All About Charming Alice (3 page)

“Well that’s all the more reason to get going and order the thingamajig. I hate heating up pans of water on the stove in order to have a bath. This is the twenty-first century, even if it’s only the first part of it.”

But Pa Handy wasn’t to be fobbed off easily; Ma Handy would have his head on a plate if he didn’t bring home a morsel of juicy gossip. “Yep, a good looking man, he was. When’s he coming back to pick up his dog?”

“He’s not.” Alice snapped. “He just dumped the dog off. Claimed it wasn’t his.”

“I see,” said Pa slowly. “Don’t you believe him?”

Alice let out a hiss of warning. “I don’t know and I don’t care. Go home, Pa.”

“Doesn’t look like the kind of nice man who’d do that.”

“Oh really!” Her voice dripped sarcasm. “And just what does a dog-dumper look like? Do they have horns and long reticulated tails? Or do they look just like you and me?”

“No. You won’t convince me. He had a nice, kind face. As I said, a good looking man. Too bad he didn’t stick around. Well, no matter.”

“You know what, Pa?” said Alice, determined to end the discussion — such as it was. “I’ll bet Ma is sitting in her kitchen at this very moment with a long list of things you have to fix in your own house. Things you never seem to get around to doing, or so she tells me.”

A faintly nervous shadow crossed Pa’s face. Ma Handy was a terror. Almost everyone in the world was afraid of her tongue — especially Pa. Under her homey, welcoming exterior, Ma Handy was a foul tempered Napoleon with ulcers.

“Okay, okay. I’m going.” With a devilish wink, he sidled in the direction of the door. “I’ll be in touch.”

“You do that.” As if the residents here in Blake’s Folly could do anything else but keep in touch. Blake’s Folly: population of fifty-three and growing smaller every year. All you had to do was scratch your neck in a dark room, curtains drawn, windows closed, at three in the morning, and for a week, the other fifty-two residents would be asking if mosquitoes were bad out your way.

She didn’t dare sigh with relief until she heard the front door close and the wooden steps creak as Pa made his wending way home.

Of course, all of Blake’s Folly would know about the stranger and his dog by now. If Doug Farley at the gas station had given him directions to her house, then Lucy Farley would have been on the phone to Jane Grimes two seconds later. And Jane would have told Tony and Tony would have mentioned it to Mick Fletcher. Any minute now, Pa would be telling Ma how good looking that stranger had been and how he’d looked at her — Alice.

“Killer,” she said looking down at the dog still sitting expectantly at her feet. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into, coming to a place like this.”

Killer wagged his tail happily in answer.

“Of course, it’s not as if you had a choice.” She stopped and shook her head in dismay. If the other residents of Blake’s Folly could see her now, deep in conversation with this dog, then they’d really think she was odd. They probably wouldn’t be very far from the truth, either.

Especially if they knew where her thoughts really wanted to go — in the direction of the man she had just met, had talked to for no more than ten minutes. A man for whom she had felt nothing less than pure desire.

Desire for a total stranger? For a man whose name she didn’t even know? A man she’d never, ever, see again? Or would she? His face: there was something vaguely familiar about it, although she was more than certain she’d never seen him before. If she had, she wouldn’t have forgotten him.

Sighing, Alice looked out the large kitchen window, watched a sudden breeze catch desert dust in a gentle whirl, set branches of wild buckweed and sticky snakeweed quivering. It looked — almost — as if they were shaking with laughter.

He was back.

Somehow, Alice had known he would be: hadn’t her female intuition been humming, warning her he was still out there in the flatland? And now there was no missing the sound of the motor of that dusty Land Rover as it rolled up the track. She heard the car door slam. Then … silence. She waited. Nothing.

Fighting to keep her face stiff and emotionless, she pulled open the still groaning front door.

There he was, looking just as wonderful as she remembered, sitting on the rattan settee on her veranda as if that was where he belonged. His long muscular legs in their jeans were stretched out in front of him. A lock of reddish brown hair curled over his forehead almost inviting her fingers to touch. Cool, steady green eyes watched her with amusement.

“Yes?” It came out coldly, thank goodness. The very last thing she wanted was for him to know the effect his presence was having on her — again — or how quickly her heart was beating.

He didn’t seem to mind the coolness one bit, not any more than he had during their first meeting. Instead, in that easy, smooth way of his, he simply crossed one ankle over the other. And grinned! What did he have to grin about, this arrogant, overconfident, smug person?

Hell, this was her property; she didn’t have to tolerate uninvited people! “Listen, this is private … ”

“It’s about the room,” he drawled, effectively cutting off her protestations.

“The room? What room?” What in heaven’s name was he talking about?

“The room.” His lips twitched as he fought down a grin and his eyes flickered in the direction of the card pinned to the woodwork. “‘ROOM TO LET,’ that says.”

Alice’s heart sank. Of course. Her brain wasn’t functioning! But when she’d thought of renting out one of her rooms in order to make ends meet, she hadn’t — not even for one single second — imagined some charismatic man passing this way. She couldn’t let him into her house!

“There
is
no room to let. I just forgot to take the sign down. I’ll go and do it now. Good bye, mister … ”

“Jace is the name. Jace Constant. Easy to remember, as far as names go.”

Better to forget, if she knew what was good for her. Not that she could. She’d heard the name before, all right. Many people had.

Jace Constant was the investigative journalist who’d won prizes for his stories before changing careers and becoming a best-selling novelist. That’s why he’d looked familiar: she’d seen his face on the back covers of his books. So he was famous — although that wasn’t the reason her heart was thumping wildly now. All she wanted to do was run, block out the green eyes, the long, lithe torso … and stop reacting like a besotted fifteen-year-old!

“And I came to check up on Killer, of course.”

“Finally missing the dog you abandoned?” The words popped out of her mouth before she could stop them. She forced her mouth into a sardonic little smile.

“He’s not my dog. You still don’t believe me?” It wasn’t a question, not really. His voice was calm, assured. “Look at it this way. Why would I come back if I’d actually abandoned him? I’d have to be downright stupid.”

Suddenly he rose to his feet and, in that languid way of his, crossed to the doorway where she stood. She was a tallish woman but, still, he towered over her. Casually, stretching out one arm, he rested his hand on the doorframe, just a hair’s breadth above her head. He was close, so close. His body was supple, strong and — yes, she had to admit it — warm and fragrant. The heat of him reached her over the few inches separating them and she ached to curve into it. Aura? This man was a flesh-and-blood heat wave.

The strange, tingling excitation was flowing through her again like thick port wine. She lowered her eyes, refusing to meet his gaze, although she knew he was, once again, examining her minutely.

“And I want to take the room.”

“Look, you don’t need my room,” she said, desperation evident in her tone. “There’s a perfectly reasonable motel the other side of the Winterback Mine, out in the direction of Logan. Actually, it’s far better equipped to take in tourists than anything you’d find here in Blake’s Folly.”

“I know. Rider Motel. Air conditioning, closed circuit television. Right across from the Dew Drop Inn.” His smile was wry. “That’s exactly where I’ve been staying for the last three nights. And over and over again during those three nights I remembered Blake’s Folly and the ‘ROOM TO LET’ sign on your wall. And the more I thought about it, the more appealing it got. There’s nothing worse than an impersonal motel room when you have to stay in an area for a while.” He paused; letting his eyes wander over the faded wooden framing, over the settee on the veranda. “Right here, it feels more like home.”

That wasn’t it, she knew. That wasn’t even part of the truth. He was back because something hot and wonderful shimmered between them. Did she fascinate him as much as he did her? Possibly. Although she hadn’t done anything to encourage him, not even once. It would have been hard to find anyone less friendly than she’d been.

Still, there was something about him that touched her, something that had nothing to do with raw desire. Was it the warmth in his eyes? A quirk to his lips that promised humor and understanding? Or was it just plain magic — the magic that happens when the right female meets the right male? Whatever it was, she’d been unsuccessful in putting him out of her head for days.

She knew she was softening.

He must have felt it too, and he pushed his point further. “Everyone — or almost everyone — needs the feeling that there’s a home somewhere. I’m sure you understand that.”

She nodded slowly, reluctance fighting with sympathy. “What are you doing in the area?”

And immediately felt the flush crossing her cheeks. She didn’t want to be interested in him. She wanted to blot him out. She’d opened her mouth, intending to refuse him, but the question had popped out instead. And that had opened the door to conversation. He’d realized it too, and she could almost feel his body relax with relief.

“I’m working on a book on the Old West, so I’ll be poking around the area for a while.”

Alice couldn’t help smiling. “Blake’s Folly’s a great place for history. Lucy Warner’s pig gave birth to fifteen piglets once. That was back in thirty-two, I think.”

His eyes met hers evenly. “Nineteen thirty-three. The fifth of August. A hot month for hard work like that.” He gave a short laugh. “Nothing important gets past us serious researchers.”

Suddenly there was a loud thump followed by a wild scraping of claws. Seconds later, a huge black dog thrust itself past Alice and threw itself against Jace, almost knocking him backward.

“Killer! Down!”

Killer wriggled like an eel, danced a doggie jig on the veranda floor and still managed to stare up at Jace with supplication. He was ecstatic.

Jace bent down and gingerly patted Killer’s head, then looked back up at Alice with slight embarrassment. “Normally I never pat dogs. I never understood why anyone would want to.” He observed Killer again. “There’s pure adoration in his eyes. It gets to me, somehow.”

Killer nestled in closer, wagging his long, seedy-looking tail wildly and Jace patted him again, this time with more tenderness. Alice felt herself relenting. She loved animals — any animal: dogs, cats, rabbits. And snakes.

And this man was touching her too much. Far too much. She had to bring her defenses back into play. “That isn’t the way a dog normally reacts when he meets a total stranger.”

Jace met her semblance of hostility with his limpid green gaze. “I’m not a total stranger. I fed him my packed lunch the other day, remember?” He looked down at Killer, grinned ruefully. “I still didn’t know why I stopped for him. Anyway, we’ve been through all this already. As I said, I’m here about the room.”

She hesitated — just for a fraction of a second — but she knew he’d heard it. And that meant he knew she’d tell him a lie. “There was a room, but I’ve already rented it out.”

So. That should settle it. Now he’d have to turn around, leave, go somewhere else. Find another room in another town. And she’d never have to see him again, never have to run the risk of feeling too much for someone. Someone unsuitable. Someone who would always be unattainable. But at the same time, a faint desert breeze tickled the stray lock of hair on his forehead, and all her fingers ached to do were reach out, caress.

“Couldn’t help overhearing.” A gruff, over-hearty voice sliced into the silence. Both Alice and Jace jumped.

Pa Handy, rubbing his hands against his rather grimy overalls, rumbled out of the house. “Here to rent the room, are you? Well that’s a good thing, isn’t it, Alice? You’d almost given up hope! Now you’ll have a bit more spare cash to feed all those mongrels of yours.”

Pa turned to Jace and grinned. “Lucky thing for you sir, is I just got the hot water boiler going again. The thingamajig got in from Reno this morning on the bus. Well, I guess I’ll be on my way now. Just give me a shout if there’s another problem, Alice. Be seeing you.” He ambled down the front steps and over the dusty yard, whistling a painfully searing tune in an utterly contented way.

Alice didn’t dare look at Jace. “If I threw a rock at Pa Handy’s back, I wouldn’t have much to lose, would I?” She heard Jace laughing. At her, at the whole situation. She was furious. Then the fury vanished, and was followed by her own irrepressible laughter.

“Room and board?” Jace asked, before she could even catch her breath.

Alice fought to regain some dignity. She’d have to come up with a few more excuses. She couldn’t let him into her domain just like that.

“Staying here won’t interest you. Certainly not the meals. I’m a vegetarian.” She hoped that would conjure up a picture of over-boiled carrots, tasteless, mushy peas and gluey cauliflower. “No three inch steaks at my house.”

“Sounds fine.”

She could tell he was forcing himself to sound enthusiastic. “You look like a carnivore to me, not a vegetarian.” Carnivorous, a woman-eater.

“I’m willing to try anything,” he said, with more enthusiasm than he was probably feeling. “I don’t know much about being a vegetarian.”

Now she really was defeated. She knew it. She knew he knew it.

“Do I get to come in now?”

“There are millions of dogs and tons of dog hair.”

“And?”

She sighed, shook her head, and shrugged. “Other things that might be a shock to your system. As a frustrated guinea pig owner, I mean.” Then there was no way she could control her wicked grin.