Rick strained as he slowly drew himself to the chin-up bar he’d hung in the tall doorway to his bedroom. "One hundred," he grunted. Enough for a Sunday, that was for sure. He dropped to the floor, then reached for his towel.
"Do you think you're getting enough carbohydrates?" Jennifer asked.
He spun around quickly, almost losing his balance. Even two years previously, he would never have let anyone sneak up on him like that. The fact that he no longer depended on his reflexes for day-to-day survival was making him soft.
Jennifer stood in the doorway to her bedroom apparently completely unaware of the cat draped over one shoulder. As she spoke to him she stroked the animal in an automatic, yet sensuous gesture. Her hair was still mussed from sleep and, obviously ready for the shower, she carried her towel over the catless shoulder.
The combination of Jennifer's tousled beauty and the cat's feline savagery put Rick in mind of a warrior princess. He made a mental note to bring the image to the attention of one of his artists. If he could just use Jennifer as a model, he was willing to bet the design would become a best-seller.
Given her feelings about tattoos and the Internet, she'd probably hit him with another fish if he suggested it. Besides, he wasn't sure he wanted every pervert in America lusting over artwork showing a scantily clad Jennifer.
"I'm worried whether you get your carbs," she told him.
He wasn't getting enough something, but carbohydrates were not even on the list. "I had potatoes last night," he reminded her.
"Mashed potatoes with gravy hardly counts," Jennifer lectured.
"Hum. I guess the butter on the bread takes that off the list too."
"Don't joke about this. Carbs are important."
"Can I joke about proteins, then? They're pretty funny."
Jennifer's face contorted in an interesting but ultimately losing battle to stay serious. "Diet isn't a joke," she insisted.
"I agree. That's why I thought we'd go out to Flora's after my run. Their coffee is strong enough to cut with a knife. If that isn't a carbohydrate, I can't imagine what is."
"You're running?"
"Yeah. You can come if you think you can keep up." The Jennifer he'd known years before could hardly resist a challenge. He wondered if the new Jennifer would rise to the bait.
There was the slightest sparkle in her blue eyes. "I think I can manage."
"Fair enough. How long before you're ready?"
Jennifer shrugged. The gesture sent attractive jiggles through the thin material of her T-shirt. "Two minutes."
"Meet you at the front door, then."
He filled his water bottle at the sink, took a long swig, then walked to the door and bent over to stretch.
When he straightened, Jennifer was staring at him like she'd seen a ghost.
"What? Do I have a hole in my shorts?"
"Uh, no. Ah, I'm ready."
Rick raised an eyebrow. Apparently he wasn't the only one who'd spent the past couple of days feeling distracted.
***
After at least twenty minutes on the run, Jennifer wanted to stop. The morning was definitely warming up, and her sweat was soaking through her jog bra and gluing her T-shirt to her in ways that showed every possible imperfection. Even the unexpected pastoral beauty of Oak Cliff's public golf course couldn't cool her down, or put more air into her lungs. But she wouldn't let Rick see her falter.
A golf cart veered toward her and she swerved to avoid it. The driver snarled at her and splashed a puddle over her. Apparently he couldn't be bothered to move out of their way.
Rick's route had surprised her. She hadn't realized there were so many beautiful old houses in Oak Cliff, nor that this fancy golf course even existed.
When Rick was a bank vice president, she wondered if he'd join the golfing set. What if he became a snob, or just plain rude like that guy they'd just passed? It didn't seem likely, but maybe she should add some sort of attitude-monitoring to his self-improvement list.
A cart full of women swerved out of Rick's way an instant later.
Before Jennifer could think polite thoughts about courtesy from the female golfing set, the driver ran into a tree. She, along with her three companions, giggled, but continued to stare at Rick.
"You doing all right?" Rick asked, apparently oblivious to the ogling.
She looked down at her mud-spattered legs. "Better than if I'd hit a tree."
"There are some bad drivers here all right." A golf ball bounced past his head. "All kinds of drivers," he added.
Jennifer had thought Rick a reckless driver when he almost hit a telephone pole. Had he merely been distracted by her, just as those women were by him? She smiled at the possibility.
"I didn't think you'd make it this far," Rick continued.
Her happy mood evaporated. "That's so sexist. Uh, how far are we were going, anyway?" She could keep this up for a while longer, but Rick wasn't even breathing hard.
"I usually run five miles."
"Usually?"
His grin, something she hadn't seen much since she'd moved in with him, made him look approachable and likable. When he made bank vice president, she decided, he would have to smile a lot. For that, she would change banks.
"I thought I might go farther today."
She managed not to groan. "So why change today?"
"Promise not to let this go to your head?"
"Cross my heart." She made the traditional gesture.
Rick stumbled into a sand trap, though he managed to get out without falling down, something she could never have accomplished. Maybe his Tai Won Mo, or whatever he called it, helped him with his balance.
"Were you going to tell me something, or did you just want to do a clown act?"
He ignored her jibe. "I wouldn't tell just anyone this, but I've enjoyed running with you."
It wasn't much of a compliment, but Jennifer took it in and treasured it because it was about her, not about her looks or her body, but about who she really was. If only he could learn to love cats. She tried not to wonder whether he could learn to love her. They'd gone that route. It hadn't really worked--for either of them.
Next to her cats, Jennifer loved running more than anything. She'd never met a man who could actually keep up with her before. In her experience, most guys started out like rockets but petered out after the first sprint. Rick seemed to have endurance and staying power.
Her face burned as she followed that thought to its naughty conclusion.
"You're looking a little peaked."
"I'll show you who's peaked. Last one to that clubhouse is a monkey's uncle."
Not being an idiot, she shouted the challenge from a full sprint. His legs might be longer, but there was no way he could catch her with that lead.
To her surprise, though, their hands slapped the clubhouse wall at exactly the same moment.
"You almost caught me," Jennifer admitted, gasping for breath.
"Almost? Ha. Who would have thought a monkey's uncle would be quite so, uh, female."
She let her laughter bubble up from deep inside. Even though she knew her time with Rick was short, already it had been enough to heal wounds so deep inside of her that she hadn't dreamed they were still there. For the rest of her life, she would cherish these few days together.
"If I'd lost, which I didn't, I'd be a monkey's aunt. Besides, with this jog bra on, I practically look like a boy."
One side of Rick's mouth turned up into a lopsided smile. "You definitely don't look like a boy. What you do look is hungry. Or at least I am. Let's go home, grab a shower, and get something to eat. I'll even eat carbohydrates. I was planning on biscuits and gravy. With the coffee."
A mental image of sharing a shower with Rick refused to yield to her gentle nudges. After only a fractional second of confusion, or maybe wishful thinking, Jennifer realized he wasn't suggesting that.
"Biscuits and gravy are not complex carbohydrates."
"Pancakes?"
She shook her head. "Loaded with fat."
Maybe she should scratch "healthy diet" off Rick's list. He already looked the picture of health. His body gleamed with a thin sheen of perspiration. His breathing was still easy despite the miles they'd put in--miles that came after he'd already worked out. She noticed, though, that he was inhaling a little more deeply. That only made his chest appear more massive.
"Right. So let’s head home."
Jennifer started off, then let him catch up and pull alongside. "So Rick?"
"Yeah?" He sounded suspicious. Almost as if he knew she was planning something.
"I was wondering if we had any plans for this afternoon."
"Nothing that can't be changed."
"I usually go and see my parents on Sundays. I could take the bus, but I'm sure they would be happy to see you again.
***
The way Rick figured it, Jennifer's parents would only be happy to see him if he was in a coffin. Jennifer knew that at least as well as he did. "You can borrow the truck."
Her frown surprised him.
"You used to like my mother's cooking a lot. Remember?"
"I used to like anything that didn't come out of a can. Still do. That's why I eat out so much." Until he'd turned twelve and gotten his first job, he'd been happy when there was a can of anything in the house. Still, Sally Hollman, Jennifer's mother, did have a real knack in the kitchen.
Jennifer wrinkled her forehead. "My parents' lives have changed a lot since you knew them."
"You said something about your dad having problems with some Internet investment, but--"
"It was more serious than that. He lost everything day-trading on the Internet--his business, his trust fund, everything."
It took a moment for Jennifer's explanation to sink in. "You mean your parents are ... poor?"
"Compared to what they were. My dad has a job. He pretends to be happy, but how could he be? He hardly makes anything. My mother gave up all her old friends because they're embarrassed to let anyone see how they live."
"Those don't sound like real good friends."
Jennifer stared at the ground. "I want you to promise me something."
The sudden vulnerability in her voice stopped him in his tracks. She must feel about her parents like she thought about her cats. More poor pathetic creatures who needed to be rescued.
"What?"
"Promise you won't make fun of them."
Amusement fought disappointment. What kind of man did Jennifer think he was? As a kid, he'd had to fight for everything. Now he picked his battles. Making fun of Jennifer's parents wasn't even on the list.
"If you want me to go, I will," Rick said.
Jennifer's sly smile let Rick know he'd been right. She did have an ulterior motive for bringing him into contact with her family. Well, life was like that. He had ulterior motives too.
After this run, there was just no point in denying reality. Sometime over the past couple of days, some mental connection deep in his brain had switched on. He wanted Jennifer Hollman. Wanted her in his arms. Wanted her in his bed with her long slender legs wrapped around his waist pulling him more and more deeply into her. If going to see her parents was on the path toward that destination, he'd go.
Rick Engle was a patient man. He could wait. But he wouldn't wait forever, and he intended to have his way.
***
Jennifer gave Rick directions and let herself wallow in the pleasure of watching him drive, savoring the way he controlled the powerful engine in his truck and inhaling the light scent of soap, leather, and the faintest tinge of aftershave that she'd come to recognize as distinctly his.
The way he handled the truck made her remember their fumbling experimentation as teenagers. Back then, he'd driven like a wildman. Would he make love like he drove now--firmly in command while coaxing every ounce of performance from his woman?
Jennifer found herself straining against her seatbelt in a subconscious effort to close the distance between them. She'd have to get back to her twelve-step program before she drove herself crazy with desire.
She cringed as Rick rounded the corner and pulled up in front of the Sorority house where her parents now worked.
If Rick was going to laugh, this would have been the perfect opportunity. No one could have missed the sight of her father leaning over a partially disassembled lawn mower. His baggy jeans hung low around his hips providing the entire world a view of classic plumber's butt. His belly protruded from beneath a white undershirt.
"Hi, Dad." She climbed out of the truck and ran toward him when Rick pulled to a stop.
"Honey, what are you doing here?" Her dad turned, then thankfully, yanked up his pants.
"We came to visit you."
"I thought you had to work weekends."
"I, uh, well, I got fired."
Her father wrinkled his forehead. "That doesn't say much for Schilling. You were a great worker when you worked for me. Still, I always thought you could do better than a two-bit department store."
"I'll find another job."
"Of course you will." He brightened. "Try to find something with a little creativity in it. You do have a minor in Public Relations, after all. Don't let that History major pull you down. Or write. I love those stories you used to write.
Her mouth must have dropped open because she had to close it before she could talk. "I never knew you read those." Before her father had lost his money, they'd never made time to talk about anything.
He gave her an embarrassed grin. "I wasn't a very good dad."
"You were fine." She realized Rick had been standing there all this time. "Dad, you remember Rick Engle? From high school?"
"Engle? Sure I remember him. Kid spent half his life in reform school. Not at all the kind of boy who could appreciate my little angel."
"It's nice to see you again, Mr. Hollman."
Her startled father stared at Rick's outstretched hand, then took it with obvious reluctance. "Grew up, did you? Well, I hope you learned something. If you go messing with Jennifer's head like you did ten years ago, I'll hunt you down like a dog."
"Dad." Her father had never acted like this. He'd always been cool, but polite. "I'm a grown-up woman."
"That doesn't mean you aren't my little girl."
"I made a lot of mistakes as a kid," Rick admitted. "Leaving Jennifer with a few rude words was one of them."
"Not that I wasn't happy to see you gone," her father stated grimly.
"Dad." This wasn't working out the way Jennifer had intended. She had simply meant Rick to see how a lack of ambition like her father's could lead to a miserable life. Instead the two men were circling each other like a pair of professional wrestlers.
"You out on parole now?" her father asked. "Or did you escape?"
She wouldn't have blamed Rick if he'd leveled her father for that blunt accusation. What had she been thinking when she'd brought Rick here? More the point, was it too late to erase step six from her list?
"I spent a few years in the service."
Her father seemed to thaw. "Army?"
"Marines."
"See any action?"
"Bosnia."
Her father nodded. "I was in 'Nam. Guess the Marines aren't a wuss outfit. They aren't the Rangers, of course."
"Need some help with that lawn mower?" Rick asked.
Her father frowned. "Know anything about engine repair?"
"Rick owns a garage in Oak Cliff," Jennifer volunteered.
"Not a great location," her father stated bluntly. "You could make a lot more money here where all the rich people are."
"I make enough. Tell me about the lawn mower."
"Oh. It runs for a few seconds then quits." Her father shrugged his shoulders. "I replaced the spark plug but that didn't help."
"I've got my tools in the truck." Rick stepped back out to the curb, opened a large toolbox that spanned the bed of his truck and pulled out a leather tool belt. "Sounds like you might have a fuel block. Have you checked?"
"Well--" Obviously her father had no more idea how to check a fuel block than she did.
"Never mind," Rick interrupted before the pause grew embarrassing. "Let's take a look."
The two men crouched over the engine in the type of male-to-male psychic bond that no woman can understand--or bring herself to want to understand.
"I'll go and say hi to mom," Jennifer mumbled, stepping away from the testosterone-fest.
"Hey honey, ask her to bring out a couple of beers," her father called.
She retreated to the house.
"Don't tell me you're bringing a new boyfriend around without warning us first." Jennifer's mother greeted her before she even got to the door. If the blobs of paint on her cheap plastic rain parka didn't make it obvious what her mother had been up to, the paint roller would have. "The place is a mess."
"He's not a boyfriend and he's not new. It's Rick Engle, mom. You know, from high school."
"Rick Engle? Gad, Jennifer, if you were going to hook up with someone from high school, why not Jim?"
"Mother. Jim was a jerk. I only went with him to the Debutante Ball because I needed an escort and Rick wouldn't rent a tux."
"Really?" Her mother looked confused. "It's a pity things didn't work out with you and Jim. He's in line for president of that bank where he works." A smile lit her face. "I heard he got divorced lately. You might give him a call. Since Rick isn't a boyfriend," she added.
"I'm not looking for a man, Mother."
"Well, you should be. The right man can make your place in society."
Jennifer shook her head.
"Of course that doesn't mean you can't have a little fling now and then. As long as you're circumspect."
"I'm not having a fling."
Her mother stared at her for a moment. "Pity."
"Mother!"
"Jennifer, you're twenty-seven years old. At that age, your chances of a normal husband and family are closing down. Not that you even try. When was the last time you went out on a date?"
"Three weeks ago. The doctor. Remember?"
"Meeting someone for lunch at a cat resuscitation meeting is not a date."
"Cat rescue."
"Whatever." Her mother looked out the window and gave Rick a good long look. "He did turn out nice, didn't he? I must say, though, you're a brave woman bringing your man to a place like this."
"He's not my man. Still, it looks like he's winning Dad over." She paused, thinking about the odd thing her father had just said. "Mother, was Dad ever in Viet Nam?"
"He doesn't talk about it much." Her mother quickly changed the subject. "Anyway, your father's not the danger. It's those man-eating females who make up this so-called sorority."
"I don't think--"
"I caught a couple of them making eyes at your father."
That showed a level of desperation Jennifer found hard to imagine. Her father was nice enough, but he was poor, old, married, and fat. Not exactly prime mate material, especially when you considered the average income, and looks, of the SMU Sorority sisters. "Rick wouldn't be inter--"
"He's a man isn't he?" Her mother paused for a moment. "And speaking of men, what the devil is your father waving about?"
Jennifer looked and saw her father pointing to his mouth then pantomiming drinking. "Oh, I forgot. Dad asked that we bring out a couple of beers."
"As if it's so important that he stand there and watch whatever it is your Rick is doing," her mother groused.
"He's not my Rick."
"Sometimes I wonder what kind of daughter I raised." Her mother gave the long-suffering sigh that Jennifer had long ago learned to recognize as her mother's sign that she was joking. "Let's get our men their beer."
"It's pretty early in the afternoon. Maybe we should get them some iced tea instead," Jennifer suggested.
Her mother stopped halfway to her refrigerator and turned around. "Honey, take it from me. There are times you want to have that argument and times you don't. When a couple of guys get together and work on a lawnmower, it's definitely not the time to give them advice about why they don't want a beer.
"I've got some crackers on the cupboard and cheese in the 'fridge," her mother continued. "Just make a little plate while I take them their Buds."
"They'll probably only be a couple of minutes."
"If they finish the lawnmower, they'll mess with something else. Men can't just sit and talk like we do."
As if that explained anything. Jennifer wondered if her mother had somehow plumbed the secrets of maleness and just not bothered explaining them to her when she'd been a girl. She even toyed with the idea of asking her mother for advice on Rick's twelve-step program. So far everything but the haircut had backfired. And the haircut had gotten her hormones so riled up, she still hadn't recovered.
By the time Jennifer emerged from the kitchen with an assortment of crackers and thin slices of cheese, the two men had shifted to her parents' car, a ten-year-old import. Jennifer still thought of it as hers, although she had given it to them when the bank had repossessed her mother's last Cadillac.
Along with the crackers, she carried a pitcher of iced tea, just in case one of the guys wanted a non-alcoholic refill.
"In this particular model," Rick explained, "one of the spark plugs is a real bear to get out." He pointed at the offending plug and gave Jennifer a smile that nearly melted her to the sidewalk. "Lots of the time when you take your car in for a tune-up, they don't bother replacing that one. After a while, you end up with an uneven drive."
"I've noticed that," her father confessed. "Bad mileage too."
"Could be it. Do you have an extra plug anywhere?"
Her father shook his head forlornly. He'd never had a mechanical bone in his body.
"I'm sure I have an extra."
Five minutes later, Rick cranked the engine. Its purr was barely louder than that of one of her kittens.
"Know what I think?" Her dad's face had taken on an expression that had become all too familiar to Jennifer and her mother during the last few years. They called it the get-rich-quick look.
"You shouldn't need premium gas, either," Rich told him.
"That's not it. I think you could do this on the Internet. You know, ask the motor guy dot com." He added extra emphasis to the dot com, like these were magic words. "I could help you. I have some experience in financial dealings on the Web."
"It’s an attractive offer. I--"
Jennifer moved to cut that conversation off before her father led Rick down the path that had almost destroyed her family. "I don't want to hear about the Internet. Let's go inside and visit."
"Cowboys should be coming on," agreed her father.
"Men." Her mother smiled. "Tools or games. Anything to keep them from thinking about a relationship." She gave Jennifer a stern look. "That's the woman's job."