Rumor Has It (4 page)

Maggie pulled her sunglasses off, her brown eyes round with excitement. “It's a gaping wound in his shoulder?”

“I made that up!” Flames of pain seared her back and hip and burned down her right leg. Giving in, she reached for her purse and dug through it for her prescription bottle. “He didn't take his shirt off for me!”

“Too bad,” Maggie said on a sigh. She watched as her friend popped open a plastic bottle and extracted a pill. Immediately she dropped her playful teasing. “Are you okay?”

Katie washed the medication down with flat diet cola and gave Maggie a weary wry smile. “Too many flights of stairs today. Mrs. Pruitt had me up and down from that guest room so many times, I felt like a human yo- yo. I've got to tell you, Maggie, that woman is going to drive me right over the edge. Mustard is the color for the room. Why won't she listen to me?”

Maggie smiled sympathetically. “It's all in how you tell her, darlin’. You have to talk her around until she thinks it was her idea.”

“I know.” Katie groaned in frustration. She realized Mrs. Pruitt was a perfect example of why she and Maggie had the ideal partnership. Katie's taste was impeccable, and no one could question her knowledge of period furnishing and decorating, but she was stubborn and opinionated. Maggie's light hearted personality could charm the most contrary customer. She was a magician when it came to dealing with difficult people.

Katie's gaze scanned the empty room. “Zoe went home?”

“Yep. She wanted to stick around to find out more about Tall, Dark, and Greek God Bod, but she had to pick up Reese from Cub Scouts.”

Katie rubbed her hands over her face, erasing the last remnants of her makeup. She pulled her braid over her shoulder and played with the end of it. “It's Reese's birthday Friday. Have you bought a present?”

“ Uh- huh.”

“Can I go in on it with you?” she asked tiredly.

“Your name's already on the card, sugar.”

Katie wondered how long it would be before the emotional pain lessened enough for her to walk into a toy store. It had been five years since
her accident, and still the results of it tore her apart inside. No one would have said so, but she knew Maggie could see it, because Maggie knew the whole truth of what her riding accident had done to her.

Maybe by the time all their friends had finished having children, Katie thought, maybe then she could be over the fact that she never could.

“You're a good friend, Mary Margaret,” she said as the first welcome buzz of numbing medication sluiced through her.

“Yeah.” Maggie slid her sunglasses back on. She went to lock the front door and turn the Open sign to Closed. “I'll even be a sport and drive you home. Let's blow this pop stand, Quaid.”

S
OMEHOW SHE KNEW
it was him even before she looked up from the invoices on her desk. There was just something in the way the bells above the front door jingled that tipped her off. Katie looked up as Nick stepped around the counter. He had her china vase. In it white tissue paper skirted a tall stand of stiff green pasta.

“Good morning, Kathryn!” He smiled with all the brilliant warmth of the spring sun as he set the vase on her desk, then leaned back against the counter and crossed his ankles. He wore white
socks and old brown loafers that looked as if they'd survived decades of fashion ups and downs.

Katie found herself eye level with a rather disturbing part of his anatomy. Men with bodies like this should be required to have a license to wear tight jeans, she mused, her cheeks flushing to a color that matched the flowers of her Laura Ashley dress. She straightened in her chair and forced her gaze up to his face. It was impossible not to return his smile.

“Good morning, Mr. Leone. What an unusual gift.” She reached out a tentative finger to touch the sticks of pasta, not entirely sure what they were.

“Spinach fettuccine,” he said. “I made it last night. Serve it with a little lemon butter.” He kissed the tips of his fingers, then wagged one at her. “Eleven minutes. Don't overcook it. You'll ruin the texture.”

“Thank you.” She nodded and scanned her suddenly empty brain for something more to say. The only thing her brain could register was that she was relieved he was wearing a loose- fitting shirt. Unfortunately for her blood pressure, he had rolled the sleeves neatly to his elbows, calling
attention to muscular forearms generously adorned with curling ebony hair.

“I fixed those steps Wednesday after you left. How's the ankle?” he asked, slipping his fingers into the pockets of his jeans, further straining the faded denim.

Katie swallowed hard and fixed her gaze on his left shoulder. “It's fine.”

“You want me to look at it? I don't know anything about first aid, but I'd love to get my hands on your ankle,” he said with a playful note in his voice.

Katie forced herself not to smile. “That's quite unnecessary,” she said.

Nick grimaced inwardly. Even if she wasn't showing it now, he knew the lady had a sense of humor. Her face had glowed with it the other day. He wasn't about to believe that baloney he'd heard about her being the town ice princess. At any rate, he intended to do a little personal research into the rumor. “I got that stuff in the attic sorted out. I thought you might be able to tell me who could clean it.”

“Certainly.” She jotted down an address for him on a sheet of pink memo paper. Restoration
was a much safer topic than Nick's hands on her ankle. The mere suggestion had given her a hot flash. “The people at the historical society in Charlottesville do a very nice job.”

“I don't know where that is or what to tell them when I get there,” he said, letting his fingertips brush hers as he leaned forward to take the scrap of paper. He thought he heard her breath catch in her throat. “Maybe you'd go along with me?”

“I'm sorry.” Katie locked her gaze on her invoices. The look Nick was giving her was more hopeful than a spaniel puppy's. Calculated, no doubt, she thought, not holding it against him. No man could be as handsome as he was and remain totally unaware of his effect on women. “I'm very busy here, but I'd be glad to call ahead and talk to them for you.”

The back screen door banged, heralding Maggie's arrival. She came in through the stock room, jabbering a mile a minute about why she was late. She was always late. The story about the knotted lace on her low black boots stilled on her tongue as she stepped into the office.

“Maggie!” Katie greeted her. Turning her back
to Nick, she gave her partner a meaningful stare. “This is Nick Leone. Mr. Leone, my partner, Maggie McSwain.”

Maggie pulled her sunglasses off and gave Nick her best Southern- belle look, complete with batting lashes and sweetly pursed lips, her head tilted just so. She offered him her hand. When she spoke her voice was all magnolias and honey. “Why, Mr. Leone, it's such a pleasure. Katie just went on and on about meeting you the other day!”

Immediately Nick saw he had an ally in this little charmer with the hourglass figure. He was a man who read people very quickly and very accurately. He caught the mischievous gleam in Maggie's eyes—and the dire look in Katie's. “Really?” He smiled. “I was hoping Miss Quaid might accompany me to the historical society in Charlottesville today, but I guess she's too busy.”

“Oh, pooh!” Maggie waved off the notion. “Don't be silly, Kathryn. Didn't you want to take those quilts of Emma Sweet's down there anyway?”

Katie ground her teeth and spoke through them all at once. “Mary Margaret,
darlin’,
I just was
explaining to Nick, I'm much too busy, what with having to spend the day helping Mrs. Pruitt.”

“I'm
working with Mrs. Pruitt, sugar,” she said, pressing a hand to her substantial bosom. She beamed a smile at Nick. “It must have slipped her mind.”

Nick Leone was a dangerous man to be in a car with, Katie decided. It had nothing to do with his overwhelming masculinity or his boyish smile and everything to do with the fact that he drove like a maniac. The drive from Briarwood south to Charlottesville was lovely, the road winding up and down hills through sun- dappled woods. Nick attacked it with all the enthusiasm of a grand- prix driver.

“You wouldn't be practicing to try out for one of those car commercials, would you?” Katie asked dryly, grasping the armrest as the wine-colored Trans Am sailed through yet another S-curve. “You know, the ones that have little disclaimers down on the bottom of the screen. Do not attempt this with your own vehicle.”

Nick winced, easing his foot off the gas. “I'm
so used to city traffic, when I get on a nice stretch of road, I tend to get carried away.”

“You've lived in a city all your life?” she asked, deciding small talk was preferable to sitting there getting hot over the play of his thigh muscles beneath his jeans as he piloted the car.

He nodded. “Atlantic City and New York.”

“I've been to New York,” she said, remembering her trips to the National Horse Show at Madison Square Garden.

“Did you like it?”

She gave him an apologetic smile. “ ‘Fraid not. I guess I prefer small towns.”

“Me too.”

She studied him openly for a moment, deciding he meant those words even if they did sound funny coming from a former New Yorker. She also decided he had the most sincere eyes of anyone she knew. It was impossible for her to dislike him. The trouble was, she was going to like him too much. Why couldn't he have been arrogant, obnoxious, unscrupulous—something closer to Maggie's rumor of a ruthless spy?

“What did you do before you decided to go into the restaurant business?” she asked.

Nick glued his gaze to the road and repositioned his hands on the steering wheel. He didn't enjoy the idea of being evasive with her. “A little of this, a little of that.”

“I didn't mean to pry,” Katie said. “You're probably tired of people asking. I guess Southerners are just naturally nosey. If we were in New York, you'd probably tell me it's none of my business. And it's not,” she added hastily. Turning to look out the window she rolled her eyes and cursed her sudden lack of tact.

Nick took pity on her and himself and decided to give her at least a portion of the truth. “I've been a waiter, a chef, a busboy, a cabdriver—all while I was trying to become a star on Broadway.”

“You're an actor?” She was genuinely surprised because she'd never met an actor.

Nick grimaced. “That's a matter of opinion. I am a dancer—formal schooling, the whole bit.”

“How wonderful!” And how envious she was. Since her accident, dancing was something she could only dream about. “Why wouldn't you want to tell anyone?”

He shifted his big body in the low car seat and shrugged uncomfortably. “ ‘Cause I didn't make
it, and I don't want to make a big deal out of it.” And because the kind of dancing he'd been doing over the past two years was done
way
off Broadway, he added mentally.

They took care of their business in Charlottes -ville quickly and lunched on deli sandwiches in a park. Nick recited all the guidebook facts he'd learned about the town and told Katie he was going to come back one day to tour Thomas Jefferson's home, Monticello. She told him about her brother attending college there, at the Uni versity of Virginia, until their father's death had forced him to return home to run the family farm.

On the drive back Katie marveled at how she'd loosened up with Nick. He was so easy to talk to, it seemed she'd forgotten that she didn't want to get to know him—was afraid to get to know him, she amended. Five years previously she had realized there could never be a Nick Leone in her life, a man who made her feel warm inside, as though he had let the sun in to fill all the dark, empty places. She had resigned herself to the fact that she could never have such a man because she could never be the kind of woman he deserved.

Yet here he was, close enough for her to reach out and touch.

“Have dinner with me tonight,” he said as they pulled up in front of Primarily Paper.

“Oh—Nick—” she stammered while her heart hammered in her chest. She shook her head. “I really should—”

“—say yes and go out with me.” He grinned engagingly, his face much too close as he reached in front of her to open her door.

Katie scowled at him. “You have the most annoying habit of finishing my sentences for me.”

“I'll pick you up at seven,” he said, giving her braid a playful tug.

She stepped into the store just as a customer was leaving. Her polite professional smile for the woman quickly melted into a look that was almost comically distressed.

“I like him,” Katie said woefully.

“Oh, no,” her partner whispered dramatically, leaning over the counter. “We'd all better dress in black.”

“It's not funny, Mary Margaret.”

Maggie sighed and came around the counter to lead her friend to a chair at the oak trestle table.
Sitting down across from Katie she said, “What's so terrible about liking Nick Leone—except of course that he's a retired mercenary just back from the jungles of Central America?”

“Where'd you hear that one?” Katie asked, laughing.

“Stella Watkins, the food- sample lady at the supermarket,” Maggie said with a chuckle, her eyes twinkling merrily.

Katie sobered. “He asked me to dinner.”

“A fate worse than death. I'm sure I don't know how you'll be able to stand sitting across from that handsome man, gazing into those gorgeous brown eyes of his for a whole evening.”

“ Mag- gie!”

“ Ka- tie! He asked you to dinner, not to have his baby. There's no reason you shouldn't go and enjoy yourself. Actually, it's your duty to go with him. You were duly elected to find out all about him. What's the problem anyway? You like Michael Severs. You go out to dinner with him.”

“That's not the same,” Katie argued. “Michael is safe. There's no danger of him becoming anything more than a friend, and he and I both know it.”

“No fireworks.”

“I don't want fireworks.”

Maggie shook her head, her redheaded temper heating her cheeks. “You think you can't have fireworks. That's a lot of hogwash, Katie. You go out with Nick Leone and have a nice time with him and stop worrying about things that might never matter.”