Paige never obeyed anyonewhich he couldnt knowbut the man had to have a rich fantasy life to assume any woman with a brain would obediently take off with a madman of a stranger. Still, he was a strikingly sexy hunk. His breathtaking looks had no relevance to anything. It was just a point of interest; she didnt run into a lot of men who could make a nuns hormones sizzle. If she had to be interrupted, he was uncontestably the most fascinating intrusion shed had in a blue moon.
She waved a hand in a soothing gesture, hoping to calm him down. It was more than obvious that the stranger was overheated, uncontrolled, and beside himself about something. Whatever upset him clearly had to be addressed before she had a prayer of getting rid of him.
Do you speak English? she asked.
That stopped him short. Dayes. As if he just then recognized that he was speaking to her in the wrong language, he threw up his hands. The gesture was as exuberantly extravagant as everything else about him. Lowering his voice two volumes, he said clearly and succinctly, My beautiful lambchop, your kitchen is on fire.
She blinked.
No onebut no onehad ever called Paige lambchop. Shed never even heard such a sexist term in a decade. Whoever had taught the stranger English must either have been ancient or had a mischievous sense of humorwho knew if he realized what he was saying?but then the meaning of his words registered.
She sniffed. Fast. Sometimes, when she worked with power tools, her workshop picked up a leftover, dusty smoke smell. But this scrabbling hint of smoke wasnt at all the same odor. And it definitely wasnt emanating from her workroom.
Aw, shoot, she muttered, and took off. Guilt pumped extra adrenaline through her veins. She hit the turn in the hall at a near gallop. No question shed put a loaf of bread in the oven to bake earlier. She didnt make her own bread often, but something about all the kneading and pounding and mess invariably inspired the creative juices when she was in a work slump. And it worked that morning, too. She clearly remembered flying back to her shop and diving back into her cameo project with renewed and furiously intense concentration.
Shed just sort of accidentally forgotten about the bread.
The bear tagged her heels as she tore down the white-stucco hall and rounded the corner toward the kitchen. Smoke belched through the room, thicker than cumulus clouds, and at a glance she could see flames shooting from the old wood stove.
A woman who lost track of time as often as she did learned to be an ace pro with emergencies. Her judgment call was quick and came from experiencethis wasnt a 911 problem requiring outside help. It was just a run-of-the-mill ordinary disaster. Coughingand calling herself a number of colorful namesshe raced toward the old-fashioned broom closet and yanked out the giant fire extinguisher.
For an instant there, shed forgotten she had a side kick. The stranger suddenly leaped into action, as if his first concern had been rescuing any humans in the house, and his second was an automatic assumption that he was needed to take charge. The bear grabbed the extinguisher from her hands and then pushed herright in the chest!out of harms way through the door.
He shouted something at her, but it was in consonants again. He tried a second time. I needcloth! You got cloth thingie?
She interpreted that he wanted hot pads before opening the oven, but he found the pads on his own. They were in plain sight on the counter, just like about everything else in the old fashioned blue-and-white kitchen. Paige firmly believed in a clean, neat, everything-put-away cooking space. She just never got around to doing it. Good thing, this time, because he found the hot pads and hurled the flaming bread pan in the snow in a matter of seconds. Then he pulled the pin on the extinguisher and let it rip inside the oven.
The fire was out and the hoopla over almost faster than she could spit. The kitchen was still choking from the stench of the burned bread and acrid extinguisher spray, but even that was dissipating quickly. Her stranger hadnt slowed down yet. One window was already cracked openher wood stove could toast a small country if there was an outlet for the heatbut now he threw up the sashes on all the rest of the windows. Nice, freezing, seventeen-degree Vermont winter air poured into the room like a blessing.
Her heart was still slamming, so it took a few seconds to get her breath back and assess the damages. The ancient wood stove had a fresh, new coat of blacking, but the old baby had survived fires before. A few more soot stains only added to its character. For the hundredth time she consoled herself that her gift for intense concentration was a wonderful thing, not a dismally disgusting character flaw. Her life would just run smoother if she paid an eensy bit more attention to real life. Thank God, though, it really didnt appear that there was any serious harm done.
The bear seemed to reach the same conclusion. He whipped around and pinned her with a studying stare. You okay, fruitcake?
She blinked. Again.
Ah. Fruitcake is wrong word, I know. He thought fast. Cupcake. You okay, my cupcake?
She dry-washed her face with a hand. It didnt seem the time to suggest some changes in his vocabulary to adjust for twentieth century feminist American values. Not before theyd even been introduced. And not while he was beaming at her with a big, brawny, unnervingly sexy grin that somehow made herrattled.
I saw smoke from my house. Just little bit, coming from you one open window. Good thing I saw that, huh, lambchop? All gone now. No hurt done. You okay, you house okay, happy to be of rescue. He held out his hand. I am Stefan Michaelovich. Your neighbor.
Paige Stanford. And Im grateful that you spotted the smoke so quickly. Thank you for, um, rescuing me. Returning his handshake was just basic manners. Paige had no idea how such an innocuous, automatic courtesy turned into something else.
His palm clapped against hers and then just laid therehe didnt pump or shake; he just held her hand in a capturing squeeze. Perhaps people shook hands differently in Russia? She had no problem with that. It was just that the connection was tighter than a plug in a socket, and she wasnt prepared for the electric shock.
His hand was swallowing bigger than hers, and warm. His grip had all the muscular power of a physically active man, yet his skin was smooth and unscarred, his nails pared short and clean. By contrast, her hands were a disgrace. Nothing new. Unavoidably she picked up calluses and cuts from working so many hours with chisels and carving tools. She never thought about her handswho cared?but she was suddenly, strangely conscious of every knuckle and nail, every surface of texture that touched his.
Seconds spun out. She kept expecting him to release her hand. Instead his eyes charged over her face as the warmth of his palm seeped into hers. A clock ticked somewhere. Radiators clanked on. Cold, sharp air gushed from the windows, rapidly obliterating the last of the smoke, and still his gaze honed on her face, stalking every feature as if fascinated by her eyes and nose and mouth.
She had an ordinary nose. Plain old brown eyes. An average mouth with no lipstick or gloss. Her bulky denim overalls entirely concealed her figure, and by this time in the day the single braid dangling down her back was undoubtedly sloppy and askew.
Years and years ago, Paige couldnt find a skirt tight enough, a sweater skimpy enough, but that was back when shed been a wild, reckless girl who was determined to test and tease her new feminine powers on every passing boy. Shed wiped every trace of that teenage girl off the map. Fiercely. Completely. Eons ago. There was nothing suggestive about her appearance nowabsolutely nothing.
She had an ordinary nose. Plain old brown eyes. An average mouth with no lipstick or gloss. Her bulky denim overalls entirely concealed her figure, and by this time in the day the single braid dangling down her back was undoubtedly sloppy and askew.
Years and years ago, Paige couldnt find a skirt tight enough, a sweater skimpy enough, but that was back when shed been a wild, reckless girl who was determined to test and tease her new feminine powers on every passing boy. Shed wiped every trace of that teenage girl off the map. Fiercely. Completely. Eons ago. There was nothing suggestive about her appearance nowabsolutely nothing.
Yet the stranger seemed to find something in her looks that captivated him. He wouldnt stop looking at her, his attention absorbed, as if he were learning things about her from the nest of their palms and the look of her face. Things she didnt know. Things she didnt see when she looked in a mirror.
Mr. Michaelovich she began uneasily.
He swiftly corrected her. Stefan.
Stefan, then. I But abruptly she forgot whatever shed planned to say, because that simply, he released her hand and she was free again. Those few seconds of unnerving silence might never have been. The way he looked at her, the brush of those midnight black eyes on her face and body, the electric plug of awareness between his palm and hersshe must have, simply must have, imagined it.
She drew herself up to her full five foot seven inches, and mentally scrambled for something intelligent and neighborly to say. There wasnt a man in Walnut Woods that she didnt get along with; she never had a problem relating with a guy one-on-oneand he certainly wasnt going to be the exception. Soyoure living in the old Jasper place?
Yes. Just down your road.
Since that seemed to awkwardly end the conversation, she scrambled for something more. Are you here with your wife and family?
A slow waltz of a smile. He was pleased shed asked. No wife. No small ones. But the Borges in townthey are family, third cousins, maybe four. They are how I came here, to your Vermont, instead of L.A. or Georgia or Texas. This was only place I had a family from Russia, so good to start from.
You plan to stay?
To stay in Americaoh, yes. I am already studying to become citizen. But am only living in Walnut Woods for couple months, temporary until I figure out jobs and where best to settle. My work is physics. For now I have computer hooked up, real cool, real groovy, can do much work this way. In the long time, though, I will need to find my own kind.
Although his accent was thick, he wasnt that hard to understand. She mentally translated in the long time to mean in the long run and almost chuckled at his use of the ancient groovy slang. It was just his last comment that she couldnt comprehend. By your own kind, do you mean other Russian people?
No, no. Being Russian, not important. French, German, Japanese, would make no difference, either. I mean finding other people in physics, like me, a lab or university where we talk the same work. This is why I come here. Important, this freedom and right to talk with each other. We have many, many problems affecting whole planet. Cannot fix these nature of problems unless we all have freedom to talk together. So I come to America to melt in your pot. He hesitated. Have I said it right, about melt in the pot?
Right enough. The phrase is melting pot. People say that America is a melting pot of different cultures. He sounded like a hard-core idealist, she mused, which somehow didnt surprise her any more than his physicist background. Never mind the over-whelming shoulders and that wild beard. He only appeared to be an uncivilized bear at first glance. He hadnt missed anything yet. Those black eyes were shrewd, swift, sharp with intelligenceand maybe saw too much for a womans own good.
I struggle. Reading the language, no problem, and the words in my work, I know. But talking everyday words He shook his head with an exuberant grin. Your language can make me tired quick.
Youre doing fine, she assured him.
Nyet. Will take time. But I get there. Will be happy when I get past all this struggling part. He shifted on his feet and looked around again. Wellyou want help cleaning up this mess?
No, no. I can handle it myself.
Could have had big fire. You work hard concentrating, you forget things like fire, huh? No one else here? Like husband?
No, I live alone. Everyone in town knew she lived by herself, so there was no point in being less than honest.
Hmm. She wasnt sure what he was assessing with that long, lingering hmm, but his gaze was suddenly all over her face again. Then, with one swift move, he pushed away from the counter and loped for the door. Well, I go home. But you know now I live close if you need help, yes?
Yes. And thats very kind. She followed him to the door and had just grabbed for the knob when he suddenly pivoted around.
If its an okeydoke, I would sure like to get it on with you, babe.
Her jaw had to drop a full inch.
Uh-oh. I say something to offend? I mean to sayhope to see you again. Hope you might put up with my learning new English sometimes? Be like neighbors, friends?
Isure.
A flash of another high-voltage grin, and thenfinallyhe was gone. Paige closed the door behind him with a massive sigh of relief. She shook her head. Of course he hadnt meant that get it on with you, babe in a sexual context.
Stefan was obviously having some problems coping with a new language. That someone had taught him a ton of colloquial expressions wasnt helping. He undoubtedly didnt realize what he was saying.
The room was freezingno surprise, with all the open windowsand Paige abruptly hustled to shag them all down and latch them again. When she reached the far south pane, though, she yanked down the window and then hesitated. From that view she could still see him, his shaggy head thrown back as he chugged down her snowy driveway, past the old stone fence until he crossed the road out of sight.
Vermont was Robert Frost country, and her stone fence was typical of a New England neighborhood that strongly believed Frosts philosophy about good fences making good neighbors. Her friends and neighbors all knew she was a hopeless hermita happy hermitand respected her workaholic habits. Everyone knew better than to interrupt her workday.
Somehow she didnt think the gregarious Russian had ever read Frost.
As she ambled back toward her workshop, she told herself it didnt matter. They werent likely to run into each other that often. Positively, though, it would be cruel to be unfriendly when they did. If he blithely ran around calling women babe and cupcake and boisterously suggesting they get it on, some woman was going to lynch him.
It wouldnt kill her to give him a little language coaching. He had to be lonely, trying to adjust to a new country, a new place, new ways.
Paige knew about loneliness. She knew all about having trouble fitting in. Old memories suddenly pushed through her mind like bubbles rising to the surface of a pond. She pushed them back down.
At twenty-seven, she was secure and content with her life-style. Maybe shed once been as flighty as a fickle wind, but that unfortunate period in her life was long over. These days, nothing budged her from her steady courseexcept, of course, for that dadblasted strange cameo waiting for her attention in the workshop. Her mind turned to her sisters and to the work waiting for her.