by Donna Ball
"Good morning. This is Casey Carmichael. How would you like to go on a picnic today?"
The moment he spoke his name her heart started speeding wakefulness through her veins and she struggled to a half-sitting position, pushing her hair out of her eyes. "Casey? What? What are you doing calling this time of day?"
"I just invited you on a picnic. You weren't still asleep were you?"
"No," she lied. She sat up straighter, smoothing down the covers and straightening the shoulders of her nightgown. "No, of course not. It's just that I wasn't expecting to hear from you."
Then she was annoyed with herself. Lots of people were still asleep at seven forty-five in the morning. No one with any manners called before eight, anyway; what was she feeling defensive about?
"I told you I'd call," he reminded her. "So how about it?"
Picnic, her fuzzy brain reminded her. He'd just invited her on a picnic, and before she'd even had her breakfast. She was quite certain she couldn't deal with this. She wasn't even sure she wanted to go out with him at all, and she simply wasn't capable of making that kind of decision before she'd had her coffee.
She said, "Um... no, I can't. I have cats and fish to feed."
"What time?"
“Well.. .two times. Nine and five. But that's not the point—"
"No problem. I'll pick you up at eleven and we'll be back in plenty of time for the second shift."
"But—"
"And listen, do you mind packing lunch? I don't have anything in the house but peanut butter."
"What? But you—"
"Thanks. I'll bring the wine. I'll see you at eleven."
"—invited me!" Lyn sputtered into a dead phone. He had hung up.
She spent almost a full minute staring at the receiver in her hand, and by the time she replaced it none too gently in its cradle she was fuming. Whoever heard of inviting a woman on a picnic and then telling her to bring lunch? She hadn't even told him she would go. She didn't even want to go. And wouldn't he be surprised when he got here at eleven o'clock and found out she wasn't even home?
She wasn't accustomed to being this upset this early in the morning, and the rise in blood pressure gave her a slight headache. She couldn't go back to sleep now, and that was another thing she had to thank Casey Carmichael for. She hadn't been up before eight-thirty of her own free will since she'd come here.
She took a cup of coffee to the pool patio and alternately seethed and brooded until it was time to leave to feed the cats. Who did he think he was, anyway? Obviously, he was a man used to giving orders—but to dogs, not people. He had a thing or two to learn about human relations, that was certain. Unfortunately Lyn had neither the energy nor the inclination to be the one to teach him.
But when the cats were fed and the beagle was walked, Lyn found herself standing in front of the open refrigerator wondering if Pat had anything on hand suitable for making a picnic lunch. It wasn't that she was the type of woman who enjoyed being bossed around by presumptuous, overbearing men; she was merely anticipating how delightful it would be to watch Casey Carmichael’s face as he bit into a sandwich composed entirely of jalapeno peppers.
The day had brightened into the relentless perfection Lyn had come to expect of Florida. The sky was flat and blue, decorated with a few wispy clouds high in the atmosphere. The breeze was balmy. The temperature was in the high seventies. It was a perfect day for a picnic and she had known since the moment she had picked up the phone and heard his voice that she was going to go. Casey Carmichael not only made it impossible to say no; he made it impossible to want to say no. And a man like that, irritating as he could be, was worth getting to know a little better.
Without debating the matter another minute, Lyn hurried to her room to change her clothes. After all, he had hardly seen her at her best last night, and when he arrived this morning he would be in for more than one surprise.
************
Casey pulled into her driveway in a mud-splattered Jeep at ten minutes before eleven. Lyn met him on the front steps, picnic basket in hand. When he reached her, she thrust the basket into his hands.
"Peanut butter," she said, unsmiling. "That's all I had in the house."
A slow abashed grin spread over his face as he looked from her to the basket. "I guess it was a little thoughtless of me to ask you to fix lunch, wasn't it?"
"It certainly was," Lyn agreed, although he did score points for admitting his mistake as soon as it was pointed out to him.
"I guess I could have offered to pick something up on the way."
"There's a thought."
The little-boy grin would have annoyed her if it were worn by someone else, but on him it looked perfectly sincere, utterly natural. "Sorry," he said. "I guess social skills aren't high on my list of priorities. I should practice more. I did bring the wine, though, and peanut butter happens to be one of my favorite foods."
She allowed him to coax a grudging smile from her. "Well," she admitted, "I did throw in a few apples and some cheese, so we won't starve. Where are we going?"
"Rainbow Lake." He placed a light, companionable hand on her shoulder as he gestured her down the steps. "It's not far from here, and there's a nice little park around it. Not many people go there," he added practically, "so it's a good place to exercise the dogs."
As they reached the Jeep, Lyn saw the two collies securely seat belted in the back seat, and she couldn't help wondering if she were an afterthought to the dogs' playtime. But the slight prickle of disappointment she felt was immediately wiped away as he helped her into the Jeep.
"You look pretty," he said.
She was wearing a violet tank top and lavender print boxer shorts, with a loose-fitting white cotton shirt to protect her shoulders from the sun. She had drawn her hair up into a curly ponytail topped with a sun visor, and had even added a touch of blush to her normally colorless cheeks. His eyes traced the way the tank top hugged her breasts and her waist, and lingered on the line of her legs as she swung them into the vehicle, and Lyn felt a tingle of gratification. How long had it been since a man looked at her like that? Then again, how often had she had a chance to wear shorts or go on picnics in Philadelphia? She was glad she had accepted his invitation ... even if she had been an afterthought.
Her eyes twinkled as she replied, "Thank you. You look different too—with your clothes on."
He laughed and went around to the other side of the Jeep storing the picnic basket in the back on his way. He was dressed very respectably today in jeans, sneakers, and a polo shirt; the soft fabric of the jeans hugged his thighs and the pale peach color of the shirt made his skin look golden. He seemed to grow more attractive every time Lyn saw him.
He grasped the steering wheel and pulled himself onto the driver's seat, his eyes still glinting as he commented, "You know what they say. If you want to get to know a person, take off his clothes and lock him in a closet."
Lyn choked back a bubble of laughter. "Is that what they say?"
"Sure. A naked man has a tendency to be very sincere."
"Ha! I know a lot of loved-and-left women who'd disagree with that."
He darted a glance at her as he backed out of the driveway. "Not you, I hope."
She shrugged uncomfortably and adjusted her visor to shade her eyes. "I never had time to be loved or left. Besides, I think this conversation is getting too personal."
"I didn't think we had any secrets."
"I think you take a lot for granted."
"Another one of my faults," he replied, changing gears. "It's a waste of time to leave these things to chance. Fasten your seat belt."
Lyn glanced at him, wondering if she would ever figure him out. One moment he was brash and overbearing, the next charming and likable. One moment he made her laugh, the next she wondered why she had ever agreed to this outing. He was definitely a challenge, and the last thing she needed at this point in her life was a challenge.
***********
Rainbow Park was a c
harming expanse of deep green grass lavishly planted in flower beds and dotted with cypress trees. A mirror-like lake stretched across the middle of the park, and only three of the dozens of shadowy outdoor tables were occupied. Casey let the dogs out, and reached back inside for a blanket and the picnic basket. “Let’s go down to the lake,” he suggested. “It’s cooler there and plenty of room for the dogs to play.”
The two collies sat expectantly by his side, watching him unpack the car. Lynn smiled as she took the blanket and the basket from him. “Sounds fine.”
He turned back to the car and removed two butterfly nets and a small screened cage. Lynn stared the new equipment. “What’s that for?”
"I have to have a couple of dozen butterflies for a shoot tomorrow," he explained . "This is a good place for them, so I thought we could gather them up after lunch."
Lyn said carefully, "You asked me out here to catch butterflies with you?"
"No," he replied reasonably. "I asked you out here because I like you, and wanted to get to know you better. But I didn't see any reason why we couldn't get a little work done in the meantime."
Lyn released a long slow breath. "You," she said, "are the most controlling, manipulative person I have ever met." And then, surprising herself, she added, "I think I admire that in a man."
He grinned and draped his arm around her shoulders as they moved toward the lake. "That's good. Because I think it's too late for me to change now."
"I didn't say there wasn't room for improvement," she pointed out, but her tone was not as severe as it could have been.
It was hard to be stern about anything with the sun dancing in her eyes and the warm circle of his arm tingling through her shoulders, flushing her skin. He had an easy, natural touch, unlike the awkwardness of some men, which made intimacy seem forced. Perhaps it was his confidence that made being near him a soothing experience; the same single-minded certainty that Lyn sometimes found so irritating was also the thing that made his presence so comfortable. She always knew where she stood with him.
He spread the blanket in the sun a few feet from the lake and they settled down with the picnic basket between them, gazing out over the water. The collies ran and jumped along the shoreline, occasionally venturing into the water but always staying in sight of their master. Lyn smiled as she watched them play.
"How did you get into animal training?" she asked.
Casey glanced at her. He was lounging back on one elbow, the material of his shirt pulled taut across his chest. Sunlight played in his eyes and highlighted the planes of his face as he smiled. "That's a long, boring story. I'd rather talk about you."
"I doubt that," Lyn replied. "I've never met a man yet who didn't prefer talking about himself to anything else under the sun."
He chuckled. "Funny. I was just going to say the same thing about the women I've known. Maybe it depends on who you're with. I can tell you about me anytime, but you're a mystery. And I'm interested."
Lyn lifted her shoulders in what she hoped was a light gesture. "There's nothing mysterious about me. I've led a dull, ordinary life. You're the one with a cougar in your bathroom."
Casey plucked a long stem of grass and lifted it to her face, drawing the feathery tip of it down the curve of her cheek until she looked at him. The gesture was playful, but the sensation was not. His eyes were as rich as the colors of springtime, as deep and promising. Lyn felt her throat tighten, just with looking at him, and the gentle stroking caress of the blade of grass against her cheek caused a prickling sensation in her breasts.
She turned her face away from his touch, and after a moment he tossed the blade of grass away.
"Actually," he said in a conversational tone, "it's not such a boring story at that. My folks died when I was a kid, and I was raised by my grandmother. She was a good soul, but a little old for a rambunctious teenager. The only thing she ever asked of me was that I finish high school, and she made damn sure I did that. The day after graduation, though, I was out of there. I ran away and joined the circus."
And a week after that, his grandmother had died. The news hadn't reached him until almost a month later. And because he was still just a kid, he had not realized how much he loved her, how much he needed her, until she was gone. He had never forgiven himself for that. He had never forgiven himself for not being with her when she died, and had never stopped wondering whether it was his actions that had brought on her final heart attack.
Casey's face was in shadow, and Lyn did not see the flicker of sober memory that crossed his eyes. He made certain she didn't hear anything in his voice.
She gave a startled laugh. "Are you serious? You're making that up! People don't really run away to join the circus."
Casey relaxed, smoothing out his features. "This one did. I signed on as an apprentice to the animal handler, which sounded like a real glamour job. What it meant was mucking out stalls and cleaning up after the elephants twelve hours a day. If I worked fast, though, I could usually get a chance to watch the handler go through his routine, and I guess I learned a few things— that I didn't want to clean up after elephants for the rest of my life, for one. I left the circus after a year and worked my way through college showing dogs—and if you think that wasn't a hassle, trying to work in classes around the dog show circuit. Fortunately," he added modestly, "I was pretty smart, so I got a couple of scholarships, too. I ended up with a degree in behavioral psychology and a breeding pair of cocker spaniels, and the rest, as they say, is history."
Lyn laughed softly. "You call that a dull story?"
He grinned. "I left out the sexy parts."
"I guess you did. What does a psychology degree have to do with doing cat food commercials?"
"More than you'd guess. It allows me to be my own boss, for one thing, and do something I like. And because animals are generally less neurotic than people, I can keep a pretty healthy psyche myself."
"Because you're always in control."
Their eyes met, and held. His gaze was steady and unashamed, not a warning, merely an honest statement of fact as he answered, "Right."
Lyn looked away, knowing before he spoke what he was going to say. "Now your turn. Tell me about yourself."
"Like what?"
"Like why you left Philadelphia, what you like for breakfast, whether or not you're married..."
She laughed, answering only the last question. "Not married. Never even came close." But it seemed like a fair question so she glanced at him. "What about you?"
He shook his head. And then for some reason he felt compelled to add, "I was engaged once. We shared a little apartment off-campus for over a year. She was killed in a car accident three weeks before the wedding."
Casey had not blamed her, or the drunk driver who proceeded down a dark one-way street without his headlights on. He had blamed himself... for not being behind the wheel, for the minor argument they had had that sent her out into the night alone. For caring too much, for loving too intensely. Because it had become clear that the pattern of love was loss, and he had learned to control what he could and let the rest pass him by. It was not an easy way to live, but it was the only way he knew how.
Lyn murmured, "I'm sorry." And the silence that followed was pained and uncomfortable. What was it about her that compelled him to tell the absolute truth, sharing too much, revealing more than she had a right to know, opening himself far too easily? He had to be careful around her, he realized. She was more dangerous than she knew.
He turned the focus back to Lyn, where it should have been in the first place. "Why did you leave your job in Philadelphia?"
She drew up her knees and encircled them with her arms, directing her attention to the lake. He had told her things in the past few minutes that could not have been easy for him, and it only seemed fair that she reciprocate the intimacy. But maybe he was stronger than she was, more accustomed to dealing with painful memories. She wasn't ready to be that open yet.
She answered, as truthfully as sh
e could, "I don't know. I grew up I guess. I got into social work thinking I could change the world, but I found out nothing anybody can do makes a difference. Too many bad guys, too few good guys. I got tired of wasting my time."
Casey knew that feeling. All too well. "So you just gave up."
She tensed. "I got smart."
His easy tone surprised her as he replied, "Nothing wrong with that, I suppose. So are you going to stay in Florida now?"
She looked at him, grateful once again for his refusal to pry, and then she remembered he was a psychologist. He knew when to push and when to back away, and his timing was impeccable. She would definitely have to watch her step around him from now on.
She smiled in secret amusement at how easily he had almost manipulated her again, and answered, “I’m not sure yet. It’s tempting though. There’s something about this place that makes you feel like you’re on vacation all the time. Like it’s just too much effort to worry about anything, or do anything important. I like that.”
“The Tahiti syndrome,” Casey replied negligently. “It’ll wear off after you’re been here awhile.”
“I hope not.”
“ Did anyone ever tell you you have fantastic legs?”
A startled little surge of pleasure prickled color in her cheeks. “Did anyone ever tell you,” she responded, “That you’re outrageous?”
“Constantly.” He grinned and caught her hand, pulling her to her feet. “Let’s go catch butterflies.”
For the next hour they crept through the jungle of bougainvillea and hibiscus, stalking their prey. The first time Lyn snared a butterfly she squealed so loudly with excitement that she frightened the dogs into frantic barking, and no further specimens were to be found on that side of the lake. It was hot , sometimes frustrating work, but Lyn could not remember having had so much fun since she was a child. In many ways, being with Casey was like being a child again; he made laughter easy and worry hard, and nothing seemed very important except the moment.