Too hot to sleep

by Stephanie Bond

  Bombarded with erotic cues, she simply couldn’t stop thinking about the phone call. And she couldn’t stop obsessing over Rob’s reaction. Darn Toni for raising the questions in the first place. And darn that Ken Medlock for forcing his way into her impossibly crowded mind. She was suddenly glad she would most likely never see the man again.

  As she was told, Georgia headed toward Elm’s and, unfamiliar with the upscale store, meandered around until she found the accessories department. Feeling somewhat conspicuous, she glanced all around before trying on hats in the line the men had suggested. Which Derrin straw hat with a white band? There were so many. She tried on style after style, then conceded she hadn’t enjoyed herself so much in a long time. She even loosened the clasp from her hair, toying with the idea of wearing it down for the wedding. At last she settled on a bowler style, crossing her fingers that Tom Tom wouldn’t object to her choice. The espadrilles were fun and comfortable, but a whole heck of a lot more expensive now than when they were first popular a couple of decades ago.

  Swinging both bags, she gave in to the rumbling in her stomach and stopped at the food court for a bagel and cream cheese. The mall was a great place to people-watch, a favorite pastime, even without her camera. Take that old man over there reading the paper—priceless. Or the triplets in the combination stroller, all eating ice cream. Or the policeman leaned over, lecturing a group of preteens seated around a table.

  Georgia stopped chewing and squinted. Officer Medlock? Her pulse kicked up. What was he doing here at the mall? She watched him send the kids on their way, then glanced at her watch. Ah, the kids were playing hooky. He stood with his hands on his hips and stared after the boys who chanced sullen looks over their shoulders while they shuffled toward the exit.

  She wondered how the dog had fared, and decided it was perfectly legitimate for her to ask—she’d put her job on the line, after all. But while she watched, a young woman tottered up to him wearing painted-on clothing, high heels, and exhibiting her mastery of hair-toss. Georgia glanced down at her own institutional clothing and resolved to slink out unnoticed. The officer responded to the young woman’s inquiry with a smile that made Georgia swallow a chunk of bagel without chewing.

  It promptly lodged in her esophagus, effectively blocking her airway. Georgia clutched her throat. She was choking. She was going to die with last night’s tawdry act on her conscience…Her next conversation would be with St. Peter: “Oh, and here’s Miss Ring-a-Ding-Ding…”

  7

  GEORGIA STOOD and flailed for a few seconds, trying to get the attention of the people around her before conceding she would have to try to administer the Heimlich maneuver on herself—perhaps on the back of a chair?

  In the background she heard someone yell, “She’s choking!” and before she could fling herself against a solid surface, two strong arms encircled her from behind and applied a quick upthrust below her breastbone. Her feet dangled. On the second thrust, the chunk of bread projected out of her mouth like a torpedo, bouncing off a table a few feet away. People scattered. She gasped for air like a racehorse.

  Background applause registered dimly in her oxygen-deprived brain. She was shepherded into a seated position. “Are you all right?” she barely heard.

  She blinked a man’s face into view. An attractive man. A familiar, attractive man.

  “Georgia, are you all right?”

  She nodded in abject mortification, realizing that Officer Ken Medlock had saved her life. Didn’t that mean he now owned her soul or something? He was kneeling before her, his face creased with the same concern she’d seen when he was carrying the dog. She felt like an idiot.

  “How about something to drink?” he asked, his face close to hers.

  The man had a cleft in his chin worthy of a superhero. A strong nose, broad and straight. And she was mesmerized by his serious brown eyes, surrounded by layers of dark lashes and thick eyebrows that were, at the moment, raised. For lack of a better response, she nodded, then tried to clear her head as he reached for her drink. Her skin tingled like menthol—probably because everyone was staring, certainly not because of this man’s proximity. She was, however, mindful of his big body. The dark blue uniform was tailor-made to form to his powerful frame.

  His fingers dwarfed the paper cup he extended. Georgia noticed he wore a scholarly ring of some kind, but not the married kind.

  Not that it mattered. She sipped slowly from the cup of fizzy drink, feeling his gaze bore into her and realizing she must look a fright—muss-haired, flush-faced and teary-eyed from the coughing. Her attempt at laughter came out sounding a little strangled. “You’re a regular hero today, aren’t you?”

  His grin was boyish. “No heroes here, ma’am. Just doing my job.”

  His dark hair was short, but not short enough to curb the curl on top, highlighted by the sun streaming in from the skylights above them. Amazing how she hadn’t known Officer Ken Medlock existed before today, yet their paths had crossed twice in a matter of hours.

  “It’s a small world, isn’t it?” he asked, as if he’d read her mind. That uniform…those eyes…as if he could delve into her psyche, see all her dirty little secrets. She had yet to recover from her episode with Rob, and here she was, lusting after a virtual stranger. Just as she’d feared. Overnight, she had plunged herself into a cesspool of sexuality.

  “Looks like you’ve been having fun up until now,” he said lightly, gesturing to her Elm’s shopping bags.

  In her case, fun always led to misfortune. From now on, fun was her red flag: If fun, then cease and desist.

  “Special occasion?” he asked, eyeing the hatbox.

  The man had an amazing-looking mouth. Good for…blowing whistles. “A wedding,” she croaked.

  “Yours?”

  From the size of his lopsided grin, he was trying to be funny. As if she couldn’t possibly be the bride. Had he been chatting with her mother? She pursed her mouth, suddenly feeling cranky. “No, not mine.”

  He tilted his head. “Are you sure you’re all right, ma’am?”

  “Of course,” she said, drawing back to massage her side. “That is, if you didn’t crack a rib. I’m a registered nurse, Officer Medlock, perfectly capable of administering the Heimlich maneuver to myself.”

  He gestured vaguely to her chest area. “But you weren’t doing it.”

  She inhaled, indignant. “I was calmly looking for a chair of the proper height.”

  The man appeared to be immensely amused. “Well, pardon me. Perhaps I should’ve just watched you turn blue while you looked for the right chair. Or better yet, maybe I should’ve sent you to a clinic on the other side of town.”

  Officer Ken was entirely too cocky. Smothering images her unfortunate choice of adjective conjured up, she stood and hurriedly cleared her ill-fated meal.

  “Aren’t you going to finish eating?”

  “No.” The two Toms were probably looking for her.

  “Maybe you should have a doctor check you over.”

  And she needed to talk to Rob. “Officer, I think I can make that determination for myself.” Georgia stooped to gather her bags and noticed the man had extremely large feet. Oi.

  “I’ll have to file a report on what happened here,” he said. “Should I send you a copy?”

  And be reminded of him again? And this spectacle? “No. Goodbye.”

  He inclined his head. “Ma’am.”

  His honeyed politeness only fueled her anxiety. She dragged her gaze from him and whirled toward the exit just in time for her conscience to kick in. With a chagrined sigh, Georgia turned back. “By the way, Officer, how’s the dog?”

  He crossed his arms over his chest, displacing all kinds of muscle. “The vet said he’d be fine.”

  “G-good,” she said.

  He nodded, his expression unreadable, although she got the impression he wasn’t thinking about the rescued pet.

  “Well…thanks.”

  “You’re welcome, ma’am.”
<
br />   She didn’t look back as she left the food court, but she could feel Ken Medlock’s knowing gaze upon her even after she finished her errands and arrived at her apartment. Between the uniform and his massive frame, the infuriating man packed a powerful punch of sex appeal.

  It was a good thing he was so irritating and she was so…fulfilled. Yes, fulfilled.

  When she saw the light flashing on her new message recorder, her heartbeat raced. Rob. What would he say? Was he excited by the new phase of their relationship, or had she gone too far? After a deep breath, she pushed the Play button, then jumped when a mechanical voice blasted into the stale air of her apartment.

  “Thank you for buying this Temeteck product! This is a test message to allow you to adjust the volume. Press ‘1’ if you don’t want this message to play again.”

  Georgia frowned and stabbed the “1” button. Darn it. Oh, well, it was still early. Rob would probably call later. She grabbed a bottle of water and the mail where she’d left it on the table and settled as best she could onto her hard sofa, which she was starting to despise.

  Bills, bills, and a letter from her mother. Georgia winced, but decided to get it over with. She slid her finger under the envelope flap, then removed the two pages covered with her mother’s familiar script. Same old, same old. She was extending her visit in Denver with Fannie and Fannie’s perfect family unit. They needed her, after all.

  Which meant that she didn’t, of course. Georgia had been their father’s child, Fannie their mother’s. She didn’t begrudge her sister’s seemingly charmed life and abiding happiness, but she did resent her mother’s implication that Georgia was less of a dutiful daughter for not producing an environment conducive to a visiting, meddling parent.

  As expected, the chatty letter ended with:

  P.S. I lit a candle for you at Mass on Saturday that someday you will find a man who will make you as happy as Albert makes Fannie. How is Bob?

  Georgia closed her eyes and laid her head back on the couch. Fannie had made The American Dream look so easy. She’d slighted her studies in favor of socializing and snared the son of the man who’d created some newfangled racing snow ski, ergo the lodge in Denver big enough to host the winter Olympics. Their wedding had been the social event of the year in Denver. Georgia’s bridesmaid gown had cost as much as a semester’s tuition. And their mother…Well, her happiness was cinched when the star of a nationally syndicated decorating show flew in from Los Angeles just to make the table arrangements.

  How was a little sister supposed to follow that act? She wanted all those wonderful things, too, but maybe Fannie had inherited all the husband-hunting genes. Maybe she was destined to be simply a good aunt.

  Her phone rang, an alien noise that sounded like a sick pet. Rob, finally. She yanked up the portable phone and pressed the Talk button. “Hello?”

  “Hey, it’s me,” Toni said.

  “Oh, hi.”

  “I take it from your depressed tone that Rob hasn’t yet called to, um, return the favor?”

  She sighed. “He left a message at the hospital saying he was called out of town unexpectedly, and that he would phone, but I haven’t heard from him yet.”

  “He’s probably just busy or away from a phone. Hey, what’s this about you treating a dog in the E.R.?”

  Georgia swallowed. “How much trouble am I in?”

  “A lot. What the heck happened?”

  She stood and paced the room. “A cop came running in carrying a patient wrapped in a blanket. I didn’t find out it was a dog until we were already in an exam room.”

  “So you booted out the cop, right?”

  “I tried. But when I refused to treat the dog, the guy started bandaging him up himself.”

  “So being the big-hearted person you are, you gave him a hand.”

  “I didn’t have a choice!”

  “Uh-huh. Well, I hope the guy was worth the grief you’re going to catch tomorrow.”

  She glowered. “He wasn’t.”

  “Dr. Story is liable to fire you, you know.”

  “Thank you for giving me something else to obsess about this evening.”

  “Something else? Oh, you’re worried about Rob’s reaction.”

  Georgia gasped. “I was fine until you started talking about buyer’s remorse!”

  “Well, just in case things don’t work out with Rob, is the cop single?”

  “I so completely didn’t ask.”

  “Cops are supposed to be great in bed.”

  She blinked away the image of the man’s huge feet. “I could have sworn we were talking about me being fired.”

  “Just a little trivia I thought you might be interested in.”

  Erotic visions skipped through her head—uniforms, frisking, handcuffs. “Well, I’m not.”

  “Hey, did you find a dress?”

  “Yes, the Toms practically flung it on me.”

  “Aren’t they great?”

  “I think ‘frightening’ is the word you’re looking for.”

  “But I’m sure you’ll look fabulous for Rob at the wedding.”

  “I just hope he’s back in time to go with me.”

  “Yeah, you can tell a lot about a guy by how he acts at a wedding. You’re lucky that you have the chance to expose him at this point in your relationship.”

  Georgia sighed. “I’m not so sure that Rob and I have a relationship.”

  “Well, after last night, he’s bound to make a move in one direction or another.”

  “Yeah, well, thanks again for reminding me how far out on a limb I’ve climbed.”

  “Don’t worry about Rob. Just try to get to work a few minutes early tomorrow to circumvent Dr. Story’s lecture. And dress up.”

  “I appreciate the warning. See you tomorrow.”

  She disconnected the call, feeling itchy and restless. What a lousy end to such a promising day. Waiting for Rob to call, the dog episode, the choking incident, her mother’s letter. She laughed morosely. Her mother would never have forgiven her if she’d died at the mall—well, maybe in Nordstrom’s, but certainly not in the food court.

  She closed her eyes, trying to pinpoint her unease, and Ken Medlock’s face came to her. Why did the stranger push her buttons? Because he challenged her authority? Because he made her feel inept? Because his intriguing presence mocked her decision to become more intimate with Rob?

  Rob. Such a nice man. So…predictable. Nice and predictable. The kind of man a woman could depend on to be faithful. In these days of disposable families, fidelity and trust were high on her list of characteristics in a lasting partner. Rob never looked at other women when they were out together, and he never bragged about a colorful sexual history. He was a gentleman.

  She poked her tongue into her cheek. Well, he didn’t call her “ma’am” in a rolling Southern tongue, but he was a gentleman nonetheless. Georgia tried not to dwell on the fact that while Rob never flirted with other women, he never flirted with her either. Because after last night, perhaps that part, at least, would change.

  She stared at the phone, willing him to call and end the suspense. She counted to one hundred, but it didn’t ring. She counted backward from one hundred, but it still didn’t ring. Disgusted with herself for literally waiting for the phone to ring, she picked herself up, changed to loose shorts and a T-shirt, then went for a power-walk. Hoping to fatigue her muscles enough to induce sleep, she tried to outstride her plaguing thoughts. Last night she had slept like the dead—the satisfied dead—but tonight looked doubtful.

  The exercise provided enough solitude to rehash her sudden and seemingly persistent lapses in judgment—the infamous call, jeopardizing her job, lashing out at a lawman. Around and around her mind spun, dredging up more remorse on each pass. This was why she’d always been a good girl, had always followed the rules. Because she was no good at being naughty. At this age, the most debauchery she could successfully aspire to was exhibiting bad manners.

  She returned an hour la
ter, winded and perspiring, to find her apartment almost as warm as the outdoors, and her message light flashing. With fingers crossed ridiculously, she pushed the Play button.

  “Thank you for buying this Temeteck product! This is a test message to allow you to adjust the volume. Press ‘1’ if you don’t want this message to play again.”

  She cursed and stabbed the “1” button, then stalked over to her blasted thermostat. “Eighty degrees?” she mumbled. “It’s eighty degrees in my apartment.” She turned the knob until sixty-eight appeared on the display, but when she released it, the number flashed back to eighty, and there it remained.

  Recognizing an impending breaking point, Georgia forced herself to take ten deep breaths of stale, hot air before she called the landlord. Even more irritated at not reaching a live person once she did call, she left an unladylike message about the broken thermostat.

  Under the rush of a cool shower, she leaned into the wall and allowed the water to run over her neck and shoulders until she felt somewhat refreshed. More than anything, she needed food in her stomach and a good night’s sleep. In the morning, she’d have a better perspective on today’s unsettling events.

  But when her eyes were still as big as silver dollars at two in the morning, Georgia remembered the old saying about a clear conscience being the softest pillow.

  She rolled onto her side and stared at the cordless phone, working her mouth back and forth in thought. Suddenly, the answer came to her. She would call Rob and leave a message of apology on his machine for him to listen to when he arrived home. She’d been too forward, and she’d made them both uncomfortable. They could start over.

  Georgia reached for the phone and pressed the speed dial button.

  8

  KEN’S BEDROOM was as hot as a boiler room on the sun. The apartment manager had promised his building was next on the list for cooling system repairs, but the entire city was under siege. He threw his legs over the side of the waterbed, then felt his way to the window and propped it open with a book in a futile attempt to catch a breeze.