Home for the Haunting(71)

That scared me.

I watched as Cookie did her best to be adorable. Was there any wonder men liked her? She smiled and cooed and acted interested in every word they said. As I watched, Cookie reached for the carrot sticks, and as she leaned forward her top gapped just enough to show a tantalizing glimpse of what lay beneath: something lacy, probably real silk.

I felt grumpier—and frumpier—by the minute. The truth was, my sister was charming. She made people—men especially, but often women, too—feel good about themselves. Whereas I went through life trying to get my work done and bowling everybody over with my efforts. And lately, of course, I spent an inordinate amount of time thinking about ghosts and untimely deaths. None of which was liable to improve my mood any.

While I was distracted, a forkful of mashed potatoes tumbled unceremoniously from my fork to my plate, spattering gravy all over the bodice of my dress.

I stared down at my chest.

Classy, Mel. Real classy.

I started dabbing at my neckline, and looked up to find Graham’s eyes fixed on the low neck of my dress, now peppered with dark spots.

Our eyes met for a long moment. I forgot to breathe for a minute. Maybe I should take a page out of my sister’s book, I thought. I sat up straighter, rolled my shoulders back, and looked down at my chest in what I hoped was a seductive move.

Cookie’s high-pitched giggle shattered the moment. “Oh, Mel, honestly; I remember when you were little, you never could keep an outfit clean for more than ten minutes.”

I excused myself from the table and hurried upstairs to change.

By the time I returned, clean dress on, they were all doing dishes, laughing it up, and having a great old time.

I couldn’t face it. I ducked into the office and started catching up on paperwork. Though we did as much as possible on the computer, like most businesses, in construction we still worked with a lot of paper, from blueprints to permit forms to client contracts and change orders put in writing.

“Your sister’s charming,” Graham said from the doorway twenty minutes later.

“Yeah, I noticed.”

He came in and closed the door.

“I take it you two aren’t close?”

“Not exactly, no.”

He shrugged. “Not all siblings are best friends. You’re very different people.”

“By which you mean I’m the opposite of charming?”

“I—”

“Well, if you stick around I think she might be available soon. She comes with two adorable children and a pedigreed cat.”

He chuckled. I continued to bang around the office, slamming the filing cabinet and trying not to mutter to myself.

“Hey, are you serious?” Graham grabbed me by the arm as I tried to sweep by him. “What’s gotten into you?”

“I’m just saying . . . I am who I am. That’s all. This is me, no designer clothes—well, unless you count Stephen—no blond hair, no entertaining little stories. I frequently wear dirty coveralls and I’m grumpy and I don’t particularly like to speak unless I feel I have something reasonably intelligent to say. So if you want someone more like Cookie . . .”

“Why would you think I don’t like you for who you are? Have I ever given you that impression? I follow you into ghost-infested attics, for crissakes.”

“I just don’t think . . . I’m not sure I’m ready for a steady boyfriend. I wouldn’t be good for anybody.”

Graham held me at arm’s length, hands wrapped around my upper arms. “Look, I know I pushed you a little bit before I left town. I’m ready. To be with you. But obviously you’re not sure. That’s okay; we don’t have to rush this. We can back up a little, give you some breathing space. Just please stop trying to foist me off on other women.”

“I wasn’t foisting. I never foist.”

He chuckled and drew me toward him. “How about this? We could have a strictly sexual relationship. Would that be more in your comfort zone, you modern woman, you?”

“You mean you want to be my boy toy?”

He kissed me on the neck. “Could be fun. I’ve never been anyone’s plaything.”

A gentle nibble on my earlobe sent shivers racing through me.

“Um . . . I suppose we could give it a try.”

“Hey, you two!” Cookie opened the door without knocking. “What are you two up to? It’s time for dessert!”

Graham and I shared a smile, and I took his hand.

“Come on, boy toy. Let’s go sublimate with chocolate.”





Chapter Eighteen




The next morning I gathered my papers, breezed through the kitchen, and waved good-bye, not even stopping for coffee.

There was no way in heck I was taking Cookie with me to prison.