Kiss a Girl in the Rain

by Nancy Warren

  When Cleopatra jumped up and batted the paper away, she was perfectly happy to sit quietly with the purring cat curled in her lap. “We were fine before he rode into our lives, and we’ll be fine when he rides back out again,” she said aloud.

  Cleo yawned.

  He arrived a little after ten. It was strange to hear him bang on the front door. Usually she left the garage door open and he came in through the kitchen. But she hadn’t opened the garage. Maybe it was silly of her when this had only ever been a quick fling, but the idea of a last shag for the road simply didn’t work for her.

  She opened the front door. He stood there, looking gorgeous, clean shaven, wearing his best jeans.

  He was holding a tree.

  They had no script for this. Normally he’d come in the kitchen and they’d be wrapped around each other, kissing, before they’d got as far as the fridge. Now they looked at each other as though neither was sure what to do.

  “This is for you,” he said.

  Nothing about this man was ever predictable. “You got me a tree?”

  “It’s a tree rose. I thought it would be better than a bunch of roses. This will last for years.”

  “To remind me of an affair that lasted five days,” she blurted then wished she hadn’t said anything that sounded like she cared. Damn.

  He shifted his gaze to the root ball wrapped in burlap. “I guess I should leave this on the front porch. I’ll plant it before I go.”

  When he settled it against the front of the house, she saw that there was one bloom and a few buds. Of course, it was the end of the season for roses so she probably wouldn’t get many more blooms. Still, she stepped out to have a look. The roses were pinky red on the outside and yellow on the inside, some kind of hybrid, obviously, but the effect was gorgeous. Subtle. And the smell was heaven.

  “I like this so much better than cut flowers,” she said. “Thank you.”

  Then she noticed that a dark shape she’d assumed was a bush was moving her way. And panting. She blinked, automatically petting the dog who threw himself against her legs like she was the only thing standing between him and death.

  “You brought a dog and a tree on a motorcycle?”

  “No. I still have the loaner.”

  “I don’t understand. You said the part was in for your bike.”

  “Yeah. Turned out it was the wrong part. Seems Merv Junior thought Harley and Honda were the same thing. These H sounds could confuse anybody.”

  “Oh, no. So what are you going to do?”

  “Well, I’m stuck here until Monday when the new part comes in. Assuming it’s not for a Humvee.”

  He sent her a look from under his lashes, all sexy and isn’t it your lucky night I’m still in town. Okay, probably he wasn’t thinking that, exactly, she was simply feeling pissy. She’d spent all evening acknowledging that he was going. Now he wasn’t. But not because he couldn’t tear himself away from her.

  Because he was stuck in town.

  “Wow, that will really slow your progress,” she said. As though he had an agenda and had to actually be somewhere.

  “Do you think I could come in?”

  She pondered the question. If he came in the chances were, oh, about one hundred percent certain that they’d end up in bed together. And, as nice as that would admittedly be, she’d be fighting the same pressure in her chest on Friday. Or Monday. Or TuesdayWednesdayThursday -- whenever the damn part came in.

  “You know,” she said at last, “I don’t think I want my sex life to be determined by Merv’s dyslexic son.”

  He stood there, with one hand still wrapped around the tree rose. The dog, catching something in her tone, rubbed his head against her knee. “I don’t want you to think… I would never…When I met you…” And then it seemed as though he ran out of sentences to start and not finish. “I’m sorry.”

  “Hey, it’s not like I was expecting a long term relationship. But you came here tonight to say good bye.” She could not believe she was saying the words but as they came out of her mouth they sounded right. “I think it needs to be goodbye.”

  He nodded, slowly. “I think you’re a really special lady,” he said.

  “Thanks. You’re a pretty special man. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

  Then she leaned forward and kissed him one last time. He tasted so good, his lips felt so perfect and natural against hers that for a moment she weakened. What the hell? A couple more days and then they’d play out this scene. At least she’d have a few more days to enjoy him.

  But the sensible part, the part that had ruled her for far too long to be easily swayed, pulled back from that addictive mouth.

  “Goodbye, Evan.”

  “Goodbye.”

  She shut the door and pressed her lips together, maybe trying to hold onto his kiss as long as she could. Maybe to stop herself from opening the door and yelling to him to come back.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “I’d say we just got our asses summarily kicked,” Evan said to the dog as they both walked slowly back to the car. The dog shuffled behind him and kept looking back as though the world’s juiciest bone was behind that door that had just closed behind them and he was starving.

  Evan knew exactly how he felt.

  When he’d discovered his bike part was the wrong one and that he’d be in town for a few extra days his first feeling hadn’t been anger for the extra delay. No.

  What he’d felt was… when he tried to put a word to the emotion he realized that what he’d felt had been relief.

  He wasn’t ready to say good-bye to Caitlyn, not yet.

  Seemed she didn’t feel the same way about him.

  He tried to be philosophical about women. He was the first to admit he didn’t understand them most of the time. Tonight for instance. Something about the way Caitlyn had looked at him had made him feel like he’d let her down somehow. When all he’d ever been was honest.

  And he’d been so excited about seeing her tonight, and about spending a few more days here with her. Wouldn’t you think she’d be pleased that he wanted to see her every minute he could? Instead of looking down her nose at him and suggesting that Merv’s kid who didn’t know a Honda from a Harley from his ass had somehow – oh, what was the point?

  He’d never figure out women.

  Thursday Evan spent collecting Pilar’s grandfather’s will and the copy of the deed to the property her uncle had given her, that she believed was a forgery.

  Horace’s spare office was nothing like the one he’d left behind in Seattle. He didn’t have a dedicated support staff. He and Horace shared the services of Phyllis who was a trained paralegal but mostly seemed to answer the phone and keep up with all the administration in the small office.

  She helped him search the County Clerk’s records and to his dismay they found a deed dated five years earlier giving the property in question to Pilar’s uncle.

  At lunchtime, he poked his head into Horace’s office. The man was yawning over a file so he didn’t figure he was interrupting anything important. “Feel like a drive?” he asked the older man.

  “Where to?”

  “I thought I’d check out the disputed property.”

  Horace glanced at the file and, with a sigh, rose. “Sure. Be good to get out of the office.”

  “Would you have binoculars I can borrow?”

  The older man was in the middle of pulling on his sports jacket, but at Evan’s request he paused and narrowed his eyes. “You’re not planning on trespassing, are you?”

  “No. That’s why I want the binoculars.”

  He nodded. Pulled open a drawer and pulled out a powerful pair.

  “Nice. Let’s go.”

  Pilar’s grandfather’s farm was set in pretty countryside. A rutted gravel road took its meandering time to get to the farm house, doing its best to knock their teeth out.

  He heard the barking of dogs before he got to the place. A couple of old trucks sat in front of the f
arm house which Evan imagined had been a well cared for family home once, now it was in need of a paint job and the front stairs looked to be hanging on by a pair of thumb tacks.

  They drove down a lane by the side, slowly. He drove and Horace put the binoculars to his eyes.

  “What do you think,” said Evan, turning around at the end of the lane.

  “Fencing’s new. Looks like a fancy irrigation system. At least two pit bulls on the property.”

  He nodded. As they slowly drove back up the lane, they saw a man staring at them. He wore a stained checked flannel shirt and old jeans. His hair was too long. A cigarette hung out of his mouth. At his feet were two barking dogs. In his hand he held a shotgun. He didn’t point the gun or move, simply stood there and watched them all the way down the lane.

  Thank God for her patients, Caitlyn thought as she listened to hearts and lungs, as she diagnosed infections and sent one hobbling farmer to the clinic for X-rays. These people in their pain and illness needed her full attention. And that left her with less time to brood.

  Her last patient of the day was Charlotte for her thirty-seven week check up. They’d scheduled her for the end of the day so they had extra time to chat.

  Charlotte waddled in looking large and happy and Caitlyn resisted a stab of envy. Charlotte had married the man she loved and was having a baby. While Caitlyn got a drive-by love affair.

  “How are you,” she said, as she put the blood pressure cuff around her patient’s arm.

  “I don’t want to worry you,” Charlotte said, “But I think I have gestational diabetes.”

  “Uh, huh.” Blood pressure was good. “Lie back for me.”

  She helped Charlotte lie back and put her hands on that large, tight-skinned belly. The baby kicked as she checked its position. “Baby’s head is down,” she said. “That’s very good.”

  “But what if I have diabetes?”

  She took a deep breath. She was angry at Evan, taking out her emotions on a heavily pregnant hypochondriac who was also her best friend wouldn’t help anybody. “Why do you think you’ve got diabetes?”

  “Well, look at me. I’ve gained forty pounds. That’s not normal.”

  She checked the chart. “In fact, you’ve gained forty-one. And normal depends on the individual. You were a little bit underweight when you got pregnant. Your body is doing what it needs to do.”

  “I read – somewhere – that a big weight gain can signal gestational diabetes.”

  “Honey, we tested for gestational diabetes when you were twenty-four weeks pregnant. You don’t have it. The bulk of your weight is baby, placenta and water.”

  “Great. I’m going to give birth to the world’s biggest baby. I’ll be in the record books.”

  She finished her exam, discovering everything was normal, helped heave her friend up to sitting and then took Charlotte’s hand. “Listen, I’m talking to you as your friend, as well as your doctor. You’ve got to stop thinking every little thing is a catastrophe. What are you going to do when the baby’s born? Be one of those mothers who always believes the worst? That gets passed on to kids, you know. They grow up fearful. You don’t want that.”

  Charlotte’s eyes filled with sudden tears. “I’m so scared. What if something goes wrong? What if I can’t do it?” She took in a shuddery breath. “What if I’m a terrible mother?”

  “You’re going to be the best mom you know how to be. That’s all anyone can do. But try to have faith in yourself and your baby. Okay?”

  Charlotte took the tissue she handed her and wiped her eyes. “Okay.” Then she sniffed. “Maybe I need a break from all of this. All I do is wait for the baby to come and worry. And now I’m worried about you.”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah. You look like hell. Like you haven’t slept and maybe you’ve been doing a little crying too.”

  “I did laundry at three o’clock this morning,” she admitted.

  “And you call me crazy?” But Charlotte’s eyes gleamed with sympathy.

  “I found myself sleeping on Evan’s side of the bed. The man’s been here five days and I’ve given him a side of my bed. But it smelled like him. So I huddled over on his side of the bed and had a bit of a boo-hoo. Then at three I realized how stupid I was being and threw all the sheets on to wash.”

  She recalled her frenzied actions as though she were watching a scene in a movie. “I even put his towel in the wash.” And she almost hadn’t. As though one unwashed towel might bring him back.

  “Oh, honey.”

  “Now there’s no trace of him. Except the damn tree.”

  “What damn tree?”

  “The man bought me a tree rose. He said it was more permanent than a bunch of roses from the grocer’s. He left it sitting on my front porch and when I went into the house earlier to grab some lunch, I saw that it was planted.” Her vision wavered for a moment. “In exactly the place I would have chosen.”

  “You know what we need?”

  “What?”

  “A night out.”

  She wanted to curl up in the dark and watch depressing movies on TV. She did not want to go out in this town where every single person was probably gossiping about her. “I don’t want to go out.”

  “Then be a good friend and take me out. I figure when the baby comes I won’t go anywhere fun for months. And when I do I’ll be covered with milk stains and spit up. I want my last meal as a pre-mother. And I want it with you. We’re going to the Grill. My treat.”

  Panic bounced in her chest. “But Evan and I went there.”

  “Sweetie, Evan was all over this town. You need to get used to that.”

  And because she knew Charlotte was doing her best to be a good friend, and it would be a long time before she got out of the house without a baby in her arms, Caitlyn said, “Okay. A night out. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Evan spent an interesting few hours tracking down information on Pilar’s grandfather’s farm. He was able to take a break at two and meet his one and only client for a Spanish lesson, during which time he told her about the deed. She was puzzled. Said that her grandfather had fought with his brother when he was convicted of drug dealing ten years earlier. “And why would he specifically leave the farm to me in his will if it already belonged to Uncle Trini?” she asked.

  “Can I borrow your copy of your grandfather’s will?” he asked in halting Spanish.

  “Si.”

  After which he returned to the office and enjoyed a debriefing session with Horace. “We need a handwriting expert,” he said.

  Horace glanced at the will and at the copy of the deed. “You’re also going to need the original of the deed. No expert will certify that a copy is forged.”

  He blew out a breath. “And Trini Lopez will refuse to produce the original.”

  “We could sue him for it.”

  “And that will cost a lot of money and take time.”

  “Time that you don’t have,” Horace reminded him dryly.

  Evan paced. He hated seeing the sweet-faced Pilar get screwed over by a thug who, according to Horace, dealt drugs and was clearly a bad hombre.

  He stopped. “Wait a minute. Before a deed is accepted for recordation with the County Clerk, it needs to be notarized by a notary public. Right?”

  “Yes. So?”

  He grabbed the copy. Down at the bottom was the seal and signature of a notary.

  “Do you know this woman?”

  Horace studied the name. “I remember her. But I think she’s retired now.”

  He called out to Phyllis and she came into the office. When he’d explained the issue, Phyllis said, “I’ll check with the state registry of notaries.”

  It didn’t take longer than ten minutes for Phyllis to return shaking her head. “She's no longer listed. But the state has an archive.” She held out a yellow note. “Here’s the former notary’s current address.”

  He kissed Phyllis, a big smacking kiss on the cheek, ri
ght in front of her husband.

  After finishing his day’s work at Horace Freemason’s firm at the reasonable hour of five o’clock, Evan took Homely for a run, then showered, fed the dog and fought an urge to call Caitlyn that was so strong he threw his cell phone across the room.

  The dog yipped in surprise and looked at him.

  “I don’t want a Donna Reed!” Evan snapped. Then, when the dog’s ears went down, he walked over and patted the mop of curls. “No offense, but I don’t want a dog, either.”

  What he wanted, was dinner.

  There was a beer parlor that he’d stuck his head into and found the music too loud and the place dominated by pool players. He hated pool.

  Or there was the Country Grill where a man who had no woman and sported a few bruises where his manly pride used to be might belly up to the bar and enjoy a quiet drink and a burger. Watch whatever sport was currently on the TV screen tucked in an upper corner of the bar area.

  He didn’t even bother trying to leave the dog behind. He opened the door and the dog jumped up into the passenger seat as they set off.

  He parked in the lot of the Country Grill and made sure to leave the windows open for his constant canine companion. He’d stocked up on some dog chews at the pet store, so he left one of those with the dog, who took to gnawing the thing happily.

  And Evan headed into the Grill.

  He checked out the long bar, a rich dark wooden affair with half a dozen bar stools. Then he hesitated. Three of the bar stools were empty. Three were occupied. He didn’t know two of the three people at the bar, but he knew one of them. Chief Barker occupied the seat closest to the entrance. He had a nearly-full beer in front of him.

  Evan contemplated backing out the door and heading back to his room to order pizza and watch TV when Louise, the owner, saw him and in a loud voice said, “Why Evan, come on in.” She glanced behind him. “Is it just you tonight?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She hustled forward. “Do you want a table?”