Key to Love

by Judy Ann Davis

  “Why, you—” Ted Meyer lunged toward Lucas again, but Elise’s hand flew up to flatten against Ted’s stout chest.

  “Take it easy, guys. Come on, Ted, he’s baiting you on purpose and you know it. Just like old times,” she said. “Let’s go over by your cruiser. I can only spare a second. We have a trunk full of groceries.” With teeth gritted, she threw a warning look at Lucas as they passed.

  “The guy’s bad news,” Ted said in an irritated whisper. “Watch your step, Liz. Fisher ain’t the best company to keep. Ten years hasn’t dented his hard-ass attitude. He’s still the same low life without a care in the world. You’d only be one of his many flings.”

  “I would like to believe we have all matured some, Ted. Fritz and he have always been best friends.”

  “Yeah, and I never could figure out what Fritz saw in Lucas Fisher.”

  “Maybe something we don’t.” She patted him playfully on his arm. “Hey, thanks for the advice. Tell Mary Jo, when I get a few minutes, I’ll be over. I can’t wait to see the kids, and she can fill me in on the fundraisers.”

  “Sure, sure,” he said, throwing a final irritated glance Lucas’s way. “Tell your Dad I said hello.” He hefted his thick frame into the cruiser and pulled out onto the highway, gravel spraying beneath his wheels.

  Elise sauntered back to the car.

  “I thought I told you to stay put!” Hands planted on his lean hips, Lucas all but shouted the words at her.

  “And be a witness to your murder? I don’t think so, hot shot.”

  “You never listen to anything anyone tells you, do you? You are hell-bent on handling everything your own way. Your bullheaded German mettle just won’t back down, will it?”

  “Oh, yeah, right, and don’t tell me your docile Irish temperament wasn’t sending Meyer’s blood pressure soaring.” She glared at him and straightened her shoulders. If he wanted a face-off, she was in the mood to go a few rounds.

  “Why didn’t you just proposition him right on the spot? Cripes, from the look on his face, he would have flung his over-stuffed body right on top of yours, right here in the weeds. You look real good, Lizzie. Reeeeeal good.”

  “Hah! I suppose implying his wife was one of your high school bimbos was your convoluted way of getting us off the hook?”

  “Your jeans are too damned tight.”

  “So are yours, buster!”

  “Do you use always use that sultry, soft-spoken stuff on every male who stumbles across your path?”

  “Not after this. I’m going to give the Lucas Fisher Mr. Know-It-All attitude a shot instead.” She scowled and didn’t try to disguise her annoyance. “Maybe we can get a decent meal. Behind bars. Maybe they would even serve me chocolate to keep me calm.”

  “Have you no shame?”

  “Have you no brains?”

  Livid, he said, “I could have handled this, Liz. I don’t need to hide behind a woman. Any woman!”

  Liz felt her face flood to the same matching color, but she willed herself to stay calm. “No, you don’t. Meyer was itching to knock you alongside the head and leave you lying on the pavement for the next car to run you over. You know he was.” She turned, staring down the road, and drew in a ragged breath, her voice softening. “I don’t need more trouble. Not now, Fisher. I have my hands full already. Raising bail money wasn’t in the job description when I agreed to help you.”

  She glanced at him sideways and their gaze met and held. She saw angry heat flicker in his gray eyes and then slowly fade.

  “Get in,” he said gruffly, yanking on his door handle.

  She rounded the car and slid in, welcoming the comfort and security of the wrap-around leather. She sighed and stared at her hands. “I’m sorry, Lucas, I just became unnerved when I thought someone might get hurt and you might be that someone.”

  She waited for him to respond. When he said nothing, she glanced up. In the next instant his face loomed over her as his mouth come crashing down. What should have been an angry assault exploded into a brutal tangling of teeth and tongues. He went crazy, kissing her so deeply and thoroughly her head reeled and her heart jumped clear up to her throat. She found herself responding with the same shameless passion. It ended all too quickly. But before he pulled away, she heard him hiss against her ear. “Don’t let it happen again.”

  He settled himself behind the wheel.

  Wordlessly, she nodded, feeling dazed. She drew in a breath to calm her jangled nerves. When she opened her mouth to speak again, he held up a hand.

  “Don’t analyze this, Liz, like you do everything else. Good God, did you ever consider psychiatry as an alternate occupation? Just go with the flow.”

  She fell silent and touched her swollen lips. Whatever anger had been driving him had now dissipated. “I was just going to say the ice cream in the trunk is undoubtedly now a milkshake.”

  He snickered. “Well, we’ve got beer, we’ve got milkshakes. Guess that just about wraps up dinner for tonight.”

  ****

  There was nothing more beautiful in Lucas Fisher’s eyes than a shiny new car, washed and gleaming in mirror-like colors, ready for an owner to take control. When he pulled into the Springer farm, both the new silver Corvette convertible and a shiny burgundy Tahoe were parked in the driveway. They shimmered under the fading light of the afternoon sun. He pulled up behind them and cut the engine.

  “Oh, Lucas, have you lost your mind?” Elise vaulted from the passenger’s side. “These must be right off the line.”

  “Almost,” he said grinning and steered her toward the Corvette. He opened the door and lifted the floor mat where he retrieved two sets of keys. The fresh scent of new carpet, plastic and leather spilled out. “Get in,” he coaxed.

  “I can’t drive this,” she said, breathlessly, slipping into the black leather bucket seat. “What if I wreck it?” Her fingers trembled as she caressed the buttons on the front panel. It was loaded—CD player, OnStar, satellite radio, and its own GPS system. “No, I can’t. I just want something...less audacious.”

  “Audacious?”

  “Okay, ostentatious then.”

  He rubbed his forehead. “Good grief, Corvettes are supposed to be flashy.”

  “Lucas, this is a mobile magnet for speeding tickets. Don’t you have something I can lease? Something older, less expensive?”

  “No, the lease cars aren’t ready yet.”

  She took one more longing look and slid out, stepping toward the Trans Am, waiting for him to open the trunk. “Even a sports utility vehicle would be more practical.”

  “I don’t want you to drive just anything.” He sighed and unlocked the trunk, reaching for a grocery bag.

  “Why not?”

  Because you’re exquisite and you deserve only the best, he wanted to say. She was going to be difficult. No, stubborn. Downright predictably stubborn. “Listen, Liz, I’m trying to start up a leasing business and restoration and specialty garage here. Corvettes are the caviar of my banquet table, so to speak.”

  “Then get me an old one.” She started toward the house with an armload of bags.

  With two bags in each arm, he stalked up the walk behind her. “For the love of God, don’t say old. There’s no such thing as old Corvettes. Antique or vintage, maybe, but cripes, never old. Listen, look at it as advertising.”

  “Advertising?” She whirled to stare at him and walked backwards.

  “Marketing. Advertising. Call it what you want. I have to get the word out I’m in the leasing business. Hell, the two mechanics I hired are driving something off the floor, too. How do you suppose you get started? People see your cars on the road, parked at a curb or in a lot, and take notice of the dealer’s name on the license plate holder or a sticker.” He watched the wheels begin to grind in her head.

  “There’s no dealer’s name on it.”

  “Jeez, Liz, what are you? An undercover cop for Chevy? I’m not pasting any stickers on such a fine piece of machinery. It only needs a license
plate holder with my business name. They aren’t in yet.”

  “I guess I can give it a try.” She pulled the door open and held it with her elbow, allowing him to catch it behind her. “If I don’t like it, will you promise me I can have something else? When Todd comes, I really need an SUV with a backseat so I can haul him, his car seat, and his toys and things.”

  He grinned at the back of her head. “What do you think the Tahoe is for? And, yeah, I can get you something else, but I’ll guarantee you’ll fall in love with the Vette.”

  Inside the kitchen, they set about unpacking the bags. The answering machine blinked with only one message, a plea from Chuck Sanders to call him day or night. Lucas reset the machine and found himself begrudging Winston and Sanders for intruding on her time at home and their precious time together.

  “Does the guy ever function on his own?” he asked, pulling canned goods from a bag.

  “The only reason I’m here is because Chuck is doing my work there. I’ll give him a call later.” She began to unload a bag of cereal boxes.

  He moved beside her and pulled out a box of Frosted Flakes. “Care to give me a rundown on the nutritional value of this?”

  She swiped it from his grip and pressed it to her chest. “It’s very nutritious.”

  “Yeah, I’ll bet.”

  “It’s for Todd when he visits,” she said.

  He didn’t believe her for a minute. Ever since he could remember, Tony the Tiger had been a regular around the Springer household. He didn’t need to guess who was Tony’s biggest fan.

  He grabbed another bag and attacked the refrigerator. “The new computer is wired and we now have Internet,” he told her, jamming vegetables into the refrigerator bin. “I gave Bryan the spare key and had him set it up when he dropped off the vehicles. You can take a look at it while I mow. We can have a late dinner. I’ll throw some steaks on the grill and then we’ll take your car for a whirl.” He straightened and moved to where she stood on tiptoe struggling to reach the upper shelf, took the boxes from her outstretched hands and slid them easily onto it.

  The smile she gave him was heart-stopping. “You really mean it?”

  “Of course I mean it.” It was the truth. He had seen her sketchpads all over the house. Some had rough drawings on them, others were more refined. Sometimes he recognized a window, doorway or roof. Sometimes a whole facade or layout of a building. It seemed no matter how she tried, she couldn’t resist the urge to create. “You haven’t touched your computer since you arrived. I figure by now you’re having withdrawal symptoms. I should have known it would be from electronics and not chocolate.” He grinned.

  “Oh, Lucas, thank you. I’ll load my software on yours and see how it performs. I was hoping to do some computer-generated drawings.” She gave him a quick hug. Her face glowed with excitement. Slowly she lifted her hand and traced the sharp outline of his jaw. “What am I going to do with you?” she whispered and touched a feather light kiss to his lips.

  It was more than he could bear. Before she could even try to step away, he swept her up in his arms and felt himself losing control. His body burned with a tight, hot sensation. Urging her closer, his lips tasted hers more hungrily.

  Behind them, the phone rang. Once, twice.

  Lucas felt her stiffen. “Don’t,” he said through a whispered groan, his arms still wrapped around her. “Please, pleeeease, let the answering machine get it.”

  Through three more rings he nipped at her lower lip and planted kisses over her face. They heard the machine click on and blurt out its quick message, then the caller respond in a soft feminine voice:

  “Lucas, darling, it’s Monique. I know you must be there, so just pick up the damn phone.”

  Elise’s eyes flew open. Her hands fell away from his chest and she stepped away.

  The message droned on. “I’ve left seventeen messages on your machine in Atlanta and finally had to shake your phone number and whereabouts out of one of your pathetic little mechanics down at the dealership. Honey, I miss you so-ooo much. You’re not still mad at me, are you? Listen, I have a few weeks off between shoots. How about we get together just like old times? Give me a call and I’ll catch the next flight out to Atlanta or Scranton. You know my number, lover boy.”

  The answering machine shut off with a soft click.

  Elise stared at him. “Monique? Lover boy?”

  “Listen, Liz, this is really a long story. It’s over but I guess she just doesn’t get my message.” He saw disgust or maybe pain cross her face for a brief second. He cursed silently and reached for her, but she backed away, putting distance between them.

  “Lizzie,” he pleaded. “I can explain.”

  She drew herself upright. “Yes, I imagine you can,” she agreed and headed for the stairs, not waiting for the explanation.

  Chapter Twelve

  Elise sat at the kitchen table and jotted notes in the margins of the list of care nurses from Home Health. It was a miserable Saturday morning, even though the sun climbed over the rooftops of the barns in sparkling rays and the robins called merrily to each other as they searched the yard for a tasty breakfast.

  Upstairs Fritz and Lucas were making a gallant effort to wallpaper Thomas’s old room without killing each other. At various intervals, Elise could hear a series of curses filter down the staircase. Things had become so hot, she had sent Todd outside to play with Bess. Through the open window, she could see him throwing the Dalmatian a tennis ball. The boy and dog had become inseparable pals.

  Yesterday evening, she had tried several times to call Chuck Sanders, only to get his answering machine. She finally convinced herself the impending crisis had passed. She had a fleeting touch of remorse she had not been available to help handle it.

  Now, as she sat in the kitchen waiting for the third person recommended by Home Health to arrive, she was discouraged. In the last hour, she had interviewed two licensed practical nurses on the list. The first had been an elderly lady with the temperament and disposition of Rambo, and she had made no effort to hide it. The other, a blonde reeking of White Diamonds, had arrived looking like she was interviewing for a modeling position with Vogue Magazine. Both of them were clearly not a match for someone as down to earth as her father.

  She glanced at her list again. Cindy Peters. Registered nurse. Has a difficult time relating to people, it merely said. Elise sighed. Just the endearing words to make the morning a total wash.

  To make matters worse, she had avoided Lucas since they parted after the telephone message from Monique. He had mowed for over two hours until darkness fell. During that time, she had toyed with the computer, worked at her old drawing board in her room, and sketched out a possible renovation for the showroom in the restoration facility before she crawled into bed, forgoing dinner. She had been too exhausted to even care about eating and too weary to think about a confrontation with him. She had no desire to compete with a flashy, jet-set model. Lucas Fisher, good-looking and wealthy, could have his choice of beautiful, desirable women. She needed to keep her life in perspective, she told herself. At the end of next week she would be returning to San Francisco, where a career with Winston and Sanders was waiting.

  She wondered whether he had come to the same conclusion. He had left early, skipping breakfast and leaving a note that said he was stopping at the garage and the hospital and picking up Todd afterwards. With some free time on her hands, she decided to drive to the cottage and look around. She needed to get a feel for the place, although she was sure she would take every step possible to ensure its complete restoration, right down to repainting the kitchen cupboards. She had also brought three boxes of Mike’s personal books and papers to the farm and stored them in her room. Even though Lucas was adamant there had been no clues as to the whereabouts of a will or the money, she couldn’t quite bring herself to believe a smart cop would not have made preparations, especially with a young son to care for.

  The low growl of a motorcycle sent her curiously m
oving toward the front door. Up the drive, a bike and rider made their way to the entrance and stopped. A small figure jumped off, struggling to muscle the Harley upright and set the kickstand.

  The rider was a girl, Elise realized, as soon as she saw the tiny heart-shaped face emerge from under the bright red helmet with a blaze of gold across its side. Dressed in jeans and leather boots, the girl had blonde hair scraped back from her face and tied in a ponytail. She flung her leather jacket over the seat of the bike and eagerly took the steps two at time.

  “Can I help you?” Elise moved to the screen door.

  “I’m Cindy Peters,” she said, shyly.

  Elise’s jaw dropped.

  “I’m here to interview for the job as a nurse.” When the young woman saw her look of astonishment, she whirled and batted her hand at the bike. “It’s my brother’s. I lent my car to him to take my mother to the hospital for some blood tests.”

  Recovering, Elise stepped out onto the wide front porch and gestured to a set of dark green lawn chairs. “Let’s just sit outside. The sun is so gloriously warm.”

  With a nod, the girl took a seat across from her. “I know I’m not dressed for an interview,” she admitted frankly, her face blushing, “but I had no choice, and Home Health said the position would be on a farm.”

  It didn’t take more than a quick glance to realize the young woman was definitely not what Elise had pictured in her mind as a nurse for her father. She had wanted someone older and more robust, someone who could easily help muscle her father around if need be. Cindy Peters looked barely over twenty-one and a hundred pounds soaking wet.

  “You seem so young,” Elise said at a loss for words.

  “I’m twenty-five,” she admitted, then added, “I have my RN, and I’m willing to do anything extra you might need around the house. I can dust and vacuum.”

  Elise felt her forehead crease in a frown. “Are you aware your recommendations are far from stellar?”