Jack shook his finger. "Don't invite strange men back to your apartment until you know what you're dealing with."
She stood erect and saluted. "Sir, yes, sir." Lana pretended to click her tennis shoe heels together, then returned to her apartment for her purse and coat. But she was immensely troubled by the fact that equal to the relief for her safety, she felt a curious sense of loss. She had sensed a connection between herself and Greg Healey, darn it, and had been looking forward to a new friendship. Before he'd gone and ruined it all with that kiss of his.
Lana slipped her coat off Harry's shoulder, then angled her head at him. "I think we should make a pact, Harry old boy. If I haven't found a decent man by the time I'm ninety-five, and you still have air left in you, what say we tie the knot?"
He stared at her with a big permanent grin.
"Oh, good grief, don't tell me you're gay." She sighed, tracing her finger around the lock of brown hair printed on his wide forehead. "I don't blame you—the man was rather extraordinary looking, wasn't he?"
Harry's big vacant eyes looked at her pityingly.
"I know, I'm getting desperate." She laughed ruefully. "It must be the holidays. Just don't tell anyone, okay?" Lana planted a kiss on his plastic cheek and walked out the door, trying to salvage her attitude. She wasn't about to give Greg Healey the satisfaction of ruining her day—not when so many other things were vying for that special honor.
GREG'S LINGERING INCREDULITY over his encounter with Lana Martina weighted his foot on the accelerator. The black Porsche coupe responded well to his frustration, gripping the curves of the winding driveway leading to the three-story house where he'd spent the majority of his life. His father had ordered that the sprawling structure on Versailles Road
be constructed from genuine limestone mined from fertile Kentucky ground. The Healey homestead was a virtual fortress, and would be standing long after the family name died out.
And that would, quite possibly, happen fairly soon, since perpetuating the Healey name depended on his or Will's producing offspring. His parents had intended that the rooms be filled with grandchildren and great-grandchildren, but they hadn't counted on Greg's opposition to marriage, or on Will's special problems.
Flanked by towering hardwoods standing leafless but proud, the house never failed to lift his spirits. Until now. Now all he wanted was to take a shower, rinse his stinging eyes, and change his clothing that reeked of musty carpet.
The woman could certainly defend herself, he conceded. Almost as well as she could kiss. Not that it mattered, since she was a tease and a nut. He couldn't imagine how much that woman would have messed with Will's mind.
Spotting a large package by the front door, he parked in front of the four-car garage and made his way around the sweeping sidewalk to the main entrance. He caught a glimpse of his disheveled self in the glass of the doors and was glad their housekeeper, Yvonne, was away visiting her brother for a couple of days, or else she'd give him the third degree about his appearance and his impromptu trip home in the middle of the day.
But when he realized that the carton contained the saddle he'd ordered for Will for Christmas, he was almost glad for the incident; otherwise Will might have seen the box. Almost being the operative word, considering the bruises Coffee Girl had inflicted upon his person and his pride. Still, Greg admitted with a wry smile as he wrestled the box inside the door, it would be nice to surprise his brother for once.
"Whatcha got, Gregory?"
His brother's voice startled him so badly he nearly dropped the carton in the foyer. "Jesus, Will, I wasn't expecting you to be here."
Will held up a thick sandwich. "I forgot to pack my lunch this morning. Want some help?"
"No, that's okay—"
With his free arm, Will took the box from him as if it were a bale of goose down. "Is it a new telescope?"
Greg blinked. He hadn't thought of his broken telescope in months, and it had come up twice today, once with Miss Looney Tunes, and now with Will. "Er, yeah, it is," he lied, glad the return address label of Cloak's Saddlery had gone unnoticed.
"Good. I'll take it upstairs for you," Will said, hoisting the box to his shoulder while nonchalantly taking a bite out of the sandwich.
Greg followed, shaking his head. He himself was a big man, but Will's stocky frame was solid muscle from his strenuous job on Kelty's stud farm that bordered their property. The gentle giant carried the carton to Greg's suite and deposited it in a closet, none the wiser that he'd just stowed his own gift.
Greg envied his brother sometimes—working outdoors, doing what he loved—and today was one of those times. Tugging on his tie, he suddenly dreaded returning to that damnable corner office. As far as he was concerned, the Hyde Parkland rezoning proposal couldn't be approved soon enough. He entertained a moment of vindictive pleasure at the knowledge that Lana Martina would be out of a job—she'd regret she hadn't earned that four hundred dollars when she'd had the chance.
"Gregory, your eye is bruised. Did someone hit you?" Will leaned close for a better look.
He sighed and ran a hand over his eye, wishing he could think of a good lie. But Will had to know how risky the singles scene could be. "I met Coffee Girl this morning."
His brother's eyes lit up. "You did?"
He hadn't told Will for this very reason—he hadn't wanted to give him false hope.
"Yes," Greg said, unbuttoning his sleeves. "She attacked me and sprayed hair spray in my eyes."
Will's head jutted forward. "Why?"
"Because she's—" At the wide-eyed innocence on his brother's face, he stopped and nodded toward a leather club chair. "Have a seat while I wash up, huh, buddy?"
"Okay."
Greg walked into the adjoining bathroom, stripped his shirt and flushed his eyes with handfuls of cool, soothing water. Sure enough, he'd gotten a shiner when he'd hit a wall—which wall, he wasn't sure. Pressing a towel against his tender eyelids, he nearly groaned in blessed relief. Meanwhile his mind raced as he tried to decide how many details about the encounter he should divulge to Will. Guilt churned in his stomach when he realized that his promise to help Will meet a girl had fled his mind as soon as he set eyes on Lana Martina. In hindsight, he'd gotten exactly what he deserved for being so pettily distracted from his goal.
"Are you okay, Gregory?"
He walked back into the bedroom, drying his face with the towel. "Yeah, I'm okay."
"So why did Coffee Girl attack you?" Will sat on the edge of his seat, wringing his big hands.
Greg dropped onto the side of his bed and slipped off his shoes. "Will, Coffee Girl isn't the woman for you."
His face fell. "Why not?"
"She's a…" A lovely, bubbly, bright light whose medication wore off mid-kiss. "She's a…um…" The only woman who'd ever managed to kick up his libido and kick his ass. He sighed, fidgeting.
His brother stood abruptly. "You told her I was s-slow, and she doesn't want to meet me."
Feeling morose, Greg stood and held out his hand. "No, Will, that's not it. In fact, I didn't even get to the point of mentioning your name."
He frowned. "Why not?"
"Trust me, buddy, this woman is…weird."
"Most people think I'm weird, Gregory."
Greg smiled. "No, I mean this lady is…" He floundered for words that would nip this whole singles ad business in the bud. "She's mentally unstable."
Will's expression was one of near fright. "Coffee Girl is crazy?"
"As a bat."
"That's too bad."
"Yeah, but I'm afraid that's the kind of desperate person who places those ads."
Will bit into his lip. "But I'm desperate, too."
"You're not desperate," Greg said, putting his arm around Will. "You're just impatient. Relax, okay?"
"Okay, Gregory. I know you'll help me find the right girl."
Greg pasted on a smile and bit his tongue to keep from saying such a girl didn't exist—for either one of them.
At last, something to really smile about. His brother loved his job, and the Keltys were good people to have given him the chance to prove himself.
"Can I look through your new telescope tonight, Gregory?"
He nodded, thinking now he had no choice but to buy a new telescope. And he gave quiet thanks that Will hadn't dwelled on Coffee Girl. After Will left, Greg showered quickly and changed into more casual clothes. He only wished he were able to dismiss Lana Martina so easily. The bizarre encounter plagued him as he jogged downstairs, and as he drove toward the science museum gift shop.
One minute she'd been enjoying the kiss as much as he, then she'd gone completely berserk. Maybe he'd simply been too assertive, or maybe—oh, hell, he'd probably never know what had caused the woman to snap.
Finally, the idea of buying a new telescope pushed troubling thoughts of Lana Martina from his mind. He called Peg to let her know he'd be late returning from lunch. "Any messages?"
"Just two, sir. The closing on the Toler building has been moved to the twenty-third. And Art Payton called about the Friday rezoning meeting for the Hyde Parkland area. He can't attend because of a family emergency, and his key managers are committed elsewhere. Wanted you to know so you could send someone else, perhaps Ms. Hughs or Mr. Weber, sir?"
He hadn't been to a rezoning meeting in ages—usually they were routine and uncontested. But his future and Will's rested on the outcome of this particular meeting, so he wanted to ensure their interests were represented. Vigorously.
"Add the meeting to my schedule, Peg. I'll go." He hung up the phone and tried on a smile. Finally, something to look forward to.
5
"THE DOCTOR WHO WRAPPED my ankle was dreamy," Annette said as she slid the tray of cranberry Danishes into place. "But he was married, darn it, with four kids."
Lana rolled her eyes at yet another chapter in Annette's manhunt. The woman was a grown-up version of Little Orphan Annie, her petite figure overwhelmed by a helmet of wild red curls. Lana typically endured the woman's nonstop chatter good-naturedly, but her own usual good mood had been compromised by an unexplainable preoccupation with the man who'd called himself Greg Healey. All last evening she'd been restless, fidgety and irritated. Even a formidable amount of cake icing eaten straight from the carton hadn't helped.
Annette sighed dramatically. "I'll never get to wear my wedding gown."
Lana bit her tongue. Everyone who knew Annette had seen the wedding gown she'd been working on for going on ten years, because she carried it around in the back of her van on a mannequin.
"Mr. Right is out there somewhere, Lana, I just know it," Annette continued. "And he's looking for me, too."
"Well, if he's looking for you, I hope he likes coffee."
"From your mouth to God's ear. Hey, speaking of looking, have you found a roommate?"
Lana's laugh was as dry as yesterday's biscotti. "No, but I found a certified weirdo."
The pastry chef's eyes lit up curiously. "What happened?"
"A guy came in yesterday and said he was here about the ad. I asked him if he met all the requirements, meaning was he gay, and he said yes. He seemed all right, maybe a little stuffy, but definitely good-looking. But when I took him to see the apartment, he made a pass at me, right in the bedroom!"
Annette's face had gone totally white.
Lana laughed. "Oh, don't worry—I shot his eyes full of hair spray. But it was all very bizarre."
"Was his name Greg something-or-other?"
A tiny alarm went off in Lana's brain. "Do you know him?"
Annette touched a hand to her forehead. "Lana…oh my goodness, I completely forgot. A guy called about the singles ad I put in the paper, and I told him to meet me here yesterday at eleven a.m."
Lana's throat tightened—the timing was right. "You're running singles ads now?"
Annette nodded, her face red.
She gripped the counter. "What did your ad say, exactly?"
While Annette scrambled to find the magazine, Lana's mind swirled with the implication of a missed connection.
"Here it is," Annette said, smoothing the page on the counter. "'Lexington, Kentucky: Single female in mid-twenties seeking single male for good times. Horse lover a plus. I'm a good cook. Coffee Girl.'"
"Coffee Girl?" Lana murmured, remembering the man's puzzling enquiry.
"I thought it fit," Annette said with a sheepish shrug. "And I thought meeting in a public place was a good idea."
She had to sit down to sort through it all—while ignoring the tiny thrill that he'd mistaken her for someone in her mid-twenties. "You mean this guy I thought was answering my roommate ad was actually answering your singles ad?"
"I'm sorry, Lana. With going to the doctor and all, I forgot that I asked him to meet me here." She leaned in close. "But you said he was cute?"
Lana barely heard Annette as snatches of her conversation with Greg Healy came back to her and she realized how incriminating her words had been. She closed her eyes and managed a small hysterical laugh. He must have thought she was propositioning him. And being a red-blooded male, he'd accepted.
Then Lana froze as his other comments floated back to her. She swallowed a lump of mortification that lodged in her throat. Holy hooker! The man thought she was propositioning him, all right—for money.
"Lana," Annette said loudly, yanking her back to the present.
"Huh?"
The redhead's eyes glowed with hope. "You said he was cute?"
"I…guess so. But he made a pass at me, remember?"
"Well, you took him back to your apartment!"
"Yeah, but…if he were a decent guy, he wouldn't have gone!"
Annette's mouth was grim. "You're absolutely right. Any guy who would be that forward wouldn't be willing to wait until the wedding night, would he?"
Another one of Annette's romantic fantasies—that her gentleman prince would be willing to wait until their wedding night before consummating their relationship. Lana remembered Greg Healey's hot kiss, the split-second hardness of his sex against her thigh. "Er, no, he didn't strike me as the waiting type."
"Oh well, I'm just relieved that nothing bad happened. Thanks, Lana, for weeding out another loser."
Lana smirked. "That's me, the jerk strainer."
Annette grinned. "I'll bet he got more than he bargained for when he made that pass."
Lana returned a weak smile.
"Well, I'd better unload the rest of the doughnuts before the doors open."
When Annette exited to the back room, Lana rubbed her breastbone. Her internal organs had begun behaving strangely at the news that Greg Healey might not be the pervert she had originally thought. She swallowed hard, realizing that maybe Mr. Healey wasn't the only one who'd gotten more than he bargained for when he'd made that pass.
The alien sensation stayed with her throughout the day. Business was good due to a college sports conference going on downtown, and she found herself watching the door for the appearance of Greg Healey's tall, broad figure. It was silly, she knew, because the only reason the guy would come back would be to sue her for blinding him.
Her neighbor Jack's comments came back to her, and she idly wondered if this Greg Healey was the same rich SOB bachelor Jack used to know, after all. But if what Jack said was true, the Greg Healey he knew would be even less prone to answer a singles ad than an ad for a roommate.
She frowned. Unless the man simply shopped the singles ads for sex.
Her opinion of him continued to flip-flop. Lana even debated whether she should try to contact him and explain the misunderstanding. But she suspected he wouldn't find the situation quite so humorous.
No, better to let sleeping dogs lie. She'd lived in Lexington most of her adult life and had crossed paths with Greg Healey once. The chances of it happening again were astronomical.
Of course, when
she arrived home that night, it occurred to her that he knew where she lived. She would certainly feel better if she'd found a roommate, but she'd had no luck.
"You're too picky," Alex chided her when she came over that night to bring a velvet footstool she said she didn't want to haul to the new house. "And you should be careful about who you let in your apartment."
Lana sighed. "I suppose Jack told you what happened yesterday?"
"We have no secrets."
"Are you interested in hearing the rest of the story?"
Alex sat down on the yellow couch. "Absolutely."
Lana dropped onto the blue beanbag chair and watched as little foam balls went flying out of the tired seams. "The guy actually thought he was meeting someone who placed a singles ad."
Alex squinted. "Hmm?"
"My pastry chef, Annette, placed a singles ad and asked the guy to meet her at the coffee shop."
Her friend's eyes widened. "And he thought you were—"
"—looking for more than a roommate when I invited him up to see the apartment."
"Oh, that's hysterical."
"Oh, yeah, I'm still laughing about it," she said, rolling her eyes.
Alex tilted her head. "Wait a minute—why aren't you laughing? Did this guy scare you more than you're letting on?"
"Oh, no. He backed off as soon as I put up resistance."
"What is it, then?"
She laid her head back, wishing she could put her finger on this elusive unease. "It's nothing."
Alex gasped. "I don't believe it. You actually liked this guy, didn't you."
Lana lifted her head. "Are you insane?"
But her friend wore the most infuriatingly triumphant expression.
"That's it! You dig this Greg Healey." She clasped her hands together. "I'll have Jack call him up and—"
"Oh, no, you won't," Lana warned, shaking her finger. "I do not like this guy. I just…don't like the idea of him thinking I'm…loose."
"But he doesn't even know you."
"He knows my name and where I work and where I live. God only knows how many people he could tell."
Alex arched an eyebrow. "You practically beat him up. I'd say the man has as much incentive to keep it quiet as you do."
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