Love Came Just In Time Part 16

Megan put her hand over his mouth. "Be quiet," she said, straining her ears. "I think a door just slammed."

"Wovwee," Gideon said. He took her hand away. "Lovely," he repeated crisply. "We likely have other guests arriving and here I am, impersonating Robin Hood."

Megan did her best to put on a sober expression. "I don't think Robin Hood would have been caught dead dressed like that." Gideon looked at her archly. "At least what I'm wearing reaches where it's supposed-" "Sshh," she said, "listen." They stood, silently, listening. "I don't hear anything," he whispered. "Neither do I..." she began, then realized he hadn't let go of her hand. It occurred to her, strangely enough, that she didn't mind. His hand was very warm. It was a comfortable sort of hand, the kind you would reach for across a dinner table or as you walked down a country road.

Megan looked at her hand surrounded by his and was struck by the perfect picture it made.

She looked up at him to find a most thoughtful look resting on his face. In fact, for possibly the first time since he'd drenched her, he was looking at her and truly seeing her. Completely. Intensely. It was enough to make her start fanning herself again. Then she paused. Other than her own heavy breathing, there was no noise. "Mrs. Pruitt," she whispered. "Oh, no, Mrs. Pruitt!" "Wait-" "She's not screeching anymore," Megan said, pulling Gideon toward the hallway. "We can't let her leave!"

Gideon seemed to be struggling to keep up with her. She spared him a brief glance. The toes of his shoes were flapping wildly as he dashed alongside her. And then the unthinkable happened. His curly toes curled together.

He went down like a rock.

Megan left him behind without a second thought. She fled into the hallway just in time to see Mrs. Pruitt come das.h.i.+ng out from the library. The woman bolted for the front door, her ap.r.o.n strings fluttering furiously behind her.

The front door closed behind her with a resounding bang.

"Help!" Gideon called.

Megan ignored him. She leaped the remaining few steps to the door like a champion long jumper and

jerked it open. She clutched the door frame.

"Oh, no!" she exclaimed.

She heard Gideon thumping behind her. He lurched to a teetering halt on his knees at the threshold.

"Oh, no!" Megan repeated, pointing frantically outside.

"Oh, yes," Gideon corrected grimly. "There she goes, pedaling her bicycle off into the gloom."

"No other helpers?" she asked, looking down at him as he knelt beside her, staring off morosely after

their former hostess.

Gideon shook his head. "My brother favors this inn for precisely that reason. Mrs. Pruitt is a widow and

only hires in help from the village. There'll be someone in during the week to clean, but she does everything else. The place'll be dead as nails until then." Megan looked off at the increasingly small figure of their innkeeper. "Think she just ran to the store for an egg?" He shook his head slowly. Megan looked out into the twilight and sighed. "We're stuck, then." "It looks that way." "Doomed." "Very likely." "We'll starve before they find us." She looked down at him. "I can't cook." A faint look of panic descended onto his features. "You can't?"

"Hot chocolate is the extent of my skills," she admitted. "How about you?"

"I'm a powerful executive. I have a chef."

"Ah," she said, with a nod. "I was afraid of that. You know, I got a job a few months ago to try to learn,

but..." She shrugged. "It didn't work out."

"It didn't? Not even for an edible few dishes?"

"Nope. Fast food is unhealthy. I couldn't cook it in good conscience."

"Sacked?" he asked kindly.

"As usual," she sighed.

He laughed softly. "Oh, Megan," he said, shaking his head.

Megan was so surprised by the sound that she had to look at him again, just to make sure he'd been the

one to make it. And the sight of him smiling was so overwhelming, she had to lean back against the door frame for support.

"Wow," she breathed.

The smile didn't fade. "Wow?"

"You have a great laugh."

His smile was immediately replaced by a look of faint puzzlement. "Do I? No one's ever told me that before."

"They must have been distracted by your powerful and awe-inspiring corporate self." "Ah ha," he said triumphantly, "you really do recognize me this time." Megan rolled her eyes, pushed away from the door and started back to the kitchen. "Let's go see if Mrs.

P. left us a cookbook." "Wait," he said, maneuvering himself onto his backside. "I seem to have tangled my toes." Megan watched him fumble with the spirals for a moment before she knelt, pushed his hands away and did the honors herself. "Nicely done," he said, sounding genuinely impressed. "I subbed for Snow White once. You'd be amazed what trouble dwarf toes can get into." "Hmmm," he said, looking down at his feet. Megan looked at him and felt something in the vicinity of her heart crumble. Just the sight of this intense and (by his own admission) powerful man sitting there with his sandy hair mussed, his tights bagging now around his ankles, playing with the toes of his purple elf shoes-well, it was enough to make a girl want to throw her arms around him and hug him until he couldn't breathe. That any man should look so ridiculous and so adorable at the same time was just a crime.

"Too much time in ears," she said, rising and shaking her head.

Gideon looked up at her. "I beg your pardon?"

"I spent too much time at Disneyland," she said. "It warped me. My judgment is clouded. My taste in

shoes is skewed."

"Don't tell me you're acquiring a liking for fairy footwear."

And drooping yellow tights and aqua eyes and a smile that transforms your face into something even more breathtaking than usual.

"Nah, give me Keds every time," she said, making a grab for her self-control and common sense before they both hit the same high road her luggage had. "Let's storm the kitchen."

Gideon rose, keeping his feet a safe distance apart.

"Might I regale you with stories of my latest business coups whilst we prepare our meal?" he asked, reaching for her hand.

Megan found her hand in his and her common sense/self-control nowhere to be seen.

"Business coups?" she echoed, frowning up at him in an effort to distract herself. "I don't think so."

"Tales of exciting market trends and investment plans?"

She looked at him in horror. "You've got to be kidding. It'll ruin my appet.i.te!"

"You sound annoyingly like my brother."

"He sounds like my kind of guy. Maybe he's the one who b.o.o.by-trapped your computer."

"I'm beginning to suspect that might be the case."

"Well, then take your vacation. Getting fired is highly unpleasant."

"You seem to know of what you speak."

"Honey, you don't know the half of it."

And she had no intentions of telling him the full extent of it. A few amusing anecdotes might make him

smile, but he'd flip if he knew just how many times she had been canned. But that wasn't going to happen anymore. She nodded to herself as she led him back to the kitchen. Thomas had given her a chance to be successful at something. After all, how hard could it be to get up to the castle, take a look around and tell him what he'd bought? It was a little chance, but one she had been desperate enough to take. She wouldn't fail, she couldn't fail. If she couldn't even do something this simple, there was no way she could show her face at home again. They all thought she was flaky as it was. She would head up to the castle first thing tomorrow. It couldn't be that far and it couldn't be that hard to find. She'd send home a report, then settle back and enjoy a well-deserved recuperation.

But first, dinner had to be made.

"Heaven help us," she muttered, as she and Gideon walked hand-in-land into the kitchen.

She stood surveying the various pots and pans Mrs. Pruitt had left simmering on the stove, then looked

at Gideon. He returned her stare, looking just as perplexed as she felt. "Would you rather find a cookbook and read, or would you rather... stir?" she said, hoping a little subliminal suggestion might work on him.

"I'm a fabulous reader," he said promptly, commencing a search for a cookbook.

Megan stared back at the stove. Well, at least this would distract her from the deafening clamor her

hand had set up at being parted from Gideon's.

"Bad hand," she said, frowning down at it sternly.

"I beg your pardon?"

Megan shoved her hand behind her back and smiled at Gideon. "Just giving it a pep talk in preparation

for cooking. Find anything useful?"

Gideon held up a fistful of scribbled notes. "I think this might be it."

Megan sighed. It was going to be a long night.

Chapter Four.

Gideon sat at the table, plowing manfully through his meal. The potatoes were scorched, the meat both raw and burned depending on what side of it faced up on one's plate, and the vegetables were unrecognizable in their mus.h.i.+ness. Somehow, his deciphering of Mrs. Pruitt's notes and Megan's stirring hadn't turned out the way it should have. At this point, Gideon didn't care. He was starved enough to eat about anything.

Once his nutrient-starved brain could function properly again, he looked over at his dinner companion. She was currently toying with her carrots, as if she thought they might provide the answers to life's mysteries. Gideon leaned over and looked at them.

"Don't see any answers there," he said, then met her eyes. "Do you?"

"Nope," she said. "Just overcooked vegetables."

"We'll do better next time."

"We'll starve to death," she said gloomily. "Surrounded by raw ingredients we can't put together to save our lives."

Gideon watched Megan's downcast face and wondered what troubled her. She couldn't think the disaster before them was her fault. He was as much responsible as she. Perhaps she was merely fatigued from her journey to the inn. While they'd cooked, she had told him of her harrowing experience with the thieves in London. Add that to her long walk from he village and it was no wonder she looked a bit on the peaked side.

Gideon couldn't deny that no matter how she looked, she still made him pull up short. There was something just so open and artless about her. He couldn't remember the last time he'd encountered another human being who didn't have some sort of agenda where he was concerned. Even his father, useless bit of fluff though he was, managed to tear himself from the races long enough to give Gideon a lofty earlyish order or two. The only person who called him anymore without wanting something was his mother.

Megan didn't seem to have any expectations of him. She had no idea who he was and, distressing though it was to him, seemingly couldn't have cared less what he did. Not even blatant boasting about his t.i.tle and manor hall at Blythwood had fazed her. She did, however, like his laugh.

He was beginning to wish some of her nonchalance would rub off on him. Just the sight of her left him with his head spinning. Having her undivided attention was almost more than he could take. Though he certainly wasn't having any of the latter presently. Her vegetables were enjoying far too much of her scrutiny.