Instead of responding, she pointed to the sign on the window where he sat—“Handicapped Only”.
Of course. He sighed, as the bus stopped again, doors opening with a whoosh.
An aged woman with a walker climbed on.
Package under his arm, he stood and moved toward the back of the bus. The only open seat now was the one next to Cindy. He sat, trying to ignore how his heart hammered as if he had just scored a winning goal in a soccer game.
“Thanks. I owe you. I feel kind of stupid, not knowing the bus drill. First time on a city bus.”
She turned sideways, and met his gaze.
He got the full flash of her baby blues. If he was an ice cube, he’d be a puddle on the bus floor. What was this?
“Are you from North Dakota or something?” she said with a grin. “Or Antarctica? How have you never ridden a bus? Or is that a most original pick-up line?”
He could feel his face get hot, not because he cared about the bus thing, but because his mind had been running through dialogue to prolong the contact. Pick-up line? Not on purpose, but if it worked…despite the fact she was so different, and his response definitely so unexpected. She was like a magnet, pulling him, attracting him in a way he’d never experienced when meeting a woman before. And he’d met a lot of women. A lot. He didn’t want this interaction to end before he figured it out.
“Philadelphia born and bred. But out on the Main Line.” He saw the look of contempt flash across her face as her eyes narrowed. There was something sensitive there.
“Ahh.” She gave him a knowing smile. “The Main Line. No need for busses for the rich and famous. So here you are, slumming in the great northeast. And riding a bus. Quite an adventure.”
The voice didn’t resonate the same way now, though she was still polite, still smiling. Now his stomach churned, like he had screwed up big time, and somehow it mattered. She had lost her sparkle. She had judged him a snob, and a cheapskate to boot. The churning got worse.
“The two bucks, I’m good for it, I promise. Do you have change for a twenty? Or if you give me your name and address, I’ll mail you a check.”
The blue eyes were laughing again. “Forget it. No way I’m giving you my name and address. And no, I don’t have change for a twenty. Pay it forward, give it to the next person who needs it.” She waved a hand in the air. “Though you’d be hard pressed to find another human being who didn’t know how to ride a bus. Better go back to the Main Line. It’s dangerous out here!” With a laugh, she stood, took a few quick steps down the aisle, and bounded off the bus as it jolted to a stop.
Startled, he jumped up and followed. Feeling like a football player facing the defensive line, he kept his package securely under his arm, weaving through the crowded bus to the doorway. “Wait!” he called to Bobby, as the door pulled shut.
Bobby waited, hand on the door release knob, shaking his head.
“Thanks!” Prince called as his foot hit the pavement, and he took off through the crowd, seeking the dark head in the light blue dress.
“Good luck, buddy!” chuckled Bobby as he pulled the door closed and the bus left the curb.
Prince saw her immediately, standing in a small line just a few strides away. What was she waiting for? He groaned as the truth hit. Another bus pulled to the curb, and she got on. Two passengers stood before him. Was there time to get change? Absolutely not. He wasn’t going to lose her now, not when he’d come so far. Not when he’d even taken a bus to follow her! He stepped onto the bus behind her.
“Here’s my transfer,” she said gaily to the driver.
His turn. “Exact change, or a transfer ticket,” the white-haired bus driver said to him when he saw the twenty dollar bill. His lips were pressed into a thin line.
“It’s all I have. Let me do that name and address thing.”
“Are you some kind of a wise guy?” the bus driver said through clenched teeth.
This bus driver sure wasn’t as jovial as the last. Prince shuffled his feet.
“You wanna put in two dollars, or you wanna put in your fancy twenty or you wanna get off my bus, or you wanna wait for the cops?” His finger pointed toward the door.
Prince swallowed, having sudden visions of the phone call to his rather pompous father for bail money over an arrest for a two dollar bus charge. He started to drop in the twenty, when a slim hand on his arm stopped him.
“I’ve got it,” said the angel in blue, who deposited two dollars, slipping the twenty from his fingers.
She was so quick she could have been a pick pocket. Let her keep the twenty. Small price to pay for being an idiot. He plopped in a seat and looked out the window while the bus moved down the city street, stopping frequently as riders got on and off. He heard her then, in between stops, cheerily chatting with passengers in that melodious voice, until she found a willing rider who could cash a twenty.
A short time later, she stood to leave, and handed him a wad of singles as she passed his seat. “Here’s sixteen back, Easy Rider. I recouped my four dollars. And have a nice day!” She stepped off the bus with a wave to the driver.
Prince was so startled he almost missed the stop again. He pushed his way to the front of the bus and jumped off. This bus riding was a challenge he hadn’t expected.
She was mesmerizing him, and all he knew was her name. He had to know more. Prince followed her down the street, around the corner, past a small row of stores, a hairdresser, a corner store, a coffee shop. He felt like a stalker, and he didn’t like the feeling one bit.
Halfway down the next short block containing two-story brick row houses, she turned to the left, and mounted three concrete steps to a white-windowed door. “176 Lark Street” was painted on the door. White ruffled curtains hung in the front window, and a small flower box overflowing with red blossoms sat by the entrance. She opened the door, went in, and pulled it shut.
A sigh of relief escaped his lips. He had found where Cindy Castle lived. He could deliver the package, report the address to his hero brother and his demanding father, and be done with it. He’d go back to his bus-free life on the Main Line where he belonged. Why did that make him feel like he was sucker punched all of a sudden?
With a flip, he opened his cell phone, and pushed the button and called a cab, reciting the address on the door. Almost home free. He stepped up to the door, raised his fist and knocked with more force than he had intended.
Chapter Two
Coming inside, Cindy dropped her bag on the chair near the door, pushing away the thoughts crowding her mind about the man on the bus. She slipped off her sandals and called out cheerfully, “Morgan! Hannah-bear! Mrs. Polly, I’m home!”
Before she could cover the few strides toward the kitchen, footsteps stampeded down the steps, and she was surrounded by children. Morgan wrapped his five-year-old arms around her leg, and two-year-old Hannah leaped into her arms and settled on her right hip.
“Aunt Cindy!” they shrieked.
Cindy hugged them tight. She needed a minute to rebalance. The ridiculous conversation on the bus had thrown her. The handsome stranger from the Main Line. That he came from money and class didn’t surprise her. In fact that fact was written all over him—from crisp designer clothes to his expensively cut hair. Her reaction was what startled and irked her. Would she never get over it?
When even a simple conversation with a man could drum up memories of that shameful day, she was in pretty bad shape. Pictures flashed like a slideshow through her brain, entwined with painful feelings. The lacy wedding dress. The smell of incense and old wood in the historic church as she stood in the lobby. The fairy tale hopes of a life of happily ever afters, inspired by another handsome young man from the Main Line, despite his parents’ protest, and her fears their worlds were far apart.
There had been an empty first pew in the church where his family should have been, an empty spot on the altar where her groom should have stood. George hadn’t shown up. Instead, she’d found a letter under her
door when she returned home.
That was a lifetime ago. Cindy gazed down at Morgan and Hannah. “Were they good, Mrs. Polly?”
The small grey-haired woman followed them into the living room, removing her apron and hanging it on a hook by the door. “Angels as usual, Cindy.”
Cindy smiled, holding out some bills to the babysitter. “Okay. Thanks for coming. You going to take the bus? It’s hot out there for walking.”
“Walking’s fine. Got to save the money.”
A loud knock sounded on the door, and Cindy stepped across the foyer and pulled the door open. Morgan stayed glued to her side, and Hannah perched on her hip.
The tall dark haired stranger from the bus stood before her, looking bigger than life right there on her front step. He’d followed her home? A sudden prickly sensation tickled at the base of her neck, and her body tensed, tightening her hold on the toddler in her arms. Houston, we have a problem. She attempted to shut the door, but his mass in the doorway prevented it.
“Wait! Cindy Castle?”
He said her name in a deep low voice and she froze as if she had been hit by a stun gun. The handsome stranger knew her name? How? She never told him her name. In a panic, she pushed Morgan behind her, and handed Hannah to the babysitter.
She faced him, her mouth suddenly dry. She had let her guard down. She should have known it. There had been this stab of attraction when she’d first seen him, a sure sign that meant trouble. Learning he was from the well-heeled Main Line had been the first warning sign. But this—knowing her name and following her home—this was so much worse. Had the past caught up with her?
“Get out. I mean it. We want no trouble here.” She stood tall and steady, her hand so tight on the door knob her knuckles ached. Could he see her knees were shaking?
Mrs. Polly came up behind her. “Should I call the police, dear? 911?”
“Wait,” he said, “I’m just here to deliver a package. From your deceased brother-in-law. Things he wanted you to have. My brother was his commanding officer. Just a package.” He held it out arms straight, palms up, as if holding a sacred offering.
Cindy froze, staring at the package, a kaleidoscope of feelings swirling. Anger and fear dueled, and then a rush of sadness blanketed her. Needing oxygen, she forced herself to take a deep breath. The clock on the wall ticked in the background, counting out seconds, seeming like hours.
With determination, she pushed away the feelings, as she had so many times in the past. Her composure won the battle. “I don’t want it,” she said into the silence. “Take it back. There is absolutely nothing I want from that man, dead or alive.”
The two kids had crept close, and she hoisted Hannah back to her hip, while Morgan clung again to her leg. Face now calm, Cindy stood a little taller and straighter. Which was hard to do with seventy-five pounds of children hanging on.
Her face flushed at the thought of this man witnessing her moment of panic. But she gave him points, whoever he was. He hadn’t reacted. He just stood there.
Then he spoke. “I didn’t mean to cause you grief or pain, Ms. Castle,” he said, voice polite and official. “I was just trying to complete the mission I had been sent on by my brother and father.”
Mission? Had he actually said the word mission? She blinked and noticed his cheeks had turned bright red. The flush made him look so much more human, almost nice. Even if too good looking, and bearing a gift that she absolutely didn’t want, he no longer looked like a threat. She smiled.
“Well, far be it for me to keep you from completing your mission, sir.” She reached out the hand not balancing a child, and took the small box, gripping it with two fingers like it was something gross and distasteful. She opened the closet near the door, and tossed it up onto a messy top shelf. “You have completed your mission, sir. You may report your success.”
His face, if possible, got even a shade redder.
He grimaced. “You are laughing at me. I sound like an idiot. I’m sorry.” He turned to go, hesitated and then turned back. “And I’m sorry about your brother-in-law.”
She saw his gaze rest on the children, clinging quietly to her. Her throat ached and she swallowed hard. “Don’t be sorry. We’re fine now. Probably I overreacted. I’m not sure how you found me. You had no way of knowing how much I didn’t want the package. Thanks for going so far out of your way to bring it to me.” Her words came out so softly, like a whisper, that she didn’t recognize her own voice.
“No problem.” He smiled.
She expected him to turn and walk away. But he didn’t. His step faltered. She watched him raise a hand to his face, running it across his eyes, as if in indecision. Was he shy? For an instant, he reminded her of a hesitating teenager, trying to muster courage to talk to a girl.
“It’s not all that far, you know, to the Main Line,” he said. “Not like it’s another planet or something.”
She wrinkled her nose. “It’s another universe. And not my universe.”
“Can I see you again? I’d really like to see you again. Dinner? A show?”
Her stomach twisted. She was standing there, enveloped with kids and emotions, and he was talking about dinner. What part of this scene made her look like date bait?
She had to be forceful. “No. No way. I am absolutely and totally not interested.” By the look on his face, he was not used to this reaction.
“Hey,” he protested. “I don’t have horns on my head. Or spinach in my teeth. In some circles, I’m considered even acceptable. Can’t you give a guy a chance? Geez.” He grimaced. “My self esteem is taking a beating here. Just a dinner?”
“I don’t like him,” growled five-year-old Morgan at her side. He tightened the already tourniquet-level hold on her leg. Now it resembled a Ninja death grip. “Make him go away.”
She reached down and loosened his fingers, and wiggled her leg to get the circulation flowing again. “It’s okay, Morgan,” she said, tousling his hair. “The nice man is going. Now.” She put Hannah down, and shooed them both back into the living room.
“Boy, everybody’s a critic today,” he said wryly.
“This is what I get for talking to a stranger on a bus. Let that be a lesson to me. I’m just not interested.” But even as she spoke, she was hit with a pang of regret. She wanted him to go. But the thought also made her sad. Mostly, though, she wanted all the disturbing feelings that had washed over her to disappear.
When she’d opened the door to find this handsome stranger on her steps, she’d opened the door to unsettling memories that she’d rather forget. She didn’t want to think about Jimmy, the kids’ deceased father. And she sure didn’t want to feel the pain about Sally, her beloved and deceased sister.
Could she close the door, and return to the peace and calm of her life? For a fleeting second she closed her eyes, hoping that when she opened them he would be gone.
But he wasn’t.
Instead, with no warning, and no words, he took a step forward, closing the gap between them. His hands came up, one to her shoulder, one reaching behind her head. With one smooth and swift movement, he moved his head forward toward hers.
She was sure that the shock was written all over her face.
But he didn’t react. He put his lips to hers, and kissed her gently.
The lips were soft, and warm. They lingered for a moment, and somewhere deep in her consciousness, she knew her eyes had drifted shut. She smelled a slight scent of outdoorsy cologne and just couldn’t move.
“It’s not over yet, Cindy Castle,” he whispered, in a pained growl, his lips still barely touching hers. Then he pulled back.
Mouth open she stared, heart pounding and speechless.
There was a flash of yellow behind him, and she gazed over his shoulder. A yellow cab had pulled up.
He followed her gaze, turning back to look over his shoulder.
In that split second, she took a step backward, into her house, her safe haven. With a solid click, she closed the door.
Safe. But unsettled. Much more than a door had been opened.
Memories flooded back, triggered by the very thought of the past. Cindy’s throat tightened as the vision of her sister, when she was young and carefree, flashed in the movie screen of her mind. She could almost hear the echo of Sally’s laughter. She swallowed hard, letting the wave of loss roll over her. How she missed her sister!
The children’s laughter eased into her consciousness, edging out the old, imaginary, paralyzing memories. This was real. With dogged determination she had rebuilt their lives. And she would continue to do so. Despite the sadness of the situation, despite the loss, she would stand firm and their lives would stay on a positive path.
She touched fingers to her lips, tingling where he had kissed her. Her heart still beat fast.
Risky. Too risky. She gazed at the children, playing peacefully. Best to forget the tumultuousness of the past few minutes, to return to her quiet, orderly life.
Without a sound or a cross word, Mrs. Polly stepped into the room from the kitchen. Her bag dangled in her hand. “Are you all right, Cindy?” she asked.
Cindy noticed concern etching the woman’s wrinkled face that had seen a lot of life and had the sudden urge to hug her. “I’m fine, Mrs. Polly. Thanks for staying this extra time. But we’re okay.”
Mrs. Polly patted her arm. “Of course you are. And so are the children. All is well.” She moved toward the door, turning as she left. “And my, but he was a striking good-looking one, wouldn’t you say? See you tomorrow, dear.” That said, she walked out the door.
Cindy raised fingertips to her lips again, outlining the place where he had kissed her, and sighed.
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