“I beg your pardon?”
Really? She didn’t see the distinction between men and women? They were made differently for a reason. One to nurture, the other to think on a higher level. Both were needed, but it was important that the roles not be confused. Not be tainted by societal impulses.
In fact, he supposed in a few years, they wouldn’t even be needed for nurturing. No need to take a chance on the feminization of males. He was seeing too much of that nowadays as it was. No son of his would ever wear makeup or jewelry. If he ever had another son, he would be a god. A perfect specimen of the human race. Blond, blue-eyed, muscular. Brilliant!
“You know what I’m talking about. Enter estrogen, enter feelings. Tears. Women aren’t exactly creatures of reason and logic.” Was he the only one left in America who understood this? He clipped the end of her nose as if she were a dainty doll that needed reminding.
She swatted his hand away. “So women aren’t capable of reason and logic? What is wrong with you?”
“There you have it. I make a comment and you go postal on me. You are merely proving my point, my dear. Women are ruled by their emotions.”
He reached for the bottle of wine and poured a glass.
When he turned back to Tessa, her hands straddled her hips and her gaze snapped, speaking volumes about the kind of evening they were going to have. Or not have. Just like he’d said. Feelings … emotions. And hers were obviously hurt.
“So you find females pretty much worthless.”
“Men couldn’t survive without the fairest sex. And speaking of sex…” He reached for her arms, pinned them to her sides, but she wriggled free.
“Oh, don’t even. Take me home.”
Erik downed the wine in one gulp and grabbed his keys.
CHAPTER 44
YESTERDAY HAD BEEN A day of twists and turns. After Ed left, Rochelle had cried herself to sleep. No noises would have awakened her—she slept the sleep of the dead.
After all the nonsense between them, would she ever hear from him again? She’d spent the last couple months pushing him away one minute and crying on his shoulder the next. No wonder he was confused. She was confused.
And then today. She still agonized over the mess she’d made on the show.
The caller had hit once, twice. The third time was the charm. “And so you’ve decided homeschooling is preferable to public schools without any rational evidence. Just a handful of fanatics.”
“Well, homeschooling has grown by three-hundred thousand students since 2007. In 2010, that meant two million students or four percent of the school population.”
The caller audibly sniffed an attitude of defiance. “And where, pray tell, do you get those figures?”
“The US Department of Education.”
“I don’t know if I believe that.”
Rochelle scribbled a couple notes. “You can go to our site and look under my name for all studies and stats and where to find them.”
“But, let’s say you’re right. The kids don’t get good socialization.”
“Actually, recent studies have shown that most students have better socialization because of their interaction with students of all ages instead of merely their own.”
The caller snorted and chuckled. “Foolishness. I can tell you. These kids don’t have a clue, and it affects them the rest of their lives.”
“Kendra, students who go on to college, and more homeschoolers do than others, graduate in higher numbers with higher GPAs, as well.”
“See? You’re just pulling figures out of the air. Good thing your little brother and parents didn’t live to see what a nut you turned out to be.” She continued with some choice expletives that Donna brought to an abrupt end when she dumped the call.
This was happening more often of late. How could people dig into her personal life and say such cruel things? She had to sort out her growing anger before she made mistakes. Damaging mistakes that could cost her the job.
Rochelle shook her head, did her best to forget that hateful caller. No time tonight for second-guessing. She had little time remaining to look presentable.
A glance in the mirror told her this benefit was too important to dwell on scenarios she couldn’t control. The gown from the boutique fit perfectly. And Cinderella was ready for the fundraiser. She flipped a curl from her eyes and stared. Not bad considering how red her eyes had been this morning.
The second she stepped from the bedroom, her phone rang. Donna and John couldn’t pick her up as planned. Cody was sick. Could she catch a cab? Well, of course. Her ride should be the last thing on their minds. But would she be able to get one this late? If she couldn’t, she’d have to drive, and that meant stopping to gas the car. Not in this outfit.
The cab company assured her they would deliver her in plenty of time. She brushed lint from her wrap as she waited in the living room. Where had all the cat hair come from? Her visit to Jeannie Galloway’s for a luncheon at Christmas time where a gorgeous white Persian had pawed and kneaded it, making her coat its own.
A rap at the door.
In a matter of minutes, she handed the cabbie fifty dollars and stared at the church. Might as well have been a red carpet in front with all the paparazzi and chaos. Rochelle stepped from the cab. The bottom of her gown whirled around her legs in a soft swirl of elegance.
New Hope Church overflowed with more flowers than guests—urns, crystal vases, and ornamental sprays of white roses and snapdragons peeked from every available space in the enormous hall. Rochelle hadn’t seen so much glam since the auto show. No one would even realize this was a church function if not for the name outside.
Fountains of punch and tables laden with sweet and savory finger foods edged the perimeter of the room. Lillian’s Catering supplied most of the goodies, and Rochelle’s mouth watered, imagining one of their signature double-chocolate desserts on the tip of her tongue.
A number of team players and their wives or girlfriends had come with autographed articles for the silent auction. Footballs, baseballs, hockey sticks. All soon to become mantle trophies for folks with more money than they knew what to do with.
So be it. The money was for a good cause. Due to the celebrity presence, Passion for Life Counseling Center’s Gala was treated as a black tie affair each winter. Money enough poured in to support the center for more than half the year. Sometimes longer.
Jeannie and Brett Galloway pointed at her and smiled from across the room. Another man, shoulders stretching the tux he wore, had his back to her, but he appeared to be nudging Brett. With those massive shoulders, he had to be another of the players.
Without wasting a minute, she floated across the floor on dainty silver heels that made her feel like a modern-day Cinderella. She laughed as Brett tugged at the collar of his shirt, way too small for his oversized neck.
“Have you seen the station manager?” Rochelle asked.
“Nope. But I saw Ed’s dad. Looked like he ate a pickle.” His face reddened as Jeannie frowned. He addressed his friend. “Sorry, man. But he did.”
The well-filled tux twisted from the punch fountain and nodded.
#
Rochelle shrank inside her dress.
“S’okay. He does. A certified kosher dill. I’m tired of making apologies for the man.” Ed eyed Rochelle head to toe, and she straightened.
Her gaze lifted to meet his. “Ed?”
“Brother Ed to my following.”
“Enough, please.” She turned to her left and waved at one of the employees of the center.
But Ed leaned in and whispered in her ear, “Truce for tonight? This isn’t about us.”
“Fine. I couldn’t agree more.” When she turned, she raised her brow enough to say she didn’t care one way or the other. It certainly seemed like circumstances were always about them lately. Hard not to be thinking of him the way he looked tonight.
“I have to admit, you clean up nice.”
“And you.” He winked, but she did her
best to ignore it.
“I really didn’t expect you to be here.”
He frowned. “Why not? Think I’m too stingy to donate?”
“I didn’t say that.” Here they went again. She chuckled. “I didn’t mean that at all.”
“Well, I looked too good to sit at home and figured why not check out the church.”
She bit back a dozen more retorts. “I’ll be sure you get home before daylight.” Then they both laughed.
His eyes twinkled, his mouth cocked to the side, and he posed casually against the fountain as Brett inclined his head toward the desserts. Ed shrugged his shoulders and clipped the end of her nose. “See you around, gorgeous.”
The men hiked over to the mini cannolis and éclairs dusted with powdered sugar and drizzled chocolate ganache. Rochelle nearly swallowed her pride and followed him. But she hauled Jeannie to one side. “I didn’t realize he was coming. This is really awkward.”
Jeannie touched fingers to her arm. “He means well. Wow. Look at all the celebs. I didn’t realize so many of the Detroit team members supported this fundraiser. More conservative athletes than I imagined in Hockeytown.”
Rochelle nodded, and her gaze circled around the room. “And plenty who aren’t but still have good hearts for this charity. You just never know.”
“Hey—” Jeannie pointed. “Does that woman know you? The editor of GlitznGossip, right? She’s really giving you the once over.”
Rochelle gulped, unsure how to respond as Candice Blakely crossed the floor. “We’ve known each other forever. I’m pretty sure ours was more of a school rivalry.”
“Well, look who we have here,” Candice said, edging toward them. “Lots of testosterone in the room, ladies.” Hundreds of carats of diamonds—probably paste, and silk draped her tall, perfectly sculpted body.
The voice grated Rochelle’s nerves more than usual. She had known Candice since high school, but the woman always meant trouble—in every respect. Rochelle had been on the receiving end enough times to understand how the game was played. “I didn’t realize you supported the center, Candice.” And whether she did or not wouldn’t matter to the articles she’d bleed out of this event.
“Wherever there’s news and handsome men, you’re gonna find me.” She adjusted one of her bracelets as she squinted; in one sweep, her gaze swept the room. “Ooh, lookit there. That Brett Galloway’s got a cute—”
“Wife, who’s standing right here.” After nearly choking on the words, Rochelle turned to introduce Jeannie whose eyes sparkled with mischief.
Not one easily offended, Jeannie held out her hand.
Candice only gave her a nod, raised a brow, and headed for one of the men near the front.
Jeannie grabbed Rochelle’s arm and burst out laughing. “Oh, my. What a piece of work.”
Rochelle was no one’s fool. She and Jeannie scooted across the floor. She wanted her friend to run interference if Candice decided to check out Brett’s assets.
Rochelle smiled when she heard Ed’s voice.
“Whatever you do, Brett, don’t turn around.” Might as well tell someone passing an accident on the highway not to look.
Brett immediately did an about-face. “What, man? Oh, Candice Blakely.”
“Say, Brett, introduce me to your friend here.” Candice offered a hand with long, red nails and rings adorning every finger. “My, my. It’s Eddie McGrath. And in a tux with no buh-lood.” She fingered the front of his vest and let her hand linger over his chest. For too long.
Rochelle wanted to slap her down.
Ed stepped back. “My friends call me Eddie.”
“Let’s rectify my not being your friend. Candice Blakely. Nice to finally meet you.”
“I have nothing that would interest you.” He started to do a one-eighty, but she put a hand on his arm and stared up at him in a way that made Rochelle stand a little taller, as if she might do bodily harm. Jeannie pulled her away.
“I don’t know about that. You have plenty that’s interesting, McGrath.”
His lip curled. “If you’ll excuse me.”
He grabbed Rochelle’s hand and drew her across the room to look at the items for the auction. But over her shoulder, Rochelle watched as Candice narrowed her eyes. A look Rochelle had seen many times in high school—a look that said Candice knew how to get even. And would.
The evening continued with more food, more surprises, and more of Ed next to her. Anything but a brother.
Rochelle had offered to help with the auction and, by the end of the night, had managed to squeeze every last dollar out of the bidders. Good old-fashioned guilt. Worked every time.
Happily exhausted, she snapped open her cell to call the cab back.
“You don’t have to wait for a cab. I’ll drive you home.”
She looked into his eyes, reading what? Her glance slid to the floor. These confusing feelings were tearing her apart. After an amazing evening of raising a bit over one million dollars, enough to keep the center afloat, she slid into her wrap and ignored the arm presented to her. She hated taxis, but tonight, she had no choice.
“I’m serious. Let’s get out of here. You shouldn’t have to wait outside.”
He stared, daring her to say no. All she could mumble was, “You don’t need to—”
“Rochelle. Let’s not do this. I can take you home.” He steered her into the lobby and out toward the door. “I want to take you home.”
A security guard manned the exit. He wore military shades, which brought to mind a joke about guys who wore sunglasses inside. She smiled when he opened the door.
“Safe trip home, miss.”
“Thank you, and thanks for the hard work so this affair could run so smoothly. Say, don’t I know you?”
“Don’t think so.”
“I rarely forget a voice. Part of my job talking to people.” She swallowed hard. Except for the other day when she hadn’t recognized Lindy’s voice.
He tipped a small salute and shook his head.
When she and Ed arrived at her house, they took their time covering the walkway to the front door.
“I appreciate the ride. You didn’t have to.”
“I did have to. You need someone looking out for you right now, and I’m your guy.”
This simply couldn’t go on day after day. “I don’t need protecting. You can safely say good-bye and mean it. I so appreciate all you’ve done, but I also know you expect to get on with your life. And I totally understand. Good-bye, Ed.”
CHAPTER 45
TWO DAYS LATER, AFTER wallowing in self-pity, Rochelle arrived at Metro Airport for her flight to northern Michigan. The early hour provided a perfect backdrop to rush through security. She welcomed anonymity. Get out of Dodge and ride off into the sunset. Far away from Ed.
In spite of the early hour, folks pushed and jostled, implying their flights were more important than anyone else.
She looked forward to the opportunity to clear her head and strengthen her faith. When Ed stood next to her, her thoughts jumbled, leaving her susceptible to his charm. Maybe this retreat would be a great step in the right direction. Push her toward independence once again.
The arrival and departure board flashed a delay. An hour. A groan eased through her lips. She took her time going through security and stopped at a kiosk where she could purchase a magazine. Hidden behind Time and Newsweek, GlitznGossip peeked at her. News from Hockeytown fresh off the presses. What had Candice dug up now?
No need to look far, one of the inserts on the cover glared. Ed with his arm around Rochelle at the fundraiser.
McGrath’s new squeeze.
When had she looked up at him like that? A sigh ripped through her. I’m no one’s squeeze.
Rochelle avoided eye contact with everyone and arrived at the gate in plenty of time. Stashing her carry-on under the metal legs while she waited near the door, she settled back in the hard chair. Her fingers picked at the edges as she opened the magazine. Hockeytown—hammere
d from every possible direction. She couldn’t help herself. She soaked in each page.
As the attendant announced her flight, her cell phone chirped.
“Nice cover, Princess. You looked fine the other night.”
CHAPTER 46
ERIK ENTERED THE LOBBY and found half a dozen of the mothers engrossed in searching a magazine that had Rochelle Cassidy and that hockey player on the cover.
Rustling through the pages, Brooke Kirnan jumped out of her seat and faced the other ladies. “I’m helping her while she’s out of town,” she said to Carrie Meriman. “In fact, I’m supposed to interview you for her this week.” She flipped a page. “But that hockey player raises my temperature.”
Carrie laughed and blushed as other women leaned in. “He’s fine all right.”
“Gorgeous. Check out the dimples.”
“And those baby blues. Say, did you catch page 37? They show him with his last dynamic dozen. Wonder if cover girl knows about all of them?”
Ms. Smith asked, “Where is she anyway? I don’t remember seeing her here for a couple days.”
Brooke lowered her voice. “She has classes at some college.” Her gaze locked Erik’s. “A women’s retreat, right? Didn’t she leave today?”
Erik cleared his throat. “I believe she did.”
All of them immediately stopped the gossip and offered smiles.
“Ms. Kirnan. I need to have a word with you if you have a moment.”
Passing the magazine to the woman on her right, Brooke stood, her face flushed. “Is it about my ultrasound?”
“We can talk in my office.”
“Okay, ladies, keep your fingers crossed. My husband really wants a little girl. If he’s lucky, I’ll deliver pink. Good thoughts, ladies. Lots of good thoughts my way.”
Erik offered his arm as they walked to his office. She seemed a bit unsteady when she stood.
He indicated the seat closest to his desk.
“Wow. You’ve got photos with the governor. Was his wife one of your clients?”
Photos of him posing with, not only the current governor, but the last as well, adorned the walls. One showed Governor Granger’s family including his beautiful young son, blond, blue-eyed Trevor.
Fear Is Louder Than Words: Her stalker taught her fear. Her suspicions taught her terror. Page 15