by Donna Fasano
Lauren sighed, long and loud. "I don't know. I feel. . .I've been very. . .antsy lately."
"Antsy?"
She got up from her desk and paced to the window. There were several cars parked in the back lot.
"Something's off, Norma," she confessed. "Something's going on. With my body. And my mind. I go out to the barn to work, and I can't pay attention to what I'm doing because I keep noticing the way Greg's jeans hug his thighs. And I missed some of the conversation with Scott Shaw because I was mesmerized by the way the man's mouth was forming words. All I kept thinking was how it would feel if—" She cut the thought off at the quick. Norma didn't need to be subjected to her naughty imaginings.
Her friend chuckled. "Lauren, honey, I know exactly what you're problem is. You need to have an orgasm."
"Norma!" she said, laughter and shock both pulling at her mouth.
Without missing a beat, Norma continued, " And not solo, Lauren. You need a man."
Sudden panic squashed Lauren's humor when she realized she was hearing the very words she'd been refusing to admit to herself. "I can't do that."
Norma Jean grinned. "It's like riding a bike, honey. Once you get on, it'll all come back to you."
Moving back to her desk, she said, "I don't mean I can't. I mean I. . .can't. I don't, you know. . .I don't have access to an available man."
Lauren could see Norma's eyes glittering. The woman was doing her best not to laugh.
"Well, you'd better find one," Norma said softly. "Your body's telling you what it needs. You need to listen."
She nipped her bottom lip. "Greg is completely off limits. And I can't. . .I can't—" she shook her head "—not with Scott Shaw. What if I went out with him and we ended up in bed? Which, knowing how I'm feeling, is exactly what would happen. Maybe. Probably." She grimaced. "If things don't go well for his son in court, I'd be mortified."
"Lauren, Mr. Shaw seems like a rational man," Norma said. "He's not going to blame you if his son has to pay a fine, sexy romp or no sexy romp. I just read an article in Cosmo that said, in some circumstances, it's okay to mix business with pleasure." Norma winked at her. "You'll work something out, I'm sure."
Lauren squeezed her eyes closed and scrubbed at her temples. It had been so long since she'd had sex, she couldn't imagine getting naked with any man. No, that wasn't true. The heady state of her libido made it easy to imagine, but the idea of actually having sex with a virtual stranger seemed like behavior that was far too reckless. At least, for anyone with good sense.
"Speaking of sexy men," Norma quipped. "I'm worried about your dad."
The whip-lash speed of the subject change made Lauren's eyes go wide. But before she could respond, Norma Jean said, "I think Lew's coming down with something."
"You talked to him?" She'd been so busy the past few evenings with research and argument writing for one of her new cases that she hadn't arrived home until her father had gone to bed, and he'd been tucked behind the morning paper when she left the house this morning.
Norma nodded. "I think he may have strep or something. His tongue looks red and irritated."
"He didn't say anything this morning." Realizing what Norma said, she asked, "You saw his tongue?"
"He didn't sound good when we chatted on the phone this morning, so I offered to bring him a cup of chicken soup from the deli for lunch today."
Lauren absently centered the buckle of her belt. "I'm sorry. You shouldn't have to listen to his complaints, and you didn't have to drive all the way out there. You should have transferred his call to me. I could have taken him some soup."
"I was happy to have lunch with him." She smiled sheepishly and admitted, "He didn't call the office, Lauren. I called him."
"Oh. Well, then. But. . ." Lauren went quiet for a split second. "Why would you do that?"
Excitement brightened Norma's expression. "Because I like him, silly. Lew's a great guy. I had a wonderful time when we had dinner at your house. I've called a couple of times just to say hi. I can't believe I hadn't thought of him as possible date material before now. I asked him out to dinner but he turned me down." She grinned. "But I'm not giving up. A no on the first request is fairly normal. Men from my generation aren't used to women doing the asking."
Lauren just stood there staring. She really couldn't believe what she was hearing.
Norma's smile wilted a tad. "It's okay, isn't it? If I have dinner with your Dad?"
"W-well," she stammered. She couldn't get over her shock. "Sure. . .but—" she swept her fingers across her bangs, fighting through her confusion for the right words to express her feelings "—the two of you are so. . .different."
Norma Jean's grin was back, full throttle. "Diversity is the spice of life, sweetie."
She still didn't get it. "But all Dad does is sit in the house all day. He goes to get his hair cut and pick up his prescriptions once a month. He's like a hibernating bear. You, you're a racecar driver on the speedway of life."
Cutting a wide arc through the air with the letters in her hand, Norma waved off Lauren's concern. "Oh, now. We're not all that different. Lew's a lot like that old carrousel you've been working on. He just needs a little dusting off, a little oiling up and to have his on button pushed, is all." Her brown eyes shined. "If anyone can turn him on, Lauren, it's me."
Lauren didn't know whether to chuckle or cover her ears.
"Anyway," Norma said, her tone sobering, "Lew thinks he's got an infection in his salivary glands. He gave me some long name for it."
Apparently her father had been surfing the medical websites again.
Norma slipped the ink pen behind her ear. "I suggested he go see his doctor, but he said he didn't have one."
"He has one. He's just not speaking to Doc Amos at the moment."
"Charlie Amos? I know him."
"Dad and Doc have known each other for ages," Lauren said. "Dad's just got his knickers in a twist, is all. I was hoping he'd get over it by now. I'd love it if Dad felt he had a doctor he could consult when he needed to."
"Charlie's wife, Katie, is a good friend of mine." Norma Jean tapped her chin with the letters. "Maybe I can work on that situation for you." Then she pulled the pen from behind her ear and headed for the door. "I'm getting on these letters before it gets too much later."
"Norma," Lauren said, making the woman turn around in the doorway. "I noticed that Dad filled the candy dish in the living room with lemon drops. I'll bet his mouth is sore because he's overdosing on them." When Norma looked at her dubiously, she shrugged. "It's happened in the past."
"Ah. Okay." Norma smiled. "I hope his problem really is that simple."
"I'm sure it is. I'll talk to him when I get home."
Lauren sat down at her desk and reached for one of the envelopes sitting in her 'in' box. Well, how about that? Norma Jean had asked her dad out on a date.
But he had turned down the offer. Why on earth would he do a thing like that?
Had Norma Jean really called Lew sexy?
She slid her letter opener beneath the envelope's flap, those other words of advice Norma had spoken coming back to haunt her.
You need to have an orgasm.
It was the truth. Lauren couldn't deny it.
She liked sex as much as the next woman. Memories of the delicious times she'd spent with Greg in their king-sized bed made her mouth stretch into a grin. She dropped the silver letter opener into the drawer and fanned herself with the envelope.
Now wasn't that just her luck? Hormones on a rampage, and here she sat with no husband, no boyfriend, no man at all. What in the world would Cosmo have to say about that?
Chapter 8
Slowly wheels go round and round,
and cogs begin to grind and pound.
~Oompa Loopa
Lauren snapped her cell phone shut and tossed it onto the passenger seat next to her purse. Greg had used the code words. Words she had heard since the two of them had split. The phrase that, while they had been marr
ied, had never failed to make her grin and set her anticipation spinning like a turbine.
I've got something to show you.
Of course, he had no idea he was speaking in code. He never had. But that's what had always made it so much fun. He'd plot and plan and organize surprises for her only to tip her off by using the same habitual expression to get her to a specific place at a specific time.
I've got something to show you.
Years ago, he'd called her out of the blue. Norma Jean had interrupted her while she'd been with a client, requesting that she take Greg's 'important' phone call. Lauren remembered how annoyed she'd been when he'd asked her to meet him in a park on the outskirts of Sterling. The office hadn't been open long, and she'd been struggling for a foothold in Sterling's legal door. She was in the middle of a meeting, she'd told him in a huff. She had a business she was trying to kick start. She couldn't just up and leave her office in the middle of a work day. But then he'd said those magic words.
I've got something to show you.
Her sudden flash of irritation had been no match for the warmth that had spread through her at the sound of his silky voice. After only a moment's hesitation, she'd asked Norma to reschedule her afternoon appointments and wrapped up her meeting as quickly as she could before setting off on what she knew would be an adventure. And she'd been so glad she had!
Greg had hired a hot air balloon, and they'd shared a romantic champagne lunch while sailing across the county among the scudding clouds.
The memory made her smile even now as she drove out of town and headed toward Skeeter Neck Road. Opening her window, she let the balmy Indian summer breeze blow into the car. It was a glorious day for late October.
Lauren had decided to stay away from Greg, and she'd been successful in doing just that for a week and a half. She'd been leaving the house early enough that they hadn't crossed paths at her house, either.
However, her 'Big O' problem, as Norma Jean had shrewdly coined it, continued to rage. The office had become a revolving door of new clients, so she hadn't even had time to think about an 'O', large, small or in between. Well, that wasn't entirely true. When a woman had an 'O' needing release—and in her case it really was a Big O—it had a way of creeping into her thoughts whether she wanted it to or not. So although she had thought about it, she hadn't dwelled on it.
Much.
Lauren focused on Greg's phone call and those magic words he'd uttered. She hoped his surprise was at least one air-brushed carousel animal. More than one would be extra special.
In her mind's eye, she pictured one of those magnificent Arabians painted a glistening snow-white, the feather plumes of its headdress a rich shade of blue or fuchsia or some other bold color. She could almost imagine herself riding one of those beauties, round and round, to the tinny but gay sound of pipe organ music. How fun!
She sat a little straighter. What she should conjure were visions of raking in the dough when all the doting parents and grandparents, aunts and uncles started buying those carousel figures for the children in their lives. Having any one of those prancing horses for her very own would make any little girl feel like a fairy princess. And boys would have a blast on imaginary safaris with a lion or tiger or bear. Lauren made a mental note of that excellent marketing ploy.
The sky was nearly dark when she arrived, the barn and surrounding property quiet and still. One of the doors was wide open and pale light spread across the grassy expanse.
She didn't see Greg at first, and ended up calling his name.
"Hey, there," he called, appearing in the doorway that led to the back room, a terry towel in his hands.
When she saw him, she smiled. It actually felt good see him and not get all mired in anger. "Got here as soon as I could. I've been really busy at work." She shrugged out of her jacket and tossed it on a sawhorse.
"Yeah, Lew told me you've been at the office a lot."
She looked at the neatly stacked lumber sitting in the corner, an addition since her last visit. "A job?"
He nodded. "I'm doing some work for Jo Leigh Stapleton. Put in a few cabinets for her today."
The familiar name caught Lauren's attention. "I didn't know she was still in town. She was in my graduating class." Jo Leigh's last name had been Ewing back then. Just a year after high school graduation, Lauren attended Jo Leigh's and Jim Stapleton's wedding. Over the years, though, she and Jo Leigh had lost touch.
"She told me you and she went to school together." He hung the towel on the metal door latch. "She lives over in Maplewood."
The older neighborhood was located just outside of Sterling. Maplewood had grown until it was now nearly a town of its own with several shopping centers and gas stations and a post office.
"Shame about her husband," Greg said.
"What happened to Jim?"
"He was firefighter. Died when a house collapsed during a fire a couple years ago."
"Oh, Greg, that's terrible." How could she have missed reading about that in the newspapers? Or hearing about it from friends? "Did they have kids?"
Greg nodded. "A little girl. She's around ten or so. Cute kid. Looks just like Jo Leigh. You want a beer or a soda or something?"
"No, thanks. I'm can't stay long."
Again, Greg nodded; then he looked over at the merry-go-round. "I finished the roof. Would have done a little more, but. . .well, I've been busy, myself."
"That's okay," she told him. "You have to take care of paid jobs first. Hey, how is Scott working out? Is he a help, or a hindrance?"
Greg smiled. "He's a help. Doesn't always show up when he's supposed to, but he seems like a good kid."
"She looks great." Lauren had no idea why she thought of the merry-go-round as having a gender. She felt a little self-conscious, but quickly discovered there was no need for it.
"She does, doesn't she?" Greg turned to follow her gaze.
The fresh coat of glossy red paint gleamed even in the dim light thrown by the barn's single, bare bulb hanging overhead from the rafters. Gold trim set off the roof to perfection. Sharp lines and edges, no drips; he'd done a professional job. But she didn't see that any of the animals sported new paint.
She was curious to know what he wanted to show her, but before she could ask, he glanced her way, his handsome face expressing that he had something on his mind.
"You seen your dad lately?"
She lifted one shoulder. "Like he told you, the office has kept me hopping."
Greg meandered toward the merry-go-round. "I think he might be missing you."
"Come on. Don't lecture me about my dad. I have to work when the clients are there. He understands that. There will be times when business is slow and I can be around more." She wouldn't have to work so hard if Greg hadn't nearly ruined her financially, but she didn't bother mentioning it. "He's got you stopping in every morning. And Norma Jean's been calling him several times a week."
"Norma Jean." Greg gave a half grin. "She asked Lew to go out to dinner with her, did you know that?"
"She's asked more than once," she said with a nod. "And Dad keeps turning her down. I guess I should talk to him about that." She paused a moment. "If I can figure out how to tell him that having a little fun won't kill him without getting my head bitten off, that is."
Greg chuckled. "I think she surprised him. At least, that's how it seemed to me when he talked about it." He slid his hands into his back pockets. "As if he'd been sucker thumped with a feather pillow." When he got close enough, he reached up and grasped the brass railing. "Want me to talk to him about it? You know, guy to guy?"
She hesitated a mere second before saying, "I'll do it. He's not your problem anymore."
He looked at her a moment, his dark gaze going flat. "He might not be my father-in-law, Lauren, but he's still my friend."
Dipping her chin, she noticed a smudge of dirt on her leather pump. "I know you care about him, Greg. I didn't mean to insinuate otherwise. I just meant that, well, as his daughter, I shoul
d be the one to, um—" she offered him an apologetic smile "—take on the dangerous jobs. You know as well as I do that Dad doesn't like to be told what to do."
The tension left his shoulders. "That's an understatement. All right, then. You take him on. But if you need back up, I'm your man."
Their eyes met and held.
No man had the right to look that good in a plain gray t-shirt and blue jeans.
Needing somewhere else to focus her gaze, Lauren glanced down the front of her and swiped at imaginary lint on the thighs of her black wool trousers.
"So," she hedged lightly, "you called me out here to show me something."
"Yeah. Yeah, I did."
His smiled again and his eyes shined like polished onyx. She'd seen that look a thousand times while they had been married.
She once went away for a weekend to attend a seminar, and when she returned, he'd built a shed in the back yard. She'd only remembered complaining once about the garage clutter, but when she drove into the driveway, he was there to open the garage door and wave at her to drive inside the tidy space.
Then there had been their first Christmas together. He had spent an entire day hanging strands of lights from the house. The winter sky had been dark by the time she'd arrived home from the office, and she'd been absolutely delighted when she'd turned the corner and seen their home lit up like a colorful gingerbread house.
The man positively loved to give surprises.
"Come on. I want you to do the honors." He reached out his hand to her.
Lauren didn't hesitate. "The honors?" she asked, hurrying to him and sliding her palm into his. His calloused fingertips were warm as they closed over hers, their rough texture triggering memories of when he'd touched other, more sensitive parts of her body. He pulled her up onto the merry-go-round's platform.
"I oiled the mechanics of this thing," he told her, zigzagging through the animals on his way toward the center core, pulling her along behind him.
He let go of her hand finally and reached to open a panel door, then stepped back. The opening was filled with knobs and levers, bolts and cogs.
