Man With A Message. Muriel Jensen
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queried.
“No,” he replied. “You should probably ask her what it was.”
She nodded and prepared to leave. He walked her to the door, where she stopped and smiled. “She’s a very nice girl who’s had a very bad time recently.”
He leaned a shoulder in the doorway. “The ex-husband?”
Parker looked surprised. “She told you?”
“Only that she had one.”
“He was a good guy,” Parker explained, “who turned out to be a bastard. I’d hate to have that happen to her again.”
“Don’t worry, she’s learned to defend herself,” he said with a wry smile. “She keeps hitting me.”
Parker frowned. “She came to apologize for that.”
He laughed lightly. “She did. Then she hit me again.” He straightened and assured her seriously, “I’m not a bastard. My background isn’t pretty and I wouldn’t claim to be a good guy, but I’m not a threat to anybody’s safety, either.”
She studied him, as if deciding whether or not to believe him. Then she finally nodded. “Okay. I’ll take your word on that. Otherwise, I know how to massage your shoulder into your eye socket.”
“Rough women in your family,” he noted with a grin.
She smiled pleasantly and hurried down the stairs.
Cam closed and locked the door, fed Fred, then decided against cereal in favor of stopping at Perk Avenue coffee shop on his way to work. He deserved a little sugar after what he’d been through this morning.
In the bedroom, he yanked off the blanket, delved into the closet for fresh jeans and a sweatshirt and started toward the bathroom, but something sparkling in the middle of the bed caught his attention. He reached for it and found that it was a little gold hoop with three tiny beads—an earring. Mariah’s earring.
He tossed it in his hand, remembering her leaping to his rescue, sprawled in the middle of his bed, leaning into him as he kissed her.
He had to draw a breath to clear the images. He didn’t need this. If he did intend to get involved with a woman, he wanted some buxom, uncomplicated ray of sunshine who’d want to make a home, raise children and help him forget all he’d lost or never had.
He didn’t need a tiny brunette with troubled eyes who’d had “a hard time.”
He tossed the earring again as he headed for the bathroom, caught it, then stopped with a growl of complaint when it bit into his hand. He opened his palm to find that his overzealous grab had caused the sharp post to jab his ring finger.
A metaphor for his involvement with her? he wondered.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE SECOND MORNING AFTER the deluge, Mariah encouraged her little troupe to finish breakfast so that they could get to school on time. They were rushed this morning. Mariah had overslept—something she never did—and it had taken Ashley’s violent shaking to wake her up.
“I’m sorry I have to hurry you,” she explained, shooing the girls upstairs to brush their teeth. “I know it’s all my fault, but we can still be on time if we put some effort into it.
“We were late yesterday,” Philip said, “and nobody cared.”
“That was because of the excitement the night before. But today it’s our responsibility to be punctual.”
“There’s still no carpet,” Amy complained as she and the other girls started up the stairs.
Mariah nodded. “We have to wait for the wood to dry. It’ll be replaced at the end of the week.”
“So, where do you think the gold is?” Peter asked Brian as the three boys, teeth already brushed, shouldered their backpacks.
Brian considered. “Cam says I have to do more research.”
“Well, where else could it be?” Philip asked.
“I’m thinking maybe in…”
Mariah missed whatever it was he thought as he lowered his voice to a whisper.
Brian had dropped Cam’s name at every opportunity since the flood. The boy had acquired status among the other children because the man who’d rescued Mariah had asked him to help. He was clearly enjoying his popularity.
Mariah tried not to think about that night—or yesterday morning. Her behavior in Cam’s apartment had to have been a result of her embarrassment at discovering that he hadn’t been in danger at all, simply playing with Fred. Added to that was the fact that she hadn’t seen a partially naked man in a long time, and the fact that the hormones she’d been sure had died with her marriage were still very lively. She had to have lost her mind just a bit.
Otherwise, why would she have practically asked him to kiss her?
Why would she have enjoyed it?
Why could she still feel his lips on hers twenty-five hours later?
It didn’t matter, she told herself briskly, pushing chairs up to the kitchen table. Unless there was another plumbing emergency, she wouldn’t have to see him again. And if there was, she could ask one of the Lightfoot sisters to attend to it. They were full of praise for his work—and his charm.
Even Parker had nice things to say about him, though she’d found them in each other’s arms.
“He seems to be a gentleman,” she’d insisted, when Mariah had grumbled in response to her question about what had been going on when she’d walked in on them.
Mariah hadn’t denied it, but wondered why, if he was such a gentleman, he made her feel such un-ladylike things.
The girls bustled down the stairs, dragging backpacks.
Mariah rounded up her little group and led them outside, locking the carriage house door behind her. They went down through a lane of swamp maple to the school playground, where all the day children were gathered, waiting for classes to begin. A lively basketball game was under way, several girls were jumping rope and a coed group competed for daredevil notoriety on the monkey bars.
Janie Florio, a third-grade teacher, waved at Mariah from the basketball hoop, fulfilling her role as playground monitor.
Mariah returned the wave and was about to wish the children a good day, when she realized they’d already dispersed into their playgroups without giving her a second thought.
Little ingrates, she thought good-naturedly as she climbed the stairs to attend a meeting with Letitia Lightfoot.
Letty hadn’t specified the reason for the meeting, but Mariah could only assume it had to do with the flood. A lot of damage had been done in the carriage house, though mercifully it was mostly superficial and covered by insurance. She would probably suggest Mariah be more vigilant, more of an authority figure with the children than the friend she strove to be.
Letitia’s office was clearly not dedicated to the needs of the children. Everywhere else in the building the rooms were cheerfully academic—black-boards, maps all over, alphabets and musical notes running above the picture rails. Here, there were big cozy chairs, frilly lamps, a mantel covered with family photos, lace curtains at the window.
The other Lightfoot sister sat behind a smallish rosewood desk and pointed Mariah to a chair patterned in cabbage roses.
Mariah sat, sinking into the old springs. Letty, she thought, looked severe. She couldn’t have heard about the kiss, could she? Of course not. The only other person who knew, aside from herself and Cam, was Parker, and she wouldn’t have told.
Such behavior had been irresponsible, very inappropriate in a woman hired to guard the safety of young…
“Mariah,” Letitia said without preamble,