Overheated

by Barbara Dunlop

She nodded.

  He sighed. What was he going to do, cancel the weekend? Not much chance of that.

  “You going to work tomorrow?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Better talk to Kenny and make myself some money. You?”

  “I have to head up to Myrtle Pond and work on the house.” He’d been putting it off all week. “Pick you up on Friday?”

  She nodded, as he started to rise.

  “You don’t have to leave,” she pointed out.

  Oh yes, he did. “The kids are in the next room, and I have this sneaking feeling your mother’s waiting to see my taillights exit the parking lot.”

  Crystal gave in graciously, and he headed home, telling himself Stella, Steve and Dean were all wrong, and that Crystal might change her mind about children.

  The scientist in him knew he was grasping at straws. But the mathematician in him understood chaos theory. Despite all the complications, he couldn’t completely discount the notion that he and Crystal might have been preordained.

  AFTER DROPPING THE KIDS off for the second-last day of school, Crystal spent the morning alternating between working on her cookbook and daydreaming about Larry.

  He couldn’t have children.

  What did that mean?

  Did it mean anything at all? They’d barely started dating. It was way too early to be thinking about a white dress, a dog and a picket fence.

  As if he read her mind, Rufus rose from where he was sleeping on the mat and padded over to the sofa. He nudged her laptop a few inches and rested his head on her knee, squinting his eyes against the breeze that wafted in through the open window.

  “Okay, so we’ve got the dog part already,” she told him, scratching between his ears, trying not to feel maudlin at the choice between Larry and children.

  For goodness sake, she didn’t even know if the choice was hers to make yet. Their feelings were deep, but it was the first blush of romance. And Larry was clearly having second thoughts, after her mother and his son had expressed their opinions.

  Rufus gave a heartfelt sigh that seemed to echo her own emotions.

  He’d spent the night sleeping on the foot of David’s bed, and David hadn’t made a peep. The dog had clearly bonded with David. As he had with Larry. Crystal smiled. He’d even started spending more time with her. Memories of his original owner must be fading.

  She leaned down and cupped his head with her hands, stroking the damaged ear. “We’re going to be okay, you and me,” she promised.

  His brown eyes gazed up at her with trust and adoration.

  There was a knock on the door, and Rufus immediately went on alert. He didn’t bark, but he trotted into the kitchen, positioning himself at the end of the hall, watchful while Crystal moved to the door.

  Through the sheers on the window, she could see a strange man on the porch. The man didn’t look particularly dangerous. He was about sixty-five, wore a neat business suit and was carrying a briefcase. Still, she was glad of the dog’s presence.

  She twisted the lock and opened the door, wondering if he was selling something. Her little apartment tucked behind and atop of the Softco complex didn’t normally attract salespeople. But you never knew.

  “Ms. Crystal Hayes?” the man asked.

  “Yes?” Her curiosity grew.

  “I’m Fred Smythe, attorney for Mr. William Chandler.”

  The name meant nothing to her, and for a second she wondered if it was a scam of some kind. She leaned against the end of the door, her skepticism rising.

  “Can I help you with something?”

  “I tried to call but I seem to have the wrong phone number.” He glanced around. “Would it be possible to come inside and talk?”

  “I don’t think so.” She felt Rufus’s body against the back of her knee and wondered if her body language had brought him closer. Smart dog.

  Fred Smythe cleared his throat and straightened his tie. “In that case.” He paused. “I’ll get right to…Mr. Chandler was involved in an automobile accident on May twenty-second.”

  Were they looking for a witness? “I didn’t see-”

  “He was, unfortunately, killed in the accident.” The man’s gaze strayed to Rufus. “I understand you may have been caring for his dog?”

  Crystal’s stomach hollowed out, and her shoulders slumped. They’d come for Rufus?

  No. She couldn’t let them.

  “May we talk inside?” Fred asked again.

  “Of course,” she choked out, stepping back to let the man in.

  She gestured to her small kitchen table. “Please.”

  Fred glanced around before taking a seat on the small, wooden chair, laying his briefcase on the table.

  Crystal sat across from him, while Rufus took a position at her feet. She swallowed, folding her hands on the tabletop. “Do they want him back?” she rasped. “The family?”

  Fred flipped open the clasps on his briefcase. “Mr. Chandler didn’t have family.”

  Hope rose within Crystal.

  “I was left with the task of finding the right home for Aldo.”

  Rufus perked up at the sound of his name.

  Crystal looked down at Rufus. “Aldo?” she asked him.

  He cocked his head and blinked at her, seeming to confirm she’d finally got it right.

  She patted him on the head. “Aldo,” she repeated. “Never would have guessed that one.” Then she turned her attention back to Fred.

  “You were a difficult woman to find,” said Fred.

  “I found him tied up to a tree,” she explained. “I left my name at the Treatsy-Sweetsy.”

  “It took them a while to remember you had. And the scrunched napkin was difficult to read.”

  Crystal thought back to the young clerk. She could see how the napkin might have gotten lost. “I guess I should have called back again.”

  She glanced back down at Rufus, Aldo. Maybe, subconsciously, she hadn’t wanted to be found. She certainly knew that she didn’t want to give him up now, for David’s sake if nothing else.

  “I have this nephew,” she told Fred, “he and Rufus have really bonded. And, well, Rufus and I…” She scratched between his ears. “It took us a little while longer, but we’re pretty cool now, too. Is there, like, an application form or something I could fill out to try to keep him?” She just hoped it didn’t involve a credit check.

  If money was an issue, maybe she could get Larry to apply. They could have joint custody or something. And Larry had a backyard. He might be an all-around better candidate.

  “You want to keep the dog?” asked Fred.

  She gave a quick nod. “Absolutely. He’s a wonderful dog.”

  Fred glanced at Rufus, took in the food and water dishes and the leash hanging on the coat hook in the hallway.

  “You’ve spent some money on him?”

  “A little bit,” she answered. “Just the essentials so far. We did rent a crate to fly him to Dover.”

  “You took the dog to Dover?”

  Crystal smiled as she remembered the trip. “He loved the seashore. Didn’t quite know what to do with the salt water, but he played fetch forever.” She brought herself back to the present. “I know I’m in an apartment, but there’s a wonderful park right behind us, with a pond. Rufus loves to walk, and he plays with my nephew when he comes over. He even sleeps at the foot of David’s bed.”

  “David?”

  “My nephew. He and my niece sleep over sometimes.” It seemed to Crystal that kids involved in Rufus’s life would be a good thing.

  “And you’re not looking for any money to care for the dog?”

  Crystal drew back, startled. “Money from who?”

  “From Mr. Chandler’s estate.”

  “No. Of course not. I never even met Mr. Chandler.” Then she had a thought. She leaned forward. “Would you like me to buy Rufus?”

  Since Larry had sprung for the cell phone, Crystal could come up with some money for the dog. Not a lot. But then Rufus didn’t see
m like a show animal or anything.

  A smile grew on Fred’s face. “There’s no need to buy Aldo. Mr. Chandler’s express wishes were that I find a loving home for his best friend. I believe I’ve found that in you.”

  Crystal’s chest tightened, and she was forced to blink back a couple of ridiculous tears. “Thank you,” she told him, stretching forward to clasp his hands in hers.

  Fred shook his head, looking uncomfortable. “No need to thank me. It’s my job.”

  “Thank you all the same.” She reached down to pat Rufus, or Aldo, or whoever he wanted to be.

  Fred opened his briefcase and slipped on a pair of reading glasses. “There is a small matter of money.”

  She nodded. “Okay.” Maybe there was a fee or something. No problem. She got to keep Rufus. That was all that mattered.

  “Mr. Chandler left provisions for Rufus’s care and feeding.”

  Crystal didn’t understand.

  “In fact,” said Fred. “The bulk of his estate was set aside for that purpose.”

  “You’re giving me money?”

  “Yes.” He pulled out a sheaf of papers. “Five million, six hundred and thirty-two thousand dollars.”

  She stared at him, trying to turn his words into something that made sense inside her head.

  “Aside from a few bequests to charitable and service organizations, Mr. Chandler left his estate to his dog. Or, rather, to the new owner of his dog.”

  “That’s insane,” said Crystal. “I can’t take that money. Dog food is maybe twenty bucks a week.”

  Fred gave her a wide smile. “Nevertheless, this will is a legal contract. You want the dog, you get the money.”

  It was a ridiculous amount of money. “Why didn’t you keep him?”

  Fred peered over the top of his glasses. “My task was to find him a good home, not to keep him. Besides, it would have been a blatant conflict of interest.”

  Crystal subconsciously pulled back. “It’s a conflict of interest for me, too.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  The thought of that much money simply made her panic. She couldn’t spend it on herself. It would be wrong. And she’d never manage to spend it all on Rufus. Even if they chartered him his own plane to NASCAR races, she’d never spend it all. They’d have to rent him doggie VIP suites, with all you can eat goose-liver pâté.

  Which would be ridiculous.

  “You said something about charities?” she tried. “Could I donate the money to Mr. Chandler’s favorite charities?”

  Fred nodded. “You could. But you might want to consider setting up something in his name. A charitable foundation for abandoned pets, for example.”

  What a great idea. “Could you help me do that?”

  He closed his briefcase and replaced the glasses in his pocket. “I’d be very pleased to help you. But I want you to give this some thought. And remember, there’s nothing wrong in spending some or all of the money on yourself.”

  Crystal shook her head.

  “Mr. Chandler’s only wish was that Aldo have a loving home.” He glanced at the dog. “I’m delighted to know I’ve been able to arrange that.” He rose from his chair and handed her a business card. “I’ll be in touch.”

  “Thank you,” she said, numbly staring down at his name. Then she rose and looked up at him. “Thank you for Rufus.”

  She couldn’t wrap her head around the five million dollars. And she didn’t have to. She’d let Fred take care of the details of a charitable trust. All she needed was enough money for dog food.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  L ARRY KNEW HE NEEDED TO GIVE Crystal some space. The question of whether to continue the relationship was easy from his side. She was a beautiful woman who made him happy, and he loved her.

  From her side, it was considerably more complicated. Though he wasn’t anywhere near retirement at the moment, he’d certainly get there before she would. And he couldn’t give her children. Even if by some miracle of modern science, he could reverse the surgery, he wouldn’t. It wouldn’t be fair to become a new father at this stage. While he could still play catch, and do any other children’s physical activity, the same might not hold true in ten years.

  “You look tense,” said Nash, handing Larry a cold can of beer as the sun set on Nash’s deck overlooking Myrtle Pond.

  “I’m fine,” said Larry. He didn’t particularly want to get into a heart-to-heart with Nash.

  They’d been working on the Victorian all day, and he’d been able to put everything else out of his mind. But now that work was stopped, he couldn’t help wondering about Crystal. Had she finished work for the day? Did she have the kids? Was Zane making a nuisance of himself? And how was Rufus?

  Nash took a seat in one of the padded deck chairs, and Larry followed suit.

  “I asked around about that Zane Crandell,” said Nash, crossing an ankle over the opposite knee.

  Larry didn’t understand. “Asked around to whom?”

  Nash shrugged, taking a sip of the beer. “Just some guys I know. He’s got a couple of assaults on his file in Atlanta.”

  “You know Atlanta cops?”

  Nash nodded. “Some. They were bar fights, nothing domestic. But the man doesn’t drink well.”

  “I’d be surprised to learn he does anything well,” Larry put in. Zane had struck him as a loser with a capital L.

  “Job as a night janitor. Low-rent apartment. A bit of a gambling issue, but nobody’s looking to break his kneecaps or anything.”

  Larry gave a cold laugh. “Too bad.”

  “He touched the sister?” asked Nash.

  “She says not.”

  “If he steps out of line, I can have somebody tune him up.”

  Larry squinted at Nash. “Who exactly do you know in Atlanta?”

  A shrewdness came into Nash’s eyes, something Larry didn’t remember seeing before.

  “Just some guys, who know some guys.”

  “I thought you said you were an architect.”

  If Nash wasn’t an architect, he was the best fake Larry had ever met. He was an excellent builder, and facts and figures came out of his mouth in an almost encyclopedic manner. Larry recognized it, since he could do it himself.

  Which gave him pause. Nash was one genius of an architect. And he’d chucked it all to run a bait shop?

  “I am an architect,” said Nash.

  “For who? The mob?”

  Nash grinned. “Right. I’ve been running their office tower development division on the Eastern Seaboard.”

  Okay, maybe not the mob. But there was something…

  “Why’d you move to Myrtle Pond?” he tried.

  Nash didn’t answer, his expression inscrutable.

  Larry felt a shiver run up his spine. He bought some time by taking a chug of his rapidly warming beer. “With my IQ, I guess I should be smart enough to know when to shut up and stop asking questions.”

  “Yeah. And especially as a researcher on the N-52 Isis project.”

  Larry froze. “What did you say?”

  Nash gave him a look that said that Larry knew perfectly well what he’d said. He’d just tossed out the name of a top secret satellite project that, maybe, fifty guys in the world knew Larry was involved in.

  “NSA?” asked Larry, his eyes squinting down at the waning light. “The military?”

  “No initials you’d recognize.”

  “But, the good guys,” Larry confirmed.

  “The good guys,” said Nash.

  Then another unsettling thought hit Larry. “You’re not here because of me, are you?”

  Nash laughed, tipping back his head. “No offense, Larry. But you’re nowhere near important enough for me to guard.”

  “Any danger to Myrtle Pond?”

  Nash polished off his beer, stood up and hit the deck lights. “No one’s going to find me here. Nobody’s even looking.”

  Larry nodded, knowing that was as much information as he’d get, also knowing that was a
s much information as he wanted. If Nash knew Larry was working on the Isis project, he also knew Larry could be trusted; otherwise he wouldn’t have revealed even that much.

  Nash grabbed a couple more beers from the cooler. “So, if you need this Zane jerk tuned up, you just let me know.”

  Larry was sorely tempted. “Not the kind of solution I’m used to.”

  Nash set an unopened beer on the table next to Larry. “Likely not the kind of problem you’re used to, either.”

  Larry couldn’t disagree with that.

  His mind snapped back to his other problem. “Let me ask you this.” It was obvious he could trust Nash. “If you cared about a woman, but the circumstances were all wrong, would you walk away?”

  “You’re asking the wrong guy.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because the circumstances have never been right for me.”

  “So, what do you do?”

  “You walk away from the ones you care about.” Nash paused. “And sleep with the ones you don’t.”

  “That’s depressing.”

  “Isn’t it though?”

  Larry popped the tab on his second beer. “You and I are complete opposites.” The last woman Larry had either cared about or slept with, he married.

  “Which is why I can’t see you being wrong for anybody,” said Nash. “You’re a freakin’ Boy Scout.”

  “If I were a Boy Scout, I’d have walked away from her already.” And that was the truth. It wasn’t that Larry didn’t know the right thing to do. He was simply too selfish to do it.

  “Why?” Nash demanded.

  “I’m too old.”

  “Horseshit.”

  “Eloquent argument.”

  “You don’t have to be eloquent when you’re right.”

  “She has her entire life ahead of her.”

  “From what I could see, she wants to spend part of it with you.”

  “And when I die?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “What happens to her when I die?”

  Nash’s voice rose with incredulity. “Well, hopefully, she gets a fat life insurance settlement and can grieve in the South Pacific.”

  Larry started to laugh. “You should practice what you preach, you know.”

  “How am I not?”

  “If you’re not afraid to leave a widow, then get into a relationship. Find a nice girl. Get married.”