Lori Avocato - Nip, Tuck, Dead

I slugged him again. “Really though, Gold. He knew where I was staying, and I don’t remember ever telling him. Did you?”

He rolled onto his back and tapped a long red nail on his tooth. Even in his male clothes, somehow the nails fit. Only on my Gold though. “Geez. No, Suga. I don’t think I ever mentioned it. Doesn’t seem as if I’d have a reason.”

“Neal never asked about me?” I cleared my throat. “You know, professionally?”

“Don’t worry about sounding conceited, Suga. You’re a knockout of a woman so plenty of guys will be asking about you, but not Neal. Besides, I’ve never been alone with him. You’ve always been there too, Nurse Sokol.”

“Hm. You’re right.” I knew he was correct, the more I thought about it, which made it all the more interesting as to how Neal knew-and why.

The next few hours I spent on Goldie’s bed with him, discussing his surgery. After giving him a few more chances to renege on the deal, I was convinced that he wasn’t just doing this to help my case.

When I mentioned how I’d spoil him rotten post-op with fluffing the millions of pillows in this room, getting him magazines that he insisted I’d read to him, always have the remote handy, and black out the windows so he could sleep, Goldie would purr.

Warmed my heart. I’d smile.

Purr was not exactly the word I’d use when I tried to prepare him for things like: I’d have ice bags ready to prevent swelling, moisturizers and scar-reducing creams and petroleum jelly for incisions (with the doctor’s okay) not to scar, and laxatives at the ready since pain meds could be binding.

We agreed Goldie would follow all my rules and the doctor’s without hesitation. I gave him a hug, got up and thought to myself that taking care of dear Gold could be more work than having an entire caseload of fourteen post-op patients.

But I’d do my best.

And tender loving care would come easy for me.

I gave him a kiss on the cheek, left him on the bed so he could take a “power siesta” and headed out the door.

Back at the lodge, I walked in the doorway to find Arlene dusting the bust of, I guessed, Samuel Freeman. For a second I pictured Jagger’s face under her dust feather. Ha! Imagine him a bronze bust!

Arlene turned and smiled at me. “Hello, Pauline. Have a good day?”

I thought of the handsome Neal and said, “Sure. Yeah. It was a good one.” I walked closer and touched the cheek of the bust.

Cold. Hm. My finger felt cold.

I pulled back and told myself that bronze always felt cold. “Was he some patriot or something?”

Arlene gave me a confused look then turned toward the bust. “Oh, him?”

I nodded but refused to touch him again. Way too woo woo for me, this ghost stuff.

She laughed a deep hearty laugh. “I think there actually was some patriot up in New England named Samuel Freeman, but that’s not our Sam. Oh, no.” She tapped the bust on the head, laughed and said, “Patriot…ah…no.”

I half expected it to turn toward her and shout, “Cut that out!”

But the bronze remained firm and Arlene continued, “Patriot is not the word I’d use for Samuel Freeman-”

“Pirate. Scallywag,” a voice said from behind.

A familiar voice. Oops. There went the pitter-patter of my heart.

I swung around to see Jagger in the doorway and asked, “He was a pirate?”

“Swashbuckler extraordinaire.” He remained standing there in black jeans, black tee, and sunglasses still on. I wondered if they had a tiny camera in them and if he was filming right now.

I only wished.

I fluffed my hair just in case and laughed. “Wow. Imagine. A real pirate lived here.” I looked around and felt a cold breeze on my face. That came from the open door behind Jagger, I told myself.

The two-story foyer gave the place an air of opulence. The deep mahogany wood said expensive, as did the handmade stained-glass ceiling of clouds and waves above. Actually this was the first time I’d noticed waves on the ceiling. Sure as heck didn’t look like some pirate’s lair.

Jagger stepped forward, letting the screen door slam behind him. I looked at Arlene, waiting for her to yell at him, but she kept dusting.

He turned toward the stairs and said, “Don’t let the place fool you. Freeman was a buccaneer-and deserved what he got.”

The screen door flew open-by itself, it seemed.

Arlene scurried out of the room.

I gasped.

And Jagger swaggered up the stairs-as if nothing had happened.

I stood in the very hot shower and shivered. Damn it. Felt as if someone-no, make that old Pirate Sam-was watching me. Jagger did that door thing on purpose. I was convinced. He just wanted to rile me up-and I’d never tell him it worked. Arlene was busy and hurried off to do her job and the wind blew the door open because Jagger let it slam and the lock didn’t catch.

A logical explanation for everything.

I turned the water a bit hotter and wondered how Jagger knew so much about this place. He sure didn’t seem the history buff type to me or the quaint New England bed-and-breakfast type either. Then again, the guy had been a mystery to me from the get-go. I really needed to find out more about this place I was going to be living in the next few weeks-and, it pained me to say, more about Jagger.

What irritated me about him was that I knew how difficult it would be to get anything out of Jagger about himself.

When I shut my eyes to rinse off my face, he popped into view. My eyelids flew open, a droplet of soap snuck in and burned, so I screamed then said, “Okay! So it doesn’t pain me. I want to know. Leave me alone, Samuel!”

When I stepped out of the shower, I wrapped the huge, fluffy towels they provided around myself and walked the few feet into my tiny bedroom. When I looked at the side of the bed where Jagger had sat, I tightened the terry cloth as if to cover up more.

Knock. Knock.

I jumped at the sound. The towel loosened and fell to my feet. “Damn it. Hold on.” I grabbed it and rewrapped myself. Had to be the maid since my room needed to be serviced. “Wait a second.” Holding tight, just in case, I touched the handle of the door, ready to turn it.

“Come on, Sherlock. I’m getting hungry.”

I yanked my hand back. Jagger! Thank goodness I hadn’t opened the door! Saint Theresa was keeping a decent eye on me-okay, make that keeping me morally decent. Damn. “What are you talking about?”

“Supper? Let’s go get something to eat. Open the damn door.”

I stepped back. What nerve! He assumed I was free tonight and, well, I was, but that didn’t make it right. “I’ll meet you in the lobby in a few minutes.”

Even with the door shut I could feel Jagger looking at my terry-cloth-clad body-and my insides fluttered, seconds before I dropped said towel.

After I dressed and undressed and redressed since, unfortunately, I wanted to look good for Jagger, I ended up in my black jeans, white shirt with matching camisole top beneath, silver jewelry and tan suede heels. It said sophisticated and hot all at the same time-at least that’s what Goldie had said when he picked it all out for me. Perfect Newport outfit.

Should also pique the hell out of Jagger’s interest.

Wishful thinking, Pauline, I thought as I left my room and started down the carpeted stairs. At the bottom near the banister stood Jagger with his back to me and obviously looking at the photos on the walls. I’d looked at them before too, but learning about Pirate Sam now, they held more interest.

One was of a beautiful lady who may or may not have been involved with the old buccaneer. Lover? Mistress? A pirate too? Or maybe his wife? I paused at the base of the stairs and wondered who would marry a scoundrel of a pirate. What kind of insane woman would let love override sense?