Mr. Predictable: Mr. Predictable / Too Many Cooks
“No, sorry, Jake,” she told him with another one of those megawatt smiles that he was really beginning to despise. “All electronic devices and briefcases are checked at the registration desk. Oh, by the way, I’ll need your cell phone.”
“Why? Are you planning on making international calls and charging them to my account?” he asked caustically.
“No, I’m cutting you off from civilization so you won’t have contact with the world that’s placed excessive stress on your life and your inner self.”
J.T. screeched to a halt and glared at her good and hard. “No, you will not,” he said firmly. “I make a habit of calling my sisters three days a week and this is one of those days.”
“Your sisters are married and on their own,” she reminded him gently.
“Yes, and I paid for their weddings and walked them down the aisle,” he informed her tartly. “They’re the two reliable relationships in my life and I will call my family if I feel like it!”
Moriah squared off against him, her smile still intact. Why was he not surprised? “Your sisters know exactly where you are and what you will be doing for the next two weeks. Furthermore, you’re here to break habits.” She outstretched her hand, palm up. “Give me the phone, Jake.”
“The name is J.T.” He sneered at her.
“I told you that sounds too stuffy and businesslike, Jake,” she repeated emphatically.
Their gazes locked and clashed. Jake was accustomed to giving orders and having them executed quickly. But Moriah, apparently, was accustomed to getting her way, too, especially while she was on her own turf. For the first time in forever, he felt his confidence waver. That determined look on Moriah’s face indicated she wasn’t the pushover he hoped she’d be.
“Don’t make me send Tom Stevens out here to disarm you of your sacred phone.”
J.T. smirked at the threat and drew himself up to his most imposing and intimidating stature. “Tom and whose army is going to confiscate my state-of-the-art cell phone?”
To his dismay, Moriah let loose with a sharp whistle that blasted his eardrums. Immediately thereafter a big brawny, muscle-bound hulk—who had a monobrow stretching over his deep-set hazel eyes, and was built like a professional linebacker—appeared in the doorway of the lodge.
“Trouble, Mori?” Tom asked as he crossed his brawny arms over his buffalo-size chest and took J.T.’s measure through a narrowed gaze.
“Am I having trouble, Jake?” she asked all too sweetly.
J.T. considered his options and decided he didn’t have any. Damn it to hell! Muttering begrudgingly, he fished his cell phone from his suit pocket and slapped it into Moriah’s outstretched hand. He should’ve known Miss Smiley would have plenty of muscle to back up her demands.
Moriah tucked the phone into the pocket of her shorts, then grinned at Tom Stevens. “This is Jake Prescott,” she introduced. “Tom is our masseuse and weight trainer—”
“And your hired muscle,” J.T. finished for her. “Gee, I thought the idea here was to avoid stress, not get me all tensed up thinking I’ll have a serious fight on my hands if I don’t meekly comply with your unreasonable demands.”
Tom grinned, displaying a missing front tooth. J.T. would hate to meet the burly SOB who knocked out Tom’s teeth.
“Nice to meet you, Jake. Come ’round and see me about a massage when you get settled in.”
“Sure, Tom. Looking forward to it like you wouldn’t believe.”
He was looking forward to nothing of the kind!
When Tom disappeared back inside, Moriah smiled good-naturedly at J.T. He gnashed his teeth.
“It’s not unusual for our guests to suffer electronic-gadget and caffeine-buzz withdrawal the first few days, but it won’t be long before you realize there’s life beyond your regular routine in the business world. You’ll do fine here, Jake.”
Although he’d been defeated, he couldn’t resist tossing a sarcastic rejoinder to soothe his offended pride. “Yeah, I’ll do fine as long as I get my daily recommended dose of sex.” He checked his watch, hoping she wouldn’t take it away from him, too. “What time can I expect Lolita to show up at my cabin to scratch my daily sexual itch? I’d hate for her to come by during my usual yoga meditation session and deep breathing exercises.”
“Sorry, no Lolita,” she informed him as she led the way into the lobby of the lodge. “Maybe our cook, Anna Jefferies, will accommodate you. You can ask her.”
Anna Jefferies introduced herself to Jake a moment after he strode in the door. The stout, curly-chestnut-haired woman looked to be in her late forties. Judging by her leathery skin and wrinkled features, she’d spent a great deal of her life outdoors. She offered him a steaming cup of herbal tea and butter cookies while Moriah stashed his electronic devices in the safe behind the registration desk. J.T. didn’t ask Anna for sex, of course, although Anna’s conventional style of dress—a cream-colored blouse and faded blue jeans—held more appeal than Moriah’s loud attire.
When he saw Moriah’s lips twitching as her gaze bounced back and forth between him and Anna, J.T. muttered under his breath. Damn, he’d like to wipe that smile off Miss Chipper’s lips—or kiss it off…. J.T. jerked upright so quickly he nearly spilled hot tea down the front of his white shirt.
Where the hell had that ridiculous thought come from? Oh sure, he found Moriah Randell attractive, even if he didn’t approve of her bright clothing, her gaudy red fingernails, those huge hoop earrings and clattering bracelets. But, under no circumstances was he going to develop an interest in a woman who was his complete opposite during his two-day stay in the Oklahoma outback. Two days, he told himself resolutely, and then he was outta here!
“C’mon, Jake, I’ll introduce you to the golf course manager and stable manager,” Anna said, latching on to his arm to drag him along behind her. “Everybody’s just finishing up supper. Moriah will bring your meal to your cabin since you arrived late.”
While Anna shoveled Jake forward to make the acquaintance of the staff, Moriah filled out paperwork then grabbed the key to the available cabin. Her gaze drifted over the six-foot-two-inch, raven-haired man who’d given her a bad time during the hour drive to the resort. Sex, sex and more sex indeed, she mused, chuckling. She’d never heard such a crock of malarkey from one of her guests.
Of course, most of her guests came willingly, after a panic attack or some physical ailment that alerted them to their high-level stress. Jake Prescott, the King of Denial, had to be deceived into his two-week stay. His sisters were firmly convinced that Jake would never agree to come here on his own accord.
Moriah shook her head at the outrageous exaggerations Jake had concocted when she tried to make him aware that he’d become stuck in the rut of working non-stop without time off for relaxation. She didn’t believe that nonsense for a minute because J.T.’s sisters had filled her in completely.
According to Kim and Lisa, their older brother had become entrenched in routine and went through each day like a programmed robot. He left his house at precisely the same time each morning, stopped for a pastry and coffee, worked through the lunch hour, then returned home with a briefcase full of work projects. He had no social life worth mentioning. The only dates on his calendar were the ones his concerned sisters set up for him in attempt to alter his monotonous lifestyle.
Moriah was sure Jake would be a hard-core case that demanded extra time and effort. He refused to open up to her, refused to admit he led a mundane, predictable life that was devoid of entertainment and pleasure. Of course, the first difficulty for Jake to overcome was admitting he had a problem that needed to be addressed. Considering the resistance he raised, it could take a week for him to realize he needed to kick back and relax.
It might be a very long week, Moriah predicted.
Moriah appraised her new guest while he glanced around the spacious dining room. Black suit, white shirt, and nondescript black tie. According to his sisters, Jake had a closet full of black suits and white shirts. They were his standard business uniform—no deviation allowed. No bright, cheerful colors to spice up his wardrobe. Amazing, since Jake was touted as a highly creative design wizard.
Obviously, there was an interesting, unique man trapped inside that black suit. Moriah wondered if he would emerge in two weeks. Jake was definitely going to be a challenge, considering his tendency toward the stubborn and contrary. But she’d find a way to teach him to relax and enjoy his vacation.
Again, her astute gaze flooded over his lean physique and eye-catching profile. Jake Prescott wasn’t classically handsome. His features were a mite sharp and defined, and his displeased frown could be quite severe. She ought to know, having been on the wrong side of his displeasure during the long drive.
Moriah guessed Native American blood ran through his veins. His sisters bore a similar resemblance with their dark complexion and high cheekbones. Three peas from the same pod, and a family devoted to each other to boot, Moriah mused. Kim and Lisa were determined to save their beloved brother from his monotonous life, and Moriah was being well-paid to ensure the transformation took place—beginning now.
“Jake! Are you ready to settle into your cabin?” she called out to him.
He half-turned to stare down his nose at her. Yep, she definitely had her work cut out for her, she decided as she mustered another cheery smile to counter his aggravated frown.
2
MORIAH MOTIONED for Jake to follow her outside. When she stopped by the sport-utility vehicle to retrieve the suitcase he hovered over her, all but breathing down her neck.
“What’s that?” he questioned grouchily.
“Your sisters packed casual clothes for you,” she reported, handing him the luggage.
Moriah bit back a giggle when he stared at the baggage as if it were a live cobra. The reality that he was staying and that he needed several changes of clothes obviously hit him full force. The poor man was in for a shock when she left him at his cabin with his suitcase of casual clothes and nothing but free time on his hands. She sincerely hoped he didn’t freak out.
Jake hefted up the luggage and tossed her a smirk. “It’s a relief to hear you didn’t pack for me. I wouldn’t look worth a damn if I were impersonating a flag.”
Another cheap shot about her attire, she noted. If he thought trouncing on her feelings would get him out of here sooner then he was mistaken. She had her reasons for dressing colorfully, not that it was any of his business why she did it.
“Your sisters packed jeans and bland-tan and hohum-green chambray shirts,” she informed him. “I believe the term they used when referring to you was ‘a drab dresser’.”
He glanced sharply at her and frowned. “I believe the correct terms are conventional for me and outrageously flamboyant for you.”
Moriah shrugged lackadaisically as she made the three-hundred-yard hike to cabin number seven. “Outside dressing is really of no concern here at Triple R,” she assured him. “We aren’t the least bit superficial and we’re more interested in acknowledging and being kind to the true, inner self.”
He snorted at that. He was nothing if not predictable, Moriah thought.
“So, who actually owns this place?” he asked, falling into step just enough ahead of her to indicate he refused to leave the impression he was being led around. “Some stressed-out corporate executive who needs an occasional hiatus to revive those inner juices you keep harping about?”
“No, I own the place,” she informed him.
“You?” He glanced down at her. “You can’t be over twenty-five. Is Daddy’s money paying for this resort?”
“Actually I inherited the land when my mother died. My dad had a stroke three years ago because he worked constantly.” She sent him a pointed glance, then a smile. “Dad lives in the apartment beside mine behind the lodge. I’m thirty, by the way, not twenty-five, but thank you for the compliment.”
“It wasn’t meant to be one,” he didn’t fail to remark.
Moriah grinned at him. “Really? I was so hoping you’d have one nice thing to say about me.”
Before she could unlock the cabin door, Jake slapped a big hand on the doorjamb and stared her squarely in the eye. His expression was solemn, his onyx eyes intense. “We better get something straight from the get-go. I have no intention of being reformed by you or big brawny Tom Stevens, or stout Anna Jefferies or the rest of your staff. I like my life dandy-fine, thank you very much. How about if you give my well-meaning but misdirected kid sisters their money back and save yourself the wasted effort of cramming this compulsory R-and-R down my throat? In case you haven’t figured it out yet—and, smart lady that you are, I’m sure you have—I’m not planning to cooperate. In fact, I plan to be anything but cooperative.”
Moriah nodded in mock seriousness as she stabbed the key into the lock. “I understand completely and I realize this vacation will cramp your voracious and kinky sex life. But the contract states there will be no refunds, except in the event that you die of boredom.” She grinned at his ferocious scowl. “Then, of course, your sisters will be cheerfully reimbursed.”
“Real cute, Miss Chipper,” he muttered sarcastically.
“A compliment! Thank you kindly, Mr. Predictable,” she gushed as she shouldered through the doorway.
“Good God…” Jake halted on the threshold, his verbal sparring obviously forgotten. He stared at the interior of the cabin in such frantic horror that Moriah nearly burst out laughing at his reaction. “There’s no TV, no radio, no phone, no…” His voice gave out as his goggle-eyed gaze circled the room to appraise the overstuffed, sprawl-all-over-me couch and come-here-and-let-me-rub-you-all-over massage recliner. Then his astounded gaze leaped to the Murphy bed that folded down from the cedar-paneled walls.
Moriah watched his comical reaction to the simply furnished room that was equipped with soothing music, designed to relax tense guests, and decorated with the peaceful landscape paintings that depicted the timeless essence of snow-covered mountains, a rippling seashore and a rolling prairie. Most of her guests suffered minimal culture shock when they first arrived at the resort, but Jake reacted noticeably and made no attempt whatsoever to disguise his disapproval. Clearly, electronic-gadget withdrawal had hit him hard and fast.
He gaped at her, as if he’d been sentenced to two weeks in torturous hell. “You can’t be serious!” he choked out. “What the devil am I supposed to do with myself in this cabin for two tormenting weeks? And don’t give me that crap about tuning in to my inner self again or I’ll have to strangle you!”
He looked so thunderstruck and dismayed that she reflexively reached out to give him a consoling pat on the arm. Moriah was astonished at the tension pulsing through him. Lord, the poor man had no idea how desperately he needed to escape the rat race.
“Everything is going to be fine, Jake. You aren’t going to self-destruct in this unfamiliar environment, I promise.”
“Yeah, right. I’m self-destructing as we speak,” he said, and snorted.
“We have several activities scheduled to make your transition easier. We have a nine-hole golf course and the nearby river provides excellent fishing. There’s horseback riding, a hiking trail, indoor swimming, canoeing, paddleboating, a spacious hot tub and horseshoe games.”
He wrenched his arm free from her light grasp and then glowered laser beams at her. “I haven’t played golf in ten years. I’m not going to watch a damn cork bob on the river while trying to catch a blasted fish. I have a pool in my apartment complex if I want to use it. I haven’t ridden a horse since I was a kid, which is fine by me. And there’s no way in hell that I’m taking up the game of horseshoes unless I can pitch them around your neck!”
His voice rose to a shout. Moriah winced and cautioned herself not to lose her temper. None of her other guests put up this kind of fuss. Jake had been goading her for nearly two hours, but that didn’t matter. She wasn’t going to let him rile her, she promised herself fiercely.
In a burst of bad temper Jake lurched around and stalked over to the designated kitchen area in the far corner. “Great,” he muttered sourly. “Three feet of cabinet and counter space, plus a piddly little sink.” He jerked open a drawer, then shot her another seething glance. “What? No knife so I can slit my wrists and end this torture?” He hitched his thumb toward the small bathroom, then leveled her with another glare. “No soap-on-a-rope so I can hang myself, I suppose?”
She tried out another encouraging smile on him, not that it did a whit of good. If anything, it seemed to infuriate him further. Moriah was pretty sure Jake held her personally accountable for the anger simmering through him. “No knives or ropes, but I do have a puppy to keep you company. Pets have a calming influence on people.”
He gave her one of those don’t-even-think-about-it glowers before she pivoted to intercept Chester Gray, the golf course manager and groundskeeper, who strode up the wooden porch with the pooch cradled in his arms.
“Thanks, Chester,” she murmured as she cuddled the pup against her chest.
“You bet, Mori. Tell Jake the movie starts in forty-five minutes and Anna has his supper tray heated.”
Scratching behind the pup’s ear, Moriah pivoted to face Jake who growled ferociously. The puppy huddled fearfully in her arms.
“You expect me to take care of that spitwad of a dog?” he muttered crossly. “Think again, my dear Mo. You don’t mind if I call you Mo, do you? It’s not nearly as stuffy and sophisticated as Moriah.”
Leave it to Jake to throw her words in her face. She angled her head and appraised the frown that caused his thick brows to form a V over his glittering obsidian eyes. “You really aren’t taking this well, are you?”
“Gee, ya think?” he said, then snorted. “How many more times do I have to express my displeasure before you get it through your dense blond head that I want no part of this stress management crapola!”
Moriah willfully overlooked the dumb-blonde wise-crack, giving it the lack of recognition it deserved, and scratched beneath the puppy’s chin. “As I was saying,” she went on determinedly, “we take in the unwanted dogs from the animal shelter in town to serve as companions for our guests. According to statistics, animals have a soothing effect on—”
He waved her off with an impatient flick of his wrist. “Don’t start with me. I don’t want a dog. I don’t want to be here. Do you hear me?”
Moriah smiled bravely in the face of his booming tirade. “Yes I do, but I’m not sure my guest in cabin number one heard you loud and clear.”
He bared his teeth and flashed her the queen mother of all glares. She smiled—with considerable effort. “The dog food and bowls are on the floor of the closet. The pup is housebroken.”
“Well, I’m not,” he smarted off.
Moriah bit back a grin, then glanced sideways to see Anna Jefferies ambling up the stone walkway. “Ah, here comes supper. Anna must’ve given up on me.”
“Supper?” he said caustically. “I figured Spitwad and I were supposed to rough it tonight and share the dog food.”
Moriah set the pup on the floor and exited to take the tray Anna held out to her.
“I could hear him yelling at two hundred yards,” Anna murmured, grinning. “He’s going to take special effort, I’d say.”
“He’ll be fine once he calms down and accepts his fate.” She hoped.
When Anna reversed direction and hiked off, Moriah carried the covered tray inside and set it on the small drop-leaf table. “Here’s your supper, Jake.”
“Ah, good. A reason to live. For a while there, I wasn’t sure there was one.”
She ignored his wiseass remarks. She predicted she’d be doing a lot of that during his two-week stay. “We’ll be expecting you to join us for the movie this evening. You can meet the other guests.”
“And you can hold your breath waiting for me to show up,” he snapped.
Moriah did her best to ignore his hostility—again. “We don’t watch highly intense adventure movies at the resort. Just lighthearted comedies and such.”
“No trashy porno?” he asked. “No, of course not. What was I thinking? We wouldn’t want to get all these maxed-out businessmen fired up, would we?”
“No, we wouldn’t,” she agreed. “It might upset the inner self.”
“You can take your psychobabble and stick it where the sun—”
Moriah promptly shut the door before he finished voicing his insult. Rightfully, she should be annoyed with her belligerent guest. Instead, she found him amusing, entertaining and very different from her older guests. She knew Jake was fighting back the only way he knew how—by lashing out at her in frustration.
And maybe there was a little fear involved here, too, she mused pensively. Fear of the unknown and the unfamiliar. Jake was also suffering from separation anxiety from his predictable life and from his close association with his sisters.
According to Kim and Lisa, Jake had devoted his life to raising them and making scads of money to provide for them. He’d taken family responsibility seriously and it led him into such a deep rut that he couldn’t see his way out. Asking Jake to change his ways made him uncomfortable and defensive. Moriah understood that, even if Jake refused to acknowledge that he was feeling anything except annoyance.
Somehow or another, she was going to get through to this man. She was going to teach him how to relax, how to take life at a more leisurely pace, how to laugh and smile. The man took himself, and life, entirely too seriously. Jake Prescott wasn’t the hopeless cause he wanted her to think he was. He simply had to be retrained to take a different approach to life.
If Jake didn’t cooperate she might have to resort to konking him over the head and knocking some sense into him. Moriah grinned mischievously. That idea held tremendous appeal at the moment.
JAKE STARED DOWN at the fuzzball of a dog that sniffed at his shoes. The multicolored, pint-size mutt appeared to be a cross between a frizzy-haired miniature poodle, a Pekingese, a Chihuahua and who knew what else. The mutt was butt-ugly.
Sighing audibly, Jake glanced around the efficiency cabin once again, finding nothing comforting or appealing to him. What the sweet loving hell was he going to do with himself out here in the boondocks? Already the index finger of his right hand felt empty without a computer mouse resting beneath it. In addition, there was no phone to call his demented sisters and rake them over live coals for this horrendous betrayal. What the hell were those two thinking? They weren’t thinking, he decided. Of all the lamebrain ideas they’d ever concocted over the years this topped the list!
Muttering several foul expletives, Jake plunked down on the wooden chair to examine his evening rations. A tantalizing aroma filled his nostrils as he uncovered the plate that was heaping with smoked ribs, a baked potato, corn on the cob and vanilla pudding. Until now, he’d been too upset to realize he was starving. Jake plucked up a sparerib and sighed in culinary anticipation. Anna Jefferies might look like the female version of an army drill sergeant but she could damn sure cook, he decided at first bite.
Jake polished off the first melt-in-your-mouth spare-rib, then glanced down to see the mutt staring hopefully at him. “Yeah, well, that’s all I figured a little beggar like you would be good for anyway.” He handed the spitwad of a dog a chunk of meat. The mutt practically grinned as he trotted across the tile to plop down on the rug beside the sink. Jake watched the mutt chew his food happily.
While Jake ate his meal, he pondered this pointless hiatus. In the first place, he didn’t need stress reduction. No way, no how. He’d never suffered an anxiety attack. Okay, so he did endure throbbing headaches, eyestrain, shoulder strain and a few other job-related ailments, but that went with the territory. Jogging and pumping iron usually relieved his tension.