Barefoot and Pregnant?. Colleen Faulkner
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you. After all, what did it matter what he did for a living? Zane was obviously going to score high enough to warrant another date.
The phone rang and she glanced at the Irish porcelain clock on an end table. It was almost midnight. Eleven in Texas, too late for her father to call; he was an early riser. She darted for the phone. Liz had said she would call, to see how her evening went with Zane. Elise was dying to tell her friend what a wonderful evening she’d had. To tell her about the barefoot walk and the fact that Zane had convinced her to eat not just a burger, but fries, too. She had probably consumed an entire day’s worth of calories in one sitting and she didn’t care.
“Liz,” she said excitedly into the phone.
“Ellie?”
The male voice startled her….
He’d called her Ellie.
“Zane?”
He chuckled, his voice low and sexy. “I didn’t think you’d be in bed yet.”
She glanced at the clock again. She’d barely been home half an hour. He had to have walked into his house and immediately picked up the phone to call her.
She didn’t know what to say. The men she dated were never in a hurry to talk to her. They didn’t call half an hour after they dropped her off—sometimes they never called again.
“No, no, it’s fine,” she said, settling on the pale green damask couch. She smoothed the protective arm cover. The piece of furniture was so expensive, a gift from her father, that she barely sat on it. She preferred the old leather recliner that she’d brought from home and kept in her office in the back. She’d had the recliner in her dorm room at college, then her very first apartment. She liked the smell of the old leather.
“I was just—” She looked down at the sheet of paper on the end table and felt a stab of guilt. “Just picking up a little before I went to bed,” she lied cheerfully.
“Well, I wanted to tell you that I enjoyed my evening with you.”
“Well, I did, too.”
“So, I was wondering.”
She held her breath. She didn’t care what the book said about not relying on chemistry. Right now, it felt too darned good.
“Think we could get together later this week?”
“Sure,” she said trying not to sound overly eager.
“I thought I could tell you what I was looking for in the way of property, and you could look into what’s available.”
If her stomach could have literally dropped, it would have been on the floor. He wanted to talk about property? “Um, sure, that would be great.”
“I’ve got a lot going this week, but how about Friday?”
“Friday is good.”
“I’ll call you later in the week.”
“Sounds good,” she said, trying to sound equally cheery.
“’Night, Ellie,” Zane said in that same sexy voice that made her feel warm all over.
“’Night, Zane.”
Elise barely hung up the cordless phone when it rang again. This time it had to be Liz.
“That you, Liz?”
“Expecting Leonardo or Brad so late?” Liz’s voice was laced with her usual blend of amusement and sarcasm.
Elise curled up on the couch, tucking her bare feet beneath her. “You’re never going to believe what an evening I’ve had,” she said not knowing if she wanted to laugh or cry.
“That good?”
“Well, I think so. Zane just called and said he wanted to get together later in the week.”
“That’s wonderful!” Liz exclaimed.
“To talk about real estate.”
“Oh.” Liz’s voice fell.
“But I really like him,” Elise said softly. “And he’s already met several of the criteria.”
“So meet him. Talk to him about some property. Let him get to know you. Business luncheons will turn into romantic interludes before you know it. It happens all the time.”
Elise smiled. “Thanks, Liz. See you Monday.”
Chapter Two
Don’t be fooled by fairy tales; frogs do not turn into princes. Appearances can mean everything to the contemporary working woman. We are judged by what we drive and where we live.
“Hey, Pops! How are you this morning?” Zane leaned over and kissed the top of his grandfather’s bald head. “Look who I brought.”
Zane’s black Lab, Scootie, wagged his tail, sending his whole backside swinging and licked Tom Keaton’s wrinkled hands, folded neatly in his lap the way his nurse had left them.
The old man smiled vaguely and patted the dog’s head when Scootie rested his snout on Tom’s bony knee.
“I thought we’d go for a walk outside, Pops. How would that be?” Zane studied his grandfather’s face for some response, any response. There was none. “Great,” Zane said. “Here we go!” He unlocked the brake on his grandfather’s wheelchair and wheeled him out of the “Family Room” of the Alzheimer’s wing.
“Taking Pops for a walk, Katie,” Zane called cheerfully as he passed the nurse’s station.
“I’ll buzz you out,” the cute blonde answered. “Have a nice walk.”
“We always do.” With the dog trailing behind him, he pushed the wheelchair through the set of double doors that were locked to keep the patients inside. His grandfather wore a band on his wrist as an extra safety precaution. The wristband set off an alarm any time he passed through the doors of the ward. The band helped to alert the staff if he wandered away on those days when he could still walk on his own.
“I went to that benefit dinner for the hospital last night, Pops.” Zane pushed the wheelchair down the hallway, headed for the doors that exited into the garden area. “I gave Mr. Johann your check and told him how disappointed you were that you couldn’t be there yourself. And guess what else happened?” He hit a big silver pad on the wall and the doors swung open, allowing him to push the wheelchair through. Scootie burst through the door first, into the morning sunshine.
“I met a girl. You’d like her. She’s cute and she’s funny and she’s smart.”
The doors swung closed behind them.
“I really liked her,” he said thoughtfully, shaking his head. “She’s a real estate agent. A real go-getter according to Richard.”
Zane pushed his grandfather around a small circular herb garden, headed for the tomato patch. Tom Keaton had always grown some of the best tomatoes in Sussex County, and the hospital had been nice enough to give him a small flower bed to plant. Other patients would come out and pick them when they were ripe; Tom just liked to see the plants.
“You know how I feel about women like that, Pops. They just aren’t for me. They don’t care about anything but their job. No family ties. No purpose in life except work twelve hour days and make money. I’m looking for a woman who wants to be a part of my life the way grandma was a part of your life.”
Zane’s mother had been one of those women who put her career ahead of her family. She’d been so wrapped up in her advertising job that she’d never had time for him and his sister. She’d missed the only home run he ever hit playing Little League baseball, when he was ten. She’d never attended his band concerts. Never brought homemade cupcakes to school for his birthday like the other moms. His parents had finally divorced when