Any Man of Mine (3 page)

There he was with the name again. This was driving me crazy. Why could I not remember who he was? College? Had to be.

“The chicken is good if you want an entrée and so are the ribs, but they're a little messy.” High school? One of those geeky types who one day morph into Mr. Irresistible? “I personally recommend the pecan pie.” Had to be high school. He reminded me of Ron Dessler, my Grade 10 chem partner.

“I think I'll have the chicken.” He set the menu
on one corner of the table, eased the knot of his tie and undid the top button.

Okay, I'm a weak woman but there's something vaguely intimate about a man loosening his tie. I get the same little thrill when I see a man unbutton his cuffs and roll up the sleeves.

And I knew that I had to find out who this man was. “I'm sorry, but I have to confess that I can't remember your name. Forgive me.”

He slowly released a devastating smile and held my gaze. “My name is James. James Ashby.”

Nope. Still not ringing any bells.

He angled his head toward the empty seat across from me. “Do you mind if I join you?”

“No. Please do. Eating alone does have the tendency to make one look like a loser, doesn't it?” Too late, I realized what I had said. “Not that I'm implying you're a…well…”

“Of course you're not,” he said with a light laugh as he got up. I didn't realize how tall he was until he sat directly across from me, his elbows resting on the table, his hazel eyes holding a hint of humor and a few very attractive flecks of gold.

“I usually have better manners,” I said, pushing my potatoes around on my plate with my fork. “Living with three brothers, who are full-fledged guys, has taken the edge off my social graces.”

“Guys. What do you mean by that?” James asked.

“You see, there are two types of males in the world,” I explained. “Guys and men.”

“The difference being?”

“Very simple. If a man comes across a beautiful, quiet canyon, he will take a picture of it. A guy will belch to see if he can get an echo. A man will give you the shirt off his back, a guy will give you a piece of his mind. A man will campaign for world peace, a guy will campaign for peace between NHL players and the owners. My brothers are guys.”

“And that's bad because…?” James asked.

“It's not bad. In the whole issue of guy-dom, women and women's needs aren't as important as risking your neck.”

“I see. And you've done extensive studies on this?” I could hear the amusement in his voice.

“A lifetime of experience,” I said. “I grew up hiding my Barbie dolls under the bed so my brothers couldn't put them in their homemade rockets and launch them into the nearest pond. I'd have to make sure they didn't get hold of my hair-spray pump so they could put food coloring in it. I spent half my teen years finding hiding spots for my diary so I wouldn't have to listen to them reading it out loud to their friends.”

I caught a glimmer of a smile on James's face. “I can see that your life has been difficult,” he said.

“Not difficult. Just challenging.” Time to turn the conversation around. “What about you, James? Any family?”

“One sister. She's nineteen and she is a challenge, but of the female sort. She used to live with my aunt and uncle but she moved out as soon as she could. I
get the occasional call on my cell phone, but otherwise I don't hear much from her.”

“No parents?”

James shook his head, then smiled at Jessica when she brought his dinner. She gave me a meaningful look, then, thankfully, left.

“And how is your father doing?” he asked, as he unwrapped his cutlery from the paper napkin. “I understand he had a heart attack?”

“Thanks for asking. He's doing okay. Listless, though. I've been trying to take care of him.”

“He's lucky to have such a loving daughter.”

“I do love him,” I said with a light shrug. “And I love my brothers. I just wish they would let me carry on with my life without so much interference.”

“Now how could a brother interfere with your life? I've been trying to do the same with my sister without any success.”

So I told him about some of the “guys” my brothers have brought around. He laughed in sympathy and told me about some of the “guys” his sister had dated. I discovered that he was worried about her and how protective he'd been when they were growing up. Our conversation wound down after a while and I allowed myself a faint glow of anticipation.

James finished his supper, wiped his mouth with a napkin and sat back, smiling at me. “Besides the occasional movie, is there anything exciting going on in this town in the next week?”

“Tomorrow night the bakery is having a special on raisin buns,” I offered.

His half smile increased the pace of my heart. “I was hoping to ask you to accompany me on some kind of outing, but somehow raisin buns weren't in my fantasy.”

Outing. Was that the same as a date?

“But I would be willing to settle for a movie tomorrow, if you are.” His dark brown voice washed over me like rich chocolate.

I would say that movie equals date. “I think I could be satisfied with that,” I said, not sounding very suave or sophisticated. But I felt kind of happy in spite of my lack thereof.

His smile bloomed, making the corners of his eyes crinkle in a decidedly appealing manner. “That sounds good to me. Let me know where you live and I can pick you up.”

“No. I can't do that.”

“P
ardon me?” he asked, clearly confused.

“No. I'd like to go with you to the movie,” I amended hastily. “But it would be better if I meet you there. I live quite a ways away and it's gravel roads and if you have a car it's kind of hard on the car and besides, I don't give good directions.”

Stop. Stop.

I took a breath and hoped that my sudden babbling wouldn't convince him I was a complete idiot. I was trying to stave off imminent disaster. If my brothers met him and he wore anything resembling the suit or a tie he had on today, they would ask him embarrassing questions and make him feel like a geek and he would get scared off. Or worse yet, they would bring that hairy Jigs guy over again as an antidote so he could wink at me and make more strange comments and watch me work. No thanks.

“I would prefer to come pick you up,” he insisted.

“No. Let's keep things casual,” I said breezily, trying to make up lost ground. After all, I still didn't really know who he was. Only that he was kind, considerate and had a younger sister that he cared about.

Which raised his suitability quotient to “very.”

“I'll meet you there.”

He gave me a slow-release smile that made my heart dance. “Okay. It's a date.”

 

“A date? Are you sure? Don't you want to run a background check on him?” Tracy's question on the other end of the phone raised a few alarms again, but I thought of how James had smiled at me when he saw me praying. “He claims to know you, but if you don't know or remember him, shouldn't you be concerned? Shouldn't you be thinking ‘stalker'?”

I didn't like how Tracy's questions brought out those niggling doubts about the first date I've had with a halfway decent man in this town for the past few years.

“The only stalker I need to worry about is Steve Stinson and he's been laying low,” I said, adjusting my headset as I signed off on a set of forms. Steve Stinson was the biological father of Kent, a little boy we had in our care. Though I wasn't Kent's caseworker, I had been initially involved when Tracy brought Kent's neglected state to my attention. In Steve's twisted mind, I was the person responsible for keeping him away from Kent. So I was the lucky recipient of his phone calls. “Besides, Eric knows James.”

“Eric is mean to his cats,” Tracy said. As a vet tech she got to see firsthand how people treated their pets and as far as Tracy was concerned, anyone who was mean to their pets wasn't worth knowing, and by extension, neither were the people they associated with.

“That doesn't mean that James is,” I said, doodling the letter “J” on my notepad. “He seems like a perfectly respectable citizen.”

“Where does he live?”

“He said he's looking at a place on the outskirts of town.”

“Wow. That makes things crystal clear.”

I stifled a sigh. Tracy was getting as protective as my brothers. I hadn't told them about this date. As far as I was concerned, they were on a “need to know” basis and this they didn't need to know. For a
long
time. Maybe never. Well, maybe I'd invite them to the wedding. They could be ushers.

“I think I can spot sincerity when I see it,” I said. Bobby, my secretary, tapped on my door and handed me a sheaf of phone messages that she had taken while I was at a case conference earlier that day. I groaned when I saw the thick stack.

“But the most crafty psychopaths are the ones that present a normal personality at first,” Tracy said.

“I'm not calling off the date and he's not a psychopath.”

“I wouldn't mind meeting him so I can see for myself.”

“Tracy, you're getting as bad as my brothers.” I
was starting to feel angry. “He's a nice guy. He's good-looking. He wears a suit and he reads books that have chapters and no pictures. I wish you would trust my judgment.”

“Sorry. I don't want to see you hurt.”

“It's just a date. What's to hurt?”

Tracy sighed lightly. “Your heart. I know what a romantic you are.”

“You should be happy about this, Tracy. If he turns out to be a caring, sensitive man, I might end up sticking around,” I said, sorting the messages into important, very important and panic.

“Don' tell me you're dating him so you can make me happy.”

“Actually, Tracy, I'm not that self-sacrificial….” My voice trailed off as the name on one of the messages caught my attention. Steve Stinson.

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing. Hey, I gotta go. But just to reassure you, I won't elope with him without consulting you first.”

“Thanks, hon,” Tracy said dryly. “Nice to know you'll keep me in the loop. But just to be on the safe side I'm going to do an Internet search of his name.”

We said goodbye and as I disconnected I let myself heave a sigh. I
so
did not want to talk to Steve Stinson. He not only made me angry, he gave me the creeps.

But if I didn't talk to him, he was going to be hassling Emily and Adam, Kent's foster parents. I
usually passed him on to Oden, Kent's caseworker, but Steve wasn't clueing in to the fact that I could not help him. So it was just easier to deal with him myself.

Kent had been placed in Emily and Adam's home when his natural mother, Juanita, ended up in the hospital courtesy of Steve Stinson. Juanita was trying to get her life back together and so far, it looked as if she were succeeding. Juanita had grown up with her own difficulties, but thanks to Emily and Adam, she was learning good parenting and life skills. In a few months we were going to be reassessing her situation. As long as Steve, who claimed to be Kent's natural father, stayed out of the picture, she had a chance at a new life.

I put his message to one side and decided to deal with some of the more pleasant phone calls, such as Andrew Newton, who used curse words as filler when he didn't know what else to say. Pleasant was all a matter of perspective in this job.

 

“Next time we'll have to do the symphony,” James said as he held the door of the movie theater open for me Thursday evening. I had forgotten to check what the movie of the week was. Multiplex and small town are not two words that go together. Consequently my notion of a quiet evening in the intimacy of a darkened movie theater had been chased away by exploding cars and gunshots and a high body count all cheered on by a large contingent of adolescent boys.

“It was okay. I don't mind action movies.” I shivered as the spring evening air washed over me.

I unfolded my sweater, which I had been carrying over my arm, and tried to put it on.

“Here, let me help you with that.” He was right there, pulling the sweater around my shoulders, his hands lingering a few seconds longer than they had to but not so long that it could be taken as a come-on.

Perfect gentleman. I sighed, wanting to draw out the evening.

“Thanks.” I hesitated. My car was parked around the corner. James had come from the other direction. I wasn't ready to end the evening, but my insistence on meeting him at the theater made it difficult to figure out what to do from here.

“Is there anywhere we can go for a cup of coffee or something?” James asked as the shouts of young boys, pumped up by the action of the movie, broke into the moment.

“Not really. Just the bar,” I said as a joke.

“Pass.”

Better and better. “We could go for a walk. There's a lovely paved trail not far from here that follows the river for a ways.”

James tilted me a crooked smile. “That sounds like a good idea.” He tucked his hands into his pockets as we walked away from the theater. “And again, I have to apologize for the movie. I was quite sure they were showing that indie film I had been wanting to see.”

I knew which movie he was referring to and, to be honest, I preferred the action adventure movie we had just seen. I wasn't big on watching the “dissemination of a relationship within the confines of cultural biases” or something like that.

“Small movies like that only stick around here a day or so, if and when they come,” I said. “The owner is a huge fan of indie films and tries to sneak one in from time to time. They don't go over well.”

James gave me a puzzled glance. “I'm guessing you're not a fan?”

I lifted my shoulders in a careful shrug. I didn't want him to think I was a complete Philistine but at the same time I knew I had to be honest.

“Sorry. No.”

“That surprises me. Your… You seem like the kind of person that would like that type of film.”

“I've enjoyed a few of them, but many seem to be what I would call artistic temper tantrums. An artist indulging his whims through the medium of film.” I chose my words carefully. “I think art should serve the community, not be a vehicle for self-expression.” And didn't that sound all cultural and intelligent?

“That's a well-thought-out concept,” he said. “But I still think we should go to the symphony next time.”

Next time. I liked the sound of those words. I gave James another sidelong glance. He was dressed more casually today. Khaki pants, a V-neck sweater over a shirt. Kind of yuppieish. For a moment I wondered what he would look like in blue jeans.

A light breeze tugged at my hair, but his didn't even budge thanks to the gel that held it firmly in place. I had to fight the temptation to mess it up a little.

I guess I wasn't used to being in the presence of a man so well put together. It seemed a little odd, that was all.

“What kind of music do you like to listen to?” I asked, pulling my sweater around me. He immediately reached around and adjusted it, his movements solicitous. This time he let his hand rest on my shoulder. It was warm and cozy and sent shivers down my spine.

“I'm a fan of Schubert.”

“Oh. Why is that?” I thought he would say blues or rock or classical, but Schubert?

“What I appreciate the most about Schubert is his unfolding of long melodies both brusque and leisurely, the blessed earmark of Schubert's style.” He gave me an embarrassed smile. “Sorry, I'm a big fan.”

“I see that,” I said, looking ahead, trying desperately to think of anything positive I could say about my favorite group, Lifehouse. But I was drawing a blank beyond “I like their music.” If pushed I could comment on the light notes of grace and redemption I found in their music. I wasn't even going to mention my secret vice, Keith Urban.

“What classical composer do you like the best?” he asked me.

I should have seen this coming. Think. Think. “Bach,” I said with a sudden desperation. “I like
Bach.” I remember taking a course in college where we were told that Bach said he wrote all his music to the glory of God and ever since then I thought he was kind of cool. For a long-dead composer. I liked some of his music. The Hallelujah Chorus.

Or did Handel write that? Think. Think.

“Bach has some very moving pieces,” James said, his hand ever so gently pulling me closer as he steered me past a hole in the sidewalk.

I glanced up at him, surprised to find him looking down at me.

Goodness, his eyelashes are almost longer than mine, I thought, letting myself hold his gaze a few seconds longer, moving from friendly into “very interested” territory.

His steps slowed. So did mine.

He stopped, turned toward me. I stopped, facing him. It was quiet down here by the river. Restful. Wind sighed in the trees overhead, water burbled over the rocks.

“You are a beautiful woman,” James said, lightly brushing my hair back from my face. “Fair tresses man's imperial race insnare, and beauty draws us with a single hair.” Another smile. “Alexander Pope wrote that.”

Poetry. My knees went weak as I looked up into his hazel eyes, liking how they crinkled at the corners, as if he were ready to share a joke.

“I'd like to see you again,” he said, his fingers lingering in my fair tresses.

“Hey. Hemstead. Don't move. We gotta talk.”

The nasal voice of Steve Stinson coming up behind me made me want to scream.

How did he find me? Had he been following me? The thought sent a chill through me.

I braced myself, and turned to face him, glad that I had James beside me. The liquor fumes wafting from Steve's direction made my eyes water.

I hadn't returned Steve's call and the next message I got from him via Bobby was that he was ticked at me and going to find me if it took him all day and here he was. Incredibly focused for a borderline psychopath.

“What do you want, Steve?”

Steve's bleary eyes flicked from me to James. “It's my boy. Kent. You can't keep him away from me.”

“As long as you continue to violate the terms of your parole, you have no right to see him.”

Steve's eyes narrowed and he leaned closer. I wasn't going to take a step back and show weakness, but my insides were quaking. Steve was the kind of guy that could so easily jump either way.

“You tell your brother to stay away from my Juanita.”

“What brother?” Steve's sudden change of topic confused me.

“That Chip dude. He's been seeing my girl, Juanita. The mother of my son.” Steve sneered at me. “And you know I'm gonna see my kid. You shouldn't stop me if you know what's good for you.”
He pressed his finger against my chest and then I did take a step back, angry at how easily he could intimidate me.

Steve glanced from me to James, who stood quietly beside me. James easily had six inches and twenty pounds on Steve, but he said and did nothing. I felt a frisson of disappointment. Of course, who was I to complain. My brothers had raised me to take care of myself. Still, at the risk of sounding all damsel-like, I wouldn't have minded some intervention.

“I think you better leave,” James said, finally stepping forward. Okay, not exactly Indiana Jones, but at least he made an attempt.