Jake's Biggest Risk

* * *

BARBI DROVE OUT of town, both excited and nervous about her first tutoring session. She hadn’t taken a test since she was sixteen, and even when she was a kid she hadn’t done so good on them—she froze when she saw a list of questions and her head wouldn’t work. As for all that proper English and math, those things scared the crap out of her.

She got to Huckleberry Lodge and groaned when she saw a silver Lexus parked in front of the guesthouse. There weren’t that many fancy cars in Mahalaton Lake. It had to be Brendan Townsend.

God, what a prig.

He was conventional about everything—even his pizzas always had the same three toppings. She’d bet that in bed it was missionary position all the way—some action on the breasts, a quick swipe on the thigh and wham, bam, thank you, ma’am. Sex was probably too earthy for him to do it right.

The first time she’d delivered a pizza to Brendan was on a hot day the previous summer, and she would never forget his expression when she’d arrived. She had been wearing skimpy shorts with a tube top and his eyes had narrowed with cool scorn. After that she’d started chewing gum whenever she brought food to his condo, making sure she snapped it loudly and blew at least two bubbles before he managed to pay her.

Not that she’d actually get mouthy while delivering a meal to him, but it was the sort of thing Brendan expected and she had to have a little fun. Besides, she’d grown up as the girl whose drunken father was in and out of jail for disorderly behavior, so there was no point in trying to fit in now. She might as well wear the clothes she liked and let the biddies gossip. And it wasn’t as if she was staying in Mahalaton Lake, as much as she liked it here. She wanted to get away from any reminders of her father, and having her GED would make getting a good job easier.

Of course, Brendan didn’t try to fit in, either. He wore a suit to everything, including the Founder’s Day picnic and the fire department’s monthly fund-raising dinners. Jeez, he’d been living in Mahalaton Lake for over a year; he should have loosened up by now. But there was one thing she could say for him—he tipped well.

Barbi debated for a minute before turning off the engine. She’d rather leave, but Hannah was expecting her and it would be rude. Besides, it was a chance to yank Brendan’s chain—she wasn’t delivering a pizza to him now, any more than when she saw him at one of the town’s events.

Grinning, Barbi got out of her battered Chevy; she undid the buttons on her shirt and snugly tied the tails beneath her breasts for a nice display of cleavage. Let Mr. Big Shot Attorney get a load of this.

Glancing up, she spotted a man standing at a window of Huckleberry Lodge. She waved to him. He must have gotten an eyeful when her shirt was open, but it wasn’t as if she had anything to be ashamed of—she’d stack her breasts up against any woman in Mahalaton Lake.

She trotted up the broad steps to Hannah’s porch and knocked. It seemed strange not to be carrying a pizza box; she delivered one to Hannah and Danny practically every week. And when a crowd of weekend skiers were staying at the lodge, she sometimes delivered a stack of giant pies to them three nights in a row—skiing worked up an appetite.

“Hi,” she said brightly when Brendan opened the door. “Whatcha doing here?”

“I brought dinner out for Hannah and Danny.”

“Really? I didn’t know I had competition—things must be slow at the office if you had to go into the delivery business. But I doubt you’ll get my tips—you don’t have my equipment.” She wiggled her shoulders provocatively.

It was satisfying to see Brendan focus directly on her chest. He might not approve of her showing some skin, but he wasn’t above getting his jollies at the sight. Men were predictable that way.

“For your information, I just...that is, Hannah and I...we had a meal together,” he spluttered.

“Maybe I should come back another night.”

“Nonsense.” It was Hannah and she elbowed Brendan to one side. “Brendan is just leaving. I told him we were planning to watch a movie or something.”

It was nice of Hannah to make up an explanation like that. Barbi didn’t exactly mind people knowing she was studying for her GED, but she also didn’t want to look idiotic being taught kid’s stuff in front of Brendan that she should have learned fifteen years ago in high school. He was such a snot, he’d probably think it was hilarious.

Uneven footsteps sounded on the stairs below them and Hannah’s face got tense. “Is there something you need, Mr. Hollister?” she asked.

“I just need to know where the spare lightbulbs are. The lamp in the living room blew.”

Barbi turned around. It was the hunk she’d caught watching her earlier. Yum. Tall and trim, with hair so dark it was almost black, and intense brown eyes. Brendan might be sexy if he got serious help; this guy was pure heat without even trying.

“They’re in the utility room,” Hannah said in a tight voice. “I wanted to show you where everything is, but you refused a tour of the house. Remember?”

The hunk just shrugged.

“Hi, Mr. Hollister,” Danny chirped, jumping down to the first step. “How’re ya doing? Mommy said you didn’t feel so good.”

“I’m better today.”

Danny smiled. “Super.”

“Go on inside, Barbi. You, too, Danny,” Hannah urged. She gave Brendan a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks for dinner. Maybe we can get together next week. Call me in a few days.”

“I’ll look forward to it.”

He fixed his tie and checked the buttons on his coat before hurrying to his Lexus. Honestly, the guy was so stuffy and correct, Barbi didn’t know how he could get by without a book of etiquette in his back pocket and a yardstick up his ass. Hannah was way too nice for him, but there weren’t that many single men in Mahalaton Lake and she’d already been married to a louse. Brendan wasn’t a louse, just dull.

Barbi winked at the hunk, and as she went into the house, she could hear a low conversation between him and Hannah.

A minute later Hannah came in and closed the door. “Let’s get started,” she said. Her tone was light, but she sure looked flustered.

* * *

ON THE TUESDAY after Jake Hollister’s arrival, Hannah knocked on the door of Huckleberry Lodge. She’d agreed to do the cleaning every Tuesday and Friday at one o’clock during the summer. Once the school year started, the time would shift to late afternoon.

“You don’t have to knock,” Jake said by way of greeting as he opened the door.

“In polite society, knocking is considered appropriate.”

“I didn’t grow up in polite society. That is, I should say traditional ‘Western’ polite society. They haven’t always had doors in the places I’ve lived. Every culture has its customs about proper behavior—the trick is learning those customs.”

“Have you made any effort to learn them here?”

Jake seemed genuinely startled. “I don’t need to. I was born in Iceland, but I’m a U.S. citizen.”

“Citizenship doesn’t guarantee you know American customs. You don’t get that kind of knowledge through an umbilical cord.”

“I’m getting by just fine.”

“Whatever.”

Hannah bent over and picked up a stack of books piled haphazardly on the floor near the native stone fireplace in the living room. Her great-aunt and uncle had loved books, and they were in abundance around the lodge, especially the classics and nonfiction.

She put the books on the built-in shelves flanking the fireplace and went into the kitchen. Phew. There was a pizza box on the sandstone counter by the stove, one on the floor, another on the window seat behind the breakfast nook and a fourth was on the table. The sink and nearby surfaces were covered with dirty dishes and cups and wadded-up napkins. A jar of raspberry jam was tipped over on its side and red syrup dripped from it onto the floor. An empty jar of peanut butter sat nearby.

Jake limped past her. He dug a slice of pizza from the box on the table, liberally sprinkled it with crushed red pepper flakes and chomped down on the crust end.

“Uh, have you eaten anything except pizza and peanut butter since you got here?” She set the jam jar upright and wiped up the mess with a wet cloth.

“I don’t cook and Luigi’s only delivers pizza. And that’s only Friday through Sunday, as you’ve pointed out.”

“Ask for Luigi when you phone and sweet-talk him into sending one of his other dishes at the same time you sweet-talk him into delivering Monday through Thursday.”

“I don’t sweet-talk well.”