His and Hers (11 page)

Chapter Seventeen

Misty elbowed her way into the flower shop, heavy box under her nose.

Diane hurried to help with the door.

“Thanks, but I’ve got it!” Misty huffed and heaved the brimming carton inside. “Stef, you wanted ideas, how about this for a start.”

“Looks like you’ve got more than one.” Diane placed it on the counter between the greeting cards and cash register. “What are these? Film reels?”

“Exactly. All shapes and sizes.” Misty dragged a folded paper out of her pocket. “Here’s the table layout. Twelve counts. Plus the two no-host bars.”

Sofie grabbed the printout and pinned it to the wall.

Gia tap-counted out the thirty tables. “We’d need at least four of each size per table, and more to make the stage and entrance arch work.” She turned her attention back to Misty. “Tell me there’s negative film in some of them.”

Misty tilted her head, thoughts to the stacks and racks at the back of the theater. “How much do you want?”

“And the cost of this project—in materials?” Gia screwed her lips toward the pile. “A hundred dollars? Two?”

“Free,” Misty said, grinning. “And the college will dispose of them properly when we’re done.”

“Misty’s a genius.” Gia turned from Misty to Diane, continuing. “She’s a gem! We won’t have to beg and barter to get events ever again! With the media attention this event’s getting…”

Media?
Hot. No air. Panic struck as the walls seemed to close in, her heartbeat thrummed in her ears. Of course, the media would be there. With Todd’s new show, the paparazzi would know. He’d shout whatever sludge he dredged up from the rooftops! Vultures, the lot of them. They’d eat it up. Hand to temple, she winced at a sharp sudden headache, clutching the counter to steady herself.

Gia stopped talking and was at Misty’s side. “Are you okay? Get her some water, Stef.”

Diane and Gia led Misty to the display inside the shop, settling her on a park-bench beside a forced-blooming branch tree.

“Just the media. The attention. I have a problem.” Misty filled them in on Todd Rehnquist’s treachery. “For some reason, he’s bent on ruining my life, and Nona’s, too.”

Head in hands, she felt three hands, circling her shoulders. The girls had surrounded her, their obvious support adding strength.

“Well, he won’t get any help from us.” Diane squeezed. “Or from the rest of Long Valley. Right, ladies?”

Their resounding agreement bolstered her courage. Misty’s shoulders straightened under the weight that was hers to bear. “I’m going home. I’ve got to come clean, and share this with my grandmother. Unless you need more help, Stef?”

She shook her head, flipping her dark curls. “Go on. We’ve got lots to do, and only a few days to order the extra touches to make these centerpieces amazing.”

“I saw this once at a benefit in Los Angeles.” Gia glanced through her order book. “I’ve been wanting to do something similar. We can add gardenias for fragrance, maybe some catalya orchids for dramatic effect. What do you think, Misty?”

Three sets of eyes rested on her, waiting for, but not needing, her obvious approval. Her heart bloomed with the strength and warmth of their friendship. Time to go make this right.

****

Cain gripped the ladder, almost finished with the second yellow coat on the exterior. He’d worked all day without seeing Misty once. Not hiding, just busy. Still, every engine sound had him looking over his shoulder at the long driveway and road beyond.

The photographer had come and gone, snapping some shots for the Long Valley
Journal
. Cain had worked through lunch, only coming down for a quick bite of apple and glass of lemonade at Mrs. Darling’s insistence. He’d promised to have the place finished before the weekend’s events.

A tight schedule, and more obligations than he’d had in years. He had to be at the market on Wednesday, unless he could bribe Desiree to do sales-duty this week. He had to pick up the tuxes from the cleaners. Arrive in San Jose before four on Thursday to pick up Grandpa from the international airport—sitting in traffic brought out his nasty side but that was nothing compared to what the old man would do to him if he were late.

Who knew if Grandpa Anton would have the courage to accept the ticket Cain purchased for him? Nona’s plea had clenched it. His grandfather’s objections in thick Italian still rang in his ear.

Fly across an ocean, and a continent! When his grandson asked? No. When his only daughter begged? Once in a blue moon. For a man scared to death of air travel, only love would see him make that leap.

Cain’s thoughts swirled back to Misty. The way her mouth curled into a smile, the warmth of her next to him on the porch swing. Even more, the heat of her body pressed into him as he’d silently weighed his options—either tiptoe upstairs, or hightail it out the door. Who would guess that two adults could have an old-fashioned courtship in this day and age? Even more ironic, considering Grandpa Anton’s newfound love interest. Soon, she’d know Cain was hip deep in orchestrating the whole affair between his grandfather and Mrs. D. His belly pitched at the thought. That could get ugly.

With his rope, he dragged up the next bucket and peeled back the lid. Pretty cool invention, he mused, saving himself time and energy running up and down the ladder for more paint. He slipped the stir stick inside the goopy white liquid, and prepared it for the eaves. Trim work took a bit more patience than the broad strokes of yellow. Some things were worth a more careful touch.

Sweat slicked his back as the sun beat down on the west side of the house. He untucked his shirt. It flapped in the growing wind like a gray flag of surrender. The breeze helped a bit. He frowned at the bare wood eave and took a trial stroke. The wood drank up the white paint. He swept another line, which held on to the thin sheet of whitewash. This could take longer than he thought. Cain leaned forward. Three coats should do it. His arms ached with new muscles he didn’t remember having. He adjusted his position, stretching to the limits of his reach. Time to move the ladder.

Down and up again, he rested the top rungs against the house, a foot closer to the upstairs bathroom window. Brush in his back pocket, he shimmied up and into place. Dip, paint, he lost himself in the repetitive task, convincing his brain he wasn’t thinking about Misty. His attention fell, too late, on the thick, white web.

His brush hand went through it first. An invisible strand of spider web, its sticky fiber tangling around his wrist. Cain took a sharp breath, attempting to wipe it free and failing. Then, something tickled his neck. Cain froze.

Too high to dance around screaming, his hands clamped around the ladder’s edge. A tickle ran across his left shoulder blade. Yes. Something definitely crawled across his back. He imagined it, exploring under his shirt, with eight, long legs, dagger-teeth, and millions of glittering eyes.

Below, the vague sound of an approaching car’s engine tunneled his ear. It pulled to a stop.

Misty.

He heard her call his name, cheerful. Saw her wave at him out the corner of his eye. His heart thudded as he opened his mouth. Cain drew a breath to call her, but no sound came out.

“Cain?” She stood at the bottom of the ladder, shielding her eyes. “Are you okay?”

Her tone shifted from jovial to concern. “Up here…Help,” he finally mustered, his voice but a whisper, his body frozen. Please, let her hear…

Below, the front door slammed. Footsteps clamored up stairs. The window to his right shot open.

“What’s wrong?” She leaned out toward him, eyes wide with worry.

“Spider.” He gulped. Closed his eyes, his voice finding volume. “There’s a spider on my back. I can’t reach it. Get it off. Please?”

Too terrified to be embarrassed, he waited with held breath while she brushed away the offending monster with a hand towel. The creature fell into space, out of sight.

“Come on.” She reached a helping hand. “Climb in.”

Her hand, a secure and solid lifesaver, held onto his. He dove from the ladder, following her pull through the open window.

“Did you get it?” He moved his head, feeling the filaments of web on his ears. He slapped and brushed at his bare neck and shoulders. A glance back over his shoulder didn’t show the thing, but he couldn’t be sure. “Is it gone?”

“I got it.” Misty kept her attention trained on him, and backed against the windowsill. She tilted her head, gaze softening in concern. “You weren’t kidding, were you?”

“You mean about my paralyzing fear of spiders?” He snorted. “No. I wasn’t. And that doesn’t leave this bathroom.” Turning, he skinned off his shirt and viewed his back, frantically searching his reflection for a creepy crawler. “I think it’s still there…please check?”

Misty brushed her hands across his broad shoulders, and then squeezed gently. Her thumbs drew lazy circles on his bare skin, trailing along his spine in a way that was anything but shoo-spider-like.

“Better?”

Her word, silk of a different thread. “Mmm.” He leaned into the press of her palms.

“Take a shower, huh?”

Cain’s head snapped to attention, gaze hooking hers in the silver mirror, acutely aware of his half-naked presence in her bathroom. He swallowed, focused on the black of her eyes, dilated with the implications, along with that subtle flush of red at the hollow of her throat.

“Some hot water’ll rinse off the heebie jeebies. Then we need to talk. Downstairs. Okay?” She secured the door behind him, not waiting for an answer.

Cain stood in front of the mirror and wrapped his hands around the porcelain sink. Get hold of yourself, Trovato. Concentrating on his reflection, he wondered how much longer he could keep this up. Then he turned and spun the hot water of the claw foot shower to boiling.

Chapter Eighteen

Cain shrugged the damp white towel over his shoulders, sighed, and slunk down the stairs. Better get this over with, and fast.

“I’m in the kitchen,” she called from the back of the house.

He followed the sound of Misty’s voice, and swallowed his humiliation. Crossing over into the sunny room, his gaze halted when it met hers. “Where’s your grandmother?”

“On the computer.” Misty snorted, stirring up a frosty pitcher. “Sit.” She directed him, pointing to the table with the wooden spoon.

The little boy in him flinched. His mother had to use such a device on him a time or two to keep him in line. Funny, when wielded by an irritated woman, a wooden spoon could still launch the small hairs on his neck to attention.

Dragging out the kitchen chair, he dutifully obeyed, and accepted the glass of lemonade she’d made. A sprig of mint floated among the ice cubes. How annoyed could a girl be if she garnished his drink?

She deposited a plate of round thumbprint cookies in front of him, along with a cloth napkin, and turned back to wipe down the long kitchen counter. Angry? From the look on her face it was impossible to tell. He figured his irrational fear would be the source of boundless amusement for her, something she’d tease him about for years to come. The slow, circular motions she swept with that poor dishrag looked more like she was stalling.

He paled with sudden understanding. She felt sorry for him. She’d seen him at his weakest and was disgusted. Over girly lemonade and cookies, she’d break it to him gently. She needed a strong man. A protector, not a dude who turned tail and ran when a creepy crawling spider explored his back. He wasn’t the guy for her, and now was the time she’d lower the boom.

She turned, tossed the rag into the sink, and crossed her arms. “You okay?”

“I’ll live.” He slugged down the drink in one gulp and pushed aside the ice-filled glass. “Just say it, Misty. I’ve got a lot of things left to do today.”

“Okay. Here goes.” She unearthed the green and white thin magazine from her back pocket. “We’ve got a problem.”

Breathing with relief, he watched her hands flatten the Hollywood magazine he recognized as the Daily Variety. Her fingers fluttered over the cover like butterflies on a breeze. He captured one then stilled it. Her skin—ice cold—between his palms. He breathed heat over her fingers. A smile touched her mouth at the corners then vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

“So, what’s this about?” He released her and picked up the magazine, frowning at the headline. “You’re devastated that Jennifer Aniston’s competing for a role over Angelina Jolie?”

“No. Not that.” She pointed to the small box at the bottom of the page. “This one.”

“Darling No More…” He read the headline aloud and then, struck silent, he finished the article. The pages bunched up and wrinkled in his grip. He wanted to tear it to shreds. Would have, if she hadn’t dragged it from him. He turned to face her, keeping his voice low and even. “Who’s Todd Rehnquist?”

Misty sat across, swallowed, and then told him everything. Every sordid detail about her ex, the way he’d stolen Grandma’s pictures and journals from her, and was planning an exposé that would ruin Nona Darling’s good name forever.

Nona entered the kitchen as Misty’s words ran dry. She poured her own glass of lemonade, keeping her regal head high.

Cain watched Misty’s face fall, eyes downcast. The silence deafened. “Thanks for the use of your shower, Mrs. D.” He cleared his throat, just to have something to do.

“I should be thanking you, Cain. You’ve done such a lovely job on the house. It’ll be ready for our company this weekend, after all.”

“That explains the revamp. I’ve got to get to Mineta Airport myself tomorrow.” He shook the ice in his glass. Perhaps now would be the best time to tell them, yes. But, perhaps not. “Um. Are they staying here?”

“Misty’s parents and sister will stay at the inn, like always.” Grandma smiled. “I’m expecting someone…kind of special.”

Misty turned to Cain. “Grandma’s got a friend from overseas coming to escort her. Unfortunately, I’m not sure we’ll be attending.” Misty’s chin rose, a feeble attempt to make her word final. “Not after this.”

“Posh.” Nona waved her hand, shooing away the idea away as one would a wayward fly. “No such thing as bad publicity. Isn’t that what the filmmakers used to say?” She turned to Cain and sighed. “Perhaps you can talk some sense into Misty. She thinks this nonsense is all her fault.”

“Maybe it is.” He crossed his arms as they both gaped at him. “Her fault for being loyal, trusting, kind, and generous. The guy’s a leech. And a cancer. That much is obvious.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell her!” Grandma sat opposite Cain. “Can you get through that thick skull of hers?”

“Doubtful.” He breathed at the sight of Misty’s smirk, while they spoke around her. “But he’s made a huge mistake, and showed his hand early. And I know just the person who can help us one-up him if you’re willing to take a gamble.”

Misty and her grandmother faced each other, hands clasped. Their attention returned to him, and with a deep breath, Cain rattled off his hair-brained scheme.

His heart stuttered at the hope blooming in Misty’s jade eyes. The pride and confidence in Mrs. D’s. He’d make this right for them, God help him. And then he’d carry off Misty on his white horse into the sunset, just like she deserved.