The Rocky Road to Romance (5 page)

Steve gave Bob a bag full of burgers and a vanilla milk shake. “Don't eat the carton,” he told the dog. “Last time you ate the carton, and it made you sick.”

Daisy took some fried chicken and fruit salad. “This is lovely. You're a good person.”

“I was hoping you'd notice.”

She smiled at him. He had ulterior motives. How nice.

“I have some big news,” he said. “I bought a house last night.” He took a napkin and wiped milk shake off Bob's face fur. “It's a terrific house. It has a fenced-in backyard for Bob and little print wallpaper in the dining room. Actually, I don't know if I like the wallpaper, but the Realtor said it was Williamsburg and very classy. Maybe you could take a look at it and let me know what you think. I'm not much of a judge when it comes to wallpaper.” And while she was there she could also look at the bedrooms—especially
the one with his big king-size bed.

Bob had finished his burgers and was inching his way over to the chicken.

“You can't have chicken,” Steve told him. “It has bones in it, and you're not supposed to have bones raw or cooked.” Steve dumped a glob of potato salad on a paper plate, added a deviled egg and a biscuit, and fed it to Bob. “Save some room for dessert,” he told him. “I bought a cheesecake.”

Daisy slanted a look at Bob. “He always eats like this? What did he eat for breakfast?”

“We didn't have much time this morning. We were up late last night packing. We stopped on the way in to work and got coffee and doughnuts.”

“You fed him coffee and doughnuts for breakfast?”

“I made sure the coffee was cool. Yesterday was better. Yesterday we had orange juice and eggs and whole wheat toast.”

“Doesn't he ever eat dog food?”

“I bought some for him, but he didn't like it.”

Daisy ate half of a melon ball. “You ever have a dog when you were a kid?”

He shook his head. “Nope. I never had a pet of any kind until Bob. We lived in a high-rise in Houston for most of my childhood. Very posh. My dad and my mom do lots of traveling. They were never very interested in the hearth-and-home stuff. Home was a place to entertain business associates.”

“You probably had servants.”

“Mmmm.” He gnawed on a chicken leg and tossed it into the cardboard bucket. He glanced at Daisy and thought she looked a little wistful.

“Must have been nice.”

He shrugged. “It was right for my mom and dad. They both came from very poor beginnings. When the oil money started coming in they went uptown. My grandfather Crow was the only member of the family who stayed on the land. I spent a summer with him once and hated it. I must have been nine or ten. I look back on it now and think it might have been the best summer I ever had.”

Daisy curled her legs under her and picked
at a biscuit. “What made you change your mind after all those years?”

“I don't know. Gut feeling. My grandfather Crow lived on a flat piece of cracked red dirt. The house was a small wooden thing patched together with pieces of jerry can and chinked with sun-dried mud. He swept the inside with a broom. He didn't have a vacuum cleaner. He had electricity but only used it in the winter to run the heater. No electric lights. He said they made the life cycle unnatural. He said when the sun went down a body was supposed to look at the stars for a while and go to sleep. And if you couldn't fall asleep right off, you hadn't worked hard enough that day.”

His grin was lopsided, self-deprecating. “This philosophy went over big with a ten-year-old who'd never known a day without servants. I didn't know how to pour my own milk on my cereal. And I thought watching television was an essential body function—eating, sleeping, watching television. Grandpa Crow had a garden behind his house that he worked on every day. He had to keep whacking
at the red dirt to keep it from baking hard and dry around his plants. He had a goat and a flock of scrawny chickens. He had an old Ford pickup that was in worse shape than your klunker, and every Saturday we'd go into town for some canned food and mail and Grandpa'd get a bottle of whiskey. When he was alone I think he might have been drunk a lot of the time, but when I was there he'd just sip at the whiskey and get more talkative.”

The grin broadened. “By normal standards more talkative wasn't exactly chatty. Grandpa Crow was a man of few words.”

“Is he still living on his land?”

“Yeah. I went to see him two years ago. He'd moved into a trailer. Very spiffy, but he still wasn't using lights. At least that's what he said, but I think when no one's around he pulls out a television and makes microwave popcorn.”

“How about you? Do you have servants now?”

“Someone comes in to clean.” He polished off another chicken leg. “I learned how to pour my own milk when I was in college, so I was able to do away with the butler and the cook and the manservant.”

“Do you miss them?”

“Sometimes the cook. Once in a while the manservant. Never the butler.”

Daisy gave him a long look. “Are you at all like your grandfather?”

“Not much. I'm also not much like my parents. Lately I'm not even like myself.”

“Are you having an identity crisis?”

“I think I'm in a period of transition.”

“Ah-hah.”

Steve sighed. She was so incredibly pretty, sitting there with her feet tucked up like a cat and her blond hair dappled in sunlight. Very feminine. He reconsidered the word.
Feminine
didn't feel exactly right.
Womanly
was better. There was a ripeness to her, a lushness of personality. She didn't whine or flirt or make excuses. She went about the business of living with open exuberance. In an odd way she reminded him of his grandfather. His grandfather Crow was much more taciturn, but there was depth to him, and there was depth to Daisy.

In the beginning Steve had felt the pull of her blue eyes and soft curves, and instantly falling in love with her had been half-serious, half-folly—a
private joke on himself that held an element of truth. This morning he woke up and realized that he wasn't just enamored—he liked her. Really liked her. She was brave and bright and honest. And there was a lot of passion bubbling below the surface. He suspected she hadn't fully tapped into it yet. There was a breathless element to her kisses. It was as if she were always astonished, always pleasantly surprised by the chemistry that existed between them. He understood that astonishment. He felt it, too.

“Oh my Lord,” Daisy said, jumping to her feet. “Look at the time!” She dashed to the car, stuffed the plug in her ear, and grabbed the two-way.

After a few minutes, she came back and dropped onto the quilt. “Just made it. I put the plug in my ear when the cue came up.” She looked guilty. “I gave the same report as last time. I'm probably not supposed to admit that to my boss.”

“It'll cost you. I might fire you, if you don't agree to help me figure out the gas grill tonight.”

“Job harassment.”

“Absolutely.”

“I'm not worried. You've tried to fire me before.”

“Does that mean you won't help me with the grill?”

“Of course I'll help you with the grill.” She stretched out on her stomach with her head resting on her arm. “After all, what are friends for?”

“Is that what we are? Friends?”

She felt heat flood to her cheeks. “I don't know what we are. Friends seems like a good place to start.”

He watched her eyelids drift closed and studied the fringe of blond lash that had received a cursory swipe with the mascara wand. Her breathing slowed, her mouth softened. She was asleep. He glanced at his watch. If he canceled the rest of his day, he could do the traffic reports and let her sleep. He mentally reviewed his agenda and grunted. There'd be hell to pay if he canceled his afternoon. He couldn't do it.

He packed up what remained of the food
and clicked the leash on Bob. He went to Elsie and spoke quietly so he wouldn't wake Daisy.

“I have to get back to the station. Let her sleep as long as possible. She has to broadcast another traffic report in ten minutes.”

“She's one of them givers,” Elsie said. “Never says no to anybody, but there's only so much responsibility a person can take on.”

Steve was on the beltway when the next traffic report cued in.

“Hello, hello?” An elderly voice came over the airways. “I don't know if I'm working this dang thing right, but if you can hear me I'm gonna give a traffic report. This is Elsie Hawkins and I'm only gonna tell you all this stuff once so you better listen up…”

Four days ago he would have been emptying the aspirin bottle, Steve thought. But here he was smiling at Elsie Hawkins. He and a couple thousand other listeners. Eventually Frank would get his cast cut off and he'd be back doing traffic in his clipped, no-nonsense manner. In the meantime, it was summer, and the listening audience was in a more relaxed frame
of mind. Everyone seemed to be enjoying the offbeat reports.

Bob was sitting next to him with the seat belt clipped around his shoulders and his head out the window. His ears were flapping in the wind, and his tongue flopped out of the side of his mouth. His expression was blissful.

Steve looked at him and woofed, but Bob just kept smiling.

Steve slouched behind the wheel and closed his eyes as traffic momentarily stopped. Now he remembered why he'd originally decided to live in the high-rise. It was five blocks from the station, and there was never any traffic. He hated sitting in traffic. Ten minutes ago he'd punched the radio off and put a CD into the player because he couldn't stand hearing another depressing traffic report. There was a disabled car stuck in an intersection up ahead, and the resulting backup now stretched three miles. It would probably get worse before it got better. Not even a tow truck could cut through gridlock. A tow truck had to inch along just like everybody else.

Daisy was probably somewhere in front of
him in this mess, Steve thought. He'd been delayed in a meeting, and she'd been unable to wait. Something about books due at the library and Kevin needing a ride to a friend's house. Daisy didn't have many minutes to spare.

He glanced in the rearview mirror at Bob. Bob was sound asleep in the back, his nose stuffed up against the air-conditioning vent. Tough life.

Steve drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, letting the car creep forward. He couldn't wait to get a look at the idiot causing this disaster. If it turned out to be some fool who ran out of gas, he'd choke him with his bare hands.

He heard the
whup, whup, whup
of chopper blades and looked up to see the WZZZ helicopter pass overhead. Pride shot through him, followed by frustration. WZZZ was going to tell him there was traffic on Braddock Road. No kidding!

At least he was getting closer to the source of the problem. Cars were feeding into a single lane, and orange lights flashed in the distance, signaling that a tow truck was on the scene.
When he was three cars back from the flashing lights, traffic came to another standstill. He stuck his head out in time to hear a motor churn and catch.

A hood was slammed down while someone revved the disabled car engine. A thick cloud of black exhaust billowed over the tow truck and drifted back to Steve, temporarily obscuring his view. When the cloud lifted he could see the car that had caused the traffic jam pull ahead and proceed down the road without the aid of a tow truck. The car was old. It was covered with rust and had a coat-hanger antenna. The rear bumper dipped on the right side, where it had been snagged by another car eons ago. The paint was faded but probably had been maroon and yellow. There was only one car like it in Northern Virginia—possibly in the world. It belonged to Daisy.

“We have to get her out of that car,” Steve said to Bob. “It's a health hazard. And it's a threat to my sanity.”

Bob looked up from the backseat.

“I have a plan,” Steve told him. “I'm not going to tell you about it because it's dastardly,
and you're obviously a dog of high moral fiber.”

 

Daisy zoomed into Steve's driveway at seven o'clock and hit the ground running. “Sorry I'm late!” she said to Steve, adjusting the pink T-shirt she'd thrown on just five minutes earlier. A small swath of flesh was exposed between shorts and shirt, and no amount of tugging would fill in the gap. “Damn,” she said, “it must have shrunk in the dryer.”

Steve took in the cutoff denim shorts and slightly too small shirt and thought they looked perfect. He was highly in favor of exposing Daisy's flesh.

“You're not late. And I needed some time to unpack a few things and organize the kitchen. Moving is hell, even when you hire a great company that's supposed to do it all for you in one fell swoop.”

Daisy looked at the brick colonial and smiled in approval. It was only a few years old and had been nicely landscaped. There was about a quarter of an acre, and the backyard was
fenced. If he'd had a wife and three kids, it would have been the ideal house. As it was, it seemed a tad large for a bachelor. Of course there was Bob to help fill it.

“It's nice,” she said. “I've always liked a traditional colonial.”

Steve turned to lead Daisy through the house, and she did a fast body assessment. He wore khaki shorts with a black T-shirt that showed off corded forearms and well-developed biceps. His legs had lots of muscle definition in the quads and calves. He hadn't gotten that kind of body from sitting behind a desk all day, and she wondered how he managed to keep in such good shape. Most of the men she knew were starting to soften in the middle. Even the tennis players and spa-goers seemed to lose tone as they climbed the corporate ladder.

The front door opened to a small foyer that felt very welcoming, with a spindle-backed bench and eighteenth-century chest set against one wall. The living room was to the left. The furniture was overstuffed and comfy-looking. Very Ralph-Lauren-looking, she thought.
Brown leather and big red plaids, brass lamps, and Oriental area rugs. The dining room was to the right of the foyer. He had a formal table that seated six. The wood was dark. Mahogany, maybe. The walls were a Williamsburg print. The Realtor had been right, the print was lovely.

Steve stopped at the kitchen and took a platter of raw hamburger patties from the refrigerator. “What can I get you to drink? Beer, wine, soda?”

“Soda.”

He gave her a root beer, a bag of chips, and two bowls of salsa to carry outside.

“Two bowls of salsa?” she asked.

“One for Bob. I hate when he dips his chips in mine.”

The phone rang and Steve answered it in the kitchen. He hung up a few minutes later, frowning. “That was security at the station. They caught someone tinkering with the newscar. The guy pulled a gun on the guard who found him and got away.”

“My Lord, maybe the Roach really
is
out to get me. Is he really out on bail?”

“Let's not panic. We don't know for sure. Didn't fit the Roach's description.”

“Could be one of his friends.”

“Could be.”

“Was there any damage to the car?”

“Nothing noticeable.” That was a lie. The man had written “Death to the Dog Lady” in spray paint on the side of the car.

“Well, that's a relief. And I'm glad you're taking this so calmly.” She pushed the back door open and carried the chips outside. “I guess I overreacted. Not much we can do about it anyway, is there?”

“We can take you out of the traffic car.”

Daisy put the chips and salsa on the picnic table. “Haven't we had this discussion before?”

“Last time we yelled at each other. This time we need to talk.”

“Okay. That sounds fair. Go ahead and talk.” She straddled a picnic bench and opened the bag of chips. “Put the hamburgers on the grill first. I'm starved, and Bob looks desperate.”

“There's a remote possibility that this guy meant to harm you. I think we need to take precautions against that.”

“We did take precautions. We hired Elsie.”

Steve groaned.

“Well, okay, so she's not some big macho guard, but she's very dedicated…and your hamburgers are on fire.”

Steve smacked at them with the spatula, but they kept burning.

“Must be your flame is too high,” Daisy said.

He fidgeted with a few knobs and the flames subsided.

“I've never barbecued before,” he said, examining the charred hamburgers. “You think these are too done?” He slid a spatula under one and it crumbled and fell into the fire. The next one slipped off the spatula and fell onto the grass and Bob ate it. The third one made it to a bun, but nobody wanted to eat it—not even Bob.

“I don't think I have the knack for barbecuing,” Steve said. “Maybe I'm not cut out for this suburban stuff.”

Daisy patted his hand. “Of course you are. We'll try it again tomorrow. Where's your peanut butter?”

An hour later they were stuffed with peanut
butter sandwiches and were making their way through a quart of chocolate-chip ice cream. It was eighty-seven degrees outside, but they'd built a fire in the fireplace and were sitting in front of it, eating from the ice-cream carton.

They sat on the floor with their backs to the couch because Bob had claimed the couch first and was now stretched the length of it. At least that's the excuse they made for sitting on the floor. The truth is the floor seemed less threatening. There were no cushions to mark boundaries on the floor. They could sit side by side, and the invasion of personal body space wasn't so noticeable.

Daisy stole a glance at Steve as he dipped his spoon into the ice cream, then handed the carton to her. The sun was setting, and they hadn't bothered to turn on the lights. His face was lit by the fire and seemed extraordinarily sexy. His eyes were shadowed, the line of his mouth drawn firm as he followed secret thoughts, and she found she was still a little frightened of him when he looked like this. Or maybe it was the proximity that was frightening. They were so close that if she leaned toward him ever so
slightly, they'd be touching. It was a tantalizing thought, and it sent a dark sort of thrill racing through her.

“Last scoop of ice cream,” Daisy said. “You want it?”

“Wouldn't touch it. You eat the last scoop of ice cream and you're destined to become an old maid. My Aunt Zena told me that.”

Daisy ate the last scoop and set the carton aside. “I don't have an Aunt Zena so it doesn't count for me.”

“It counts for everyone. You're in big trouble.”

“I like to live dangerously. I take my chances.”

His eyes shifted to her mouth, and she could feel desire growing between them. It felt like a thunderstorm gathering on the horizon. He was going to kiss her, and this time there'd be nothing to stop the kiss from turning into something much more serious. No Kevin in the next room, no pager to remind him of a meeting. She'd have to rely on her self-control, not something she could count on in this instance, she decided. She took a moment to debate the issue and reached the conclusion that sleeping
with Steve Crow wouldn't be in her best interest. She didn't have the personality to dally, and Steve Crow looked like a dallier. More important, she didn't have the time to devote to a romance. That last thought prompted an unconscious sigh of regret.

“I don't like the sound of that sigh,” Steve said.

“I should be going home. I have studying to do.”

He slid his arm around her shoulders and playfully tugged on a curl. “What about living dangerously? What about taking chances?”

“I think I've tested the fates enough for one night.”

His hand curled around her neck and heat flooded through her as he drew her closer. “Don't you want to hear what Aunt Zena has to say about missed opportunities?”

“You probably don't even have an Aunt Zena.”

“That's not the point,” he whispered into her hair.

She felt him kiss her just below her ear, felt his lips working their way around to her
mouth, felt his hand slide under the too-short shirt. She gave herself one last warning. This was a mistake, she told herself. Their relationship would be irrevocably changed if they made love. Maybe not in his eyes, but certainly in hers. She couldn't treat it lightly. It would bring a whole new set of responsibilities with it, and she already had more responsibility than she could handle. She was drowning in responsibility. And even worse would be the emotional investment.

She was already halfway in love with him. He was caring and generous and fun. He could be oddly vulnerable without ever seeming insecure. And she admired his balance. He had his ducks in a row, while she felt as if hers were all quacking for attention at once. Her clutch of ducks had gotten unwieldy and a little frantic. She'd never thought of herself as being unstable, but she was afraid of going on emotional overload if she allowed herself to fall more deeply in love.

Her arguments might have been valid, but they didn't amount to a damn when he claimed her mouth. Her aspirations, responsibilities,
carefully thought through plans for the future, and her fears skittered off as passion poured through her. She responded to his kiss with a kiss of her own that told him everything he needed to know. She wanted to be loved. She was hungry for it. In fact, she was more than hungry; she was starved.

His hands were under her shirt and she followed his lead.
Thank goodness one of us knows how to do this,
she thought. Not that she was a virgin, but it had been a
long
time. His hand moved to her leg. His fingers crept up the leg and under her shorts. Daisy did a mental
yikes.
His fingers found the elastic edge of her panties and skimmed across the silky material.

“W-w-wow,” she whispered

“Yeah,” Steve said softly. “Wow.” And then he did the skimming thing again.

“Go for the zipper,” Daisy said. “Lose the shorts!”

Lord,
she thought.
I'm such a slut, but
man
this feels good.
And then it got a lot better.

They lay together for a while afterward, sweat-slicked and replete.

He trailed his fingertips across her temple, stroking the hair back from her face. He didn't speak because he wasn't sure he could trust his voice. Passion had been temporarily quenched, and had been replaced by tender possession so strong it took his breath away.

She was the first to stir, pulling her head back so she could see his eyes. She was embarrassed in the aftermath of the storm. “I think I got carried away,” she said.

His voice was softly reverent. “Lady, carried away doesn't begin to say it.” He rolled to his side and kissed her. “I hope your intentions are honorable.”

“Honorable?”

“I'm not easy, you know. I have standards. I expect you to make an honest man of me. Especially after we did all this in front of Bob.”

“I don't think you have to worry about Bob. I'm not sure he's breathing. Maybe you should hold a mirror under his nose.”

“My reputation is at stake.”

“Just exactly what is it you expect me to do?”