Mending Fences (5 page)

“Ashley.”

“Age.” Curran’s smile turned wicked. “I know a gentleman isn’t supposed to ask but it’s on the table now.”

She shrugged. “I’m not sensitive. I turned thirty last July.”

“Infant. I’m thirty-six.” He leaned back in his chair, drank deeply. “Family.”

“Not my favorite subject.”

His eyebrows raised. “You don’t get along with your family?”

Not since they reacted to her fight for her life by saying
we told you so, you’re such a disgrace.
“My parents and I had a falling out a couple of years ago.”

He winced. “My sympathies. Do you ever see them?”

She shook her head. “They moved to Texas a while back.”

“Any siblings?”

“Only child. Apparently, I was such a delight to raise, they decided against ever doing it again.” She gave him a half-hearted smile. “I have a cousin I like, but, yeah, I told you it was a negative subject. Move on.”

He tilted his mug back and finished his chocolate. Her stomach flip-flopped when he licked the residue from his upper lip. She could have done that for him. Really.

“Where were you born?”

“In Salt Lake.”

He nodded. “All right. Family and some of the vital statistics are out of the way. What’s your profession?”

Oh, dear. If she said freelance journalist, she was dead in the water. She didn’t want to lie, so maybe she could downplay it. “I’ve done a lot of things. At the moment, I’m a professional house-sitter. It keeps me from starving while I write.”

Curran raised an eyebrow. “Interesting. What are you writing at the moment?”

Time to divert the conversation. “No, you see, at the moment I’m supposed to be writing, but instead I’m killing time sucking down incredible hot chocolate and playing the Getting to Know You version of twenty questions.”

She smiled at him, allowing herself to enjoy the sparkle in his eyes. The attention felt good.

The diversion didn’t last long. Curran shifted toward her, his eyes narrowed slightly. “Seriously. What sort of writer are you?”

The ice beneath her feet thinned and cracked a bit more. For a man who’d been out of the media spotlight for what, over a year, he was still plenty skittish. She’d have to tread lightly. As casually as she could, she said, “Right now, I have clients hiring me for website copy, ghostwriting, that sort of thing. And I’m trying my hand at a novel, but it’s intimidating me beyond belief.”

“What’s it about?” He sounded genuinely interested, and slightly relieved.

“It’s kind of a quirky love story, about a man and woman who keep meeting at various stages of their lives but each time is a near miss for them getting together.” She heard the enthusiasm in her voice, a little embarrassed about how gung-ho she sounded.

“Do they ever get to happily ever after?”

“Yes, when they’re about seventy.”

He grinned. “Better late than never.”

She swirled the remains of the cocoa in her mug, acutely aware of his gaze on her. The kitchen suddenly felt very warm. He slid one hand across the table, brushed his fingertips across hers, then gently disengaged one hand from her mug and held it in his own. It was the first time he’d touched her without gloves on and the electricity sparked by his calloused hands screamed up her arm and jump-started her pulse.

Now she was in trouble.

Victoria tried to stay objective. He’d probably used this question-and-answer format with dozens of women before. He was likely affecting her precisely the way he intended to, a well-practiced assault on her guard so she’d end up in his bed. Or was it? Didn’t his name or his charisma or both usually get him whatever he wanted from women without much additional effort?

He leaned across the table and her heart jumped in response. His voice dropped to a rumbling whisper. “Victoria, your kiss stayed on my lips for weeks. I know this sounds terrible and I’m going way too fast, and it’ll likely insult you, but if I don’t kiss you again soon, I’m going to lose my mind.” He gave her hand a gentle tug.

A battle rose inside her, one side crying for her to run, to avoid this at all costs, to remember why allowing anything to happen again was such a very bad idea. The other side soaked up every flicker of interest in his eyes like raindrops on parched earth, craving his attention with an intensity that stole her breath. Fantasy. It was just a fantasy, and all she wanted was one more little taste before she walked away. She shoved away the fear clawing at her. Heart racing, she eased forward to meet him.

The front door of the house opened and a woman’s voice called, “Hi, honey, I’m home.”

Chapter Three

Curran sighed as Victoria bolted back to her side of the table. So much for timing.

The flash of frost in her eyes told him exactly what assumption she’d made when she heard Kelli’s voice. She pulled against his grip on her hand, and he tightened his fingers just enough to hold her.

She didn’t raise her voice, but the anger came through clearly just the same. “Is that your—”

“Sister. She lives in the other house on the property, just down the drive from here.” He rather enjoyed the way her fine dark brows rose and the light in her eyes simmered down from the temper he’d managed to provoke. “Tell me, do you always leap to conclusions, Victoria?”

She relaxed slightly. “You have to admit, it was more of a baby step than a leap.”

There was a time when she would have been correct to think it was his lover entering the house. He had matured beyond the need to keep more than one woman at a time. “I’m hurt. Do I look like the sort of man who’d try to kiss you if I was already in a relationship?”

“I think most men fall into that category.”

Before he could step in that snake pit, a whirlwind blew into the kitchen. He released Victoria’s hand in time to catch forty-five pounds of nephew launching at him.

“Uncle Curry, Uncle Curry, look, Mom finally bought me the first-edition foil Charizard! It’s way older than me and it’s so cool! Look, look, you’re not looking!” He waved a plastic-encased trading card an inch from Curran’s nose.

Gently easing the boy’s hand back so he could focus, Curran gave the prize his attention. He examined it carefully, wearing the most intrigued expression he could manage. “Yeah, it’s a first edition all right. Good onya, Robby. I’m very impressed.” He ruffled the boy’s hair, setting him on his feet as Kelli entered the kitchen.

Kelli dropped several canvas grocery bags on the countertop, sliding her arms free of the handles. “You should be impressed, Curran. Those cards are expensive and you paid for it.”

“Mom, can I play video games?”

“Thirty minutes, Rob, then you have piano lessons.” The boy tore out of the kitchen as fast as he’d entered and slammed the front door. Kelli turned toward Curran and gave a visible start when she realized he wasn’t alone. “You have company.”

“Victoria Linden, this is my baby sister, Kelli Davenport. Kelli, Victoria.”

Kelli smiled and extended a hand. “A pleasure, Victoria. Do you live around here or are you two old friends?”

Victoria shook her hand. “I’m house-sitting for the Campbells, just west of here. We met untangling Peg-leg from a fence.” A slight blush colored her cheeks when he coughed softly. Nah, Kel didn’t need to know how they really met.

Kelli shot him a look of dismay. “Is Peg okay?”

“A few punctures, some nasty scrapes. Nothing deadly.”

She cast her gaze heavenward and turned to put the groceries away. “That creature would be better off wrapped as steaks and roasts in my freezer.”

“Come on, Kel, you love old Peg.”

“I loved him until he stomped on my flower garden last summer and ate everything.”

Curran eyed the bags on the counter. When he first retired, she’d done his shopping to help him stay out of sight. Now, she did it just to be motherly. “Thanks for the groceries, but I wish you wouldn’t do my errands.”

She smiled sweetly over her shoulder. “Just racking up babysitting hours, dear.”

It didn’t matter that she was his sister. Owing anyone for anything made him uncomfortable. He laughed off Kelli’s words and turned his attention back to Victoria. She smiled at him, and he slid his hand across the table, lacing her fingers through his. Though she was nearly his height, her bones were small, her fingers long and delicate. The soft skin of her hand felt good against his fingertips, and he couldn’t help wondering just how good the tender skin under her clothing would feel beneath his hands.

As if she read his thought—or had the same one herself—her expression changed, her smile tightened. She pulled her hand free of his and stood. “Thanks for the hot chocolate, Curran, but I really ought to be going.”

Kelli glanced over from the refrigerator. “Don’t leave on my account. I’m just putting the cold things away and I’ll get out of here.”

“No, no, I have a lot to do today. I’ve gotten seriously sidetracked. It was nice to meet you.”

“You too,” Kelli said. “Don’t be a stranger.”

Curran noted the way Victoria stiffened when she turned back to him. She wasn’t planning to come back. The thought made him uneasy. Her spontaneity and self-confidence on Halloween captured his imagination, and he’d spent more nights than he was comfortable with haunting Brindle’s, hoping she’d return. A couple of the other waitresses knew her first name, but no one actually knew her. He’d briefly considered buying the place and assigning people to do nothing but watch for her to reappear.

A twist of fate had given him another shot. God bless Peg for his attempt to get through the fence. He couldn’t let Victoria walk away a second time. Not until he examined their potential more closely and decided their fate for himself. “I’ll help you with your horse.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that, really.” She sounded cheery enough, but when he looked in her eyes, the deep freeze had returned. Was she always this mercurial, or did he bring out the worst in her?

“I need to get back out there and fix the fence anyway.” Vaguely aware of Kelli trying to disappear inside the huge fridge, he lowered his voice. “Please, Victoria. Let me walk you out.”

She closed her eyes, turned her face away from him. She nodded. Good, a point for him in this little negotiation. He placed a hand on her waist and guided her out of the kitchen, snagging both of their coats off the sofa with his free hand as they left the house.

They paused on the covered porch and he examined her torn parka. Leave it to Peg to destroy a perfectly serviceable coat. “You can’t possibly wear this. You’ll freeze.”

“It’s not that long a ride. I’ll live.”

He tucked the parka under his arm and held out the sheepskin. “Take mine, until I can buy a replacement for you.”

A shadow passed through her eyes, and she shook her head. “Thanks, but I’m fine. Really. Mine will get me home.”

“If you insist, but I’m still going to buy you a new one.” He studied her, watching for her reaction. There it was again, flitting through her gaze. Wariness, bordering on suspicion. As if she feared he might demand something from her in return.

“You don’t have to do that. I was due for a new parka anyway. I’ll replace it.”

Now, that made no sense at all. Why wouldn’t she want him to fix what his animal had damaged? He shook his head, then held the torn parka for her, slipping it up her arms and settling it on her shoulders.

As he pulled on his own coat, she stood watching him, worrying her lower lip with her teeth. He couldn’t help focusing on her mouth.

The memory of her sitting astride him in the club, kissing him, slammed home. She noticed his attention and abruptly released her lip and looked away, her cheeks flushing pink. He shook off the memory, but the tightness in his gut didn’t loosen.

When she hazarded a glance back at him, he tried to set her at ease. “My nephew does that when he wonders if he should say something.”

Her eyes widened. “Does what?”

He reached up, ran a finger along the edge of her mouth. “Chews on his lip. What were you thinking?”

She edged slightly away from his touch. “I don’t want to be nosy.”

He sighed, his breath a cloud in the frosty air, and thrust his hand in his coat pocket. “Ask. I’ll tell you when you’re being nosy.”

She turned and started down the steps. “Your nephew is a cute little guy. How long have they lived here?”

Well, that certainly wasn’t a question he expected. He followed her off the porch, walking beside her toward the barn. “About three years. They moved into their house before I built mine.”

He watched her open her mouth to speak and hastily close it again. “You want to know why.”

“It’s none of my business.”

Curran opened the barn door, waving her through. “But you’re curious, and I don’t mind telling you. More importantly, Kelli wouldn’t mind. Her husband was an alcoholic and when he was drinking, his favorite sport was wife boxing.”

Victoria gasped, color draining from her already pale skin. Though she clenched her fists, he didn’t miss the trembling of her hands.