by Susan Union
As far as the wilderness part went, Randi agreed. Being a Colorado girl, she appreciated the local wildlife, and Rancho del Zorro was the only place near the coast she’d found with room to roam. Most of the homes in San Diego’s suburbs, especially the newer houses, had backyards hardly bigger than the bed of a pickup, but here towering trees, great-horned owls, coyotes, frogs, and roadrunners lived, for the most part, undisturbed. Twice she’d even spotted a bobcat.
Luke rounded the corner, wiping his hands on a towel. Accepting the wine bottle, he freed Randi’s fingers, allowing her to pull up her spaghetti straps. She wasn’t comfortable in this top; it was too low and showed too much boob. She should have never let her mother talk her into wearing it.
“You look stunning.”
“Thanks.” Her cheeks burned the way they always did when Luke complimented her. It seemed to be happening more and more these days—both the burn and the admiration—and much as she’d like to deny it, when she thought about Luke outside of the work environment, she got warm and tingly. Big problem. She fought it hard. She loved her job and couldn’t afford to have anything interfere with her steady paycheck. Besides, after having worked her butt off to get through the vet-tech program in Denver, she wanted her performance at his clinic to be based on her aptitude with animals— not in the bedroom. She’d seen far too many women have their careers destroyed by sleeping with the boss, and she wasn’t about to be sucked down that drain.
“What’s for dinner?” Her mother raised her nose. “It smells incredible.”
“A cowboy-style meal. Prepared by yours truly.”
“Ooh,” her mother cooed. “Do tell.”
Luke smiled and wagged his finger. “Oh no you don’t. It’s a surprise.”
“You’re such a tease!” Her mother brushed past him, rubbing her shoulder against his arm. “You unbutton that shirt one more hole and you could hike the charge for your stable calls.”
Oh Lord. Make it stop. Randi glared at her mother’s back as she trailed them into the kitchen.
Luke’s granite countertops gleamed. A rustic chandelier hung above the center island and two dishwashers flanked a farmhouse sink.
Her mother smiled. “You can’t fool me, Luke. I smell steak.”
“Good job, Lee Ann. I’m not one for keeping secrets anyway.” He put his hands together, chef-like. “Ladies, tonight on the menu we have for you: grilled flatiron steaks, baked potatoes with sour cream and butter, green beans and fresh-baked sourdough rolls. Chocolate lava cake for dessert.”
Her mother swooned. “How old are you, Luke? If you don’t mind me asking?”
“Thirty-six.”
“You ever been married?”
Luke nodded. “It didn’t work out. We were young. Too young. She still lives in Montana.”
“Kids?”
Randi tapped her toe. Her mother already knew the answer. She’d asked the same question as they came up the driveway.
“Two of them. Mason’s fifteen and Jen just turned thirteen.”
“Ooh. Teenagers. Tough.” Her mother flapped her hand like she’d burned it on something. “And now? No girlfriend?”
“Nope.” Luke shook his head. “Not at the moment.”
“You know…” Her mother winked and for a horrible second Randi was sure she was about to hear her name. “If I were ten years younger…”
“Mom!” She was relieved and horrified at the same time.
“Oh, Miranda, relax. I’m just having a little fun.”
They moved into the den, where the fireplace blazed, popping and crackling and putting out the perfect amount of heat. Luke set the wine they’d brought on the sideboard. “I thought you two might like a fire. It got chilly when the clouds rolled in.”
“Feels lovely.” Her mother settled herself on a cinnamon-colored sofa and became one with the cushions.
“What can I get you to drink?”
Her mother waved her hand. “Whatever you’re having is fine.”
“Randi?”
“Water, please.” Better not get buzzed; I might say something stupid. The last time she let her emotions do the talking, she’d asked Luke if Barbra sored her Saddlebreds, a cruel practice of soaking horses’ ankles with burning chemicals then wrapping chains around their feet. Randi had heard the rumor through the grapevine and didn’t know if it was true or not, but asking the question hadn’t scored her any points with Luke.
“Are you sure?” He played with the silver cuff on his wrist, the one that used to belong to his dead brother. “In honor of Gina, I brought something special up from the cellar.” He pulled a jade green bottle with a black foil top and a shield-like label from the mini-fridge.
No fair. Luke knew her weakness and apparently wasn’t afraid to exploit it.
“Oh my,” her mother purred. “What a treat. I can’t tell you the last time I had Dom.”
Luke winked at Randi. “Change your mind?”
Her mother sat up straight. “Of course she did. My daughter has a sense of adventure, just like Scarlett O’Hara.”
Randi slumped. Damn my mother, damn my boss and damn me feeling so crotchety at the ripe old age of twenty-nine.
****
After dinner, chairs pushed back, the three of them sat in companionable silence at Luke’s thick wooden table.
Her mother sighed. “Best steak I ever had.”
Randi rubbed her belly. “I agree, and those potatoes—creamy and delicious. The rolls were crisp on the outside, warm and chewy on the inside, the green beans fresh and tender and the champagne sublime. I don’t mean to go on about it, but I must say, Luke, you know your way around the barn—and the kitchen.”
They all laughed. Luke’s phone pinged with a text. He took it from his back pocket and looked at it.
Her mother dabbed her mouth with her napkin and set it on her plate. Looked like it’d been licked clean. “Where’d you get the steak? I’ve had a lot of great cuts in my day, but that was exceptional, I must say.”
Luke, head bent, was too intent on typing his reply to respond.
Her mother caught her eye and, leaning over, whispered, “I guess vets are always on call.”
“Looks that way.”
Undaunted, her mother asked again. “Luke?”
A few seconds later he glanced up. “I’m sorry, what?”
“The steak. Where’d it come from?”
“Oh…yeah… Barbra told me about this place in Cardiff near the beach. She buys all her meat there.”
Is he blushing? Is it the meat reference? Is he red from too much champagne? As for her, she’d had too much of everything. “I don’t think I can eat dessert.” She undid the top button of her jeans, stretching her top down to cover it. At this point she didn’t care if she showed too much boob.
“Miranda, who raised you?”
“I…uh…” Why did she care? She was the one who’d made her wear the top in the first place.
Her mother leaned over the table. “Chocolate lava cake is not optional.”
“Oh. That.”
Luke smiled. “You can take some home and have it later.”
“Good idea.” Her mother smiled back. “Speaking of home, how would you two like to take a break before dessert and be treated to a show of Jojo and me doing our thing?”
Randi cocked her head. When it came to her mother, two plus two did not always equal four. “What does that have to do with home?”
“I’ve got to run down there to get Jojo and my agility stuff.”
Luke pushed back his chair. “I’ll go with you and help you carry things.”
Randi sucked it in and buttoned up. “Do you want me to come too?”
“It’s okay. Make yourself at home. Help yourself to the champagne and relax on the sofa. We’ll be right back.”
The massive door closed with a click too quiet for its size. Something hummed in the kitchen and the fire, dying in the fireplace, gave off explosive pops. It was a weird feeling, being alone in
Luke’s place. Like she was playing house somewhere she shouldn’t. She stayed at the table but slid the bottle close and helped herself to one more glass of Dom. She was borderline drunk but wasn’t driving and the stuff didn’t come around every day. She held the champagne up to the light, watching the tiny bubbles spring to the surface in a tight stream.
It would probably take her mother and Luke about a minute to hoof it down to the bungalow, three minutes or so to collect the agility equipment and a minute to walk back up the driveway. She wouldn’t be alone for long, but for some dumb reason she couldn’t get Barbra out of her mind. The big-haired floozy had taken up residence in her brain and was happily staking a claim.
Luke never referred to Barbra as his girlfriend, only as a client, but she was always around; far more than any other client. On the other hand, Luke openly flirted with Randi and constantly praised and admired her, and they’d even gone on a date once. Problem was, the evening had ended abruptly with an emergency vet call that had taken away all the anxiously awaited tension of how she would handle a good-night kiss. Would he go for her lips or not? She never got the chance to find out, and to this day she suspected Barbra was the one who’d made the call.
Sober, she was able to live with it. Buzzed, champagne romping through her bloodstream, not knowing where she stood with Luke was driving her nuts. Her thinking made no sense. She spent a good amount of time convincing herself she had to stay platonic with Luke, but the thought of him being with Barbra made her insane. What the hell was her problem?
One thing was for sure, it didn’t matter how good of a chef Luke was, or how much he flirted and complimented her, if he were sleeping with Barbra, she wanted nothing to do with him in that respect.
How would she know? There’d be hints; clues. Women always left a subtle trail when staking a claim. A comb, bobby pins, a few strategically placed hairs—something.
Her thigh muscles twitched. She drummed her fingers on the table. She didn’t have time to sit here arguing with herself. Yes, no. Yes, no. Do it, don’t do it. Do it, don’t do it.
Before she could stop herself, she was out of the chair and bounding up Luke’s stairs two at a time. She screeched to a halt at the threshold to his bedroom. This is wrong. Very wrong. And yet, two steps inside. Her heart was in her throat, but she hadn’t been struck down by lightning. No alarms. No sirens either.
Luke’s bed was made. The room smelled of manly spice. No clothing flung over the chair, no dirty socks on the floor. Nothing like her bungalow. She tried to pick things up when she knew he was coming over, but it wasn’t always possible. He had to think she was a total slob.
She shook her head. Never mind. That didn’t matter. Stay focused. She was here to look for evidence of Barbra then get out quick. With a bedroom this neat, she’d likely find signs of a woman in the bathroom. Further inspection showed a wet towel hanging on the rack. Only one, not two. Counters clear except for a single toothbrush, toothpaste and mouthwash. What was she overlooking? A drawer. If Barbra regularly spent the night, she’d insist on having a drawer.
Randi pulled them open in quick succession. Not a tampon or a lipstick case in sight. Her reflection in the mirror showed flushed cheeks and brown wavy hair all coiled and messy. Not only was she acting like a crazy woman; she looked like one too.
She’d used up at least half her allotted minutes. Her heart beat faster. Time to go. Exiting the bathroom, she started to leave the bedroom, but somehow the plush carpet detoured her toward the walk-in closet, and she opened the door before her conscious could talk her out of it.
Closet looked good. No party dresses, no high heels, but a built-in drawer, about halfway down hung open. Strange, since everything else was in its place. She put her hand out then pulled it back.
How would I feel if Luke went through one of my drawers? Before she could answer herself, a folded piece of paper, an envelope, tucked in the corner under a sock roll, caught her eye. It had Luke’s name on it, in a woman’s handwriting. Hold on. It’s human nature to be curious. She spun away then looked back. What she was contemplating was definitely crossing a line.
She cocked an ear. Her mother and Luke should’ve been back, but the house was still.
She picked the envelope up like it might bite and reached inside, which was silly. She didn’t need to look to know it was from Barbra. She felt it in her bones. Barbra had written Luke a letter telling him what she’d do to him with the lights off. Or on. He’d saved it. Put it in his underwear drawer for special moments late at night when he’d take it out and—
“Dear Dad.” The words jumped out at her. A few key sentences leapt off the page, giving her a good idea of what the letter was all about. Feeling like the world’s biggest idiot, she shoved the letter back in the envelope, pushed it under the sock, shut the drawer and ran from Luke’s bedroom. She reached the top of the staircase as the front door clicked into place. She flung her body down the stairs, tripped, saved herself on the banister and arrived at the bottom out of breath in a half-crumpled heap as Luke and her mother rounded the corner.
Luke stopped short, Jojo’s fold-up tunnel under one arm, the bag of weave poles under the other. “What’s going on?”
“Powder room,” she panted. “Found it.”
“Goodness, hon, you must have had to go something fierce.” Her mother set Jojo on the floor and the papillon scampered away. “Now come sit. You two are going to love this.”
Not meeting Luke’s eyes, Randi followed her mother into the den, where she set a ribbed fabric circle of navy blue on the floor. The thing unfurled like a giant slinky, a play tunnel you’d find at Toys“R”Us.
Luke sat next to her on the sofa, but she couldn’t look at him. If she did, he’d read her face and know something was wrong. She couldn’t lie. She’d have to tell the truth if he asked, and then he’d fire her and never speak to her again. All over a stupid letter she’d thought was from Barbra telling him all the nasty things she wanted to do to him. In a million years, Randi never would’ve guessed it was from his teenage daughter, telling him she’d lost her virginity.
Her eyes misted, going instantly dry as she realized she’d screwed up. Not only had she let her crazy imagination run away with her, the drawer in Luke’s closet had been open. In her hurry to get downstairs, she’d gone and shut it.
“Tunnel!” Her mother tossed a treat into the curved obstacle. Jojo, no dummy, saw the goodie roll out the opposite end and, like any dog with half a brain, she bypassed the nonsense of running through the thing and scampered in a straight line to the piece of dried turkey heart, or whatever it was this time, instead.
Didn’t seem to bother her mother. “Take two.” This time she picked Jojo up and set her down at the mouth of the tunnel before she threw the treat inside so Jojo would follow its path.
“Tunnel!” She called the command a second time. Jojo scampered in and popped out the other end, tail wagging and panting happily. Her mother clapped with delight.
Luke joined in. “Wonderful! That dog of yours is a star. What’s next?”
“Weave poles, but we’ve got to go outside for that.”
“Okay, let’s head by the pool. There’s a patch of grass that should be perfect.”
Luke’s pool would make a five-star resort green with envy. Natural boulders had been brought in by crane. The effect was like hiking at Joshua Tree and coming round a giant rock formation to discover a sparkling pool surrounded by queen palms with a stream of water cascading down a path in the rock. A beckoning oasis if ever there was one.
Her mother took the weave poles from the bag and plopped them on the grass. “Luke, would you please push these into the ground? Straight line. Twenty-four inches apart.”
Jojo wandered the lawn, sniffing with gusto while Luke did as her mother asked. As soon as he pushed the last pole in, her mother burst out with, “Weeweewee!”
“Mom! What?”
“That’s what I say to cue Jojo through the poles, but I’m getti
ng ahead of myself. I’m just excited to show you how good she is.” Her mother carried Jojo to the end of the line. Holding her hand up to keep the little dog at bay, her mother retraced her steps to the pole opposite where Jojo sat.
Again, “Weeweewee!”
Jojo threaded quickly through poles, bounce-hopping as she switched leads. She slalomed through the last set and her mother sank to her knees. “That’s my girl!” She kissed Jojo on the nose, scooped her up and held her like a trophy.
Luke applauded as hard as he had after they’d watched the Cavalia horses perform.
Randi rolled her eyes and swigged the last of her Dom Perignon.
Luke stood. “Hold on a second. I’ve got something I think Jojo might like.” He disappeared into the house.
Her mother shifted Jojo to her hip. “You okay, hon? You’re awfully quiet.”
“I’m fine.”
Luke returned, hands behind his back. Jojo sat fixated on him until Luke pulled out a stuffed duck and made it go “quack.” Jojo went wild.
Her mother laughed. “Oh, Luke! You know exactly what she likes.”
“I bought it for Shane then decided it was too small for him. Besides, he already has Abu.”
She gave Luke a weak smile but couldn’t respond with words. Was this what guilt did to people? Okay... Get a grip. This is nuts. I opened a drawer. No big deal. Wasn’t like she’d killed someone, but someone had killed Gina and she wasn’t going to find out who by snooping through Luke’s things. She needed to focus and get her priorities straight and her relationships in order. Just like that damn Dylan Dainsworth said.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“You want breakfast, Mom?”
Her mother glanced up from the porch swing. “Oh, hi. I didn’t know you were there.” Pulling a tissue from her pocket, she blew her nose.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine. Just thinking about Gina. I’ll come inside in a minute.”
“That’s okay. You don’t have to. I’m making oatmeal. I’ll bring it out.” She shut the door and went back to the kitchen. Shane’s head rested on his stuffed monkey, but his ears were perked, listening to Jojo play with her new duck. Quack, quack, quack. He let out a heavy sigh.
