Switched, Bothered and Bewildered (12 page)

"That's fossil fuel. I'm thinking a cold iced latte and a chocolate chip brownie."

"You're on."

"We can take this through the contractor's line. I've got my ID card, and it's empty at the moment."

"Lead on, MacDuff."

Shakespeare. She had some book learnin', or she was quick with the phrases anyhow. He grinned and steered the large flatbed cart into the checkout line. The early crowd had thinned, but he heard some commotion outside as the next wave of people arrived—the ten o'clock folks. There was a clown outside the front of the store giving away free balloons.

After Dean flashed the clerk his contractor's ID, Jillian whipped out a credit card as he unloaded items. She seemed a little squirrelly about it, so he gave her some space.

Well heck, it wasn't his business. She'd said money was no object, and that's a phrase you don't hear every day. She'd also asked if he'd mind being paid in cash. As if. He'd had his eyes on a large piece of marble at the quarry in
South Bend, and that guy liked to deal in cash. Everyone liked cash.

Damn it, here she was with her Jillian Tompkins Visa card and her Jana Lee Stivers driver's license,

four feet away from Dean. They'd had to switch IDs for the purposes of plane tickets, and they'd forgotten all about any other use they might have.

She blocked his view in case the worst happened. Bless the clerk, she didn't ask for ID, just ran the credit card through. Hopefully that would hold true for all their visits. Jillian would just have to make a mammoth cash withdrawal for the rest of their needs. Or maybe transfer money into Jana Lee's checking account and forge some checks. What a mess they'd created. She'd just add bank fraud to her to-do list.

She turned and smiled at him in her best demure imitation of a helpless woman—which she'd rather forgotten to play at altogether. She was so grateful to see him muscle that big fat flat cart out the door that she made a mental note to be helpless more often. He'd surely brought his truck, so she was in luck. What had she been thinking anyway, that Jana Lee's minivan would hold all this?

As the wide doors swished open, she saw a seedy-looking clown in front of the store. Sheesh, you'd think they'd get a little nicer one for the grand opening.

She walked by slowly. She didn't like clowns. There was something about clowns and guys in big dragon suits. She felt her skin crawl. Oh, come on, she was an adult.

But this clown was staring at her. She knew it.

"Why don't you get us a table. I'll load this stuff

in the truck/' Dean said over his shoulder, waiting for cars to pass.

"Can't I help?" She felt creepy. She didn't want to be alone.

"You look beat. I'll take care of this. I won't be a minute." Dean pushed off and headed into the parking lot, leaving her there.

She crossed her bare arms together and shivered in the morning chill. She should have grabbed her sister's sweatshirt off the cart. Dean would probably bring it back. She watched him in his jeans jacket and black jeans, until he turned behind his truck.

Jillian turned to glance at the clown. She should grow up already.

When she looked, she was startled to see him staring at her full out. She looked away quickly.

What?
Was she that strange? She'd ditched her black Capri pants and high heels and dressed up in her sister's distressed denim overalls just to blend in with the locals. Had she screwed up? They used to wear these kinds of overalls when they were kids, usually in pastel girly colors. It seemed pretty rural and all. Maybe she reeked of
San Francisco. They weren't too keen on Califor-nians up here.

She could feel his stare. She turned his way again, this time facing him full out. Some kids came over, and he sort of shoved balloon strings their way. The girl whined about wanting a pink

one. He paused long enough to extract her a pink one, then looked back at Jillian directly.

She had half a mind to ask him what his problem was. Him and his big red feet and rainbow wigged hair.

She decided not to cause a scene. Dean might think she was nuts, and Jana Lee sure wouldn't do stuff like that. She turned and headed toward the Starbucks. A big shot of caffeine would help. She'd obviously been focusing on little chips of paint color too long.

Inside Starbucks, Jillian slurped a big slurp of latte to snap herself out of it. She'd opted for hot since she'd taken on a chill. Or was she just shaken by the weird clown?

"You okay?" Dean asked as he joined her.

"I think so. I must have forgotten to eat this morning or something."

"Take another bite of that grilled ham and cheese thing," he commanded her with a finger pointed at the pastry-wrapped item on her napkin.

"Dean, have you ever had that sense someone stepped on your grave? You know, that strange chill up your spine thing?"

"I'm not much for being in touch with that side of myself. I have had the sense someone's spirit was still hanging around. I just pound metal when I get to feeling off-kilter. Why, what's going on?"

"I don't know, I just got the creeps from the clown."

Dean smirked. "Too many bad movies probably. I gave up television. It's improved my life quite a bit."

"You gave up television?"

"Sad but true. I read newspapers when I get a curiosity about the news. I listen to the radio sometimes. The media is extremely skewed these days. There's only a drop of truth, if that, in most things."

She wondered how he'd feel if he knew she'd helped orchestrate a national television ad campaign budget for Pitman toys in the millions-of-dollars-a-year range. He probably would not approve. But then again, he would fit right into Jana Lee's old-timey head-in-the-sand world. They were meant for each other. "Thanks for my sweatshirt." She zipped it up higher and pulled up the hood.

"No problem." Dean watched her bundle herself into an impenetrable pretzel. "You're still cold?"

"Must be a chick thing. I'd better be going. I've got to stop at the market and get chow for the little monsters. I'll meet you back at the house and help you unload this stuff." She got up abruptly and gathered her tote bag. "Thanks, Dean." She slipped out from behind the table and made a quick departure.

He picked up his iced latte cup and swiped the table clean with a napkin. Might as well get back to it. She wanted a whole lot done in just a short

time: interior repainted, new lighting, redone kitchen floor, tile backsplash and bathroom improvements. Next to impossible, even with a reliable crew. He wondered why he'd taken this on. Summer was his time to kick back and work on large pieces that required outside space. He should begin a planning schedule on the commissioned work for the local library.

Maybe it was because he wanted to see this young widow's life lifted up. He shook his head at himself, always wanting to leave something better than he found it.

Who was he kidding? The truth was he found her fascinating and that hadn't happened in a long time. He'd agreed to this project so he could spend time with her. Mrs. S had gotten under his skin. He'd even dreamed about her last night, and it hadn't been about installing a hot spout in her kitchen sink.

⁵

Rest-Laid Plans

Jana Lee felt a long, disturbing shudder run up her spine. She shivered and pulled her sister's black jacket closer around her, buttoning the front. They must have the air-conditioning cranked in here today.

She pushed her hair back behind her ear and resumed flipping through the page of the catalogue Oliver had given her to read. It was the history of Pitman Toys. She loved looking at the pictures of the old toys Pitman had produced since the early fifties and up through the eighties. She thought of Jillian and the things they used to play with in between taping
Harvey the Dragon shows.

They'd been big fans of the Holly Dolly Dream House. She'd always played out little family scenes with babies and pretend meals with fake

tiny food, while Jillian had always been racing around in Holly Dolly's sports car. Funny how real life had turned out so similar.

Jana Lee felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle. She held her arms across her chest protectively for a moment. She had a bad feeling. She didn't like that. Impulsively she grabbed Jillian's fancy phone and clicked the headset on. She auto-dialed her own number at the house. It was nice to know she was on speed dial. Jillian answered. Jana Lee could hear kids laughing in the background.

"Jillian? Is everything okay?"

"What?" Her sister hollered into the receiver.

"I had a bad feeling."

"Oh good God, everything is fine. We're knee-deep in goldfish crackers, and your daughter is right here. Here, here's Carly" The phone was passed, and Jana Lee twisted the mouthpiece of the headset to be sure she could be heard well.

"Mom?"

"Carly, honey, is everything okay?"

"We talked yesterday, Mom. It's still fine. Aunt Jillian and I are having a blast."

"I was just having a feeling. I'm sure it was nothing." Jana Lee let out a breath she'd been holding without knowing it. Just then Oliver buzzed her on the intercom.

"Hawks alert," he hissed into the speaker.

"Okay, honey, well, I've got to run. I'm glad

you two are having fun. Give Aunt Jillian a hug for me."

"I will, Mom, bye!" Carly hung up.

It was probably the impending doom of knowing Jackson Hawks was expecting her for lunch that had given her the willies. She'd blown him off. It was twelve-thirty. She'd ignored Oliver's time updates for the last half hour. Before she could breathe again,
Jackson swung open her door and stood framed in the light. He was amazing. Looks like a movie star, voice like a radio personality. He was a network blitz all unto himself.

"Your lunch is wilting," he smiled.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. I was absorbed," she said.

He knew she was lying. She was avoiding him. He stood straight and adjusted his tie. Not too many women avoided him. He couldn't figure it out. So far she'd slapped him, removed his hand, and refused all forms of outward affection.

He could tell he was getting to her, so she wasn't completely against male contact. He knew the signs—a parted lip, a quickening of breath, a heated blush, and the kiss he'd surprised her with had been well received—for a few minutes, anyway.

So what was it? Was he not her type? He was confused. "I'm here to escort you. Shall we?"

She'd gotten up from the desk, a good sign. She was carrying a book, not such a good sign.

"I'll come and have lunch, but I have some thoughts I'd like to toss out to you. I've been reading about the history of the company."

She moved from behind the desk and smoothed down her floral skirt. He didn't know if he'd ever seen Ms. Tompkins wear floral. It was pretty. It had a flounce on the hem. He checked out her legs. Very nice.

"I'm at your service," he bowed. Oh brother, was she going to talk statistics while they ate? He hated statistics. They were at best a necessary evil. She moved past him out the door, and he followed. Her perfume drifted by him. It was a familiar perfume. Something classic; maybe Chanel No. 5?

He had a shrewd nose for women's perfumes. He liked to surprise his more serious three-week relationships by presenting them with their perfume, at which they were usually properly amazed. Plus the girls behind the fragrance counters were always good for a date.

Most of the time by three weeks he was bored, gave them a large box of chocolates to console them, and broke it off.

Of course, there
was
Gabrielle, who'd entertained him for three entire months with her Italian accent, extremely smart manner and long, tan legs. But he'd never in his wildest dreams pictured himself married to her. Married. What a concept. He walked down the hall behind Ms. Tompkins, admiring the view.

Marriage. One woman, forever. Period. "Aughhh/' he moaned.

She turned and glanced at him. "Did you say something?"

"No." He looked at the ceiling and whistled a tune.

She slowed down, letting him walk beside her. Nice of her. "Thank you for inviting me to lunch/' she said.

"You're welcome." He steered them into his office. She must have forgotten it was this door. Kind of odd. She really was distracted today. His secretary smiled at her as they walked by.

Olga was the most discreet person he knew. She could keep four girls straight at a time. She'd told him once, with a straight face and tapping pencil, that four was her limit, so he'd kept to that. He'd chosen her for her extreme efficiency and age. He didn't want to get messed up with his own secretary. He knew when to separate work and play

Maybe. Ms. Tompkins was sort of both. But so far not as much
play
as he'd like. How could he get her to loosen up?

"Would you like a glass of wine with your meal?" He held out a chair for her at a small cafe-sized table in the corner of his office. Very cozy table for two, and it had seen its share of intimate lunches.