by JoAnn Ross
“Just let me know if you change your mind. I’m glad you’re here,” he said, seeming to take her rejection in stride. The fact that it irked just a bit didn’t make a bit of sense, since she didn’t want to get even slightly involved with Dillon Slater. “I have a proposition for you.”
The conversation around them came to an abrupt halt. A smile quirked at the corner of his mouth. Looking around, he spotted Kara and Maddy, who’d just come out of the kitchen.
“Would you two ladies mind saving our seats for about five minutes?” he asked. “I need to talk with Claire.”
As neither woman seemed all that surprised or curious about what was going on, that niggling little chime sounded again in her mind. Louder, and a bit more insistent this time.
“Of course,” Kara said. “Hey, Claire, it’s good to see you.”
Brief greetings were exchanged; then Dillon scooped Claire’s jacket from the back of her chair. “Let’s go out on the porch,” he said, “where we can have some privacy.”
The chime was now an alarm bell. “Unless you’re going to tell me that Matt has a problem, we don’t have any reason for privacy.”
“Now, see, far be it from me to argue with a lady, but that’s where you’re wrong.”
They wove through the tables, past the bandstand, to the porch overlooking the harbor. Although a light mist was falling, the porch roof kept them dry. Claire had also discovered that the cloud cover when it rained actually kept the temperature up.
“It’s the maritime climate,” he said when she mentioned it after he’d asked if she was cold. “So I’ve been thinking about watching you blow glass the other day.”
“Have you?”
“I have. And I was wondering if you’d be willing to give a demonstration to the science club. I think they’d really go for it.”
She was surprised he just hadn’t asked her that question back inside the restaurant. “I’d be happy to. Do you think they’d enjoy blowing a glass paperweight?”
“You’d make their day. Who wouldn’t want to give someone a special thing they’ve made with their own two hands?”
“When would you want to do it?”
“I don’t want to interfere with your exhibit work. Maybe after the first of the year?”
“I think I could fit it in before that so they’d have a Christmas gift. How about sometime the week before Christmas?”
“Great. Thanks. That’s way cool.”
“That’s it?”
“Well, there is another thing.”
Make that a siren. “What?”
The flashing green, gold, and purple neon sign overhead illuminated his face enough that she could read his intention.
“This isn’t going to happen,” she warned.
“Why not?”
He was close. Too close. “Because we don’t know each other.”
“Good point.” His breath warmed her lips, and despite her protest, as she held her breath, waiting for his kiss, he surprised her by nipping at her chin. “It just so happens that I’ve got a few ways in mind we can remedy that. Starting right now.”
“I can’t.” Oh, he was good, she thought as her heart speeded up. But she was no longer that naive girl who could fall for such practiced seduction.
“Can’t? Or won’t?”
She put a hand on his chest and was surprised to discover that despite his outwardly easy charm, his heart was beating as rapidly as hers. Which caused a little jolt and made this situation all the more tempting.
“Both. Because I’ve never been one for playing games, I’m not going to deny I’m tempted. But you just happen to be my son’s coach. There are undoubtedly a great many parents in that restaurant who are hoping their sons win athletic scholarships. If they thought you were giving Matt more playing time because you were involved with me, it would not only hurt the team; it could hurt my son. A lot.”
“I think you’re overstating the problem.”
“I don’t believe I am.” Mrs. Martin, whose son Dirk was a senior on the team, had definitely iced her when they’d been introduced. “And it’s time we went back inside.”
He didn’t stop her when she took a step back. Nor did he argue, but merely shrugged and said, “Your call.”
But as they entered Bon Temps and Ken Curtis called him to the bandstand to give a speech about the upcoming season, Dillon bent his head and murmured next to her ear, “Just think about it, Claire.”
As if she was going to be able to think of anything else.
35
As with everything else in her life lately, Claire’s trip to the shelter did not go as planned. Matt had been talking about a lab or a boxer, and she’d been fine with that. Until this black-and-brown dog came up to them, sat on her haunches, and held out a paw.
“That’s Jessie,” Johnny said.
“What is she?” Claire asked, even as she bent down and shook the paw. At which point the dog rolled over and bared her stomach. “She looks like a miniature Doberman pinscher. But larger.” She also had floppy ears and a long tail, but Claire assumed that was because they hadn’t been surgically changed to the AKC standard.
“Actually, min pins aren’t related to Dobermans at all,” Charity explained. “Pinscher actually means terrier, and those were bred as barnyard ratters. Their breeding ancestry includes dachshunds, Italian greyhounds, and perhaps German pinschers, which is what Jessie is.”
The dog, hearing her name, rolled back up onto her feet and again held out a paw. “It’s her trick,” Charity said. “I’ve no idea how she learned it, because her previous owners swear they didn’t teach it to her. She’s incredibly smart, but her breed also has a strong will, so she needs gentle but consistent discipline. And because she’s high-energy, she’ll need daily exercise.”
“We can do that, can’t we, Mom?” Matt was on his knees on the grass, scratching behind her velvety ear, causing the dog to groan with canine pleasure.
“I suppose so.” Claire turned to Charity. “I read on your Web site that you prequalify all your dogs?”
“I definitely do. Jessie’s a bit of a Velcro dog, needing to keep close by people, but that’s because her life has been through so much upheaval lately. We got her when the owners found out she was pregnant, so suddenly she was not only having to become a mother at her very first heat; she was in a strange environment with people she didn’t know.
“But she’d be a wonderful companion. As you can see, she’s very outgoing and a very quick learner.” She turned toward her son. “Show Mrs. Templeton the trick you taught her.”
“Sure.” He grinned. “Jessie, sit.”
She sat.
“Now, stay.”
She didn’t move a muscle.
“This needs a bit of backstory,” Charity said. “After helping in the clinic and shelter, Johnny’s decided he wants to go to OSU and become a vet. And OSU’s century-old rival is U of O.”
“The Ducks,” Matt said dismissively, suggesting he found the name even less suitable for a mascot than the Dolphins.
“So… Jessie,” Johnny said. When he paused, her ears pricked and she seemed to go into high alert to listen. “Would you like to be an Oregon Duck fan? Or would you rather be a dead dog?”
On cue, she dramatically fell to the ground, rolled over, and stuck all four legs in the air. And held that pose until the teenager snapped his fingers.
“Okay,” Claire said with a laugh as the dog jumped up and gave Matt’s face a wet swipe with her long pink tongue. “You won me over… . Matt, what do you think?”
“She’s perfect, Mom!”
All the youthful joy she’d once been accustomed to seeing in his face was back as he hugged the dog, who, since she was in a shelter, obviously needed him as much as he needed her. Of course, in three years he’d be off to college, and she’d be stuck walking and feeding and disciplining his dog. But at least she wouldn’t be left with a totally empty nest.
“There’s just one more thing,” Cha
rity said. “Johnny, would you go get Toby?”
He took off running.
“As I said, Jessie’s been through a lot of changes. She’s young and was a bit overwhelmed to suddenly be faced with a litter of pups. Which is when Toby decided to adopt them. And, as it turns out, her.”
“Toby is a dog?” Claire asked.
“Exactly. He’s one of our golden paw boys, meaning he’s a senior citizen. The two of them are pretty much inseparable, and I’d really prefer adopting them as a pair.”
“Oh, I don’t know—”
“Mom!”
“Matt, our own life isn’t exactly settled right now. You have your sports, and we have to fix up the house, and—”
She felt her heart turn over as Johnny returned with a ball of black fluff in his arms. The little dog leaped out of the teenager’s arms and went running over to Jessie. Watching them exchange enthusiastic dog kisses, as if they’d been separated for years and not merely minutes, Claire knew she was toast.
“Toby spends much of his day dozing,” Charity assured her. “Most of the time you won’t even realize he’s there.”
“But Jessie will,” Claire said as she watched them together. Jessie was on her feet, chasing Toby around the yard. At first Claire worried, then noticed that the younger and larger dog kept letting Toby think he was knocking her down.
“As you can see, they’ve formed quite a bond,” Charity said.
Claire caved. “Prepare the paperwork,” she told Claire. “For them both.”
“Thanks, Mom!” Again Matt reminded her of the happy son he’d once been. “You totally rock!”
36
Matt hadn’t had any real intention of joining the science club, and the idea of giving up a Saturday morning he could’ve been playing ball sucked, but the prospect of shooting off a cannon was impossible to resist.
Since the town’s only real cannon was too big to move, the coach had built his own with help from the school’s metal-shop teacher. It was currently sitting on the beach, its barrel pointed out to sea.
“Okay,” Coach Dillon said as they gathered on the sand in front of the old shipwreck they’d be aiming at. Not that there was any chance of anyone actually hitting the ship’s skeleton, but it exponentially upped the cool factor. It wasn’t raining today, but the sky was still as gray as the metal cannon barrel. “Who knows where gunpowder was first invented?”
“That’s easy,” one kid said. “China.”
“You’re right. It was easy. Who knows why or how gunpowder was invented?”
“For fireworks,” another guy called out.
“Nope. Who wants to try again?”
“Someone, perhaps a Taoist monk, was looking for the secret to longevity,” Aimee said.
“That’s exactly right. The Chinese were big on ingesting chemicals for health reasons. For the bonus question, can you give me the time frame?”
“No one’s exactly sure,” Aimee said without missing a beat, “but sometime in the first century AD.”
“You nailed it.”
Matt would’ve expected more enthusiasm from Aimee for being the only person on the beach besides the coach to have known that. But she’d been uncharacteristically quiet ever since they’d all gotten on the school bus to drive out here. Although he’d been sitting across the aisle from her, she’d pointedly ignored him.
While everyone else on the bus was talking and laughing and having a high old time, the silence between them had been deafening.
“Good answer,” he said, trying to get a conversation going now.
“Thanks,” she said tonelessly.
“I guess you knew it because you’re interested in medical stuff. Since you’re going to be a doctor.”
Instead of answering, she merely froze him out, then walked across the wet packed sand to stand as far away from him as she could.
Well, that went well, he thought as he kicked at a piece of seaweed. His house was just above the beach, and he was seriously considering just saying the hell with this and going home when the coach zeroed in on him.
“Templeton. Can you tell us what makes gunpowder explode?”
It was a trick question. And he knew the answer.
“It doesn’t,” he said. “It just burns really fast.”
“But it does explode,” another kid said.
“It better,” someone else called out, “because I gave up going to the arcade to come blow stuff up.”
“It explodes when it’s compressed,” Matt said. “And when it burns, it releases gases larger in volume than the original powder. The same way steam has more volume than water.”
“Or like how the steam inside the kernel of popcorn keeps expanding until it bursts the shell,” Aimee said.
“Good team answer.” The coach, seemingly oblivious to the tension between them, grinned.
“To cut to the chase before it starts raining again, the Chinese held the secret to gunpowder for a long time. By the 300s AD, a scientist, Ge Hong, had written down the chemicals and described the explosion, but although it was cool for fireworks, it wasn’t until somewhere in the 900s that they thought to turn it into a weapon.
“They started putting small stone cannonballs inside bamboo tubes and shot them out by lighting the gunpowder at the other end. Which is the same principle as the one we’ll be using today.
“And, since Templeton caught the trick to my question, I’m going to let him choose the first powder man to light this baby up.”
“Powder girl,” Matt said, looking across the top of the cannon straight at Aimee.
He could tell she wanted to refuse. Only because he’d suggested her. But maybe she couldn’t resist the opportunity to be the first one to set off the blast, or perhaps she didn’t want to cause a scene, because she merely shrugged her parka-clad shoulders and mumbled, “Thanks.”
“Okay,” the coach said. “Since it’s not only dangerous but environmentally wrong to go shooting cannonballs into the surf, we’re going to be using melons. And the chemicals we’ll be using are… ?”
“Potassium nitrate, sulfur, and carbon,” everyone said in unison.
The coach assigned a kid to load the cannon; then he gave Aimee a lighter and a long stick. “Don’t want to blow off your hand.”
“If she does blow it off, at next month’s meeting we can try using her own stem cells to grow her a new one,” a kid in a blue aquarium CAMP FINSTITUTE counselor slicker suggested. Which drew a laugh from nearly everyone. Aimee—surprise, surprise—didn’t crack a smile.
She took the lighter and touched it to the wadded cotton at the end of the stick. After bringing the flame up to meet the wick, she hesitated a moment to make sure it had caught, then quickly stepped back.
Ka-boom!
The resultant explosion echoed off the cliffs and water, earning loud cheers.
Even she managed a smile. Which she ruthlessly cut off the moment she caught Matt looking at her again.
As everyone lined up to take their turn, Matt grabbed her by the wrist and practically dragged her behind a towering stack of driftwood logs. He suspected the only reason she went with him at all was to avoid calling attention to them.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked, shaking free and putting her hands on her hips.
“You didn’t talk to me the entire bus ride out.”
“Maybe because I have nothing to say to you.” She lifted her chin. “And more to the point, I have no desire to hear anything you might have to say.”
“Not even that I’m sorry?”
Her eyes narrowed. “For what?”
Another trick question. One that had him feeling as if he were on the verge of sinking into quicksand. Over his head.
“Whatever I did to piss you off.”
She stared at him. Then blew out a long, frustrated breath.
“You really don’t get it, do you?”
“Get what?”
“This.” She reached up, pressed her palms on eit
her side of his face, and crushed her mouth to his in a hard, grinding, teeth-clashing kiss.
Heat sizzled through him, flames flared, and when another boom rocked the ground beneath his feet, Matt couldn’t tell if it had come from the cannon or from inside his head.
Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, she pulled back, furious emotions swirling in her brown eyes.
“Remember that,” she said, “when you’re throwing your useless self away on that basketball groupie Taylor Bennington.”
Before he could find his voice, she spun around on a booted heel and went marching back to the others.
Leaving Matt confused, aching, and totally tied up in knots.
37
The sun had set, but as Dillon pulled up in front of the cottage, he saw Matt shooting hoops in the driveway beneath floodlights. It was drizzling, but although he’d grown up on sun-drenched beaches, the wet ball didn’t seem to be affecting the kid’s shots.
As soon as Dillon got out of the Jeep, a small black-and-brown dog that looked like a scaled-down Dobie and another that resembled a black dust mop came running up to greet him, tails wagging. Apparently the good Dr. Charity Tiernan had struck again.
“Getting your daily shots in?” he asked on what sounded, even to his ears, like the lamest conversation opener ever. He rubbed both dogs’ heads, causing the larger of the two to drop to the ground, roll over, and begin wiggling in dog ecstasy so he could rub her stomach. He obliged.
“We’ve got our first game coming up.” Matt told Dillon nothing he didn’t already know all too well. It was mostly all he was able to think about these days. Well, that and Claire Templeton. She’d gotten not only into his mind, but under his skin as well. Which was what had him showing up at her door again. “Don’t want to lose an opener. It’s bad luck.”
“You guys will make your own luck on the court,” Dillon said. “But it’s always a good thing to start the season in the win column.”
“Why are you here?”
And wasn’t that a question Dillon had been asking himself? Especially since she’d already made her feelings clear about getting involved with him.
