Until He Met Rachel Page 5

  He wondered what someone as real and independent as Rachel saw in someone so contrived and artificial. If he had to take a guess, he’d say fame. One of his least favorite words. Fame corrupted. Ninety-nine percent of the time women bought in to a certain image and didn’t ask questions. Until later.

  Did that make them shallow? Not really. The truth was he never let anyone see any deeper than the image he projected. Maybe the same was true of Rachel and her ex. He didn’t know and he didn’t really care. She’d gotten under his skin but that didn’t mean their professional relationship would lead to anything else.

  He had a feeling she was intuitive enough to see beyond the image he projected for the world, and he’d deal with her questions as best he could. Was he ready for a full disclosure show-and-tell? Hell, no. In his opinion, there was nothing more pathetic than a former overnight sensation or one-hit wonder trying to make a comeback. His past was done and gone. He’d pretend to be a yeti before he’d dig up the pictorial remains of R. J. Milne.

  A loud, passionate chorus of barks shook him out of his reverie.

  She rolled down her window an inch. “Wow. You have fans. With good ears,” she added. “We must be getting close.”

  Fans. He’d had a fan club. Once. A long time ago. “See the break in the trees?” he asked, leaning forward to point the way. “They weren’t happy about being left behind.” He moved impatiently, anxious to check on the animals. “I hope Rat isn’t bouncing off the walls. Her foot was pretty swollen this morning.” He’d almost taken her with him to see the vet but decided to give her body a day to heal itself. He was proof that self-healing worked in certain circumstances.

  The tires made a crunching sound as the car turned onto the gravel he’d had delivered a month or so earlier.

  “Pull up to the front,” he said. “I’d better check on her.”

  He jumped out as soon as the vehicle came to a stop then hurried to the front door, which was unlocked. “Hello, doggies. How’s our girl?”

  Rat spring-boarded into his arms and licked his neck while the other two dogs milled around his knees, eager for reassurance their master was back to stay. She seemed fine, but he carefully probed her paws. “Much better,” he said, kissing the foot she’d been favoring that morning. “Come and meet a new friend.”

  Friend? Not so fast. He didn’t have friends. Except for the canine kind.

  Determined to reestablish the boundaries he felt most comfortable with, he let the dogs perform their usual scary, step-one-foot-out-and-we’ll-bite-it-off routine. Showing more courage than Clive, she opened the driver’s side door a crack and put her bare fingers within nipping range. “Is it safe to get out? They sound like they want blood. Mine.”

  “This is them happy,” he admitted.

  She made a face. “Then I don’t want to hear them mad.” She got out, but didn’t move from the spot as the dogs pushed in to get a good sniff. “Nice doggies,” she said, patting Chumley’s broad head. “Big doggie.”

  Rufus suppressed a smile and snapped his fingers to bring the oldest, most well-trained dog to his side. “Fred, sit. Come here, Miss Rat.”

  All three animals obeyed, which cleared a path to the front porch where he was standing. The walk wasn’t exactly shoveled because it wasn’t exactly a sidewalk. He gave her credit for wearing proper snow boots, but the morning sun had melted enough to make it slippery.

  “I can see why you said I’d never find the place,” she said, looking around. “Gives new meaning to the term ‘out-of-the-way.’” Her tone was more amused than irked. “With a road like that one, I bet your mailman loves you.”

  “Gives him something to complain about.”

  Fred trailed behind her, the hair on the back of his neck standing at attention. Rufus didn’t understand why until Rachel turned slightly and he spotted the mock fur trim around the hood of her white down jacket. To Fred, it probably looked like a cat ready to pounce on him.

  “Fred,” he warned, “stay.”

  The dog’s powerful haunches hit the snow-covered ground. “Good boy.”

  Rachel took a deep breath of fresh, frosty air. “It’s really beautiful here,” she said, twirling suddenly, as if untethered from some invisible leash. Her shoulder-length red-brown hair danced in the breeze. The small, stylish sunglasses she’d worn while driving were pushed to the top of her head, giving him a clear view of her eyes. And the charming array of freckles on her nose.

  He had to physically clamp down on his impulse to yank her into the shade, even though the early afternoon sun wasn’t much of a threat since it was already sinking behind the pines.

  She’s not me, he reminded himself. Every person’s skin was different. A few freckles didn’t mean she’d wind up with cancer.

  Still, he couldn’t prevent himself from clearing the distance between them to take her elbow and hurry her along. Three quick steps and they reached the safety of the porch. She appeared a little bemused by his rush but didn’t comment. Instead, she exclaimed, “Wow. This is a real log house, isn’t it? What did you use for chinking?”

  “Cement with plastic filler.”

  “Does it insulate?”

  “Stops the wind.”

  She walked to the wall between the large picture window and front door and ran her bare hand over the yellowish cedar log. “Gorgeous,” she said. “Do you mind if I take a picture?”

  Hell, yeah. “Why?”

  She already had a small digital camera out of the enormous satchel slung across one shoulder. “I figured you’d want a page on your Web site about you—the artist. This house is a work of art in and of itself.” She pivoted on her heel before he could reply and charged to the far end of the porch. “Ohmygod, look at these wind chimes. Did you make them?” She lightly fingered the interlocking puzzle pieces he’d carved out of wood. A shiver passed down his spine as if she’d been touching him. “Of course, you did. I can see your hand in it. Do you have more? I bet you could sell a million.”

  He shook his head. “Someone could replicate this in China for twenty cents. Each one took me hours.”

  She put her camera to her eye and snapped a few shots. “Exactly my point. There will always be cheap imitations, but what you’re selling is authenticity. The more you charge, the more the buyer respects you.”

  That would have made him laugh, but he actually understood what she was saying. At the height of his modeling career, he was getting paid an obscene amount of money for doing practically nothing. Strutting. Pouting. Looking haughty and unattainable. The more he charged, the more the magazines and art directors wanted him.

  “Tea?” he asked, suddenly needing to slow things down. The sound of a camera clicking made him uneasy—even if the viewfinder wasn’t pointed his way.

  “Sure. That would be great. Can I leave my stuff here a minute?” she said, dropping her tote bag to the seat of the Adirondack chair he’d made a few years ago. “I forgot something in the car. I brought your dogs a treat.”

  He paused, his hand on the door. That was a word his animals knew well. Before he could utter the command to stay, all three were on her heels, yipping with excitement. He walked to the top step to make certain they didn’t trip her.

  She managed fine, softly chattering to the dogs. Each animal appeared to be captivated by this new, very friendly person. Even Chumley, the most dignified dog Rufus had ever met, panted with ecstasy when she patted his head and neck.

  She opened the driver’s door but slammed it a second later and flat-footed it to the back of the car. He frowned, noticing the ice under her feet.

  She heaved open the rear hatch. Her vehicle was angled so he could see the layers of boxes stacked irregularly on top of each other. She’d meant it when she said she was still in the process of moving.

  With hands on her hips, she made a sound of impatience that carried all the way to the porch. He liked the way she expressed exactly what she was feeling. He envied that honesty.

  Her audience waited w
ith rapt attention. Rat-Girl stretched to place her front paws on the bumper. Rufus snapped his fingers. “Down.”

  The little dog obediently lowered her butt to the snow while shivering with what he was pretty sure was excitement, not cold.

  Rachel pulled two boxes off the top of the pile and set them to one side, then climbed partway into the car. Through the side windows he could see her stretching for something.

  A few seconds later, she let out a triumphant cry. “Found it.”

  As she wiggled backward, her jacket rode up and Rufus got one quick glimpse of her shapely waist. She landed on the ground awkwardly, her foot tangling with some loose tape attached to one of the boxes.

  Rufus had already started forward to help, when she caught her balance. Muttering something about “bad packers,” she shook her head. When she realized he was only a foot away, she made a face. “Jack helped me load stuff. And I specifically told him to put this box in storage. I wonder how much other useless cra— um…stuff is in here.”

  He started to offer his help but she stopped him. “I’m good. Really. Simply wrestling with the reality of being footloose and fancy-free.” She faked a smile. The first he’d seen that wasn’t real. “Here,” she said, holding out a crumpled bag adorned with multicolored paw prints. “Doggie treats. Organic. Sprouted grains. I bought them in Denver.”

  His heart melted into a puddle in his chest. She had absolutely no way of knowing about his health issues or the fact that he’d gone on a macrobiotic diet after his diagnosis. Although he’d gradually reintroduced more normal foods into his diet, he still tried to eat healthy, organic ones when possible.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  He stuffed the bag in his pocket, intending to pass out the treats once he’d helped repack the boxes. But when he bent over, he realized that something looked off-kilter. “I hate to tell you this, but your rear tire is almost flat.”

  “What?” she yelped. “No way.”

  She let go of the box she’d started to pick up. It must have been fairly light because it tumbled over on its side. “Oh, no,” she cried the moment she saw the state of her tire. “Jack tried to talk me into getting new ones before I left Denver, but do you know what I said? I said, ‘I prefer to buy local.’ How dumb is that?”

  He didn’t think it was dumb. “Do you have a spare?”

  “I have no idea. But I do have auto club. I’ll call—” She stopped at his look. “No cell service?”

  “It’s only low, not flat. I have a portable compressor. I’ll top it off before you leave. I’m sure you’ll get back to town safely.”

  “Really? Cool. Then, let’s go inside and talk business before…before…” She’d turned to finish picking up the boxes but something stopped her.

  Rufus glanced around. “Uh-oh.” He put his hands on his hips. “Fred,” he boomed. “What have you done to Rachel’s…um…sex toys?”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  RUFUS LEANED DOWN

  to pick up the object Rat-Girl had dropped beside his booted foot. The handle of the hot pink whip was as long as his forearm but tapered to a fine point, which was adorned with ribbons and brilliant purple feathers. He couldn’t have been more surprised if a marching band of elves had suddenly appeared. He cleared his throat and picked up the gaudy, over-the-top instrument of…um…pleasure? He hated to admit he wasn’t sure how it might be used, but his initial impression of Rachel had changed. And a certain part of him could even envision testing out the silly thing. With her.

  “Oh, my,” she said, her gaze following as a couple of bright feathers drifted to the snow.

  “Sorry,” he said, handing the whip to her, blunt end first, as if it were a knife or a loaded pistol.

  Her chin rose with a kind of dignity Rufus admired, but her attempted smile betrayed her. “Faulty packing. That happens when you hire family,” she said, a little hitch in her voice.

  He was a single step away from her. Even in the dry, cold breeze, he could smell her. Not the cedar, pine, dog and earth scents he was most familiar with, but something fresh and feminine that he realized with a start he’d been craving. Their gazes met and held for what seemed too long. Especially given the objects scattered around them.

  He was the first to move. He started toward the wreck of a box, intending to cram anything and everything inside. She jumped sideways, arms out, to block his efforts. “No. Please. I’ll do it. This is so embarrassing. When I see my brother…”

  Words spilled out of her mouth at a rate Rufus’s brother would have called super-soundic. Even as a little kid, Stephen was always making up new words.

  He gave a mental shake to return to the moment. What part of this situation made me think of Stevie?

  Farce. Stephen had loved gross-out comedy. The more inane the better. Their parents had hoped he’d outgrow it. Unfortunately, he never got the chance.

  Rufus was stuck in memory lane when he heard her low “Uh-oh.” Her inflection sounded pained.

  Since she’d positioned herself to keep him from seeing the worst of the spill, he had to peer around her to discover what unspeakable horror had her momentarily frozen in place.

  “Yowch,” he said, one hand dropping to his groin without conscious thought. “I’ll replace it.”

  At the horrified expression on Rufus’s face Rachel wasn’t sure whether to laugh or pray for the earth to open up and swallow her alive. It was a sixty-five-dollar, nine-inch, all-too-realistic-looking dildo that Rachel had unwrapped at her bridal shower to the jeers and cheers of other party-goers. “Trust me. It’s better than the real thing,” one woman had proclaimed. Her friends and coworkers had even named it for her. Dexter. After the HBO serial killer with a conscience.

  At the moment, Dex was giving extreme pleasure to the dog with the big, squarish head. Fred, she believed. And Fred was chomping on the pliable, lifelike rubber with such gusto his master actually looked pained by the image.

  She fought to contain the laugher that started bubbling from that horrible well of inappropriate responses that her ex-husband had hated so much. But she simply couldn’t it hold back. Within seconds she was doubled over, howling. Tears—the Chris-Rock-on-a-roll kind—obscured her vision and she actually had to grab Rufus’s arm for support until her ab-scrunching guffaws diminished.

  “Oh, wow,” she said through her sniffles. “I needed that.”

  She released her grip and dug a tissue out of her pocket to blow her nose. “Did I leave my camera in my briefcase? Damn. That would go viral on YouTube.”

  He seemed to question the humor of the situation, although he didn’t say anything. His reaction was probably normal. Hers was probably not.

  “It was a gag gift at my wedding shower.”

  “A gag gift? No pun intended?”

  The joke jolted her. It was so unexpected and quick. Another facet of this complex and interesting man she hadn’t picked up on when they first met. She decided to test her theory by sharing something she hadn’t even told her brother. “My ex-husband hated that thing. He called it an affront to the moral integrity of society and the sacred vows of our union. He ordered me to get rid of it. Not asked. Ordered.”

  Rufus gently but firmly shooed away the little dog when she—Rat-Girl?—tried to get a piece of the obscene chew toy. “And…”

  She shrugged. “I’m cheap. Excuse me. I meant to say thrifty. I buried it under some other stuff in a drawer. I’d planned to re-gift it. But before I could, he trashed our sacred vows of union in a far more obscene and public way.”

  His wooly eyebrows asked the question his lips failed to voice.

  “He got caught boinking another golfer’s wife. Oops.” She put her icy fingers to her mouth, mockingly. It suddenly struck her how cold the air was. She hadn’t noticed until that moment. Before she could suggest they move this circus inside, Rufus bent and rather daintily picked up the dildo. The dog released it without hesitation.

  He held it up so they coul
d both examine the very comprehensive distribution of teeth imprints. “There was a time when I would have paid good money to see my husband looking like that. The teeth marks, I mean,” she interjected. “Size-wise…let’s just say it’s understandable why he felt threatened.”

  Rufus looked at her a moment. “Where do you want this?”

  She shrugged. “Keep it. Your dog seemed to like it.”

  He shook his head slowly from side to side. “No, thanks. I don’t want to give them any ideas. They already outnumber me.”

  She knew he was joking. The dogs seemed as well-trained as any she’d ever met. She’d begged Trevor for a puppy, but he’d told her—wisely, it turned out—they weren’t ready for that kind of commitment.

  Rufus quickly gathered up the remaining toys, stuffing everything into the box. She didn’t see what he did with the gnawed dildo but assumed it was in the box, too. She appreciated his efficient, unflappable calm.

  “So, how ’bout that tea? And, no offense, but I’d prefer you didn’t take any more photos without asking first.”

  She didn’t get why, but she shrugged. “Okay.”

  As she passed in front of him, she heard his deep intake of breath. “Are you sniffing me?”

  He stiffened as if poked. “Trying to place your perfume. Lavender?”

  “Dryer sheets.”

  “Grapefruit?”

  She blinked in surprise. “Shower wash. That’s a pretty acute nose you’ve got there. Acute. Not a…cute…nose.”

  He put his hand to his face. “You don’t like my nose?”

  His little insecurity made him a bit more human. Not that she really considered him a yeti or Bigfoot’s younger brother, but he kept himself so detached and watchful it was hard to get a real take on him.