by Renee Roszel
As she fumbled with her coat sleeve, Lucas said, “It’s eleven-thirty.”
“Another half hour.” It came out in a woebegone moan, as though she was remarking on some unending medieval torture.
“I won’t attack you again, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he said gruffly.
“You bet you won’t,” she retorted. “If I want to be any calmer I’ll smack myself with this stick until I lapse into unconsciousness. I won’t be needing any further ‘calming’ from you!”
“You do wonders for a man’s ego.”
“Check my job description. It doesn’t include ego stroking—”
A loud wail split the quiet, and Jess cried, “Oh, no! Not again!”
Lucas had struck off at a run. “This one sounds serious,” he called back.
Her heart hammering with alarm, she hurried after him, clutching her stick like a bat. “What—do you think it is?” she panted.
“Hell if I know.”
There was another scream, filled with terror.
Jess’s stomach clenched. “You said wild dogs sometimes—”
“I don’t know,” he cut in, then came to such an abrupt halt she almost slammed into his back.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
Jess detected a familiar smell as she peered around Lucas to see what was going on. Suzy was cowering behind Larry Tenkiller. Jack was on his knees, petting a scrawny blond mutt that was giving off the all-too-familiar bouquet of eau de polecat.
“Get it away!” Suzy screamed. Get it away! It’ll bite me!”
“It doesn’t care about you,” Jack groused. “It wants to be friends. Can’t you see it’s licking my hand, dummy?”
“It smells like—totally gross.”
“That’s because it’s been attacked by the skunks, too,” Jack said, sounding put out.
“Duh,” Moses quipped. “So tell us some jive we don’t know, man.”
“Are you people okay?” Jess ventured at last, stepping out from behind Lucas’s broad back. “Did anybody get bitten?”
“Naw,” Jack said, standing. “Poor dog stinks.”
Lucas chuckled darkly. “There’s a news flash.”
“We got any more tomato juice?” Jack asked, looking as though he didn’t expect much help with the stray.
“Why?” asked Lucas. “You want to bathe that mutt?”
Jack shrugged. “He stinks.”
Lucas was frowning. Jess knew it wasn’t her place to give Jack permission. It was Lucas’s house, Lucas’s tomato juice. Even so, she held on to a ray of hope.
“If you want to do the work, there’s a big sink in the laundry room with a flexible shower head. Have Maxim get you what you need.”
“Huh?” Jack said, looking like he doubted his own hearing.
Jess smiled, and her heart went out to Lucas. These unexpected flashes of altruism startled her and pulled at her heart. She had no idea what had possessed him to be this giving—allowing yet another stinking creature into his pristine home. Maybe he’d had a mutt he’d loved once. Maybe he’d wanted a dog and never been able to have one.
“You go on back to the house now, Jack,” she said. “Wash the dog if you want.”
He looked at her with an expression that was almost affectionate, except for the mistrust that seemed to permanently hover in his eyes. Without another word, he patted the dog’s head and commanded gently, “Come on, boy,” then headed off at a gallop.
“Whew,” Suzy said, coming out from behind Larry. “I hate that stink! That Jack’s crazy.”
“I think it’s cool,” Annie insisted. “People who like dogs can’t be all bad. Maybe Jack isn’t such a total armpit.”
“Well,” Jess said, “now that that crisis is over, how’s the hunt going?”
There was a communal moan. “Not so hot,” Larry admitted.
Suzy laughed. “Yeah, Mr. Tracker’s been a ton of help.”
“Oh, stuff it!” Larry bellyached. “With you griping and whining about every little sound, thinking it was a bear or a rabid bat, how could we keep quiet enough to attract anything but smelly dogs!”
Jess pretended to check her watch. “It’s time we started back. Maybe the other team won’t have caught anything either.”
“No kiddin’,” Moses sneered. “With that duck, Molly Roberts, they’ll catch nothin’ but ugly. And I mean butt with two ts.”
“You’re the butt with two ts,” Suzy snapped. “So Molly’s shy and skinny and wears glasses. You’re sleazy, skinny and you got a butt-ugly attitude. Big flippin’ difference.”
Moses opened his mouth to retort, but Jess broke in, “Okay, enough character assassination for now.” Taking one of Larry’s and one of Moses’ hands, she steered them in the direction of the house. “Let’s head back and see how team two did.”
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Suzy and Annie each grab one of Lucas’s hands and begin to tug him forward. Unable to stop herself, she peeked at the man’s shadowed face. He was looking at her with a smug half grin—almost as though he thought she might be envious. How egotistical and idiotic of him! How utterly ridiculous! She sniffled huffily and turned away, demonstrating how little she cared that a few fourteen-year-old girls thought he was a “totally hot babe.”
It was a shame, however, that the imp in her brain kept tormenting, A totally hot babe—with haunting, tender kisses—
“ARE THERE REALLY ANY fish?” asked Larry Tenkiller. “Or is this another one of your fake snipe-hunt deals?”
Jess laughed. “I promise there are fish.” She sniffed the crisp morning air and smiled. “At least there’d better be, ’cause we’re supposed to eat our catch for lunch.”
“Gross,” Suzy chimed in. “Slimy, wiggly fish—with eyes? We have to eat them?”
Jess fingered a blond curl that had fallen over the girl’s eye. “Believe me, when you smell them cooking, you’ll change your mind.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jack off by himself as usual, but with a hairy companion. The stray mongrel he’d taken back and bathed in tomato juice last night was prancing and playing around him as if the frowning young man was now the dog’s own private property. Jess smiled. She’d heard through the very reliable teenage grapevine that, once everyone was in bed, Jack had sneaked down to the laundry room where the dog had been housed for the night, and had led him quietly upstairs to sleep on his bed.
Jack needed a friend badly, and it looked as though this dog might be just the catalyst to get the boy to begin to open up. Jess hoped so. And she also hoped Lucas would never hear of the late-night dog visit to the bedroom. She wasn’t sure he’d take kindly to having hair-shedding beasts in his house.
She surveyed the group of young people, straggling out along the route to the wooded area where they were going to lounge around fishing, after gathering wood and rocks for the campfires. Maybe later there’d be a game of touch football. The weather was cooperating beautifully. Low sixties and sunny. Made to order for outside activities. Gorgeous day. Gorgeous weather.
The only blot on the excursion was the usual one—Lucas Brand. Everyone else was carrying fishing gear, but Lucas was toting his laptop computer. During the conference call this morning with Sol and Fletch, it had been decided that they’d all, independently, check the raw data for a program error.
So, while the kids were fishing, he’d physically be there, as required, but he’d be about as accessible, friendly and helpful as the Big Dipper constellation! “Big dip,” she muttered.
“Talking to me?” he asked, and she jumped, not realizing he’d sneaked up behind her.
She glared at him. “No! And I won’t be speaking to you as long as you’re carrying around that little dingus.”
He grinned wickedly. “Don’t insult something you’ve never seen.”
She frowned, then realized what he meant. “I said dingus, meaning thing—er—object…” She blanched. It wasn’t getting much better. “Computer!” she fairly shouted.
He lifted a brow as though that had never occurred to him. “You know, a good grasp of the language is invaluable. It can keep you out of trouble.”
“You know, Lucas, you have a rare sense of humor,” she gritted. “I hope they find the cure soon.”
“Don’t sell your little band of misfits short,” he warned ominously. “They could cure most bouts of good humor. And as for my dingus, let’s not get started on that subject again. Let’s just agree to disagree. You know I have a deadline.”
“Mr. Niceguy?” someone asked in a faint little voice.
Both Jess and Lucas turned to see Molly Roberts standing there, her slight frame dwarfed by the long fishing pole resting on her shoulder. Her hazel eyes were big and worried-looking behind her thick glasses, and her mouth was pinched in distress. The stocking cap over her short, stringy brown hair, made her look like a frail little boy.
“Yes, Molly,” Jess replied. Though Molly hadn’t been addressed, she wanted to protect the girl’s feelings if Lucas didn’t remember her name.
Molly glanced from Lucas to Jess, then back to Lucas. “I—I was just wondering what happened to your eye?”
Jess blanched. Though only his lid had turned blue, and the resulting bruise wasn’t too bad, she felt rotten and guilty about having hit him last night.
Lucas shrugged and smiled at the girl. “I ran into something in the dark,” he answered simply.
“Does it hurt?” Molly asked. Jess knew the girl wanted to become a nurse one day, and in Jess’s opinion she’d be a wonderful addition to a caring profession.
“Only hurts when I shave,” he teased.
Molly blinked, then a slow smile blossomed on her thin lips. “You’re kidding me.”
“Maybe a little around the edges,” he admitted.
“I think it’s gonna be okay,” Molly offered. “But next time put ice on it right away. Helps it not be so purple.”
Lucas gave her a serious I’m-paying-attention look and nodded. “Check. Ice right away. Thanks.”
Molly’s cheeks became two glowing maroon dots on her pale skin. “It’s nothing. I mean, like—I mean…” She motioned broadly with a delicate hand. “Well—you’re being so neat and cool with us. Me trying to help isn’t that big a deal….” Her cheeks flushed even brighter, in her embarrassment. That had probably been the longest speech she’d ever uttered.
Lucas frowned, seeming daunted for the first time since Jess had met the man. “It’s nothing, Molly. Nothing,” he muttered.
“Hey, Molly!” Suzy shouted. “Quit brownnosing Mr. Niceguy. Come over here and show Annie how you can wiggle your ears one at a time. She thinks I’m lying.”
Molly gave Lucas one last, bashful grin and trotted off.
Lucas and Jess strolled along side by side. The silence between them was strained, but the exuberant kids dashing about didn’t seem to notice the tension.
“Well, well,” she finally said. “Did I see Mr. One-Hundred-Million-Dollar Project feel a twinge of guilt back there? Is it, maybe, a little hard to be idolized and know you don’t deserve it?”
He scowled down at her. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
She sniffed with contempt. “Yes. And a bureau is in a bedroom, but it’d better not try to pass itself off as a mattress!”
“That’s probably very Freudian, but I’ll let it go,” he muttered.
She found herself flushing. “Big of you,” she retorted, wondering where that particular bedroom image had come from.
SEVERAL HOURS LATER, Jess’s irritation at Lucas lessened, especially when he left his computer to help the squeamish amateurs in their group clean their catch of rainbow trout. Unfortunately for her, the kids had scattered, and several had opted for the rowboat. The Goodalls had gone after the kids who’d run off along the south bank, the Kornblums had trekked off to round up stragglers to the north. It seemed that, once again, Jess had been paired with Lucas.
She supposed it made sense to the married folks that she’d join up with the other single on the retreat. But she was annoyed and agitated—especially after her speech last night, and Lucas’s gentle kiss. Still, after avoiding him as much as possible all morning, she began to realize that she’d had help—actual help—teaching the kids to clean and cook their fish. He’d turned out to be more talented at it than she was. After tasting his efforts, she had to admit she’d never eaten better fried fish, not even in a restaurant.
Now pleasantly full of lunch, some in the group lazed around, a couple tossed a football, and Moses and Larry were back in the rowboat, fishing.
Jess glanced at Lucas. He’d picked up the computer again. Though she was about ten feet away, she craned her head around to see what was on the screen. You’d think it was a parade of leggy models, the way he was glued to it! But no. Long lines of figures and symbols were marching rapidly down the screen. They made no sense to her, but apparently Lucas was interpreting their correctness and moving on with something close to lightning speed. He must have quite an excellent mind, she decided, and tried not to dwell on the fact that his kisses, too, were quite excellent.
Jess was irritated, and not all of her irritation was directed at Lucas. She was irritated with herself for her unruly turn of mind of late. Not caring to analyze it, she opted instead for trying to get Lucas more involved in the retreat—the Mr. Niceguy program not the computer program. She cleared her throat meaningfully, attracting his narrowed gaze. Indicating his computer screen with a nod, she called, “About done?”
He gave her a look that said something along the lines of, Do pigs fly?
She didn’t allow his insinuated sarcasm to intimidate her and forged on, “I was just wondering where you learned to clean and cook fish.”
There was suddenly a tinge of sadness in his eyes. He glanced away, and stared off into space.
“My grandmother and I lived simply,” he said after a moment. “Sometimes what we caught was all we had to eat.”
Jess absorbed this, looking down at her clasped hands, then ventured, “What happened to your folks?”
He turned to gauge her, his expression opening into a questioning grin. There was no trace of humor in his eyes, though. “I can’t imagine why you’d care. But, my folks had the same problem as Molly’s. They got into drugs. In and out of rehab. Ultimately, I don’t know.”
She was saddened for him, but surprised that he knew about the shy little girl with the worried hazel eyes. “How did you know about Molly’s background?”
He shrugged. “You gave me those profiles.”
“You read them?” She asked, increduous.
He closed his computer and set it aside. “They were short.”
The darned guy was surprising her again. He obviously was reluctant to do this retreat, with his laptop ever-present, his ultra-high-tech phone ringing every fifteen minutes, and his habitual glancing down at his wristwatch. But to give credit where it was due, what Lucas had done, he’d done well. She didn’t seem to be able to find much fault with him right this minute. “Molly likes you a lot, you know,” Jess murmured, feeling she owed him that much. “They all do.”
He stared out across the water at Moses and Larry’s, horseplay in the rowboat. “So where are Molly’s folks?”
The kids were far enough away not to have heard their conversation so far, but Jess got up and moved over to sit down beside him—not quite close enough to touch, but close enough to catch his scent. She crossed her legs, Indian-style. “Didn’t want to shout this,” she said, explaining away her motive for getting closer. “Molly’s folks are dead. And she didn’t have any grandmother to take her in. Been in foster care for five years.”
“I know about the foster homes,” he reminded her. “By the way, I knew Molly’s name this morning when you ran interference for me. For future reference, I know all their names. I have one of those photographic memories.”
“Oh,” she said, an embarrassed smile quivering on her lips. “I didn’t know about that.” Spying Larry
scooping up water and splashing Moses with it, she shouted, “Hey, cut that out, you guys!”
“Where are their life jackets?” Lucas asked.
Both boys had turned to grin at her and ignored the command completely. Jess frowned. “Life jackets? I—I’m sure they had them on when they went out.” Unease prickled along her spine. “Darned kids. Think they’re invincible.”
Leaping up, she shouted, “And put your life jackets back on! Now, I mean—” Her warning was cut short when Moses, in an attempt to avoid another faceful of cold water, jumped up, then lost his balance. Jess gaped as the teenager, in macabre slow motion, pitched backward over the side of the boat into the frigid water.
“Oh my Lord!” Jess wailed. She flung off her coat as she streaked toward the lake, then with a shallow, running dive, hurled herself into the drink. When she came up, she fought off the shock of the icy water, shouting toward a group of kids who had gathered on the shore. “Throw the cooler! Throw something to help him float!”
As she swam toward Moses, who was not the world’s best swimmer, she heard a plop. Someone had thrown something. She turned to see what it was, and was startled to see Lucas’s computer begin to sink beneath the surface. Shocked, her gaze darted toward shore. Lucas looked angry enough to commit murder.
It didn’t surprise her much when he hurriedly pulled off his boots, ducked out of his wool turtleneck, and dived in. His computer was probably too valuable to lose without a fight, though she would have thought that being dunked in a lake would have ruined it.
Hearing Moses’ strangled shout, she turned back to her rescue attempt. He was too far out to reach with anything from shore. “Grab the boat,” she cried, spitting water. “Larry, put out an oar to him!”
She continued shouting instructions and encouragement between inhaling mouthfuls of water. Her throat was raw, her lungs half flooded, and she was barely a third of the way there. Why did they look like they were getting farther and farther away? Her arms ached but she struggled on, weighed down by her sweater and her hiking boots. She wasn’t the world’s best swimmer, either, especially dragged down by soaked clothing that felt like a twenty-ton block of cement.
