Fools Rush In

by Gwynne Forster

  Chapter 4

  “Phone for you, Justine. I’d appreciate it if you’d answer the phones; I can’t stand those things. I like to see who I’m talking to.”

  “All right, Mattie. In a second.” Justine put Tonya in her crib and rustled across the hall to her room.

  “Hello.”

  “Hello, Justine. I told you I’d call. Big Al gave me your number.”

  She looked to the ceiling. Just what she needed, a pursuit by the biggest ego ever to strut on Howard University’s campus. “Hello, Warren. I didn’t tell Al to give out my telephone number. What can I do for you?”

  “Well, thanks for the nice warm greeting. How about going to the automobile show with me tomorrow night?”

  She had forgotten his passion for cars. “Sorry, Warren, but I’m working tomorrow night.”

  “If you weren’t, would you go?”

  No wonder he had amassed a fortune by the time he was thirty; he had the tenacity of an ant after sugar and didn’t know the meaning of the word, no. Never had. She walked as far as the cord would reach, then back to her desk. She didn’t need Warren in her life right then. He’d pick until he knew everything and wouldn’t be averse to using against her whatever he uncovered.

  “I don’t think so, Warren. Would you excuse me now? I have to see about Tonya.”

  “All right, lady, but I’m not giving up. You remember that. I get what I go after, and a lot of people will attest to that fact.”

  She didn’t want him plundering around in her life. “Waste your time somewhere else, Warren. We’ve got a business arrangement through Al. That’s all. Look, I have to go. Good-bye.”

  Bulldogged as ever, he drawled, “That’s my girl. Same Justine. If you committed a murder, I bet you’d do it in the best lady-like manner. Bye for now.”

  She hung up and regrouped. An involvement with any man, not only Warren, would complicate her life. Besides, she couldn’t afford to have Duncan question her suitability as a nanny for Tonya, and he might if she had men visiting her. Still, if she concentrated on another man, maybe she’d spend less time thinking about Duncan Banks.

  She got back to the nursery in time to see Tonya’s shoe drop out of the crib. The baby smiled at her, banged her other shoe against the bars and sang out, “Juju.”

  Justine stopped herself just as the words, “Mummy’s coming,” perched at the tip of her tongue. She slapped her right hand over her mouth, horrified. Lord forbid that she should ever make that mistake. Weakened by the significance of what she’d almost done, she slumped into the rocker beside the crib, closed her eyes and leaned back. Instead of getting easier as the days passed, the pain became sharper and the charade more difficult. But she couldn’t envisage turning back. Not now. She could never leave her child.

  She lay Tonya in bed for a nap, put on a cassette of Mozart chamber music, collected several letters to Aunt Mariah, sat beside the child’s bed and perused them.

  “Dear Aunt Mariah, My boyfriend is seeing another girl. He didn’t say so, but I know he is, because he hasn’t called me in two months. Should I drop him? Tearful.”

  Justine controlled the urge to laugh, because Tearful had a serious problem. You couldn’t drop what you didn’t have. She wrote:

  “Dear Tearful, be a good sport and let him out of it gracefully. A gentle note saying it’s been nice knowing him, and all the best would sound just the right chord, though he doesn’t deserve that. If he’s cheating, forget him. Yours, Aunt Mariah.”

  A ringing phone sent her scrambling into the hallway to answer it before Mattie gave vent to her ire.

  “Yes?”

  “Hello, Justine, Big Al here. I got a couple of great letters about your column. I told ya people would love it, didn’t I? Keep it up. You’re doing good. Just give ’em plenty of horse sense and that family stuff. But you…er…sat down pretty hard on…let’s see, some woman wrote you that her husband—Linden, I believe—was fooling around. You told her to leave him. Justine, baby, that is not family stuff. The only advice you ever give to a woman who’s man is unfaithful is to kick him out. You gotta do better than that, babe.”

  So that was why he’d called. Might as well set him straight. “Thanks, but that’s what they deserve. By the way, why did you give Warren my phone number here?”

  “You didn’t want him to have it? He said you gave it to him, and he lost it. Wait’ll I chew him out.”

  The man hadn’t changed since school days. Dear as he was, she’d have to reprimand him. “Next time, please ask me first.”

  “Okay, but you could do worse than Warren. He’s smart. A real go-getter. I know. I know,” he said, as though he anticipated her censure. “He can stick to you like glue, but you can handle that. He’s a good guy. Not a lot of ’em are your equal, you know.”

  “Speak for yourself, Al.”

  “Okay. Okay.” She could imagine his hand palm out before him. “I won’t do it again. Say, I could have your mail sent to you by messenger.”

  She knew that gesture was meant to appease her, but instead, it alarmed her. She didn’t want him to have Duncan’s address. Thinking rapidly, she said, “Then the messenger would know where Aunt Mariah lives.”

  She thought she heard air seep through his lips. “Fast thinking. You’re on the ball, honey. We’ll leave it as it is.”

  She hung up, slipped back into the role of Aunt Mariah and finished the column, but she couldn’t make herself advise Rose Akers to stay with her abusive man. “Leave him,” she wrote. At the other extreme, Annie K. couldn’t make up her mind to marry a prince of a guy. Justine wrote, “Annie, dear, a woman who doesn’t know champagne from grape juice doesn’t deserve champagne. Yours, Aunt Mariah.”

  “Is she still asleep?”

  Startled, her head jerked up. She hadn’t heard him climb the stairs. Please Lord, don’t let him ask to see what she’d been writing. She presented him with what she hoped was a smile. “Yes. She’s asleep.”

  “How can she sleep with the radio on?” he continued as he entered the room and stepped with a jazzy rhythm directly to her. She didn’t believe he did it intentionally, because there was nothing personal in his facial expression, only concern for his child. But intentional or not, his dancing gait set her on fire. Darn him. She looked away.

  “It isn’t the radio, it’s a cassette. She sleeps most soundly when this music is playing, and if she’s awake and I put on Mozart’s ‘Concerto for Flute and Harp,’ she’s very quiet and smiles a lot. I think she enjoys it.”

  She wished he wouldn’t stare at her. Those sleepy-lidded reddish-brown eyes seemed to suck her right into his body. “I’d have thought she was too young to have preferences in music, but you’ve already made me ditch some of my ideas about bringing up children.”

  He stepped closer and pinned her with a hypnotic stare. “I’m glad you’re here, Justine. You’ve warmed up this place, changed our lives for the better.”

  What had happened to his light manner of moments earlier? Vanished. His expression had dissolved into a somber cloud, and he stood so close that his knee touched the fabric of her slacks.

  “I hope you’ll be with us a long, long time, Justine.” His tone had gotten deeper, had softened. She had to observe him carefully in order to get what was behind his message, and as she looked into his face, his solemn words and the urgency of his manner sent warm arrows of excitement darting through her, and she closed her eyes to cover her feelings. But only for a second. The sensation of his warm fingers on her shoulders disconcerted her, and she looked into his eyes. He seemed to pull her into himself, to meld with her, to draw her into him as though he were quicksand. She drew back, away from him but she couldn’t loosen his hold on her, an indefinable something that seemed to tie them together. His hand moved to her face, caressed her cheek, and lingered there while he stared into her eyes. Abruptly, he turned and left the room.

  Her left hand found its way to the spot where his hand had been and covered the warmth he’d
left there. She heard his bedroom door close and gave silent thanks. She didn’t know how she would have resisted pulling him into her arms, if his touch had lingered for a second longer. As she folded the letters and put away her writing pad, the thought occurred to her that, for her deception, she might get the trial of her life.

  Tonya would sleep for another half-hour, so she slipped quietly down the stairs and out on the back deck. The mid-autumn sun filtered through the red, gold, and purple leaves that signaled the changing season, and she stretched out on the chaise and drank in the loveliness that surrounded her. Peace. If only she could feel it inside. It was all around her, yet it didn’t touch her. She loved the autumn with its calm winds and crisp, moonlit nights, and she adored the environment in which Duncan lived. Trees of many hues for as far as she could see, and neither a house nor any other man-made object to spoil the view. It would be so easy to pretend that life was perfect, to fool herself.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

  She nearly sprang from the chair. Didn’t he ever make a sound? “I didn’t know I had company.”

  “I come out here often when I’m home on afternoons like this one. A half-hour or so, and I’m rejuvenated.”

  She didn’t risk more than a glance at him, for when his voice was lower than normal and the cadence of his speech unusually rhythmic, his eyes tended to have a dreamy, sexy look that took the starch out of her. “Ready to slay dragons?” she asked.

  He shrugged as though her jab was of no import. “I never thought of it that way. The respite helps me put my work and other things in perspective. Are you contented here?”

  So he was back to that dangerous topic. “Yes, I’m satisfied. Did you…think I might not be?”

  He sat on the edge of a chair facing her, and she swung her legs off the chaise lounge and sat upright.

  “It was only a question, Justine. I like stability in my life, and Tonya needs that. You’re giving her more than I’d hoped for, and I’m grateful.”

  He’d made a perfectly reasonable statement, but it nettled her that anyone should thank her for caring for her own child, and she bristled. “Why shouldn’t I take care of my…” She caught herself and dropped her head in her hands. Her palms dampened and chills settled over her body before she raised her head and looked in the distance.

  “You’re paying me, Duncan; I don’t ask for gratitude.”

  He leaned forward, his long elegant fingers clasped loosely before him. “If I thought you meant that, I’d change my opinion of you. You care deeply for Tonya, and…” He stood. “I shouldn’t have disturbed your peace.”

  Remorseful for the callous words she had uttered because she wanted to keep a psychological distance between them, she stood and reached out to detain him. “I do care deeply, Duncan, and I understand that it’s important to you that your child’s nanny love her. If that wasn’t so, I wouldn’t be comfortable here.” She wished she could see past that blank expression that he’d draped over his face.

  He grimaced. “And that’s all you understand? I gave you credit for more than that.” He studied her for what seemed a long time, and she forced herself not to flinch while his gaze first roamed her face and then settled on her eyes in a rapt stare.

  Maybe that was his customary way of looking at people, but she wished he’d stop it.

  “Want to go for a short walk in the woods? They’re safe.”

  She did. She loved the woods, but she didn’t dare go anyplace with him where they’d be alone. Not right then. “I’d love to,” she told him, “but Tonya will wake up in a couple of minutes.”

  Lights danced in his eyes, and she realized he was laughing at her. Then he sobered. “You’re a wise woman.”

  “I wish I thought it,” she murmured.

  “I heard that. One of these days, you’re going to level with me, and I bet I get the shock of my life.”

  Her lip dropped, and she heaved when her breath caught in her lungs, but her composure returned as quickly as it had deserted her. “You’ve got one heck of an imagination. No wonder you’re such a good reporter.”

  He jammed his hands on his hips in a belligerent stance and gaped at her. “Imagination? I’ll have you understand, lady, that I don’t make up stories; I report facts.”

  She didn’t know why she laughed, but she suspected from his stunned expression that no one should have had the nerve to say that to him. Shrugging, she did nothing to stop the grin that settled on her face. “Sorry. I have to see about Tonya.”

  She didn’t ask, and this time he didn’t get out of the way, but stood his ground and let her soft mounds brush his left shoulder as she squeezed between him and the door jamb sending a rippling sensation over her nerve ends.

  His words followed her. “One of these days you’ll walk through these woods with me.”

  She would, too. And then what? His shoulder burned from the touch of her soft breast. Shaking his head in frustration, he stuck his hands in his pockets and headed for the trail that would take him on a winding trek through his beloved woods. In the months since he’d bought the house, he’d come to love and appreciate his solitary walks, and he had never shared his peaceful sanctuary with anyone. But for a moment back there, he’d had an urge to stroll that path with Justine. As usual, she’d had the foresight to refuse and ward off what they both would certainly have regretted. But he knew himself well enough to know that she had only postponed the inevitable and, clever as she was, she had to know it, too. Neither of them wanted an emotional involvement, yet it apparently wasn’t the two of them, but fate, that dictated their course.

  He stopped and leaned against a white-barked elm. What did he want from Justine other than the love and care that she gave his daughter? He couldn’t recall being so indecisive about anything. He’d see her teaching, playing, and laughing with Tonya and watch the excited joy and happiness on his child’s face and know deep down that if anybody or anything separated them, they’d both suffer. Another worrisome thing was the feeling he continued to get that he knew Justine from somewhere: at times he felt as though he’d always known her. He couldn’t get a handle on it. It was as though an unexplained phenomenon dictated the course of their relationship, laughed at his vow to remain uninvolved with any woman, and elevated his testosterone level every time he saw her or thought about her.

  Annoyed at the course of his thoughts, he started back to the house. What the devil? Killing time in the woods in the middle of the afternoon. He had to get that woman out of his system. He’d…He answered his cell phone.

  “Banks.”

  “Hi, Duncan. I’m attending a workshop at the Library of Congress tomorrow. Mind if I bunk at your place tonight?” his sister asked.

  He told her to get there in time for dinner, hung up, and sprinted the rest of the way to the house. With Leah around, he’d get no work done that night. As he strode through the kitchen, he alerted Mattie that there’d be a fourth for dinner.

  “Justine,” he called and tapped on her bedroom door.

  “Over here with Tonya.”

  “Leah’s spending the night. Just thought I’d tell you.” He pushed open Tonya’s door. “What are you—?”

  “Three,” Justine sang, and Tonya held up three fingers.

  “Two.” He stared as the child showed Justine two fingers, and got a round of hugs and kisses as a reward. He walked in, knelt before them, and rested on his haunches. Tonya reached for him, and he took her into his arms.

  “She loves you, Justine. I don’t want her little heart broken.”

  Justine had an urge to scream, why would she break her own child’s heart? But she had to settle for wiser words; “I’d be the last person to do that knowingly, Duncan. I love her, too.”

  “I know you do.”

  Duncan gave the baby back to Justine, gazed down at the two of them already immersed in each other, went to his room, and got to work. She loved Tonya. He knew that, but why did hearing her say it give him such an empty, woebegone feeling
? He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something was not according to Hoyle.

  Justine put on a pair of green silk wide-bottom pants and matching long-sleeve shirt, tied a mauve silk sash around her waist and strolled down the stairs to meet Leah Banks.

  “Who’s older, you or me?” Banks asked Justine after enveloping her in a warm hug.

  “Justine’s got two years on you,” Duncan said.

  Banks glided over to Duncan’s favorite chair, took a seat, and swung her crossed leg. “Good. Then maybe you can give me some advice.”

  Justine’s heart skipped a beat. Did Banks know about her column? If she did, they’d all soon find out, because she’d be her usual blunt self and say so. “What kind of advice?”

  “Wayne. The night he drove me home from here, he kissed me like he was scared he’d forget how and said he wanted to see me regularly. We went to dinner a couple of times, but he doesn’t call me. I can’t figure him out.”

  “Try zipping up your lip when you get the urge to be clever,” Duncan said in a tone that suggested exasperation.

  “I’m serious, Duncan. I’ve fallen hard for the guy.”

  Justine couldn’t help sympathizing with her. She was trying to tell them that she hadn’t had much experience with men and didn’t know what to do with Wayne. A babe in the woods. “Make him feel wonderful,” Justine told her. “Don’t lie to him, but let him know that you love being with him, that you’d rather have his company than anybody else’s. When he does something kind or gracious, when he pleases you, let him know you appreciate it. You like to be treasured and admired, don’t you? So does he.”