Rekindled Dreams

by Carroll-Bradd, Linda

  Finn extended an elbow, and she latched onto it. She hoped he would keep her coherent over the next thirty minutes. What would she say? Especially when she wasn’t sure how the whole thing had started. Good ol’ Dwayne had been tight-lipped on the drive to the police station, unwilling to let things slide for old time’s sake. The more she reminded him of the occasions she’d been his babysitter, the stiffer his posture became. The guy hadn’t changed—he had no sense of humor.

  The tittering of high-pitched voices rolled down the stairs and surrounded them like a cloud, threatening to choke her.

  “Did he handcuff you?”

  “You poor thing, you look pale.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I saw him haul you out of the car. Did he leave bruises?”

  “What’s it like—being inside the joint?”

  The voices came from all sides without a breath between for answers, and Vena cringed, her stomach knotting even tighter. These women watched too many police dramas. In slow waves, the panic she’d experienced while inside the cell returned. Her ears rang, and black spots swam through her vision. She must have swayed, because she felt Finn’s hand over hers as he pried her fingers loose from his arm.

  “Ladies, calm down and give us some room, please.” His smile encompassed the entire group. “Let’s all go inside. I’m sure Vena would like to sit and have something to eat. Then she’ll be glad to answer your questions, at least for a few minutes.”

  Vena watched as most of the women scurried inside and disappeared toward the kitchen. Wow, Finn was like a commander positioning his troops. She stepped up the last stair and met Ruth’s steely gaze, the solitary person remaining.

  Ruth extended both hands and grasped hers. “You okay, Vena?”

  The woman’s voice was gruff. Too surprised to speak, Vena blinked and nodded. She followed Ruth to the living room sofa and sank into a corner. Everywhere she looked, gray and blue-tinted heads were turned in her direction.

  Before anything else could be said, Tootie rushed into the room, wringing the hem of her apron. “Oh, my sweet Elfie. You’re safe. Let me look at you.” She plunked down on the sofa and pulled Vena into a smothering hug. “At my age, I definitely should have known better. Can you ever forgive me?”

  Vena struggled to sit up but Tootie’s hug was too strong. Finally, she relented and leaned against the woman’s softness.

  Tootie stroked her hair. “I regret saying anything about your behavior to Blanche. But you were talking so strangely. That woman doesn’t have a lick of sense. She doesn’t know the difference between an idle chatty comment and a real clue about danger. I never believed she’d turn it into a police matter. I am so sorry.”

  “It’s all right, Tootie.” Vena barely got out the muffled sentence, but didn’t care. Tootie’s warm embrace and caring words made her feel treasured.

  “Hush, dearie, save your strength. Here are the ladies with some refreshments.”

  Tootie’s hug relaxed enough for Vena to sit forward and accept a plate with an egg sandwich and potato salad. She glanced around and saw Finn sitting across the room, already forking food into his mouth. The poor man must have missed dinner by rushing to the jail.

  He saluted with his fork, pointing it first at her and then at her plate.

  Vena smiled at the woman who handed her a tall glass of lemonade. “Ladies, this is wonderful. Thanks for your time and trouble. The cadet told me about all your phone calls to the sheriff. The support was reassuring, and is probably the reason for my quick release.” Maybe that would be enough, and she could eat her supper and go to bed. “I really appreciate everything you’ve done.”

  Murmurs of “you’re welcome” and “think nothing of it” came from all directions.

  A thin woman across the room stood. “Tell us, Vena, what does being interrogated feel like? Did the deputy use a bright light like on Dragnet?”

  Is that show still being broadcast? Vena choked on her bite of pickle and egg and had to wash it down with several gulps of tart lemonade. Tootie must have used real lemons. “I-I wasn’t interer—questioned. The deputy just p-put me in a c-cell.”

  “How awful.” Tootie patted Vena’s thigh. “But what did you do?”

  Vena took several more sips while trying to relay a message to Finn with her eyes. Super-heroes came in all shapes and sizes—hers wore faded jeans and a black T-shirt.

  Unfortunately, his attention was on finishing his meal, and he didn’t respond to the nonverbal call for help.

  “You know, I’m still figuring that one out. He asked me to show identification.” She swallowed more lemonade, the tart beverage tasting better with each sip. Talking with these nice ladies wasn’t so bad. “Can you believe it? I’m walking down an alley, minding my own business, and I’m asked to show ID. I’m sure his request violated my rights.”

  “Never heard anything like it.”

  “Imagine.”

  She scooted to the front of the sofa cushion. “You all know me, I grew up here. I used to babysit that Dwayne Mullen. And he acted like he didn’t remember me.” She wagged her pointer finger for emphasis. “I told him I was the babysitter who caught him stickin’ a frog in my purse. And I remembered he slept with Chewbacca, ya know, the hairy critter inna Star Wars movies?” She sipped more lemonade and set the glass on the coffee table. “Do y’all know what he did ness?”

  A titter of excitement went around the ladies who sat on wooden chairs, and then spread through the living room and entry hall. Gray-haired ladies of all shapes and manner of dress leaned forward, their bespectacled gazes alight.

  Vena glanced around at the expectant faces. This was easy. Why had she worried about talking to these sweet little ladies? She stood and reached behind her to grasp the sofa arm for balance. “Whoops. Not t’ worry, ladies, I’m jussa li’l tired. Where was I?” She pushed her damp hair off her forehead and reached for her glass. Empty. Her cheeks heated, and she fanned the neckline of her dress to create a breeze. “Ish anyone else hot? A refill, please?”

  Where’s Finn? Why wasn’t he here? She scanned the room, narrowing her eyes to bring the faces into focus.

  A lady pressed a full glass into her hand. “You were telling us what Dwayne did.”

  Taking several swallows, Vena rested a foot on the coffee table and leaned an elbow on her leg. “Ah, yes. Affer he dragged me inna the building, he tried t’ fingerprint me and take my shug mot, I mean mug shot.”

  “What do you mean ‘tried’?”

  “Hey, I went to college. I saw Ghandi.” She thumped a hand flat on her chest. “I’ve used non-violent resh, res…I’ve protested before.” Again, she paused, thinking she’d have to remember this conversation and tell Anita for a future book plot. The feeling of power she felt as they all hung on her every word was overwhelming. “I refused t’ open my fist for the prints and then went limp when he tole me t’ stand. The camera’s bolted to the tripod so he couldna get the pichur. Boy, you shoulda seen ‘is face. Was he maaaaad.”

  ****

  Ignoring the buzz of the female conversation, Finn swallowed the last of his sandwich and wandered into the kitchen in search of a beer. He’d never had a taste for lemonade. Best to keep his distance from the estrogen-laden air of the living room. He grabbed a longneck from the refrigerator, twisted off the cap, and chugged several swallows. By the time he’d finished the brew, he’d cleaned up the mess he’d made while searching for his keys.

  Vena must be doing okay with the ladies. From what he’d heard, she had no problem answering their questions. He wondered at her momentary panic before coming into the house. How could a person who acted so self-assured be tongue-tied in front of a few curious, friendly senior citizens? Her museum position must involve presentations, too.

  Clapping and cheering broke out in the living room.

  “Good for you, Vena.”

  “Three cheers for Vena!”

  What was she up to now? He strode across the kitchen and entere
d the living room, just in time to see Vena step onto the coffee table. Her cheeks were flushed pink, the hair around her face was damp, and her eyes shone like she was fevered. He watched her slug down the rest of her lemonade and proclaim, “Tomowow we picket the powees stathun.”

  Aw, hell. Finn grabbed the dipper from the punch bowl, poured some into a cup, and tasted the lemonade. The back of his throat burned. Spiked. Tootie was up to her old tricks.

  His statement about not digging the hole deeper resounded in his head. How to get Vena out of this gathering before anything more embarrassing happened. Long strides took him to the center of the room. He stood across from her and cleared his throat.

  Her fist punched the air as she shouted, “Down wif police brutality.”

  Finn stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled.

  Vena’s glassy gaze focused on him, and her mouth broke into a silly grin. “Here issa man of the hour.” She flourished an arm toward him. “Finnian bwoke me outa my jail cell. I’m here t’night tanks t’ him.” She launched herself off the table and into his arms. “You my hewo, Finn.”

  At the crush of her body against his, he staggered, and then caught her in a hug. Turned out the embrace was needed to keep her upright. Double hell. Shifting her weight, he tightened his hold around her waist and made her appear to be standing at his side.

  The cacophony of voices stilled, and he took advantage of the silence. “We’ve all had enough excitement for one day. Thank you, ladies, for the wonderful food.” As he edged toward the door, his made his gaze connect with each of the Gray Ladies. “Does everyone have a ride home?” Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Vena’s eyes blinking rapidly as she surveyed the room.

  Gracious smile in place, he opened the front door wide and waited.

  Whispering among themselves, the women stood and gathered their handbags and sweaters.

  As soon as a nearby armchair emptied, he settled Vena into it and whispered in her ear, “Not another drop of lemonade. I mean it.” As the women filed out, he spoke a personal thank you to each one.

  A clatter sounded from the kitchen.

  After a quick look around, he called out, “Don’t worry about the dishes, Tootie. I’ll get them in the morning.”

  She poked her head through the swinging door. “Are you sure, Finnian? There are more than I expected. Won’t take but a jiffy for Ruth and me to wash them.”

  “No problem. That’s what dishwashers are for.”

  Tootie walked into the room and picked up her purse from a stuffed wingchair. “Will she…” Her head nodded in the direction of the living room. “…will our Elfie be all right?”

  “After a good night’s sleep.” He hated to be the bad guy, but needed to come to Vena’s defense. “You might have warned her about the extra ingredient in your lemonade. And she drank it on an empty stomach.”

  “Sorry.” Tootie blushed. “The girls so enjoy my special lemonade at our gatherings, and I thought Elfie might be upset about being arrested. I only meant for her to relax a little bit.” She cast a pitying look toward Vena, sprawled across the armchair, arms draping over the armrests and her head lolling against the back cushion. She clucked her tongue. “I didn’t stop to think how the booze might affect her. Poor lamb. Or maybe it was the stress of being in jail.”

  Finn bit back a smile. Probably, the ninety proof kick of Tootie’s homemade concoction had done in Vena.

  Ruth stepped through the kitchen door. “The dishwasher’s loaded. I’ll pick up the serving dishes tomorrow.” She stared at the chair where Vena reclined, then turned a commanding stare on Finn. “I’m still not happy with this living situation. Obviously, there’s nothing to worry about tonight. Never known Tootie’s lemonade to affect anyone so fast. Get her to drink a glass of water before she goes to bed.” Her eyes narrowed, and she shook a finger. “And have aspirin ready when she wakes tomorrow. She’ll need it.”

  Finn saluted, tamping down the feeling of being scolded. “Yes, ma’am. Thanks for your help, Ms. Maguire.”

  “No need to thank me.” Ruth straightened and adjusted her purse strap in the crook of her elbow. “You’re due our gratitude for bailing her out of jail. C’mon, Tootie. Let’s say goodnight.”

  As they walked past him, a shiver of déjà vu floated over Finn. Had only two days passed since he’d watched these two gray-haired ladies depart from his porch?

  A groan came from behind him, interrupting his thoughts. He turned to see a swaying, upright Vena bracing herself on the backs of two very flimsy folding chairs.

  Squinting, she viewed the room. “Where’d ever’one go?”

  “Home. It’s late.”

  “Pardy poopers.” With a shaky hand, she brushed at the hair on her forehead. “Surez hot in ‘ere.”

  Finn shut the door and walked closer. The urge to protect her ran through him. “I’ll get you a glass of water. Then, I’m taking you upstairs and getting you into bed.”

  As Vena sashayed toward him, her face broke into a goofy grin. “Really, Finn? Inna bed?”

  Seeing her expression and watching the unsteadiness of her walk set off an alarm. He hadn’t dealt with many women who’d overindulged. Would Vena be silly and giggle, sad and tearful, or soft and sexy? Not knowing made his blood pump hard. He jammed his hands in his front pockets to disguise his arousal.

  In an instant, she stood in front of him, smiling. Then, she ran her hands up his chest and around his neck, pressing her breasts against him. “Oh, Finn. You’re t’sweet.”

  On reflex, his arms wrapped around her slight back, and he widened his stance to better nestle her close. She felt great in his arms and lust hit, lengthening his erection. His hands wandered the length of her back. Their bodies pressed tight, from chest to thigh and the top of her head tucked right under his chin. Aware of her unbalanced state, he resisted grinding his groin against her belly. Her fragrance, a mixture of flowers and lemon, drifted into an emptiness he hadn’t known he had.

  Her finger ran a lazy swirling pattern over his chest, and she giggled. “Wha’ took you s’long?”

  The fog in his brain cleared. “What do you mean, ‘so long’?”

  “Wha’ made you ‘cide?” She leaned back and gazed from under droopy eyelids.

  A coquettish move he remembered from their role playing. He groaned against the temptation she presented. At some point in tonight’s rescue, he’d realized his feelings had deepened to being more-than-just-friends.

  But now was not the right time to explore the nuances—not when she’d been drinking. He reached behind his neck and tried to unlock her clasped fingers. “Vena, let go so I can get you that glass of water.”

  “Wha’ glassa water?” Her hold on his neck tightened. “Ya know, I dinna thank ya for the help wif Brady. You’re magnificen’.” She closed her eyes and stood on tiptoe to brush her lips against his.

  He steeled himself to accept the innocent peck he expected, and then continue with his plan of tucking her into her own bed. At the first touch of her sweet lips, his resolve weakened. This Vena, maybe emboldened by the liquor, was sultry and exciting. Blood pounded in his ears, and he slid his hands the length of her arms to caress her shoulders.

  With a throaty sigh, she pulled back and opened her eyes. “I always wonnered ‘bout tha’.”

  Her hazel eyes contained a dreamy expression, dazed and unfocused. “You did?” Was his hesitation due to not understanding her words, or an unwillingness to accept their meaning?

  She sighed and nestled her cheek against his chest. “Sucha good kisser.”

  Without thinking past the physical sensation, Finn crooked a finger under her chin and tilted her face upward. Her hesitant kiss had sparked a flame, and he needed to know if the fire was real. As he lowered his head, he saw her expression change from dreamy to surprised. He ran his thumb along her jaw, from her chin to just under her ear until his fingers slid around her neck and tangled in her soft hair.

  His lips touched hers, testing
and tasting, gentle at first then with more pressure. Her mouth tasted sweet and tart, residue of the citrusy potion that caused this condition. In an instant, his heartbeat pounded through his veins, pulsing desire into his gut. He reached his free hand around her back to draw her close, cupping her shapely ass.

  He wanted to touch every inch he could. Part of him couldn’t believe this spark burned for a woman he’d known practically all his life—someone he’d always considered just his sister’s friend. Nothing could deny the tightening in the pit of his stomach and the fullness behind his jeans’ zipper. What surprised him most was a catch in his chest that flooded him with warmth. Something he’d never experienced with a woman.

  Vena moved a little in the circle of his arms, and a small moan escaped her throat.

  The hard tips of her breasts scraped his chest, and her sweet sound encouraged. He wanted to deepen the kiss, he needed to taste all of her, to feel her sweet tongue tangle with his. Slowly, his tongue slid along the seal of her lips, pressing for entrance. Ah, she was playing coy and making him wait. The anticipation built and heated his blood even more. His hips ground against her belly, sending jolts up and down his rigid shaft. When he felt Vena twitch in his arms, his fingers cupped the back of her head, holding her in place.

  With a jerk, her head pushed hard against his grasp, and she turned her face to the side. “Sorry, Finn but…” Her breaths rasped, and her arms fell away from his neck. One arm went to her forehead, the other grabbed her stomach.

  Something was wrong. He held her at arm’s length and stared. “Vena, what is it?”

  “Oh, God.” Wide-eyed, she gasped. “I’m gonna be sick.”

  Chapter Twelve

  WHAT WAS THAT HORRIBLE taste? Vena dug her head deeper into the pillow. The dull ache at her temples increased to a steady pounding. A hangover. So, yesterday wasn’t a bad dream. She groaned, reviewing the murky events of the previous evening.