The Trouble With Valentine's Day (6 page)

Kate grasped the handle and scooped up a big shovelful of snow from the sidewalk. A little grunt escaped her lungs as she tossed the snow into the shrubs. She'd never experienced an Idaho winter and didn't know snow was so heavy. She recalled one year in Las Vegas when it had snowed almost half an inch. Of course it had melted within an hour. No wonder over a thousand people a year had heart attacks.

She placed the shovel's edge on the walk and pushed. The sound of metal scraping along concrete filled the morning air and competed with the occasional sound of traffic. A white curl of snow filled the shovel, and instead of lifting it again, she pushed the pile into the shrubs next to the building.
A much better method,
she thought as she slid the blade down the walk. A lot better than straining her back and flirting with the kind of heart failure that an aspirin a day wouldn't help.

The chilly breeze lifted the ends of Kate's scarf, and she paused to pull her hat over the tops of her ears. Her head was filled with worthless factoids. She knew that an adult brain weighed three pounds and the human heart pumped two thousand gallons of blood a day. She'd spent a lot of time on surveillance reading magazines and general reference books because they weren't all that engrossing and she could easily put them down to tail a suspect. Some of it had stuck. Some hadn't. She'd tried to learn Spanish once, but all she could remember was
Acabo de recibir un envio,
which would come in handy if she ever had to tell someone that she'd just received a shipment.

One side benefit of having a head cluttered with trivia was that she could use it to break the ice, change the subject, or slow things down.

At the end of the walk, she turned and started her way toward the front of the M&S once more. This time she pushed the snow off the curb and into the parking lot. Her toes inside her leather ankle boots were starting to freeze. It was March, for God's sake. It wasn't supposed to be so cold in March.

Just as she approached Rob's HUMMER, he stepped out of the M&S and moved toward her, wearing the same dark blue coat he'd had on two weeks ago when she'd seen him. His hiking boots left waffle tracks, and his heels kicked up the snow. She expected him to step off the curb and jump in his HUMMER.

He didn't.

“How's it going?” he asked as he came to stand in front of her.

She straightened, and her grasp on the handle tightened. His coat was zipped to the middle of his chest, and she fixed her gaze on the black label sewn on the tab. “Okay.”

He didn't say anything, and she forced her gaze past his tiny white scar, soul patch, and Fu Manchu. His green eyes stared back at her as he pulled a black knit hat from his coat pocket. For the first time she noticed his lashes. They were longer than hers. Lashes like that were a total waste on a man, especially a man like him.

He pulled the hat on his head and continued to study her as if he were trying to figure something out.

“Warn me if you're going to write your name in the snow,” she said to break the silence.

“Actually, I'm standing here wondering if I'm going to have to wrestle that snow shovel out of your hands.” His warm breath hung in the air between them as he added, “I'm hoping you'll be nice and hand it over.”

Her grasp on the handle tightened a bit more. “Why would I hand it over?”

“Because your grandfather is in there getting all worked up over you doing what he thinks is a man's job.”

“Well, that's just stupid. I'm certainly capable of shoveling snow.”

He shrugged and slid his hands into the hip pockets of his cargo pants. “I guess that's not the point. He thinks it's a man's job, and you've embarrassed him in front of his friends.”

“What?”

“He's in there right now trying to convince everyone that you're . . .” Rob paused a moment and tilted his head to one side. “I believe his exact words were that you're ‘usually a nice, sweet-tempered girl.' And then he said something about you being cranky because you don't ever get out with people your own age.”

Great. Kate suspected her grandfather's nonsense had been directed at Rob and not the other men. Worse, she was sure he suspected it also. The last thing she needed was for her grandfather to interfere in her nonexistent love life. Especially with Rob Sutter. “I'm not cranky.”

He didn't comment, but the lift of his brow said it all.

“I'm not,” she insisted. “My grandfather is just old-fashioned.”

“He's a good guy.”

“He's stubborn.”

“If I had to guess, I'd say you're a lot alike in the stubborn department.”

“Fine.” She thrust the shovel toward him.

A smile touched the corners of his mouth as he withdrew his hand from the front pocket of his pants and took the shovel from her. He clamped his bare hand over hers. She tugged, but his grasp tightened.

She wasn't about to get into a tug-of-war with a man built like the Rock. “Can I have my hand back?” He relaxed his grip finger by finger, and she pulled free.

“Damn,” he said, “I was kind of hoping I'd have to wrestle you for it.”

She knew that wasn't true. Drunk or sober, he had no interest in “wrestling” Kate. It wasn't personal. She told herself he had some sort of dysfunction that prevented him from “wrestling” with any woman. There wasn't anything wrong with her. It was him. She should feel sorry for him.

“I was kinda hoping to get a look at your tattoo while I was at it.”

It took several heartbeats for his meaning to penetrate Kate's brain. When it did, she forgot all about trying to feel sorry for Rob Sutter. Not that it was working, anyway. She sucked in a breath. “You do remember!”

“What? Your offer to show me your bare ass?” He rocked back on the heels of his boots and chuckled. “How could I forget that?”

“But . . .” Her sucked-in breath got caught in her chest, and she had to let it out. “But you said you'd never met me.” She was starting to see spots and took another deep breath. “That first day you didn't . . . oh my God!”

“Did you want me to tell Stanley that we'd already met?” he asked as he bent to shovel snow. “He'd want to know the details.”

Good Lord. She put her gloved hand to the side of her face as thoughts rushed and collided in the middle of her brain. Of all the bad luck, he wasn't an alcoholic. He remembered. How many people had he told about that night? In this town, all it would take was one person, then the news would spread like the West Nile virus. Although she would prefer that the town not know of her humiliation, she really only cared about her grandfather. He went to church every Sunday. He didn't believe in sex outside of marriage, let alone in women propositioning men in bars.

“I don't want to be the one who shatters his illusion of you.” He scooped up the patch of snow between them and tossed it off the curb. “The truth would probably give him that heart attack you seem so worried about.”

She lifted her gaze to his knit ski cap. His hair curled up like little fishhooks along the back. “You don't know me, and you don't know anything about my relationship with my grandfather.”

“I know you're right about Stanley being an old-fashioned guy. He probably thinks you're saving it for your wedding night, and we both know you're not.”

If Kate hadn't given him her shovel, she would have beaned him with it.

“I also know you don't want to hear some advice from me, but I'm going to give it to you anyway,” he said as he rested the blade of the shovel on the concrete and hung his wrist over the top of the handle. “Picking up men in bars isn't smart. You could find yourself in a lot of trouble if you keep it up.”

She didn't care what he thought and didn't feel as if she needed to defend herself. “I know you're not my father, so what are you? A cop?”

“No.”

“Priest?” He didn't look like a priest, but it would explain a lot.

“No.”

“Mormon missionary?”

He chuckled, and several puffs of air hung in front of his nose. “Do I look like a Mormon missionary?”

No. He looked like a guy who liked to sin, but he wasn't. She didn't know anything about him at all. Other than the fact that he was a jerk and drove a HUMMER. What kind of person drove an army assault vehicle? A jerk with erectile dysfunction, that's what kind. “Why don't you drive a human-sized car?”

He straightened. “I like my HUMMER.”

A cold breeze lifted the tails of Kate's wool scarf, and it danced on the air between them. “It makes people wonder if you're overcompensating for something,” she said.

Lines appeared in the corners of his eyes, and he reached out to tug at one end of her scarf. “Are you standing there wondering about the size of my package?”

She felt heat rise to her already heated cheeks, and she was grateful they were already red from the cold. She pulled her scarf out of his grasp. “Don't flatter yourself. I don't wonder about you at all.” She walked around him and added, “Let alone the size of your package.”

He tipped back his head and laughed. Deep, satisfied male laughter that chased her all the way to the front of the store. She mumbled a “Have a nice day” to Paul Aberdeen and Hayden Dean as she passed them on their way out of the M&S. Inside, Regina still hovered near Stanley, going on about the library where she worked, her thick glasses bobbing on the end of her nose as she nodded her head. Stanley busied himself with impulse items near the checkout. Normally Kate would have rescued him from Regina's chatter, but Stanley had sicced Rob on her and she wasn't feeling charitable at the moment.

“I'll be in the back,” Kate told her grandfather as she walked past. She pulled off her gloves and hat and unwound her scarf. She tossed them on the worktable and hung her coat on a hook. An overhead vent blew warm air on the top of her head. She lifted her face and closed her eyes.

He remembered everything about the night she'd propositioned him. The knowledge settled in her stomach like a lead ball. Her hope that he was a blind drunk had been in vain. She'd moved to Gospel for a little break from her life. A little rest, relaxation, and reevaluation.

Kate opened her eyes and sighed. Could her life get much worse? She was lonely and, outside of the M&S, the only conversation she'd had with anyone her own age was with the six-foot-three-inch, green-eyed
a-hole
from across the parking lot. And what had just taken place between them couldn't
really
pass for conversation.

She had to find something to do. Something other than working in the M&S and watching
Friends
reruns at night. The problem was that there were only two things to do in this town—join the Mountain Mama Crafters and knit toaster cozies or hit the bars and get toasted. Neither held the slightest appeal.

The bell above the front door rang, and Stanley called for her to come out front. She wondered if Rob was back and feared yet another transparent matchmaking attempt by her misguided grandfather. But when she moved out front again, thankfully Rob was nowhere to be seen.

Stanley stood at the end of the counter talking to a woman who looked to be in her late fifties, early sixties. Her brown hair was streaked with gray and brushed into a perfect bob. She stood only a few inches shorter than Kate's grandfather, which made her about Kate's height. Between the open zipper of her thick coat hung a red stethoscope. Regina stood with them, and the two women were telling Stanley about their poetry social.

“I hope you'll change your mind,” the taller woman said. “Our monthly social group could use a few men.”

“What about Rob?” Regina asked.

As Kate approached, the taller woman shrugged and looked up at Stanley. “I saw you put Rob to work shoveling your walk.”

“He volunteered.” Stanley looked up at Kate, and the corners of his handlebar mustache turned up. “Grace, I don't believe you've met my granddaughter, Katie Hamilton.”

“Hello.” Kate stuck out her hand, and the other woman took it into hers.

“It's nice to meet you, Katie.” Grace turned her head to the side and looked at Kate for a moment. Age lined her green eyes, and her fingers were still a little cold. “Where did you get your red hair? It's beautiful.”

“Thanks.” Kate dropped her hand to her side and smiled. “My father's family has red hair.”

“Grace is Rob's mother,” Stanley told her. “She works down at the Sawtooth Clinic.”

Kate felt her stomach drop, and she forced her smile to stay in place. Had Rob told his mother about the Duchin Lounge? Did the nice lady with the stethoscope know that Kate had propositioned her son? Did Kate need to explain that she'd been a little tipsy that night? That it had been the one and only time she'd propositioned a man in a bar? That she really wasn't a drunk slut? Not that she didn't have sluttish thoughts sometimes. She'd just never had the nerve to act on them before that night.