Trouble In Tourmaline. Jane Toombs
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“I guess I’ll just stay over,” she said. “Is there a quiet place in town?”
An arousing mental picture of Amy naked in his bed tonight flashed into his head, but he resisted the temptation to tell her his apartment was about as quiet as it got. To banish the vision, he said tersely, “The local hotel’s not bad.”
“What’s ‘not bad’ mean?”
She never let anything alone, did she? “It’s old but clean. Serves a decent meal, and it’s quiet.”
“Where is it?”
“I’ll show you.”
She stopped and looked up at him. “Maybe you could just tell me.”
Obviously he’d overdone the Cal routine. Now he was stuck with it. Deliberately ignoring her words, he said, “The hotel is up this way,” then took her elbow to turn her to the left, which was a mistake. He hadn’t actually touched her before, and, if he’d sensed the electricity between them in the café, he damn well felt it now.
For a moment neither of them moved, then she jerked free, frowning at him.
He gave her a one-sided smile. “Coming?”
He thought she might not, but then she fell into step beside him. “Shouldn’t you get back to your job?”
“Hey, it’s my lunch break.”
The Cottonwood Hotel was in the next block and nothing more was said until they reached the front entrance. She stopped and peered inside. “It’s got slot machines,” she said accusingly. “That’s not quiet.”
“Most commercial places in Nevada have slots. Take another look. You see anyone playing those machines?”
“Not at the moment.”
“No smoking.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Gamblers are mostly smokers. Old Hathaway, who owns the place, won’t let anyone smoke inside his hotel. The hard-case gamblers go where they can.”
Amy raised her eyebrows, hesitated, then said, “I suppose I can give it a try. Goodbye and thanks.” Without giving him a chance to respond, she pushed open the door to the lobby and slipped through it into the hotel.
That was that, David told himself as he sauntered back toward Aunt Gert’s. A brief encounter and a goodbye. The end. Well, it was fun while it lasted.
Before he’d gotten half a block away, he saw Hal Hathaway coming toward him. “Just sent you a customer,” he told Hal.
Hal stopped beside him. “I certainly can use all you send me. I hope this one is pretty.”
David nodded. No argument there.
“Is your aunt back yet?” Hal asked.
“Not until the day after tomorrow.”
“The reason is, I’ve been wanting to ask her if she wants that vacant lot on the street directly in back of you. I’ve decided to sell and she gets first refusal.”
“I don’t know. You’ll have to ask her.”
Hal went on to list all the reasons why Gert should buy the lot, then remembered something in the hotel basement he wanted to show David.
When David finally was able to get away, he shook his head. He liked the old man, but he was sure long-winded. By the time he got back to his aunt’s, the blue SUV in back of the nursery truck was gone. The time he’d spent with Hal had given Amy long enough to walk to Gert’s and drive the SUV back to the hotel parking lot. He’d missed a last goodbye.
Or would it have been one? If Amy was a patient of Gert’s he might run into her sometime. Best to stay away from his aunt’s patients, though. He didn’t need anyone else’s problems while he was still struggling with his own.
He’d have to consider the fact he usually ate breakfast at the Cottonwood. Giving it a miss for the next two mornings would be a good idea. When he went to bed that night, he kept the thought in mind and wound up dreaming he was in a Manhattan theater watching a follies-type stage show, especially the chorus girl on the left end of the row. He was seated close to her, so close he could see her eyes were green, though her eyes weren’t what he was paying the most attention to….
While shaving early the next morning, he told himself he damn well wasn’t going to change his routine on the off chance he might run into Amy. She’d probably sleep late and no place in town served a better breakfast.
Amy woke at her usual hour and groaned. Here she was more or less on vacation for today and could have slept in. As always, once awake, hunger stalked her. She could never understand those who made do with just orange juice or coffee for breakfast, she needed a meal. David had been right when he said the hotel served decent food—dinner had been delicious. She looked forward to breakfast.
David. Why was he still on her mind? At least she hadn’t dreamed about him. Not that she could recall, anyway. Being a psychologist, she did try to track her dreams, but, oddly enough, couldn’t remember any this morning. Perhaps she’d suppressed them and she actually had dreamed of David. There’s an unsettling thought.
Actually she probably would see him again, however briefly, because the yard work Dr. Severin was having done had looked quite extensive, but it’d be no more than a “Hi” sort of encounter. The last thing she needed at the moment was a man in her life. Never mind what Dr. Smits had told her about her denial state where men were concerned. He was another example of a controlling man himself. Sometimes she wondered how his wife could stand him.
On the off chance that Dr. Severin might come home earlier than expected, Amy put on a dark green skirt with a lighter green shirt, ran a brush through her short curly hair and left her room.
As she entered the dining room, she noticed the waitress seating a man—David. Annoyed because her heart gave a lurch, she wished she could walk past him without a word, but that would be confirming Smits’ diagnosis of denial. Okay, she’d acknowledge David’s presence by a courteous hello. Why was she making such a big deal of it, anyway?
The waitress came to seat her and Amy was almost at his table when he saw her. He stood up, unsmiling, and gestured toward an empty chair.
“I guess you’re with David,” the waitress said, plopping the menu she held onto his table. “I’m Vera and I’ll be right back.”
Telling herself it’d be awkward to back out, Amy let David seat her.
“You didn’t tell me you ate breakfast here,” she said.
“I expected you to sleep late,” he told her.
“Why?”
He shrugged.
“Do I impress you as someone who doesn’t work for a living?” she asked.
He shrugged again.
Realizing she sounded defensive, which would never do, Amy took a deep breath and decided to start over. “Good morning, David.”
His lips curved slightly, not quite a smile. “’Morning, Amy.”
“I see the sun is out.”
“Usually is in May hereabouts.”
“You don’t make small talk easy.”
“I don’t?” His gaze met hers.
The deep blue of his eyes fascinated her. What color were they? Darker than cobalt or azure, but lighter than navy. They dominated his face, making it difficult for her to look away. When she forced herself to, she found herself examining the curve of his upper lip. He had a rather full mouth, as she did. She found his attractive. What would it be like to feel those lips touching hers?
Wrong place to go. “Once I wake up