Unsafe Haven (7 page)

“Yes, I like fish.” Her expression softened somewhat, and one side of her mouth curved upward, an encouraging gesture.

He moved closer, a slight momentum. Leaning in, he murmured, “Halibut casserole. Luna’s favorite. Full of protein. Very tasty.”

Her smile widened, enough to make his heart pound anew.

Down, Nulo.

“I like halibut a lot.” She paused, and when he gazed into her eyes, they were clear again. “I could make a salad.”

Hesitancy might have colored her offer, but he’d take what he could get.

Kendall set her purse on the glossy piecrust table in her room at the Four Hills Inn. She smelled bleach on her hands when she pushed them through her hair and loosened the curls. She badly needed a shower, but it could wait until her nerves settled.

A date with the town cop. She was obviously out of her mind.

Stretched out on the bed with her hands tucked behind her pillow, she stared at the lacy canopy above. Wendy had mentioned her great-grandmother, Ling, had crocheted it from cotton as thin and fine as sewing thread. Something so lovely and delicate—and complicated—must have taken forever to create. According to Wendy, Ling didn’t start it until she was in her eighties and crippled with arthritis. Pain and fortitude had formed the fragile pattern, but its beauty would endure for future generations.

Fragile, yet strong. Delicate, yet able to withstand years of usage. Sometimes she felt the same way.

She might be stronger now than a year ago, but was she ready for dating? She didn’t know. Anxiety churned her stomach, worse than when she’d boarded the plane in Pendleton, the first leg of a trip which would bring her to Staamat.

She’d been in town a month. Every day, she grew steadier. She’d made friends here, was ready to open a business, a huge undertaking for someone who’d struggled for every bit of independence.

Thank God I didn’t marry him. Thank God.

Kendall rubbed her cold palms over her gritty eyes, then let her hands drop to the coverlet. She’d gotten better at keeping bleak thoughts at bay, but they snuck in when least expected, leaving her chilled and unsettled. If she allowed those thoughts to further control her, she’d never have a normal life, and it would be her fault. Yet her hand reached for the old-fashioned, black utility telephone on the nightstand. She tapped her fingers against the button display and debated whether to call Denn and cancel tomorrow night.

It’s just dinner, for God’s sake. Luna will be there.

But it was more than dinner, and she had to be honest with herself. Denn looked at her with hunger in his eyes. She was woman enough, experienced enough, to see it. Other men had viewed her with such masculine, often blatant interest, and she’d found it easy to blow them off. She didn’t think Denn would back away as easily.
And maybe I’m reading things that aren’t there because an insanely impulsive part of me wants them to be.

Three years of her life, down the tubes, because she once believed what she thought she saw in a pair of attractive eyes. Three years of escalating fear and despair, because she chose unwisely. Sometimes those eyes still haunted her, late at night when she was wound up and couldn’t sleep. Coming here, to Staamat, had helped, but a new location and a new life wouldn’t change much. She might as well slap a bandage on a gaping wound needing stitches.

In sudden irritation, she pushed the telephone aside. Her restless fingers plucked a loose thread from the hem of her cardigan. She pulled it up to eye level. Roy had bought her the damned thing and she’d never liked it. When she’d packed up her wardrobe back in Oregon, out of innate thriftiness she’d kept all her warmest clothing, including the hated cardigan.

She tugged harder, taking perverse satisfaction in how quickly the fuchsia-colored yarn unraveled. After she had a fat pile of destroyed sweater, she’d toss the entire mess in the trash and buy herself a new one, more her style.
And no pink.
Roy had loved pink and bought her clothes in all shades of it.

Surprising, how many men seemed to like women in that girly-girl color. Denn was probably one of them.

Stop it, stop it.

Denn was nothing like Roy. At least she didn’t think he was.

Instead of lying here dreaming up crap to drive herself batty, she ought to dig through her clothing for a suitable first-date outfit. Something pretty, but casual, that screamed strong, confident woman. Unfortunately, she had mostly jeans, sweaters, and long-sleeved shirts in the compact walk-in closet attached to the bathroom. A good many of those pairs of jeans had seen better days.

Still there might be a skirt or two, bunched in with the jeans, which she could pair with one of her prettier sweaters. With a nod of renewed determination, Kendall bounced to her feet.

“Why can’t we have pot roast?” Luna sat at the kitchen table and pouted, while Denn dug a vacuum-sealed pouch of halibut chunks from the cavernous freezer. She poked him with her bare toes as he carried it toward the sink. “Denn? Why can’t we have pot roast?”

He set the pouch in a bowl of warm water to help the frozen pieces thaw, and turned to the nag masquerading as his baby sister. Patiently, he replied, “Because Kendall doesn’t like red meat. We’ve invited her to dinner and the polite thing to do is cook something she likes.”

“I hate fish.” Luna crossed her arms and slumped in her seat.

“No, you don’t, brat. And quit slouching.” He pinched her shoulder. “I know for a fact you like halibut casserole. When Mom made it for us, you always ate a ton of it.” Denn pulled a bag of onions from the pantry and grabbed a knife.

“It was Mom’s casserole, that’s why. I liked Mom’s. Yours is gonna be nasty.”

Obviously Luna seemed bent on driving him nuts. When he glared at her, she stuck out her tongue.

Denn sighed and took a firmer grip on his rising temper. “Look, you’ll love this recipe. I’m going to ask Wendy for it. I promise it’ll be good.”

“I won’t like it.” Luna stuck out her bottom lip. “Besides, I don’t like Wendy, either. She wants to marry you, and so I don’t like her.”

“What?” Denn shook his head to clear out his clogged ears. He must not have heard correctly. “What are you talking about? Why would you say such a thing?” Half shocked and half amused, he sank onto the empty seat next to her.

Luna smirked at him. “I see the way she looks at you.” Her smirk faded into a fierce frown. “She wants you. I know she does.”

“Luna, you can’t go around making up stuff. Besides, you’re too young to understand the significance—”

She surged to her feet. “I’m
not
too young. I’m almost fourteen! I’m not making it up, either.”

“Luney-Boo, calm down.” He tried to pull her back to her chair, but she wrenched away and paced the kitchen, her arms wrapped around her middle.

“I see her looking at you, Denn. She’s always checking you out when she thinks nobody’s watching. She’s got a notepad in her kitchen, too, and whenever you go see her, she jots down the day and time. She draws little hearts and flowers around the edge of the page.”

“Luna, come on.” This creeped him out. Wendy, lovesick? Over him? Ridiculous.

And yet, hadn’t he just noticed the other day, the changes in her? Hadn’t he wondered about it? The newer, softer hairstyle, the makeup. Hell, the perfume she now wore. Wendy Chang had never been girly. She dressed in men’s jeans and loose shirts, her hair always stood on end in those short, stiff spikes. In all their years as friends, he’d never seen her wear any makeup. Wendy was just one of the guys.

Because of her new look, he’d figured she finally got herself a boyfriend, and vaguely speculated on who in town it might be. Not that the pickings in Staamat were anything to brag about. Not that eligible bachelors came out of the woodwork, and—

“Are you listening to me?” Luna’s high, thin voice broke into his musings, and Denn focused on her face, her dark eyes, so much like their mother’s, right down to the worry, the concern. Thirteen-year-old girls shouldn’t have any kind of worry in their eyes. Thirteen-year-old girls shouldn’t be thinking about anything but fun, school, and thirteen-year-old boys.

He sighed and snagged her around the neck, pulling her close. She came into his arms and curled up on his lap like a woebegone kitten. With soft emphasis, he said, “I’m listening. Now it’s your turn. Wendy is my friend. She likes me but not the way a girl likes her boyfriend. You understand?” He lifted her chin and gave her a pointed look.

She shook her head emphatically, her braid slapping him in the face. “She likes you. I bet that girl who’s coming for dinner likes you, too.” Another pout.

Denn hid a smile against his sister’s silky hair and gave her head a quick nuzzle. This sudden show of possessiveness didn’t surprise him. He was all Luna had left for family. Of course she’d worry herself simple over the possibility one day he’d get married and leave her. Which was ridiculous, but it wasn’t always easy to reason with an emotional teenage girl.

He gave her a hard, fast hug, then stood and set her on her feet. Her arms reached around his waist and clung. Denn stroked her back and chose his next words carefully. “I have to go over to Wendy’s place right now and grab the recipe. You want to come with me?”

Another violent headshake. “Ugh, no. I told you, I don’t like her.”

“She’s good to you, Luna.”

“Only ‘cause she thinks if she’s nice to me, then she’ll score points with you.”

Her frank, surprisingly mature retort took him aback. “Where did you come up with such cockeyed logic?”

“I saw it on an episode of
Friends.”

“Oh, jeez.” He pushed her away and pointed to a bag sitting on the counter. “Make yourself useful if you’re staying home, and peel those potatoes. I’ll be back in a while.”

Wendy rushed into the bathroom and fluffed carefully at her hair. The new style was harder to work with since she’d stopped using her regular gel and hairspray. But the softer waves over her forehead, and the way it now curved behind one ear suited her narrow face and wide-spaced eyes.

She brushed a nervous hand down the front of her embroidered tunic. Unaccustomed to wearing red, the color did seem to flatter her and the tailored lines followed her body nicely. Black leggings and red ballerina flats gave the outfit a dressier look without sacrificing comfort. With shaking fingers, she fastened silver hoops in her ears, wincing when one of the thin wires wouldn’t easily go through. It’d been too long since she’d last worn earrings. Her holes had partially closed over. She gritted her teeth and pushed harder, until the damned wire worked its way through.

You’re pathetic and ridiculous. You’re a sad case.
Wendy stared at herself in the mirror, at the more dramatic makeup, the new hair, the jewelry. All of this, because Denn Nulo called and said he needed to come by and borrow a recipe. If she were lucky, he might be in her kitchen for maybe ten minutes, tops.

She’d tried asking him out, but the words always got stuck in her throat. A cup of coffee and scones, a few mornings a week, hardly gave her enough time to dazzle him into asking her for anything other than extra cream or another lump of sugar. He still viewed her with the eyes of a friend, too.

Because I looked like a boy. Because I dressed like one, too. But not anymore.

Every day, Kendall Martin left the inn wearing casual clothes. Jeans, sweaters, even a sweatshirt. How she managed to make such unisex clothing look spectacular was one of those womanly mysteries that had somehow passed Wendy by. Jeans and flannel had never flattered her, and yet it was all she ever wore. She lived in Alaska, for cripe’s sake. What else would she wear?

It took another woman—an outsider, no less—to show her flannel and denim could look damned good. But Wendy couldn’t change the way her clothes hung on her lanky frame.

However, the tunic and leggings were an inspired idea. Surely Denn would notice and react differently to her. With a final fluff to her hair, Wendy exited the bathroom and hurried toward the kitchen. Denn didn’t know it, but he would come away from her place with a recipe and a new awareness of her as a woman.

This time, she’d ask him for a date, too. And she’d get it. She’d take charge.

The ‘light spring rain’ forecast from the morning had become a deluge, and outside, everything had turned to muck. Denn toed off his muddy boots and left them in the inn’s arctic entryway. He removed his hat and hung it next to his damp jacket.

“Anyone home?” He stepped through the parlor to the kitchen and halted in surprise at the sight of Wendy lighting candles on the wide, butcher-block table. He checked his watch to see if he’d lost track of time, and had somehow bypassed an entire afternoon
.

To tease her, he pointed at the lit tapers. “Hi. Are you expecting the power to go out?”

She turned from the table and sent him an odd smile. “No, just thought I’d use some candles here and there. I like the way they look.” She walked to the fridge and pulled out a slender bottle. “Can I get you some wine?” She set the bottle next to a pair of crystal wineglasses already on the table, and stood with her hands resting on her hips.

What the hell was going on?
Denn stared at her, bewildered. The look on her face reminded him of a preteen girl trying to figure out how to flirt.

Flirt.

Ah, shit
. In his head, he could clearly hear Luna’s warning.
I see the way she looks you. She wants you.
No, that couldn’t be right. Luna was a kid, what did she know? She read
Tiger Beat
, for Christ’s sake.

Wendy Chang had been his buddy ever since he could remember. They’d hung out in high school, played basketball and softball together. The day he headed to Anchorage for college, she’d shaken his hand and slapped him on the back like a guy. And when he returned, they’d fallen right back into the buddy routine as if he’d never left.

“Denn? Can I get you some wine?” Her voice broke into his uneasy thoughts, and he focused his attention on her. She stood next to the table with a glass in one hand and the wine bottle in the other. For the first time he noticed her appearance, the clothes and the different hairstyle. Above the scent of candles in the room he could smell perfume.
So much for thinking she’s doing all of this fancying up for some guy.

Obviously, he
was
the guy. Shit.

Luna was right. And the thought that Wendy viewed him as more than a friend, seemed so utterly, completely
wrong.

He had to nip this. Now.

“Thanks, but I can’t stay. Maybe we can catch lunch later on in the week.” Lunch was okay, wasn’t it? A hamburger over at Fake’s, their occasional routine, seemed comfortable. Friendly.

Safe.

He saw her face transition from smiles to disappointment, and wanted to kick himself for hurting her feelings. Yet, what choice did he have? Only one woman in town held his interest. He’d known it from the beginning.

Her shoulders stiffened, yet her tone remained even and upbeat as she placed the wine and glass back on the table. “I was thinking more in terms of going out to dinner.” She sent him another one of those odd smiles. “How about tomorrow night? We could go into New Mina. My treat.”

“Wendy, listen—” He paused, reached for the words, something, anything, and cursed himself for not having the right ones. Whatever he said would probably ruin the friendship they had. The way she gazed at him reminded him too much of the way a girl his sister’s age might look at a rock star. He took a deep breath, held it, then let it out. He opened his mouth to speak, paused, and finally asked, “Did you find your recipe for the halibut casserole?”

She crossed to the sideboard where she kept all her cookbooks and handwritten recipes. Pulling out a loose-leaf notebook, she removed a page encased in a sheet protector and brought it to him.

“If the halibut you have is on the thick side, let it bake an additional fifteen minutes.” Her lips trembled into a smile. “You’re cooking this for Luna? I could help you, if you want. I could come over, and—”

His fingers closed over the plastic sheet, and for a brief second her thumb touched the back of his hand. Her cheeks flushed at the contact. “I’m actually cooking for Kendall. For Luna, too, but I invited Kendall to dinner.”

Wendy raised her eyes to his and the misery in them was easy to see, even for an oaf like him.

He didn’t know what the hell to say. If she hadn’t gone to such pains with her appearance, with makeup and perfume, he wouldn’t have thought a thing about it. Now, in just a few minutes, everything between them had tilted and become damned awkward.

Itchy to get out of there, he took a few steps backward, toward the kitchen door. “Let’s do lunch, maybe on Friday. Thanks for the recipe.” He edged out the rest of the way, turned, then bolted.

As he shrugged into his jacket and shoved his feet into his boots, he realized Wendy hadn’t said anything else once he’d mentioned Kendall.

Damn.