Calculated Risk (26 page)

“Can I hold BoSheep?”

“Yes, if it doesn't talk or baa or flap its legs.”

She set the bird on the floor and drew the sheep into her lap. She said in a high, wavering voice, “We're reeeaady.”

“You're pushing it.”

“OK. I promise, we'll be good.”

If she laughed at the swan story, he'd ring her bell until the neighbors called the police. Or maybe he'd just kiss the breath out of her.

He inhaled and let the air out in a long rush. “When I was fourteen, I was invited to a weekend chess tournament at a conference center in Warrenton. In the orientation before the tournament, the activity director told us how three juvenile trumpeter swans were imprinted to follow an ultralight aircraft the previous fall from the Warrenton center to Maryland's Eastern Shore. The experiment to help the trumpeter swans learn to migrate succeeded. All three returned to their flock in Warrenton the next spring.”

“That is so cool.” She fanned her face with her hand. “That touches my heart.”

Crafty Mom knew Cisney would like his story. Could he stop there? She wouldn't know the difference. Mom might find out. He'd better tell her the whole tale. “The activity director went on to say that, contrary to popular belief, trumpeter swans don't always mate for life. Sometimes ‘divorce' occurs, particularly following nesting failure. In my fourteen-year-old mind, I was distressed to think the male would leave his mate because she couldn't give him cygnets.”

“That makes me sad, too. I always thought swans mated for life. I saw them as examples God provided humans to imitate.”

Sheesh. Her gorgeous eyes misted. Nothing like wringing the feelings out of Cisney. This was not his modus operandi. He hoped Mom would be satisfied.

He pushed on. “The director said a pair of swans forms a monogamous pair bond that lasts for many years, and in some cases for life. The cob, the male, may mate with other pens without breaking the social pair bond.”

“You're kidding. The unabashed male enters into open affairs with brazen pens?”

“Yeah, I guess. Anyway, I spent my free time watching the trumpeter swans at the center and researching them on the Internet. Their nests lay on the ground near the water. The cob not only helps construct the nest, but aids in incubating the eggs. The director told us one pair of swans at the center was having trouble reproducing. All I could think about when I wasn't playing chess was that the cob was going to divorce the pen.”

Cisney stroked the sheep's wool. “That would crush me to know they were drifting apart. Sorry. No pun intended.”

He shook his head, but couldn't help chuckling. At least she wasn't laughing at him yet. “To get back to the story, I decided to do something about the unproductive pair's problem. Long story short, I swiped some plastic gloves from the kitchen and located their nest, which most likely contained a set of defective eggs. Since the swans have a clutch of four to seven eggs, I stole two from another nest. Then, from a vantage point in the woods, I waited until the current incubating swan left the nest of bad eggs. When it did, I hurried down and deposited the stolen eggs in among their others.”

Cisney's eyes grew huge. “Did it work?”

“The incubation period is about a month and a half, so I never found out what happened. But in my mind, I had saved the swans' marriage.” He studied her lips for a hint of a laugh emerging. Bad idea. Now he really wanted to kiss her.

“What a wonderful story. You probably saved their marriage.” She slapped her knee. “That's what I choose to believe.” She grew thoughtful. “I think your mom wanted me to know how much you believe in commitment.”

“Probably. So are you happy now, and I can leave?” Before he took her in his arms and kissed her. He leaned forward in preparing to rise.

“No.”

He straightened. “No?” One more no and he'd label her a tease. “Now what?”

“You didn't tell me if you won the chess tournament. Did you?”

He stood and grinned. “Of course.”

 

 

 

 

19

 

Nick parked near a popular restaurant. The Short Pump Town Center parking lot was less packed than on Friday and Saturday nights, and the normal dinner hour had long passed. Hopefully, they wouldn't have to wait long for a table.

He killed the engine, collapsed against the seatback, and closed his eyes. Getting things in order to leave the company was a bear. And he'd eaten nothing since a candy bar at lunch. Man, he was tired. But a slice of cheesecake would rally his food-deprived body, and Cisney's electricity would infuse his spirit.

Inside the restaurant, Nick took in aromas that spoke food, and his stomach growled. Patrons crowded the entrance area, waiting for their pagers to light up and buzz. No mystery that the entry was full. The temperature outside had dropped significantly in the last couple of hours.

He skimmed the area for Cisney. His scan stopped on the tall brunette leaning against the wall, her gaze focused on her e-book reader.

Nick fought his way through the throng and stood before her, taking in her exotic scent. “Good story?”

Her head snapped up, and her full lips spread into a smile. “Yes.” She zipped the e-book reader into its leather cover. “I'm reading an intriguing romantic suspense.”

“How long have you been here?”

“About two chapters.” She held up the pager. “This should go off any”—the pager flashed and rumbled—”moment.” She grinned.

The hostess seated them and left menus on the table.

Nick perused the dessert section. After a moment, he looked up to find Cisney regarding him with her large hazel eyes. She hadn't touched her menu. Was she too stuffed from the rehearsal dinner? “Aren't you going to order something?”

“I already know what I want. When I arrived, I drooled over the offerings behind the glass case.”

He nodded and went back to the menu.

As always, she'd order the most bizarre thing she could find.

A slight young woman arrived to take their order. “Hi. I'm Cindy. I'll be taking care of you. What may I get you?”

Cisney rested her elbows on the table and her chin on her interlocked hands. “Tell me about the Mile-High Chocolate Truffle Cake.”

“Layers and layers of fudge cake, with chocolate truffle cream and chocolate mousse.”

“Anytime chocolate or fudge is mentioned three times, the cake has got to be scrumptious. I'll have that, and decaf.”

“And you, sir?”

“I'll have plain cheesecake and coffee.”

The waitress collected the menus and left.

Cisney folded her arms on the table and leaned toward him. “Why do you even bother looking through the menu? You always order the basic standard.”

“How about you? I thought you'd already decided on what you were going to have, but you changed your mind, like you frequently do.”

“No, I don't. I knew I would order the cake all along. But hearing the waitress describe the delectable intensifies my anticipation.”

“Does this mean you'll groan in ecstasy while you eat it?”

“Maybe I will, smarty-pants.”

He laughed. “How'd the tango lesson go?”

“Can we talk about something else?”

“That bad, huh?”

“It was OK. I'd climb Mt. Everest to make Angela and Tom's day special, but tangoing with Hunter is beyond a surmountable challenge.”

Why did his ears always do a double take with the way she put things? But how she expressed herself was what made her Cisney. And what made her Cisney gave him much to enjoy.

Angela. He still hadn't answered her email inviting him to her wedding. “While you're dancing the tango and eating wedding cake, I'll be driving toward Charlotte.”

“Apartment hunting?”

“Yeah. I promised Julie I'd go over her pending projects after work tomorrow, but I hope to get on the road by seven.”

Their desserts arrived. He held back wolfing down his cheesecake in two bites.

Cisney scooped a bit of the cream onto her fork, added a little of the mousse, and then slid the utensil into the cake so the cream stuff stayed on top of the cake portion. Her eyes closed as she drew the fork from her mouth and chewed the chunk of her chocolate overkill. Watching her eat was a culinary experience in itself.

He ate his cheesecake to satisfy his stomach, but his gaze and thoughts stayed focused on Cisney's mesmerizing lips. He couldn't fault her for the temptations she was creating. She was merely a woman whose mind was on chocolate.

She laid her fork on her empty plate and snatched the bill from Nick's side of the table.

He startled, and then reached for it.

She yanked it away, almost knocking a plate from the hands of a passing waitress.

He feigned resignation, and then leaned over and grabbed her arm. Ripping the paper nearly in half, he wrestled it from her grip.

She pouted.

He laughed. “Are you as good at tennis as you are at swiping the tab?”

“Better.”

He chuckled. Every aspect of getting to know her amounted to an adventure. He helped her into her coat. “You want to walk the mall?”

“Yes. That would be fun.”

They exited the restaurant door leading to the massive outdoor mall decorated in Christmas trimmings. Nick zipped his coat against the blast of cold air.

Cisney wrapped her red scarf more snuggly around her neck and linked her arm in his.

Unlike others loaded down with Christmassy shopping bags and scurrying from one shop to the next, they strolled the mall, window-shopping.

Cisney pointed ahead. “A jewelry store is coming up. I love to look at flashy displays.”

Why did she like looking at jewelry? She didn't seem the type to deck herself out in gold and gems. She only wore that pearl ring and gold loops in her earlobes.

He couldn't remember her wearing any other jewelry.

Cisney withdrew her arm from his and hurried to the show window outside the jewelry store. “Look at that emerald necklace. It's gorgeous.” She turned her collar up and buried her gloved hands in her coat pockets.

Nick caught up and stood behind her. “Would you wear a necklace like that?”

“No, but I can appreciate it.” She raised her shoulders and shivered. “It's freezing.” She moved down the length of the window. “Wow! Look at that diamond engagement ring. It's got to be two karats.”

He located the one she described. That was one gaudy ring. “I've never understood engagement rings. Wouldn't a guy want to give a woman something he treasured to show how much he cared for her?”

“You mean like his hockey stick?”

“Yeah. His hockey stick that took him to the national championships two years in a row. The guy gives it to the woman he wants to spend the rest of his life with because it's the one material thing he cherishes, other than her. Now she owns it, and he possesses nothing he esteems close to how he prizes his woman.”

She turned to him. “That was profound, Nick. Do you believe what you just said?”

“I'm warming up to it.” He nodded at the diamond ring. “Would you want something like that?”

“Remember, most married women wear their engagement rings for life. It's important they feel comfortable wearing them. So if a man bought that two-karat diamond ring for a woman with short fingers, she'd probably…love it.” Her laugh ended with that little giggle he enjoyed.

“Just kidding,” she said. “The huge diamond would look wrong on her stubby fingers. Also, she may not be into flamboyant. But…” She pointed at the ring. “If it was between that flashy diamond ring and his hockey stick, I think she'd go for the diamond. Later, she could have her rock cut down to one karat and have the other karat made into earrings.”

“Or sell it and buy a one-karat ring and the earrings. Cheaper that way.” He rubbed his cold hands together as she stared at him. “What? You don't think guys buy bigger for status reasons? Which has nothing to do with how much they love their women.” He just didn't get the attraction for diamond rings.

“Nick, diamonds are forever. Marriage is supposed to be forever. A hockey stick could splinter when she raps it over his hard head for giving her such an awful token of engagement.”

“I still think sacrificing his greatest possession is more romantic.”

“What sacrifice? Unless she keeps his hockey stick in a bus station locker, he would still have his prized possession in his house. He could borrow it on the sly when she's visiting her mother. Sorry, I don't think your engagement theory is gonna fly.”

He raised his shoulders and hunched into his coat. “Do you want to get out of the cold?”

“Yes. Let's go in that clothing store and buy warm hats.” She grabbed his coat sleeve and tugged him toward the shop.

He resisted. “I don't need any more hats.”

“Your ears are red. I'll treat.”

He might allow her to drag him into the store, but over his dead body would she buy him a hat.

They wound their way around tables of men's shirts to the hats.

Cisney perused the men's headgear lined up on display racks. She snatched a hunting cap, whose flaps hung down. A mischievous grin on her lips, she positioned Nick in front of the mirror and pulled the cap down on his head.

He stared at his ridiculous image, keeping his expression noncommittal. “Is it me?”

She yanked the hat from his head. “No. But this one is.” She replaced the hunting cap with a leather fedora, cocking it at a rakish angle. “Perfect.” Her eyes sparkled.

“Doesn't do much to warm the ears.”

“Don't be such a drag.” She returned the fedora to the rack.

A hat in the women's section caught his eye. Time to turn the tables. He grasped her hand. “Come with me.”

He stopped within reach of several glitzy hats. He lifted the wide-brimmed black one with a shiny, purple, oversized bow that sprouted reddish, iridescent fuzzy stuff and three black feathers. A rhinestone brooch anchored the bow. He set the outlandish hat flat on Cisney's head and grinned. She'd have to agree he'd selected the most absurd hat.