"Naturally."
"You really are annoying, you know that?"
The telephone rang. Dane stretched an arm to the table beside him and punched a button on an ivory box. Tillie's voice flowed into the room.
"Dane, dear, I hope I'm not interrupting something important, but Walter didn't want you to worry."
"How did you find my number?" he asked, well aware that his name didn't appear in any telephone listing.
". . . I didn't know it was lost," she replied in confusion.
Kara giggled, muffling the sound with her hand when he scowled at her.
"What can I do for you, Tillie?"
"No, dear," she reminded him briskly, "I called you, remember? Because Walter didn't want you to worry."
"What am I not supposed to worry about?" he asked blankly.
"Has anyone else called you tonight?"
"No."
"Oh, good. Timing is still an uncertain element in these things. They will."
"Who will?"
"Walter never tells me everything. That's what's so annoying at times. But it's not as if a hiatus hernia is terminal or anything, is it? Well, now that I've told you, we'll all rest easier tonight. Good-bye."
"Wait a minute, Tillie. At least tell me this. How did you know my telephone number? I'm not listed in the book."
"I never use a book," she said in gentle surprise. "I just pick up the phone and dial. Good night."
The dial tone and Kara's smothered giggle were the only sounds in the room as he once again poked the button.
"Is that woman going to drive me crazy with mysterious messages every day?" he asked.
"Only when Walter tells her to."
"And now she's going to get a good night's sleep while I wonder what the hell she's talking about."
"But you don't believe in that stuff," Kara reminded him, "so there's no need to worry. Right?"
"You fight dirty, don't you?"
"Sometimes that's the only way for us midgets."
The telephone rang again, interrupting possible mayhem. This time, when Dane punched the button, a woman's tear-filled voice spoke.
"Dane?"
"Mom? What's the matter?"
"Oh, Dane. I've been so frightened. Your father's in the hospital."
"Where are you? I'll be right there." His voice was curt.
"Los Angeles. We're here for the Brattons' anniversary celebration, remember? But everything's all right now. I just didn't want you to hear anything that would worry you."
Dane felt the hair on the back of his neck lift. Kara sat quietly.
"What happened?"
"We're staying with the Brattons. After the party this afternoon we took a nap. Your father woke up in agony. We thought he was having a heart attack, so we called the paramedics." Her voice broke. "I've never seen him like that. He's always been so strong. He went into shock. It was awful. They rushed us to the hospital, and we've been waiting all this time."
"Why didn't you call? You know I would have come."
"I know you would. I didn't know what to do. But now I'm glad I waited. The doctor just came out and talked to us. It wasn't a heart attack or anything life-threatening. The shock was the most dangerous part. He said he'll release Dad tomorrow. What he has is a hiatus hernia."
Chapter 4
"Dane Logan? You're asking me who Dane Logan is?" Judy stared at Kara in disbelief across the width of the desk. They were sitting in the office at the rear of the shop. "You've been spending too much time with the ninos."
"The kids have nothing to do with it. Just tell me what you know about him."
"Let's put it this way. In a town that has millionaires crawling out of cupboards, he's still something special."
"How special?"
"Very. Cast your mind back about a year. Before you started playing games with the horses. Do you remember the articles in the paper about the big corporations that were leaving the large cities because of the traffic and smog? Or the article that told us that the companies were honoring our fair city by locating within its limits, bringing prosperity, more traffic and smog in their wake? Is it coming back now? Logan's conglomerate led the way.
"We now have Logan Computers being strung together in one part of town. Logan Condos and Town Houses are sprouting up in all directions. And the new hotel? Compliments of Logan architects, contractors and builders. You name it, Logan's doing it. "
"You mean I had a multimillionaire hanging up my picture and screwing Aunt Tillie's tumbledown house together?"
"Did you really?" Amused blue eyes looked into dark ones. "How'd he take it?"
"Like every other man cadging a home-cooked meal. Willingly." She remembered quite clearly, however, that he had turned down the meal, and, even more clearly, his alternate suggestion.
"That's probably where he gets that I-have-spoken-now-hop-to-it! attitude," she mused aloud.
"What do you know about him?" Judy asked.
"Very little. He's perfected a technique called 'I ask, you answer.' And you know how I am. I talk in ...."
"Paragraphs. What does he do?"
"Listens. Then utters syllables. Yes. No. The most I've gotten out of him is that he's thirty-three, a contractor, he thinks I'm a patsy, but all the same he wants ..."
"What?" Judy pounced like a bright-eyed bird who had waited patiently for crumbs at a picnic. "He wants what?"
"Me." Kara admitted, cursing her loose tongue.
Why did her thoughts always emerge as words, tumbling out one after another, forming sentences beyond recall? Other people managed to remain silent with no trouble at all. Perhaps, she thought hopefully, some of Dane's clam-like ability would rub off on her.
But, even if it did, it wouldn't help. Her face was as revealing as a road map. Never had she been able to run a convincing bluff. A lie was impossible. Apparently her thoughts were as clear as a ticker tape running across her forehead.
"I knew it!" Judy crowed. "The minute I saw him following you, I knew it."
"Well, you needn't sound so ecstatic. I like my life just the way it is, and that man is going to be nothing but trouble. He doesn't listen. He gives orders and assumes that I'll just fall right in with them." After a thoughtful silence, she brightened.
"I think, though, that my deliverance may be at hand. As you know, I introduced him to Aunt Tillie. He's already experienced Uncle Walter's benevolent mantle of protection."
"So soon?"
"Twice. Yesterday."
"Two in one day? That's coming on a little strong, isn't it?"
"He seemed to think so." Kara told her of the accident and the two evening calls. "He didn't have much to say when he took me home last night. Of course, that's not unusual. What I should have said is that he didn't leave me with any orders or directions for future meetings. He just saw me to the door, said good night and left. It's the most encouraging thing that's happened since ...."
"Kara, can you come up front for a minute?" Beth sounded excited.
"What's the matter?"
"You won't believe it. You'd better come take a look."
Exchanging puzzled looks, the two women obeyed the summons. Standing beside Beth, they watched silently as a deliveryman, peering through the foliage and staggering beneath its weight, carefully lowered an enormous fern to the floor. He placed it beside three others that looked like clones. He turned and headed back to the floral van.
"Hey, wait a minute. Where're you going?" Kara asked.
He sighed. "There's still two more in the van. In another minute they'll be in here."
"But you're taking up all of our floor space. Put them back in the truck and take them away. We want fewer, not more."
"I can't, lady. They're paid for, and I was told to deliver them here. All of them."
"What...."
"Here's a card," Beth said, holding it up. "Maybe it'll explain."
With a sense of foreboding, Kara opened the envelope. Even though she had never seen the writing before, s
he recognized the bold scrawl immediately.
"What does he say?" Judy asked, never doubting where the gift had originated.
"He says Uncle Walter distracted him so much he forgot to tell me that he'd pick me up at seven tonight for .... No! No more!" she called over the sea of green to the man, who was on his last trip. "Please, take them away."
His shrug was explicit. It informed her that he had done his job, crazy as it was, and now the ferns, and the problems, were hers. He returned to his van and drove away without a backward glance.
❧
When Dane knocked on the door that evening, Kara yelled that it was open and to come in.
"I'm in here," she called. "You can't get lost, just keep coming."
He followed her voice down the entryway into the living room. "Why do you suppose I put those locks on your door?" he inquired.
"To lock burglars out when I'm not here," she answered promptly. "Certainly not to lock me in when I am here. Besides, it had to be you. It's neither six fifty-nine nor seven-oh-one, but exactly seven. Who else would it be?"
He changed the subject abruptly. "Is this something new in the way of meditation?"
"Don't be clever."
"Just checking. It's not every day that I find my hostess flat on the floor staring at the ceiling."
"Skylight," she corrected absently. "Not the ceiling. I'm watching to see how the evening light affects it. "
"Why?"
"Because it's important. Also the morning and afternoon light."
"I'll bite again. Why?"
She sat up, holding her hands out to him. He obligingly pulled her up and waited.
"Because I want to make a stained-glass window for it, and the light pattern will affect the design and the colors I use."
"Have you ever made one before?"
She stared at his bland face, hearing, if it were possible, the raised eyebrows of disbelief in his voice.
"You should come down and see my workroom in the shop," she suggested dryly. "Yes, I've made one before. More than one. Many. And sold them. My only problem is, I don't know how to install it so it won't leak. A carpenter I'm not."
"But I am," he reminded her. "You make it watertight, and I'll install it the same way."
"It's a deal," she said, leading him into the kitchen and opening the refrigerator and waving a hand at its contents. "Name your poison."
"Beer. Very cold." He reached in over her shoulder, withdrew a can and pulled the tab while she poured herself a glass of white wine.
"Speaking of carpenters and such, why is it that you have so much spare time? I thought contractors spent part of the day sending workers out to locations and the rest of the day chasing them down and inspecting their work. Then at night ..."
"Deciding where to send them again the next day? Wrong. Even so, I've done my share of whip-cracking today, and I rarely work nights. Which means we've got the rest of the evening to ourselves." He inspected her silky ice-blue caftan, which emphasized the silvery fairness of her hair. "That's nice, but you don't look ready to go out."
"Watch it," she warned. "Too much flattery completely unhinges me. But you do get points for being observant. This is not a going-out dress. The reason I'm wearing it is because I'm not going out."
She turned, pulled a plastic-wrapped salad bowl out of the refrigerator, peered in the oven for a satisfied moment and reached for some plates.
"I haven't thanked you for the clutch of trees you sent me this morning. They're lovely, but since I sold off the south forty, I had a little trouble deciding what to do with them. As they took up all the walking space in the shop, by unanimous decision they now line the sidewalk beneath our windows. It was also decided that since they were my gift, I got to move them and, in the future, water them."
She thumped the plates on the table and turned to look at him. "Have you ever heard of sending a single flower for a bud vase? Or a small bouquet? Have you ever heard the adage that says nice things come in small packages? Especially if the person on the receiving end owns a shop with very little extra space?"
He stood quietly, watching as she added dressing and tossed the salad. "And, if you're wondering, the reason I'm not going out is because of the way you told me we were. Your note, if I remember correctly, said 'Be ready at seven.' Ordered me to be ready at seven."
Throwing napkins next to the plates, she snapped, "I may be persuaded to do something. I may be motivated, enticed, convinced, lured or charmed, but I will not be ..."
"Ordered. I'll try to remember that. What's for dinner?"
Her glare turned into a reluctant grin. "You're being difficult. I was ready for an argument. Fish. I'm not up to watching you devour another bleeding steak."
❧
After they had eaten and cleaned up the kitchen, Kara led him back to the living room. She turned on the stereo and found a station with soft music while Dane looked around.
An interior decorator, he thought, would probably say that the room was a bold statement. Nothing at all like his cream walls and gold carpeting. The persimmon carpet and off-white walls were a perfect foil for the boldly striped couch of black, cocoa, persimmon and white. A scattering of chairs and cushions picked up the dominant colors for eccent. The rest of the house reflected the same energy, with cheerful splashes of color. The result, he decided, was one of warm welcome.
He dropped down on the sofa and tugged gently on her hand. She settled beside him, and he draped an arm over her shoulders, pulling her close.
"This is nice," he commented lazily, turning his head to look down at her.
"Don't get too comfortable," she warned, trying and failingto edge away. "We're going to talk."
"Okay," he agreed amiably. "You first."
"Why didn't you tell me who you were?"
"I did. I told you my name. I couldn't have been clearer. "
"You didn't tell me what you are."
"I said I was a contractor. And I am."
"You know what I mean."
"Yes." The word was grim. "I know. What do you want me to do? Wear a sign around my neck stating my credentials and net worth?"
"No. But I feel like such a fool. Because of your involvement with the city, I'll bet even the school kids know who you are. And what have I had you doing? Pulling wires, hanging pictures and propping up Aunt Tillie's house."
"In short, you've treated me exactly as you would any other man who can swing a hammer."
"Yes." She thought a moment. "But they understood and wanted it that way."
"So do I."
"That's not the point. I have the feeling you got conned into something you had no intention of doing."
His mustache twitched, and his smile was one of pure amusement. Green eyes gleamed beneath lazily lowered lashes. "Honey, do you honestly think you could make me do anything I didn't want to do?"
After thinking it over, she admitted, "Probably not."
"Definitely not. I'll let you know if I have any complaints."
He shifted, lifted her as if she weighed nothing at all, and settled her across his thighs.
She pressed her shoulders against the arm of the couch, found a comfortable spot for her head and looked up with a tolerant expression of inquiry in her large, dark eyes. "What's this all about?"
"You're too small," he complained. "I'm getting a crick in my neck trying to see you. And," he added after a moment, "I think I'm getting ready to pounce. I did tell you that I'd give warning," he reminded her.
"So you did. I don't think I've ever been officially pounced on before," she admitted with a grin. "What do we do now?"
"Whatever comes naturally. You join in whenever you're ready."
He moved again, lifting her higher. Her eyes closed as his lips touched her eyebrows. It wasn't, she reminded herself, as if she had never dated or kissed a man before. On the contrary. Being gregarious and, yes, popular, she had always had men around friends, and those who wanted to be more. But now, for the first time, she realiz
ed that something had been lacking. Not in quantity, but quality. For the most part, the friends had remained. The others had drifted away, one disappearing as another appeared on the horizon.
But Dane, she remembered hazily, had announced his intentions. He wanted her in his bed. And not to sleep or, perchance, to dream. He wanted her awake and willing. And drifting away definitely wasn't part of his plan.
His hands brushed over her body, softly investigating this curve, that hollow. She murmured incoherently against his lips, and his arms tightened. At least her dress, the caftan, was relatively manproof, she thought dreamily. No back zippers, no front buttons.
No encouragement there.
Doing what came naturally was potent stuff, Kara concluded a few minutes later. Not nearly as confident as she had been, she unwrapped her arms from around Dane's neck and tried to use them as a wedge.
But a wedge, an effective one, required a certain amount of room. And there was none between his hard body and her soft one. None at all. Furthermore, both his large, warm hand and the hem of her caftan now rested on her bare thigh.
She pushed against his shoulders and slowly, reluctantly, he lifted his head. Dropping back against the arm of the couch, she drew in a deep, ragged breath.
She was flushed and disheveled and looked, Dane thought, utterly delectable. And, he noted, her expression was no longer one of amused expectation.
It was the satisfied gleam in the silvery-green eyes that loosened Kara's tongue. "As the . . . pouncee in this affair, I request that we take a break."
Kara closed her eyes in exasperation as she heard her own husky, breathless voice. She took a peek at his expression and sighed. His eyes remained unwaveringly on her face. And even though he was leaning back, she could still feel the warmth..of his arms, his lips, his ...
She reined in her errant thoughts. That could only lead to trouble, big trouble, she decided. He was doing just fine on his own. He certainly didn't need her encouragement. She had the feeling, though, that regardless of what she did, he would stubbornly hack away at her objections until he got what he wanted.
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