Adversaries and Lovers

by Patricia Watters

  Aware that her thoughts had wandered into dangerous territory, she pointed to the last photo and said, "And in this one your grandfather's wearing this raccoon coat—" she slipped the lid off the box and pulled out the coat. It dangled from her hand like a great fur trophy, the pungent aroma of mothballs wafting from it. When she got no reaction, she said, "I thought your grandfather might want to see it for old-time’s sake."

  Ben stared at the coat, saying nothing. Then his chest expanded, he nodded with a grim smile, and his nostrils flared. "Ahhh... Ahhh... Chewww!"

  "Bless you."

  "Ahhh... Ahhh... Chewww!"

  "Bless you again. I don't know why my grandmother had your grandfather's coat," Kate said, "but she's kept it in mothballs for years. You can see it's very well preserved."

  Ben eyed the coat, with annoyance. "I imagine my grandfather gave it to your grandfather for the same reason I intend to give it back. Ahhh... Ahhh—" he pressed a finger beneath his nostrils to quell a sneeze "—get the damn thing out of here!"

  Kate's forced a smile. "I'm sorry. I didn't know moth balls bothered you." Deciding she'd better get on with her appeal, she stuffed the coat back in the box and replaced the lid. Obviously he hadn't bought into the photo raccoon coat bit. He also looked as immovable as a mountain, and just about as indifferent. Convincing him to give up the idea of building his corporate office in Sellwood would be more of a challenge than she'd anticipated.

  "Look, about my grandmother..." she paused while searching for the approach that would best tug at the man's heart strings.

  "You came here to talk about your grandmother?"

  "I came to talk about a whole neighborhood of kind, gentle grandmothers and grandfathers, helpless old people who’ll have no place to live if you build—" she shot a finger toward the rendering "—that thing, in Sellwood!" She sucked in a sharp breath to check her temper against another outburst. But the thought that this man could be solely responsible for destroying the lives of so many sweet old people made her mad as a hornet.

  Ben set his jaw. "That thing was designed by the most prestigious architectural firm in the northwest, and I don't intend to build it in the middle of an old folks’ home."

  "No, but you do intend to level an entire block of wonderful old buildings and build it in Sellwood, if you can get your zoning change. Which means everyone there would have to sell their homes because your architectural wonder would drive taxes up so high, no one could afford to stay there—" her voice shot up "—including my grandmother!"

  "If my architectural wonder goes up in Sellwood, your grandmother and everyone else in the area will benefit because their properties will be worth ten times their current value," Ben said. "So don't try to lay that guilt trip on me because it won't work."

  "You can't put a price on homes most of these people built with their own hands, and with spouses, many of whom are now dead," Kate countered. "And you can't put a price on a lifetime of memories that would soon begin to fade if they're forced out of their homes!" She snatched the photos from his hand, prepared to leave. "Furthermore, the advertising layouts for your new helmets are trite, hackneyed, and unprofessional!"

  "And of course you're an expert in the field," Ben said, as she headed for the door.

  Kate stopped and glanced back. "As a matter of fact, I happen to work as a layout artist for Boswell Advertising."

  "Fine. Then you come up with something better," Ben challenged.

  Kate turned and faced him squarely. "Why should I? I'd rather see you fall flat on your face with your ad campaign. That way, maybe your company would go belly up, which would resolve the issue of your office building going up in Sellwood."

  "If my building doesn't go up there, it's only a matter of time before other commercial buildings will." One corner of Ben's mouth tipped up with that irritating half-smile Kate was coming to know, and he added, “However, we haven't yet made a final decision as to where the building site will be. We're considering several locations."

  "You mean... you still could build somewhere else?" Kate asked.

  Ben nodded. "It's a possibility. We can discuss it over lunch on Saturday."

  The amused glimmer in his eyes made Kate uneasy. But if there was the slightest chance of convincing the man to build on another site, she couldn't afford to turn him down. "I suppose that would be alright," she said, tentatively.

  "Fine," Ben said. "Bring some ideas for the AirFlo helmet ad campaign. We haven't decided on an advertising firm yet. Maybe Boswell would be interested."

  Kate mulled over his suggestion. If she landed the Stassen account it would be a huge feather in her cap, especially with the position of art director looming on the horizon. More important, she'd have time to expand her appeal on behalf of her elderly friends in Sellwood... tell Ben Stassen about Thelma's garden with the ancient rose bushes she'd brought from England when she moved there as a bride, and the English garden her husband made for her behind the house, and about the brick patio Frank built for Dora for their first anniversary, and about the cabinets Grandpa made for Grandma from a black walnut tree cut on the family homestead.

  Ben eyed her steadily. "We're willing to pay well for the right ad approach."

  Kate held his dark gaze. "I'll see what I can work up by Saturday."

  "Good. I'll pick you up around eleven," Ben said. "And dress casual. We'll be heading upriver to my place in the woods where we won’t be disturbed."

  Kate caught the predatory gleam in his eye. "I'd rather not go to your place," she said. The thought of being alone with him on his own turf made her heart quicken. He was too macho, too unpredictable, and far too sure of himself.

  Ben shrugged. "Suit yourself. But I doubt if I'll get another chance to listen to your campaign without the constant interruptions we have around here."

  Kate glared at him. "You mean you couldn't work it in between tennis sets, or motorcycle chases, or whatever else you do during your working hours?"

  His lips curved in a diabolic smile. "I have very little time between tennis sets and motorcycle chases, and what time I do have is usually filled with wine, women and song. So what's it going to be?"

  He was toying with her and he was enjoying it. He was also boxing her into a corner. But if she wanted to plead her case, she had little choice. "Very well," she said, "but I warn you, I know karate." Which she didn't. But it seemed appropriate to tell him.

  Ben laughed heartily. "So, the lady can defend herself. I look forward to that."

  Kate had no idea how to interpret that but she definitely did not like the sound of it.

  ***

  "What are you up to, girl?"

  Kate’s hand jerked, dislodging the photo she'd been attempting to covertly replace in the album. She looked around to find her grandmother standing behind her. Offering her a contrite smile, she said, "Just replacing some old photos that had… uh… fallen out." She knew Grandma would not approve of her recent visit to Ben Stassen's office, or of her upcoming meeting with him on Saturday.

  Before she could retrieve the other photos, a narrow shoe pinned them to the floor. Grandma slipped the photos out from under her foot and looked at them. "You're up to something," she said. "What's this all about?"

  Kate looked up. "Nothing. I was just replacing the old photos."

  "Well, don't go getting tangled up with this bunch—" Grandma waved the photos of Henry Stassen "—over the zoning change, because you won't get anywhere. The lot of them are a bunch of unscrupulous, unprincipled, nincompoops."

  Kate eyed her grandmother, knowing there was more to the story than she was letting on. "You've always said that but you've never said why. What happened between Grandpa and Henry Stassen?"

  "Nothing that concerns you." Grandma snatched up the photo album, shoved the photos inside and snapped the book shut. "You'd think a person could have a little privacy around here." She replaced the album and closed the trunk.

  "Privacy. All you have in there is a raccoon coat, some o
ld clothes, a photo album, and a bundle old love letters, not addressed in Grandpa's handwriting," Kate teased. "At least I assume they're love letters, judging from the pink ribbon tied around them. Come on, Grandma, fess up. Was there a young buck in your life before you met Grandpa?"

  "Don't be ridiculous," Grandma huffed.

  Kate studied her grandmother. The wiry little woman was truly disturbed. "I'm not being ridiculous. I know you loved Grandpa, so what difference would it make?"

  "It doesn't make any difference," Grandma snapped. "Now go wash for supper."

  Kate started to tell her that she no longer needed to be reminded to wash before eating, then decided against it. Grandma was in a dour mood, and Kate suspected it had to do with Henry Stassen and the old photos.

  At dinner, Kate asked, "What happened at the committee meeting today?"

  Grandma's eyes narrowed, and she waved her fork as she replied, "We're working on the appeal and it's coming along. We'll be ready for that bunch when the time comes. We're also planning a protest march. We're meeting on Saturday, so you plan to come."

  Kate swallowed hard. "Saturday?"

  "Saturday morning. About eleven."

  "Eleven?"

  "It's the only time we can all get together. We're meeting here."

  "Here?"

  Grandma slapped her fork down and stared at Kate. "What in the world’s wrong with you, girl? You're acting like an old woman, repeating everything I say."

  Kate gave a nervous little laugh. Attempting to shrug off her odd behavior, she said, "I was just preoccupied. I have an appointment on Saturday to go over some advertising layouts with... umm… a new client, and I was toying with some ad ideas."

  "Then change your appointment," Grandma said. "One of the reasons we set the meeting for Saturday was so you could be here."

  "I'm sorry, Grandma, but this is pretty important," Kate replied. "If I thought I could change it I would. But, when I get back from my appointment, you can fill me in on what happened at the meeting and I'll be sure to read over the appeal."

  "Who's the client?"

  Kate looked up with a start. "The client?"

  "There you go repeating again."

  "Yes, well... the client is... in sporting goods and things like that." Kate looked across the table at her grandmother, who pinned her with steely gray eyes as sharp and glinting as a finely honed blade, the lethal look Grandma got when she knew Kate was up to something. Kate shifted uneasily in her chair. Confessing to her meeting with Henry Stassen's grandson wouldn't be a very good move at this point, judging from Grandma's reaction to the photos, so she prepared to ward off any further questions at this point. Thankfully, Grandma didn't press for particulars about the new client. Still, Kate had the uneasy feeling that, very soon, Grandma would piece things together. She was amazingly good at that. What bothered her more was her upcoming meeting with Ben Stassen, and the fact that she'd agreed to go with him at his place in the woods.

  She visualized the leather-clad renegade at the reception, and the jock in tennis attire, and couldn’t decide which worried her more. Both were heart-stopping. Both were dangerous.

  ***

  While the Sellwood Action Committee deliberated over relevant issues in their appeal, Kate stood beside the window where she could have full view of the street. She planned to make a hasty exit the moment Ben arrived. If the group learned who he was, the peppery seniors would not respond to him in a way that would earn his sympathy. In fact, he'd be lucky to leave with his hide. The bunch was in a surly mood.

  Hearing the low throb of an engine, Kate saw a leather-clad figure on a motorcycle pull to a halt across the street. Surely he didn't expect her to ride behind him on one of those things? She compressed her lips. Of course he did, if only to irritate her. To her vexation, he maneuvered the motorcycle in a wide arc, motored across the street and stopped out front. He swung his leg over the cycle, removed his helmet, pulled off his gloves and started toward the house. Kate eyed the gathering of seniors, who were caught up in a heated debate over phrasing in the appeal. Anxious to slip away unnoticed, she collected her portfolio with her ad ideas and crept toward the door. Her hand on the knob, she was about to open the door when her grandmother's voice cut through the boisterous chatter. "You can't leave without at least offering an opinion on this."

  "I've got to go, Grandma," Kate replied. "My ride’s here." She yanked open the door, startled to find Ben standing with his arm propped on the door frame.

  He eyed the length of her. "Didn't I mention we'd be going on my cycle?"

  Kate glared at him. "Of course not! You knew I wouldn’t go if you had."

  "Sorry, my oversight. Meanwhile, my place is about ten miles upriver, so you'd better change into something more suitable for the ride. The wind has a way of catching skirts and sending them up legs, not that I'd mind, but you might."

  Kate eyed him with anoyance. "Then I'll follow you in my car."

  Ben shrugged. "It better be high off the ground or it won't make it to my place."

  Kate looked around at the gathering, which had fallen silent, all eyes on them. Trying to ignore the curious stares, she said in a hushed voice, "Alright, but while I change I'd appreciate it if you'd wait outside."

  "Good heavens, Kate!" her grandmother called out. "Show the man in."

  Kate knew Grandma wasn't being gracious. She was pressing for an explanation why her granddaughter was about to sneak off with a man who looked like a member of a motorcycle gang. "Really, Grandma, he doesn't mind waiting outside since you're having a meeting."

  Ben straightened. "As a matter of fact, I could use a drink of water," he said, his eyes scanning the group. Before Kate could protest, he'd stepped inside.

  Kate glared at him. It was obvious he knew something was up, but she had no intention of giving him the slightest inkling what it was. "On second thought, a little wind on my legs might feel good," she said. Ignoring his request for water, she grabbed her portfolio, nudged him outside and pulled the door shut. She headed for the motorcycle, anxious to be on their way before her grandmother could call her back.

  "You'll regret not changing your clothes," Ben said.

  Kate stared at the long narrow seat and pondered the physical contact its proximity implied. "The only thing I regret is that I'll be forced to sit behind you on that thing."

  "It's a Harley," Ben corrected. "You seem to have a thing about my things. My office complex is a thing. My Harley's a thing. Or maybe you have a fetish with men's things."

  Kate wasn't amused. "Can we just go? I'm not in the mood for verbal sparring."

  Ben smiled. "Nor am I. Meanwhile, I'm responsible for my passengers, and since you need to hold onto me, I'll take this—" he grabbed the portfolio in her hands, but she held on to it, knowing it would make a barrier of sorts between them. He jerked it free, and ignoring her look of censure, packed it into a saddle bag and handed her a helmet. "Put this on and climb aboard." He donned his helmet and gloves and mounted the motorcycle.

  Kate pulled on the helmet, then gathering her skirt, tucked it between her legs and straddled the seat. After arranging the skirt to cover her knees, she sat with her hands resting on her thighs.

  Ben glanced over his shoulder, and said, "You'd better hang onto me."

  "I'd rather not," Kate clipped.

  "Suit yourself." Ben revved the engine. As the motorcycle shot forward, Kate grabbed onto him to keep from flying backwards. At once, the exotic aroma that clung to him the night of the reception drifted to her nostrils, the untamed headiness of it sending words flashing in her mind like a neon warning sign: Dangerous Animal. Beware. Her awareness of him had the odd effect of making her feel weak, as if the strength was draining from her arms, and she found herself gripping him tighter yet, until she could feel the play of muscles in his lean, solid torso.

  A big gloved palm covered her hands. "You okay?" he asked.

  Kate realized she was clinging far tighter than necessary. Lessening h
er hold, she replied, in an attempt to justify her impulsive move, "No, I'm not okay. Your driving's scaring the hell out of me." Which it wasn't. But she didn't want him to know.

  "Funny," Ben said. "I had you pegged as an adventurous woman, and I'm usually not wrong about women."

  "I'll bet," Kate quipped. But she had the uneasy feeling that before the day was done, she'd wish she did know karate. Ben was definitely a man on the prowl. But she couldn't deny that another part of her didn't want to fight him off, a thought she found increasingly troubling as the motorcycle brought them ever closer to his hideaway in the woods.

  CHAPTER TWO

  To Kate's dismay, her skirt began to creep up her legs, and each time she went to pull it down, the motorcycle would make a sharp turn, forcing her to abandon her efforts and grab onto Ben. "Do you have to drive like a maniac?" she yelled into the wind.

  Ben tilted his head toward her. "This your first time on a bike?"

  "Of course it's my first time!" Kate cried. "I'm not an idiot. And this is definitely not my idea of fun."

  "You'll get used to it. For now, sit back and enjoy the feel of the wind on your face—" Ben glanced down at her bare leg "—and other enchanting parts of your body."

  By now Kate’s skirt had crawled up high on her thighs and there was nothing she could do about it. Having given up trying to maintain some semblance of modesty, she focused on balancing on the back of the motorcycle with a minimum contact with Ben, which was hopeless. Every time she slackened her hold, the motorcycle veered this way or that, forcing her to hang onto Ben to keep from falling off.

  On the outskirts of the city, they turned onto a road that followed the winding course of the Willamette River. Cruising through Oregon’s pastoral countryside with its colorful patchwork of pastures and vineyards and fields was really quite pleasant, and although she’d never admit it to Ben, she was actually enjoying herself. With the wind whipping about her shoulders and caressing her legs, she felt as if she were one with the landscape through which they were passing, not an intruder. And Ben was a much more conservative driver than she had expected. She'd pegged him as a chance-taking, daredevil.