Law of Attraction

by Charlotte Hubbard

  Ross caught Angie’s gaze and held it. She moved quickly between the players’ chairs, giddy with the excitement his music had generated. She tweaked the brim of his fedora and exclaimed beneath the ruckus of the applause, “You are so damn cool!”

  “And you are so damn hot, woman.” He clinched her in a kiss that made her delirious, made her forget everything except this man who had wooed and won this audience. His heat seeped through her clothes. He felt strong and tight. Ready. His lips claimed hers, no holds barred, and the promise of bigger, better love to come—love like she’d never hoped to know—spurred her into responding with abandon. Passion blazed through her body and set her soul afire.

  Good-natured catcalls echoed around them as people shuffled from their seats, yet Ross clung to her. He tasted like beer and sweat and desire, but there was no doubt: he wanted her. As he eased away, he murmured, “Tell you what, angel, the band has never played this way. Must be another one of those miracles you made when you came here.”

  Angie gaped, unable to speak. In his damp white shirt with the collar undone, he was the sexiest man she’d ever seen. She yanked playfully at his skinny tie. “I love you, Ross,” she whispered. There it was, from out of nowhere. Angie stopped breathing while Ross’s eyes sparkled like ice on a sunny day.

  “Come home with me,” he whispered.

  His buddies were putting their horns in their cases, but Ross didn’t seem to notice. Angie swallowed so hard her throat clicked. She envisioned their bodies in his bed. Felt desire driving them to heights she’d never known and saw these thoughts mirrored in his eyes. “Let me help Elena clean up, and then—”

  “I’ll be waiting, angel.”

  She nodded, exhilarated yet nervous: what they were about to share could never be undone. You didn’t go back to kissing and holding hands once you’d made love with a man. “Shouldn’t be more than an hour,” she rasped.

  “I’ll let the dogs out. Shower and shave. God, I want you.”

  As her breath escaped in a sigh, Angie released him. Her heart throbbed so hard she couldn’t hear, couldn’t breathe, as her mind raced over what to cram into an overnight bag, how to slip it into her car without looking obvious.

  At the door to Lenore’s kitchen she turned to blow him a kiss. Rita had slithered to Ross from under the deck, where she’d watched their entire exchange. The redhead looked sleek and sophisticated in her clingy sequined gown, ever the femme fatale, the siren seductress. She raised a single eyebrow and slipped an arm around his neck. Then she flashed Angie a wicked grin, as though baring her vampire fangs.

  Angie’s mood plummeted. She stumbled up the stairs. Over her shoulder she saw Ross shrugging out of Rita’s embrace, prying her off with a no-nonsense scowl, but that didn’t wipe the triumph from the woman’s face. And it didn’t change the fact that the attractive redhead lived and did business here, and that she was the mother of Ross’s son. Ms. McQueen wasn’t giving up. And she wasn’t going anywhere.

  Neither are you, angel. You’ve got a job and a home and a good man now. Fight for what’s yours!

  “Oh, shut up,” she muttered. “Don’t you know when to quit? I do.”

  So this is how it all goes down? Ross does his damndest to push Rita away—and to teach you who you are and what you’re all about—and you ignore his efforts? He must be feeling pretty frustrated. By both of you!

  Angie slipped into her room and locked the door. “Whose side are you on?” she rasped.

  Everyone’s! But you, young lady, are ignoring the lessons you’ve come here to learn in this lifetime. Remember how Ross talked on his radio show, about learning to stand up for yourself?

  Angie flung herself facedown on the bed. She hadn’t asked for this voice of divine guidance to keep needling her, and if she could find the off switch, she’d—

  Think back to his observation about conflict and confrontation, and how they’re so difficult for you that you’ll do almost anything to avoid them. Ringing any bells?

  She grabbed her pillow and held it over her head.

  Fine. I’m out of here. So much for love and light, and life without limits.

  Twenty-Four

  WRONG move, kissing Angie in front of Rita. She’s not coming tonight. Maybe not ever.

  Ross kicked his pile of sweaty clothes. Two hours, and Angie still hadn’t shown. Her cell was off, surely because she knew he was trying to call. Visions of the night they would’ve spent together dimmed as the minutes ticked by, and he waffled. Should he go to the lodge or let her sleep on things?

  Like there was any way to apologize for the stunt Rita had pulled. He wanted to confront her again, but Rita would love it that he went to her place because Angie hadn’t come to his.

  That’s the kicker: you’ll talk yourself blue in the face, and then she’ll laugh and wait for her next chance to muck things up.

  He plopped on the edge of the bed, cradling his head, feeling like an electrical transformer that had been struck by lightning from two different directions at once. While he’d been kissing Angie, absorbing her sweet, hot energy, Rita McQueen’s anger and vengeance had zapped him from behind.

  For years he’d searched for a woman who would truly be his soul mate, his life partner, his wife, someone who would understand his abilities as an empath. The look on Angie’s face as she’d giggled, wiggling between their chairs, still made his heart thump. The way she’d grabbed his tie, teasing him…It was just ordinary stuff that touched him in extraordinary ways, because her love touched him. The love of his lifetime.

  I love you, Ross, she’d whispered. So open. So ready. It was like a scene from a movie, the way she’d come to him, oblivious to everything except their kiss. But it was ammunition for Rita, and when bolstered by jealousy and her obsessive possessive streak, she never missed her mark. Something had to change, big-time, if his dream with Angie was to come true.

  Celine hopped into his lap, whimpering. Elvis sat beside his legs, one black paw offered in sympathy. This was not how he’d planned to spend his evening. With a sigh, Ross dialed Lenore’s private number and waited. “Yeah, it’s me. Sorry I’m calling so late.”

  Her pause told him she was trying not to chuckle. “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you tonight, Romeo. Trouble in paradise?”

  Ross closed his eyes wearily. “I was calling to ask your advice, but maybe that’s not such a good idea. Is—is Angie in her room?”

  “She’s a grown woman. Free to come and go as she pleases.”

  “But she’s not answering her cell, and—”

  “That’s her choice, too, dear.” Lenore cleared her throat. She wasn’t taking Angie’s side, exactly, but she wasn’t taking his, either. “Judging from the way she stumbled through the kitchen without helping us clean up, something upset her pretty badly. I’m assuming you were involved?”

  He let out an exasperated gasp. “If Rita hadn’t…Damn it, I told her it was over between us. I’ve pushed her away—in public! Twice now! But she won’t listen to—”

  “Rita’s lashing out the only way she knows how. And after all these years, she’s very good at pushing your buttons, too.” Lenore paused in that wise-woman way she had. “You’re not the only one feeling hurt and confused right now.”

  “But I never intended for—”

  “This is a situation you’ve created with the choices you’ve made, right?”

  Ross choked on a retort. This was no time for guru talk! “Did I choose Rita’s obsessive personality or her bipolar condition? Did I choose for Angie Cavanaugh to show up and—”

  “While you can’t control Angie’s or Rita’s reactions,” she continued in that wise-woman tone, “you can decide whether you’ll be part of the problem or part of the solution. The proverbial ball is in your court, Ross.”

  He pinched the upper bridge of his nose to relieve the tension there. Why did every woman he knew challenge him? “Okay, it’s late. I’m fried,” he mumbled. “I’ll be over in the morning to talk thing
s over. Meanwhile, don’t let her do anything stupid, like—”

  “I don’t sense hopelessness or defeat in her aura, which tells me she’s learning from her past mistakes. It’s your turn, Ross. Good night, dear.” Click.

  Ross snapped his cell phone shut, muttering. Past the dogs he strode, punching his palm, seeking out the serenity of his deck and the answers the sea sometimes gave him if he listened carefully. His office glowed with the lights on his digital clock and his Mac, but this was no time to diddle around online. Couldn’t Google the answers to this dilemma—

  His radio microphone stand sat on a stack of papers, and he snatched the top sheets. Switched on his desk lamp. Maybe his scribbled write-up about Angie would give him something—anything—to go on.

  And there it was, in black and white: Angie’s “two” life path made her a peacekeeper, a soul who desired harmony and balance—to the point she did almost anything to avoid conflict and confrontation.

  “And Rita thrives on it,” he murmured. “She’s a ‘five’ like I am, but dealing with different demons. If opposites attract and likes repel…well, there’s my life story—my love story—in a nutshell.”

  That pretty well spelled things out. Now, what the hell was he going to do about it?

  YEAH, SO much for love and light, Angie mused as she drove north along the highway. The Monday-morning mist hung so heavily in some of the low spots, she had to navigate the curves carefully. It matched her mood perfectly, this gray gloom that shrouded the coast.

  Why had she believed last night would be different? Why had she blurted out that she loved Ross and thrown herself at him without knowing something would mess that up? Especially with Rita waiting in the wings. It was payback from the universe for being such an idiot. She was making the same old mistakes again. There had to be a better way…

  All night she’d struggled with herself. More than once she’d picked up her cell to call Ross, because he was waiting for her, was probably as upset as she was. But if she’d turned on her phone, he might’ve called her and they’d have gone through that explanatory stuff again, that numerology and destiny nonsense that didn’t make one bit of difference. Anything said would just be salt rubbed into the wound.

  She’d set out for Seattle this morning, before anyone else was awake. This seemed like a good chance to reclaim the belongings she’d left in her apartment and to collect that last paycheck from the hospice. The drive would also give her time to think. It didn’t help her mood, her confidence, that she was wearing donated jeans and had lived off Lenore for ten days now. Nothing was her own in Harmony Falls. But she’d have a job soon, a potential new home and the life to go with it. It was time to dress as though she was taking control of her life. Maybe the inner Angie would take the hint and actually become her own woman again.

  It’s not that easy when you spin in the same kaleidoscope with Ross and Rita, is it? But you’ve got to give it a whirl.

  Maybe there was something to this conflict-avoidance thing…standing up for herself, even if standing up to Gregg had always scared the shit out of her. While that voice in her head had annoyed her last night, this morning it reassured her, made her feel she wasn’t totally alone as she returned to her abandoned apartment. She needed to settle with her landlord. Needed to turn in her key and reclaim her stuff, hopefully without Gregg showing up. Her thoughts drifted between Harmony Lodge and the cramped studio, and neither place seemed peaceful right now. Too many people wanted a piece of her, or were telling her what she ought to do.

  What to do. Ross might have told Rita they were finished, but Rita wasn’t listening. And Rita wasn’t leaving town just because she, Angie Cavanaugh, had shown up. But what could she do about that? She trusted Ross implicitly, loved him as though she’d known him forever. But she would not tolerate Rita’s blatant attempts to wedge them apart. Angie gratefully recalled Lenore saying the bungalow on Windswept could belong to her without Ross’s involvement if she applied for historical-restoration grants. Kyle, her father, would know about that stuff. He’d give her straight answers.

  At that thought, Angie smiled at the way things were unfolding. Sure, she had these issues with Ross and Rita, but she also had a home and a job and two surprise parents. While Kyle hadn’t shared many details, his e-mail correspondence with Patty McCormick Sayler was exciting to her, too. The carpenter was nothing fancy, but he was rock solid. He would never have tolerated the way Gregg had treated her before she’d escaped.

  As traffic became heavier near Seattle, she wished she’d asked Kyle to come with her. Several voice mails on her cell attested to the way her ex had tried to contact her these past couple of weeks, but she hadn’t accessed any of them, hadn’t taken any of his bait. Her stomach rumbled from more than hunger as she exited north to Interstate 5. Instinct told her to swing by the hospice first, to keep it short and sweet, and then to pray Pat VanderGild would be willing to prorate her rent for May. These stops could be upbeat, and they’d provide closure for a life she no longer chose to live. Then maybe she could figure out what and who came next.

  Of course it wasn’t that easy. Everyone who spotted her between the hospice’s entrance and the admin office rushed over to ask how she was. Marilyn seemed disappointed she wasn’t returning but wished her well. An hour later, Angie left with a paycheck in hand, feeling confident as she drove to her landlord’s office.

  Maybe she actually gave off the necessary good vibrations, because her young, fast-track landlord said he’d waive May’s rent if she cleared out her apartment today; it was only the third of the month. Since she’d rented the place furnished, Angie figured on cramming her clothes into the backseat and stuffing everything else in the plastic bags she’d never gotten around to recycling. A clean break sounded so damn sweet and easy. It was happening! She was taking charge of it!

  She turned the key in her door. Stepping into the living room jarred her more than she’d anticipated, so Angie stood quietly in the dimness, told herself to get this over with before any emotional stuff kicked in.

  What was that nasty smell? She coughed. Had she left food on the counter that fateful day she’d skipped town? Or left a toilet unflushed, or—

  The kitchen was a disaster. Never in her life had she left scuzzy dishes piled in the sink, or let food rot in the waste-basket. But she knew who had. Her pulse pounded and that familiar sick headache began to throb at her temples. What was that rustling sound? It was awfully loud for a mouse.

  Every nerve in her body jangled as she walked slowly down the hall, and then her anger kicked in: she knew what that noise was, and she knew who was making it.

  Get help! said the voice in her head. Those shopping sacks are no defense against—

  Angie stopped in her bedroom doorway. Cleared her throat loudly. Gregg looked up, and the young blonde in bed with him—in the bed she’d paid rent for—squealed and reached for the sheet.

  All the old fears ripped through her insides. Her first impulse was to run and leave everything behind, but she’d done nothing wrong, damn it! This was her apartment, and what few personal things she’d salvaged from her train wreck of a marriage were here. Instinct told her to use the element of surprise to best advantage yet be ready to bolt.

  “Get out,” she said in a coiled voice. “I’ve just shut off the rent, so you’re trespassing.”

  Gregg’s eyes narrowed. His pale, hairy body repelled her. What on earth had she ever seen in this arrogant, abusive freeloader? “If you’d answer your damn phone, we coulda talked about—”

  “There’s nothing more to say,” she replied coldly. “I’ve come for my stuff. So leave.”

  “If you think for one frickin’ minute I’m gonna jump because you say—”

  “Fine. I’m calling the police.”

  The bimbo scrambled toward her clothes, squealing, and Angie hurried down the hall. Grabbed her cell phone to call the cops, but Ross’s highlighted number popped up first, and in her frenzy she clicked it. Too rattled to th
ink, she heard Gregg’s heavy footsteps. She trotted faster, hoping a little charade would buy her some time.

  “Yes, I’d like to report a domestic disturbance at the Chateau Apartments,” she announced in a loud voice. “Building number thirty-nine ten, apartment—”

  “Just a goddamn minute!” Gregg hollered as his half-dressed guest scampered past her. “You’ve got no reason to call the…If you’d let me explain!”

  But what could he say that she didn’t already know? Angie heard the wrath rising in his voice, recalled the squeeze of those vise-like fingers around her throat, and hurried toward the door, still faking her call. “Yes, Officer, please hurry! I entered my apartment to find an intruder in my—”

  Gregg snatched at the back of her top. She turned to shove her plastic sacks in his face before rushing outside. If she could make it across the lot to VanderGild’s office—

  Someone jerked her sideways, and she screamed. Gregg lunged. Her ex landed sprawling on the sidewalk and swearing vociferously. “Why the hell is it always me who gets blamed for—?”

  Angie struggled against the arms that held her, blinded by panic until familiar cologne and a low chuckle made her turn. “Ross? Ross! How’d you know…? How’d you get here?”

  “Doesn’t matter right now,” he replied in that velvety voice. “The cops’re on the way and you’re fine. It’s all good, sugar.”

  Wearing only a skanky pair of boxers, Gregg rolled clumsily to his scraped knees, scowling. “I dunno who you think you are, jacko, but—”

  Ross shoved him to the pavement with his foot. “Remember the guy who answered Angie’s phone, few weeks ago? Told you not to mess with her or I’d call the law. Well, see? I meant what I said.”

  Sirens wailed from the main road, and as two cruisers entered the complex’s parking lot, Pat VanderGild charged out of his office. “What’s all the commotion here? Angie, are you all right? And who’s this guy?”