Savour the Moment tbq-3

by Nora Roberts

  “Of course you did. Well, tell Mal I’ll see him at poker night.”

  “Hmm. Come to dinner next week.” She stepped out of the car. “We’ll do a big family dinner. I’ll check everyone’s schedule and let you know what night’s best if you’re open.”

  “I can be open. Hey, Parker. You look pretty.”

  She smiled. “Just keep your eyes off my shoes.” She shut the door on his laugh and walked into the office.

  The frazzled woman with the orange hair and green-framed cheaters sat behind the counter and gave Parker a little come-ahead as she talked on the phone. A few discreet inquiries had given Parker the info that the woman was Malcolm’s mother.

  Not that it mattered, particularly. She just liked to know who she was dealing with.

  “That’s right, tomorrow afternoon. After two. Look, buddy, the part just got here, and the boy’s only got two hands.” She rolled sharp green eyes—the same shade as her son’s—at Parker while she chugged from a bottle of Dr Pepper. “Do you want it fast or do you want it right? He told you it’d take a day once the part showed up. I heard him myself. Maybe you oughta buy American. If it’s ready sooner, I’ll call you. Best I can do. Yeah, you have a real good day. Dickhead,” she added when she’d hung up.

  “Everybody thinks the world revolves around them,” she said to Parker. “Everybody’s the center of the freaking universe.”

  Then she sighed, then she smiled—a singularly sweet smile. “You look real fresh and pretty.”

  “Thank you. I’m meeting a client.”

  “I got your bill right here. Got it together and printed it out after you called. I’m getting the hang of this damn computer.”

  Parker remembered their first meeting and Mrs. Kavanaugh’s frustration. “They do save time once you figure out the program.”

  “Well, it’s only taking me half again as long as it would to just write it out rather than three times that like it used to. Here you go.”

  “Great.” Parker stepped up to look it over.

  “I knew your ma a little.”

  “Oh?”

  “You got the look of her some, now that I put it together. She was a real lady. The kind that doesn’t have to act snooty to be one.”

  “She’d have appreciated that exact description.” Satisfied with the bill, Parker took out her credit card. “I think you know Maureen Grady, too. She’s run the house, and us, as long as I remember.”

  “Yeah, I know her some. I guess if you’re around Greenwich long enough, you know most everybody. My boy plays poker with your brother.”

  “He does,” Parker agreed, and signed the credit slip. “In fact, Del dropped me off. He said to tell Malcolm he’d see him on poker night.”There, she thought, duty discharged.

  “You can tell him yourself,” she said as Malcolm walked in from the side garage door, wiping his hands on a red bandanna.

  “Ma, I need you to ...” He paused, slowly smiled. “Hey. Nice.”

  “Ms. Brown here’s just picking up her car.” His mother took the keys, and to Parker’s dismay tossed them to Malcolm, who caught them one-handed. “Walk her on out there.”

  “It’s not necessary. I just—”

  “Part of the service.” Mal walked to the front door of the office, held it open.

  “Thanks, Mrs. Kavanaugh. It was nice to see you again.”

  “Come back anytime.”

  “Really,” Parker began once they were outside, “I’m in kind of a hurry, so—”

  “Got a date?”

  “A meeting.”

  “Shame to waste that dress on business, but we’ll get you there.”

  He smelled of his work, which wasn’t nearly as unpleasant as she’d assumed it would be. His jeans had a hole in the knee and grease stains on the thigh. She wondered if he wore a black T-shirt because it wouldn’t show the stains.

  His hair was nearly as dark and left to fall any way it chose around his sharply defined face. He hadn’t shaved, she noted, but the result made him look more dangerous than scruffy.

  “You’ve got a nice ride.” He jingled her keys in his hand, his eyes on her face when they reached her car. “And you take care of it. We detailed it on us since it’s your first service, but I couldn’t’ve charged you anyway. You keep your baby clean and polished.”

  “Tools work better when they’re taken care of.”

  “Words to live by Most people don’t. So, what’s after the meeting?”

  “Sorry? Oh ... errands, and work.”

  “You ever not have meetings, errands, and work?”

  “Rarely.” She knew when a man was hitting on her, but couldn’t remember the last time it had flustered her. “I really need those keys.The car won’t start without them.”

  He dropped them into her open palm. “If you hit one of those rare times, give me a call. I’ll take you out in my ride.”

  While she tried to think of a response, he jerked a thumb. She followed the direction to a big, burly, gleaming motorcycle.

  “I don’t think so. I really don’t think so.”

  He only smiled. “If you change your mind, you know how to reach me.” He waited a beat while she got into the car. “It’s the first time I’ve seen you with your hair down. It goes with the dress.”

  “Um.” Jesus, Parker, she thought, what has tied your tongue into a knot? “Thanks for the work.”

  “Back at you.”

  She shut the door, turned the key, and with a genuine sense of relief drove away. The man, she decided, just threw her off balance.

  IT WAS SILLY, LAUREL TOLD HERSELF, AND HAD TO BE HANDLED. Ignoring Del and his childish game had seemed like a good idea initially, but the more she chewed on it, the more it seemed ignoring it could be construed as avoidance.That gave him the upper hand, which would never do.

  She kept her plan—such as it was—to herself. Since she wasn’t needed at rehearsal, it limited contact with her friends, and the temptation to share. She kept to her kitchen, making the cream filling and buttercream frosting for Saturday afternoon’s Summer Strawberry cake. She checked her board and her timing, and tried not to feel guilty about sneaking out of her own house.

  She pulled off her apron, then cursed. She wasn’t going over to Del’s to face this situation all sweaty and mussed. Cleaning up didn’t equal fussing.

  She took the back stairs, slipped into her own wing to shower off the day. Putting makeup on wasn’t fussing either. It was just basic grooming. And she liked wearing earrings. She was entitled to wear earrings and a nice top, wasn’t she? It wasn’t a crime to want to look her best, whatever the circumstances.

  Refusing to argue with herself any longer, she took the back steps again with the idea of getting out without being seen. She’d be home, she assured herself, before anyone noticed she was gone.

  “Where are you off to?”

  Busted. “Ah.” She turned to see Mrs. Grady in the kitchen garden. “I just have something to do. A little something to do.”

  “Well, I guess you’d better go do it. That’s a new shirt isn’t it?”

  “No.Yes. Sort of.” She

  hated feeling the heat of guilt creeping up the back of her neck. “There’s no point in buying a shirt and not wearing it.”

  “None at all,” Mrs. Grady said placidly. “Run along then, and have fun.”

  “I’m not going to ... Never mind. I won’t be long.” She circled around the house toward her car. An hour, tops, then she’d—

  “Hi. Heading out?”

  Oh, for Christ’s sake, it was like having a community of parents. She worked up a smile for Carter. “Yeah. I just have a thing. I’m coming right back.”

  “Okay. I’m going to beg a casserole from Mrs. G. We’ll be defrosting later, if you’re interested.”

  “Thanks, but I grabbed a salad before. Enjoy.”

  “We will.You look nice.”

  “So what?” She shook her head. “Sorry, sorry Distracted. Gotta go.” She jumped in
the car before she ran into anyone else.

  As she sped away, it occurred to her she should’ve gone to Del’s during the day, when he’d be gone. She knew where the spare key was hidden, and had his alarm code. Except he probably changed it regularly, as that was the safe thing to do. Still, she could’ve risked it, and gotten inside, found her shoes. Left

  him a note, she thought. Now

  that would’ve been clever.

  Too late now But he might not be home, she considered. He had an active social life—friends, clients, dates. Seven thirty on a pretty summer evening? Yes, he probably had a hot date—drinks, dinner, debauchery. She could get in, find the shoes, leave him a funny note.

  Dear shoenapper: We escaped and have informed the FBI. A tactical team is on the way. The Pradas.

  He’d laugh, she decided. He didn’t like to lose—who did?—but he’d laugh. And that would be the end of that.

  As long as she didn’t set off the alarm and end up calling him to be her attorney of record. Think positive, she advised herself and warmed up to the new plan as she drove.

  And imagined it falling like a bad soufflй when she spotted his car in the drive.

  Oh well, back to Plan A.

  He had a great house, one she’d admired since he’d had it built. Probably too big for one man, but she understood the need for space. She knew Jack had designed it with very specific requirements from Del. Not too traditional, but not too modern, lots of light, lots of room. And the sprawl of river stone, the pitch of the triple roofs had a kind of casual elegance that suited the owner.

  And she was stalling, she admitted.

  She got out of the car, walked straight to the front door, and rang the bell.

  She shifted from one foot to the other, tapped her hand on her knee. Nerves, she realized. For God’s sake she was nervous about seeing a man she’d known her entire life. One she’d fought with and played with. They’d even been married a couple of times—when Parker had nagged, bribed, or blackmailed him into playing Groom in their Wedding Day games as kids. Now she had the jitters.

  That made her a wuss, she decided. She hated being a wuss.

  She punched the bell again, harder.

  “Sorry, you were so quick, and I was just ...” Del, shirt open over a chest where a few drops of water glimmered, hair dark with damp, stopped, cocked his head. “And you’re not the delivery guy from the China Palace.”

  “No, and I came for ...You can’t get delivery out here from the China Palace.”

  “You can if you defended the owners’ son on possession and got him into a program instead of a cell.” He smiled, hooked a thumb in the pocket of the jeans he’d zipped but had yet to button. “Hi, Laurel. Come on in.”

  “I’m not here to visit. I’m here for my shoes.Just get them, and I’ll be gone before your shrimp fried rice gets here.”

  “I went for the sweet-and-sour pork.”

  “Good choice. My shoes.”

  “Come on in. We’ll discuss terms.”

  “Del, this is just absurd.”

  “I like some absurd now and again.” To settle the matter, he grabbed her hand, pulled her inside. “So, want a beer? I picked up some Tsingtao for the Chinese.”

  “No, I don’t want a Chinese beer. I want my shoes.”

  “Sorry, they’re in an undisclosed location until the ransom terms are determined and met. Did you know they let out this thin, high-pitched scream when you twist those skinny heels?” He fisted his hands, twisted to demonstrate. “It’s a little eerie.”

  “I know you think you’re being funny, and okay, you’re not entirely wrong. But I’ve put in a really long day. I just want my shoes.”

  “You deserve a Tsingtao after a really long day.And look, here’s dinner.Why don’t you go out back on the deck? It’s nice out. Oh, grab a couple of beers out of the fridge on your way Hey, Danny, how’s it going?”

  She could argue, Laurel thought. She could even make a scene. But neither would get her the shoes until Del was good and ready Keeping her cool, that was the ticket, she decided and, grinding her teeth only a little, started toward the kitchen. She heard Del and the delivery guy talking baseball as she walked away. Apparently somebody somewhere had pitched a no-hitter the night before.

  She turned into his spacious kitchen, washed now in the softening evening light. She knew he used the space for more than beer and take-out Chinese. He had a couple of specialties down cold—fancy little meals designed for seducing women—and had a hand with omelettes for the morning after.

  So she’d been told.

  She opened the fridge and took out a beer, and since it was there, took out one for herself. Knowing the setup here nearly as well as in her own kitchen, she opened the freezer, got out a couple of chilled pilsners. And noted a handy selection of Mrs G’s casseroles and soups in labeled containers.

  The woman fed the world.

  She was pouring the second beer when Del came in with take-out bags.

  “See, I’m having a beer. I consider that terms met. When I finish the beer, I get my shoes.”

  His look transmitted mild pity. “I don’t think you understand the situation clearly. I’ve got something you want, so I set the terms.” He stacked a couple of plates, napkins, then took two sets of chopsticks from a drawer.

  “I said I didn’t want dinner.”

  “Pot stickers.” He shook one of the bags. “You know you have a weakness.”

  He was right about that, plus anxiety combined with the scent of food stirred up her appetite. “Fine. A beer and a pot sticker.” She carried the beers out to the deck and to the table overlooking the lawn and gardens.

  The water in his pool sparkled. On the edge of its skirt stood a charming gazebo that housed a massive grill. He was known for manning it territorially when he threw a summer party where people played cutthroat boccie on the lawn and splashed in the pool.

  He entertained well, she mused. It must be in the genes.

  He came out with a tray loaded with cartons and plates. At least he’d buttoned his shirt, she noted. She wished she didn’t like his looks quite so much. She’d be able to get a handle on her emotional response if she didn’t find him so physically attractive.

  Or vice versa.

  “I figured I’d eat this with ESPN and some paperwork. This is better.” He put a place setting in front of her, opened cartons. “Rehearsal tonight, right?” He sat and began to take samples from every carton. “How’d it go?”

  “Fine, I imagine. They didn’t need me, so I did some prep for the weekend.”

  “I’ll be at the commitment ceremony Sunday,” he told her. “I went to college with Mitchell, and I wrote up their partnership contract.” He ate while she sat, sipping her beer. “So what’s the cake?”

  “Chocolate butter cake, with white chocolate mousse filling, frosted in broad strokes with fudge frosting.”

  “Triple threat.”

  “They like chocolate.All that’s offset with alternate layers of red geranium blossoms on flower foam trays. Emma’s making interlocking geranium hearts for the topper. Now should I ask about your day?”

  “No need to be bitchy”

  She sighed because he was right. “You stole my shoes,” she pointed out, and gave in to the scent of the food.

  “

  Stole is a strong word.”

  “They’re mine, you took them without permission.” She bit into a pot sticker. God, she did have a weakness.

  “How much are they worth to you?”

  “They’re just shoes, Del.”

  “Please.” He made a dismissive noise as he waved one hand. “I have a sister. I know the value you people put on footwear.”

  “Okay, okay, what do you want? Money? Baked goods? Household chores?”

  “All viable options. But this is nice for a start. You should try the sweet-and-sour.”

  “What, this is nice? This?” She nearly choked on the beer. “Like this is some kind of a date?”
<
br />   “Two people, food, drink, pretty evening. It has datelike elements.”

  “It’s a drop-in. It’s a ransom drop. It’s . . .” She stopped herself because the jitters were back. “All right, let’s clear the air. I feel I started something. Something or ...”

  “Other?” he suggested.

  “Okay, something or other. Because I was in a mood, and I acted impulsively, which caused you to reciprocate the impulse. And I see now, I certainly see knowing you, that the ‘we’re even’ remark was a gauntlet thrown.You couldn’t leave that alone, so you took my damn shoes. And now there’s Chinese and beer and the whole dusk falling light show, when we both know perfectly well you’ve never thought about me this way.”

  He considered for a moment. “That’s not accurate. An accurate statement would be I’ve tried not to think about you this way.”

  More than a little stunned she sat back. “How’d you do with that?”

  “Hmm.” He lifted a hand, turned it side to side.

  She stared at him. “Damn you, Del.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  HE COULDN’T SAY IT WAS THE REACTION HE’D EXPECTED, BUT WITH Laurel that was often the case.

  “Damn me for what, exactly?”

  “Because it’s exactly the right thing to say.You’re good at saying exactly the right thing, except when you say the completely wrong thing. But it’s usually the right thing anyway, just that I didn’t want to hear it.”

  “You should’ve been a lawyer.”

  “I’m eating another pot sticker,” she muttered.

  She’d always delighted him, he thought, except when she’d irritated him. It was probably the same thing.

  “Do you remember when we were all over at Emma’s parents’ for Cinco de Mayo?”

  “Of course I remember.” She scowled at her beer. “I had too much tequila, which is only natural under the circumstances because, hello, Cinco de Mayo.”

  “I think that’s

  hola.”

  “Har-har. You played big brother and sat with me on the front porch steps.”

  “It’s not playing big brother to have some mild concern for a friend in a tequila haze. But anyway.” He scooped some sweet-and-sour onto her plate with his chopsticks. “Earlier Jack and I were standing around, and I was scoping the crowd, the way you do.”