by Alyssa Kress
Before her eyes Griffith had transformed from a reckless clown into a man of real power, inner strength, and utter resolve.
He'd kissed her. On the lips.
And she wasn't supposed to worry?
CHAPTER TEN
"You sleep all right?" Arnie tilted his head at Kate the next morning as they filed with the children into the dining hall for breakfast.
"Who? Me?" Kate pressed an innocent hand to her chest. "Sure. I slept just fine." She'd lain awake most of the night, wondering what Griffith was going to do today, feeling the brush of his kiss. Worrying.
"Uh huh." Arnie took Kate's arm before she could peel off toward her campers' table. "So what happened with Griffith yesterday?"
"What happened?" Kate heard her voice come out too high. "With Griffith? Oh! You mean the, uh — No, that whole tomato field thing turned out to be no big deal." Right. No big deal. Griffith had only looked...honorable. Unless she'd dreamed the whole thing. That was possible, wasn't it? It had all been a dream?
"Uh huh," Arnie said again.
"Nothing happened." Kate spoke from between her teeth.
Arnie sucked in his lips. "Okay. It's private. I get it."
"No, it's not — Oh, come on!"
But Arnie only looked at her like he was more convinced than ever that something private had occurred between her and Griffith the night before. With a thoughtful nod, he sauntered away.
Kate ground her teeth. It was as if Arnie had seen that kiss. No, worse. It was as if he understood it better than she did.
Then, over the chaos in the dining hall of several dozen campers jockeying for seats there rose the sound of boys chanting to a military beat.
"Hup, two, three, four. Hup, two, three, four."
Through the double doors marched a single-file line of nine-year-old boys. Their faces were serious, concentrating on keeping step. Elroy, the smallest, strode at the head of the line. He led the way to their table and proceeded down to the end of the bench. The other boys followed. In short order, there was a line of boys standing at attention behind the benches of the table.
Everybody in the room turned to watch. The nine-year-olds stood at attention, apparently waiting for Griffith, who entered the room with a brisk, commanding gait. Kate wanted to blink and shake her head to make sure she was seeing correctly. He'd shaved off his scruffy beard, his hair was immaculately groomed, and if she weren't mistaken he'd ironed his oversized T-shirt. For certain there was a crease pressed into his rolled-up jeans.
As he came to the head of the table and surveyed his troops, with his hands clasped behind his back, he bore little resemblance to the slovenly, cynical man who'd sat at the same table the previous day.
All eight campers' eyes trained eagerly upon him.
"At ease, men," he told them. "You may be seated."
There was a flurry of movement as eight boys stepped over the bench seat and sat down to breakfast.
Kate realized her jaw was hanging open. Was this what Griffith had meant about things being different? He'd been serious? A funny sensation shivered over her.
Swiftly, she turned and headed toward her own table. Inwardly rocking, she took a deep breath and turned to one of her fourteen-year-olds. "Jimmy? Would you please stand at the podium and lead us in grace?" She was absolutely astounded, flabbergasted — bewildered. But instinct screamed she shouldn't let Griffith see as much.
As Jimmy walked to the podium, Orlando slouched in through the double doors. His hands were in the pockets of his long basketball shorts and his expression was derisive. But he caught Kate's eye and stood obediently as the campers all chanted grace.
Once grace was over, everybody dug in, reaching for bowls and boxes of cereal. Kate sneaked a glance toward Griffith's table.
Matters were proceeding at a decidedly different pace there. Griffith was directing manners with a demeanor somewhere between a drill sergeant and a blue-blooded matriarch. "Please pass the's" were clearly being said, as well as "thank you's." In between, nine-year-old eyes were directed Griffith's way, seeking guidance, waiting for approval.
Kate felt the strange sensation shiver over her again. He was teaching them. Giving them a positive example. And the kids were learning. In the process they were gaining the self-esteem that was the whole reason they were here in the first place.
Kate had hoped Griffith would tire of the defiant routine. She'd fully expected him to run to the end of his patience with ill-behaved children. But all she'd ever hoped for was a modicum of effort.
But this — This was something else. From another galaxy.
With a mere lift of the hand, Griffith stopped one of the kids from standing up to reach for the milk. The boy tamely sat and must have asked for the milk, for another one of the boys passed it to him.
Orlando slouched with his chin in his hand at the end of the table.
Watching this, Kate stirred her spoon around in her oatmeal, her stomach too uneasy to allow her to eat anything.
What, she wondered, was Griffith up to now?
~~~
"Rather than one's sleeve, Elroy" Griffith said, "one uses a napkin." Griffith scooped a spoonful of cornflakes into his mouth and watched in satisfaction as Elroy meekly removed his sleeve from his milk-moustached mouth and picked up a napkin. The boy tapped it against his lips.
Griffith supposed he ought to turn around in his seat. He ought to shoot Kate a triumphant look. He could feel her eyes on his back, like prickly thorns. But he didn't turn around.
Other than that small cowardice, he was feeling pretty good. Simply shaving had improved his outlook immensely. Wearing clothes that weren't wrinkled didn't hurt. And he wouldn't deny that it felt awfully good to have eight eager little faces constantly turning his way, looking for approval.
The past few days had been an utter loss. Griffith hardly knew how he'd fallen into such a funk; he only knew that yesterday afternoon he'd hit rock bottom. It had been as if he'd forgotten all about the self-respect it had taken him so many years to acquire. It had been as if he were still twelve years old and getting beaten up by Pierce Cruller.
A bunch of tossed tomatoes had knocked his memory back into him. Pierce Cruller hadn't laid a fist on him in more than twenty years. Griffith had long ago learned how to influence and motivate people, people far more difficult to influence and motivate than eight eager-to-please nine-year-olds.
Hell, these kids were easy.
"Oh, isn't that just too sweet," crooned Orlando. Slumped at the opposite end of the table from Griffith, his chin rested on his hand. "Everybody behaving like little girls."
Griffith calmly finished chewing his cornflakes. "For all those who think good manners are restricted to females, think if you ever want a date with one of those females."
There were smiles and snickers, many launched in Orlando's direction. The boy's bronzed skin flushed and he glared darkly at Griffith.
Correction, Griffith thought to himself. All of them were easy except one. But he would get through to Orlando, too. Griffith was fixed on the idea. He smiled at the boy as he wondered just how...
But Griffith's notions regarding the motivation of Orlando faded as he felt the prickly thorns on his back moving, sinking deeper. Dammit, Kate was coming over. Griffith's stomach clenched unpleasantly.
He already knew Kate was wearing a button-down sleeveless shirt. He knew she had on butter-soft blue jeans. He knew her hair was bound in a simple ponytail. He knew all of that, and he knew the strange effect it was having on him.
Almost as if...he were nervous.
But he put on a bright, guileless smile as he turned to greet her. "Well, good morning there, Miss Kate." He tried to make it brisk, to keep himself the one in charge.
She barely glanced at him. Instead she directed her gaze down the table of well-behaved campers. "Good morning, boys."
"Good morning, Miss Kate," they replied as one, just as if Griffith had rehearsed it with them.
Her smile was pure sun
shine. And sincere. That was the killer, Griffith thought. When she addressed the kids, she seemed to mean every word she said.
"I'm giving a 'Caught Being Good' to the entire bunk," Kate went on. "What a fine example of discipline and manners you all are."
Everyone except Orlando sat up straighter in their seats. Even Griffith felt his spine extend.
Kate went on in the same vein to the boys, but Griffith was doing his best not to listen. His eyes narrowed. He didn't want his spine extending because of Kate's approval. In fact, that was the only fly in the ointment here. In taking steps to regain his self-respect, he was coincidentally doing exactly what Kate wanted him to do.
He didn't want to please Kate. But — it couldn't be helped. He refused to do a bum-ass job any more. If he had to be in charge of these kids, he was damn well going to take charge of them.
With utter competence.
Yes, utter competence, no room for failure. Griffith's gaze went to Orlando, who was looking back at Griffith with undisguised rancor. Griffith was so caught with considering the possible reasons for Orlando's hostility, he almost didn't hear the last thing Kate was telling his nine-year-olds.
"So I'm sure you're going to do a great job picking avocadoes this morning," she said, with a sound of command.
Griffith's throat seemed to clear by itself, an attention-grabbing sound. Kate stopped and looked down at him.
He smiled, pleased to be opposing her again. "Ah, Miss Kate. My men and I have not yet discussed what we're going to do this morning." He had a definite idea of what such a 'discussion' was going to touch upon, and how it would resolve. There was a tomato field that had been left in an awful mess the day before. If there was anything Griffith knew about self-respect it was that you had to clean up your messes.
Meanwhile, Kate's fine eyebrows were descending. "I appreciate your wanting to involve the children in decision-making, but according to the schedule — "
"Yes, yes, I know all about your schedule." Griffith waved an imperious hand. "But we have yet to discuss which of our responsibilities is the most pressing this morning." He looked at her.
She looked back.
It was a contest of wills in more ways than one. Who was going be top dog around here? That was one question. The other question was if Griffith could hold the woman's gaze without...showing anything. Could he hide from her the thoughts that had kept him up half the night? It would be death, he was sure, to let her know he was obsessed with her. By a kiss, no less, and a kiss that had hardly even been a kiss!
Oh, sure, he'd been turned on by her from the beginning, but he'd set off something in the tomato field last night, something...different. His heart beat very hard as he looked into her clear, deep eyes.
To his immense relief, she looked away. His heart began to thud down to a normal rhythm.
"Fine," she said, and tucked her clipboard under her arm. "Fine. I'll leave it up to you to figure out your responsibilities."
As if you have any choice. But, for once, Griffith didn't mouth the retort. He couldn't say he knew just where the balance of power lay any more, with him or with her... Or somewhere uncomfortably in between. So he simply watched her whirl and stride away, afraid to say anything.
~~~
Ricky didn't know what to make of it. On Tuesday evening, he sprawled in one of the big wooden chairs at a private table within the renovated splendor of UCLA's law library and squinted at the woman who was tapping madly away on her laptop at the table across from his. Deirdre was helping him catch up with his legal work.
Again.
He chewed the inside of his cheek. He'd only asked her to help him on Sunday because he'd thought it might give her the idea to reciprocate. She might ask Ricky for help with her work at Blaine Development.
If she would do that, he might finally find the dirt he needed to make Griffith Blaine forget building the Wildwood project.
Deirdre abruptly halted and bit her thumb. She frowned darkly at her screen. Ricky frowned darkly at her.
She hadn't asked him to help her with her own work, alas. But she had caught him up with his. She'd been such a whiz at looking up citations that by the time Ricky had come into his office on Monday morning he'd been back on top of things.
Ricky had been surprised...and grateful...and oddly touched. Other than Kate, he didn't know anyone who'd do so much for him. Not that he'd needed the help. Hey, Ricky didn't need anything from anybody. It was like his religion.
But Deidre's help had been...nice.
Now, rubbing his thumb against his teeth, he regarded Deirdre, with her dark hair in a simple ponytail, her tomato-red lipstick fading, and a look of quiet intelligence in the gaze she was training down at her computer screen. By no means glamorous, she was solid, sincere, genuine. Helping him again.
Ricky's stomach performed on odd, sideways lurch. He shifted in his chair and then stood up.
Deirdre's concentration finally broke from her work. She glanced up at him.
Ricky forced a smile, something light and unconcerned. "How're you doing?" he mouthed.
She smiled back, lifted a shoulder. Her gaze flickered back to her screen.
Irritated that her concentration appeared to be better than his, Ricky strolled around to her desk. There were other ways the woman could be helping him, like giving him a little physical attention, for example. They hadn't made love since Santa Barbara. Hell, neither one of them had had the time.
"Working hard," Ricky murmured. Behind her now, he set his hands on her shoulders.
"Mm," Deirdre replied. She moved her shoulders up and down in a gesture that approved of his hands there, but her concentration remained on her work.
Ricky began a light massage, determined now to get her attention. Meanwhile, he squinted at her screen, wondering what law citation had captured her interest so.
It wasn't a citation. In fact, it wasn't Westlaw at all. Ricky bent forward in order to read the title at the top. Then he went very still.
Deirdre was working on Wildwood.
Ricky's heart went tha-dunk, and then started to race. He took a moment, making sure he could school his voice. "Uh...what's that on your screen?"
"Mm." She bit her thumb again. "It's a loan agreement."
Ricky's heart kept racing. "Well, whatever it is, it looks like it's giving you heartburn."
Deirdre laughed, then covered her mouth and looked around guiltily. One rarely heard anything louder than a book hitting a table in the law library. She turned her head to glance up at Ricky. "You can see that?"
Ricky leaned down. "I can see everything. Including, from this angle, down your blouse. Nice bra, by the way. Do I get to take it off later?"
She almost laughed again, but stifled it in time, then swatted him in the stomach. "Animal."
Ricky chuckled, hoping to make his next words sound casual. "So what's the problem with the loan?"
"No problem, just..." Her words trailed off as she turned her attention back to her computer. Ricky held his breath as the seconds ticked by. Adrenaline zinged through him. There was a problem with the loan, with Wildwood in particular. He'd known.
Meanwhile, Deirdre tapped her fingers on the edge of her keyboard. Abruptly, her fingers halted. Slowly, she looked up at Ricky.
His racing heart squeezed. Such a look she was giving him, a flicker of hope and a busload of trust. In him.
Ricky gritted his back teeth and steeled himself against Deirdre's expression. If there was something fishy about Wildwood, it shouldn't get built. It shouldn't get built anyway, not if it meant putting Kate and Camp Wild Hills out of business, but it would be even more wrong — and fully stoppable — if there were something illegal about it.
"There is a problem," Ricky said, low, calm...encouraging.
Slowly, almost imperceptibly, she nodded. "It needs Griffith's signature."
Ricky's brows snapped down. "That's a problem?"
Deirdre drew her lower lip between her teeth, hesitating.
"He doesn't want the loan?" Ricky asked.
"Oh, he wants the loan. At least...I assume he does."
Ready to shake her, Ricky merely tilted his head.
Deirdre appeared to sense his impatience. In a rush, she gave in. "I assume he wants the loan because the last time I saw him he was all hot to give this big presentation to try to get it, but that was a week ago — and I haven't seen him since."
Ricky stared at her. "What do you mean, you haven't seen him?"
Deirdre threw up her hands. "He isn't answering his phone, which is simply forwarding back to the office and ringing my phone. He's left no messages or emails. I have no idea where he is, or what's going on with him!"
Ricky's heart was beating so hard now he was afraid Deirdre would see it shaking him. Griffith had taken a powder? Or was this just worrywart Deirdre over-reacting? Maybe Griffith was on a bender in Las Vegas and would drag in tomorrow morning with a mother of a hangover.
Or maybe he'd absconded with the company coffers and was sipping Mai Tai's in Tahiti.
This could be dirt beyond dirt. A regular death knell for the Wildwood project... Or it could be all flash and no substance, a woman's vivid imagination and his own wishful thinking.
"So." Ricky went very slow. "I take it you've been holding the office together, all on your own, since last Tuesday?"
"The place runs itself." Deirdre sounded disgusted. "Do you know I'm the only person who cares that Griffith hasn't been around for a week? The only one."
Ricky's lips twitched. That was Deirdre, all right. Caring, even for a scumbag like Blaine.
"I called the police," she told him, pinch-lipped. "Even though Helen thinks he's romancing a client somewhere. I called the cops, and they filled out a report, but big deal. They aren't doing anything. The best they could do was ask me if I'm simply out of Griffith's travel-plan loop."
"Maybe you are," Ricky said.
Deirdre made a rude sound.
Ricky bit the inside of his cheek. "And the loan...?" That was the important thing.
"I've been putting off the bank, while keeping them interested, but I can't go on forever. One of these days — soon — that loan has to get signed, or they'll give the money to somebody else."
