“I was late coming down this morning,” he said. “Is there something I can do to help? I’m not bad with fixing things like dishwashers. Fixed Nonny’s a time or two.” Mostly she never used her modern dishwasher and critters ate the wires, but he wasn’t going to say that.
“No, no, you’re a guest,” Mrs. Stubbins said.
Malichai had been ordered to take leave and to continue with his therapy by swimming in the ocean. The women and little girls were happy to gather around the Fontenot table in the kitchen with brochures spread out and decide his fate. They’d chosen the little bed-and-breakfast in San Diego, California. A beachfront property, it was reputed to have amazing cuisine, which was the only thing he cared about. The owner had been investigated because one didn’t have a multimillion-dollar piece of high security equipment running around without knowing everything about where he was going or who he might be coming in contact with.
Mrs. Stubbins was a widow—the widow of a soldier who had lost his life fighting for his country three years earlier. She was struggling financially, mostly because her daughter’d had two operations on her heart and those didn’t come cheap. Malichai liked her and everything he’d read about her in the file they had on her.
She bit her lip. “Besides, I think that dishwasher is just old and has given up the ghost.”
“Mrs. Stubbins, if I didn’t help you out, my grandmother would have my hide. Lead me to the broken-down piece of equipment and let me see what I can do.”
He rolled up his sleeves, revealing the tattoos up and down his arms, and went to her, keeping Amaryllis in his sight the entire time. She left the book and came around the table hastily, as if she feared he intended Mrs. Stubbins harm.
“Please call me Marie. You’re sure you don’t mind?”
“Not at all, Marie. Give me something to do. I’m not very good at vacations.”
Amaryllis trailed after them. He didn’t like her behind him, so he deliberately, and gallantly, stepped aside to wave her past him. She hesitated for just one moment, but then hurried to catch up with Mrs. Stubbins. She actually slipped on by her and was in the kitchen first, so she had her back to the wall and her eyes on him as he strode in. She didn’t seem afraid so much as leery of him.
Marie Stubbins swept her hand toward the large commercial dishwasher she’d already pulled out. “I tried to check it out myself, but I have no idea what I’m doing.”
“I can look it up on YouTube, and maybe find a checklist we can go over ourselves,” Amaryllis suggested sweetly. “That way Mr. . . .” She trailed off, expecting Malichai to supply his name. Marie had been the one to check him into his room on his arrival.
He didn’t. Instead, he sat on the floor and looked at the impressive amount of tools Marie had laid out. “Thanks, Amaryllis. I’d appreciate the help. While you do that, I’ll look this over and see if I can find anything that jumps out at me.” Ignoring her, he looked up at the owner of the bed-and-breakfast. “You say it just stopped working?”
“It was working fine last night, but then this morning when I went to turn it on, it wouldn’t budge.”
Malichai was very aware of Amaryllis staring at him indecisively, and then she flounced out of the kitchen. He couldn’t help smirking. They were off to an excellent start.
“Don’t worry, if I can’t get this thing going, I’ll help Amaryllis with the dishes, and we’ll figure something out.”
Marie looked as if she might protest, but clearly she was too defeated. She just flashed him a wan smile. “I don’t know how to thank you. We can take a day off—”
He held up his hand. “I’m always looking for food, woman. I think I’m always starving, and my grandmother says with what I eat I should weigh a thousand pounds.”
Marie laughed. “I can cook. I’ll make certain you have plenty of food.”
Amaryllis must have set a record for running, or her small tablet was close. She rushed back into the room and pulled up short when she heard Marie laughing. Malichai glanced at her and his breath caught in his lungs. It was the first time he’d allowed himself to really see her body. She wore a pair of yoga pants that fit her like a glove. The little racer-back tank clung to every curve—and she had them. She might be on the shorter side, but she was breathtaking.
He peered into the machine as if it were his life’s work. He wasn’t going to get caught staring at her and reveal that she had the upper hand. That woman had an impressive body packed into those yoga pants and that tank.