On Dean's Watch. Linda Winstead Jones

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      But…an extra? Edna was usually such a stickler for the rules. If you have no reservation and there’s no space available, you eat somewhere else, thank you very much.

      “Be nice to him,” Edna said as they neared the room where table two was located. “He’s our new neighbor.” With that she released Reva’s arm and very quickly disappeared out the front door.

      Well, crap.

      Reva stood in the doorway and watched as two young waiters placed heavy platters and bowls laden with food on the large lazy Susan at the center of the oversize round table that usually seated ten. Today it was set for eleven. She quickly sized up the patrons.

      Three seated couples were obviously tourists. They ranged in age from about thirty-five to sixty-five. Sandals, shorts, T-shirts and the surprised way they stared at the wealth of food being deposited on the table gave them away. A family of three, regulars who drove up from Alabama at least once a month, smiled in anticipation as the food was placed before them. Sharon Phillips and her husband, Doug, sat on either side of their only child, shy, nineteen-year-old Tracy.

      The tenth guest, the man Reva had very nearly accosted with a Bradford pear limb last night, was seated next to the chair that had been left empty for her. He wasn’t ogling the food as the others were.

      He was looking at her.

      Oh, Edna would pay for this! This was a blatant, annoying and absolutely unnecessary attempt at matchmaking. The extra guest was handsome and hungry, and it was certainly no mistake that he’d been seated next to her. Headache, indeed. Reva resigned herself to enduring the meal without ever taking her revenge. How on earth could she scold a woman old enough to be her grandmother?

      She crossed her fingers and prayed that Dean wouldn’t recognize her. It had been dark last night, and her hair had been tucked up under a cap. Even though she shouldn’t feel guilty—the man had been snooping on her property—she would feel better if the subject never came up again.

      “Good afternoon,” she said, smiling as she entered the room that had once been a music parlor. A few antique instruments were used as decoration in the room, as well as a few pieces of the original furniture. One of the waiters stood nearby the large round table, in case a platter or bowl was ever in danger of being emptied.

      “Reva!” Sharon Phillips smiled widely in welcome. “What a treat. Why, we don’t see you often these days.”

      “I’m afraid Miss Edna has a headache. I’m not nearly as entertaining as she is, so I hope you will all bear with me.” Reva lowered herself into her chair. Dean sat to her left; one of the tourists, a woman with bright-red hair, sat at her right.

      The patrons filled their plates as the lazy Susan turned slowly, stopped for a moment and then moved on only to stop again. Reva suggested that everyone at the table introduce themselves as the food drifted by. She took a little bit of everything herself, as the dishes spun slowly past, very purposely not looking at the man beside her. She didn’t look even when they reached for the biscuits at the same time and his hand brushed hers. Briefly. Very, very, briefly. And still, there was a spark she could not deny. No! There could be no spark of any kind.

      As she’d suspected, the three couples were all on vacation. Two were retired, and the other couple was taking two weeks to drive through Tennessee and Georgia. Her Alabama regulars introduced themselves and raved to the others about the food and Reva’s cookbook.

      And then it was his turn.

      She had avoided looking directly at the man at her side, but it was impossible to ignore him. He looked out of place in his dark suit and striped tie and spotless white shirt. Reva had a feeling it didn’t matter what he wore; Dean was not a man to be ignored. He had a solid, undeniably strong presence. There were moments when she had to force herself not to look his way.

      She told herself he was probably married. Handsome and nicely built, he was not the kind of man who was normally unattached. Women swarmed over men like this one like bees on honey. There was no wedding ring, though, she noticed almost absently, but that didn’t mean anything. Not really.

      She had a feeling he was not often truly uncomfortable; he was the sort of man who insisted on being in complete command of his life. But this afternoon he was tense, wound so tight he looked as if he was about to explode. Everyone else was smiling, chatting, enjoying themselves.

      If he was so uncomfortable, why was he here?

      “Dean Sinclair,” he said. It quickly became clear that he didn’t intend to share anything else about himself. Reva found that rude, since the others had all mentioned where they were from and what they did when they weren’t on vacation, but Dean seemed to think the mere mention of his name sufficient.

      Fine with her.

      But of course, it wasn’t fine with anyone else.

      “Where do you live, Mr. Sinclair?” Sharon asked.

      He glanced at the woman who had asked the friendly question. And hesitated. Reva found herself watching him as she awaited his answer. Good Lord, the man was more than a little gorgeous. He had one of those square jaws that looked as though it had been sculpted in stone, a perfectly shaped nose, nice lips…and killer blue eyes, slightly hooded. Last night she had not been able to tell that his eyes were blue—they’d been standing too far apart, and it had been too dark. Thanks to the dark and the distance, apparently he had not recognized her. Thank goodness.

      This was a man with secrets, she thought, as he hesitated in his answer. A man who could turn a gullible woman’s world upside down. But Reva was no longer a gullible woman foolish enough to fall for a pretty face and a hard body. Some lessons only needed to be taught once.

      “Atlanta,” he said after a pause that lasted a moment too long.

      “What are you doing in Somerset?” one of the retired men asked. It was clear to everyone that Dean Sinclair was not on vacation.

      Again, he hesitated. “I’m thinking of opening my own business here.”

      Reva stared at him. “What kind of business?” Sharply dressed businessmen did not come to Somerset on a regular basis.

      He looked at her, really truly looked at her. His eyes met hers and he took a deep breath. Good heavens, he almost smiled. He gave her that same half smile she’d seen last night, as if he were reluctantly amused. “I’m a contractor, a handyman specializing in updating and repairing older houses. I’ve always had an interest in nineteenth-century architecture.”

      So much for hoping to go unnoticed. What had given her away? Her fingers twitched slightly, her throat constricted. Maybe she was reading too much into his smile and he didn’t recognize her at all.

      Then again, what did it matter? Yes, it had been an embarrassing moment, since she’d threatened him and he’d apparently been innocent of any wrongdoing. But he had been where he should not, well after dark. She had no reason to be embarrassed.

      A contractor! Reva forgot all about Dean’s fabulous eyes, his sculpted jaw, his wedding-ring-free hand and her own unnecessary chagrin. Instead, she thought of the rotting banister upstairs, the crumbling brick in the old kitchen fireplace and the sagging back porch. “Really?”

      “I’m not sure we’ll locate here,” he said quickly. “We’re just taking a few days to visit the place. Get СКАЧАТЬ