by Susan Shay
“Are you kidding?” Cassie’s voice was filled with laughter as, unconsciously, she returned Keegan’s flirtation. “Together, we can handle anything.”
****
Steve Cartwright watched as a young girl walked out of the small brick house, backpack dragging behind her. If everything was the same as the last few days, that was Sharon Buttrum’s last piano lesson of the day. After all, he didn’t want to get in the door and start working his magic just to have a rugrat interrupt.
Starting his car, he eased down the block. After stopping directly in front of the house, he stepped out, tucked his shirttail a little tighter, and reached for his jacket. With a glance at his jeans, he reassured himself they weren’t too wrinkled and not too starched.
If he was too well dressed or too sloppy, no one believed he was selling insurance. Of course, he wasn’t all business. Nobody could be that dull. He thought briefly of the stories he’d heard from other salesmen about lonely housewives. Now that kind of cold call was one he wouldn’t mind. Walking briskly to the porch, he knocked.
Sharon opened the door looking just as he remembered—not extremely young or pretty. When she recognized him, she put her fingers over her lips, caught her breath, then unlatched and opened the screen door. “Hello, Steve.”
He smiled easily. “Hi, Sharon. How are you this evening?”
“I’m fine.” Raised to be polite, she didn’t ask why he was there. “Come in. Please.”
He nodded, wiped his feet on the doormat—he thought that was a nice touch—then stepped inside. An old, upright piano dominated the small room. Made of dark wood, it wasn’t very slick, but apparently it was good enough to get her several piano students. Enough that, when added to the money she made for playing at the church, she had a decent living. At least she wasn’t starving.
He glanced around, ensuring that there was no one else present. With a house that size, he could see every room from where he stood. Kitchen, two bedrooms, and one bath. And they were alone, just the way he liked it.
“Sit down, Steve.” She indicated a worn pair of matching arm chairs.
He headed toward the couch. At least there he could see her without having to peer around a ruffled lampshade. He fought to hide his smile when she followed, as he’d hoped, and perched by him on the couch.
He waited a moment as she crossed her ankles and clasped her hands in her lap, also, he was sure, something her mother taught her. He allowed his gaze to travel the length of her body. Nice. Not perfect or outstanding, but who cared? Hell, if she was dressed right—or not dressed at all—he had a feeling she’d be fantastic.
Besides, what was it his daddy always said? In the dark, all cats are gray. He shoved the thought way deep so it wouldn’t show on his face as he pinned her with his gaze. Yeah. Look me in the eyes, baby. Feel the heat. “Sharon, your parents aren’t living, are they?”
Now she looked startled, which pleased him. Keeping women off balance was one of the things he enjoyed most. “No. They both have been gone for several years.” The way she talked always made him think of a prissy old maid, even though he knew she’d been married.
Giving her a sincere look, he lowered one eyebrow. “And you have one sibling?”
“Yes. My sister, Martha. She’s married to a minister.” Sharon’s gaze focused on the floor for a moment. “They live down by Houston, so I don’t get to see them and their kids very often.”
He kept his focus on her, as if she were the only woman in the world and there was nothing anywhere that could take his attention. Fat chance. “If you were to die today, Sharon, who would pay for your funeral? The headstone?”
She blinked for a moment as if she’d never before considered her own death, then shook her head with a helpless shrug. “I’m afraid I don’t know.”
He gave her the I-understand-completely look. “If you don’t have savings set aside, your sister would have to take care of it. Do you have that kind of savings, Sharon?”
“No, I don’t have a savings account at all.” She looked stricken. “My sister couldn’t pay for it. I-I don’t know what would happen.”
“That’s why I’m here, Sharon. I supply low-cost insurance.” Why miss an opportunity like this? He slid closer. “If it’s all right, I’d like to get together with you another night this week and show you our single’s plan.”
She nodded, but as she opened her mouth, her phone rang. “I’ve got to take this,” she said, glancing sharply at the door.
Something inside him grew warm. He knew that look. There was someone on the phone she wanted to talk to. Privately. And there was only one reason for that.
He didn’t try to hide the sly smile that pulled at his lips this time. Yeah, he’d be back one night this week. And Sharon would be glad to see him. Like that other saying Daddy had, all cats purred as easily for one man as another, too.
****
Sharon Buttrum’s heart sang as she played the final notes of “A Mighty Fortress Is Our God,” then sustained the last chord. She loved to hear the deep voice of the old grand as the notes faded. Besides, it gave her an excuse to delay leaving a few moments longer. When the chord died completely, she released the keys, closed her music, and slid it inside her satchel while her heart pounded with anticipation.
The church was practically empty by the time she got to the foyer. Wendell Marshall, the minister, shook hands with a pair of elderly gentlemen, chatting briefly about the sermon. An honest-to-goodness nice guy, she knew him well enough to realize he was trying his best to avoid a lengthy discussion, but he wouldn’t just cut them off, either.
Glancing through the large area of clear glass that flanked the door, she saw Glinnis Marshall, Wendell’s wife, talking with the president of the Women’s Christian Union. Deciding how the church should be run, no doubt. Glinnis wasn’t just an overly endowed buffalo, she was an over-achiever, over-looker, and liked to over-run Wendell and any decision he tried to make.
Then Wendell’s gaze found her. She could tell by the way her heart jumped in her chest. While her nipples swelled inside her snow-white cotton bra, her mind shouted with joy.
“Sharon,” he murmured, his voice caressing her as his hands couldn’t. Not at that moment, at least.
“Brother Marshall.” Holding her satchel in her left hand, she reached for him with the other.
He stepped out to meet her, effectively hiding her from the rest of the church with his body. Lifting his hand, he slid his palm across hers, hooked their thumbs together, then slid his long, sensitive fingers over her wrist. As they talked, he caressed the heel of her hand. “The music was beautiful this morning.”
Heart beating hard, she felt her breasts swell even more as his gaze drifted downward from her face. Sometimes when they were alone together in the night, he sang her name while claiming she was the music. No one in her life had ever even thought of her as pretty. Certainly Frank, her rat-bastard ex, never had. But Wendell thought she was beautiful.
Sliding her tongue between her teeth, she wet her suddenly dry lips and gasped, “Thank you.”
His almost-blue eyes sparked. “What happened to the new music you were practicing last week? I thought you would bless us with it this morning.”
Clearing her throat, she spoke a little louder. “It’s not ready yet. I’ll have to work hard this week to have it prepared for next Sunday.”
He didn’t try to hide his sexy smile. Thank God his back was to Glinnis. “Do you need me to unlock the church a few extra nights this week?”
“If you don’t mind. I know it’s a terrible imposition, but pianos are so different. Practicing at home just isn’t the same as when I’m playing on the grand.” Of course, she really didn’t mean the grand piano. In her mind, she referred to the part of him that was grand, but she was never brave enough to actually say it. Not even when they together. Alone.
Her heart practically stopped when he glanced around, then seeing it was safe, mouthed, “I love being with you.”
/> At least that was what she thought he said. He didn’t get a chance to repeat it because his wife came up behind him just then, and suddenly his hand was no longer holding and warming hers. He even broke her heart by actually putting his arm around the cow. “Glinnis keeps saying we should invite you over for dinner one night.”
“Yes.” The woman’s voice was full, as if she intended the entire congregation to hear her intonation. “I’d like to talk to you about starting a singles group for the members of our community. There are more and more divorces each year, and these singles must have a way to find one another. Besides, I think it would be a real draw for the church and a boon for Wendell’s ministry.”
Sharon took a step back from the couple, forcing a breath into her tight lungs. Glinnis didn’t really care about Wendell or his ministry. She cared that, when she next spoke to the other ministers’ wives, she could tell them her husband started a new ministry and, as a result of his brilliance, their church had grown.
Wendell was nothing but a means to an end for Glinnis. Bragging rights in front of the other wives. A way to feel successful.
But for Sharon, he was the love of her life. She cared about him. She cared about his mind, and each day when he stole a secret moment to call her, she wanted him to tell her everything he was thinking. Why he thought it. How he came to that conclusion. She cared about his heart and everything he was feeling. Each time he held her in his arms, she wanted him to describe his emotions, no matter what they were. His love, his lust, even his guilt was precious to her.
She never tried to change him, as Glinnis was constantly doing, but was determined to change herself to fit with him. Because some day, she knew in her heart, it would be her turn to walk openly by his side. To be Mrs. Wendell Marshall.
Sadly, that wasn’t today.
Determined to be in his presence as long as possible, she searched her mind for a question. “Where do you think the best place would be for the singles to meet?”
As Wendell locked the church door, Glinnis launched into her favorite subject. The annex she hoped to get the church board to build.
Then Wendell stepped between them, effectively forcing Glinnis to tip forward so she could see Sharon. With Glinnis’s attention diverted, he deftly smoothed his hand down the polyester skirt covering Sharon’s backside, found the elastic on the panty that banded her leg and gave it a little snap. His daring made her heart go wild. He must truly love her to do something so outrageous with Glinnis so near.
And only God, and Wendell, knew how very much she loved him.
****
Keegan set the heavy tool box down with a clank. Apparently, keeping the bookstore’s restroom in good working order hadn’t been one of Steve’s priorities. Of course, after working in the bookstore for a week, he had yet to find anything besides playing that Steve had set in high regard. At least as Miriam’s big brother, he’d been able to keep her from scheduling a high-dollar plumber by explaining that, moving as often as he had, he’d had lots of minor plumbing experience in the apartments where he’d lived.
Starting with the sink, he turned on the faucet, watched the water run from under the handle for a moment, then shut it off. After closing the valve, he opened the lid on the old tool box, which had belonged to Aunt Hattie, selected a Phillips head screwdriver, fit it into the screw, and twisted.
What kind of idiot was Steve, to let things go like that? Replacing a washer in a faucet was one of the easiest household chores. And according to Cassie, this problem had existed for months.
As he worked, he thought once more of the demonstration Cassie put on at the end of the chess tournament the past week. The woman was smart enough to wait until there were very few people in the store and no one was looking, then she broke the cup and pretended to be upset.
The key to her brilliance was her subtlety. If they hadn’t heard the cup break, they wouldn’t have realized anything was going on. And even though Mack and Vernon had been right there, she’d made them think she’d been hungry.
Only a “real” psychic would try to hide her gift. Right? At least, that was the idea she was trying to implant. But why choose him to know about her vision?
If his hands hadn’t been busy, he’d have smacked himself in the forehead with the heel of his hand. He wrote for newspapers, and often his stories were picked up by the Associated Press. Who better to persuade she was a psychic? Hell, if she got enough coverage, she could become as famous as Jean Dixon—and look what that gig did for her. She’d been an advisor to presidents and famous, as well as a few infamous, personalities around the world.
For now, he didn’t mind Cassie playing him for a fool. If convincing him was her plan, it might just fit with his as well. While she was playing her game, he could investigate her and learn everything there was to know. If he excelled at anything, it was ferreting out hidden little secrets. The uglier, the better.
After replacing the washer, he put the assembly back together, then opened the valve for a test run. When the area around the sink remained dry, he turned the faucet off and moved to the toilet. Closing the lid, he removed top of the tank and watched the water seep down the overflow tube.
Jeez, if Miriam had half tried, even she could have figured out how to fix it. Grasping the ball, he flexed the rod, bending it in a slight upward arc that forced the buoyant float lower into the water. When the water trickled to a stop, he flushed. As if straight from the manufacturer, the tank refilled, then stopped. No overflow. No leakage. No problem.
Except with Cassie. Why did she have to be so attractive? Why couldn’t she look like Jean Dixon, instead of simply acting like her? Of course, her looks could have been a component in her past successes. A man was more likely to follow blindly when being led by the dick. What better way to mesmerize a guy than sex? Being around a body like Cassie’s, how could he keep the man/woman relationship off his mind?
Man/woman relationship. He almost laughed out loud at the term. Hell, when she was around, he wasn’t thinking about relationships. He was contemplating—fantasizing—a good, old-fashioned fun fest. Drenched with sweat, panting with exertion. Fast and furious. Until he collapsed from lack of oxygen or energy or sustenance. And died with a smile on his face.
Clamping down on his building excitement, he closed and latched the tool box. It might be a good idea for him to find her and see if she needed help unpacking the books that had been delivered when he’d gone in search of tools.
After returning the toolbox to the office closet, he found Miriam at the register, checking out a customer. “All right, boss. The facility is usable once more.”
She cut him a grateful glance, then turned her attention back to the young woman standing there. “Thank you, Jenny. I’ll let you know when her next book is available.”
“Well, you’d better,” the woman answered with a playful grin. “You know I like being the first one of my friends to get them.”
At Miriam’s nod, the woman turned and left the store. “That group of women makes me laugh. They’re all the best of friends, but every time they discover a new author, each one tries to be the first to read the book so she can lord it over the others. And if you can’t be the first, you opt to understand it best, and the hidden meanings behind it, or to become an authority on the author herself. Now they’ve discovered a new ‘first-time’ author, named Rachel Butler.”
Keegan thought for a moment. “Rachel Butler? I don’t believe I’ve heard of her.”
“She has only one book out, with another scheduled for next summer. The word is Rachel Butler is the pen name for an author who switched genres—but don’t tell Jenny. She likes thinking they’ve ‘discovered’ this newcomer.”
Impressive how Miriam had learned to handle her customers so easily. He’d always thought she would live her life keeping house and chasing children, but as it turned out, she was an excellent merchant. And to be so successful at selling books when she’d never enjoyed reading was really an accomplishment
. “Did I see the UPS man make a big delivery a few minutes ago?”
She opened the register and pulled out the checks. After deftly organizing them, she slid them into a zippered bag. “Yeah, seven boxes. I’ve finally got him trained to take them to the back room so we don’t break our backs hauling them ourselves. Cassie’s checking them in.”
Casually, he nodded. “Think I’ll go give her a hand.”
Miriam smiled knowingly as she turned toward the office. “I think that’s a great idea, Bubba. You help her, and I’ll leave my door open so I can take care of any customers who wander in.”
Hoping his sister couldn’t read him too clearly, he turned down the aisle that led to the back room. Reaching the heavy door, he pushed it open. Cassie sat at the work table with several boxes stacked beside her. “Miriam sent me to see if I could help.”
She watched him from across the table as he neared, her gaze troubled. Dodging the boxes, he found a stool to one side and moved it so he could sit near her. Once he was settled, he leaned on his elbows and glanced into her face. Beneath her eyes were dark circles, and her usual welcoming smile was missing.
“My God, Cassie. You look—” He caught himself before he told too much of the truth. She looked like cat puke, but you couldn’t blurt that to a woman and expect to live. “—like you aren’t feeling well.”
Her hands were knotted, and the box she’d opened was still full of books, the packing slip lying on top. “I haven’t slept much in the past few nights, and I don’t feel very well.”
Overcome with concern, he covered her hands. “Then you should go home. I’ll take care of this and help Miriam today.”
“No, I can—” As if struck by a sudden pain, she winced, then dropped her chin, allowing her light hair to curtain her face.
Alarmed, he put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her off the stool. “Come on, little one. You’re sick. I’m going to take you home.”
Turning in his arms, she lifted her face to his. For an eternity, they stood in a mock embrace with her mouth just inches from his. His heart slowed, as if shifting into a well-remembered rhythm as she rested her palms flat against his chest. “I’m not ill, Keegan. I haven’t slept because I’ve been having nightmares. It’s horrible.”