No More Mr. Nice - By Renee Roszel Page 0,39

strained, but the exuberant kids dashing about didn’t seem to notice the tension.

“Well, well,” she finally said. “Did I see Mr. One-Hundred-Million-Dollar Project feel a twinge of guilt back there? Is it, maybe, a little hard to be idolized and know you don’t deserve it?”

He scowled down at her. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

She sniffed with contempt. “Yes. And a bureau is in a bedroom, but it’d better not try to pass itself off as a mattress!”

“That’s probably very Freudian, but I’ll let it go,” he muttered.

She found herself flushing. “Big of you,” she retorted, wondering where that particular bedroom image had come from.

SEVERAL HOURS LATER, Jess’s irritation at Lucas lessened, especially when he left his computer to help the squeamish amateurs in their group clean their catch of rainbow trout. Unfortunately for her, the kids had scattered, and several had opted for the rowboat. The Goodalls had gone after the kids who’d run off along the south bank, the Kornblums had trekked off to round up stragglers to the north. It seemed that, once again, Jess had been paired with Lucas.

She supposed it made sense to the married folks that she’d join up with the other single on the retreat. But she was annoyed and agitated—especially after her speech last night, and Lucas’s gentle kiss. Still, after avoiding him as much as possible all morning, she began to realize that she’d had help—actual help—teaching the kids to clean and cook their fish. He’d turned out to be more talented at it than she was. After tasting his efforts, she had to admit she’d never eaten better fried fish, not even in a restaurant.

Now pleasantly full of lunch, some in the group lazed around, a couple tossed a football, and Moses and Larry were back in the rowboat, fishing.

Jess glanced at Lucas. He’d picked up the computer again. Though she was about ten feet away, she craned her head around to see what was on the screen. You’d think it was a parade of leggy models, the way he was glued to it! But no. Long lines of figures and symbols were marching rapidly down the screen. They made no sense to her, but apparently Lucas was interpreting their correctness and moving on with something close to lightning speed. He must have quite an excellent mind, she decided, and tried not to dwell on the fact that his kisses, too, were quite excellent.

Jess was irritated, and not all of her irritation was directed at Lucas. She was irritated with herself for her unruly turn of mind of late. Not caring to analyze it, she opted instead for trying to get Lucas more involved in the retreat—the Mr. Niceguy program not the computer program. She cleared her throat meaningfully, attracting his narrowed gaze. Indicating his computer screen with a nod, she called, “About done?”

He gave her a look that said something along the lines of, Do pigs fly?

She didn’t allow his insinuated sarcasm to intimidate her and forged on, “I was just wondering where you learned to clean and cook fish.”

There was suddenly a tinge of sadness in his eyes. He glanced away, and stared off into space.

“My grandmother and I lived simply,” he said after a moment. “Sometimes what we caught was all we had to eat.”

Jess absorbed this, looking down at her clasped hands, then ventured, “What happened to your folks?”

He turned to gauge her, his expression opening into a questioning grin. There was no trace of humor in his eyes, though. “I can’t imagine why you’d care. But, my folks had the same problem as Molly’s. They got into drugs. In and out of rehab. Ultimately, I don’t know.”

She was saddened for him, but surprised that he knew about the shy little girl with the worried hazel eyes. “How did you know about Molly’s background?”

He shrugged. “You gave me those profiles.”

“You read them?” She asked, increduous.

He closed his computer and set it aside. “They were short.”

The darned guy was surprising her again. He obviously was reluctant to do this retreat, with his laptop ever-present, his ultra-high-tech phone ringing every fifteen minutes, and his habitual glancing down at his wristwatch. But to give credit where it was due, what Lucas had done, he’d done well. She didn’t seem to be able to find much fault with him right this minute. “Molly likes you a lot, you know,” Jess murmured, feeling she owed him that much. “They all do.”

He stared out across the water at Moses and Larry’s, horseplay in the