Jennifer awakened to the muffled sound of shouting. That it was muffled wasn't a surprise--Ios, her Siamese, was being a hat-cat again. She peeled Ios off her head and sat up, scattering cats everywhere.
Another shout. It was definitely Rick.
Despite the Texas summer heat, a chill ran down her back. Rick was in trouble. He'd said he trusted the men who worked in the garage, but could he really? The few she'd seen looked more like criminals than mechanics.
He’d let her, and her cats, stay in his place so she owed him. If Rick was in trouble, she had to help him.
She sprang out of her futon, glad she'd worn a T-shirt to bed.
She'd reached the door before a painful surge of reality hit her. Without a weapon, she would be about as useful to Rick as dentures to a cat.
Before she'd gone to bed the previous night she'd noticed the white metal box in the corner of Rick's office. With luck it would contain something useful like a hammer or a pipe wrench. She grasped the lid and raised it.
Wishful thinking again. Instead of a toolchest, the thing turned out to be a freezer.
Tough. She was in a hurry. She closed her eyes and reached in grasping a clublike object.
Another blood-curdling shout from below wrenched her into action. Her club smelled suspiciously like a frozen fish, but it would have to do.
The old fire pole looked like the fastest way down. Jennifer jerked up the trap door Rick had fashioned over the fire pole and wrapped her legs around the cool brass. Half a second toying with the idea of gripping the whole frozen fish in her teeth was way too much.
Just outside, she saw Rick and another man. The man swung a heavy looking stick at Rick's head.
Rick ducked, then pulled back. He had obviously been awakened from his sleep because he wore nothing but a pair of white canvas pants. His upper body gleamed with sweat and, although he'd slipped that last stroke, an angry red inflammation marked one of his upper arms and proved he hadn't always been so lucky.
Her heart went into her throat. My man in trouble.
The thought was absurd, of course. She had no claim on him. Still, she felt like a mother cat called on to defend her family.
The stranger attacked again, barely missing Rick with a thrust with one end of the stick toward Rick's head, then connecting with a follow-up kick to his abdomen.
Rick grunted and pulled away.
The two men breathed heavily and made feinting motions. All of their concentration was on one another.
Jennifer wouldn't have a better opportunity. Gathering all of her strength, she rushed at the assailant, hoping Rick would distract him long enough for her to get in one solid blow.
She closed the distance quickly, holding the fish-club with both hands at one hip like a tennis player's two-handed backhand. She was already swinging, the full hundred and fifteen pounds of angry woman behind that five pounds of frozen fish, when Rick's attacker finally noticed her.
At the last possible instant, the stranger twisted out of the way and shifted that big stick he'd been using faster than she would have dreamed possible. It caught the fish, yanked it from her hands, and catapulted it directly into Rick's head.
Rick fell like a condemned building being dynamited from within.
"Lady, are you nuts?" Looking horrified, the stranger grasped Jennifer's arm, swung her around, then thrust her to the ground. "Stay there."
If it had just been her and the stranger, Jennifer would have been terrified enough to do exactly what the man ordered. But it wasn't just her. When Rick's assailant strode over and knelt down next to Rick, Jennifer forgot her fears.
The man had dropped his stick when he'd shoved her down. Jennifer silently picked it up and held it in front of her so he couldn't reach her.
The attacker looked up from Rick's body and glared at her. "I thought I told you to sit still." He grasped the other end of his club and yanked on it.
Hanging on seemed like a good idea and she did, grimly.
It turned out that wasn't the smartest plan after all. The stranger swung her around like a yo-yo and deposited her on the ground once again, legs sprawling into the air. A clammy cold penetrated her T-shirt. She'd landed directly on the fish.
"Don't get me wrong," Rick's voice was so soft she had to lean toward him to hear. "I like it a lot. But next time you want to meet one of my friends, maybe you'd better wear panties."
***
Rick's head throbbed, but that wasn't all that made him a little uneasy. Perhaps that blow to the head had been more serious than he'd imagined. For some reason, Jennifer's obvious concern, not to mention a rather refreshing look at the rest of Jennifer, made the pain bearable.
"You know this woman, Sensei?" Eric demanded.
"I'm afraid so, Yudangi."
"I'm Jennifer Hollman," Jennifer told Eric. "If you're such good friends, how come you were trying to kill him?"
Eric looked confused. "Kill him? He's my best friend."
Rick broke in before things really went downhill. "I should have told you, Jennifer but you just grumbled when I knocked on your door this morning. We practice our Tae Kwon Do first thing every Saturday." He paused for a moment then decided he'd better continue. "I assume you were trying to rescue me rather than participate in our work-out."
Jennifer looked at him like he'd gone crazy.
"If you're staying with Rick for a while, you might want to join us," Eric added. "It's a great workout and a lot of fun. Plus good bonding for couples if you know what I mean."
Rick wondered if he should correct Eric's obvious misunderstanding of their relationship. Since he couldn't figure out a way to say anything without getting Jennifer mad at him, he kept his mouth shut.
Jennifer shook her head slightly as if trying to clear the cobwebs. "Let me see if I understand this. You hit each other with sticks and you think it's fun. Then you wonder if I'd like to join you? Have I got it right?"
Eric grinned. "It's been sticks up to now but you may be on to something. Sensei, you never told me about frozen-fish-fu."
"Sensei?" Jennifer asked.
"Teacher," Rick explained.
"Oh."
It had been like Jennifer to come to the rescue again, Rick realized. He figured her frozen fish attack hadn't done any permanent damage, although his record bass would never be the same.
Of course his head still ached like a son of a gun, but he had a sneaking suspicion that it would continue to ache as long as Jennifer hung around. The pathetic thing, he decided, was that he didn't really mind.
Rick stood without using his hands, wobbled, then sat back down, hard. "Maybe we'd better call it a day, Yudanji."
Jennifer took a deep breath and moved toward him.
Rick realized he'd just made a big mistake. When Jennifer was in a rescue mood, any sign of weakness was blood in the water for a shark feeding frenzy.
"Rick?" She held a cool hand to his forehead like she was afraid he might have a fever.
Well, in a way, he supposed he did. Jennifer had always hotted him up.
"I'm all right," he insisted. "I just stood up too fast and the blood went into my legs." He was babbling, but out of a sense of self-preservation.
"Let me have a look." Jennifer peered into his face. "Open your eyes wider."
"They're green. Surely you remember that."
Her own blue eyes looked warm, inviting. He could fall into eyes like that.
"I'm trying to see if your pupils are dilated."
He signed. "I told you, I'm all right."
"Do you want me to call an ambulance?" Eric offered. Rick's friend was backing away fast. Probably afraid, Rick realized, that he would be next.
"Get out of here before nurse Jennifer decides you need help," Rick offered. "It's too late for me, but save yourself."
"That wasn't very nice," Jennifer told him as Eric almost ran out into the street. "I do think someone should take a look at Dan Ji's arm. I think you gave him a serious bruise."
"Yudanji," he told her. "It means black-belt holder."
"Oh. Thanks for the introduction, then."
"We were in class."
She backed away from him. "Your eyes look fine."
"Funny, yours look mad. Beautiful, of course, but angry as all getout."
"I just wonder why."
Rick hadn't been lying. When they'd been in school, her eyes had never glowed with the fire that inhabited them now. All of a sudden, his mouth felt dry. If he tried to stand, he really would get dizzy.
Without makeup, wearing nothing but an old T-shirt, Jennifer looked better than any woman he could remember.
"Oh-oh, I think your pupils are dilating after all." Her voice was a bare whisper.
"That's because they like what they see."
He reached for her, pulled her toward him.
For an instant, he thought she would resist. Almost, he backed off. Then that moment passed and Jennifer pressed her lips to his.
He closed his eyes and savored the touch of her lips, the gentle play of her tongue as it met his own, and the warmth of her body.
One of her hands tangled itself in his hair while the other traced his ribs.
His traitor body twitched against her caress.
She pulled back instantly. "Oh my gosh, I forgot about that kick you took in the gut. Did I hurt you?"
Rick shook his head. "Don't you remember? I'm sort of ticklish."
His reaction had drained the magic from the moment and Jennifer didn't look likely to throw herself back in his arms.
Rick stood, slowly this time, and looked at her. He wanted to reach out for her again, but she crossed her arms underneath her breasts and stared at him like he was some sort of demon come to life.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I was trying to help you and--"
"I know. I got carried away."
"Will you lose money on your class because of my, ah, interruption?" she asked.
Jennifer's abrupt change of topic threw Rick for a moment. Then he realized she was talking about Eric. "I don't do it for the money. Tae Kwon Do is fun."
She looked at his bruised torso and the fish slowly thawing in the grass. "Fun?"
"Maybe it's a guy thing."
***
Jennifer soaped herself one more time in a desperate attempt to free herself from the clinging fish scent. Then she stood under the pounding shower for another minute letting the water beat down on her aching muscles. If she closed her eyes, she could just imagine that the water's touch was Rick's caress.
She gritted her teeth and jerked down the lever, turning off the flow. Just what had she been thinking when she'd kissed Rick?
"Cupboard looks pretty bare and I'm somehow not in the mood for fish. Want to drive to Norma's for breakfast?" Rick's voice came through the thin bathroom walls as clearly as if he was standing in the room with her. He must have heard her singing, she realized. Singing because she couldn't help her insane happiness over that kiss.
She wrapped a towel around herself. "If you let me pay my half."
The door burst open and a glaring Rick stormed into the bathroom. "Don't try to buy everything, Jennifer. You're my guest. Why don't you just accept that?"
Jennifer's hormones battled her common sense. Half of her wanted to dump the towel and throw her dripping body at him. Half was afraid he'd reject her if she did. And an impossible extra half battled back with a bit of common sense. She couldn't base her relationship with Rick on his sex appeal, much though she might want to.
"Get out of here, I'm not dressed." She held onto the towel with a death-grip, afraid if she loosened it at all, she'd throw it to the winds.
"Oh." He backed out, closing the door behind her and leaving her wondering if she had imagined the sudden desire in his eyes. "I'm paying," he growled though the closed door.
Rick had an amazing amount going for him, Jennifer realized, despite his current status in life. He was smart, good looking, and had all sorts of useful skills. Of course skills like car repair and martial arts could permanently limit him to less than his full earnings potential.
Jennifer swiped the steam off the bathroom mirror and dragged a comb through her hair. The look she gave herself left no doubt in her mind. She was in trouble.
Even her fellow members of the Dallas Cat Rescue League called her a busy-body rescuer. Well, she did what she had to do. What she had to do was figure out a way to save Rick--from himself. Even if it meant staying with him longer than the one night she'd at first planned.
She owed it to him, she told herself as she critically eyed the outfit she'd selected. If Rick could rescue her and all of her cats, the least she could do was return the favor.
Unfortunately, her outfit selection made her wonder whether she was more interested in helping him, or in satisfying her own libido. After the way she'd kissed him that morning, Rick would take one look at her and decide she had ulterior motives. The cut-off shorts were bad enough but the little spaghetti-strap top hardly left anything to the imagination.
She toyed with the idea of changing, then figured, what the hell. Rick had said they were driving. That meant sweating in his oven of a truck in the middle of August during a typical Dallas heat wave. Let Rick think what he wanted. Jennifer wouldn't wear extra layers of clothes just to spare him a little embarrassment.
"You look good," Rick told her when she emerged from the bathroom.
Jennifer let the warmth of his compliment wash over her. Her girlfriends always told each other how great they looked and how crazy guys were not to notice, but they said it even when they looked like something the cat dragged in. Rick wouldn't waste his breath on idle conversation. He liked the way she looked.
The feeling was mutual.
Rick had changed into a clean but faded pair of jeans that didn't show any signs of paint or car grease but his black T-shirt advertised a brand of art-deco computer coffee. On a normal guy, it would have looked nerdy. She didn't think Rick could look like a nerd on a dare. She let herself enjoy a slow stare. "You look pretty good yourself."
"Yeah? Well, if we've got the compliments out of the way, let's get a move on it," Rick said. "I'm starving."
He turned and headed for his door narrowly missing the punch she threw in his direction. So much for her warm feelings.
The ride was as hot and miserable as she'd expected. At least it was short.
To Jennifer's surprise, everyone at the diner knew Rick and most of them stopped by to say hello. She'd thought neighborhood diners like Norma's were relegated to old situation comedies and small towns. That a place like this existed within two miles of where she'd lived for the past year surprised her. What else might she have missed?
It wasn't until they were driving back to Rick's converted fire station that she had a moment to ask some personal questions. Time to start helping Rick.
"Did you ever finish high school?"
He shook his head. "Never seemed critical."
Useful skills and no education. One of her sorority sisters had admitted to knowing how to type. The poor girl had spent her first three years out of college trying to escape the secretarial pool. Jennifer’s own history degree, coupled with seven years working as a well-paid gopher for her father, had ruined her employment options. Rick's practical skills and lack of education would make for a pretty skimpy resume.
"But Rick," she said patiently, "education is important."
"I'm more interested in doing things than I am in taking classes on how other people do them."
If she remembered rightly, Rick had been the only student in their school who had taken both auto shop and honors calculus. Not only that, he'd gotten A's in both. With his grades, he could have gotten a college scholarship. He probably still could.
Rick dismissed the idea as soon as she tried it out. "I could probably get started in the rodeo circuit too. If I wanted to go broke breaking my ribs. Somehow I don't feel the compulsion."
He parked in the street outside his garage, under the same tree as yesterday. The shade was welcome, but unfortunately, the tree hosted a flock of birds. Jennifer suspected that every one of those grackles had contributed to the truck's bespeckled appearance. If not, they looked anxious to start.
She decided she had to do something about that. If Rick showed up for an interview driving this bird-crudded truck, the only job he'd be considered for was bouncer at a bar. Before she got started on his vehicle, though, she needed to do something about his own appearance.
She was trying to help him, she rationalized. That was all. She most certainly was not looking for an excuse to get him to take his shirt off again. That would be merely a side benefit of her plan.
"Have you always kept your hair long like that?"
***
Rick wrapped the towel around his shoulders and wondered what had happened. One moment he'd been enjoying a quiet breakfast at Norma's. The next, hunks of his hair were falling around him like black snow.
Jennifer brushed her hand against his naked back and a new blizzard of dark hair descended to the floor. "Most girls would kill to have hair as thick as yours," she told him.
"I hated it when I was a kid."
"I didn't." Her voice sounded a little sad.
Hera, one of Jennifer's cats, discovered a game that involved hunting hunks of his hair through the house. Rick watched the cat and tried to avoid looking in Jennifer's eyes. All those years ago, he'd hurt her and he hadn’t even realized it. Knowing that made him feel small, even with the perspective of years. He'd focused so hard on his own hurts, he'd never realized he could cause her pain.
Welcome to the human race, Rick, he told himself.
"Earth to Rick," Jennifer said.
"Oh, sorry. I was just thinking I can get a haircut at any of a dozen shops on Jefferson for six bucks. I just lose track of how long my hair gets."
"I don't mind." Jennifer ran her fingers through his hair, selected a hank, then snipped it off. "It makes me feel useful."
Rick wished he could be honest about how good Jennifer's hands felt running through his hair. If he was, though, Jennifer would go screaming out of his place like a cat on fire.
She stood to his side, inspected her work, then leaned forward to tug the comb through the knotted mass of hair on the top of his head.
Jennifer couldn't have any idea what the sensation of her breast against his shoulder did to him. Rick casually rearranged the towel he'd draped over his waist to hide any overly revealing bumps. If all haircuts were like this, he figured he could stand one every day. As far as he could remember, his hair had never done much for him before. Today, that had changed.
"Finished," Jennifer finally announced. She sounded a little breathless to him, and he wondered if she had experienced some fraction of the sensual pleasure he had. He hoped so.
The pleasant daydream of finishing what they'd started a decade before wouldn't leave him. From Jennifer's response to his kiss, he knew she wasn't totally averse to his touch.
He glared at himself in the mirror. "Too pretty," he announced.
Jennifer's face crumpled for a moment. "I'm sure--"
"Just kidding," he added quickly. She still held the scissors in her hands.
Jennifer didn't look reassured.
"Really," he added. "Not even your haircut could make this face pretty."
"I think you look very professional," she told him.
He inspected himself more carefully. His hair was shorter than he usually wore it. "Maybe. But the new black eye keeps me from looking too much like a bank president, thank God."
She said nothing, but her fists tightened.
"I really do appreciate the chop," he quickly added.
Jennifer only looked slightly mollified. "Do you have the entire day off? I don't want to keep you from doing your job. I mean, if you have to work weekends."
About six months ago, Rick had turned day-to-day operations over to Eric. He'd spent plenty of time working eighty- and ninety-hour weeks already. "I pretty much work when I want to," he admitted.
"Oh." Clearly Jennifer didn't approve. "I find it important to work regular hours."
"I'm not much interested in that sort of rat race."
Jennifer's face showed a war between confusion and resolve. Finally resolve won out. "If you found something you really loved, you wouldn't feel that way."
He nodded slowly. Once he had enjoyed the hectic pace of work, of building a business from a crazy idea everyone said could never make a dime. He still imagined taking that dream to a higher level, but he knew how unlikely that was. It was one thing for a high school dropout to create a multimillion dollar Internet business. It was another to imagine that same dropout running a major media conglomerate. It was a crazy dream.
"Maybe you're right," he told her. "But I'm not going to worry about it today. It is a Saturday, after all."
Rick stood and dusted off the rest of his hair. "I'm going to grab a shower, then I'll sweep up this mess. Make yourself at home. There's soda in the 'fridge."
"Have you thought about wearing khakis rather than jeans all the time?" Jennifer asked as he started to turn away.
He stopped and stared at her. Cutting his hair was one thing. Revamping his wardrobe was something else. "No."
***
Jennifer watched Rick stomp toward his bathroom. The knotted muscles in his strong back and shoulders let her know that she'd definitely pushed too hard and too fast. It was a pity, too. Things had been going so well before she'd overreached with the khakis idea.
She'd cut his hair shorter than she'd planned because she had enjoyed the sensation of his hair in her hands, of his powerful body so close to hers. Still, she had to admit that she'd done a good job. If he'd just dress appropriately, Rick could pass for a bank vice president. He would look way better in a suit than Jim Dorfman did. Obviously, though, a change of that magnitude was a fantasy.
People were a lot like cats, she concluded, only not as cute of course. You couldn't push them too fast. You had to ease them into success rather than force it on them.
She remembered back to when her father had decided to quit smoking. He'd tried the cold turkey plan every New Year’s day for years without any success. It was only when he'd adopted a gradual approach, along with a sort of twelve-step program, that he'd finally been successful.
She snapped her fingers. That was what Rick needed. A twelve-step program of self-improvement. She could develop it for him. Of course she'd start him off on it without telling him. Once he saw how well things were working, she'd fill him in. With a twelve-step plan, she could ease him from the world of unskilled semi-poverty to the levels of success he deserved.
She caught a look at her face in the mirror and grinned. A twelve-step program to Rick's success. Brilliant.
Rick had told her to make herself at home and she decided to take him literally. In the room that had become her temporary bedroom, she found an unused spiral notebook. Humming to herself, she clicked open a ball-point pen and hunched over the book. Step one was where Rick was now. Step twelve was where he would be incredibly successful. So what were the steps in between?
Three minutes of staring at the blank sheet of paper didn't help.
Athena rubbed against Jennifer's leg and then hopped into her lap and started the purr engine cats use when they want to help people think. For the millionth time, Jennifer wondered how anyone could avoid loving cats.
For some reason, thinking about cats brought her friend Carla to mind. Carla was a font of advice on how to improve men. If Jennifer could get Carla to help out with the twelve-step program, she could help Rick and, at the same time, work on curing Carla of her impossible attraction to men like Harry.
She stretched for the phone, barely managing to reach it without disturbing Athena, and dialed.
As she listened to the distant ring, she jotted down her first idea. Step One--make Rick feel comfortable with looking good.
Jennifer stared at the line on the notebook, then crossed out looking good. There was no trick to Rick looking good. He did that without any effort at all. Over the cross-out she wrote looking professional.
It didn't take long to come up with a list of things she could do right away. Some would take longer. She'd have to let Rick wear his jeans for at least a while.
A vagrant thought of making Rick lose his jeans crossed her mind. In that fantasy, she definitely didn't replace them with khakis--or anything else.
After a few minutes, Rick emerged from the bathroom. Fortunately for Jennifer's ability to concentrate, he'd put back on his clothes.
"Mind if I use the computer?" he asked her.
"Huh-uh" she said shaking her head. "I'm just jotting down some ideas so you won't bother me at all."
Rick flipped a switch and sat down. Half a minute later, Google flashed on the screen. Jennifer had learned to associate that logo with her father's money-losing day-trading. She told herself not to watch but felt like one of her own cats being teased by a dangled string.
She stared at Rick’s strong hands for a minute as he lost himself in whatever Web site he was visiting. Then she got an idea. Step Two: wean Rick from the Internet so he'd have more time for work and self-improvement. Web surfing was such a time waster!
When he pulled up a picture of a woman wearing nothing but a bathing suit and a colorful layer of tattoos, Jennifer decided she'd had enough. "I'm going to work in the dining room."
Rick looked up from the picture. "Suit yourself."
All right, maybe the woman had a body to die for. Still, could Rick be the kind of guy who actually wanted a woman who would pierce her body and get stuck with tattoo needles?
She was still looking at the words Step Three on her note pad when the doorbell rang.
Jennifer collided with Rick at the front door. How could he move so quickly?
"It's for me," she told him.
Rick nodded, gesturing for her to open the door.
Jennifer opened the door, relieved to see a friendly face. "Hi, Carla."
"Hi." Without even sparing Jennifer a glance, Carla stared directly at Rick, absently patting her short, red hair. Rick smiled and murmured a polite greeting, then turned and retreated to his office.
Carla fanned herself, giving Jennifer a questioning look. "That's the charity case?" she whispered, her voice incredulous. Then Nick and Annie, scampering across the room in perfect unison, attacked Carla's foot. Her baby-doll face broke into an adoring smile. "Kitties! Oh, how cute. I can't believe someone abandoned them." She scooped up both kittens and snuggled them against her breast. "They're almost as cute as that hunk of a man you have there."
Jennifer felt a strange twinge. Carla, even in cut-offs and a T-shirt, was to-die-for gorgeous.
"Sshh" Jennifer warned. "He can hear us."
Carla wrinkled his nose. "Men don't listen to women."
A wave of sadness swept over Jennifer. "That's not true. You just need to find the right guy." Why was a pretty woman like Carla always attracting men who ignored her?
"Right guy or not," Carla said, "looks like that one got caught. Somebody snag him making time with their wife or what? That's quite a shiner he's got."
"I don't want to talk about it."
Carla raised one eyebrow. "You're responsible?"
"I already said--"
"Hey, don't get mad." Carla pressed a hand over her mouth in a losing battle to keep back her snicker. "You guys like rough stuff, that's your business, not mine."
"Carla!" Jennifer couldn't help her gasp. "That is so far from the truth that--"
"You mean you haven't done him yet?" Carla made tssking noises with her tongue. "Better put your brand on that bull before some other heifer comes along and makes him an offer."
"But--"
Carla reached out and grasped Jennifer's cheeks with both of her hands. "Don't worry, sweetie. Not me. You saw him first." She shook her head sadly. "Only if he happens to have a friend..."
Jennifer needed to set Carla straight on her relationship with Rick. Strangely, she found herself unwilling to hurry her disclosure. Perhaps, she finally admitted to herself, because she was having a hard time herself defining what was between her and Rick.
"I know you're kidding now. You've already got Harry."
Carla gave her a lopsided grin. "There's a lot to be said for having a guy around. There's more to be said for a hunk, and that's what you have here."
Jennifer dropped her voice to a whisper. "He might be a ten in the looks department," she agreed. "But he needs our help."
***
"Oh, come on. I'm sure he knows what to do."
"Carla, do you ever talk about anything but sex?" Not that Jennifer could contribute much to any such discussion. Neither of her two sexual experiences had come close to equaling the pleasure she'd gotten from the kiss she and Rick had so recently shared.
Carla sobered. "Okay, girlfriend, then what exactly is the problem?"
"You won't believe what he does for a living." Jennifer led the way into the living room and sank into the leather couch. Carla joined her, caressing the smooth leather with one envious hand. "Rick teaches some sort of Do Wan Go and works on cars."
Carla nodded seriously. "Sure would be handy to have a guy who can do things. He can work on my engine and play doe-see-doe with me any time. Now Harry ... well, when Harry went fishing last week, the only thing he caught was himself. He ended up in the hospital with a hook in his butt."
Heat flushed in Jennifer's cheeks. "I don't ever want to hear the word fish again. But anyway, you're missing my point. Rick is smart. He could be a bank vice president. We've got to help him."
Carla crossed her arms under her impressive breasts. "He doesn't look like he needs rescuing. Except maybe from the fifty thousand women in Dallas who would pay money to take him to bed, even for an hour."
***
Rick stared at the financial report for his web business, then realized he'd been looking at the same spreadsheet for ten minutes.
He gritted his teeth and forced himself back to the computer screen.
A gale of laughter pulled him away. Why was it, he wondered, that women always seem to find things to laugh about? He could spend all day with Eric without either of them feeling the urge to giggle even once.
He couldn't make out what the two women were saying, but once in a while he did catch a couple of words. His name was one of them. Probably conspiring to turn him into a cat-lover.
As if on cue, one of the little kittens Jennifer had rescued the previous day decided the laces on his work boots were proper prey and pounced. He caught himself wiggling his foot to make the laces dance, then smacked himself on the forehead.
Big mistake. After the number Jennifer had done on his head, he didn't need to get all warm and fuzzy about her animals.
Another set of giggles from outside his door decided him. The only action he needed, he wasn't going to get. One thing for sure, he wasn't getting any work done.
Rick jabbed the computer power button and stood. If he stayed in his office, he'd start listening. Twenty-eight was too old to turn into an eavesdropper.
He stepped quietly out of the office, then paused a moment to study Jennifer's friend. She was short and curvy. Typical of Dallas women, she wore lots of makeup--something he'd noticed Jennifer didn't bother with. It was interesting that two women with such completely different looks could both be attractive.
Given the choice, he'd pick Jennifer in a New York minute.
Carla spotted him. "Well, howdy. I'm sorry I couldn't take Jennifer in yesterday when she called. It was great of you to do it. Most men don't really like cats. So that makes it--"
"It was no trouble."
Carla took a breath but Rick didn't escape quickly enough. "I really like the way you've done your house. A lot of people would have figured to chop it up into a bunch of rooms or something. Of course most people would have thought the downstairs should be the main part of the house instead of a car repair place too. But then--"
Rick didn't want to be rude but he had a sneaking suspicion that Carla might never stop. He held up a hand. "I'm going downstairs."
Jennifer gave him the appraising look he'd noticed right before she had decided to cut his hair and right before she'd decided his wardrobe needed re-doing. "Do you have any buckets?"
He wasn't sure where that came from. "In the broom closet next to the 'fridge."
"We'll see you later, then." She was definitely dismissing him.
He sniffed the air. "Did one of the cats make a mistake?"
Jennifer scowled at him. "My cats are well trained. They go where they're supposed to."
"Right." His sniff hadn't revealed any evidence to the contrary, but Rick still thought getting out was the better part of valor. "I'll see you later. Um, are you staying for dinner, Carla?"
"Well, I'd--"
"You don't have to take care of us, Rick," Jennifer told him, a definite chill in her voice. "Trust me, we'll be fine."
Rick pulled his toolbox from the entry-way closet and headed down the circular stair. Without even thinking about it, his lips started whistling a cheery tune. He couldn't help it. Jennifer was jealous.