Читать книгу A Little Night Matchmaking - Debrah Morris, Debrah Morris - Страница 10

Love is the only fire hot enough

To melt the iron obstinacy of a creature’s will

—Anonymous

Unknown and uninvited, he had slipped into her bedroom again last night. Not quite real enough to be frightening, his arrival wasn’t entirely unexpected. Three times now, he’d appeared in the darkest hour of the night. At first, he had stood quietly at the foot of her bed and said nothing. He seemed to await an invitation, but she could hardly offer one. She couldn’t speak or move or beckon. She could only bide.

The tall stranger was oddly familiar, though there was shadow where his face should be. When he finally spoke, his whispered words were faint, as though drifting across a great, windy chasm. When she didn’t answer, he disappeared, but she ached for his return.

The next night, he became bolder. He sat on the bed beside her, so close his comforting presence invaded her senses and paralyzed her with pleasure. His voice was stronger than before, like distant thunder gaining power as a storm approached. He murmured, Brandy, Brandy, Brandy, turning her name into a song.

Last night when the stranger appeared in her room, he knelt beside her bed and touched her cheek. His dark head bent close, and his warm breath bathed her skin with need. Desperate to feel his lips on hers, she tried to turn her head, but couldn’t. She could only sense and feel and hear. He whispered a yearning expression of love in her ear. Brandy. Don’t sleepwalk through life. Wake up.

And so she had, to an empty bedroom filled with gray morning light, echoes of regret and the faint scent of cinnamon.

Brandy Mitchum squinted as her eyes readjusted to the bright afternoon sunlight and tamped down memories of the troubling dreams. She steered her old car down the washboard country road. She was running late. If Harry Peet hadn’t insisted on reading the thick sheaf of legal documents before signing, her mind wouldn’t have had so much time to wander. To dwell. She had to focus. The Midnight Man might be ruining her sleep on a recurring basis, but she couldn’t let him interfere with work. Futterman wouldn’t accept less than her best.

She glanced at her watch. The unscheduled trip to the Milk of Human Kindness Dairy had chomped a two-hour chunk out of her afternoon. Time was tight, but if no additional glitches arose, she could still hustle back to Odessa in time to pick up Chloe from the after-school program.

Her stomach rumbled. No lunch. She just couldn’t seem to break that darned three-meal-a-day habit. Hoping to find candy stashed in her oversize mommy purse, she kept her eyes on the road and fished among the jumble of Happy Meal toys, moist towelettes and clean size five Powerpuff Girls underwear. The catch of the day was a Hershey bar that had succumbed to heatstroke, but what the heck? A sugar hit was a sugar hit. Steering with one hand, she opened the wrapper and licked warm goo off the paper.

Melting as fast as the chocolate, Brandy switched on the air conditioner, but the fan grumbled and blew hot humid air in her face. Mid-September, and the outside temperature hovered near ninety. Not a good day for the A/C to conk. But then, no day in West Texas was a good day to lose climate control. She cranked down the window and leaned across the seat to lower the glass in the passenger door. Might as well roast evenly on both sides.

“Hey, lady! Wake up!”

She glanced up at the shouted warning and expelled a curse that would never have escaped her lips had her five-year-old daughter been present. She pumped the brakes, and the car slid in loose gravel before skidding to a teeth-rattling stop. The shoulder restraint locked in, preventing a close encounter between her head and the steering wheel.

Disaster averted. Barely. If the car had skidded another yard, it would have struck the truck angled across the road. Brandy sucked in a deep breath to calm her pounding heart.

A tall man in a black Stetson and mirrored sunglasses yelled as he approached. “What’s the matter with you, lady? You asleep?”

Not exactly. She’d been daydreaming about a nighttime dream, and the distraction had almost gotten her killed.

When she didn’t answer, the man stooped down and scowled at close range. “You nearly hit my trailer.”

“I noticed.” A large truck pulling a flatbed loaded with heavy equipment had failed to negotiate the turn onto the narrow country road. The dual wheels on the trailer’s left side had slid into the rocky ditch beside the road, blocking entry onto the highway. Four men stood in the sun as though awaiting orders from the scowler.

“You all right?” Stetson’s words couldn’t have contained less concern. “Not hurt, are you?”

“No. Scared spitless, but the condition isn’t fatal.” Brandy noticed the logo spelled out in big flaming letters on the side of the truck. Hotspur Well Control. Now there was a fine piece of small-world rotten luck. She had almost plowed into a truck owned by the very company her boss was suing on Harry Peet’s behalf. At least she didn’t feel too bad about the litigation. The company was a nuisance, and its employees weren’t exactly courteous, either.

“Then I’d appreciate it if you’d get out of the way so my men can hook a mini-crane to that trailer.”

“Sure. No problem.” Her heart rate returned to normal, but every time the man spoke, it kicked up again. There was something familiar about that voice. When Brandy shifted the car into reverse, it coughed like an asthmatic senior citizen, then rattled and died. She groaned. Not now. She couldn’t afford a tune-up until payday. Please, please, please start.

Muttering a prayer to the patron saint of old engines, she performed her standard good luck ritual. Three taps on the dash. Rearview mirror realign. Kiss blown in the direction of Chloe’s picture swinging from her key chain.

“Today would be good,” Stetson grumbled.

“Fine!” When she tried again the engine wheezed to life. Thank you, St. Combustion. She backed the car several yards, churning up enough dirt to make the tall man cough. Served him right for snapping her head off. He hadn’t bothered removing the aviator-style sunglasses, and the wide hat brim cast his face in shadows. She couldn’t get a good look at his face, but the rest of him wasn’t too bad. Of course, the state was full of hunky cowboys.

This one had a major case of the four Ts.

Tall. Tan. Tough. Texan.

He stomped off without another word, his scuffed boots kicking up angry little clouds of dust. Add a fifth T. Testy. Brandy watched him walk away. There was something familiar about the set of his wide shoulders. Had they met before? No. She’d remember him. Confidence without swagger. Firm step. Slim hips. Faded jeans hugging all the right places. She would definitely remember.

Close but no cigar. She didn’t need another difficult man in her life and wasn’t willing to go there. Following her divorce four years ago, her mother had warned her about dating again. “Be careful you don’t come down with frog-kiss fever.” She’d explained the condition whereby a woman feels compelled to give even unsuitable men a chance in the hopes of finding the right one. Well, not her. She was holding out for Prince Charming. Only nice guys need apply.

Brandy parked at the side of the road, got out and leaned against her car in the slanting afternoon sun. She used her cell phone to call the law office and let the receptionist know where she was and why. Then she punched in the number for the after-school program. They had a strict tardy policy and every minute past six o’clock would cost her. Still, she should warn them she might be late. Chloe was such a worrier.

After making the calls, she waited impatiently as the men unhitched the disabled trailer from the truck. The flat, dry pastureland wasn’t much to look at, but Stetson had plenty of eye appeal. Too bad he didn’t have a personality to match. If he weren’t so bossy, his deep voice might have been sexy. If he weren’t so fiercely masculine, his long-legged, loose-hipped stride might have been graceful. There was economy in his movements. This was a man who didn’t waste time or energy. Such intensity would make him equally at home in a brawl or on a dance floor. In the boardroom or the bedroom.

Disgusted with her errant thoughts, Brandy removed her suit jacket and tossed it in the back seat. The inside of the car was roughly the temperature of a pottery kiln. Sunstroke would explain why she was having feverish thoughts about a stranger who couldn’t work up enough interest to glance her way. Which was worse? Daytime delusions or nocturnal fantasies? No doubt, both were side effects of self-inflicted celibacy. Four years was a long time to be alone.

She glanced at her watch and groaned. The afternoon was slipping away. She’d never get to town by six if she didn’t hit the road soon.

“Hey, mister!”

The man in the black Stetson looked up. “Yeah?”

She held out her arm and jabbed her wristwatch. “How much longer is this going to take?”

“As long as it takes.” He shook his head as though she’d just asked a stupid question and turned his back on her.

Twenty minutes later, the crane hoisted the trailer back onto the road. It took the crew another ten minutes to clear the equipment. Brandy jumped behind the wheel and started the engine, and this time it didn’t even grumble. The boss waved her around with an exaggerated bow, but stepped in front of the car at the last minute.

“Now what?” The engine idled like a threshing machine, and she clutched the vibrating steering wheel.

He walked around the car to the driver’s side window. “Timing needs adjusting.”

“No kidding. Life is all about timing. And yours isn’t all that hot.” Even if the rest of him was.

“I meant your car’s running a little rough.”

He had stopped her to point out the obvious? “Thanks, I’ll get right on it.” She let up on the brake.

He slapped the roof of her car. “Wait. Something else needs fixing before you head back to town.”

She gave the righted trailer a pointed look. “Haven’t you already done what you came for?”

“Not quite.” He pulled a red bandana from the back pocket of his jeans, reached into the car and scrubbed at her cheek.

“What are you doing?” Brandy wasn’t the screeching type, but his unexpected action startled her. Even more startling, was her reaction. Without warning, the stranger’s touch slammed past the barricade she’d erected around her emotions since her divorce. He touched more than her cheek. Tapping into an undercurrent of longing, the connection flattened her defenses like an eighteen-wheeler rolling over a traffic cone.

The rush of odd feelings shook Brandy to the core, but not as much as the effort required to conceal them. Just as she began to recover from the impact, another startling thought blindsided her.

She knew this man.

The notion pierced Brandy’s mind, strong and certain. She’d seen him before. Somewhere. Sometime. Hadn’t she? No. He was definitely a stranger. And an annoying one at that. Still, she couldn’t deny the uneasy sense of having been touched by him before. She gripped the steering wheel tightly, forgetting for a moment how to drive. Instinct told her to step on the gas, yet she couldn’t resist the dangerous urge to stay. Distracted, she gunned the engine. She was light-headed and dizzy, but that was due to the sun’s heat, not the man’s.

“Next time you eat chocolate on a warm day,” he said with the twitch of a smile, “check the mirror for leftovers.” He waited five pounding heartbeats before wheeling around and striding back to his men.

Brandy stared after him, but he was intent on his work and didn’t give her another look. What an unsettling encounter. She sped away feeling ridiculous but couldn’t stop thinking about him on the drive back to town. Understandable. It had been a long time since a man had rattled her so badly.

Long time? Try never. The freaky been-there-done-that sensation inspired by Stetson’s touch was the strongest example of déjà vu she’d ever experienced. Sleeping emotions rumbled, stirring to life like a volcano that had been dormant too long.

Was this what love at first sight felt like? Or, in this case, love at first swipe? Ridiculous. She didn’t believe in anything so unrealistic, nor did she trust the swoon factor. She’d picked one husband based on runaway chemistry, and hadn’t that turned out great? She was older now. Wise enough to know better. She and Joe had spent two unhappy years together, and only one sweet thing had come from their doomed marriage. Chloe.

Her precocious, imaginative daughter’s head was often in the clouds, which meant Mommy had to keep her feet planted firmly on the ground. As strangely thrilling as that split second encounter on the road had been, she would probably never lay eyes on the guy again.

There was nothing mysterious about what had happened. Too much sun, not enough lunch and a dehydrated libido explained her crazy reaction.

Brandy pulled into the school’s turnaround driveway at three minutes past six, left the car running and hurried into the cafeteria to the after-school program. “Sorry I’m late, Amy. I was stuck in a jam.”

“No problem.” The college student in charge put away the broom.

Chloe placed the picture book she’d been reading in a big plastic tub. “Stuck in jam? That’s funny, Mommy. You mean like grape jam?”

“No, silly. Traffic jam. A truck was blocking the road.” Brandy reached into her purse. “How much do I owe you?”

Amy helped Chloe with her backpack. “Nothing. I couldn’t have left any sooner. Let’s call it even this time.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. Chloe, you’re a good helper. Would you straighten the books so the lid will fit on the tub?” Once the child’s attention was engaged, Amy took Brandy aside. “I need to ask you about Chloe’s new friend.”

“Which new friend?”

“The invisible one. She’s been talking to him a lot lately. I was wondering how you want me to handle the situation?”

Brandy was unaware of any situation in need of handling. “This is the first I’ve heard of an invisible friend.”

“Chloe spends a lot of time playing alone instead of interacting with the other kids. She carries on whole conversations with an imaginary playmate.” Amy lowered her voice. “Today I heard her saying she didn’t need his help. Said she had kindergarten under control. She has a great vocabulary, by the way.”

“Yes, I know.” Pride replaced worry. “She tested out at the ninth-grade level in receptive and seventh-grade in expressive. Her IQ is above average, too. Did you know she taught herself to read last year using two packs of sight cards and a stack of Dr. Seuss books?”

“She’s an incredible little girl.”

“She’s very creative. I’m sure the pretend playmate is just another figment of her imagination,” Brandy suggested.

“I learned in my child psychology class that the creation of an imaginary world isolates a child from the real one. It can be the sign of a deeper problem.”

“Really?” Brandy’s empty stomach clenched with worry. Why hadn’t she thought of that?

“She got a little upset today. I overheard her telling her ‘friend’ to go away, which might mean something. She said school was a kid’s job, and if he kept hanging around he would get her fired.”

Brandy winced. Chloe knew all about that. Brandy had lost two jobs because of childcare conflicts. “Thank you for sharing your concerns, Amy. I appreciate the time and attention you give Chloe.”

“She’s a joy. I hope I’m not out of line, but I talked to Megan, the other caregiver, and she didn’t know what to do, either.”

Brandy patted the girl’s arm. “You’re not out of line. Chloe is obviously having more trouble adjusting to the move than I thought. Thanks for letting me know.”

Amy nodded. “New town. New house. New school. Lots of changes.”

“The pace was much slower back home. Now she has to get up early for before-school care, spend all day in the gifted-and-talented kindergarten and stay for after-school care, too.”

“I can so identify. I have three part-time jobs and a full course load at Odessa College. Okay for me, but stressful for a five-year-old.”

Doubt flooded Brandy’s stomach with a tsunami acid wave. Had she traumatized Chloe by abandoning their familiar world to start over in a strange city? She’d made hard choices recently. What if they had been the wrong ones?

Her boss, Mr. Futterman, didn’t think a woman with a child could devote a hundred percent of her energy to work. Naively she had hoped a career with real earning potential would be her ticket out of the nickel-and-dime job world, but she’d had another reason for putting herself through paralegal school.

She wanted to accomplish something worthwhile. After years as a deadbeat dad, her ex-husband had finally gotten his act together. He’d been elected county sheriff back home and now paid child support regularly. He’d fallen hard for the local doctor and was happily married. She didn’t begrudge Joe his newfound contentment. She was happy for him. Everyone should be lucky enough to find true love once in a lifetime.

Joe’s success had inspired her to do more. To be more. His marriage to Mallory Peterson had given her hope. Maybe there was a special person in the world for her, too.

“Mommy?” Chloe tugged on her sleeve. “Can we go?”

Brandy took her daughter’s small hand. “I won’t be late again, Amy. Thank you for bringing the ‘situation’ to my attention.”

Brandy stopped by the ATM to get money for the dry cleaning and gas. As she placed the bills in her purse, a familiar white pickup truck turned the corner and caught her attention. She couldn’t see the driver’s face, but the wide shoulders were unmistakable. So was the flaming logo on the door.

Hotspur Well Control.

Chloe piped up from the back seat. “I’m hot.”

“I know, baby. The air conditioner stopped working.”

“How come?”

“Just old, I guess.”

“As old as me?”

Brandy laughed. “Much older than you.” Weird. Their paths had crossed again. Glimpsing him revved up all the emotions she’d suppressed, but she tried not to think about him while picking up her clothes at the cleaners. Like the dreams that haunted her, their encounter was hard to forget. She’d felt a sense of portent at his touch. What if she hadn’t seen the last of him? She laughed. Chloe wasn’t the only one with an overactive imagination. Seeing the sexy stranger again was a coincidence. Nothing more.

A few minutes later at the gas station, she had to wonder. She parked alongside an available pump just as the same white pickup pulled away from the one next to her. The driver stopped at the street, his large, competent hands resting on the wheel, and watched for a break in traffic.

Hotspur Well Control again. Who was stalking whom here? She started pumping gas but stared in the tinted driver’s side window over the top of her car. The man in the black Stetson startled her by turning around and staring back. He lowered his sunglasses for a better look, but the traffic cleared, another motorist honked and he drove away.

It wasn’t so strange to run into the same guy three times in one afternoon. Awareness was like that. When she’d first become pregnant, she’d noticed other pregnant women everywhere she went. Driving a purple car made her notice other purple cars. Nothing weird about that. Just human nature.

The sun was sinking fast by the time Brandy finished her errands and headed home. The day had lasted too long, and Supermom was super tired. Poor little Chloe had to be worn-out too.

“You’re awfully quiet, punkin.” Brandy glanced in the rearview mirror and smiled at her daughter strapped into a booster seat, her blond bangs plastered to her forehead by baby sweat. “Everything all right?”

“Yep. Just thinking.”

Like mother, like daughter. “When you get the problems of the universe sorted out, will you let me know?”

“Okay, Mommy.”

She shouldn’t worry. Chloe was deeper than most children her age, more sensitive. All kids had active imaginations. An invisible playmate was her daughter’s way of coping with the new stressors in her life. They’d have a nice talk over dinner, and she’d make sure Chloe understood the difference between real and imaginary.

Tonight she would prepare a real sit-down, we’re-a-family meal served on plates instead of from takeout bags. Country fried chicken fingers, mashed potatoes minus the yucky gravy, steamed baby carrots cut in tiny rounds and chocolate pudding. All of Chloe’s favorite foods. A surefire way to earn mommy points.

Four blocks from home the cell phone rang. Brandy groaned when she read Futterman’s name on caller ID. She didn’t have to answer. It was after seven o’clock. She was a paralegal, not an indentured servant. She’d given the firm nearly eleven hours today. She was tired. Her child was hungry. She had a life outside Futterman-Ulbright.

And the salary Fenton Futterman paid her financed that life. Well, put it that way. She took the call and listened as her frantic employer explained his latest problem. He had an early pretrial conference in the morning and had somehow lost the documents she’d meticulously prepared from sketchy notes and marginalia. Her hopes for a quiet evening flew out the window. Her boss considered motherhood a disability. He wouldn’t consider chocolate pudding a good excuse.

Nor was he willing to find the file on her computer and print another copy. She’d have to return to the office. The task wouldn’t take long, but it would cut into time she wanted to spend with Chloe.

Would forfeiting mommy points earn her a few employee points? She glanced into the back seat. She was working hard to give Chloe the kind of life she deserved, but it wasn’t really fair to drag her along for the ride. On the other hand, she couldn’t afford to tell her demanding boss no.

Life was a series of trade-offs. Balance was the key.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Futterman. I’m on it.” She disconnected the call and released an exhausted sigh. The scales were tipping and Mommy was losing.

H.A.R.P. Field Report

From: Celestian, Earthbound Operative

To: Mission Control

Re: Operation True Love

Current Objective: Contact human ally and introduce matchmaking protocol. Initiate communication between male and female subjects and assess their respective relationship skills.

Progress Notes: Contact with child established. Screening tests reveal depth of subjects’ differences. Limited success with current objective. Male subject exhibits resistance to operative’s environmental manipulation techniques. Measurements indicate commitment levels below acceptable standards.

Female subject emotionally accessible and responsive to dream therapy. Exhibits interest in long-term commitment but is currently distracted by vocational duress. Internal stress and external pressure reduce suggestibility and make her less susceptible to covert tactics.

Plan: Initiate emotional retraining of subjects and increase contact between them.

Personal Assessment: Operative desperately lacks experience to complete this mission and respectfully requests to be relieved of duty.