Pretty Woman

by Fern Michaels

  By the time she was inside, the alarm disarmed, then rearmed, she was shaking and didn’t know why. She walked around the house, checking the windows and the dead bolts on all the doors before she poured her glass of wine. The first thing she did after she kicked off her sneakers was to check the panic button on the alarm system. Satisfied that it was glowing brightly, Rosie relaxed and carried her wine upstairs, where she stripped off her clothes and, after taking a nice hot shower, pulled on a silky nightshirt that felt soft and delicious against her skin.

  The glass of wine and a cigarette in hand, Rosie opened the French doors leading to the second-floor verandah. Now she was finally ready to wind down from her day.

  Two hours later, Rosie walked through the house again, double-checking all the locks on the windows and doors. She knew she was becoming obsessed with her safety. Exactly who and what she was afraid of, she didn’t know. Probably Kent. She walked back upstairs and crawled into bed.

  Rosie crossed her fingers that she would get more than a few hours’ sleep. She looked over at the small bedside clock with its bright red numerals. She’d been lying here for two hours, her mind racing. Finally, she got up and ran over to the rocking chair. She knew she wouldn’t be able to see the lottery ticket in the dark, but she could feel it. Satisfied that it was still there, she crawled back into bed.Maybe I’ll sleep now.

  Maybe.

  Rosie wasn’t the only person who couldn’t sleep. Jack Silver finally threw off the sheet that was covering him. He stalked his way to the bathroom to take a shower. At three o’clock he was in the kitchen making coffee and frying chicken. For a picnic.

  The plan that had come to him as he was tossing and turning hours ago was to show up at Rosie’s doorstep and take her on a picnic. With a picnic basket in hand, how could she turn him down?

  He leaned against the sink sipping his coffee as he tried to figure out how Rosie Gardener—he refused to think of her as Rosie Bliss—had crept into his heart to replace his beloved Martha. When he wasn’t looking? What a stupid thought. There was just something about Rosie that tugged at his heart.

  He knew she was alone for the holiday weekend, just as he was. His father and uncle had gone to South Carolina for some golf tournament. They didn’t golf, but they did like to watch the game.

  Maybe he should have gone on the road to stay on top of the fitness centers. Maybe a whole hell of a lot of maybes. The bottom line was he was lonely and didn’t know what to do about it. Most of his and Martha’s friends had drifted away, busy with their growing families or else relocating because of business.

  Being alone, especially on holidays, was the pits.

  Jack counted out six eggs and put them on to boil. Maybe he would pickle them. He liked pickled eggs. The big question was, did Rosie like pickled eggs? He poured more coffee before he turned the chicken, all white meat breasts. No skin. He was frying them in canola oil.

  What else did one take on a picnic? Vegetables? Fruit? Well, he had plenty, apples, melons, peaches. He grinned. There wasn’t anything better in the summer than a sweet, juicy Georgia peach. Martha had been crowned Miss Georgia Peach when she was nineteen. He wished then the way he’d wished a thousand other times that he and Martha had had a dozen little Marthas or Jacks. It wasn’t meant to be.

  Some days he could barely remember what Martha looked like. Other days, she was front and center, the very core of his being. During those times, his eyes would get wet, and he’d start feeling sorry for himself. That’s when he’d set out, regardless of the weather, and do a ten-mile run, sometimes fifteen miles. It never helped.

  Rosie.

  He didn’t even know if Rosie liked him. Sometimes he thought she did. Other times he was certain she didn’t. He discounted the many times she said, “I hate your guts.” They were just words because he worked her hard. Most times she would smile or grin to take the sting out of the words. He really liked Rosie. A lot. Maybe too much. He’d always made a point about not getting involved with his female clients. It just wasn’t good for business or for his emotions, which oftentimes ran too high. He tried telling himself that Rosie was different. Maybe, he told himself, somewhere along the way, he might want to get involved with her if she was willing. He liked her honesty, her determination, the way she felt comfortable enough to speak her mind and tell him off. She reminded him in some ways of his deceased wife, Martha. It wasn’t her looks, it was something else he couldn’t quite put his finger on. What he knew in his heart and his gut was that Martha would have liked Rosie Bliss.

  His picnic plan was to scoop Rosie and Buddy up, drive to the Silver family home on the Savannah River, the house he’d grown up in. The house that had been his and Martha’s. Martha had loved the river house and refused, right up to the end, to go to the hospital, saying she wanted to die by the river and have her ashes scattered on that same river.

  He didn’t often return to the river house because he couldn’t deal with the feelings and the memories. This picnic today was a test of some kind. He knew it as sure as he knew he was standing here frying chicken at three o’clock in the morning. Jack turned the chicken again. It was golden brown, true Southern fried chicken, his own variation on his mother’s recipe, which had been handed down from generation to generation. How surprised his mother would be that he knew how to cook as well as he did. And bake, and clean up his messes just the way she and Martha had taught him.

  Jack picked up the tongs and set the chicken to drain on a wad of paper towels. He looked at the timer. Two more minutes to go on the eggs. He spent the two minutes washing and drying the fruit. While the eggs cooled in cold water, he skinned stalks of celery and carrots, washed them, and put them back in the crisper until it was time to pack the picnic basket.

  He wondered if he was going to be picnicking alone. Maybe he needed a line. What were guys saying these days when they tried to pick up girls? He had to admit he had no clue. He’d simply been out of circulation too long.

  Jack felt a groan building in his stomach. When it finally escaped his lips, he sounded like a bullfrog in acute distress.

  Two bottles of wine. One red, one white.

  He was good to go.

  That’s when he panicked.What the hell am I doing? Jack sat down with a hard thump. He could be letting himself in for the biggest disappointment of his life. Rosie was probably going to say no.

  Rejection was a terrible thing.

  Rejection was a truly humbling experience.

  Jack watched the hands on the kitchen clock. It was only 4:45. Rosie said she got up around five, sometimes five-thirty. She liked to do her run no later than six. She would be home by seven. Maybe if he showed up at ten minutes of six, she’d cancel her run, and they could run together out on the dirt road along the river. Providing she agreed to go on the picnic in the first place. He wondered if he was putting the cart before the horse.

  Maybe.

  Damn, he hated that word,maybe.

  By five-thirty, Jack had finished the pot of coffee, gone to the bathroom three times, and packed the picnic basket. He dithered around for another ten minutes trying to decide if he was acting foolish.

  “The hell with it!” he said aloud. He grabbed the picnic basket, shut and locked the door behind him. He drove the seven blocks to Rosie’s house. He’d never felt so jittery in his whole life. Maybe he was going through a pre–midlife crisis of some sort.

  Jack pulled into the driveway just as the downstairs lights came on. He waited till two minutes to six before he climbed out of his car, picnic basket in hand. He marched up the walk, then up the steps to the front verandah, where he rang the bell, three sharp peels of sound. Inside, Buddy barked.

  The door opened. He had an impression of bright yellow. Rosie was wearing yellow, her hair pulled back from her face, and new running shoes.

  “Jack!”

  “Rosie!”Well, that was certainly brilliant.

  “Are you going to run with me this morning?”

  Jack st
epped forward. “Listen, Rosie, I’m a stand-up guy. You might not think so, but I am. I have all my own teeth, and I admit my hair is thinning a little. I shower regularly, I’m in shape. I can cook and take care of myself. I have a good-paying job, and I’m a responsible member of the community.

  “I drank a lot of coffee this morning because I got up at three and couldn’t go back to sleep.” He hopped from one foot to the other because he had to go to the bathroom again. “So, because I couldn’t sleep, I decided to fry some chicken, boil some eggs, and I was thinking, ‘picnic.’ What the hell, I had this basket they gave me when I bought my new truck, and I never used it. Comes with silverware, napkins, and all kinds of junk. You just have to put the food in it. Like I said, I thought about a picnic, and then I thought I don’t know many people I’d like to invite to go on a picnic. You were at the top of the list.”

  Rosie stared at her trainer. “Uh-huh.”

  Jack took a step backward. “What does that mean, uh-huh?”

  “It means…it means…just that, ‘uh-huh.’ Let me get this straight. You’re standing on my doorstep with a basket of food. You have all your own teeth, your hair is thinning, you can cook plus you’re a stand-up guy and have a job. And you have to go to the bathroom because you drank a whole pot of coffee. I want to make sure I didn’t miss anything. How am I doing so far? Go to the bathroom already!” she ordered. Buddy chased him all the way down the hall, his tail wagging furiously.

  Rosie stood in the doorway trying to comprehend what was going on.Did Jack Silver just ask me to go on a picnic? Is it a date? She was glad now that she’d put on one of her new lightweight workout outfits.

  Jack joined her in the doorway. She was close enough to smell his aftershave. “I thought we could run together when we got to the house.”

  “House?”

  “The old family homestead down the river. I grew up there. It’s real nice. Perfect spot for a picnic. I thought we could spend the weekend there. There’s more food there, too. You can have your own bedroom. Buddy can have his own, too. Whatever.” He was so flustered he was disgusted with himself. “You look like a canary.”

  Rosie tried to hide her smile. “A canary! Couldn’t you have said a daffodil or something a little more flattering?”

  Was he always going to open his mouth and stick his foot in it when he was around Rosie? “I like canaries,” he mumbled. “I like the color yellow. I think what I’m trying to say here, and not doing a good job of it, is to tell you you look pretty. You are a pretty woman, Rosie Gardener Bliss and I’ll sock anyone in the eye who says you aren’t.” He took a deep breath, then continued, “So, I guess you don’t want to go, is that it?”

  Rosie laughed. “Are you kidding! I’d love to go on a picnic! I haven’t been on a picnic since I was ten years old. If you’re inviting me for the weekend, I have to grab some stuff. Do you mind waiting?”

  Jack realized he’d wait forever if she said the word. “Don’t take all day,” he grumbled. “What I meant was…”

  “Don’t take all day,” Rosie said, turning and running up the stairs. She was back down in seven minutes flat. She’d just jammed everything into one of the shopping bags she’d brought home yesterday.

  “I’m ready. I just have to turn on the alarm and lock up. Unless you have to go to the bathroom again. Do you?” she teased.

  “No,” he mumbled again.

  In the car as she buckled her seat belt, Rosie looked across at Jack. “Is this a date?”

  Jack’s jaw dropped. Was a picnic a date? “Yeah,” he said. “I rang your doorbell. I invited you. I cooked. Yeah, it’s a date.”

  “Okayyyy.”Maybe I should have bought that thong underwear after all.

  11

  His car parked around the corner, Kent Bliss made his way in the dark to the garage where he’d once kept his Porsche. His ass was dragging. There was no other way to put it, delicately or otherwise. Hillary Lowry had sapped every bit of strength from his body. She’d pouted when he said he had to leave at five o’clock, but he needed the cover of darkness to do what he wanted to do.

  He still couldn’t believe his good luck when Hillary had shown him what she called her husband’s trophy room. She’d turned her back to answer the phone, and he’d simply pocketed the gadget guaranteed to disarm any alarm system anywhere in the world. He’d also taken the instruction pamphlet and jammed it into his pocket. All he’d had to do was move each display item on the shelf a little to the right or left, and no one would ever be the wiser. He’d felt magnanimous as he trailed behind Hillary, saying he’d seen enough and it was time foraction. Hillary had started stripping as they walked down the hall.

  So damn easy.

  Now he was inside the garage, a pair of $29.95 binoculars he’d picked up at Radio Shack pressed against his eyes. It was finally starting to get light out. As soon as Rosalie left with the dog for her morning run, he would have an hour to get inside the house and out before she returned. He wasn’t worried. An hour would be more than enough time. Rosalie was a creature of habit. She would have hidden the lottery ticket someplace where it would be convenient to check on it at a moment’s notice. It was another way of saying Rosalie was lazy. Fat and lazy.

  “Oh-oh, what have we here?” Kent muttered to himself thirty minutes later when a car pulled into the driveway. A Mercedes. The crown jewel in the Daimler line. He cursed under his breath when he saw Jack Silver get out of the car with what looked like a picnic basket in hand.Son of a bitch, he seethed. Now what? Were they going to picnic at home or get in the car and go somewhere? A picnic basket had to mean they weren’t going to run this morning.

  Kent’s tired eyes narrowed. So, Rosalie was having an affair with Jack Silver. He wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation. Jack Silver and his wife. It was too damn funny for words. He continued to wait and watch, the binoculars pressed tightly against his eyes so he wouldn’t miss anything.

  Ah, this was looking good. They were getting in the car with the dog. For some strange reason the sight made him angry. He waited a full ten minutes before he left the garage and made his way to the kitchen door. In his pocket, he had what he called a burglar’s pick. He’d gotten locked out of too many houses when showing them to prospective buyers. Jason Maloy had given him the pick and showed him how to unlock a door. Of course, they always told the owner and made a joke of it.

  It was full light now, and shortly the sun would be riding high, lighting up the first day of the holiday weekend.

  The gadget he was holding in his hand must have been designed for a child. He’d had no trouble figuring it out in the thirty minutes he’d spent waiting for Rosalie to make her appearance. He pulled a pair of latex gloves out of his pocket. Even though his fingerprints were all over the house from having lived there, he didn’t want to leave any fresh prints.

  The lock and the dead bolt opened easily. He quickly entered the house and immediately went to the keypad, where he held the small high-tech box up to the alarm and keyed the numbers. The beeping he heard made him nervous. The little green lights on the box were skittering all over the place as it figured out the sequence of numbers. He had the code in less than forty-five seconds. He punched the reset button. A loud sigh escaped his lips.

  It was safe to prowl around the house to his heart’s content.

  First things first. He pulled out his cell phone. He had to call Heather. He knew she was going to be spitting mad. After a night like the one he’d just spent, he really didn’t care. He was probably going to wake her up. She was such a spoiled brat. He took a minute to compare the sex he’d had with Heather with what he’d done with Hillary last night. Heather was better, but Hillary was richer. No contest.

  “Hey, baby, rise and shine…Oh, did I wake you?…Heather, how many times do I have to tell you not to wait up for me…Sweet cakes, I wanted to be alone last night. I do have a life besides the time I spend with you…What do you mean did I forget this weekend? Of course not.”What the
hell was this weekend? “Oh, yes, of course, we were going to go to your house on the river. The truth, baby, I did forget. Maloy has me so bogged down with paperwork I don’t know if I’m coming or going. I have to finish it up. I spent all nightworking… I can be at your place by one o’clock. You’ll have to drive though. I’m just too tired…If you’re going to whine and ruin the weekend by acting childish, then maybe I should just stay home and finish the rest of my paperwork and get some sleep…Don’t worry about me. I can stop by Rosalie’s house. She always has a big shindig over the holiday…One o’clock is just fine with you? Good, I’ll see you then.”So predictable.

  Kent’s second call was to Hillary. He just knew he was going to call one or the other by the wrong name one of these days. He really needed to stay alert. Hillary’s sleepy voice came over the wire. “Well, hello,” she purred. “Are you calling to tell me you’re on your way over?”

  “I wish I were. Hillary, can I take a rain check till Monday afternoon? My boss wants…actually he is demanding I go with him to Marietta to talk to a builder who is considering giving us the sole representation of his new development. It’s such a coup, I can’t say no. I should be back by three, no later. You can use the time resting up and getting ready for me. You almost killed me last night. You know that, don’t you?” He forced a lilt to his voice that surprised even him.

  There was more small talk as Kent prowled through the downstairs, opening and closing drawers, leaving no stone unturned. When he finally ended the call to Hillary, he turned his phone off, jammed it into his hip pocket, and raced up the stairs, where he went from room to room. He blinked at the change in furnishings in the master bedroom. Silver must like a king-size bed. More power to him. He would have opted for a sleeping bag, so he wouldn’t have to sleep next to Rosalie. To each his own.