Part 9 (1/2)
”I'm glad you like it.” He realized he had a dishcloth tucked in his jeans and hastily rugged it out. ”It was the best peace offering I could think of.”
”It worked.” She smiled, charmed by the sight of him hovering busily over a hot stove. ”Thanks for thinking of me. Now, I'd better get out of your way so you can finish cooking your dinner.”
”She can come in, can't she?” Jessie was already tugging on Ana's hand.
”Can't she, Daddy?”
”Sure. Please.” He shoved a box out of her way. ”We haven't finished unpacking yet. It's taking longer than I thought it would.”
Out of politeness, and curiosity, Ana stepped inside. There were no curtains on the window as yet, and a few packing boxes littered the stone colored floor tiles. But ranged along the royal blue countertop there was a glossy ceramic cookie jar in the shape of Alice's white rabbit, a teapot of the mad hatter, and a dormouse sugar bowl. Potholders, obviously hooked by a child's hand, hung on little bra.s.s hooks. The refrigerator's art gallery was crowded with Jessie's drawings, and the puppy was snoozing in the corner.
Unpacked and tidy, no, she thought. But this was already a home.
”It's a great house,” she commented. ”I wasn't surprised when it sold quickly.”
”You want to see my room?” Jessie tugged on Ana's hand again. ”I have a bed with a roof on it, and lots of stuffed animals.”
”You can take Ana up later,” Boone put in. ”Now you should go wash your hands.”
”Okay.” She looked imploringly at Ana. ”Don't go.”
”How about a gla.s.s of wine?” Boone offered when his daughter raced off. ”A good way to seal a truce.”
”All right.” Drawings rustled as he opened the fridge. ”Jessie's quite an artist. It was awfully sweet of her to draw a picture for me.”
”Careful, or you'll have to start papering the walls with them.” He hesitated, the bottle in his hand, wondering where he'd put the winegla.s.ses, or if he'd unpacked them at all. A quick search through cupboards made it clear that he hadn't. ”Can you handle chardonnay in a Bugs Bunny gla.s.s?”
She laughed. ”Absolutely.” She waited for him to pour hers, and his- Elmer Fudd. ”Welcome to Monterey,” she said, raising Bugs in a toast.
”Thanks.” When she lifted the gla.s.s to her lips and smiled at him over the rim, he lost his train of thought. ”I- Have you lived here long?”
”All my life, on and off.” The scent of simmering chicken and the cheerful disarray of the kitchen were so homey that she relaxed. ”My parents had a home here, and one in Ireland. They're based in Ireland for the most part now, but my cousins and I settled here. Morgana was born in the house she lives in, on Seventeen Mile Drive. Sebastian and I were born in Ireland, in Castle Donovan.”
”Castle Donovan.”
She laughed a little. ”It sounds pretentious. But it actually is a castle, quite old, quite lovely, and quite remote. It's been in the Donovan family for centuries.”
”Born in an Irish castle,” he mused. ”Maybe that explains why the first time I saw you I thought, well, there's the faerie queen, right next door in the rosebushes.” His smiled faded, and he spoke without thinking. ”You took my breath away.”
The gla.s.s stopped halfway to her lips. Those lips parted in surprised confusion. ”I-” She drank to give herself a moment to think. ”I suppose part of your gift would be imagining faeries under bushes, elves in the garden, wizards in the treetops.”
”I suppose.” She smelled as lovely as the breeze that brought traces of her garden and hints of the sea through his windows. He stepped closer, surprised and not entirely displeased to see the alarm in her eyes. ”How's that scratch? Neighbor.” Gently he cupped his hand around her arm, skimmed his thumb up until he felt the pulse inside her elbow skitter.
Whatever was affecting him was d.a.m.n well doing the same to her. His lips curved. ”Hurt?”
”No.” Her voice thickened, baffling her, arousing him. ”No, of course it doesn't.”
”You still smell of flowers.”
”The salve-”
”No.” The knuckles of his free hand skimmed just under her chin. ”You always smell of flowers. Wildflowers and sea foam.”