Anything You Can Do (9 page)

"Good grief! It really is." She lifted out a spring
form pan and set of measuring cups. "Bailey, dear friend, I feel it's my duty to remind you that you can't cook. Have you forgotten being the only person in the history of Haywood High who did a supplemental research paper so you wouldn't flunk home ec?"

"Any
body can cook. It's like a computer program. You just follow the directions."

Paula
pulled a package of white chocolate from one of the bags and studied it appraisingly. "I can mail my letters later. I don't think I'd better leave right now."

"
Paula Lynn Duvall, don't you touch one thing in this kitchen. I' m cooking, and I don't need any criticism or help."

"You don't mind if I sit here at the bar and drink iced tea, do you?"

Most assuredly Bailey minded, but there seemed no way out of it. "Fine. But knock off the unsolicited advice. "

"I'll just sit here quiet as a mouse and take notes. Maybe we could work this into a television sitcom."

Choosing to ignore her friend's smart mouth, Bailey left the room to change into appropriate attire.

Minutes later, wearing the T-shirt and shorts she'd worn to paint the b
edroom, Bailey unpacked her purchases and arranged them on the counter. She studied the recipe carefully, then rearranged everything and stared at the items, trying vainly to imagine the gorgeous color picture in the cookbook emerging from all that mess. Paula had her head buried in a magazine, but Bailey could have sworn she was smirking.

Taking a deep breath, she turned her attention to the project. One thing she knew for certain
, the blasted recipe had to be followed exactly. Paula's recounting of her high school fiasco, her last experiment with cooking, reminded her that cutting out unnecessary steps had gotten her in trouble before. Heating the water to boiling before adding the pasta really did make a difference.

She set the oven to the exact temperature, allowing time for it to preheat, then consulted the recipe again. Since she didn't have time to let the cream cheese reach room temperature while lying on the counter, she plopped it into the microwave where parts of it got real soft real fast. Well, it could harden up a little in the freezer while she made the crust.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the cheesecake was in the oven. Now to get all the seeds out of those raspberries and make the sauce. Maybe if she just put them in the blender, the seeds would mush up and disappear.

Yes, indeed, Austin would regret his tacky remarks about her refrigerator holding nothing but dog food and mayonnaise. She'd show him she was a skilled cook.

*~*~*

"This is great," Gordon drawled, popping the tab on a beer and settling onto a dining table chair.

"You get to clean up," Austin answered from the kitchen, stuffing wild rice mixture into the last Cornish game hen.

"You're such a pal, going to so much trouble to help me impress
Paula."

Austin hesitated in his work, searching for sarcasm in Gordon's words. "Seems to me you need all the help you can get," he finally said. "What you're doing is the goofiest thing I've ever heard of. Where do you go from here? You can
't leave letters in the park indefinitely." He basted the birds carefully with real butter. This was no time to think of one's arteries.

"I'm glad you asked. I've got a great idea, and since you're so eager to help, I'll include you. I take her to the park to look for her next letter, and I let you know when we're going. Then you be there waiting, and while we go check the tree
, you leave flowers in her car."

Austin slid the hens into the oven and groaned. He'd never known his friend to go to so much trouble over a woman
—over anything, for that matter. If a project involved effort, Gordon just left it and went on to something easier.

"Has it ever occurred to you that when
Paula finds out you're writing these kooky letters, she may just decide you're nuts in addition to being a lawyer? Then she'll for sure never go out with you. Probably never speak to you again."

"I'm just trying to give her a chance to see what kind of guy I am without being blinded by her prejudice against lawyers."

Austin joined his friend on the brown leather sofa. "I'm beginning to think she may be right about attorneys."

"They're still ready to lynch you, huh?"

"They're fighting the changes." Austin noticed a small spot of butter on his crisply creased khaki slacks. He considered going home to change then discarded the idea. If he did that, Gordon might think he was unduly concerned about how he looked tonight, might think he was trying to impress Bailey. He crossed his leg over the spot. "They're stodgy," he finished, coming back to the subject at hand.

"They've done pretty good for a lot of years."
Gordon leaned back and swung his legs onto the sturdy coffee table.

"But the world has changed, the practice of law has changed. If we don't change too, we'll be swallowed up by progressive firms that do. We hav
e to streamline our work habits, cut out waste, and, of course, get a good public relations firm."

"
Austin, are you sure you were sent over here because you did so well with the St. Louis office or because they wanted to get rid of you?"

"You've been hanging around your friend Bailey too long. Her abrasive personality's rubbing off." He had to do that, had to say Bailey's name aloud, as if he could thus summon her.

Gordon smiled lazily. "Old friend, if your abrasive personality didn't rub off on me over the years, I don't think I'm in any danger from Bailey. You, on the other hand—" Gordon shrugged, drained his beer can, and crushed it.

"Me on the other hand
, what?" Austin sat forward, studying his friend's face closely.

"Have met your match, I'd say. I'm going to hit the shower and get all spiffied up." He stood, stretched, and looked back at Austin. "Like you. And if you keep your legs crossed, Bailey will never see that spot of butter." He strolled from the room.

Well, Austin thought, staring after his friend, either the man was awfully perceptive or he had observed the spectacle of the night before. Austin couldn't quite decide if that idea bothered him or not. But then, he couldn't quite decide what to make of the kiss either. One thing he was sure of, though. He had to take exception to Gordon's assertion that he'd
met his match
. She could certainly put the pressure on him, force him to give his very best, but he'd still be the ultimate winner.

True, she was mentally acute and physically trim, athletic, without an ounce of fat on her slim body. Even her rounded derriere was firm. Though, he recalled with pleasure, her breast had been soft and pliant beneath his hand, only the nipple swelling hard between his fingers.

Damn! How did he get off on that line of thought?

He forced the smile off his face before Gordon came back in and noticed.

He was in the kitchen putting the finishing touches on his Caesar salad when Bailey and Paula arrived.

"That looks wonderful," he heard Gordon enthuse. "Where did you get it? A new bakery?"

"I made it." Bailey's voice rang with indignant defiance.

Gordon laughed, but
Paula interrupted. "She did. I watched. It's kind of scary, really."

Gordon had told him she
would bring something frozen for dessert, that she never cooked.

He leaned into the living room, eager to see what she'd come up with.
Paula, cute and perky in a denim miniskirt, held Samantha in her arms. Gordon looked amused. Bailey, striding regally, carried a cut-glass cake plate holding an incredible culinary creation.

"White chocolate cheesecake with raspberry sauce," she announced, handing it to him. "Just something I whipped up on the spur of the moment."

Austin accepted the plate but continued to stare at Bailey. In a flowing cotton skirt patterned with flowers and a pale green blouse that accented her flushed cheeks and sparkling ocean eyes, she looked willowy, ethereal—his mind groped for the right words—beautiful, female, desirable.

"You made this?" he finally managed to ask, diverting his thoughts before they got too carried away.

For an instant her eyes blazed with indignant green fire at his rude question, but her reply was cool. "Umm-hmm," she said, and turned her back to him. "Gordon, is that a new painting?"

Later, as they finished dinner, Bailey had to admit the meal was wonderful even if Austin had cooked it. Of course her cheese
cake would be every bit as wonderful. Magnanimously she added her praise to the compliments of Gordon and Paula.

"It's just something I whippe
d up on the spur of the moment," he replied, mocking her earlier comment.

Okay, that was fair, Bailey decided. "
Touché," she said. "Actually, I spent more time and effort on that blasted cheesecake than I spend preparing a case for trial."

"Half that effort was expended in cursing,"
Paula explained and everyone laughed.

Bailey felt mellow, warm in the company of friends, even Austin. Eagerly she anticipated his approval of her creation
—grudging approval, probably. He'd hate to admit she'd won again. Grudging but respectful. Yes, she liked that idea.

"How about we adjourn to the living room?"
Gordon suggested. "Is everybody up for real coffee with dessert or should I make decaf? Bailey, would you come slice your cheesecake?"

When everyone was settled with a steaming cup of coffee, Bailey pro
udly served pieces of the cream colored dessert topped by bright red splashes. Gordon and Paula murmured compliments as they prepared to take their first bite. Austin was silent, but that was to be expected. Naturally he'd resent her stealing his thunder.

She watched them as they chewed and swallowed, waited for expressions of delight. No one said anything nor did they take a second bite.

"Well?" she finally asked when they all seemed intent on draining their coffee cups.

Gordon set his dis
h on the coffee table. Samantha prissed over, sniffed, turned up her nose, and walked away. The three of them burst into laughter.

"Did you do this on purpose?" Gordon asked.

"Bailey, dear friend, I think you'd better stick to being a lawyer," Paula suggested. "Make enough money you can hire a chef."

"You're all very funny," Bailey retorted, taking her own first bite.

Maybe they weren't just being funny. It didn't taste quite right. In fact, it tasted pretty awful, sort of like greasy cardboard with gritty raspberries. But her difficulty in swallowing wasn't just from the bad flavor. A big lump seemed to have risen in her throat.

As if that w
asn't bad enough, she looked up to find Austin staring directly at her, those unnatural eyes piercing to her very soul. She wanted to run home and hide for the rest of her life.

In the distance, far away, she could hear
Paula telling the home ec story. The floor didn't seem likely to open up beneath her feet, so she'd have to face the situation head-on.

Then Austin's voice cut through the fog, loud and clear. "My compliments," he said smoothly, actually forking another bite into his mouth.

Bailey watched him in stunned fascination.

"Austin, you're going to die a painful death,"
Gordon warned.

"Gordon, remember how I used to tell you your taste was all in your mouth? Well, I take that back. It certainly isn't there, either, if you can't appreciate the delicate flavor of this dessert. You've become accustomed to the frozen variety. This is unique, homemade, more like the deli varieties in New York." So saying, he took another bite.

The overblown praise had to be sarcasm. Yet he continued to eat and smile.

Doubting her own judgment, Bailey took another bite, searching for the New York flavor. This bite went down easier because the lump in her throat was dissolving, but it didn't taste any better. If that was what they liked in New York, she'd continue to take her vacations in the South.

Looking up, she caught Paula and Gordon exchanging confused glances then retrieving their plates for another taste. Puzzled, she turned her attention to Austin, but he was concentrating on eating and didn't look up.

This made no sense. He couldn't possibly like greasy cardboard. If it were anyone but Austin, she'd think he was being kind, trying to make her feel good, throwing the race.

Somehow she made it through the rest of the evening, but she didn't dare look at Austin. If she'd seen sympathy or pity in his eyes, she couldn't have stood it. That would be the ultimate sign of losing.

Finally it was time to leave, to get away from everyone, to hide, regain control, and sort out the evening.

"Did you check the park today?" Gordon asked Paula as Bailey unlocked the car doors and plopped Samantha into the backseat.

"No. I'm going
tomorrow. Which reminds me—" She opened the passenger door and retrieved Bailey's ill-fated shopping bag from The Complete Kitchen. "I answered twenty of the letters from prospective Prince Charmings." She turned to Bailey. "We need to mail them on the way home."