and certainly didn’t try, she had gotten the gist of them, anyway—all hell seemed to have broken loose in his office. No wonder he popped antacids as if they were going out of style.
What a dreadful way of life. Still, that was his choice, and he seemed to thrive on pressure. That was why she expected him to renege on his stay and leave at any time, regardless of his client and regardless of the status of his vehicle. She crossed her fingers that would be the case. Having him underfoot for even one night was not good. Seeing him again had affected her much more than she cared to admit. Her mind’s eye suddenly conjured up the whipcord leanness of his body at the same time her senses smelled the slightly musky odor that was exclusively his.
And when he looked at her in that certain way, her entire body tingled. Stop it! she told herself. Stop adding fuel to an already smoldering fire. Those memories were not welcome. Besides, she could feel the anxiety building inside her, and she couldn’t afford to let that happen. She’d been doing so well. No way was Denton Hardesty going to undermine that.
Suddenly unable to stand her idle hands, Grace scooped up the remains of snack time and almost ran into the kitchen. Keeping her momentum, she grabbed a bowl out of the cabinet, then crossed to the pantry where she latched on to a box of coffee cake mix, rationalizing that something different would be an extra attraction for tomorrow’s breakfast. That way she could get ahead and keep her mind and hands occupied at the same time.
She was stirring the batter as if it was the enemy when she looked up and watched Zelma walk back in. “I thought you were taking a nap.” Grace grinned. “Or something.”
Zelma’s mouth turned down. “Ed’s snoring. What does that tell you?”
Grace’s grin spread. “That you struck out.”
“What’s that you’re whipping up on?” Zelma asked.
“Coffee cake.”
“Ah, more fat for these hips.”
“Pooh. You don’t have an ounce of fat on you.”
“Well, Ed does, but he’s working on it.”
“Think he’ll forgive me for throwing temptation in his wake?”
“He won’t forgive you if you don’t.”
They both chuckled, then Zelma said, “I came to see if you wanted to go dancing with us.”
“Dancing?”
“Yeah, in Austin. We accidentally stumbled on a place that caters to old folks like us. Last week, though, there were several singles that joined in. So how about it?”
“Thanks, but I’ll pass. It’s been a long day.”
Zelma eyed her curiously. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Ah, come on and go. It’ll do you good to shake a leg.”
Both women turned and watched as Ed strolled in. Grace frowned, thinking something was not quite right about him, but she couldn’t say what. For starters his color wasn’t good; he looked almost pasty. She wondered if Zelma had picked up on that. Should she express her concern? No. It could just be her imagination which meant she would set off an alarm for nothing. But what if it wasn’t?
“Ed, are you okay?” Grace asked.
“Yeah, honey,” Zelma said, frowning in his direction. “You look—”
“I’m fine, sweetheart,” Ed interrupted. He winked at Grace. “You’re feeding me too good. That’s the problem.”
Still not convinced, but deciding to let the matter drop, Grace smiled. “So you two go ahead and shake all the legs you want. I’m heading for the bathtub.”
“We’ll see you later, then, hon,” Ed said, taking Zelma’s arm and steering her out.
Grace watched as they left the room, then turned her attention back to the cake batter, noticing that it had lumped on her. She began stirring it harder than ever.
“Why didn’t you take them up on their offer?”
Grace’s hands stilled, but her pulse didn’t. It spiked to an all-time high. She raised her head. He was standing just inside the kitchen, looking and smelling much more appetizing than the cake batter in front of her. He had on a white knit shirt and a pair of casual slacks that left no doubt as to the strength of his muscles.
Judging from the dampness of his hair, he’d apparently just showered, which should have made him appear more rested. It didn’t. It was obvious that he was tired, the grooves cutting deeper than ever into his eyes and mouth.
“I didn’t want to dance, that’s why,” she finally said, dragging her gaze off him.
“It sounds like fun.”
“I’m sure they’d let you tag along,” she said for lack of anything better to say.
His lips quirked as he stepped closer. “I don’t think so.”
“Are you hungry?” she forced herself to ask. She had to dispel the sudden burgeoning tension.
“No, thanks.”
“Just tired, huh?”
“Is it that obvious?”
“To me it is.”
“Maybe that’s because you know me so well.”
Her eyes flared. “I don’t know you at all.”
“I haven’t changed that much.”
“Oh, please,” she muttered, feeling as if she just stepped off into quicksand, and it was about to suck her under. But then that was the effect he’d always had on her from the first day she’d met him. Apparently, the years hadn’t changed that, much to her chagrin.
“I like your kitchen.”
His mentioning such a mundane thing was like being thrown a lifeline. She brightened and said, “Since I love to cook, I wanted it to be special.”
And it was, with the large airy windows that went from ceiling to floor, letting in warmth and light and greenery from the outside. One seemed to be embraced the instant one walked in. Another attraction were the updated countertops and the polished hardwood cabinets.
“It feels like you’ve brought the outside in,” Denton said, plopping down on the bar stool in front of her.
It was all Grace could do not to flinch visibly as his body seemed to envelop her. Unable to meet his direct gaze, she took a quivering breath, then pretended to stare outside. “I take that as a real compliment because that’s exactly what I strove to do.”
“So you decorated the house?”
His question drew her back around. “Most of it. Couldn’t afford to hire anyone.” Afraid she might sound as if she was whining, she added hastily, “But I wanted the responsibility, loved every minute of making this old place come back alive after sitting vacant for several years.” She paused. “I’m not through, though, not by a long shot. There’s so much else I want to do that needs to be done.”
“I have faith in you,” he said in a low tone.
Had that been his breath she felt caress her cheek? Swallowing against the clamoring going on inside her, she asked, “Sure you aren’t hungry?”
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“What you have to offer.”
She expelled a shaky breath but it did little to relieve the pressure inside her. He was deliberately toying with her emotions. But if she hit him with that accusation, he’d deny it. Or would he?
God, what an intolerable situation. Drawing back, she said, in what she hoped was a perfectly normal