Mine 'Til Monday (7 page)

And before she could reply, he clicked off the connection, listening to the silence long after he replaced the phone on the bedside table.

“Oh my gosh!”

Janelle, owner of Perfect Ten Nails, talked in exclamations as a matter of course. But now that she was holding Dorothy’s left hand up to the light streaming through the salon’s windows, she seemed nearly transported in her delight. “That thing must be what, three carats?”

Dorothy merely nodded, wishing she’d remembered to take the ring off before leaving the house. It had taken every ounce of her concentration just to finish packing, after she’d made such a debacle of brushing off Mud. Well, he’d been right about one thing, anyway—she simply didn’t have a plan B. Confessing to Miranda now was a sure way to get herself black-balled from any future moves in the industry. There was nothing to do but plow ahead with the scheme and pray that she and Mud got through it without any more interaction than was absolutely necessary.

Ever since Mud had first wrapped his arms around her on the golf course, Dorothy could sense control slipping away. It was a feeling so alien she longed to fight against it, yet her hunger for Mud would not allow her any defense.

Perhaps she couldn’t control the hurt and regret that tore at her now. But she could at least cover them up so that no one would ever know. Tonight when she shook Miranda’s hand, she wanted her future boss to see only a confidant career woman in the full bloom of romance. Dorothy would do what she needed to make that happen.

That meant keeping her appointment for a manicure and facial, for a start. Besides, there was always the chance that Janelle would take her mind off things for a while, as she had so many times before.

“Excuse me, girl, but when exactly did you find yourself a man to give you this engagement ring? Last hundred or so times you’ve been in here I don’t believe you told me about anyone coming around regular.”

“It was...kind of a surprise,” Dorothy managed weakly as Janelle eased her hands into warm suds.

“Well, I guess so. But obviously you said yes. I mean I don’t blame you, a rock like that. The guy’s got bucks, huh?”

Dorothy merely nodded. Ordinarily she prized her sessions with Janelle, who called things exactly the way she saw them. Janelle was honest, she was funny, and most importantly, she was one of the few girlfriends Dorothy could claim, given her schedule.

Today, though, she wished Janelle would keep her curiosity to herself.

“So, what’s he like?

“He’s, um, well, he’s perfect,” Dorothy mumbled. “Have you got any new colors?”

“French,” Janelle responded without looking up from her work. “You’re going to be a bride, you get the French. Classy. Besides, quit trying to change the subject. What kind of perfect?”

Dorothy slouched down in the comfortable chair and closed her eyes, giving herself up to the pleasure of the warm water and Janelle’s expertise. What kind of perfect was Mud? The kind whose smile came out of nowhere, quicker than lighting and more natural than drawing breath? The kind whose touch could ignite flames in seconds, whose mere voice raised shivers along her spine?

“Blond,” she managed. “I guess. Kind of dark blond. Fairly tall.”

Janelle glanced up at Dorothy and shook her head. “You don’t sound too enthusiastic about him, hon.”

“We...had a fight, sort of.”

“Oh, is that it.” Janelle grinned, pushing back Dorothy’s cuticles with a practiced ease. “Lover’s quarrel. It just makes making up that much more fun. Spicy like. You should see me and Darryl, you know, after a big one.”

Dorothy could feel a blush blooming on her cheeks. The thought of making up with Mud led too easily into thoughts of making love with him.

“It’s just that I don’t think we’re compatible,” she said more fiercely than she intended.

Janelle paused and regarded Dorothy frankly. “Well, now there’s compatible and there’s compatible, y’know? Do you click?”

The latter word was uttered with an exaggerated wink that left little doubt as to what Janelle meant.

“We click fine,” Dorothy mumbled, cheeks aflame. “We’re just totally different, in every important way. Lifestyle, tastes, ambitions...”

“Hey, that just makes it sweeter, the old opposites attract thing. You think I’d want a man who was just like me? Forget about it! Can you imagine!”

Janelle giggled good-naturedly, but despite her cheerful reassurance Dorothy felt herself slip a little deeper, into the gloomy doubts which had followed her from the moment she found herself alone in the bed she had shared with Mud the night before.

“Look, Janelle. I’ve known him for a long time. We have a history. The first time we...came together, it meant a lot to me. But not to him. He found someone else just when I was falling—”

Dorothy hesitated; she was going to say ‘falling in love’. But could a young girl really feel something as deep and real as romantic love?

“...falling for him,” she finished.

Janelle’s mirth disappeared as suddenly as it had bubbled up. She folded Dorothy’s hands between her own and held them tight. “You poor baby,” she said. “Now you’re just scared to death it’ll happen again. And I don’t blame you, with a guy who’s played around in the past. But you know a man like that waits until he’s ready, and I mean really ready, to settle down. They don’t make a commitment until they mean it. ‘Course some never do.”

She released Dorothy’s hands, spun the engagement ring gently on her finger. “But hey, the proof’s in the pudding, right?” Dorothy nodded numbly, but Janelle’s words echoed in her ear.

Some never do.

CHAPTER FIVE

Dorothy paused at the wide glass doors of Miranda’s solarium, and gave a final tug at her tennis skirt. The crisp white pleated fabric barely covered her bottom, and she felt extremely self-conscious. Usually she played in shorts and a T-shirt, but for today she’d taken pains to choose something from Finesse’s latest collection, a stylish skirt and coordinating tank in white trimmed with navy.

It was only 8:00 am, but when she woke half an hour earlier, the charming cottage was empty. Mud’s door was open a few inches, and Dorothy had peeked inside: bed made, drapes open to let the sun in. No doubt he was out jogging. He seemed like the jogging type. In fact Dorothy could easily imagine him in nylon shorts, moving easily through the sun-dappled paths that crisscrossed Miranda’s estate, a little bit of sweat glistening at his temple as his strong legs took the terrain in long strides...

Dorothy had splashed cold water on her face, and pinched her cheeks for good measure, before grimacing at her image in the mirror. They’d survived the first night. Now she just had to focus on keeping it going.

And so she’d made the short trip down the flagstone path connecting the cottage to the back of the house, ready to spend a little time one-on-one with Miranda, furthering her case.

Inside, she could hear the sound of voices and clinking china, along with the strains of Vivaldi playing softly in the background. Dorothy took a deep breath and stepped into the solarium.

“Mornin’, sweet pea.”

Mud. Sitting cozily at the linen-draped iron table with Miranda, the two of them still grinning from some shared joke.

Dorothy glanced from one to the other, her stomach doing flip-flops. This she hadn’t expected. She’d rehearsed this breakfast carefully, but she’d planned to arrive first. If Mud showed up at all, he was to be no more than an accessory.

“Um, good morning,” she murmured, sliding into the chair closest to Miranda.

“Ooo, no no no no, dear—sit with your sweetheart!” Miranda exclaimed. “Daphne, do be a dear, won’t you, and bring some coffee for Miss Albright?”

Out of nowhere a uniformed woman appeared with a white porcelain coffee pot. Feeling the color spotting her cheeks, Dorothy obediently changed chairs, sliding in next to Mud. The iron grillwork felt cold and uncomfortable next to the bare skin of her thighs.

“Hi, Sugar.”

Mud’s voice was low and thick as syrup as he leaned over, eyes closed and lips puckered. Dorothy’s eyes widened, but there was nothing else to do but comply. She brushed his lips with her own, swiftly, and turned her attention to arranging her napkin in her lap.

“Dang, girl, I’ve had dogs that kissed better than that,” Mud complained.

Under the table Dorothy felt his hand close on her knee and give a playful squeeze. It was all she could do to keep from jumping out of her seat; his hand was warm and rough and lingered just a moment too long before he reclaimed it.

“Dempsey and I were just gossiping,” Miranda confided, as she filled a plate with sliced strawberries and a muffin and passed it to Dorothy. “We seem to know a few of the same folks in the golf world.”

“Now ma’am, you just call me Mud. Everyone does.”

Miranda giggled, and lowered her lids coquettishly. Dorothy couldn’t believe it. So not even elegant dowagers were immune to him. Surely the good old boy act would lose its charm, however, as the day wore on. It was up to her to steer things back on course.

“Of course you must take everything he says with a grain of salt,” she said, forcing what she hoped was an indulgent smile to her lips. Glancing at Mud, she added, “Now that he has a successful business to run there isn’t much time for his old acquaintances.”

“No, I should imagine not,” Miranda said, then winked at Dorothy. “Especially since you have won his heart, my dear.”

Dorothy simmered slowly, wondering if that was a reference the female variety of old acquaintance that Mud had once been known for. Well, she couldn’t help that; Miranda kept up with the sporting world. At least she seemed to be delighted with their pairing.

But even Miranda’s obvious enjoyment of Mud made Dorothy uncomfortable. Mud hadn’t bothered to shine up his act; he was coming across as a raffish good-timer. And Miranda had known Dorothy for ages, knew about her taste for antiques, her academic family, her patents. Not to seem snobby, but what on earth made Miranda think Dorothy would fall for such a—a—

A diamond in the rough, Dorothy chided herself silently. After all, she was supposed to be proving her ardor for this man, not coming up with reasons they shouldn’t be together.

“You’re right. I’m so lucky to have found him,” she purred, eyelids lowered, as she broke her muffin in half.

“Mud, do tell me more about your business.”

“Mud owns a sporting goods store,” Dorothy said quickly. “It serves the North Shore.” Invoking the name of the tony area of Chicago, she hoped, would add a little cachet.

Leave it to Mud to burst even that little bubble, though.

“Oh, I don’t know if a lot of North Shore folks make it over to my place,” Mud said. “I just have a little place on the north end of the city. Golf shop. Guess you could have guessed that—can’t seem to get completely out of the game.” He grinned, not a trace of self-consciousness on his face, while Dorothy steamed.

“Was it a family business?” Miranda asked, serenely sipping from her coffee cup.

“Nah. Dad was actually in plumbing supplies. Taylor Components. He made all kinds of gizmos, toilet parts and stuff.”

“Gizmos—would that be a technical term?” Miranda’s eyes sparked with humor, and Mud chuckled easily with her. Only Dorothy sat silent, tense with the fear of what Mud would say next.

“But why didn’t you follow your father into the business?” Miranda went on in a more serious tone.

Dorothy’s mind raced. She knew how Miranda felt about her own business; how strongly she believed in family involvement, how she’d wished for children of her own to pass the company along to. How could she possibly pull Mud out of this trap?

He merely shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess from early on I always figured to go out on my own. When it seemed clear my golfing days were through, I wanted to find something that could be mine. It’s hard to explain. Dad built his business up from nothing, and I guess I wanted the same challenge. He never minded,” Mud added.

“He didn’t?” Miranda was frowning now, a little of the formidable steel in her voice. “He put his life into the company, but didn’t want to see his son carry on the name? You’re sure of that?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Mud said evenly. “In fact, Dad sold the business years before he died. I think he was tired of putting in twelve-hour days. Said he intended to enjoy the fruits of his labors, and I’m hereto tell you, he did exactly that. I don’t think he died with many regrets.”

“I see.” But it was clear from her tone that Miranda didn’t see, not really. “Well. You two ought to get out there and hit the courts. It’s a lovely day for a game.”

Dorothy lowered herself into the steaming bubbles of the Jacuzzi, inhaling deeply of the steam while the hot water worked its magic on her aching muscles. The back patio of the cottage was ringed with latticework; climbing roses formed lovely walls of color that shielded the Jacuzzi from view. Dorothy relished the solitude; she needed some time alone to sort out her thoughts.

Breakfast had been a disaster. Miranda had shooed them off to the tennis courts, tight-lipped and frowning. Whatever points Mud had scored with his knowledge of the golf world had evaporated when he confessed to having no interest in his father’s business.

Not a family man, that’s what Miranda must have been thinking. A renegade. Or worse: the way Mud described his shop, it sounded like he’d managed to squander the family fortunes on an unprofitable dump. Shiftless, unambitious, content to coast along on the coat-tails of his father’s success...

“Oh, mercy,” Dorothy moaned, sinking a little lower into the water. If only she’d picked someone else. Someone dull but dependable. Someone who wore his ambitions in plain view.

“Dot? You okay?”

Dorothy opened her eyes, startled, and found herself staring at two muscular calves. Her eyes traveled slowly up; despite her surprise she couldn’t keep her eyes off the expanse of bare skin. Tanned thighs disappeared into dark blue nylon shorts; above, a taut torso widened into well-defined shoulders. Mud’s skin still glistened from his shower, and he had a white towel draped casually over one shoulder.