.”

DeWayne said, “Huh?”

Like I said,
clueless.

Could he really be that oblivious? I mean, I know men are dense and all, but really! Shaking my head, I said, “Never mind.”

“What Vicki is trying to say, Officer Smith,” Paul nudged DeWayne, “is that Crystal Maynard likes you.”

DeWayne’s rugged face flushed red as he flashed a glance after her. “You’re full of it.”

“Come on, DeWayne,” I said. “Didn’t you notice her hanging all over you last night?”

“She was just being friendly.” He promptly hid the “aw-shucks” look on his face by forking some mashed potatoes into his mouth.

Paul caught my eye and grinned. I guess he was married long enough to be aware of at least some of the nuances in male/female nonverbal communication. Dropping the subject, he asked, “We were talking about the new residential development going up along Silver Creek. What do you think of it, Vicki?”

Silver Creek was the fancy new subdivision being built by none other than Liz’s husband, Gene Eklund, and his former business partner, Lamont Williams, on land formerly owned by Matt Borman’s dad. “I’m sorry that our town’s growing so fast, actually, and spreading up that far, but it’s no surprise. You can’t stop progress, right?”

“I suppose not,” Paul said, and DeWayne nodded.

For the past twenty years, the population of nearby Heber and Park City had exploded, especially after the 2002 Winter Olympics were hosted in Utah. Apparently, home prices were so much cheaper here than in places like California that people could sell their small homes there and use the equity to pay cash for McMansions here.

Well, I certainly couldn’t complain. I had the biggest house around, though I shared with paying guests. Most of the bedrooms—a total of fifteen, counting the carriage house suite and the last two rooms, due for completion next summer—were guest rooms in my mystery bed-and-breakfast called the Who-Dun-Him Inn.

Hearing men’s deep laughter sounding behind us, we turned. The older men seated at the Round Table were still smiling. I noticed Paul’s wistful gaze lingered on them. Receiving an invitation to sit at the Round Table was definitely an item on his bucket list.

As I turned back around, I caught a glimpse through the window of a young woman on the sidewalk, her pregnant belly too big for her to zip her stylish pink ski jacket over it. She held a cell phone to her ear and looked upset.

Back with a tray, Crystal set a steaming mug of hot chocolate in front of me, along with a napkin and a spoon.