All About Charming Alice

by J. Arlene Culiner

  “I don’t know. I just thought there were certain names people give to dogs — names like Rover, Rex, Spot. Killer was more fun as a temporary handle.” He waved his hands, a gesture of hopeless amusement. Strong hands, tanned hands. Virile, somehow. Just like the man himself. Alice forced her eyes back to his face. And saw he was smiling. Faintly. Almost as if he’d caught her thoughts. She felt her cheeks redden, and hoped, desperately, he didn’t know why.

  “Now do you believe me?” he asked, more softly.

  “I’m trying to.” But she did believe him, she realized suddenly. Something in his green gaze told her he wasn’t the sort of man who lied. Or was she just being silly, allowing herself to be dazzled by that obvious charm of his? And by the resolute jaw, broad shoulders and taut muscles. She shoved thoughts of his aura and physique out of her mind.

  The smile was still on his lips. “Actually, I’m not a dog person. I’ve never owned an animal in my life. My mother even refused to let me have a guinea pig when I was a kid.”

  Alice felt her own lips twitching in an answering smile. She didn’t want to sympathize with him — he was too dangerous, too sexy. But here she was, just about to soften completely.

  To hide her confusion, she crouched down, began stroking the dog’s head. “He doesn’t look much like a killer.” Her voice also sounded a lot softer than she wanted it to. Way too soft.

  And that wasn’t all. For some reason, she wanted that man to stay. Stay right here where she was, right here on this veranda. Out here in the bleak light. Of course the very thought was ridiculous. He wanted to get away as quickly as possible, hadn’t he said just that? There wasn’t anything in his behavior that hinted — even vaguely — at anything else.

  “As soft as butter.”

  Alice looked up, blinked. Soft as butter? She was? Of course not! He was talking about the dog. His smile had broadened wonderfully. It was the kind of smile only really nice people seem to manage. A smile that makes resistance hightail out of the picture, pronto. She fought against its charm. “Obviously Killer adores you.” She tried to force more frost into her tone.

  “Then it’s a case of one-sided love at first sight. I never saw this creature before this morning.” He raised his arm, jabbed a forefinger at the Rover parked in the dusty lane. “See those license plates? Illinois, right? Why would I drive all the way out here from Chicago — thousands of miles — to Nevada, to dump my dog?”

  She had no answer to that, of course. Instead, she addressed the dog, speaking to it softly. “Hi there, Killer.”

  “He’s a pretty good-looking dog,” the man conceded. “Or, at least he will be when he fattens up a little.”

  “So why don’t you keep him?”

  “Keep him? Keep a dog? Yeah, right. That’s all I need. Believe me, I have no space for animals in my life.” He shook his head. “No space for all the dog hair, either.”

  She stood up again. “How would you know? You’ve never tried. It’s a lot more fun walking a dog than a guinea pig.”

  “Look, Ms. Treemont, I probably sound like a hardhearted, self-centered, egomaniac to you. But I did care enough to bring the dog here so he’ll be taken care of. We simply have no future together.” He stopped, lifted his hands in what could have been a gesture of embarrassment. “What’ll to happen to Killer now?”

  “Nothing’s going to happen to him. He seems perfectly docile. He’ll stay here with me until — and if — I find a good home for him.”

  “I see.” The man’s eyes roved over the ramshackle building, taking in the peeling paint, fraying wood and sagging steps. All the things only money could repair. “Look, I’ve never brought a dog to a … to a refuge before. Can I give you some money for his upkeep?”

  Money? Alice always needed money. Or fewer animals. “Don’t bother.” This was only pride speaking now. She hated anyone guessing how tight finances were.

  “If you’re sure … ” He sounded doubtful.

  “I’m sure,” she said coldly, and turned her attention to the dog again.

  “Well … I’d better get going then.”

  “Fine.” She didn’t meet his eyes. Only waited. But he didn’t move. Why was he hesitating? Why did it suddenly seem that it was less important to him to be on time for his appointment? As if he were only searching around for something to say. A reason to tarry. That was something she’d like. Too much. Beautiful green eyes. And a soft, sensual mouth that broke up the harsher planes of his strong jaw.

  She felt something elemental in her stirring — a primitive recognition of his masculinity — as if every nerve in her body had become supremely aware of him. Perhaps she could even keep him here — only for a little while, of course. Invite him in for a cup of coffee …

  No. That was something she couldn’t do. Not if she knew what was good for her. She forced back the feelings, fought their intensity. She knew what this was, all right: raw sexual attraction. In this case, one-sided. Lust for a passing stranger? Ridiculous.

  He was saying something now … what? She forced herself to concentrate.

  “Thanks for taking Killer in, Ms. Treemont.”

  She nodded, but didn’t trust herself to speak.

  The porch steps creaked wearily as he went down them. Unable to resist, she watched him cross the yard, open the door of his Land Rover. Climb inside. The engine started and, after a brief wave, he slowly drove back down the track.

  Alice continued standing on the porch, watching the car disappear through the dust. Gone.

  “You’d better say good riddance,” she said to Killer who was also observing the departure. “No decent human being would abandon a friend just like that!”

  But Killer didn’t seem to be the least bit distressed now that the man was gone. He simply looked up at her and wagged his tail. He was perfectly happy.

  “I must say, Killer, you seem to have a real talent for love at first sight.” Not like her. Love at first sight? No way.

  • • •

  “Good looking man you were talking to out there.” Pa Handy was lounging in the dark hallway, the wrench still clutched in his hand, his half-moon eyes shimmering slyly.

  Alice closed the front door behind her. “Didn’t notice,” she said, as briefly as possible. And she shrugged — just to indicate to Pa that such things were far beyond her sphere of interest. That she had no time for tight, tugging reactions. For the thoughts about how she’d really wanted to behave with that man. Thank goodness he was gone and would never come this way again. She didn’t need trouble lounging on her front porch. And she didn’t have any place for upheaval in her well-planned, well-ordered life.

  “You didn’t notice that he was good looking, eh?” Pa’s grin oozed from ear to ear, “Well, I was looking out the window and I saw he sure noticed you.”

  Alice gaped at Pa for a split second while her mind whizzed indignantly. “You were what?”

  “Looking out the window. Watching you both. Eavesdropping.” Pa wasn’t the least flustered. In fact, he looked mighty pleased with himself.

  “As if spying on people is the most natural thing in the world. You should be ashamed.” Alice tried to sound as chastising as she could, although, in reality, she adored Pa.

  “I’m an old geezer,” Pa nodded, not in the least offended. “Don’t have enough time left in my life for shame. Yep, he liked you all right. And that’s one good looking dog.” He evaluated Killer. “Skinny as hell, though.” He looked up with the twinkle still in his eyes. “Just about as skinny as you are, woman. Both of you need to get some meat on your bones.”

  Alice glared at the elderly man sourly. “And you need to get some meat off your bones.”

  Pa didn’t take offense. He never did. He only chuckled. “Oh I don’t know about that. Seems to me a man my age has earned the right to a big belly. Besides … ” He was looking as sly as the boa constrictor that had swallowed an elephant whole. “I’m not aiming to please anyone.”

  “Neither am I!” It was mo
re an explosion than anything else.

  “It wouldn’t hurt if you did. That’s what everyone says.”

  Alice rolled her eyes in exasperation. Oh, for heaven’s sake! Did every single citizen in Blake’s Folly spend their time gossiping about her, suggesting she needed a man in her bed?

  And what about Mr. Green Eyes, himself? Mr. Oh-So-Sure-Of-Himself. Did he also think she was just a frustrated, lonely woman ready to snatch at the first pretty thing that came her way? Is that why he had looked her over in that appraising way? How humiliating. Well, she’d managed to get rid of him quickly enough, that was for sure. Now all she had to do was get rid of nosy, interfering Pa.

  “Let’s get back to the water heater.”

  “Sure, I can fix it all right. But not today, Alice. Nor tomorrow, neither.” He raised his left hand, held out a grayish coil. “I need to order a new one of these little thingamajigs and heaven only knows when that’ll get here. The world forgets folk exist in these parts when it comes to deliveries.”

  “Well that’s all the more reason to get going and order the thingamajig. I hate heating up pans of water on the stove in order to have a bath. This is the twenty-first century, even if it’s only the first part of it.”

  But Pa Handy wasn’t to be fobbed off easily; Ma Handy would have his head on a plate if he didn’t bring home a morsel of juicy gossip. “Yep, a good looking man, he was. When’s he coming back to pick up his dog?”

  “He’s not.” Alice snapped. “He just dumped the dog off. Claimed it wasn’t his.”

  “I see,” said Pa slowly. “Don’t you believe him?”

  Alice let out a hiss of warning. “I don’t know and I don’t care. Go home, Pa.”

  “Doesn’t look like the kind of nice man who’d do that.”

  “Oh really!” Her voice dripped sarcasm. “And just what does a dog-dumper look like? Do they have horns and long reticulated tails? Or do they look just like you and me?”

  “No. You won’t convince me. He had a nice, kind face. As I said, a good looking man. Too bad he didn’t stick around. Well, no matter.”

  “You know what, Pa?” said Alice, determined to end the discussion — such as it was. “I’ll bet Ma is sitting in her kitchen at this very moment with a long list of things you have to fix in your own house. Things you never seem to get around to doing, or so she tells me.”

  A faintly nervous shadow crossed Pa’s face. Ma Handy was a terror. Almost everyone in the world was afraid of her tongue — especially Pa. Under her homey, welcoming exterior, Ma Handy was a foul tempered Napoleon with ulcers.

  “Okay, okay. I’m going.” With a devilish wink, he sidled in the direction of the door. “I’ll be in touch.”

  “You do that.” As if the residents here in Blake’s Folly could do anything else but keep in touch. Blake’s Folly: population of fifty-three and growing smaller every year. All you had to do was scratch your neck in a dark room, curtains drawn, windows closed, at three in the morning, and for a week, the other fifty-two residents would be asking if mosquitoes were bad out your way.

  She didn’t dare sigh with relief until she heard the front door close and the wooden steps creak as Pa made his wending way home.

  Of course, all of Blake’s Folly would know about the stranger and his dog by now. If Doug Farley at the gas station had given him directions to her house, then Lucy Farley would have been on the phone to Jane Grimes two seconds later. And Jane would have told Tony and Tony would have mentioned it to Mick Fletcher. Any minute now, Pa would be telling Ma how good looking that stranger had been and how he’d looked at her — Alice.

  “Killer,” she said looking down at the dog still sitting expectantly at her feet. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into, coming to a place like this.”

  Killer wagged his tail happily in answer.

  “Of course, it’s not as if you had a choice.” She stopped and shook her head in dismay. If the other residents of Blake’s Folly could see her now, deep in conversation with this dog, then they’d really think she was odd. They probably wouldn’t be very far from the truth, either.

  Especially if they knew where her thoughts really wanted to go — in the direction of the man she had just met, had talked to for no more than ten minutes. A man for whom she had felt nothing less than pure desire.

  Desire for a total stranger? For a man whose name she didn’t even know? A man she’d never, ever, see again? Or would she? His face: there was something vaguely familiar about it, although she was more than certain she’d never seen him before. If she had, she wouldn’t have forgotten him.

  Sighing, Alice looked out the large kitchen window, watched a sudden breeze catch desert dust in a gentle whirl, set branches of wild buckweed and sticky snakeweed quivering. It looked — almost — as if they were shaking with laughter.

  Chapter Three

  He was back.

  Somehow, Alice had known he would be: hadn’t her female intuition been humming, warning her he was still out there in the flatland? And now there was no missing the sound of the motor of that dusty Land Rover as it rolled up the track. She heard the car door slam. Then … silence. She waited. Nothing.

  Fighting to keep her face stiff and emotionless, she pulled open the still groaning front door.

  There he was, looking just as wonderful as she remembered, sitting on the rattan settee on her veranda as if that was where he belonged. His long muscular legs in their jeans were stretched out in front of him. A lock of reddish brown hair curled over his forehead almost inviting her fingers to touch. Cool, steady green eyes watched her with amusement.

  “Yes?” It came out coldly, thank goodness. The very last thing she wanted was for him to know the effect his presence was having on her — again — or how quickly her heart was beating.

  He didn’t seem to mind the coolness one bit, not any more than he had during their first meeting. Instead, in that easy, smooth way of his, he simply crossed one ankle over the other. And grinned! What did he have to grin about, this arrogant, overconfident, smug person?

  Hell, this was her property; she didn’t have to tolerate uninvited people! “Listen, this is private … ”

  “It’s about the room,” he drawled, effectively cutting off her protestations.

  “The room? What room?” What in heaven’s name was he talking about?

  “The room.” His lips twitched as he fought down a grin and his eyes flickered in the direction of the card pinned to the woodwork. “‘ROOM TO LET,’ that says.”

  Alice’s heart sank. Of course. Her brain wasn’t functioning! But when she’d thought of renting out one of her rooms in order to make ends meet, she hadn’t — not even for one single second — imagined some charismatic man passing this way. She couldn’t let him into her house!

  “There is no room to let. I just forgot to take the sign down. I’ll go and do it now. Good bye, mister … ”

  “Jace is the name. Jace Constant. Easy to remember, as far as names go.”

  Better to forget, if she knew what was good for her. Not that she could. She’d heard the name before, all right. Many people had.

  Jace Constant was the investigative journalist who’d won prizes for his stories before changing careers and becoming a best-selling novelist. That’s why he’d looked familiar: she’d seen his face on the back covers of his books. So he was famous — although that wasn’t the reason her heart was thumping wildly now. All she wanted to do was run, block out the green eyes, the long, lithe torso … and stop reacting like a besotted fifteen-year-old!

  “And I came to check up on Killer, of course.”

  “Finally missing the dog you abandoned?” The words popped out of her mouth before she could stop them. She forced her mouth into a sardonic little smile.

  “He’s not my dog. You still don’t believe me?” It wasn’t a question, not really. His voice was calm, assured. “Look at it this way. Why would I come back if I’d actually abandoned him? I’d have to be downright
stupid.”

  Suddenly he rose to his feet and, in that languid way of his, crossed to the doorway where she stood. She was a tallish woman but, still, he towered over her. Casually, stretching out one arm, he rested his hand on the doorframe, just a hair’s breadth above her head. He was close, so close. His body was supple, strong and — yes, she had to admit it — warm and fragrant. The heat of him reached her over the few inches separating them and she ached to curve into it. Aura? This man was a flesh-and-blood heat wave.

  The strange, tingling excitation was flowing through her again like thick port wine. She lowered her eyes, refusing to meet his gaze, although she knew he was, once again, examining her minutely.

  “And I want to take the room.”

  “Look, you don’t need my room,” she said, desperation evident in her tone. “There’s a perfectly reasonable motel the other side of the Winterback Mine, out in the direction of Logan. Actually, it’s far better equipped to take in tourists than anything you’d find here in Blake’s Folly.”

  “I know. Rider Motel. Air conditioning, closed circuit television. Right across from the Dew Drop Inn.” His smile was wry. “That’s exactly where I’ve been staying for the last three nights. And over and over again during those three nights I remembered Blake’s Folly and the ‘ROOM TO LET’ sign on your wall. And the more I thought about it, the more appealing it got. There’s nothing worse than an impersonal motel room when you have to stay in an area for a while.” He paused; letting his eyes wander over the faded wooden framing, over the settee on the veranda. “Right here, it feels more like home.”

  That wasn’t it, she knew. That wasn’t even part of the truth. He was back because something hot and wonderful shimmered between them. Did she fascinate him as much as he did her? Possibly. Although she hadn’t done anything to encourage him, not even once. It would have been hard to find anyone less friendly than she’d been.

  Still, there was something about him that touched her, something that had nothing to do with raw desire. Was it the warmth in his eyes? A quirk to his lips that promised humor and understanding? Or was it just plain magic — the magic that happens when the right female meets the right male? Whatever it was, she’d been unsuccessful in putting him out of her head for days.