Still Lake - Anne Stuart [82]
“I’m not!”
“Keep away from your neighbor. I imagine it’s the last thing you want to do, but I don’t trust him. Give me a chance to check up on him before you spend any more time alone with him. Promise me that, Sophie.”
“Doc, there’s nothing to worry about,” she protested. “I barely know the man, but I’m sure there’s nothing wrong with him.”
“If you barely know the man, why do you have a love bite on your neck?” he said, sounding almost doleful. “Will you at least promise you’ll be careful?”
“Of course.”
Doc nodded, though clearly he wasn’t satisfied. “King towed your car to Ferber’s, but they don’t know when they can get to it. One tire’s ruined, and he’s not sure if you bent the frame.”
“Great,” Sophie muttered.
“Don’t worry. If you need a ride anywhere just give me a call.”
“We’ll be fine, Doc,” she said—wishing she felt as certain as she sounded.
“Old Doc Henley gives me the creeps,” Marty announced when Patrick finally decided they could take a break. She was dirty, sweaty, aching, scratched from the bark of the trees, but in an oddly good mood. Maybe there really was something to the benefits of physical exercise. She would have preferred more body contact, but this was a surprisingly enjoyable alternative.
She should have known Patrick really wanted her to help. With anyone else it would have simply been a veiled invitation to a make-out session, but with Patrick Laflamme, what you saw was what you got.
He’d taken off his shirt in the bright, cool sunshine, but he pulled it back on while they took a break. She couldn’t understand why—he had truly the most beautiful chest she’d ever seen. And back, and shoulders. Hard work obviously did wonders for the muscles. He was absolutely gorgeous, with no reason to be modest. If any of the boys she’d known had been even half as well-built as Patrick they would never have worn shirts, even in the dead of winter.
“What have you got against Doc?” he asked mildly enough, reaching for his thermos of coffee.
Marty shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe I just don’t like old men. He’s nice enough, I guess, but I don’t like the way he’s always looking at me. Like he thinks I’m a terrible burden to my poor sainted sister.”
“You are,” Patrick said, his generous mouth curving in a faint smile.
She was getting used to him by now, and his cool teasing only stung a little. “She’s no saint. You should see the hickey on her neck. Speaking of which, do you want to go someplace and park?”
“Park?”
“You know. Go off in your truck and make out? We could even do more than that if you want.” For all his seeming standoffishness she knew he wasn’t as disinterested as he pretended. He liked her, whether he wanted to or not. And she wasn’t about to let the first decent prospect in all of the Northeast Kingdom escape so easily, even if he was a little too serious for her tastes.
“No, I don’t want to go off and park,” he said patiently. “I’ll pick you up at six.”
“Huh?”
“We’ll go out to dinner in Stowe, so wear something nice. I’ll bring you flowers, and you won’t smoke, and when I bring you home I’ll walk you to your door and I won’t kiss you. Not until the third date.”
“You think there are going to be three of them?” she asked, caustic.
Again that slow, devastating smile. “I’m betting on it. But you’re going to have to stop smoking. I don’t kiss girls who smoke.”
“You’re a judgmental pain in the butt, Patrick Laflamme,” she said, pouting.
“I know,” he said. “But I’m worth it. Let’s get back to work.”
She would have loved to tell him to fuck off. That would make his beautiful brown eyes open wide, wouldn’t it? He wouldn’t like potty-mouthed girls any more than he liked ones who smoked.
But despite that, he seemed to like her, anyway. And maybe he was right. Maybe he was worth it.
She just might be willing to find out.
Griffin closed the door behind the Kings, stepping out onto the front porch, leaving his dour, judgmental help behind. He’d been here for five days and accomplished squat.
That wasn’t entirely true. He’d come up with enough circumstantial