Mr. Predictable: Mr. Predictable / Too Many Cooks. Carol Finch
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She was entirely too aware of him, too attracted to him, too embarrassed that she’d climbed all over him and groped at him while they’d kissed each other breathless. Sweet mercy! That was totally out of character for her. She didn’t do stuff like that—until Jake came along.
Moriah sighed in frustration, wondering what had gotten into her. She’d never reacted to a man like that before. She had to keep her distance and clear the air—sexually charged though it most definitely was—between them. Tomorrow she’d have a nonchalant visit with Jake, she decided as she slathered vanilla icing on the strawberry cake. They’d get past that impulsive kiss and things would be back on an even keel—she hoped.
JAKE PACED the floorboards, then checked his watch for the umpteenth time in two hours. This place was driving him straight south to crazyville! He’d had nothing to do all day and he’d had all day to do it. Sure, he’d checked out a canoe and paddled Spitwad on the river for an hour, and then he’d hiked up the hillside path to visually pan the plush valley below. Still, he felt edgy, restless and twitchy. He needed a computer mouse under his fingertips and a monitor screen to stare at. He needed to work to keep his mind off Moriah who’d been avoiding him since that sizzling kiss that made him uncomfortable in all the wrong places.
He needed to apologize—if he could manage to get her alone for more than five seconds. She’d breezed by once or twice, flashing that cheery smile, on her way to visit other guests, but she’d taken a noticeably wide berth around Jake.
He checked his watch again, then glanced down to see Spitwad sprawled on the floor, sound asleep. Speaking of sleep, Jake couldn’t believe he’d slept until eight o’clock this morning. Ordinarily, he was up and at ’em by six. He was pretty sure Moriah had added a sedative to the wine she had Tom deliver the previous evening. Surely his internal time clock and razor-sharp business edge hadn’t deserted him on their own accord. There had to be a reason—like sleeping potions and tranquilizers and such, he decided suspiciously.
Whirling around, Jake headed for the door. He was going to find Moriah and get things squared away. She needed to know there’d be no more kissing, that he’d keep his hands to himself. She wouldn’t have to feel wary or uncomfortable around him because he wasn’t going to touch her again—ever.
Jake strode swiftly toward the lodge that was lit up like a Christmas tree in the darkness. He’d probably have to chitchat with the other guests a while before he managed to draw Moriah aside. He’d get the apology over with and then hightail it back to his cabin to play tug-of-war with Spitwad. The mutt had already chewed a hole in one of Jake’s socks, so he’d tied the demolished sock in a knot and whiled away his time with the pesky pup. Amazing what lengths a guy would go to when he had to entertain himself—or risk going insane from boredom. In two weeks he’d probably be nuttier than a jar of Jif.
Jake was fifty feet from the lodge when Moriah appeared on the porch. The golden glow spotlighted and accentuated her eye-catching physique. She was wearing a jungle-print ensemble that featured zebras, tigers, colorful parrots and frothy ferns. Her blond hair was piled loosely atop her head by some invisible means of support he couldn’t figure out. Damn, but he’d like to unwind that silky mass of hair and run his fingers through it, then pull her lush body against—
Jake gnashed his teeth and cursed himself soundly. Damn it, he had to get past this physical attraction and he better do it fast.
“Hi, Jake,” Moriah called out, waving her arms like a cheerleader on the sidelines. “I was on my way over to see you.”
“Yeah? What for?” Did he sound casual enough? Too snippy and uptight? He tried for a neutral tone that disguised his frustration. “So, what’s up, Mo?”
“There’s something I want to show you.” She gestured for him to follow her into the lodge. “Come on inside and have a look.”
5
JAKE HALTED in his tracks when he walked into the lobby to see nine guests, four staff members and Will Randell gathered around the dining table where a cake waited with his name printed on it in red icing. His mouth dropped open wide enough for a pheasant to roost.
“Happy birthday, Jake,” the group said in unison.
Everyone had a beaming smile on his face, except the newcomer who seemed to think he was too good for a party where he wasn’t the center of attention. Jake inwardly winced, wondering if he’d given the same offensive impression when he arrived, demanding to be released so he could go home where he belonged. He felt the need to apologize to the entire staff for being troublesome.
“Thanks,” Jake murmured humbly. “Who made the cake?”
When he glanced at Anna Jefferies, she hitched her thumb toward Moriah. “Don’t look at me. She’s the one who took time out to bake.”
Jake focused his attention on Moriah, but her smiling gaze was directed over his left shoulder, avoiding eye contact. Yep, he’d blown the companionable camaraderie he’d enjoyed the previous morning before he kissed her lips off and practically climbed all over her on the back of Ol’ Sally. Sheesh! What was the matter with him? He must be cracking up.
“Have a seat, everyone, and I’ll dish up the ice cream,” Moriah said cheerily.
“So, Jake what’s the age count?” the burly Tom Stevens asked as he sank down at the table and made room for Will Randell’s motorized cart.
“Thirty-six.”
“Well, aren’t you the spring chicken around here,” Joe Higdon, the frizzy-haired guest from cabin six, said with a snicker. “Took me until age sixty-one to realize I was a fanatic workaholic in need of relaxation.”
Several other guests nodded their heads—which were in various states of balding.
“Do yourself a favor, Jake m’boy,” Will Randell remarked as he grabbed a glass of decaffeinated tea. “Learn to take life a little easier now so you don’t end up like me. Now I’m trying to make each day count and have some fun along the way.”
“No, kidding, kid,” Eugene Morris, the guest from cabin eight, chimed in. “I had to have myself a heart attack before I realized I was pressing too hard. Scared the bejeezus out of me.”
“Yeah, well, try hyperventilating and collapsing at the podium while giving a speech at a corporate board meeting,” Harold Pinkly, the guest from cabin nine, spoke up. “That will open your eyes in a hurry.”
While Jake parked himself at the head of the table—being the guest of honor that he was—he heard testimonials from everyone except the sour-faced gent who made it apparent that he was a little too good to be bonding with a bunch of corporate-whiz has-beens.
While Jake devoured the moist, delicious strawberry cake and ice cream, he formed closer acquaintances with the men. He was surprised that Moriah’s guests hailed from all parts of the country. Obviously her resort’s reputation was known far and wide, because Joe was from Dallas, Harold from Omaha and Eugene from Detroit.
Immediately, the cogs in Jake’s brain started cranking. He could create an incredible Web site to promote Moriah’s resort, one with enticing scenic pictures, peaceful music and all the necessary blurbs to advertise her myriad of recreational activities. Add to that a few testimonials praising positive results, a couple of tips for relaxation, and Moriah would have stressed-out businessmen clambering to her cabins in the panoramic valley.
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to skip the fun and games and have a look at my cabin,” Robert Fullerton demanded as he stared down his nose at Moriah. “I’ve had a long drive from Saint Louis, after all.”
“Sure thing.” Moriah vaulted from her chair, her cheerful smile intact. “I’ll show you to the cabin.”
Jake was unprepared for his agitated reaction to Fullerton’s snippy attitude toward Moriah. It was fine for him to fling barbs at her, but let someone else come down hard on her and it ticked Jake off royally. Jeez,