Smooth as Silk, page 5
“Catholics have a patron saint for everything. Some do double or triple duty.” He sounded a little chagrined. “It’s only fair to tell you that St. Vitus is also the patron saint of those with nerve afflictions. Maybe you wouldn’t want that medal after all.”
“We can all use all the protection we can get.”
He laughed. “True enough. For a while there I thought I needed protection from you.”
“Or I from you.”
“You know, lass, I really did mean well this afternoon. And I am sorry I ruined the frock.”
Hyacinth had never given out a lot of points for meaning well, but why take it up again? “Well, as you said, it worked out. It’s over.” It felt good to say that, mellowing. Mellow wasn’t something she usually kept a lot of company with.
Robbie cocked his head, seeming to listen to the music. “Do you think it’s true? What the lady is singing about? Does love have no pride?”
In Hyacinth’s experience, people asked philosophical questions because they wanted to express their own opinion—not hear yours. She would just go ahead and let him get on with it.
“What do you think?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I asked you.” That was a surprise.
She considered. “I don’t think you can love something you don’t have pride in. I have pride in my shop. I assume you have pride in your hockey. You seem to love it.”
He shook his head. “I do, but not the same. She means she’d throw away all her pride, do anything for his love. Do you see yourself doing that?”
“Anything covers a lot of ground. I’m not likely to rob a bank, or love someone who would want me to.”
“Anything within reason,” Robbie said.
“That can mean a lot of different things.”
“Within the law, then.”
She didn’t know how to answer that. Truthfully, the question confused her so she asked one of her own. “Have you ever loved someone enough to do that? Throw away your pride?”
“Not even close.”
“Not even as a teenager, with hormones raging?”
“I didn’t need to. I had a hockey stick and dynamite slap shot. How about you?”
“Not even close.”
“But I’ve seen it in action—the no pride,” he said.
“Directed at you?”
“No, no. Thank the good Lord, not. But I had a friend since I was a boy. Leith. From the time we were tots, Kyla loved him. She wore her longing like a veil and bore her love like a cross. I used to think it was pitiful, but now I wonder. Maybe that’s what real love is. Willing to do anything.”
“Sounds more like obsession to me,” Hyacinth said. “I think love is more about compatibility.”
He grinned. “Finding someone just like yourself? No wonder you’ve never been in love. There’s no one like you.”
Hyacinth didn’t know if that was a compliment or a dig, but she let the mellow wash away the wondering. And Robbie was wrong. She had found someone she’d been completely compatible with—twice, in fact. Chris and Sean. She thought of them as the Could’ve Been Maybes. Same goals, same attention to detail, same outlook on life—but she’d gotten bored with Sean and too busy for Chris. She didn’t want to talk about that.
“So this Leith and Kyra—did they have a happily ever after?”
Robbie shrugged. “After a fashion. He married Finola. They seem content. Kyla took the veil.”
“What? She literally became a nun?”
“She did.”
“Seems a bit dramatic, don’t you think?”
“Who knows? Maybe she was meant for that all along, which is why she longed for someone out of her reach.”
“Why was he out of her reach? What was wrong with her?”
“Nothing, but Leith didn’t return her feelings. She scared him. To be loved like that is a hard job, I’d wager.”
And with that he tightened his arms around her and brushed his cheek against her forehead. The conversation was over and they melted into each other, and the tingle in her became a hum. She could have stayed like that for a long time.
Except the song abruptly ended, and was immediately replaced with the loud first strains of “Uptown Funk.” Jarred back to reality, panic shot through Hyacinth. “I really can’t do that!” She gestured to the couples around them who had broken apart and began to dance in fast rhythmic steps.
Robbie circled her shoulders with his arm. “You don’t have to, lass. Maybe after you have your medal?” He led her away. “Come on. I’ll give you some of my banana pudding.”
They didn’t speak any more about love, compatibility, and pride, but she had the feeling they’d been exploring something neither of them knew a thing about.
* * *
It was way past midnight when they pulled into the circle drive in front of the big brick house where Evans had grown up, but every light was on.
Robbie stretched his legs and yawned. They had driven though the little town of Cottonwood, but now they were in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by fallow fields. The plan was to leave the women off here and then for Robbie and Jake to carry on to the Champagne farm, just a mile or so up the road.
Hyacinth had gone to sleep a while back. Robbie gently shook her shoulder.
“What?” She jerked her head up.
“We’re here. I didn’t think you’d want Evans’s parents to catch you sleeping.”
“I wasn’t asleep.”
There was no time to reply, but Robbie didn’t want to anyway. Things seemed to have settled between the two of them and he didn’t want to argue with her anymore. What he really wanted to do was smell her hair again, like he had when they’d danced, and press her against him just so.
Before Jake cut the engine, the front door opened and Keith and Anna-Blair Pemberton stepped out. Much happy noise and hugging ensued—Robbie the recipient of some of it himself, as he’d met the couple when they’d come to Laurel Springs for a Yellowhammer game. It was nice. He also came from a family of huggers and he missed it.
“Now,” Anna-Blair said once the hugging was over. “Does anyone want a snack or something to drink?”
They all declined. “I’m saving up for tomorrow,” Jake said. “Robbie and I will be back over early with Dad. Gotta get those turkey fryers cranked up.”
“Great,” Keith said. “We need to move the tables from the barn to the backyard. Anna-Blair is determined to have our Thanksgiving outside.”
“If,” Anna-Blair said, “the weather is good to us and I think it will be.”
“It’s kind of you to have me for your holiday meal,” Robbie said.
“Our pleasure,” Anna-Blair said. “Jake and Robbie, if you’ll get the girls’ things and take them up, Keith and I will take Evie’s pies to the kitchen. Hyacinth, you’re in the rose room at the top of the stairs on the left, across the hall from Evie. Let me know if you need anything.”
Fat chance of that. If the weight of her varied and numerous bags was any indication, she’d brought everything she owned—and maybe some stuff she’d borrowed and stolen.
Robbie and Hyacinth left Evie and Jake fiddling with pies and went inside.
“Lead on,” Robbie said. Watching her jeans-clad bottom bounce up the stairs in front of him was not an unpleasant task.
“First door on the left,” Hyacinth murmured to herself and entered the room. “I guess this is it.”
“Pretty fancy.” He put her things on the bench at the end of the tall canopied bed. The walls were pinkish—rose, he guessed—and there was a velvet couch and a lot of shiny crystal stuff on the dresser.
“Says he who grew up in a castle.” She put the monogrammed canvas bag she carried on the couch. He would have given a lot to know what all she had brought and why she needed it.
“We just live above the shop. The public rooms are fit for company, to be sure. Where we sleep and take our tea are not nearly as grand as this. Besides”—he grinned at her—“it’s just a wee castle.”
“Not that wee.” She pushed her hair off her face. “I googled it.”
“You did?” He wouldn’t have thought she’d be that interested in his family’s doings.
The corners of her mouth turned down and she swallowed. “I didn’t believe you. I was checking out your story.” She laughed a strained little laugh. “But there you were. Standing in front of your ‘wee’ castle with your not so ‘wee’ family. All matching.” She smiled sheepishly.
He hated having his word questioned and he waited for the anger to set in, but it didn’t. He supposed it was because there was something sad and apologetic in her manner. And she hadn’t had to tell him. What had happened to her to make her question everything that came her way?
“We all have faults, lass,” he said quietly. “I’ve got a lion’s share. But I’m not a liar.”
She nodded and abruptly changed the subject. “You and Jake are close.”
“Ever since our rookie year with the Sound. We hit it off straight away. He took care of me when I got hurt and brought me to his family home for holidays. I like to think I was of some help to him during his divorce. I have seven sisters, but never a brother until Jake.”
“Do you think he and Evans will get married?”
“Absolutely. Without a doubt.”
She smiled, excited like.
“After all,” he rushed on. “Almost everyone does. Now, whether they marry each other—we’ll have to wait and see about that, won’t we?”
“Oh, you!” She half closed her eyes, looked toward the ceiling, and shook her head. “You knew what I meant.” She picked up a small pillow from the bed. He was certain she was going to fling it at him but, at the last moment, she laid it back on the bed. “Better leave that alone. Looks like it was probably embroidered by somebody who’s long dead.”
“Right. Wouldn’t want any ghosties to haunt you tonight.”
“Thank you for bringing my things up.” She stepped toward the door and put her hand on the crystal knob.
“My pleasure,” he responded to her exit line. “See you tomorrow.”
He didn’t plan it, but natural as could be, he encircled her shoulders with one arm, her waist with the other, and brought her to him. She went rigid, but then almost immediately relaxed. It felt like she belonged there.
He wanted to kiss her—had ever since he’d held her on the dance floor, maybe before. But, even more, he didn’t want to ruin this moment. It was a given that he liked sex—who didn’t? But he also liked kissing, hand-holding, sweet embraces—like this one.
A kiss would have meant nothing to most of the women he’d known lately—to him either. But this was different. He got the feeling that kisses would matter to Hyacinth, and he doubted if she gave them out like candy tossed from a parade float. A kiss with her might mean something to him, too. Maybe too much.
This woman had some fire in her, for sure. She could burn him to nothing and he’d thank her for the pleasure of it all. But, make the wrong move, and she was all too capable of screaming the house down and beating the hell out of him with one of her many travel bags.
Nobody needed that.
So he didn’t tilt her face up and lower his mouth to hers, like he wanted. He did, however, let his hand drift up, his fingers trailing her neck before they settled in to stroke her cheek. She sighed and smiled. He hadn’t seen that smile many times and maybe never directed at him. He saved the image and packed it away.
“Goodnight, lass.” He loosened his hold on her. “That was a nice moment, don’t you think?” Maybe there could be more of them.
She didn’t say yes, but she didn’t say no. She just widened her eyes and reached for the crystal doorknob again. “Thank you for carrying my things up,” she repeated, all prim and proper like. But she had been thinking about a kiss, too—at least he thought so. Hard to read, this one was.
He dropped a little peck on her temple. “Sweet dreams.”
He had to pause outside her door to give himself a chance to settle down before he was fit to be seen in polite company.
Then, he whistled a little tune as he bounded down the steps in search of Jake.
Chapter Four
When she woke the next morning, Hyacinth’s first thought was of what had passed between her and Robbie last night—or maybe it was just a continuation of the thoughts she’d fallen asleep with, after she’d finally gone to sleep.
What in the ever loving hell had come over her?
She’d, one, danced with him, when she’d never danced a step in her life. Two. Not only eaten half his banana pudding, but let him feed it to her. Three. Almost kissed him last night.
How had she—Hyacinth Dawson, who never deviated from the plan—gone from hoping to never see him again to wanting to kiss him?
She actually knew the answer to that. It had been a long time since she’d dated anyone. She hadn’t even wanted to. So why now and why Robbie McTavish, of all people, those fabulous legs notwithstanding?
She was no virgin, but she hadn’t been around the block all that much either. One of her long-term goals was a husband and two children. While she wasn’t exactly actively seeking that yet, she considered it a waste of time to dabble with a man who was not husband material—and Robbie definitely was not that. Not even boyfriend material. No. She knew exactly the qualities she wanted in a man: goal-oriented, organized, neat, punctual, willing to be an equal partner in child-rearing and home maintenance, respectful of her career because she was never giving it up or letting it take second place to his.
And yet...yet. The Could’ve Been Maybes—Chris, and before him, Sean—had been all those things, but they hadn’t clicked.
But with Robbie, there was something there, something different. He was a flirt, but that was nothing new. She’d been flirted with, though she wasn’t very good at returning it.
Evans and Ava Grace were always telling her to loosen up. Even Claire hinted at it. But there was never enough time—bridal appointments, alterations, keeping up with the market. Those were the important things, the things that made her life work. One success at a time. Flirtation and uncomplicated fun hardly seemed worth the time.
But then it hit her—what was different. Robbie made her feel special. She hadn’t felt special in a very long time and never to a man. Was she an idiot to bask in it, to hope for more? Maybe. But she understood the power of that feeling. No bride ever walked out of a bridal shop with a dress without feeling special. And she gave it to them. She never lied, but she found a way to make every one of them feel exceptional.
What was wrong with wanting a little of that for herself?
She wasn’t looking for serious, let alone long term, but if he asked her to dinner again, she would go. She might even ask him.
Deep thoughts for Thanksgiving morning.
Mother of pearl! Was it still morning? Had she slept until noon in somebody else’s house? She grabbed her phone from the bedside table. Almost nine o’clock. Was she late? And if so, late for what? Breakfast? Onion chopping? Table toting? She had no way of knowing. She had intended to go downstairs last night, give Anna-Blair her hostess gift, and ask about today’s schedule. But after Robbie had left, all she’d been able to do was sink down on the bed and sit there like a fool until Evans and Anna-Blair knocked on her door to find out if she needed anything. Even then, she’d been so distracted she hadn’t asked.
With any luck Evans would still be in her room. Hyacinth slipped on her robe and stepped across the hall. No luck. Evans’s door was open, the room was empty, the bed made. Probably had been made for hours. She would text her and see if she could get some direction.
Then she caught sight of Evans’s phone, plugged into the charger on the bedside table. Nothing to do but get dressed and go downstairs, but she didn’t even know the dress code—something she’d intended to ask Evans last night before she’d gone brain dead.
But wait. As she was crossing the hall back to her room she noticed the door on the landing. It would lead to the balcony across the front of the house. She’d take a peep. Maybe someone would be milling around and she could at least get an idea about what people were wearing.
She heard the voices before she saw anyone.
“You do know you can buy nuts already shelled, don’t you? In a bag at the grocer’s.” No mistaking that Scottish brogue.
Female laughter. “I’ve been saying that for years. Mama says we aren’t buying pecans as long as we’ve got pecan trees.”
A little chill went through Hyacinth as she stepped to look over the rail where Robbie and a blonde—maybe Jake’s sister—were sitting on the steps shelling pecans. They had their backs to her, but she could see that Robbie was wearing the kilt she’d washed, mended, and ironed.
He ate the pecan that he’d just shelled.
“Stop it, Robbie!” The blonde playfully slapped at him. They were sitting close enough together that she didn’t have to reach far for that slap. “If you don’t stop eating half of what you shell, we’ll never get enough for the sweet potato casserole.”
He caught her hand. “If you weren’t so worried about ruining your manicure, lass, we’d have had enough long ago.”
Lass.
Then he gave her a one-armed hug—like he’d given Hyacinth as they were leaving the dance floor last night.
She shattered.
Which made no sense. It wasn’t much of a hug and lass wasn’t his own private term of endearment for her. He’d called those girls at Trousseau yesterday lass and it hadn’t bothered her. But that was before, before she’d gotten confused and thought Robbie had treated her differently—special.
But she wasn’t confused anymore. She’d been a fool—an affection starved fool, picking up crumbs from a man who scattered them like Hansel in a spooky forest.
