“Mr. Logan! What if this had been Blair?” She flapped her hands at him; he bet she’d be fit to be tied if she realized how red her cheeks were. “Please—g-go back and finish getting dressed. I’m not in that much of a hurry.”
Hank’s accession to her demands extended as far as snapping his jeans’ waistband. And while he wouldn’t go so far as to say he was enjoying watching her watching him, he did have to admit he was getting a perverse sort of pleasure out of ruffling Ms. Stanton’s very ruffleable feathers.
“You come knockin’ before 8:00 a.m., Ms. Stanton, you take me as you find me. Now am I correct in assuming you’re not here to invite me to breakfast?”
Her eyes snapped to his. “The t-toilet was overflowing. In the cabin. I turned off the main valve to the cabin, but now we obviously have no running water. So it needs to be fixed right away.”
Hank scratched his chin, thinking maybe he’d get around to shaving today. Or maybe not. He’d have to think on it for a bit. “No water, huh? You need to use my can?” He nodded toward the apartment.
“No, I don’t need to use your…bathroom. We, um…”
In spite of himself, he felt a grin tugging at his mouth, if not chasing away what was left of the nightmare, at least dulling its effects somewhat. Lord, but it had been a long time since he’d had this much fun yanking a woman’s chain.
“I take it, Ms. Stanton, you have enough sense not to use leaves to—”
“Blair and I are going into town for breakfast,” she interrupted, her cheeks full-out blazing now. “I…I’d appreciate it if you could see to the problem before we get back?”
Then she turned on her heel—rope-soled shoes today—and stormed out, her fanny not daring to move a single extra muscle as she went.
“Ms. Stanton?”
She turned, brows hoisted. Hank dug in his jeans pocket and extracted a five-dollar bill. “Since you’re going into town anyway, d’you suppose you could bring me back a bacon and egg sandwich from Ruby’s? With a side of hash browns? Oh, and while you’re at it—” he went on a second excavation for another five “—get me a chocolate shake, too.”
For a good two or three seconds, she regarded him with what could only be described as a cross between stupefaction and profound pity. But she tromped back over to the counter and snatched the bills from Hank’s hands. “I suppose that’s the least I can do in exchange for your checking out my plumbing so early in the morning.” In rapid succession, she blushed, cleared her throat, and said, “You drink milk shakes for breakfast?”
For some dumb reason, a big old smile stretched across Hank’s face. “Spoken truly like somebody who’s never had one of Ruby’s chocolate shakes.”
She opened her mouth as if she was about to say something, only to spin around again. This time, he let her make it all the way outside, thinking he sure did like that indignant little backside of hers.
Yep, Jenna Stanton might be a priss, but she was a damned attractive priss. In fact, she was the kind of woman that set a man’s hands itching to stroke some of the starch right out of her, to back her up to whatever was handy and kiss her senseless. Just for the challenge, y’know?
And Hank was damned grateful that he was old enough, and, he hoped, smart enough, to know that he had no business thinking he might be that man.
Chapter 2
Jenna had read about places like this—hell, she’d written about places like this—but before this morning, she’d never experienced one live and in person. Judging from Blair’s owl-eyed expression, her niece wasn’t exactly sure what to make of Ruby’s Café, either.
Blair leaned forward. “God, it looks like a movie set or something.”
Jenna leaned over as well. “I know. And don’t say ‘God.’ It’s tacky.”
Blair made a face, then slouched back against the seat. A pretty brunette waitress in standard-issue pink sleaze had already given them menus and poured Jenna a cup of decaf. The place was crowded, mostly with men in various permutations of denim and cotton jersey. Over a constant stream of good-natured insults and laughter and you-reckon-it’s-ever-gonna-rain-agains?, dishes clattered and bacon sizzled on the grill behind the counter. And, despite the inauspicious start to the morning, Jenna started to feel better. A little.
Then she picked up her cup. And there, shimmering like a mirage in her decaf, stood Hank Logan, half-naked and freshly aroused. Awake. Awake, she corrected herself, quickly lowering the heavy ceramic cup back into its saucer.
Blair frowned. “What’s the matter? Your cheeks are all pink.”
“Nothing.” Jenna tried a smile. “Did you sleep okay?”
That got a shrug.
“Charmaine told me we had visitors,” a rich voice intoned over their heads. Jenna looked up into a round, dark, beaming face topped with short white hair. “How’re you folks doing today?” As Jenna and Blair mumbled their “fines,” the woman, dressed in a loose white shirt and pale-blue polyester pants, topped Jenna’s still-full coffee cup, then said, “Glad to hear it. I’m Ruby Kennedy. My husband Jordy and I run this place, so if there’s anything you don’t see on the menu, just go on ahead and ask, and we’ll see what we can do. Although I’m thinking seriously about making up some blueberry pancakes, if that might be of interest to anybody.” She looked pointedly at Blair, who in turn looked pointedly at Jenna with something almost like interest flickering in her blue eyes.
Jenna chuckled. “Go for it, sweetie.”
“C’n I have coffee, too?”
“Nice try, and you know the answer. Juice or milk.”
For a second, the grump face reappeared, but then, on a sigh, Blair said she’d like the blueberry pancakes with orange juice. Please.
“How about some bacon or sausage with that?” Ruby asked.
Blair visibly shuddered. “I don’t eat meat.”
Ruby’s brows lifted, but all she said was, “And what about you, baby?” to Jenna. “You want the blueberry pancakes, too?”
“Actually, no, I think I’ll stick with a bowl of Special K and a grapefruit half.”
Now Ruby laughed. “Lord, no wonder you’re so skinny. But if that’s what floats your boat, who am I to say? Okay, we’ll get that right out to you—”
“Oh, wait!” Jenna called out to Ruby as she started to leave. “I just remembered—I’m supposed to bring back breakfast for Mr. Logan, too.”
“Mr. Logan? Which one?”
She and Blair exchanged glances. “There’s more than one?”
“Three, as a matter of fact. Brothers. Although one’s a doctor, not a mister. Which one you want breakfast for?”
“Uh…Hank.” Shouldn’t the P.I. have told her there were brothers? “The one who runs the Double Arrow.”
That was worth a frown and a pair of crossed arms underneath a prodigious bosom. “You stayin’ out there?”
“We’re renting one of the cottages for the month, yes.”
“Where you from, honey? If you don’t mind my asking.”
“D.C. Why?”
“And you came all the way out here to stay in one of Hank Logan’s cottages?”