Private Lives
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Gwynne Forster
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17,1K
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12
Chapter 1
So this was it! Allison Sawyer parked in front of the rustic-looking log cabin, turned off the engine and rested her head on the steering wheel of her blue Audi.
“What’s the matter, Mom?”
She put on her brightest smile and looked back at five-year-old Dudley. “Everything’s fine, son. Just fine.” She’d come to the right place. He’d never find them there. With the help of her older sister, Ellen, she hadn’t left any tracks to follow, or at least she’d hoped so. She got out, looked around and breathed deeply the Adirondack mountain air. She unlatched Dudley’s car seat, and he jumped out of the car, grabbed her hand and gazed up at her with a broad smile on his face. He loved the outdoors, and woods were all around them. She felt as if she was about to burst.
After a lifetime of trying to please first her father, whom she adored, and then her much older ex-husband, now she had to please only herself.
“I don’t really have any idea who I am,” she said under her breath as she unlocked the cabin door. “I guess I’m in for a surprise.” She walked into the cabin, which for the foreseeable future, would be her home. She looked around. Not bad, she thought. It could have been far worse, and the chances of Lawrence Sawyer finding her were remote.
Alexandria, Virginia’s muggy summer heat did not appeal to Brock Lightner any more than the garden parties and formal shindigs of his fancy friends and neighbors. He had no intention of trussing himself into a summer, white tuxedo like a turkey stuffed for Thanksgiving, just to escort his unattached female friends, society matrons and politicians’ wives to the round of Beltway receptions and parties. When he told them that he was a private investigator, their gazes would sometimes move from his face to his crotch. He had tried to let them know that just because his occupation was sometimes dangerous, it didn’t necessarily indicate sexual prowess. Now he was sick of it, and vowed that there’d be some changes made.
That morning Brock locked the back door of his Alexandria town house, got into his SUV with his German shepherd, Jack, and headed for the cabin he’d had custom-built to his specifications in the Adirondack Mountains. The one thing he hated about his mountain retreat was that he’d be without his piano for nearly a year. From now on, when he got the urge to make music, his guitar would have to suffice. As he drove, he envisioned the changes he’d make in his life. For starters, his days as a private investigator were behind him. When he returned to Alexandria, it would be to resume his career as a lawyer. For the next twelve months, though, he planned to write a memoir about his adventures as a private detective.
After the seven-hour trip, Brock arrived at Indian Lake shortly before sundown. He found his cabin just as he’d left it the previous September and settled in. At dusk, he noticed a light coming from the only other cabin within miles and decided that he’d better check it out. As far as he knew, the cabin had not been occupied for the past two years.
“Come on, boy,” he said, patting Jack on his haunches. “Let’s go.” He jogged up the hill wondering what and who he’d find. He rubbed Jack’s back, his signal that the dog should be gentle, and knocked on the door. Brock heard someone slip the door chain into place before cracking the door ever so slightly to take a look at him.
From what he could tell, the woman peering out at him was tall. He smiled at her and the door opened a tiny bit more. Shock waves coursed through him as he got a good look at her beautiful, oval-shaped brown face with its flawless skin. He’d never seen such eyes, large, light brown almond-shaped orbs beneath long black lashes. He wondered if he was seeing a mirage. The slight wrinkle that flashed across her forehead gave her a look of vulnerability. He immediately felt the urge to protect her. But why would he want to protect a woman he hadn’t even gotten a good look at?
He inhaled deeply and heard himself say, “I’m your neighbor down the hill. I just arrived today and was surprised to see anyone up here. This place isn’t usually occupied, so when I saw a light, I thought I’d check it out. My name’s Brock Lightner.”
The woman closed the door, appeared to test the strength of the security chain and opened the door a little wider than before. “Glad to meet you,” she said in a soft, refined voice. This time he got a good look at the beauty before him. Just the woman to take his mind off his work, he thought.
It struck him that she wasn’t particularly friendly, or maybe she was just being careful. After all, a smart woman wouldn’t open her door to a strange man in such an isolated place, especially not at night. “Nice to meet you,” he said. “I hope we’ll be good neighbors.” There was an awkward silence between them. Then he tightened his hold on Jack’s leash and said, “Well, I’ll be headed home.”
He’d never felt anything like that before. And he knew if she wasn’t married, he’d be back there, and not just once. He sensed that she was there alone. If a man had been with her, he would have been the one to open the door, because darkness had already set in.
Allison quickly closed the door after Brock Lightner left so abruptly. His visit raised concerns, but they revolved around her fear that he was someone her ex-husband had hired to follow her. She had remained in Washington, D.C., after the divorce, but avoiding her rich and powerful ex-husband had been a full-time job. After living for short periods of time in North Carolina, Louisiana, Tennessee and Nevada to throw him off her trail, she decided to settle in this remote cabin near Indian Lake, off Route 28 in the Adirondack Mountains.
Allison’s marriage to Lawrence Sawyer had been rocky. When they divorced, she was given sole custody of their son after her husband was charged with child abuse, a decision that Lawrence regarded as a personal insult and for which he swore revenge. Being a single parent barely thirty years old might have tested some women. But Allison’s relationships had convinced her that it was probably for the best.
“Who was that man, Mommie?”
“He lives down the hill. But I want you to remember that you’re not to talk to strangers. And if anyone tries to grab you, remember what I taught you to do?”
“Yes, Mommie.”
Allison was startled when the phone suddenly rang. She twirled around and rushed to answer it. “Hi,” she said, recognizing the voice of her older sister, Ellen. She sat down. “My God, you won’t believe it but there’s someone else nearby.”
“Who?”
“I’ve never seen anyone like him. That man smiled and my blood turned red hot.”
“You’re kidding me,” Ellen said with a note of disbelief. “Well, you won’t find anyone like that here in the nation’s capital. Be careful.”
“I plan to. It would be just like Lawrence to try to trick me with a good-looking man.”
“You always said you had the strength of Hercules. Now you can prove it to yourself by resisting this guy.”
Allison slumped in the chair. “I am not looking forward to it.” She hung up the phone and turned to see her son, Dudley, staring at her with a quizzical expression on his face.
“Is the man coming back to see us, Mommie?” Dudley asked after Allison had read him a bedtime story and tucked him in.
“I don’t know. We don’t know him, so we have to be careful. Close your eyes and imagine you’re on a nice sunny beach while I read another story about the little boy who loved to build sand castles.” She read until he went to sleep, turned out the light and went to her room.
Why am I suddenly so awfully lonely? This isn’t like me, Allison thought as she lay in bed. She gazed out of her window at the moon, cold and distant, shining through the trees. “He’s tantalizing, all right,” she said aloud, “but I’m not falling into that trap.”
As they usually did on Saturdays, Allison and Dudley got into her car the next day and drove to the only supermarket within twenty miles. When she approached the butcher’s counter, she saw Brock and spun around, hoping to get out of his way before he saw her. But apparently she did not move fast enough.
“Well, how nice to see you again,” Brock said. “Maybe you can give me a few tips about cooking beef. I’m not familiar with this cut.”
When he stood at her door the night before, she had glimpsed very little of him other than his remarkable face and impressive height. Now her breath shortened at the sight of his lean, muscular thighs and beautifully shaped legs protruding from Bermuda shorts that covered one of the nicest, tightest butts she’d ever seen on a man. She wasn’t quite sure of her facial expression, but she was certain that a gaping mouth didn’t flatter her.
“I, uh…I beg your pardon,” she said.
He repeated the request and stepped closer. “This is a lot for a guy to figure out. Which steak is tender?” A grin floated across his face. “Maybe it isn’t steak. I want something to grill in a hurry that will be tender.”
“Try that filet mignon,” she said, pointing to the cut of beef. He stood in front of her and she couldn’t move away. “Would you mind…?”
His gaze was on her and he didn’t smile. Her hand went to her chest as if she could stop the racing of her heart, and still he stared. His eyes seemed to draw her to him. Trembling, she must have swayed toward him because his hand reached out to steady her. He didn’t release her and he kept his gaze locked on hers, holding her captive.
“Mommie, Mr. Wood showed me a big dog out there.”
Dudley’s voice brought her to her senses. “I…I have to go,” she said, though she wasn’t obliged to give the man an explanation. “Come back here. I don’t want you near that dog.”
“He won’t hurt him,” Brock said.
“Is he your dog, mister?” Dudley asked.
“Yes, he is. His name is Jack and he won’t hurt anybody unless that person hurts him or threatens me.”
“Gee, can I play with him?”
Brock glanced at Allison before answering Dudley. “Ask your mother. We’ll do whatever she says.”
“Come on, son,” she said and left without saying goodbye.
By the time Brock finished his shopping and stood outside, he saw no trace of the woman he’d met in the nearby cabin. She still hadn’t introduced herself or divulged her name and she avoided calling her child by name. Clearly she had something to hide. Hmm. He’d have to think about that. One thing was certain: she was just as attracted to him as he was to her. Facing one another in the grocery store, he realized that he’d stirred something in her that made her tremble and almost lose her balance. She had a child, and probably a husband, so he’d better get a grip. He doubted that he had fooled her into thinking he didn’t know one cut of beef from another. He’d just needed an excuse to talk to her, and she was probably smart enough to figure that out.
Using his cell phone, he called the telephone company Monday morning and asked that his house phone be connected. “So you’re back!” the customer rep said. “For you, anything. It’s been pretty dull around here ever since you left last September. You coming to the harvest fest this year?”
“That’s months off, Marge. We’ll see. How are you?”
“Same old, same old. Only difference is now we got a TV here in the office and a couple of chairs for people to sit in. Did some lucky gal marry you since you left here?”
He couldn’t help laughing. Marge asked him that question every year when he returned to his cabin and called to have his phone reconnected. “I’m over the hill, Marge,” he said, which was his usual reply.
“Shucks, Brock. Ain’t a woman under ninety who wouldn’t marry you if she got the chance. Those over ninety would, too, if they could see what you looked like. I’m making biscuits when I get home. Drop by around five-thirty if you want some.”
“You didn’t have to add that last part. I’ll be there. Thanks, Marge, for the welcome.” To his mind, Marge offered just enough mothering to make him feel at home, and although she was naturally friendly, she didn’t pry. She was probably around sixty, he imagined, and that was part of her charm. That plus the fact that she adored a man she’d lived with for over thirty years and who would have married her if she’d been willing.
He put Jack in his SUV and drove to Marge’s house. “Well, don’t you look good,” Marge said, opening the back screen door and coming out to greet him.
He hugged her. “You’re the one. Where’s Bob?”
“Come on in. Bob just brought in some pike he caught in the big lake over in Sabael. I cleaned a couple for you. Sit down. Bob’s in the shower.”
“Have you met my neighbor?” he asked Marge, getting around to the real reason for his agreeing to come to her house.
“Allison? We’ve met, but she stays to herself. The only reason I know her name is because I work for the telephone company. She’ll go up there to the office and pay her bill, but she’s yet to introduce anybody to her child. That little boy of hers must be suffering for somebody to play with. He ought to have playmates. I suggested to her that he’d meet some children in Sunday school, but I coulda been talking to the wind.”
“Is her husband with her?”
“If he is, nobody up here’s seen him. Be careful where you step, son. She’s a real looker and she’s got good manners, but she’s as tight as a drum.”
“Why do you think I’m interested?”
Marge threw back her head and released a guffaw. “’Cause you’re a young, healthy man with plenty of testosterone. That’s why. Here. Try these.” She put three hot biscuits on a plate along with butter and homemade jam.
He bit into a biscuit. “You’re still rockin’, Marge. I could make a meal of these. Why do you think my neighbor shies away from people?”
“You asking me? Why would a young, attractive woman move up here and hide away in the woods with a five-year-old? Every man in Indian Lake has asked me about her.”
“How long has she been up here?”
“Since late April. It was still snowing when she got here. Nobody moves here that time of year. People come in the summer.”
“I know. Thanks for the goodies and for my fish. Come over and pick some raspberries. They’re ready to fall off the bushes.”
“I’ll send Bob over. Thanks.” He bade her goodbye and headed home. Something told him he’d better stop thinking about that woman. He slowed his SUV as he passed her cabin, saw a light and shook his head. Maybe when he got to know her, and he would, he’d discover that she wasn’t an enigma at all.
On Sunday morning he jumped out of bed, startled by Jack’s barking, and ran to the back door. He looked out and saw a long-antlered deer at his back fence. He dressed, went outside, tossed a few pebbles at the deer and chased it away. Deciding to go for a walk, he put a leash on Jack and headed up a trail leading to a small lake about a mile from the highway. What on earth? He reached down and rubbed Jack’s back. What was this kid doing alone on a trail in the woods?
“Hi. Are you lost?” he asked as the boy got nearer.
“I don’t know. I was looking for your dog. I wanted to play with him.”
He didn’t like the sound of that. “Did you ask your mother?”
“No, sir. She’d say no. But you said he wouldn’t hurt me.”
“That’s right. I did. What’s your name?”
“Dudley.”
“Well, Dudley, I’d better introduce you to Jack properly. Give me your hands.” He let Jack smell the boy’s hands. “Now pat him gently on the head. You see. He’s wagging his tail and that means he’s friendly. Whenever a dog’s tail is sticking straight up and not moving, that means the dog is probably dangerous and you shouldn’t go near him. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir. Jack isn’t dangerous ’cause he’s wagging his tail.”
“Dudley, what are you doing here? Where have you been?”
If he’d ever heard the sound of panic, that was it. The woman charged toward them, with tears streaming down her face, and grabbed her son. Jack’s growl startled her and she jumped back.
“Easy, boy.” He rubbed Jack’s back. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but my dog just made friends with Dudley and he’s trying to protect the boy from you. The dog doesn’t know you. Would you mind holding out your hands?”
She stared at him. “It’s all right, Mommie. Jack wants to be friends. His tail isn’t sticking up, so he won’t hurt you.” She allowed the dog to sniff her hands and then patted him on the head as Brock suggested. Then Brock lifted Dudley and placed the boy in her arms. She hugged him, but put him down at once because of his weight.
“I thought I’d go crazy. I didn’t know where he was.”
“I was looking for Jack,” Dudley said. “I wanted to play with him.”
“Don’t do this again,” Brock said to the boy, now convinced that the woman was a single mother. “Jack just chased a big deer away from my back fence. All kinds of wild animals live in these woods, Dudley, and they’ll hurt you.” He looked at her, frightened and vulnerable, and it took a lot of willpower to resist taking her in his arms and comforting her. “You’ve never told me your name.” He sounded so cool that he almost laughed at himself.
“It’s Allison Sawyer,” Dudley said, “and we live in that red house up there.”
Allison didn’t have to be told that the expression on her face when she looked at Dudley was not what anyone would describe as motherly. “How are you, Mr. Lightner? Thank you for intercepting Dudley.” She wanted to kick herself. She had inadvertently let him know that she’d remembered his name.
“How did he get out of the house without your knowing it? And if I may say so, you ought to keep your fence locked. Some of the animals around here, bears included, will come right up to your door if they smell food.”
Dudley took a few steps closer to Brock and looked up at him. “I turned the lock and opened the door.”
Allison could see that Dudley had jettisoned her plan to avoid Brock Lightner and she didn’t know what she could do about it. The man gazed down at her intently, as if he were testing the water before diving into it.
“Don’t you think you should change the lock on that door? If he can get out so easily, someone may get in just as easily.”
The man’s eyes seemed to suck her in like quicksand. What was wrong with her that she couldn’t stop looking at him? “That’s…I’ll see if someone up at the general store can fix it for me,” she said in a voice that didn’t sound like hers. “Thanks for your kindness. Come along, Dudley.”
“But, Mommie!”
“Did you hear me? I said come on.” She didn’t look at Brock Lightner because she knew he was judging her, and unfairly, too. But she had to protect her son and she didn’t know the man or his reason for being in Indian Lake. Dudley poked out his bottom lip and prepared to cry. But she ignored that, grabbed his hand with more force that she’d intended and turned to head up the road. She noticed that Brock tightened his hold on the dog’s leash and stopped.
“I thought you said he isn’t dangerous.”
“He isn’t right now, but he’s agitated because Dudley’s crying and you pulled him a little roughly. Jack has established a bond with Dudley.”
“Believe me, Dudley can test a saint when he puts himself to it. Goodbye.”
“Can we pick some raspberries, Mommie?”
“No, Dudley. We are going home. I have a lot of work to do.”
Later she put Dudley on a stool in her kitchen and looked him in the eye. “You did a very bad and very dangerous thing when you sneaked out and wandered into those woods. You heard what Mr. Lightner said about the wild animals. They can hurt you very badly. If you ever do that again, I am going to lock you in your room. Do you understand?”
The boy reached up and pinched her chin. “You ate some ginger snaps, Mommie. There’s a little piece right there.”
She stared at him for a second. He giggled, having learned how to charm his way out of trouble and, even though she knew he was trying to snow her, she laughed and hugged him. She couldn’t help it. He was the delight of her life. The ringing of the telephone saved her from further disciplining him.
“Hello.” She never identified herself when answering the telephone.
“Allison? This is Layla. How’s that rewrite coming?”
“Kicking and screaming. It’s like pulling hens’ teeth and they don’t have any teeth. There isn’t a whole lot you can say about white icing, Layla. But with so many people allergic to chocolate, cooks are going to have to learn how to make creamy white icing.”
“That’s why you’re doing this cookbook. The sales force is on my back, Allison,” Layla continued.
“It’s not due until next week.”
“I know, but you said you could have it in early. Oh, well. How’s Dudley?”
“Holding up my work, as usual. Otherwise, I’m happy to say he’s fine.”
“Good. I’m looking forward to receiving your precious manuscript in my hands next Wednesday.”
“Don’t worry. It will be there.” She hung up and hurried back to the kitchen where Dudley remained on the stool.
“Mommie, why can’t I play with Jack? If I can’t play with Jack, can I have a dog?”
“I don’t know anything about taking care of dogs. Now if you’ll let me work for a couple of hours, I promise to find you a guitar teacher. You did really well in your math and reading this morning. Why don’t you work on that map?”
“I’m going to start on a new map.” He jumped down and went to his room.
Maybe moving to such an isolated place had been a bad decision. Dudley needed playmates and he didn’t have access to libraries, museums or other activities. But what could she do? If Lawrence kidnapped Dudley and whisked him out of the country, as he’d threatened to do, she’d never see her child again. She made a pot of coffee and forced herself to focus on her work. Looking at the computer screen, her mind’s eye conjured up Brock Lightner’s sleepy, light brown eyes and the dimple in his left cheek that had seduced her into believing he was harmless.
Maybe the man wasn’t all that interesting and the problem wasn’t him but her loneliness. Maybe she should pack up and head west. She rubbed her hands as if in despair and closed her eyes. Snap out of it, Allison. You have to finish this book!
Brock decided to go back home and get to work. He couldn’t understand Allison Sawyer’s skittishness around him, although he could understand why an intelligent woman would not allow her child to go off with a stranger. As soon as he managed to find out where she’d lived before, he’d have all the information he needed to know. He hadn’t spent ten years as a successful private investigator for no reason. She was on the lam, either from the law or someone, and nothing would make him believe otherwise.
He remembered that he hadn’t talked with his mother for a couple of days and phoned her. “It’s great to be back up here,” he told her. “First chance I get, I’m going over to the big Indian Lake and try to catch some striped bass. At this small lake over here, people fish for pike and sunfish.”
“Don’t try talking around me, Brock. I want to know if you’ve definitely given up being a private investigator. I worry every minute. It’s so dangerous.”
“Good grief! Well, you can put that behind you. I’m writing an account of my experiences and that’s a good way to get it out of my system.”
“I don’t suppose there’re any nice girls up there.”
The chuckle that began deep in his throat exploded into a laugh. “Mom, the village probably doesn’t have more than two hundred and fifty people, if that many. The post office and the bank are three miles up the road. One supermarket nearby serves everyone in a ten-mile radius. How’s Dad?”
“Reginald’s playing golf. One day last week, he shot a seventy-two and there’s no living with him.”
It sounded like a complaint, but he heard the pride in her voice. “Good for him. I’ll be in touch.”
Now, if I can get one page written, I can say I’ve started. But do I write it as fiction or nonfiction? He’d thought about that question for weeks and hadn’t come to a conclusion. He called his brother, Justin.
“You want to sound clever or you want to make some money?” Justin said—always the practical one—when Brock put the question to him.
“I want to make some money and I want to get investigating out of my system.”
“Then you can figure out the answer,” Justin said. “I know what I’d do.”
“Write a fictionalized first-person account. That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
He opened his laptop and started typing, attacking the story as if it were an enemy. After two hours, he printed out eight double-spaced pages, got a cup of coffee, went out on his deck and sat down to read what he’d written and decide whether he liked it or not. Jack settled beside his chair. He’d read for only a few minutes when Jack jumped up and growled. He’d never seen a wild boar up there, but there was no mistaking the tusks protruding from its mouth. He didn’t like shooting animals, but if he saw it again, he’d have to eat a lot of roast pig. He didn’t want Jack near the animal because it posed a danger even for bears. He walked out to the gate, threw a few sticks and drove the boar away.
The following morning, shortly after seven, he put Jack on a leash and jogged down a trail toward the Adirondack Lake, exercising himself and his dog. He saw Dudley at about the same time as Jack barked and stopped.
“Dudley, where is your mother?”
“She’s asleep, I think.”
He hunkered beside the boy. “How many times have you wandered out of the house without letting your mother know about it?”
Dudley looked him straight in the face, then he patted Jack on the back. “Lots of times.”
“Why do you disobey your mother?”
Dudley looked down at his feet and then gazed up at him with the saddest eyes that he’d seen in a child’s face. “The house is so small and I like it outside. I already did my lessons this morning.”
“Where is your father, Dudley?”
“He doesn’t live with us.”
“Then you have to learn to obey your mother. Come on.” He took the boy’s hand and started for Allison Sawyer’s house. To his amazement, Dudley didn’t resist going home. Indeed he seemed happy to hold Brock’s hand. He knocked on Allison’s front door.
“She’s asleep, Mr. Lightner, and I think she’s going to send me to my room.”
After a few minutes, the door opened and Allison stared up at him with a questioning expression on her face. For an answer, he looked down at Dudley.
“Oh, my Lord. Don’t tell me he was out there again,” she said in a voice laced with fear.
“You didn’t repair that lock, did you?”
She seemed defeated. “I have a deadline to meet and when he promised not to sneak out again, I decided to wait to change the locks.”
Better to shock her now than to cry with her later. He didn’t spare her. “Yesterday afternoon, I chased a wild boar from my gate. Those animals will attack a bear. If Dudley encountered one, I doubt you’d see him alive again.”
Her almost-plaintive expression opened a hole inside of him and he grasped her shoulder. “You don’t have to replace the locks. I’ll do it for you. Now. Today. You can’t watch him every minute. If it’s the money…”
She shook her head. “No, it isn’t that and I thank you for bringing him home. I’d die if anything happened to my child.”
“I know you would. I’ll be glad to run up to the store and get the locks and a chain for that fence, but I suspect you’d feel safer knowing you were the only one with the keys. I take it your windows lock. Right?”
“Yes, they do. Thank you,” she said. “I’ll drive to the store and get the locks, and I should have them around noon. Thanks. I…I appreciate your help, Mr. Lightner.”
She had a way of looking at him that made him feel as if he could twist iron with his bare hands. His breath shortened and he forced himself to look away from her. “It seems as if Jack is taken with Dudley. I suppose even dogs need playmates. I’ll see you later.”
“Can I go stay with Jack and Mr. Lightner, Mommie?”
“No, darling. We shouldn’t impose on our neighbor.” She wanted to move, but Brock wouldn’t let her. His gaze was like fingers stroking and caressing her body, warm and seductively.
He took a small notepad from his pocket, made a step toward her and said, “Call me when you get home. This is my cell-phone number.” He wrote the number on the pad, tore it off and handed it to her. A smile played around his mouth, making his full, bottom lip even more inviting. “The sooner we do this, the better.”
He said it softly, but there was no mistaking his meaning. She knew he was talking about the locks, but his words sent jolts of excitement through her, upping the sexual tension between them as well.
When Dudley began to pout, Brock patted the boy’s shoulder. “Good boys always obey their mothers. See you soon.”
Dudley reached toward Allison and took her hand. “Come on, Mommie. Let’s go get the locks now so he can fix the door.” She stared at him. In all his five years, that was the first time he’d given in without creating a scene. She realized it was also the first time he had received a gentle reprimand from a man. When Allison had left his father, Dudley had only known abuse. Lawrence had responded to Dudley’s stubbornness by slapping him, which was particularly abusive punishment for a toddler less than three.
Maybe she was doing the wrong thing. But she knew she’d been fooling herself if she thought that Dudley wouldn’t sneak out again and she couldn’t risk that. She strapped him in the backseat of her car, got in and drove up Route 28. At the general store she bought locks and a length of heavy chain to secure the wire fence.
“Buy some hot dogs, Mommie, and let’s have a picnic.”
She didn’t have time for a picnic, but Dudley needed a diversion, so she went next door to the supermarket and bought what she needed for an outdoor picnic. She’d told Brock that she’d be back home in an hour, but when he neither called nor came, her temper began to rise.
“He gave you his cell-phone number, Mommie,” Dudley said when she grumbled about it.
She hadn’t intended to use that number, but what choice did she have now if she didn’t want to risk Dudley sneaking out the next morning before she got up. She dialed his number.
“Mr. Lightner, this is Allison Sawyer,” she said when he answered. “I’m back home with the locks and the chain.”
“Good. I’ll be there in about twenty minutes.”
When his voice seemed to trail off, she realized that he didn’t know how to terminate the conversation, at least not to his satisfaction. This is terrible, she thought. I do not like where we seem to be headed and I am not going there.
“Mommie, I’m hungry. Can we have the picnic now?”
“Mr. Lightner is coming to change the locks, so we’ll have to wait.”
He agreed without protest and she thought nothing of it. However, when Brock arrived with Jack, Dudley ran to embrace the big German shepherd and said to the dog, “We’re going to have a picnic, Jack. Do you like hot dogs?” Jack wagged his tail.
Stunned by the child’s deviousness, she threw up her hands and looked at Brock. “He’s five years old. How am I going to manage when he’s fifteen?”
“It’ll probably be a lot easier then,” Brock said. She gave him the locks and chain and walked toward the kitchen, intent upon leaving Brock alone with the job.
“This’ll go much faster and smoother if you hold this lock in place while I get this screw started,” he said. “These Segal dead-bolt locks are almost tamper-proof. I’m glad you got one for the front door as well. Here, hold this for me.”
She stood inches from him, watching his biceps flex as he forced the screws into the door’s hard wood. She looked at his fingers, long, lean and tapered, capable of giving a woman pleasure after pleasure, and her attention strayed from the task at hand as her gaze traveled over his long, lean frame. She sucked in her breath and his head whipped around. With one hand on the screwdriver and the other on the screw, he stood motionless, gazing into her eyes. She swallowed hard and tried without success to shift her gaze, for he held her spellbound.
“Are you going to invite me to your picnic?” he asked in words so soft that she barely heard him. “Are you?”
She managed to break contact with his eyes, but her gaze caught the chest hairs exposed by the open placket of his T-shirt and traveled to his bare arms, so muscular and strong.
“Well?” he said.
“Uh. Yes, of course,” she replied, shaking herself out of the trance. “As soon as…Can you fix the back gate today, too?”
“I’ll do that and anything else you need done,” he said in a tone that told her to take it any way she wanted to.
