Isn't it Romantic?

by Ronda Thompson

  The night he met Katrine, Trey hadn’t acted responsibly. Despite the protection he kept in his wallet, the thought of being safe hadn’t been uppermost on his mind. For some reason, Katrine Summerville drained his brain cells. He didn’t think or act rationally when in her presence. His hormones went crazy.

  Earlier, the feel of her hands roaming over him on the bike nearly drove him insane. Terrified as she was, her fingers seemed to know what they were searching for, even if she hadn’t been mentally aware of her actions. He wondered what might have happened had he not reached the truck stop when they did.

  Luckily, he didn’t have to ponder the possibilities long. Headlights approached. Trey breathed a sigh of relief when Charlie’s cab pulled up to the curb. He hurriedly opened the passenger door and slid inside. Charlie greeted him with a smile before his eyes grew huge.

  “Good God, what happened to you?”

  “It’s a long story. I’d rather not talk about it.”

  The cabby ran a slow survey over him. “I agreed to take double the fare for coming over here, but I didn’t know my cab would be too trashed to work the rest of the night. It’ll cost you more than that now.”

  “How much?” Trey asked, picking dried mud from his face.

  “Triple.”

  “That’s robbery!”

  “I’ve got a kid coming soon, and you’ll have to pay someone else more than that to come get you. Take it or leave it.”

  “How are Nadine’s ankles?”

  “They look like overblown balloons,” Charlie muttered. “Thanks for asking, but it’ll still cost you triple.”

  “If you lower the price, I’ll show you where Kat Summers lives. In fact, I might be able to get Nadine’s copy of Passion’s Price autographed.”

  Silence.

  “Well?”

  “Nothing for taking you to her house, double after that.”

  “Done.”

  “And,” Charlie added, “You’ve got to tell me the story behind your sorry state.”

  “You can read it in this coming Sunday’s addition. Kat Summers and I are doing a feature together.”

  A broad smile splashed across Charlie’s face. “Hot damn, you finally get to work with someone famous.”

  Trey would have turned and given him a dirty look, but he didn’t want to flake too much. Charlie might change his mind about the fee. “Yeah, lucky me,” he grumbled.

  Charlie pulled away from the curb. As usual. he couldn’t keep silent for long. “First off, you’ll have to tell me where she lives, then tell me about the article.” Shortly thereafter, they coasted up to the curb of a neatly-trimmed town house. Trey suggested that Charlie cut the lights.

  “She left with a man she didn’t know. I want to be sure she got home all right,” he explained their mission.

  Charlie snorted. “I can’t blame her much for running.” He eyed him critically.

  “She’s the reason I look like this. Her and that teddy-bear biker with a cement jaw.” A complaint concerning the country singer whose whining gave him a headache gathered on his tongue when he noticed Charlie wasn’t listening.

  “What are you gawking at?” Trey craned his neck.

  A light was on in her upstairs window. Against that light, stood the silhouette of a woman. A very womanly woman. Trey swallowed loudly as the shadow slid, what he knew to be a red jumpsuit, off her shoulders. When she straightened, the outline of her breasts stood out clearly against a thin shade separating reality from the next best thing. Her arms went behind her back. Trey felt a sweat break out beneath the mud.

  “Damn, she’s having trouble with it.”

  “Yeah, damn,” Trey mumbled before he found his way from a trance holding him a prisoner of lust. “Get your head in here!”

  Charlie pulled his head back inside the cab. “Cut me some slack. I live with a woman who can’t see past her belly to look at her swollen ankles.”

  “I imagine Nadine would cut more than slack if she knew you were sitting outside a woman’s house watching her undress.” He glanced around. “Doesn’t Katrine realize there are perverts roaming the streets at night, just hoping to come upon a show like this?”

  The cabby grinned. “You mean, like us?”

  “I only wanted to make sure she got home.” Trey felt embarrassed he’d stared at her as long as he had. “She’s obviously safe. Let’s go.”

  “Can’t wait to read about this.” Charlie smacked his lips. “It must have been one hell of a date.”

  “I’m sure she found it very entertaining,” Trey said darkly. “I’ll have to think of something equally amusing for our second date. Only next time, I won’t let her turn the tables on me.” Suddenly, his sour mood began to lift.

  Chapter 7

  Her portion of the feature was due in two days. Katrine stared at her notes with horror “I’m not that creative.”

  Trey Westmoreland had made this assignment close to impossible. Worse, the jerk had the nerve to keep his promise to Shelly. The fact he arrived at nine o’clock to give her daughter a lesson in stickball, didn’t aid Katrine’s ability to buckle down and make something of the mess he claimed was a date.

  He’d called last night and without more than a hello, asked to speak to Shelly. Much to her annoyance, her daughter had given him her private number and insisted he call her on that line. Acting very grown up about the call, Shelly later informed Katrine that he wanted to set up their ‘date’.

  A high-pitched squeal from Shelly caused Katrine’s fingers to tighten around her empty coffee cup. Her first inclination this morning had been to dress nicely, put on her make-up and fix her hair. Katrine stifled her conceit, promising herself she wouldn’t go anywhere near Trey.

  Thelma would be working in the kitchen and able to oversee the lesson. After three days of reliving the horror of their evening together, she had no desire to see him again. Her gaze strayed unconsciously toward the door to her office. A small gravel yard separated her from the house. Many walls separated her from the street out front and … him.

  “Coffee,” she said under her breath. “I’m only going into the house to bring a thermos of coffee to the office. I won’t go near the bay window. I won’t,” she assured herself.

  Once in the kitchen, Katrine encountered Thelma on her way out. The woman had worked weekends for Katrine over the past five years, cleaning, doing the shopping, making casseroles to last them through the week, and baking. On occasion, Thelma stayed with Shelly if Katrine wanted to go out for the evening.

  “I’ve got my list.” Thelma waved a piece of paper. “I should be back in a couple of hours. Anything in particular you want me to fix this week?”

  “Enchiladas,” Katrine answered. “You make the best Mexican food I’ve ever eaten.”

  “I don’t see how you could have much to compare them to.” Thelma shook her graying head. “You should get out more. Shelly, too. Just listen to her. Have you ever heard such a truly childish laugh coming from that young miss?”

  Katrine paused, coffee pot poised over the glass thermos while she listened. Silence for a moment, then the crystal clear pureness of a child’s delight floating on the winter morning air. How long since she’d heard Shelly laugh like that? Never, she realized, a crease furrowing her brow. Shelly had always been a mature child. Even in infancy, she’d been rather serious.

  Baffled, she moved toward the window. The sheers beneath the heavy curtains allowed her to peer out without pulling the drapes aside. Through a filmy haze, she saw Shelly, cheeks pink from the cold, positioned just before the curb, holding a large stick. Her daughter began to hop from foot to foot with excitement when Trey appeared. Katrine could hardly blame the child. It should be illegal for a man to look that good this hour of the day.

  A breeze ruffled the feathered thickness of his dark hair as her fingers suddenly longed to do. His sweatshirt boasted the emblem of some college he wouldn’t stand still long enough for Katrine to identify. The jeans hugging his slim hips we
re faded, a tear in one knee provided a glimpse of skin as he darted back and forth, controlling a ball with a stick.

  He smiled when her daughter tried to steal the ball. Dimples, the kind that made long slashes in his cheeks, went unappreciated by Shelly as her gaze narrowed with determination.

  “Get it,” Katrine found herself whispering. “Take it away from him!”

  “Oh, he’ll let her have it in a minute,” Thelma said at her back. “And when he does, hold your ears. I swear I’ve never heard a child yell that loud.”

  Although Katrine had heard Shelly’s enthusiasm expressed throughout the morning, she wasn’t prepared when the squeal hit her from so close a distance. She jumped back from the window, then groaned.

  “Oh no, what will my neighbors think? This is a quiet subdivision. Shelly never even goes outside and now, there she is, scrambling down the street, hitting a ball with a stick and screaming at the top of her lungs.”

  “They’ll think she’s playing,” Thelma said softly. “It’s normal for children to have fun.”

  Katrine wheeled around in time to see the side door close. Had she detected a note of censure in Thelma’s voice? Of course children played. True, Shelly wasn’t the sort who cared much for dolls, or sports. True, she didn’t have friends over often. In fact, she only had two that Katrine knew of, but Thelma hinted at oddness. Shelly was extremely intelligent. She made straight A’s in school and never caused Katrine a moment of worry, except when she said something outrageously grown up.

  There was nothing odd about Shelly’s maturity. Katrine assured herself. She’d been the same way.

  Katrine hadn’t had many friends. Observing had been her strong suit, not participating. A coldness crept into Katrine’s bones. She shivered, rubbing her hands briskly, along her arms. All her life she’d stood at a window looking out at the world. Until John rescued her from the isolation she’d come to accept as normal.

  He’d promised to love her, promised to be with her forever. He’d lied. Katrine retraced her steps to the coffee pot. She made it halfway, vowing to give the subject of Shelly’s maturity more thought, when another scream sounded. Curious, she returned to the window.

  Melissa from next door had joined the activities. Not only her, but two boys she’d seen on occasion from down the street, and three girls Katrine thought lived directly across from her. The children were enjoying the last vestige of Christmas vacation. They split, forming two teams. Boys against girls. Foreshadowing, Katrine thought with annoyance. What did Trey think he was doing? Turning a group of usually quiet, polite children into screaming, sweating hoodlums.

  She had half a mind to go outside and tell him to leave her daughter—and the neighborhood—alone. The other parents were probably as agitated as she. Reasoning that the children would soon wear themselves out and Trey would leave, Katrine took her thermos and returned to the office. Her computer hummed a familiar song. Katrine sat down and tried to block out the noise. Thirty minutes later, as the voices grew more unrestrained, and she suspected greater in number, she ground her teeth in frustration. “What the hell—”

  “What the hell is that?”

  Glancing up with a start, Katrine met Trey’s heated stare. “How did you get in h—here?” she stammered, realizing she’d been too busy fuming to notice his intrusion.

  “I asked you a question first. What is that?” he repeated, glancing over his shoulder.

  Katrine rose and moved to stand beside him. “That’s my backyard.”

  “It’s full of rocks.”

  “That’s one of the reasons I bought the house. I don’t have time to do yard work.”

  “Figures,” he sneered, walking away.

  “Wait just a minute!” Katrine shouted at his back. “What figures?”

  He stopped and turned to face her. “It figures that you’re too caught up in your silly stories to realize Shelly deserves more than this.”

  Confused and angry over his accusation, Katrine approached him. “How dare you invade my privacy, call my novels silly, berate me for having rocks in my backyard, accuse me of child abuse, then walk away! Who gave you permission to snoop around my house and poke your nose in my business?”

  “Shelly gave me permission. Due to the number of children littering the street out front, I suggested we come back here to finish the game. Shelly’s face turned red. Her friends snickered. She explained that we couldn’t play in her backyard because it was full of rocks. I thought she might be exaggerating. She told me to see for myself, but to be quiet so I wouldn’t disturb your work.”

  The way his lip curled over Shelly’s reference to her writing made Katrine all the more angry. “Shelly’s never complained about the backyard being graveled before. If she’s respectful of my writing time, what of it? There’s nothing wrong with my daughter!”

  “I didn’t say anything’s wrong with Shelly,” he said softly. “Nothing a little thing like childhood couldn’t fix. You’re the one with the problem. Can’t you see what’s wrong with this picture?” He indicated the vacant backyard with a sweep of his hand. “Where’s the swing set? Where’s the basketball goal out front in the drive? I told her stickball was like baseball, or hockey without the ice and she didn’t make the connection. What do you do? Keep her locked up in the house every weekend?”

  He’d gone too far. Katrine stomped her foot in a show of temper, then winced as a piece of gravel penetrated the flimsy sole of her shoe. “What I do and what Shelly does, for that matter, is none of your business. Leave her alone and get off my property!”

  “Afraid she might accidentally have fun?” he goaded.

  “I’ve seen your idea of a good time and I don’t think you could be trusted with my child. I told you to leave and I meant it!”

  “You’re beautiful when you’re angry.”

  His compliment took her off guard. The hostility heating her veins ended up in her cheeks. Only when his gaze traveled from her head to her toes and his mouth twisted into a sarcastic smile, did Katrine recall how she looked. She controlled the urge to snatch the ugly pair of reading glasses off her nose.

  “Just because you and I don’t like each other doesn’t mean Shelly should suffer.” Trey still studied her with an intensity that made Katrine squirm. “I told her I’d take her ice skating next, week. If you don’t want her to go, you tell her. It’s my opinion, every child should ice skate at least once before their eleventh year on this earth.”

  Katrine recovered long enough to glare at him. “I’ve never cared much for your opinions. Now, if you’re finished advising me on what my child should or shouldn’t do, I’d appreciate it if you’d leave. I’m busy.”

  Thinking she’d properly dismissed him, Katrine turned from Trey’s embarrassing scrutiny. The wonderful thing about being a writer was that no one saw you while you worked. Katrine rarely bothered with fixing her hair or applying make-up before trudging out to the office each morning. Besides no make-up, her hair was pulled on top of her head in a ponytail. She wore a pair of old sweats and Big Bird house shoes. A geek, Katrine inwardly groaned. She looked like a geek.

  “Another word of advice,” he said at her back.

  Refusing to face him again, Katrine kept walking until she reached the office.

  “Don’t undress in front of your window. There may be a mud-covered columnist and a nosey cab driver sitting on the street below. And, either get yourself a man, or a bra that hooks in the front.”

  It took her a few minutes to understand exactly why he’d give her such odd suggestions. When the realization hit, Katrine whirled around, her fists clenched at her sides. Trey was gone. Grasping the door handle, she shoved the door wide and stumbled inside, collapsing on a sofa situated across from her desk.

  “That bastard,” she whispered. “That pervert. He spied on me! He … he … wanted to make sure I got home all right,” her voice trailed thoughtfully. A hot blush spread up her neck. She imagined Trey sitting out front, watching her undress. A fresh w
ave of mortification washed over her when Katrine remembered cursing a crooked hook on her bra she couldn’t get undone? How much had he seen?

  “Mom? Is something wrong? Are we making too much noise?” Shelly stood at the office door, a worried expression marring her young features.

  “No,” Katrine answered dully. “Nothing’s wrong. Is it lunch time?”

  Shelly glanced at her watch. “Oh, I guess it is. Mary Ellen from across the street wanted us to come over and play basketball. But, we’d better eat.”

  Guilt twisted Katrine’s grumbling stomach. “Honey, why didn’t you tell me you resented the gravel?”

  “I don’t resent it,” Shelly assured her. “I … well, I know you’re too busy with your writing to worry about yard work. Except, now that I’m older, I thought you might consider planting grass. I’d take care of the lawn and wouldn’t let anyone come over and play. I only want to sit on it and maybe feel it under my bare feet in the summer.”

  “Of course,” Katrine whispered. “Go to Mary Ellen’s. We can forego lunch for another hour. I could use the time to get some work done.”

  “Thanks,” Shelly said enthusiastically. “I’ll tell them to be quiet, but well, it’s hard. We get excited and all.”

  “It’s all right.” Katrine tried to sound calm. “I’ve never heard much noise around our house. It really doesn’t bother me.”

  “There isn’t much racket because they usually play down at Jimmy’s. A couple of years ago I told them they couldn’t come in my backyard or make any noise at our house so they quit coming over. Melissa’s the only one who’d play with me after that. She understands. Her dad doesn’t like noise either.”

  “Go on,” Katrine instructed, turning her head away from Shelly. “I promise you’ll have grass next summer and tell the kids the noise doesn’t bother me.”

  “For real?” Shelly asked skeptically. “Did you hear Melissa screaming when Trey was here? I think she just wanted to get his attention. He’s great, huh, Mom?”