Honey and Smoke

“That’s simple. You’re going to live with me now.”

  “Not for long.” She raised her head and looked at him gently. “I tried that with someone once before, Max. It’s not my style.”

  “I thought we’d gotten beyond that problem. It’s not a question of respect, or caring, or commitment. We have all that, don’t we?”

  “Yes. Yes, we do. I didn’t say that I wanted to stop seeing you.” She hesitated, frowned as if wrestling with a private decision, then looked at him closely. “I … uhmmm. I have to be honest … damn. I don’t want to be. But I owe it to you.”

  She bowed her head to his chest for a second, and he felt the tension coursing through her, her leg tightening as it lay across his thighs, her torso feeling stiff against his side.

  “Just say it,” he urged softly, stroking her back.

  She met his eyes and nodded. “I still intend to marry and have a family. I’ll give you time, but I won’t give that up.” She put a fingertip over his lips as he started to speak. “That’s not a threat, Max; that’s simply a fact.”

  She drew her hand away and waited for his response. Confusion surged through him, along with bittersweet frustration. “I’m not asking you to give up anything. I think we have it all.”

  “No.” She rose and went to the pile of clothes in the hallway. She found a shimmering silver robe and belted it around herself as she walked back to the bed. Max pulled the quilt over himself and sat up, watching her body glide under the sheer material, watching the way her chin lifted and her shoulders squared.

  She stopped at the foot of the bed and looked at him with a mixture of dignity and sadness. The combination sent shivers of emotion up his spine.

  “I love you,” she murmured, as if it hurt her to say it. “I love you dearly.”

  He drew a ragged breath. “I love you too. Like I’ve never loved anyone before. Do you believe me when I say that?”

  She nodded. “That’s what makes all of this so painful. And so fantastic. And so frightening.”

  “And so simple.” He held out his hands. She knelt beside him and clasped them in her lap. “Let’s give it time,” he whispered. “Let’s live for each other and each day.”

  “All right. For now. I’ll do anything to be with you. That’s what you’ve coaxed from me, Max. Total devotion.”

  “It’s not one-sided,” he murmured, bringing her hands to his mouth and kissing them. “I’m not your wishy-washy musician.”

  “I knew that weeks ago,” she agreed with a slight nod and a rueful smile. “Don’t say it that way. He’s not mine—I don’t claim him. I don’t want to claim him. I don’t even want to remember him. I just want to remember what I promised myself because of him.”

  Max drew her down beside him and held her possessively. He looked at her flushed, sorrowful face and knew that he’d have to sort out his tangled feelings about marriage, for her sake. It was a task he dreaded. “Do you know how much I love you?” he asked gruffly.

  A poignant but mischievous gleam entered her eyes. “Show me.”

  He did. Trust and confidence flared between them, but later she looked at him with unabashed challenge in her eyes. He returned the look in full.

  She didn’t like the way he smiled at her when she finally let him board the bus. He smiled as if he knew a secret, but her stern scrutiny only made him laugh. “God, that barbecue sauce smells good! And the sun feels wonderful! And I’m with you! What a great Saturday!”

  He slapped his chest, which was covered in a plaid flannel shirt. Leather suspenders pulled snug across the handsome expanse as he stretched languidly. He wore brown corduroy trousers and soft leather hiking shoes. “I’m ready to play caterer,” he announced.

  Betty adopted a nonchalant facade. “You’re certainly homey and comfortable looking.” As if homey and comfortable ever looked so marvelous, she added silently. He held her dreams in the palm of his brawny hand. It wouldn’t do to praise him too much.

  He looked around the bus and inhaled deeply. “It really smells fantastic. The sauce is finished, I presume?”

  “All done.” She opened a cooler and pointed to a neat row of gallon jars. “When we get to the country club, well just slap the ribs on my trusty portable grill and start spreading the sauce over them.”

  He held out his hands and looked at them solemnly. “I have chapped skin. I never spent an entire Friday evening making coleslaw before. I must have washed a thousand heads of cabbage.”

  She cleared her throat and tugged brusquely at the bright print sweater that topped her jeans. Then she swaggered up to him and tapped his chest with an imperious finger. “As I recall, you were easily distracted from making coleslaw. In fact, you spent quite a lot of time on other pursuits.”

  “I couldn’t help myself. Watching you knead biscuit dough was too enticing.” He lifted her by the elbows and kissed her thoroughly. When he set her back down, she leaned against him, chuckling. Admit it, Betty Belle. No matter how footloose he may be, you’re blissfully happy with this man.

  “Thank you for helping me,” she murmured, hugging him.

  He slipped his arms around her and held her snugly. “This much happiness ought to be illegal. Or at least immoral.”

  “You may not be so cheerful by the end of the day.”

  “We’ll come home and take a long, hot bath.”

  “Hmmm.” She moved away from him and busied herself checking supplies that were packed neatly in bins along one wall. She could feel him watching her. “Yes?”

  “If this is so much work, why don’t you hire a couple of people to help you with it? You told me that you used to have assistants.”

  “I’m trying to simplify my operations. Streamline. Be efficient.” And I don’t have the money to hire anyone right now. She straightened and saluted him playfully. “You should approve, Major.”

  “I just don’t understand. With all the money you make—”

  She came to him and stopped his questions with a slow, tantalizing kiss. “The only problem I have, dear sir, is that we’re going to be late to a very well-paying job if we don’t get moving.” She stroked his shoulders and fluttered her eyelashes at him. “Would you drive this big ol’ bus for little ol’ me? I declare, I don’t know how I managed before you came along.”

  His eyes danced with amusement. “Uh huh. I recognize a steel magnolia trying to masquerade as a wilting lily.”

  “Why, the insult!”

  He slapped her lightly on the rump, stepped back, and bowed. “I’ll drive your bus, Miss Betty,” he drawled. “And I’ll protect your secret barbecue sauce faithfully. I won’t even mention the fact that I could be trusted with the secret.”

  She laughed, but felt guilty. She could trust Max. It was wrong not to tell him. But there was something mysterious about his smile, and something just a little unnerving about his confidence. Betty winked at him. “If you’re good, maybe someday I’ll give you the recipe.”

  As an engagement gift.

  What made her work so hard? Max wearily tilted his head back on the driver’s seat as he guided the bus through the darkness toward his house. He glanced over his shoulder. Betty was asleep, exhausted. She lay curled up on one of the cushioned benches of the small dining booth that sat directly behind his seat.

  She ought to hire at least two helpers for these jobs. Even with him to assist her, the work load had been enormous. They’d fed four hundred people. Max would be happy if he never saw a plate of barbecue again.

  On the other hand, he’d had fun. And he’d loved the sense of partnership. He had even loved the prim way she ignored him when he gave her orders. Without being blunt about it, she made him realize that his communication skills needed work, at least around civilians. But she also made it clear that she loved having him with her, and that she needed him.

  Max sat forward in the driver’s seat and scowled. Several guests. Interested in having events of their own catered, had come to him and Betty asking questions about scheduling and cost
s. They’d assumed that he and she were married. She had politely explained that they weren’t.

  And Max had felt regret. Regret. He rapped his fingers on the steering wheel. Was it because he disliked any situation that made Betty unhappy—that he simply preferred to avoid a subject on which they disagreed? Or was it some subtle shift in his attitude? No. Consider marriage? Him? Never!

  Betty stretched, yawned, and sat up. She got to her knees behind him and lightly draped her arms around his neck. Her sleepy, seductive voice tickled his ear. “Driver, do you ever cavort with your passengers?”

  He was relieved by the distraction. This was reality, and it was damned sweet. He had all the love in the world right here, right now. “Ma’am, it depends on the kind of ticket you bought. Do you want to go all the way?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  They shared a low chuckle. She kissed his cheek. “Let me take over. I’ll drive. You rest.”

  “Good timing. We’re about a mile from my house.”

  “Oh, Max. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to let you—”

  “Sssh. You earned the sleep. It was a long day.”

  “It was nice having you with me. Not just for the help but for the sharing. I’ve never had that before.” She put her head on his shoulder, and after a second he realized that she was dozing. Her hands lay gently on his chest, open and vulnerable. Her breath caressed his cheek.

  Max stared straight ahead, his teeth clenched. He couldn’t help thinking, Betty Templeton. It has a nice ring to it.

  Betty sat at a desk in her bare, practical little office at the back of the restaurant. Peering at a computer screen, she studied the accounts from the first three weeks of operation and was very pleased. There wouldn’t be any profit for a while, but she’d expected that. Business was going better than her projections, which had been conservative.

  She rested her head on one hand. Given a little extra cash, she could begin bottling the barbecue sauce for distribution locally. Betty sighed, then turned the computer off. There would be no extra cash for a long, long time. Right now she’d have to be satisfied with selling the sauce from a display shelf up by the cashier’s stand.

  A herd of footsteps clumped on the wooden floor outside her open door. She looked up as three excited waitresses filled the opening. “You have to come to the front,” one of them told her. “A man’s asking for you.”

  “And he just bought every bottle of barbecue sauce that we had! Fifty bottles!”

  “And he had his chauffeur come inside and get them!”

  “His limousine is parked right on the street!”

  “He ate pork barbecue and left me a ten-dollar tip!”

  Betty bolted to her feet. “I can’t wait to see this amazing customer for myself.”

  The waitresses followed her through the back hall and into the kitchen. “He’s so handsome! And so unusual looking!”

  “He has white hair! Silver-white. But he’s not old.”

  Andy glared at them from behind a serving rack. “He looks foreign to me.”

  “He’s not foreign. He’s southern.”

  Intrigued, Betty stepped out of the hall behind the cashier’s stand. The man who waited patiently was, indeed, cause for scrutiny. Because of the white hair he made her think of an elegant swan, though the image failed to capture the rugged quality about him. Few men could wear a double-breasted suit of gray pinstripes and not look boring. This man’s suit had a European cut that emphasized his body, and his body was definitely not boring.

  “May I help you?” Betty asked pleasantly, stopping in front of him.

  He smiled with great charm, but his eyes, under dramatic white brows, had a shrewdness that chilled her. “Ms. Quint, I’m very pleased to meet you. My name is T. S. Audubon. I’m an old friend of Max Templeton’s.”

  “Ah.” She smiled and shook the large, graceful hand he extended. “If you’re looking for Max, he’s—”

  “Oh, no. I came here today to meet you. To speak with you about Max. More precisely, about his career, and your relationship to it.”

  Bewildered, she studied the visitor in silence. An ominous feeling grew inside her chest. This man obviously knew a great deal about her and Max, and he didn’t look pleased about it.

  She lifted her chin. “Please, come to my office.” She made a vague gesture toward the back of the restaurant while she continued to watch him. “This sounds interesting.”

  The mysterious T. S. Audubon smiled thinly. “I suspect that you won’t choose such a mild adjective after you hear what I have to say.”

  It was odd for Betty to stay at the restaurant so late. Max knew that she was intense about her work, but she had confidence in Andy and usually left the restaurant by six each night.

  He kept worrying about her and had trouble concentrating on the wedding ceremony. This was such a grand one too. The bride and groom had brought their own costumes. In honor of Thanksgiving, a few days away, both were dressed as pilgrims. The parlor was packed with the couple’s relatives and friends. Some were dressed as Pilgrims. A couple were dressed as Indians. None was dressed as a turkey, which disappointed Max. It would have been a first.

  Afterward, Norma supervised a reception that featured pumpkin cake. Max put in an appearance, signed the wedding certificate, then slipped out to the veranda, where he paced in the cold darkness, watching the road.

  A short while later Norma followed him. “I heard some folks talking in there,” she told him. “They saw a stranger in town today. A strange stranger—how many visitors come to Webster Springs in a limousine?”

  Max pivoted toward her, instantly alert. “And?”

  “White haired, but youngish. Tall. Good-looking and fancy dressed. He had lunch at Betty’s place.”

  Max was stunned. “Damn him.”

  Norma grunted in agreement. “That sneaky Audubon. He’s goin’ to cause you trouble, son. If he hasn’t already.”

  A vehicle swept up the road and pulled into the driveway of his house. Max judged from the height of the headlights that it must be Betty’s van. It passed the parlor’s parking lot and climbed the road up the hill.

  He glanced at Norma. “If you can finish this job alone, I’ll go home.”

  She squeezed his arm. “Get on up there right now and talk to Betty. Don’t let Audubon meddle in your affairs. He just can’t stand the notion that he’s turning into a lonely old man while everybody else gets happy.”

  Max didn’t agree with that assessment of Audubon’s motives. Audubon was in no danger of being lonely or old any time soon. He was, however, determined to defend his pet causes at all costs, and to acquire the people he wanted to help him.

  Max kissed Norma on the cheek, then left the veranda to stride up the drive to the house. He found Betty seated on the bed in the guest room. She was scratching Faux Paw on the stomach. She looked up and smiled.

  Max halted in the door, studying the calm, pleasant scene in surprise. “Hi. You worked later than I expected.”

  “I was at Grace’s shop. The house has a cute little upstairs apartment. She uses it for storage, but there’s still plenty of room. It could be comfortable. She’s willing to rent it to me in exchange for free meals at the restaurant. And—”

  “I know that Audubon came to see you today.”

  Her smile faded. The guest room was lit only by an ancient floor lamp in one corner, which had given her emotions some camouflage. But now there was no hiding the strained expression on her face. Moving to the foot of the bed. Max saw the puffiness around her eyes. She’d been crying.

  “Don’t,” she said raggedly when he reached a hand toward her. She turned her face away so that a sheet of black hair cascaded alongside it, shielding her expression.

  Max stood there in miserable silence, his hand in midair. Finally he dropped it to his side. He went to a chair in one corner and sat down. “Tell me what he said.”

  “That he’s known you for almost twenty years and you’ve never stayed in one place m
ore than three years.”

  “The marines made those decisions for me, babe.”

  “But you’ve always told Audubon that you liked it that way … you’d be bored if you settled down.”

  “I said a lot of things when I was younger.”

  “You said it during your last assignment, right before you retired. When you were working in the Middle East. You said that you’re like a shark—you have to keep moving, or you’ll die.”

  “Men say a lot of macho crap when they don’t have anything better to discuss. Audubon works on the fringe of the military. He’s even worked for the military as a consultant at times. That’s how he and I have stayed in touch over the years. But he doesn’t know me as well as he thinks.”

  “Neither do I.” She raked her hands through her hair and laughed wearily. “Audubon told me a lot about your work as commander of an antiterrorist team.”

  “I’ve told you about it myself. I’ve never tried to hide the fact that I’ve killed people in the line of duty. Or that I’ve nearly been killed myself a few times.”

  “I know. I understand. But—” she gestured, searching for words—“I never realized how different your life used to be. Totally different from now. The intrigue, the danger, the excitement.” She looked at him in tragic bewilderment. “How can you be happy here? Audubon says that you can’t be. That you may be content for now, but it’s just a matter of time—”

  “Who are you going to believe—me or a stranger with ulterior motives?” Max rose to his feet, angry and hurt. “I find your distrust pretty damned hard to take.”

  “It’s not distrust.” She shook her head wretchedly while she scanned his face for answers. “I don’t think you’re trying to deceive me about the future. I think you’re deceiving yourself. You refuse to plan for the future because you don’t want to lose your freedom of choice.”

  “Does anyone? Do you? How do you know what you’ll want years from now?”

  “I know that I’ll want a family, and a permanent home, and a husband who looks forward to sharing the rest of his life with me. I know that I want to start building that here, soon.”

  Max began to pace, fury growing inside him like a dark menace. “A piece of paper that says we’re married—is that all it would take to make you happy? All right, dammit, let’s get one. Let’s get married.”