Gift of Gold (3 page)

Quarrel gave her an unfathomable look as he efficiently stacked dishes. “What were you looking for in a place like the El Toro?”

“I was looking for my father.” Verity frowned and tapped the resumé with a fingertip. “You didn’t make these places up in a spurt of creative writing, after all, did you? You really have worked in all these sleazy dives.”

Quarrel ignored the question and asked one of his own. “Did you find your father?”

Verity shook her head. “No. But that’s no big deal. He’ll show up sooner or later. He always does.” She came away from the wall and started toward the office. “Excuse me for a few minutes.”

Jonas dropped a pan back into the sink. “Hey, wait a minute. What are you going to do?”

“Make a few phone calls,” she explained sweetly. She smiled at him.

Jonas stared at her for a long moment. He seemed momentarily disconcerted by her smile. Then he pulled himself together and asked slowly, “You’re going to call some of those bars?”

“I always check references. What’s the matter, Mr. Quarrel? Did you think I’d hesitate to call places like Tahiti and Manila and Mexico?”

He wiped his hands on a towel, studying her intently. “Well, yeah. Most people are a little intimidated by that kind of long-distance dialing.”

“I’ve got news for you. You’re not the only one who’s had the advantages of extensive world travel. I spent a year and a half in Tahiti, three months in Manila, a year in Mexico, and another year in Hawaii. My memory is a little vague because it’s been a few years, but I think I’ve even been in a few more of these dives than just El Toro Rojo. The Harbor Lights Tavern has a familiar ring. I hate to admit it, but so does the Get Leid.”

Quarrel looked genuinely startled. “You’re kidding. You know some of those places?”

“My father gave me a very well-rounded education.” Verity walked into her office, vaguely pleased at having finally been able to turn the tables on Jonas Quarrel.

“It’ll cost a fortune to call those taverns,” Jonas pointed out.

“I’ll take it out of your first week’s pay.” Verity smiled slowly as she sat down at her desk and reached for the phone. This was going to prove interesting.

An hour later she had her answers and Jonas had the dishes done. They faced each other in the small kitchen.

“All right,” Verity said calmly. “You’ve got the job. Everyone spoke very highly of you. They said you could be relied upon to open a bar on time, you aren’t into drugs, you don’t have the bad habit of helping yourself to the contents of the cash register, and you don’t drink on the job. High praise, indeed, considering the sources. Oh, and Big Al at the Sea Siren said to give you his best and swears he’ll send along the money he owes you now that he has a current address.”

Something in Jones’s eyes seemed to relax. It was replaced with a curious expression that was part anticipation and part satisfaction. “Thanks, Verity,” he said. “I appreciate it.”

“Since you’ve finished the dishes, you can start chopping onions for the vegetable tart I’m going to make. I’ll do the pastry.”

“I’ll get right on it, boss lady.” Jonas reached for a long-bladed knife, hefting it with an easy familiarity. “There’s just one more small problem.”

Verity paused warily in the act of taking a ball of chilled pastry out of the refrigerator. “What’s that?”

“I’ll need a place to stay.” Jonas smiled at her. “Any ideas? Since I’m going to be working for minimum wage, I won’t be able to afford anyplace fancy. I checked out of the Lake Motel this morning. I was running low on cash.”

Verity sighed in resignation. “You can have the cabin my father uses when he deigns to visit. It’s in back of the restaurant.”

“What about your father?”

“Don’t worry. I haven’t heard from him since I got the message inviting me to meet him down in Puerto Vallerta. He’d already left town by the time I got there and I haven’t heard from him since. I don’t think he’ll be disturbing us anytime soon. If he does, you can flip a coin for the bed. Both of you have probably slept on more than one floor in your life.”

“You’re a generous woman, Verity Ames.”

“It’s not that. I think the real problem is that I’m just a little soft in the head when it comes to professional drifters who spend their lives running from their talent.”

Jones’s head came up and his eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Verity looked at him as she rolled out the pastry. “I called Vincent College after I checked with a few of your previous employers. You really did teach Renaissance history there. What’s more, you were damn good at it. Lots of impressive publications and one book on ancient armory to your credit. And then you gave up teaching for no apparent reason. Have you been drifting around the world ever since?”

“What does all this have to do with your father?” Jonas asked coolly.

“He’s a professional drifter, too. Does the name Emerson Ames mean anything to you?” Verity realized she was wielding the rolling pin with too much force. Deliberately she made herself relax.

Jonas flicked off the end of an onion with a negligent slash of the knife. “Yeah, it does, as a matter of fact. Are we talking about the same Emerson Ames who wrote
Juxtaposition
a few years back?”

“One and the same.”

“Well, I’ll be damned. I seem to remember that book caused a certain, small sensation when it was published. Anybody who had any academic pretensions at Vincent College had it on his coffee table. What ever happened to him? Has he written anything since
Juxtaposition?
”

“Unfortunately,” Verity said tightly, “Dad decided
Juxtaposition
wasn’t his kind of book. He vowed not to waste his time doing another one like it and went back to writing what he claims he likes writing best.”

Jonas glanced at her. “What’s that?”

Verity wrinkled her nose. “Paperback westerns. Can you believe it? The man who was once heralded by
The New York Times
as the author of the year. A writer who had ‘boldly and decisively examined and illuminated contemporary uncertainties and paradoxes,’ they said. And this bold genius ups and decides he would rather write westerns.”

Jonas stared at her for a moment longer and then began to laugh. It was a deep, masculine roar that filled the kitchen. His golden eyes gleamed with it. “I think,” Jonas finally said through his laughter, “that I would like your father.” He lopped off the end of another onion. “I hope I get a chance to meet him while I’m here.”

“Something tells me the two of you have a lot in common,” Verity grumbled.

Jonas laughed again and flipped the knife into the air. Verity sucked in her breath as the blade spun end over end. Visions of blood and sliced fingers made her clutch at the counter top. But an instant later Jonas neatly caught the knife by its handle and went back to slicing onions. Verity repressed a shudder.

“I have a hunch that what your father and I have in common is a mutual decision to live in the real world instead of pretending we actually enjoy the academic and literary establishments.”

“It looks to me as if you both got lazy and took the easy way out,” Verity retorted in an upbraiding tone.

All traces of humor vanished from Jonas’s face. When he spoke, his voice was dangerously edged, just like the knife in his hand. “Lady, you don’t know what you’re talking about. Not all talent is a blessing. Sometimes a thing like talent can kill you. Or it can drive you crazy. Maybe in your father’s case, it simply bored him to death. You’ve got no right to sit in judgment.”

Verity shivered. She didn’t doubt that Jonas knew what he was talking about. Instinctively she sought refuge in a change of subject. “This is a stupid argument. You’d better get busy on those onions,” she said briskly. “When you’re finished with those, you can start chopping the carrots. I want them done julienne style. Do you know what that is?”

“Sure, boss lady. Whatever you say. I’ve got a question, though.”

Verity eyed him warily. “What’s that?”

“I’ve never worked in a gourmet vegetarian kitchen.” He smiled a little too innocently. “What do you use the extra virgin olive oil for?”

“Salad dressings, among other things,” she explained tartly. “And please spare me your sophomoric jokes. Extra virgin refers to the fact that the oil is of very high quality from the first pressing of the olives.”

“Oh. I thought maybe it meant oil that had been aging on the shelf for a long time. Like some poor spinster who has never had a lover.”

Verity could not halt the fierce rush of blood into her cheeks. He was just making a crude joke. He could not possibly be aware of her sexual status.

“That’s a typically chauvinistic remark. I hate to break this to your male ego, but there are worse things in life than never having had a lover,” she declared rashly.

Jonas’s mouth curved faintly at the corner. “Such as?”

“Such as discovering you just hired someone who doesn’t know the first thing about something as basic to a good kitchen as olive oil!”

“Don’t worry, boss. I’m a fast learner.”

Chapter
Two

Life
in the gourmet vegetarian lane wasn’t half bad, Jonas decided on Sunday night as he finished off the last of the dishes and prepared to help Verity close the restaurant. He’d worked in worse places. The clientele at the No Bull Cafe was trendy but harmless. They tended to be clean, chic, well behaved, and definitely upwardly mobile. And they tipped well. A man could do worse.

On several occasions in his life, Jonas reflected, he had done worse. Much worse.

The crowd had been light that evening, but Verity ran out of broccoli bisque around nine nonetheless, and that had caused her to fret somewhat. Jonas had experienced an almost overpowering compulsion to cuddle her a bit and kiss the tip of her lightly freckled nose and tell her not to worry about the miscalculation on the soup. He had resisted the temptation. He was no fool.

Kissing the boss would no doubt be a good way to get himself flayed alive. The lady had a cutting edge on her tongue that made the knife in his duffel bag appear dull in comparison. Verity had a temper and she had no compunction about delivering an admonishing scold when she felt it was required. There was, in fact, Jonas had decided after due consideration, a side to Verity’s nature that brought the word
shrew
vividly to mind.

It was not a scolding Jonas wanted to elicit from her. What he wanted was to be allowed to overdose on her smile. Verity had a smile that dazzled the senses. He was fascinated by it; captivated by it. When it appeared—brilliant, warm, sensual, and genuine—he found himself staring at her in bemused wonder. There was a sweet, feminine honesty in that smile that drew a man the way honey drew bees. A man could be excused for thinking he was the most important male in the universe when Verity smiled at him. That smile drew Jonas more compellingly than even the dangerous secrets of his past.

That smile declared Verity to be a woman who would give herself to a man completely. At the same time, it proclaimed her to be a woman a man could trust with his life, his passion, and his honor. Verity’s smile was a temptation to believe that chastity could walk hand in hand with an earthy sensuality. It was a smile of indescribable innocence and a haunting vow of total surrender. That smile promised everything and furthermore promised to deliver it with such innocent, passionate generosity that a man could not be blamed if he committed a few small murders to possess the owner of that smile.

But that smile left Jonas wondering why there weren’t men standing ten deep around the No Bull Cafe begging for the chance to commit murder. It was hard to believe that every available male in the vicinity was so afraid of the shrew that they had given up trying to possess the sensual angel. But that appeared to be the case. Jonas didn’t understand it; after all, what were a few thorns when you were hunting a real treasure? But he was grateful he didn’t have to worry about a lot of competition.

Jonas figured the reason he had the field to himself probably involved more than Verity’s shrewish tongue. It was probably that part of her basic nature that hinted at a certain fastidiousness. A man sensed instinctively that this was a woman who would never be promiscuous. In the short time he had been working for Verity, Jonas had clearly noticed that she had a remarkably prim and proper and unadventurous lifestyle. What was more, she seemed quite content with that lifestyle.

The weekend rush was over and Jonas felt he had acquitted himself well. At least his lady boss was not complaining too loudly.

He knew enough about her by now to realize that she certainly would complain if he didn’t fulfill his duties to her satisfaction. She ran the little kitchen like the redheaded tyrant she was and she did not tolerate any laxity in cleanliness.

“The last thing I need is to have some of my customers get sick because the kitchen help failed to properly reheat the soup,” she had told Jonas as she instructed him in soup preparation. “Everything has to be either chilled or hot. I don’t want to see any food left sitting around at room temperature, and neither do the health authorities. They have a habit of paying unannounced visits, you know.”

“We didn’t worry too much about the health authorities down in Mexico,” Jonas had remarked as he obediently stirred the soup.

“I’ll bet you didn’t worry about them in most of the places you’ve worked.”

“True. A reasonable bribe usually took care of awkward health regulations.”

“Things are different here,” Verity had explained loftily.

“I’m learning.”

And he was, Jonas thought on Sunday evening as he watched Verity walk up the path to her small cabin in the trees. No doubt about it. He was learning a lot about Ms. Verity Ames, skilled chef, small-time tyrant, and savvy businesswoman.

One of the things Jonas had learned was that he wanted her. Badly. He had sensed it first down in Mexico, but ever since he had arrived on her doorstep Friday afternoon, the need had been growing within him. He had told himself at first that it had nothing to do with sex. The need within him was all tied up with the mystery of the earring and the strange compulsion that had made him fellow Verity out of Mexico.