Love in a Nutshell

  He tilted his head and looked at her. “What was that?”

  She stepped back while finding some way to hedge her poor move. “A good-night kiss between friends?”

  “Really?”

  “More or less.”

  He looked at her with the same hot intensity he’d shown the night she’d sung in the karaoke contest. But this time she wasn’t scared. At least not much.

  “I thought we were closer friends than that.”

  “How close of friends?” she asked.

  Matt didn’t answer with words. Instead, he kissed her deeply. Intimately. Kate could swear she heard herself moan as his hand moved to the small of her back. She’d been starving for this.

  For him.

  There was no point in fighting it. Her willpower was shot. He was too sexy. Too near. Too perfect. She wanted his body heat and the feel of him taking her to that place she’d missed so much.

  “Hang on, sweetheart,” he said.

  No problem, because she’d already wrapped her arms around his neck.

  He scooped her up and settled her on the bed. He switched off the bedside lamp, and Kate reached for him. His weight settled over her, pushing her deep into the heavenly soft comforter.

  She let her fingers flex into the muscles on the back of his shoulders as he claimed her mouth with his once again.

  A low growl sounded. Kate was pretty sure it hadn’t come from Matt, and she was almost certain it hadn’t come from her. She nudged the pillow that Stella had to be occupying and got an angry grunt in response.

  Matt moved on to kiss Kate’s throat. She arched her neck and asked for more while she tried to work his shirt free of his jeans. She wanted to touch skin. Now.

  Matt knelt above her and pulled off his shirt. Kate wished she had the patience to focus on his body’s details but she was too far gone. She pulled him back down.

  “We’ve got all night,” he said.

  “Not good enough.”

  “Trust me, it’s gonna be good,” he said in a low voice that made Kate’s body hum in excitement.

  Kate fumbled with his belt, thinking the damn thing was like some sort of Mensa brain challenge.

  Stella let loose a series of high-pitched yips. Someone in the next room added a couple of firm raps against the wall.

  Kate gave up on the belt. Her dog was going to ruin everything. “Stella, no!”

  The poodle brought it down to a whine.

  “Ignore Stella,” Matt said, his lips skimming along Kate’s neck, her ear. “Focus on me. Would it help if I howled?”

  Stella went back to barking. The neighbor slammed on the wall, and the poodle amped it up to the point that Kate’s ears rang.

  Matt lifted his head and gave Stella a glare. “Stop!”

  The poodle curled her lip, but obeyed.

  “Now where were we?” Matt asked as he opened the top four buttons on Kate’s chambray Depot shirt, his last word ending on a sharp breath of pleasure as he settled his mouth between her breasts. Kate murmured encouragement and Matt cruised on, making quick work of the rest of Kate’s buttons.

  “Gotta admire a man who’s talented with his hands,” she managed to say.

  When Kate’s shirt went flying, Stella let loose a snarl that sounded like it came from a Rottweiler.

  Matt paused in his body exploration. “That wasn’t a good sound.”

  Kate’s poodle stared at them from one pillow over. The dog’s eyes glowed in the dim light. And it wasn’t an I’m a happy dog kind of glow, either.

  “Settle down,” she told Stella, but the poodle was focused on Matt.

  “I’m sensing a turf war,” Matt said.

  Kate kissed him and popped the top button on his jeans. “No way.”

  Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrf! Grrf. GRRF!

  “No doubt about it. Your dog doesn’t want me touching you,” Matt said.

  “She doesn’t get a vote. Give me a second.”

  Kate unwrapped herself from Matt, corralled Stella, and tucked her into her travel crate, which sat beside the brocade love seat.

  “Be good,” she said to Stella.

  Yip, yip, yip, yip, YIP!

  Matt yanked a burgundy-colored throw from the love seat and dropped it over the crate.

  Arooooh, roooh, roooh. Arooooooh!

  The guy in the next room pounded the wall as though he planned to hammer his way through.

  “Sorry,” Kate called. “We’re trying to get her to stop.”

  But Stella kept on in howl mode.

  “I’m calling the front desk,” the guy shouted through the wall.

  Kate had a vision of security at the door. With the police. And the ASPCA. And just like her last legal run-in, she’d be only half-dressed.

  Matt rolled to his feet. “This isn’t going to work.”

  “I’m sorry. She’s really a great dog.”

  “No problem. I understand where she’s coming from. I feel exactly the same way about you as she does.” He gave Kate a quick kiss over Stella’s warning growl. “Lesson learned. Beware the overly protective poodle.”

  * * *

  SATURDAY MORNING, Matt did his best to put Friday night behind him. He’d never seen a dog smirk, but damned if the poodle hadn’t been doing just that as he’d left Kate’s room. During a mind-clearing, wake-up run, he’d decided on a plan to win Stella over and clear the way for him to Kate’s heart. Plus, he was far better off than Harley and Junior, who’d shown up for breakfast visibly and brutally hungover. Junior had turned gray at the sight of Kate’s wheatgrass-and-mango smoothie, and had left the hotel dining room without ordering.

  While Matt could stomach the idea of a wheatgrass smoothie, he couldn’t deal with Kate’s total silence now that they were on the road and headed for the beer fest. Stella was stowed in her crate, on the backseat, but probably still shooting him death rays.

  “You’re mighty quiet,” Matt said.

  “What would you like to talk about?”

  “Last night.”

  “I didn’t think guys talked about stuff like that.”

  “It’s true. It’s rule number five in the Code of Manliness handbook. I’m making a one-time exception.”

  Kate sighed. “Okay, so here goes. I’m kind of glad for the poodle alarm last night. I made myself a promise not to get involved with anyone until I figured out my life. For the first time, I feel like I might actually be making progress with that.”

  He had to give Kate credit. Not only did she have an impressive amount of willpower, she was also tenacious, passionate, and forthright. It was all he could do not to pull the car over and kiss her. But patience and planning had helped him succeed in business, and it would help him succeed with Kate. First things first. Win over the dog.

  “I understand completely.”

  “You do?”

  “Sure. I was lucky to be able to find my calling in a hobby I loved, but it was hard work figuring out how to build and run a business. It took all the energy I had. Right now, your business is your life. There’s no reason to rush things between us.”

  Kate’s body relaxed, and when she smiled up at him, Matt once again had to fight not to pull over to the side of the road. Sooner or later, Kate would come around, but how he’d help her get there was a more complicated proposition than charming the poodle. All he needed for Stella was a lamb chop in each pocket. Kate would take finesse.

  They pulled into the parking lot at Farmers’ Market a few minutes later and noticed a police cruiser was parked in front of the main entry door.

  “What do you suppose that’s about?” Kate asked, looking at the cruiser.

  “I suppose it’s just life in the big city.”

  They entered the building and made their way back toward the Depot Brewing booth, stopping in the middle of the aisle, grimly gaping at the Depot Brewing Company banner hanging in tatters.

  Harley, Junior, and Torvald Mortensen stood in front of Matt’s booth with two police officers. A scarecrow manned the
booth, dressed in a Depot Brewery T-shirt and hat. A huge jagged hunting knife was stuck in its belly and a corkscrew protruded from its right eye.

  “The leftover beer from last night is gone,” Junior said. “We set up the tables again, though. They were all wrecked.”

  Matt clapped his friend on the shoulder. “Thanks, pal. I appreciate the help.”

  Matt, Harley, Junior, and Torvald answered the officers’ questions while Kate sat on the floor, sorting through upended boxes. Matt was handing one of the officers his card when Kate joined them.

  She held out a vintage lighter decorated with a black-and-white enamel eagle. “Sorry to interrupt, but I found this with the merchandise. I thought maybe it was Harley’s?”

  Harley barely glanced at it. “Nope.”

  “Are you sure?” Kate asked. “It looks like one from your collection.”

  “Sure, that’s yours,” Junior said. “I got it for you last Christmas.”

  Harley absently patted his pants pocket. “Huh. I must be worse off from last night than I thought. It’s mine, all right. It must have fallen out of my pocket a coupla minutes ago when I was moving that stuff near the table. Thanks for finding it.”

  She handed it to him and turned her attention to Junior.

  Junior clutched his blue cooler, searching for something to say. “I heard you’ve got bees in your house. You should be careful, because bees can be very dangerous.”

  Kate opened her mouth, thought better of telling Junior what she’d like to do with her bees, and snapped her mouth shut.

  Matt asked the police what they knew so far, and it was nothing helpful. The building manager had opened the place at five to let in the cleaning crew. They’d done their job and left. The manager had stayed in his office. He’d also admitted to dozing off. Anyone could have slipped in at any point. Matt thanked the police and asked to be sent a copy of their report. Beyond that, he doubted that he’d hear from them again.

  “Let’s get to it,” he said to his crew.

  Harley volunteered to get the rest of the beer from Matt’s truck while Torvald and Junior bought ice. It would be a shorter pouring day, but not a total wipeout. Kate got her hands on a ladder and roll of duct tape and began piecing the banner together from behind.

  “Looks like you’re going to need more tape,” Matt said.

  Kate leaned precariously from the top step of the ladder, trying to fix a torn piece. “I’ve got just enough. It’s not going to be perfect, but it will do.”

  Harley rounded the table wheeling a dolly stacked with cases of bottled beer. His labored breathing made it clear that he was too hungover and out-of-shape to be a beer hauler.

  “You’re handling this situation like a champ,” Harley said to Matt.

  “I didn’t know I had a choice.”

  “Most guys would be bitchin’ and moanin’.”

  Matt smiled. “I’ve discovered it doesn’t make much of a difference whether I do or don’t, so I’m opting for don’t.”

  Chet Orowski strolled up. “Looks like what goes round, comes round, huh, Culhane? I heard what happened to you.” He looked at the scarecrow. “Looks to me like you screwed the wrong guy. You oughta be more careful.”

  “It’s no big deal,” Matt said. “We’ve still got some beer, the banner’s okay, I’m thinking of using the scarecrow so I can ride in carpool lanes, and we’re going to have fun. Because that’s what we’re in the business for, right?”

  Chet threw up his hands, looking around the room, hoping for an audience. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Great PR spin, but we both know the truth. Someone here hates you. I guess you’re not the big star you thought you were.”

  “I’ve never thought of myself as a big star,” Matt said. “I brew beer, and that’s it.”

  Chet snorted. “Sure thing. You’ve got your pride the same as all of us, and now your nose is getting rubbed in it. It couldn’t happen to a nicer guy.”

  Kate finished taping the sign and started down the ladder. The ladder rocked left and Kate leaned right, trying to keep from falling. For a long moment, both Kate and the ladder seemed to hover in the air before they both came crashing down. Straight onto Chet. And as they lay there in a heap, Kate was as grateful for Chet’s bulk as she was for her small stature. Between the combination of the two, she didn’t actually kill him.

  * * *

  “CHET DIDN’T do it, you know,” Matt said to Kate that night as they headed west through Detroit’s endless string of suburbs.

  She peeked into the backseat to check on Stella in her travel crate. “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because he’s a lot like your ex-husband. Lots of bluster and no action.”

  Kate looked out the window. “You don’t know the half of it.”

  “All I’m saying is that Chet couldn’t get out of his own way to pull off this stuff. And even if he did trash the booth—which he didn’t—he doesn’t have the right contacts in Keene’s Harbor. Yeah, spare brewery keys could have been floating around, but how would Chet have gotten his hands on one?”

  Kate sighed. “Okay, good point, but we’re right back to where we started. More vandalism and too many suspects. We’ll put Jerry on the back burner, since he wasn’t around. That leaves us with the Mortensens, Junior, and Harley. Do we know where the Mortensens were last night?”

  “In bed by nine, probably. They’re a pretty low-key couple.”

  “We’ll put them aside for now.” She paused. “I did pick up Harley’s lighter, though.”

  “He said he dropped it while straightening the booth. Did you find it someplace where that couldn’t be possible?”

  “No, it was on top of a box of coasters.”

  “Not exactly enough to convict the guy,” Matt said. “Besides, Junior and Harley have each other for alibis. They were at a sports bar until the Pistons game ended, then back at the hotel bar until last call. Judging by the way they looked today, I’m sure they can prove it.”

  Kate sighed again. “I’m sure they can.”

  Stella whimpered from the backseat.

  “Do you mind if I get her out?” Kate asked.

  “No problem.”

  Matt kept his eyes on the road as Kate violated a couple of traffic laws while freeing her poodle.

  “I can’t believe how tired I am,” Kate said once she and the dog were safely in front. “I think I’ll just close my eyes and…” She yawned, and Matt filled in the rest of her words for himself.

  Somewhere just east of Lansing, a slight whistling sound drew Matt’s attention from the road. Kate was curled up with Stella. Both woman and dog were out cold. A louder whistling came his way. The dog was snoring.

  FIFTEEN

  On Thursday morning Kate woke to a poodle nestled next to her head. And, as had been true every morning since the workweek had started, her phone was ringing. Kate’s. Not Stella’s. Kate had spoiled her baby with long beach walks, but the dog would not be getting a phone.

  “Hello?” Kate said, feeling rested and ridiculously content.

  “Let me guess,” Matt said. “You overslept.”

  Kate sat upright, and Stella grunted her disapproval of the change in her sleeping arrangements.

  “No way. Again? I set my alarm. Really.”

  She couldn’t stop smiling, though. Several nights in a row of more than eight consecutive hours of sleep. She might not have any walls or a master bathroom or a living room floor, but at least the mold and most of the bees were gone. She felt human again.

  “If you could amble on in here before I take any more guff about giving you special treatment, I just might forgive you,” Matt said.

  He sounded amused, and Kate’s smile grew into a grin.

  “Let me take a shower and give Stella her morning walk, and then I’ll be right there.”

  Matt laughed. “So, like noon, right?”

  “No later than ten, I promise.”

  “Hey, and find Bart when you get here, okay? Laila’s ready to come b
ack, so you’re going to be assistant to the assistant brewers.”

  “Sounds filled with responsibility,” Kate said. But really, she didn’t care what Matt had her doing so long as she was earning and snooping … and getting to see him. She had fallen for him, and the ginger poodle had sealed the deal.

  * * *

  AT PRECISELY ten o’clock, Kate found Bart the brewmaster by a large wipe-off board where he was scribbling dates and other random things. Floyd, his assistant, stood to his right. The older man possessed a rather impressively sized beer belly. Kate had to appreciate a guy who showed that much love for his chosen career.

  Next to Floyd was Nan O’Brien, assistant brewer number two. Nan was an Amazon of a woman, at least six feet tall, and fit. A hunter, triathlete, and seasoned sailor, Nan could whip any television survival show dude with one arm tied behind her back.

  “Hey, Bart,” Kate said. “Sorry I’m late.”

  “Let’s talk before we get started,” he said. He waved off his assistants, telling them they’d finish later.

  Kate joined him at the whiteboard. “So tell me what you’re going to be doing back here today.”

  “I’m going to be getting another batch of Dog Day ready to boil, which means that you are going to be cleaning the brewhouse for me.”

  She looked around. “The whole place?”

  He laughed. “It looks like you’re in need of a little more training, eh?”

  Bart led her across the room and patted a big, almost bullet-shaped, tank that stood seven or so feet tall. “This is the brewhouse. A thirty-barrel brewhouse, to be exact. And those other tanks attached to it are the fermenters. After the boil, the wort is sent through the pipes to its left, and into those fermenters, where the yeast is added.”

  Really, the brewhouse was kind of pretty, all copper and stainless and shiny. And it looked very clean already, which she pointed out to Bart.

  “It’s not the same picture on the inside, and that’s what you’re going to be concerned with,” he said.

  “Hang on. You mean I have to get in there?”