Tempting the Negotiator

by Zana Bell

  “Just arrived. Quite a grizzly sight, considering you’re supposed to be conservationists.”

  “Looks bad, I know,” Rob said, a step behind Jake, “but there were extenuating circumstances, Your Honor.” He leaned down and dropped a light, sweaty kiss on her cheek. “It was bound to come down in the next big storm. Good to see you. All ready for the Grease party tomorrow night?”

  “A Grease party? Is that what it is? You’re kidding me, right? Didn’t they go out of fashion in, like, 1979?”

  Rob looked at Jake with a wounded expression. “Ms. Walker here thinks we’re hokey.”

  Jake shook his head. “Don’t be hard on the kid. She’s fresh from New York. What does she know about the latest trends? America hasn’t even had a female president yet. We probably shouldn’t mention taking the America’s Cup off them, either.”

  His curls were matted and rivulets of sweat ran down his temples. He smelled of machine oil and testosterone. The chainsaw was switched off but the air was still charged.

  “Yeah, yeah. One little yacht race and you guys think you can take on all of the U.S. of A. A touch of the small man’s syndrome if you ask me.”

  “Hey, nothing small about the Finlaysons,” said Rob. “Well, me and Jacob at any rate. Can’t speak for Jake.” He ducked as his brother swung a punch. “If you’ll excuse me, Sass, I’ll go shower.”

  He disappeared into the house just as Moana came out, carrying a can of beer. “Here you go, payment for the worker.”

  Jake cracked it open and took a long pull. Sass couldn’t help looking at the long lines of his throat. “Man, that’s good,” he said.

  Privately, she agreed. Then remembering that she was supposed to be brisk, she turned to Moana. “I’ve just been hearing about the Grease party tomorrow night. Are we expected to dress up?”

  “Don’t worry about it—I’ve got it covered. Here, take Jacob, will you? And I’ll get the coffee on.”

  She held her son out to Sass, who raised her hands in surrender as if the baby were a time bomb.

  “Whoa, I don’t do kids, thanks all the same.”

  “Don’t be silly.” Moana dropped Jacob into Sass’s lap, forcing her to catch him. “There’s nothing to it.”

  Sass looked down at the little boy. She hadn’t been this close to a baby in years. Gingerly, she scooped him up, and as she inhaled that distinctive baby smell, she remembered being five and seeing her brother Adam for the first time. “Hey, buddy.” Jacob regarded her with steadfast black eyes. “Had a good sleep?”

  What to say to babies? She wasn’t going to start with the baby talk, so she jigged her knee up and down. Jacob looked interested. She jigged again and he giggled.

  Jake plopped down on the step beside her and leaned against the railing as he held the can, beaded in moisture, to his brow. He was covered in fine sawdust and the hair on his chest glowed gold in the sun. She crossed her legs, grasped Jacob’s plump little hands and wrists and started a brisk trotting rhythm. Jacob shrieked with laugher, which made her smile. “You’d do well in the rodeo, kid.”

  “Rodeo?” Jake regarded her quizzically. “I suppose they’re a compulsory part of a Texan upbringing.”

  “Not necessarily, but in my case, yes, when I was younger. My dad’s on the circuit.”

  Jake looked impressed. “He’s a rider?”

  Sass hesitated. “Sort of.”

  “What do you mean, sort of?”

  She bit her lip. “He’s one of the clowns.”

  Kids at school had died laughing at that one. She never talked about it at all in New York.

  Jake’s eyes lit up. “Yeah? He must have balls.”

  “I don’t know about that,” she said. “He sure lacked stamina in the family department.”

  Sass regretted saying it the minute it slipped out, and to cover her embarrassment, she buried her face in Jacob’s stomach, blowing raspberries. The baby shrieked with laughter again and clutched her hair. She gently pried open his tiny hands to inspect the minute perfection of his plump palms and fingers, then pretended to nibble them. When she looked up, Jake was watching her. “What?”

  He smiled his slow, surf smile and despite her resolve, her insides liquefied. “You’re great with babies.”

  “Yeah, well, this one’s a little heart-warmer.”

  Jake stretched out his long legs and leaned his head back on the railing behind him. He was feline in the way he could look both completely relaxed and entirely alert. The sun caught the side of his face, accentuating the high cheeks, the jaw that could set so pugnaciously.

  “If your father was a rodeo clown and your mother was an English teacher, how the hell did they get together in the first place?”

  By leaning back, he’d created distance between them, which helped. She hated deep-and-meaningfuls, especially when the guy leaned forward to stare into her eyes.

  “They met at a party my dad and some of his friends crashed. She was pretty and had class, and he was handsome and wild. It was just a fling until I happened along.”

  Sass ran a finger down Jacob’s forehead and nose to his mouth, and let him nip on it. Jake sat motionless. She wasn’t used to people sitting so still. In New York everyone was like her, revved on coffee and stress. Jake, however, was used to harnessing his energy and patience while waiting on his board. Then, when the right wave came, he unleashed it all in one crazy, adrenaline-pumping, death-defying ride.

  “And then?” he prompted, taking another sip of his beer.

  She shrugged. “They married and Mom went on teaching. She just loves poetry. But Dad couldn’t settle. Was always off to rodeos all over the place—roping heifers in and out of the arena, from all accounts. His stints away became longer than his stints at home, and the arguing increased. He left for good when I was twelve.”

  Jake grimaced. “Tough. How did your mum cope? You said the other night your dad left debts.”

  Sass looked out over the garden with its flower beds and fence and pile of firewood in the far corner, ready for winter nights. A tire was tied to the branch of a tree. She’d had a swing just like it in their yard. For the first time she realized how her mother must have felt, selling their home—and all her dreams of happily-ever-after—to move into a trailer park.

  Sass looked back at Jake. “She started drinking.”

  She waited, half-defiant, for his response—this golden surfer boy with his rich family. At the same time, the lawyer in her was questioning why she’d chosen this moment to expose her secret shames to this particular man. Was it the need to drive a wedge into the dangerous connection developing between them? More worrisome still, was it because she was testing him?

  “Poor lady. Hard on you kids, too.”

  “It wasn’t like, you know, trailer-trash drinking. She’s a functioning alcoholic. No one ever guessed.”

  Jake nodded. “My grandfather was an alcoholic. I understand how it is. Nice person but hell to live with.”

  To hide tears that suddenly threatened, Sass cuddled Jacob close. He felt so good. She was never going to have babies—they didn’t figure in her game plan—but at this moment she got why women went mushy over the idea.

  “It wasn’t all Dad’s fault,” she said abruptly. She didn’t know why she had this need to defend her father, but it seemed important, somehow, that Jake got the full picture. “Mom also had a fling—with a Cherokee. Adam was her papoose, but Daddy raised him exactly the same as Cole and me.”

  “Deep down, he sounds like a good man, Sass.”

  “Yeah, I think he is,” she said. She’d never discussed her father with anyone before. Jake’s nonjudgmental attitude made it easier. “For years I just hated him, but more recently I’ve given it a lot of thought and realize he’s just…kind of weak, I guess.”

  Unable to hold the intensity of Jake’s gaze anymore, she glanced away with a laugh. “You should’ve seen us together—my fair-haired mom, two blondies, and then this dark Cherokee kid—the best looking of us all
.”

  At that moment Moana came out, carrying a tray. “You’ve got a Native American for a brother? That’s so cool!”

  Sass looked at her with genuine affection. “Adam would be so pleased to hear that. He’s always had a complex, being the odd one out.”

  “Oh, we’re all mixed blood in New Zealand. Take me. I’m Māori, but also Irish and a touch of French.” She handed a coffee to Sass. “Jake and Rob, on the other hand, are English and Dally, with only a smattering of Māori.”

  “Do you guys ever speak real English? What’s Dally?”

  Jake crumpled his beer can. “Dalmations. A lot came out at the turn of the century.”

  “That’s where he gets his beautiful green eyes.” Moana sighed. “Rob was short-changed and got brown like me. I’d hoped that Jacob would get them, but no, he’s going to be the same as the rest of the whānau.”

  “Whānau?”

  “Extended family.” Rob arrived with a plate of steaming muffins. “Here, hot from the oven. Tuck in.”

  “How do you do it?” Sass demanded.

  “What?” Moana asked.

  “How do you have a kid, a job, a home and still have time for baking?”

  Moana laughed. “Family secret, sorry. I’d tell you but then I’d have to kill you. You okay with Jacob?”

  “Absolutely, he’s my hostage. You don’t get him back until you explain how to be All Things Woman.”

  “Oh, all right. Aunt Betty.” Moana sat back and grinned enigmatically.

  Rob laughed and Sass looked at Jake. “I don’t get it.”

  He took pity on her. “Betty Crocker muffin mix.”

  “Really? Oh, man. I feel so taken in.”

  “Yeah,” Moana said, holding out her arms, “but whatever works, right? Now pay up, and give me my baby.”

  “Gladly,” said Sass, handing Jacob over. “I couldn’t work out why he was suddenly concentrating so hard.”

  Moana wrinkled her nose and, without pausing, passed the infant straight on to his father. “Your turn.”

  Rob groaned, but Moana said bracingly, “It gets better. You and Jake are holding the fort and the infant for the next few hours. Sass and I are going Grease shopping.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  THEY TOOK SASS’S CAR.

  “I wanna be flash for a change,” Moana said. But the sports car looked incongruous reflected in the dusty windows of the secondhand clothes shop they drew up in front of.

  “Are you sure about this?” Sass asked, eyeing the peeling paint on the shop frontage.

  “Trust me,” she said, “this shop is pure vintage. Things here haven’t sold in over twenty years.”

  Self-conscious in her noisy high heels, Sass followed Moana into the shop, which smelled so musty she paused in the doorway. Unwanted memories of shopping in places exactly like this surfaced. Revulsion welled in her, but Moana was already holding up shiny, leopard-print Lycra leggings and waggling her splendidly arched eyebrows suggestively.

  “How about these little passion-pants, then?”

  “Oh my God, some of the women in the trailer park used to sit around smoking in things like that.”

  Moana laughed. “They’re your size, girlfriend. We’ll put them to one side for you. They’re only two bucks. Come on, you check out that lot over there.”

  Sass went gingerly over to the rack, but as she began sorting through the clothes, she got a grip on herself. After all, she wasn’t the poor kid on the block anymore. She was Sass Walker, NY lawyer. What had happened to her then wasn’t about to affect her now. Denial had always been her strongest weapon, but today she was discovering that confronting memories was easier than she’d expected.

  As she relaxed, Sass found herself getting into the swing of the treasure hunt, and by the end of the afternoon she and Moana had two overflowing bags of “possibilities” and felt they’d earned a coffee. At a small café down at the marina, they sat outside and admired the yachts reflected in the afternoon high tide.

  “So,” said Moana, skimming off a teaspoon of cappuccino froth and savoring it, “you and Jake seem to be getting on.”

  Her tone was casual, but Sass wasn’t deceived. “Yeah, seems so,” was all she’d offer.

  “He’s a nice guy. Mind you, I’m partial to the Finlayson boys. Do you have anyone back in New York?”

  Sass laughed and shook her head. “Moana, you’d be a hopeless witness. Your lines of thought are far too transparent.”

  Moana smiled, unabashed. “I don’t hedge around.”

  “I’ve noticed.”

  “And I’ve noticed you haven’t answered the question. So, do you have a boyfriend back home?”

  Sass looked away, over at the yachts. A man was rowing a dinghy back to a boat with a Canadian flag. His T-shirt was stretched and faded. In New York, people would be wearing boots and long coats right now, battling winter sleet.

  “No, there’s no one.”

  “How come? A gorgeous woman like you? I’d have thought you’d have them all panting at your feet.”

  Sass blushed. Deep down she couldn’t believe that other people couldn’t see the gangly trailer kid she was. To cover up her embarrassment, she shrugged and sat back in her chair, cradling her cup.

  “There’s not really time for relationships in my life. I’m pretty committed to my job.” She saw Moana’s expression and smiled. “Yeah, I know you guys think what I do is reprehensible, but that’s not the way I see it. We go in, take unused land and build resorts for ordinary families to have their week in paradise. It’s easy for you guys to scorn development. You live in exquisite surroundings. But if you lived in some boring old town in the back of beyond, let me tell you, you’d be hanging out for a holiday in Paradise Mexico, too. We provide an escape for people, a chance to live the fantasy for just a week or two.”

  “And make a killing in the process.” Moana’s tone was dry, and Sass inclined her head in acknowledgment. “Mind you,” Moana continued, “when you put it like that, it doesn’t sound that bad. But getting back on topic, Rob and I had full-time jobs and yet we still found time for a relationship. Even New York lawyers must get together and procreate, or the species would die out.”

  Sass laughed. “That’s the problem. I’m not interested in procreating. There’ve been some nice guys, but they all had picket fences in their eyes. Living in a bedroom community with two point four kids doesn’t hold any appeal.”

  Moana nodded thoughtfully and tucked a strand of her long black hair behind her ear. “Well, that makes sense. But it sounds lonely.”

  “I’m not lonely.” That sounded sharper than she intended.

  “Sorry, Sass, I shouldn’t have said that.”

  But the woman was a psychologist and Sass knew her reaction had just been filed away in Moana’s mind. Sass decided to move the conversation away from herself, not wanting further analysis. “What about Jake? How come he doesn’t have any girlfriends?”

  Damn! Talk about trains of thought…But Moana gave no sign that she’d noticed. She was as professional at her job as Sass was at hers. Instead, she shrugged.

  “It’s strange, I’ve known both brothers since they were teenagers, and this past year has been the only time I haven’t seen Jake with half a dozen girls hanging around him. There are women here pining for him to show a flicker of interest, but so far he seems to remain oblivious.”

  “And before now? No serious relationships?”

  Moana leaned back in her chair and gave Sass a long look. “Jake’s as cagey as you when it comes to talking about personal things. Generally Kiwi blokes aren’t very good at sharing their feelings—there’s this whole Man Alone thing that’s part of their male psyche. Not surprising, really. The Pākehā—that’s the Europeans—had it tough when they first came to New Zealand. It seems tame now, with fields and sheep, but it used to be impenetrably dense forests, flooding rivers and thousands of miles of loneliness. They turned in on themselves, built small huts in the wilderness and
hunkered down. Self-reliant and alone.”

  Sass blinked. “Wow. That’s quite a picture.”

  Moana smiled smugly. “I wrote a paper for a pysch journal explaining the problems we have with our boys.”

  “I see. Enter Brad and Company.”

  “Exactly. I think it also goes some way to explain the Kiwi laconic understatement. For example, if a guy is over-the-moon-thrilled-to-his-socks excited, he’ll say, ‘That’s cool’ in a quiet way. If he really likes the look of something or if he’s enjoyed himself, he says, ‘Yeah, not bad.’ The shittiest day becomes ‘not the best.’ So if one ever says, ‘I quite like you,’ it that means you are the hottest babe he’s fancied in a long time and he could well be on the way to love.”

  Sass laughed. “In New York, everything’s amped up.”

  “There’s one exception, though. Sport. Then Kiwi males yell and hurl abuse. On the field they slap each other on the back, and players can even hug each other in a rough sort of way.”

  “Now that behavior I do recognize. It’s a Y-chromosome thing, I guess.”

  “Yeah. As for Jake, he was involved with some girl in Hawaii. If you can get him to talk about it, you’re a better counselor than I. He won’t give anything away if he doesn’t want to. Just like you.”

  “As a psychologist, you should realize there’s no way anything can happen between me and Jake if we’re both so cold and repressed.”

  “I didn’t say you were cold. Actually, I wouldn’t say that about either of you. I simply said you didn’t give things away.”

  “If opposites attract, and we are two of a kind, wipe that look off your face.”

  Moana grinned. “Don’t worry. I think there are more than enough opposites between the two of you to keep you sparking a long, long time. Look, tomorrow night, why don’t you and Jake come for dinner? Then we can get ready together. It’ll be fun—we can pretend we’re teenagers again.”

  Sass groaned. “A Grease party is more like a bad dream from my childhood, but yeah, dinner would be great.”