Читать книгу Struck by Lightning - Christa Maurice - Страница 6

Chapter 2

“It’s just amazing. It’s like she was swallowed up by the earth.” Dan toyed with his remaining french fries. Since Jack’s wedding last Saturday, he’d been eating every possible meal at Meechan’s. The waitresses knew him, and he pronounced it “Meechan’s Keetchan” like a local. “They said she used to come in once in a while. But she hasn’t been here for at least a month. The waitresses, the cook and the regulars. Nobody has seen her.”

“Maybe she moved away,” Lew offered.

Dan groaned. “I thought of that. You don’t think she did, do you? I mean, it wasn’t like end of term at the university, was it?”

“So when do you give up?”

Dan flashed him a trademark grin. “As soon as something more entertaining comes along.” Before he’d looked back down at his plate, he was frowning again. “I’m beginning to think I made her up. Like I was standing there watching the rain and I daydreamed this ethereal woman.”

“Ethereal?”

“It was the word of the day yesterday. Sort of fits.” Dan shrugged. When he’d torn the page off the calendar yesterday morning and read the definition the first thing he’d thought of was that girl. Of course he’d thought of her first thing every morning since he’d met her, but the word of the day for the day before that, “disingenuous,” hadn’t reminded him of her; nor had it become permanently linked to her and the purple puddles she’d left on the apparatus bay floor. “You saw the puddles on the floor. You believe she was really there.”

“Sure.”

“Good, because I’m starting to think I imagined the whole thing.”

Lew shoved his plate back and leaned his elbow on the table. “Why are you so interested in this one?”

“This one?”

“This girl. You’re wrapped up in pursuing a girl you can’t find. Why?”

Dan looked down at his plate. He’d asked himself that same question many nights as he’d fallen asleep and over many Meechan’s burgers. He’d dated prettier women, more exotic, exciting women, but something about this one wouldn’t let him go. The amused glint in her eyes when she teased him about his job within thirty seconds of meeting him. Or maybe it was her scornful smile as she challenged him to her experiment. Or the fact that she sat down on the push bumper of the engine and started wringing out her long black hair like she felt more at home there than he did. Or the nagging feeling in his gut that there was something more here. Something significant, larger than life. Like she had dropped into his world and fit perfectly as though she’d been made for him, the way her wet hair smelled and the satin of her skin. That little catch in her breath in the moment before they kissed. She wasn’t too hot or too cold or too hard or too soft. She was just right.

But he couldn’t tell any of this to Lew without getting seriously ridiculed, possibly for the rest of his life. “She’s a challenge. I mean, how many women walk away from Dan McWilliams?”

“Yeah.” Lew stood up and dropped a couple of bills on the table. “I gotta get to the junkyard. See you later.”

Dan grunted. She couldn’t have moved away. She had to be here someplace. It was just going to be a matter of time before he found her again.

* * * *

Rebecca sat behind the desk with her chin in her hands, staring out the window. For five weeks now she’d been living like a hermit. Other than one foray to the Salvation Army for supplies, she’d been staying home working on new stuff when she wasn’t drawing the hero in her sketchbook. She’d been walking to the gallery the long way down Market and carrying her lunch so she wouldn’t need to head to Meechan’s and risk being spotted on the street. Now she was starting to miss Billy’s chocolate shakes. The hero hadn’t been on the street for a couple of days. Maybe he’d given up. She couldn’t stay in hiding forever, assuming he was still looking for her. He’d have to be nuts and she didn’t need another nut in her life.

Unless he was still looking for her because he’d felt something in that ridiculous kiss too. Felt that mad surge she couldn’t entirely convince herself was electricity in the air from the storm.

Who cared if he felt something? She hadn’t. It was just electricity. Lightning. A Romeo like that needed to be put in his place. If he was intent on pursuing her, then it was her duty to womankind to remind him that he wasn’t God’s gift.

But he couldn’t still be looking for her because that would be maudlin and she really wanted a milk shake. She picked up the phone.

“Meechan’s,” Billy answered.

Rebecca smiled. So far the fates were with her. Billy was working. “Hi Billy, I need to place a carry out order.”

“Okay.” Billy always sounded so happy. Thirty-five and mentally handicapped, Billy’s entire job had been taking phone orders and ringing register until Max discovered his gift for milk shake making about a year ago.

“I need a cheeseburger, jojos and I want you to make me one of your special chocolate milk shakes.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. You make the best milk shakes in town, Billy.”

Billy giggled. “You want peanut butter in it? It’s good with peanut butter.”

Rebecca hesitated. She really only wanted a plain-Jane chocolate milk shake, but she never could resist Billy’s excitement. “Sure Billy. Peanut butter would be great.” Peanut butter would be fine and nothing would ever be as bad as the tuna salad milk shake incident last spring. That had been her own fault. She’d told him anything he ate with milk would probably be good in a milk shake. Then she found out he ate everything with milk, after the tuna salad milk shake, but before she ended up with a spaghetti milk shake.

“It’ll be all ready in fifteen minutes. Are you coming over?”

Rebecca often wondered how he thought anyone would get their carry out order if they didn’t come get it. Meechan’s didn’t do delivery. Billy tried once and got lost going to the bank at the end of the block. “I’ll be over in a few minutes.”

“Okay. Bye.” Billy hung up.

Rebecca hung up the phone. She no longer entertained the hope that they would train him out of hanging up on people. Rubbing her hands together greedily, she checked the time. Fifteen minutes between her and her chocolate peanut butter shake and the sure knowledge that it was once again safe to walk the streets. She opened her sketchbook. She’d started this one about a year ago when she, Bess and Max were planning the gallery. There were floor plans and notes interspersed with her drawings of trees and flowers because she and Bess had been in a heavy landscape phase, which Bess had not yet left. Rebecca flipped forward to two whole pages of calculations determining what she needed to live on and what she needed for the gallery so she could ask her parents for a loan. The math was wrong in a couple of places. The paper was water stained and thin from crying and erasing. Then the sketches picked up again for a while until she’d discovered high art and started drawing thumbnails with supply lists beside them. Then pictures of the hero. Dozens of them, from all angles. Did he really did look like this or had her memory reshaped him?

She left the book open on the desk and picked up her keys and some money for lunch. The weather had remained at the same level of unbearable hot since June. School started next week and for the first time in her life, Rebecca had no classes to attend. The first loan payment to her parents was due that day though. She had it and most of the second one too, not due until Thanksgiving. A gallery in Chicago had contacted her about doing a show with a few other up-and-coming artists. She was succeeding beyond her wildest expectations.

Succeeding as a con artist, instead of as an artist. Too much time alone these last few weeks had given her lots of time to reflect on that. She pulled open the door of Meechan’s mumbling under her breath, “Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the biggest fraud of all.”

The place was jammed like always. About a quarter of the people she knew and another quarter knew her. The rest just came to see what all the fuss was about because Meechan’s was famous citywide. Billy looked at her blankly when she stopped at the register.

“I called in a to-go order a few minutes ago. Remember, Billy?”

He brightened. “I remember you now. You haven’t come to see me for a long time. Where’s Max?”

“Hasn’t he come to see you either? I’ll tell him you miss him.”

“Tell him I have a new secret recipe for my shakes.” He leaned over the counter and whispered, “I’m going to put soda pop in them.”

“That’s a good idea, Billy.” A good idea that several other places had already had, but good nonetheless. “I’ll tell Max.”

“I’ll get your lunch for you.”

“Okay.” Rebecca folded her hands and waited while Billy trotted to the kitchen at the back of the restaurant.

“Well, hello again.”

The voice sizzled through every nerve ending in her body. The hero. As morose as she’d been lately it might be nice to have a distraction. She turned and smiled at him. “Hello, hero.” Her memory had not recast him in the least. The precise set and mold of his features had apparently been burnt into her mind by the lightning.

“I thought maybe you had melted in the rain.” He leaned against the counter beside her.

“No, I’m drip dry.” Had he intended to let her know that he’d been looking for her or had he slipped? He was making it far too easy again. Billy hurried up to the register with a bag.

“Here it is, here it is.” He studied the register keypad for a moment before punching in the correct numbers. “It’s four dollars and eighteen cents.”

“Did you add in my milk shake, Billy?”

“Milk shake?”

“You were going to make me a chocolate milk shake with peanut butter, remember?”

“Oh yeah. I forgot. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Billy. You can still make it. Just make sure you charge me for it.”

The hero seemed disconcerted by Billy. When Billy had brought her lunch, the other man had stood up as if he wanted to get distance between them. Billy never noticed when people did that, but Rebecca did. She waited until Billy had fixed her total and hurried back to the kitchen to make her milk shake before she spoke. “He’s a good guy.”

“Who?” the hero asked.

“His name is Billy. He’s just a little slow. It isn’t catching.”

“I-I know,” he stammered. “I’ve talked to Billy before. I like him.”

Rebecca bit her lip. Maybe she’d misjudged him. “He makes great milk shakes,” she offered.

“I’ll have to try one next time.”

Next time? So he planned to hang around Meechan’s more often. He was letting a lot slip here. She considered seizing the opening he’d given her, but Billy was running toward her holding her milk shake out in front of him.

“Here it is, here it is. Walt said I could give you a big one because I forgot it first.”

Rebecca smiled at Billy. “Thank you, Billy, and tell Walt I said thank you too.”

“When are you going to come back and draw stories some more?”

Rebecca stood stunned for a moment, staring at him. How had he even remembered that? For a while last year she’d come in with a sketch pad and told fairy tales while illustrating them for her audience. She’d often received enough in tips to cover her meal. That had been before she’d realized she could never make any money as an illustrator, before the gallery and the big sell out to fine art. She smiled, feeling sadness weight the corners of her mouth. “I’m surprised you remember, Billy. Maybe I will come draw stories for you some more.”

“I hope you do. I liked the pictures you drew. Bye.” He turned away because he was finished with the conversation even if she wasn’t. Max called it hanging up in person.

Rebecca gathered up her bag and shake and walked out.

“So, are you an artist?”

Rebecca looked up at the hero. He’d followed her out of the restaurant. No surprise if he’d been hunting her for a month. “After a fashion.”

“I’d like to see some of your work.”

She pressed the button for the walk signal and centered her attention on him. If he made this too easy, it wasn’t going to be any fun. “I think that can be arranged.” She sipped her milk shake, keeping her eyes focused on his. The light changed and she started across the street with the hero at her heels.

“I didn’t catch your name last time. I’m Dan.”

“Hmm. A pleasure, Dan.” She didn’t look at him because she didn’t want to see his reaction, or lack of one, to her sarcastic tone. He really was making this too easy. “My name is Rebecca.”

“Rebecca,” he repeated like he was testing it. She wondered if it rang true for him. “So do you work around here, Rebecca?”

She stopped at the door and inserted the key in the lock. Behind her she heard his soft “oh.” The door swung open and she stepped inside. It felt cooler now, but that probably had more to do with the temperature on the street than the temperature in the building. She set her lunch bag on the desk, trying to close her sketchbook without alerting him to it. Wouldn’t do to have him learn she’d become obsessed with him. She turned around, expecting him to be right behind her.

But he wasn’t. He was standing on the step, staring at the window.

“Hey hero, are you coming in?” She walked around the desk and settled into the chair to eat. The food, even the coveted milk shake, didn’t have the same appeal anymore. Had to be the heat. Couldn’t be the guy. Guys never made her go all simpery and unable to eat.

The hero stepped through the door. His eyes were scanning the walls, so she took the opportunity to study him. No, her memory hadn’t changed his features in the least. He had an almost cartoon-like perfection. Like he’d just stumbled out of a Disney movie. Rebecca looked down, forcing herself to focus on spreading out her lunch. Billy’s comment about her drawing stories was throwing her, making her all mushy-headed. This guy was just entertainment. She’d also better stop thinking about Disney movies while she was at it because all that brought to mind was Princess Jasmine’s squeaky voice saying, “I choose you!” at the end of Aladdin.

“So what do you think?” she asked just before biting into her burger.

He nodded at one of Bess’s landscapes. “Nice.”

“That one’s not mine.” She pointed at the latest Broken Home. “That one’s mine.”

Had he winced as he turned to the piece? If he was slavishly obsessed with her, he would tell her how brilliant she was. Then she’d really be able to relegate him to toy status. She couldn’t enter a relationship with a dimwit who didn’t know bad art when it was hanging right in front of his face. And why was she thinking about a relationship anyway? She had a career to promote. No time for relationships.

“It’s interesting,” he finally said, turning away from the piece. “Billy said you drew.”

“I do.” She picked up a jojo and shoved it in her mouth, burning the roof for her trouble. She didn’t want to slip and let him know she held her own crap in contempt. She slurped milk shake to cool off her mouth and created a decidedly nasty flavor. She hoped Billy didn’t drink milk with jojos.

“Are any of these drawings yours?”

She shook her head and swallowed. “No, the landscapes are all Bess’s. I only do high art.”

“Is that what it’s called?” He sauntered over to the desk and leaned his hip against it, obviously trying to overwhelm her with his charm. “I guess I’m just not knowledgeable about art. Maybe you could teach me.”

Once upon a time, when she and Bess had been friends, she could have looked forward to having a great laugh over that line. Now, of course, she and Bess barely spoke and neither Max nor Billy would be as amused. Edie fluttered in long enough to drop off more stuff and pick up her share of the profits. Rebecca smiled up at the hero. “But what would I receive in return for these culture lessons?”

“Dinner? Tomorrow night? I know a nice little Ethiopian place.”

Ethiopian. Rebecca knew the only Ethiopian place in this corner of the state and it was traditional so everybody sat on the floor, giving him the opportunity to both impress his date with his taste while increasing his chance of sitting without having a pesky table between them. She wondered how many women had fallen for that. With those bright blue eyes? Probably dozens. He really did need to be notched down a couple of pegs. “I’m really not fond of Ethiopian. Do you know any Korean restaurants?”

The only Korean place within one hundred miles was a filthy hole in the wall that would spring squid on unsuspecting patrons. And he didn’t know it, by the look on his face. “I bet I could find one. What do you say?”

Rebecca leaned back in her chair, nursing her milk shake. She should be more amused by watching this gorgeous guy fall all over himself, and if it weren’t for the undercurrent of tension, she would be. This guy was not the usual catnip mouse to be played with, but didn’t that make him more challenging and therefore more fun?

The hero helped himself to one of her jojos and looked around the gallery again. “How is that shelf attached to the ceiling?”

Rebecca looked up. “I don’t know. Max did it.”

“Is it stable?”

“I guess so.” She remembered Max building that shelf. Standing on the very top of a seven-foot ladder screwing it into the ceiling and nearly strangling himself with the drill cord. She’d spent the entire time in a cold sweat, sure that he was going to fall and get himself killed.

“You should make sure it is. You don’t want that falling on your customers.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “You didn’t tell me there would be a safety inspection.”

“Comes with the territory. If you want, I can come by some time and make sure it’s screwed into a joist.”

Next he’ll offer to fix my car, she thought. Oh wait, I don’t have a car. “I don’t think you have to worry about that. I’m sure Max did whatever he was supposed to. The building inspector looked at it.”

“Oh.” The hero looked crestfallen. Then he brightened. He reached for her hand, which she had left sitting on the desk instead of holding food or in her lap where he couldn’t get to it.

Now why did I leave myself open like that? I must be getting careless.

“You never did answer me about dinner,” he reminded her, curling her fingers around his palm with his thumb.

“I don’t know that I’m up for Korean right now.” She stood up, pulling her hand away, and walked to the other side of the gallery. She didn’t have time to play games with heroes. Her career needed her. Such as it was.

“Okay.” He stood up. “Maybe another time.”

“Yeah,” she answered, overplaying the brightness in her voice.

“Okay,” he said again. “But just in the interest of science, I’m out of uniform and it’s not raining.”

He’d crossed the gallery in three long strides and pulled her into his arms before she’d realized he wasn’t leaning on the desk any more. His tight embrace drew her up to her toes and she grabbed his shoulders for balance. He studied her for a long moment before leaning down to press his lips against hers. Rebecca closed her eyes, allowing every ounce of her to train on the pressure of his lips and the length of his body against hers. Her brain shorted out. Distantly, she felt the heat of the sun through the window and knew she shouldn’t be kissing anyone in the front window of the gallery where all the world could see.

But she really didn’t care. She couldn’t even think beyond the end of the kiss.

Which came sooner than she expected, just like the last kiss had.

He released her, dropping her back on her heels, and stepped back a pace. “Now you have a control.”

“A control?” Rebecca reached back and found the edge of Edie’s jewelry case before she slithered to the floor in a helpless pool. He was a really good kisser.

“For your experiment. No uniform, no rain.” He grinned and walked out.

No uniform, no rain? Oh, the excuse for the last kiss. The romance scale. She couldn’t let him get away like that. Too much like giving him the upper hand. She hurried to the door and yanked it open. “Thanks. So far the theory holds.”

He stopped and turned around.

“It is more romantic with the rain and the uniform.”

He smiled, apparently pleased with that even though he shouldn’t be. “Good. Stop by the station sometime and we’ll try it with the uniform.” He waved and walked around the corner.

Damn, he got the last word anyway. Rebecca scowled. That wasn’t supposed to happen. Had he actually parked down that street or did it just end the conversation before she got another comment in?

“So, are you going into performance art now too? Or is this just the latest toy boy?” Bess sniped, stopping behind her on the steps.

Rebecca wished Bess didn’t hate her so much so she could tell her about the entire encounter. She wanted someone to talk to. “You decide. Are you going to do your shift here today?”

“That’s why I’m here.”

“Then I guess I’ll go home. No need for two of us to wait around all afternoon.”

Bess made a lemon sucking face and pushed past Rebecca into the gallery.

Rebecca stared at the corner. He would be a challenge. She needed a challenge right now. The fine-art crowd was like shooting fish in a barrel. If she dribbled paint on a board and nailed it to the wall cockeyed, they would congratulate her on her vision. The hero, however obsessed he acted, wasn’t cowed and might not take all the torture she dished out. His maneuver just now proved that. She had to respect any man who wouldn’t let her have the last word.

Now she just had to wait until he made another appearance. Which he would. They always did.