One Sexy Daddy (14 page)

“Get your job back. I can't start anything with you. And Deerhorn needs that school.”

“We already started something. And, as a matter of fact, I think we did it all backwards. I'm just trying to get us turned around. Come to dinner. All of Deerhorn knows I'm here. Asking you like a fool. A fool in love.”

“Well, I can't go,” she said, and tears that were just a river became a flood. She would have dissolved into a puddle of water had it not been for the curious screeching sound that distracted both of them.

A dark blue van, advertising on its side the quality, reliability and the phone number of Brandweis
Plumbing, tore up the driveway, its tires decapitating a row of hostas and Stella d'Oro lilies.

Marion Brandweis, in curlers and a housedress, jumped out of the driver's seat. Her face was stern and commanding. She marched up the steps and, with her unbandaged hand, produced a tissue for her sister from one of her pockets.

“She'd be delighted to go,” Marion said. “Lordy, Stacy, you're acting mighty impolite to your gentleman caller. Don't make him stand out here on the porch like some kind of magazine subscription salesman. And I think you should change right out of those jeans into something pretty—Betty Carbol says you're going to Tanglewood and Nancy Tigerman says you haven't done a thing with your hair. And Jim says that I've got to learn to let go of you and learn to depend on him. That's what a marriage is all about, he says.”

She hustled Adam into the front hall.

“Marion, why are you—?”

“Stacy, you might be two years older than me, but you're not grown up,” Marion said. She wagged a finger at her sister. “You give up too much, or maybe it's me, that I'm always asking you to give up your time and your ambitions, but both of us have got to stop. Daddy's gone now. You've done everything for him. You've helped me and Jim so much. But now, Stacy, you've got to have something for yourself.”

She put her arms around her sister and the two women hugged. Deep and long and satisfying.

Marion pulled away first. She had used up every bit of herself in the long speech. She yanked the flowers out of Adam's hands and announced that she would put them in water. Then she ducked into the kitchen. In two seconds she was back, with the flowers shoved into a half-full vase of water.

“Here,” she said, slapping the vase down on the console table. “Don't you dare not go out with this man. Don't you dare not take a chance on having a relationship with him. And don't you dare not take a chance on loving him. 'Specially if he's going to stay. You
are
going to stay, aren't you?”

“I guess I have to,” he said. “I don't have anyplace else to go.”

“Stacy, that oughta be enough for you.”

Marion stamped her foot to emphasize her point and then swept by Adam.

He and Stacy stared long after the van lurched out of the drive.

“I guess this means I have your family's permission,” Adam said. “So can we go to dinner?”

“It's just dinner,” she said, a mixture of cool defeat and poignant resolve.

Adam knew enough to not say that “it's just dinner” was something he used to hear all the time. And he used to change women's minds. He didn't plan on doing it here. Not in Deerhorn.

“Adam, you have to get your job back,” Stacy said as her foot hit the bottom step. She had changed into a yellow silk shirt-dress that fell around her calves in soft, buttery folds. “Can't you call Lasser and apologize?”

Adam got up from the comfortable chair and whistled.

“Let's not talk about that. Let's talk about how beautiful you are.”

“Don't distract me.”

“That dress is very becoming, shows off your legs nicely. Your ankles could be displayed in the Smithsonian Institution as an example of the highest ideals of American beauty. Slender but not skinny.”

“Adam, this is important,” Stacy said. “This is your future.”

He leaned close. “And your perfume is utterly intoxicating. What's it called?”

“Soap and talcum powder. Adam, you need a job.”

He circled around her.

“What'd you do different with your hair?”

“I put a barrette in it. You like your work. It lets you wander the world. You're a wanderer.”

“And you're a wonder. I think I like curly hair,” he said, as if the matter were one of grave philosophic importance. “I like the way when you stand just right here—the sunlight, what's left of it, bounces off your hair as if it were gold.”

“Adam Tyler, listen to me! You are not a settle-down kind of guy. You need to travel, you need to work—both of those are things you crave. You won't find them here in Deerhorn.”

“Deerhorn's a very interesting place.”

“You've never liked Deerhorn.”

“
Au contraire
. I like it very much. Especially right now.”

“Adam, I've done some thinking.”

“So have I. And it's been driving me crazy.”

“What are you going to do with your life?”

He reared back, regarding her as if she were a most exotic creature. “Miss Poplar, you have so little experience in the arena of dating that you've forgotten the most important rule.”

“What's that?”

“Have fun.”

He lifted the hair at the back of her neck and almost kissed the soft, downy flesh at her hairline.
Then he remembered his promise to Betty Carbol. He caressed the hair as if it were spun gold, letting it fall through his fingers to cover her shoulders.

“I want you.”

“Adam, stop it!”

He stood, momentarily chastened.

“Adam, I'm sorry, but let's get this out of the way right now. You need to be realistic.”

“Like you.”

“Yeah, like me. Realistic. And pragmatic. You need a job. And the boom of the nineties passed Deerhorn by. There aren't any jobs around here, unless you count farming and cheese-making, neither of which you would have the faintest clue how to do.”

“I don't need to work,” Adam said, drawing her into his arms. “I called my banker today and because I tend to live below my means—”

“That car of yours is below your means?”

“My one toy. I make a lot of money.”

“Made.”

“True. Anyhow, I have enough put away in stocks, savings, money markets and bonds that I don't have to work for a year, maybe two.”

“And what are you going to do?”

“Stay here.”

“You'd be bored.”

“Not with you to keep me company.”

“I didn't say I was going to keep—”

“Let's not argue, baby. This is a date. Let's have fun.”

 

F
OR THE FIRST
time in recent memory, every table and booth at Tanglewood was taken. Every one but booth five, of course, near the window, which had a bowl of zinnias floating in water and a small but boldly lettered “reserved” sign. The maître d' clapped Adam on the shoulder and said he didn't give a darn what kind of relationship Adam had with Stacy but if he kept business coming in, Adam was welcome anytime.

As the couple followed the maître d' to their table, diners pretended not to stare. A smile or a how-do was allowable, full-scale gawking resulted in a sharp kick to the knee from one's better half.

The maître d' slid the table out from the booth seat to allow Stacy and Adam into their places. A busboy brought out a bottle of champagne and two Marie Antoinette-style glasses.

“Enjoy,” the maître d' commanded silkily as he popped the cork and poured for his guests. Then he leaned over to Adam. “I don't know what's goin' on, bud, but I haven't had this many tables goin' since 1995—one of the exit signs on the highway fell down and a bunch of weekend tourists ended up here. I waited till after they paid their bill to tell them Geneva was forty miles back the other way. So the bubbly's on me. God bless ya.”

“Thanks,” Adam said. And when the maître d'
left to take care of another couple, he touched his glass to Stacy's. “So this is how courting is done in Deerhorn?”

“Yes, but it's not usually the subject of such intense interest.”

“And what am I supposed to do next?”

“Next?”

“If we were courting.”

“If you were from Deerhorn, you'd take me out to dinner a few more times, you'd introduce me to your family, I'd introduce you to mine, and then we'd take the relationship further.”

“We've already taken the relationship further.”

“True,” Stacy said, blushing. “And you met my sister Marion when she fell off your trellis. Shame about all that clematis.”

“She couldn't shake hands all that well—and she seemed a mite upset.”

“And I've met your daughter…but, Adam, what about the rest of your family?”

“Not much to tell. My mother is dead three years past,” he said, accepting her murmured sorry with a nod. “And my dad, well, you say I'm a wanderer, well, he beat me at that game. One day he ran off with a dancer. Not the ballet kind. I don't even know where he is now.”

“A wanderer just like you.”

“Not like me,” Adam said vehemently. “I'm taking care of Karen—my dad just left me and my mother. I'm different. Period. And, besides, he
never wanted to stay in the same place more than a day.”

“And you do?”

“I do now.”

She didn't have the chance to challenge him because the mayor had approached their booth, quite obviously waiting for an invitation to sit down. Even as his wife, seated at the other end of the restaurant, waved her arms and hissed at him to leave the lovebirds alone. His son Bob, dressed in royal-blue pants, a silver lamé suit jacket and a spiky blue-black 'do, slipped low in his seat—dying of embarrassment.

“Adam, Stacy, good to see you…together,” Lefty said. “And I'm sorry to interrupt, but this is important.”

“Join us,” Adam said, squeezing closer to Stacy. “What is it?”

“The school,” Mayor Pincham said heavily. He sat down. “Betty told me this morning that you're not working for Lasser anymore.”

“If you're worried about the school getting built, Lasser will send somebody else up. It might take a few days to scare up a—”

“That's just the point. He won't. I called him this afternoon. Devil of a time gettin' hold of him—but when I did, he didn't take but two seconds to tell me. No school. His crew's already gone back to Chicago and is packing for a Vegas trip. There wasn't anything I could do to persuade
him to change his mind—not even when I said I'd be happy with a statue of him.” His mouth twisted at the mere thought of such a monstrosity.

“Adam, if you just go to him and tell him you'll take your job back—” Stacy pleaded.

“Is this because you want a school?”

“Yes,” Stacy answered. “But also, I want you to have what you want in life.”

Adam shook his head. “I've got a better idea,” he said, shoving the table back. He stood up and cleared his throat. “Who's the best carpenter in town?”

Diners stopped mid-bite and mid-sentence. A few women nudged their husbands' elbows. Bob Pincham slid so far down in his seat that he was able to rest his feet on the chair across from him.

“I said—who's the best carpenter in town?”

A hand, calloused and worn, rose from a four-some near the kitchen.

“That'd prob'ly be me,” its owner said, rising from his seat. He tugged at a ten-year-old blue tie that he still wasn't quite used to wearing. “Least aways,
I
think I am.”

“Sure,” Mayor Pincham said. “Ted's a great carpenter. Made our kitchen cabinets.”

“All right. I've got a carpenter. And who's the best mason?” Adam asked.

Two hands shot up. One belonged to a jowly faced man in a plaid sports jacket. The other to a
dour young man sitting with his wife. The two men stood up.

“Me and Red,” the jowly man said, pointing to the other. “Me and Red worked in Geneva for a while. But after the addition to the hotel was built, we didn't get another job. We'd like to help you, Tyler. It's not like we're doin' anything 'cept collecting our unemployment checks, watching soap operas and drinking beer.”

“Two's not enough,” Adam said. “Think you can teach someone?”

The two men nodded as a broadly built older woman raised her hand.

“I'd like to learn,” she said. “I don't have kids at home anymore. I could do it.”

Seven more diners stood up, volunteering to learn. A busboy, one of the curious who had come out from the kitchen, raised his hand and said he'd like to learn a trade.

“I'm nineteen, got a wife with a baby on the way,” he said. “I don't mean to sound ungrateful to my boss here, but I need a trade that has a future. Masonry sounds as good as anything else.”

“We'll teach you.” Red allowed.

“I'll baby-sit anybody who needs it,” Mrs. Smith, the elementary teacher said, pushing her chair back from her table. “And my husband can help me. Come on, stand up, John.”

“You're hired,” Adam said. “Now, have I got any electricians?”

Three hands. Three men rose to their feet.

“Roofers?”

Four guys, who commuted to Milwaukee when there was work, rose to their feet.

“Painters?”

Six women stood up and one of them explained that she had just finished doing a nursery for one of the others.

“Plumbers?” Adam asked.

“There's only one plumber in town,” the mayor said. “And you don't get better than him.”

All eyes turned to the front desk, where the Brandweises stood waiting for their table.

Marion and Jim stared at their neighbors. It was an odd sight to be sure—some diners standing up, only a few left seated.

“What are you talking about?” Jim asked.

“Jim, I'm Adam Tyler,” Adam said, reaching out to shake. “I'm giving Deerhorn a school, but the town's got to build it.”

“At cost?” the mayor asked.

“Free,” Adam said, waving away Stacy's protest. “I'm buying materials. I'll rent whatever equipment we don't have. I'll general contract. But you've got to build it—and it looks like you've got the people to do it.”

“Count me in,” Jim said. “And pleased to finally meet you.”

“What about me?” Stacy asked.

“You're my girl Friday and when we've got the
thing built, you're the landscaper,” Adam said. “Are you writing down everybody's job assignments?”

And the dining room burst into applause as. Tanglewood's maître d' announced that a round of champagne was on the house.

 

“T
HAT WAS AN UNUSUAL DATE
,” Stacy said, as they walked up the path to her house. The moon hung low and full in the sky. The white blooms of hosta and hydrangeas waved gently in the dark foliage. Stacy pulled a tendril of trumpet vine from a tree as they passed beneath it. She twisted it around her finger.

“I thought you said you haven't done a lot of dating,” Adam teased.

“I haven't. But I've never heard of a dinner that ended up with all the tables at Tanglewood pushed together for a meeting.”

“We had to do it that way so we could put together a schedule. I'll drive those people—I don't think they realize how hard—but we'll have a school opening in September.”

She pulled her keys out of her purse and opened her door.

“Do you…want to come in?” she asked.

“No.”

She stared. “No?”

“No. I can't. I promised Betty Carbol I would
kiss you once. Just once. That is, of course, if you let me. If I go inside, I'll be tempted to do more.”

“One kiss?”

“I promised. I'm living under Deerhorn rules. That's how the regulars do it.”

“And then you're going to say goodbye?”

“Until our next date. Which is tomorrow. Stacy, I'm working on trying to be a good man. A good father. A good citizen.”

“All right, then, kiss me.”

He dropped his hands to her tiny waist, brought her close to him and pressed her softly yielding mouth with his lips.

His tongue darted into all the secret, sensitive parts—he felt her rise, her breasts pressing against him. Strong memory of what more he could give her had made her bold—she tentatively matched her own tongue to his. She sighed.

He relinquished her.

“It's five minutes after midnight,” Stacy said huskily. “Could we count this as our next date?”

“I wish we could, but I have to get up early,” Adam said gently. “I've got a school to build. Stacy, I want to have more than an affair with you. I want to court you—properly. For that, I have to follow the rules.”

“Okay. But I haven't ever been courted. What should I expect?”

“Expect to be kissed within an inch of your life. And be ready for work at seven,” he said. “We've
got to work as hard as anybody else. Sleep well. I'll make breakfast for you if you stop by the house.”

“Pancakes?” she teased.

“I'm trying, I'm trying.”