In The Stranger's Arms

It certainly didn’t have anything to do with meeting Pauline’s friend, Steve-o, or the fact that he’d called her “doll,” as if they had something going despite her protest to the contrary. When had Wade become afraid of a little competition when it came to a woman who interested him?

Perhaps it had begun with his castration back in Frisco. Apparently Sharon had cut off more than the obvious, but that was going to change.

By the time Pauline caught up with Wade a little while later, he’d found everything on his supply list.

“Sorry I took so long,” she said, slightly out of breath. “I ran into a customer from the shop who was here with her husband. They were picking out paint colors for their living room and I couldn’t get away from them.”

“No problem,” he replied, amused by her obvious agitation. “I ordered everything I need to start the job. It will be delivered in the morning.”

“That’s great.” Her face lost its anxious appearance. “Where’s the invoice?”

The young clerk who had been helping Wade stepped forward. “I just printed it up for your husband, ma’ am. All I need is a signature.”

Wade took the form. “Did you want to check it over first, sweetheart?” he asked Pauline with a lecherous grin.

She batted her eyes at him coyly. “Why, yes, honey. I know how crazy you can get when it comes to remodeling projects.” She turned to the clerk, who looked distinctly uncomfortable. “You should see our garage,” she confided. “I swear the man owns every power tool on the market.”

Wade rested his hand on her shoulder possessively. “Believe me, my tools don’t compare to her antique doorknob collection. I swear I should buy stock in eBay, for all the time and money the little woman spends there.”

Pauline sent him a look that promised retribution. “I think we’ve wasted enough of this poor man’s time, sugar buns. If I could just peek at the invoice, we could all move on.”

Wondering whether she intended to question each item, Wade handed it over. Quickly she skimmed the list before signing the bottom.

“Thank you for keeping him from buying out the store,” Pauline told the young clerk. “Sometimes it’s like a sickness. He can’t seem to help himself.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He was careful not to look at Wade, who was having trouble keeping a straight face. “Have a nice day, and good luck with your doorknobs.”

Wade couldn’t resist leaning closer. “Come on, baby cakes,” he murmured, breath tickling her ear. “Let’s get some lunch.”

Pauline had meant to insist that he take her straight back to the shop, but instead she found herself seated across from him at a small seafood place by the marina. It was barely more than a shack, but the food was good and the booths were comfortable.

After they seated themselves, he removed his sunglasses and set them on the scarred table. “What’s good here?” he asked as he turned over the laminated card that served as a menu.

Pauline didn’t bother looking at hers. “Everything,” she replied, realizing she was starved. “But my favorite is the fish chowder. It’s never the same, but it’s always delicious.”

A young waitress she didn’t recognize came over to take their orders. She was wearing a pink uniform with a short skirt and thick-soled white shoes that squeaked when she walked.

“What can I bring ya?” she asked, jaws working a wad of gum as she pulled a pencil and pad from her apron pocket. Her eyebrow was pierced with a small silver hoop and an elaborate tattoo circled one thin wrist in stark contrast to her outfit.

“I’ll have a cup of the chowder, a Caesar side salad and iced tea,” Pauline replied.

“Same here,” Wade chimed in. “But bring me a bowl of the chowder instead of a cup.”

“A doorknob collection?” Pauline demanded after the waitress had left. “Couldn’t you come up with anything a little less nerdy? Antique snuffboxes or African art maybe.”

He shrugged helplessly. “I saw a display behind you,” he said without a hint of apology. “Could have been worse.”

“Yes, I’m fortunate that we weren’t standing in the plumbing department,” she agreed as the waitress brought their iced teas.

Wade’s appreciative chuckle made her feel extremely clever.

“Speaking of tools,” he said after he’d dumped two packets of sugar into his glass and stirred it energetically, “I’m meeting the guy with my stuff in front of the Safeway store at three, so I’ll be ready to start ripping off the old material in the morning.” He drank some tea. “Oh,” he added, “I ordered a Dumpster. It’ll be delivered this afternoon.”

Pauline tore her gaze from his tanned throat. Carefully she picked the seeds from her lemon wedge before plopping it back into her glass. “Good idea. Did you rent a storage unit for your things?” He probably owned a lot of fancy furniture and sports equipment. Judging from the long, ropy muscles in his arms, he certainly didn’t look like someone who sat around playing video games on his computer and eating snack chips.

“Sure did,” he replied. “That place by the courthouse seemed reasonable, and there’s decent security.”

“So you’re planning to stay in Crescent Cove for a while?” she probed gently.

“If things work out,” he said enigmatically.

She doubted he was referring to the repairs to her roof, but she resisted the urge to ask. Experience had taught her that asking personal questions invited the same in return. He would hear the gossip soon enough.

The waitress set down their salads, returning immediately with their chowder and a basket of individually wrapped crackers. “Anything else?” she asked, chewing her gum as though she were beating eggs.

When they both shook their heads, she tore their check from her pad and slapped it down between them. “You can pay up front.”

Pauline reached for the check, but Wade beat her. “My invitation, my treat,” he said, waving it triumphantly.

“It’s not a date,” she protested, nipping it from his hand. “It’s just part of doing business.”

He tipped his head to the side as he studied her, his perusal making her uncomfortable. Perhaps she should let him pay.

“What would constitute a date in your estimation?” he asked, sprinkling pepper onto his salad.

She considered the question carefully as she leaned forward to inhale the steam from her chowder. “A date is a social occasion that normally takes place between two people who want to get to know each other better.”

Lord, she sounded as prissy as an old spinster reciting from a Victorian social guide for the corset-prone.

“Hmm.” Wearing a thoughtful expression, Wade began eating.

“What do you mean, hmm?” she demanded, unable to help herself.

He chewed and swallowed with a maddening lack of haste, his gaze never wavering from her face. Finally, feeling self-conscious, she began picking at her salad.

“Using your definition, are you dating anyone at the moment?” he asked.

The unexpected question flustered her. “That’s rather personal, don’t you think?”

Wade unwrapped a little packet of crackers. “I’m new around here, remember? I’m not prying. I’m trying to get to know the locals.”

She had no idea how that related to her dating status, but the current dry spell in her social life was no dark secret. “No, I’m not seeing anyone at the moment,” she replied. “What about you? Will your family be joining you?”

He shook his head. “I’m divorced, no kids.”

She waited for him to continue, but he resumed eating.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, nearly stumbling on the lie. She was surprised that her nose didn’t grow like Pinocchio’s, but she would streak downtown naked before she would admit that his single status was good news. “Was it recent?” she ventured.