Working on a Full House

by Alyssa Kress

  "Love is irrelevant," he now pronounced. "She likes me and..." He lifted a shoulder. "I like her."

  Yes, he liked her. He'd admit it. She'd tell a story about a patient she'd seen that day. He'd relate an anecdote about whatever game he'd been at the night before. They'd comment and laugh. Talk.

  It was...relaxing. Deliciously relaxing. He had to use the strictest discipline to keep it down to only one phone call per day.

  Roy lowered his brows. "Talking about love is — silly. We ought to live together because it's the right thing to do. For the baby."

  "For the baby," Kenny repeated, and gave Roy an odd look.

  "That's right." Roy took one more gander at the big room, although he'd been sure from the front door that he hated the place. He was going to have to set the realtor straight about his goals here.

  "This is all about the baby," Roy said, turning back to Kenny. "That boy is going to have a home. A real one."

  Kenny's odd expression did not change. "Boy?"

  "Or girl. Come on. Let's get out of here." Roy felt restless suddenly. Maybe looking for a house wasn't the most urgent thing on his list, after all. Maybe one or two other details had to get taken care of first.

  Still wearing the odd expression, Kenny shook his head. "A real home," he muttered. "Whatever that means."

  Roy led the way out, wishing like hell he knew exactly what it meant, himself. All he knew was that he was determined to have such a thing. With Valerie.

  For the baby.

  ~~~

  "Oh, I can't. Not tonight," Valerie apologized.

  Cherise gave her a penetrating regard as they stood in the hallway by the nurse's chart rack. "You can't go out to dinner with me tonight. You couldn't go out for drinks last night. You don't seem to have any evenings available these days."

  Valerie's heart began to beat heavily — and guiltily — in her chest. "Well..."

  "Is there something you're not telling me?" Cherise lifted her elegant eyebrows.

  Valerie's mouth opened. Was there anything she wasn't telling Cherise? Well, let's see... She was nine weeks along in a pregnancy, and oh yeah, she'd gotten married to a Las Vegas gambler. And tonight, and last night, and for many nights before that she'd been engaging in a very strange, but definitely pleasurable, long-distance telephone relationship.

  "No," Valerie finally told Cherise, and brought forth a bright smile. "Not a thing." Or at least, not a thing I'm ready to talk about. Still smiling, she took a step back. She really had to leave if she wanted to be home in time for Roy's phone call. It came every night at 6:30. "I'll see you tomorrow."

  "Yes," Cherise agreed, but her expression said she was determined to get to the bottom of it.

  Valerie wished her luck. As she waved goodbye and clutched her light jacket against the cool April evening outside, she had to wonder, herself, what was at the bottom of it all.

  She'd married Roy as a purely legal formality. They were supposed to be leading separate lives. And they were...mostly. But then there were these phone calls — these warm, pleasant phone calls.

  Never had Valerie expected to have so much to say to Roy Beaujovais. She was actually getting to know him. They were kind of turning into friends.

  Valerie reached her car in the parking lot adjacent to the medical building and slipped inside. As she turned the key in the ignition, she assured herself that friendship was all she was seeing here. Of course it was. For one thing, 'friend' was pretty much how every man in her life ended up describing her. Even Peter had asked to retain that status when he'd dumped her. And for another, Roy was there, Valerie was here. It was physically impossible for this relationship to go further than friends.

  So Valerie was safe, safe from her tendency to delude herself a man might be in love with her when he wasn't. Perfectly so.

  ~~~

  He was there, she was here. The physical distance between them was the first obstacle that had to be crushed. Hence, on the first Tuesday in April, three-and-a-half weeks after his wedding, Roy sat in the gleaming five-year-old Cadillac he'd just bought, parked across the street from Valley Pediatric.

  Chewing his lower lip, he wondered if showing up at Valerie's place of business was, after all, what ought to happen next in this crazy relationship.

  "So that's where she works?" Kenny, sitting in the passenger seat, leaned forward to peer past Roy and across the street at the tan brick building.

  Roy's uncertainty about the wisdom of showing up in Palmwood had spurred him to invite Kenny along. Kenny ought to keep him from doing something stupid.

  "It's the address on the business card she gave me." Roy chewed his lip harder. The urge to get out of the car and go into the building was strong.

  Kenny remained leaned forward, studying the building. "Why don't you go in and see her?"

  Roy snarled. "I thought you were here to help me put on the brakes."

  "Did you?" Kenny shifted to grin at him. "But I thought you wanted to 'move this forward.' Don't see any hope of doing that unless you step on the gas."

  Was he right? Roy gazed out the window again. Undoubtedly something had to happen. But just walking into her office, surprising her, without having asked her in advance if she'd like to see him...?

  It would be a wild gamble. Terrible odds.

  Roy ground his teeth. Admittedly, the odds of her agreeing to see him if he asked ahead of time were just as dreadful.

  What to do? What to do?

  At that moment Valerie, herself, walked out the heavy glass door of the building. Dressed in black slacks and a gray raincoat, she wore a preoccupied expression and was moving fast.

  Roy's heart took a flying leap. His muscles bunched. Now, now. Go after her now! It was the primitive call of a predator on spotting his prey. But a call almost as primitive kept Roy in his seat, terrified. What if she didn't want to see him?

  Thankfully, Kenny didn't say a word. They both watched in silence as Valerie disappeared among the parked cars in the lot to one side of the building.

  "She's in one hell of a hurry," Kenny finally remarked.

  Roy glanced down at his watch. The hands on his Rolex pointed to 6:15, a fact which gave him a warm glow inside. "I usually call her at 6:30," he explained.

  "Hmm." Kenny hefted a foot onto the dashboard. "Maybe you ought to ring her doorbell tonight, instead of calling."

  Roy made a rude sound, but felt the urge to do just as Kenny suggested. "You are no help at all."

  Kenny chuckled. "I think I'm helping a lot. Whoa." His gaze fixed on something outside the window. "Will you take a look at that?"

  "What?" Automatically, Roy looked toward the tan brick building again. A tall African-American woman strode with regal leisure down the same walkway where Valerie had rushed a few moments before.

  "Holy Jack of Diamonds," Kenny whispered. "I'm in love."

  "Oh, don't be hasty or anything."

  Kenny shot a glance toward Roy. "Do you have any idea who she is?"

  Should he ring Valerie's doorbell? Roy's gut twisted in ten different directions. Absently, he watched the tall woman continue past the parked cars down the sidewalk. "I'm guessing that's Valerie's best friend, Cherise. She's a nurse practitioner at the clinic."

  "A nurse practitioner, huh?" Kenny smiled wolfishly. "Sounds sexy."

  Roy grunted. "From what I've heard, she's a real ball-buster."

  "Really?" Kenny sounded more enamored than ever. He was practically drooling on Roy's redone seats.

  "It's 6:17," Roy muttered. Should he go ring Valerie's doorbell?

  "I'm outta here."

  "What?" Roy blinked in alarm as Kenny clicked open his car door. "Where are you going?"

  "To meet that female." Kenny was out of the car now, grinning broadly and staring like a golden retriever in the direction the tall woman had headed.

  "What? No way. You're supposed to be my brakes." Roy leaned toward the open car door. Dammit. With the urge to do something stupid riding higher than ever, Ro
y needed Kenny to stick close.

  "Be your own brakes." Kenny was unrepentant. "Better yet, be your own gas pedal." The next instant he was gone, the car door slammed behind him.

  Damn it! Roy should have known. Kenny was about as reliable as a Bellagio slot machine. He watched his friend saunter across the busy street, miraculously avoiding collision with rush-hour automobiles.

  Be your own gas pedal. Sitting in the car, Roy chewed his lip again. Would that ruin everything? Or was Kenny right, and putting on the gas was the only way to move this thing forward?

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  In a private snit, Cherise walked down Brand Avenue. A light breeze ruffled the leaves of the street trees, and was just cool enough to make Cherise tie the belt of her knee-length sweater. Inwardly, she grumbled. Valerie was wimping out on her...again. Cherise couldn't fathom how the girl could be stepping out with Mr. Yummy when she was here and he was there, but maybe they were IM-ing each other or something.

  In any case, Cherise was on her own for dinner, again.

  Determined not to let the fact depress her, Cherise decided against driving straight home. She needed a tube of cadmium yellow and another of vermilion, both of which she could get at the art supply store down the street from Valley Pediatric. Maybe she'd do some painting tonight. She had to admit she was in that kind of a mood.

  A dangerous one.

  "Wait! Hey, wait up there." The voice was male, hearty, and unfamiliar. It was also laughing.

  Frowning, Cherise turned around. A tall man with a thatch of shaggy blond hair was hurrying down the sidewalk toward her. Wearing a sweater vest, plaid pants, and saddle shoes, he was smiling as if he knew her, which he most certainly did not.

  She was so surprised, Cherise actually waited for him to catch up. Was he selling home loans? Fuller brushes? He had a salesman look about him: unflappable amiability.

  "Oh, thank goodness," he said as he came up to her. "You move like a cheetah. I wasn't sure I could catch up."

  "And you needed to catch up...why?" Cherise made her smile cool.

  He grinned, quite warmly, back. "I couldn't let my future wife get away from me, now, could I?"

  She raised her eyebrows. So, not a salesman, strictly speaking. It had been a long time — a very long time — since a man had dared to hit on her, but she hadn't forgotten any of the moves.

  "I don't think I caught the name?" Icicles dripped off her voice.

  He continued grinning, warm, unfazed — to all appearances delighted. "Kenny," he answered. "Kenny Doubletree."

  "If you will excuse me, Mr. Doubletree, I am about to walk out of your life." With a cool, cutting smile, Cherise turned around and continued down the sidewalk. This...creature was not going to stop her from going to the art supply store.

  "Oh, no. No, no, no." He was laughing. Laughing! Not only that, but he didn't miss a step keeping up with her long-legged stride. "I came on too strong there, didn't I? Just because I happen to know you're the love of my life doesn't mean you agree. Nah, of course not. Right now I'm a bug on your windshield. But don't get out the Windex yet, darling. I'm not as annoying as I first appear. Really. Besides, I'd die if you didn't even give me a chance. Oh, man, those cheekbones."

  Despite herself, Cherise's flattened lips twitched.

  "Okay, maybe not die," Kenny Doubletree admitted, "but at least succumb to some terrible disease, my immune system shattered by disappointment." He grinned.

  His good humor was so profound, Cherise almost found herself grinning back.

  Alarmed by the impulse, she retrieved her North Pole expression and continued on her way, doing her best to pretend the man wasn't there...that he wasn't keeping up. Easily.

  Yes, she tried to pretend that she didn't notice he was tall. Very tall. Though she was wearing her heels today, he rose several inches above her.

  Hardly any of the men Cherise dated could match her height, even when she was in her stocking feet.

  Meanwhile, he was talking, yes, the mouth constantly going.

  "I'm sure I've spent my entire life looking for you," the man chattered. Affably. Completely unthreatening. "And to think, I find you here, in Palmwood, where I never even planned to be, myself. Ever. And when I'm currently unmarried. The luck of it. Astonishing odds!"

  Cherise had to struggle not to slant him a glance. Exactly how often was he married that the odds against it today were astounding?

  They'd crossed Wesley and were approaching the art supply store. It occurred to Cherise she probably shouldn't let this persistent stranger see where she hung out. But she frankly found him more obnoxious than menacing. Really, could a girl be frightened of a man who wore plaid chinos and saddle shoes?

  "And you're quiet," the Kenny man went on. "You have incredible self-control. Why, I'll bet we could walk this way for...a whole mile and you wouldn't deign to say a word to me. What discipline!"

  Cherise spared him an ice chip regard before turning into Norman's Art Supply store. It was possible she ruined the effect by letting one corner of her mouth twitch. He was giving her a whole mile, huh?

  "See? See, there? That's exactly what I mean." He paused to point at her, then rushed to catch the store's door before it slammed between them.

  Reminding herself she was there to get paint tubes, Cherise looked about, trying to recall where to find them in the store that was bristling with colored pencils, art books, and drafting supplies.

  "Wow," Kenny said, gazing about himself. "This is some — Say, are you an artist? Oh, man." He sounded beside himself. "So you're gorgeous, obviously intelligent — since you won't say a word to me — and artistic." He clutched both hands to his chest. "If I hadn't been sure before, I'd know now. I am in love."

  He was so completely over-the-top, and somehow self-deprecating at the same time. Cherise had to admit he did make her want to laugh. Meanwhile she wished she could remember where the damn oil paint was. She picked an aisle and went down it. Triangles and T-squares of varying sizes told her this was not the right place, but she continued anyway.

  Kenny, of course, followed right after her. She wondered what it would take to get rid of him. Then, feeling his height, sensing his warmth — his life — she wondered just how seriously she wanted to get rid of him. He was amusing.

  Not to mention, she didn't happen to be in a hurry to get anywhere tonight.

  She reached the end of the T-square aisle, turned and went up the pastel and colored pencil aisle.

  "I want you to know I do appreciate you haven't called the police," Kenny told her, conversationally. "That could turn into a mess, especially with my — Hey, lookit this! Glitter pastels. Now, they look cool."

  "If you're eight years old." The words popped out of Cherise, stunning her, but they didn't appear to surprise Kenny at all.

  "Too playful for the likes of you?" He put back the pastels and shot her a smile of arresting familiarity. "You're into, what, like, oils?"

  She whirled to return his look. How had he known? With a sharply drawn breath, she turned forward again, and stalked to the end of the aisle. Around the corner, she paused before the selection of colored paint tubes. Her heart was pounding.

  So, he'd guessed she painted in oil. That wasn't so amazing. Lucky, that was all. Easy luck at that. She'd given him a mighty broad hint.

  But why had she spoken to him? Responded?

  "Ah, so this is what we're after." His voice was a broad, easy tenor. He picked up a can of paint thinner. "Landscapes? Portraits? Abstract?" A pair of neon blue eyes turned to take her measure. "No, a mixture of all three," he decided. "You wouldn't be disciplined when it came to your art. That's when you let it all out, isn't it? Throw the rules away."

  Cherise stared at him, feeling like she'd been pinned to a wall. How had he known? How had he known?

  His smile changed subtly, becoming reassuring. "That's how it is, between soul mates," he told her. "We just know."

  Cherise snorted. Secretly, she was thankful he'd broken the s
pell with his absurdity. He was guessing, that was all. Being a regular pick-up artist, he'd obviously trained himself to be a very good guesser. She snatched a tube each of cadmium yellow and vermilion, then randomly snapped up a burnt sienna. Clutching them, she whirled to continue down the aisle. Dammit, she needed some new brushes, too. And if she was trembling a bit, well, that was just...leftover surprise. Unimportant.

  He followed. "Oh, all right, it's not a soul mate thing." He spoke as if he knew how he'd shaken her, and now wanted to set her back at ease. "It's my job, you might say, to read people. Figure 'em out."

  When he paused, Cherise couldn't help asking, "You're a psychiatrist?"

  He laughed.

  Cherise came to a stop before the cups displaying brushes and he stopped next to her.

  "I play poker," he said.

  She froze. He played poker?

  While the outside of her remained frozen, her blood rushed hotly inside. Of course. Oh, of course! The charm, the dazzling good looks.

  The utter duplicity.

  This was Mr. Yummy. Valerie's boyfriend. Who played poker.

  An arrow of intense, and utterly ridiculous, disappointment darted through her. The man standing next to her, the charmingly obnoxious, good-looking, tall man was Mr. Yummy, who'd over a one-night stand in Las Vegas weaseled the true heart of Cherise's best, and too-innocent, friend.

  She'd almost started to like him, or at least to enjoy his attention — and he was that sleaze-ball, Mr. Yummy. Who was even more sleaze-ball, apparently, than either Valerie or Cherise had guessed.

  With a harshly disciplined display of cool, Cherise ran a finger over the tips of the art brushes. So, the scum thought he could pick up other women while he kept Valerie hanging on a string, answering his IM-ing. Cherise picked out a number four round brush, put it back, and reached for a number six flat instead. Should she send him on his way, tail between his legs? Or freeze him with a poisoned barb or two?

  Or...lead him on. Find a way to make him pay. Yes, Cherise felt like teaching the crumb a lesson. She felt like saving her friend from certain heartbreak. And maybe she even felt like punishing herself for having enjoyed his company the tiniest little bit.