The Rogue Hunter (Argeneau #10) 9

"You were right. I see three of them in there," Mortimer said as he framed his hands around his eyes and peered through the window of the boathouse at the runabout, aluminum fishing boat, and three Sea-Doos inside. Glancing her way, he suggested, "Come look," and made room for her to squeeze up beside him at the window.

Sam hesitated, but then moved into the space allotted and peered through the window.

Mortimer watched her, smiling faintly as he inhaled her scent. Her natural smell was mixed with an outdoorsy scent from their excursion that morning. They'd spent the time since breakfast searching the grounds and some of the trails for the missing Cathy Latimer. The search had turned up exactly nothing. There was no bloodless body waiting on one of the trails, not even any sign of recent activity on the paths that he could tell; at least nothing other than animal droppings and such.

Now they were going to check around the lake a bit, not just the water itself, but the shoreline too. If Cathy Latimer's lifeless body was about somewhere, Mortimer wanted to be the one to find it in case his people needed to be called in to do some serious evidence tampering. He'd rather do so without Sam along, but since he was unable to control her thoughts or behavior, Mortimer saw no way to manage that. As far as she knew, he was just helping her and shouldn't even have any desire to find the girl. She thought he was in a band, for God's sake.

"The boathouse key must be one of these," Sam said suddenly, retrieving Cathy's key ring from her pocket. She started to sort through them and then suddenly paused and tried the doorknob. A frown flickered over her face when the door proved unlocked and opened for them. Mortimer was a little surprised himself. He'd come to realize that security could be pretty lax up here, but the door really should have been locked. These were expensive items to leave lying around for someone to steal.

He followed Sam inside and around the walkway to where the Sea-Doos rested, his eyes caressing one gleaming machine after another.

"I wonder why three?" he commented. "It seems an odd number."

Sam shrugged. "There are only three of them; Martin; his wife, Trisha; and their daughter, Cathy."

Nodding, Mortimer dropped to his haunches to examine one of the machines more closely. While they would be using the Sea-Doos to search the lake and shoreline, he was excited at the prospect of riding one of the vehicles. To him it was definitely a case of mixing business and pleasure. "Do you really know how to ride one of these?"

"Yes. We have two of them ourselves," she answered, and when he glanced at her with a raised eyebrow, explained, "We take turns on them, but we're thinking of buying a third this summer."

"I didn't see any at the cottage," he said with a small frown as he thought of the yard and dock at the cottage next door to Decker's.

"They aren't in yet. Well, actually, they probably are now," she added wryly. "Grant usually puts the boat and Sea-Doos in for us the first time we come up. He launched the boats last week and was going to put the Sea-Doos in when we got there."

"Grant?" Mortimer asked curiously.

"Our neighbor on the other side from Decker's," Sam explained. "He's a year-round resident. A writer or something. The starving-artist type. He's lived there for the last five years or so, and we pay him to do certain things."

"Things like what?" Mortimer asked, hackles rising at the idea of the "things" this Grant might do.

Sam shrugged. "At the beginning of summer he puts the boats and Sea-Doos in, lays fresh gravel on the drive, and brings in sand for the beach to keep the leeches away." She grimaced as she said that, and then rushed on, "Then through the summer he cuts the lawn if we don't come up for a couple of weeks and keeps an eye on the place. Once October rolls around, he pulls the boat and Sea-Doos out, winter proofs them, and stores them in the garage and then does any maintenance to the cottage that needs doing, and cuts down trees that start looking like they might not last the winter." She shrugged. "We had another fellow that did all of this before him, but he was getting older and decided it was getting too much for him."

Mortimer nodded. It sounded like this Grant was a glorified handyman for the girls, and he immediately lost interest in him and turned his gaze back to the Sea-Doos. "Do you think the keys to these will be on that set?"

Sam glanced down at the keys in her hand, but shook her head. "They usually have little floaty things attached to the keys to keep them afloat should you lose them in the water."

"Floaty things?" Mortimer asked with amusement.

"I don't know what they're called," she admitted, and turned to peer around the boathouse.

When a little "aha," slipped from her lips, he followed her gaze to see a panel of keys on the wall. The sight made him think it was even odder that the boathouse door had been unlocked. Anyone could have come in and stolen one or all of the watercraft. But Mortimer shrugged the thought away in favor of teasing her.

"Ah, the floaty things," he murmured, and straightened to follow as she led the way to the panel. There were six hooks, but only five sets of keys, and he wondered if there had been another Sea-Doo or boat at one time as his gaze slid over the row of offerings. Each key had a bright colored "floaty thing" on it, which turned out to be a long, skinny, oblong shape of Styrofoam. Each was a neon color of yellow, orange, pink, purple, or green, and was marked with permanent black Magic Marker, stating which vehicle each belonged to.

"So?" Sam turned to glance at him. "Are you ready for a lesson? Shall we change into our swimsuits and give it a go?"

Mortimer grinned and nodded, and she headed for the door. He paused just long enough to cast one last glance at the Sea-Doos before following.

The sunlight seemed quite glaring after the cool interior of the boathouse, and Mortimer did take a moment to wonder if he'd lost his mind. He'd spent eight hundred years shunning daylight to avoid having to consume more blood, and yet here he was planning to tear about under its punishing rays, half naked on a Sea-Doo. It wasn't the brightest thing he'd done, but felt sure he'd brought enough blood to manage the feat as long as he didn't spend too long out there.

When Mortimer had first brought up the subject of searching the lake, he'd been thinking along the lines of a nice ride around dusk. Of course, Sam had assumed he meant during the day. By the time he'd realized that, she was up and headed for the boathouse. He could have reminded her about his sensitivity to the sun and suggested they wait until dusk, but she would have just said that they wouldn't be able to see as well. He couldn't argue that point without revealing his special abilities and feared she would suggest he stay at the cottage while she searched alone, and he supposed he could have done that. Certainly Sam should be safe enough during the day and he could have watched from the shade offered by the boathouse, but this was his job. Besides, he'd enjoyed their hike through the woods that morning. He enjoyed Sam's company; just being with her was soothing... and he'd be damned if he was missing out on trying the Sea-Doos.

So Mortimer was going to change into his swimsuit, ingest several bags of blood from the cooler in his room, and then tear around the lake half naked on the back of a Sea-Doo in search of a dead Cathy Latimer. Should be fun.

Sam was laughing at Mortimer's antics as he raced around her in the middle of the lake when something caught his attention, and he tore off away from her with a shout she couldn't hear over the roar of her own engine.

They'd been riding around on the lake for the last hour or more. The first part of that had been spent scouring the shoreline for any sign of Cathy Latimer, but they'd finished that task quickly. The Latimers' cottage was on a smaller lake than Magnetawan. Once they had finished their circuit and reached the boathouse again, Mortimer had suggested they take the Sea-Doos out and see what they could do before putting them away. They'd been having a really good time racing each other about since then, but as she glanced over curiously to see what had caught his eye, Sam felt the laughter die on her lips and concern clutch briefly at her heart. Mortimer was heading for a pair of buoys bobbing on the water, and she suddenly realized she hadn't warned him what those were for.

They usually signified something under the surface, often a rock formation or something of that ilk that could damage a boat. The spot between the two buoys was a spot boats should stay away from. She doubted they would do a Sea-Doo any good either.

Speeding up to try to catch up to him, Sam shouted out a warning, but Mortimer couldn't hear her any more than she had him. Fortunately he wasn't a fool, and did slow down as he approached the buoys, and that was probably what saved his life, she thought as the Sea-Doo jolted as it hit whatever was below the surface and he took a header off the machine.

Sam felt panic clutch her as she watched him go under. He was wearing a life jacket, but that wouldn't save his head from hitting whatever was under the surface, she thought as she sped up and raced toward the now bobbing Sea-Doo. The breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding slid from her lips when Mortimer surfaced as she drew near and slowed. Sam sent a silent prayer of thanks upward as she urged her own machine as close as she dared. She was preparing to dive off and swim over to see if he was all right when he grabbed at his Sea-Doo and climbed back onboard. At first he seemed just fine, but then she saw the blood flowing down the side of his head and felt panic clutch her again.

"Back!" Mortimer growled before she could try either to swim to him or to get closer. He immediately pushed backward off whatever had stopped the Sea-Doo and shot away across the lake in the direction of the Latimers' boathouse.

Sam followed, grateful the Sea-Doo seemed fine, but more worried about Mortimer. She knew head wounds bled a lot, but the amount of blood she'd seen had been frightening, and he'd looked extremely pale too. She tried to catch up to get a better look at him as they rode, but he was riding all out. He was already off the Sea-Doo and straightening from tying it up when she steered her own inside the boathouse.

Sam quickly lashed her Sea-Doo to the dock and then-afraid they might need to call an ambulance for him-paused to retrieve her phone from the waterproof storage compartment on the Sea-Doo. She then clambered onto the walkway and hurried after Mortimer as he stumbled toward the door.

"Let me see," she said worriedly.

"I'm fine," he growled, rushing ahead and leaving her to chase after him the best she could. Mortimer could move when he wished to, and it seemed he was running away as if she were the Devil himself as he hurried toward the cottage.

Cursing, Sam moved as quickly as she could, but didn't have the agility or speed he did. Mortimer was inside the cottage before she was halfway up the trail.

She should have thought to explain to him what the buoys were for before they'd set out, Sam berated herself furiously. What kind of teacher forgot something like that? This was all her fault.

Sam was nearly to the cottage when her phone began to ring. She glanced at the readout, scowling when she saw that it was Mr. Babcock, but didn't answer. She had an emergency situation here and he would just have to wait. It wasn't like she had any news for him anyway. While she'd taken the time to call the O.P.P. station again before they'd set out for their ride, Sam hadn't been able to get ahold of Belmont. The man seemed to be avoiding her. Much as Mortimer was now, she thought grimly as she entered the cottage and saw that the bathroom door was closed.

"Mortimer?" she called, hurrying to the bathroom door. "You have to let me see. We might have to take you to the hospital."

When she got no answer, Sam cautiously opened the door, afraid he'd passed out and lay in a huddled mass on the floor of the tiny room beyond. Instead, she found it empty. Frowning, she pulled it closed again and turned to the hall.

"Mortimer?" Sam stopped at his door and tried to open it, surprised when she found it locked. She hadn't realized there even were locks on the doors. Concern creasing her forehead, she called, "Mortimer, open the door."

A moment of silence passed and then he answered, "I'm fine, Sam. I just nicked my forehead on a rock. I'm just drying off and changing and then I'll come out."

Sam stared at the door with disbelief. She'd seen him plummet into the water. And she'd seen the blood when he'd climbed back on his machine. He'd more than nicked it.

"Mortimer-" she began grimly.

"How about we head into town for lunch?" he suggested, and then added in teasing tones, "We can stop at the O.P.P. station afterward so you can beat up Belmont for taking so long to return your calls. I'll help."

Sam stared at the wooden surface of the door with bewilderment. His voice really did sound perfectly fine.

"Why don't you go change so we can go into town for lunch?" he added. "I'll be out in a minute. I promise I'm all right."

Sam let her breath out on a sigh. Maybe he really hadn't been as hurt as she'd first thought. Still, she asked, "Are you sure you're all right?"

"I'd open the door and show you, but I'm naked at the moment and can't be responsible for what happens if I do."

Sam's eyes widened incredulously at the threat, but she found herself backing away from the door. If he was healthy enough to say something like that, he was probably all right. Then she cursed as her phone began to ring again.

"I'm going to take this and then get dressed. But shout if you start feeling woozy or anything," she ordered, and then moved into her room to answer her phone.

It was Mr. Babcock, calling during the court lunch break to check on things. Sam explained that there was no news yet and promised to call Mr. Babcock back as soon as there was any, then tried to rush him off the phone so that she could change and check on Mortimer again. If he wasn't out of his room by the time she'd changed, Sam thought, she might very well try to jimmy the lock or something to get in to see for herself that he was all right.

Unfortunately, Mr. Babcock insisted on updating her on the status of the Latimers' flight, which was that they were still grounded at the airport. He then felt it necessary to fill her in on what was happening in court since she'd been involved with research and interviews on the case. He must have spent his entire lunch break talking to her because it was more than half an hour before she could get him off the phone. Any other time, Sam would have been jubilant. It probably meant good things for her career that he was bothering to talk to her, but at that moment, she didn't much care about anything but seeing that Mortimer was all right.

Hanging up with relief, Sam tossed the phone on the bed and quickly dragged off her life jacket and swim-suit, and then pulled on clothes. When she rushed out into the hall, however, it was only to find Mortimer's door open and his room empty.

Frowning, Sam moved out into the kitchenette/living area, but he wasn't there either, so she hurried out of the cottage. The first place she looked was the SUV. When he wasn't there, Sam followed her instincts down to the boathouse and rushed in to find Mortimer on his knees on the walkway, leaning down to peer at the bottom of the front of the Sea-Doo.

Breath leaving her on a relieved whoosh, Sam hurried to his side. "What are you doing?"

"Just checking to be sure I didn't damage the Sea-Doo. Much to my amazement it appears I didn't," Mortimer added, his head remaining down.

Sam shifted impatiently beside him, eager to see his head.

"Are you ready to go to lunch?" he asked, finally straightening, and she immediately moved closer, eyes narrowing as she noted that there was no injury on his forehead.

"It's about here," he said dryly, pointing to a spot an inch or so beyond his hairline.

"Let me take a look at it," Sam said, stepping forward and reaching for his head, but Mortimer caught her hands in his as he got to his feet.

"I'm fine," he insisted firmly. "I don't even have a headache. I must have just grazed my head in passing as I fell."

Sam really wanted to see the wound for herself, but she could see that he appeared fine. He had good color and his eyes were clear. Sighing, she gave in with a nod.

It seemed obvious he was one of those men who couldn't abide fussing. Letting her hands drop to her sides when he released them, she said apologetically, "I'm really sorry. I should have warned you about the buoys and what they're for."

"There's nothing to be sorry for," Mortimer assured her, urging her out of the boathouse. "I had some idea that the buoys must warn about something being there, but I thought it would be a fishing net and the Sea-Doo would skim over it. It didn't occur to me that it might be something else and not safe until just before I hit it. That's why I slowed down. My original intention was just to glance down as I rode over it."

Sam grimaced, still blaming herself.

"How the hell did a huge boulder get out there anyway?" he asked as they started up the trail toward the cottage.

Sam shrugged. "All these lakes were carved out when the glaciers passed through. I guess some of them left little bits of rock uncarved."

"Hmm," Mortimer muttered, and then fell silent.

They stopped long enough in the cottage for Sam to retrieve her purse, but then headed straight out to the SUV.

Minden was a small town, but they found a little bistro on the river. It was busy, and they had to make do with a table inside instead of enjoying being outside on the terrace. Mortimer didn't say anything, but was secretly relieved.

"How are you feeling?" Sam suddenly asked, drawing his attention to the fact that she was eyeing him with concern.

Mortimer grimaced and rolled his eyes. "I told you I'm fine. I don't even have a headache from the-"

"I didn't mean that," she interrupted, and then explained, "You looked a bit relieved rather than disappointed that we couldn't sit outside, and I just recalled that Bricker said you have a sensitivity to the sun. We've been outside most of the day so far and-"

"Oh, that," Mortimer waved her concern away. "It was shady under the trees while we were searching the woods."

"It wasn't shady on the lake though," she pointed out.

No, it certainly hadn't been shady on the lake, he acknowledged to himself. And he'd been just starting to notice the effects of the sun and thinking he should suggest heading back so that he could down a bag or two of blood when he'd spotted the buoys. After his little accident, the sun had been the least of his worries. He could hardly say all that to Sam, though, so merely shrugged and said, "I'm fine."

She frowned and opened her mouth to ask something else, but he forestalled her by asking, "What made you want to be a lawyer?"

Sam blinked, startled by the abrupt change of topic, but then sat back and considered the question seriously before saying, "Twelve Angry Men."

Mortimer blinked in surprise.

"It's a movie," Sam added.

"I know," he said.

"Oh." She seemed surprised, but then shrugged and said, "Well, the jurors held that boy's life in their hands. And the way Henry Fonda's character affected and swayed the other jurors mesmerized me. I wanted to be like him. I wanted to fight for truth and justice." She gave an embarrassed smile and added, "Of course, there's no such thing as a professional juror. Lawyer was the next best thing." Shrugging, she glanced away and then back and asked, "What about you? What made you choose your career?"

"I wanted to fight for truth and justice too," he admitted wryly.

Sam frowned and tilted her head. "So you joined a band?"

Mortimer blinked and then sat up abruptly, recalling the lies they'd told as a cover story. "Oh, no. Well, that was just-I mean I wanted that, but..."

"But music was where your heart was?" she suggested when he fell silent and just stared helplessly at her.

"Yes." He almost gasped the word, relieved beyond measure that she'd helped him off the hook like that. The waitress chose that moment to arrive at their table. Mortimer took the menu she offered, and assumed a rapt expression as she rattled off the day's specials to them, but didn't hear a word she said. He was busy berating himself for the stupid slip he'd made. Mortimer had been an enforcer for more than a hundred years and should be beyond such mistakes.

The waitress finished speaking and left them to consider the menu, and Mortimer turned his attention to the food listed there. The names were meaningless to him. He had no idea what a club sandwich was, or a BLT, but the short descriptions beneath were more helpful. Almost too helpful. Several sounded delicious, and he was now struggling to pick one. Mortimer finally managed to narrow it down to two, but that was as far as he could go. Rather than continue the struggle, he decided he'd order both of them and set the menu aside.

A glance to Sam showed her still considering the restaurant's offerings. She had laid the menu open on the table before her and was poring over it as if searching a map for the X that marked where the buried treasure would be. Mortimer found himself smiling faintly at her concentration and wanting to kiss her. He'd actually like more than that. He'd like to move around the table, lift her out of her chair, lay her back on the table as he had on the rock last night, and kiss and lick his way from her mouth, down her throat, to each breast, across her belly, and then kiss his way between her legs and-

"Are you ready to order?"

Mortimer blinked as his imaginings shattered and he found Sam had finished with her menu and set it aside and the waitress had returned to get their orders. Letting his breath out on a slow sigh, he waited as Sam placed her order. He then placed his own and handed over his menu. The moment the smiling server was gone, Mortimer glanced back to Sam. Unfortunately, he found his mind immediately flooded with images of the meal he'd like to make of her-it was a biting optional meal.

"Is something wrong?" Sam asked with a frown.

"No, of course not," he said quickly.

"Oh." She managed a smile. "You were looking at me a little strangely. I thought maybe I had something on my face or something."

"No," he assured her, and then sought his mind for something to say to distract him from the rather lascivious images trying to reclaim his thoughts. He needed something unsexy to talk about, and the most unsexy thing he could think of was parents, so he said, "Decker said he'd been told that your parents died in some sort of accident?"

"Yes," she said quietly, her expression turning sad. "A car accident on the way home from the movies on their anniversary."

Mortimer winced, thinking maybe this hadn't been such a good topic. He did want to know this stuff. He wanted to know everything about Sam, but it was a beautiful sunny day, they were out at a restaurant, and this seemed to him to be rainy-afternoon, cuddled-up-in-the-blankets, his-holding-her-close-after-amazing-mind-blowing-sex-type talk.

"You said your parents are dead?" Sam asked suddenly, managing to nudge his mind off the idea of amazing, mind-blowing sex with her, which was where it had seemed to stop a moment ago.

Clearing his throat, he nodded. "Yes."

"Was it an accident too?" she asked.

Mortimer stiffened and asked warily, "What makes you think it wasn't natural causes?"

Sam appeared surprised and then pointed out, "Well, you can't be much more than twenty-eight or twenty-nine, Mortimer. So unless your parents were extremely old when they had you, the chances of their both being dead from natural causes seems unlikely."

"Oh yes, of course," he muttered, giving himself a mental kick. "They died together. In a house fire."

Sam reached out to clasp his hand where it rested on the tabletop. She gave it a brief squeeze of sympathy and then started to release him, but Mortimer turned his hand over and caught her fingers with his own, holding on to her. Her eyes jerked to his with surprise, and he had the mad urge to tell her the truth about his parents. About everything, but of course he couldn't.

"How old were you when they died?" Sam asked, leaving her hand in his.

Mortimer had been six hundred and eighty-eight years old in 1898 when his parents died. He said, "Eighteen."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Sam squeezed his hand again. "That's how old Jo was when our parents died."

The waitress chose that moment to appear with their food, and Sam retrieved her hand and sat back out of the way as the girl set down their plates and drinks.

"Thank you," Sam murmured as the girl finished and turned away. She then raised an eyebrow at Mortimer's two plates with two sandwiches and two heaps of fries and asked, "Are you related to Bricker?"

The question surprised a laugh out of Mortimer, but he shook his head. "No relation at all, though I don't blame you for thinking so at the moment."

"Hmm," Sam said dubiously.

"Perhaps I'm sublimating my other hunger for a hunger for food," he suggested with a wicked grin, and chuckled when she got what he was hinting at and flushed a dark red. He regretted his teasing, though, when she then turned her attention to her food and gave up talking for eating. He suspected his teasing had upset her a bit, though he wasn't sure why. Sorry about that, he let her eat in peace.

Neither of them spoke again until they'd finished eating, but the moment he pushed his plate away, Sam asked a bit abruptly, "So, other than sex, drugs, and rock and roll, what do you like best about being in a band?"

"I don't like sex, drugs, and rock and roll," he assured her with a frown, and then realized what he'd said and added, "I mean I do. The sex, that is, not the drugs and rock and roll." When that just made her tilt her head and eye him with further confusion, he added, "I mean, I like sex but not with groupies or anything like that."

"But not the drugs or rock and roll?" she asked.

"Right." He nodded and then stopped and shook his head as his brain picked apart the words. "No, not right. I like rock and roll too, obviously. I'm in a band, but I-It's just the drugs I don't like... and the groupies," he added, and then stopped and tried to sort out her expression. Her lips were twitching, but he couldn't tell if it was with amusement or disgust. Deciding moving the conversation along might be good, he blurted, "Travel. I like that part of my job."

And it was true. Mortimer had always enjoyed seeing new places and people.

"Where all have you played?" she asked curiously.

"California, Kansas City, New York. We've pretty much been to every state, as well as every province in Canada," he said honestly.

"Your band has played in Canada?" Sam asked with surprise.

Mortimer grimaced, but managed to avoid lying by saying, "We've worked in lots of places in Canada."

"Not Toronto," Sam said with certainty. "I'd remember a band named Morty and the Muppets playing in Toronto."

Mortimer groaned inwardly at the horrible name, and then turned to the waitress with relief as she brought the bill.

"I think we've done about all we can looking for your boss's goddaughter today," Mortimer announced as they walked out to the SUV. "Why don't we take Madge's advice and do something fun?"

"Like what?" Sam asked curiously.

He was silent for a minute, his thoughts working. The truth was, Mortimer felt like he should be working, but he'd really rather spend time with Sam. It was a new situation for him to find himself in. His job as an enforcer had been the focus of his life for a long time. It had ruled where and how he lived, whom he interacted with, and... well, basically every aspect of his life. Until now. Now he found his sense of duty battling with his desire to be with Sam, and he was struggling. Part of him felt honor-bound to concentrate on the job at hand, while the other part was arguing that he'd given a lot of years to the Council working as an enforcer and deserved some time off.

Mortimer was hoping to settle the issue by doing both at once as they had this morning. Since the hunt for Cathy Latimer wasn't turning up anything, he'd decided he should maybe poke around one of the other bite-sightings spots and see what he could find. The closest one was at a bakery in a town called Haliburton. One of the workers had apparently sported a bite mark on her neck about a month ago, so in answer to Sam's question, he suggested, "We could drive to Haliburton and see what it has to offer."

"Haliburton?" she asked with surprise.

"I saw it on the map. It looks a little bigger than Minden and isn't far away." When she hesitated, Mortimer added, "You have your cell if Belmont calls with any news."

Recalling Madge's words of wisdom, Sam managed a smile. "Haliburton it is then."

Haliburton turned out to be just what Sam needed. She found herself relaxing as they enjoyed a leisurely stroll along the few short blocks downtown. When Mortimer stopped to peer over the listings in the window of a Realtor's office, Sam raised her eyebrows.

"Thinking about buying down here?" she teased.

"More likely up in Magnetawan," Mortimer answered seriously, and when her eyes went round, added, "It's relaxing up here. Nice. I like it. And the company is good."

Sam's heart fluttered briefly and she blushed as he met her gaze, but then his eyes slipped past her and brightened.

"A bakery!" He urged her through a small courtyard beside the Realtor's toward a building that stood back farther from the road. "I haven't had fresh-baked bread in centuries."

"Centuries, huh?" Sam laughed at what she knew must be an exaggeration and allowed him to usher her inside.

Mortimer liked his baked goods. Sam came to that conclusion as she watched him nearly clean out the bakery. The man spent a good deal of time talking to both women who worked in the bakery, but also bought six different loaves of bread, every last bit of apple strudel, plus several other items. They were both weighed down with packages when they finally left. It made it rather shocking to her when he said, "We should stop at the grocery store on the way back."

"The grocery store?" she asked with disbelief.

"We don't have anything for breakfast tomorrow morning," he pointed out. "I think I'll make you bacon and eggs. Those were really good when I had them in Huntsville."

Sam chuckled and shook her head. If there was one thing she'd come to learn about Mortimer, it was that he really liked his food.

They stopped at the Independent grocery store in Minden on the way back. Mortimer once again proved his love for food by buying way too much. He was in good shape, without a bit of fat on him, so the only thing she could think was that he either had a metabolism like her own, or he really worked his food off while on stage. Having seen the way some singers bounced around under the hot lights during a performance, she suspected it was the latter.

"How does barbecued steak sound for dinner?" Mortimer asked as he parked the SUV beside the cottage.

"Sounds good," Sam decided as she slid out and moved around to the back to help him with their purchases. "I'm going to try to call Belmont again, but then I'll get started on it."

"I'll cook," Mortimer offered, and Sam sucked in a breath, not so much surprised as almost afraid to believe she'd heard right. Seeing her expression, he raised an eyebrow and asked with amusement, "What? You've never seen a man cook before?"

"Not for a while," she admitted wryly. While her father had made the occasional Sunday breakfast and barbecued with the best of them, her ex-Sam pushed that thought away. Garrett Mortimer wasn't Tom, and she had to stop comparing them. Besides, Mortimer had already won that race hands down.

"Well, this is the twenty-first century," Mortimer announced as if she might not have noticed. "I have it on good authority that men cook now."

"What authority would that be?" she asked with amusement.

"Some magazine I read last year in Tallahassee," he answered promptly.

"Tallahassee?" she said with a laugh.

"What's wrong with Tallahassee?" he asked at once.

"Nothing," she assured him quickly, and then admitted, "It's just that the way you say it suggests you've never actually cooked yourself."

"I haven't," he admitted, lifting most of the bags out of the truck, leaving her only two. "But it's not brain surgery. It can't be that hard."

"Don't say that around Alex," Sam suggested dryly as she gathered the two remaining bags and closed the hatchback to follow him to the cottage.

"I'll get this stuff put away. You call Belmont," Mortimer said as they stepped inside.

Sam hesitated, but then took her phone outside to make the call. She wasn't terribly surprised to be told he was out of the office, but this time she didn't allow herself to get irritated. She merely left a message that she'd called and then called Mr. Babcock, relieved when she reached his voice mail and didn't have to speak to him personally. She was leaving a message when Mortimer came outside with the steaks and began to fiddle with the barbecue that sat on the porch to the side of the door. Concentrating on what she was saying, Sam wasn't really paying attention to what Mortimer was doing until a sudden whoosh and his curse drew her attention to where he appeared to be trying to barbecue his hand.

Ending her message much more abruptly than she'd intended, Sam snapped her phone shut and rushed to his side as he snatched his hand and the barbecue lighter out of the base of the barbecue. "What did you do?"

"Nothing," he said soothingly. "I was just trying to get the barbecue started."

"From the top?" she asked with dismay.

"Is there another way?" he asked with surprise.

"The hole!" Sam exclaimed with horror as she realized he'd turned the gas on and reached in to light the thing. "Underneath. See the holes. Those are-You stick the lighter up through those. You don't light it from the top."

"Oh." He glanced at the barbecue and shrugged. "Well, no harm done."

"No-You could have-" Sam stopped and took a deep breath. He could have really hurt himself and was damned lucky he hadn't. Letting her breath out slowly, she said, "You've never barbecued before either?"

"No, but there's a first time for everything. I'm fine," he assured her. "And it's lit now. I can cook. Why don't you go on inside and get the wine?"

"Maybe I should do this for y-"

"No, I'm cooking. If you want to be helpful, you can bring me my wine. I poured us both a glass."

"But-"

"No," he insisted, pushing her toward the door. "In you go. I'm the man. I get to barbecue while you stand around and look cute."

Sam blushed at the suggestion, but allowed him to urge her to the door. Inside she found that-aside from having opened and poured the wine-Mortimer had already thrown together the Caesar salad mix and cut up bread and set both on the table along with plates and silverware. Shaking her head, Sam turned to pick up the wine and hurried back outside to be sure he didn't blow up the barbecue.