The Monkey Jungle (The Bennt, Montana Series) Page 3

  His head snapped up. He’d encountered this before. Women to whom he’d been attracted, who were only interested in introducing him to their single friends. A polite way to get rid of him, he supposed. And considering his military career, and their own busy lives, probably smart of them. Except she surprised him. This was the first time one of them had asked about his sexual orientation. Garth noted the purple of her sweater caused her eyes to be more brilliantly sapphire and brought out the rich darkness of her black hair. Mary Kathryn was more than pretty, she was unconventionally beautiful, her mouth was a little too wide, but her lips were full...her nose deliciously pert and her jaw line strong but not masculine. Her face was boldly drawn. Vibrant. More interesting than beautiful.

  “Gay guys make great friends,” Mary Kathryn stated blithely, seeming oblivious to where his thoughts were. “These days it seems everybody wants one. A fad of sorts. Kinda like an exotic pet a girl can take shopping. I guess there will be no going to the mall with you.” She gave him a gentle push toward the stairs, following as he picked up his overnight bag. “Now, I’ll just have to figure out what else to do with you besides take pot shots at you in my living room,” she laughed softly. “Henry should be grateful I’m terrified of prison. ”

  Garth pivoted at the amusement in her voice to find her moving toward the kitchen.

  “You would really have shot me?” Garth already knew the answer, but wanted to see that amused light in her fine eyes. When they settled on him she wasn’t so amused as somehow detached, even though she was studying him closely.

  “Yes,” she responded without hesitation. “And it would have been a shame.” She cocked her head as if she found him intriguing. “It must be difficult for you, being so handsome.”

  Garth was startled. Yet, oddly, he didn’t feel judged. As they stared at one another he knew she liked what she saw, and accepted him simply as Alison’s father—just some man; until he committed some personal affront against her which would change her opinion. There seemed to be no bitter in this woman. No preconditioned judgments. No emotional baggage loaded with mistrust or betrayal. She made no effort to conceal she found him physically appealing. He knew the personality type—they usually avoided him like the plague. She would do absolutely nothing about the attraction between them. There was a line she wouldn’t cross which was set for her own self preservation. Even if she loved him, she wouldn’t be with him if she decided he was emotionally toxic for her. If she didn’t like his behavior she would deal with it within whatever boundaries she set, unless it was detrimental to them as a couple, then she would deal with it straight on.

  Love? Couple? Where had that come from? Garth found himself surprised at his own thoughts, taken aback he could read her so easily. Was is because of that little frisson of energy sparkling between them? She might pretend it wasn’t there, but it was, and he relished it.

  He’d never been what one could call particularly sensitive to women, no more or less than any other man he knew—who could understand them anyway? He considered himself extremely practical, probably a bit pragmatic. A realist. The past twenty years of his life had been arranged around what he felt was him being realistic. Mary Kathryn appeared to be confident, flighty and somewhat self-indulgent of her own eccentricities. The contradictions fascinated him. She couldn’t be all those things. He’d known her less than a day and already she’d amused him a dozen times with a rare quirky wit.

  Her hand waved with some vague intent as she grinned impishly. “I wouldn’t have shot you anywhere my friend Maria would have whined about.”

  He blinked. She was indulging some private joke at his expense. He wanted her to share the joke, he wanted to be privy to whatever thought caused her stunning eyes to twinkle. He’d never been so instantly attracted to a woman, not even his long divorced wife. “What does that mean?”

  She selfishly kept her humor to herself as she smiled, a full smile which lit up her entire face. It slayed him, held him captivated for a moment. “Since you’re staying,” she offered with no guile whatsoever. “Maybe you’d like to join me next Monday night and you’ll find out for yourself?”

  “It’s a date.” He didn’t hesitate, riveted by her. Riveted by her smile, which faded as a wry, finely plucked brow rose.

  “No, Mr. Morley, it’s not a date,” her reproof was gentle, but delivered never-the-less. “It’s Margarita Monday and we need a designated driver. When I fetched my morning newspaper I saw a very nice car with a rental sticker in front of my SUV. It must be yours, because if it’s Henry’s I’m going to run over him in it for trying to impress Alison with something he can’t pay for. We’ll all fit and I’m sure it has one of those GPS things. If we get you lost, just flip it on and you’ll find your way without our help. Please join me for breakfast when you’re done showering. I’ll have coffee ready.” She disappeared into the kitchen before he could respond.

  Damn! Garth stared at the empty doorway. She was going to introduce him to her friends! Fix him up with someone else and get him out of her hair. He felt like he’d been kicked in the head but was enjoying the headache.

  Mary Kathryn was definitely someone he wanted to know better; her spunky personality and her derringers, Berry and Cherry, were the freshest thing he had come across in years. He wasn’t going to be pawned off on one of her single friends. He was going to make getting to know her his goal while in Bennt, Montana. She was pure refreshing oxygen in his otherwise polluted view of women.

  “I’m sorry for startling you last night,” Garth told Mary Kathryn a half hour later as he entered her kitchen. He nodded his thanks and took the cup of coffee she held out to him.

  Mary Kathryn noted he wore a long sleeved black shirt and blue jeans, his hair still wet from the shower. She glanced at his freshly shaved profile then began measuring more ingredients into a bowl on the counter. The man was so handsome he should be outlawed. She set ground cloves aside. “We both know who is to blame. But, as I was the one with the gun...” She cast him a wry smile. “Tell me, do you meet many women that way?”

  He raised an inquiring brow over the rim of his coffee mug.

  “With a bat in your hand,” she said, her teeth flashing before she managed to stifle her grin. He met her open gaze, studying her eyes with open interest. “Every day,” he said easily, a smile tilting the corners of his mouth. “It’s an ice breaker.”

  “I bet it is,” she laughed. “And I certainly needed to be shut up.” Her self-mocking irony was genuine. “Where did you get that puny little leaguer?” she asked as she cracked an egg shell and dropped the contents into the bowl. “I know they wouldn’t let you to bring one on a plane.”

  “It was in your driveway,” Garth told her. He watched as she added more spices to the ingredients, seeming to be measuring carelessly. He was reminded him of his sore toes from kicking the bat. He hadn’t felt so good in years. It was her. Everything she said, did and projected. She was intoxicating. And a delicious aroma was beginning to waft from the bowl of ingredients she was working on. “Henry brought it in the house and left it in the living room,” he said. “I tripped over it getting up to put my jeans on just before you came in the house last night.”

  “It must belong to one of the neighbor kids. I’ll set it outside later.” She briefly glanced at him. “Alison mentioned you were in the military.”

  “Recently retired. Twenty-six years, Air Force.”

  “Retired? I’ve been there. Are you finding you feet again? It takes some adjusting.” She haphazardly measured more ingredients, dumping them into the bowl.

  “Which means you’re retired,” he stated with surprise, asking, “Not simply changing careers?”

  “Fully retired. I was a bank officer. A teller for the first six of my illustrious career.” Mary Kathryn added sugar into the aromatic concoction. “Then I won a lottery and bought all this.” She swung the empty measuring cup around to indicate the kitchen, her eyes sparkling mischievously.

  “An old tw
o bedroom mansion,” Garth responded with a twinkle of humor. “Nicely done.”

  “Two bedrooms, a sewing room and one and a half bath. It’s by the front door, if you didn’t know.” She grinned. “So, don’t sell my little mansion short.”

  “And you quilt?” he couldn’t help remembering Henry claiming she was a gun toting quilter.

  “Not lately.” She frowned, opening a drawer at her hip in search of a whisk. “I used to sew the tops. I sent them out to be quilted unless it was a special project. Alison thinks she’s fooling me by saying she’s sleeping in my sewing room when I know she and Henry are—” her eyes flew to his, her mouth rounded before she said quickly, “Oh—sorry.”

  He laughed easily. “Alison’s twenty-four. That they even bother hiding it is beyond me. Maybe I should crash on Henry’s floor and put a wrench in their little nighttime forays?”

  “You would do that for me?” she asked, her fingers were on his arm, a small gesture, one Garth was excruciatingly aware. He laughed, the sheer delight on her face at the suffering their children would endure obviously intriguing her. “I’d do it more for me,” he said, then added soberly, “It’s my daughter he’s—well,” Garth grimaced uncomfortably, the epitome of any father discussing his daughter’s sleeping habits. “—you know...”

  “You can’t sleep on the floor. As much as I like the idea of disturbing their little charade, it wouldn’t be right.” Mary Kathryn sighed regretfully as she began mixing the ingredients. “No sense punishing you for them being silly.”

  She was natural, easy to be with. He took a sip of coffee. “How old are you?” he inquired in the comfortable silence as she stirred then added water to the bowl he realized held their breakfast before she reached over and checked the heat on a large waffle iron.

  “Forty-four or five,” she shrugged. “I can never remember. I think I’m forty-four.” At his surprised look she scowled then faked a pout. “Is that look you just gave me good or bad?”

  “I thought maybe mid to late thirties,” he admitted. “But it didn’t add up with your retiring so early.”

  She humphed. He couldn’t tell if she were pleased or not, even when she said, “How sweet. Move aside, please, you’re taking up my space.”

  “What are you making?” he peered at the aromatic dark orange, brown flecked batter.

  “I thought I’d impress you just this once. Sort of an apology. Pumpkin cream waffles with almond whipped cream with chicken apple sausage on the side. I whipped the cream while you were showering. It’s in the fridge.”

  “You’ve already made quite an impression on me,” he said slowly. “But your apology sounds interesting.”

  “I keep telling my girlfriends all a woman needs is a gun to impress a man. But do they listen?” she grinned at his expression “The waffle iron is almost ready. Make yourself useful and grab the sausage out of the fridge. They’re brown and serve. There’s a skillet is in the cupboard by your left knee.”

  Garth fetched the skillet, opened the refrigerator and found the sausage she wanted.

  “How old are you?” her question was casual as he prepared to cook the sausage.

  Was it more than simple curiosity? He hoped so. “Forty-seven,” he eyed her covertly. “And before you ask, I’m sure of it.”

  She humphed again. An unfamiliar sound, her feminine humph. One that amused and drew him in deeper as he began browning the pre-cooked sausage links. The aroma wafted almost instantly from the heating pan.

  Their conversation as the sausage sizzled turned into more of an interesting interview. An exchange ranging from personal to outright ridiculous. She was a widow, some sixteen years now. She’d met her husband over a hamster. He’d met his wife at a bar. He was divorced. Only married once. Yes, he had grown a beard when he retired. It was the first thing he had done.

  Mary Kathryn glanced at his smooth jaw. “Three months without shaving—and you didn’t even trim it? Good heavens, you must have looked scruffy. Why did you finally shave?”

  “Truthfully?” Garth turned the links one last time.

  “No,” she stared him straight in the eye, her expression bland. “Lie to me—it turns me on.” Her voice lowered with sultry exaggeration. “There’s nothing sexier than watching people scrambling for cover when the naked truth comes out.”

  He laughed at the image. “I bought a drink for a lady in a bar in California. She took it from my hand, sniffed down her nose and stalked off without even thanking me. In Northern California, mind you.” He was genuinely disgusted. “Scruffy or not, frankly, it bruised my ego. The next day I shaved, went back to the same bar. She happened to be there and tried to buy me a drink. She didn’t even recognize me.”

  Mary Kathryn dolloped whipped cream on the waffles and added sausages to the two plates. She passed him the batter and told him to put it in the fridge. “Did you take her home?”

  Garth eyed her warily as he obeyed. She seemed to be only mildly curious, but— He wanted this woman cooking breakfast with him. There was something wicked, a glint of humor in her eyes that made caution raise its head.

  “Well?” she prompted, amused by his dilemma of wanting to lie and knowing she would see through it as she found bananas in a basket above a bread box. She peeled and sliced two bananas, decoratively arranging the pieces around the mound of whip cream in the center of the waffles, added two pieces of sausage each and grinned. “Can’t answer?”

  “It’s neither here nor there.” He grouched lightly at the trap of his own making. She began to laugh, peals of rich laughter flowing freely as she handed him their plates and waved toward the table as she placed a piece of tin foil over the hot waffle iron as if concealing it before joining him with their refilled coffee cups.

  “Oh, Good Lord—” His first bite of the Belgium waffle with its generous scoop of almond whipped cream and banana slices was made with round eyes, his fork not even lowering before he was staring at her with astonishment.

  “Do you accept my apology?”

  Garth nodded, his mouth bursting with a variety of flavors... it was, heavenly. Far exceeding anything he’d expected.

  Mary Kathryn chuckled smugly, patted his hand, clicked her coffee cup against his, then forked her own mouthful and closed her eyes with bliss. They never said another word, eating in a companionable silence as Garth wrapped his logical military man’s brain around how something so mundanely routine as breakfast could taste so absolutely divine. It was as if an angel had shit in his mouth—but he couldn’t tell her that. People had their illusions about angels, but so did he. He chewed slowly, savoring every bite.

  “We’ll open a waffle house and you’ll cook.” He finally leaned back in his chair, eyeing his empty plate with something like regret. “Twenty-four hours a day. I’ll be your worst customer, running you ragged. You’ll need a wheelbarrow to move me. That was the best apology I’ve ever had.”

  “There are varying degrees of apologies,” Mary Kathryn refilled their coffee cups and sat down. “This one was only a two on my apology scale, which peaks at ten.”

  Garth eyed her over the rim of his cup. Was she flirting with him? Or was he seeing innuendo where there was none? Because if that waffle were only a two, she’d really have to put out something special to beat it. And the only thing she had left after her waffle, was herself. He didn’t know her well enough to determine the answer. He was about to respond when the back door flew wide open. An older, slightly taller, rounder, much softer version of Mary Kathryn breezed into the room. The woman stopped short when she spied them at the square table.

  “Well—isn’t this homey.” Her eyes narrowed as she took in the domestic scene. “Something smells good—” Her gaze lingered on Garth’s face. “Looks even better. Say, mister, didn’t I see you in a TV commercial?” she came deeper into the kitchen. “You know, the hunk in the shower promoting soap. Honestly, you looked better wet.” She glanced briefly at her sister. “Mary Kathryn, I keep buying that soap for Wilson, but it d
oesn’t work the same magic with him. Wet or dry.” The woman cast Garth a wry look, tsking with disappointment.

  “It’s the water.” Garth quipped, immediately liking her. Her eyes twinkled with appreciation as she nodded, saying drolly, “You’ll do. If you aren’t dirty, but feeling as if you are and need a shower, I’m across the street.” A huge grin split her pleasant face. “I’ll leave a light on for you. Sneak in an upstairs window and make yourself right at home.”

  “Garth,” Mary Kathryn waved a hand as she laughed. “My sister and neighbor, Heather. Sis, this is Alison’s father, Garth Morley. The deputy last night,” Mary Kathryn explained to Garth, “he’s Heather’s husband. But we’re not allowed to claim relations while he’s on duty. He claims people will accuse him of being biased. Personally,” she and Heather exchanged a quick smirk, “we think he just doesn’t like us.”

  “Hello, Alison’s father,” Heather poured herself a cup of coffee. “I’m glad you survived the night.” She turned to Mary Kathryn with avid interest on her face. “You sure caused a ruckus last night. I slept through it, sirens and all—darn it! Wilson shook me awake then ranted about you for five minutes. Mary Kathryn, you need more practice on the target range.” She rolled her eyes. “Wilson said Mr. Morley was only ten feet away from you and you missed! Mr. Morley’s a big man. Look at his chest. How the blazes could you have missed?” Heather stared overlong at Garth’s chest. “Just wave in the general direction and pull the trigger—” Garth grinned as she glanced at his face, then back at the width of his chest, shaking her head. “Nothing personal, Alison’s father.”

  He covered his mouth, coughing hard. It was obvious they were sisters, amusingly boldly, inane, capable of charmingly ridiculous observations that didn’t offend; direct without actually being brassy—well, he corrected, captivated by their easy charm, not offensively brassy.