* * *
Maggie heard his footsteps moving around upstairs for a long time, listening to the muffled thump as she mixed dough and browned ground beef for the soup.
Nate Griffith. U.S. Marshal. The name had conjured an image of a flat faced cop when Jennifer had told her about the reservation. Despite the flashes of coolness, he was anything but. He couldn’t be more than thirty, thirty-one. And it hadn’t taken but a moment to realize he was all legs and broad shoulders, and polite manners.
“Whatcha making?”
Jennifer’s voice interrupted and for once Maggie was glad of it. She’d already spent too long thinking about her latest lodger.
“Pasta e fagioli and foccacia bread.”
“Excellent.” Jen grabbed a cookie from a beige pottery jar and leaned against the counter, munching.
Maggie watched her. There were some days she really missed the preteen years. Parenting had been so much simpler then. Yet hard as it was, she hated to see Jen leave again.
“Day after tomorrow, huh. Did you book your bus ticket?”
“I booked it return when I came, remember?” She reached in the jar for another cookie.
“You’ll spoil your supper,” Maggie warned.
Jen simply raised an eyebrow as if to say, I’m not twelve, Mother.
“You should be glad I’m leaving. That leaves you alone with Detective Hottie.”
Maggie glared.
“Oh, come on, Mom. He’s a little old for me, even if he is a fine specimen. But he’s just about right for you.”
Maggie put the spoon down with more force than she intended. “First of all, keep your voice down. He is a paying guest in this house.” She ignored the flutter that skittered through her at Jen’s attempt at matchmaking. “He wouldn’t be here at all if you’d asked first and booked later.”
Jennifer stopped munching. “You’re still mad about that, huh.”
Maggie sighed, forgetting all about his footsteps. It wasn’t all Jen’s fault. She did her own share of picking fights. She should be trying to keep Jen close, not pushing her away.
“I just wish…I wish you’d give some thought to things first, instead of racing headlong and then having to backtrack. You took the reservation without even consulting me.”
“I was trying to help. I told you I was sorry about it. And they did come through with the cash, so what’s the big deal?”
How could Maggie explain that the big deal was that she worried over Jen day and night? She hadn’t been blind the last few years. Jen had skated through without getting badly hurt. Yet. But she’d had her share of trouble and Maggie was terrified that one day she’d get a phone call that something truly awful had happened. She wished Jen took it as seriously as she did.
“Let’s not argue about it anymore, okay?” Arguing over the reservation was irrelevant now. Maggie had been irritated with Jennifer at the time for not taking a credit card number, but it had ceased to matter. The United States Marshals Service was picking up the tab. All of it. A day after Nate had reserved the room, someone from his office had called and made arrangements for payment, not even blinking when she’d told them the rate, or the cost of extras. And she’d charged them high season rates, just because she’d been so put out at having to put her travel plans on hold.
She pressed dough into two round pans, dimpling the tops with her fingers before putting them under a tea towel to rise. No matter how much she wished she were lying on a beach in Cancún right now, she still derived pleasure from doing what she did best. Cooking for one was a dull, lonely procedure and her spirits lightened as she added ingredients to the large stockpot on the stove. Jen had been home for the last week, but it wasn’t the same now that she was nearly adult and spreading her wings. Having guests meant having someone else to do for. It was why she’d chosen a bed and breakfast in the first place.
The footsteps halted above her, the house falling completely silent as their argument faltered.
“I didn’t mean to pick a fight with you.”
“Me, either.” Jen shuffled to the kitchen doorway and Maggie longed to mend fences, although she didn’t know how.
“Supper in an hour,” she called gently, but it went ignored.
Maggie reached across the counter to turn on the radio. She hummed quietly with a recent country hit as she turned her attention to pastry. Her foot tapped along with the beat until she slid everything into the oven, added tiny tubes of pasta to the pot, and cleaned up the cooking mess, the process of cooking and cleaning therapeutic.
At precisely six-twenty, he appeared at the kitchen door.
She turned with the bread pans in her hands, surprised to see him there. Again, she felt a warning thump at his presence. Why in the world was she reacting this way to a complete stranger? It was more than a simple admiration of his good looks. A sliver of danger snuck down her spine. She knew nothing about him. He looked like a normal, nice guy. But how would she know? She didn’t even know the reason why he was on a leave of absence. What could have happened to make him need to take extended time off? Suddenly all her misgivings, ones she rarely gave credence to, came bubbling up to the surface. Most of the time she was confident in her abilities to look after herself. Something about Nate Griffith challenged that. And very soon, it would just be the two of them in the house.
“Is something wrong?”
She shook her head, giving a start and putting the pans down on top of the stove. “No, not at all. You just surprised me.”
Maggie took a deep breath, keeping her back to him. “Dinner’s not quite ready. It won’t be long.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
He took a few steps into the kitchen. It was her job to make him at ease and feel at home, so why on earth was she finding it so difficult? She forced a smile as she flipped the round loaves out of the pans and on to a cooling rack. “Jen should be down soon. Besides, it’s my job to look after you, remember?”
“Well, sure.” He leaned easily against the side of the refrigerator. “But I thought we were going to play it a little less formal.”
He had her there. She thought for a moment as she got the dishes out of the cupboard. He was only here for a few weeks. What harm could come of being friendly, after all? Her voices of doubt were just being silly; she was making something out of nothing. He’d be gone back to his job and the palm trees before she knew it.
“All right.” She held out bread plates and bowls. “Informal it is. We can use the kitchen or the dining room, whichever you prefer. If you could set the table with these, I’ll finish up here.”
He pushed himself upright with an elbow. “Absolutely.” He moved to take the dishes and their fingers brushed. Without thinking, her gaze darted up to his with alarm. For a second she held her breath. But then he turned away to the table as if nothing had connected.
Only she knew it had. And that was bad, bad news.
CHAPTER TWO
HE’D set the three places at one end of the table; one at the head and the other two flanking it. There was little chance of her getting away with sitting across from him. He’d be close. Too close. With his long legs, their knees might bump under the table. Her pulse fluttered at the thought and she frowned. It wasn’t like her to be so twitchy.
As she watched, he lit the thick candles at the center of the table with the butane lighter.
Maggie