“So, why keep the fence when you told me it doesn’t stop the deer?
She looked around at the tall, white pickets, then walked toward the still-open gate. Micah followed her. Once through, she latched the gate after them and said, “Makes me feel better to try. Sometimes, I could swear I hear the deer laughing at my pitiful attempts to foil them.”
He looked toward the woods that ran along the back of the neighborhood and stretched out for at least five miles to the base of the mountains. “I haven’t seen a single deer since I’ve been here.”
“You have to actually be outside,” she pointed out.
“Right.” He nodded and tucked his hands into his jeans pockets.
“There’s a lot of them and they’re sneaky,” Kelly said, shooting a dark look at the forest. “Of course, some of them aren’t. They just walk right into the garden and sneer at you.”
He laughed and she looked at him, surprised. “Deer can sneer?”
“They can and do.” She tipped her head to one side to stare at him. “You should laugh more often.”
He frowned at that and the moment was gone, so Kelly let it go and went back to his first question. “The fence doesn’t even slow them down, really. They just jump right over it.” Shaking her head, she added, “They look like ballet dancers, really. Graceful, you know?”
“So why bother with the fence?”
“Because otherwise it’s like I’m saying, It’s okay with me guys. Come on in and eat the vegetables.”
“So, you’re at war with deer.”
“Basically, yeah.” She frowned and looked to the woods. “And, so far, they’re winning.”
“You’ve got orange paint on your cheek.”
“What? Oh.” She reached up and scrubbed at her face.
“And white paint on your fingers.”
Kelly held her hands out to see for herself, then laughed. “Yeah, I just came from a painting job and—”
“You paint, too?”
“Oh, just a little. Window decorations and stuff. I’m not an artist or anything, but—”
“Realtor, painter, website manager...” He just looked at her. “What else?”
“Oh, a few other things,” she said. “I design gardens, and in the winter I plow driveways. I like variety.”
His eyes flared at her admission and her stomach jumped in response. Not the kind of variety she’d meant, but now that the thought was in her brain, thank you very much, there were lots of other very interesting thoughts, too. Her skin felt heated and she was grateful for the cold breeze that swept past them.
Kelly took a deep breath, swallowed hard and said, “I should probably get home and clean up.”
“How about a glass of wine first?”
Curious, she looked up at him. “Is that an invitation?”
“If it is?”
“Then I accept.”
“Good.” He nodded. “Come on then. We can eat, too.”
“A man who cooks and serves wine?” She started for the back door, walking alongside Micah. “You’re a rare man, Micah Hunter.”
“Yeah,” he murmured. “Rare.”
Naturally, she was perfectly at home in the Victorian. She’d grown up there, after all. She’d done her homework at the round pedestal table while eating Gran’s cookies fresh out of the oven. She’d learned to cook on the old stove and had helped Gran pick out the shiny, stainless steel French door refrigerator when the last one had finally coughed and died.
She’d painted the walls a soft gold so that even in winter it would feel warm and cozy in here, and she’d chosen the amber-streaked granite counters to complement the walls. This house was comfort. Love.
At the farmhouse sink, Kelly looked out the window at the yard, the woods and the deepening sky as she washed her hands, scrubbing every bit of the paint from her skin. Then she splashed water on her face and wiped that away, too. “Did I get it all?”
He glanced at her and nodded. “Yeah.”
“Good. I like painting, but I prefer the paint on the windows rather than on me.”
Kelly got the wine out of the fridge while Micah heated the pasta in the skillet. She took two glasses from a cabinet and poured wine for each of them before sitting at the round oak table watching him.
What was it, she wondered, about a man cooking that was just so sexy? Sean hadn’t known how to turn the stove on, but Micah seemed confident and comfortable with a spatula in his hand. Which only made her think about what other talents he might have. Oh, boy, it had been a long time since she’d felt this heat swamping her. If Terry knew what Kelly was thinking right this minute, she would send up balloons and throw a small but tasteful party. That thought made her smile. “Smells good.”
He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Pasta’s easy. A few herbs, some garlic, olive oil and cheese and you’re done. Plus, some sliced steak because you’ve gotta have meat.”
“Agreed,” Kelly said, taking a sip of her wine.
“Glad to hear you’re not one of those I’ll just have a salad, dressing on the side types.”
“Hey, nothing wrong with a nice salad.”
“As long as there’s meat in it,” he said, concentrating on the task at hand.
“So what made you take up cooking?”
“Self-preservation. Live alone, you learn how to cook.”
Whether he knew it or not, that was an opening for questions. She didn’t waste it. “Live alone, huh?”
One eyebrow lifted as he turned to look at her. “Did you notice anyone else here with me the last couple of months?”
“No,” she admitted with a smile, “but you do write mysteries. You could have killed your girlfriend.”
“Could have,” he agreed easily. “Didn’t. The only place I commit crimes is on a computer screen.”
“Glad to hear it,” she said, smiling. Also glad to hear he could take some teasing and give it back. But on to the real question. “So, no girlfriend or wife?”
He used the spatula to stir the pasta, then gave her a quick look. “That’s a purely female question.”
“Well, then, since I am definitely female, that makes sense.” She propped her chin in her hand. “And it was very male of you to answer the question by not answering. Want to give it another try?”
“No.”
“No you won’t answer or no is the answer?”
Reluctantly, it seemed, his mouth curved briefly into a half smile. “I should know better than to get into a battle of words with a woman. Even being a writer, I don’t stand a chance.”
“Isn’t that the nicest thing to say?” But she stared at him, clearly waiting for his answer. Finally he gave her the one she was looking for.
He snorted. “No is the answer. No wife. No girlfriend. No interest.”
“So you’re gay,” she said sagely. Oh, she knew he wasn’t