Stacking the Deck (A Betting on Romance Novel Book 2)(19)

Liz’s heart caught in her throat as she absently flipped a slice of bacon. “And how did I turn out?”

It shouldn’t matter, whatever he had to say shouldn’t matter one whit.

But it did.

Suddenly, Carter’s face turned serious, focused in a way that made Liz’s pulse race erratically and her nerves sizzle like the bacon in the pan. He licked his lips. Her tongue darted out in answer. He met her gaze. Oh my. That look could only mean one thing!

“Don’t panic,” he said, breaking into her thoughts, “but your bacon’s on fire.”

“My—what?!” Liz jumped from the stove as flames slicked across the skillet and shot into the air. “Ohmigod!”

“It’s okay. Not a problem.” Carter stepped in front of her, turned off the burner then grabbed a lid from the pot rack and dropped it over the flames. “It’ll burn itself out.”

Liz stared, frozen, as smoke poured from under the ill-fitting lid and rose to the ceiling. Carter flipped open cupboard doors until he found a box of baking soda. He lifted the lid and poured the baking soda over the skillet.

“There.” He yanked open the back slider. “It’s out. You can stop panicking now.”

“I wasn’t— the cat!” she shrieked as Eddie darted through the open slider. “He’s not supposed to go out!”

Liz raced out the slider, as a blur of orange tabby zipped behind a rhododendron. “Eddie, honey? Come on. Don’t be scared.” She flipped on the rear spotlight, hoping to shed some light into the shadows by the house, and pointed to the bush. Carter caught her eye and rounded the other side. “Eddie. Come out. Please?”

“Your parents have a cat?” Carter asked as he inched toward the far side of the bush.

“He’s mine. He doesn’t like to be boarded, so I brought him with me from Chicago. He’s not used to being outside,” she whispered so as not to alarm Eddie. “I think the commotion scared him.”

“Is that why he’s growling?” Carter whispered from somewhere in the shrubbery.

“That’s not growling. It’s a fear moan. I think. He’s generally quite friendly to people who like cats.” Liz wrung her hands then noticed the action and dropped them to her sides in self-disgust. “Can you reach him?”

Carter was on his belly now, half hidden beneath the branches. “I think so— Christ! This is your cat? He looks like Tony Soprano. Are you sure he’s friendly?”

“He’s a *cat. Unless he’s scared, then he can be a little… unpredictable.”

“Uh-huh. Here goes nothin’.” Eddie gave a short yowl of protest, and then Carter was backing out from under the bush. He stood up, clutching Eddie tightly in his arms. Neither looked particularly happy.

“Did he scratch you?”

“Are you kidding? I’m a professional.”

“A professional cat-nabber?”

“Just get the door. Your cat’s giving me the evil eye. I don’t think he likes me.”

“He always looks like that,” she said a little breathlessly as she followed Carter into the house. “If he hasn’t bitten you yet, you’re way ahead of the cur...” But the rest of her words died on her tongue as she turned toward the kitchen.

Smoke clouded the room. Black soot coated the ceiling. She coughed, adrenaline pumping sickly through her veins. “Oh God. And here I’m supposed to be making the house fit for sale?”

Carter shooed Eddie into the dining room, closed the door and turned on the stove exhaust. Liz opened the window above the sink. Carter waved a dinner plate toward it. “Come on. I think your folks will be amazed with what you’ve done so far.” She watched as his deadpan expression tilted into an easy, infectious grin. “I’m thinking we set off a few small explosives and our work here is done.”

“It’s that bad, isn’t it?”

“It’s not great. I won’t lie. But I’ve seen worse. Why don’t you put together those sandwiches and point me toward a fan so we can keep this smoke from drifting through the rest of the house?”

“You don’t have to—”

“I’m hungry, Liz. Make some sandwiches, and I’ll start cleaning.” He gave her a look. “If you don’t, I might be forced to eat the rest of the swiss cake rolls.” His lips twitched charmingly. “You know you like them.”

“They’re full of sugar and preservatives.”

“That’s what makes them so good.”

She shook her head, the scent of burnt bacon overwhelming. Classical music filled the air.

“Liz?” Carter said.

“Yeah?” she said, trying to ignore the obvious.

“You’re pocket’s ringing.”

“I know.” She pulled her cell phone out of her skirt pocket. Grant again. “I’m sorry, but I’d better take this. There’s probably a fan in the front hall closet.” As Carter left in search of the fan, she turned toward the back yard. “Hello?”

“Liz? Finally! I thought you were going to make yourself available.”

“Sorry. Some things came up.”

“Yeah, well things came up here, too, and I could use your help. Now’s not the time to go AWOL on me. Did you get my text? My e-mail?”