Yearning for Love (9 page)

Yes. I said it – I am head over freakin’ heels in love with Corey Temple. I’d love to climb to the roof of this old house and shout it out –  but I’d be more likely to break my damn neck, so that’ll have to wait. I take my cup of coffee and sit on the sofa next to Brenda, where I ask her where some of her guests are.

“Ashleigh’s parents have gone to the Inn of the Mountain Gods to celebrate New Year’s Eve, so we agreed to watch the kids for them. Our other guests from Canada have gone into Ruidoso, where they’re celebrating at a hotel or a restaurant with a bar. What about you?”

I whisper my answer to her. “If I can’t go with Corey, I’d rather have a quiet evening here.”

Brenda lowers her voice as well. “Ah. I think you both have it bad. I just hope the two of you come to your senses before long.”

I blush. Her zinger hit home. She’s right. I smile and say, “I’m going to try getting her to talk to me tomorrow, actually. Do you have other repairs that need to be done?”

Brenda’s voice rises to its normal tone. “You’re going to do work around here? On
New Year’s Eve
?”

“Why not? You will be. You have guests here, and you’re not going to expect them to do things for themselves.”

“Good point. Actually, I do have a can of paint stored away. I’ve been planning on painting the door frames to the Mescalero room – a previous guest’s son decided it would be fun to take a sharp object to the paint, and while I’ve made some short-term fixes to that, it needs to be properly painted to look right. I had a workman sand off the ruined paint and prime it, but he never came back to finish the job.”

“I’m your man,” I tell Brenda with a grin.

Shortly after that, Brenda brings out sparkling cider for the under-21 guests and wine for the adults. We don party hats and blow noisemakers as 2013 starts. Shortly after that, I see Ashleigh and her older brother conked out on the armchairs. I take Zack and Corey takes Ashleigh. We silently put the children to bed, putting their pajamas on, and pulling the covers up to their shoulders. I finish first and wait for Corey in the hallway. When she comes out, she looks down and . . . ignores me. Dammit! I am getting so sick of this.

I get another fun vision of the future with Corey – seeing her put our little girl to bed after we’ve gone out for a late evening. I’m standing to the side of Natalia’s crib watching, as Corey quickly and expertly changes the baby’s diaper and slips a sleeper onto her sleeping body. I give her a cozy blanket and she gently covers Natalia, turns on a nightlight, puts on a soft CD with classical music, and closes the bedroom door, leaving it slightly ajar.

Corey
:  I feel Nate behind me as I walk downstairs. When I was carrying Ashleigh upstairs, I realized he had her older brother, and swore silently to myself. Why couldn’t mom have gotten Zack ready? Nate’s worked his magic on her, that’s why. He’s been all over this old house, chopping and bringing in wood, cleaning and making repairs that mom hasn’t had the time to make. Next thing I know, he’s going to be taking her bookings - but not if I have anything to say about that. I’m going to have to work on Mom about my taking over the business side of her operation –
 
preferably after I drop-kick Nate into Texas. I join Mom in cleaning up the downstairs and rinsing out glasses. She tells me to leave them, and we can hand wash them in the morning.

In my room, I get ready for bed, and sliding under my covers, I resume my e-book. After about half an hour, my eyes begin to feel heavy, so I turn my Kindle off and go to sleep . . .
I’m walking in the Lincoln National Forest, thinking about Nate and our relationship. We’ve finally managed to communicate our feelings to each other, and have begun a loving, mutually satisfying relationship. I am still working with him at Drummond Oil because he says he can’t find another executive assistant as skilled as I am at helping him keeping the company running smoothly and profitably.

I look up and see Nate walking toward me with a grin creasing his lean, handsome face. When he reaches me, he places both warm hands on my cold cheeks, and gives me a searching kiss, then says, “If you don’t want me to take you right here, you’d better stop doing this.”

I look at him and say, “You’re the one kissing me!” I wrap both arms around his waist as he walks with me. We reach a sun-splashed area and he stops me, pulling a small, velvet-covered box out of his jacket pocket. Getting down on one knee, he looks up at me and asks, “Corey Temple, would you please do me the honor of becoming my wife? Making my life complete?”

I gasp and say, “Yes! A million times, yes!”

The next morning, I’m up, getting ready for the New Year’s Day celebration. Because we’re going to have posole, I choose a deep red heavy sweater and some dark blue jeans. Spills might be inevitable, but I don’t have to let them show. I look outside, curious to see what the snowstorm did. My heart falls – for the first time, I’m not happy that it’s snowed. As deep as it looks out there, Nate can’t leave, and that means I’m stuck with him – for another night, at least. Grumbling under my breath, I go downstairs.

“And, why are you growling under your breath, Corey?” Mom asks me.

“If it hadn’t snowed, Nate could have left today, that’s why.” I talk quietly, just in case Nate’s on his way downstairs.

After breakfast, I tackle some of the never-ending paperwork for the B&B. I ask Mom about her taxes.

“I have an accountant who takes care of all that. I have every receipt and piece of paper filed, so when it’s time for me to take them to her, I’m not searching for a missing item,” Mom says.

“Good . . . what’s Mr. Drummond doing?” I ask her

“Corey! You need to fix things up with him –
 
and you know that.” Mom gives me one of her few scoldings.

I clamp my lips against a retort, because, while I don’t want to acknowledge it, I know she’s right.

“He’s painting the door frame of the Mescalero room. You know, the one that little boy decided would look better with random scratches from the floor up as high as he could reach.”

“Oh, yes, I remember him. What did you tell his parents?”

“I told them to pay for the repair to the door frame –
 
and that, since they did nothing to stop him, even though he did it in front of them, they weren’t welcome back here.”

“Good! You don’t need guests who ruin your property,” I say. By this time, we’re working, me on the breakfast and Mom on the posole. She boiled the chunks of pork yesterday and blended the red chili. It goes without saying that Ashleigh and Zack will be getting bean and cheese burritos at our celebration.

This time, Nate doesn’t come down until we are taking breakfast to the sideboard –
 
oatmeal with raisins and cinnamon, scrambled eggs, bacon and sausage. I’m grateful that he stayed upstairs. He’s freshly shaved and wearing an old sweatshirt – one that he won’t mind getting paint stains on. After breakfast, he disappears upstairs while I work on the dishes. I check the beans for lunch, and make sure we have sufficient food for our guests and ourselves. As the posole cooks, my mouth waters. Mom learned how to make so many dishes when she went to chef school. Her posole is one of her best dishes. She uses the most tender cuts of pork she can find, and mixes a good combination of mild and hot red chilis in the blender. I chop a half onion that’s left in the refrigerator, peel and chop up a second one, and cover a bowl with plastic wrap and store it in the fridge. Opening a fresh container of oregano, I pour this into a second bowl.

I run a quick eye over the preparations for lunch, then escape into the living area, where I see Ashleigh with her eyes closed. She’s sniffing blissfully.

“That smells so good! What is it?” she asks me.

“It’s a dish called ‘posole.’ It’s kind of a Mexican stew with chunks of beef, big pieces of white corn . . . and red chili. We have beans, and we’re going to make burritos for you and your brother,” I tell her.

“Po-so-lay? It has chili?”  Ashleigh’s face fell. “But that’s so hot!”

“I tell you what –
 
if you’ll ask your mommy and daddy if you can have a small piece of meat or the corn, I’ll get you a little bowl and you can have some,” I tell her.

“Really? Will it be hot like the chili?” Ashleigh is really worried about the taste of dinner. Being from a state where chili isn’t very common, it’s an unusual experience for her.

“I’ll make sure that I drain off as much as possible. If it gets hot for you, drink some milk, and you should be okay,” I suggest.

“Oh-kay.” Ashleigh is clearly doubtful, but she really wants to taste the source of the good smells.

I miss hearing Nate coming downstairs with the can of paint. He’s finished the door frame.

“Morning, Corey!” he says brightly.

I steadfastly ignore him, paying full attention to Ashleigh.

“Corey, that nice man talked to you,” she said in a teasing voice.

“Hmmm, so he did. Morning,
Mr. Drummond
.”

I realize that ignoring Nate, who’s only being polite, is not something I should be teaching a small child like Ashleigh

Nate
: 
Oh, thank you, little Ashleigh
! Hah! She just forced Corey to talk to me! Maybe I should keep her next . . . nah, that wouldn’t work. Corey is too damn good at ignoring me, and I’m running out of ways and time to get her to understand that I love her. After I wash the paint brush in the storage area, I store everything away, and run back upstairs to clean up and change into something presentable –
 
something that, hopefully, will knock her onto her curvy little ass. I select a blue dress shirt that matches my eyes. Because it’s a casual New Year’s dinner, I select a pair of jeans instead of dress slacks. As I bound back downstairs, I see Corey carrying a large pot full of the tasty red chili stew. She bends, carefully setting it onto the sideboard. Brenda follows her with condiments and garnishes on a large, rectangular tray. I step up to Brenda and take the tray from her. She directs me as to where to put each item. Corey returns to the kitchen and brings out jugs of beverages. I walk  into the kitchen with Brenda, and she points to two burritos she has wrapped in parchment paper. I carry them out on a small plate and set it on a trivet.

Corey
:  Now that Ashleigh is aware that I’m not talking to Nate, I’m forced to interact with him. I resolve to keep it to a minimum.

“Brenda, what kind of pork cut do you use for the meat? This is so tender,” he asks my mother.

“Sometimes I use a rump roast, and other times I use chops. This time, I used the roast. All I do is cut the meat off the bone, and boil it until it’s cooked. It’s very tender, but you need to make sure to cut the fat off.”

Ashleigh tugs on the sleeve of my red sweater.

“Corey, may I have a taste?”

I look at her parents and they nod their consent. I pick up a slotted spoon and carefully fish out a small piece of meat and several of the hominy, or corn, pieces. Allowing them to drain, I set them on Ashleigh’s plate and look at her older brother. He nods eagerly, saying “I’d like some, please.” I fish some hominy and meat out for him as well, telling both children that if the food is too hot for their tastes, to drink from their milk glasses. They nod. I smile as Ashleigh looks with a combination of anticipation and fear at the morsels on her plate. I encourage her by taking a bite of my own – the chili is actually mild.

She picks up her spoon, and scoops up a piece of hominy and puts it in her mouth. Her eyes close, anticipating a burst of  . . . something. As she swallows, they open in surprise, and she scoops up the rest of the hominy and meat.

“Zack, it’s not too hot! Try it!” she tells him. “Mommy, may I have more, please?” she asks.

“It’s fine with me, but finish your burritos first. Then, Corey can scoop out more for you,” her mom says.

I look up and catch Nate’s amused eyes. The effect they have on me! I feel the pull of his eyes and personality, and lose my breath. I cover by taking a bite of posole and a bolillo roll. I tear my eyes away from his, not wanting them to affect me so strongly. I choke on a bite of posole, my eyes watering as I cough. Ashleigh reaches up and claps me strongly on my back, saying, “Corey, raise your hands above your head.”

Ashleigh is such a sweetie, I automatically do so and feel immediate relief. The wisdom of little children! I exhale slowly and carefully, vowing not to look at Nate’s face again, as we eat our lunch. I drink deeply from my cup of tea, hoping the coughing jag is over now.

Nate
:  Damn! I think she’s about to talk to me, then she stuffs her mouth, and looks away again. This is so frustrating! I know I screwed up, but, come on! How long can one small woman hold onto her anger? She chokes on her food and Ashleigh helps her get through it –
 
then Corey refuses to look at me.

I need to think of something to do, and fast. I need to head back to El Paso tomorrow so I can be in the office on Monday – preferably with Corey still working in my front office, and sleeping with me in my bed. When I realize how short the time is, I decide I’d better think of how to bump things along more quickly.