“I don’t ever want to do this again,” Amy said, standing on the sidewalk, taking deep gulps of fresh air. “I’m going to go home and pretend this never happened.”
“Good idea. I just have one more eensy-teensy thing to do before we go home,” Jake said. “I want to check out the Dumpster.”
“Haven’t we seen enough garbage for one day?”
“Afraid not. We’ve seen your garbage, sweet thing. Now I want to see Veronica’s garbage.” Jake leaned into the refuse bin. “Damn, it’s dark in here. I wish I’d thought to bring a flashlight. I wish I’d…Oh hell!”
Amy let out a small shriek and clapped her hand over her mouth. He was in the Dumpster. She’d known it was going to happen. She could feel it in her bones. Murphy’s law. If anything can go wrong…it will. “Are you all right?” she asked, peering over the side.
“Yeah. I’m fine, and I found what I was looking for.”
“Rhode Island Red? Oh lord, don’t tell me you found Red. Don’t tell me they threw him away in the Dumpster.”
Jake hoisted himself out and landed with a squishy thud on the blacktop. “No, I didn’t find Red. I found his cage. Veronica threw Red’s cage away.”
A quiet feeling of dread stole across Amy’s chest, and she knew Jake’s instincts had been correct. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”
“I think Veronica knows the answer to that question.”
“I’m sorry he’s dead,” Amy said. “He was kind of special, wasn’t he?”
Jake took the car keys from his back pocket. “We’re not absolutely sure that he’s dead. We’re just sure he’s not living with Veronica. Let’s go home.”
Chapter 6
Amy jumped from the car as it came to a rolling stop in her driveway. “What was in that Dumpster? My nose will never be the same. My car will never be the same. I’ll probably have to sell it.”
Jake unfolded himself from the little sports car. “Are you trying to tell me I smell bad?”
“You are beyond bad. You are putrid.”
“Gee, I hadn’t noticed. Maybe that’s why my eyes are watering. I don’t suppose you’d allow me to use your shower?”
Amy unlocked her front door. “Not only will I allow you to use it—I’ll insist upon it. Just pitch your clothes out into the hall. Do you want me to wash them or bury them?”
“I leave that decision up to you.”
Amy decided to wash them. Twice. She stood for a minute in the laundry room, listening to the clothes agitate, feeling oddly wifely. There was a big, gorgeous naked man in her shower and a pair of navy briefs in her washer.
“I like it,” she said out loud, and she wondered if she was in love. She thought she’d been in love with Jeff. What a bummer that had been. She closed her eyes, but she couldn’t remember what Jeff looked like.
“Sad,” she said. “Really pathetic.”
Jake padded into the laundry room wearing a royal blue towel wrapped low on his hips. “What’s pathetic?”
“I was thinking about this person I used to know, and I couldn’t remember what he looked like.”
“Was this person important to you?”
Amy straightened the boxes of detergent on the shelf above the washer. “I used to think so. I was engaged to him.”
She took a long, hard look at Jake in his towel and was surprised to find she wasn’t nervous. Two days ago she’d almost fainted at the sight of his chest, and now she was ogling him practically in the buff without so much as a change of heartbeat. Well, maybe there was a slight change of heartbeat, but she wasn’t panic-stricken. She supposed washing men’s underwear made one much more worldly.
Jake crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the doorjamb. Engaged. A mysterious emotion shot through him. Jealousy? It was ridiculous, but it rankled him. He made an effort to keep his voice steady and light. “What happened?”
Amy smiled. “I used to find this story very embarrassing. Now I find it kind of funny. As you already know, I’ve never actually…um, you know.”
“I know.”
“It isn’t as if it was planned. I didn’t set out to remain a virgin all my life. I didn’t even have any grandiose romantic or moral ideas about saving myself for marriage. It just never seemed right. For a while there I was afraid I had some physical defect or maybe a hormone deficiency. I mean, you’d think that by the time you were twenty-six years old you’d have gotten the urge to make mad, passionate love to some man.
“Anyway, the year I got out of college, when I was teaching first grade, I decided it was time for me to fall in love and get married. Looking back on it, I guess Jeff was smarter than I was, because after we’d been engaged for two months he gave me an ultimatum. Something to the effect that he had no intention of ever buying a suit without first trying it on.”
Amy laughed at the expression on Jake’s face. “Don’t look so horrified. Jeff might have put it a little crudely, but he did me a favor. A marriage ceremony wouldn’t have made any difference in the way I felt about Jeff. I wasn’t in love with him, and I didn’t want to share my body with him.”
Amy made an expansive gesture with her arms. “Well, how about some lemonade?”
Jake followed her into the kitchen, enormously pleased that she’d never wanted another man, positively gloating over the fact that she wanted him. She did want him, didn’t she? “So, why did this change from embarrassing to funny?”
“Because…” Amy paused with her hand on the refrigerator door. “Because…” She stuck her head in the refrigerator to hide the blush staining her cheeks.
Because she’d finally found the right man. Because suddenly her hormones were working overtime, and she had demanding sensations in body parts she’d previously suspected might be missing nerve endings. Because not only was she attracted to Jake, but she liked him, she enjoyed being with him, she respected him…she loved him. She retreated from the refrigerator with a handful of lemons.
“Just because,” she said. End of discussion.
She caught a glimpse of tantalizing blue towel and busied herself with the lemons, paying strict attention to squeezing, measuring, and mixing her ingredients. She was afraid if she didn’t keep her hands busy squeezing lemons, she might squeeze something else. At the very least, she was tempted to rip his towel off. Lord, she was bad. All those years of dormant, suppressed desire were catching up with her.
“I have some gym clothes in the middle drawer of my dresser,” she said breathlessly, attributing it to the exertion of making lemonade. “Maybe you can find something more comfortable to wear. I have a pair of black sweats that have always been too big for me.”
Jake almost ran to the bedroom. Wearing nothing but a skimpy towel was putting a strain on his self-control. And the way she’d looked at him! He was afraid his towel would catch fire. But then she’d backed off. She’d squeezed those lemons until there was nothing left but pulp. Damned if it wasn’t confusing.
He found the sweats and tugged them on, for the first time noticing the details of her bedroom. It had the same airy serenity of the living room, but there was a difference in the atmosphere.
It was warmer, more sensual. Her table lamp was reflected in the rich patina of her brass bedstead. The bed linens and quilt were peach, trimmed in satin. The room was sparsely decorated. Just the bed and a low oak dresser with a white marble top, above which a wood-trimmed oval mirror was centered on the wall. A small television sat on the dresser.
Jake stretched out on the bed and thought of the cache of undies and nighties he’d found that first night…satin and lace and raw silk. He was beginning to understand Amy. She kept the sensuous part of her private, wearing it under her clothes, confining it to the bedroom. She was a lady-in-waiting. The big question was, how long did she want to wait? She said she didn’t necessarily care about marriage. What did she care about?
Amy brought Jake his lemonade and sat Indian-style on the bed, next to him. She zapped the television with the remote control, b
ut couldn’t get interested in the ten o’clock news. She had the clinic on her mind. She was beginning to share Jake’s belief that Turner and Bottles knew more about the rooster’s disappearance than they’d admitted to, but what about the second break-in? It didn’t make any sense.
Jake sipped his drink and watched Amy. “You look like a woman with a lot on her mind.”
“I can’t help wondering about Red. Why would you—” She stopped in midsentence and stared openmouthed at the television. There she was in living color, holding a container of alleged rooster soup. “Omigosh.”
Jake scrambled to the edge of the bed. “We made the ten o’clock news?”
“…and so, there you have it, folks. The question remains unanswered. Has Lulu the Clown cooked Red’s goose?”
Amy felt her eyes fill with tears. “What a terrible thing to say about Lulu.”
Jake pulled Amy into his arms and shut the television off.
“We must have missed something, Amy. The reason. We need to know the reason for all this. There have to be clues. We just haven’t recognized them.”
Amy didn’t care about clues. She cared about getting kissed. She cared about getting closer to Jake. A lot closer.
He looked at her face, flushed with desire, and knew she wasn’t going to tell him to stop tonight. Heaven knew, he didn’t want to stop, but there was a meddlesome voice, whispering through the cobwebs of his mind, “Why?” He wanted to be sure it was love. This had been a strange day. He was afraid her emotions might be jumbled.
“Amy, I think we’d better stop now.”
“Why?”
“Because if we don’t stop soon…we’re not going to stop at all, and you’re going to get devirgined.”
“So?”
“So! I’m not going to devirgin you when you’re at an emotional low. Only a sleazeball would do a thing like that.”
“You don’t want me?”
“Of course I want you! Anyone can see I want you. I’ve completely stretched the crease out of my sweats.”
“Well?”
“For Pete’s sake, Amy, you don’t just rush into these things. You have to get to know people.” He couldn’t believe he was saying any of this. The woman of his dreams was panting on the sacrificial altar.
“Besides, you have to take precautions when you do these things, and I don’t have any…um, precautions with me. If we did it without precautions you might end up with kittens.” Did he say “kittens”?
Amy laughed out loud. “I wouldn’t mind having kittens. Motley needs a playmate.”
Jake grinned. “Don’t laugh. This is serious.”
“You’re right. It is serious,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I’ve waited a long time for the right man to come along.”
She looked into his soft brown eyes and wondered if he loved her. She knew he cared, but love…she was afraid to hope for love. It almost didn’t matter. She couldn’t help the way she felt about him, and if it had to be a one-sided love affair, then she would have to live with it.
Jake’s heart was caught in his throat. “Are you sure I’m the right man?”
Amy tugged at the drawstring of his sweats, loosening the knot. “I’m sure. I’ve never felt like this before. I love you.”
She loved him. He felt like his heart had just been blown up like a helium balloon. She loved him!
Amy closed her eyes. “Oh geez. I’ve said the wrong thing. You look like you just got punched in the stomach.”
“I was surprised. I didn’t think…I never dreamed. I mean, I’d hoped, but…Oh, hell.” He kissed her.
“Amy, I’ve loved you since the first moment I saw you. When you stole my parking place. And I have a confession to make. I followed you all through the supermarket, waiting for my chance to marry you. And when I offered you a job, I didn’t know I needed a receptionist.”
He kissed her again. “I love you.” He drew her closer, feeling fiercely possessive. “I love you.”
His voice had turned bedroom sexy, deep and raspy soft. His brown eyes darkened as his hand moved over the nape of her neck. He drew a playful line along the side of her breast to her rib cage. “I’d like to spend the night with you.”
“The night. Hmmm. Just exactly what are your intentions?” Amy purred.
Jake whispered a few suggestions in her ear.
Amy’s eyes opened wide in anticipation. “I think at least one of those things is illegal in this state.”
Jake slid off the bed. “I’m going to check on Spot and make sure things are locked up for the night.”
When he returned the room was dusky, lit by two brass candlesticks Amy had placed on the dresser. She sat on one side of the bed, her legs partially curled under her. She wore a short, creamy satin shift with spaghetti straps and a dab of her best perfume at her throat. The satin clung to her breasts, perfectly outlining every detail, and molded into the dimple of her navel. She smiled at Jake’s reaction: a sharp intake of breath.
The candles flickered out and Amy and Jake were intertwined in a tangle of sheets and spent passion.
“Nice,” Amy said.
He thought “nice” was a little bland. He’d felt like the earth had moved. The after part, the cuddling…that was nice.
He grinned at her and kissed her nose. “You’re going to be sore.”
“Maybe, but right now I feel glorious.”
Amy opened her eyes. She felt as though she’d been run over by a dumptruck. She remembered Jake and decided it was a terrific dumptruck. She had sore muscles in places she’d never known muscles existed.
She limped into the shower and stood under steaming water until her skin turned lobster red. She washed her hair, wrapped herself in a towel, brushed her teeth, and smiled at herself in the mirror. Much better. Better than better. Wonderful.
“I love being in love,” she said to her mirror image. “I love Jake. I love me. I love mornings.”
She quickly dressed in a pair of faded blue shorts and a gray T-shirt advertising running shoes, and padded out to the kitchen, looking for Jake. A coffee cup was on the counter; Jake couldn’t be far off. She found him leaning on a lawn mower, talking to a neighbor. They were discussing lime.
Jake wrapped his arm around her and kissed her cheek affectionately. “Jerry loaned me his lawn mower, and he thinks we should lime the backyard.”
Amy smiled at Jerry. Lime the backyard? Wasn’t lime a color? A fruit?
“I’ve got some hedge clippers, too,” Jerry said. “I’ve got everything. All you have to do is ask. I’ve got a daughter who baby sits. You folks have any children?”
Jake squeezed Amy. “Not yet, but we’re working on it.”
“Mmmm,” Amy said, “we thought we’d start out with kittens and see how it goes.”
By noon, the front yard looked reasonably tame. The grass was neatly cut and trimmed. Jaws had been transformed into a meek shrub, a lilac tree had been discovered hiding in the mountain laurel, and Amy had planted a small fortune in flowers.
“Pretty nice,” Jake said.
“Doesn’t look like the same house,” Amy said.
Jake linked his arms around her. “You know, you’re very sexy looking, wearing all that potting soil. And I love those little blue shorts, especially when you bend over. And is it my imagination, or have you neglected to wear a bra this morning?”
She had purposely gone braless because she’d woken up feeling expansive. Her whole world had changed, grown larger, more wondrous. She hadn’t wanted to feel confined by anything as mundane as a bra. “Besides the bra thing, do I look any different? Can you tell I’m not a virgin anymore?”
“Absolutely. If I saw you walking down the street, I’d say to myself, that woman just lost her virginity. I could tell by the smile on your face.”
“Oh shoot, am I still smiling?”
“Mmmm. It’s very becoming.” He kissed her lightly on the lips. His eyes softened and grew serious. “I love you.”
She encircled his waist with her arms. “I love you, too. And it was nice of you to spend all this time helping me with my yard.”
“I wanted to do something for you. Being in love is a painful experience. It’s…obsessive. I have all this love energy.”
Love energy. Amy thought it was a great phrase. She knew exactly what he meant. She had love energy, too. She wanted to make his coffee, rub his back, iron his shirts. Well, maybe ironing was going too far. She lowered her lashes flirtatiously. “I think I know a way of getting rid of some excess energy.”
Three minutes later she was shamelessly naked on her rumpled sheets. She stretched luxuriously and beckoned to Jake. “This is my first matinee. Do you do anything different when you make love in the sunshine?”
He ran his hand the length of her silken leg and told her of a possible variation.
Amy closed her eyes and arched her back. “Yum,” she said breathlessly.
Amy lay back in the big aluminum rowboat and let her fingertips trail in the water. Her eyes were closed; the sun was warm on her face; the waves quietly slopped against the side of the gently rocking boat. Insects buzzed in the nearby woods and a duck quacked in the distance. Life didn’t get much better than this, she thought. A Sunday afternoon on Burke Lake with her lover manning the oars.
It occurred to her that she’d just gone to bed with a man she’d known less than a week. Hours and minutes, she decided, weren’t an accurate measure of progress in a relationship. She could marry Jake tomorrow and feel absolutely confident in their future. Of course, Jake hadn’t asked her to marry him. Only a matter of time, she told herself. The man was obviously crazy about her.
She splashed her hand in the water and knew she was being outrageously smug. It was allowed. Today was special. Every day would be special from now on.
“I’m going to plant a vegetable garden,” she said. “I’ve always wanted a vegetable garden. They seem…permanent. My father was an army officer and every three years we’d pack up and move to a new base. I have great parents, and it was an interesting life, but we never had a garden.”
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