Читать книгу A Little Night Matchmaking - Debrah Morris, Debrah Morris - Страница 11

Brandy pulled into the fast-food drive-thru and ordered the usual. With the food cooling on the seat beside her, she drove downtown against rush hour traffic, an exhausted salmon swimming upstream without even the prospect of mating to motivate her.

By the time she arrived at the office, the firm was closed for the day. All the smart people had gone home. Juggling her briefcase and purse in one hand and the bag of food in the other, she unlocked the dead bolt and ushered Chloe inside. The lever jammed when she tried to relock the door. The universe was conspiring against her today. She pulled the knob and jiggled the catch to secure the door and led Chloe to her small office at the back of the building.

“Is this your work?” Chloe looked around curiously. She hadn’t visited the hallowed halls of Futterman-Ulbright before.

“Yep. Sorry you had to come down here, honey. Mommy needs to get some papers ready for her boss.”

“I know. They got losted.” Chloe peered at the computer monitor’s space-themed screen saver, then swiveled the desk chair in dizzying circles.

“Right.” She hadn’t mentioned the missing papers. “How did you—”

“Your boss should be more careful.”

“I agree.” She cleared a spot on a corner of the desk and set out a colorful cardboard box. Cinnamon. Again. Where was that coming from? Brandy found nothing unusual among the meal’s contents. She sniffed the air near Chloe where the scent was strongest. Ah, cinnamon crackers. “Here you go. You can eat while I work.”

Chloe wasn’t happy with her meal and went straight for the toy. “Oh, ratties. I already have this one.” Unwrapping the burger, she carefully removed both pickles and picked off every microscopic bit of onion before dumping French fries on the wrapper.

“Sorry, baby.” Trying not to feel too guilty about all the fast-food meals they’d eaten recently, Brandy poked a straw in the milk carton. She squirted a packet of ketchup in a neat red pile, careful not to let the condiment touch the fries. Chloe had a thing about mixing food. She preferred to dip.

“That’s all right, Mommy.” She tore the wrapping off the disappointing toy and laid it aside. “I can start a collection.”

Sipping her super-size diet cola, Brandy sat at the computer and pulled up the file containing the case documents her boss needed for the conference. She couldn’t believe someone as anal as Futterman could misplace something so important. Moving anything on his desk an eighth of an inch left or right resulted in a major freak-out. Today’s weirdness just kept piling up. And it wasn’t Friday or the thirteenth.

Deciding to make a spare this time, she set the printer control for two copies and started the process.

“So, baby, can I ask you something?”

“Sure, Mommy.”

She blotted a dot of ketchup from her daughter’s mouth with a paper napkin. “Do you think school is a kid’s job?”

“Uh-huh. Like being a pair of legals is your job.”

“Right.” She smiled. “Amy says you have a new friend. Tell me about her.”

Chloe’s dark brown eyes seemed much older in her baby face. “It’s a him. His name is Celestian.” She blended the four syllables together into two. Sles-chun.

Ah, Celestian. She’d heard the unusual name before. “Your dad’s dog?”

“No. It’s a different Celestian. He’s supposed to help me, but most of the time I don’t need any help and he gets his feelings hurted. I told him to go home today.” Chloe rolled her eyes. “It’s kindergarten, not college. He’s too sensitive.”

Brandy nodded. “Can you see Celestian?”

Chloe gave her a look she would have considered insulting had it come from anyone but a five-year-old. “’Course I can.”

“Can I?”

Chloe laughed and dipped another fry. “Nope. He’s inbisible. He says I’m the only one who can see him.”

“So you named your pretend friend after the little white dog that sleeps on your bed when you visit Daddy?”

Chloe’s blond bob swung in vehement denial. “I didn’t name him. That’s his real name. And he’s not pretend. He’s real too. He’s just inbisible to people who don’t need to see him.”

“He talks to you?” Brandy didn’t know whether to be worried or relieved. On one hand, it was unsettling to think her daughter could ‘see’ invisible people, but on the other, the child’s fantasy was probably just a way to personalize the little dog she missed.

What was her fantasy all about? Was the man who visited her dreams the personification of her own secret longings?

“Yep. Sometimes he talks too much. He’s funny.” She sobered. “He said other people wouldn’t understand about him. Let’s don’t talk about it.”

Was Chloe afraid to share feelings? Did she think her mother wouldn’t understand or care? She’d never kept secrets before. Doubt settled on Brandy, weighing her down. Motherhood had never been easy, but she had managed, even without Joe’s help. This problem was more complicated than making sure Chloe ate enough protein and got her vaccinations on time. Brandy had no more idea how to handle an invisible playmate than the girl at the after-school program. At least Amy had taken a child psychology class.

The printer continued to spit pages, the noise loud in the quiet office. Distracted by her thoughts, Brandy helped herself to a French fry. “We’re buddies, punkin. Powerpuff Girls. We don’t keep secrets from each other.”

“I know. This isn’t a real secret.” Chloe fingered the plastic toy. Made Barbie do a dance. “More like…private.”

“I understand. What do you and Celestian talk about?”

Chloe took a bite of her baby burger, chewed and dutifully swallowed before speaking. “Stuff.” She picked up another French fry, dunked it in ketchup and extended the dripping offering.

Chloe laughed when Brandy snapped up the fry with a wolfish growl. Maybe Chloe wasn’t any more upset about the move than she had a right to be. Children were resilient. Brandy had not studied child psychology, but she knew that much. It wasn’t unusual for a bright child to have an imaginary playmate. And parents often worried about things long after children had forgotten them.

If Chloe had invented Celestian because her mother was preoccupied with work, well, she’d fix that. She’d spend more time with her. Quality time. Do everything she could to make her daughter feel safe and loved. It was probably no coincidence that the playmate was male and named after Joe’s dog. Maybe Chloe missed her father more than Brandy realized.

After nearly three years of benign neglect and indifference, Joe Mitchum had finally taken his parental responsibilities seriously. A near-death experience with a bolt of lightning had jump-started his daddy engine, and he and Chloe had finally forged a good relationship. Unfortunately Chloe saw her father less since the move to Odessa. Creating an imaginary Celestian was probably her way of bringing a little bit of her old home to her new one.

She understood the feeling. Something was missing from her own life as well. A quiet gentle man who shared her values. A true partner to love her and Chloe and put their interests first.

Now where had that thought come from? She could make a life for her and her daughter on her own, thank you. She didn’t need a man. If the right one came along, so be it. If not, well, maybe it wasn’t meant to be.

“What stuff do you and Celestian talk about?” Brandy turned her wandering attention back to Chloe.

“Getting along stuff. Being happy stuff. But mostly trick stuff.”

“Tricks? What kind of tricks?” Chloe wasn’t the type of child to test boundaries with misbehavior and blame it on the imaginary friend.

“You’ll see.” Chloe sipped her milk. She cocked her head to one side again as though tuned in to a voice Brandy couldn’t hear. After a moment, she said, “Can we not talk about Celestian anymore?”

“Okay. But you’ll let me know if you have a problem, won’t you?”

Chloe’s sunny face lit up with a wide grin. “I don’t have problems, Mommy. I’m only five, remember?”

“Yes, I remember.” The powerful scent of cinnamon permeated the room, and an unsettling sense of expectancy set Brandy’s nerves on edge. Maybe it was the strange encounter with Stetson on the road today that had her twitching. She’d never been into new age ideas or dream analysis or anything that wasn’t totally down to earth. So why couldn’t she shake the feeling that something life-altering was about to happen? “Honey, is Celestian here now?”

After a long pause, Chloe nodded.

“Where?” Brandy’s gaze darted around the room. The suite of offices was empty. The rest of the staff had gone home, and the cleaning people had not yet arrived. Outside on the street, traffic had thinned out. Night had settled over Texas like a dark, smothering blanket.

Chloe slowly lifted her hand and pointed. “Right over there.”

Of course, no one was perched atop the file cabinet, but Brandy looked anyway. The invisible playmate was a figment of her daughter’s overactive imagination. Still, gooseflesh rose on her arms at the thought of another presence in the room. She squinted, playing along with Chloe’s game. “Hmm. I can’t see him. What does he look like?”

“Just regular.”

“Is he a little boy? As big as you?”

“Nope. Grown-up size.”

“Old? Or young?”

“He says he’s three hundred and twenty-two,” Chloe whispered in a conspiratorial tone. “But he doesn’t look even as old as Grandpa.”

Brandy marveled at Chloe’s creativity. What had she ever done to deserve such a special child? “Does he have hair?”

“’Course!” Chloe laughed again. “It’s yellow and longer than yours. And his eyes are blue. He wears white clothes and no shoes.”

Apparently, Celestian was very real to Chloe. She’d gone to great lengths to invent details about his appearance. Brandy stroked her daughter’s soft round cheek. “Punkin, is everything all right at school?”

Chloe’s narrow shoulders lifted in an eloquent shrug. “Well, the teacher does her best with what she has to work with.”

Brandy smiled. Where did she pick up that stuff? Chloe preferred her own company to that of other children and never minded playing alone. Still, niggling worry refused to die. “What about your classmates? Do you get along with them?”

“I guess so. We don’t have much in common. They’re pretty young. Most of them can’t even read.”

“They’re the same age as you,” Brandy pointed out.

Chloe nodded. “I know, but they act like little kids.”

“They are little kids.”

Chloe rolled her eyes. “Just ’cause they’re five, doesn’t mean they have to act five.”

“True.”

Had her daughter ever been a baby? Mothering Chloe had been one surprise after another. Dissatisfied with the inefficiency of crawling, she had walked at nine months. In an effort to communicate, she developed her own system of sign language at ten months. By eighteen months, she was speaking in intelligible sentences. Impatient to wait for school, she taught herself to read at four and a half.

Every morning before the mad dash out the door, logical, organized Chloe made sure Brandy had everything she needed for the day. Exhibiting an intriguing combination of wisdom and innocence, her daughter had always been advanced for her age. Not only did she march to a different drummer, she followed a beat most people couldn’t even hear.

They finished their fast-food dinner in silence. Chloe didn’t mention Celestian again, but a creepy, uneasy feeling set Brandy’s nerves on edge. She needed to get out of the deserted office. Things would seem more normal once she got home. She tossed the food wrappers into the trash and gathered up her things as the printer finished the document.

Turning, she spotted a tall man standing in the open doorway, his broad shoulders nearly filling the space. She yelped in startled alarm. “Who the heck are you?”

“He came! He really came!” Chloe clapped her hands and jumped up and down, as though she’d been awaiting the intruder’s unexpected arrival. Damn that stuck lock.

Instincts surging into protective mode, she tugged Chloe close, positioning herself between her child and the man. He didn’t look particularly threatening, but there was definitely something dangerous about him.

A quick catalog of his features convinced Brandy she’d seen him before. High forehead, big brain. Smart. Strong jaw, not too square. Stubborn. Black eyes, prominent cheekbones and sleek, dark hair. Sexy. Lips that were full and firm. Sensual. Too bad they were set in such a humorless line.

“I want to see Fenton Futterman.”

His voice washed over her like a warm tide. He sounded just like the Midnight Man. No. She had heard his voice before, but not in her dreams. He was Stetson, the man she’d run into this afternoon. That explained the haven’t-we-met-before vibe. He’d ditched the hat and the sunglasses, changed clothes. He looked different, but the pay-attention voice was unmistakable. Four run-ins in one day. Her universal conspiracy theory took on new meaning, but he was no fantasy man come to life.

“Well? How about it?” he prompted impatiently. His voice was deep, his words packed with authority. He was obviously accustomed to getting what he wanted. Did he expect the attorney in question to appear in a blinding cloud of pixie dust because he so commanded?

“I’m sorry. Mr. Futterman’s gone home for the day. You’ll have to come back tomorrow. I suggest you make an appointment first. He’s a very busy man.”

“Yeah, I’ll just bet he is. Busy filing nuisance suits. Wait a minute.” His dark eyes narrowed, and his penetrating gaze seemed to really see her for the first time. “I know you.”

She felt the same way but wouldn’t admit the déjà vu he provoked. “Hardly.”

He stalked into the office, and his uninvited and overly masculine presence dominated the room. All Brandy knew about him was that he worked for Hotspur. He probably wasn’t a threat, but as he loomed between her and the door, something about him set off a shrieking alarm in her brain.

“Cripes, lady.” He reached out and ran a brown finger along her cheek. “What’s on your face this time?”

Just as it had this afternoon, his touch incited a breathless, dizzy, queasy feeling. She hadn’t experienced that combination of sensations since being struck in the stomach by a stray softball in junior high.

“What?” She stepped back, her hand clamping to her cheek where she encountered sticky residue. Branded by the ketchup-soaked French fry she’d snapped out of Chloe’s fingers. She wouldn’t act as embarrassed as she felt. “I appreciate the gesture, but really, you don’t have to follow me around to wipe my face.”

“Yeah, well apparently somebody needs to.” This time he removed a clean white handkerchief from the back pocket of his dark jeans and scrubbed the smear from her cheek. The handkerchief was warm from being pressed next to his hip, but that didn’t explain why her skin flamed in response.

Another unnerving reaction smacked her in the gut, and Brandy backed up again. Chloe slipped around her. The little girl stood in front of the man and looked up, hands planted firmly on her tiny hips.

“Celestian left the door open for you. He said you’d come, but I didn’t believe him. You’re tall.”

“Yeah? Well, you’re not.” Stetson looked down at Chloe, and his expression softened. Slightly. He had an intriguing face, full of planes and angles. Rugged. Handsome. Brandy shook the thought from her head. What was wrong with her? She never drooled over men.

“I’m five.” Chloe believed in sharing important information.

“Congratulations.” He turned back to Brandy. “Are you Ulbright?”

“No. My name is Brandy Mitchum. I’m a paralegal here.”

“You have my sincere condolences. So Futterman’s really not here?” He glanced around, his heavy dark brows drawn down in suspicion. Did he think her employer might be hiding under the desk?

Chloe answered. “Nope. Just us three.”

“Three?” The man scowled in Brandy’s direction. Scowling seemed to be a habit with him.

“Two. There’re only two of us here.” Brandy regretted the words as soon as they popped out of her mouth. She was a lousy bluffer. She brandished her cell phone. “But I have 9-1-1 on speed dial. So don’t get any ideas.”

The incredulous expression on his face told her that getting “ideas” about her was the last thing on his mind. “Why were you out on the road today?”

She bristled at his tone. “Considering how it’s a free country and a public roadway, I don’t have to answer that question. But since you asked so nicely, I was doing my job.”

“Your job? Right. Harry Peet.” He practically spat out the name. “And what the hell were you thinking leaving the front door unlocked? Any nut job off the street could have wandered in here.”

“Yeah, I think one did. What I do is none of your business, but I thought the door was locked. And I’ll thank you not to swear in front of my child.”

“What? Oh. Sorry, kid.” Though it seemed genuine, he had trouble coughing up an apology. Either he never made mistakes, or he didn’t admit them. He turned his attention back to Brandy. “Are you always that careless?”

“I beg your pardon?” A total stranger was criticizing her? She was no longer afraid of the man, but she was acutely aware of him. He watched her with the same brooding intensity she’d noted earlier today. Which alone would be enough to sap any woman’s strength. Teamed with a magnetic physical presence only fully appreciated in close quarters, resistance didn’t stand a chance. The gut-level reaction he aroused in her was appalling. She had to hang on to what little annoyance she could.

“All I’m saying, lady, is you need to be more careful. It’s dangerous out there. Is this your kid?”

“Yep. I’m Chloe.”

“Uh-huh.” His lips pulled into what might have been a faint smile. Or a grimace. On him, it was hard to tell.

“Since you’re obviously not here to rob the place, what do you want?” Brandy relaxed a little, but not much. The verdict was still out on this good-looking, gimme-a-nail-and-I’ll-chew-it guy.

Dressed in snug black jeans, white shirt and scuffed cowboy boots, he was a rugged poster boy for testosterone therapy. Maybe he wasn’t a thief or mugger, but he’d stolen her breath away. She’d led a nunlike existence since her divorce and was easy prey. Clearly her sheltered hormones revolted against all logic. Nothing else would explain her attraction to this bad-tempered stranger.

On second thought, maybe attraction wasn’t what unnerved her. It had to be that nagging sense of recognition, which had nothing to do with their brief encounter on the road today. This stranger tripped switches she had forgotten she possessed. Why did she feel like she’d seen herself reflected in his night-dark eyes many times? Had their paths crossed long before today?

Ridiculous. If she’d ever met this imposing specimen of male authority, she would remember. Maybe he seemed familiar because once upon a lonely night, she’d glimpsed him in a dream. Was he the Midnight Man?

No, he might look like a dream, but this guy could be a nightmare for all she knew. Since her divorce, she’d formed a clear notion of her ideal man and this dangerous, too-handsome-for-his-own-good hunk was not it. Next time around, she was voting for quiet, stable and unexciting. Safe.

He extended his hand, which was as large and tan as the rest of him. “I didn’t mean to frighten you, ma’am. I’m Patrick Templeton.”

“Trick!” Chloe chirped.

He frowned again, but managed not to scowl in her innocent, upturned face. “Yeah, that’s right. People call me Trick. How did you know?”

Chloe smiled in the direction of the file cabinet. “I’m a good guesser.”

The name finally registered with Brandy. “You’re Patrick Templeton? The owner of Hotspur Well Control?”

“Yeah. I’m also the defendant in Futterman’s latest bogus lawsuit.” He leaned forward, bracing one hand on the desk beside her hip. His face was too close. She edged back and drew a deep breath, but still couldn’t breathe properly. Was he sucking all the oxygen out of the room?

“I don’t have time for this, lady,” he said in a measured tone. “I have fires to put out.”

Brandy couldn’t respond for a moment. She was busy fighting an internal wildfire ignited by the disconcerting knowledge that she already knew how kissing him would feel. Impossible. She did not possess that much imagination. Awareness and longing coursed through her like a river of molten gold. What was happening here? Was this what hypnosis was all about?

Finally Chloe tugged on her hand. “Mommy? Trick is talking to you.”

“Sorry.” She marshaled enough energy to step away from him. She was losing her grip. Fantasy men did not come to life and storm into one’s office. She was the one who needed lessons on what was real and what was make-believe. “You have fires to control, and I have bedtime stories to read. Maybe we should call it a night.”

“Harry Peet’s got everything all wrong,” he insisted. “I need—”

“I’m sure you understand why I can’t discuss a pending case with a defendant. If you’d like to make an appointment with Mr. Futterman, call his secretary tomorrow during regular office hours. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we were just leaving.”

“Right.” He seemed confused by her dismissal. Had he never had a request denied before? “Can I help you carry anything?”

Too late to go gallant on her. “No, thank you. I’m quite used to carrying my own load.” At the last moment, she remembered the conference documents stacked in the printer tray. She quickly divided the two copies, placed one on her desk and took Chloe with her to drop the other on Futterman’s desk where he would find it first thing in the morning.

She expected Templeton to be gone when she returned, but no such luck. “Allow me to show you out.”

Apparently no one could show him anything. He led the way to the front door and stood on the sidewalk while Brandy locked the door. The lock didn’t stick or fight back this time. Strange. The shiny white pickup with the flaming Hotspur logo on the door was angled into the space next to her battered Ford Escort. The truck’s impressive automotive good looks were as intimidating to the little car as its owner’s were to her. She tossed her briefcase and purse on the front seat and leaned in the back to buckle Chloe into her booster seat.

“Wait!” Chloe yelled when she started to close the door.

“What, honey?”

“Let Celestian get in first. You don’t want to squash him.”

“No, I don’t.” Brandy paused to give Chloe’s invisible playmate time to make himself comfortable on the seat. She caught Trick Templeton’s amused look. A slow smile transformed his features, making him seem even more familiar.

“Don’t ask.” She cranked the window down halfway and shut the door.

He backed up, his hands in front of him. “I wasn’t about to.”

“Mommy, I didn’t say goodbye to Trick.”

Brandy sighed. Why did her daughter insist on treating this soon-to-be-sued defendant like a long-lost uncle?

“Tell her goodbye,” she said, “or we’ll be here all night.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He braced one hand on the car’s roof and leaned down to look inside. “Goodbye, Little Bit.”

“Don’t leave yet, Trick,” Chloe whispered.

“Why not?” he whispered back.

“We might need your help.”

“Chloe, say goodbye to Mr. Templeton.”

“Bye, Trick.” She extended her little fingers like a miniature queen deigning to accept a subject’s kiss. He reached in, his large hand swallowing hers, and pumped a couple of times.

“Nice meeting you, kid.”

“Don’t leave yet,” Chloe warned again.

“I won’t.” He walked around the car as Brandy slid behind the steering wheel. “How old is she again?”

“Five.”

“Funny. I would’ve guessed thirty.”

“I know.” Brandy grinned. “Be sure to call for an appointment tomorrow.”

“Don’t worry, I will. And I’m sorry if I…” His sentence dribbled off.

“Stormed into my office like a renegade SWAT team door kicker and scared the bejeezus out of me and my innocent child?”

“Little Bit didn’t seem scared,” he pointed out.

“I know. She’s more trusting than me.”

“Well, I’m sorry. I’m not usually so…”

“Demanding?” she supplied cheerfully.

“No, I’m usually demanding. I was going to say rude.” He stood beside the little car, backlit by a street lamp’s light, which cast soft, familiar shadows across his face. His white shirt practically glowed in the dark. Barely controlled energy hummed around him like a powerful unseen electromagnetic field.

“Apology accepted.” She turned the key in the ignition and nothing happened. She tried again with the same frustrating result. She bit back a few colorful curses she couldn’t say in front of Chloe. Thanks a bunch, St. Combustion. For nothing.

“Is the car dead, Mommy?”

“As the proverbial doornail.” Brandy leaned forward and rested her head on the steering wheel. Would this horrible day never end?

“What’s a purveeal doornail?” Chloe loved learning new words.

Trick Templeton interrupted before Brandy could answer. “I think I told you to have the engine checked.”

“That’s right, you did.” Brandy sat up and smacked her forehead in mock wonder. “I don’t know why I didn’t heed your unsolicited, but clearly valuable advice. I could have squeezed in a complete engine diagnostic on one of my many leisurely breaks this afternoon! My mistake!”

“Hey, you don’t have to get huffy.”

“Huffy does not begin to describe how I am about to get.” If she wasn’t careful, she might even cry. It was past Chloe’s bedtime. She was tired. She’d had a trying day. Tomorrow, she’d have to get up and jump through the hoops again. Figure out how to get the stupid car fixed. Pay the bills. Be a good mom. Do a good job. She might be used to carrying her own load, but life would be a lot easier if she could share the burden.

“How will we get home, Mommy?”

“I don’t know yet.” If they camped out in her office, she wouldn’t be late for work in the morning. That should make Mr. Futterman happy.

Trick Templeton squatted down beside the open window. “Want me to take a look? I’m pretty good with my hands.”

“I’ll bet you are,” she muttered. She didn’t dare linger on that thought.

“Look lady, do you want me to look under your hood or not?”

“Sure. Why not? Knock yourself out, cowboy.” She reached down and popped the release lever. Trick walked around to the front of the car, raised the hood and ducked under it.

“Trick will fix the battery, Mommy.” Where did Chloe get her optimism? Better yet, where did she get her mechanical knowledge?

“I hope so.” Brandy let her head drop back against the headrest and closed her eyes. For the first time in her life, she hoped the man poking around under her hood not only had good hands, but fast ones.