Fool for Love Page 4

  “When are you going to tell him Ryan split?”

  “When I’m ready to hear a big fat I told you so.”

  “Which intimates never.”

  “I’ll tell him. When the timing’s right.”

  “Which intimates never.”

  “I’ll call him in a few days,” Chloe grumbled while finishing her second glass of champagne. “After I’m settled in at Mrs. Monroe’s. I just … I want to feel somewhat stable when he offers to fly out to help me pick up the pieces of my life.”

  “Spin it so that he focuses on the fact that you’re putting your diploma to good use. You found something you excel at, something you love, and something you’re sticking with. Right?”

  The hesitance in that last word wounded Chloe, though she tried not to show it. Even her best friend questioned her ability to commit to a profession. “Right,” she said, and she meant it. “Although I wouldn’t call cooking meals for Mrs. Monroe a great use of a diploma from the Culinary Arts Institute.”

  “Think of it as a segue,” Monica said with a tender smile.

  Chloe smiled back and, eager to shift the conversation, sampled the Baked Onion and Apple Soup. The contrasting flavors danced on her tongue and initiated a sigh of pure bliss. “You’re right. Beyond scrumptious.”

  Behind Monica’s rectangular glasses, her brown eyes rounded. Leaning in, she whispered, “Speaking of scrumptious…”

  “Ladies.”

  Chloe glanced over her shoulder and nearly spit soup at the shock of seeing Sausage Guy. He’d changed into a fresh shirt, but other than that he looked exactly as she remembered—handsome and thigh-sweat sexy. Embarrassed for ogling, she flushed head to toe. “Hi.”

  “Hi.”

  She opened her mouth to add something pleasant or witty, but nothing came out. Her brain clogged with a collage of erotic images and thoughts. Good Lord.

  “Mind if I join you?”

  Monica, who’d yet to say anything, slid over to make room, but he squeezed in next to Chloe. His scent—manly soap and spicy cologne—went to her head, nearly causing her to sigh like a swooning teen. The mere brush of his arm prompted breathless desire. Once again, his touch unnerved her. Normally sociable, charming even, she could feel herself morphing into the tongue-tied airhead who’d scrambled for his pork ’n’ beans.

  “You ran off before I got your name.”

  “You were on the phone and I, well, I…”

  “You two have met?” This from Monica, who was still wide eyed and looking as flummoxed as Chloe felt.

  “Not officially,” he said.

  “Oslow’s,” she said. “We were shopping and I, well, there was an incident.”

  “Which resulted in me buying fruit, then coming here for a meal consisting of all food four groups.”

  Was he teasing? Scolding? Flirting? She couldn’t tell. It wasn’t like before. He was … guarded. “I’m sorry I blurted that bit about the four basics. As if you don’t know how to take care of yourself. You’re a grown man. Obviously.” Shoot me now!

  “And you’re…?”

  Hot to jump your bones?

  “Chloe Madison,” Monica said, filling the awkward pause. “Chloe, this is Devlin Monroe.”

  FIVE

  Rocky Monroe kicked off her morning like every morning, with a glass of OJ and a four-mile run along Pikeman’s Trail. The only difference was she was at it earlier than usual. By the time she got back to the Red Clover Bed-and-Breakfast—her home and place of business—the sun was just breaking over Thrush Mountain.

  Lately, she’d been having trouble sleeping. Too much on her mind. Even though she tried to play down the increasing frequency of Gram’s incidents, Rocky was truly worried about the woman who was too stubborn for her own good. Then again, most of the Monroes had a stubborn streak a mile wide, so Rocky shouldn’t have been surprised by Gram’s dogged determination to carry on as though she were twenty-five instead of seventy-five. Not that seventy-five was ancient, especially in this day and age, but she’d grown forgetful and accident prone and, God help them all, more adventurous.

  She’d nearly turned Rocky’s blond hair white when she’d “borrowed” her snowmobile last winter to take a joyride. Considering the damage to the Arctic Cat, it was a miracle Gram had walked away with no more than a broken wrist and unsightly bruises. Then there were the cooking-related accidents. Last month while hosting a meeting of Cupcake Lovers, Gram had put a teakettle on the burner and turned the gas flame full up, which wouldn’t have been so bad except she forgot to put water in the kettle. There’d been a small fire, which Rocky and her cousin Sam had easily extinguished, but what if Gram had been alone?

  That’s why Rocky had been immensely relieved to hear Gram had hired a companion. That alone should’ve helped Rocky sleep easier last night, except she was also obsessing on her broken oven. She’d had to replace the washing machine last month and now her fridge was making funny sounds. Since she normally cooked meals for the B and B visitors, she relied heavily on her appliances. Not that she had anyone to cook for today or for the next two weeks. The Red Clover had been experiencing unusually sporadic bookings for months now. Her savings account was taking a hit at a time when she really needed to overhaul the nineteenth-century five-bedroom house to attract more business. All she had to do was ask Dev and he’d cover the expenses. Or … he’d suggest she sell. He’d been against her buying the Red Clover in the first place, calling it a money pit, but Rocky had had her eye on this inn and the attached several acres since she was a kid. She’d be damned if she’d let her big brother, or anyone else for that matter, dictate her life.

  By the time Rocky showered and dressed, she’d worked up the stress she’d worked off with the run. She needed to get out and get her mind off of the inn for a while. She needed to do something physical. She thought about Dev’s place. He’d told her she could borrow his house tonight, since her stove was on the blink and it was her turn to host Cupcake Lovers. He’d probably tidied up, but her idea of clean differed greatly from both of her brothers’. Men. The kitchen and bathroom could probably use a good scrubbing and she’d vacuum under the furniture. God only knew what lived there—dust bunnies, rogue pretzels. But first she’d stop at Oslow’s and purchase the ingredients for her featured cupcake and the vegetable beef stew she’d promised to make for Dev.

  She was midway to Sugar Creek when she heard an ominous clunking in the engine of her Jeep. Damn. “Whatever’s wrong, please hold out until I get the oven fixed.”

  * * *

  Dev blew out of his house at—Christ—8:37 a.m. and nearly barreled into his sister. “What are you doing here?”

  “You said I could borrow your house.”

  “Tonight.”

  “I have to prepare. What are you doing here?”

  “I live here.”

  “But it’s”—she glanced at her watch—“eight thirty.”

  “Eight thirty-eight.”

  “You’re always out of here by six thirty or seven.”

  “I overslept.”

  “You never oversleep.”

  “First time for everything.” Anxious to be on his way, Devlin relieved his sister of three recyclable grocery bags. “Any more in the Jeep?”

  “One more. I’ll get it.”

  He hoofed it back up his porch stairs and whizzed into the kitchen. He dumped the bags on the counter, then turned to hurry back out.

  “You look like shit,” Rocky said with a scrunched brow.

  Compliments of two hours of sleep. “Gee, thanks.”

  “Did you have breakfast?” she asked as she set down the last bag and opened his fridge.

  “I’ll grab something at work.”

  “Meaning a donut and a pot of coffee.” Rocky snorted while pulling out a carton of eggs and half a loaf of bread. “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, you know.”

  “What is it lately with women lecturing me about my eating habits?”

  “Another wom
an lectured you?” Rocky asked wide eyed. “Who? Tell me. Any woman who tried to advise you must be something special.”

  She was something all right. Devlin was still fuming over his dinner chat with the enigmatic Chloe Madison. Getting her to reveal anything about her past without letting on that he already knew her background, thanks to Jayce, had been impossible. She’d been flustered when Devlin had first approached, which struck him as cute, but then as soon as she’d found out who he was she’d shut down completely. As if she knew he was savvy to her type and she wouldn’t be able to sweet-talk or manipulate him. Monica had made things worse by trying to talk for Chloe, bragging about her culinary diploma, then focusing on their childhood in Indiana. No mention of her life in NYC or the endless school and career shifts or the sugar daddy boyfriend who’d left her high and dry.

  It also bothered Devlin that they’d ordered several dishes and that Chloe barely touched the food. When he’d commented, she’d mumbled something about not being hungry. Why then had she ordered so much to begin with? Had she tasted the food and found it lacking? Was the former food critic, newly degreed chef, that critical of other people’s cooking? Since he’d personally helped Luke interview chefs and since he considered the Sugar Shack’s menu top-notch (as did everyone else), Chloe’s snooty palate irritated the hell out of him.

  “I smell Lysol,” Rocky said, breaking in on his thoughts.

  “I cleaned.”

  She inspected the counters, sink, and floor. “You scrubbed.”

  “You’re having a houseful of women over.”

  “Don’t forget about Sam. He’s an official member of Cupcake Lovers now, so we’re officially coed, so to speak.”

  Their cousin. Sam McCloud. Widowed for two years and opposed to meeting women in bars or via dating services. Sam had assured his brother, Max, and his various male cousins that he’d joined Cupcake Lovers in order to cozy up to one of its members, Rachel Lacey, but that had been six months ago and Sam had yet to ask Rachel out. Meanwhile, he’d developed a troubling fondness for baking as well as a curious addiction to cable cooking shows.

  “I don’t want anyone, including Sam, gossiping about the state of my house and how it would benefit from the touch of a lady.”

  “The owner would benefit from a lady’s touch, too.”

  “Don’t start on that.” The only woman who interested him just now was Chloe Madison, and no way in hell was he going to pursue that physical attraction—not knowing what he did about her fickle tendencies and questionable morals. Maybe she wasn’t an outright gold digger, but she had no problem taking advantage of rich men. Not to mention her expunged record (Jayce had yet to supply details) and her penchant for bailing when things got tough or boring. Daisy had hired her for a three-month stint. Devlin would be surprised if Chloe lasted three weeks.

  “We don’t gossip.” Rocky cracked six eggs into a bowl in rapid succession. “We discuss our lives—”

  “And the lives of everyone else in Sugar Creek.”

  “—share cupcake recipes and thoughts on how we can benefit soldiers abroad and charities on the home front.”

  “You don’t have to sell me on the club.” The Monroe women had been involved in Cupcake Lovers since its conception in 1942. What had started off as a purely social gathering, a specified place and time to commiserate with other women whose husbands or sons were away fighting in WW II, had eventually evolved into a group of women shipping their cupcakes to soldiers overseas as well as organizing local charitable events. He supported the efforts of Cupcake Lovers 100 percent. That said, growing up he’d been privy to occasional meetings at his mom’s and grandma’s houses and the members of the club absolutely indulged in gossip. “Just saying, the club talks about more than cupcakes.”

  “Since we meet once a week every week, it would be sort of boring if we didn’t.” Rocky snagged a frying pan from his oven drawer and clanged it to the gleaming stovetop. “What do you want? Omelet or scrambled?”

  He glanced at his watch. “The store opens in five.”

  “The store will open with or without you, Dev. Hate to break it to you, but you and Dad trained your people well. J.T.’s is a well-oiled machine. Sit. Eat. I need to talk to you.”

  Something in her voice. No, her energy. When stressed, Rocky tended to move at an accelerated pace. He’d been so wrapped up in his own thoughts, he hadn’t noticed until now. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong.” She tossed four pieces of bread into the toaster oven and whizzed back to the skillet, beating the eggs with ruthless determination.

  “Guess we’re having scrambled.” He parked on the edge of a stool. “What do you want to talk about?”

  “Chloe Madison.”

  “What about her?”

  “Luke called me last night. Said Chloe stopped in for dinner with Monica and that they appeared to be having a fine time.” She frowned. “Until you joined them.”

  “Just wanted to meet the woman, the stranger, who’ll be living with our grandmother.”

  “You interrogated her.”

  “I tried to get to know her.”

  “You made her nervous.”

  “How would Luke know? He was across the room, behind the bar.”

  “Monica told him, just before they left, just after Chloe slipped into the powder room. She said, and I quote, ‘Your brother is an ass.’” Rocky wrenched open the pantry and cursed. “You’re out of coffee filters.”

  “Use a paper towel.”

  She looked to the empty holder and raised one brow.

  “Must have used them all when I cleaned.”

  “Never mind. I brought Earl Grey for tonight.” She rooted through her stash and snagged a box of tea bags.

  Devlin passed her the kettle he rarely used and plucked two plates from the cabinet. “Listen, I don’t know what Monica thought she saw or heard—”

  “She saw and heard you being yourself, Dev. Knowing you, I can imagine. You were bent because Gram hired someone without consulting you, someone you don’t know. Rather than trusting her or Monica’s judgment, you assumed there was something fishy or unreliable about Chloe Madison.”

  “I didn’t assume anything.” Now he was getting pissed. It wasn’t like he’d been a bastard. He’d asked a few questions. Not his fault she was so easily intimidated. “I know she’s unreliable. She also depends on the other people to support her flaky lifestyle.”

  “How could you possibly know that?”

  Devlin cursed himself for losing his temper. He did not want to go here. Not with Rocky. He turned his back and snagged two forks.

  “Oh no. Tell me you didn’t call Jayce.”

  He couldn’t, so he didn’t.

  “You did! Oh, Dev. That’s just so … so…”

  “Responsible? Proactive? Wise?”

  “Slimy.”

  “You’re only saying that because Jayce is involved.” For reasons still unknown to Devlin, his sister and his best friend had had a falling-out over a decade ago. “And what’s slimy about instigating a background check on an employee?”

  “He snooped into her private life.”

  “He investigated. That’s what PIs do.”

  “I don’t want to talk about Jayce.”

  “You never do.” Devlin noted her flushed cheeks and racked his memories and, as always, came up with nothing. “One day, one of you is going to tell me why.”

  “I need you to be nice to Chloe,” Rocky said after loading their plates with scrambled eggs and buttered toast.

  Devlin poured boiling water into their mugs. “Why?”

  “Because I need some peace of mind. I’m worried Gram is going to seriously hurt herself if she’s left unsupervised. I think she’s going through some crisis and she doesn’t want to confide in family or friends. Sometimes it’s easier to work your problems out with people who don’t know you well. People who won’t try to influence you or judge you or out-and-out tell you what to do.”

  “We
still talking about Gram?” Devlin asked as he sat across from his sister.

  “Of course,” she said without making eye contact.

  Huh.

  “I’ve known Monica for a few years now. She’s as down-to-earth and trustworthy as they get. She loves Gram as much as everyone else in Sugar Creek. She wouldn’t set her up with a total incompetent. No matter what Jayce told you, remember, there are two sides to every coin.”

  He could mention that Jayce had pointed out the very same thing but didn’t. He did, however, flash on the woman he’d run into at the supermarket and the woman his friend had described. Last night, sitting beside her at the Shack, he’d gotten a peek of both sides—sweet and flaky. It was part of what had kept him awake all hours. Chloe was a tantalizing enigma. She was also a keen distraction to the possible Walmart disaster. He couldn’t take action until his dad green-lighted his plans for J.T.’s, and the man was dragging his golf-cleated feet. Devlin glanced at his sister, the apple of her father’s eye and able to sweet-talk the old man into almost anything. He flashed on Chloe, wondering if he’d learn more by taking a softer approach. They’d clicked before they’d known each other’s identities. They could click again.

  Slathering his toast with orange marmalade, he said, “You know my idea about remodeling and expanding the store?”

  The tension between them evaporated with that neutral question. She glanced up from her plate. “Yeah?”

  He smiled. “I’ll ease off Chloe if you work on Dad.”

  She smiled back. “Deal.”

  SIX

  Chloe stared at Daisy Monroe’s mammoth three-story home with a combination of dread and awe. Colonial Revival, Monica had called it, one of eight popular historic architectural styles in Vermont. To be honest, it looked a little scary. Like a haunted house or the creepy house in Hitchcock’s Psycho. “It must have a gazillion rooms.”

  “Close.” Monica parked the Suburban and cut the engine. “I’ve been in the house several times—every member of Cupcake Lovers takes turns hosting meetings, including Daisy—and I still don’t think I’ve seen every room.”