“Like iPhones and stuff like that?”
“Yeah, something like that. To tell you the truth, I’m not exactly sure. It’s a lot of different things. Very complicated.”
“And very lucrative,” Caleb replied with a snort.
Lauren’s ire was aroused again. She had been babbling with too much information. “And what’s wrong with that? Jealous?”
“Hell, no. I don’t begrudge anybody the right to do the best they can for themselves. I do just fine. I’ve got my own company. I provide jobs for eleven people. I got my own home. You couldn’t pay me enough to live in New York City. I’m where I want to be. Hope he is, too.” Caleb paused and looked at her. His eyes wandered over her face, as if searching for something. “And you?”
“I am most definitely where I want to be,” she said, indignant at the question. “And anyway, it’s none of your business.” She forgot her fear of being sued. This man was annoying, with his muscles and white teeth and palpable virility.
“No need to get so prickly. What do you do? Or are you one of those kept women?” he said. Instantly, his regret showed in his face. It was obvious to Lauren that he hadn’t meant it to come out the way it did, but her temper flared anyway.
“That was rude! That was very, very rude!”
He put the compress down on the old enamel-topped table and held up both hands in a placating gesture. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean it.” His voice softened. “Please. I didn’t mean it. I misspoke. Really, what do you do?”
Lauren paused before she answered, looking into his eyes, but he seemed sincere. She regained her composure and answered him. “I’m a curator at the Thompson Museum for the Arts in New York City,” she said. “I majored in Antiquities in college.”
Caleb Cochran didn’t seem impressed. “It’s weird you don’t know what your fiancé does.”
“I know what he does.”
“Apparently not really.”
“It’s complicated business.”
“And when you get married, you’ll be part of it. Don’t married couples share everything? I know when I — ” and then he stopped, his lips closed in a thin line. Lauren thought she saw his eyes grow dark. He stood up abruptly. “You need a new valve,” he continued. “It’s an old system so I’m going to have to order the part. How long you here for?”
“Well, I wanted to leave day after tomorrow. After I get things set up with a Realtor.”
“It’ll cost you extra, but I can probably get it overnighted and put it in tomorrow.”
“I don’t care how much it costs. Just get it done!” Lauren couldn’t hide her impatience. She didn’t need to deal with a stranger’s bizarre criticisms.
He blinked at her, his face expressionless. Then he walked across the room and stood by the old screen door. “You’re used to being in charge, and you’re kind of rude yourself. How about ‘Thanks, Caleb. That would be nice.’ Something for the effort.”
She stared at him, his hips set forward in a self-confident way, his arms folded across his chest. His body language was blocking her out. He had put up defenses.
“Whether or not I like being in charge is insignificant. I am in charge,” she said defiantly. “And I like where I am.”
“And where are you?”
“Not stuck in some East Podunk town smelling of fuel oil and soot!”
She knew it was a vicious thing to say, but right now she didn’t care. How dare he come in here, flexing his muscles, preying on her sympathies with his burn and his sparkling eyes, drawing her into personal conversation! Lauren waited for his comeback, but Caleb cocked his eyebrows at her, and gave the slightest wry smile. Then he turned on his heel and left. The screen door slammed behind him.
“And don’t let it hit you in the ass on the way out!” she muttered. Although, she had to admit, it was a pretty nice-looking ass.
Lauren watched his white pick-up truck as it disappeared down the dirt road toward town. She was alone in the old house.
Before she could think further about Caleb, her iPhone rang. She glanced at the screen. Charles!
“Darling,” he said. His voice was deep. “How’s everything going up there in the wilderness?”
“Oh, Charles! I just got here, and it’s frustrating already. I got up to the house. It’s a mess, and on top of it all, there’s no hot water.”
“No hot water? Well, call a plumber.”
Lauren made an exasperated sound. If only he knew! “I did call a plumber, Charles,” she said somewhat sarcastically. “He came and burned himself on the furnace. It was a fiasco! And I still have no hot water. He won’t have the part until tomorrow.”
“Burned? I hope he’s not the litigious kind. We don’t need a lawsuit.”
“I can handle it. I don’t think he’s the type, anyway. And I still have to go into town, find a Realtor, and do all the paperwork.” Leave it to Charles, she thought, to think of litigation first. Suddenly, she felt very alone. Although she was not the cloying kind, she heard herself saying, “Charles, do you miss me?”
He laughed. “You’ve only been gone a day!” he exclaimed. “However, I do miss you, darling. The place is positively desolate without you.”
“I miss you, too,” she said. “I just want to get this place fixed and listed and get back to the city.”
“Will you have to stay another night?”
“Probably one more night. There’s more paperwork to fill out tomorrow.”
“You said the place was a mess. Do you think it will interfere with the sale?”
She looked around her. “Well, it just looks like it’s been vacant for a long time. You know, just kind of grimy. Things need cleaning and tightening. The lawn needs mowing. I’ll hire someone to come and at least get that done. That’s probably what my parents would suggest. It’s hard to get a straight answer out of them. If I call them to ask their opinion, they’ll just laugh and say, ‘Do what you think is right, honey.’”
“Just get it taken care of. Don’t bother your parents with it. They’ll take two weeks to make up their minds. And it’s your house, legally. You can just let them know when the house sells.”
“You’re right, Charles. They’re such…such hippies!” It was true. It seemed to Lauren that her parents had never progressed beyond the mid-1970s. They had been nomads most of her childhood, moving to different parts of the country as the whim or the weather suited them with what seemed to Lauren very little consideration for her sense of security or comfort. Once, they had actually lived in a tepee. She recalled them always running off to different protests, leaving her behind to stay with her grandmother. They lived outside San Francisco now, in a tiny house powered by a windmill and solar panels. Maybe that’s why she loved the city. The stability of the huge buildings. Her steady, prestigious job. The orderly grandeur of Charles’s penthouse. And Charles himself, ambitious and powerful.
“Listen, Lauren,” Charles was speaking again, “I’m not sure I’ll be home when you get here. I may have to go to Singapore tomorrow.”
Lauren’s heart sank. “Oh, Charles, no! You just got back from London the day before I left for here. You’ll forget what I look like! When are we going to get some time together?”
She heard his patronizing laughter through the phone. “How could I forget what you look like? Those big blue eyes! That glorious hair! That tight little body! I’m an old man, Lauren, and just looking at you makes me feel young!”
“Nonsense, Charles,” she scoffed. “You’re not old at all.”
“There’s twenty-five years between us. And two previous marriages of mine.”
“Yes, yes, you tell me that all the time. And you know what? I don’t care!” It was true. The age difference between them had never bothered Lauren. To Lauren, he represented security like she had never known, growing up as she had with her shabbily dressed, unkempt hippy parents. She loved nothing better than to be seen on Charles’s arm at various events around the city. She had worked for this. Sh
e had attained her goals.
“Go buy yourself some new shoes,” he continued. “Some Jimmy Choos. Whatever you like. And when I get home, we’ll go to Nassau for a break together.”
“I’d rather just stay home with you, alone together,” Lauren said quietly.
“Then that’s what we’ll do,” he answered indulgently. “Just think, soon you will be Mrs. Charles Reynolds Hobart III. And I will be a lucky man. I love you, darling. Sleep well. I’ve got some phone calls to make. I’ll call you tomorrow to let you know the flight numbers and where I’ll be staying in Singapore.”
“I love you, too,” Lauren said, dejectedly. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Bye.”
She clicked off the phone and wandered back into the kitchen. She reached in the refrigerator for a bottle of water. It wasn’t quite dark yet, but there was no TV and nothing to do. She took her bottle of water and slowly climbed the back stairs to the little bedroom under the eaves. The door was open. She went in, turned on the quaint little lamp on the bedside table and opened the window.
This was the room where Lauren had slept as a child, years ago, every time she and her parents visited her grandmother. It was a small room, but it was decorated sweetly with flowery wallpaper and white painted furniture, with an eastern facing window that allowed the sun to pour in every morning.
The bed was unmade. Lauren had brought pillows, sheets, and a duvet with her. Cautiously, she drew back the old bedspread, hoping she wouldn’t uncover a nest of mice, but the mattress was dry and clean. The room was airing out nicely. As she worked making up the bed with the clean linens, the fresh country smells came through the open window, aromas that Lauren had nearly forgotten, like grass and the seductive smell of the riotous rose bushes that bordered the old neglected flower garden. She leaned out the window. It was a pretty view, down the valley. She could see the lights from the center of the small town, blinking on, one by one, as the dusk deepened and the evening fell. The world was washed in the most romantic shades of blue. The quiet of the night enveloped her as she stood watching the first stars begin to prick pinholes in the night sky. Lauren sighed. It had been so long since she had been somewhere where she could see the stars. Almost reluctantly, she drew herself back inside and stepped back from the window. She undressed, slipped into her pajamas, and climbed into bed.
Lying there in the deepening twilight, Lauren was restless. She felt vaguely upset, unsettled, even a little irritated. She felt like something had happened, or was about to happen, and she didn’t know what it was. She tried to read the paperback mystery she had brought with her, but it didn’t hold her interest. She stared at the ceiling, listening to the frogs in the pond at the bottom of the meadow, until she finally fell into a fitful sleep.
She was walking through a long tunnel. It was very dark. She knew she was looking for the light at the end, but it kept elusively evading her. The path was narrow, and she felt as though the sides of the tunnel were closing in on her. She walked on, her heart pounding. Finally, she could make out a light in the distance. She started to run for it, but it grew dark again, and the tunnel more narrow. She called out but could not understand her own words.
Suddenly, a man appeared before her. She could see the strong shape of his body. He held out his hand. “Take it!” he commanded.
“I can’t,” she said, recoiling from him, back, back into the tunnel.
“Take it!” he said again. He frightened her, but the tunnel frightened her more. This time, she took the hand. It was warm and drew her in close.
Now she could see. The man was naked. He leaned forward, kissing her. She could feel the pressure of his lips. Her head swam with a sensation, a thrill, as the kissing continued. She reached out to reciprocate his touch. She could see him, all of him. He was erect and beckoning to her with a smile.
Lauren sat up in bed in a cold sweat, her heart rattling her ribcage. She ran her hands through her damp hair. Her dream had shocked her. “This is ridiculous!” she said out loud. She turned on the light and glanced at her iPhone on the bedside table. It was three in the morning. Totally agitated, she leaped out of the bed and paced a couple of times around the room. “It’s just a dream,” she said, still talking audibly. “Just a dream. Forget about it!” She leaned out the open window and took a deep breath. Slowly, her heart rate returned to normal. Just forget about it, she had told herself, but she couldn’t forget about it. The man in the dream had been Caleb Cochran.
Chapter Three
LAUREN WAS AWAKE THE rest of the night. When the dawn finally broke, shrouded in the morning mists of summer, she climbed out of bed. The fog hugged the old house. Lauren could feel the mist on her face through the open window. She slipped out of her pajamas and started to pull on jeans and Charles’s old white shirt she had worn the day before. She hoped Cochran Plumbing and Heating showed up early. She couldn’t face a cold shower. And then she changed her mind. She’d be damned if she would face Caleb Cochran with flat hair and dirty clothes. That was probably why he had tried to get the better of her the day before. Today she would show him just who she was — a taste of sophistication would set him straight!
The water seemed especially cold, but Lauren steeled herself, letting that cold water clear her head and slough away the memory of last night’s dream. She soaped and rinsed quickly, then washed her hair. By the time she stepped out of the shower, her skin was prickling with goose bumps. Standing in front of the mirror, she dried herself carefully with a towel she had brought. The mirror showed a healthy young woman, prettier than average, with a long graceful neck and shapely legs. Although she was not tall, her figure was proportionate and feminine, round in the right places.
When Lauren dressed for a night on the town with Charles, it often took her all afternoon to get ready. She would check and re-check her hair, make-up, and clothing to make sure she measured up to the standard she felt was necessary as Charles’s fiancée. Now, as she passed the mirror, she hardly noticed her reflection. Instead, she found herself slipping in and out of a daydream, replaying her conversation of the day before with Caleb. She was remembering those arresting eyes with their subtle green lights.
In the small bedroom upstairs, she readied herself to face the day, and primarily, Caleb Cochran. She dried her hair, fluffing it with the blow-dryer until it was full and luxuriant. She chose her clothing carefully. She put on her bra and panties, lacy white, decorated with lavender ribbon. Then she pulled on her Dolce & Gabbana skinny leg jeans and pawed through her travel bag for a shirt. It had to be sexy, but properly cool, too. She found it, bringing it triumphantly out and holding it up before her. It was her Nanette Lepore corset-designed sleeveless top. It fit her like a glove, flaring out just slightly over her hips. There was a ruffle around the neckline that dipped just enough to show a bit of cleavage and still appear innocent. The perfect summer weekend top.
“Ha!” she sniggered as she slipped it on. She looked sweet and more than a little sexy, yet still somehow prim and unapproachable. It was just the look she wanted. Next, she applied her make-up carefully, balancing her mirror on the windowsill where the morning light flooded into the room. She put on small, gold hoop earrings. Lastly, she swept her hair up in a sexily messy twist and secured it with a tortoise shell barrette. She slipped on her gold London Sole ballet flats and skipped downstairs to make some coffee.
Coffee would have been a challenge, but Lauren was prepared. She had packed a French press and some gourmet ground coffee from Dean & DeLuca. She boiled water in an old pot and poured it into the press, then, coffee mug in hand, she wandered out into the back yard.
It really was beautiful and soothing. The morning mists were evaporating, and the sun was shining through the maple trees, illuminating the old garden and the white picket fence. Lauren wandered through the plants, forgetting herself. Her grandmother had taught her the names of all the plants when she’d been a child, and she’d been surprised at how easily they came back to her now after all these years. There
were blooming daylilies, and iris that had gone by. There were white Shastas and bright fuchsia phlox. Yellow coreopsis and black-eyed Susans, Queen Anne’s Lace, and foxglove. Then there were the herbs. Mint and oregano, wild onion, and thyme. Lauren plucked a mint leaf with her thumb and forefinger, squeezed it, and held it to her nose. The fragrance was heavenly. Aromatherapy wherever you looked.
“You Miss Smith?” a voice called to her.
Lauren turned around. A tall, thin older man with equally thinning hair was leaning over the gate.
“I’m Lauren Smith,” she said, both hands around her coffee mug. “Can I help you?” People just seemed to pop out of nowhere around here!
“I’m Bob Cochran, Caleb’s dad. I help him out with the little jobs from time to time.” The man chuckled. “I’m supposed to be retired, but he asked me to install a valve here in the furnace line. No rest for the wicked, as they say.” He chuckled again at his own joke.
The disappointment hit her like a heavyweight champ’s right hook. “Oh. Oh-ah — ” Lauren stammered. “Um, come on in. I’ll show you the way.”
“I’ll get my tools.” Bob went to the white van that was parked in the driveway, opened the big back doors, and stepped inside. Lauren heard him rummaging around, then he came through the gate, carrying a work tote. She couldn’t stand it any longer.
“I — I thought Caleb was coming,” she said, trying hard to keep her voice light.
The old man didn’t look up, but continued in the direction of the front door. “Nah. It’s his day at the firehouse, and the other guys are busy on the big jobs. He doesn’t usually do the small jobs, anyway. He came out here yesterday ’cause he was in the area. I get these jobs.” There was that chuckle again. “Can I go in?”
“Oh, oh, I’m sorry. Just go in and through the kitchen to the left. Do you need help?”
Bob Cochran looked at her quizzically. “No, I don’t need help. I know the house well. Thanks anyway.” He smiled politely and disappeared into the house.
Small Town Girl Page 3