by Phoebe Conn
Dave raised his hands in an exaggerated gesture of innocence and began to back away. “No, ma’am. I saw your wedding ring, and I respect marriage as sacred. Can’t help but think that way living here.”
His good-natured grin was such a welcome sight, Catherine found it easy to speak the words she couldn’t form earlier. “I’m a widow, but I’m not ready to remove my wedding ring just yet.”
Dave dropped his hands, and his expression turned to one of genuine concern. “I’m real sorry to hear of your loss, Cathy, but whenever you’re ready to start going out, let me know. There are plenty of ways to have fun that don’t cost a penny, and I know I could show you a real good time.”
He winked again before walking away, and while Catherine couldn’t even imagine going out on a date, she was smiling as she left for home.
Luke went running that night. He lived in a condo near UCLA and as usual passed other joggers out burning off the day’s tensions. Sometimes he returned home tired enough to sleep, but tonight he could have run all the way to San Diego and back and not outdistanced his demons.
He stood in the shower and let the hot water beat down on his shoulders until the steam eased the soreness in his muscles, but nothing had soothed the ache in his soul since the morning he’d found Marcy dead. He could block the pain for hours at a time, then something, or some well-meaning fool, would remind him of his daughter, and the excruciating torment would begin anew.
Catherine Brooks had the most beautiful, trusting eyes, but her misplaced attempt at kindness had simply ripped a deeper tear through his heart. He didn’t doubt she missed her late husband, but whatever anguish she suffered couldn’t even begin to compare with having to live with the senseless suicide of a precious child.
There were nights when he’d done handstands atop the wall enclosing his fifth floor balcony, but it had merely been a dare to fate rather than an attempt to end his own life. Suicide would have been pointless in his case because there simply wasn’t enough of him left to kill.
After leaving the shower, he stretched out across his bed and tried to conjure up that peaceful lagoon where one day would blur into the next without a hint of sorrow or pain. He longed for that peace with a desperate hunger, but that night, his only salvation was the memory of the anguish reflected in Catherine Brooks’ haunting gaze.
Catherine didn’t sleep well, either, that night. While it was often difficult for her to summon the energy to rise in the morning, she got up early to work in the garden. By ten o’clock, she’d been to the Belefontaine Nursery and was busy replanting the flower beds in her backyard. Smoky wound his way through her arms as she packed the dirt around the colorful pansies, but she was more amused than annoyed by his antics.
When the telephone rang, she was tempted to allow her machine to answer, but at the last instant sprinted into the house and tugged off her gardening gloves to get it herself.
“Mrs. Brooks?”
Catherine instantly recognized the caller as Luke Starns. He’d made his feelings so plain the previous day, she couldn’t see any need to endure another of his sarcastic lectures and attempted to head him off.
“Dr. Starns, I doubt this is necessary, and—”
“Oh, but it is,” Luke countered, but a long, uncomfortable pause followed. “I never discuss my daughter’s death because it’s simply too painful. I remind myself people mean well, but clearly I don’t have to tell you that’s not always an effective technique.”
Surprised by his candor, Catherine relaxed her grip on the telephone. Luke was probably standing at his office window looking out over the desolate parking lot. The day was warm, and the sun would lend his hair silvery highlights, but she thought he would still be scowling. That he was actually trying to apologize amazed her, but not nearly as greatly as how easily she could picture his expression in her mind.
“Mrs. Brooks?”
“Yes, go on,” she responded.
“You’re not making this easy.”
Catherine could hear a hint of a smile in his voice and felt her own expression soften. “I’m sorry. I tend to weep whenever anyone mentions my husband, but I know men are more likely to respond with anger when someone touches a nerve.”
“I don’t recall your mentioning that you also have a degree in psychology. Did you simply neglect to list it on your application?”
His tone had deepened slightly, which Catherine wisely interpreted as a warning she’d again overstepped her bounds, or more accurately, his boundaries. “No, but life would be pointless if we didn’t pick up any valuable insights along the way.”
“I agree, but unfortunately, it’s often at too high a price. At any rate, I called to say that I hope you’ll overlook my advice to the contrary and still volunteer at Lost Angel whenever you have the time.”
The invitation was delivered in such a mechanical fashion, Catherine was tempted to tell him to get a haircut and then go straight to hell, but in the interest of harmony, she restrained herself. “Thank you. I’ll try to work it into my busy schedule.”
As she hung up, she was uncertain whether or not she would go back to Lost Angel. After all, she could simply substitute in the local high schools to gain experience, but that would require her to take the CBEST test, and she hadn’t even signed up for it yet. If she wanted to teach full-time in the fall, however, she would also need the test, and she made a mental note to pick up an application from the school board office.
On Wednesday, she visited the charity thrift shop and dropped off the clothes and shoes she and Joyce had sorted. By Thursday morning, her garden looked beautiful, and she’d run out of excuses to stay away from Lost Angel. She drove on over to Hollywood, but she was determined to avoid Luke Starns and felt certain he would do his best to avoid her.
Pam again put Catherine to work opening the mail, and when she finished, she carried the stack of new flyers over to the hall to post. She’d nearly completed the task when a slender girl in a fuzzy pink sweater and tight jeans came up to look over her shoulder. Catherine turned to smile and found the girl had the remarkable prettiness of Alice in Wonderland, with startling blue eyes and long, blonde hair.
“Hello,” Catherine greeted her. “I hope if you recognize anyone, you’ll encourage them to call home.”
The girl shrugged and slid her hands into her hip pockets. “I don’t see anyone I know.”
Like so many of the teens Catherine had seen on Friday, the girl looked painfully young. Catherine doubted she would have approached her if she hadn’t wanted to talk, but uncertain how best to initiate a conversation, she adjusted the angle of a bright pink flyer and kept quiet.
“You’re new here, aren’t you?” the girl asked without glancing Catherine’s way.
“Yes, I am.” Catherine offered her name as she posted another flyer, but she had a lengthy wait before the girl responded.
“My name’s Violet. I just come here sometimes to look at the books, but I didn’t find anything good today.”
Catherine had noticed the sagging shelves which contained the center’s paperback library. “I’ve got quite a collection of paperbacks at home,” she said. “What sort of books do you like?”
Violet shrugged again. “The ones with pretty covers.” She reached out to finger the rolled corner on a faded orange flyer that had been on display for several months. “You know, the ones where there’s a couple dancing or just staring into each other’s eyes?”
“Yes. Those are romances. I love to read them too. I’ll bring in some of mine on my next visit. Do you come here often?”
Violet began to inch away. “No. Like I said, I just come by to check out the books.”
Catherine hadn’t meant to frighten Violet away, but as she turned to smile, the girl bolted for the door. When she found Luke blocking the way, she simply turned sideways and slipped by him with a hasty wave.
Luke didn’t look pleased, but as he walked toward Catherine, she couldn’t imagine what she’d done wrong this time. Sh
e inhaled deeply and vowed to hang on to her temper, regardless of how easily Luke Starns lost his. Choosing to ignore him, she admired her neat arrangement of new flyers, which was a vast improvement over the last volunteer’s haphazard posting.
Luke stopped so close to Catherine their shoulders were nearly touching. “Thanks for putting up the flyers,” he offered in a hushed whisper. “I hope Violet didn’t give you any trouble.”
It hadn’t even occurred to Catherine that Luke could have been annoyed with Violet rather than her. Feeling very foolish, she forced a smile. “Why no. We merely exchanged a few words about books, and I offered to bring in some of mine.”
“Oh, great. Come on. I’ll walk you back to the office.” Luke grabbed the stapler off the adjacent table and gestured for Catherine to precede him.
Catherine moved toward the door with a purposeful stride, but even then she felt as though Luke were rushing her. “Is there something wrong?” she asked as they moved out into the courtyard.
Luke caught her arm and with a gentle tug pulled her to a halt while they were still out in the open. “I’m positive that during the orientation I stressed that we never make promises we can’t keep. That goes for something as simple as a few used books.”
His chambray shirt had been faded by a hundred washings, but there was nothing soft in his manner, and Catherine found it difficult to look at him. Fortunately, the stone courtyard possessed the tranquility of a cloister, leading her to believe the dull gray granite probably possessed greater warmth than Luke ever did.
“If I tell someone I’ll bring in a few used books, or a bucket of dirt, for that matter, I’ll follow through,” she insisted. “It’s a shame you’ve apparently been disappointed in your other volunteers, but I always keep my word.”
Catherine took pride in how positive she sounded, but in truth, she was deeply offended. “Violet is little more than a lovely child. Do you honestly believe that I’d disappoint her?”
Luke swore under his breath. “You mustn’t allow yourself to become attached to any of the kids, and that goes double for Violet Simms.”
He paused to make certain he had Catherine’s full attention. “Violet’s father abused her sexually while her mother pretended not to know about it. Violet left home as soon as other men began to notice her. Now she’s living with a mechanic who calls himself Ford Dolan. That son of a bitch is as bad as her father, and she comes in here more often than not with a black eye.”
“Can’t you have him arrested?” Catherine asked.
“There’s no point in it when Violet won’t swear out a complaint against him. Don’t encourage her to depend on you for books or anything else, Catherine, because she’ll surely break your heart.”
Catherine’s heart was already broken, but despite the lack of risk, she couldn’t agree. “I’m sorry to argue with you again, but I truly believe it’s imperative for these kids to know someone cares about them.”
Luke kept his voice low, but it failed to disguise his irritation. “I didn’t say I didn’t care. If I didn’t give a damn, I wouldn’t be here, but there’s an enormous difference between a professional offering effective guidance and a misguided volunteer creating more harm than good.”
Catherine didn’t understand how the man could be so incredibly dense. “I’m not trying to challenge your authority here, Dr. Starns. Do you have an objection to volunteers donating paperback books for your library?”
“No,” Luke snorted. “Of course, not.”
Catherine waited for him to realize how senseless their latest argument truly was. With his only child dead and his wife gone, she could easily understand why he’d walled up his heart, but she had no desire to emulate his chilling example.
“Are you seeing a therapist yourself?” she asked.
“That’s none of your damn business, Mrs. Brooks.”
Luke left Catherine standing in the middle of the courtyard and entered the office alone, but she wasn’t ashamed to have asked the question. He might have the professional credentials to run Lost Angel, but she considered him pathetically lacking in empathy.
The cloudless sky was the same vivid blue as Violet’s eyes, and she stood there a long moment simply to enjoy it. The frantic flight of a hummingbird drew her attention to the honeysuckle growing up the side of the granite church. Since Sam’s death, she’d learned to treasure such sweet distractions, and she took it as an omen that any kindness she showed Violet, or anyone else at Lost Angel, would bring only good results.
It wasn’t until that evening when she’d sunk down into a hot bubble bath that she recalled the slight break in Luke’s voice as he’d spoken her first name. There’d been a whisper of hurt in that instant, but if she wasn’t mistaken, there’d also been a husky hint of desire.
Shocked by the discovery, she remained in the tub until the water turned cold. By then she was so thoroughly confused, she couldn’t be certain that Luke hadn’t really been warning her against caring for him rather than the shy and troubled Violet.
Chapter Four
When Catherine awoke Friday morning, her thoughts immediately flew to Lost Angel, and just as swiftly, she was overcome by a frantic sense of alarm. It had made such perfect sense to volunteer with homeless teens and at the same time hone her teaching skills. Yet the thought of returning to the center filled her with dread.
She’d left—no, fled—yesterday without setting up a schedule. It would be a simple matter to drop by today and take care of that important detail, but she couldn’t even bring herself to pick up the telephone and call Pamela Strobble, let alone speak with the charming secretary in person.
“Coward,” she muttered under her breath. She was well aware that change could be expected to create discomfort, if not downright terror, but she could handle the shift in her life to accommodate volunteer work. What she couldn’t face, however, were the conflicting emotions Luke Starns aroused, at least not that day.
However, she did intend to honor her promise to Violet and deliver some books the following week. While she knew she was avoiding rather than facing the real problem, once up and dressed, she got busy dusting, sorting and boxing the entertaining assortment of paperback novels crowding her bookshelves. As for the hardcover volumes, she would box up all but her favorites and donate them to the annual spring book fair at the public library.
She consoled herself that it was definitely time to make way for the new, but as she placed the books in neat stacks, she kept recalling the frightened faces of the runaways who had witnessed Felix Mendoza’s murder. Luke had so easily drawn the girls into conversation that she hoped he’d used equal skill to convince them to return home before they again recklessly risked their lives.
Clearly Luke Starns was a man of many talents and moods, but as she finished packing her books, she began to wonder if, as Pamela had predicted, Beverly Snodgrass really would volunteer that afternoon in hopes Luke would join her for a drink. She didn’t want to care, even refused to consider the possibility for a while, but by the afternoon, she finally had to admit how much she truly did.
Because Catherine Brooks appeared to go out of her way to annoy him, Luke half expected her to come in on Friday. Then when she failed to arrive, he was disgusted with himself for missing her.
Beverly Snodgrass worked in the office in the late afternoon, but he was immune to her seductive smiles and offered no more than a hurried hello. He liked to wrap up the week’s work and leave his desk clean for Monday morning, but that evening he sharpened pencils and cleaned out drawers until Pam assured him Beverly had gone home.
For a grown man to hide from a woman was absurd, but when he’d taken over as the director of Lost Angel, he’d quickly learned a closed door was the most effective way to discourage a woman’s interest without giving offense.
A married couple supervised Lost Angel on the weekends when the center offered prepackaged meals, and hot showers, but no counseling or job placement services. Dave Curtis was always there to handl
e any unforeseen emergencies, but as usual, Luke had to push himself to plan for the weekend.
He often went on long, strenuous hikes with the Sierra Club. Their members included a great many beautiful women with long, tanned legs, but the rambunctious outdoorsy type simply didn’t appeal to him. He’d built houses with Habitat for Humanity, which was exhausting as well as rewarding. On other weekends, he’d driven up to Santa Barbara or down to San Diego simply for a change of scene.
He’d been numb for so long, it didn’t really matter how he spent his free time, but that Friday night as he left the office, he felt lonely and wished for a noisy crowd. It might be a good weekend to catch up on laundry and new movies, but rather than action adventure films where he could drown in explosive sound, he thought he might seek out a couple of comedies. It amused him to think how much he might actually enjoy a good laugh, and he hummed to himself as he drove away.
Saturday afternoon, Joyce Quincy again joined Catherine out on her patio. “You have everything looking so pretty. Not that it didn’t when I was here last week, but I love pansies’ sweet little faces, and they always make me smile.”
Catherine propped her feet on the adjacent chair, but she was so restless it was an effort to appear relaxed. She would have welcomed Smoky’s calming presence, but he was napping in the sun and apparently too content to move to her lap.
“Thank you, but I still need to make a planting schedule rather than let everything slide again.”
“The yard had scarcely slid into ruin,” Joyce teased. “I’m almost afraid to ask, but did you actually volunteer at Lost Angel?”
“Yes, I was there twice, in fact,” Catherine replied, but she thought better of mentioning a meeting with two eyewitnesses to murder, or the maddeningly perverse Luke Starns. “I was given paperwork to sort, which wasn’t at all exciting. Now, tell me what’s happening with you.”
Joyce shrugged, then toyed with her bangle bracelets. “Nothing spectacular, either, I’m afraid. I’ve been redecorating an attorney’s office in Encino. Unfortunately, his tastes were so conservative that I was limited to forest greens and dark leather, but he was enormously pleased with my work, and there are sure to be several nice referrals.”