The Cottage on Pumpkin and Vine (4 page)

Moments later he'd accomplished his task. He hitched a hip on the porch railing, asked, “Best position?”

“Position?” She licked her lips. Her mouth was suddenly dry. Cade referred to the spider, yet her mind was on him. She could imagine him in bed. His chest would be wide, muscled, and his abdomen lean. She'd already seen his sex. The image stayed with her. She was out of her element with this man.

Cade reached out his hand, tipped her chin toward him. “What's going on, Grace? You've lost focus.”

He'd been her focus. She cleared her throat, collected herself, and continued with, “Gauze first. We'll stretch the roll across the entire porch, then anchor the spider off the front drainpipe.”

She held one end of the roll while Cade unwrapped. He was surprisingly creative, weaving the gauzy web under and over the porch rockers and covering the front windows, then climbing on a step stool and draping the webbing from the lantern lights.

“I have two-sided tape if you need it,” she offered as he worked his way back toward her.

“I'll tape along the drainpipe and edges of the roof,” he told her. “Once I anchor the spider, I'll tuck gauze under its legs.”

“Thank you,” she softly said once he reached her.

One corner of his mouth tipped. “Gratitude?”

“I appreciate all you're doing.”

“We'll get it done.”

His words reassured her. The job had begun with four people, and now they were down to two. She and Cade. They'd be forced to double their efforts. She pushed forward. “Let's unfold Ignacio.”

He eyed her strangely. “What's Ignacio?”

“The spider.”

“You named the blowup?”

“Inflatable,” she corrected him. “He's boxed in my van next to the small air pump and hose. We'll also need a long extension cord. There should be an outdoor outlet at the corner of the cottage.”

They collected what they needed. Cord in hand, he stretched it to the outlet, then tossed the remaining length onto the roof while she unboxed the spider. He next leaned a ladder against the porch roof. Then, hoisting the small pump and coiled hose under one arm, he held out his hand for Ignacio, which, folded, was momentarily no more than a three-foot square of heavy nylon fabric. She passed it to him.

“Full of air, how big is the spider?” he asked from halfway up the ladder.

“Five feet wide and eight feet long.”

“A Godzilla spider.”

“He's visible from the road.”

“Visible from space.”

She cuffed her pant legs and started up after him, only to hear Cade say, “I have it covered. No need for both of us on the roof.”

“I have the gauze and anchor stakes.”

“You can toss them up to me.”

“I don't throw well.”

Once on the roof, he set down the air pump and inflatable. He held out his hands, said, “I can catch most anything.” He'd played football in high school and college. Wide receiver.

She winged the roll of gauze at him. Purposely hard. It flew over his head. “Maybe not everything,” he mumbled, as he went to retrieve the roll.

Grace stuffed the double-sided tape in the drawstring bag with the stakes and rope that was wrapped about her wrist. She was up the ladder in seconds. She swung her foot onto the roof, gained her balance, just as Cade returned.

His face darkened. “You don't listen well, do you?” he grumbled.

“I hear what's important,” she said. “Besides, two people can position the spider faster than one.”

His stance was wide, his feet firmly planted, when he asked, “You'll continue to argue with me, no matter what I say? Even if it's for your own safety?”

“My business, I always have the last word.”

“Last words could land you flat on your back.”

Flat on my back?
On the roof? On the ground? In his bed? The latter shook her. She was out of her mind to even go there. Still, her heart tripped. Warily, she took a step back, a bit too close to the edge for Cade's liking.

He caught her by the shoulder. His big hand curved, squeezed, as he drew her close to him. “There's nothing to break your fall, Grace. Cobblestone sidewalk, lawn. You could even land on Cinderella's pumpkin.
Splat
.”

“
Splat
” stuck with her. “I promise to be careful.”

He released her then. “The roof slopes. Stand above me.”

“So if I slip, I take us both out?”

“I'm big enough to take your weight and stop you from going over.”

That was reassuring. Cade was built. A human protective barrier between her and the ground. However, she had no intention of falling. The sooner they set up Ignacio, the quicker she'd be back on the ground.

Together, they knelt on the shingles and unfolded the inflatable. They bumped shoulders and hips. At one point, his large hand covered her own as they both reached for the same section of the heavy nylon fabric. He lifted his hand slowly, yet the feel of him lingered. Her fingers tingled. She was very aware of him.

Enormous and black, Ignacio was a customized inflatable with orange eyes and eight hairy posable legs. Cade hooked up the hose and air pump. They leaned back on their heels while it expanded. Twenty minutes later, she removed the hose and pushed in the plug. She then stood and walked around the spooky arachnid, listening for leaks. Fortunately, there were none.

Cade pushed himself up and said, “Spooky spider. He looks ready to jump on trick-or-treaters.”

“Ignacio will draw squeals and giggles.” She retrieved the bag of stakes and rope. “Let's get him anchored.”

Once the spider was secure, she retrieved the roll of gauze and began a web pattern over and under his legs. Cade then took the double-sided tape and attached the webbing to the drainpipe.

The perfectionist in her wanted to be sure he'd done it correctly, so she took a cautious step toward the edge of the roof, only to get her foot caught in the gauze. Cade jerked up on the roll, just as she stepped down. The fabric slipped between her legs. Up her thighs, all the way to her crotch. She froze. Her eyes went wide. Embarrassment colored her cheeks.

“Grace?” Cade's voice was deep, amused, questioning. He gave the webbing a tug, attempting to pull it free. Instead it rubbed intimately, at the crease between her sex and thigh. His gaze on her groin, he gave a second slow pull. His eyes darkened. A muscle jerked in his jaw. His nostrils flared. He rolled his shoulders and released the tautness of the gauze. The clearing of his throat cut the tension, the silence. “Snared in a spider's web,” he joked, lightening the moment. “Take two giant steps backward.”

She did so. The webbing slid down her leg, gathered at her ankles. She kicked it aside, and barely avoided tripping in her retreat. She felt stupid and uncoordinated. She breathed deeply, collecting herself.

Cade rose, stretched his arms over his head. Cracked his back. “What's next?”

“More ladder work,” she decided. “I want to fill the trees with orange twinkling lights.”

He cut his gaze over the yard. “How many trees?”

There were many. “All of them.”

“That's going to take hours.”

“Or less,” she defended. “You'll go high with the strands, and I'll come behind you and cover the lower branches.”

He closed his eyes, his expression pained. She awaited an argument, but he didn't raise his voice. Opening his eyes, he began cleaning up. He collected the empty cardboard roll from the gauze, the two-sided tape, and the drawstring bag. He nodded to the ladder. “I'll go down first, you follow.”

She huffed. “Still afraid I'm going to fall?”

“Just being cautious, Grace.”

“You honestly think you could catch me, if I slipped?”

“I'd try, but if I couldn't, I'd wave as you went by.” He clutched the top of the ladder, swung one leg off the roof, and stepped onto the top rung. “See you on the ground.”

She wasn't afraid of heights, but suddenly the idea of following Cade down the ladder made her stomach flutter. Should he glance up to check on her, he'd see her butt. Should she slip, she'd be sitting on his head. Her knees nearly buckled.

He paused halfway down. She nearly stepped on his hand. “
What?
” she asked.

“Making sure you're getting down okay.”

“I'm fine.”

He stared at her a moment longer. His grin was amused, sexy. He'd never looked at her
sexy
. A misstep, and her heel caught on the rung. She nearly lost her footing. He reached for her. His big hand caught her leg just above her knee. Crept higher up her thigh. Continued upward. “What are you doing?” she croaked when his palm fully cupped her bottom.

“Supporting you. You seem shaky.”

She clutched the sides of the ladder more tightly. Pulled herself together. “Not shaky.”

He released her. Chuckled. “If you say so.”

Cocky man. “I know so.”

He and his smirk continued down the ladder.

She and her nerves followed.

Her last step landed her against him. He stood so close. His arms were raised above her head, ready to move the ladder to the next location. She ducked under his arm, and their bodies brushed. Her shoulder skimmed his chest; her hip tapped his groin.

His intake of breath drew her gaze. He released a short pant. Widened his stance. His zipper no longer lay flat. It bulged. Largely.

Her lips parted on her own indrawn breath. They'd touched, and he'd gotten an erection. Her breasts grew heavy. Her panties dampened. Embarrassingly so.

Recovering, he asked, “Which tree?”

“We'll start with the white pine. I'll get the twinkle lights. They're boxed in my van.” She made it to her vehicle and back before he reached the tree.

He carried the ladder across his body, walking slowly, stiffly. She couldn't help herself, she glanced at his groin. Pronounced zipper. He was still hard.

Cade secured the ladder. Cleared his throat. “How high on the lights?” he asked her.

“As high as you can reach. I'll start at the base. We'll meet in the middle, and plug the cord into the power strip.”

She bent, opened the box, and withdrew a thirty-foot coiled strand. She handed it to him. He hooked it over his shoulder, headed up the ladder. Her gaze followed him up. He looked good climbing. Tight butt. Lean hips. Strong legs. She wet her lips, just as he happened to glance down.

“Checking the sky for rain?” he asked.

“None forecast.”

“I know.”

Chapter 3

C
ade managed to wind the lights around the tops of the maples and pines without mishap. The evergreen fought him. There was depth to the branches and the needles were prickly. He got poked in the eye, the ear. A pinecone scratched his cheek. He'd had enough. The tree was toward the back of the property. No one would notice a few missing twinklers. He tossed the remaining length of lights over a branch, and let it hang. He was done.

Grace continued to work, spacing the rows on a sugar maple evenly, effortlessly. Perfect, just like her. Some of her perfection slipped when she looked at him. She did so often. Each time he felt her eyes on him, he stared back. Their gazes locked and lingered. He was surprised any work had gotten done.

He watched her now as she plugged her last cord into the commercial power outlet. She stood back and admired their handiwork. In the cloudy midafternoon gloom, the orange lights twinkled brightly. Grace went from tree to tree, assessing the decorations.

She stopped at the evergreen, looked up. Pulled a face. “Not your best work. The distance between the strands is uneven. You didn't test the lights before they went up. Several are burned out.”

He climbed down the ladder, brushed needles from his T-shirt. Grunted, “The tree and I battled.”

“So I see.” She closed in on him, finger-brushed the scratch on his cheek. “I have antiseptic in my van.”

“I'll live.” Her touch got to him, light with concern. He turned his face away. “No one's going to care if the strands aren't wrapped exactly a foot apart”—he'd seen her measuring with a ruler—“or if one or two tiny lights don't sparkle.”

“I care.” Her voice was soft, yet firm. “I counted at least ten dark bulbs toward the top.”

The top
. He groaned.

“I have replacements at my shop. We'll go get them.”

We?
She was dragging him with her. The lady had trust issues. Did she honestly think he'd disappear the moment she drove off? He rolled his tongue inside his cheek, said, “You don't need to keep an eye on me. I've every intention of finishing the job.”

“I never thought you wouldn't,” she said evenly. “I need your muscle in the storeroom. There are several heavy boxes blocking the spare light bulbs. I'll need them moved.”

He'd misjudged her. “Let's do it.”

He rode with her to Charade. She was a cautious driver, slowing and stopping when streetlights turned yellow. Coming to a complete halt at stop signs, and not rolling through. Their windows were down, and a light breeze played with her hair, as would a man's hands. Gently flipping the ends. Brushing her bangs off her forehead. He liked her mussed. Sexy and approachable.

He'd become as curious about her as she had about him. According to Amelia, they had a lot in common, more than he'd imagined. She was different from other women he knew. Aloof heat, he thought. Uptight. She needed to replace her need for perfection with an orgasm. Sex would relax her.

“We're here.” Grace nudged him with her elbow.

Cade blinked. His concentration had been on her and not their destination. She'd already parked in the alley between her shop and the local drugstore. He rolled his shoulders, unbuckled his seat belt, and exited the minivan.

He'd never been inside Charade. Never had a reason. He wasn't into costumes. He'd once dated a woman who got off on role-playing. She'd dressed up as a slutty nurse, and he'd been her naked, bedridden patient. She played jungle archaeologist, and discovered him, a naked tribesman, heavily tattooed with edible body paint. She'd licked dark chocolate from his chest. Tasted caramel at his groin. He did naked well.

He followed Grace now, as she entered through the side door that led to the storeroom. He stopped just inside the door. Where to go? A maze of paths wound between big boxes, stacked from floor to ceiling. He scanned several labels: dragon inflatable, bounce house, Fourth of July parade costumes, dollhouse,
Star Wars
light-sabers.
Adults Only
raised his eyebrow. Apparently she was prepared for any request.

“Over here, Cade,” Grace called from the far corner. He maneuvered toward her. She stood before six stacked boxes. “Second from the top, please, marked bulbs. It's not terribly heavy. Just don't drop it. All glass.”

He gazed upward. “How'd you get the box up there in the first place?” he asked.

“Four women and a ladder.”

“Only one man to get it down?”

“I thought you capable.”

He was. He only needed a ladder. She produced a rolling ladder on a ceiling track. She locked the bottom wheels. He climbed, shifted the top box, and easily secured the carton of bulbs under his arm. Once back on the floor, he asked, “Want me to put the box in your van?”

“Thanks. Let me check with Kayla, my store manager, and I'll be right with you.”

“
Right with him
” ran twenty minutes. He watched as a steady stream of customers came and went. All carried garment bags to their cars. Costume rentals were going strong. Cade ran one hand down his face. He debated going after Grace. Three hours of daylight remained. There'd be no decorating after dark. A bar stool at The Thirsty Raven had his name on it. He deserved a tall, cold Sea Dog after rolling pumpkins, stringing twinklers, and dealing with Grace.

He slapped his palms against his thighs, sought her. He reentered the shop. Maneuvering the storeroom, he pushed through Western saloon–styled batwing doors, and found himself amid racks of hanging costumes and shelved accessories. Make-believe stared him in the face. He took it all in.

He soon located Grace behind the checkout counter. He headed toward her, only to be stopped by Mrs. Wayford, a surgical nurse from the local hospital. She was a rather large woman, who fit better in scrubs than her present velvet and lace ball gown. She stood before the outer dressing room mirror, straightening her powdered wig.

She lightly touched his arm. “Marie Antoinette, what do you think, Cade?”

History had been his favorite subject in high school and college. “Very . . . French,” wasn't much of a compliment, but it was all he had.

The woman swirled her skirt, beamed. “I feel like the queen of France. There'll be no ‘off with my head' on Halloween.”

He'd nearly made it past the row of dressing rooms, when Gina Avery, a longtime friend and day-care provider, requested his opinion. An aviator cap covered her short hair. She eyed him through a pair of goggles. “Steampunk, I'm a sky-pirate. You like?”

He liked a lot. He was seeing Gina in a whole new light. Gone were her T-shirt, jeans, and tennis shoes, replaced by a brown leather, wide-belted corset and tight, black leather pants. Several zippers ran down the sides of her hips as decoration, and buttoned straps ornamented the front of each shin. Spike-heeled, knee-high boots were banded with brass straps and buckles across the ankle and calf.

She wouldn't be changing diapers, bottle-feeding, or chasing rug rats in that outfit. He half-expected her to captain an airship, and sail over sea and sky.

“Hot,” covered her new look.

She winked at him. “If you're in the mood for exploration, I'll be at Rose Cottage on Halloween.”

“I'll keep that in mind.”

A costumed sheriff swaggered out of the last dressing room he passed. He was a man of moderate height, wearing a cowboy hat low on his forehead, a fake handlebar mustache, red bandanna at his neck, white shirt, brown suede vest with a silver badge, jeans, a holster with two gray plastic guns slung low on his hips, and boots. The man tipped back his hat, pulled a gun, and grinned at Cade. “Stick 'em up, dude.”

Jim Kramer, police officer, had stepped back in time. Instead of controlling small-town crime, he was out to tame the Wild West. “Amelia's Halloween party,” Cade guessed.

“The wife and I take the kids trick-or-treating first, then we hire a babysitter for our night out. Rose Cottage is a good time. You going?”

“No immediate plans.”

“It's kick-ass. You get your spooky on.”

“I'm not really into spooky.”

“It's open house, you walk in, walk out.”

“In costume.”

“Charade has lots of options, man,” Jim encouraged him. “There's even a black T-shirt with orange lettering that says
This Is My Costume
.”

The shirt Cade could manage, if he was planning to attend. He wasn't. So he passed with, “Watch out for bank robbers and gunslingers at the party.”

Jim twirled the plastic gun on his index finger. “I'm ready to make an arrest.”

Cade needed to find Grace. “The boss lady?”

Jim knew exactly where he could find her. “See that line of kids at the front counter?”

Cade nodded. Ten or more youngsters stood patiently. Grace addressed each one. “What's going on?”

“They're bartering for costumes. Grace has a big heart. She lends costumes to those who can't afford the full rental price. Kids repay her with candy, after they've been trick-or-treating.”

Bartering?
This he had to see. He walked toward them, only to stop by a rack of capes. He squinted between hangers, staying hidden. He recognized the children. Each of them lived with single parents or in a foster home. For all of them, money would be tight. Most couldn't afford a cool costume.

He listened as Tommy Olson, a fifth grader, spoke intently to Grace. “How much for Batman?” He clenched his hands and held his breath.

Grace was thoughtful. “That's a popular costume, Tommy. Worth three bite-size Butterfingers.”

“I can go four,” the boy replied.

“We have a deal.”

The boy released his breath, whooped. He pumped his arm. Bounced on his toes. Ecstatic.

Cade swallowed hard. Grace was generous. Tommy kept his pride.

“Return the costume on Monday,” Grace reminded the boy. “Not too dirty.”

“Dirty wasn't my fault last year,” Tommy defended. “It rained, I slipped—”

“Slipped?” Grace called him on it. “That's not quite how I heard it. You jumped in puddles and kicked mud. You added a lot of spots to the Dalmatian costume.”

He pulled a face. “Who squealed on me?”

“The ghost of Halloween past.”

“I'll do better this year, promise.”

Grace nodded. “I'm sure you will. Go get your costume, and Kayla will pack it up for you. Do you need a treat bag?”

“Too small,” the boy said. “I'm going with a grocery sack. I'm expecting a haul.”

Cade edged closer, not ready to make himself known. He wanted to catch the exchange between Grace and Libby Talbot. Seven and shy, Libby talked to the floor. Eye contact would come when she got older, he figured. She came from a big family. Her mother had suddenly passed away, and her dad worked two jobs. Her older brothers and sisters talked over and around her. Libby couldn't have gotten a word in edgewise, even if she'd tried.

Grace took her time with the girl. Her voice was soft, encouraging, when she questioned, “Which costume, Libby?”

Libby dipped her head, shrugged her tiny shoulders.

Grace rounded the end of the counter, knelt down beside the girl. “Mermaid, Supergirl, princess?” she suggested.

Libby shook her head. She tucked her chin against her chest.

“A pink bunny, Minnie Mouse?”

“Yoda,” the boy behind her said. “She's short.”

The galactic Jedi master? Cade silently disagreed. Not a good fit. Libby was too delicate. Too girly.

Grace passed on Yoda, too. “Ballerina, then? I have a new rainbow tutu.”

“No,” was barely audible from Libby.

Grace grew thoughtful. Tapping one finger against her chin, she proposed, “You like candy, right?”

Libby raised her head slightly. Nodded.

“I like sweets, too,” admitted Grace. “You could wear the same costume I did when I was your age.”

The girl's eyes rounded in interest.

“A roll of Life Savers.”

Libby giggled, a tight, raspy sound.

“It's one piece, designed with all five flavors, and easy to wear,” Grace assured her. “The costume comes with a plastic pumpkin candy bucket.”

Libby's lips moved, but Cade couldn't hear what she'd asked or said. He presumed she'd asked the cost, given Grace's response.

“Two Pixy Stix and a hug.”

Another giggle, pure happiness as Libby launched herself into Grace's arms. Libby rested her head on Grace's shoulder and her whole body sighed. She was slow in letting go.

Afterward, Grace stood. She called to another of her assistants. “Cheryl, one roll of Life Savers to go. Extra-small.”

Cheryl joined them. She held out her hand to Libby, and the girl grabbed hold. They headed for the children's section. Libby's steps were light.

Cade waited for Grace to speak to one final boy before he reminded her of the time. Over an hour had passed. Last came thirteen-year-old Ricky Riley. He was rough and tumble. All boy. His father was a janitor, and it was rumored the old man took Ricky to work with him at night, and had him cleaning. Ricky didn't do well in school, and absenteeism had forced him to repeat the sixth grade. He was basically a good kid, chewing bubble gum, and hopped up on Halloween.

“Vampire, zombie, mummy, or flying monkey?” he asked Grace. “I want the scariest costume.”

Grace focused on the teen, as if he were the only customer in the store. Ricky ate up her attention. “Vampire comes with a set of fake teeth and a neat cape. You could dab ketchup on your lip for blood,” she said. “I have a skeleton zombie that's gruesome and grungy. Great detail, with bones sticking through the fabric. The mummy is a classic monster from a horror movie. Full body wrap with tears and tatters. Flying monkeys take you to the dark side of
The Wizard of Oz
. Wicked monkey mask and wide wings.”