Sunny Says (5 page)

She beamed up at him. “Yes,
boss.”

On Sunday morning, Sunny,
engrossed in the front page of the
Corpus Christi Caller-Times
, sipped
her coffee and absently reached for another muffin.

“Wow! Look at this. We made the
headlines,” she said to Estella and Kale, who were sitting at the breakfast
table.

Kale mumbled something into his
eggs, and Estella grabbed the paper. “Let me see.” As she read the page, her
brows lifted and her mouth formed a silent whistle. ‘“KRIP NEWS
TEAM
FOILS BANK
ROBBERY.’ Well, well, well. A color picture and the whole works. Sorry I missed
being in on the ‘daring high-speed chase.’ Did I tell you that I thought your
story on the news last night was dynamite?”

Sunny beamed, preening at the
compliment. “At least three times, but tell me again.”

“I wouldn’t want you to get the
big head.”

“Not likely, but it was a super
story, wasn’t it? I couldn’t sleep last night for thinking about it. I grinned
all night. But most of the credit goes to Kale. While we were putting the piece
together, he taught me more about writing and editing and dramatic effect than
I learned in four years of college. He’s brilliant. Kale, did I tell you that
you’re brilliant?”

He nodded. “You did a good job.”

She wiggled in her chair,
smiling and still feeling bubbly inside.

Estella looked over the paper at
Kale. “Does this mean that KRIP’s good-news policy has changed to ‘if it
bleeds, it leads’?”

Kale laced his fingers over his
middle and leaned back in the oak captain’s chair. “It means that KRIP will
present a solid, balanced broadcast.”

“Does that include dumping the
tripe from the sports segment and putting some action into it?”

“Yes. Think you can handle it?”

She leaned forward with one arm
resting on the table, a fist on her hip, and bobbed her head with exaggerated
smugness. “Could Michael Jordan play basketball?” Her mouth curved into a
playful smirk. “You bet your bankroll I can handle it. I know more about sports
than all those clowns on the other stations put together.”

“At least you’re confident,”
Kale said dryly.

“Oh, it’s true,” Sunny piped up.
“Cherry Morris is her father.”

Kale’s eyebrows lifted. “Cherry
Morris, the NBA coach?”

“The very one,” Estella said.

“She grew up in a very athletic
family,” Sunny added. “Her mother won an Olympic gold medal in track, and
Estella went to college on a sports scholarship. Her younger brother won some
special football award two years ago. What award was that, Estella?”

“The Heisman.”

“Morris.” Kale wrinkled his
forehead. “Morris. Chapman Morris who plays for the Washington Redskins?”

“That’s my baby brother.”

“I’m impressed.”

Estella chuckled. “And as
relieved as hell that the tall pregnant lady might know her business after all.”

Sunny hopped up and began
clearing the table. “Estella, we need to get a move on if we’re going to
Padre Island
.”
To Kale she said, “We’re going shelling. Want to come along?” When he
hesitated, she added, “Oh, come with us. How long since you’ve walked along a
Texas
beach
and did nothing more profound than look for shells? I’ll even treat you to a
hot dog and a beer.” She grinned. “Besides, if you go, we can go in Ravinia’s
convertible and put the top down.”

“Ravinia bought a convertible?”
Kale asked. “I suppose that doesn’t surprise me, but she’s always driven a
Cadillac.”

Estella and Sunny exchanged
looks and laughed. “She didn’t change that habit,” Estella said. “Wait until
you see it.”

With a bit more coaxing, he
agreed to join them, and everyone went to change into shorts and sneakers.

Instead of her usual ragtag garb
for shelling, Sunny opted for a new white cotton shirt and butter-yellow shorts
that matched her straw planter’s hat, with its saucy chiffon band and
streamers. She even applied makeup—telling herself that it was for sun
protection and not because Kale was going along.

He obviously hadn’t dressed with
any special pains, she thought when she met him downstairs.

He wore a pair of faded red
madras shorts and a pale pink T-shirt. She did have to admit that the shorts
showed off his nicely muscled legs and that the pink shirt complemented his tan
and molded a chest that had probably set many hearts palpitating—not hers, of
course. She was immune. Kale Hoaglin was only her boss and temporary housemate,
she reminded herself. She wasn’t interested. He wasn’t interested.

But why, she wondered, if she
wasn’t his type, did his eyes slowly sweep over her as if he were undressing
her? She could almost feel the fabric smoldering under his gaze. And why, if
she was immune to his rugged good looks and mesmerizing presence, did she feel
as if someone had lit a firecracker between her toes every time he looked at
her with that intense, sensual scrutiny?

Maybe she was misinterpreting
the signals, she thought. Then their eyes met and held. She could almost feel
his hands on her, feel his breath on her face, feel— No, this wouldn’t do!

She broke eye contact, fidgeted
with her hat, and looked over her shoulder to Estella, who was on the stairs,
watching them.

“Are you ready?” Sunny asked her
friend.

“If you two don’t mind,” Estella
said, “I think I’ll beg off.” She rubbed her tummy. “Junior here is practicing
his punting, and I’d be more comfortable staying home with my feet up and
watching the Astros-Braves game on TV.”

“Are you ill? I’ll stay with
you,” Sunny said quickly. She was suddenly nervous over the prospect of being
alone with Kale.

“Honey, I’m not sick. I’m just
pregnant. And I think I’d feel better staying close to a bathroom.”

Looking concerned, Kale said, “It’s
not time .

Estella laughed. “Don’t I wish.
No, the doctor told me last Thursday that I have at least another two weeks.
You two go on and enjoy the day.”

Sunny hesitated. Was Estella
playing matchmaker or did she seriously prefer to stay home? She could hardly
confront her with Kale present. Shoot! She was making too much of the whole
matter. They were simply going to drive to Padre to look for seashells and
roast a couple of wienies on a grill. What could happen?

“We’ll be home in plenty of time
for Lamaze class this evening.” Sunny cocked her head, then asked Estella, “Do
you remember where I put Ravinia’s keys?”

“I saw some keys in the bread
box.”

She scooted into the kitchen to
check and came back empty-handed and feeling disgusted. “Those were mine.”

Kale walked over to the suit of
armor and from the tip of the lance plucked a set of keys with a red-sequined
heart attached. “What about these?”

“Bingo!”

When they walked into the
garage, Kale stared at the luxurious white car. “What is this?”

“Ravinia’s convertible.”

Kale frowned. “I didn’t think
Cadillac was making this model in a convertible any longer.”

“As far as I know, they’re not,”
Sunny said. “She had it customized. It must have cost the world, but she loved
it.”

They loaded their picnic
supplies into Ravinia’s convertible, put the top down, and, with Kale driving,
were soon on their way down
South Padre
Island Drive
.

Even though the sky was slightly
overcast, enough to keep the temperature from soaring, Sunny pulled a bottle of
sunscreen from her tote bag and began slathering it on exposed skin areas. Kale
watched from the corner of his eye, appreciating the perfect curves of her
legs, the smoothness of her arms, the suppleness of her fingers as they moved
over her body, a body that had haunted him since he’d found her in his shower.
With only a slight leap of fancy, he could imagine those slender, supple
fingers stroking his skin. Allowing his mind to meander a few steps further, he
could envision her in his bed, all warm and soft beneath him, moaning his name.
He felt himself stir.

“Want some?”

Startled by her question, he
almost said, “Hell, yes.” Instead he asked, “What?”

She held up the green plastic
bottle. “Sunscreen. Want some?”

“Maybe later.” He scowled and
squirmed in the seat.
She’s not/or you, Hoaglin
.
Get your mind out of
the gutter
.

“I really think you should. With
all the scientific evidence about skin cancer, everybody should be wearing
sunscreen these days.”

“I’m driving,” he said curtly.

“I can rub it on you.”

“No.” If she started running her
fingers up his thigh he’d probably ram into the RV ahead of them.

“You don’t have to be such a
grouch. I’m only concerned with your well-being. At least put some on your
face.”

“Oh, hell,” he said, holding out
two fingers. “Squirt some out.”

When she complied, he made a
couple of swipes across his nose and cheeks. “Satisfied?”

“For now.” She smiled and tossed
the bottle back into her bag. “When we get to the beach, you can do a better
job.”

He shook his head and chuckled
inwardly. Sunny Larkin was a piece of work. Who would ever know to look at her
sweet, guileless face that she had the tenacity of a bulldog?

He switched on the radio and
tuned it to an easy-listening station to keep his thoughts occupied. With his
left elbow propped on the window opening and the wind ruffling his hair, Kale
headed the car over the familiar causeway that crossed the
Intracoastal Waterway
between Laguna Madre and
Corpus
Christi
Bay
. The car drove like a
dream. It seemed like a lifetime since he’d driven anything except an ancient
Jeep or some rusted-out truck with sprung seats.

How long had it been since he’d
driven this route in a convertible with a beautiful girl beside him? Ten years?
Fifteen? He fondly remembered trips to Padre in the Corvette his aunt Ravinia
had given him for high school graduation. Lord, how he’d loved that car.

“You smiled! You actually
smiled.”

Kale glanced over at Sunny. “I
beg your pardon?”

She laughed and clapped her
hands. “You smiled. I didn’t think you knew how.”

Indignant, he grumbled, “Of
course I know how. Why would you think I didn’t?”

“I’ve never seen you smile. I’ve
seen a couple of little twitches and wiggles as if you wanted to smile, but I’ve
never seen an honest-to-goodness, lips-turned-up, teeth-showing smile. What
were you thinking about?”

“My old Corvette convertible,
the pride and joy of my youth. It was black.”

“Whatever happened to it?”

“Somebody stole it about two
weeks after I moved to
New York
. Damned near broke my heart. I felt as if I’d lost an
old friend.”

“Didn’t your insurance replace
it?”

He shrugged. “Some things are
irreplaceable. In any case, having a car in
New
York
wasn’t practical, and when I was
transferred to
Washington
, I leased something plain and functional. On the
foreign assignments that came later, it was easier to rent a car or use local
transportation. In some of the places I’ve lived, I was lucky to find a donkey
cart.”

“You’re kidding.”

He found himself growing relaxed
as he drove along Park Drive 22, more relaxed than he’d been in he didn’t know
how long. Before he knew what was happening, Sunny was pulling stories out of
him about the various strange conveyances he’d ridden in, from rickshaws and pedicabs
in the Orient to camels in
Morocco
.

“I’d love to ride a camel. Didn’t
you feel like Lawrence of Arabia sailing across the desert?” she exclaimed,
waving her arms expansively.

He glanced over at her and
smiled. He’d never met anyone quite like her. She bubbled like a fountain of
sunshine. He found that he wanted to dip his hands into her vibrancy, and wash
himself with her vivacity. Something about her was magical, ethereal yet
elemental. And very appealing. She had a zest for life that had disappeared in
him long ago—if it had ever been there at all. Everything about her drew him
like a warm, crackling fire on a cold night.

“Camels don’t sail across the
desert. They ga-lump. Besides being uncomfortable as the devil, they’re nasty
beasts that love to bite and spit. I’d rather ride a horse. Even an elephant is
better.”

“An elephant! Oh, what fun. Were
you in
India
?”

“No. As I recall, that happened
in
Dallas
. One of my first assignments as a TV reporter there was to cover the
circus coming to town. I rode an elephant from the train to the place they were
performing. It’s a hackneyed slant, although it seemed very clever at the time.
Linda Ellerbee once said that every reporter she’d ever talked to has done the
elephant walk at some point early in his or her career.”