Southern Hospitality (6 page)

Clutching the cap in his hand, he made himself a promise. He’d find a way to temper his impatience and discover a means to breach Tory Planchet’s defenses. He didn’t know why it seemed of tantamount importance. He just knew it was, almost as if she held the knowledge of an important secret. Whatever it was, he had to know what was making him behave with such uncharacteristic impetuousness.

There was only one thing he knew for certain. He didn’t want Tory to know why he’d been sent here. Around her he felt almost ashamed of his exile, which was ridiculous, but he wanted it kept from her just the same. He’d tell her himself, in his own way, when he judged that the time was right. Certainly not before he saw her brown eyes in passion, soft and darkened to the color of semi-sweet chocolate, her face flushed with excitement.

As he reached the steps to the porch, he ruthlessly erased the tantalizing image that would keep him awake all night. He needed a good night’s sleep to deal with this strange situation. Perhaps that was all he needed to release him from his obsession. In the morning, he’d discover that Tory Planchet was just an ordinary woman.

Chapter Three

“Morning, Arnette,” Tory announced the moment she walked into the kitchen early the next morning. The wonderful smell of fresh baking filled her senses, but she was here for one reason and wouldn’t be sidetracked. “What’s the old buzzard up to this morning?”

“Just let me get this last batch out of the oven, hon. You know where the coffee is,” Arnette answered with a welcoming smile as she took a tray of warm cookies from the oven.

Tory crossed to the coffee maker under the clear-glass cupboards. She followed the cardinal rule of the kitchen as she poured herself a cup of rich, fresh ground coffee; never bother Arnette when she was in the middle of anything. But when she idly glanced at the cookie sheet that Arnette was deftly balancing, every other thought went out of Tory’s head.

“What is T.L. wearing this morning, and why are you making snickerdoodles?” Tory shot out, looking at the sugar-and-cinnamon topped confections with horror. They were T.L.’s traveling snacks.

“If you want to know anything about your daddy, just march yourself into the dining room, young lady.” Arnette didn’t bother to look up from her task. “These cookies have to be ready when he is. So, go ask him what you want to know.”

Tory turned on her heels, careful not to spill her coffee, and made a beeline for the dining room. The old goat was going to sneak out of town and leave her with Logan without so much as a goodbye. She was brought up short on the kitchen’s threshold at the thought of Logan. Spinning around, she said, “Is our resident royalty out of bed yet?”

“If you mean Mr. Herrington, no, he isn’t. What have you got against that nice young man?” Her curiosity pulled Arnette’s attention away from the cookie sheet to give Tory a searching look.

“You wouldn’t understand.” She tossed the words over her shoulder, needing to escape the older woman’s eagle eyes. As soon as she was out of sight in the hallway, Tory hesitated. She wasn’t sure exactly what T.L.’s game was, but it certainly had something to do with the mysterious purpose of Logan’s trip, which wasn’t to report on any car rally. The most obvious motive of matchmaking simply didn’t apply. T.L. wasn’t a parent who insisted that marriage was the answer for his offspring, with two of his three marriages ending in divorce. He was pleased that Sanders and Curtiss had started families, but he didn’t harangue Trevor or Tory continually about their single status.

She took a deep breath to help collect her thoughts. This had to be handled with a level, cool head. She couldn’t let T.L. think she had an inordinate interest in Logan. T.L. didn’t need to know that she’d tossed and turned all night long with countless dreams about their visitor. First the disgruntled traveler at the airport, then the nice man that Amanda Sue commandeered as her willing slave, followed by the arrogant, demanding man in her cottage. The most prominent image was Logan stripped to the waist, only he wasn’t standing framed in his bedroom window. He was standing at the end of her bed.

The sounds of Arnette bustling around the kitchen behind her brought Tory out of her dangerous memories of the night. It wouldn’t do for the other woman to find her daydreaming in the hall. With a deep swallow of Arnette’s coffee, Tory headed for the dining room.

T.L. sat in solitary splendor at the head of the long, mahogany table. “Well, darlin’, what has you up this early?” he exclaimed in greeting before taking a bite from the ham biscuit in his hand. He was dressed in a subdued brown-and-pale-blue plaid suit that allowed Tory to relax her fixed smile slightly. He was dressed for a fairly rational discussion.

“Seven-thirty seems late, since I’m usually up at five to get the baking started. Even with three months off, I can’t seem to shake the habit,” she said, slipping into the chair next to him. She refused his silent invitation to share his breakfast, but poured herself more coffee from the Blue Willow coffee pot in the center of the table.

“So, what can I do for you, darlin’, or did you come to keep an old man company? I’m sorry to say I have to be at the airport in the next hour and get to Texarkana to avert a drivers’ strike.”

“You aren’t going anywhere until you give me some answers about our guest,” Tory said quietly, leaning back in her chair and crossing her legs to show that she had plenty of time. “If you keep to the facts and cut out the histrionics, it shouldn’t take more than ten minutes. And you don’t need to waste any time by telling me he’s here to cover the rallies. The man doesn’t like the South
and
has never been to a rally in his life.”

T.L. gave her a considering look over the rim of his coffee cup, a slight smile curving his lips. “That must have been some ride from the airport. Then, again, I didn’t raise stupid children.”

“Or very patient ones.”

“All right, all right. You’re just like your mother was when it comes to getting your own way,” he answered. He carefully placed his cup in the saucer and leaned forward to rest his forearms on his place mat. “You aren’t going to like this, but I don’t feel right about telling you all the reasons for Logan’s being here. That’s between Pres and the boy. If, and when, he wants to tell you, then so be it.”

Goaded into a show of temper at being denied such vital information, Tory imprudently challenged T.L.’s decision by giving him some of his own back. “Then it isn’t a drug problem? He hasn’t been running with a bad crowd, losing heavily at the gambling tables in Atlantic City, and borrowing money from the loan sharks?”

“I guess I deserved that. Are you ready to listen now, or do you have any more flights of fancy?” He gave her a look that was a mixture of sympathy and exasperation, just as he had after her one teenage traffic accident. When she nodded, he continued, “It’s nothing unsavory or illegal, so we’ll leave it at that. Now that the boy’s—”

“Hold it, right there,” Tory broke in, putting her hand up for good measure. “From now on, call him Logan, or Herrington, or even Bubba, but please don’t call him
the boy.
Even if you did have three sons by different wives, you aren’t Ben Cartwright.”

“Now that
Logan
is here, we’re to treat him like one of the family, and make him welcome.”

“You wanted to welcome him by wearing your gardening clothes and laying your accent on with a trowel?” Tory chuckled, thinking about his ratty clothing and Logan’s stunned look the day before. She also knew the old fox had a purpose for doing it, but he wasn’t going to share it.

“That was a little lapse on my part,” he admitted with an abashed grin. “From now on, we’re going to make the b—er, Logan feel at home.”

“We are? Just how are
we
going to do this from Texarkana?” Tory asked, giving him enough rope to hang himself. “Logan is still in Yankee dreamland, so I know he isn’t going with you.”

“I need you to take over as official hostess while I’m gone,” T.L. stated, his eyes never leaving her face. “Everyone else is tied up and you’ve allowed yourself three months off for your remodeling. You can plan your work schedule to suit yourself. Or so you said when Curtiss asked you to help with the rally.”

“I feel sorry for the truck drivers in Texarkana,” Tory answered tartly, knowing she was trapped, but still trying for some remnant of defense. “Just because Trevor calls me Crusader Rabbit when I get on my soapbox occasionally, doesn’t mean I’m a pushover for everyone who needs a favor. I still have a business to run.”

“I realize that, but this is a special case. I owe Pres a great deal after all these years. It’s the least I could do for the man who introduced me to your mother and put up with me for four years at Princeton. The damned thing is, Tory, Pres is dying.”

Tory was stunned by the statement. Preston Herrington was a larger-than-life figure from her childhood memories. His whirlwind visits to and from exotic places had been filled with excitement and thrilling stories. She sat for a moment trying to absorb the news, then one look at T.L.’s sad brown eyes told her that he still hadn’t recovered from the shock. This wasn’t the time to question him further, so she thought of the one way to put him back to normal.

“I have conditions to this deal. I’ll be Logan’s hostess whenever you’re out of town, if you sign a contract that states you won’t interfere with the remodeling or decorating of Bill of Fare Shoppes again—now or at any time in the future.”

“I guess we don’t come from a long line of horse traders for nothing,” T.L. answered with the special sigh parents reserve for times when their children have tried their patience the most. Tory knew it was a sham. His brown eyes were gleaming with approval for the diversion she provided and her crafty proposal. “Though come to think of it, this should be to my advantage. The last time I gave your contractor a little suggestion to improve things, you sent me a hefty bill for the cost of changing it back to the way you wanted it. I’ll dictate the contract on the way to the airport and have it delivered to the cottage.”

“Fine, we’ll shake on the agreement now. I’ll have it notarized the first chance I get.” She wasn’t able to repress her grin of triumph over the deal, jumping to her feet and sticking out her hand. T.L. would never renege once he’d shaken hands on an agreement, but she wanted it in writing just the same.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come to work for me? I could use a tough negotiator like you,” T.L. asked for the hundredth time as his large hand swallowed hers.

“Yes, because within a half hour I’d come to blows with you or Sanders, probably both. I love you both, but I wouldn’t work for two such pig-headed men,” she admitted with an apologetic shrug.

“I can see your point. Two Planchets in one office is courting danger, but three could be downright explosive,” he murmured. “I’m counting on you to help Logan get settled and that’s enough.”

More than enough,
Tory decided, but kept her skepticism to herself. Something in her expression must have told T.L. she wasn’t enchanted with the idea. “Just do your best, darlin’. Now, give your daddy a kiss for luck and beat it.”

“You old rogue,” she said affectionately as she bent to give him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “You knew I’d do it, even if you were entertaining Attila the Hun.”

He gave a wink and admitted, “You did surprise me with your little bargain, though. I must be getting old.”

“I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it, you old fox. Remember, I learned from the master.” Tory left him to finish his breakfast with a silly grin on his face. She wished she was as happy with the outcome, although it was a godsend that she didn’t have to worry about T.L. pestering her contractor any more.

Halfway down the hall to the back door, she realized that she was tiptoeing and looking cautiously back over her shoulder toward the stairway. She called herself ten times a fool for being so apprehensive about meeting Logan. “Oh, get a grip, Victoria,” she groaned under her breath as she hurried out the back door with only a quick wave to Arnette. “He’s just a very irritating man. You’re just off balance because your daily routine has been out of whack since the remodeling started.

“You’re also beginning to talk to yourself uncontrollably,” she announced as she took the last step to the ground in a disgusted jump.

What was she going to do with him? Most women would be ecstatic at being asked to spend time with a wealthy, eligible man, who wore his clothes well and looked just as good without them. Well, she wasn’t most women. She didn’t like to be categorized or to put people into categories, even if their square peg seemed custom made for the proverbial round hole. Logan already had the habit of changing shape when she least expected it. Who would he be the next time she saw him?

She headed for the cottage, determined to drag out her appointment book the minute she stepped through the door. If she went through her normal tasks, she’d forget all about Logan Herrington, and whether he would try to kiss her again, or if he would act as if last night never happened. Establishing a routine and sticking to it wouldn’t allow her any time to think about a passionate, but obnoxious Yankee. It was so simple, she laughed out loud, almost skipping the rest of the way back to the cottage.

By early afternoon, Tory wasn’t as optimistic as she stopped the truck at the back of the house. She turned off the engine and slumped down in the driver’s seat. Giving the suit boxes on the seat next to her a morose look, she unfastened her seat belt, but she didn’t move.