I dont suppose theres any chance youd like to talk about the lavender crop. But by then, he should have realized that Violet couldnt be tricked, coaxed or bribed into staying on topic.
We are. Basically. I mean, the issue is that when-if-you came, I assumed you could stay at the cottage. Its nice. Its private. Its comfortable. But its quite a disaster right now because they had to take off the old roof to put on the new one. So theres dust and nails everywhere. And tar. That tar is really hot and stinky. So the place simply isnt livable. It will be- In fact, I cant believe itll take him more than another week to finish it-
Depending on his fishing schedule, of course.
Yes. Exactly.
Well, Im hearing you, chère. But itd be a wee bit tricky for me to fly all the way back to France, just to wait out Bartholomews fishing schedule. And although I understand your strain of lavender runs late, I absolutely have to be here for the first of the harvest.
Well, yes, thats all true, but Im just confused what I can possibly do with you until Ive got a place for you to stay.
Maybe jet lag was getting to him. Maybe at the vast age of thirty-seven, he was no longer the easy-care, rootless vagabond he used to be. Maybe missed sleep and strange mattresses had finally caught up with himbut it seemed pretty damn obvious that Violet couldnt really be this flutter-brained. Something must be bothering her about his being here. He just had no idea what. Considering her older sister had okayed him, she couldnt be afraid of him, could she?
Nah. Cameron easily dismissed that theory almost before it surfaced. It wasnt as if all women liked him. They didnt. But he got along with most, and those women who related to him sexually generally were afraid that hed have taken a fast powder by morning-no one was afraid of him in any other sense, that he could imagine.
So he slowly put down his lemonade glass and hunched forward, deliberately making closer eye contact. Not to elicit any sexual response, but to encourage an eye-to-eye honest connection. Violet, he said slowly and calmly.
What?
Quit with the nonsense.
What nonsense?
Sleeping arrangements are not a problem. I wouldnt mind sleeping outside on the ground. Actually, I like sleeping under the stars. Hell, Ive roughed it on four continents. And if we get into some stormy weather, Ill find a hotel in town and commute. My finding a place to throw a pillow is no big deal. So is there some reason that you dont want me here that you havent said?
Good heavens. Of course not-
Again, he said slowly and carefully, You are aware that my work with your lavender is potentially worth thousands of dollars to you? Potentially hundreds of thousands?
She squeezed her eyes closed briefly-and when she opened them again, he read panic in their deep, dark, beautiful, hazel depths. Oh God, she said, Im afraid Im going to be sick again.
Three
No, youre not going to be sick again, Cameron said emphatically.
Violet met his eyes. Youre right. Im not, she said slowly, and took a long deep breath.
She had to get a grip. A serious grip. She wasnt really nauseous, she was just shook up. Her foot throbbed like the devil-that was for real. Shed been running all day in the heat even before the bee sting-that was for real, too. And normally men didnt provoke her into behaving like a scatterbrained nutcase-but there were exceptions.
Virile, highly concentrated packages of testosterone with wicked eyes and long, lanky strides were a justifiable exception.
Violet tried another deep, calming breath. Most blondes hated blonde jokes, but shed always liked them. She knew perfectly well how she came across to most men. A guy who thought he was dealing with a ditsy, witless blonde generally ran for the hills at the speed of light, or at the very least, considered her hands-off-and that suited Violet just fine.
It was just sometimes hard to maintain the ditsy, witless persona. For one thing, sometimes she actually felt ditless and witsy. Or witless and ditsy. Oroh, hell.
That man had eyes bluer than a lake. She did much, much better with old, ugly men. And she did really great with children. Not that those attributes were particularly helping her now.
But that grip shed needed was finally coming to her. Those long, meditative breaths always helped. I have an idea, she said to Cameron. Youve traveled a long way. You have to be hungry and tired-and Im the middle of an Armageddon type of afternoon. Could you justchillfor an hour or so? Feel free to walk aroundor just put your feet up on my couch or on the front porch. I need to walk over to my Herb Haven, tell my employee whats happening, finish up the problems I was in the middle of, get closed up for the day.
Is there anything I could help you with?
No. Honestly. I just need an hour to get my life back in orderand after that Ive got more than enough in the fridge for dinner. I cant guarantee its something youll want to eat, but we could definitely talk in peace then-
That sounds great. But if theres running I could do for you, say. I know you cant want to be on that foot.
I wont be for long.
It worked like a charm. She just couldnt concentrate with all those life details hanging over her head-and with an impossibly unsettling man underfoot. An hour and a half later, though, she was humming under her breath, back in her kitchen, her one foot propped on a stool and a cleaver in her hand big enough to inspire jealousy in a serial killer.
Not that any foolish serial killer would dare lay a hand on one of her prized possessions.
Not that any foolish serial killer would dare lay a hand on one of her prized possessions.
She angled her head-just far enough to peer around the doorway to check on her visitor again. There was no telling exactly when Cameron had decided to sit down, but clearly it was his undoing. Hed completely crashed. He wasnt snoring, but his tousled blond head was buried in the rose pillow on the couch, and one of his stockinged feet was hanging over the side. That man was sure long. One cat-either Dickens or Shakespeare-was purring on the couch arm, supervising his nap with a possessive eye.
Amazing how easy it was for her to relax when he was sleeping.
She went back to her chopping and sautéing and mixing. Cooking was a favorite pastime-and a secret, since she certainly didnt want anyone getting the appalling idea that she was either domestic or practical. Tonight she couldnt exercise much creativity, because she already had leftovers that needed using up, starting with some asparagus soup-and somehow finding an excuse to eat the last of the grape sorbet.
Early evening, the temperature was still too sweltering to eat anything heavy, but it was no trouble to put together bruschetta and some spicy grilled shrimp for the serious part of the meal. The shrimp took some fussing. First seeding and slicing the hot chilies. Then slicing the two tall stalks of lemongrass. Then she had to grate the fresh ginger, crush the garlic, chop the cilantro and mix it with warmed honey and olive oil.
Hed probably hate it, she thought. Men tended to hate anything gourmet or fancy, but as far as Violet was concerned, that was yet another of the thrilling benefits to being divorced. She could cook fancy and wild all she liked-and garlic-up any dish to the nth degree-and whod ever care?
Shed have belted out a rock-and-roll song, off-key and at the top of her lungs, if it wouldnt risk waking her visitor. Shed deal with him. But right now she was just seeping in some relaxation, and satisfaction. Shed kicked some real butt in the last hour, finished up the weeks bookkeeping, made up four arrangements for birthday orders and fetched a van full of pots and containers from town. Even without the bee sting, it was a lot to do for a woman who was supposed to be a flutter-brained blonde, but then, when no one was watching she had no reason to be on her guard.
Her sisters thought she was afraid of getting hurt again because of Simpson. The truth was that her ex-husband had turned out to be a twerp, but she never held that against the other half of the species. She wasnt trying to avoid men. She was trying to help men avoid her-and for three years shed been doing a great job at it, if she said so herself.
She was still humming when the telephone rang-naturally!-just when she was trying to coat the shrimp with the gooey mixture. She cocked the receiver between her ear and shoulder. Darlene! Oh, Im sorry, I forgot to call you backand yes, you told me he was a Leo. Okay. Try a fritatta with flowers. Flowers, like the marigolds I sold you the other day, remember? Im telling you, those marigolds are the best aphrodisiacand you wear that peach gauze blouse tonightuh-huhuh-huh
Once Darlene Webster had been taken care of, she washed her hands and started stabbing the coated shrimp on skewers. Immediately the phone rang again. It was Georgia from the neighborhood euchre group. Of course I can have it here, whats the difference? Well just have it at your house next time. Hope the new carpet looks terrific.
After that Jim White called, who wanted to know if he could borrow her black plastic layer. And then Boobla called, who wanted to know if there was any chance Violet could hire her friend Kari for the summer, because Kari couldnt find a job and they worked really well together. Boobla could talk the leaves off a tree. Violet finally had to interrupt. Okay, okay, hon. Ive got enough work to take on one more part-timer, but I cant promise anything until Ive met her. Bring her over Monday morning, all right?
Shed just hung up, thinking it was a wonder she wasnt hoarse from the amount of time she got trapped talking on the phone, when she suddenly turned and spotted Cameron in the door.
Her self-confidence skidded downhill like a sled with no brake.
It was so unfair. Cameron had been in a coma-quality nap; she knew he had, so youd think hed have woken up still sleepy. And he yawned from the doorway, but she still felt his eyes on her face like sharp, bright lasers. Interested. Scoping out the territory from her disheveled braid to her bare feet.