Midnight Sons Volume 3 (16 page)

He handed her his business card, and for the first time Tracy realized she didn’t have her purse. Sawyer appeared to understand without her having to say a word.

“Your purse is with your suitcase in the hotel room. It’s locked away safe and sound.”

As she thanked him, Sawyer moved to the other side of the hospital bed and studied Duke. “He’s going to come out of all this just fine. Don’t you worry.”

Tracy nodded, closing her eyes as she mentally reviewed the list of his injuries. His arm wouldn’t heal overnight. It’d be months before he regained full use of it. The cut on his head, which had required twenty-five stitches to close, had been even meaner and deeper than she’d realized. The physician who’d sewn it shut had complimented her on the resourceful way she’d wrapped it.

As for his internal injuries, it was too soon to tell the extent
of the damage. At best, his vital organs had been shaken up a bit. At worst…Well, at worst was something she didn’t want to even consider.

“I’m leaving now,” Sawyer told her.

She nodded.

“But I’ll be back. Do you want me to bring you anything to eat?”

“Thanks, but no.” The hospital had given her some warm broth, and she’d had tea and toast earlier. Food didn’t appeal to her and probably wouldn’t for some time.

“I shouldn’t be gone more than a couple of hours.”

“Okay.”

Sawyer left the room.

Tracy pulled her chair as close to Duke’s bed as possible. Because of the IV, she couldn’t hold his hand, so she pressed her cheek against the side of the mattress and gently draped her fingers over his forearm.

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed when she sensed that he was awake. Lifting her head, she noticed the way he ran his tongue over his lips, as if he was thirsty.

She stood and carefully poured ice water into a glass, adding a straw from a supply on the bedside table.

He rolled his head from side to side. “Tracy?”

“I’m here.” She was inordinately pleased that hers was the first name he called.

His eyes fluttered open, and her heart filled with gratitude. She bent close to him. He raised his hand to her face and caressed her cheek.

Tracy battled the urge to weep and kissed the inside of his palm. “Sleep. Everything’s wonderful. You’re wonderful. I…am, too.”

“Beautiful.” The word rasped from his lips.

“Yeah, right.” Tracy had no illusions about her looks. Especially now—she’d caught her reflection in the mirror.

She offered him the water and he sucked it greedily through the straw. The effort appeared to drain him, and he leaned back against the pillow and closed his eyes.

Content, Tracy sat down at his side and brushed the tears from her face.

B
EN EXAMINED
the dinner plate Bethany had carried up to his apartment. He grinned broadly when he lifted the lid and saw the hamburger bun. “Now this is more like it,” he said, smiling up at her. He didn’t know how many more of those healthy meals of hers he could stomach.

“Now listen, Ben, you’ve got to watch what you eat.”

“I am, I am,” he muttered. Not that he could avoid it, with Bethany standing guard over him every evening. He peeled back the bun and his heart sank with disappointment.

“What’s this?” he demanded. He noticed that his raised voice didn’t intimidate her.

“It’s a veggie burger.”

“A
what?
”

“You heard me.”

He groaned. Bethany had set out to starve him to death, and she was succeeding. His own flesh and blood, no less.

“I’ve had more oat bran in the last three weeks than some horses,” he said disgustedly.

“Ben—”

“You’ve shoveled more yogurt down me than any man should have to endure. I’ve put up with it, too, because…because you mean well. But now I’m putting my foot down.
Look at this,” he said, pointing at his dinner plate. “You’ve ruined a perfectly good hamburger bun with this veggie…thing.”

“Ben, you can’t eat the way you used to. The least you can do is give this a taste. It’s made with tofu and—”

“Tofu?” he cried, outraged. “Just what kind of man do you think I am? I hope to high heaven you didn’t let anyone around here know you’re feeding me
tofu!
”

“No—”

“I had bacon and eggs for breakfast.” He tossed that out, knowing she wasn’t going to like it.

“Who’s the executor of your estate?”

“Don’t get smart with your elders,” he barked.

“What about lunch?” She folded her arms and glared at him. “Something tells me you didn’t have the soup I set out.”

“I made myself a pizza.”

Bethany rolled her eyes. “I sincerely hope you’ve got your will made out. A pizza? Ben, really.”

“I couldn’t help it,” he mumbled, feeling more than a little guilty. “Man does not live by bran alone.” Although he had to admit he’d never been more regular—but he wasn’t about to tell Bethany that. She might add even more to his diet.

“Just
try
the veggie burger.”

Like he had much of a choice. Either he ate what she brought him or he waited until she left and made his way downstairs to rustle up some dinner. “All right,” he said, but he knew he wasn’t going to like it.

Bethany laughed unexpectedly. “I swear you’re worse than a little kid. You’d think I’d brought you liver and onions.”

“I like liver and onions.” Now she was talking. Liver fried up in lots of bacon grease, not overcooked, either. He liked it
tender, heaped with plenty of grilled onions. The thought of it set his mouth watering.

Bethany sat down across from him. “Remember, Mrs. McMurphy’s coming for her interview tomorrow afternoon.”

Ben wasn’t likely to forget. The more he thought about letting a stranger into his kitchen, the more he was against the whole idea. He hadn’t minded when Mariah worked for him, since she mostly stayed out of his way and let him cook. It’d been a luxury to have someone wait tables and collect dirty dishes.

But another cook! A woman, to boot. Not in
his
kitchen. Not while he lived and breathed. Well, it wouldn’t take much to find fault with this cook Mitch and Bethany wanted him to meet.

“I talked with Mrs. McMurphy this afternoon,” Bethany said. “She’s excited to meet you.”

“I’ll just bet.”

“She did a lot of the baking at the Sourdough Café and said she’d be willing to do that here, in addition to the other cooking.”

“What’d she bake?” The way Ben figured, if he appeared interested and asked plenty of questions, Bethany might not realize he’d already made up his mind.

“Her specialty is strudel, although she said her cinnamon rolls were popular with the clientele.”

Cinnamon rolls happened to be one of Ben’s weaknesses. He’d never gotten the hang of baking them himself. He liked his rolls made with plenty of real butter and drizzled with icing. His gaze dropped to the veggie burger, and he decided he’d gladly give a year’s profits for a single bite of warm, butter-oozing cinnamon roll.

“All I want you to do is give Mrs. McMurphy a chance.”

“Of course I will.” Ben reached for the glass of milk and took a swallow, afraid she might read the insincerity in his eyes. The milk tasted terrible, and he spit it back into the glass.

“What’d you do to my milk?”

Bethany pinched her lips together. “I didn’t do anything to it.”

Ben held his glass up to the light. “It’s…blue.”

“It’s nonfat.”

If anything was going to kill him, it was his daughter’s attempt to manage his diet. “You can’t spring nonfat milk on a man,” he told her. “You should’ve warned me.”

She crossed her arms. “Don’t you think you’re overreacting just a little?”

“No!” he insisted. “A veggie burger, skim milk, and a bran muffin for dessert. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you were trying to kill me.”

“Ben!”

“All right, all right.” He sighed. “Thank you for bringing over my…dinner.” He used to eat more than this for his midnight snacks.

“Now, what about your meeting with Mrs. McMurphy?”

She wasn’t going to let up on this, Ben could tell. “I’ll be cordial and treat her real nice.” That was what Bethany wanted to hear, and he wasn’t telling a lie. He’d be cordial and polite when he showed her the door.

“Just to be on the safe side, I’ve asked Mrs. McMurphy to have dinner with Mitch and me following the interview,” Bethany told him. “You’re welcome to join us if you want.”

Ben scowled. “It all depends on what you’re cooking.” Another night of veggie burgers, and he was likely to fade away to nothing.

D
UKE AWOKE
in the dim light and spent several minutes updating his memory. All he’d done for the better part of two days was sleep. Every time he opened his eyes, he discovered Tracy at his side. He wasn’t disappointed this time, either. She’d curled up in the chair next to his bed and was sound asleep. Someone had covered her with a thin blanket.

At some point she must have showered and changed clothes, because she wore a sweater he couldn’t remember seeing before. Having her here produced a warm feeling in the pit of his stomach. They’d been through a lot together. More than some people endured in a lifetime.

One thing was certain. Tracy was about the bravest woman he’d ever known. It couldn’t have been easy for her, with him out of his mind with pain half the time.

He was proud of her, proud of the way she’d figured out how to work the radio and contact Fairbanks. The way she’d looked after him. She was cool and capable, the kind of woman who always found a solution, regardless of the problem. A woman who wouldn’t give up when times got tough.

She’d kissed him.

The memory had a dreamlike quality to it. When they’d heard the rescue chopper’s approach, she’d been so excited that she’d kissed him. It didn’t mean anything, Duke told himself. The kiss had been an expression of joy, of relief. Nothing more.

He’d tried over and over to remind himself of that, but it hadn’t worked. As brief as the kiss had been, as meaningless as he attempted to convince himself it was, he’d enjoyed it.

If he’d been able to, he would’ve wrapped her in his arms
and kissed her properly. His breath quickened just thinking about it. He’d take it slow and easy, making it a kiss neither of them would soon forget. His heart began to pound wildly.

Duke forced himself to look away. This was Tracy Santiago he was fantasizing about. The woman he’d fought with time and time again. On closer examination, he understood that he’d always been attracted to her. Well, opposites were said to attract, he thought, and they’d proved it. He actually enjoyed their verbal battles, even looked forward to them. A few had gotten out of hand, but he was more to blame for that than she was.

What he didn’t like about Tracy, Duke realized, was that he felt out of control whenever he was with her. It occurred to him that he’d behaved around Tracy the way Christian had around Mariah. All the while he’d been complaining about his secretary, he’d been falling in love with her.

Love.
Was it possible that he actually loved Tracy? The thought terrified him. He didn’t
want
to feel this emotion, this…this vulnerability.

Damn it all, leave it to him to fall in love with some fancy, highfalutin Seattle attorney. A lot of good it would do either one of them.

Her life was in Seattle and his was in Hard Luck. Here it was, history repeating itself. His father had loved his mother enough to believe he could meld their worlds. In the end, they’d both been miserable.

Loving Tracy wasn’t going to change a thing. He sure wasn’t going to give up his life and follow her to the city. As far as he was concerned,
Fairbanks
was overcrowded. He couldn’t imagine what life would be like in a city the size of Seattle.

And as for her moving to Hard Luck, tempting though it
sounded, Duke knew it wouldn’t work. He couldn’t ask a woman of Tracy’s education and temperament to give up the bright lights of Seattle for some dinky town in the Arctic.

That didn’t leave much room for their relationship.

It wouldn’t be easy to let her go, not when she was looking at him with stars in her eyes. He knew what she was thinking, because he’d had those same thoughts.

But it wouldn’t work.

T
RACY STIRRED
in the chair at Duke’s bedside. She raised her arms above her head and stretched, arching her back. Swallowing a yawn, she worked the stiff muscles of her shoulders. It took her a few minutes to notice that Duke was awake. He was sitting up in bed watching her.

“Hello,” she said, surprised at how shy she felt around him. “How are you feeling?”

“Better than I did a couple of days ago. How about you?”

“None the worse for wear.” She untucked her legs from beneath her and stood. “Any idea how long I’ve been asleep?”

“Don’t know. I’ve only been awake for half an hour or so myself. Actually I didn’t expect to find you still here.”

She saw the look of disapproval in his eyes and stopped herself from telling him she’d only left his side for brief periods since their rescue.

“Shouldn’t you be back in Seattle?” Duke asked. “It’s been what? Two, three days now?”

“The…the senior law partner told me to take as long as I needed.”

Duke’s expression was grim. She could sense him shutting her out; it was like a gate closing, blocking her passage. Now that they were safe, now that they were back, he seemed to be saying he wanted nothing to do with her.

“How much more do you need?” he asked. The words weren’t harsh, but their message was—she didn’t have to stay in Alaska on his account. In fact, he’d prefer it if she left. “Nothing’s keeping you here, is it?”

“No,” she admitted reluctantly, averting her gaze.

“You’ll make your flight reservations then?” She glanced up, and his eyes burned into hers.

Her heart constricted, but she refused to let him know how deeply he’d wounded her. “I’ll call the airlines at the first opportunity.” Her hand trembled as she folded the blanket and set it on the small pillow she’d been using. Her lips trembled as she faced him again.

She’d never been as intimate with a man as she’d been with Duke, and she wasn’t referring to anything physical. The closeness they’d shared was emotional. They’d touched each other’s lives in ways that went beyond the mundane. Together they’d stared death in the eye, clinging to hope and to each other.

He wanted her to leave, but she couldn’t, not without thanking him. The words that formed so easily in her heart, however, stuck in her throat.

“I won’t say it’s been fun,” she said, making a feeble attempt at humor.

“That’s one thing it hasn’t been,” he agreed.

She stood by his bedside and resisted the urge to brush the hair from his forehead. Often while he’d slept she’d felt free to
touch him, to offer small gestures of tenderness. She knew he wouldn’t welcome the informality now that he was awake.

Finally she managed to say, “Before I return to Seattle I want to thank you.”

“Hey, you seem to forget I was the one who brought that plane down.”

“No,” she corrected, “the ruptured oil line was responsible for that. Your skill as a pilot is what saved us both.” Then, because she felt it was important, she added, “I know what you did.”

Even as she said the words she realized he’d pretend ignorance and discount what the investigators had said. “You risked your own life to save mine.”

“Nonsense.”

Tracy hid a smile. She felt she knew Duke better than any man she’d ever dated.

“What’s so funny?” he asked.

“You. I’ve talked to the men who investigated the crash site. They said that, from the evidence, you purposely put yourself at greater risk.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Let’s not argue,” she said, knowing it would do no good to press the issue.

“Why not?” he asked, his eyes flashing with warmth and humor. “It’s what you and I’ve done from the first. It feels right. You’re a worthy adversary, Santiago.”

She bowed her head, acknowledging the tribute. “I’ll consider that a compliment.”

His grin relaxed and he grew serious once more. “You did good,” he said, his gray eyes dark and intense. “It wasn’t any picnic out there, but you were a real trooper.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you.” There wasn’t a single doubt about that.

“Sure you would’ve,” he countered swiftly. “You’ve got mettle and spirit. I was out of it most of the time and—”

“Not all.” He’d held her and reassured her, when he was the one who’d sustained the worst injuries. She’d never forget that. The fear would’ve destroyed her if it hadn’t been for the solace she’d found in his arms.

“I’ll admit you surprised me,” Duke said. “A city girl like you.”

She wanted to tell him she wasn’t any different from Mariah or the other women who’d moved to Hard Luck in the past two years. Something in his eyes told her she’d be wasting her breath. In the past they’d taken delight in waging verbal battles—but the time for that was over. They’d progressed far beyond quarreling to a level of mutual respect. A week earlier she would’ve responded with indignation; now she let the matter drop.

“You’ll go back soon?” He made it sound like he couldn’t be rid of her fast enough. Well, Duke never had been kind to her ego.

“Soon,” she promised.

“If I ever need an attorney,” he said brightly, “I’ll know who to call.”

Of all the things he might’ve said, this affected her the most. She bit her trembling lip in an effort to stall the emotion that burned just beneath the surface.

“Hey, what’d I say?”

“Nothing.” Laughing a little, she shook her head. “You’re one heck of a man, Duke Porter. I never thought I’d say this, but I’m going to miss you like crazy.” Her heart hammered with the pain of the coming separation.

“I never thought I’d miss you, either.” His face was pinched, his eyes shadowed. This time she knew it wasn’t due to his injuries. Parting was as difficult for him as it was for her. But Tracy sensed that he wasn’t keen on her knowing it, so she pretended not to notice.

“Take my advice,” Duke said, “and ditch Gavin. You deserve a real man.”

Unfortunately the only one who fell into that category was here in front of her—and he was sending her away. “I’d already decided that.”

His gaze held hers, then he asked, “A kiss for luck?”

She smiled and nodded. He held his good arm out to her, and she came into his embrace. She assumed he only meant to hug her, perhaps give her a peck on the cheek.

But Duke gathered her close and directed her lips to his. The kiss was like the man. He held back nothing, twining his fingers into her hair, slanting his mouth over hers in a breath-stealing kiss. Her breath jammed in her lungs as her fingers dug into his shoulders.

She tasted his urgency, his hunger, experienced them herself. He wanted her and made no apologies.

The kiss might have gone on even longer if not for a noise in the hallway outside the partially closed door.

Duke released her with a reluctance that should have thrilled her, but didn’t. With little more than a kiss, he was sending her out of his life.

“Goodbye, Tracy. Godspeed.”

“Godspeed,” she returned in a choked whisper. And then, while she could still hold back the tears, she walked hurriedly out of the room—and out of his life.

B
EN HAD HIS EXCUSES
neatly lined up in his mind. He’d meet Mrs. McMurphy and they’d exchange pleasantries. Next, he’d read over her résumé and ask half a dozen appropriate questions. Enough for her to believe he was giving her serious consideration. When the interview was over, he’d announce that he needed a couple of days to decide and would get back to her by the end of the week.

That was the way situations like this were handled. Ben possessed enough business savvy to know how to give a job applicant the brush-off.

He’d make sure Mrs. McMurphy and Bethany didn’t know what he had up his sleeve. That would be a mistake. Instead, he’d play along, let both women assume he was satisfied with the interview. Then he’d sit down and have dinner with Bethany and her family. Socialize with Mrs. McMurphy.

Ben would lay odds that Bethany wasn’t serving any tofu burgers this evening. Not with company. He was dreaming of Southern fried chicken, potatoes mashed with real butter, and sour-cream gravy. Dreaming—that was all he’d be doing, knowing Bethany.

Mrs. McMurphy was due any moment, so Ben slowly made his way downstairs. The café was empty and lifeless. He missed the old hustle and bustle. In the past, he’d sometimes gone an hour or two without a customer, but that was different. This kind of silence was downright eerie.

The grill was stone cold, but if he closed his eyes, he could hear the hiss of bacon and hash-brown potatoes frying in the pan.

Anticipating the woman’s arrival, Ben put on a small pot of decaffeinated coffee—Bethany would approve—and pulled out a chair. As he sipped from his mug, he watched the Baron
aircraft land. Sawyer was back—with the infamous Mrs. McMurphy.

Ben caught his first view of the cook and was surprised at how tall she was. She wore a long black wool coat and carried a wicker basket over her arm, like little Red Riding Hood come to visit the big bad wolf.

Sawyer escorted her to the café personally, but stayed only long enough to check that Ben was downstairs.

“So you’re Mrs. McMurphy,” Ben said after Sawyer left. “Ben Hamilton.” He extended his hand.

“I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance,” the tall slender woman said.

Years earlier Ben had seen a plaque that said never to trust a skinny cook. He was inclined to accept that advice.

“Come in and make yourself comfortable,” he urged, motioning to the table where he’d been sitting. “May I take your coat?”

“Please.” She slipped out of it; she wore a practical denim dress and boots. She put the basket down on the table and sat quickly, almost as if she feared her height would alarm him. Ben was a big man himself, well over six feet. It took more than a reed-thin woman to intimidate him.

“Could I get you a cup of coffee?” he asked, still playing politeness to the hilt.

“No, thank you.”

She was prim, a bit shy, with friendly blue eyes that seemed to take up half her face. Her dark, gray-streaked hair was gathered in a loose bun at the nape of her neck. It was difficult to guess her age; she could be anywhere between forty and sixty. Plain. No rings, he noted. No jewelry at all, for that matter.

Ben pulled out his chair and sat down himself.

“I’ve enclosed some letters of recommendation,” she said, retrieving an envelope from her purse. Her hand shook slightly.

She was nervous, Ben realized, and found that puzzling. If he raised his voice, as he tended to do, he’d scare the poor thing out of ten years of her life.

He peeled open the envelope and took out three single sheets of paper. It wasn’t until he started reading that he noticed the most enticing scent. A blend of apples and spices. It distracted him so much that he couldn’t finish the letters.

He hesitated and glanced at the wicker basket. His mouth watered. What was it Bethany had told him about Mrs. McMurphy’s specialties? Oh, yeah—strudel and cinnamon rolls. Could it be possible…?

His eyes were riveted on the basket.

“I brought along an apple strudel,” Mrs. McMurphy said, following his gaze. “Mrs. Harris was kind enough to invite me for dinner this evening, and this is my way of thanking her.”

“Did you bring anything else?” Bethany wouldn’t hesitate to drag him before a firing squad for asking.

“Cinnamon rolls,” she said. “You’re welcome to look over my résumé, of course, but I felt my rolls would speak for themselves. The recipe was my grandmother’s.”

“How thoughtful.” Ben all but leaped from the table. He hadn’t moved with this much agility for weeks.

Before another minute had passed he’d grabbed a plate and fork. His eyes feasted on the dish Mrs. McMurphy took from the basket.

Huge cinnamon rolls were piled high on the small platter. The frosting had melted over the top, just the way he liked.

“Please, Mr. Hamilton, help yourself.”

Ben didn’t need a second invitation. “I believe I’ll have a
taste,” he said, as if he felt morally obligated to sample her wares since she’d gone to the trouble of bringing them.

He placed the largest one on the plate and licked the sweetness from his fingertips. This was heaven. Forget all that nonsense about bran and tofu.

Trying to disguise his absolute delight, he read over her résumé as he took the first bite.

“As I explained earlier, the recipe was my grandmother’s. Although it’s more expensive, I use real butter.” She said this hesitantly, her eyes studying him.

Butter. She used real butter.

“I’ve tried margarine,” Mrs. McMurphy said with regret, “but the rolls don’t have the same richness or full-bodied flavor. If I come to work for you, Mr. Hamilton, I insist on using the best ingredients, and that means baking with butter.”

Ben licked his fingers clean. “Of course.”

“If you’d like, you could try another,” she said, gesturing to the plate. “I brought plenty.”

“Don’t mind if I do.” He had to rearrange the stack in order to get the largest of the remaining four.

“I suppose you’d like me to tell you a bit about my background,” she said after a moment. Ben was far too busy eating to ask her questions.

“Please.” He gestured for her to continue.

She listed a number of restaurants where she’d been employed in the past twenty years.

Ben barely listened. His eyes were half-closed in ecstasy as he chewed and swallowed.

“I understand there’s a housing shortage in Hard Luck at present,” Mrs. McMurphy said next.

Oh, yes, that was something he’d wanted to bring up. A convenient excuse and, despite Bethany’s interference, one he intended to use when he regretfully informed Mrs. McMurphy he wouldn’t be able to hire her.

“I asked Mr. O’Halloran about the possibility of flying in from Fairbanks on a daily basis. Naturally it would depend on the hours you need me, and the flight schedule, but he seemed to think we could arrange something. Mrs. Harris also mentioned the lodge, and I called and spoke with Mr. Caldwell. They have a room I could rent during the week and then return to Fairbanks for the weekends.”

Ben merely nodded and began to reach for a third roll.