Rick Engle was a patient man. He could wait. But he wouldn't wait forever, and he intended to have his way.
***
Jennifer gave Rick directions and let herself wallow in the pleasure of watching him drive, savoring the way he controlled the powerful engine in his truck and inhaling the light scent of soap, leather, and the faintest tinge of aftershave that she'd come to recognize as distinctly his.
The way he handled the truck made her remember their fumbling experimentation as teenagers. Back then, he'd driven like a wildman. Would he make love like he drove now--firmly in command while coaxing every ounce of performance from his woman?
Jennifer found herself straining against her seatbelt in a subconscious effort to close the distance between them. She'd have to get back to her twelve-step program before she drove herself crazy with desire.
She cringed as Rick rounded the corner and pulled up in front of the Sorority house where her parents now worked.
If Rick was going to laugh, this would have been the perfect opportunity. No one could have missed the sight of her father leaning over a partially disassembled lawn mower. His baggy jeans hung low around his hips providing the entire world a view of classic plumber's butt. His belly protruded from beneath a white undershirt.
"Hi, Dad." She climbed out of the truck and ran toward him when Rick pulled to a stop.
"Honey, what are you doing here?" Her dad turned, then thankfully, yanked up his pants.
"We came to visit you."
"I thought you had to work weekends."
"I, uh, well, I got fired."
Her father wrinkled his forehead. "That doesn't say much for Schilling. You were a great worker when you worked for me. Still, I always thought you could do better than a two-bit department store."
"I'll find another job."
"Of course you will." He brightened. "Try to find something with a little creativity in it. You do have a minor in Public Relations, after all. Don't let that History major pull you down. Or write. I love those stories you used to write.
Her mouth must have dropped open because she had to close it before she could talk. "I never knew you read those." Before her father had lost his money, they'd never made time to talk about anything.
He gave her an embarrassed grin. "I wasn't a very good dad."
"You were fine." She realized Rick had been standing there all this time. "Dad, you remember Rick Engle? From high school?"
"Engle? Sure I remember him. Kid spent half his life in reform school. Not at all the kind of boy who could appreciate my little angel."
"It's nice to see you again, Mr. Hollman."
Her startled father stared at Rick's outstretched hand, then took it with obvious reluctance. "Grew up, did you? Well, I hope you learned something. If you go messing with Jennifer's head like you did ten years ago, I'll hunt you down like a dog."
"Dad." Her father had never acted like this. He'd always been cool, but polite. "I'm a grown-up woman."
"That doesn't mean you aren't my little girl."
"I made a lot of mistakes as a kid," Rick admitted. "Leaving Jennifer with a few rude words was one of them."
"Not that I wasn't happy to see you gone," her father stated grimly.
"Dad." This wasn't working out the way Jennifer had intended. She had simply meant Rick to see how a lack of ambition like her father's could lead to a miserable life. Instead the two men were circling each other like a pair of professional wrestlers.
"You out on parole now?" her father asked. "Or did you escape?"
She wouldn't have blamed Rick if he'd leveled her father for that blunt accusation. What had she been thinking when she'd brought Rick here? More the point, was it too late to erase step six from her list?
"I spent a few years in the service."
Her father seemed to thaw. "Army?"
"Marines."
"See any action?"
"Bosnia."
Her father nodded. "I was in 'Nam. Guess the Marines aren't a wuss outfit. They aren't the Rangers, of course."
"Need some help with that lawn mower?" Rick asked.
Her father frowned. "Know anything about engine repair?"
"Rick owns a garage in Oak Cliff," Jennifer volunteered.
"Not a great location," her father stated bluntly. "You could make a lot more money here where all the rich people are."
"I make enough. Tell me about the lawn mower."
"Oh. It runs for a few seconds then quits." Her father shrugged his shoulders. "I replaced the spark plug but that didn't help."
"I've got my tools in the truck." Rick stepped back out to the curb, opened a large toolbox that spanned the bed of his truck and pulled out a leather tool belt. "Sounds like you might have a fuel block. Have you checked?"
"Well--" Obviously her father had no more idea how to check a fuel block than she did.
"Never mind," Rick interrupted before the pause grew embarrassing. "Let's take a look."
The two men crouched over the engine in the type of male-to-male psychic bond that no woman can understand--or bring herself to want to understand.
"I'll go and say hi to mom," Jennifer mumbled, stepping away from the testosterone-fest.
"Hey honey, ask her to bring out a couple of beers," her father called.
She retreated to the house.
"Don't tell me you're bringing a new boyfriend around without warning us first." Jennifer's mother greeted her before she even got to the door. If the blobs of paint on her cheap plastic rain parka didn't make it obvious what her mother had been up to, the paint roller would have. "The place is a mess."
"He's not a boyfriend and he's not new. It's Rick Engle, mom. You know, from high school."
"Rick Engle? Gad, Jennifer, if you were going to hook up with someone from high school, why not Jim?"
"Mother. Jim was a jerk. I only went with him to the Debutante Ball because I needed an escort and Rick wouldn't rent a tux."
"Really?" Her mother looked confused. "It's a pity things didn't work out with you and Jim. He's in line for president of that bank where he works." A smile lit her face. "I heard he got divorced lately. You might give him a call. Since Rick isn't a boyfriend," she added.
"I'm not looking for a man, Mother."
"Well, you should be. The right man can make your place in society."
Jennifer shook her head.
"Of course that doesn't mean you can't have a little fling now and then. As long as you're circumspect."
"I'm not having a fling."
Her mother stared at her for a moment. "Pity."
"Mother!"
"Jennifer, you're twenty-seven years old. At that age, your chances of a normal husband and family are closing down. Not that you even try. When was the last time you went out on a date?"
"Three weeks ago. The doctor. Remember?"
"Meeting someone for lunch at a cat resuscitation meeting is not a date."
"Cat rescue."
"Whatever." Her mother looked out the window and gave Rick a good long look. "He did turn out nice, didn't he? I must say, though, you're a brave woman bringing your man to a place like this."
"He's not my man. Still, it looks like he's winning Dad over." She paused, thinking about the odd thing her father had just said. "Mother, was Dad ever in Viet Nam?"
"He doesn't talk about it much." Her mother quickly changed the subject. "Anyway, your father's not the danger. It's those man-eating females who make up this so-called sorority."
"I don't think--"
"I caught a couple of them making eyes at your father."
That showed a level of desperation Jennifer found hard to imagine. Her father was nice enough, but he was poor, old, married, and fat. Not exactly prime mate material, especially when you considered the average income, and looks, of the SMU Sorority sisters. "Rick wouldn't be inter--"
"He's a man isn't he?" Her mother paused for a moment. "And speaking of men, what the devil is your father waving about?"
"As if it's so important that he stand there and watch whatever it is your Rick is doing," her mother groused.
"He's not my Rick."
"Sometimes I wonder what kind of daughter I raised." Her mother gave the long-suffering sigh that Jennifer had long ago learned to recognize as her mother's sign that she was joking. "Let's get our men their beer."
"It's pretty early in the afternoon. Maybe we should get them some iced tea instead," Jennifer suggested.
Her mother stopped halfway to her refrigerator and turned around. "Honey, take it from me. There are times you want to have that argument and times you don't. When a couple of guys get together and work on a lawnmower, it's definitely not the time to give them advice about why they don't want a beer.
"I've got some crackers on the cupboard and cheese in the 'fridge," her mother continued. "Just make a little plate while I take them their Buds."
"They'll probably only be a couple of minutes."
"If they finish the lawnmower, they'll mess with something else. Men can't just sit and talk like we do."
As if that explained anything. Jennifer wondered if her mother had somehow plumbed the secrets of maleness and just not bothered explaining them to her when she'd been a girl. She even toyed with the idea of asking her mother for advice on Rick's twelve-step program. So far everything but the haircut had backfired. And the haircut had gotten her hormones so riled up, she still hadn't recovered.
By the time Jennifer emerged from the kitchen with an assortment of crackers and thin slices of cheese, the two men had shifted to her parents' car, a ten-year-old import. Jennifer still thought of it as hers, although she had given it to them when the bank had repossessed her mother's last Cadillac.
Along with the crackers, she carried a pitcher of iced tea, just in case one of the guys wanted a non-alcoholic refill.
"In this particular model," Rick explained, "one of the spark plugs is a real bear to get out." He pointed at the offending plug and gave Jennifer a smile that nearly melted her to the sidewalk. "Lots of the time when you take your car in for a tune-up, they don't bother replacing that one. After a while, you end up with an uneven drive."
"I've noticed that," her father confessed. "Bad mileage too."
"Could be it. Do you have an extra plug anywhere?"
Her father shook his head forlornly. He'd never had a mechanical bone in his body.
"I'm sure I have an extra."
Five minutes later, Rick cranked the engine. Its purr was barely louder than that of one of her kittens.
"Know what I think?" Her dad's face had taken on an expression that had become all too familiar to Jennifer and her mother during the last few years. They called it the get-rich-quick look.
"You shouldn't need premium gas, either," Rich told him.
"That's not it. I think you could do this on the Internet. You know, ask the motor guy dot com." He added extra emphasis to the dot com, like these were magic words. "I could help you. I have some experience in financial dealings on the Web."
"It’s an attractive offer. I--"
Jennifer moved to cut that conversation off before her father led Rick down the path that had almost destroyed her family. "I don't want to hear about the Internet. Let's go inside and visit."
"Cowboys should be coming on," agreed her father.
"Men." Her mother smiled. "Tools or games. Anything to keep them from thinking about a relationship." She gave Jennifer a stern look. "That's the woman's job."
Chapter Six
Rick looked up from the TV as the Cowboys finally converted a drive and pulled ahead for the last time. "All right."
Jennifer's father, Tom, drained the last of his third beer and belched. "Cool." The two men slapped high-fives.
"Tom." Sally, Jennifer's mother, seemed to have rules about public belching. Rick figured he could remember that. Not too difficult, so far.
"You two staying for dinner?" Sally asked. "We've hardly had time to visit."
"What are you talking about?" Tom demanded. "They've been here for hours. We saw the entire second half."
"Honey." The warning was clear in Sally's voice.
"Not that I mind if my daughter and her, uh, friend want to stay for dinner," Tom recovered. "I mean, we don't get to see you much, Jenny."
"I've kept Rick away from his shop for a long time already," Jennifer murmured.
Rick looked at her sharply. She'd promised him a home-cooked meal. Did she mean to back off?
Reading minds was low on Rick's talent list. On the other hand, Jennifer had promised a home-cooked meal. Given his own distinctly limited culinary skills, one of Sally's dinners sounded painfully close to heaven. "I'm not in a hurry."
Jennifer threw a look of pure gratitude his direction. Following his stomach had paid off, for once. He didn't suppose he could count on it in the future of their relationship. There was that word again. They didn't have a relationship. Jennifer was just his houseguest.
"Jen, can you help me in the kitchen? Sally scooped up Tom's empties.
"I thought--"
"Please." Her mother interrupted before Jennifer could finish her objection.
"Call if you need anything," Jennifer said as she followed her mother from the living room.
Tom fumbled for the remote control, switched off the television, then leaned forward in his recliner and faced Rick. "I'm warning you, Mister, you'd better be careful where my daughter is concerned."
Irrationally, Rick felt relief. This was the Tom he knew.
"Look, Tom, I don't know what you think, but--" a knock on the door, accompanied by a female giggle, cut off his explanation.
"Sounds like somebody wants to put me to work." Tom sucked in his gut and pulled back his shoulders as he opened the door to his apartment. "Yes, Tiffany?"
Tiffany turned out to be a miracle of make-up, bleached blonde hair, spandex, and a body that put the spandex to shame. "There's something wrong with our shower, Mr. Hollman." She spoke with a throaty drawl.
"What sort of something?" Tom asked.
"You know." Tiffany shrugged her shoulders, wiggled her impressive chest, and gave another giggle that would have eliminated any interest Rick felt, if he had felt any. To his surprise, his body hadn't responded at all to the shapely female.
"It sort of sprays all over," Tiffany explained. "Look, it got me in the, ah, hips. I was just walking by."
She turned around and bent over to show a pert and water-sprayed rear. "It's so embarrassing."
"Uh, yes," Tom said. "Come on, Rick. Let's see if we can fix the problem."
The problem became instantly clear the minute Rick walked into the steaming shower room. One of the shower nozzles had been halfway yanked off the wall. Steaming water streamed everywhere.
"Can you fix it, Mr. Hollman. Or Mr. Rick." Tiffany batted her eyes at Rick.
He fought back the gag reflex. Tiffany might only be six or seven years younger than he was, but she was a typical air-headed rich-girl with nowhere near his experience in the world. Still, it wasn't her fault she was a complete ditz.
"We can fix it," he assured her. "But if you keep yanking on it, it'll break again."
Tiffany blinked at him. "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about."
Another blonde wandered into the shower room, this one with a towel slung over her shoulder and dressed only in a matching black lace bra and panty set.
"I'm taking care of things, Amber," Tiffany insisted.
"Oh. I didn't know there was a man in here." Amber made a protective gesture with her hands toward her chest and halfway turned away to show that she was wearing a thong. "Are you the man who fixed Mr. Hollman's old crate?"
Rick tightened the cut-off valve and stopped the flow of water. "Yeah. So?"
"I was wondering if you'd mind taking a look at my Jaguar."
> Tom shrugged his shoulders. "I think they got you in their sights, Rick."
Rick glanced at his watch. "I'll see if I have time to look at your car after I finish this. You have plenty of time to, um, get dressed."
Tiffany managed to get herself soaking wet while Rick worked the shutoff valve. Her lycra outfit shimmered to near transparency. "Why don't you just take your Jaguar and drive it up you-know-what, Amber? If he's going to look at anything, I'd like him to look at mine." She paused to wink at Rick. "My beemer, that is, of course."
"We'll see what we can do," Tom told them. "Here's my pipe wrench," he added to Rick.
***
"Looks like that's about it," Jennifer's mother told her. "Tell the men to wash up for dinner? The roast will be done in five minutes."
Jennifer pulled the pie her mother had insisted that she bake out of the oven. "Right."
She had to find the men to tell them though. The television was stone-cold and neither her father nor Rick were anywhere to be seen.
She opened the door to her parents' apartment and looked out. Where could they have gone?
The distant sound of a male voice sent the increasingly familiar, if incomprehensible, quiver through her body. It was followed, instantly, by female laughter. That definitely didn't have a similar sensual effect. Quite the contrary.
Jennifer followed the voices out to the parking lot.
Rick had stripped down to his jeans and leaned over the open hood of a convertible BMW while two blondes practically draped their bodies over his.
"Give it a little gas, Tom," Rick called. The blondes giggled like he'd said something clever.
Jennifer hadn't even seen her father seated behind the steering wheel. He revved the engine. "Think you got it," her dad called.
Maybe Rick felt the burning daggers of her gaze at the back of his head. He turned slowly, then slammed the hood. "Hi, Jennifer. Do you know Amber and Tiffany?"
"No." It shouldn't have been possible to hiss the word no but she heard something suspiciously sibilant as she grated it out.
"Oh." He looked around for his shirt. It figured. He would take it off for beautiful college girls, then put it back on when Jennifer wanted to look.
Truth about Cats Page 7
