Liberating Mr. Gable Read online

  Just to appease her, Benjamin pretended to consider her request. “Give it a little while longer. Rest. That’s what you’re supposed to be doing.”

  “I’m doing it,” Etta grumbled.

  “You look thin,” Benjamin noted unhappily, examining her face. “Are you eating enough?”

  Etta huffed. “I’m just going to tattoo ‘I’m fine’ on my forehead from now on. That should answer everyone’s questions. You running low on anything?”

  “Nothing we can’t take care of.”

  “Benji, seriously. I’m not leaving until you give me a count on the quiches.”

  Benjamin looked to the refrigerated display case uneasily. There was an empty spot where her quiches usually sat. “Well…”

  The space between Etta’s eyebrows creased. “You told me you had plenty!”

  “You don’t need to be troubling yourself with cooking for the village right now. We can live without quiches for a few weeks.” When Etta moved to the aisle that held the eggs, Benjamin’s gentle tone turned sharp. “Etta, I am your doctor, and I told you to rest.”

  Etta turned to face Benjamin, who was only eighteen years older than her, but still commanded her as a father might. She was glad Anson was not here to witness her scolding. “I will rest. Cooking soothes me. You told me to do things that are easy and don’t stress me out. An empty display case when every house is booked stresses me. Roy can’t cook! Neither can Silas! People don’t come to a Bed and Breakfast for cereal.”

  “Roy, Silas, the customers and the world will get on just fine. I’m laying down the law, young lady. Rest.”

  “I hate when you call me ‘young lady’,” Etta groused.

  Benjamin raised his eyebrow at her. “I hate when you ignore me.”

  “What’s that? I can’t hear you.” She piled more things into her basket defiantly.

  “Did you know there’s someone in your truck, Etta?” Jamie informed her as he stomped the white chunks off his boots.

  “Thanks, Jamie. Did you know there’s snow outside?” She laughed when he narrowed his dark brown eyes at her. She set to loading her basket with enough food for her and her guest to last several days, just in case. If the roads did clear up in the morning, she still wanted to be able to avoid her best friend and his family for as long as she could get away with it. “When’s your sister coming home?” she inquired of Jamie, who always followed her around the store like a puppy.

  “Oh, Chloe says she’ll be back soon, but that means nothing.”

  Cooper chimed in from the next aisle. “Maybe a week or two? You know how Aunt Liz is. Once she’s got you in Florida, she holds you captive until you confess all your secrets.”

  Jamie grabbed two oranges from the display and juggled them for Etta’s amusement, not stopping the show until she indulged him in the required applause. “Do you want me to stay over tonight?” Though Jamie was only twenty-one, he staked his claim for his babysitter years ago. Etta had never given him the slightest encouragement. He placed the oranges in her basket and added a box of crackers.

  Etta shook her head, smiling at his eagerness to look out for her. “I already told your dad and Coop that I’m alright.” She lowered her voice, even though there was no one else in the store who might eavesdrop. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’m older than you.”

  Jamie put his arm around Etta’s shoulders as he had seen his older cousin do on several occasions. “You know you can always call me if you change your mind. I’m happy to help out.”

  “I’ll bet you are,” Cooper teased the younger man, palming Jamie’s face to give Etta some distance from him. Etta would have appreciated the separation, if Cooper had not immediately taken Jamie’s place, arresting Etta’s basket from her. “When do you want me to start renovations on the dining room?”

  “I’ll let you know,” Etta answered evasively. She eyed June’s homemade peanut butter on the top shelf. She reached for it, but her limited stature would not permit her to even brush the jar with her fingertip. She stepped on the lip of the bottom shelf, getting that much closer, but she was unable to grip the shelf and scoot the peanut butter toward her with her cast on.

  Cooper’s tone was taunting. “Jeez, Etta. Looks like you need two hands for that.”

  “No, I don’t,” she argued, stretching as far as she could. She huffed when her cast only nudged the container further back. “Benji! Please take my cast off,” she called to the register.

  “Week from Monday,” Benjamin answered, shaking his head at the girl he always thought of as his second daughter.

  “You done?” Cooper reached over her easily and placed the peanut butter in her basket. “That was a real good try, little girl. You almost looked like a true grownup.” He patted the top of her head to further irritate her.

  Etta shoved Cooper and tried to wrestle her basket away. Though he was teasing, as he always did, the comment struck her as an insult. She was a business owner now. She lived alone, paid the bills and earned a living by herself. If something broke in the middle of the night, she fixed it. If a tenant had a problem, she handled it. Cooper was rarely serious, so she knew not to take him to heart. She swallowed the things she wished she was bold enough to say, and let go of the basket he would not relinquish. “Fine, Coop. You shop for me. You’re such a fantastic housewife.”

  “That’s trophy wife, to you.” He fluffed his imaginary womanly locks with a wink. Cooper shoved a package of frozen chicken in her basket.

  Etta did not bother to correct his assumptions on what she needed. That would only clue him in to the fact that she had lost her appetite as of late and invite more unwelcome questions.

  Etta added twelve cartons of eggs to her basket. “Be a good little trophy wife, Coop, and go fetch me the stuff on this list, will ya?” She pulled out Anson’s list and shoved it into Cooper’s hands. “Without the banter? Storm’s moving in.”

  “Can I buy myself something pretty while I’m at it?”

  Jamie chatted animatedly to Etta while he bagged her groceries. Most of the young man’s attempts at flirting went straight over Etta’s head. She was too tired lately, and only had enough diplomacy left in her for a polite smile. “Separate purchase for the stuff in Coop’s basket,” she instructed, handing over the hundred-dollar bill to pay for Anson’s things.

  Benjamin rang up her groceries, moving his glasses up his face every now and then when they slipped down his long nose. “You might want to head home. The snow’s really starting to pick up.” He raised his voice so it carried to his nephew. “Cooper, can you load up Etta’s truck?”

  “I’ve got it, Coop,” she protested.

  “How many trips do you feel like taking in this weather?” Cooper countered, slipping his heavy jacket over his muscular shoulders.

  Bags disappeared from the counter as Etta frowned down at her cast with barely contained misery. When she glanced up, though, her well-mannered smile was fixed firmly on her face. “Alright. Thanks, Cooper. See ya, Benji. Bye, Jamie.” She permitted Jamie to kiss her cheek, mussing his hair as she reached for the door.

  She braved the cold next to Cooper, who disregarded the notion of keeping a respectable distance from her. When they reached the truck, he sized up the man in the passenger’s seat, face hardening when he took in the male he deemed as a threat. “Etta, really. I’m coming with you.”

  “Really, you’re not. It’s my house now. My business. My rules. I’m not a child. It’s a snowstorm, and I have a renter who needs a room. I’m fine.”

  “I don’t like it.” Cooper shoved the last of the groceries in the bed of the truck, glad there was a cover to keep the snow and ice off the paper bags. His dark brown hair already had large chunks of snow in it.

  “I didn’t ask you. Running the B&B is how I make a living. Like it or not, half the people in the world are men. Some of them even take vacations. You can’t big brother me every step of the way.”

  “Not even for the first step? Come on, Etta. Thi
s isn’t safe.”

  “Stop bossing me around!” she shouted, knowing she had forsaken any semblance of conducting herself as an adult. “Either I learn to run the B&B on my own, or I sell it and move. I don’t see a third option.”

  Cooper refused to meet her eyes. “I could always move in for a little while. At least until you get on your feet.”

  Etta did not bother to hide the gagging she knew was childish. “Oh, dear goodness! Don’t start with that again. I don’t need a chaperone. Papa left the business to me because he knew I could handle it. He didn’t specify that I needed a father.” She glared up at him. “I haven’t had a dad in two decades. Stop parenting me. It’s infuriating.”

  Cooper’s easy grin surfaced, though Etta could not imagine what he found amusing about their conversation. “You could always call me Big Daddy.”

  “Ugh!” she groaned, shoving him with her forearm. “Seriously. I have a renter waiting for his room right now. I have to go. Please tell me you can control yourself and not make me look unprofessional.”

  Cooper held up his hand in pledge. “I can behave.”

  “All evidence to the contrary,” she mumbled, making her way to the driver’s side.

  Cooper opened the door for her, making sure that the thirty-something man in the sunglasses was watching them. Before she could stop him, Cooper snaked his arms around Etta’s waist. Tightening his hold on his best friend, he leaned down and kissed her lips.

  It was not the first time he had done this, and Etta feared it would not be the last. She held her breath like she was being dunked underwater and froze, refusing to participate in the charade.

  Cooper pulled back, grinning widely at her barely contained fury.

  “Thanks for peeing all over me,” she hissed.

  Cooper’s face scrunched, and he leaned down to whisper in her ear, “I know it’s been a while, but that was kissing, not peeing.” He gave her a look that suggested he thought he had done her a favor by showing the stranger she was spoken for. “Up you go,” he said as he lifted her by her hips into the truck. “Goodnight, baby.”

  The French Connection

  Etta started the vehicle with a shaking hand, refusing to look at Cooper or her guest. She loathed how unprofessional Cooper made her appear, and guessed sticking her tongue out at him would not improve the situation any.

  Cooper shouted over the roar of the engine. “Do you want me to take a look at your engine? Truck’s sounding a little pathetic.”

  Before she could stop herself, Etta turned to glare at him out the window. “Me, my house, my wrist, and my truck are fine!” She shifted into reverse and pulled out of the lot, visibly fuming.

  It was several minutes before either Etta or Anson spoke. Etta broke the silence first. “I’m real sorry about that. Totally unprofessional. Cooper’s always a little…”

  Anson shook his head, stifling a chuckle. “Hey, you warned me about them. I’m just glad he didn’t punch me or something.”

  Etta’s frown became more pronounced. “They’re a bit overprotective. I swear, normally they’re good people. They just don’t know when to stop.”

  “It’s nice they care about you so much. A lot of girls would want that in their boyfriend.”

  “Cooper is not my boyfriend. He just kisses me like that sometimes to make sure other guys stay away. He worries about me being alone out here.” She caught herself too late and began backpedaling. “I mean, I’m not alone alone. Plenty of neighbors nearby.”

  Anson held up his hands to display their innocence. “You don’t have to worry, Etta. I’m just Vera’s seventy-year-old friend, crashing for the night. Harmless old man.” He smiled kindly, removing his sunglasses.

  Etta stared into his deep chocolate-colored eyes. She noted his black spiky hair, angular jaw and sculpted lips that were given to smiling around her. He was the most handsome man Etta had ever seen. Before she could stop it, the traitor blush sneaked onto her cheeks once again.

  Etta nodded, swallowing her nerves. “Thanks. It’s not you. Coop gets in my head with his worrying too much. He needs a real girlfriend, you know?”

  “He seemed happy pretending you were his girl,” Anson teased.

  “Hey, now,” Etta scolded the stranger with a mock glare. “Look who suddenly got his personality back.” She pulled into her long driveway, revving the engine to make it up the incline. She pulled into the garage and hopped out. “Door’s unlocked. Go ahead on in. I’ll get the groceries.”

  Anson met her at the back of the truck and lifted out three bags. “I’m not renting from you, Etta. You don’t have to wait on me.”

  “Oh, right. I forgot.” She scrunched her nose cutely, and Anson resisted the urge to study her as she reassessed the situation. Faded jeans, thick wind-blown chestnut hair, big hazel eyes and unpainted pink lips all caught his attention. He snatched up a few more bags and followed her to the side entrance of the old Victorian-style home.

  Etta opened the door, making sure not to accidentally brush against any part of him. “I wasn’t expecting company, so it’s not perfectly clean. Sorry about that.” She trudged into the house, kicking the snow off her boots and onto the mat as they entered the expansive kitchen. “Oh, and if you run into Coop again, maybe forget to mention that I didn’t lock up.”

  Anson chuckled. “I thought there were no secrets between lovers.”

  “Yuck!” Etta grimaced, trying not to thrill at the striking man’s teasing.

  “Wow! This is your place?”

  Etta watched him look around at the aged wood floors, the homemade paintings on the walls, the cozy lace curtains. The French Connection Bed and Breakfast was a bit like stepping into a scene from Little House on the Prairie.

  Anson’s shaking had long since subsided, and the tight grip he had on his body loosened as he looked around in unmasked wonder. Everything was a honey-colored wood, and added to the warmth of the place. The floors, the kitchen cabinets, even the scent that greeted him all came from the same handmade wood. With a deep inhalation, his shoulders deflated. “You’re worried about what mess, now?” Anson noticed a few dishes in the sink, and beyond the kitchen, a wall had a blue tarp hanging over it to block off the dining room, but other than that, it was perfect – not because it was spotless, but because it felt loved. He looked a new person to Etta in the light of her house, as if being outside caused him extreme anxiety, but being inside put him at ease.

  Etta could relate.

  She turned around after setting the bags down on her kitchen table, unsure of herself with the second presence in her house. Anson tucked his sunglasses in his pocket and was washing his hands vigorously in the kitchen sink. When he rinsed away the suds, he lathered up again. Three times he washed himself. Etta could see the ritual should not be commented on or interrupted, so she averted her eyes.

  She placed a clean dish towel on the counter next to him, making a point not to stare. He dried his hands, as if he was admitting his shame to her.

  Etta took a steadying breath; she was not used to having strangers so close to her. At least, not handsome strangers. She could see the bags under his eyes that matched hers, and knew that he, too, was fighting the clock to stay awake. “I’ll put this stuff away. You look like you could use a good night’s sleep.” She took off her thick jacket and hung it on the coat rack that stood next to the door to the garage.

  Anson cocked his eyebrow at her, sizing up her well-covered feminine frame with a smirk. “What a nice way to tell me I look like crap. Again.”

  Etta covered her mouth, horrified at her misstep. “Gracious, no! That’s not what I meant at all. You don’t look like crap. Obviously. You just probably want to settle in, is all.”

  “Relax, Etta. I was only kidding.” He slung his black bag over his shoulder. “You’re doing too good a job at making me feel at home. Not an easy task, that. I’m comfortable enough to joke with you. Perfect hostess.”

  Etta rolled her eyes. “Now I know you’re just being
nice. But let me take you to your room. You can sleep or not sleep.”

  She showed him each of the rooms that were available to guests: the kitchen, the bathroom, the library-slash-game room, and the living room. Then she led him upstairs to show him the variety of themed bedrooms he had to choose from. She usually carried her guests’ bags for them, but Anson was holding tight to his backpack still, and she did not wish to make him part with it. “Take your pick. There’s the bunny room, the flowers room, the honeymoon suite, and the rustic Amish theme.”

  “I was really hoping for a unicorn room.” Anson tsked her, catching a smile from her pretty lips.

  “Oh. Well, I might have a My Little Pony around here somewhere from when I was a kid.”

  “I don’t usually make the decisions,” he began warily. Anson shook his head. “I can’t choose. Which one is the best?”

  “Oh, the honeymoon suite has its own bathroom with a Jacuzzi tub. The others share a communal bathroom down the hall. Plus, it’s the biggest room. I’d go for that one.”

  “Maybe you should call Coop and tell him my fake fiancée is meeting me. He’ll probably ease up on you then.” He spoke the comment with a smile, but a hardness reached his coffee-colored eyes.

  Etta pretended she did not notice his perfect smile falter. “Perhaps you and Vera hooked up at the fifty-year high school reunion? She’s always been a sucker for guys who wear sunglasses in the dead of night, what with the cataracts and all.”

  Anson recovered the lighthearted nature that had not been easy to access before meeting Etta. “She couldn’t help herself. I had the best walker there.” He sauntered into the honeymoon suite, showing off his dazzling grin. “Plus, I was the only one with his own teeth.”

  “Now you’re just showing off. Poor Vera. Didn’t stand a chance against your charms.”

  Anson moved straight into the bathroom when Etta began the turndown service. Again, he washed his hands three times, scrubbing microbes and the demons away as best he could.