Passions in the North Country (Siren Publishing Classic) (10 page)

“And I don’t need your help!” she shot back.

“Good, we agree on that at least.”

Miriam looked perturbed, but was not ready to surrender. “Devon, she deserves a chance.”

“I’m not the least bit interested in helping you, sir!” Jenny exclaimed, not even hearing Miriam. She was starting to see red. “Miriam asked me if I had any ideas that might promote business and I’ve started to give her a few suggestions. That’s all. Nothing insidious, I assure you. There are certainly no takeover plans in the works. In fact, Mr. North, this hotel is so vastly underutilized at present that it’s as much a liability as an asset.”

His countenance darkened.

Jenny was not intimidated. “I would think that you’d be happy to consider anything that might increase business. But if you’re opposed to me getting involved, that’s fine by me. Believe me, I can find better things to do than take abuse from someone I don’t know and have no desire to know. If you want me to leave, say it right now.” She stared into his eyes with such determination that it shocked both Devon and Miriam. “Right now! Say it and I’m gone. I’ll be out here in fifteen minutes and you’ll never see me again.”

He said nothing and neither woman could guess his thoughts.

“Say it!” Jenny challenged.

Still he said nothing.

“Either tell me to leave,” she persisted, “or get off my back!”

Devon was surprised by the sharp reprimand, and Miriam, equally shocked, both by Jenny’s outburst and her employer’s continuing hostility, looked from one to the other. An abnormally long and uncomfortable silence followed.

“I do not fear you,” she suddenly said to him.

“I don’t want you to fear me,” he replied. “But I do demand you respect me.”

There was another silence, this one brief.

Devon turned to Miriam. “Do whatever you want. I’ve got work to do and I can’t bother worrying about little things.”

“Mr. North!” Jenny said sharply, refusing to let it rest, “having guests for your hotel is hardly a ‘little thing.’ I don’t care if you turn this place into a castle, if no one uses it, it’s a failure.”

“Really?” he said, staring down at her with his gorgeous eyes.

“Really!” she shot back.

“Who declared you the expert, Ms. Lamb?”

“You don’t have to be an expert to realize that you’re spending a lot of money on renovations and upkeep. That means you need money coming in to finance those ventures. In order to keep money coming in, a hotel owner needs to have guests.” She paused and stared challengingly at him. “Or did that not occur to you?”

He gave her a sour look.

“Answer me. Do you need guests, or are you happy to have all the rooms empty?”

“Anything else?” he said sarcastically.

“Answer the question!” she shrieked with aggravation.

“Is there anything else?” he asked. “I have things to do.”

“As a matter of fact, there is,” Jenny said, her blood still pumping. “The backyard has tremendous potential as a flower garden. It would really enhance the beauty of the property.”

“Do whatever you want,” Devon said, visibly impatient with Jenny. “I don’t care if you paint the hotel pink, just leave me alone.”

“I have no intention of painting the hotel pink.”

“I have no intention of being interrogated by you for one moment longer,” he said, glaring at her for a split second, then walking out of the hotel. Jenny watched him go. She could not help but notice the broadness of his shoulders, the contrast of his dark hair set against the white Tshirt, his confident stride, his powerful, masculine presence. Any woman on any street would notice him. He was so incredibly good looking, so, so…sexy. Yes, he was a stubborn ass, that was for sure, but he was a stud. Grade A beef.

“You two sure don’t seem to mix,” Miriam offered quietly.

“Isn’t he the most insufferable man you’ve ever met!” Jenny fumed, totally exasperated. “I can’t stand him!”

Miriam shrugged, not quite knowing what to say, then went to the office to do some work. Jenny looked at the area in the backyard where she envisioned a flower garden. There were large rocks scattered around, a number of rotten boards and, right in the center of it, a huge, hulking piece of rusted iron that had once been a wood stove.

Jenny, feeling bold, took a deep breath and walked to the ladder where Devon was just starting to climb up. “Excuse me, sir,” she said, “but it would be impossible to plant a garden with all that junk over there. Could you get someone to move it?”

Devon sighed irritably and without looking at her stomped down the ladder. Without a word he strode over to the area and started clearing it. Jenny was surprised, but she stood back and watched, wondering if he would degenerate into a meltdown, cursing her for intruding on his controlled little world. Devon laid the rocks in a pile, threw the boards onto the back of his truck, then grabbed the wood stove and wrenched it from its resting place. Jenny wanted to tell him not to try to move it by himself, but because of the stubborn look on his face, she did not dare say a word. With strain on his face and total exertion, he rolled the wood stove across the ground toward the truck. Jenny was dumbfounded by his incredible physical strength and she found it exhilarating to see such power. It turned her on. Big time. He stopped twice, resting and breathing heavily, then continued, determined to complete the task. When he did reach the truck, he realized he could not lift the object onto the back without help, so he laid it there, apparently intending to deal with it later.

“Now,” he said, turning to Jenny, “can I get back to work? Or do you have any more jobs for me?”

“You are free,” she said, not backing down, “…for now.”

The look he gave her! “Don’t push your luck, lady.”

“Thank you for clearing the area,” she said sweetly, catching him totally off guard. “You are very strong.”

He literally jerked backward. “A compliment from Her Ladyship? Call the New York
Times
.”

“Save your time. It won’t last.” She turned to go back into the hotel, but glanced back just long enough to make one more comment. “Don’t forget to wash your clothes.”

Covered in dirt and soot, he returned to the ladder, but obviously felt the need to express himself further. She could sense this and instinctively waited for him to explode. If he wanted to go, she determined, it was game on. World War Three. Whatever he wanted.
Bring it, buddy.

“I’m comfortable with a hammer in my hand and with no one to bother me,” Devon said, almost as if in a pleading voice. “I know nothing of gardens and social graces. That seems to be your forte.”

This, thought Jenny, was Devon’s eager endorsement for her to do as she wished. Suddenly a world of opportunity opened up before her. Devon was entrusting—or so she thought—the creative aspect to her. And there was so much with which she could work. True, everything was in a raw state, but the potential! This hotel was not the sanitized clone of a thousand others. It was a unique entity with a living, breathing personality. The idea of putting her own mark on it excited her and made her forget the deadly cloud hanging overhead.

“Yes, it is my expertise, Mr. North. You do your thing, I’ll do my mine, and never the twains shall meet.”

“Whatever,” he mumbled.

She walked to the area where she planned to plant the garden and envisioned latticework next to the garage covered in verdant green vines, rose bushes abounding, geraniums, fuchsia, white impatiens with a dark
purple lobelia border…Her daydreaming was interrupted as Miriam came out the back door and surveyed the grounds.

“How did you get him to move all that stuff?” she whispered, amazed that Devon had done anything for Jenny.

“I asked.” she said.

“Politely, I’m sure.”

Jenny was about to respond when a large, burly man wearing a baseball cap and a plaid shirt walked around the corner.

Miriam looked at the man and then gestured toward Jenny. “Here’s the guardian angel I was telling you about, Terry. Jenny Lamb, this is my son.”

He shook Jenny’s hand and though he tried to be gentle, she could feel her flesh and bones being compressed.

“Pleased to meet you, Terry.”Very pleased to meet you, Miss Lamb.”

“We’ll have to make a date for a night that you aren’t busy so you can bring Lenore over to meet Jenny,” Miriam said, proudly glancing at her son.

Terry and Jenny said they would both be looking forward to it.

Terry looked over at Devon. “Need any help loading that stove?”

“Sure do,” Devon answered with good cheer, climbing down the ladder. “I was hoping you’d come along.”

Jenny was positively stunned at the transformation in Devon’s personality. He looked like the nicest guy in the world all of a sudden, the kind of a man a woman could fall in love with. The men strode over to the weighty piece of metal and mightily hoisted it onto the truck. It fell on the box with a clunking noise and a cloud of rust powder rose from it. Devon and Terry laughed, then simultaneously brushed the dirt off their shirts and pants.

The young painters had also stopped to watch and Jenny noted how they admired the physical strength of Devon and Terry. Devon walked back toward Miriam, chatting amiably with Terry and flashing his gorgeous smile. For a moment, just a moment, Jenny wondered what it would be like to be Devon’s wife. She could see herself walking arm-in-arm with him down the street, or gazing into his eyes over a romantic candlelight dinner…Then she snapped out of her silly musings and noticed Devon looking right at her. Thank goodness he could not read her mind! And thankfully he had no idea of the bawdy thoughts she had entertained of him in the privacy of her room. If he knew what she had thought, she most certainly would have died of mortification.

“How long will you be gone fishing this time?” Miriam asked her son.

Terry seemed hesitant to answer. “About three weeks.”

“How’s Lenore taking it?”

“Like any wife, I guess. She don’t like it, but I don’t either. I hate goin’ that long. Seems every time you come in your kids hardly even know ya.”

“When do you think you’ll be able to fish on your own boat again?” Devon asked.

“Lobster season, but that ain’t till fall. This year, when I get my boat paid off, I can make it on lobster and some inshore fishing, but until then I’ll be working for somebody else.”

Jenny didn’t know if she should interrupt, but she was interested in Terry’s problem. “If you don’t want to go out on those trips, could you do another job for awhile?”

“Fishing and the ocean is all I know, ma’am.”

Miriam nodded. “He’s done it since he was fourteen years old. Remember when old Rob used to take you out with him?”

“Yep,” Terry said with a smile.

“Rob had five men under him,” Miriam said, “but he swore Terry was the best worker in his crew.”

“You could make a good living at fishing in those days,” Terry reminisced, “but now you have to do whatever you can to survive.”

“Three-week trips are too long,” his mother said. “They should have a rule against taking men from their families for that long.”

Terry lifted an eyebrow. “There’s word on the wharf about six-week trips.”

“Oh, no!” Miriam exclaimed.

“Six
week trips,” Terry said with a sigh, “but what choice does a man have? I need a new motor for Lenore’s car and you got to support your family somehow. Lenore calls the boys eating machines. They want the best of everything. When I was kid, I remember feeling like a king when I got new sneakers that cost two dollars, now they want sneakers that you have to take a mortgage out for.”

“Where will you be fishing?” Miriam asked reluctantly, almost as if she dreaded the answer.

“Off the shelf,” he mumbled, not looking at his mother.

Miriam turned pale and, visibly upset, hurried into the hotel without saying a word. Jenny looked dumbfounded.

“Need some help unloading that stuff at the dump?” Terry asked Devon in a subdued tone, guilt written over his face.

“Sure,” Devon answered with a confused glance at his friend.

Terry nodded to Jenny and told her again that he was glad to meet her. Then he and Devon got into the truck and left for the dump. When Jenny walked into the hotel, Miriam was stiffly clutching the back of a chair and seemed almost on the verge of fainting.

“What’s wrong?” Jenny asked, quickly striding up to her and making sure she did not fall.

Miriam sat down. “I’ve had a little too much on my mind, that’s all.”

“Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“I think I should take you to the hospital.”

“No, no. I’m fine, really. I’ve been worrying too much about things lately and that’s not good for me.”

“No, it’s not,” Jenny said softly. “And it’s not good to keep things inside.” She sat down beside her. “Tell me what’s bothering you.”

“I’m not happy about Terry having to go out,” she said. “Fishing is dangerous enough inshore, but out there anything can happen.”

“I’m sure everything will work out for the best.”

Miriam seemed reluctant to continue, but then opened up. “He promised me when he was still a boy that he would never fish off the shelf.”

“If it was that long ago, he probably just forgot.”

“He didn’t forget.”

“It’s none of my business, but why don’t you want him fishing there?”

Miriam burst into tears. “That’s where his father died.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Jenny said, clasping Miriam’s frail hand and trying to comfort her.

“The captain was under pressure to fish,” Miriam related, “even though they were calling for rough weather. I told my husband to stay home, but he knew he’d lose his spot, so he went. The storm hit and the whole crew was lost. Only two bodies were recovered. One of them was my husband. When he was buried, I knelt on his grave and vowed that I would never let his son fish in the place where he died. When Terry was old enough, I made him promise me that he would never go there. Now he’s broken his word.”

Jenny didn’t know what to say. For a long time she just sat with Miriam, trying to comfort her simply by being there, but, sensing her discomfort, Miriam appreciated the gesture and did not want to upset Jenny with her personal problems. Sensing her discomfort, Jenny felt it best to change the subject. She knew the hotel was also an object of concern for Miriam, yet she thought it better to talk about that than something as emotionally wrenching as her husband’s death.