Moonshine purred a protest when her fingernails hesitated in mid-scratch. “I called the hospital once to see how Garrett was doing. So what? I was concerned. Besides, it doesn't count.”
“It doesn't?”
“Of course not. It would only count if I talked to him, which I didn't.”
“I hate to be the one to point this out, but you phoned the hospital more than once.”
“Yes, well, maybe I called twice.” She shrugged vaguely.
“Twice a day,” Tom clarified, and winked when she blushed to the roots of her curly brown hair. “How's he doing?”
With her free hand, Murphy toyed with the warm ceramic handle of her coffee mug. “They released him last week.”
“Your long distance bill is eternally grateful, I'm sure.”
Tucking Moonshine under one arm, she stood and, leaning over the table, swatted her brother's lean shoulder. “That'll be enough out of you, Thomas Maxwell McKenna. I'm getting tired of being teased about—”
The shrill ring of the telephone cut her tirade short.
“Saved by the bell,” Tom quipped, and grinned at the glare his sister sent him as she deposited the cat on the floor and went to answer the phone. He resigned himself to passing the time until Murphy returned by cleaning her out of cashews.
The white plastic receiver felt cool against Murphy's palm as she picked it up. An insistent pressure against her shin told her that Moonshine hadn't had his share of attention; the big cat was rubbing against her shin, purring loudly. “Hello?”
“Murphy McKenna, please.”
“Speaking,” she answered neutrally. A saleswoman? she wondered, then instantly decided it wasn't. The feminine voice on the other end sounded too relaxed and chatty for the speaker to be heading into a pitch about insurance or long distance rates. Then again, she'd been wrong before.
“Hi, Murphy, my name is Elise Thayer,” the woman said, and Murphy felt her heart skip a beat, then throb vibrantly to life. “You don't know me, but—”
“I know of you,” Murphy inserted, then swore inwardly to hear her voice crack with a surge of excitement. “How did you get my number?”
“My brother's a cop. Getting your phone number was a cinch. Just needed to wait until Garrett fell asleep. How do you know of me…?”
“Garrett told me. He talked about his sisters while we were stuck in my car.”
“Really?” Elise Thayer laughed. “Sorry, Murphy, I'm not laughing at you. Honest. I'm just surprised. Garrett doesn't usually talk about his family with strangers. And speaking of my brother…”
Murphy's fingers flexed around the receiver. As though sensing her sudden agitation, Moonshine stopped rubbing against her shin and glanced curiously up at her. “Is Garrett all right? Is something wrong?”
“Relax, he's fine. Whoops, I probably should have said that first. Sorry again. As for something being wrong…that all depends on you.”
Murphy felt a surge of relief. It was followed swiftly by an equally strong surge of suspicion. “Me? Why?”
“I'm not exactly sure how to say this. I guess blunt would be best, huh?”
“Yes, blunt would be good.” The soles of her sneakers squeaked on the hardwood floor as Murphy turned on her heel and lowered herself into the wicker chair next to the table on which the phone sat. She had a feeling she'd want to be sitting when she heard why Elise Thayer had called. Her concentration focused on that, she barely noticed when Moonshine vaulted onto her lap.
“Garrett's on his way to Providence,” Elise said. The woman hesitated for a beat before adding, “He left about an hour ago. He should be at your place in about an hour or two.”
“What?!” If Murphy hadn't been gripping the phone so tightly, she would have dropped it. It was a good thing she'd gone with her instincts and decided to sit; her knees felt abruptly weak at the thought of seeing Garrett Thayer again.
“That's exactly the reaction I thought you'd have. It's also why I called. The girls and I—er, my sisters and I, I mean—were talking about it after he left. The four of us agreed that it would be pretty damn inconsiderate of him to just show up on your doorstep without warning.”
Murphy's mind raced. Garrett was on his way here. Now. She was torn between excitement, and being scared to death. It had been three weeks since she'd seen him, and even then he'd been in a good deal of pain the entire time they were together, which might have shaded his character. What if…?
“We told him to call first, but of course he's as stubborn as our Gramma used to be; he wouldn't listen to a word. He said he wanted to surprise you,” Elise confided with a long-suffering, sisterly sigh. “Common sense, as you've probably already guessed, doesn't run in our family. When Garrett's set his mind on something, trying to talk him out of it is like talking to a stone. You know Garrett!”
“Yes,” Murphy said, a soft smile curving over her lips as she raked her fingers through Moonshine's silky fur, “I know Garrett.”
“Anyway, that's why I called. I wanted to warn you that he's on his way. Now you can, oh, I don't know, hide out at a movie or go grocery shopping or something until he gives up like a good boy and comes home.”
Murphy laughed. “I wouldn't do that, Elise.”
“I know. Garrett told us all about you, too. Still, going to the movies is an option you should consider.”
“I'll keep it in mind…as a last resort,” Murphy said. “Thank you for warning me. I appreciate it.”
“You're welcome. It's the least I can do to thank you for saving my brother's life.”
“I didn't—”
Elise chuckled, cutting Murphy short. “Garrett said you'd say that.”
“Did he?” A wave of contentment washed warmly over Murphy. Garrett had told his family a lot about her? Now why did that thought please her ever so much? “What else did he tell you about me?”
“Oh, lots of stuff. You can ask him all about it when he gets there. Unless you take my advise about catching a matinee, which would be no more than the rat deserves for not calling you first.” In the background, Murphy heard the sound of children's voices rising to fighting pitch. “Uh-oh, that's my cue. Gotta go. Toodles!”
With a sharp click, the line went dead.
Murphy pulled the receiver away from her ear, and frowned down at it. “Toodles?” she echoed as she hung up the phone.
“Who was that?” Tom asked from the doorway separating the living room from the kitchen. “As if I didn't know. That grin is perfectly Cheshire, Murph.”
Cheshire or not, Murphy couldn't have wiped the smile off her face if she tried. And trying wasn't an option.
Garrett Thayer was on his way here.
Now!
Hugging a purring Moonshine to her chest, Murphy stood and approached her brother. They were almost on eye-level, so there was no need to stand on tip-toe to kiss his cheek.
“Tom?” she asked as, still cuddling the cat close, she stepped back and returned her brother's gaze.
“Yeeeeees?” he asked warily.
“I need a favor.”
He'd carried a handful of cashews out of the kitchen with him—he now tossed a few in his mouth. “Don't tell me, let me guess. You want me to scram. Am I right?”
Murphy nodded.
“Because the bank robber's coming over?”
She chose to ignore that crack; she was suddenly in much too good a mood to argue. “Garrett's on his way here, yes.”
“And I'd be a third wheel.”
With her free hand, Murphy patted her brother's baby-smooth cheek. “A handsome third wheel, but a third wheel all the same.” She inclined her head toward the door and smiled hopefully. “Do you mind?”
“Not if you promise to introduce me to the infamous thief extraordinaire at some point.”
“I will.” Her smile broadened, and she nodded. “Just not today, okay?”
“But you will introduce me eventually?” He eyed her skeptically, one thick, dark brow cocked. “Promise?”
“That's all well and good, Murph, but do you swear on a stack of—”
“Thomas Maxwell McKenna…”
“All right, already! I'm going!”
True to his word, Tom went. But only after kissing his sister on the forehead and warning Murphy—in aggravating detail—what to do should the “bank robber” try to “kidnap” her again.
By the time he was descending the stairs from Murphy's third floor apartment, they were both laughing.
THE LAST TIME Garrett had seen her, Murphy had been wearing a pair of jeans and an unflattering, baggy sweater. Her hair had been a wild, wind-tossed mess, and she'd had dark circles under her eyes from lack of sleep and hours of driving.
This time, she was determined to make a better impression. The question was, how much better of an impression did she want to make?
A popular rock song blared from the speakers of the stereo in her living room. Odd, but this was one of the few times in her life when loud music wasn't having a calming effect on her. Wow, must be nervous!
“What on earth am I doing?” she muttered under her breath. Nibbling her lower lip, she surveyed the mess that had, not an hour ago, been her extraordinarily tidy, albeit small, bedroom.
The tastefully decorated room now looked like a bomb had gone off in it. Clothes were strewn everywhere. Discarded shoes, pantyhose, and underwear littered the floor like scattered snowdrifts. The dressing table—which she'd bought at a flea market and stripped and refinished herself—was cluttered with a variety of makeup and perfumes; all had been unused as yet, since she wasn't sure which ones she wanted to apply, if any. Artfully applying makeup had never been her forte.
The first dress she'd tried on, a pale coral shirtdress complete with a matching fabric belt, lay in a wrinkled heap atop the wicker peacock chair tucked in the corner next to the window. A pair of olive pants and a white silk blouse were balled up on the hardwood floor beside it. From under the lacy white dust-ruffle edging the bottom of her bed, she spied the hem of a pair of black slacks, and the arm of the black and gold knit sweater Dana had given her for her birthday two months ago.
The crisp eyelet bedspread could barely be seen for all the clothes recklessly dispersed atop it. A variety of jeans, blouses, sweaters, skirts, dresses…and the only jumper Murphy owned—bought on impulse, never worn.
On top of the pile was Moonshine. The cat had picked her favorite sunshine yellow satin blouse upon which to curl up and go to sleep.
“This is ridiculous,” she grumbled, stepping in front of what she considered her prized possession; an eighteenth century cheval mirror that she'd rescued from a yard sale. Like the dresser, she'd taken pride in stripping and staining the beautiful cherrywood.
Murphy frowned at her reflection. She wore a full, black cotton skirt, the hem of which ended mid-shin, nylons, and a pair of old-fashioned black ankle boots. Her shirt was white linen, with tiny, seed-pearl buttons lining the back. The collar was high and flat, reaching half way up her neck, and the yoke was traced with delicate white lace. The sleeves were full, the pearl-buttoned cuffs long, stretching from her wrist to a few inches below her elbow. Matching bands of lace edged each cuff. In an effort to do something with her hair, she'd snatched the sides back with two tortoiseshell combs.
The effect was…
“Dowdy,” Murphy decreed, then wrinkled her nose and stuck her tongue out at her reflection. “You look dowdy. Like an old fashioned"—she snickered—"school teacher.” A pair of oversized glasses, she thought, would be a perfect compliment to this outfit. Pity she didn't own any.
No doubt about it, she was going to have to change.
That decided, she glanced over the shoulder of her reflection, and through the mirror assessed the clothes strewn haphazardly on her bed. Jeans and a sweater? Not fashionable, but comfortable. Besides, it wasn't as though Garrett had never seen her dressed that way.
She was halfway to the bed when the doorbell rang.
Even with the music blasting, she heard the faint jingle. That might have been because she'd been breathlessly waiting for it.
Moonshine, on the other hand, hadn't been. The unexpected noise had the cat on his feet and catapulting off the bed in a blink. His back claws used her favorite blue sweater for momentum; the sweater tumbled to the polished, hardwood floor.
Murphy's heartbeat hammered in her ears.
Garrett Thayer was here. And he was thirty minutes early.
Oh, God.
Murphy's Law holds true, she thought as, realizing it was too late to change her clothes now, she sighed in resignation and left the bedroom. She pulled the door to behind her; the bedroom was located in the short hallway that shot off the kitchen, and she didn't want Garrett to think she was a slob.
Her heels clicked smartly on the hardwood floor as she moved through the living room to the front door, flicking the stereo off on the way. Her fingers didn't tremble when she gripped the cold metal doorknob; Murphy knew, because she had to concentrate very hard to make it so.
Mentally, she counted to three, then twisted the knob and opened the door.
STANDING IN THE sun-lit hallway—there was an uncurtained window to his immediate left—and waiting for Murphy to answer the door, it dawned on Garrett that the churning in his gut was due entirely to nerves. Stupid, he knew, but he couldn't help it. Christ, he felt like a freshman on his first date!
The solitude of the drive to Providence had given him plenty of time to think. And plan. After much debate, he knew precisely what he would say when Murphy opened the door. He'd practiced his opening line on his own reflection in the rearview mirror until it almost sounded natural.
Under his right arm, he'd tucked a large, plain brown paper bag. In a cliche he would have laughed at a month before, his left hand was fisted around the impressively long stems of a dozen pristine white roses. They, in proper cliche fashion, were hidden behind his back.
The curve of one of the petals whisked the nape of his neck; it felt soft, almost as soft as Murphy McKenna's skin. The flowery scent enveloped him. As nice as it was, Garrett found he preferred the pure, sweet, subtle aroma of Ivory Soap.
One thought hadn't been very far from his mind these last few weeks. “Ninety-nine point forty-four percent pure", the ad for the soap touted. It was that other point fifty-six percent of Murphy that he'd sensed in her kisses, in the uninhibited way she'd allowed him to touch her…it was that point fifty-six percent that had Garrett so damn intrigued.
He grinned and pressed the doorbell again. The paper bag crinkled. What was keeping her? Maybe she wasn't home? No, she had to be. The music blaring—so loudly he could feel the beat of it rumble through the floor and the soles of his sneakers—said that someone was home. Unless, the analytical side of him argued, she'd gone out and forgotten to turn off the stereo.
Hell, it would be just his luck…
Garrett swallowed a groan. Hadn't Elise and Bree warned him Murphy might not be there when he arrived? That he should call first? They had. And, as always, he hadn't listened to a word his sisters had said. He regretted that now.
The music inside came to a stop in mid-chord.
Murphy was home.
Garrett's mouth went dry.
If he wasn't so nervous, he would have been relieved. From inside, he heard a crisp click, click of heels on wood; the sound grew louder, moving closer to the other side of the door. His fist convulsed around the rose stems, almost crushing them. A thorn bit into the center of his cool, moist palm; he barely felt it.
The time between when he heard the doorknob turn, and when the door actually swung open, seemed to take a lifetime. When the action was finally complete, Garrett found that his chest had compressed all the air in his lungs. Breathing
was something he didn't contemplate. Couldn't.
Murphy.
It had been so long since he'd seen her that, to have her standing in front of him now, he found himself devouring her with his eyes. Her hair shimmered from a recent washing, the wildness of it tamed with combs on either side, behind her ears. The soft brown spirals framed and accentuated the delicate lines of her face. The color in her cheeks was high, but Garrett was pleased to see the color hadn't been put there by makeup; her face was appealingly bare of it. Her sea-green eyes shimmered, her gaze seeming to be equally as greedy to drink in the sight of him.
Ah, but that made Garrett feel better than he had in weeks!
The smile he'd practiced in his car came naturally. He'd no more opened his mouth, intent on delivering “The Perfect Line” he'd prepared with the diligent intent of setting them both at ease, when Moonshine decided to pay Garrett a greeting of his own.
The cat scooted around Murphy, his fluffy tail rustling her full black skirt, then pounced.
Apparently, it was the feline's way of giving Garrett a welcoming hug. Pity Garrett wasn't prepared for it.
The paper bag plummeted to the floor. The flowers fell from his hands, scattering over the carpeted hall as his arms came out from behind his back. Instinct made him cross his arms protectively in front of his face.
The cat, hadn't aimed quite so high; Moonshine's big, furry body collided solidly with Garrett's stomach.
The impact made Garrett stumble back a step. The breath he'd anxiously been holding while waiting for Murphy to answer the door poured from his lungs in a strangled whoooosh.
Moonshine toppled to the floor, twisting and turning and managing to land on his feet in a way that was intrinsically feline. The cat glared at Garrett, meowed his disdain at such an unfriendly greeting, then turned and, chin and tail high, marched back into the apartment.
It was Murphy's laughter that finally caught Garrett's attention. High and melodic, thoroughly delightful, it played over him like warm drops of rain. If he'd been angry at such a poorly executed entrance, it was an emotion he couldn't sustain.
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