Stupid Cupid

by Liz Hunter, Aka Mennen, Phyllis Campbell

  “I have done nothing but mess things up today.” Kenya took in a deep breath and rubbed her forehead. A strong disinfectant scent stung her nose. Although the waiting room was filled, and chattering swarmed all around her, she had her mine on one thing and one thing only. “Because of my stubbornness, Joshua was shot.”

  Her father grasped her shoulders and turned her to face him. “And because of you, Terrel and Lisa Montgomery are in jail, not to mention that hussy, Tina.”

  “I know, but I still wish I could have done something to keep Terrel from shooting Joshua.” Tears filled her eyes.

  He squeezed her shoulders. “Then you would have been shot instead. Joshua will be fine. I know it.”

  The door to the waiting room opened and an older man in a professional white jacket walked in. He smiled at Kenya. “Joshua is awake. He’s asking for you.”

  She held in a sob of joy as she rushed to his room. As she entered, she slowed her pace, but her heartbeat kept the quick rhythm. His eyes were closed when she stepped to the bed, but as soon as she touched his warm hand, he looked at her.

  “Hello, handsome.”

  He smiled. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes.” She squeezed his arm. “You were the only one to take a bullet.”

  “Terrel?” His voice came out rusty and he cleared his throat.

  “He’s in jail, along with his mother.”

  “Tina, too?”

  “Of course. Although, I think they’ll go a little easier on her because she cooperated.”

  He rolled his head on the pillow and looked at her again. “I couldn’t have done any of this without you.”

  A tear slid down her cheek. “Yes, you could have.”

  “No. The reason I couldn’t accomplish anything these past five years is because you were not by my side.” He slid his hand over, linking his fingers with hers. “I love you more than you could ever know.”

  The tightness in her heart made her breathless as love blossomed inside her. The anger she’d felt for his deception had disappeared when she thought she’d lost him. More tears streamed down her face and she leaned forward to briefly kiss his lips. “I love you, too.”

  He smiled. “Promise?”

  “Promise.” She hiccupped a laugh. “I still don’t understand it all. It’s crazy to think I could love you so quickly.”

  He nodded. “Yes, love is crazy, all right. I fell hard and fast for you, too. I think it’s because we’ve wasted five years of being apart. Although I didn’t know you back then, I believe we would have met eventually.” He licked his lips. “Kenya, you’re my soul mate, and I don’t want to live my life without you.”

  She shook her head. “You won’t.” She leaned up and kissed him again, this time it lasted longer. When she pulled away, she smiled. “I can’t wait until you get out of this hospital.”

  He chuckled. “You and me both. I’m sick to death of hospitals.”

  “And I can’t wait to get you naked and in my bed.”

  His brows shot up and down as a grin stretched across his face. “Um … that sounds tempting.”

  “You don’t think I’m crazy for wanting to jump your bones as soon as you’re out?”

  “No, because I’m as crazy as you for thinking the very same thing.”

  She laughed. “I think Cupid is the one who was crazy, but for once, he did something right in my life.” She cuddled beside him on the bed, laying her head on his chest.

  He stroked her hair. “The only thing I know is I’d better be completely healed by the time we get home.”

  “Why?” she mumbled against his chest.

  “Because I have a feeling you’re going to keep me extremely active.”

  She chuckled. “You’re damn right!” She lifted her head. “All that and more.”

  Dang Crooked Arrow

  Liz Hunter

  In high school, a guidance counselor told Liz that the desire to be a writer was unrealistic. Years later, homebound during a five day blizzard with a brown paper sack full of romance novels, Ms. Hunter soon realized that part of her fascination with these romances stemmed from her dormant desire to write.

  Liz’s first book, a romantic suspense called Beyond the Shadow, was published in 2001, followed by Plain Jane’s Tight End, and A Precious Gift. A member of Romance Writers of America, Wisconsin RWA, The Golden Network, EPIC, Jewels of the Quill and Diva’s All Stars, she places highly in most contests she enters, and her stories consistently garner four and five star reviews. Ms. Hunter hails from Madison, Wisconsin, where she lives with her husband, teenaged daughter, four Zebra finches, three cats, two fish tanks, and a hamster named Chewy.

  Books by Liz Hunter

  A Precious Gift

  Footloose

  Mistletoe Magic

  One

  “Promise you’ll act civilized,” Satara Avery, Tara for short, counseled her nephew and three nieces as she closed the van door. Last week’s two inch snowfall lay in dirty piles at curbs and in medians

  “It’s just a flower shop,” Kevin, the eldest at six years old, replied. “It’s not like we’re in church or something.”

  “It’s brand new and upscale, and I really don’t want us to get kicked out. I’ll make it fast. Tiffany, remembered you promised me. You’ll keep your clothes on, right?”

  The two-year old smiled sweetly. “Okay.”

  “Kimmy, Erica, please keep an eye on her.”

  Kevin demonstrated his good manners by holding the door open for the adult and three young girls.

  They all stopped to inhale the flower scents inside the shop. “Oh, it smells just like bubble bath,” Kimmy said.

  “Smells like roses,” Erica corrected her.

  “You’re both right,” Tara said to keep the peace.

  Whatever the exact smell, it was heady, as was the décor. Elegant marble statues and stands holding various sized pots greeted Tara and the four children. Peace lilies and vases of roses predominated. Healthy vines, potted plants and colorful flowers of many varieties tempted the senses with their colors and aroma. Tara realized the walls were painted in a garden scene, tricking the eye into thinking the shop was considerably larger than actual.

  Two year old Tiffany offered Tara a single rose.

  “Tiffany, honey, you can’t pick the flowers. They’re decorations for the shop. You have to buy anything you want, and that you can afford. Let me help you put it back. Try to keep your hands to yourself. Please? If you’re all good, I’ll take you out for a treat later.”

  “Okay.”

  By then, the other three children had already separated. “Come back here, all of you. You promised to stay close by and behave.”

  Tara felt like a heel, being so strict with the kids. The children were good, they really were. It was just difficult to keep all four occupied for very long, say more than thirty seconds at a time.

  A young woman greeted them. “Hi! How can I help you?” Her name tag read ‘Lindsey.’

  Kevin materialized at Tara’s side and spoke up. “We want to order flowers for our fathers for Valentine’s Day.”

  “You mean your mothers,” the clerk corrected.

  “No, I mean our fathers. They never get flowers. We decided to surprise our dads.”

  The clerk frowned. “Isn’t that what Fathers Day is for?”

  “Hardly,” Kevin argued. “When was the last time you sent your father flowers on Father’s Day? More likely, you sent a shirt or a mug or a tie.”

  “You’re right,” the clerk admitted, frowning. “How old are you?”

  “I’m six and I have an IQ of 168.”

  “Stop bragging,” Tara whispered to the boy and cleared her throat. “Can we have the flowers delivered to a cruise ship in the Caribbean?”

  Lindsey’s mouth dropped open. “I haven’t the slightest idea. I’m new here. So is the shop, actually. We opened yesterday.” They all followed her to the counter. “Do you have the information—the port and name of the cruise sh
ip?”

  Tara dug in her hand bag for the itinerary. The three girls had wandered back to Tara’s side by now. “Why don’t you guys go memorize the names of all the plants while we do the paperwork and I pay for it?”

  “Can we each get a plant?” Erica asked.

  “Sure … as long as they’re small ones … and don’t pick anything up! They’re heavier than they look.”

  From the gleam in her eye, the four year old already had something in mind. The foursome tore off to pick their favorites.

  “No running! Kevin, you’re in charge. Make sure the girls behave.”

  The clerk checked some sort of listing in a plastic sleeve. Probably directions to the computerized cash register, Tara thought suspiciously.

  “It may take me a few minutes to figure this out, and the manager is out of the shop picking up an order of roses. Do you have some other shopping to do?”

  “Not really. This is our outing for the day.” She’d found that one errand a day with the children worked better than grouping several in the same day. Though the kids were well-behaved, they had a finite amount of patience. So did Tara.

  The shop door opened, activating a wind chime to announce a new arrival. “Oh, here’s the owner now,” the clerk said. “She’ll be able to help.”

  Lindsey soon explained the problem and the owner instructed her how to handle the order.

  “Congratulations on your opening,” Tara said. “You have a beautiful shop. It smells as good as it looks. Good luck to you!”

  “Well, thank you.” The door opened, setting off the chimes again, and the owner turned to see who entered. “Be still, my heart,” she whispered. “Do you see what just walked in the door? Adonis, every woman’s dream come true … and I saw him first. He’s mine.”

  Tara laughed heartedly until she looked at the newcomer. One glance left her speechless. Tall and well-built, hair spiked up in the current style, his bright blue eyes caught hers before moving on to the florist’s gaze. Tara felt bereft, briefly, before reminding herself that she wasn’t his type. He was obviously into feminine, fawning women while she was self-sufficient, unimpressed with looks or hooks. She doubted that the shop owner was the type of woman who relied on a man’s largess, either, but she didn’t mind pretending. Just with his brief glance, he’d identified Tara as being too independent for her own good, and someone who didn’t offer pretense.

  His smile encompassed all three of the women, though, and Tara suspected hers was not the only heart of the three that went pitter-patter. What woman between nine and ninety could resist his charms?

  “How do you do,” the owner said, offering her hand. “I’m Glenna Evans. How may I help you?”

  Gee, Glenna didn’t introduce herself to me, nor did she offer a handshake, Tara thought. She suspected the owner’s offer included more than flowers. The man smiled widely, displaying gleaming white teeth against his tanned complexion. Either he was just off the plane from a month in the tropics or he owed his tan to an artificial bulb.

  “Harrison Howard, Harry for short,” he said, offering his hand.

  How many people shook hands with a shop owner? Honestly, he was too transparent. All he wanted was to get into Glenna’s—

  Tara’s thought ended abruptly when he extended his hand to her in greeting, and for a few awkward moments, she couldn’t remember her name. “Satara Avery,” she finally responded.

  “Satara? Are you aware that your namesake was the Anglo Saxon goddess of spring, fertility and the rising sun?”

  She laughed. “I definitely don’t fit that image. As a matter of fact, I seldom use my full name. Please call me Tara.” Why would he have the need to call her anything at all? He was a virtual stranger and after a few minutes they’d never set eyes on one another again! Customers or not, the shop owner resisted being left out. She cleared her throat and repeated her original offer. “How may I help you?”

  “I need to order some flowers, red roses for Valentine’s Day. I assume you deliver.”

  “Of course. No charge. If you’ll just give us a few minutes, we’ll finish Ms. Avery’s order. Unfortunately, the shop has a single cash register. Lindsey?” Glenna addressed the younger girl. “Are you about finished with Ms. Avery’s order?”

  “Almost. I’ll need your credit card, Ms. Avery.”

  “Don’t forget the kids are choosing plants for themselves, in addition to the roses for their fathers,” Tara said.

  “I’ll go see how they’re doing,” Lindsey offered.

  The shop owner looked torn, as if afraid the newcomer might become impatient and leave, versus anxious to make more of his acquaintance. Apparently the latter won out. “Where are you from. Harry?”

  “Indianapolis.”

  How could anyone he make the name of a city sound sexy, Tara wondered?

  “What brings you to Chicago?” Glenna persisted.

  “Business. I sell medical equipment over a two state area. Will this take a long time? I’d hoped to get on the road before traffic got too heavy.”

  “Perhaps I could begin handwriting the order? Do you have the name and address where the roses are to be delivered?”

  “Actually, I need twelve dozen roses.”

  “There’s twelve in a dozen,” both the shop owner and Tara said simultaneously.

  “I’m aware of that. I have twelve separate names and addresses for delivery.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry. I thought you meant a dozen red roses to a single address. I’ll have to charge extra to deliver a single rose to twelve separate addresses.”

  “No, you were right the first time. I want to send a dozen roses to a dozen women, all separate addresses.”

  Tara smiled knowingly. She’d pegged him as a Lothario at first glance. Glenna’s eyes sparkled with dollar signs. “Oh, my,” she said. “That’s a huge order. Are you sure?”

  He laughed. “I’m sure. Are you able to handle an order that big?”

  “Of course. It’s still several days until Valentine’s Day, so even if I have to deliver to all twelve addresses from here, I can order more roses.”

  He shook his head. “The ladies are scattered across two states.”

  Tara stared at him for a long minute. “I know this is inexcusably rude of me, but I have to ask, do you really have that many girlfriends?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “How do you mange a dozen women at once? Are you Mormon? Or do you have a harem or something?”

  He smiled, sending a glow through her, and she wished she could find a batch of one-liners to keep him smiling indefinitely.

  “Hey, I like that idea,” he said. “But, no. No harem. No orgies. My love life is very organized and civilized. You see, as I said, I sell medical equipment and have a territory covering two states. I make my rounds at quarterly intervals, so I have all the major areas or accounts on three month call-backs.”

  “Let me guess,” Glenna said. “You have a girl in every port.”

  “Exactly.” He beamed. “One week in each area every quarter, one female the object of my attention for that week, and that location.”

  “And they don’t mind the other eleven weeks you’re gone?” Tara said incredulously.

  “Not one bit. I’m very attentive to them while I’m there.”

  “I’m surprised you have time to sell your product in between … rotations.” Tara grunted, ruining the seriousness of the situation.

  “Every one of them has clout with purchasing.”

  “Oh my goodness, do you realize you’re prostituting yourself? Are you sure it’s legitimate to conduct business in this manner?”

  “I’ve never had a complaint.” His comment suggested a double entendre.

  What an over-sexed, full of himself jerk. “Excuse me. I need to round up the little ones.” She left Lover Boy in the shop owner’s capable hands. Talk about a double entendre, she chuckled to herself.

  She found the kids with the young clerk Li
ndsey, explaining the care and feeding of their chosen plants. She excused herself to fetch a cart to transport their selections.

  Kevin, typically, had chosen a spider plant, and with his genius IQ, Tara could envision him majoring in a scientific field eventually, possibly some Arachnid-related-ology.

  His sister Erica, the healer, had an Aloe plant, of course, and their cousin, Kimmy the peacemaker, picked a Peace Lily bigger than she could carry. Kim’s little sister, Tiffany, clung to a Norfolk Island Pine, also too big for her to carry. Tara could see the little tike as a wanderer since she was prone to wander away all too often, so her choice also fit the type.

  “You all did a wonderful job picking your first plants.”

  “I’m afraid they’re a bit expensive,” the clerk said. “I tried to steer them to the ivy and greenery.”

  “Not a problem,” Tara assured her. “It’s worth every penny. They’ll have many years of learning responsibility taking care of their new ‘pets.’”

  “Will that do it for today then? You don’t want a plant of your own?”

  “Not today, thanks. We’ll stop by for fertilizer and whatever another day. I think Casanova is getting restless. Time we check out.”

  Tara followed the clerk with the cart to the register. The four kids got sidetracked, gazing through the window into the hothouse area where the fresh cut flowers were kept. That should keep them busy for another short while, Tara thought. She’d learned by experience that the last few minutes waiting at checkout was always the killer as far as their patience was concerned. Once they were done shopping, they were immediately ready to move on. Waiting at checkout? B-O-R-I-N-G.

  The shop owner and her other customer, Harrison Howard—Harry-for-short, had edged away from the counter and were laughing and flirting. Harry-for-short noticed Tara signing the computerized credit card and sauntered over to stand beside her, Glenna-the-shopkeeper nearly pinned to his side.

  “Where’d the children go?” Glenna asked.

  One glance toward the hothouse and Tara groaned. “Oh Lord, it looks like they’re playing Loves Me, Loves Me Not with your daisies.”

  Glancing at Tara’s total on the computer screen, Glenna glanced at Harry, probably gauging his patience, and apparently decided that she could afford to write the destruction of the daisies off. “Don’t worry about it. A dozen daisies won’t break me.”