by Donna Ball
Casey nodded soberly. "I've had a run in or two with the good Mrs. Crebs myself. When a person won't listen to reason there's not much you can do—although I've long been in favor of bringing back public flogging." He sipped his beer. "The SPCA has closed her down twice, but never for long. People like that always manage to bounce back."
"But there's got to be something you can do!"
His smile was brief and dry. "Like what? A commando raid to free the kitties?"
Lyn hesitated, but she could not share his smile. "No," she mumbled miserably. "I guess not." It was none of her business anyway. She had saved the dog, hadn't she? That was enough largess for one day on the part of a woman who had made it her credo not to get involved. And look what that had gotten her: one ragtag, fearful, quivering dog who only liked her when she fed him hotdogs. .And now it was beginning to look as though she was stuck with him. No, the cats were definitely none of her business. There was no point in worrying about it for another minute.
Casey was watching her, as though he expected her to say something else. When she didn't, he turned to look back at Rabbit's kennel and commented, "He looks like he might have a little border collie in him."
Lyn looked at him hopefully. "Is that good?"
"It's not bad," he admitted. "But don't get your hopes up. You've heard the expression 'worthless dog'? I think you've got a living example."
It was foolish of Lyn to take insult at that. He wasn't her dog, after all. "Didn't I hear somewhere that there are no bad dogs, only bad masters?" Then she shook her head briskly, as though to clear it. "What am I saying? I don't even like dogs!"
"I've got another old saying for you," Casey said. "'You save a dog's life, and you're responsible for it forever.'"
Lyn frowned. "I never heard that one before."
"I read it in a fortune cookie."
"I can't take that dog home. I don't even have a home, and Pat would kill me. Casey, are you sure you can't..."
She looked at him hopefully, but he shook his head. "Sorry."
She peeled back the tab of her beer with a vicious gesture. "You are the most stubborn, insensitive man I've ever met," she muttered.
He said, "I'm glad you came over today."
She looked at him and he was smiling at her, a gentle, pervasive smile that caused a tickling in the back of her throat and made her feel warm all over. She lowered her eyes quickly to avoid the power of that smile, but she couldn't stop herself from asking, somewhat huskily, "Why?"
"Because I missed you." He reached across the distance between their two chairs and caught her hand. Her fingers were cold from contact with the beer can, but quickly thawed beneath his warm, callused touch.
"How could you miss me?" She tried to keep her tone playful, but couldn't prevent a small catch in her throat as his index finger traced a titillating pattern along the center of her palm. "You've only known me for a few days."
"I know what I like. But I already told you that, didn't I?"
Lyn didn't know how to respond to that. His words made her feel excited and girlish; her heart started pumping with an irregular rhythm and the warmth of his hand around hers spread with sweet slowness through her veins. But she wasn't a girl; she was a twenty-eight-year-old woman with far too many complications in her life to get involved with this man.
Gently she extracted her hand from his and took a sip of the beer. She said casually, "Rabbit looks a lot better. That shampoo you used really helped. I should pay you for it—and the eye drops, and vitamins."
His tone was as casual as hers. "No charge."
She insisted, "You don't get the medicine free, do you?"
"No," he admitted.
"Then I'll pay."
He lifted the beer can to his lips. "Suit yourself. But it's expensive."
"All the more reason. How much?"
Casey imagined that, in all the history of the world, there had never been a man who worked so hard to get something he did not want. But he couldn't seem to help himself. He didn't want Lyn Sanders in his life, but for the past three days he hadn't been able to think about anything except how to see her again. If she hadn't come over today he would have gone to her, which only proved how ill equipped he was to handle the effect she had on him. Now she was here, and he had no intention of letting the chance slip by.
So he smiled and said, "About three afternoons a week."
"What?"
His expression was perfectly innocent as he looked at her. "I still need some help around here. And you never did give me an answer about that job."
"Oh, for heaven's—!" She broke off in exasperation and set her beer on the plant stand at her elbow. "I gave you an answer—no, remember? Or isn't that word in your vocabulary?"
"As a matter of fact, I'm very familiar with that word. And if I weren't, I would have learned all I need to know about it since I met you."
"Then why do you keep asking me to work for you? There must be lots of more qualified—or at least willing—people you could get. Why me?"
"Reduced to its simplest terms?" He appeared to think about that for a moment. "Because it's an obvious solution to a clear problem. You need something to do, I've got something that needs doing."
"I don't—" she interrupted, but he held up a hand for silence.
"And because," he added, "I want to see more of you." His eyes met hers with quiet honesty, stripping away the power of her retort. "My life is crowded, Lyn. I've been working since five-thirty this morning and I'll still be working at eleven-thirty tonight... which doesn't leave much time left over for a social life. A lot of living things depend on me and I can't just put them on hold because a woman with big gray eyes and curly red hair sweeps me off my feet, now can I?"
She fought the smile he was trying to coax from her. "So it's like killing two birds with one stone?"
He winced. "I guess I have to admit that's not the most romantic thing I've ever said."
"I certainly hope not."
Then he was serious again. "I don't want to hire you, Lyn. I just want to be with you. If this doesn't work, I'll think of something else. But I won't give up."
It was risky, saying that to her, even admitting it to himself. He couldn't believe he had done it. Would she understand what he was really offering her? A relationship with limits, no promises, nothing serious. Definitely nothing serious. But Lyn didn't want a heavy involvement any more than he did; of course she understood.
After all, she would be leaving soon. They both knew exactly what to expect from each other.
She stood and walked toward the edge of the porch to hide the smile that had finally broken through. "If that was Plan A," she murmured, "I'm not sure I want to know what Plan B is."
"Does that mean you accept?"
She clasped her hands behind her back, looking at Rabbit, who was sleeping peacefully in the safety of his wire kennel. "Maybe," she mused, "if I could get him spruced up, and teach him a few tricks, someone might want to adopt him. Maybe you could help me."
"Maybe," he agreed, albeit cautiously.
"Of course, I'd have to do it before Pat got home."
"That I can't promise you."
She said, "Do I really sweep you off your feet?"
She turned cautiously, not knowing quite what to expect. He was smiling, and he extended his hands to her. "Yes," he said softly. "You sweep me off my feet. Come here."
She hesitated, then put her hands in his. He drew her close, with a gentle insistent pressure, until she was standing between his knees. Then he lifted his hands to her hips and urged her downward to sit on his thigh. His eyes were close, summer-soft, as deep as a hidden forest glade. She understood his mesmeric power over animals. His essence went through her in hypnotic waves, and he held her captive.
He said, "Why are you fighting this so hard, Lyn? Why can't you just relax and let things happen?"
She didn't know whether he meant the job, or the relationship. She thought he meant both. And she thought he also
knew the answer—because it wasn't just a job that she didn't need and didn't want. It wasn't just seeing him two or three times a week, playing with the animals and getting dirty. It was a relationship. He had managed to make it a package deal, and that was what she had known from the beginning. That was what she was fighting.
She rested her hands on his arms, dropping her eyes. "Because," she said, "I'm not—good at this. I don't seem to be able to do anything right lately, everything I touch turns to mud. This whole thing is a bad idea, and you're going to be sorry you ever asked me."
His hand stroked her back lightly, sweet, soothing caresses that melted through her muscles. He answered softly, "I'm hardly ever sorry about anything I do."
She lifted her eyes to him, her voice barely above a whisper. "Because you're always right?" . He smiled. "Because I'm always certain."
And now he was certain. This was going to be good, for both of them.
His hands slid up her spine and cupped her neck. By inches his eyes grew closer until they filled her entire vision. His breath warmed her cheek. His lips brushed hers, tasted, released, and tasted again. His mouth covered hers, and she sank into his kiss.
Every fiber in her body seemed to dissolve into him. Distant sounds faded into one glorious rush of pulsing whispers, lights and shadows strobed behind her closed eyes. His hands were strong upon her back, caressing the shape of her hip, tightening on her thigh. She drank of him, inhaling his heat and his taste, drowning in the strength and the solidity and the certainty that was Casey. How easy it would be to lose herself in him. How beautifully, terrifyingly easy...
And yet he did not press; he did not insist. The kiss ended softly, reluctantly, and he moved his hands lightly to her waist.
Lyn's arms were looped around his neck; she dropped her forehead to his shoulder, struggling to moderate her breathing. She said after a moment, "Why—did you do that? You shouldn't... keep doing that."
She felt, rather than saw, his smile. "Then tell me to stop."
But she couldn't. He knew she couldn't. There was something between them, a chemistry she couldn't explain, and once it was ignited was not easily extinguished. She shouldn't have come here today. She should go home now and forget this had ever happened. She should most certainly never see him again.
She stiffened her elbows in preparation for rising, and sat up straight. Her voice was only a little shaky. "I'm going home now."
He guided her to her feet, and stood beside her. "Will I see you tomorrow?"
She opened her mouth to say no, but ended up nodding her head affirmatively.
He smiled, stroking her cheek. "Good.”
"No. It's not good." She took a breath, and released it in a helpless sigh. "Oh, Casey. I think you're the worst" thing that could have happened to me."
He threaded his fingers through her hair, and he bent to kiss her cheek. The gentle warmth of his eyes fell over her like sunshine as he suggested, "Or the best."
After a moment, she managed a weak smile. She wished she could believe that. But she didn't.
************
SIX
It was a quarter till eleven two nights later when Lyn marched up the steps to Casey's house and knocked firmly on the door. Her palms were sweaty and her throat was dry but she did not back down. It had taken her two days to work up the courage; two days of fuming and fretting and two nights of lying awake wrestling with her conscience and she was not going to put herself through that anymore. Tonight, for better or worse, she was taking a stand.
Casey's lights were still on, and it didn't take him long to answer the door.
"How much money do you have?" she demanded abruptly.
His first surprised welcome faded into a twinkle of amusement, and he leaned back against the doorjamb, folding his arms. "And here I was thinking all this time it was my body you wanted."
Lyn was too agitated to respond to that, though at another time she might have been tempted. He was in his bare feet, wearing denim shorts and a short-sleeved shirt that was unbuttoned over his bare chest. Lyn could have spent a great deal of time looking at that leanly muscled, tanned chest with the intriguing pattern of light hair that spread across his breast muscles, but she forcefully jerked her eyes away. She couldn't get sidetracked now. She couldn't afford to lose her nerve.
She repeated, "How much?"
The amusement in his eyes became mitigated with curiosity. "Not enough, I'll bet. Would you like to come in and tell me why you ask?"
Lyn strode past him and into the living room. A cat pounced playfully at her shoes and she picked it up, holding it briefly against her cheek. Any possibility of losing her resolve was gone then, just as she knew it would be. She felt stronger, just being here.
She turned back to Casey, "I'm going to go over to Mrs. Crebs's house and free those kittens," she told him, holding the cat against her chest defiantly. "It's what somebody should have done a long time ago." And, at his slightly lifted eyebrow she rushed on, "I've been calling her all day and she's gone, Casey. I'll bet you everything I own she didn't find anybody to take care of those poor animals—she just probably filled a trough with cat food and left them. Why should she care if half of them are dead when she gets back—she's got nothing invested in them! So I figured if something's going to be done it's got to be now, while she's away, and while the cats still have a chance."
The amusement in his eyes would have been maddening if Lyn had not been so worked up by her own passion she didn't care. He said, "I thought you weren't going to get involved."
She was holding the cat against her chest too tightly, and it squirmed to be let down. She defended, "Animals are different. They can't take care of themselves. And besides... oh, what difference does it make? You were right, okay? 1 can't not get involved!"
She expected more teasing, and she probably deserved it. But Casey merely smiled and said, "Good for you." Then, "So where does the money come in?"
This was the embarrassing part. "Well, I didn't want to be accused of stealing, so I thought if I left her some money it wouldn't technically be theft... all she cares about is money anyway. But," she admitted, "I only have about seventy-five dollars, and that's not very much, is it, for twenty purebred cats? So I thought if you could..."
She trailed off, realizing how absurd the whole thing sounded. "Never mind," she said, "it's a crazy idea. I mean, this isn't your problem and I understand if you don't want to get involved. But I really would appreciate the use of your van for a couple of hours."
He looked at her thoughtfully. "You could use more than that."
"Like common sense?"
"Like a good lawyer. You do realize of course that what you're planning is breaking and entering, and last I heard that was against the law. What if you get caught?"
Lyn swallowed hard. Did he think she hadn't thought of that? Did he think she wasn't scared to death? But she met his eyes boldly and replied, "I'll just have to be careful not to get caught."
Casey looked at her for a long moment. "And you want me to drive the getaway car?''
She exclaimed, "Oh, Casey, would you?"
A rueful smile tugged his lips. "Well, it wouldn't be very chivalrous of me to let you go to jail by yourself, would it?"
"Oh, Casey, I knew you'd understand! Thank you!"
"Don't thank me yet. So far all I've done is agree to help you commit a felony. Hold on, let me get my shoes."
"Casey?"
He turned back.
She said hesitantly, "What about the money?"
He made a dismissing gesture. "Forget that. I've got something better."
"What?"
He grinned and tossed over his shoulder, "Influence."
They made one stop before Mrs. Crebs's house, and when Lyn questioned him, Casey replied only that he had to "see an old friend for a minute." He returned less than five minutes later and offered no further explanation, and Lyn, whose anxiety level had risen almost beyond tolerance point, didn't pry. She only wante
d to get this over with.
They pulled up on the quiet neighborhood street that ran in front of the Crebses' house, and Casey, with typical brashness, parked right beneath a street light. Lyn looked around nervously. "Don't you think it would be better if we picked a darker spot?"
"We've got to be able to see what we're doing," Casey reminded her. He made no effort to muffle the slamming of the van door as he got out. "There's no point in rescuing the cats if we just lose them in the dark.”
Lynn had to concede the logic in that, but she shushed him loudly as he flung open the back of the van and began rummaging around between the animal cages, making a great deal of noise. "Do you want the neighbors to hear us? Someone's going to call the police!"
Casey brought out a sturdy crowbar and Lyn looked at it in dismay. Until that moment she had given very little thought to exactly how they were going to get into the house. "I was kind of hoping," she ventured, "after the way you opened my car door...well, that you knew something about jimmying house locks, too."
He shrugged. "Why waste the time?"
She was growing alarmed. "But—I don't have a key, and I didn't really want to do any damage."
He looked at her patiently. "Look, you can't just politely break into someone's house and steal their property. Now, if you want to call it off..."
For just a moment Lyn wavered. She looked uneasily around to the neighbors' houses, then up the dark driveway to their intended target. She, Lyn Sanders, a common criminal. But if she cared enough about something to right a wrong, she cared enough to accept the consequences. And she did care. It had been a long time since she'd felt this kind of passionate commitment to a cause stir inside her, and it was a little frightening. But it was also thrilling.
She met Casey's eyes and shook her head firmly. "No," she said, "I don't want to call it off."
He reached forward and slipped his fingers behind her neck. Drawing her to him, he kissed her hard on the lips. Lyn barely had time to catch her breath before he released her, and she stumbled back a little, staring at him.
