Whispers and Lies

by Diane Pershing

  Having finished with her canine patient, she peeled off the gloves and tossed them into a disposal container, then made some notes on her chart. Oscar remained on the table, as usual wiggling, snorting and wheezing. Will knew the noises the dog made were normal for pugs but he’d never gotten used to them; they reminded him of some creature, half human, half monster, and with a deviated septum, having a really bad dream.

  “I’d like him to have a hypoallergenic bath, okay?” Lou told him.

  “Whatever you say.”

  She opened the door behind her. “Teeny? Come here and get Oscar, will you?”

  When the assistant appeared, she handed the dog to him, murmuring all kinds of medical-sounding terms before Teeny, an ironic nickname if ever there was one, took the perpetually disgruntled-looking animal away. Then Lou turned back to Will, picked up the chart again and said, “Come back about three this afternoon to pick him up. And I need to see him in a couple of weeks for a follow-up. You can take care of the bill out front. Good to see you again, Will.”

  Briskly, she headed for the door, but stopped when he called out, “Lou?”

  “Yes?”

  “It was good seeing you, too.”

  She turned, nodded briefly, then put her hand on the doorknob.

  “Really good,” he added. “In fact, I’m wondering if maybe…” He let the sentence trail off, not quite sure how to proceed.

  The truth was, he’d suspected there was some link between Lou’s late mother and Lincoln, but hadn’t expected the link to be shared parentage…of Lou. What that might mean intrigued him. It could lead to something juicy for the series of articles.

  There was another truth, though, and that concerned the effect Lou was having on him. He hadn’t expected this little side effect of the visit, not at all. However, he liked the feeling, liked it a lot. She did something to his insides.

  Despite the recent loss of her mother, Lou was basically an upbeat kind of person, always had been. She possessed an all-too-rare quality, an inner fire, something that affirmed the possibilities of the joy that life offered. This contradicted what Will had been experiencing lately in covering the world and its small, cruel, definitely joyless wars—how tragic and how cheap life could be. Lou’s positive energy was enormously appealing; hell, Lou was enormously appealing. Standing here in this sterile little room that smelled of disinfectant, its walls decorated with home snapshots of animals and their owners, he knew, assignment aside, he wanted to see more of her.

  At the moment, however, she seemed in a hurry to leave.

  “You wonder what?” she said, checking her watch. “I’m afraid I’m really in a hurry.”

  “How about we get together?” he said. “You know, talk over old times.”

  “What old times?”

  “Well, we did attend the same high school.”

  One surprised eyebrow shot up. “I’m amazed you were even aware of that.”

  “Of course I was.” That came out way too heartily—what had happened to his customary smoothness?

  Hand on hip again, she stared at him for a moment, doubt and just a little flare of—what? Yearning?—in her eyes. “Really?”

  “I mean, you were Nancy’s friend, so of course I was aware of you.”

  Not the right answer, he figured, as she seemed to digest it, then decide it wasn’t worth the effort. “Well, fine,” she said, briskly dismissing him. “Then I’ll see you on Sunday at Nancy’s wedding. Maybe we can catch up on ‘old times’ then. And now I really do have to get going.”

  The hand was on the doorknob again, so he quickly came around the examining table. “Lou, I mean it.”

  “Mean what?”

  Now, he stood looking at her and offered a rueful smile. “I’m actually noted for my charming manner, but I’m not going about this too well. I’d like for us to, you know, get together.”

  She gazed up at him, crossed her arms under her chest and narrowed her chocolate-brown eyes. He could have cut the suspicion in them with a knife. “What exactly does getting together mean?”

  Why was her attitude toward him suddenly so hostile? “You know. A drink, dinner, whatever.”

  “Why?”

  Women, most of them, usually responded favorably to Will, so this curtness, this wall of resistance she’d erected in the space of ten seconds, really threw him. “Hey, did I do something, have I offended you?” he asked. “I mean, do you bite the head off of every man who asks you out?”

  Her answering laugh wasn’t particularly amused. “Is that what you’re doing, asking me out?”

  “Sure sounded that way to me.”

  She stared at him some more, her pale brows creased in a puzzled frown. Then she took in a deep breath, exhaled it, and slowly uncrossed her arms, letting them drop to her side.

  Suddenly she didn’t seem quite so antagonistic. Instead, she seemed more…melancholy. And just a little raw around the edges.

  “I’m sorry, Will,” she said with a tired smile. “I’m kind of out of practice when it comes to this kind of thing.”

  “What kind of thing?”

  “You know. Dating.” She wrinkled her nose, as though she’d just eaten something sour. “It’s been a while.”

  Ah. He got it now. Underneath the confrontational, I-got-it-covered attitude, Lou McAndrews was shy. Unsure of herself, especially around men. Which meant there were hurts in her past, wounds that hadn’t healed. Will found himself responding to that; he wanted to touch her, to reassure her.

  But she was prickly and might not like that. At this moment, anyhow. “Well, then, okay, it’s not a date. We can downgrade to a drink or a cup of coffee. An hour, tops.”

  A hint of the old wariness was back. “You’re really being persistent. And I guess I’m flattered. But…” She let the sentence trail off.

  God, the woman was a tough nut to crack. Suspicious, too. And yet, she had every reason to be. He was totally sincere about his interest in her, but he was also here under false pretenses, and he was liking this assignment he’d given himself less and less. He’d intended to talk to her this weekend at the wedding on Sunday. But he’d had a stroke of good luck—good for him, anyway, bad for Oscar—when Nancy had asked him to take the dog to the vet. He thought he’d kill two birds with one stone, so to speak. Get Oscar some relief, ask Lou a few questions about her mother and Lincoln.

  That had been the plan, at least, before he’d observed what a busy practice she had and how quickly she seemed to want to get to her next patient.

  But there were still questions to be asked and answers to be recorded, so he plowed on. “Yeah, I’m pushing a bit. Put it down to not responding well to the word no,” he said truthfully. “I’m feeling challenged. I’m a reporter, remember? Getting past no is our stock in trade.” He followed that one up with another of his smiles, which he’d been told could melt the socks off anyone.

  And it worked. Sort of. He saw interest, hesitation, interest again. The silence between them stretched while he waited.

  Then he decided not to wait anymore. Moving away from the table, he stepped even closer to her. “Okay. Let me lay my cards on the table. I’m as surprised as you are, but the minute I saw you in the waiting room, I was struck by this weird sense of—” he shrugged “—I don’t know. For want of a better word, let’s call it attraction.”

  Her eyes widened. Obviously, she hadn’t expected this. “Oh.”

  “Yeah, ‘oh.’ You were amazing.”

  “I was?”

  “Yeah. Maybe it was the way you took care of business—briskly, but with humor. Or the way your eyes sparkled when you were barking orders to everyone. I like strong women. I don’t know. Whatever the reason, I thought I’d do what a person usually does when they’re attracted to someone. They ask if they can see them again.”

  Her face was now red with embarrassment. Mouth partly open, she gazed at him in wonder. “Holy cow,” she said slowly. “Do you do this a lot?”

  “Do what?”


  “Pick up women in offices? With words out of some soap opera script where the bad but sexy villain is trying to dishonor the foolish heroine?”

  He laughed, delighted, then splayed his hand over his heart. “Soap opera? You wound me to the quick.”

  “Well, maybe not quite that corny,” she said with a reluctant little laugh of her own.

  “But you do get my meaning?”

  “How could I miss it?” Her face was still rosy.

  “And?”

  “And what?”

  He offered a mock leer and winked. “Wanna get together, girlie?”

  Again she laughed, then shook her head ruefully. “I’m totally…not sure.” Biting her lower lip, her lively brown eyes darted left and right, searching deep, as though trying to figure out how much sincerity lay beneath his banter. He counseled himself to give her all the time she needed.

  “You, um, really are…attracted to me?”

  “Is that so hard to believe?”

  Instead of answering, another frown formed between her brows. “I guess it is.” Then she gave a helpless little shrug. “Well…okay. Sure. I mean, when did you want to do this…coffee thing?”

  “Today? Tonight?”

  “Not possible,” she said abruptly, and he could tell that part of her, at least, was relieved. “I’ve been on my feet since four this morning. Maybe next week?”

  “I’ll be back in D.C. next week.”

  She made an ah, well gesture and said cheerfully, “Then that decides it. Sorry. See you at the wedding.”

  And with that, she whipped around, walked briskly out the door and shut it in his face.

  Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God, Lou thought, leaning against the closed door and closing her eyes. Did I really just do that? Turn down a chance at a date with Will Jamison?

  Was she a total idiot? Will Jamison! The boy turned man she’d had a crush on all through junior and senior high school and some time afterward. She might have stopped fantasizing about him years ago, but now it was all coming back to her in full, living color.

  How many countless nights had she spent in flights of fancy about him? How many yearning, heartsick pages had she filled in her teenage journal, the one she’d finally burned? Back then, in the hormonal excess of youth, she would have done anything for him. One summer, she’d even submitted her tender skin to extreme discomfort when she’d had a tiny W tattooed on the underside of her left breast, near her heart. It was still there, although it had probably faded and shrunk some; with the recent weight loss, her boobs were much smaller.

  She shook her head. Will Jamison. Six feet tall and as near to gorgeous as a man could be and still be all man. With his good looks, brains and popularity, he’d been the crown prince of their high school. And whatever he claimed today, she knew he had never known Lou McAndrews was alive.

  But just now, he’d actually asked her out.

  Another woman would have felt flattered, would have said sure, no problem, where and when? But for Lou, that reaction would have been too simple; what she felt instead was confused and somewhat sad, for the lonely overweight girl she’d been and the suspicious, untrusting woman she’d become, at least as far as men went.

  At the moment, it was simply too much to deal with. Lou felt on edge, scattered, and not only because Mom had died so recently. After taking so much time off, she’d resumed her usual work hours and then some, still carrying her grief around with her like a too-heavy sack of gray rocks.

  On top of that, these last few days she’d been plagued with an all-around feeling of jitteriness. She knew it was stupid, but it almost seemed as though she were under observation, as if someone were keeping tabs on her moves. Most likely it was her imagination. After all, she’d seen nothing suspicious, no shadows, no strangers ducking behind walls or windows as she passed.

  It had to be because she was bone-weary: tired heads and tired eyes sometimes saw things that weren’t there.

  But she couldn’t seem to shake it off. There was just this, well, this…feeling, that was all. Eyes watching her. Waiting for something. It gave her the creeps. As she thought about it now, she gave an involuntary shudder.

  Rubbing her hands over her face, Lou told herself to cut it out. There was no time for stupid imaginings, not with the canines and felines, the ailing macaw and a hamster or two that needed her attention. Tending to them was a much better use of her time and a heck of a lot more productive than feeling paranoid.

  Or mooning over Will Jamison.

  Chapter 2

  At seven that evening, deep in thought even as she stifled a yawn, Lou locked the clinic door, turned around and bumped smack into a chest. A man’s chest. Reeling, she gave a startled cry, but before she could go into full panic mode, two hands had caught her by the shoulders and helped her to keep her balance.

  “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  She glanced up to see Will Jamison looking down at her, concern in his eyes. “Well, you sure did.”

  Irritated with herself for overreacting, she shook off his grip, making him drop his hands to his side. In the fading light of day, she could see that he’d shaved, was wearing cargo pants, a loud Hawaiian shirt and brown sandals. He was dressed for the heat of July in upstate New York. Heck, he could have been wearing a prison uniform and he still would have looked mouthwateringly splendid.

  She wished she’d thought to wash her face, brush back her hair or put on some lipstick. She felt dreary and unkempt, a kind of bone-weariness that sat on her shoulders like an anvil. She rotated her neck, which was way too tight; her nerves were really on edge. Before she turned her attention back to Will, she darted a quick look at her surroundings.

  Nope. No one ducking suddenly into an alleyway, no strange cars containing men in dark suits and shades staring at her from behind tinted windows.

  Was she slowly going nuts? Having some sort of posttraumatic reaction to her mother’s passing?

  She shook her head, hoping it would unscramble her brains back to where they belonged, then returned her gaze to Will. “So here you are again. That’s two times in one day. Coincidence?”

  “Nope,” he said cheerfully. “I’ve come to buy you dinner.”

  Despite herself, Lou chuckled. “You weren’t kidding when you said you didn’t like the word no, were you?”

  “Hey, you have to eat, right? So do I. Come on, Lou. Give it up.” He had an I-dare-you twinkle in his eye, and she felt her defenses evaporating under the onslaught of so much charisma.

  And why did she have the defenses up, anyway? What was the matter with her? She’d been thinking about the man all day, hadn’t she? Why was she holding on so tightly to keeping him at arm’s length? Even so, she gave it one last shot. “I’m not at my best, Will. I look awful. I’m tired. I was planning on picking up a salad and just going home.”

  “You look fine. I have an urge for Lady Jamaica’s barbecue and a whole side of pork ribs. I don’t like to eat alone. It’s two blocks away. Come with me,” he coaxed.

  He grinned, that sensational crooked grin of his, and just like that, she was a goner. Just as she’d been fifteen, sixteen, seventeen years ago. Caught up in the spell of Will Jamison’s smile.

  He offered her his arm, an endearingly courtly gesture, and she indulged in one more moment of indecision. Then muttering, “Oh, what the hell,” she took his arm and allowed herself to be led off down the street.

  As usual, Lady Jamaica’s Place was packed and overly loud with conversation and island music. Mouthwatering smells of garlic and exotic spices filled the air of the high-ceilinged, barnlike restaurant. Once she and Will were seated, Lou gazed around the room and noticed people noticing them. Despite herself, a tiny thrill coursed through her—oh, how her youthful self had yearned for this, to be seen with Will, to be thought of as special enough to be seen with Will.

  Back then, as now, she’d been friends with his sister Nancy, and when she was at the Jamison house, she would watch him surreptitiously, waiting f
or him to talk to her, to say hello at least. But he and his friends, all the other cool school jocks, steamrolled their way through the house, sweatshirts damp from shooting hoops in the backyard, horsing around, telling dumb jokes, raiding the refrigerator, creating mile-high sandwiches.

  And never, never, ever noticing her, no matter what he’d said earlier. She’d been a nothing. A short, chubby, red-haired, freckled nobody. Not anymore.

  Lou had been raised by a hardworking single mother, had learned to make do with very little money and had an affinity for animals. She got decent enough grades to get into vet school, but had never been a real brain. She did have a sharp sense of humor, but not around Will, never around Will. No, whenever she’d been in the vicinity of her secret crush, she’d been dry-mouthed and tongue-tied. The witty, smart little remarks she’d come up with in her head would always manage to get lost, strangled to a premature death in the back of her throat before they could escape. And she would blush.

  And now here she was, out to dinner with Will Jamison. In public. Because he had insisted. Despite her setting all kinds of barriers in place, he’d pushed through and insisted.

  And again she had to wonder why, even as she cursed her suspicious mind. But really, Will Jamison, attracted to her? It was the word he had used—attracted. But she was so definitely not his type, which tended toward tall, blond and sophisticated; Nancy occasionally ran pictures in the Courier of Will at various D.C. functions, and that was the type of woman always on his arm. Lou was none of those adjectives.

  Oh, sure, she knew she wasn’t unappealing and had a somewhat offbeat charm. She was reputed to be “fun.” And yes, there had been men attracted to her over the years—she’d even married one. But she was under no illusions about herself. Lou was ordinary. And she simply did not belong in the same equation with Will Jamison.

  Then why had he insisted on taking her out? Was she some kind of charity case? Oh, no. Had Nancy told her brother how sad Lou had been since Mom had died, and had he decided to give the little lady a thrill? Or maybe he was doing a piece on animal rescuers or female veterinarians and wanted her to help him?