by Lisa Plumley
“So,” she asked, trying to sound lighthearted, “what are these big ‘plans’ of yours?”
“To make you fall in love with me.” Sam brushed his fingertip across the tip of her nose, then smiled. “I think it’s happening already.”
Chapter Five
Sam couldn’t keep his romantic Chinese food dinner with Holly out of his mind. He tried, but it was no use. He liked her, plain and simple. And since he wouldn’t be in town long enough to take things slow, there was only one thing to do.
Accelerate the process.
It was almost ten–thirty, on a November day sunny and warm enough to heat the black asphalt shingles that topped the house he and his crew were re–roofing. With a longing glance at the swimming pool glittering in the house’s yard below, Sam swiped his sweaty forehead with his forearm and turned his attention to his four–man crew.
“There’s fifty bucks in it for each of you,” he said, taking out his wallet, just to ensure their attention, “if we can get this job finished and cleaned up by eleven o’clock.”
There was nothing like cold cash to motivate a person.
Before the hour was up, Sam was home in the shower. A half hour later, he drove up to the business complex where Holly’s office was. His hair hadn’t even dried all the way before he approached the receptionist’s desk.
She kept her head bowed as she penned a note in her spiral–bound message pad.
“Can I help you?” she asked, tearing the message from its perforated pad. She glanced up to put it in one of the boxes atop her desk and saw him. She smiled widely.
Sam smiled back. “I hope so. I’m looking for Holly Aldridge. Is she back there?” He nodded toward the rows of precisely arranged cubicles behind the receptionist’s desk.
Her smile faded. So did much of her friendly attitude when she answered. “Ms. Aldridge is away from the office for the day. Perhaps another of our associates can help you?”
It was a rote reply. Sam tried again. “Can you tell me where she’s gone?”
Holly hadn’t been home, or he’d have seen her after his shower. And she hadn’t mentioned anything about taking the day off, either. He wouldn’t have thought anything short of a national disaster could pull Holly away from her desk. Even then she’d probably grab a briefcase of work to take with her.
The receptionist frowned. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you Ms. Aldridge’s plans, sir. Would you like to speak with someone else?”
Sir? Brrr, it was getting chilly.
“Sam, is that you?” Clarissa popped her head over one of the fabric–covered cubicle partitions. When she saw it was him, she came around the corner.
“I’ll handle this one,” she told the receptionist.
After a quick hello hug, she took Sam’s arm and herded him to her desk. Pushing aside some papers, her coffee cup, and a stack of CD jewel cases, she settled her hip on her desktop.
“I thought I was hearing things,” she said with a grin. “Turns out it really was you. You curious to know how the other half lives, or what?”
“What other half?”
“The responsible half. The grown–up half. The happily married and settled–down half.”
“Oh. That half.” Sam crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back, mimicking his cousin’s relaxed posture. He added to it an affronted look. “I’m plenty responsible and grown up,” he informed her. “I’ve got a good job—”
“Which you treat like a lark,” Clarissa interrupted with a toss of her hair.
“Like hell, I do.”
“It’s true. Look at that ethics charge that old sour–butt Malcolm Jeffries brought up against you over changing your student’s grade.”
He gave her a sharp look.
Clarissa promptly waved it away. “Your folks told me. They worry about you.” Driving her point home with a jab at his midsection, she persisted. “Did you take care of that little problem yet? Huh?”
Sam felt a headache coming on. “The hearing’s not until after Christmas, and it’ll never fly, anyway. This thing will blow over the same way all of Malcolm’s stupid charges have.”
“You’re probably right. Still—”
“Still, all of that is beside the point.” Unwilling to devote any more thought to Malcolm Jeffries’ petty machinations than he had to, Sam moved back to their original conversation. “I have a good job, which is more than can be said for most of the yucks in this town.”
“You have a job that allows you to feel like a student for the rest of your life. Admit it, Sam.”
He didn’t want to be drawn into that old argument again. Sam was the last person anybody in his family had expected to become a college professor. He knew that. Hell, he was the last person anybody had expected to go to college, period. The people close to him didn’t understand his reasons for it, and he wasn’t holding his breath until they did.
“Don’t you have work to do?” he asked Clarissa.
She grinned. “It’s more fun to badger you.”
“I was afraid of that.” Sam sighed and decided to get it over with. Clarissa wouldn’t let up until she found out what she wanted to know.
“As for the rest of your accusations”—he shot her a knowing grin—“I’ll get married and settled down just as soon as Holly comes to her senses and says yes. Anything else?”
Clarissa shrieked. Several of her coworkers popped their heads over the cubicle partitions. Red–faced, she waved them back down again. She leaned forward and grabbed Sam’s shoulder.
“It’s true then! Oh, Sam—that’s so romantic. Love at first sight. I’m really happy for you.” She gave a wistful sigh. “I can hardly believe it, but I’m really happy for you.”
“Believe it. If you keep grinning like that, though, your boss is going to wonder what you’re up to in here.”
Try as he might, Sam couldn’t maintain the disgruntled expression he wanted on his face. The truth was, he felt like shouting from the rooftops how he felt about Holly.
To him, she was the perfect combination—a woman who inspired love, respect, and mind–bending lust in approximately equal amounts. He grinned. The only thing stopping him from taking out a billboard to propose to Holly was the fact that she’d probably laugh in his face.
He wasn’t Doctor Brad the Bad, after all.
Clarissa examined him closely. “Ohmigod! You really do mean it, don’t you?”
He meant it like he meant to go on breathing, like he meant to wake up tomorrow morning. Like he meant to make Holly feel exactly the same way.
“When have you known me to be hesitant about something?”
Clarissa’s eyes widened.
“Point taken.” She hopped down from her desktop. “In that case, you’d better hurry.”
“Why?”
“Because Holly’s with Brad right now.” She scanned the yellow sticky notes on her computer monitor. “That’s the reason she took a personal day today. She’s at the golf course, trying to talk him into giving it another go. It’s part of her plan.”
“Her plan?”
“Holly would kill me if I told you any more. Just trust me, okay?” After peering at a yellow sticky note, Clarissa tossed it aside and squinted at pink one. “She left me the golf course’s number in case some work-related emergency came up. Brad’s tee–off time is noon. Ah-hah! Here’s the number.” She dialed the phone. “If you hurry, you can still catch up with them.”
“And I want to do that because…?”
His cousin offered a self–satisfied little smile, then thrust the receiver in his hand. “Because you and Holly belong together, that’s why. Why do you think I pestered you into moving in with her? Sheesh!”
“You set us up?”
His cousin, a born matchmaker, nodded. Smugly.
“You’ve got to stop her, Sam. If I know Holly, she just might be able to wrangle Brad the Bad into a new commitment. One turn around the fairway—alone—might be all it takes.”
At that, Sam hu
ng up the phone. He’d make all the necessary arrangements with the golf course when he got there. After all, there was only one course in all of Saguaro Vista. Right now there was no time to waste.
Her new golf clubs hadn’t seemed nearly so heavy in the sporting goods store, Holly thought as she struggled to push through the clubhouse door at the Saguaro Vista golf course without dumping the whole set on the terrace. Slung over her back by the golf bag strap, they were awkward to carry. Held in front of her, they blocked her vision.
She tried tucking the bag partway beneath her elbow like a gigantic clutch purse and nearly poked her eye out with a putter. Maybe hiring a caddie to help her would have been a good idea after all.
Then she saw Brad, standing just a few feet away. He gazed across the fairway as though searching for someone, one hand shading his eyes against, Holly supposed, the blinding glare of the green. Despite the hundred and twenty dollars he’d paid for them, apparently Brad’s designer sunglasses were no match for the immaculately kept, unnaturally green grass surrounding him.
Holly tried not to feel vindicated by that, but it was hard. She’d lobbied to spend that hundred and twenty dollars of joint–checking account money on something worthwhile, like new shoes. Brad had vetoed that idea in favor of the fancy sunglasses, although to his credit, he’d bought Holly a pair, too. Never mind that she’d never held onto a pair of sunglasses longer than three months without laying them down someplace and forgetting them. Sometimes Brad just didn’t made sense.
Today Holly was banking on Brad making sense. She needed him to listen to reason. It was the first phase of her plan. They still hadn’t discussed the issues behind their separation, and Holly was through waiting for Brad to initiate that conversation. She wanted to get to the bottom of whatever the problem was and solve it.
She felt sure that, whatever Brad came up with, she could find a way to work around it. Just to be doubly certain, she’d even prepared a list of possible rebuttals. She’d stashed it inside her golf bag for quick reference, in case she got flustered and forgot one of the points she wanted to make.
Holly felt you could never be too prepared.
Brad headed to the first hole. With a mighty effort, she hefted her clubs again and hurried after him, dodging several groups of retirees discussing the weather. Apparently, they didn’t miss Minnesota winters at all since coming to Arizona. Also, in their opinion, chipotle-glazed grilled turkey made an excellent Thanksgiving Day meal.
She set one espadrille–clad foot onto the fairway just as Brad disappeared behind a hill. Keeping her gaze fastened on the spot she’d last seen him, Holly quickened her pace. It wasn’t easy to hurry wearing a dress and cute new sandals and carrying a big leathery–smelling golf bag, but she was encouraged by the thought that she looked nice.
A few minutes later, she plunked her golf bag on the green beside Brad’s.
Being apart from her hadn’t affected his sense of style any—not if his neatly pressed khaki shorts and polo shirt were anything to go by. Unlike some men, Brad took pride in dressing well and looking good, from his expensive haircut to his discreetly manicured fingernails. He looked as perfect as ever—almost, Holly thought suddenly, a little too polished. All at once, one of the qualities that had first attracted her to him seemed…well, a little shallow.
Determinedly, she pushed away that disloyal thought. Where had that come from, anyway? She’d probably been influenced by living with Sam. She’d lay bets Sam had spent more time arranging that Chinese takeout dinner for her than getting himself ready for it. Afterward, he’d gotten pretty grimy retrieving her Christmas decorations from the back of the closet, too. The man just didn’t care about tidiness. Obviously, his attitude was rubbing off on her now, too.
She rose on tiptoes. “Hi, Brad!”
He was surprised as all get out to see her there. She could tell by the way he leaned forward, raising his sunglasses to get a better look.
“Holly! What in the world are you doing here?”
“Thomas asked me to fill in for him. An, umm, emergency came up at the office.”
Holly was the emergency. She’d cornered Brad’s partner early that morning to ask if he’d let her take his place in his regular Wednesday golf game with Brad. Asking nicely, cajoling, and pleading had no effect on him, but Holly had finally gotten him to agree by promising to sell Thomas her fancy new golf clubs if things didn’t go her way. Since she felt fairly confident Brad would respond to a reasonable conversation, it was a bet she’d been willing to make.
Brad frowned. “But you hate golf. You always refused to go with me.” He shot a suspicious glance at her golf clubs. “You told me the grass they use on the fairway makes you sneeze.”
“Guilty. I know I said all those things. But, Brad…I’m turning over a new leaf.” Holly moved closer to him, watching as his gaze dipped automatically to the heart–shaped neckline of her dress. “When you left, I realized I was partly to blame for the problems between us, too. I spent so much time working, I guess I neglected you.”
A measure of skepticism returned to his expression—not that she could blame him. That speech was a little over the top. Holly figured it was necessary to concede something—sort of a good faith gesture to open their negotiations.
“I want to share your interests, Brad. Like golf. So, here I am!” She nodded at her new golf bag.
“Whose is that, anyway?”
“It’s mine. I bought it last weekend.”
She’d chosen well, too, judging by his expression. It had been the priciest bag in the store, highly recommended by the salesperson. She’d wanted to impress her sincerity upon Brad, and it looked as if it had worked. He was all but drooling on the expensive leather.
“Why? Just in case a golf emergency arose?”
Whoops, he had her there. She blustered through it. “Yes. And since you’re here, and I’m here, and Thomas isn’t here, we might as well get started. Otherwise, you’ll miss your tee time.”
The first two holes went pretty quickly. Holly’s shots were a little wide, but she thought she was doing well for a beginner. Brad wasn’t quite as encouraging, but by the time they reached the third hole, he’d stopped telling her she was throwing off his entire game. She took that as a hopeful sign.
“It sure is nice and peaceful out here,” she observed as Brad lined up his next swing. “I don’t even see anybody else playing nearby, do you?”
He grunted.
She went on. “I was just thinking…this would be a perfect place for a private conversation. Take us, for instance—we have lots to talk about.”
He groaned. “You set me up, didn’t you?”
Trying to look innocent, Holly took her time selecting a driver from her golf bag. “What’s wrong with wanting to talk to you? I deserve an explanation for your leaving, Brad. Something more than a line about how you ‘need your space.’”
She pulled out a club. A wood, or maybe it was an iron. She could never remember all the different names. She tried a practice swing with it, to give Brad time to respond.
“I knew it. This is a trap.” He gave her a dark look, hefted his bag over his shoulder, and set out after his ball.
Holly stopped practicing her swing and took up the stance the guy at the pro shop had showed her. Aiming carefully, she whacked the ball before Brad could leave her behind.
It was a beautiful shot. It sailed cleanly into the air, higher than any shot she’d made so far, straight toward the next hole. Unfortunately, Brad’s body was directly in the line of fire.
“Brad, look out!”
Holly was too far away to actually see the ball hit him, but she could tell when it happened, because he staggered backward a bit. Clutching his shoulder, he swiveled to face her. She could practically feel the force of his glare as he stared up the fairway.
Amazingly, though, when Holly finally reached him, Brad was smiling. As she dropped her golf bag on the grass and leaned on her club to rest up for the next shot, he
tapped his pencil on the scorecard in a cheerful manner that was exactly the opposite of what she expected.
“That’s a penalty stroke for you. You’re twelve over par.”
Apparently a bruised shoulder was okay, as long as it helped him win the game. She hadn’t realized Brad was so competitive.
“I’m sorry. That one just got away from me,” Holly apologized, pantomiming the shot with her driver.
Brad glanced at her, then looked more closely. “No wonder that shot went wild, Holly. You’re using a nine iron.”
She raised the driver and looked at its thick, sharply angled head. “I know. I like this one. It’s got a little heft to it.”
It seemed logical that a bigger club might give her a bit of an advantage, since her opponent was bigger, stronger, and more experienced at the game. A look at Brad’s face told her she’d reasoned wrong. Holly shrugged.
“You’ll just have to teach me how to play, then.” She plucked her errant ball from his hand and put it back in play. “Next time, I’ll be better.”
Brad shook his head. “There’s not going to be a next time. Golfing with you isn’t an experience I want to repeat. And you can’t use a tee here.”
He frowned as she scooped up the tee she’d been about to plant on the green.
“I forgot,” she muttered, tightening her grip on her golf club instead. Returning to the subject at hand, she added, “We need some shared interests, Brad. How are we supposed to have a relationship, if we never spend any time together? A good relationship doesn’t just happen, you know. Both people have to work at it.”
His lips tightened. “You know I hate talking about this relationship stuff.”
He was gazing straight at her, but Holly couldn’t gauge a thing from his expression because of those stupid sunglasses. She stared back at him expectantly.
He sighed. “I don’t want a relationship that needs working at. If it needs so damn much work, maybe it’s just wrong.”
This wasn’t what she’d expected. “That’s not true.”
Brad gave a mean little laugh. “Oh, yeah. I forgot. I’m talking to the expert, aren’t I? Far be it for me to second guess Holly Aldridge, the relationship expert.”
