Her checks had been embossed “Cecilia Evans.” Evans... Evans. He vaguely remembered Robert Evans, remembered hearing that they’d married.
He parked on the street as Cecilia swerved into her daffodil-lined driveway too quickly. She cut the corner short, crushing a row of yellow blooms with her front right tire. The house seemed oddly unperturbed by its near brush with destruction. But, then, he thought wryly, that old house had probably gotten used to her erratic ways. From its L-shaped porch that wrapped its southwest corner, to its irregular native red stone exterior that dripped ivy from almost every surface, to its diamond-paned windows, the house seemed a buxom old dowager, ready to absorb Cecilia into its protective embrace.
In front of the house, a pair of spreading pecan trees cast the yard in shadow. Purple violets filled the flower beds beneath the trees, and a rusty wagon lay overturned amid the violets. The homey scene was marred only by a plastic Uzi machine gun propped against the wagon. There was probably a metaphor there, if he cared to pursue it. He didn’t.
He strode toward the minivan as her car door opened, and offered his hand. She ignored him and fumbled with the grocery sack, instead.
“You get the kid and I’ll get the dog food,” he told her firmly, spying the large bag in the back of the vehicle.
“You don’t have to do this.” She reached across the sack to unbuckle her little girl.
“And who is going to carry in fifty pounds of dog food if I don’t? You?”
Her head snapped back and she faced him with sparks of green fire shooting from her eyes. “Who the heck do you think usually does it—elves?” She paled, and he reached involuntarily for her shoulder, stopping just short of touching her. “I don’t know why you’re doing this, or what you’re trying to prove.”
Her voice was just as he remembered, a little husky in a pleasing sort of way. Now why had he noticed that? “Cecil.” Jeff jerked his hand back and spoke more gruffly then he intended. “Calm down. Okay?” He softened his words with a quirky grin. “I just want to help. Give me a break, huh?”
He heaved the dog food onto his shoulder and stood waiting for her as the child scrambled out of the car and scurried up the sloping yard to the house, shouting at the top of her lungs, “Mommy bwung home a man!”
He read Cecilia’s chagrin in the straight line of her back and the rigidity of her shoulders. But even her anger and frustration didn’t still the gentle sway of her hips as she followed her daughter up the cracked cement walkway. Jeff followed, not even bothering to avert his gaze. She hadn’t grown an inch, and certainly hadn’t picked up much extra weight. But what was there was... softer, maybe.
Damn. He yanked his gaze away in time to see a slightly older boy come bounding down the porch steps. “A man? Where?” the boy demanded. Crunching into a carrot, he stared at Jeff, then dropped a soccer ball and trapped it under the toe of his sneaker.
Jeff was rather taken aback. Two children.
“You’re home early,” Cecilia told the boy, brushing his red hair out of his eyes as she passed him.
“Friday’s an early release day, remember?” The boy pointed the chewed end of his carrot at Jeff. “Who’s he?” “Just an old friend. Jeff, this is Brad. Brad, this is Jeff,” she mumbled as she climbed the steps.
The kid stood in front of Jeff and bounced the ball from one foot to the other, then off his knees and to his feet again. “I did it seventeen times without missing,” he boasted, never missing a beat of his juggling.
Cecilia stopped in the doorway and called, “Brad, move out of the way.”
The ball glanced off Brad’s toe and soared toward the street. “You messed me up,” he complained, taking off after it.
Balancing the large bag of dog food on his shoulder, Jeff paused in the doorway. His dark brows met in a scowl. Cars, space figures and baseball cards littered the floor, a veritable minefield of boyish booby traps. As he stepped carefully across the foyer floor, his gaze was drawn into the living room, with its overstuffed chintz chairs, a love seat and more clutter.
Then he saw the fireplace. A brass antelope nestled on the hearth, and behind it, a profusion of large silk butterflies hung in the white-enameled firebox. Somehow, butterflies in Cecilia’s fireplace seemed whimsically appropriate.
He stepped forward and something crunched beneath his shoe. “Damn!” He kicked aside a small plastic car and moved on into the den. A guy could break his leg walking through this disaster.
Cecilia stood facing a lanky blond boy, clearly the oldest—what, ten or eleven?—in glasses.
“Mom, how could you?” The boy waved an envelope in his mother’s face. “Three overdrafts. Three! I told you to let me balance the checkbook last week, but oh, no! You didn’t have time! And now—”
“Peter,” Cecilia ground out through clenched teeth. “This is not the time for this discussion. If you want the checkbook, take it!” She slapped it into his outstretched palm. “Balance it or burn it—just get it out of my sight!” Without giving him a chance to respond, she walked into the kitchen area.
Peter turned and saw Jeff, his eyes widening in surprise. He stiffened, then left the room, muttering under his breath.
“Charming child,” Jeff remarked, more grateful than ever for his bachelorhood. Three? She and Robert had three children?
She spun toward him, her pale cheeks suffusing with color. “Just drop the dog food where you are. I’ll have the boys take it out later.”
Jeff warily did as she commanded. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah,” she answered weakly. “I just need to sit down for a minute.” She dropped into a chair at the breakfast table and put her head in her hands.
He needed to leave. He wanted to leave. Jeff slid his hands in his pockets and glanced uncertainly around the large kitchen-den combination. An assortment of trophies decorated the bay windowsill, and a soccer ball fought for space on the cluttered surface of a rolltop desk. Jutting from under the brown leather couch was the rump of a quivering beast, most probably a Great Dane.
“Cecil,” he asked tentatively, “is something wrong with your dog?”
She raised her head. “He’s terrified of strangers. If he hides his head, he thinks you can’t see him.”
“Mmm...” Jeff cast a wary eye at the dog’s angular derriere.
Three sharp knocks shook the back door and another boy entered the the room. Jeff did a double take. Son of a gun, not four!
“Mikey, would you please get me a glass of ice water?” She buried her face in her hands again.
“Sure thing, Mrs. Evans.” The dark-haired boy sauntered confidently across the kitchen and jammed a glass under the dispenser in the refrigerator door.
“Well, since everything seems to be under control...” Jeff began.
“Mom needs her scissors,” the boy said, thrusting the glass at Cecilia. “That’s why I’m here.”
“I don’t know where they are. How soon does she need them?” She took the glass with one hand; the other never left her forehead.
“She needs ’em right now, but don’t worry, I’ll find ’em.” He dashed to the back door and opened it. “Hey, Vincent! Come ’ere and help me find the scissors!” A younger dark-haired boy joined him, and they raced into the living room, shouting for Brad and Peter.
Jeff shifted uneasily. Cecilia seemed to have forgotten him. This whole scene reminded him of Cub Scout day camp. All that was lacking was the chiggers. He cleared his throat.
She stared blankly in his direction. “I’m sorry...”
“Are you sure you’re—” He was no more than halfway finished, when she began to slump. With a startled oath, Jeff dashed across the room and caught her just before she hit the table. Her body slid against his, and he felt her feverish skin. With one arm under her shoulder and the other grasping her free arm, he held her in an impossible position for lifting. He uttered a sharp curse and dragged her toward the sofa.
Halfway there, he was suddenly confronted with what ap
peared to be at least one hundred forty pounds of snarling Ralph. “Wait a minute, dog,” he pleaded, easing Cecilia’s limp body to the floor and putting himself between her and the dog. Of all times for the mangy cur to discover he had guts.
“What are you doin’ to my mommy?” Anne-Elizabeth leaped at Jeff, and he thought he heard the child growl. Then a set of teeth, obviously not canine, closed on his wrist. Jeff gave a yelp and jerked his hand free. The mop-haired child fell backward, screaming bloody murder. But before Jeff could inspect the damage, the snarling dog and Anne-Elizabeth’s angry wails had summoned the boys out of the woodwork.
“What’d you do to my sister?” Brad demanded.
“Look what he did to your mom!” Mikey shouted.
They all sprang at Jeff at once.
“Oh, hell!” Jeff ducked his head and threw himself across Cecilia’s limp body in an effort to protect her from the onslaught.
A piercing whistle split the air, ceasing all movements. Jeff raised his head and saw Peter standing in the doorway.
“What’s going on here?” Peter’s blue-gray eyes scanned the room with clear disapproval as he twirled a shiny referee’s whistle.
Jeff leaped up. “Help me. Your mom fainted.”
“What did you do to her?” Peter exclaimed, running to his mother’s side. “Look, buddy,” Jeff growled, “I didn’t do anything. She’s sick, can’t you tell? Now shut up and help me get her to the sofa.” Cecilia moaned in his arms, and he felt a strange protective sensation stir within him.
Jeff placed Cecilia gently on the sofa after Peter cleared newspapers and a basket of clean laundry out of the way. Jeff shot his hand out in time to save Cecilia from being doused with ice water. “Mikey, I don’t know who in the heck you are, but if you throw a drop of water on this lady, you’re history!”
Mikey backed off, his eyes wide. “Come on, Vinny, I think we’d better go get Mom!” They disappeared.
“Where’s your dad?” Jeff asked Peter.
The boy’s faced shuttered over.
It was his sister who responded. “With Monica.”
“Monica?” Jeff echoed. “You have another sister?”
“No, dummy,” Brad chimed in. “He married her.”
“He mawwied her,” Anne-Elizabeth repeated.
Peter just stared belligerently at him.
What now? Jeff stared helplessly at Cecilia’s pale face as Peter bustled around in the kitchen, then returned to his mother’s side. Her eyes finally fluttered open, and Jeff felt relief flow through him. She opened her mouth to speak, but Peter thrust an electronic thermometer in. She blinked from Peter to Jeff, to Peter again in apparent confusion, then closed her eyes once more.
When it beeped, Jeff reached for the thermometer, but Peter snatched it away. “Mom, you’ve got a hundred and one. You’re sick.”
Brad whirled toward Jeff. “That means you’ve gotta get outa here, mister. Mom doesn’t allow company when we’ve got fever.”
Jeff started to tell the kid exactly what he thought of him, but was interrupted by a very welcome adult voice.
“What seems to be the problem?” A tall woman with dark almond eyes surveyed the scene from the open back door, flanked by Mikey and Vinny. She cast her appraising look at Jeff. “I don’t believe we’ve met?”
“Jefferson Smith.” He offered his hand awkwardly, feeling uncharacteristically ill at ease under her close scrutiny.
“Carol Bellini,” she responded with a slight smile. “Are you a friend of Cecilia’s?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes. We, er, go back a long way.”
“Mmm-hmm.” She crossed toward Cecilia, patting Ralph’s head as she passed him. The disgusting mutt wiggled with delight.
“Carol…” Cecilia croaked. “What’s happening?”
“That man hurt you, Mommy. But me and Walph stopped him.” Anne-Elizabeth beamed with pride.
“I did not...” Jeff began.
“And he twied to hit me, but I’m too stwong,” Anne-Elizabeth continued.
“I did not!” Jeff said desperately, but the clamoring of the children as each babbled a different version of the fracas drowned out his voice. He closed his eyes in despair. Damn, nothing had changed. Chaos still surrounded Cecilia.
His suit was rumpled and covered with dog hairs, and he’d already missed a meeting. Did he have time to go home and change before his next appointment? First he had to get out of this madhouse. Then maybe the world would shift back to normal.
But when he glanced at Cecilia’s pale face surrounded by the anxious faces of her children, he felt a pang of… of what? What was it about her that grabbed hold of him, made him feel so protective? Those same waifish eyes, that same fiery mop of hair, that same full, pouting lower lip... No doubt about it, she’d turned out better than he had ever suspected a skinny fourteen-year-old possibly could. But what he was responding to was something else.
He couldn’t explain the smile tugging at his lips, the amusement suddenly bubbling up inside him at the sight of her, the thought of her, the reality of Cecilia Greene crashing back into his life again, after all these years. He should be gnashing his teeth with frustration. Instead he was grinning like an idiot.
What the heck had come over him? Whatever it was, he’d better get control of it fast. Without a word, he slipped out of the room.
Ten minutes in this household was enough to convince him he didn’t have the time, energy or fortitude for any further dealings with Cecilia Greene.
CHAPTER TWO
DISJOINTED THOUGHTS RATTLED in Cecilia’s head. Jeff had hit Anne-Elizabeth? Maybe Anne-Elizabeth had hit Jeff. Now that made sense.
Unless he had been a dream... but no. If there was one thing she was sure of, Jeff Smith was real. Even now she could close her eyes and see that oh-so-familiar, yet totally alien face staring at her, sable brows arching wryly as he shook his head.
Swept away in the undertow of fever and humiliation, she’d been too ill to care when he left. She levered herself up on one elbow and tried to read the wall clock in the kitchen. Peter came through the room with his toothbrush and pillow under his arm.
“I’m sorry I was such a pest, Mom.” He ducked his blond head and dug the toe of his Converse high-tops into the carpet. “I balanced the checkbook for you. We’re staying at Carol’s tonight.” He stooped awkwardly and pecked her on the cheek.
“Peter,” she croaked, fighting to keep her eyes open. “What happened to Jeff?”
His thin shoulders stiffened and his chin thrust forward. “Don’t worry about him, Mom. He’s a jerk.”
“I know,” she muttered hoarsely, sinking back into the cushions. “How well I remember.”
An hour later, Cecilia struggled out of a restless sleep and walked on shaky legs down the hall to the bathroom. She squinted at her watch; it was seven-thirty.
She washed her face. The aspirin must have done some good; the cold chills were gone and other than feeling a little woozy, she felt almost normal. She ought to call the kids back home, she thought guiltily.
Suddenly the front door squeaked long and low, opening with more stealth than her children ever exhibited.
She held her breath.
She scanned the cluttered bathroom for a weapon, but found only dirty clothes and towels, nothing that would serve in her defense. She lifted a dirty sock. If she could get it close enough to the prowler’s nose...
“Cecil?” Jeff’s voice floated down the hall.
She dropped the sock as if stung. What in blazes was he doing here? She swung open the bathroom door and saw his dark silhouette in the shadow of the foyer stairs.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she spit out.
Jeff flipped on the light switch, and the yellow glare revealed his quizzical and bemused expression. A brown bag dangled from one hand; a soccer ball was tucked under his arm. His pearl gray shirt-sleeves were rolled back and his tie and suit jacket were missing. He fixed her with a slightly disapproving
stare. “The door wasn’t locked. Something tells me that Peter wouldn’t approve.”
“Yeah, well, you’re right.” Unreasonably irritated, she leaned against the doorjamb. “But, then, Peter doesn’t approve of you, either.”
“I noticed. I hope you don’t mind my saying so, but the feeling’s mutual.” Jeff walked toward her.
She fumbled behind her and closed the bathroom door before he could see the mess inside. “Why are you here?” she asked as he stopped a few feet away.
“I got to the office and reached in the back seat for my briefcase and found this.” He offered her the scuffed, dirty soccer ball. “According to my receptionist, it’s an expensive one.”
“Forty-nine dollars and ninety-five cents, before tax.” Cecilia took it from him, trying to feel grateful. She tossed it at the wicker basket beside the front door, a good twenty feet away. It landed dead center. The basket rocked a bit, then settled.
“Swish,” Jeff remarked grudgingly. “Nice aim.”
“Lots of practice,” she replied, rubbing her hands on the back side of her jeans. She tilted her head back. “I, uh, really appreciate all the trouble you’ve been to today.”
“I thought... well, you seemed like you needed a little help.” He aimed a quick glance into the den. “Where are the kids?”
“Next door with Carol.”
“Oh, yeah. We met.” He relaxed visibly and raised the brown bag. “I thought you might need something to eat.”
“That’s very generous of you, I’m sure.” Cecilia took a shaky breath. “But as a matter of fact, I was going to call Carol and have her send the kids home. I feel much better now.”
Jeff snorted. “Just what you need—Little Dillinger and the Keystone Kops.”
Cecilia bristled. “I dare you to say that when I’m up to retaliating.”
“Does he really balance your checkbook?” Jeff asked casually.
Beguiled Again: A Romantic Comedy Page 2