“Well, why do you think you can’t do this?”

With a scowl, she replied.  “I don’t have a kitchen.”

Okay, that would be a major drawback for a caterer.  She really hadn’t thought this through.  “What else?”

“Does anything else matter?”

“Humour me.”

Em gusted out a sigh, and began to enumerate on her fingers.  “I don’t have the kind of vehicle I need.  I don’t have any help.  I don’t have all the things a caterer would need like serving dishes, warming dishes, utensils.  The list goes on.”

“I suppose you can’t cook, either.”

Jonathan worked hard to restrain the laugh wanting to burst free.  He wondered if she got light-headed from the way blood receded and flowed in and out her head.  Fire flashed up in cheeks that had been ghostly pale seconds ago.

Her revolving colour reminded him of one of those old fashioned barber poles.

She shot out of her chair.  “Of course I can cook!”

“Good to know.  It sounded like you needed reminding.  Of course…”

“Of course what?”

“I was thinking that maybe I could recommend your services to some of my friends, but I can’t just take your word for it that you can cook.”

Plopping back into the chair, her expression dazed, she said, “What?  You’d do that for me?”

Yeah, he would.  After watching her the last few days, he had no doubt she could do whatever she set her mind to.  Obviously a fighter, Em wouldn’t let life push her aside.  One way or the other, she was the type to achieve her goals—by herself if necessary.  Since—for some reason—he wanted to help her, this time it wouldn’t be necessary.

“Maybe.  But like I said, I only have your word that you’re worth the risk.  Tell you what, why don’t you cook for Alicia and I tonight?  It will give Essie a break too.  She gets upset with me whenever I tell her she’s doing too much.”

M closed her eyes.  He’s diabolical. Her first instinct was to tell him to take his offer and shove it, but how could she do that now?  She knew Estelle—Essie?  For a guy that didn’t like to use diminutive’s of people’s names he was sure free with them!—was having a hard time keeping up, but her pride demanded she keep going.  M respected her.  She’d even found herself comparing Estelle to her own mother.

Why fight it?  If she could do something to ease Estelle’s burden, she would.

While heaving a giant sigh, she said, “Okay.”

“So gracious.”

He stood up, said, “Stay there for a minute,” and walked out of the office.

If he hadn’t have been blocking the doorway talking to his sister, M would have got up and left.

Who did he think he was?  Insulting her, throwing orders at her?  Oh, yeah.  And let’s not forget he can make me denounce the whole born again virgin thing with just a touch. If Alicia hadn’t spoken up when she did, M feared she would have wrapped herself around Jonathan, tackled him to the floor, and had her wicked way with him.

She heard two sets of footsteps.  Alicia’s running in the other direction, and his approaching.  He came into her line of vision, started to prop himself on the desk beside her, hesitated, then went back around his desk to sit down.

“Alicia tells me you want to do some work in my mother’s garden.”

What?  M floundered at the change in topic.  Had she made yet another stupid mistake?  Was she going to lose the chance he’d just offered her because of it?

“Y…yes.  Is that okay?  I’m sorry if it upsets you.”

“No, I have no problem with it.  She mentioned you thought the two of you could make it into a special place for her to remember our father.  I think that’s a great idea.  Do whatever you want.”

More relieved than she cared to admit, she said, “Thanks.  I don’t know anything about gardening, so don’t expect too much.  We’re going to get some books from the library.”

Jonathan leaned back in his chair and watched her for a moment.  “Why not?”

“Why not what?”

“Why don’t you know much about gardening?  Doesn’t it interest you?”

She squirmed in her seat.  “Ah, I don’t really know if it does.  I’ve just…well, I’ve…I’ve never had a real home, you know?  So, I haven’t had the opportunity to find out.”

Thankfully, Alicia came barrelling back into the room and put an end to his line of questioning.

“Here you go, Jonny.”

She leaned against his side and handed him what looked like a wallet.

“Thanks, Allioop.”

He pulled out a credit card and handed it to M.  “Take Alicia and go do some grocery shopping for dinner tonight.  You can hit the library after that.”

Other than shaking her head, M didn’t move.  “I’m not taking that.  And stop ordering me around.”

He looked at his sister.  “Guess I forgot to say please, eh?”

“That’s not nice, Jonny.”

“Please take this and pick up some groceries for tonight.  But I’m telling you right now, buy us Brussels sprouts and you’ll have a problem on your hands.”

What was that I said the other day?  Oh yeah.  I’m not handing anyone the gun or ammunition for someone to take a shot at me.  Well, I’m not letting them hand it to me, either.

She’d been accused of theft by Jonathan’s ilk before, because after all, someone like them would never stoop so low.  People like M didn’t have to sink, they were already there.

Well, she was smart enough to learn from past experience.

“I’ll pay.  I’ll give you the bill so you can reimburse me, but I’m not taking your credit card.”

“I’m sending Alicia with you.  I’m fairly sure you’re not going to abscond with her, or go on a shopping spree with my card while she’s with you.”

M stood up.  “Thanks.  You’re right.  I wouldn’t do either.  But I’m still not taking your card.  You can pay me back later.”

Trying to ease her own tension, she wiggled her brows and continued. “Besides, I know where you live, and I know you’re good for the cash.”

Turning to Alicia, M put out her hand.  “So, Miss Alicia, are you ready to take your first excursion with me?  Just us girls?”

Alicia, still leaning against her brother’s arm, didn’t say anything for a moment.  Instead, she accessed M with an intense frown, then looked at Jonathan.

He picked her up and sat her on his lap.  “Whadaya think, Allioop?  Do you want to go?”

Finally a grin broke free, and she bellowed, “Let’s go!”

The breath M had been holding on to blew out with a loud sigh.  Jonathan looked at her and grinned.  “Then off you go.  Lucky me, I get to have a meal with two beautiful ladies tonight.”

M realized the spirit in which the comment had been made, but her heart caught, and her tummy fluttered.

He thinks I’m beautiful.

Alicia ran to her side, but M remained rooted to the floor, her gaze caught up with his.  She wondered if he could feel the way the air between them seemed to sizzle and burn like an electrical charge.

If the heat in his stare was anything to go by, he could.

Installment 25 Coming Soon!

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“Hi, Leslie,” I replied, with a lump in my throat.  Leslie Morgan’s necklace sparkled, and I gazed in awe at her attractive bracelet as her cell phone ringtone wafted my way.  My pulse raced, and my body froze when I saw her.  Here it is, the 11th of June, and I still haven’t asked Leslie out.  I’m crazy about her, and school will be out in less than two weeks.  We friended each other on Facebook in April, but people friend each other at the drop of a hat. Time is moving, and I’ve got to act fast.

That night I tossed and turned, wondering how I’d get the nerve to ask her out on a date.  Should I call her, leave a note, or send her a rose?  Leslie has wavy auburn hair, the kind that turns bronze in the sunlight.  I longed to hold her hand, gaze into her eyes, and watch the sunset at Pinehenge Park with her.  I was truly smitten.

The next morning I saw her in the hall as she was leaving History class.

“Leslie, how are you doing,” I asked haltingly.  My tongue was in a knot.

“Pretty well, Tim,” Leslie replied with a fragile smile.

“Leslie, what are you doing this summer?” I asked, straining for something to say.

“I’ll be working at Camp Laurel for the Handicapped.  Since I’ll be majoring in Special Education in college, I thought I’d get some experience in the field.  What are your plans for the summer?”

“I’m going to apply at the radio station, since I’m such a music buff.  Maybe I’ll get a deejay job.  By the way, Leslie, when’s your birthday?  Isn’t it in July?

“It’s July 14th.  I’ll be at camp then.  It’ll be fun.  Tim, I’ve got to get to Trig class.  See you on Monday,” she said, as she slipped away–again.

All weekend I thought about Leslie Morgan.  Leslie’s a genuine and down-to-earth girl, unlike a lot of girls at school.  The problem is she’s dating Dave Donahue from the baseball team.  He’s always dumping her, only to make up again.  Leslie’s blind to Dave, always giving him one more chance.  She deserves better, and I’m it.  Now, if I could only ask her out!

The following Tuesday I ran into my friend Perez Garcia.  “Perez, how did you hook up with Pat Caffrey last year?  I have this huge crush on Leslie Morgan from History class, but every time I see her, I get tongue-tied.”

“I was helping Pat study for an English exam last June.  She got a 93, and she couldn’t have been happier.  We started dating right after that.”

“But Leslie doesn’t need any help with History.  She always aces the tests, getting 95’s or 100’s.  I just don’t know what to say to her.  What if Dave finds out?”

“Ask her to the movies.  Joan of Arc is opening this weekend, and it’s going to be a blockbuster, like Cars last year. Good luck, and I’ll catch ya later.”

I kept putting off asking Leslie out.  What if she said no?  That thought unnerved me.  I rehearsed lines in my mind, making sure I didn’t trip on my words.  The lines went like this:

“Leslie, how would you like to go to see Joan of Arc Saturday night?

“Leslie, do you want to go out for an ice cream Friday night?”

“Hi, Leslie, would you like to meet over at Pinehenge Park?”  The lines came out so effortlessly, but of course, Leslie wasn’t around.

Two days later Perez cornered me in the hall.  “So Tim, did you ask Leslie out?”

“No, not yet,” I replied.

“Time is ticking.  Tomorrow is the last day of classes.”

The sands were slipping through the hourglass in my mind, and I felt more helpless with each grain that passed through.

The next day at lunch I overheard Leslie and Dave talking.  They said something about Pinehenge Park and 6 o’clock.  So I decided to take a stroll down to the park to do a little innocent spying.

A lot of the gang goes down to the park to hang out, and it’s always fun shooting the breeze with friends.  The oaks and maples were in full bloom, it was 75 degrees, and I needed a study break.  As I was walking down a tree-flanked path, I began to hear two familiar voices over a din of rock music.  The voices belonged to Leslie and Dave.  I decided to hide behind an oak tree across the way and eavesdrop.  I’d seen them together before but usually in a group.  I’d never seen them alone at Pinehenge Park.

“Leslie, be there at 9.”

“I’ve got to study, Dave.  Exams are next week.”

“Study, study, study!  That’s all you ever do!  I was hoping we’d hang out with the guys after the game, then we could get it going later on. You’d better produce for me tonight–I’ve waited long enough.  What’ll I tell the guys if you don’t show? “

Why does Leslie put up with his nonsense? I thought.

“Dave, your friends are superficial creeps.  I’m not a piece of meat for you to devour.”

“Don’t give me that baloney.  It’s a man’s world–women were made for men, and girls were made for boys.  It’s biological manifest destiny.  Give me some tonight, or it’ll be over!”

I was seething inside.  The girl of my dreams was right in front of me, and she was with a louse.  Meanwhile, the argument was escalating. If only I had Leslie’s cell number, I could go behind a tree nearby, and that’d distract Dave.

“Don’t bother, Dave.  I’ve finally seen you for what you are.  I was naive for a long time.  You seemed all right at first–you’re handsome and athletic, but you’re pushy and I don’t like that.  I’m saving my first time for someone I really like.”

I respected Leslie for standing up to Dave.  I too am a virgin, and I plan to wait until I’m married, regardless of what the guys say.  Meanwhile, the quarrel raged on:

“I’ll find another girl before you find another guy.  Julie Jensen is willing, and so is Kelly White.”

“Then go ahead and see Julie,” Leslie said sharply.  “She’s more your speed anyway.  And one more thing, Tim–get a life!

“Don’t talk to me like that.  I’m Dave Donahue,” he snarled, as he grabbed Leslie’s knapsack and unzipped it.  Her books and papers tumbled out.  He then shoved her to the ground.  Leslie’s face turned white, and tears began to stream down her cheeks.  Adrenaline shot through my body.

“Let her be, you lowlife,” I shouted, as I emerged from my hiding place, 50 feet away.

“Just who are you, nerdface?” Dave sneered.

“I hate to see a girl treated like that,” I said firmly.

Leslie was still crying but managed to smile weakly at me.

“One way or another, you’re going to give it to me.  Hopefully, we can get it over with tonight, because I want it,” Dave said, menacingly.  “Anyway, I’ve got to cruise.  The game starts at 7.  You know where to be tonight.  I’ll be waiting,” Dave said with a sly grin.  Leslie gave Dave an icy stare as he walked toward his car.

I was finally alone with Leslie.  I picked up her books and papers, which were strewn all over the grass.  I noticed her skin was still pale.  “Leslie, are you all right,” I asked quietly.

“O.K., just a little dizzy,” she said, as she slowly regained her composure.

“Has he tried to come on to you before tonight,” I asked.

“A few times, but he’s all talk.  He did scare me this time; he’d never done anything like this.  He’s probably stressed out because of the big game.  It’s over between us anyhow, and summer’s coming.  I’ll be glad to get to camp.”

“Leslie, I was wondering if we could go to the ice cream parlor,” I said quickly.

“My treat!  I owe you one,” Leslie said emphatically.  I don’t know what he would have done if you hadn’t shown up.   He’s got a temper, and he’s getting more controlling.”

We talked for an hour at Marty’s Ice Cream Parlor nearby.

“Leslie, do you know about the Teens Against Violence Coalition?  Students started to meet a month after the Columbine shooting in 1999.  We talk about combating all sorts of violence, from shootings to bullying to date rape,” I said.  “Olinda Jackson is the one to speak to about violent boyfriends.”

“Maybe I’ll call her this weekend,” Leslie replied.

I walked Leslie home, and I encouraged her to call or e-mail me.   The next few days passed quickly, and I took my exams.  After five days, I decided to give Leslie a call to see how she was doing.  For 30 minutes I stalled, as I approached the phone, then shied away.  I wish I had Leslie’s e-mail, because e-mail is a godsend for shy people.  As it stood, I was a shy person with only a phone number.  Sure, I could send Leslie a letter, but she’ll be leaving for camp any day.  Finally, I dialed the number.

“Leslie, this is Tim McDonald.  I was wondering how you’ve been doing since last Friday.”

“Pretty well–very busy getting ready for camp.  Sorry I haven’t gotten back to you-I’ve been so busy!  I’ll be back from camp in two months.  I’ll be in touch in late August!”

Late August was two long months away.  I had to see her before then.

Meanwhile, I had gotten a job cleaning at the local top-40 station.  It wasn’t a deejay job, but it was a start.

The next two weeks went by slowly.  There was a hit song out, “Yours for Life,” by Sara Stanley, which reminded me of Leslie.  Sara sounds like a cross between Mariah Carey and a female John Mayer.  Since the song knocked me out, I requested it every night, hoping she’d hear it and call me.  I wasn’t sure if Leslie would be listening to the radio at camp, as it was hard to pick up a local station so far away.  I kept requesting the song, though.

I made up my mind that I had to see Leslie on her birthday.  I decided I would surprise her at camp that day.  By the time the 14th of July rolled around, I was wired.  I was even losing weight.  The night before Leslie’s birthday I tossed and turned.  How would the next day turn out?

Saturday the 14th arrived, at last.  Luckily, I had the day off from work.  I was planning to leave for Camp Laurel at noon with Mike O’Connor.

“Tim, where are you going today,” my mom asked, shortly after I’d gotten up and showered.

“I’m going to visit a friend at Camp Laurel.  I’m going up with Mike, and he’s driving, so I won’t need the car today.  I’m paying Mike 7 bucks for gas.

“Be sure to get some breakfast.  It’s going to be a hot one today,” my mom reminded me.

“I’ll grab some toast and juice,” I said quickly.

While slipping the bread slices into the toaster, I thought about that Sara Stanley tune again.  It was just the kind of song Leslie would like: folk-tinged pop.  It was our song, though she didn’t know it yet.

Mike and I left at noon sharp.  We arrived at the camp at one.

“They’ve got to be swimming now,” I said, perspiring.

“They usually go in around 1:30,” Mike replied, clutching his towel and preparing to make a mad dash for the lake.  “Everybody will be in today–that sun’s a razor, and it’s 90 degrees.”

We headed for the lobby.

“I’m looking for a Leslie Morgan who works here,” I asked the receptionist, a dark-skinned Puerto Rican girl named Maria Rodriguez.  “She’s a counselor, and today’s her birthday.”

“You’re out of luck.  Leslie went to the shore with some of her friends.  It was her day off.”

My face fell when I heard that.

“As long as you guys are here, you might as well go for a swim.  Salvage something,” Maria offered.

“Yes, yes,” Mike said merrily, eyeing Maria.  I was in the dumps because I was going to miss out on Leslie-and the Jersey shore was 200 miles away!

“Come on, Tim, let’s go for a swim.  Just leave a note for Les after we’re done,” Mike said.

I reluctantly walked to the dressing room.  After suiting up, however, we were in the water in ten seconds flat.  While we were swimming, I was thinking about what I’d write to Leslie in that note.  Mike couldn’t stop talking about Maria the receptionist-love at first sight?!

After we were done and dressed, we went back to the lobby.  I borrowed a pen and a piece of paper, and wrote:

Dear Leslie,

I know you will be surprised to hear from me.  I wanted to visit you on your birthday, but you had gone for the weekend.  I hope you had a good day.  Please drop me a line.

Sincerely, Tim McDonald

“That note’s too generic,” Mike chided.

“But it’s sincere-and that’s what she likes,” I retorted.

After waiting for Mike to finish chatting with Maria, we decided to head back, stopping by Perez Garcia’s on the way back.  After hanging out and eating pizza with Perez and Pat, Mike dropped me off at my house.

A few days passed.  I buried myself in my work.  I wasn’t sure if Leslie would write back.  I lost another two pounds.

“Tim, I’ve set up an appointment with Dr. French.  He’s awfully good to talk to,” Mom said.

“I’m fine.  I have a crush on some girl, that’s all,” I said impatiently.

“But all you do is work and think about that girl.  She’s not the only fish.”

“That’s such a cliché,” I replied.  “Besides, Leslie’s unique.  She’s an amazing writer and artist-not your average fish in the sea.”

“There’ll be others,” Mom said, brushing it off.

There was no one like Leslie.

My sister Joanne went to get the mail.  When she came back, I asked her if I’d gotten anything.

“Let’s see: the phone bill, a Wendy’s ad, a Justin Timberlake Fan Club newsletter for me, Baseball Digest for Dad, Better Homes and Gardens for Mom, and a letter for you from a Morgan with a Laurel, Pennsylvania postmark.

“Morgan?!  Laurel?!  That’s Leslie’s last name, and that’s where she works,” I gasped.

I ran to my room.  My pulse raced, and my legs trembled as I tore open the envelope.  I then read:

Dear Tim,

Thanks for remembering my birthday-what a great surprise!  It was so good to hear from you.  It gets lonely up here, even though we’re busy all the time.  I’d like you to come up for a visit sometime next month.  And maybe we can catch the sunset at Pinehenge.

Sincerely, Leslie

“Mom?”

“Yes, Tim.”

“Cancel that appointment with Dr. French.  And Mom?  May I have the car next Saturday?

The End

Contributed by aspiring romance writer Sid Tierney.

He tossed her a glance as he walked by and went to lean against the far side of his desk.  Out of sight of the doorway.

Apparently he threw some sort of invisible lasso along with that glance, because despite wanting to stand firm and hold her ground, she found herself meekly following.

“You know, for someone who needs a place to stay, you’re always quick with the offer to pack your bags and leave.”

She stuck her chin out at him.  “Yeah, well, I’ve learned the hard way that it’s better than sticking around until someone forces you to leave.”

“Sounds like an interesting story.  Care to share?”

“No.”

He shrugged.  “Okay.  So, Em…ployee, why are you ready to run out on us again?”

“My name is not Employee.”

“So what it?”

“M.”

“Uh huh.  Well, since you won’t tell me your full name, and I don’t want to call you Em, you’ll just have to put up with whatever I call you.  Now again, why are you forever ready to take off on us?”

He made her sound like some sort of coward, or someone who couldn’t commit.

“I don’t want to go.  But I messed up.  I shouldn’t be looking after a child.  I wasn’t even thinking about her safety around the pool.  I should have known better.”

“Then I guess we’ll both have to leave her high and dry.”

M gasped.  “What?”

“Well, based on your rationale, the only people who should be taking care of a child are those that have all the answers and always know what to do.  That counts me out.  I’m still learning and still making mistakes.  Hey, two days ago I didn’t know you weren’t supposed to hit a choking person on the back.  I could have hurt her if I’d done that.”

Rendered speechless, she could only stare at him.  She’d thought for sure he’d want to toss her out for endangering Alicia.

“And up until just now, I’ve always sent her to her room as discipline.  As you so charmingly pointed out your first day here, playing in her room with her toys isn’t going to teach her much of a lesson.  Maybe I should cut out and leave you here with her.  You seem to have a handle on more things than I do.”

“Stop it.  Just stop it!  What if she can hear you?  You’ll never leave her, and we both know it.  You’ve made your point.”

She covered her face with her hands, refusing to let him see she hovered on tears yet again.  But these were a different kind of tears.  For months now her life had been nothing more than a seething ball of anguish that she desperately tried to overcome.  Yet every time she felt as if she’d finally pulled herself out of the pit of despair, something new threatened to bury her.

This current development blindsided her.  Jonathan Davenport, a.k.a. richy rich, living in this cold, ice castle so far out of her realm, in a rather round about, not to mention insulting way, had just offered her a hand out of the pit.

While others who’d claimed to know her, to love her, had been quick to level charges against her, he absolved her.

She felt him grasp her wrists and pull her hands away from her face.  “Why are you so upset?  Do you think I can’t see you’ve been protecting her in one way or another since you got here?  I know this wasn’t deliberate, and I know you’ll be insanely vigilant in the future.”

Jonathan didn’t let go of her hands.  Instead, while his better judgement screamed don’t do it in his mind, he pulled her closer.

For the last few days she’d drifted around the house like a wraith, and it bothered him.  In the short time he’d known her she hadn’t backed down from anything.  Something had sapped the spirit from her.

Oh, she’d been pleasant and polite.  He’d watched her with Alicia, doing her best to mend the damage Summer caused.  So gentle, so tentative, in her treatment of his baby sister.  But her fire, her spark, had diminished, if not died.

He’d waited for her to come to him about her business.  She hadn’t.  Could that be the problem?

He refused to let go when she tried to pull her hands free.

“Please, let me go.  I shouldn’t be here.  I should never have come to Toronto in the first place.  I should just go back ho…go somewhere else.”

“Why?  Why shouldn’t you be here?”

She pulled in such a deep breath her whole body expanded with it.

“Because now I fell like I’m living here under false pretences and taking advantage of you.  I didn’t really think this through.  At least not any father than thinking I could stay with Summer and start my own business.  I needed to get away from Edmonton, so I just latched onto the first idea that popped into my head.  But now…now I’ve done some research and I know I can’t do this.  At least not under these circumstances.  Staying here was just supposed to be temporary.  Until I got my business going and I could afford something else.  That’s never going to happen.  I have to accept that.”

By the time she finished talking the top of her head filled Jonathan’s line of sight.  He had to relax his spine and slouch a bit so he could hear the words she mumbled into her chest.

He liked it better when she yelled at him.  His lips twitched and he had to squelch a grin and yank his thoughts away from where thinking of her yelling at him led.

“So… what?  You’re telling me you’re just going to quit without even giving it a shot first?”

Her head whipped up so fast he nearly didn’t have time to react and pull his chin out of the line of fire.

Eyes blazing, she said, “I am not a quitter!”

Need overcame logic.  He released one of her hands and reached up to stroke away the lone tear already evaporating on her cheek.

He wanted to say something in reply, but for some reason his entire universe suddenly consisted of the patch of skin under his finger.  And just as the known universe expanded, so did his.  Of its own volition, his finger moved.  His eyes followed as it cruised down across her cheek.  His lips twitched with envy as it brushed over her slightly open mouth and caught the tip of her tongue.  His finger lingered, compelled beyond reason to stay…right…there.

“Jonny?  Can I get down now?  Pwease?”

The moment shattered, and they both jerked back.  Thank God for his sister.  What kind of insanity was this?

“Not yet.  I’ll tell you when.”

Thankful Em hadn’t bolted—although she had gone exceedingly pale—he returned to their conversation.  Maybe if he pretended the moment had never happened…?  “Then don’t quit without giving this your best shot.”

He needed to put some distance between them.  Pointing to the chair opposite his desk, he said, “Have a seat, and tell me why you think you can’t do this.”

She hesitated, clearly not wanting too, then moved to comply.

Positioning his chair in such away so that his little chaperone—ah, little sister—was visible just behind Em, he waited.

Waited.

Go to Installment 24

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“Whacha doin’?”

M looked over at the little feet standing beside her head.  Bare toes hugged the lush grass beneath them.

“Hi sweetie.  Come lie beside me.”

“’Kay.”

Alicia plopped herself down on the lawn beside M and struck a similar pose.  A softly rounded chin rested on chubby hands.

M’s heart squeezed.  She could very easily fall in love with this little girl.  Alicia still acted a little hesitant with her, but over the last few days the two of them had begun to develop a relationship.

“Whatcha doin’?”

“I’ve been thinking.”

“What about?”

“Well, for one thing, I think this garden looks kinda gloomy.  All the other gardens here look very happy and bright, but not this one.  I think the gardener forgot about it.”

“Nope.  He didn’t forget.  This was Johnny’s mommy’s garden.  Daddy didn’t wet anyone touch it, ‘cause it made him sad.”

M looked at the overgrown tangle in front of her.  Oh, fabulous.  How did she manage to trip herself up like this?

“Was this an important place for Johnny’s mommy?”

“Uh huh.  Daddy said this was her own specia’ spot.”

M bit chewed on her lip for a moment.  “Do you think maybe we could make this a special spot again?  Make it pretty?  It could be your special spot to remember your daddy.”

Alicia palms cranked her head around, and her big brown eyes considered M.

“Do you have a specia’ spot somewhere?”

M shook her head.

“Do you need one?”

Oh baby, you have no idea.

“Let’s just worry about you right now, ‘kay?  Maybe we can think about a special spot for me some other time.  So, what do you think?  You want to help me make this garden pretty again?”

Alicia looked at the mess in front of them, her feet kicking back and forth as she thought.  “I don’t know how.”

M sat up and crossed her legs under her.  “Hmm.  You’ve got a point there, kiddo.  I don’t know how either.”

Small shoulders slumped.  “Oh.”

“Hey, don’t you worry.  We’re girls.  Girls can figure out how to do anything.  Didn’t you know that?”

“We can?”

“Absolutely.  And don’t you ever let anyone try to tell you different.”

M stood, and reached down to pick Alicia up.  “Come on, sweetie.  First of all, we need to ask Johnny if it’s okay to do some digging out here.  If he says yes, the two of us can go to the library and get some books.  It’s late in the season, but there must be something we can do.  Does that sound like a plan, Stan?”

Alicia giggled as she wrapped her arms and legs around M.  “You’re siwwy.  My name’s not Stan, it’s ‘icia.”

Nearly overcome with emotion, M remained silent for a moment.

For the first time, Alicia was responding to her like a happy, trusting little girl, her reserve dissolved.  M felt like she’d just been handed the greatest gift ever.

These Davenports were a dangerous lot.  They’d both steal her heart if she wasn’t careful.

“Nope.  I think I’m going to call you Stan.”

Alicia was still giggling over that when they reached Jonathan’s office.  “Johnny, Em says she’s gonna call me Stan instead of ‘icia!”

M caught her breath at the power of his gaze as it swept over the two of them standing in the doorway.

His eyes settled on his sister and M relaxed.  A tad.  “Really?  I think that’s a good idea.  After all, you can say “Stan.”

Alicia wriggled away from M and ran to her brother, who swung her up into his arms.  “So, scamp, where were you?  I thought you were right across the hall from me in your playroom.”

She stilled, but didn’t answer.

“Alicia?  Where were you, and why do I see grass between your toes?”

M heard quiet sobs, and watched as Alicia’s shoulders started to tremble.  “Sorry, Jonny.”

“Okay, but that still doesn’t answer my question.  Were you outside?”

She nodded against his shoulder.

“By the pool?”

M’s stomach dropped to her knees, and her heart wasn’t far behind.  The thought hadn’t even crossed her mind that a young child shouldn’t be anywhere near a pool unattended.  How long had she been out there wandering around?

“But Jonny, it’s not my fau’t.  The door wasn’t wocked.”

“Alicia, are you supposed to go out back without me?”

Her sobs cranked up to a wail, and she shook her head.

M couldn’t stand it.  This was her fault.  She knew the windows of Alicia’s playroom looked out over the back of the property.  Not only had she left the little latch on the outside of the door unlocked, her presence back there must have been like an invitation to the child.

“It’s not her fault.  It’s mine.  Please, don’t be mad at her.”

Energy fairly crackled from his green eyes as they lifted and speared her.  “Stay out of this.  I’ll deal with you in a minute.”

What?  He’d deal with her?

“You…”

His eyes glinted, and she bit her tongue.  He was right.  She needed to stay out of this. But still, she couldn’t get past the feeling that this was her fault.

Who was she kidding, anyway?  She was a loser.  She might be able to cook, but other than that, forget it.  What did she know?  Nothing.  She didn’t know how she’d ever be able to start her own business and she certainly didn’t know anything about caring for a child.  Agreeing to help Jonathan with Alicia was wrong.  She should just pack up and leave now—before he dealt with her and asked her to go.

But she wasn’t going to walk away from Alicia.  Not right now.

Jonathan tried to set Alicia down, but she clung to him like a barnacle.  “Come on, Allioop.  Let go.  I want you to go up to your room and think about why it’s wrong to be disobedient.”

He hesitated, cast an uncertain glance at M, then said, “On second thought, you can sit on a chair in the middle of your playroom where I can see you.  No toys.”

As he carried his sister across the hall, M heard her gasp out between sobs, “Wuv you, Jonny.  Forever and awways,” and realized it wasn’t just a statement of fact, it was also a plea for reassurance.  Thanks to Summer, her brother was the only person she had left.

“I love you too, sweetie.  Forever and always.  I promise.  But that doesn’t mean you don’t have to obey me.”

M wrapped her arms around her middle and waited for him to settle his sister on the chair he moved to the doorway of her playroom.

She spoke as soon as he returned.  “I’m sorry.  It was my fault.  I’ll get my things together and go.”

Go to Installment 23

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“Wow, that’s gorgeous.  Whose house is that?”

Jonathan’s pulse leapt up and took off.  He hadn’t heard her return.

Angry at himself—at the world—he snapped, “Nobody’s.”  He rolled the design up, snapped the elastic back, and shoved the lot back in the drawer.

Taking a steadying breath, he took her laptop from her hands.  “Have a seat.  This will just take a few minutes.”

He caught a glance of his monitor as he sat back down, his design mocking him.  Click.  All gone.

Em didn’t heed his suggestion, but started to prowl around his office.  She didn’t touch, or even seem to look at anything, but her movement—her very presence—kept him on edge.

She was going to drive him insane.

Focus.  Just focus.

He dug out his ISP’s manual and looked up the settings.  In less than a minute, he had her laptop logged on to the internet.

“Here you go.  Happy surfing.  When you’re ready to talk, we’ll talk.”  He knew he sounded like a jerk.  Although he didn’t voice the words, the tone of his voice clearly indicated he wanted her gone.

Fortunately, she wasn’t a dummy.  She took the hint, grabbed her laptop, threw a curt, “Thanks,” over her shoulder, and left his office.

Not my type, not my type, not my type.

Maybe if he repeated it enough times it would sink in, and he’d take heed.  Em—damn, he needed to know her name.  Using a diminutive suggested a closeness he shied away from.  He had to kill whatever emotions Em stirred in him.  Hmm.  Embalm!  Ha!  How about a little word association?  Kill, dead, Em, Embalm.  Maybe if used that name in his head, his brain would keep on the right track.  One that headed in the opposite direction of her.

Come on.  Strategize.  That’s what you do.

He needed reinforcements, that’s what he needed.

He reached for the phone.  Before Em…balm blew into his life and stirred up a whirlwind, he’d already decided to move things forward with Deirdre.  He wasn’t quite sure why he’d kept their relationship in a holding pattern.  She was exactly the kind of woman he wanted for a wife.  She… fit.

Well, there was no time like the present.  He knew he wanted to provide a stable home for his sister.  She’d never had a mother, and now she didn’t have a father either.  Maybe between him and Deirdre they could put together a semblance of a normal family.

As far as these thoughts and feelings about Embalm went, they were nothing but a transient aberration.  Maybe he was having some sort of early midlife crisis.  If so, he just needed to get his thinking back in line with his master plan.  He’d made it this far.  He wasn’t about to let his life fall apart now.

Besides, this was likely nothing more than some weird chemical reaction.  He didn’t need to be a shrink to know that she was against this—whatever this was—just as much as he was.  They were both adults, not teenagers ruled by their hormones.

He’d promised to help her and he would. And if Alicia formed an attachment with her he was happy to let Em stay until she got her business off the ground and found herself a place to live.

Until then, he’d behave like her employer.  Nothing more.  He had a great relationship with his executive assistant.  If he could have a pure business relationship with someone as smart and gorgeous as Brenda, surely he could do the same with Em.

Okay, he didn’t live with Brenda, and since he’d been working from home most of their conversations took place on the phone or online, but still.  She was the type of woman he’d be more inclined to be attracted to, but she did nothing for him.  Zip, zilch, nadda.

So what was it about Em?  Why did she stir things long dead to life?

Dead?  Word association.  Embalm, Embalm, Embalm.

He dialled Deirdre’s number.

Chapter Seven

Over the next few days M struggled with an almost overwhelming sense of discouragement.

Why had she thought she could do this?  Sure, she frequently picked up and moved.  And while others may think she did it without forethought, that wasn’t the case.  She always had some idea of where she’d be working.  Occasionally she’d hear something through the grapevine about a job opening somewhere, make a few phone calls, then just do it.

Her resume and references testified to her work ethic and experience, so she rarely had a problem landing the job she wanted.  Being easy to please made finding a place to live no problem either.

Her current situation was proving to be vastly different.  She’d desperately needed to leave Edmonton, so this time she’d acted rashly.  Oh, she had a plan, but she’d jumped into this without any real thought.  Based on her sister’s passing comment about ever needing a place to stay, and a line of thinking that led her to believe if she started her own business she wouldn’t need to look for a job, she’d quickly put Edmonton, and more importantly, Stephen and his family behind her.

Funny how reality could often turn out to be nothing more than a hard smack upside the head.

After doing a few days of research, she wasn’t so sure she could pull this off.  Everything Jonathan said about the restaurant business was backed up by a lot of data.  Even people with money and a sound business plan behind them failed in this industry. A lot of them.

Well, okay, she just wanted to start a small catering business.  People hired caterers all the time.  Enter M, who could cook circles around almost anyone.  A match made in heaven, right?  Wrong.  There were all kinds of details she’d never considered.  Now she had to deal with them marching back and forth in her brain and taunting her.

Being a caterer didn’t just mean she cooked and someone paid her for it.

While she’d been right to some extent—catering could be a lucrative home based business—her contemplation on the matter hadn’t progressed any farther than that.

Now she’d done nothing but contemplate the matter for the last two days.

And it wasn’t only tangible issues she’d have a problem with.  She’d read something about the necessity of interpersonal skills in the catering business.

She snorted.  “Oh, yeah.  No problem.  Let’s get cosy and make nice with the rich.  The very people that looked down their noses at me when I was a kid.  Like I was sub-human or something.”

How could she look and act like a competent business woman while waiting for someone to find fault with her?

And where would she do her cooking?  Most caterers did a lot of their prep work elsewhere.  She didn’t have a kitchen of her own.  And she’d need help of some sort, but how could she pay anyone?  Minimum wage in Ontario was eight dollars an hour.  She couldn’t afford that.  She also didn’t have the kind of vehicle she’d need.

“Hah!  I don’t have a vehicle at all!”

What about all the other things she’d possibly need?  Serving equipment.  Utensils.  Linens.  Tables.  China.  The list went on and on.

Keeping a positive attitude in the face of these realities turned into an almost impossible task.

Go to Installment 22

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We were laughing and joking in Scott’s car.  Most of the jokes centered on Scott being a geek.  I remember him saying “You’re just lucky this geek has a car.”  Scott wore glasses and was an Engineering major, but other than that he seemed like a regular guy.  He laughed with us easily and seemed not the least bit uncomfortable having three girls in his car.  He wasn’t skinny, but actually fit.  He wasn’t strikingly handsome, but more the kind of guy with average looks that could grow on you.  His sandy brown hair was cut short and he was clean shaven and had clear skin.  He was more nondescript than anything.  Then Heather got a text on her phone from Mel in the car in front that said some folks in her car wanted to stop at the Renaissance Fair for which we had just seen signs.

Scott’s face lit up. “Cool!  I love Renaissance Fairs.  That would be awesome.”

“That’s because you’re a geek,” said his sister Renee.

“If you mean because of the sci-fi fantasy books I read, then yeah, you’re right,” he shot back with a sheepish grin.

“What is it like at a Renaissance Fair?”  I asked, because as an English/Journalism major I had had my share of Renaissance literature classes, and actually thought I might like to go.

“It’s awesome.” answered Scott immediately.  “It’s like going back in time.  People walk around dressed in period costumes.  They put on jousting shows and demonstrate industries like blacksmithing.  There are also tons of booths where you can buy clothes, pottery, weapons; all sorts of stuff.”

“Sounds like a blast,” returned Renee as she rolled her eyes.

“No, really, it is,” said Scott.  And then just to me he said, “You should go, really.”

I was silent after that.  Did he think I should go because I was interested or because he wanted me to go with him?  Did he like me?  How would I feel about it if he did?  Was I attracted to him?  Well, I wasn’t not attracted to him.  I decided it was best to assume he meant nothing by it.

When we stopped a few miles later for gas, it turned out most people wanted to go to the Fair.  With a little rearranging, Renee and Heather got a ride back with some folks continuing on home.  Scott and I got back in his car and followed the others towards the fair.  It was not awkward at all and the laughing and joking continued even though it was just the two of us.  Scott, it turned out, was just an incredibly funny and easy-going guy.

When we got to the Fair, we all started out as one big group but it soon broke into a boy’s group and a girl’s group, as the guys got hung up in the weapons tent and the girls gravitated over to the jewelry.

After an hour or so, I let myself get separated from the group and started wandering around on my own.  I was browsing through a period clothing tent, eyeing the bustiers for some reason and sizing up if they had ones large enough to fit me.  They did.  As I turned to leave, there was Scott at the entrance to the tent peeking in.  We noticed each other at the same time.  His face broke into a grin.  Had he been looking for me?  Had I been looking for him?  I couldn’t really say, even to myself.

“So, see anything interesting?” he said.

“I’m trying to decide what would suit me.  Shall I dress like a tavern wench or a royal lady?”

“The wenches had more fun.  But I think your teeth are too straight.”

We both laughed.

It was then, standing just inside the entrance to the clothing tent that my cell phone rang.  It was Mara, my best friend from high school.  She attended State college, closer to our hometown so we didn’t see each other as much.

“Lacey, what are you doing?  Can you meet me for dinner?  There is someone I want you to meet!”

“Dinner?  Maybe.  Where are you?”  I looked at my watch.  It was almost 3:30.

“I’m actually just south of the U.  I didn’t think I’d be nearby, but Dave surprised me and took me to Engleton’s.  I told him I wish I’d known because I would have invited you.  But he said to just call you up.  We’ll hang out nearby at the dam until you can get here.”

“Who’s this Dave?” I asked, laughing.

“That’s why I’m so desperate for you to come.  We’ve been seeing each other for about a month now, and I’m dying for you to meet him.”

“Sounds like fun.  I’d love to meet Dave.”

“So can you come?”  I had turned away from Scott to take Mara’s call and was staring blankly at a clothes rack, but I could sense that he was still right there.  I was starting to feel a connection, like maybe he had come to find me.  Did he like me?  Did I want to just leave before finding out?  Did I want him to like me?  I still had no idea.

“Well, listen, I’m not home.  I’m actually at a Renaissance Fair in South Orange with a bunch of people from my dorm.  I’m not that far from Engleton’s, but I didn’t drive myself.  Let me see what I can do and I’ll call you right back.”

“Okay.”

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

I turned to face Scott and was startled slightly to find him right there.  I mean right there.  Close.  Looking at me.  Leaning in.  And then he was gently kissing me.  I responded, kissing him back.  So he kissed me harder.  His mouth was cool and fresh and as our tongues touched I felt a thrill of electricity shoot through me.  Then we had our arms around each other.  Now there was definitely attraction.  I felt tingly all over.  Actually there were waves of tingly rippling through me.  He was a fantastic kisser.  I had been kissed before but not like this.  This was not dutiful prom date kissing.  This was not I’m young and bored and want to explore kissing.  This was kissing that said I want you and only you.

I realized that I had been looking for him after all, hoping this would happen.  And I realized he had been looking for me.  Only me.  Because he liked—me.  After a few minutes we stopped kissing, but just pulled back a little with our arms around each other.  He was smiling.  His eyes were twinkling like he’d just told a great joke.  Mine probably looked the same.

It was me who spoke first.  “I really do want to leave and go meet Mara.” I said.  “Would you like to come with me?”

“I was hoping you would ask.” he said.

“Did you think kissing me would up your chances?”

“Something like that, yeah” he said.

I reluctantly let go of him and pulled out my phone.

“Mara.”  I said, after she answered.  “It turns out I have someone for you to meet, too.  His name is Scott.  I just met him yesterday and it turns out he’s a great kisser.”

I held the phone out from my head so Scott could hear Mara’s laughter.

“About five then?” I said, back into the phone.

“Okay, then, bye.”

I put the phone away and said, “Let’s get out of here.”

Scott took my hand and kept it all the way back to his car.

“Did you want to tell anyone we’re leaving?” he asked.

“Nah, they’ll figure it out when we are both missing!”

The End

Contributed by aspiring romance writer Tess Earnshaw.

Her skin, and everything underneath it, tingled as the scowl morphed into a predatory gleam.  Her brain conjured a picture of a jungle cat stalking a fawn.  No, not a fawn, a doe.  He’d play with it a long time before devouring every tasty morsel.

Man, she had a sick mind.  As far as sexual analogies went, that one was pretty gross.

Jonathan stepped in closer, crowding her back into the counter.  His pheromones called, hers screamed in answer, and if she’d been the swooning, girly type, she would’ve hit the floor at the power of it.

When their bodies were barely brushing, he said, “Who says that had anything to do with your choking?  Maybe it was just an excuse to get closer and see how you’d react.  Guess what?  You reacted.”  His brows kissed his hairline as he smirked.  “I saw.”

Jerk!  Men are such pigs!

He stepped back.  “And you might want to keep something else in mind.  If I remember correctly—and I assure you, I do—Alicia told you yesterday I get to spank you if you yell at me.  Try it again and see what happens.”

With that parting shot, he left the room.

M stumbled over to a kitchen chair, dropped onto it, and pressed an overheated cheek to the cool granite table.

Okay, as far as sexual power went, she wasn’t the only one with it, and she’d been a fool to forget it for even a minute.  Ah, but what an incredibly heady feeling.  Heady and even a little—fun.

However, in reality, it wasn’t quite so amusing when she was the one on the receiving end.  He’d very easily shifted the balance of power back to his favour.

Well, fine.  She didn’t plan on scurrying around like a scared mouse, or hiding in a corner whenever he happened to be around.  She planned to take him up on his offer of help, but she had some research to do first.  Because no way on earth was she going to look like a fool in front of him.  Again.

She got up and poured the rest of her coffee down the sink.

Since it seemed she lived with a walking, talking defibrillator—clear!—the extra jolt of caffeine left in her cup was redundant.  Jonathan had kick-started her body to the point where reserve currents of electricity still pulsated.

Yep.  She could forget about her java fix for the next week or so.

Shoring up her tingling nerves, she headed to his office and tapped on the door.  Hopefully, he’d be in there.  If she had to track him down, or wait any longer, she’d chicken out.

“Come in.”

M pressed her forehead to the door.  Shoulda waited.

Jonathan wrenched his eyes away from his computer monitor and watched her enter.  So much for wishing not to see her for another twenty-four hours or so.

Trying to focus his mind on something—anything—else hadn’t helped.  About every two seconds his thoughts cycled back to the scene in the kitchen, making it impossible for his body to settle back down.

Thank God for being hidden behind his desk.

He cleared his throat.  “Something wrong?”

He waited.  Watched her colour advance and recede at an alarming rate.  Finally, her eyes settled just above his head, and she spoke.

“Um, I’d like to take you up on your offer.”  Colour poured back into her face.  “Ah, yesterday’s offer.  You know…when you said you’d give me a hand with my start-up.  Does the offer still stand?”

A breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding slowly released.  Good to know he wasn’t the only one rattled.  Even better knowing she wasn’t here to tell him she planned to leave.  Although, why he cared so much was a mystery.  One he didn’t plan on trying to solve.

Barely restraining a grin, he said, “It does.”

“Okay.  Thanks.  But I’d like to do a bit more research first.  I have a laptop, and I was wondering what the internet situation is here.  I don’t have an ISP.”

“I talked my father into Wi-Fi a few years ago.  Will that work for you?”

She nodded.  “Yes.  It’s not Wi-Fi integrated, but I do have a PC card in my laptop.”

“Good.  If you want to get it for me, I’ll update your settings so you can connect.”

“Thanks.  I’ll get it now.”

After watching her practically run from his office, Jonathan sat forward and banged his forehead on his desk.

Clearly, he’d lost his mind since meeting Em.  What had he been thinking earlier?  Well, okay, he hadn’t been thinking.  Therein lay the problem.

He lifted his head and looked at the text displayed on his monitor.  He’d Googled “what to do when your child is choking,” and landed on a parenting site which firmly stated, “Don’t ever slap the victim’s back.  If a child is coughing and choking, let them cough.”

Who knew?  He certainly hadn’t, and it was enough to make his blood run cold.  What if he’d done that to Alicia and hurt her?  Sometimes the minefield called parenting scared him silly.

When Em had started to choke, he’d reacted instantly.  He’d wanted to help.  Hah!  He’d done anything but help the situation.  All he’d managed to do was heat himself up to incendiary levels.  And she’d made everything worse—or better, depending on your point of view.  At the feel of her nipples pecking into his chest, and the soft brush of her lips across his throat, he’d nearly detonated.  If he hadn’t been so quick to push her away, she would have felt his reaction as firmly as he’d felt hers.

Not good.  Not good at all.  He wasn’t his father.  He wouldn’t let his heart or his head be ruled by a pretty face.  He’d spent his life—from adolescence anyway—making sure his logical brain stayed in charge.  And for the most part, it hadn’t been that difficult.

Yet in the last few days his other side had been fighting for supremacy.

He sighed.  Okay, he wasn’t being entirely fair.  Over the last few months, creative urges he’d buried long ago began pushing their way to the surface.  He didn’t have to look far to see the proof of that.

Reaching across his desk, Jonathan clicked the mouse and closed the browser window.  His CAD program popped into view, showing the house design he’d been playing around with for the last few months.

Becoming a parent—because for all intents and purposes, that’s what he was now—had changed him somehow.  His carefully planned, purposefully structured, life suddenly felt flat.  Cold.

Pushing away from his desk, he went to one of the long drawers in his credenza and pulled out a role of drafts.  Months ago he’d been compelled to go in search of his drafting tools and sketch a design idea for a house.  Smoothing out the paper, he looked at the bare bones of his idea.  He’d missed this process, and he hated to admit it.  First, the clarity of a picture in his mind, then the freehand flow of pencil across paper, as that thought transformed into something tangible.  Then the next step of computer aided design.  Unfortunately, he’d given this all up before he had the chance to see a finished product.

Go to Installment 21

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A shudder raced through her as she turned from the window and surveyed the cardboard boxes lined along the brick wall. Considering her neighbor’s horrific fate two nights before, her unemployment and move to a smaller place paled in comparison. What weighed most on her mind was doing something for the old woman’s family, even if it was just to sit and comfort them. Maybe she could purchase something from the bakery and take it to the family this afternoon. Yes, that’s what she would do.

“Excuse me, Julia. Do you have a moment?”

The baritone voice brought her out of her reverie. Julia looked up to see the detective assigned to Mrs. Monroe’s case in the doorway. “Sure, come in.” When his dark gaze moved down her chiffon, silk gown, her stomach fluttered, as it did whenever he was near. Instinctively, she drew the satin sash tighter.

He cleared his throat. “Your sister let me in, but I can always come back later.”

Julia’s warm cheeks matched her tinted hair. “No, please make yourself comfortable while I change.” She hurried from the room. Her sister had stayed over to help with her move, and she planned to strangle her as soon as he left. How dare she allow him to come back while she was indecent? Having met the detective on two previous occasions, she couldn’t deny her attraction to him. His jet black hair and inquisitive eyes left her nearly breathless. Fanning herself, she browsed through her closet several minutes before deciding on a soft, blue cotton dress. She changed and returned to the sunroom.

“Can I get you coffee or tea, detective?” Julie asked, not missing his appreciative glimpse at her dress.

“No, I’m good. Please call me Will.”

She sat in a chair across from him, noticing for the first time the dry rose which fell from her fireplace mantel, now lay in the center of the table. It was a gift she’d bought herself last Valentine’s Day. She chose to ignore it. “Okay, Will, how can I help you?”

With pen and pad before him, his expression turned serious. “I wanted to go over this again. You said you heard a scream at two o’clock, Tuesday morning. Is that correct?”

“Yes, that’s correct.” With his head inclined, he scribbled notes. Her gaze followed the movement of his strong hand.

“How can you be sure of the time?”

“My favorite television show came on when the scream rang out.”

He cast a curious glance in her direction. “And what show is this?”

How embarrassing. At twenty-five, she not only bought herself roses but carried on a romance with the television. “The Dating Game.”

His full lips tilted at the corners. After a few unspoken moments, he continued. “I know you called the police. What did you do after that?”

“Just as I’ve told you on two other occasions, I ran to the window, and that’s when I saw the guy on the fire escape.”

“You were adamant about him being a black male. How can you be sure when it’s night?”

She wrapped her slender fingers around the teacup she’d left on the table earlier. Lifting it to her lips, she sipped the lukewarm liquid and set the cup back on the saucer. “The area was well-lit, and he wasn’t wearing a face mask. You’ve asked me most of these questions before. Are you hoping I’ll change my story?”

He closed the notepad and folded his hands on the table, drawing her attention to his well-defined forearms.

“You’re the only witness who has come forward, so I’m trying to get as much information as possible.” He smiled, showing even, white teeth.

Warmth swept through her lower abdomen. What was it about him that affected her this way? Looking away, she sipped her tea.

“Julia.”

The sound slid over her skin like oil. She looked up into his midnight eyes. “Yes?”

A sigh resonated throughout the room as he leaned back against the chair. “I have to be honest about why I’m really here. I remembered that your movers were coming today, and I wanted to see you before you left. I would like to stay in touch.”

Trying to steady her hands so he wouldn’t hear the cup clinking against the saucer, she let him continue.

“I would like to take you out. Is that possible?”

“Won’t this compromise the case?”

“Absolutely not. You’re not a suspect.” His gaze still held hers. “Maybe I’m moving too fast, but I’m totally taken by you.”

Since fainting was not an option, Julia took a much needed breath. “I would like very much to see you again.”

“Is the offer still good for a cup of coffee?” Will asked.

“Yes, I’ll be right back.” She stood and turned to leave.

“Before you go. Is there a story behind this rose?” He twirled it between his fingers.

“Not one you’re going to hear from me, detective.”

Julia could hear his laughter behind her as she went into the kitchen. Closing her eyes, she wrapped her arms around her waist. Although she’d lost her sweet neighbor and job, better days were ahead. From now on, she would focus on the positive and look for the silver lining.

The End

Learn more about Cassandra Roberts-Jones at her SHOWCASE PAGE.

Chapter Six

The next morning, M bounded out of bed with her resolve firmly in place.  No more sucking it up.  No more dealing with the lemons life had handed to her.  Her world centred on food, the creation of delectable dishes.  She had a gift in being able to throw together seemingly random ingredients and ending up with a work of art. With her skill she’d produce the best lemonade anyone on the planet would ever taste.

Time for a change, M, my girl.

That meant accepting Jonathan’s offer of help, but she decided the end justified the means.  So what if he thought of her as some pro bono, charity case?  She’d never been a fool—well, for the most part—and she didn’t plan on becoming one at this stage of her life.

If Jonathan Davenport wanted to be her gift horse, fine.  She’d take what he offered, and not ask to see his teeth.

Although…checking out his mouth did sound like a delicious idea.  But looking wouldn’t be enough.  Uh-uh.  No way.  She’d have to touch and taste as well.  Oh, yeah.

Stop it, stop it, stop it!

Thinking about him on a sexual level was courting disaster.  In a big way.  For the time being she lived in his house and despite a rocky start, she planned to make this work. It’s wasn’t like she planned to stay here forever, but she didn’t want to do anything to make him ask her to leave.

She knew from experience people could turn against her because of assumptions.  Even people who claimed to love her.  While in this house she’d tread carefully.  She wouldn’t hand over the gun and the ammunition for someone to use against her.

After showering, she stood in front of her closet.  Her clothes—all her earthly belongings actually—had arrived yesterday.  She’d spent some time before dinner yesterday pressing everything—in a laundry room the size of her last bedroom—and now had a few more options on what to wear.

Which wasn’t necessarily a good thing.  Why this overpowering need to make a good impression?  It so wasn’t like her.

Yet here she stood, hemming and hawing.

She finally decided on a pair of tailored, but figure hugging, white capri pants, then topped them off with a fabulous silk cotton sweater set she’d picked up in Winner’s for a steal.  It’s deep, sapphire blue color looked incredible on her.  Ha!  Who cares about how it looked on her?  She looked incredible in it!

After dressing, M returned to the bathroom.  She inspected her face as she pulled out giant steam rollers, leaving her hair in soft waves—which would magically disappear as soon as she stepped out into Toronto’s soupy August humidity.

“Hmmm.  I know I saw my makeup bag while hunting for the rollers.  Why didn’t I pay more attention when packing them?  Hah!  Because you rarely—if ever—use makeup and rollers, that’s why!”

She looked into the reflection of her eyes and considered what she’d just said to herself.

Was she primping for Jonathan?

“Nope.  This isn’t about Jonathan.  This is about me.  I need to do this for myself.”

M rediscovered her makeup bag, applied the barest hint of blush, eye liner, and mascara, and felt good to go.   She refused to put lipstick on, because that would be pushing it.  Really pushing it.

She stood at the top of the grand staircase, and surveyed her new lodgings while chewing her lip.  It’s only temporary, but I’ll make this a home.  I want to know what a home feels like.

M grabbed a hold of the beautifully carved oak banister and descended.

Mrs. Brickman hadn’t arrived yet—or was skulking in that huge pantry—but thanks to the wonders of modern technology, a pot of coffee stood ready on the counter.

After pouring a cup and making it to her liking, she leaned back against the counter and took a sip.  Closing her eyes, she savoured a surprising sense of well-being.

“Morning.”

At the unexpected sound of his voice she gasped, and some of the coffee flowing down her throat took the wrong route.

Her gasp turned into a coughing fit as coffee hit her windpipe.  Tears welled as she tried to gain control.

Before she regained her breath, she found herself surrounded by Jonathan.  He stepped in front of her, pulled her chest flush to his, then with his right hand, sharply slapped her between the shoulder blades.

And suddenly her breathless state had nothing to do with the coffee dancing in her trachea.

Her nipples realized where they were and sprang up to high-five—uh, high-two—his upper abs.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, her body betrayed her even farther when her olfactory senses caught the scent of his cologne.  A brain cell destroying need to discover its source had her crowding in even closer as her nose nestled into the valley between his shoulder and ear, then traveled eastward to land in the hollow of his throat.  And since her lips were right there with her nose, she skimmed them lightly across his skin.

After all, as a cook, this is what she did.  Tasted things to make sure they were just right.

Mmm.  Oh, yeah.  Just.  Right.

Jonathan froze.

M’s brain reactivated.  Oh, God!  What am I doing?

He grabbed her upper arms, about chest level, and thrust her away.  Okay, he hadn’t missed the little darts digging into his chest, but really, how could he?

Needing to create distance—both physical and mental—M took another giant step away, went on the defensive, and blasted him.

“What’s wrong with you?  Don’t you read?  You’re not supposed to slap a choking person on the back!  Don’t ever do that to your sister.  If it was food she was choking on you could force it down into her lung.”

Hello?  Had he even heard a word she said?

Jonathan’s face wore a glazed expression as he stared at her breasts.  Really, was he about to start drooling?

Barely restraining a desire to clap her hands over them like some puritanical maiden, M tapped her foot—hard—and thought about buying new bras.  The padded kind.  Which she hated.

But since she didn’t know which muscles and nerves to use to control her nipples—she couldn’t wiggle her ears either, so no surprise there—and the sight of them seemed to affect him so much, maybe she needed to reconsider.

Now, there’s a thought!

No, no, no!  Get a grip!

Apparently the toe tapping finally registered and his synapses re-engaged.  Watching as his eyes traveled up to meet hers, she barely suppressed an evil chuckle.  She’d never experienced this kind of raw, sexual power over a man, and she found she enjoyed it.

Given the way his face snapped into a scowl, she hadn’t done a very good job of hiding her thoughts.

Go to Installment 20

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Thanks to Nan Donahue for sharing one of her manuscripts.

After a two hour plane ride, the last thing I wanted to do was stand in line waiting for a rental car. I tapped my foot and peered around the man in front of me. How long could it take one person to rent a car?

I adjusted my super size sunglasses and tried to determine if I should just take them off. It didn’t seem as if anyone was going to go berserk trying to get my autograph. I reached up to fold them off my face, and noticed a couple standing beside the counter staring at me, and doing a bad job of trying to pretend they weren’t.

“Why would Casey Brand be renting a car here?” the man whispered loudly enough for everyone to hear.

I heard his companion’s muffled reply, but I ignored both of them.

The glasses stayed on. Not only did I not want to confirm their suspicion about who I am, but my upper cheek and eye were a rainbow of yellow, green and purple. It wasn’t pretty.

I play police Detective Casey Brand on the popular Hard Streets TV show, filmed in New York City. I’m not a lead character, but I had enough speaking parts to be recognized quite often. Last week, on the way to work, I was mugged, requiring stitches and the assistance of a real police detective, who bore an uncanny resemblance to my ex-husband. I asked for some time off, and was headed home to regroup.

I loved acting, but at thirty-five I wasn’t a rousing success, and at this stage probably never would be. I missed the quiet of my home town. I was entering the “what if” stage of life.

I finally got my turn at the rental counter, and took the keys from the rental agent, who luckily didn’t recognize me. I drove the hour home to Fairmount, where I wouldn’t be treated with any special attention. They expected success from their natives. Like the legendary movie star, James Dean, and Garfield cartoonist Jim Davis, to name a couple.

I pulled into my parents’ driveway. They were away, so I would have the place to myself. I took my suitcase into my childhood bedroom, which still looked like a shrine to Barbie and friends. Grabbing a Coke from the kitchen, I settled into my father’s favorite chair, and picked up the News-Sun. “Police Looking For Suspect In Missing James Dean Headstone” screamed the headline.

I thought of my great-aunt Felicity, still living in the house she grew up in. She had gone to high school with James Dean, and for most of high school they had dated. He took her to the prom, so Aunt Felicity is sort of a celebrity-by-association. She still has his high school ring and sweater with his letter for basketball on it.

She claims she gave birth to his child back in 1948, when she was seventeen. But even James Dean’s cousin, who still lives nearby, can’t back her story up. Since no one has ever seen this child, or heard from it, the family takes it with a grain of salt.

Every September 30th, the anniversary of his death, Aunt Felicity goes to Jimmy’s grave and places flowers on it.

I put the paper down, took the last swallow of Coke, and walked the few blocks to her house.

She was sitting on her porch, gently rocking in her swing, a pitcher of lemonade beside her. “Jane! You’re home. Good Lord child, what happened to your face? Part of it’s blue and yellow. Or is that green?” She patted the space beside her. “Tell me.”

“What you need is a good self-defense class,” she commented, when I told her about being mugged. “You should take lessons from your Kevin Brogan. He teaches women how to defend themselves. I took his class myself.”

Kevin Brogan, my ex-husband. We had gotten married right after we turned eighteen. It had lasted until I graduated with a bachelor’s degree in English and Drama, and then left him on his own to fight crime in Fairmount, while I fled to the Big Apple in search of fame and fortune. Back then it seemed like the right decision. Did I want to see him again? No. I’d managed to avoid him every time I visited. Well, maybe just saying hi wouldn’t be so bad.

“Is he married?” I asked, realizing I wasn’t sure I wanted to know

“Jimmy? No, he never got married.” My aunt dabbed at her eyes.

“No, I mean Kevin.”

“You still have a thing for him, don’t you?” My aunt’s blue eyes twinkled. “No, he isn’t married. I think he still has a thing for you, too. Like me and James Byron Dean.  I could never marry anyone but him. Remember him in Giant?”  Her eyes grew dreamy.

“I remember, Aunt Felicity,” I answered.  Thanks to her, I knew the entire dialogue from Giant and  East of Eden. Maybe that’s why I was bitten by the acting bug.

“I see Jimmy’s headstone is missing. Are you okay? The whole town must be upset.”

She waved a hand at me. “Oh, it’ll show up. It’s been taken before. Kevin’s at the Y.  You should look into his class.  A woman can’t be too careful. He’s good. The women love him. He’s got more of them than he can handle.”

I bet he does, I thought. I kissed my aunt goodbye, promising to come back later to make dinner for both of us, and left her with her memories of James Dean.

I planned to drive home, take a bath, put on some of my father’s Dean Martin records, and relax before I had to do shopping. The car I was driving had other ideas. Five minutes later, I found myself in the YMCA parking lot. My legs trembled as I walked up to the front desk.

“I’m looking for Kevin Brogan,” I told the receptionist.

“You’re lucky. He’s in the middle of a class now in the gym annex. I’m the only one here and I can’t leave the desk. Can you find it yourself?”

I assured her I could.

Kevin was in front of a room of about thirty women. They were so focused on him, they didn’t even notice me until Kevin did, about thirty seconds later.

“Take a five-minute break, ladies.” He trotted over to me, and the women started whispering. A couple of them waved to me. I waved back.

“Jane. My God, I thought I was seeing things. How are you? What on earth happened?” He gently touched the side of my cheek, and I leaned into his hand. The whispering behind him increased.

His voice hadn’t changed. Neither had the shiny dark brown hair—all of which he still had—and almost black eyes with their impossibly long lashes. His body was even more buff than it had been when we were together. I guess police work agreed with him.

I swallowed. “Hi, Kevin. I was mugged. Aunt Felicity suggested I look into self-defense.”

“The class has been going on for about three weeks already, but I can fit you in. It would have to be privately, though. As you can see, I can’t squeeze another body in here.”

“That would be okay. I’m only going to be here for a week or so.  Can I just take a couple of lessons?”  I couldn’t look away from the way his black t-shirt molded to his chest. I had the urge to lay my head against it.  I could see why women flocked to him.

“Sure. I’ll call you tonight. Where are you staying?”

“At my parents’. 674-”

“-1811,” Kevin finished for me. “I used to call you every night in our junior and senior year in high school. Remember?” His hand was caressing my cheek.

I did. I couldn’t believe he still remembered the number. I smiled all the way back to my car, clutching the piece of paper on which he had written his number as if it were the Holy Grail, or some such thing.  I stopped at Joe’s IGA, the only grocery store in town, and picked up items for dinner.

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