him, much less agreed to marry him, but she had. He’d just started on the house, and she’d been excited about moving into a brand-new house, although she’d have preferred something bigger, showier—preferably on the beach.
He could still see her, walking around the foundation, going on and on about rosebushes and stuff like that. She’d said she wanted white walls, so he told her he’d paint the paneling he’d already bought. Hell, she’d even picked out the countertop color in the kitchen. He’d figured gray, now he was stuck with pink. Pink, of all damn things.
It had been shortly after that, that things had started to slide downhill. Little things, at first. She claimed headaches. His calls went unreturned. There were quarrels about stuff that didn’t amount to a hill of beans.
Trav had never kidded himself about his attractiveness to women. When it came to looks, he was your basic, utility model male. He was healthy. He still had all his teeth. He had the standard allotment of features in approximately the right place, but they weren’t anything to get excited about.
On the other hand, kids liked him. Dogs liked him. When a date was required for a service-related function, he’d never had trouble rounding one up. He might have two left feet when it came to dancing—he might not be much of a partying man—but he could have learned if that was what Kelli wanted. She should have told him so.
Instead, she’d trumped up a quarrel and accused him of insensitivity. Of not being romantic. Of not being any fun. He would have tried his hand at being all of the above if she’d leveled with him about what she was looking for in a husband. He thought women wanted security in a marriage. Someone who would be there for them when the going got rough. That he could have done. He might not be much on frills, but he was good for the long haul.
For the next couple of hours, while Trav measured for window trim, his houseguest stayed holed up in the bedroom. He wondered if she was all right. The news about her car had hit her hard.
But then, that wasn’t the only thing bugging her. He’d had time to study her, even more time to think about her odd reactions. Something didn’t quite add up. He had the distinct impression she was afraid of something. Or someone. And while he didn’t profess to be the world’s greatest host, he didn’t think she was actually afraid of him.
He nailed up a board and reached for the next one, his mind busy thinking over his options. Did he pry a few answers out of her and try his hand at fixing whatever was wrong? Or did he pretend not to notice the occasional flare of panic in her eyes?
Who was she running from? What was she afraid of? Why had she come down here in the dead of winter, when she obviously wasn’t expected?
Not your problem, Holiday, he told himself. You saw your duty and you did it—now back off.
By suppertime Trav had made up his mind to stay out of it. While the casserole—beans and hotdogs, his specialty—heated in the oven and Ru spread his bed with clean linens, he placed a few more calls, trying to track down her absent friend.
In the end he almost wished he hadn’t bothered. Then he could have tossed her bags and boxes into the back of the truck, driven her to Hatteras as soon as the road was clear and dropped her off on the woman’s doorstep.
Now, his conscience wouldn’t let him take the easy way out.
“Um...applesauce? Salad greens?” she said hopefully, watching him remove the pan from the oven and set it on a block of wood on the table.
“Sorry, I should have thought of it. I’m not much on vegetables, but there might be some canned fruit in the pantry. I’ll look.”
“No, that’s all right, this is fine. It looks... tasty.”
Yeah, right. He probably shouldn’t have added all that hot sauce. Not everyone was blessed with an asbestos palate. She was more the type for rare roast beef and dainty little salads and things poached in wine, with a side order of sugar toast.
It occurred to him that she might prefer music to the tide data at the Frisco pier that was currently playing on the weather radio.
So he got up and switched off the local weather and turned on his favorite country music station. Judging from the carefully blank look on her face, that didn’t quite suit her, either.
“You want music or no music? I’ve got some tapes out in the truck.”
“No, thanks, I’m just fine. I tried Moselle’s number again, though, and she still doesn’t answer. I’m starting to get worried about her.”
Speaking of music, it was time to face it. He’d put it off too long as it was. “About your friend...I happened to be talking to a neighbor of hers this afternoon, and she said Miss Sawyer is somewhere in the Bahamas. The neighbor says she’ll be back in about three weeks. The restaurant’s closed for the next couple of months.”
Trav couldn’t bring himself to meet her eyes, knowing what he’d see there. Dammit, he didn’t want to feel sorry for her. He was the one with the problems. When it came to tough luck, a friend in the Bahamas couldn’t compare with a son he’d never even met. Her friend would be back in a few weeks, but as for him, Matt might be grown before they ever managed to get together.
So he kept his eyes on her hands. She had nice hands. Long and slender, with smooth white skin and pretty nails. No polish, no rings. White knuckles, though. That was a bad sign.
“Ru, level with me. Did your friend know you were coming? If she did, she probably left a key with a neighbor, or maybe she left a note telling you how to reach her.”
“I—it was going to be a surprise. I sort of...left home in a hurry. I tried to call along the way, but...”
That was about what he’d figured. She must have taken off with no real plan, which pretty much guaranteed disaster. “Let’s think this through before we jump to any conclusions.”
“Frankly, I don’t much feel like thinking.”
Frankly, he didn’t, either. Besides, he had a feeling no amount of thinking was going to change the basic facts. At the moment she had no place to go and no means of getting there, short of hiring a beach buggy from one of the sports centers. Somehow he couldn’t quite see her hitting the road with all her bags and boxes in a four-by-four bristling with rod holders.
Another thing had occurred to him, something he didn’t know quite how to approach. Her finances might not be quite as healthy as her classy tweeds and cashmere coat and sweaters indicated. Even in the off season, rooms down here cost more than a few bucks.
Bottom line: he was stuck with her. Or rather, they were stuck with each other until one of them came up with a solution.
Morosely she forked up three beans and a chunk of wiener. He watched her lips part, showing a set of even white teeth that had probably sent some orthodontist’s kid to college.
And then he watched her eyes widen as steam all but came from her ears.
She lunged for the sink at the same time he reached out to open the refrigerator. “Milk’s better—fat coats the tastebuds. Water just spreads the fire.”
She drank from the carton before he could grab
