by Conn, Phoebe
Jesse groaned as though he had been harpooned. "Oh, please. You can't expect me to willingly admit to being a male chauvinist."
"I think you already have." Aubrey picked up her slice of pizza and bit off the tip. She couldn't recall the last time she had eaten a pizza, and layered with vegetables, this one was awfully good. * 'Where do you suppose a person gets a preference for a certain physical type? I've never understood it myself. I don't want to be limited by some absurd preconception of perfection when an attractive appearance can mask hideous character flaws."
Their conversation had taken such a dark turn, Jesse began to suspect Larry Stafford had not simply been controlling, but physically abusive, as well. He also sensed this was not an appropriate time to pursue such a personal line of questioning. A warning from my intuition, he recognized with a surprising burst of satisfaction. He had a hunch now and then which proved to be correct, but they occurred too seldom to be of much use.
He watched Aubrey finish her salad and was grateful she didn't glance up before he had thought of a response. 4 'American men are programmed from infancy to lust after leggy blondes, although I've always harbored a weakness for redheads," he admitted with a sly grin.
Aubrey ignored his last remark rather than encourage him. "You believe our preferences are due to media influences then, rather than innate?"
Jesse winked at her. "Sure. Boys are bombarded with sexual stereotypes from the time they're old enough to notice mommy doesn't look like dad. It's no wonder the swimsuit issue of Sports Illustrated is their biggest seller, but damn few women live up to that ideal. But what about women? Fabio has no shortage of fans, but not many men are bodybuilders, and maybe the few who are can't carry on a decent conversation."
On a roll, Jesse gestured with his fork. "What type of man fulfills your fantasies?"
Aubrey had to finish chewing another bite of pizza
before she replied. "Are you asking if I have a dream lover?" Jesse nodded, encouraging her to go on. She laughed to herself and then made a halting confession. "I've always been partial to the Indians in films. Now that they're hiring Native Americans to play those parts, they're even more appealing."
She glanced away for a moment. "There's something about a tall, lean man with golden skin and a wild mane of ebony hair that's incredibly sexy. I can't say that I've ever met such an individual, but still, if a film has lots of handsome Indians, then I'll definitely go to see it."
"Ah yes, the noble savage," Jesse agreed. "What sort of horse does your favorite brave ride?"
"I've never really thought about a horse, but a black and white pinto would be nice."
Aubrey's eyes had taken on a lively sparkle, inspiring Jesse to continue. "Does your Indian wear a warbonnet that trails eagle feathers to his moccasins?"
"No. Warbonnets are certainly impressive, but it would cover his hair and prevent it from whipping about his shoulders as he rode across the plains."
"He'd be hunting buffalo with a lance, I suppose?"
Jesse was studying Aubrey's reactions much too closely, but for once she didn't mind and smiled warmly. "What else?"
Suddenly the thought of her riding double on any man's horse annoyed Jesse so badly he brought their game to an abrupt close. "I don't know, maybe a rampaging herd of prairie dogs. Would you like more pizza? If not, do you have any notecards we could use to make a deck to test your ESP?"
It was Aubrey who felt like groaning now, but she suppressed the frustrated moan. "Are we back to that?"
Jesse assured her that they were, got up, and carried
their plates to the sink. "I'll help you clean up later. Let's do the test first."
"No. Let's clean up now. As I see it, this is my kitchen, and I make the rules," Aubrey insisted firmly. She left the table and wrapped the last of the pizza in foil before placing it in the refrigerator. She then donned a pair of rubber gloves and rinsed off their plates, glasses, and utensils.
"Do you always wash your dishes before placing them in the dishwasher?"
Jesse stepped out of her way as she pulled open the door and placed each into the appropriate slot or rack.
"Of course. It might not be necessary, but I don't want to leave globs of cheese crusted on the plates."
"God forbid."
Aubrey wiped off the counter. Jesse's expression made it plain he considered washing the dishes twice sheer lunacy, but she doubted he did his even once. "Do you use paper plates at home?"
"No, of course not. I have nice dishes and a woman to take care of them."
Aubrey yanked off the gloves and draped them over the edge of the sink. She hadn't stopped to consider what Jesse's home situation might be, but obviously his aunt didn't realize he lived with someone. She felt a twinge of jealousy and, sickened by the bitter sensation, endeavored to hide it.
"Is she a particular woman, or just any female passing through?"
Jesse was delighted that she cared enough to ask. "Lupe's been my housekeeper for years. Both she and her husband work for me. I told you I owned a ranch. Did you think I handled all the chores alone?"
Aubrey swept him with an admiring glance. From the tips of his boots to his sun-bleached curls, he appeared to
be thoroughly capable. "You look as though you could handle whatever challenges ranching might entail."
"Yeah, I probably could, but I'd be worn out long before sundown. Now where are those notecards?"
Aubrey hadn't been intentionally attempting to distract him from exploring whatever slight ESP she might have, but she was sorry he had remained so firmly focused. She went into her study, and found a pack of watermelon-pink index cards. When she returned to the kitchen, she reached for the ruler and scissors she kept handy.
"The 4 by 6 cards are really too large. Let's cut these in fourths."
"You measure and mark the lines, then I'll cut," Jesse offered. "We'll have to draw the symbols in pencil, otherwise you'll be able to see them through the back of the card, and that will completely defeat our purpose."
Aubrey had such little faith in their experiment, she doubted it mattered how they created the symbols. Within a few minutes, they had their improvised deck cut and drew five of each symbol: a cross, circle, square, wavy line, and star. Jesse shuffled the small cards, then laid them in front of Aubrey face-down in five rows of five.
"The directions in the book simply say to concentrate on a card and record your impression," Jesse reminded her. He grabbed a notepad from beside the telephone and picked up the pencil already on the table. "Just call out the symbols, and I'll write them down."
Aubrey stared at the cards, but because she did not want a repeat of the horrible sensation she had felt while viewing the photograph of the Ferrell family, she was too uneasy to produce the necessary level of concentration. All too aware of Jesse's expectant glance, she lifted her hands to rub the day's tension from her shoulders. "Give me a minute, and then I'll get started."
Jesse rose to his feet. 'Til help you relax." He moved
behind her chair, waited for her to drop her hands into her lap, and then rested his hands on her shoulders. He used a light, easy touch, but feeling just how tense she was, he began to knead her muscles with his thumbs. "You're supposed to be an expert on stress reduction. How do you usually relax when you get home? Do you imagine colorful fields of wildflowers, or that renegade Indian tearing across the plains on his pinto?''
"Neither, actually." Aubrey closed her eyes and leaned into his soothing caress. Jesse had taken her hand several times, so she had known his touch would be pleasant, but the warmth of his fingertips was absolutely blissful now. It had been so long since a man had touched her body, or emotions. Too long.
"Sometimes I swim," she revealed in a contented whisper.
Jesse leaned down and, inspired by the sweetness of her smile, kept coaxing the stiffness from her neck and shoulders. He was tempted to offer a full body massage, but feared he would be pushing his luck. "I used to be so sore after competing
in rodeos that rather than a leggy blonde, my ideal woman was an amorous chiropractor."
"Did you find her?"
Jesse replied with a deep chuckle. "Not yet."
Aubrey let her head drop forward. Larry had never given her backrubs, and she was thoroughly enjoying Jesse's attentions. She could not recall the last time she had been pampered by a man with slow hands, and it felt so good she soon began to crave even more. That she could be so starved for affection a backrub at her kitchen table turned her on embarrassed her terribly. When Jesse's thumb grazed her throat, she shivered clear to her soul and quickly straightened up.
"Thank you. That really felt good. Now let's give the cards a try."
Jesse had been enjoying himself, too, but slid back into his seat without complaining that he was a long way from through. "Any time. Maybe you ought to touch the cards rather than simply look at them. Perhaps you're only able to sense impressions by holding an object, and that's why you didn't do better with Trisha."
"I suppose that's possible." Aubrey laid her fingertips on the first card and closed her eyes to heighten whatever awareness she might possess. "It's a star, I think." She moved on to the next one. "A circle, then a wavy line, another star, and a square."
Aubrey paused to make certain Jesse was keeping up with her. He had drawn the figures in a row, and satisfied his tally was accurate, she continued touching the cards and offering what were really no more than wild guesses about their symbols. When she reached the final card, she waited for Jesse to record it, then turned over the first to check the symbol.
"Let's see how I did. Oh no, it's a circle, and I thought it was a star."
The second card was a square, and she had called it a circle, but she had correctly identified the wavy line and star in third and fourth place. She was wrong again about the last card, however. "I only got two right." Positive she had just confirmed a total lack of ESP, she sat back in her chair.
"Don't apologize yet," Jesse urged. "Let's score the whole set before we add up the number correct."
Still considering him overly optimistic, Aubrey turned over the cards in the second row and found she had made only one correct guess there. She had identified three symbols correctly in the third row, however, one in the fourth, and two in the last for a total of nine correct choices. "Well, what do you think?" she asked Jesse.
"I think nine is damn good," he said. "That's nearly double what you would have gotten merely from chance/'
"It was another fluke is all. Let's repeat the test. I'll bet if we do it five times, we'll find my average is much lower."
"Don't downplay your ability," Jesse ordered. "Imagine yourself as the world's most talented psychic, and you'll probably boost your score this time." He quickly shuffled the cards and replaced them face-down in front of her.
"Maybe I need a turban like Johnny Carson's Karnac the Magnificient."
Jesse grabbed his Stetson from the chair where he had left it and plunked it on her head. It fell down over her eyes, but he quickly adjusted the fit so that she could see. "There, now you're Aubrey the Magnificient and you're about to do amazing things."
"I'll be more amazed than you if I do." She had great faith in creative imagery, but that involved fanciful inner visions of dashing Indians, or whatever else might strike her fancy. Attempting to read what couldn't be seen was completely out of her realm of expertise, as she fully expected this ESP test to show.
She scored ten matches on her second try, then fell to eight accurate responses on the third. She recovered and identified eleven correctly on the fourth, and ten for a second time on the final try. She removed the Stetson and watched as Jesse added her scores and computed the average.
"Nine point six is much better than I did in the earlier test. Maybe touching the cards is the key. Why don't you try it?"
Jesse gave the cards a lazy shuffle. "You're the one who saw the murder in the Christmas photo."
Aubrey reached for the pencil and tapped it on the table in a distracted rhythm. "In my seminars, I encourage people to stop giving excuses and put their energy into
making their dreams come alive. You described an eerie sensation when you handled the photograph, so you must possess some ESP, too."
"Maybe you ought to lay out the cards." Jesse handed her the deck. He sat back in his chair, folded his arms over his chest, and waited while she arranged them in front of him. He closed his eyes to get focused, then peeked up at her through his lashes. "Don't I get a backrub, too? Maybe that's what boosted your score."
Aubrey hesitated a moment, then left her chair and rested her hands on his shoulders. He hadn't touched her hair, but she ruffled the curls dipping over his collar. "You're already relaxed, Jesse. You don't need me to do this."
"You're wrong. I do," he assured her softly.
Aubrey had no way to refuse, but the warmth radiating through his shirt soon made her long to touch his bare skin. He had precisely the lean, muscular body she had described for her Indian fantasy, and it took no effort at all to strip him nude in her mind. She drew in a deep breath and released it slowly, but the usual relaxation techniques failed to quell her desire.
It was fast becoming impossible for Aubrey to concentrate on what she was doing, and when Jesse reached up to catch her hand and brought it to his lips, she lost all hope of delivering a friendly massage. He placed a kiss in her palm, then ran his tongue through the center. She shivered and quickly pulled free of his grasp.
"Stop it. That tickles," she complained. She scratched her palm, but the delicious sensation refused to fade. She reached out for her chair, meaning to sit down and put a safe distance between them, but Jesse pulled her down on his lap and caught her lower lip between his teeth in a light, teasing bite.
He released her with a low moan and then wrapped
his arms around her tightly. "I'd like to be more than a bodyguard," he murmured against her hair.
Only that afternoon he had offered a stricdy professional relationship, but he hadn't kept his vow for a single day. He was bright, attractive, and his easy affection was so tempting Aubrey ached to agree, but she wanted more from a man than a few days' loving. The instant Jesse relaxed his hold, she hurriedly slid off his lap.
"Let's do your test another time," she suggested as she began to back away. "Conducting seminars wears me out and I'd like to go up to my room."
She didn't look tired, though—she looked terrified. Jesse cursed under his breath. "I'm sorry if I was out of line."
He sounded sincere, but his expression was a long way from contrite. Trisha would have been all over him by now, but Aubrey wouldn't settle for a casual affair that would end as quickly as it had begun. She shook her head. "No, you're not sorry at all," she told him and, unable to remain with him a moment longer, she left him to entertain himself for the rest of the night.
She locked her bedroom door, kicked off her shoes, and began to pace with a long, restless stride. The anguish of longing for something she could not have was nothing new, but she had thought she had escaped that torment when she ended her marriage. She felt hollow, and knew sleep would not ease the emptiness in her heart.
She filled her days inspiring others to live their dreams, but she would sleep alone that night and awaken tomorrow with an all too familiar yearning for more. She ran a bub-blebath and soaked in its fragrant warmth, but the image which filled her mind was of a cowboy's slow, sweet smile, and she knew she had been far better off daydreaming of black-eyed Indian braves racing across the plains.
Jesse was already up and dressed when Aubrey came downstairs the next morning. She was wearing a navy blue suit with bright white piping and matching spectator pumps. She looked extremely professional, but he saw the faint shadows beneath her eyes and knew she had not slept any better than he had. He had already set the table, poured the juice, and was heating water in the tea kettle.
"I'm coming with you today," he announced in a voice that brooked no argument.
Aubrey raised
her hands in an emphatic gesture of refusal. "Absolutely not. It takes a great deal of planning and effort to make my seminars appear to unfold at a relaxed pace, when in fact they're carried out on a strict schedule. You'd merely be in the way." The subject closed, she went to the cupboard and removed a plastic container filled with a popular whole grain cereal.
Jesse blocked her path when she crossed the kitchen to get a bowl. "Just introduce me as one of your assistants. Gardner could use some help setting up, and I can run the machine to copy tapes as easily as he can. I don't know what you're paying him, but you work him twice as hard as you do Trisha and Shelley."
"I do not, now get out of my way."
Rather than obey, Jesse reached into the cupboard and handed her a ceramic bowl for her cereal. "You take advantage of him," he insisted. "He arranges the chairs, totes the boxes of journals, and if there's anything heavy to be moved, you call on him. Then the poor guy has to handle the sound system, make recordings, duplicate tapes, and keep the money for them straight. I noticed the fond glances he sent Trisha's way on Saturday, so on top of everything else, he's working under the handicap of a
broken heart. He needs an assistant almost as much as you need a bodyguard/'
"Do you honestly believe that I could be attacked in a bank building? Wells Fargo has excellent security, and I'll be at absolutely no risk." Aubrey pulled open the refrigerator and removed the carton of nonfat milk.
Jesse had brought in the paper and, not giving in, he waved the Metro section. "If you called the Times, they didn't bother to print a retraction, so you're still neck-deep in the Ferrells' disappearance."
Aubrey filled her bowl with cereal, added milk, and carried it to the table, where she sat down and grabbed a napkin. "I called, but because all the Times had reported was that I was at your cousin's house, which I was, there's nothing for them to retract. At least that was their view."
"Did you give them my name?"
