Jennifer Greene - Man From Tennessee

At five minutes to six the next morning, Trisha tiptoed down the stairs, determined to have a cup of coffee in silence before either Kern or Julia woke up. Swinging from her hand was a pair of red sandals with ribbon-thin straps. The navy jersey she wore had red piping for trim and a slash of red belt that cinched in her narrow waist. The dress was an old favorite and she loved the way the material flowed softly around her knees when she walked; more relevant at the moment was that it was unbeatable to travel in. Going home was second on the list of priorities, directly after coffee.

She slipped on the sandals at the closed door to the kitchen and stifled a yawn. An early riser by nature when she was rested, she found it difficult to wake after a long, restless night. She pushed open the swinging door and two startled pair of eyes met each other.

Rhea had a huge coffee pot in her hand. She, too, wore red and navy, a red chamois shirt and a tight pair of navy jeans. Besides the colors there was no resemblance to be found between the two women. Rhea was the image of a country woman next to Trisha’s crisp city freshness. “I-good morning,” Rhea said hesitantly. “I was just making coffee.”

“Good morning.” The look of surprise was unmistakable in Rhea’s eyes. Kern evidently had neglected to mention he was having overnight guests. “I’ve been coming over to make Kern breakfast in the mornings. He hasn’t been able to do much for himself with his right wrist out of commission. If you want something…”

It was just six o’clock but the floor already looked scrubbed and the dishes in the dishwasher from the night before had been put away. Trisha felt relieved that she had decided to go home this day. The lady was a prize, a living composite of all the things Trisha had not been once upon a time-efficient, devoted, marvelously beddable.

“I asked if I could get you anything?” Rhea repeated.

“I-yes.” The bedroom-eyed brunette might even be nice, but every nerve in Trisha’s body tensed defensively. She had no right to Kern, not after five years, but a cup of coffee in solitude surely wasn’t too much to ask. She smiled stiffly at Rhea. “I’m leaving in a few hours with Kern’s mother. If you don’t mind, I can put on the pot of coffee myself. Mrs. Lowery is rather fussy and she hasn’t been well, so I’d have to make her breakfast anyway-”

“Oh, but this isn’t for-”

“I wouldn’t mind,” Trisha said with pleasant firmness.

“Well.” Rhea was a good six inches taller than Trisha, but she backed down like a lamb. With a little shrug of her shoulders she set down the coffee pot. “You can tell Kern I’ll see him later today.”

“I’ll be sure to do that.”

With a pleasant smile Trisha closed the door on the none-too-happy Rhea. At the moment she wasn’t too happy either and her smile faded as she turned back to the kitchen. The huge pot of coffee seemed an enormous amount for three people, but it was already started. Perhaps Kern had fallen into the habit of drinking coffee during the day.

Waiting for the coffee to finish perking, Trisha leaned on the counter, looking out the long low window over the sink. The sun was catching the dew from the grass and trees, glittering brightly on the exact spot where Kern had kissed her. The night had been full of that echoing image. She had barely slept. But in the morning light she had a sudden picture in her mind of Rhea and Kern in that same spot. Rhea, with her earthy looks and sleepy dark eyes, was a much more suitable mate for Kern than she had ever been.

She turned away when the pot finally finished perking and the steamy aroma pervaded the kitchen. She found a mug in the cupboard and was pouring herself a cup when the back door opened.

“Well, howdy, ma’am!”

The invader was a tall lanky Westerner with mustache and wide-brimmed hat which he hastily removed. He was followed by a blonde little wren of a woman, then two men with fishing gear propped at the door, a freckled and pigtailed sprite of a child, a teenager with lazy green eyes, an austerely handsome grandfatherly and banker type, and finally Kern.

The morning light gave his eyes a smoky cast as they surveyed her from head to toe and back again, taking in everything from the chignon and startled expression to the tailored dress. His eyes fixed for a moment on her shapely legs and longer yet on the curve of her hips. He moved so quickly toward her that she froze, his look so damned sexual that it made her feel stalked.

“Just sit down everyone,” he drawled lazily. “Have breakfast up in a minute. Nate, Barb, Robert, Ed, Mrs. Anther, little Georgia, Bill-this is Trisha. My wife.” One other man entered the kitchen; a stocky blond about her own age with a pair of puppy-soft brown eyes. “And this is Jack, who has been living and working at the camp for the last three months. He’s aiming toward a forestry degree.”

She was trying to attach names to faces when Kern’s hand brushed her shoulder. “Is the coffee ready? Where’s Rhea?”

She thought it odd that he had introduced her as his wife, when it was bound to raise questions for him when she was gone. At the moment she simply set down her coffee, understanding all too quickly that Rhea had been trying to tell her she was there for more reasons than just Kern’s coffee. “It didn’t take two of us to handle a little breakfast,” she murmured awkwardly.

“You mean she’s gone? Why on earth would she take off now when she knew there would be a group coming in?”

Why on earth indeed? She flashed him an irritated look. Five years ago he had occasionally brought in people at a moment’s notice. She had a clear-cut memory of six people waiting while she burned a dozen eggs and fled in tears from her failure. “How many heads?” Trisha called out over the sound of scraping chairs as people sat down.

“Eleven,” volunteered the freckled urchin.

Kern was already lining up paper cups on a counter. When he went to lift the heavy coffee pot with his left hand, it wobbled. “Just sit down,” she ordered him under her breath.

“Look, Tish, no one asked you to do anything like this. You don’t need to-”

“Hush, Kern,” she whispered crisply, “and just get out of my way.”

There was some sort of wretched humor in history repeating itself, although this time around she at least knew what she was doing in a kitchen. The sausages were prepared for the microwave and coffee poured for eleven. Little Georgia was enlisted to carefully deliver the cups and the cream and sugar. Two dozen eggs were cracked, blended with milk, grated cheese, green pepper and fresh pepper. The toast popped out in fours, was buttered and stashed in a warming oven as the eggs started cooking.

“Mrs. Lowery, if you should be wanting some help…” offered the fragile little blonde woman.

“Please call me Trisha. And there’s nothing, really.” As she set a knife and fork in front of Kern, he was talking about the hiking trails to one couple, wildflowers to another. He was answering every question about fishing, wildlife and mountain lore, but he was aware of her. She could feel it. There was the faintest hint of a smile in that beard that had nothing to do with the subjects at hand. Was he amused that she was coping so easily? Worse than that, she feared she was creating an impression of enjoying herself.

With a little pang she realized that she was enjoying herself, the chaos and good cooking smells, the diversity of people and laughter. It was only Kern who threw her, so irritably virile-looking in a gold pullover and tan pants, his skin like dark honey, his brilliantly alert eyes beneath bushy brows following her every movement.

She flew back to stir the eggs, took out the next round of toast, popped the microwave button for the sausages and pulled out plates from the shelf. Five minutes later it was all served, and with one long sigh of satisfaction Trisha turned to pour herself that suddenly, desperately needed cup of coffee.