Whispers of Danger and Love

by Janis Lane

  He stared at her, and she wondered briefly why it was that long, gorgeous eyelashes always seemed to be on the fellows.

  There was danger, familiar danger, if she allowed herself to sink into those fascinating eyes, chocolate pools of temptation. She stiffened her resolve, vowing she would not fall into his web this time. She stood up abruptly and walked toward the back room.

  He stayed on his knees, staring after her for a moment. Then he released a huge sigh, stood, and walked toward the door muttering. “Not once in all these years has that stubborn little girl listened to anything I had to say to her. Not one darn time!”

  “I’m sorry about your shiny, green plant,” he called over his shoulder. “I didn’t mean to kill it. I hope it gets better.”

  The door slammed and all was quiet.

  Cheryl stood in the back room tucking yet another stem of the jade plant into a new pot. “Wonder what that was all about,” she said, addressing the mutilated plant. “Oh well, he’s just on another rant. Best to ignore him.”

  She was pleased her pulse had quieted all on its own without her having to concentrate as she usually did. She might have a handle on this thing between them after all. She moved over to change the water in the parrot’s dish and to chat in a soothing, low voice.

  Ganymede still paced nervously back and forth on her perch, but refrained from the raucous squawking Cheryl dreaded. Nana had loved her bird, but Cheryl considered its care mostly an obligation. Parrots lived long lives and for all Cheryl knew Gany was in her twilight years needing peace and quiet.

  A sigh escaped her as she wandering around the shop. She not only missed her wonderful neighbor lady from next door, she missed her grandmother even more. That good lady had sheltered her from the overbearing woman who mothered her, standing between the pressures of a disappointed parent. Cheryl had fled her home and lived almost solely at her grandmother’s. What a fuss her mother had made when Cheryl decided to leave the business world and seek a degree in horticulture and landscaping. Her thoughts drifted back to a pair of chocolate-brown eyes with scandalous long eyelashes.

  They made a strange pair, she and her childhood friend. David had once confessed that he had a common background of an ethnic here and an ethnic there all mixed together. Springing from a long line of ancestors, blue-collar parents and grandparents, Larkin was the rollicking counterpart to the quiet young girl next door. She didn’t know for sure, but she thought both David’s parents worked.

  Her grandmother mentioned once that his neighborhood wasn’t the best in the world, and her parents worried he was involved with the wrong crowd. He was more closely monitored at his grandmother’s and spent most of his time there.

  Cheryl’s mother considered her family to boast of the bluest of blood but said not a word when her mother moved into this delightful, modest home after her father died to devote herself to gardening. Working in the yard as a hobby was one thing, Cheryl and her grandmother were happiest digging in the dirt and pulling weeds together, but her mother was horrified when Cheryl announced she intended to make a career out of gardening.

  “You’ll work as a slave, a servant to others, daughter. Why would you want to do that? Your fingernails! How will you . . .? Your father should talk to you. Have you told your father about this? Oh, Cheryl, this is the most bizarre behavior you’ve ever . . . Why are you so very stubborn?” She had commenced an all-out campaign to change her daughter’s mind. So far, she had failed.

  When she was young, Cheryl’s imagination had her ancestors stepping off the Mayflower dressed in the latest fashions and sporting pockets full of silver. Her grandmother laughed and said not quite. She had attempted to explain new as versus old money, but it bored a restive young girl who was often ignored by her parents.

  Her father was distracted by his growing business ventures and her mother was newly elected to the Woman’s Club where she happily served on many committees. Grandmother’s house was so much more exciting, and then there was the wild boy next door.

  That night, dragging herself out of a sound sleep, Cheryl sat up in bed wondering what noise had disturbed her. Someone breaking into the shop? Then she heard it again. Rustling noises coming from her kitchen. Afraid to move, she drew in a shallow breath. Never had she been afraid of living alone in this house even though she was aware the neighborhood had changed over the years. It still felt safe to her. It was Nana’s house.

  What could anyone want? There was an insignificant amount of cash, but it was in the cash register in the front room. She had nothing worth stealing in her kitchen, for goodness’ sake. The memory of Larkin’s warning scuttled through her brain, alarming her and sending a surge of adrenalin racing through her veins. What if he were right about her new clients? She almost froze in fright.

  She swung her feet over the side of the bed just as a shadow loomed in the doorway. From the faint light filtering through her window she could see a dark body moving toward her bed. She got ready to scream for all she was worth. A hand groped her shoulder. Heart pounding, she gave peel after peel of piercing screams as she scooted backward in her bed.

  “For God’s sake, Cher. Would you cut out that noise? You could damage a fellow’s eardrums.” Larkin slid to the floor beside her bed and leaned his head on her pillow.

  Hyperventilating, Cheryl couldn’t speak, but she kicked her feet in frustration and anger. “How dare you scare me like this? Brute!” How many times had he jumped out at her and terrified her over the years, always thinking it was funny. Had he ever staked a claim to Neanderthal ancestry? Perhaps those broad shoulders were from a direct line of cave dwellers. What was the difference between a club and a gun?

  “Ouch, will you cut it out? You’d think you were being murdered. I just wanted to chat for a bit. Settle down, honey. Settle.” He captured one of her feet and slowly massaged her instep. “There, I didn’t mean to scare you. You’re okay, right?”

  “How did you get into my house?” she finally managed to say. “I want you to leave right now!” In spite of how wonderful her foot felt, she kicked it away from his questing fingers.

  “I will in a bit. Talk to me for a while first, will you? I couldn’t sleep. Do you think Grandma forgave me for not coming to see her? I feel so bad about it.”

  “How did you get into my house?” Cheryl repeated, bouncing a bit on the bed. A strange, masculine fragrance tickled her nose. Beer, maybe? Shaving cream? Sweat? Probably a mixture of all three she decided. It was not unpleasant, but was decidedly dangerous to her well-being.

  “Answer me, Larkin,” she demanded, grabbing a handful of thick black hair and giving it a tug.

  “Don’t do that, Cher. You have no idea what kind of day I’ve had. I need a soothing hand up there. Help me out, will you?” He rubbed his head against her leg.

  “Okay, but not until you tell me how you got into my house.” With her hand poised over his head, she waited.

  “I have a key.” He reached up and put her hand on his head and rubbed it back and forth.

  “A key! How on earth did you get a key?” She pulled his hair gently, and then rubbed her fingers through it soothingly.

  He groaned with pleasure and scooted closer to her. “It was just there. I imagine you have one to my house. Our grandmothers were friends, remember? I found it hanging right beside the back door. In the morning, look and see if there’s one by yours.”

  She was using both hands now giving him a slow, steady massage across his head and down his neck. The muscles were corded in his shoulders, and she dug in to convince them to release. He muttered something about her golden fingers and scooted over so he was between her dangling legs with his back turned to her.

  “Sweet, sweet, Cher.” He wrapped his arms around her legs and leaned back against the bed while she continued to attack his aching muscles.

  “Having a key d
oes not give you the right to walk into my house, Beast. I have not given you permission, and my nana’s permission is rescinded.”

  He turned his head and kissed the inside of her thigh. “But I needed you, Sweetheart. You’re the only one in the world who could ever make my head stop hurting like this.” His head lolled on his shoulders, and she knew her task was almost over. He was relaxing.

  “We’re not children anymore, David. Grownups don’t behave like this.” She pulled softly on one of his ears and briefly rested her cheek on top his head. She was tired and close to falling asleep again. “It’s time for you to go home and back to bed. I have to work tomorrow and so do you.”

  A soft snore answered her. Now what? The big lug is sound asleep on the floor of my bedroom.

  “David?” She shook him but he held tightly to her legs. A giggle escaped into the darkened room as she contemplated her predicament. She wriggled her toes then leaned over and whispered, “David? If you get up, you can sleep in my bed.”

  He stood and fell into bed beside her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her tight against him. His breath tickled her hair, and she heard his snore again.

  He was sound asleep in her bed. There was nothing for her to do but sleep on the couch. She rested against his warmth for a few minutes enjoying the closeness, inhaling his scent. His size dwarfed her and made her feel ultra-feminine. This man was a bundle of temptation, and she already knew how vulnerable she could be to his charms. Time to go.

  She eased out of his arms and padded to the hall closet for a blanket and extra pillow. Saving this old couch was a good idea. I can feel the presence of my nana tonight. I bet she’s laughing at the big lug sleeping in my bed. She always thought you were a good-looking rascal, although she thought you needed more discipline. Soon Cheryl grinned into the darkness and fell asleep.

  She woke to the smell of brewing coffee and sat up rubbing her eyes. Disoriented, she took a minute to remember her visitor from last night. She had fallen into a dreamless sleep and had no idea if the detective had gotten back to his own house or if he was in the kitchen eating her cold cereal. She wrapped the blanket around her shoulders and shuffled to the bathroom. Ugh, she thought, looking at her curls standing up in total disarray. She refreshed herself and headed to the kitchen still wrapped like a mummy in her blanket. It was time she took control of her own home.

  As she suspected, Larkin was standing at the sink drinking a cup of steaming coffee. When he turned around, his face was wreathed by a broad smile. She steeled herself to resist it even while her pulse jumped in response. He took one step and enveloped her, blanket and all, in a bear hug.

  “Thank you, sweet Cher. I am late to work.” He was halfway to the door before she could react. “I’ll see you later tonight,” he said over his shoulder, and with a bang on the screen door, he was gone.

  Cheryl found herself standing in the middle of her kitchen wondering if she had lost her mind. Why hadn’t she expressed her anger and told him to stay on his side of the hedge, beast man, killer of lilies and potted plants?

  Chapter 4

  “Gardening, a Work in Progress”

  by Cheryl

  Many gardeners plant their flowers to change with the seasons. I have a friend who starts out in the spring with bulbs—hyacinths, grape hyacinths, scilla, and daffodils—of yellows, pinks, and blues. Further along in the spring season, late tulips turn her front bed into a fiery blaze of yellow and red. This is followed by a perennial showing of purple alliums, columbine in blues, and old-fashioned bleeding hearts in arcs of rosy pinks. In July, her gardens are a riot of color that starts with Asiatic lilies, oriental, then trumpet. And so on it goes with a final curtain call of colorful mums. When one show fades, another is in the wings waiting its turn. Bulb planting in the fall generates the excitement of waiting for the blossoms to show color in the spring when weary winter eyes welcome the bright colors.

  Cheryl wiped the sweat out of her eyes and considered going inside to an air-conditioned room. The temperature had climbed too far into the 80’s for her taste. If she’d wanted to swelter, she’d have moved to Florida, for heaven’s sake. She had a good start on her weekly column and tons of work to do inside. Done. You talked me into it. She had closed her laptop and twisted her body toward the back door when she heard a car beep its horn. Looking over her shoulder, she spotted a redhead waving gaily at her as she approached with a definite bounce in her step.

  “Jane! Hi. I was thinking of calling you this afternoon. You must have ESP. It’s good to see you.”

  “Dunno about that, but I do know I have donuts.” She held up a bag already greasy with sin from the bakery.

  Her friend Jane was like a torch lily with her slender figure and flaming hair with a jubilant personality to match. It would be difficult to maintain a dour attitude around her. She was a welcome sight any time.

  Cheryl wondered what tidbits of gossip and news gleaned from her job at the local town newspaper Jane would share today. Jane thought Cheryl lived an exciting life, but, in truth, it was she who kept in touch with the outside world. Cheryl’s good friend Beverly Hampton was the owner and editor of the paper now that her father was semi-retired.

  Cheryl winced as she remembered promising Beverly to call for a luncheon date. She’d need to postpone until this job was finished. Two weeks was a very short window for a job that size.

  “I thought you’d be working today. Didn’t you have a new lucrative job offer?” Jane handed over the donuts.

  They settled around the kitchen table, and Cheryl poured them both glasses of frosty iced tea. Without any more delay, they dug into the donut bag with gusto.

  “I do. A man named Sam Toledo and his significant other hired me to transform their gardens for a big blowout party. I have some soil being delivered today and other maintenance work on-going. I was there for three hours early this morning, but I can’t do anything more until they finish. What are you up to today?”

  “Oh, this and that. I’m having an errand day, but thought I’d take a break and catch up on gossip with you.”

  “I was thinking you might like to go on an adventure.” Cheryl glanced at her obliquely. “I’m on a rescue mission this evening right before dark.” She laughed when Jane clapped her hands and welcomed the news with an eager smile.

  “Well. What is it? Do I need to dress a certain way? Do I need a bucket this time? Last time you boosted me over a wall and we snitched armfuls of lilacs from that old meatpacking plant. God knows who planted them there in the first place, but we didn’t have a thing to hold water.” She laughed at the memory. “Security guard almost caught us too.”

  “Old fuddy-duddy.” Cheryl shook her half-eaten donut in the air. “Like anyone cared about those lilacs. He was just bored and needed something to do. That place has been closed for years.” She munched down on a grape jelly donut, loving how it squished down her fingers. Good thing she got lots of exercise.

  “You need to be careful, Jane. I’m safe because the calories are half as potent if you haven’t paid for them, but you, dear lady, are in trouble.” She laughed again at the shocked expression on her friend’s face.

  “No really, Cheryl. It’s not true, is it?” She looked down at her slender form with horror.

  “Jane, you could gain ten pounds, and I’d never find where you’d put it. Just teasing you.”

  “My mother said as I get closer to thirty my backside would start to spread into a huge thing.” She returned the sticky donut to the bag with a sad face.

  Cheryl knew Jane’s mother did indeed own an enormous rear end, but she doubted it could ever happen to Jane, who more readily resembled her rail-thin father.

  They both jumped when they heard three loud knocks on the back door before it swung open abruptly and banged against the wall. David Larkin, hair too long and still wet from his
shower, marched in, plopped down in a chair, and grabbed the bag. With his mouth already devouring half a donut, he turned to Jane and tweaked her red curls.

  “Hey,” he mumbled, mingling the greeting with his donut.

  Cheryl snorted as Jane’s face turned bright red. Larkin was up to his old tricks again.

  “What’s exciting at the paper, Jane? Anyone get shot, robbed, or otherwise abused?” He reached for his second pastry.

  “Pretty quiet today, David. You know about that dog that got hit? Vet fixed him up, but they still don’t know who the owner is. The fire down at the bowling alley was just a grease fire. Was all out before the fire trucks got there. Some excitement over a man who paid cash for a piece of property. Not sure which one. I was on a break when they were discussing it.”

  “Yeah? Did he bring the money in a paper bag? Old rusty tin can dug up from the backyard? Must not have been much of a property. Who’s got that kind of dough these days?” David chuckled with Jane who had not a clue what he was referring to, but was amiable. She was bombarded with snatches of news from her job, but rarely understood the importance or lack of the information.

  “Did you hear about the number of tickets the police were giving out after the game the other night?” Jane asked, forgetting that David Larkin was a cop. Instead of answering, he whirled around, catching Cheryl by surprise.

  “Did you get rid of Toledo?” he asked, impaling her with fierce eagle eyes that had the golden flecks flashing. “You have no business dealing with the criminal element. You’re just a baby yourself,” Larkin chewed his words out through an enthusiastic mouthful of donut. He reached over and then trailed a finger down her cheek probably leaving a sticky steak of jam on her face.