Читать книгу Driven To Distraction - Tina Wainscott - Страница 11

THE WOMAN NEXT DOOR was driving Barrett Wheeler to distraction, and he hadn’t even seen her. This was not a good thing since he had exactly seven days, one hour and four minutes to complete his research study for a grant on the mating habits and preservation of tree snails for the University of Miami. The university would then take the data and approach the government with a plan to preserve these important inhabitants of the Everglades.

He’d trudged through the swamps of Everglades National Park for a year, sure that he had finally found what he’d been seeking the last twelve years—the life goal his father had been haranguing him about since he’d graduated high school when he was fifteen. He was sure biology was what he should have gotten into in the first place. That’s where he belonged. But that’s what he’d thought when he’d undertaken course work in physics and mathematics, too. Now, though, he had his PhD and was satisfied with that. He was. He only needed to figure out what field of biology interested him and stick to it. Instead, he kept choosing different kinds of projects, hoping to find the one field that grabbed his interest permanently.

He did care about the plight of the endangered tree snail, and he always gave his all to whatever project he was working on. He was proud to be part of the effort to preserve the dwindling tree snails. Even if his mind was already wandering to the endangered seahorses. Or maybe survival aspects of the big cats in Africa.

Maybe he just didn’t know what he wanted. He was ashamed to admit it, even to himself. He started a project with all kinds of interest and lost some of that steam along the way.

It wasn’t his mental meanderings that were hindering his progress on the tree snail study. First, there had been a mistake made on the due date of the study. Barrett had three weeks less than he’d planned on to complete his study. Then his sister, Kim, had shown up at his condominium with her husband and four kids needing a place to stay after the pipes in their house burst. That crisis was averted by a colleague’s offer. Since his parents were going on a cruise, Barrett could stay at their house in Sunset City, a retirement community. It sounded perfect. He’d stick to himself and complete his study with nothing but the occasional call of “Bingo!” to disturb the quiet.

At least in theory.

Sunset City wasn’t exactly what he’d envisioned. It was, in fact, a small city, with a grid layout lined with cozy homes and quaint yards. A large community center and pool were situated in the middle of the city, and toward the front entrance was a small store and gas station. Instead of being a quiet, restful place, it bustled with activity. When he’d pulled in evening before last, he was nearly run down by a pack of women wearing T-shirts with bright pink flamingos who were doing a remarkably good imitation of a power walk. Instead of rocking chairs on the porches of the small, neat homes, there were three-wheeled bicycles and even a Harley. A yoga class was doing their moves in the park, striking storklike poses to Chubby Checker tunes. Three men were dismantling a classic Mustang’s engine under a covered driveway.

Well, the sign had said Older Persons Community, not a word about retirement. Still, no one should bother him here.

At least in theory.

Normally, his theories were sound. What he hadn’t factored in was the woman next door. Yesterday, he took his files and laptop computer onto the back porch after his morning jog to enjoy the gorgeous fall weather. Maybe reward himself with a dip in the small pool in the backyard if he were particularly productive. The yard was small and private, surrounded by thick, tall hedges. He settled in to work, fingers poised above the keyboard.

That’s when her voice had floated through the hedge that separated their yards. He couldn’t see into her yard to verify, but she had to be an older person. Yet her voice had a young, provocative sound to it. He didn’t know why it had caught his attention. He usually immersed himself in a project and didn’t come up for hours. He was utterly embarrassed at the stirrings in his body. Come on, it was a voice, for Pete’s sake!

He had tried to ignore her when she called to her husband. Then she crooned about how handsome he was despite the fact that he apparently drooled a bit. But Barrett got completely off track when she said, “Would you stop licking me, Frankie? I swear you’ve got the biggest tongue I’ve ever seen.”

Mental images like that he did not need. He’d gone inside.

Early that evening he’d taken a break and eaten his TV dinner on the porch. Again, her voice floated through the hedge. “George, did you fart again? Holy stink bombs, honey, no more beef Stroganoff for you! I don’t care how much you beg. And I know how much you love to beg.”

George? Wasn’t she with Frankie earlier? Was he staying next to a senior citizen floozy? For a moment, he actually felt a spark of curiosity, an urge to peek through that hole in the hedge and see who this woman was. But that kind of nosy curiosity was impractical, at least outside his research. It didn’t serve much purpose in the real world.

Not that he could claim to be part of the real world in any sense. He’d been raised by his father, the man from whom he’d inherited his one-hundred-eighty-five IQ. His mother had gotten bored with her scientist husband and his scientist friends and even having a son who was smarter than she was by the time he was twelve. So she’d taken his sister, Kim, and moved to West Palm Beach. Barrett and his father moved onto the university campus and, at fifteen, Barrett entered University of Miami’s program. Because he was years younger than his peers, he felt more comfortable hanging out with his father’s contemporaries. Even now, professors and other research scientists were the people he related to best.

“Aw, do you love me? I love you, too,” she crooned, and Barrett thought he heard an answering groan. “Give me some sugar.” She’d giggled, a sound that sent a trill through his stomach. Then she’d squealed. “That tickles!”

He’d gone inside.

This morning she was with Buddy. He hadn’t said much, but the woman was rambling on as though they were old friends. “You’re one big boy. Oh, you want your butt scratched, do you?”

He’d almost gone inside then. The words, “Oh, you like that, don’t you? Mmm,” stopped him. He tried to put an older woman’s face to the voice, but couldn’t.

“Oh, goodie, sit on me, why don’t you?” She made a grunting sound, as though trying to shove the guy off. “Get off me, already! Geez, you weigh a ton!” After sounds of a struggle, she said, “Stop pawing me, you animal!”

It wasn’t his curiosity that finally propelled him to that hole in the hedge. The lady obviously required some assistance. He could tell himself that, anyway.

The hole, unfortunately, wasn’t as deep as it had looked. He had to bend down, stick his head into the gap and push branches aside before he could see into her yard.

The first thing he saw was pink spandex wrapped snuggly around a behind that wasn’t anywhere near octogenarian. He took her in as he would any fascinating specimen—slowly, analyzing each part. White sneakers with pink balls at the ends of the laces, shapely calves, then the pink spandex—forget about the pink spandex—a white tank top and short, brown hair.

“Get off my foot!” she said as she shoved Buddy aside.

Buddy was a large, tan horse dog that was sitting squarely on the woman-who-wasn’t-a-floozy’s foot. And Buddy had no intention of moving…until he spotted something more interesting.

That something more interesting, unfortunately, was Barrett. Buddy stampeded toward the hedge, a string of drool hanging from his sagging lips.

Barrett was at Buddy’s face level. He pulled back, but the hedge had other ideas. It pinned him in place with branches and one well-placed sharp edge against his neck. Buddy screeched to a halt in front of Barrett, some of the drool flying forward and just missing him. The dog was staring at him, its head tilted in utter fascination.

When the woman turned to see what had distracted the dog, she let out a warbled scream. “Oh, my goodness!”

“Get it away!” he said, still trying to extricate himself and wishing he could spontaneously combust.

Buddy had finally figured out how to investigate the head in the bushes, and he did so with a warm, wet tongue. Not to mention the drool, which caught Barrett on the chin. The more Barrett wriggled to free himself, the more entangled he got.

All in all, a fine way to meet the neighbor.

“Buddy, cut it out!” She tugged on the dog’s leash, but he tugged back so hard, she nearly crashed into the bushes. She caught her balance and focused on the dog. “Sit! Sit, now!”

As she wrestled with the horse dog, all Barrett could see was flashes of neon pink that covered curves he shouldn’t be noticing. And he really shouldn’t be feeling some stirring in his body, since he was here to work on his study and nothing more. His body, he realized, was smarter than his brain was. It knew instinctively the voice belonged to an interesting woman. An interesting young woman, at that. He finally extricated himself from the bushes just as she got Buddy under control. He wiped his face with his sleeve, trying not to think about the kinds of bacteria that thrive in a dog’s mouth.

“Sorry about that,” she said, though he should have been the one apologizing and she should have been much less charitable toward the man who’d been peeking through her hedge. She ducked down to the level of the hole, and he forgot about everything but how cute her face looked framed in shiny green leaves. “You must be the supersmart scientist dude who’s working on some important study on frogs. I’m Stacy Jenkins.”

And even more amazingly, she slid her hand through the hole. It took him a moment to realize she wanted to shake his hand. He’d been too busy noticing the elegant lines of her fingers and the spots of bright pink on her short nails.

He took her hand in his and returned her firm handshake. Her hand was soft and warm, and a sensual feeling slithered through his body. What came out of his mouth was, “Tree snails.”

“Pardon?”

“I’m tree snails.” He blinked. Get a handle on yourself, man. You’ve met attractive women before and had the wherewithal to introduce yourself properly. “I mean, you said frogs, but I’m studying tree snails.” The feel of her hand in his, plus the awkwardness of the whole situation, made him lose his train of thought. This never happened. “I’m Barrett Wheeler. I want to apologize for—”

“Peeking through the bushes at me?” she offered cheerily, extricating her hand and ducking to peer through the hole. “Gene does it all the time.”

“He does?”

“Just to be neighborly, to say hi.”

He couldn’t help notice the hint of cleavage showing above a tank top that hugged small, firm breasts and thought, Fat chance he was just being neighborly. Since he wasn’t exactly in a position to comment, however, he let it drop. “So Frankie and George were also dogs?”

She glanced at Buddy, who was whining but still holding his position. He had a fresh string of drool hanging from his lips. “Oh, sure. I work with the problem dogs at the Humane Society. We’re a no-kill shelter, which means we work extra hard to fix the reasons the animals got put up for adoption. I bring them home for half a day or overnight sometimes and teach them manners.” She tilted her head at him. “What did you think they were?” An expression of horror crossed her face. “George, Frankie, Buddy…you thought I was entertaining men, didn’t you?” Just when he was hoping for spontaneous combustion again, she laughed. Not the demure, quiet kind of laugh the women he socialized with had, either. Stacy’s laugh was an explosion of sound. In fact, she doubled over and braced her palms on her thighs. “If you only knew how preposterous that thought was!”

Barrett thought he felt a warm flush creep up his face, though he was sure he was mistaken. He never blushed. “Not that it’s any of my business, of course, and my intention wasn’t to eavesdrop—”

That laugh of hers vibrated through him. “Too funny!” But her laughter and the delightful smile that lit up her whole face faded. “And too sad, when I think how long it’s been since—” Buddy nudged her behind, sending her into the bushes. She caught her balance, and Barrett caught a whiff of strawberry. “Well, I try to teach them manners, anyway,” she said.

How long since what, and why was the thought of her entertaining men preposterous? There was that curiosity again. He was probably better off not knowing. “Is that what you do for a living? Teach manners to dogs?”

“Not for a living, no. I’m just volunteering at the shelter until I get a real job.” She glanced at her watch. “In fact, I’m waiting for a callback on a job any time now, hopefully with good news.”

“Aren’t you a bit young to live in here?” he asked through the hole.

“My granny raised me here. I was grandfathered in on the sixty-five and older rule—well, grandmothered in, if you want to be technical. When I graduated from high school, I wanted to go to college, live on campus and everything. But the more I talked about it, the weaker Granny’s heart got, so I didn’t go. When she passed on two years ago, I was going to sell the house and move, but everyone asked me to stay. They’re all like family to me, so I did. I’m a surrogate granddaughter to a lot of them. And no one else is brave enough to lead the workout classes at the community center.”

“Workout class?”

“A combination of aerobics and light weight work.” She gestured with her arms as though she were lifting weights. She had great biceps, just enough muscle to still look feminine. “Keeps the bones strong.”

“So you stayed.”

She lifted a shoulder. “Well, it’s not like I had anyplace else to go.”

He gave her a smile. She smiled back, and their gazes locked. His stomach started feeling rather odd, as though he’d forgotten to eat. He sometimes did that when he was immersed in his research, but he was fairly certain he’d eaten a bowl of Cap’n Crunch cereal that morning. Maybe if he ceased looking at those eyes of hers, the feeling would go away.

He shifted his gaze down a couple of inches. That’s when he noticed what a great mouth she had, small but lush, coated in a clear pink color. The funny feeling wasn’t going away, it was intensifying. He went back to her eyes, a rich brown color that reminded him of the chocolate syrup he mixed in his milk. None of this looking was helping the strange feeling in his stomach. Still, he couldn’t seem to break away or find something, no matter how inane, to say.

Buddy helped by giving her another nudge, sending her forward again. She let out a yelp, and Barrett held out his hands even though he couldn’t do much good on the other side of the hedge. He got another whiff of that fruity scent before she regained her balance and made Buddy sit again. That gave Barrett another glimpse of that pink spandex, and though he’d never been fond of the color pink, he was reconsidering.

Buddy approached the hedge again, and Barrett backed away.

“Are you afraid of dogs?” she asked.

“What makes you think that?”

“Just how you were asking me to get Buddy away from you in a desperate sort of way.”

“Oh. Not afraid, more like…uncomfortable.”

“Have you ever had a dog before?”

“No.”

“That explains it. They’re really great to have around.” She nodded toward Buddy, sending a lock of brown hair to brush against her nose. She swiped it away. “You want one?”

“No.” His quick answer took her aback, so he added, “Not today.”

“Well, guess I’ll let you get back to your work. Welcome to the neighborhood. If you need anything, just come on over.”

“I will, thanks,” he said, wondering what he might need and then deciding not to delve too far in that direction.

Still, they remained there for another moment or two, until she smiled and said, “See you.”

“I see you, too.”

“No, I mean, see you around.”

“I knew that.” He knew that. So why was this woman skewing his logic?

“Okay,” she said with slightly widened eyes. “See you—I mean, goodbye.”

And then she was gone, playing hide-and-seek around her orange and grapefruit trees with the horse dog. Okay, that was over. Now he could focus on his work and not be distracted by his next-door-neighbor who was not a floozy. Right?

Wrong. Twenty minutes later, he was still distracted by her. Still thinking about those pink shorts and her small but lush mouth. He didn’t have to imagine her voice or her laugh. She was working with Buddy, pleading, cajoling, praising.

“Sit! Good boy.” This in a honey-coated voice that sent that strange feeling spiraling through his insides again. “Down. Good boy! Smile. All right!”

Smile? Before he could ponder how a dog could smile, his thinking process came to a halt. She couldn’t be distracting him. Women didn’t fit into the equation of his life. He couldn’t quantify them, for one thing. There wasn’t one rule that delineated them, one formula that they fit into. They consisted of way too many variables.

In the scientific world, everything added up. He loved the predictability, the formulas, knowing it would always make sense. A plus B equaled C every time. Science was a beautiful thing.

Relationships were something else altogether.

His parents were a prime example of two different people who should have never married. His mother was a free spirit who followed her whims and didn’t have a clue as to what her life goal was—or a care about finding out. After the divorce, she followed her whims into and out of several different jobs. Now she was a blackjack dealer on a cruise ship.

His father—well, he was still professor and chairperson of the Department of Biology at the University of Miami and always would be. After watching his parents’ marriage disintegrate, Barrett wasn’t inclined to date women who didn’t have his interests. He’d dated women in his peer group and been intellectually stimulated. He’d met women outside his peer group who’d physically stimulated him. But never had a woman done both.

So he’d accepted that a woman wasn’t going to comprise one of the elements that made up his life. He was fine with that. He derived all the satisfaction he needed in life from his work. As soon as he figured out what field interested him, anyway. Then there wouldn’t be any vague sense of something missing. And that something wasn’t a woman. After all, the shortest distance between points A and B was a straight line…and women were all curves.