Twin Surprise

by Jacqueline Diamond

  He released a disappointed breath, or perhaps she only imagined that. Still, she had been rather hard on him today.

  “We’ll both be teaching next Saturday,” she ventured. “We could have coffee afterward.”

  “Or take a dip in a hot tub?” he suggested.

  “Coffee.” Marta regarded him steadily.

  “Okay. For starters.” He appeared to be searching for another idea. And found one. “Christmas.”

  “Sorry?”

  “What are you doing for Christmas?” Derek inquired with a mischievous air.

  “You can’t be asking me for a date on Christmas!”

  “Just answer the question.”

  “I haven’t decided.” She wondered why he’d raised the subject. “My dad and stepmother celebrate with her sister in San Diego.” In the past, she’d joined Connie, but this December would be the Crandalls’ and the McKenzies’ first season as nuclear families and she hated to intrude.

  “How about performing an act of charity? You can run interference between me and my so-called nearest and dearest. Don’t bother with presents. I’ll buy them in your name.” Derek folded his arms.

  What an outrageous idea! “You can’t invite me home to meet your folks,” Marta protested. “They’ll assume we’re involved, when we’re just friends.”

  “They’ll be grateful to have a buffer between them and the Grinch,” Derek countered. “As an added lure, my sister has a baby. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t enjoy sharing Minnie’s first Christmas.”

  The invitation was so unlikely that Marta began to fear she’d dreamed this entire episode. Perhaps she’d fallen asleep after her tutoring session. Any minute she’d wake up in Yolanda’s office, slumped over a desk with her head on her arms.

  However, the air smelled of eucalyptus, and odors never invaded her sleep. “I’ll bet she’s adorable.”

  “Done.” Pushing away from the bench, Derek rose. She saw something that looked like pain flash across his face.

  “Are you getting rheumatism? You aren’t that old.” Marta straightened.

  “I’m not over the hill yet.” He eased around the table. Transfixed, she found herself unable to stir as his thumb grazed her cheek and he brushed her forehead with a kiss.

  In another minute, she’d curve against him. His unexpected behavior left her too entranced to withdraw.

  Mercifully, the thumping approach of a custodian’s cleaning cart roused her and sent him backward a step. “We’d better scram or the principal might give us detention,” Marta said, and limped across the courtyard.

  Derek kept pace. “I used to enjoy detention. Dropping my books, throwing spitballs when the monitor wasn’t looking and generally creating havoc.”

  “A paragon of virtue.” They crossed the street side by side.

  “I never claimed to be virtuous.” Low and sensual, his voice tickled her ear. “And there are all kinds of friendships, Marta.”

  “That’s true. For instance, we’ve got a really weird one.” Refusing to permit him any further chance to penetrate her defenses, she headed toward her car. “Till Thursday.”

  “What time’s dinner?” he called.

  “Three-thirty.” Yolanda had chosen that hour to accommodate police officers who had to work the day shift, which ended at three.

  “I’ll be there.” Derek swung into his sedan. Idly, Marta wondered why he’d traded in the sports car that had been the envy of his fellow cops.

  The man had a lot of mystifying aspects. On the short drive home, she reviewed them: Derek’s admitted dissatisfaction with his job. His invitation to Christmas, which she’d accepted without quite intending to. His desire to see her again outside their established routine.

  Was it possible he truly cared for her? That if they proceeded slowly, perhaps he wouldn’t bolt?

  Marta knew she ought to stop now while her heart remained, if not whole, at least functional. That, however, meant settling for a life of what-ifs. A life of temporary safety with no chance of wild, exhilarating bliss.

  She was neither a dimwit nor a coward. She’d have to proceed with caution, she decided.

  But proceed she would.

  Chapter Ten

  A block before he reached Yolanda’s address in the town’s older section, Derek spotted a middle-aged couple on the sidewalk carrying a covered dish. They, too, it appeared, were heading for Yolanda’s, and judging by the number of cars parked beneath the palms and jacarandas, most of the other guests had already arrived.

  Many of the people gathered in front of Yolanda’s white-stucco fourplex looked familiar. Through the windshield, he picked out several coworkers from the PD, a couple of center volunteers and young Ben Lyons. No sign of Vince Borrego, who’d probably chosen to spend the occasion with his daughter’s family.

  Makeshift tables covered with holiday-themed cloths dotted the yard, flanked by an assortment of folding chairs. The weather was sunny and crisp, and while many guests wore sweaters or jackets, others sported the shorts and tank tops that typified Southern California attire year-round.

  As he cruised past, Derek caught sight of Marta talking to Tracy Johnson. He wished Yolanda hadn’t invited the reporter, since her presence meant he needed to guard his tongue. Of course, he’d have to do that anyway.

  His annoyance disappeared when he heard Marta laughing at the antics of some children. To Derek, her delight lit up the yard. Inviting her to Christmas had been a terrific idea, he reflected as he hunted for a free spot along the curb. He loathed trying to pretend he felt comfortable with his family as they shared jokes he didn’t get and referred to outings in which he hadn’t participated.

  He’d taken a stab at understanding them when, after his diagnosis, the chief had insisted on a couple of sessions with a psychologist. As the wife of a retired firefighter, Dr. Eugenia Wrigley appreciated the stresses on rescue personnel, and with her help, he’d grasped how young and immature his parents must have been when he was born. Also that compliant children like his brother and sister had been a lot easier to raise than their defiant older brother.

  Those perceptions had diluted Derek’s anger, although they’d failed to bridge the gap between him and his family. Besides, the sessions had focused primarily on adjusting to Parkinson’s and to his reassignment. While Dr. Wrigley had smoothed his transition, she couldn’t work miracles.

  Derek found a free space around the corner. As he walked, he inhaled delicious scents and heard voices drifting from windows. Other families in the neighborhood must be celebrating as well.

  Usually, witnessing the close connections of others left him with a hollow, irritable feeling. Not today. He simply looked forward to sharing the event with Marta.

  In a corner yard, a kitten poked its nose out of a bush. Derek broke stride. Ginger-striped and tiny, the animal looked too young to be out on its own. Suddenly, in one sinuous movement, a large gray cat swooped down on the kitten and plucked it up by the neck. Mom to the rescue. No outside assistance required.

  He continued around the corner and was almost at the fourplex when he nearly got clobbered in the shins. The perpetrator was a boy of about three, zooming on a tricycle.

  “Whoa!” Derek sidestepped barely in time to avoid a collision. He glanced around for a parent or sitter, but no one at the fourplex appeared to be paying heed.

  The kid wheeled to the corner, reversed course and began pedaling back at full speed. Someone might get hurt, either the kid or whoever he slammed into, particularly if it was an elderly person. Derek’s illness had increased his awareness of the dangers posed by rambunctious youngsters.

  “Slow down!” A couple of fast strides and he caught the boy’s handlebars, pacing by the side as the trike eased to a halt. “Where’s your mom?”

  “At work.” The little boy regarded him boldly.

  “Who’s watching you?”

  A girl of about six ran by on the lawn, chasing another girl. “Our brother. Good luck finding him!” Off she went. />
  “Who’re you?” The little boy stared up from the seat.

  “Officer Reed.” Best to identify himself as an authority figure. This kid didn’t seem easily abashed.

  “You gonna bust me?” That seemed rather precocious for a preschooler.

  “No. Just trying to prevent you from knocking people over,” Derek said.

  The boy wasn’t in danger with so many adults around, although he certainly needed better supervision. About to go in search of Yolanda, Derek saw a skinny, half-grown boy lope toward them.

  He and Tom Bernardi recognized each other from the tutoring center at almost the same moment. “Oh, hi,” the ten-year-old said.

  Their mother had left this youngster in charge of a tot? Struggling single mom, oldest son in jail, kids raising kids. He wondered where the father was.

  “Hi.” Deciding that a lecture was a poor way to start a relationship, Derek stuck to the facts. “This little ruffian nearly bowled me over.”

  “That’s Boris.”

  “Boris? Unusual name,” he observed.

  “Yeah, his dad’s Russian or something. His and Kaylie’s.” Tom eyed Derek warily, as if anticipating a snide remark about their different fathers.

  Best not to comment. Instead, he asked, “What’s to eat?”

  “There are chips and dips over there.” Tom indicated a side table.

  “Great.” Derek strode over with the two boys trailing him.

  En route, he exchanged greetings with other guests. Marta, however, must have gone inside, and he didn’t see Yolanda.

  Derek piled chips, cut vegetables and ranch-style dip onto a paper plate. “This is perfect. Thanks for steering me.”

  Tom passed a couple of chips to his brother. “Mrs. Rios says you’re gonna tutor me.”

  “Okay with you?”

  A nod. “So you’re a cop?”

  Derek conceded the point. “Right now I work in community relations. Visit schools, coordinate programs and try to keep people safe.”

  Boris peered through a fringe of blond hair. “You got a gun?”

  “Yes.” Despite the peaceful nature of his position, Derek was required to carry a firearm.

  “Can I see it?” Tom asked eagerly.

  Derek didn’t consider a weapon to be a curiosity piece. “Not right now. If your mom approves, one day I’ll take you to a shooting range.” Knowledge of gun safety encouraged respect for arms, in his opinion.

  “Cool!” Tom declared.

  Much as he appreciated getting acquainted with his student, Derek had run out of topics. He wished Marta would come outside. Judging by the aroma wafting through the window, someone had removed corn bread from the oven. “Is your mom missing dinner?”

  “She should be here soon.” Tom frowned. “She promised.”

  On tiptoe, Boris groped into the chip bowl. Then, clutching a handful of chips, the smaller boy trotted toward Ben Lyons, who’d been pressed into service to set up folding chairs. “See you later,” Tom called, and followed.

  The two boys seemed drawn to any older male in the vicinity, Derek reflected. He understood Yolanda’s eagerness to assign Tom a male tutor.

  A voice nearby deflected his attention to Frank Ferguson, who was helping himself to cheese puffs. “Good to see you here, Derek.”

  “Thanks. You too.”

  The detective captain’s single status probably explained his participating in a potluck Thanksgiving meal. “Congratulations on joining the center,” he said. “That should be good for the department’s image.”

  “I hope so.” Although he’d worked closely with Frank in the past, Derek hesitated to reveal his plan to spy on Vince. He didn’t anticipate trouble about exceeding his job description, but if his plan bore no results, he preferred to get as little egg on his face as possible.

  “You should meet lots of single gals there.” Obviously, the captain put his own interpretation on Derek’s motives. “Guess you’ve run through the nurses by now.”

  Although Derek used to enjoy his playboy image, it had begun to grate. Since the evening with Marta, Derek felt embarrassed about that pleasure-seeking, insensitive persona—especially since his reputation had discouraged her from continuing their affair.

  Still, he’d rather not discuss such a personal topic. “Exactly,” he responded.

  The last thing he wanted was to let anyone at work suspect that he’d changed. He preferred for whatever was developing between him and Marta to remain out of the spotlight.

  At last she emerged from the fourplex, carrying a plate piled with corn bread squares. The sun picked out red highlights in the soft brown hair floating around her shoulders.

  In an embroidered peasant blouse and a ruffled turquoise skirt, she projected a cheerful freshness. Several guys were watching her with interest, Derek noticed with an unfamiliar spurt of possessiveness.

  Marta stopped to speak to Ben. As Derek approached, she was explaining that Tom’s mother had suffered car trouble at the hospital. “Would you mind picking her up, Ben?”

  “I’d go, except my car’s been acting up, too,” the young man said apologetically. “I’m not sure how I’m going to get to classes this week, let alone deliver pizzas.”

  Frank beat Derek to the punch in offering his services. “I’ll fetch the lady if you’ll come along to point her out.” When Ben hesitated, he added, “And we can talk about borrowing some wheels for you. Your dad drives a staff car most days. I could speak to him about lending you his personal vehicle.”

  “He’d never do that,” Ben scoffed.

  “You should give your father more credit.”

  Ben frowned. “Well, I sure could use a car.” As Frank shepherded the young man away, Derek appreciated the captain’s effort to smooth over the rift between the chief and his son.

  “Vince’s teaching me how to tune cars,” announced Tom, who’d stayed behind. “Maybe he’ll fix my mom’s for her.”

  “Think you might be a mechanic someday?” Derek inquired

  “Maybe.” The boy considered. “Does that involve math?”

  “What do you think?”

  Tom shrugged. “I guess so.”

  “You bet it does.” Fortunately, the lad didn’t request details. Auto repair wasn’t one of Derek’s skills, although he could have invented a problem involving miles per gallon.

  The tinkle of a china bell silenced the chattering in the yard. “Dinner’s served!” Yolanda called. “Please form two lines, one on each side of the serving table. No shoving, kids! There’s plenty to eat.”

  Tom scooted off with his little brother. Marta accompanied Derek toward one of the lines snaking through the yard.

  “You have a knack for connecting with that boy. You’re mellowing, Sarge.” When she brushed his arm, Derek had an impulse to touch her in return. Then, catching Connie’s speculative gaze on them, he reluctantly put a little space between himself and Marta.

  “If I’m less of an ogre, that’s your influence.” True enough.

  Tracy Johnson fell into place behind them in line. Derek addressed the reporter. “Searching for news or simply enjoying the holiday?”

  “Like you, I’m never entirely off duty, but I try not to let that cramp my style,” she replied. “Say, I missed the details of your auction date. How did it go, you two?”

  “We survived,” he said dryly.

  “And we’re still on speaking terms,” Marta added.

  “Who’d have imagined a bachelor auction could have such romantic results? I hear Andie O’Reilly’s gone out three times with her lawyer.” Tracy obviously kept her ear to the ground. “Maybe I should write a follow-up article.”

  Derek hoped not. “Planning to include yourself?”

  The reporter responded with an uncharacteristic blush. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Peering past them, she uttered a startled, “Speaking of bachelors!”

  Joel marched into the yard, one hand shading his eyes as he scanned the crowd. He must have jus
t finished watch-commander duty.

  “His family lives around here. Why isn’t he with them?” Marta mused aloud.

  Tracy vibrated in place and finally, as if unable to contain herself, waved. With a grin, Joel loped toward her.

  Well, well, Derek thought. For all his protestations, the guy must have forgiven Tracy for that article. The basketball tickets hadn’t hurt, but they didn’t account for the fondness on the guy’s face.

  Joel slowed as he acknowledged Derek and Marta’s presence. “Oh, hey. I was driving by and smelled food. Mind if I join you?”

  “If the people behind us don’t object.” Marta soon received good-natured permission.

  “What brings you here?” Joel asked Tracy, although Derek strongly suspected this meeting had been prearranged.

  Her features relaxed into a smile. “Gee, I’m not sure.”

  “Nowhere else to go?” he teased.

  “Too many enemies.” She pretended to agree.

  “You haven’t ticked off anybody here?” He folded his arms.

  “I’ve ticked off practically everyone here. Maybe I should hire a bodyguard.” She widened her eyes. “Know anyone with that kind of training?”

  “You mean a Rambo who hunts helpless little animals?”

  “Precisely.”

  Derek and Marta exchanged amused glances at the discovery that this pair had turned their earlier conflict into a source of humor. Amazing that they’d rebounded from a falling-out that would have doomed most relationships.

  Around the yard, good spirits prevailed as the guests piled their plates or waited patiently. Connie and Hale were serving Skip, a teenage boy and girl stole kisses whenever their parents didn’t appear to be watching, and Yolanda observed the whole setting with an air of satisfaction.

  The strangest feeling crept over Derek as he listened to the banter between his pal and the reporter and as the breeze persuaded Marta to shift into the shelter of his larger body. A sense that he belonged here with these people. He suspended all worries about his illness, about the future and about his ability to strike a balance between his moodiness and his desire to be with Marta.