Listen To Your Heart

by Fern Michaels

  “The guy was a hunk. A real pity you didn’t get his name. Bet he works out or runs. His muscles positively rippled when he was carrying that big dog.” Kitty grinned.

  “You saw all that through his suit?”

  “Yep. Those eyes are to drown in. Very kissable mouth. His teeth positively glistened.”

  “I didn’t notice,” Josie muttered.

  “Get off it, Josie. You noticed. No good-looking man gets by that eagle eye of yours. By the way, how’d the date go last night?”

  “First and last. He was just too full of himself. Get that matchmaking look out of your eye. I’d never date a man who has hair longer than my own. Cajun, Choctaw maybe. What do you think?”

  “Maybe a combination. Whatever it is, it works. He was one handsome guy. I’ve seen him somewhere. It will come to me sooner or later. That was no off-the-rack suit he was wearing either, and that car isn’t exactly a puddle-jumper. Big bucks. Pity you let him get away,” Kitty said as she flounced her way up the steps.

  Was it a pity? Josie wondered as she made her way to the cottage, where she worked industriously gathering up as many of the tiny beans as she could find. Two hours later she had the soft little toy sewn together. She bent over Rosie, who was curled into a ball in her little bed. “Here you go, baby, good as new.” She wanted to cry when the Maltese made no effort to reach for it to cuddle with as she always did. “I think I got all the beans. See, it’s just as fat and wiggly as before. C’mere.” The little dog made no effort to move but buried her head in her paws.

  Damn, if she could get her hands around the giant’s throat, she would squeeze the life out of him. And his monster dog. Her best hope was that Kitty would remember where she’d seen him so she could then go and wring his big neck. Like that was really going to happen.

  The ferns looked a little sparse when she rehung them, but with more potting soil and a good spritzing they looked almost as good as new. She did her best with the geraniums and petunias, but most of the stems were broken and bent. She needed new ones. How bare and impersonal the little porch looked without the colorful blooms. She was going to have to remove the screen door and take it to be repaired. She might as well do that now and pick up some new flowers on the way back. She had plenty of time before her meeting with Mrs. Lobelia. She could also pick up a couple of po’boys for lunch for her and Kitty.

  “Come on, Rosie. Help me take off this screen door and then we’ll go in the car. Hop to it, girl.” When the little dog didn’t move, Josie bent down to pick her up. The dog didn’t protest, but she didn’t do her usual wiggle and squirm routine, either.

  It was after the noon hour when Josie parked the van outside Franky and Johnny’s on Arabella Street. She cracked the window and locked the doors while she went inside to order Kitty’s favorite po’boy. She ordered two of the hefty sandwiches made with local French bread filled with roast beef, fried shrimp, oysters, ham, or meatballs, with cheese, and gravy or tomato sauce. She told them to “dress” it, which meant they would add lettuce, mayonnaise, and mustard with a slice of tomato. She knew they would butter the bread and heat it just the way she and her sister liked it.

  She heard Rosie yapping and clawing at the window the minute she closed the door of the restaurant. She ran to the car and unlocked it. Normally the little dog would try to pry open the bag and sniff out the contents. Right now all she wanted was to get out of the Ford Explorer.

  She saw it then as her gaze swept the street. Down the block, the sleek, expensive Mercedes was parked at the curb. In the blink of an eye, Rosie leaped over Josie’s lap and jumped to the ground. She sprinted down the street, Josie in pursuit.

  Josie watched in amazement as the little dog tried to scale the car door. On one of her jumps, Josie reached out and grabbed her in midair. In doing so she could see the interior of the car clearly. It was ripped to shreds, the fine leather hanging in strips, the rearview mirror half off its track. There was no sign of the owner or his dog. Obviously, Rosie was picking up the boxer’s scent.

  He came out of nowhere, the big dog dragging him forward. With one mighty lunge, the boxer tore loose of the giant’s grip on his leash. He bounded over to the curb to where Josie was standing with Rosie, skidded to a stop, sat up on his hind legs, and whined for Josie to set the little dog down. Before Josie could make up her mind, Rosie wiggled free and leaped to the ground, where the boxer nuzzled and playfully prodded her with one of his big paws.

  The giant cleared his throat. “It would seem we have a bit of a problem.”

  Kitty was right. He is definitely a hunk. “I’d certainly second that,” Josie said, pointing to the inside of the elegant car. “When did he do that?”

  “He did the backseat on the way from your place and the front when I tried to take him to that dog school down the block. He almost chewed off the steering wheel,” the giant said in disgust. “He wants something. I don’t know what the something is. Did you get your dog’s toy fixed?”

  “Yes, but she doesn’t want it. She wouldn’t even touch it. Ah . . . the reason I’m standing here is she must have picked up . . . his scent. That’s the only thing I can figure out. I was in Franky and Johnny’s to pick up some po’boys, and she was going wild. I came to see what it was she wanted. I guess it’s your dog. I have to go now. Can you put your dog in your car so we can leave?”

  “I’ll try. He’s not going to like it,” the giant said. “Maybe you should leave first.”

  “He’ll follow us. You go first. If the doors are closed, he can’t get out. Can he?” Josie asked tartly.

  “He’ll probably go through the damn window. Is that fur ball in heat?” the giant asked suspiciously.

  “No, the fur ball is not in heat. She’s spayed. I resent you calling her a fur ball. She has a name, and it’s Rosalie—Rosie for short. What about yours?”

  “He’s fixed, too. Maybe they like the way the other smells. Yours smells like coconut. I can’t believe my dog likes that prissy smell.”

  “Well your dog smells like a wet wool sweater a cat peed on. I can’t believe my dog would be attracted to such a smell.”

  “Enough!” the giant roared. “Get in the car, Zip. Don’t make me pick you up again.” Zip continued to nuzzle Rosie. Josie watched in amusement.

  “Pick yours up at the same time,” the giant ordered in an authoritative voice.

  Josie bristled, but did as instructed.

  “Now run like hell!” the giant roared.

  Josie ran, the little dog barking and squirming to get out of her grasp. She wanted to look behind her but was afraid she would lose her momentum and somehow Rosie would get loose from her grasp. She was breathing like a long-distance runner when she finally plopped down in the driver’s seat, the van securely locked. She turned to look at the huddled dog on the passenger seat next to her. “Listen, little girl. I don’t know what the hell that was all about, but we aren’t going to go through it again. That dog is just too big for you to play with. He’s the one who tore your precious baby. I’m the one who fixed it, and now you don’t even want it. Snap out of it. Zip went home. We’re going home. This is the end of it.”

  Josie put the Explorer in gear and turned around in the middle of the road. She sensed rather than saw the Mercedes doing the same thing. Good, we’re going in opposite directions. She was almost to Jackson Square when she realized she still didn’t know the giant’s name. What difference did it make if she knew his name or not? Life would go on regardless. The sun would come up tomorrow and the day after tomorrow. He was a hunk, though. She laughed aloud when she remembered the interior of the luxury vehicle. Big dogs, big damage.

  Josie turned left on Prytania Street continuing down until she crossed Washington Street and then Fourth Street. She turned right on Third Street and drove into her driveway. She was home.

  As always, she was struck with the beauty of the old pillared house shrouded with live oaks. They’d had the house painted last October, and it gleamed now in the b
right noonday sun. She heard rather than saw a tour bus with the guide shouting out tidbits about the Garden District and the people who lived inside the beautiful old buildings. He would take them past the home of Anne Rice of vampire fame. Everyone would ooh and aaah over the huge stone wolf on her second-floor balcony. Then the guide would tell them about the church she bought before he took them past Tulane and Loyola’s campuses. Just another sight-seeing day in N’awlins.

  The front porch was alive with plants and hanging ferns, all in need of watering. Perhaps later, after the sun went down. For now she had to go inside. With Rosie in one hand and the po’boys in the other, she somehow managed to fit the key into the lock of the majestic teakwood door. She slammed it shut immediately and then locked it, secure in the knowledge that Rosie couldn’t get out.

  While the house was old, her parents had kept up with it, and so had she and Kitty. Just last year they’d painted inside and out, and it still looked fresh and clean. They’d discarded a lot of their parents’ old comfortable furniture and replaced it with more modern but just as comfortable love seats and easy chairs. The long windows still had their swagged draperies. They’d kept the old rugs because to do away with them would have been sacrilegious. The shiny, worn pine floors and the breathtaking staircase made of solid teak were wonders that caused visitors to gasp in delight. Or perhaps it was the high ceilings or the ornate woodwork.

  “Anybody home? I brought lunch. You’ll never guess what I bought. And you’ll never guess who I ran into,” Josie called from the foot of the stairway. “What do you want to drink? Cola, sweet tea, or a cold beer?”

  “Sweet tea,” Kitty called from the top of the staircase. “You went uptown and got po’boys from Franky and Johnny’s. I bet you ran into the hunk. Howzat for guessing with a stuffed-up head? Did he ask you out?”

  “No, he did not ask me out. It wasn’t that kind of meeting. Rosie knew they were there. You should see what his dog did to that expensive car he drives, and no, I still don’t know his name.”

  “I know him from somewhere,” Kitty grumbled. “When are you going to get the screen door back? I love that screen door. I like the way it bangs shut, and I like the way it squeaks no matter what you do to it. Mom said it was supposed to do that because it was an old-fashioned wooden screen door, not like those aluminum things. I can’t believe that dog put his big rear end through our screen door.”

  “You up to these po’boys, Kitty. How’s your throat?”

  “Never mind my throat. Tell me about the hunk.”

  Josie told her. “See for yourself. Rosie wants nothing to do with me. She wouldn’t even touch the Beanie Baby. All she wants is that damn big dog and, what’s worse, he wants her. How is that possible, Kitty, since they’ve both been fixed?”

  “Ummnn. Beats me. Before I forget, a package came while you were out. It’s in the hall under the table.”

  Josie unwrapped the po’boys and set them on what her mother called her day dishes—plain, heavy white china with a large, succulent strawberry in the middle. There were only four left in the entire set, aside from two cups and two soup bowls. The matching napkins were old and faded, but neither girl was willing to part with them.

  It was a cheerful kitchen, with wraparound windows and a cozy breakfast nook. Perfect for morning coffee, newspaper reading, and bird-watching. The Hansel and Gretel cottage and the ladybug walkway were clearly visible from each window, something that brought a smile to each young woman’s face no matter what time of day.

  Kitty poured the sweet tea from her great-grandmother’s crystal pitcher.

  “Who’s the package from?” Josie asked as she bit into her po’boy.

  “Gourmet Party. Probably more copies of their magazine. Maybe it’s a hint that we should subscribe. We should, you know. The publicity that centerfold gave us is invaluable. Maybe they want us to hand them out to our customers. It felt kind of light, though.”

  “Okay, I’ll take out a subscription. Any phone calls?”

  “Not a one. Seems like everyone goes underground on Monday. Too much partying on Bourbon Street over the weekend. So, get the box and open it already. Let’s see what they sent us. If it is magazines, you can give one to Mrs. Lobelia when she comes over.”

  Josie walked into the hallway, looking over her shoulder to see if Rosie would follow her. Her heart thumped in her chest when the little dog stayed under the kitchen table. She picked up the box. Kitty was right: It was light. She was curious now. Her sandwich could wait.

  Kitty watched as Josie slit the top of the packing box with a sharp knife. She dug down into the bubble wrap and pulled out a stuffed animal. “It’s a boxer! What in the world?”

  “Now I know where I saw the hunk!” Kitty cried. “He’s in the same magazine we were in but he’s in the back end of it. When we first got it, I was like you. I just read our own article and chortled a bit. Then one day, I was leafing through it, and there he was. It isn’t nearly as grand as the one they did on us. That dog you’re holding is his. The same one who ran amuck on the cottage. What does the note say? Hurry up, read it.”

  The Maltese came out from under the table and yipped her pleasure at the sight of the huge stuffed animal. “Would you look at that,” Josie whispered to her sister. The little dog used her snout to topple the animal until it fell over. She bit down on one of the pointed ears and dragged it to her bed at the far side of the kitchen. She tilted her head to the side to see what her mistress thought of the situation. Josie clapped her hands and said, “Good girl, Rosie.”

  “I was starting to worry about her. Do you think they sent the boxer to us by mistake and ours went to . . . him?”

  “I’d say that’s a logical assumption. What does the card say?”

  “Just that they enjoyed working with us and they wanted to send this small gift as a token of their appreciation. One of their employees makes stuffed animals. That’s all it says.”

  “Wow! What do you think he’ll say when he gets ours? Do you think he’ll bring it back? You could call the magazine and get his address. They’ll give it to you when you tell them about the mistake.”

  “I will do no such thing. I’m not taking that away from Rosie. Look at her—she loves it. Where’s the magazine? I want to see what it says about him.”

  “I thought you weren’t interested.”

  “I’m not. I just want to read it.”

  “You’re going to have to wait. I hear a car, so that must mean Mrs. Lobelia is here. Mrs. Lobelia with lots of money.”

  “Save that article for me, Kitty. I’ll read it later. You know what? Just for the heck of it, go ahead and call the magazine and get his address.”

  “Just for the heck of it, huh?”

  “Yeah, just for the heck of it. You never know. That screen door might turn out to be an expensive proposition. I had to order new hardware. And I had to get new screws for the window boxes. New plants. That adds up. I might want to change my mind and send him a bill.”

  “Sounds like a plan to me. Consider it done.”

  Two

  Josie took one last bite from her po’boy before she ran to the hallway mirror to check her appearance. She tweaked the curls falling over her forehead, pinched her cheeks for a little extra color, and smoothed down the long linen skirt. New clients deserved a good presentation. Then she remembered the condition of the cottage floor, with all the dirt and the fluffy vermiculite that dotted the green outdoor carpeting. “It is what it is,” she muttered as she skipped her way down the ladybug walkway.

  She was tiny, so tiny at first glance that Josie thought she was a child. She wasn’t just pretty—she was gorgeous, with her high coronet of snow-white braids and flawless complexion. Seventy if she’s a day, a youthtful seventy, Josie thought. There was a springiness to her step, and she was dressed in a swirling, colorful skirt with matching top. A straw hat with oversize sunglasses dangled from one hand, a Chanel bag from the other. She wore the diamonds in her ears and on her fing
ers like royalty. Josie estimated the total carat weight at around twelve or so. Possibly more. Brilliant straw sandals with two-inch heels and a diamond ankle bracelet completed her attire.

  Marie Lobelia smiled warmly, her eyes twinkling. Josie fell in love with her at that moment. She fought the urge to take her in her arms for a bone-crushing hug.

  “I love this,” the little woman said, waving her arms about. “It’s so peaceful, so colorful. I had no idea this was even back here.” She waved her arms again to indicate the cottage and the long, square building that made up the kitchens and catering center.

  “My sister and I have only been here three years. Our parents operated the catering service until their death. There was a gas-line explosion that killed them. This has all been redone and landscaped. We added more flowers, some shrubbery, and we repainted the ladybugs and the cottage. I apologize for the condition of the carpet, but we had a bit of an accident this morning. I had to take the screen door to the hardware store for repairs and didn’t get to the floor. Step carefully.”

  The little woman waved her arms again to show that the condition of the floor was of no importance. She stepped through the door. “Was this building always here?” she twinkled.

  “Yes. It was originally a potting shed, and when my sister and I were born, my mother had a room added to it and it became our playhouse. There are some wonderful memories attached to this little house. However, my parents never used it the way Kitty and I do. They had offices in the building in the back.”

  “It’s cozy and comfortable,” Marie Lobelia said, sitting down in a white wicker rocking chair. “I’ve heard good things about your catering service,” she said, getting right to the point. “I called several times last year, but you were always booked up. I’d like to engage your services for two events. I want to host a small party on the Epiphany and of course I want the traditional King Cake. Tradition these days is to bake a tiny baby doll representing the baby Jesus into the cake, and whoever gets that particular piece hosts the next King Cake party. I prefer the old way. A pecan will do nicely in place of the baby doll. I want the traditional colors of Mardi Gras, green, yellow, and purple sugars used. I’m sure you’ve done this hundreds of times. I just like to make sure things are clear from the beginning.”