Expectations. Brenda Novak

wanted to be certain that the person she hired fit in.

      “Can we get a drink?”

      Adam’s voice startled her. She turned to see his arms and face glistening with sweat despite the cooler weather. His T-shirt and faded blue jeans clung damply to his body.

      Jenna could smell the slight tang of his sweat as he brushed past her to claim a glass from the cupboard. She tried to forget the times she’d tasted the salt on his skin after they’d been swimming in the ocean or running or…

      Ryan followed Adam in, carrying a jar with a huge spider inside. “Look, Mom! Isn’t this cool?”

      Stifling her initial revulsion, Jenna forced a smile. “It’s great. What kind of spider is it?”

      “Adam’s not sure. It looks like a tarantula, but it’s not. See the babies crawling on its back?”

      This time Jenna couldn’t quell a shiver as Ryan shoved the jar right up to her face. Inside, she could see hundreds of tiny spiders squirming on their mother’s back. “Don’t you think you should let it go?” she asked.

      “I’m not going to hurt it. I just want to keep it as a pet.”

      “I think it would rather be free.”

      Ryan rolled his eyes at Adam. “My mom’s trying to turn me into a sissy.”

      “Going soft in her old age, is she? She didn’t feel too soft last night. She nearly ruined some equipment I consider very valuable.” Adam rubbed his neck where she’d chopped him and grinned.

      Glad he hadn’t put a hand to his other injury, as well, Jenna resisted the urge to smile back at him. They’d been angry with each other for fifteen years. She might be soft on children, animals, even insects, but he was a full-grown man, and she wasn’t about to go soft on him. Soft got you hurt, especially if it involved his “equipment.”

      “Could be poisonous,” she replied, keeping her eyes on the jar with the spider, where, fortunately, Ryan’s attention remained.

      “It can’t bite me when it’s in a jar, Mom. You’re just afraid it’ll die or something, and you don’t like to see anything get hurt.”

      “Just rattle a few pans in the middle of the night and send it through the kitchen window. She’ll smash it quickly enough,” Adam said, and downed his glass of water.

      Jenna narrowed her eyes. “You look pretty healthy to me.”

      He cocked one dark eyebrow at her. “You haven’t seen my bruise.”

      “And I’ll thank you not to show it to me.” Jenna’s quick response drew Ryan’s interest.

      “What bruise?” he asked.

      Adam gave Jenna a slow smile, letting her stew.

      “It’s right here—on my neck.”

      He tugged his T-shirt down until Jenna saw more chest than she wanted to. She glanced away, but Ryan said, “I don’t see anything.”

      “Just give it a few days,” Adam told him.

      “Or give me one more clear shot,” Jenna muttered under her breath.

      Adam hooted with laughter, but she ignored him. To Ryan, she said, “You can keep the spider for a day or two, then turn it loose in the woodpile.”

      The doorbell sounded, and Jenna felt a profound sense of relief. She hated being in the same room with Adam. He kept her off balance, scowling at her one minute and teasing her the next.

      At the same time she had to admit that his presence at the Victoriana excited her like nothing had in a long time.

      “That must be my applicant.” She dropped a kiss on her son’s sweaty brow. “Are you all finished with the wood?”

      “Yeah, but Pop wants Adam to weed the garden. There’s only pumpkins and squash left, but I said I’d help, too.”

      Jenna blinked in surprise. Pop? What had happened to “Mr. Durham”? “I’m glad you’re making yourself useful,” she said. “I’d better get the door.”

      The girl on the front step was young, maybe eighteen. She seemed eager enough to work, but tattoos on her arms and neck and extensive body piercing didn’t create the best impression. The Durhams were conservative, and their business was intended to re-create the aura of Victorian days. This girl’s appearance was hardly consistent with that.

      Still, Jenna asked her a few questions, just to be sure she wasn’t making a mistake. As they stood in the hall talking, Adam and Ryan came past them to head outside.

      The girl’s eyes rounded and her gaze stayed on Adam until the door shut behind him. Then she stared blankly at Jenna. “What? What did you ask?”

      Jenna repeated the standard question about prior experience, but while she waited for an answer, her eyes strayed to her own reflection in the cheval mirror across the room. If they hadn’t known each other before, would Adam find her as attractive as this young woman had just found him? Could she catch his eye? Make it follow her across a room?

      For the past five years she’d felt invisible to Dennis, and throughout her marriage she hadn’t bothered to notice any other men who might have given her some indication of her attractiveness. She’d been too busy trying to make her world right. Adam had said she looked good, but she’d been in her robe, with her hair a mess. He couldn’t have meant it.

      “Mrs. Livingston?”

      It was Jenna’s turn to be jerked back to the conversation. “Yes?”

      “I was wondering how many days a week you need someone.”

      “The restaurant is only open for dinner Thursday through Saturday, and Sunday for brunch. Boyd Robertson is our cook. He comes from a military background and runs a pretty tight ship, so we’ve always called him by his last name. He’s lived in Mendocino as long as I can remember, and his culinary talents pull in a lot of locals in addition to our guests. If we get busy, Mrs. Durham, one of the owners, helps cook, and I help waitress.”

      “So how many hours would that be?”

      “About twenty a week.”

      The girl glanced through the front window, and Jenna wondered if she was hoping to catch a glimpse of Adam, who had disappeared around the side. “I’m afraid that wouldn’t be enough. I really need something full-time.”

      “You might try some of the restaurants in Fort Bragg if you can’t find a position around here,” Jenna told her.

      “Thanks.” With a fleeting smile, the girl left, and Jenna decided to hire the applicant who was pushing fifty years old. The last thing she needed was a waitress who followed Adam around with stars in her eyes—not that another woman’s admiration of him bothered her, she told herself.

      ADAM WHISTLED as he helped his grandfather weed, wondering why he felt so carefree this morning. An avalanche of letters and legal documents awaited him at the office, and though he hadn’t checked his voice mail, he knew it was loaded with messages. He’d told his grandparents he had some extra time this week, but in his world there was no such thing. Still, here he was, pulling out weeds with Pop as if at least thirty people didn’t need to get in touch with him.

      It must be the change of pace, he decided. His work was grueling, all-encompassing, a hundred-hour-a-week investment. Mendocino represented home and family and was, in its comfortable way, refreshing.

      Adam stood up and drew a deep breath of the salty air gusting in from the sea. He saw Jenna through the window, talking to the heavyset Mr. Robertson, the Durhams’ cook. She wasn’t sixteen anymore, but she looked better at thirty-two. Her body hoarded no unwanted pounds. Karate, or some other type of exercise, had kept her muscles toned, and her eyes, which had always been her loveliest feature, hadn’t changed.

      Except,