Outside, snow continued to fall. Inside, the room was cozy with a fire blazing in the hearth. Pretty floral bone china cups held Pauline’s favorite blend of tea, African Autumn. The cranberry-and-oranges flavor of the herbal rooibos made for a soothing drink, especially with the addition of a dollop of honey. Josie felt the last of her tension ease as she took another sip.
The conversation on the drive to Pauline’s home had been laden with amusing anecdotes about the people her employer had interacted with over the course of the evening. Not once had Noah’s name come up.
When Pauline asked for a report on her evening, Josie chose her words carefully. “It was difficult to recognize people, because of their masks.”
She went on to tell Pauline about Liam and Sylvie, about running into her brother and Poppy. But when Pauline gazed at Josie over the top of her teacup Josie knew the moratorium on Noah Anson had ended.
“You’ve mentioned everyone but my grandson.” Pauline’s gaze turned sharp and assessing in the golden light of the richly appointed parlor.
“I ran into Noah. He was helpful. He pointed out several women and men who I wouldn’t have recognized because of the masks.”
It was a simplistic explanation but Josie had no intention of explaining something she didn’t understand herself...why she’d shared two very hot kisses and most of the evening with a man who was not her type.
“Did he ask you to help him reconcile with Daffy?”
“What do you think?” Josie’s droll tone had Pauline chuckling.
“My grandson is nothing if not persistent.” Admiration ran through the older woman’s words like a pretty ribbon.
“The man is a bulldog.” Josie sipped her tea. “He hammered home the same points he’d made previously.”
“What did you tell him?”
“No.”
Pauline lifted a perfectly tweezed brow. “Just...no?”
“It’s best to be simple and direct.” Even as the words left her mouth, Josie had to swallow a smile.
Keeping it simple would have been maintaining a distance. And kissing, well, locking lips, would never be part of any keeping-a-distance equation.
“I respect your right to make that decision.” Pauline lowered her cup and pinned Josie with the blue eyes her grandson had inherited. “And to change it, if you later decide otherwise.”
Josie smiled, tempted to tell Pauline that a surgeon was not her cup of tea. Because this particular surgeon was her employer’s grandson, she simply lifted the cup to her lips, took a drink and changed the subject.
* * *
The last place Noah wanted to be on a snowy night in January was at Benedict Campbell’s home watching a football game that had already been played. Only the fact that he’d already turned down numerous invitations had pushed Noah to accept this one.
As he trudged up the front walk he mused on what had been a disappointing year so far, beginning with Josie turning down his proposition for the second time only minutes after the clock had struck twelve. He’d been surprised. Heck, he’d been stunned. When he’d kissed her at midnight and she’d kissed him back with enthusiasm, he’d been certain of success.
What more could he have done to secure her cooperation? Hadn’t he played the pirate game? Danced with her to romantic ballads? Eaten cake and drunk champagne?
Her refusal shouldn’t have shocked him. He’d learned how unpredictable the female species could be, beginning back in high school with Sia Norton.
Sia, a perky brunette with a quick mind and big breasts, had made him so crazy he couldn’t even concentrate on his studies. She’d also confused the heck out of him with actions more emotional than logical.
It was the same with Josie. Instead of accepting an offer that made perfect sense and would be mutually advantageous, she’d thanked him for a fun evening and strolled off, mask dangling from her fingertips, lips still swollen from his kisses.
Noah shoved the thought of those few seconds of unrestrained passion aside along with his irritation over his unreturned phone call and text. He told himself if reuniting with his sister wasn’t so important, he wouldn’t be giving the baffling woman a second thought.
It was a lie, of course. Josie Campbell was like an itch that needed to be scratched.
Playing pirates. The thought brought a smile to his face as he rang the bell of the two-story home in Jackson Hole’s affluent Spring Gulch subdivision.
Even before the door swung open, sounds of laughter and conversation spilled out onto the porch. Noah squared his shoulders. It had been a long, tiring day. The last thing he felt like doing was socializing. He told himself he’d stay for an hour, then make some excuse to leave.
Poppy greeted him at the door, relaxed and smiling in a pair of gray pants and a red sweater. Several glittery bracelets encircled one wrist. If Noah hadn’t known she was pregnant, he’d never have guessed.
The smile she flashed was as warm and bright as the gems on her arm. Based on her previous coolness, her friendliness surprised him.
“Noah, I’m happy you could make it.” She ushered him in and pulled the door shut, closing out the brisk north wind. “I was hoping for better weather. Then again, this is Wyoming in January.”
She gave a little laugh and took his coat.
Noah forced a polite, interested expression. “Ben said you’re hosting a book club this evening.”
Actually, the book club was one of the reasons Noah had agreed to come tonight. When Ben mentioned his wife and the other women would be busy discussing their latest read, Noah had known he’d be socializing with just guys. This was one evening where he wouldn’t feel like a fifth wheel. And then there was the gourmet feast Ben had promised.
“We’re discussing The 48 Laws of Power this evening. But we’re eating first.” The twinkle in Poppy’s eyes told him she was well aware of exactly how he’d been enticed to attend. “If there’s time at the end of the evening, I’m hoping to bring out the portable mic and do a little torch singing. Do you sing?”
Noah froze. “Ben didn’t mention anything about singing.”
Poppy stroked the cashmere of his coat now folded over her arm. “Didn’t he? I’ll have to speak with him. It’s always nice for guests to be prepared.”
The only place Noah ever sang was in the shower, or in church, when he attended. “What’s torch singing?”
“Romantic ballads.”
Noah’s shoulders tightened. “I don’t know any.”
“No worries. We have sheet music.” She turned toward the hall then paused to gesture in the direction of the back of the house. “The men are to the right, women to the left. Dinner is in fifteen.”
Though Noah was certainly no coward, if Poppy hadn’t been holding his coat hostage, he might have thought about making a break for it. One thing he knew for certain. If there was any torch singing tonight, it wouldn’t be him center stage.
Even if Poppy hadn’t told him which direction to go, the high-pitched laughter and feminine voices—seeming to all talk at once—would have alerted him to stay to the right.
Noah had expected Ben’s home to be as precise and put-together as the man himself. But instead of elegant pieces of expensive furniture there were overstuffed sofas and chairs exuding a warmth absent from Ben’s office at the clinic.
His associate’s office reminded Noah of a page out of Architectural Digest. The light gray walls held signed prints. The rosewood