Читать книгу Plain Jane's Texan - Jan Hudson, Jan Hudson - Страница 9

Two

Holding the mail between her teeth and juggling a ripping sack of groceries, twenty pounds of cat litter, her shoulder bag and a bulging briefcase, Eve kicked the front door closed just as the phone began to ring.

The sack ripped another few inches. She dropped the litter and her briefcase and tried to grab the sack to save the eggs.

Too late. The blasted thing split completely, and she only managed to mash a loaf of bread and a half gallon of Rocky Road against her body. The egg carton landed with an ominous splat beside the mushrooms; oranges and onions and cans went rolling every which way.

The phone continued to ring.

Eve made an exasperated noise, marched to the phone and snatched it up. “Heh-woe.”

“Eve?” a man’s voice said. “Eve Ellison?”

She spat out the letters she still clutched between her teeth. “Sorry. Yes, this is Eve Ellison, and I don’t want any insurance protection for my credit cards, cemetery plots or—”

“Eve, this is Matt Crow.”

She dropped the mangled bread and ice cream carton on the table and sank into a chair. “Matt Crow?”

He chuckled. “Yes, we met at the wedding last weekend. Surely you haven’t forgotten me so soon.”

Forgotten him? Fat chance. Hadn’t the memories of him nearly driven her up the wall for the past few days? “No, I remember you,” she said, fighting a tremor in her voice and trying to be casual. “You’ll have to forgive me, it’s been one of those days—no, make that one of those weeks, and it’s only Wednesday.”

“I’ve had a few of those lately myself. Problems?”

“Lots.”

“Want to tell me about them?”

Something about the gentle tone of his voice made her want to pour out everything to him. Instead, she said, “I’m sure that you don’t want to hear my sad story.”

“You’re wrong, Eve. What’s happened?”

“You name it.” She tried to laugh, but the sound seem strangled. “I had a blowout and took out two garbage cans and a fire hydrant before I could stop the car. I received a notice yesterday from the Dog Warden of the City of Cleveland Kennel that I’m in violation of a city ordinance, and I have to get rid of some of my animals or risk having them seized. I figure that’s partly because of Elmer and Minerva getting out last week, and Elmer eating Mrs. Gaither’s sweetpeas or it might have been Mrs. Ramsey who complained about—”

“Whoa!” Matt said, chuckling. “Who are Elmer and Minerva?”

“Sorry, I’m ranting. Elmer is a goat and Minerva is a pig.”

“A goat and a pig in the city?”

Eve sighed. “I’ve been trying to find them homes. Would you like a goat?”

“I live in a high-rise, but I could talk to Grandpa Pete about it.”

“Thanks, but Elmer isn’t the only problem. The logical solution is to move to another house.”

“You could always move to Texas,” he said, his tone conjuring up visions of hot nights on cool sheets. “My offer is still open.”

Her heart stumbled. Her face flushed. He was obviously teasing her again, but she didn’t know how to handle such comments. She didn’t want to make a serious response and have him think that she was so unsophisticated, but she wasn’t experienced in social banter with men like him.

“Eve?”

Forcing gaiety, she laughed and said, “I was just trying to picture Elmer and Minerva and the others in your living room. I’m afraid I’ll have to pass, but after meeting Godzilla today, I might be tempted.”

“Godzilla?”

“My new boss. They brought him in as the creative director, but the last creative thought he had was in 1989. Only thing he had going for him was that he worked in a New York agency. That job should have been mine, darn it. Sorry, I didn’t mean to whine, and I’ve been babbling on and on.”

“You weren’t whining or babbling, and I enjoy talking to you. We didn’t get to spend enough time together at the wedding, and I’ve been putting out fires ever since I left. Say, I’m going to be in Cleveland in a day or two, and now that we’re practically family, I was hoping that we might get together for dinner... or something.”

A rush of panic swept over Eve. Even though he made her knees weak and her heart go pitter-patter, she felt completely out of her element with a man like Matt. Being around him too much might make her have goofy ideas—like believing they weren’t totally mismatched. She knew that he was simply making a duty call since he was going to be in Cleveland and since they were “practically family.”

One part of her wanted desperately to go out with him, but another more sensible part told her that nothing could ever come of anything between Matt Crow and her. And even if they got together for a brief fling, it could cause awkwardness in the family later. Eve remembered a painful experience a few years before when she’d dated her friend Amy’s brother. When the romance fizzled, things were never the same between Amy and her again.

“Eve?”

“Yes?” Simply tell him nicely that you have other plans, she told herself, but she couldn’t make the words come out.

“Is it Charlie who’s the problem?”

“Charlie?” Suddenly she remembered that Matt assumed the Charlie she lived with was a man. Praying that God wouldn’t strike her dead for another little white lie, she said, “Yes. I’m not sure that he would approve. He’s jealous, extremely jealous, but thanks for calling. I have to run. My—my bathwater’s running over.” She quickly hung up the phone and slumped back into the chair.

Charlie Chan, the half-Siamese, half-mystery cat who was the unofficial ruler of the house, hopped on the table beside her and sat regally, waiting for her attention.

Eve scratched Charlie’s head. “Hey, fellow, how did your day go? Mine has been a bummer. Do you think Matt Crow thought I was a nut case?”

The cat cocked his head. “Meow. ”

“Yeah, he probably did. But seeing him again would be very unwise. He would break my heart, Charlie. And if he broke my heart, my mother would know and then Irish would be upset and drag Kyle into it, and he would be in an awkward position because they are cousins and very close. No, Charlie, it’s better this way.”

But if it was better, why did she want to cry?

When the answering machine came on again, Matt cursed and slammed down the phone. It had taken him three days to gut up enough to call Eve; now he’d been calling every hour from six to midnight for the past three nights. After that first conversation, he’d gotten her machine every time. That was a hell of a long bath she was taking.

After he’d left Ohio, he’d tried to convince himself that Eve was taken and to stay away from her, get her out of his mind. He hadn’t had any luck. She plagued his thoughts; she invaded his dreams; she haunted his senses.

He couldn’t think of a single woman who could hold a candle to her. Despite her beauty, she seemed totally lacking in conceit. Instead of arrogance, she radiated genuineness and caring, even shyness. There was an inner beauty about Eve that was more dazzling than the outer.

Matt just couldn’t forget her.

To hell with Charlie, he’d finally decided. It was every man for himself, and Matt meant to fight for her. He knew what it was to fight for what you wanted, and Matt had never wanted anything in his life like he wanted Eve Ellison.

Eve couldn’t care that much for old Charlie and have kissed Matt the way she did. That was what gave him hope. And Charlie wasn’t taking very good care of Eve, or she wouldn’t be so frazzled. There were problems in that relationship; Matt was sure of it. And he intended to take advantage of those problems.

He drummed his fingers on the telephone. Something didn’t ring true about that phone conversation with Eve on Wednesday. She’d seemed jumpy. Nervous? Scared? He wondered if that jerk had been listening? Is that why she wouldn’t take his other calls?

“Jealous,” she’d said. “Extremely jealous.” Was Charlie abusive to her? Fury shot through him. If that bastard harmed one beautiful blond hair on Eve’s sweet head, Matt would break his kneecaps.

Frustrated that he couldn’t get through to Eve directly, Matt knew he had to figure out another way. He drummed his fingers some more and began to devise a plan.

While water boiled for pasta, Eve listened to the messages on her answering machine. The first was from her mother and father, who had just returned from a trip to Texas.

“Your dad and I fell in love with the country around Pete’s place,” Beverly Ellison said. “Al has definitely decided to retire, and we’ve bought some land there. We’ll be moving to Texas soon. Call me, and I’ll tell you the details.”

Eve sighed. Even though she didn’t make it home to Akron more than a couple of times a month, she was going to miss having her parents less than an hour’s drive away. Her mom was great about dropping in with a chocolate cake occasionally, and she could always be counted on to care for the animals if one of her regular sitters wasn’t available.

First Irish, now her folks. Everybody was deserting her for Texas. What was so darned great about that place anyhow?

The next message was from Lottie Abrams, a headhunter who she heard from occasionally. “Eve, give me a call the minute you get in. A really hot agency in Dallas has seen your book and is very interested in talking to you. It’s a creative director’s position and at twice your salary. This could be a big break for you.”

Dallas? As in Texas?

Her heart gave a little trip. The image of a tall, handsome man with a cleft chin and a dynamite smile flashed into her mind. Matt Crow lived in Dallas.

Eve shook off the turn of her thoughts, but Matt’s face crept back despite her efforts. He was a hard man to forget. A huge bouquet of yellow roses had arrived soon after they had talked. For three days, he’d left messages on her answering machine, each one more urgent than the last. She had deliberately ignored his calls. He must have finally gotten the hint because she hadn’t heard a word from the tall Texan in a while.

She sort of missed the attention.

No. Forget Matt Crow; he was a lost cause. Certainly not her type—whatever her type was.

But Dallas was where Irish would be living. Her parents would be only a couple of hours’ drive away. She was going to have to move anyway, and Dallas had lots of room. Maybe she could find a place with a barn. And, dear Lord, how she longed to work for an exciting ad agency instead of the deadly dull place where she was now.

Eve was a darned good art director, and she’d won her share of awards in the last few years, but the agency where she worked was on the skids. She’d had some ideas for turning things around if she’d gotten the promotion. But now... well, if she didn’t make a move soon, her career would be in the toilet.

Creative director?

Twice her salary?

Talk about perfect timing. This could be—

Hold it, Eve, she told herself, laughing. This sounded too good to be true. There had to be a catch. It wasn’t the first time that Lottie had gotten her pumped up over some opportunity only to find that things weren’t nearly so terrific as Lottie had proclaimed.

Eve shrugged. But it wouldn’t hurt to check it out. She wouldn’t even mention it to her family yet. Fighting the urge to cross her fingers, she reached for the phone.

Two days later, Eve was in Dallas. She couldn’t believe her luck. Coleman-Walker was becoming well-known in the business as an innovative agency and a real up-and-coming contender. In fact, Lottie had sent her a couple of trade articles about the shop, and Eve had read them on the plane. If she’d been impressed with what she’d read, she was doubly impressed when she arrived.

From the minute she walked through the double doors and into the funky renovated factory, Eve knew that this would be a fantastic shop to work in. The place was alive. teeming with vitality. Unmistakable creative energy hummed in the air and bounced off the walls. She immediately caught the mood of the dozen or so people she spotted; she felt revved up and excited and broke into a grin when a guy on roller skates whizzed by. Godzilla would have croaked.

She loved the agency; she felt an immediate rapport with Bart Coleman who interviewed her. They talked nonstop for over an hour. Working for Coleman-Walker would be a dream come true. This was a sharp group. She ached to be a part of it.

When Bart said that the job was hers if she wanted it, she almost burst with excitement. She wanted to throw herself into his arms and yell, “I’ll take it! How much do I have to pay you to work here?” She managed to play it cool and promised to get back with him.

Once outside the building, she couldn’t hold in her excitement any longer. She threw back her head and shouted, “Yaaa-hooo!” When people turned to stare at her, she only laughed and waved and scooted around in a tight circle, pumping her arms and grinning.

No way could she turn this down. The gods had definitely smiled on her. This was the chance of a lifetime. Eve was convinced this was her destiny when she found a perfect place to live near the Dallas County line.

The elderly gentleman who owned the small farm, complete with a fixer-upper house, pecan trees, barn and chicken coop, had gone to live in a nursing home. His son had agreed to sell the property at a bargain if she would take the place “as is” and agree to care for the old gent’s beloved mule and aging milk cow. A teenager from down the road had been tending them and would probably be available to help Eve if she wanted to hire him.

Why not? What were another couple of animals? She agreed at once and signed the papers. Granted, the farmhouse was a bit run-down, but a little paint would do wonders for it. The barn and the fences were in good shape. Why, she might even get a horse. She’d always wanted a horse.

This was great. Life was good. She called Bart Coleman from the airport and accepted the job—on one condition. She needed help in transporting her animals to Texas.

Matt Crow sat in his big leather chair in downtown Dallas, ankles crossed, the heel of one boot resting on the massive desk in his office. He tossed paper wads into the wastebasket and stared at the framed eleven-by-fourteen of an angel. He’d bought the picture from Irish’s wedding photographer, and it had held a prime place on his desk since then. Another copy was on his dresser at home.

Would that phone never ring?

He ripped another sheet from the legal pad, wadded it, and sailed it toward the overflowing basket. He was nervous. He must have gone through half a dozen pads waiting for Bart Coleman to call. He was going to get an ulcer if this went on much longer.

The phone rang. Matt grabbed the receiver and answered before the first ring finished.

“It’s a done deal,” Bart Coleman said.

Matt broke into a broad grin. “She accepted?”

“Yep. Coleman-Walker has a new creative director. She reports for work on the fifteenth.”

“Then the Crow Airline account is yours under the terms we discussed. But, Bart, I swear to God—”

Bart laughed. “If she ever gets wind of this, my ass is grass.”

“You got that right. And I don’t want Jackson or any of the rest of my family to know anything about it, either.”

“Don’t worry, Matt. This is strictly between you and me. And by the way, I’m impressed with the lady and her book. I think she’ll work out fine, and if she doesn’t—”

“I know. In two weeks, you say?” He felt himself grinning like a fool.