The Angel Tasted Temptation

by Shirley Jump

  "Why?"

  "Well, my true love, Richard, God rest his soul, worked in refuse. He didn't actually collect the trash, just processed the paperwork, but that made no difference to Mother. She never did touch him, not even so much as a hug at Christmas or a kiss on the cheek for his birthday, as long as she lived." Cordelia lowered her voice and moved closer. "Between you and me, it was just as well. Mother, who avoided germs like the plague, always had a cold and my Richard, who couldn't care less, never got the sniffles."

  "Your mother and mine could have been twins, even cut out their Lysol coupons together on their spic-n-span kitchen tables," Meredith said. "What a shame about her and Richard, though."

  Cordelia waved a hand in dismissal. "The loss was all hers. My Richard was the best man I ever knew. The good Lord took him from me last year and," she sighed, "my life has never been the same."

  "I'm sorry," Meredith said, laying a palm on Cordelia's frail, thin arm.

  "I miss him so much," she said, then drew herself up as if she'd lingered enough on self-pity. "The shop's just not the same without him."

  "You worked together?"

  She laughed. "Oh no! Richard and I in the same room, eight hours a day? That's how murder-suicides happen. He was manager of the South Boston landfill, but he was also an antique curator. The man could spy a Stickly in a sea of Hefty bags from a thousand paces."

  Meredith chuckled. "Now there's a talent."

  "You betcha." Cordelia patted the box. "Your mother will come around. Or, she won't. Mine never did. I just learned to love her for loving me." Cordelia sighed. "Though I do miss her chicken noodle soup."

  Meredith reached inside the box and withdrew one of the cans, handing it to Cordelia. "It's not quite the same, but it'll do in a pinch."

  Cordelia's wrinkled face softened and her pillbox hat slipped a little from its jaunty position on the top of her silver bun. "You're a sweetie. All you girls are. If I'd ever had children ..." Her voice trailed off. She brought the red and white can to her chest and shook her head. "Thank you. Now I must get back to my shop."

  Then she was gone, the little bell over the shop door tinkling as she headed to her own store in the next building.

  Meredith had just stowed the box from her mother beneath the counter when she saw Vernon and Ray Jr. heading into the shop. "Even though we decided to call a truce, I am never forgiving either one of you for what you did," she said.

  "What? It was just a little duct tape." Ray Jr. put out his hands in a who, me? gesture, the sleeves in his cut-off red flannel shirt shifting with his bicep muscles as he did.

  "A little duct tape? I know you guys and I know you never do anything halfway." Meredith shook her head and pushed through the glass door into the kitchen with Cordelia's empty tea cup in her hands, muttering as she put it in the sink. She tied on a bright white cotton apron, then pulled out ingredients for cookies and set up the mixer to begin baking the day's orders. Her brothers followed her, taking up stations on either side of the stainless steel counter.

  "Besides, when we went back there, he was already gone," Vernon said. "Couldn't have done that good of a taping job if he got out that quick."

  Meredith didn't care if Travis had escaped as fast as Harry Houdini. What her brothers had done went beyond a prank. She pointed at the door. "You two get in the truck and go home before I climb in the back, find Cecil's shotgun behind the seat and shoot you both."

  "You don't even know how," Vernon said.

  Meredith wheeled around and faced the younger of her brothers. He was now sporting a Patriots ball cap, Patriots T-shirt and even had the matching bandana hanging out of the back pocket of his Levi's, as if he'd been captured by a bunch of tourist aliens and whisked up to their souvenir mother ship. "I do too. I went skeet shooting with you guys last summer, remember?"

  "And she whipped our asses, too," Ray Jr. muttered. "Cost me fifty bucks and a whole damned box of clay pigeons."

  "Oh, yeah. I remember." Vernon shuffled in place.

  "Never bet against your baby sister," Meredith said, wagging a finger at him. "And never tape up her date and leave him to the vultures."

  "There ain't no vultures in Boston," Vernon said.

  She grabbed the large metal mixing spoon on the counter and marched over to her brother, bringing her five-foot-four height straight up to his six-foot-two chest. As she spoke, she tapped it against his chest. "Vernon Estel Shordon, if I ever catch you within ten feet of Travis, I will kill you. I love you, but I'll still kill you."

  Vernon took a step back, a sheepish look on his face. "We were just trying to help."

  "Help who? You? Momma? Not me. This is not what I want. I like Travis. I didn't ask you to tape him up." She turned to look at Ray Jr., who was smartly keeping his mouth shut. "Now if he breaks my heart, fine, I'll let you two have at him. But until then, let me live my life. Please."

  Vernon let out a sigh. He took off the hat and dangled it in his hands. His blond hair stuck up in a wave, then flattened against the rest of his skull where the hat had rested. "What are we gonna tell Momma?"

  "Tell her I'm fine. I'm taking my vitamins, not going outside with my hair wet and eating my broccoli."

  "That's it?"

  "That's it." She turned toward the cabinet of dry supplies and pulled out flour, sugar and baking powder, laying the containers on the counter.

  "But—" Vernon waved his hand over her, indicating the new haircut, the blue cowl-neck shirt and short black pencil skirt she wore today, hidden beneath an apron now. "What about all... this?"

  "You tell her I'm fine," she repeated, returning to the cabinet for chocolate chips, "and I won't tell Dad you took off your Fighting Irish hat. You know how he feels about Notre Dame. And Notre Dame traitors."

  Vernon looked down at the Patriots cap in his palms. "I... I only wanted to fit in."

  "Who are you kidding?" Ray Jr. said. "We already went to two games at Foxboro Stadium. Vernon even bought one of those damned foam fingers. Waves it all over Aunt Gloria's den, even when we're watching UFC fighting. If he don't keep that finger to himself, I'll show him where he can stick that thing." He gave his younger brother an annoyed look.

  Vernon spun towards Ray Jr. "And I'll show you where you can stick your nose that keeps getting in my business."

  "Will you two cut it out?" Meredith said. "I swear, it's like you're still five years old."

  "He started it," Vernon grumbled.

  Meredith rolled her eyes, grabbed a Tupperware container from the counter and thrust it at them. "Have some cookies and call a truce."

  "Cookies?" Both men brightened, took up seats on the bar stools and dug in. Within seconds, the dozen chocolate macadamia nut cookies she'd baked a couple days earlier had been reduced to a pile of crumbs. "Got any more?" Ray Jr. asked.

  Meredith smiled. Finally, a trump card. She'd about run out of blackmail. "There are more cookies where those came from if you keep giving Momma good reports." She knew she'd never get her mother off her back on her own. And if she didn't get some help from her brothers, Momma would likely send out reinforcements.

  Then things could get really ugly.

  "Are you bribing us?" Vernon asked.

  "Heck, yes," she said.

  "Good." He grinned. "I like bribes I can eat."

  Ray Jr. dipped a finger into the container and picked up a few crumbs, then licked them off and pointed at Vernon. "Long as you keep your damned foam finger out of my cookies, we'll get along just fine."

  Travis was not going to call her, whether or not he'd promised to deliver Meredith to Larry this afternoon.

  If he called her, Meredith would think he was interested. And only an idiot—or a masochist—would go back for more. Meredith might be a nice woman, and a beautiful one who did something funny in his gut every time he looked at her, but he preferred to live out his life with the rest of his body parts intact and not connected to each other.

  With Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum around, he didn
't think that would be happening. They clearly intended to see him in a body bag while Meredith got hitched to whomever they had stashed back on the farm.

  But as his day wore on and nine turned to ten, then eleven, Travis had to admit he wasn't good for much of anything. Not when he started doodling Meredith's name on a pad in the middle of a meeting and lost his train of thought somewhere between images of her lips and her eyes.

  Or when he went to the break room to pour himself a cup of coffee and got so distracted, he ended up with a Styrofoam cup full of half-and-half. Or when he reached for a donut and took a big bite out of the napkin instead.

  "If you don't get laid, I'm going to kill myself," Kenny said, poking his head into Travis's office. "Just watching you is making me hurt."

  Travis gestured to Kenny to come in and take a seat, "I don't want to call her."

  "What, you're going to let a little duct tape get in the way?"

  "A little duct tape?"

  "Okay, maybe a half a roll." Kenny laughed. "On second thought, Meredith might not be your best choice, especially not with the Rambo twins for brothers. So how about we go to Slim Pickin's after work tonight and see what we can see?"

  Travis thought of the clearheaded feeling he'd had the last few days, the difference he'd noticed in himself. Granted, he wasn't always excited to see the man who greeted him each morning but at least he did so without toasting his own image with a Tylenol cocktail. "I don't know..."

  "Oh, come on, Trav. There are a lot of other women in Boston besides that one. And they're all just waiting to meet a man with an endless bar tab."

  "Something you know from experience?"

  "Have Visa, will date." He grinned.

  "I'm not drinking, at least not right now."

  "Then watch me have fun while you sip diet sodas and moan about your lack of a life." Kenny rose and headed for the door. "Trust me, pal, it won't be long before you're bellying up to the bar for a brewski."

  That was exactly what he was afraid of, Travis thought as Kenny left his office. He didn't want to return to the life he'd had before, ending up on the floor after a good purse walloping, unable to remember the name of the woman he'd kissed the night before.

  He didn't want to do anything foolish, either, like rush down the aisle and get committed to the marriage asylum.

  Travis glanced at his phone. Despite everything, he missed Meredith. Until her brothers had come along, they'd had a really nice time on their dates.

  A time he wouldn't mind repeating.

  Maybe Kenny was right. Maybe he was starting to become a fan of S&M.

  Brad's Aren't-You-Tempted Coconut Shrimp

  Canola oil, for frying

  1/2 cup breadcrumbs

  1/2 teaspoon salt

  1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper

  1-1/2 teaspoons Chinese five-spice powder

  1 cup shredded coconut

  1 egg

  1 pound large shrimp, peeled and deveined

  Getting used to the idea of marriage is a lot like getting these shrimp into the hot oil. You have to do a little prep work and yeah, you might get burned, but in the end, you have something delicious and memorable. So at least give it a try, will you?

  Heat two inches of oil over medium-high heat. In a pie plate, toss the bread crumbs with the salt, cayenne and five-spice powder. In another dish, lightly beat the egg. Add the coconut to a third dish. Dip the shrimp in the bread crumbs, then the egg, then the coconut.

  Fry for five minutes, until crispy and golden. See? That wasn't so bad. You lived through it and gained culinary skills. Marriage is a piece of cake after this.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Travis had caved. He'd gone by Brad's office and found his brother engaged in a quiet, private conversation with Jenny, his voice low and happy as he spoke into the phone, his back to the doorway.

  A pang had slammed into Travis's gut. He'd forgotten why he wanted to see his brother, turned on his heel and went back to his own office, and had his phone in his hand a few seconds later. He told himself he was only calling Meredith to help his brother's career, not because of some weird feelings of longing when he'd heard the way Brad talked to his fiancée.

  Now, three hours later, he stood in the lobby of Belly-Licious Beverages, handing her a laminated visitor badge. "Tell me again why I'm here," Meredith said.

  All Travis had told her was that he wanted her input on a new product at the place where he worked. He couldn't tell her any more than that or he'd taint the results.

  Travis leaned in close to her ear. "Because I promised you a lobster dinner afterwards." He grinned, then led her down the corridor to where Brad and Larry waited.

  "That's not an answer."

  "Because I need a favor." He opened the door and gestured for her to enter the room.

  But she stood there, stubborn, arms crossed over her chest, which only served to thrust her perky breasts outward. If they hadn't been standing in the hall outside the unadorned focus group room, with Big Ike flanking the far wall, and Larry and his toupee-of-the-day watching and drooling on the other side, Travis might be tempted to do something about that. Surely kissing her wasn't out of bounds.

  It was going further than kissing that got him— and Meredith—into trouble.

  Yet, she wanted trouble, and gave him a look that reminded him he had yet to cause enough havoc in her life.

  "I need a favor, too," Meredith reminded him. "And you haven't come through yet."

  He let the door shut again. "I have reasons for that." And last night, he'd been confronted with two more reasons. Two reasons that might be armed and dangerous the next time they tracked him down with Meredith in his arms.

  Vernon and Ray Jr. were like loose cannons, off creating their own special brand of justice, punishments from Home Depot already included.

  Meredith frowned, her arms dropping to her sides, and turned away. Somehow she managed to look beautiful, vulnerable and disappointed all at once in the little black skirt and bright blue shirt she was wearing. "Maybe I should find someone else."

  The thought of someone else taking her to bed, of another man running his fingers along her luscious, delicate body, then taking the one thing no one else had had yet, nearly drove Travis insane with jealousy. He barely knew Meredith, and he couldn't lay any claim to her. Hell, he had no right to lay claim to anyone, much less a woman like her.

  But damn it all, he wanted to anyway. He wanted to protect her and to take her to bed, all at the same time. "Don't," Travis said. "Just don't."

  She spun back. "Why? I'm through waiting for men who are going to disappoint me in the end. I came here for a change, Travis. Not more of the same."

  He started to ask her what she meant by that when the door opened and Larry strode out of the room, his professionally whitened smile broad. "Well, you must be Meredith. Travis, you sneak. You didn't tell me she was so beautiful. Holding out on your boss again." Larry gave Travis a quick grin, then turned back to Meredith and thrust out a hand. "I'm Larry Herman, vice president of Belly-Licious Beverages."

  Meredith's small palm nearly disappeared inside his beefy one. "It's nice to meet you."

  "Nice of you to come in and be a part of the focus group for our newest beverage." He widened the whiteness of his grin. "You could help change the future of liquid choices for everyone."

  "Such a big responsibility for a little Midwestern girl like me."

  Larry didn't catch the hint of sarcasm in Meredith's voice, but Travis heard it and bit back a smile of satisfaction. She had already seen through Larry and wasn't going to fall for his flattery.

  Larry gave her arm a little pat, a touch that treaded the line between condescending and consoling. "You're exactly the kind of audience we hope to reach. So, are you ready?"

  "All I have to do is drink something?"

  "That's it. Then we'll give you a special Belly-Licious beer cozy just for coming by." Larry winked and his grin spread even further. If Travis leaned forward, he co
uld have counted the number of teeth in Larry's mouth. The man must be a dental hygienist's dream.

  "I can hardly wait," Meredith said, her voice as flat as the floor. They followed Larry into the room and over to a small table set up directly beside Big Ike. Meredith flashed Travis a look that said "you owe me" before taking a seat in the gray vinyl office chair and pulling it up to the table. "I'm the only one here?"

  "You're part of a very special focus group." Larry put one hand on either side of her chair. "Remember, the future of beverages rests in your mouth." He gave the seat's padded top a tap, then backed away and disappeared through the small side door.

  "What is this all about?" Meredith asked Travis.

  "I can't tell you. It might skew the test results. And we need you to be honest." It was the only hint he could give her. He didn't want her to rave about No-Moo just because she knew him. Even Travis wouldn't sink so low to market something that people would hate.

  Especially people like Meredith.

  For a second, he wanted to scream "Stop!" to put a halt to the whole thing and tell Larry to go to hell. Then he checked himself.

  This wasn't a big deal. Nothing could go wrong, despite the dread churning in Travis's stomach. Meredith was just here to offer her opinion. If he knew anything at all about her, he knew she'd be honest.

  And nothing bad could come of that, could it?

  Meredith turned around in the chair, draping her arm over the back. "So, you're using me ..."

  "Just like you're using me."

  She nodded. "Good. Long as we're clear on where we stand."

  "We are," he said, and for some odd reason, disappointment weighed heavy on his chest. He turned away and headed for the small door.

  Why did he care? Wasn't this what he wanted? The kind of relationship Travis Campbell had perfected over the years?

  No involvement. No commitment. No expectations of phone calls in the morning or diamond rings after six months together. No plans for three-day weekends away and meeting the parents. He took his life, and his dating, one day and one night at a time.