Love Me If You Must (13 page)

 
21

Apprehension slithered down my spine. I shook it off.

How foolish. I was acting like a daffy heroine in one of my gothic novels. Suspect everybody. Trust no one.

Worse, in my case, no crime had even been committed. I was letting a brief flash of superstition, premonition, imagination, or whatever it had been, get to me.

Yet, something about David hit me at the gut level. Maybe his Ice Queen comment blinked like a beacon, warning me how quickly his love could turn to hate. Whatever the case, I wasn’t quite ready to go full speed ahead with David in the romance department.

Gut feelings may not be rational, logical, or scientific. But they were still gut feelings. And mine had taken good care of me so far.

Hadn’t I known right up front that Officer Brad Walters couldn’t be trusted? And tonight I’d been proved right. Brad had seduced David’s wife right out from under him. Shame on Brad. I didn’t care how nice his tomatoes were, how broad his shoulders, how soft his eyes . . . None of that mattered. My gut had been right.

David locked his gaze on me. I pushed away from the table. “Excuse me, I need to find the ladies’ room.”

“It’s upstairs,” David said.

I picked my way through the other diners and fled toward an empty lobby.

I found the steps in an alcove, hidden from the dining room. I paused at the bottom, daunted by the thought of using a restroom separated from the rest of humanity by one entire floor.

Behind me, laughter filtered through the swinging doors that led to the kitchen.

I took a deep breath and ran up the stairs. The effort sent jolts of invigorating pain up my bad leg. Each step creaked and shook as I landed.

I made it to the bathroom, nothing more than a remodeled nook with two stalls. Thankfully there were no ladies present to hear my wheezing as I leaned against striped wallpaper to catch my breath.

I took my time, not sure why I wasn’t in a hurry to get back to David.

A few minutes later, I washed up and turned to go. I reached for the door handle.

The knob wrenched out of my grasp as the door flung open.

I squealed and leaped back against the wall.

“Sorry, dear. I didn’t mean to frighten you.” It was another diner, one of the ladies from the clothing store. She stood in the doorway and looked at me. “That outfit looks lovely on you. Just lovely.”

She disappeared into a stall.

I hovered inside the restroom, examining the details of a Monet print. I walked to the sink and checked my makeup. A moment later, the Clothing Junction cashier joined me at the basin. I scooted over to make room.

I caught her eyes in the reflection. “I’m really enjoying this outfit,” I said, “although it is a little out of my usual price range.” I gave an exaggerated swallow.

“Our clothing is an attitude, really.” She smoothed her eyebrows in the mirror. “How much does a person feel she is worth? Twenty dollars or two hundred dollars? Your twin, Sandra Jones, knew she was worth every dollar she invested in herself. Her good taste was undeniable, at least where clothing was concerned.”

I gave her a questioning look.

“It’s no secret she has terrible taste in men.”

I nodded in agreement.

She rubbed her hands vigorously under the water. “Martin Dietz is a cutthroat. Nice women shouldn’t get involved with men like him,” she said.

The woman grabbed paper toweling from the dispenser and continued. “Sandra had everything going for her. She could have picked anybody to be her suitor. But once Martin Dietz made up his mind that Sandra was what he wanted, the poor dear didn’t have a chance. Anyone could tell she’d never get out of that relationship easily.”

I pictured the scene between Martin Dietz and Tammy Johnson at the Beauty Boutique. I cringed, hoping Tammy could withstand Dietz’s brash advances.

“It’s so sad what Dietz did to Sandra.” I leaned against the wall.

“I only wish she would have stood up for herself better. If someone gives you a public lambasting, you’re at least entitled to a public rebuttal.” She shook her head. “But Sandra didn’t have it in her. It’s best she dropped out of politics. I’m just sorry she let him run her out of town.”

“That is too bad.” I crossed my arms. “What about Rebecca Ramsey? Did she shop at your store often?”

The woman smoothed the front of her expensive fitted jacket. “Rebecca Ramsey made token purchases all over town. She wanted to stay on good terms with everyone.” The sides of her mouth pulled down. “But everyone knows the kind of person she really is.” The woman gave me a knowing look. “The kind of woman that nice men should stay away from.”

I thought of Officer Brad’s attachment to Rebecca, and David’s misfortune in having married her in the first place. How could love be so screwed up that all the right people fell in love with all the wrong ones?

“Anyway,” she said, toweling off her hands, “I see Martin Dietz already has your number. Be sure you don’t cross him.”

“Thanks for the warning.”

My leg throbbed as I picked my way back downstairs.

I’d gone through a lot of trouble to make everything perfect for tonight. New hairstyle, new nails, new slacks and sweater.

And for what?

David held a multitude of possibilities, but was I ready for him? I couldn’t make it through a date without dredging up Basement Lady, Coffee Girl, Officer Brad, and the Ex-Wife.

Not that David didn’t have plenty of his own hang-ups to work on. But that’s what love was all about, wasn’t it? Helping each other through life’s hang-ups?

I paused at the bottom of the steps, reluctant to turn the corner, not sure I wanted to face any of the non-decisions I’d made. I stood and listened to the kitchen sounds. The crew worked well together, joking, cooking, and cleaning. After a moment, I turned the corner and settled at the table.

“Dessert, Tish?” David sounded short of breath. His hair and shoulders had little droplets of water on them.

“You look like you got sprinkled by the veggie wash at the supermarket.” I smiled and scooted my chair in.

“I stepped onto the porch for some air. First snow of the year tonight.” David smoothed his hair and the drops disappeared.

Our waiter wheeled over a tray of gourmet pies and cakes. Normally, the sight of three kinds of cheesecake and several varieties of chocolate layer cake would have me ordering a sample of each. But the stress of the evening had finally caught up. I had no appetite for dessert. All I wanted was to go home, curl up in my cot, and read a creepy romance. My problems always disappeared in light of the screwy lives unfolding on those three hundred or so pages.

“Just coffee for me, please,” I said.

David folded his hands on the table. “I would have pegged you for the dessert type. A secret chocolate lover.”

“I am. Just not tonight.”

“I knew it.” David’s grin was triumphant. “Anybody who would make a big deal out of granola versus Sugar Puffs has to be a closet chocoholic.”

I gave a weary smile, hoping the waiter would hurry with that coffee.

David and I small-talked through one cup each.

The waiter arrived with the bill.

I jumped up and put my coat on.

“I’ll wait in the lobby,” I said.

David watched me scoop up my jacket. His look had me thinking I’d forgotten something. I peeked around for gloves or a purse on the floor, but recalled that I’d brought neither.

A few minutes later, David joined me in the lobby.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Ready.”

We stepped into a bluster of snowflakes and started down the darkened Independence Alley.

We came out on Main Street and I could see my house just a block away. All the windows were dark. If not for the welcoming beam of the porch light I’d turned on when we left, I wouldn’t have wanted to go home.

A few houses over, David’s glowed with bright, cheery windows.

“Would you like to stop in for a minute?” David asked through the biting wind.

“Can I take a rain check? I think I’ll go take a hot shower and crawl in bed.”

“Perhaps another time, then,” he said.

I paused on the sidewalk leading to my front steps. “Well, thank you for supper. The beef Wellington was superb, as promised.”

David stepped close, looking down at me. His head was covered with fluffy white snowflakes. His three-quarter-length trench nearly touched my jean jacket.

“My privilege,” he said.

“And the flowers.” I stared at his lips. “Thank you for the flowers.”

“Anything for you, Tish.” He held my arms and leaned toward me.

Oh, help. I was going to be kissed.

 
22

Snow billowed into my eyes.

“Gosh, it’s cold.” I pulled away from his touch and ran toward the porch. “Thanks again. Good night.” I threw the words over my shoulder as I sprinted up the steps.

I slammed the door behind me and leaned against it, not sure if I was trying to keep David out or myself in.

Why hadn’t I kissed him? What would it have hurt? We’d had an enjoyable night, we had some things in common, we were neighbors. One innocent kiss wouldn’t have hurt anything.

I imagined for a moment what it would have felt like, the warmth of his breath on my cheek, the way his nose would rub against mine, how our foreheads would meet for a moment. Then our lips would touch, sending electric sensations across soft skin.

Completely harmless.

Except now I’d never get it out of my mind.

I thought about going after him.

But how stupid would that look? I’d turned down an invitation to see his house, then ran away from his kiss. If I dashed out into the snow right now and followed him home, would he be happy to see me, or just annoyed?

My level of bravery being what it was, I guessed I would never find out.

I flicked the deadbolt closed and headed toward the bathroom. It wasn’t as if I’d turned down a marriage proposal. It was just a kiss.

I hit the light switch on my way through the kitchen. The scent of the twenty-five-rose bouquet reminded me of David’s generosity even before I saw it filling up the counter. The petals flashed red as the fluorescent light struggled to come on.

I stopped and studied the scene, picturing the same bouquet in a newly remodeled kitchen. This winter, I’d be tearing out the existing dark, flat-faced cabinet doors and putting in raised-panel light oak to match the home’s original woodwork. A workstation with stools would fill the space beneath the back windows. The countertops and floor would be redone in neutral shades, and the whole kitchen would brighten up with new lighting. Tonight, however, the corner by the basement door was pitifully dim. I shot past it and closed myself in the bathroom.

I stood under steaming water and wondered what David was doing. He was probably on his side porch, opening the door, and shutting it tight against the wind. He’d hang his coat neatly on a hanger, take off his shoes and line them in the hall closet. Then he’d make himself a cup of tea and sit on the sofa and look out at the snowflakes, wondering what he’d done wrong tonight.

Why hadn’t Tish kissed me, he’d ask himself. He’d run through a million ways he might have messed up. Finally, he’d convince himself that things were hopeless between us.

And he’d never speak to me again.

I paused. Shampoo dripped into my eyes.

Was I ready to have that bridge burned?

No way.

I rinsed off, flicked down the faucet handle, and grabbed my towel. Not even fifteen minutes had passed since he’d gone home. He’d been at least that late picking me up tonight. I could be fashionably tardy for his invitation, as well.

I towel-dried my hair and sprayed it, trying for a cute-n-tangled look. I threw on my usual jeans and T-shirt. David had already seen me at my finest. Time to get back to my true, casual self.

Socks, shoes, and my jean jacket wrapped tight around me, and out the back door I went. Billowing white puffs hit me full in the face as I took the shortcut past the garage over to David’s yard.

The turn-of-the-century home between my house and David’s acted as the village museum, which explained why it was perpetually empty. Operating hours had been cut back to zero with the summer tourist season long past. I’d taken a tour of the historic home back in July and fallen in love with its total Victorian décor. I also loved the idea that I had one less neighbor in occupancy.

With cedar hedges lining both sides, the museum’s backyard repelled any light from the street. I found myself kicking blindly through snow-covered leaf piles and tripping over fallen branches in the snowy blackness. Not very pleasant for my lame leg. A light in David’s second-story window served as my beacon.

I squeezed through an opening in the opposite hedge and walked across David’s driveway to his back porch. A flurry of snowflakes dimmed the light next to the door.

I knocked.

I jiggled in place as I waited, wishing I’d thought to wear boots. Snow had settled in a thick ring around my ankles and now melted in slow, icy rivulets into my sneakers.

I peeked through the window, shielding my eyes to block the reflection. No lights, no David.

I knocked again, louder this time.

I stepped back. In the glass, my head looked like it had been doused with powdered sugar. My mostly wet hair sat frozen in spiky ringlets around my face.

The wind knifed icy-cold air through my jean jacket. My teeth launched into a continuous chatter.

The thought of standing on the frozen porch another instant gave me the chills. But so did the thought of heading home without warming up first.

Come on, David.

I tested the back door handle. It turned easily.

The door opened a crack.

David had walked into my house without knocking, hadn’t he? At least I’d knocked a few times. He was probably upstairs getting into warm jammies and fuzzy slippers. I’d just wait in the back room for a few minutes and thaw out. If he didn’t come downstairs by the time my tootsies were toasty, I’d just sneak back out and he’d never even know I’d been here.

The door creaked as I opened it.

Tut, tut, I scolded the absent Rebecca. Squeaky hinges alert buyers to the possibility of other problems throughout the house. It didn’t take an architect to figure that one out.

I poked my head inside the dark hall. “Hello?”

No answer.

I stepped in and closed the door behind me. A heavy hush filled the air. I tapped my feet gently to knock the snow off, careful not to make too much noise.

I felt along the wall for a light switch. I found two. I flicked the first and the porch light blinked off. The second one turned on the overhead light in the spacious rear entry hall.

However predisposed I was to disliking Rebecca, I couldn’t help but admire her taste. The room looked ready for a photo shoot. Dark walnut paneling lined the lower half of the walls. Matching cubbies and a row of coat hooks filled the far end. Pale ivory-striped wallpaper covered the rest. A floral wreath in burgundy and green provided a focal point upon entry.

David’s coat hung askew in one cubby. The red scarf he’d been wearing lay on the floor, almost as if he’d been too rushed to hang it. Next to the scarf were his shoes. Melted snow puddled around them on the polished oak floor.

I panicked. If that mess didn’t get wiped up, there was a good chance the finish would be ruined. Then all anyone would see walking into the room would be a big dull patch on an otherwise flawless floor.

I slipped out of my wet shoes and lined them carefully on the entry rug. I tiptoed through the doorway and found myself in the kitchen.

“David?” I called.

I turned on the overhead light. The room was a chef’s dream. A long island wrapped in wood paneling fit down the center. Above it hung a rack of pots and pans, all shiny copper, looking as if they’d never been used. Cabinets and countertops lined two walls. Stainless steel appliances gave the room a clean, sterile appearance. This room alone must have cost a fortune.

The sink piled with dirty dishes was the only eyesore. I stole a few paper towels from the roll on the counter and slunk back to the mudroom.

I wiped up the water and stacked David’s shoes neatly on the rug where they could finish drying without doing any damage. Then I opened and closed under-counter cabinets in the kitchen until I found the trash bin.

I pitched in the wad of toweling. It landed in the garbage next to a small red foil envelope, the kind that gets held by that fork thingy in a floral arrangement.

I scrunched up my forehead in thought. My bouquet tonight hadn’t come with a little card. Maybe David had written something to me, then changed his mind and threw it away, too shy to share his feelings.

My hand shot out for the envelope.

I pulled back, not wanting to believe that I would actually dig through someone’s trash.

Oh, what could it hurt?

A floral greeting wasn’t exactly U.S. Mail.

I grabbed for it with two fingers. I straightened, flipping the foil paper over. There was no writing on it. I reached inside and pulled out the card.

Chunky black print jumped out at me: twenty-five years. remember that.

Not very romantic. The card had obviously been meant for some other flower arrangement. David certainly hadn’t penned those words with me in mind. Perhaps David had received flowers recently himself.

Parker floral designs was printed in the upper left corner of the card. That was a shop just down Main Street, one of my favorites. A grapevine arbor arched over the entryway, inviting passersby to step in and check out the knickknacks and doodads. Maybe I’d just have to do that one of these days.

I tucked the card in my jeans pocket, convinced that taking something already thrown away couldn’t be considered stealing.

Still, I had to face my dilemma. With no David in sight, I should leave the house. Otherwise, I could be deemed a trespasser. On the other hand, David had offered me a tour. Poking my head into a couple rooms on the first floor before I left couldn’t possibly hurt anything. Technically, I was here on invitation. I’d just arrived a little late.

I came to a compromise. I would only peek at one more room. If David hadn’t come downstairs by then, I was out the door and back home. With wet shoes off, my feet weren’t even cold anymore.

I took the archway to the left and found myself in the dining room. I didn’t dare turn on a light. But in the wash from the kitchen, I could see the ceiling was at least ten feet above the floor. The walls were done in dark wainscot and old-fashioned burgundy-on-gold wallpaper. A mammoth table filled the space beneath the chandelier.

Against the opposite wall, a monstrous cabinet loomed, like something from the Addams Family collection. A thin stream of light seeped from behind its doors.

I was drawn toward the beam like a moth to fire.

My hands glowed blue as they reached for starburst-shaped knobs. I pulled the doors open.

A funny-looking desktop computer provided the ambient light. The screen showed a picture of a woman in front of the restored Greek Revival. Her arms were flung wide as if to say, “I did it!” Reams of blonde hair lay gracefully on the collar of a fur swing coat. A short skirt accentuated her miles of legs. She had a flawless smile, a petite nose, and glimmering eyes. In short, she was the most beautiful woman on the planet.

Rebecca, no doubt.

And why not? The woman had talent and spunk. Beauty was a natural accompaniment.

No wonder David was sick to be losing her.

“She looks like an angel, doesn’t she?” David’s voice came from behind.

I whirled and screamed. I landed with my bottom sitting on the cabinet ledge.

“Please. I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said.

He wore a wine-colored silky robe over top of loose cotton bottoms. A patch of chest hair peeked out.

“Wow.” I stood and brushed off the back of my pants. “I’m so embarrassed. I’m not snooping, honest. I changed my mind about that tour and thought I’d come over after all.” I gave a sheepish grin. “I did knock.”

His eyes shone bright blue even in the dim light. “Not to worry.” He walked toward me. “I see you’ve found my baby.”

“Yes.” I tried to plaster down my frizzed-out hair. “I had no idea Rebecca was so beautiful.”

He skirted past me and hit the space bar on the keyboard. “I meant my computer.”

“Oh.” I looked at the flat-screened contraption surrounded by wires and equipment. Rebecca’s face was gone, replaced by lines of text.

“Unfortunately, I’ll have to give you a rain check on that tour. I received an urgent message just as I walked in this evening.” David shrugged, helpless. “Duty calls.”

“I hope it’s nothing too serious.” I straightened, trying not to look as foolish as I felt.

“Nothing that can’t be tidied up in a few hours’ time. Perhaps you can come back tomorrow afternoon.”

“Oh. Absolutely.” I fidgeted, sidestepping toward the mudroom. “Again, I’m really sorry to have bothered you. I don’t know what came over me.”

David stood hands on hips. The collar of his robe stretched open, revealing a surprisingly well-defined chest. Not every computer geek could claim to be as toned as David. I lowered my eyes, embarrassed to even be thinking of him that way.

“No bother,” David said. “It’s always a pleasure. I’m looking forward to tomorrow.”

He advanced toward me. For every step he took, I backed up one, until I felt the hardwood flooring of the kitchen beneath me. I pivoted and almost ran to my shoes. David stood over me in the doorway to the mudroom as I fumbled with wet laces.

From the corner of my eye, I saw him hovering there, watching me. My heart launched into a frenzy at the thought of feisty little pheromones floating my way, making me want to be kissed. I focused on tying my shoes.