The Tea Shop on Lavender Lane. Sheila Roberts

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СКАЧАТЬ antagonist puffed out his mammoth chest. “Yeah? Who’s gonna make me?”

      “The cops. We already called them.”

      “We haven’t done anything,” protested one of the biker chicks.

      Todd nodded. “So far, you’re good to go. I suggest you do that.”

      The big man stood for a moment, obviously torn between his desire to pummel Todd and the wiser choice, which was to leave. Finally with a snort of disgust, he smashed his beer bottle on the floor, turned around and marched out of the tavern. His companions followed him out.

      Todd shook his head and went to his back room. A few minutes later he returned with a broom and dustpan and a garbage pail.

      That was when Tilda Morrison and Jamal Lincoln, two of Icicle Falls’s finest, made their entrance. Cecily watched as he stood talking with them, still unfazed by his close encounter with Godzilla. The man had nerves of steel. He also wasn’t above doing his own menial labor. There was more to Todd Black than a gift for flirting.

      “That little confrontation was either very brave or very dumb,” Cecily said after Tilda and Jamal had left. She took the dustpan to hold it for him.

      “You can’t wimp out with guys like that. Otherwise they eat you for lunch.” He smiled. “Anyway, it’s easy to be brave when you know the cops are on the way.”

      “I suppose,” she said dubiously. “Although he could have done some damage to you before they got here.”

      “Could have but didn’t.” He cleaned up the last of the mess and took back the dustpan. “Let’s get out of here.”

      “Where?” she asked.

      “Someplace where I don’t have to stop what we’re doing to mop up beer. Let me get my stuff out of the office.”

      Talk about assuming that she was up for whatever he suggested! Well, maybe she was, since she hadn’t protested.

      He disappeared into the nether regions to stow away the broom and garbage, then reappeared wearing a black leather jacket and carrying two motorcycle helmets. After talking briefly with Pete, he walked over to Cecily and handed her one. “Want to take a ride?”

      She’d run into Todd around town more times than she cared to count, but she’d usually seen him in a truck. Why was she not surprised to learn that he rode a motorcycle?

      “So that’s why you weren’t afraid of that guy. You’re one of them,” she teased.

      “Right,” he said.

      Next thing she knew she was seated behind him on the bike, holding on for dear life as they rumbled off down the road. No wonder men loved motorcycles. Feeling that power under you as you sped down the highway—it was like an aphrodisiac.

      Just what she didn’t need. He hadn’t told her where he wanted to take her, but she had her suspicions.

      Sure enough, partway down River Street he stopped the bike in front of a two-story house with a neglected patch of lawn. The porch light was on, spotlighting the fact that the place was obviously in bad shape. Thirsty for paint, it was an eyesore in a popular old neighborhood of Victorian and Craftsman-style homes, some of which had been around since the thirties, most of them restored. Fixed up, it could be really cute, Cecily thought. A fresh coat of white paint, some green trim, a rocker on that front porch...

      To her surprise, the inside of the house looked good, with photographs of mountain scenery on cream-colored walls, area rugs scattered over hardwood floors and expensive leather furniture. Funky ceramic art topped the mantelpiece—a raccoon holding a beer bottle and a biker elephant and his lady wearing Harley jackets, sitting astride a motorcycle with two flat tires.

      “This is nice,” she said, taking it all in.

      “I can guess what you were expecting,” he said. “I’ll get to the outside of the place this summer. How about another Coke?”

      “Sure.”

      He walked around the corner into the kitchen, then reappeared carrying a couple of glasses and a can of pop. “The big-girl version this time?” He went to a liquor cabinet in the small dining area and pulled out a bottle of rum and held it up, the expression on his face a dare.

      “Okay,” she agreed. “But if you’re thinking it’ll help you seduce me, you’re wrong.”

      He poured their drinks and returned to where she stood checking out one of the photographs. “You really think I need help?” he asked, his voice a purr as he handed her a glass.

      He was standing so close she could smell his aftershave, feel the heat coming off his body. Her heart rate picked up.

      Part of her wanted to grab him and wrap her legs around him, but caution made her step away and position herself in front of another picture. Like the one she’d just been studying, it was a masterpiece of camera special effects, this one showing a mountain flower in sharp full bloom with Sleeping Lady Mountain a soft blur in the background. “Did you take all these?”

      Now there he was, right next to her again. “Yeah.”

      “They’re really good.”

      “Don’t sound so shocked. I have other interests besides my business.”

      She cocked her head. “Yeah?”

      He went to the couch, sat down and patted the cushion beside his. “Yeah.”

      She joined him—at the other end, simply to prove she wasn’t going to be some easy lay. “You have quite an eye.”

      He shrugged. “I was an art major in college.”

      “How could an art major...” She stopped midsentence, realizing it would be insulting to ask how someone with real talent could end up owning a seedy tavern.

      He’d seen where she was going, though, and finished the sentence for her. “...wind up owning a tavern? It’s a sound business investment. Anyway, I get a kick out of the place. And I still dabble in photography and painting.”

      “The Neanderthal in lederhosen on the side of the building,” she said.

      “Self-portrait,” he joked.

      “An art major,” she mused. “I never would have guessed.”

      “You probably never would have guessed a lot of things about me. But then, that’s because you’ve been too busy running away from me.”

      “So, if a woman doesn’t fall all over you, she’s running away from you?”

      “We’re not talking about a woman. We’re talking about one woman. You.” He set his drink on the coffee table and scooted over, closing the distance between them.

      She cast her gaze around the room, looking for something else to comment on. Of course, that would only postpone the inevitable. What was she doing here?

      He rested an arm on СКАЧАТЬ