Key to Love

by Judy Ann Davis

  “No, it’s about mine.” He reached over and unsnapped her seat belt. “Can we get out? It’s a beautiful day. Let’s walk.”

  ****

  The air smelled of spring. Crisp, sweet and earthy, Elise decided, as they made their way up to the Davis Wenzel Tree House overlooking a 150-foot rock-strewn gorge below. The Tree House area was deserted. Then she remembered it was approaching late Wednesday afternoon when most people were ending their workday and heading home for a relaxing evening.

  Lucas propped his forearms on the rail. For a moment they stood, forgetting their differences, peering into the gorge, drinking in the warmth of the sun and panorama below them.

  “You know, Fritz, Tom, and I often came up here when we were in high school,” he said.

  “And brought your dates, I’ll bet.” She suppressed a sly smile. Nay Aug Park was a well-known haven where lovers gathered to exchange a few embraces without interruption.

  “Yes, but many times we came alone. I remember my senior year in high school when Fritz and I skipped chemistry class one afternoon, just to sneak up here. Thomas was already in college. He always knew he wanted to be a lawyer. Fritz and I stood in this exact spot, trying to figure out our future. Fritz decided he wanted to have his own business so he could set his own hours.” Lucas chuckled. “Now he works ten-hour days, six days a week because he’s boss and owner.”

  “And you?”

  “Me, I wanted to race cars and be rich.”

  “I’ll bet your grandmother loved those goals.”

  Lucas propped a booted foot on the lower rail. “When I was growing up, I always resented her frugality. She provided the basics, nothing more. I knew money was tight, so I never complained. There were days when I swore I’d never eat another peanut butter and jelly sandwich again once I was out on my own. If it wasn’t for your parents, I swear I would have never been exposed to all the possible food groups.”

  A soft breeze kicked up and blew her hair into her eyes. She pushed it aside and leaned backwards against the railing. “She did the best she could, Lucas.”

  He nodded and looked up for moment at the blue sky dotted with a tiny wisp of clouds. “Yes, with what she had, I’ll not deny that. Later, when I was in the Army I used to send her money to help supplement her Social Security checks.”

  It took Elise every ounce of control to keep desolation from sweeping over her. Lucas’s words made her heart ache. She could imagine him sacrificing his own needs to send money home. Even wild and reckless as he was, he would have considered his grandmother another underdog he needed to help.

  “Lucas, maybe it’s not a good idea to rehash the past,” she suggested.

  He went on despite her suggestion. “I kept it up, even when I set up my own struggling business. When she died, I discovered she had been investing my grandfather’s pension from the railroad instead of spending one red cent of it on me or herself. She also took the money I sent her and squirreled it away into stocks and bonds, of all things.”

  He glanced over at her. “I thought I was successful when the specialty body shop started booming and netted me a pretty penny, but she had already made me my first million.”

  Elise sucked in a breath. “First million?”

  “Yeah,” he said turning to her, squinting under the bright rays of afternoon sun. “She knew nothing about stocks so she randomly chose to invest in gas, oil, computers and pharmaceutical companies.”

  She felt her face register shock. “You really are rich, aren’t you?”

  He came toward her, grasping the rail beside her as he slowly nodded, his lips set in a tight line. His hand came up, and she felt his knuckles slide softly down the side of her face.

  “Yes, very rich. Does it make a difference, Lizzie?”

  Stunned, she didn’t know what to say. They stared at each other. His eyes, bright silver, met hers of sky blue. “Of course not,” she finally admitted. “Why should it?”

  He stepped closer and faced her. “Good, because there’s something I’ve wanted to do for the last two days.”

  “What?”

  “This,” he whispered, lowering head as his lips descended closer and closer to hers. “It’s the only thing I think about since you arrived.”

  Her hand went reflexively to his chest. She pressed herself against the rail and felt the cold steel bite into her back. “Lucas, this is not a good place, and the timing’s all wrong.”

  “It’s the perfect place and time, Liz. Nothing can happen, don’t you see? You’re safe.”

  “Lucas, no.”

  Her plea went unanswered as his lips brushed lightly over hers. His hands circled her, and he drew her tightly against him. Her heart pounded clear up to her throat. The kiss became more insistent, and she found herself responding. Her lips parted. His tongue slipped in, mating and tangling with hers. He broke away and kissed her cheek, his lips traveling down her neck to the soft spot at her shoulder, and then back to her mouth again. The heat of his body burned against her, hard and demanding, just as relentless as his lips.

  “Lucas,” she moaned between breaths. “Lucas, we have to stop.” She nudged his chest with the heel of her hand, and he pulled away. His eyes had darkened to smoky gray.

  “What? What’s the matter?” His forehead creased, and he stared at her as if he could feel her fear.

  “Nothing.” She shuddered, even though the sun was warm and inviting. Her hands trembled, and she gripped the rail. She closed her eyes and swallowed, hoping to erase the frightening thoughts swirling in her head. Philip Cullington had made a mess of her life. She had thought she’d never feel comfortable again in another man’s embrace. For the last four years she had felt safe, carefully avoiding any relationships, making her work her first love. Now Lucas Fisher had come along to awaken yearnings she was sure had died.

  “Someone hurt you,” he said quietly.

  She hung her head. “I don’t like to talk about it.”

  “Like or want?”

  “Either.”

  “Okay, fair enough, it’s part of the past,” he said gently and pulled her into his arms again. She leaned her forehead against his chest and felt his lips skim the top of her head. “I promise, Liz, I’ll never hurt you. Not on purpose. Never on purpose.”

  “Lucas, this could muddle so many things we’re not prepared to deal with.” She rested her cheek against his laundry-faded shirt. He smelled of earth and sky, sunshine and spring breezes.

  “I know,” he whispered into her hair.

  Her gaze found his solid, masculine one and she pushed herself away. He heaved a sigh, letting her wiggle out from his embrace, and ran his hands through his hair. “Listen, Lizzie, I’ll take it slow, if you want. Hell, you can pick the speed, and I’ll be content just to be in the race.”

  Collecting her emotions, she looked out over the rail to the opposite side where fishermen below in Roaring Brook looked like miniature toy figures. Could she risk an intimate relationship again? Could she risk being hurt emotionally one more time? She had to return to San Francisco. She had a career to pursue.

  “I’m not certain I know what I want,” she said truthfully. “I don’t even know if I want to be in the rat race I’m currently in.”

  She felt his breath fan her ear. “I understand. I’ll give you a few days to work this all through.”

  “A few?” She turned and faced him and found herself smiling. “My, you certainly are a magnanimous sort, Lucas Fisher.”

  A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. He kissed her lightly on the temple. “Hell, yes, considering we’re down to nine, counting today.”

  Chapter Ten

  Lucas stood inside Whitman’s Paper and Paint Store, surrounded by the pungent scents of vinyl wallpaper, turpentine, and paint, and wondered how he had allowed himself to be tricked into abandoning his work at the garage. Then he remembered it all had come about with Elise’s urge to redo the bedroom at the farm for Todd.

  Actually, it had started with h
er persistent wheedling about the bare kitchen cupboards and the need to grocery shop. It had been an eye-opening experience in itself, and he finally admitted to himself he had discovered how the phrase “shop till you drop” came into existence. Woman pitted against marketable commodities. In less than forty-five minutes, she had filled a grocery cart with more food than could possibly fit into the cupboards and refrigerator and which barely fit into the trunk of the Trans Am, now parked outside.

  Though he had to give her credit, despite her unflagging obsession to use every minute to its advantage, she was as competent and efficient at managing details as she had professed. Over the past few days, she arranged to have the electricity at the cottage turned on and already had a contractor on the job, replacing the cottage’s slate roof. And lists. Lord, the woman could make lists. On anything. From napkins to the margins of a candy wrapper.

  However, nothing had prepared him for Whitman’s Paint and Paper. It was like stepping onto another planet.

  “What are we looking for again?” He watched her leaf through the pages of a pattern book with a speed that defied logic. She was standing before a long rectangular table in the back of the store with two dozen books piled haphazardly around her. Shelves circling the room held hundreds more. “Blue dogs?”

  “No, white wallpaper with blue paw prints and with a corresponding blue border with dogs. I know it exists, I just don’t know where.” Her eyes never left the book she was working with. “It has to be in stock, too.”

  “Run this by me again. How do I tell if it’s in stock, and what shade of blue?” Lucas rubbed his bleary eyes with the palms of his hands.

  “Ah, French blue, something like this.” She paused only long enough to point to a flower so small the average person would need a magnifying glass. She flipped the page before he had a chance to commit it to memory. “Don’t worry about the stock, the store manager will check on it.”

  Lucas scowled. Every pattern had begun to look like the next, melting into a haze of swirling tones. God, he needed an aspirin and a beer. If she kept this up, he’d be too dizzy to eat the hundred pounds of food jammed into the trunk.

  “Can’t we do this tomorrow? I really need a break here.”

  “No time,” she mumbled. “Pedmo is coming on Monday.”

  “Monday?” A little bell of alarm went off in his head. “Since when?”

  “Since the meeting. It must have slipped my mind.” She never raised her head.

  “Maybe we should get someone to help us,” he suggested.

  “I did.” She waved her hand toward a circular table where a thin man with fuzzy gray eyebrows was rummaging through a stack of books that would put a library to shame. “I snagged the manager on the way inside while you were rearranging groceries in the trunk.”

  “You’re absolutely sure this wallpaper exists?” He squinted at her with a skeptical look, and she nodded, her fingers nimbly turning the pages of yet another book.

  “Uh-huh, I saw it once when I was selecting paper for a day care center our agency was contracted to renovate.”

  “Oh, terrific. There are at least five hundred books here, and we’ve been through what? Two dozen? I imagine you have someone lined up to hang the dang rolls?”

  “Uh-huh, you and Fritz. But only if you’d stop talking and help me find it.”

  “Me and Fritz?” His voice came out in a hysterical wail. “Get serious, Liz, I’ve never wallpapered a room in my life.” Hell, he couldn’t wrap a Christmas present unless it was packaged in a box with four crisp corners and there were yards of paper to waste.

  “Neither has Fritz, but he’s watched my mother do it many times. I have to interview some nurses from Home Health in the morning, otherwise I’d help. Anyway, it’s just one wall and pasting a border around the ceiling. It’s a piece of cake.” Her hands continued flashing through the pages.

  “Piece of cake? Are you sane? Unless Fritz has flashbacks, we’re doomed.” Lucas slumped down wearily onto a nearby chair and cupped his face in his hands.

  Two seconds later, he heard the store manager’s cheerful voice. “Got it! Right here, Miss Springer!”

  He looked up in time to see Elise take the offered book and mark the pattern with a paint chip sample. She grinned at the tiny blue paw prints and tipped the book for him to see. Across the top, Lucas could see a strip of coordinating border with all breeds of puppies tumbling on top of each other.

  He was about to jump up, shout hallelujah, and sweep the manager into a bone-jarring hug when Elise paused, staring out into space.

  “I wonder whether the department store down the street carries bedspreads in this color range?”

  “Oh, sure, I imagine they do,” the manager assured her. “Here, let me give you another paint sample to take with you.”

  Grimacing, Lucas plodded behind her as she sauntered to the counter to verify the measurements and pay the bill.

  Outside again, he stopped in the sunshine beside the Trans Am. Earlier he had spied the sign for a bar and grill, a block up the street. Farther away, a state liquor store stood on the corner.

  “You need that phone of yours?” He frowned at her and jammed a hand in his back pocket. “I figure I can make a few calls while you bolster sales in the linen department down the street.”

  She pulled the phone from her purse and spoke in a disgruntled tone to match his. “You know it would be easier if I had a car and you had a phone. You wouldn’t have to stand around waiting for me like a moping pain-in-the—”

  “Okay, okay! I know, I know.” Oh, how he knew. He touched the screen to her phone and opened the number pad. “I’m taking care of the car right now. I intended to stop by the garage and get one. A shipment came in today from Atlanta. To save time I’ll have it delivered to the house instead. I also promised your dad I’d stop by the hospital, so we’ll have to swing by there first.”

  “Dad never mentioned it to me.” She stared at him with a puzzled gaze.

  “It probably slipped his mind, like Pedmo did yours.” He opened the door to the Trans Am and retrieved a spare set of keys from the glove compartment. “Here, take these. I have an errand to run myself.”

  “You know, Lucas, it’s not a terrific idea to keep the spare keys locked inside.”

  “Don’t worry, I don’t make it a habit.”

  He didn’t want to tell her there wasn’t a car built he couldn’t access. Hell, he had learned how to break into an automobile when he was only thirteen. He checked his watch. “Go...get moving! You have thirty minutes to come up with the Russian blue blanket.”

  She let out a quick unladylike snort. “French, Lucas. French blue bedspread.”

  His hand plowed through his hair impatiently. “Cripes, we’re not holding an international summit here. Just buy the damned thing and get back here. Pronto.”

  She took the keys he thrust at her and looked in the direction of the bar and grill. “Don’t even think about it,” she warned. “The last thing I need is for Dad to see you with a buzz on.”

  Lord, the woman had mental telepathy along with her interior design skills. He punched some numbers into her phone. “Hurry up, or the food in the trunk is going to cook before we get it home.”

  “I hope so. I’m tired of kitchen duty. When is it going to be your turn?”

  He grinned at her. She was wearing a yellow tank top with a pair of snug-fitting, faded blue jeans that made his mouth water. “Listen, Frenchie, I’m willing to negotiate. I’ve got the yard work, laundry, and garbage duty.”

  She groaned and held up a palm. “Forget it, just forget I asked.” She took off down the sidewalk, her sandals slapping on the hot pavement.

  He waited until she was out of sight before he spoke briefly on the phone, opened the car and laid it carefully on the passenger seat. Lizzie Springer was in for a delightful surprise. He couldn’t wait to see her face when they arrived at the farm and she saw the car he had chosen for her. Whistling merrily, he locked the door and strode
up the street and into the bar.

  ****

  Elise promised herself she wouldn’t let Lucas Fisher aggravate her, but fifteen minutes later, it took all of her willpower to ignore the empty Coors can he’d flung behind the seat when she slid into the Trans Am with her purchases.

  “Maybe I’d better drive.” She held out her hand, palm up.

  “One beer, Liz, that’s all I had.” He shoved the key in the ignition and smiled as the engine roared to life.

  She turned and peered behind the seat where a brown paper bag and a nicely wrapped small rectangular box were wedged between the heaps of packages they had collected all afternoon. Unless she was sorely mistaken, it looked like it held a six-pack. “What’s in the bag?”

  “Coke. Plain ol’ cola, Miss Curiosity.”

  “Yeah, cut me a break.”

  He heaved an exhausted sigh. “Why don’t you ever believe me? It’s soda, I tell you. See for yourself.”

  She reached back and retrieved the bag. True to his word, it held six cans of carbonated drink and a package with two plastic snap-on lids.

  “It’s for your dad,” he explained, his face registering pleasure at having bested her.

  “My dad? I can’t believe he can’t get cola at the hospital.” She eyed him skeptically. “Did he ask them for some?”

  He shrugged. “What do I look like? Anton Springer’s personal dietitian? I imagine the only thing he can get in the hospital is some ginger ale which, by the way, looks like cattle urine and is usually served flat to boot.”

  When they reached the hospital, they parted while Lucas parked the car, agreeing to meet shortly in her father’s room. She was surprised to find her father looking incredibly better. He sat upright in his bed, foot propped on some pillows, reading a copy of Stock Car Racing. One leg of the new pajamas she had bought him had been cut open carefully on the seam to allow room for the cast covering his lower leg and ankle.

  She kissed him on the cheek.

  “Lucas coming, too?” he asked, setting the magazine aside.