Midnight at the Oasis. Оливия Гейтс

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СКАЧАТЬ hello, Charlie.” When her soft gaze connected with Noah’s, he thought a man could fall into those eyes as easily as a down bed. “He seems attached to you.”

      “Not really. He knows which side his bread is buttered on and who’s got the butter.” Then he recovered his manners, thought of her. “Are you allergic to dogs? If you are, I can make him wait in the truck. He snuck out because he thinks everyone loves him.”

      Victoria’s laughter was rich and melodic, a one-person vocal orchestra. “Maybe he’s never met anyone who disagrees.”

      “Considering the way my mother’s brought him up, you might be right. She dropped him off at my house with only one instruction—indulge his every whim.”

      Victoria considered Charlie, the sign once again clutched to her chest. “I’ve never had a dog. Or a cat.” She spoke so quietly, he wondered if she was including him in the conversation. “Or come to think of it, a goldfish.”

      “I’ve always had a pet, usually one I found somewhere. Before my mother left Charlie with me, it was a cat. I had Bowser for five years and before him, it was Max and Matilda, a couple of dogs who thought playing fetch was for sissies,” Noah said. “I seem to be the type that attracts strays.”

      The words left a sharp pain in their wake. He’d done far too much of that rescuing the unrescuable thing.

      “I’m sorry, I didn’t even think to ask you,” she said. “Would you like a glass of lemonade? Iced tea?”

      It was simple hospitality, but for some reason, it hit Noah hard. Maybe it was the beautiful woman. The ocean air. The fact that he hadn’t dated anyone in a long, long time. Either way, he felt something begin to stir within him, as if his old self were being resurrected.

      That was crazy. He’d been out in the heat too long. Inhaled some of the radiator fumes.

      “Lemonade would be great, thanks.” Beside him, Charlie let out a high-pitched bark.

      Victoria laughed again. “And some water for you, Charlie.”

      She left the sign on the porch, facing the words inward. As he scraped the soles of his boots against the welcome mat and then entered the house, he realized he’d never seen a home this tidy. She was clearly one of those women who took a scrub brush to everything in her life.

      The tidiness he could understand, but the decor stopped him cold. He might as well have stepped onto the set of Happy Days. From the chrome kitchen set down the hall to the boxy floral sofa in the living room to his right, he could practically see the Cunninghams in every detail. Though he didn’t know her well, he couldn’t quite wrap his mind around the delicate, caprisclad Victoria Blackstone and these outdated rooms. “Behave yourself,” he whispered to Charlie. “No peeing on her favorite chair. Or eating her shoes. Or gnawing escape hatches in the walls.”

      Charlie lifted his nose in the air and jaunted forward, as if he’d never consider such a thing and as if he hadn’t just done all three things to Noah’s apartment last night.

      “The phone’s over there,” she said, pointing at a white wall phone in the kitchen.

      “Thanks.” He entered the room, noting the checkerboard pattern on the linoleum and the porcelain sink that was nearly as big as a bathtub. Something simmered in a Crock-Pot on the counter, filling the room with the scent of beef. He picked up the receiver, turned it to use the underside, then paused, noticing the coiled cord and ring of numbers. “Is this an antique?”

      “Antique?” She glanced at the phone, laughed, then turned back to the avocado-colored refrigerator to pull out a pitcher of lemonade. Slices of lemon danced in the pale liquid. No doubt fresh squeezed. “Probably. We’ve had it in the house forever. My parents were a little wary of the whole touch-tone revolution.”

      Wary of touch-tone phones? What century was this house living in? For a minute, Noah felt as if he’d stepped back in time, transported to the world he’d inhabited when he was a little boy. When his father had been around and dinners had been on the table every night, waiting for them to create a family at the circular table. The phone would ring, and his mother would let it go, because dinner was a sacred time. Anyone who dared interrupt it better have a damned good excuse.

      When he’d been thirteen and waiting to hear from Stevie Klein if Margaret O’Neil really did like him, the whole phone thing had been an annoyance. But now, in the shadows of history, he saw it as his mother trying to preserve family togetherness.

      In the end, she hadn’t been able to preserve a damned thing.

      Once again, Noah shook off the memories. He needed a mechanic, not a stroll down Reminiscence Lane. “Do you have a phone book? I need to call a tow truck and find a motel nearby. I’ll probably need a place to stay until my truck is ready.”

      “Sure. Give me a second.” Victoria handed him a glass of lemonade then returned to the sink to fill a plastic bowl with water for Charlie. After she turned it off, the faucet continued to drip, slow and steady. Plop. Plop. Plop.

      She gave the water to Charlie, who exuded gratitude with a yip and a frantic wag of his tail. Clearly the dog preferred female caretakers.

      Hell, looking at Victoria, Noah couldn’t say he blamed Charlie. She leaned comfortably against the counter, her delicate features and bemused smile an odd juxtaposition to the linoleum flooring and avocado green appliances, and watched the dog take delicate, single laps from the bowl. If there was one thing Charlie despised, it was getting wet.

      Behind her, he could still hear the sink drip. “You know, I can fix that for you.” He gestured toward the sink, wondering what on earth had possessed him to make that offer. His plan was to tow and run, not pause for a rerun of This Old House. “Probably needs a new washer.”

      “It does. I just haven’t had a chance to pick one up at the store.”

      He arched a brow, impressed. “A woman who knows some plumbing?”

      She laughed. “I’ve been taking care of things around here for years. Even have my own set of tools.”

      “With pink handles?” He remembered seeing a set like that once in a hardware store.

      “Of course.” A grin spread across her face. “Wouldn’t want some man coming along and thinking that hammer was his.”

      “You get many of them? Men trying to take your hammer?” The question, and the hint of innuendo, tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop it. Clearly he’d been working in an all-male office too long.

      “Not many.” She wagged a finger at him. “So don’t get any ideas about my tools.”

      There was another innuendo in those words, something that Noah chose to ignore. He was here to use the phone, get his truck fixed…

      And nothing more.

      Nevertheless, “ideas” flowed through his brain without an invitation. He was, after all, a man with a pulse. Just add water and a gorgeous woman and watch those ideas grow.

      “Your, ah, tool kit is safe from me,” he said. “The only thing I need is my radiator fixed. Any chance your talents extend to that?”

      She threw up her hands in surrender. СКАЧАТЬ