“Ahhhhhhhh…” He tapped his index finger to his temple and nodded. “Now I get it.”
Casey stood in the lobby of the Galvez Hotel and marveled over the turn-of-the-century opulence while she waited for Captain Jack’s delivery vehicle. She checked her wristwatch: 9:00 p.m. She should have called first, but it was on the way home and Captain Jack’s made the best fish and chips south of Keokuk, Iowa. Bringing Barrett something to eat was simply spur-of-the-moment Southern hospitality. At least, she hoped he’d believe that story.
From the moment she’d peeked through her window shade to watch his huge Cadillac cross the dusty construction site, the seed of a plan had begun to germinate. Her background in corporate quality told her it was too quickly conceived. But Father Time was like the girl in high school who’d tried to convince Casey a perm would actually straighten her hair.
The enemy!
She didn’t have the luxury of plotting carefully and applying Six Sigma analysis to find the defects in her plans. Instead she’d keep copious notes and review her progress each day as she moved aggressively toward her goal.
Project code name: Befriend the Brit!
Okay, so it was about as firm as a soup sandwich, but she’d made worse conceived notions work before. This would be a snap.
She’d drive him nuts with questions and develop a fascination for all things English that made her mistrust of the legal profession no longer seem relevant. She’d get to know him so well that she’d be poised to strike before he could derail her plans.
Or worse, hurt her family.
And then there was the side benefit of spending a few days with a man who was very easy on the eye. That would help turn this bitter pill into a jelly bean.
“Ma’am, is that the delivery you were expecting?” The bellman gestured toward the hotel’s circular drive. A mustard-yellow van bearing the likeness of a pirate waited with emergency lights flashing.
She paid the driver, carried the warm bag to the front counter and used the house phone to ring Barrett’s suite.
“Yes, h’lo?” His voice was raspy.
“Were you asleep, Barrett?”
“It’s…” There was a brief pause. “Four a.m. Of course I was asleep. Who is this?”
“It’s Casey. I’m so sorry to wake you. I didn’t consider the time difference.”
In truth, she knew his body was on London time, seven hours ahead. Step one of her plan was to catch him unprepared, get a glimpse of his true nature.
“I’ve come bearing gifts.”
“Gifts? At this unearthly hour?”
She smiled at the crescendo of disbelief in his voice.
“This unearthly hour is only 9:00 p.m. I didn’t want you going to bed hungry so I brought fish and chips.” She dangled the bait.
“Ale-battered?” The Brit nibbled.
“Probably.” She had no idea.
“With malt vinegar?”
“Of course!” Picky, picky.
“Cod or haddock?”
“I don’t knooooooow! If you’re not interested I’ll leave it for the security guard.”
“No! I’m fully recovered from the tamales and a bit of fish sounds spot-on. I’ll be waiting at the door of the Laredo Suite to tip the porter. And, Casey, thank you for such a thoughtful gesture. Quite civilized under the circumstances. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Civilized? Circumstances?
Did that refer to her feelings about his profession? Or something worse? Her curly roots prickled at the thought.
“No thanks required, Barrett. As we say at Hearth and Home, it’s my pleasure to serve you.”
She picked up the sack of food and headed for the elevators.
“And as they say in Texas, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet, pardner!”
In his custom-made pajamas and favorite leather slippers Barrett made a groggy shuffle into the sitting room and retrieved a bottle of water from the fridge. As he drank deeply his eye caught the flash of color from the grinning fishes stuck to his hand.
Casey Hardy.
Was this interesting woman simply being kind or was she up to something? Caring for his cuts was one thing, but delivering dinner was another entirely. While the former act had been spontaneous, the latter was deliberate and required at least some planning. Within fifteen minutes of introduction, the lady had made her feelings about his mission quite clear. She didn’t like it. And she had given signals that she didn’t much like him, either. So what was driving her late-night concern for his nutritional needs?
A light tap, tap, tap signaled the arrival of the bellman. As Barrett pulled the door open he caught an enchanting scent, not at all the fish he was expecting. And the reason for that stood before him, beguiling eyes gleaming as a small smile twisted her lips.
“Good evening, Barrett.” Her gaze swept his buttoned-up appearance. He self-consciously stepped behind the door so that only his head was visible.
“Forgive me, I’m not dressed for company,” he explained.
She waved away his concern, clearly amused by his modesty.
“It’s my fault for showing up at this unearthly hour.” She held a brown sack aloft. “But I think you’ll be glad I did.”
A mouthwatering aroma wafted across the short distance.
Mmm…English fish and chips! He imagined it…deep-fried, crispy batter drizzled with tart malt vinegar, dipped in creamy tartar sauce. The enticing thought made his spirit ache for the home eight thousand kilometers away. His stomach grumbled for food.
“Now that I think of it, I am a bit peckish. Why don’t you let yourself into the sitting room and I’ll be right out?”
He left the door standing open and slipped into the bedroom. When he returned with the hotel’s signature pink robe belted securely, she was sitting at the small table. The large paper sack had been torn open at the seams and flattened as if a table topper to protect the polished surface.
The woman was thoughtful. Something he’d become unaccustomed to.
As he settled into a chair with the table separating them, she filled two paper plates and chatted as though her appearance at his door was most natural.
“Thanks for letting me come up and share my dinner with you.”
“It’s not as if you gave me a choice.”
She cast her eyes downward in a look of contrition he didn’t buy for a moment.
“Would you have turned me down if I’d called to ask?”
“Probably…” He smiled when her head popped up at the answer she clearly was not expecting. “…not,” he finished.
Satisfied with the caveat, she continued.
“Late-night comfort food is meant to be shared. It’s a Hardy family tradition. Actually, it’s more of a weakness. Anyway, my condo is on the other side of the causeway, too far for Captain Jack’s to deliver. But the Galvez is smack in the middle of their zone, so here I am.” She halved a still-steaming filet and dragged it through the puddle of ketchup on her plate.
She closed her eyes to appreciate the taste, giving him the perfect opportunity to admire her smooth complexion and dancing curls. Where he’d ended the day as limp and wrinkled as an empty sausage casing, she was every bit as appealing