Smitten

by Janet Evanovich

  “He’s just a puppy,” Lizabeth said. “He had a traumatic infanthood. He was abandoned on the side of the road.”

  Matt thought the people who abandoned Ferguson knew what they were doing. He looked like a cross between a schnauzer and a Great Dane, and he had the personality of Attila the Hun. The dog obviously had an eating disorder, and what had he been doing when the potbellied degenerate was parading around in his birthday suit? The damn dog probably hadn’t given out a single woof.

  “So he’s a puppy, huh? He’s pretty big for a puppy.”

  “Of course he’s big,” Elsie said. “Worthless dog eats everything in the house. He’d eat a table leg if you put gravy on it.”

  Lizabeth sat on the closed seat of the toilet and watched Matt run his thumb over a bead of caulking compound at the base of the tub. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, cupping her chin in her hands. She was close enough to feel the warmth from his body, close enough to see that he had freckles under the fine blond hair on his forearm.

  It was nice like this, she thought. Even nicer than working together at the construction site. The employer-employee relationship had been replaced by something that was much more relaxed, more intimate, almost conjugal. He was an interesting man, she decided. Sometimes he fit her stereotype of a macho carpenter, and sometimes he surprised her with his intelligence and sensitivity.

  “So what do you like to do when you’re not building or repairing houses?”

  He stood, wiped his hands on his khaki shorts, and thought about it. “I watch television. I go to hockey games in Philly. I ride my bike around.”

  “I saw a hockey game once,” Lizabeth said. “I thought the men looked cute in those short pants, but it was horribly violent. They kept beating on each other. I don’t understand what men find so fascinating about fighting.”

  Matt felt his mind go blank. It was a good thing he didn’t tell her about his short-lived career in amateur boxing. Or his front-row season tickets for the Flyers. Or the time he met Hulk Hogan and almost passed out from excitement.

  “How about you?” Matt finally said. “What do you do?”

  “I used to bake cookies. Does that sound dumb?”

  “No. It sounds nice. Very domestic.” He thought she looked displeased at that, so he amended his answer. “Very creative.”

  “Mmmm. Well, I’m not sure what I do now. I still bake cookies, but it’s not nearly as satisfying. I suppose I’m at a crossroads.”

  He sat on the edge of the tub and studied her. “What about childhood dreams? Did you want to be a doctor? Or an astronomer? Did you want to grow up to be a fire chief?”

  Lizabeth examined the tube of caulking compound and squeezed out a glob that artlessly landed on her foot. “I was never that realistic about my future. I wanted to be a fairy.”

  “And did you succeed?”

  She laughed. “Not entirely. I’m still working on it. I’m having a hard time with the wings.”

  “So what are your adult dreams? What do you aspire to now?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t seem to have any aspirations. I suppose I have little goals. Paying my bills on time. Making a home for myself and my children. Learning how to caulk a bathtub.”

  Disappointment prickled in his chest. All her aspirations were of independence. And she hadn’t mentioned Paris. If she’d asked the same question of him, he might have said he’d like to get married and have a family. Of course, she’d already done that, so he understood she would want something different. But understanding didn’t make it any easier.

  He decided to change the subject. “So, how do you like construction work?”

  “I like it. It’s useful. I like being outdoors. The men have been nice to me.” She looked into his eyes. “And I like working next to you. You’re restoring my interest in the opposite sex.”

  She saw the way his eyebrows raised and his mouth curved into a mercurial smile.

  “I don’t just mean in the sexual sense. My marriage had a lot of painful moments. As the years progressed I reached the sorry conclusion that not only weren’t men necessary to happiness, but they were a definite pain in the neck.” She shook her head. “I was basing that judgment on very limited experience. There haven’t been many men in my life.”

  “Does this mean I’m not a pain in the neck?”

  “No. The part about the pain in the neck still holds. The part about happiness has changed. When we work as a team I feel like all the puzzle pieces fall into place and make a whole. It’s comfortable. It makes me happy inside. I decided it has something to do with man-woman chemistry and friendship. We would probably make wonderful love together.”

  Matt fanned himself with a hand towel. Maybe she would mention the trip to Paris after all.

  “Am I making you uncomfortable?” she asked.

  “Yeah. It feels great.”

  Jason knocked on the closed bathroom door. “I gotta go.”

  “Go upstairs,” Lizabeth yelled. “Matt’s working in here.”

  Matt looked amused at that.

  “I thought you might want to continue the discussion,” Lizabeth said.

  “About making love?”

  “Mmmm. Bathrooms are so intimate. They inspire frankness, don’t you think?”

  Matt grinned at her. “Have you been drinking?”

  “Nope. I’ve been thinking.”

  “That’s even more dangerous.” He stood and pulled her to him. “What else have you been thinking?”

  “Uh-uh, it’s your turn to think.”

  His hands spanned her waist, framing her hipbones. “I think I should kiss you.”

  “A man of action, huh?” Their eyes locked for a fraction of a second. Their mouths met, and all things cerebral were forgotten. Only passion remained. They had both been abstinent far too long. Physically and emotionally abstinent.

  He pressed her to him. The closer he held her the more dissatisfied he felt. It was always like this, he thought. He was never able to get enough of her. Never enough talking, never enough laughing, never enough loving. It was the loving he needed now. He needed more, not a stolen moment in a bathroom, but hours and hours in total privacy.

  Someone rapped on the bathroom door, and Matt whispered an oath into Lizabeth’s hair.

  “Yes?” he muttered.

  “I have to use the facilities,” Elsie said. “You gonna be done soon?”

  Lizabeth took a moment to find her voice. “We’ll be done in a minute, Aunt Elsie. Matt’s just finishing up in here.”

  “I bet he is,” Elsie said. “When that door opens I better see some fancy caulking.”

  Matt moved away and gathered his tools. “I think I’m in trouble.”

  “It’s all my fault,” Lizabeth said.

  Matt handed her an empty container of grout. “Damn right it’s all your fault. Next time you want to have a discussion about making love it’s going to take place in my house.” He saw the panic register in her face. “That suggestion make you nervous?”

  “Very.”

  “You know what you are? You’re a tease. Every time you get passionate with me it’s in a public place.” He tangled his hand in her hair. “You need to take some time out and come to terms with your own sexuality. And you have to give some serious thought to me. I’m in love with you.”

  Lizabeth swallowed. “Wow.”

  Matt opened the bathroom door and nudged her forward. That wasn’t so bad, he decided. Now it was out in the open. He said it out loud, and his voice hadn’t cracked, and he hadn’t fainted, and the world hadn’t come to an end. He’d broken out into a cold sweat, but he didn’t think anyone would notice.

  He passed Elsie in the foyer. “You’re sweating like a pig,” she said. “It must have been hot in there.”

  Chapter 4

  Matt was in love with her. She’d run it over in her mind a hundred times in the last three hours, and she still wasn’t sure how she felt. It was flattering, of course. And exciting.
It was also frightening. She wasn’t ready. It was all happening too fast.

  Well, if it was happening too fast, it was her own fault. She’d encouraged him. Worse than that, she’d taken the initiative. And he was right about the teasing part. She always managed to lead him on in public places. It hadn’t been intentional. Matt called it teasing, and she supposed it might look like that from his point of view, but she knew that sort of teasing wasn’t part of her makeup. It was more that she was testing the water, and she’d unconsciously provided herself with a chastity belt. It had been cowardly, she decided. But smart!

  She closed her eyes and tried to sleep, but sleep wouldn’t come. Her curtains were open, allowing the cool evening air to fill her room. Moonlight spilled over her bedroom floor, and Carol the Cat stretched across the bottom of the summer patchwork quilt.

  “You see what that man has done to my life?” Lizabeth questioned Carol. “He’s made me into an insomniac. He’s disrupted my emotional stability.”

  It was a nice disruption, she admitted. Her life was immeasurably richer since Matt had come into it. Okay, so if it was so much richer, why was she so worried? What was the problem? The problem kept slipping away from her. That didn’t mean it didn’t exist, she told herself. All it meant was that she wasn’t able to nail it down.

  The silence was pierced by a woman’s scream. It was a scream of outrage, not terror, Lizabeth decided, scrambling to her feet. She heard the sound of someone running, and she reached the window just in time to see the flasher sprint into her yard.

  He stopped short and looked up at Lizabeth, not bothering with his flashlight. The sky was clear, and there was enough moonlight to illuminate the man’s pale skin. He stood absolutely still for a split second, then he waved. It was a little wave, the kind you do with just the tips of your fingers and your hand held at shoulder level.

  Dogs barked throughout the neighborhood, a police siren sounded in the distance, and the man took off at a dead run and disappeared into the night.

  Elsie rushed into Lizabeth’s room. “Did I hear someone scream? Was that pervert back here?”

  “He must have frightened some lady down the street. And then he ran through the yards trying to get away. He stopped only long enough to wave.”

  “You mean I missed him again?”

  “Yup.”

  Elsie pressed her lips together. “Was he naked?”

  “Yup.”

  “Was he dangerous-looking?”

  Lizabeth smiled. “No. He wasn’t especially dangerous-looking. In fact, he looked quite harmless.”

  And there was something familiar about him, she thought. Something she couldn’t put her finger on.

  “It’s them harmless-looking ones you have to worry about,” Elsie said. “This guy could be a killer. He could be a rapist.”

  Lizabeth pulled the curtains closed. “I don’t think he’s a killer. He wouldn’t have anyplace to hide the murder weapon.”

  Matt took a firm grip on his coffee mug. “He came back?”

  “No big deal,” Lizabeth said. “He ran through the yard and waved to me.”

  “What about the police? What were the police doing?”

  Lizabeth leaned her elbows on the kitchen table and sipped her coffee. “The police were chasing him. They waved to me, too.”

  “This is a great neighborhood you live in,” Matt said. “Very friendly. Everyone waves to everyone else.”

  “No need to get sarcastic.”

  “I’m not sarcastic. I’m worried. I don’t like the idea of some nutcase picking you to be his victim.”

  “He didn’t pick me to be his victim last night. He just happened to run through the yard.”

  Matt scowled. She should be more frightened. People were careful when they were frightened. They didn’t take chances. Lizabeth was talking about this guy in the same tone of voice she used for stories about Ferguson. Next thing she’d be leaving cookies on the picnic table in case Mr. Peek-a-boo got hungry while he was exposing himself.

  “So who was the victim last night? Anyone we know?”

  “Mmmmm. Angie Kuchta. She lives two houses down.”

  “Have you spoken to her?”

  Lizabeth studied the contents of the doughnut bag and extracted a Boston cream. “Yes. His MO was pretty much the same. He got her attention by throwing stones at her bedroom window. Then he turned the flashlight on her, and when he turned the flashlight on himself, she screamed and woke up the entire neighborhood.”

  “And the police didn’t catch him?”

  “Nope.” Lizabeth bit into her doughnut, and a glob of pudding squeezed out the back end and dropped onto the table.

  Ferguson loped in from the living room and cleaned the pudding off the table with one swipe of his huge tongue.

  Lizabeth made a face. “Oh, gross!”

  “Don’t worry,” Matt said. “I came prepared this time.” He handed Ferguson a second bakery bag and opened the back door for the dog. “I hope he likes sticky buns.”

  Lizabeth poured Lysol on the kitchen table and scrubbed. When she was satisfied the table was clean she sat down and refilled her coffee mug.

  “There’s something odd about all of this.” She looked around to make sure they were alone, and she lowered her voice.

  “Angie’s husband was off on a business trip last night. There aren’t many single women in this neighborhood, but the flasher hit a woman alone both times. And another thing: How does he always know the right bedroom?”

  “You think he could be one of your neighbors?”

  Lizabeth thoughtfully chewed her doughnut. “There was something familiar about him. The way he stood, or the way he waved. I don’t know.”

  “Have you told this to the police?”

  “I mentioned it to Officer Dooley, but he said he could hardly go door-to-door gathering up men. Also, we have a problem, because the only part Angie and I would definitely recognize is usually covered up in a lineup.”

  Matt raised his eyebrows. “That is a problem.”

  “Mmmm. And to tell you the truth, I haven’t seen very many men, but so far they’ve all looked pretty much alike down there. I might not even be able to recognize the flasher if he were naked in a crowd.”

  Matt squinted over the doughnut bag. “Lizabeth, exactly how many men have you seen?”

  “Two.”

  “Does that include the flasher?”

  “Yup.”

  He couldn’t stop the smile from creeping across his face. “Would you like to see a third?” He was being flip, but he was secretly pleased. He thought it was nice that she was so selective.

  “Would you like a knuckle sandwich?”

  He tipped back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “Maybe you wouldn’t need to see that part of the flasher. Maybe you could recognize him from his build or his walk or his wave.”

  “I don’t know. I don’t feel very confident about that.”

  “Suppose we gave a barbecue and invited everyone in the neighborhood. You’d get a chance to scope out all the men.”

  Lizabeth gestured with her half-eaten doughnut. “You know, a barbecue might not be a bad idea. It would give me the opportunity to meet the rest of my neighbors, and who knows, maybe something would click.”

  She turned her attention back to the doughnut, giving it a look of sublime appreciation. “Yum,” she said, flicking her tongue at the chocolate icing.

  Matt felt his blood pressure edge up a notch. He’d known his share of women. He’d calmly seen them wallowing in Jell-O, floundering in mud, and dancing on bars, but watching Lizabeth strip a doughnut of its icing…

  She finished the doughnut and looked at him expectantly. “Something wrong? You look all flushed.”

  “I’m fine,” Matt said. “Why don’t we go over to my house and make plans.”

  “For the barbecue?”

  “Yeah, that too.”

  “We can make plans right here,” Lizabeth said. “I’ll go ge
t some paper and a pencil.”

  He put his hand over hers to stop her from getting up. “I need privacy to make these plans. I need time. Lots of time.”

  “Matthew Hallahan, you’re not talking about a barbecue, are you?”

  “Listen, Lizabeth, I’m in a bad way. How close are you to finding yourself? Maybe if we both looked, we could find you faster.”

  “I don’t think finding myself is a group activity.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you don’t assert your independence by asking someone to help you. This is something I have to do by myself. I need time…”

  “How much time?”

  “I don’t know how much time! This isn’t something I can set a deadline on. Maybe a week, maybe a month, maybe a year.”

  “A year! I can’t wait a year. I’ll be dead in a year. I have an incurable disease. You have to help me.”

  Lizabeth grinned at him. “What’s the name of this disease?”

  “Infatuation. The symptoms would be a lot less painful if we were alone together in my bedroom.” He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed a fingertip.

  “You sure you wouldn’t like to fool around a little?” he asked.

  “Of course I’d like to fool around a little. I like you. And I’m attracted to you.”

  Saying that she liked Matt Hallahan and was attracted to him was such an understatement it bordered on a lie, Lizabeth decided. Why she felt compelled to hold him at a distance was beyond her, except that she really hadn’t known him very long. And what she did know about him showed they were very different.

  A serious relationship was tough enough without the additional burden of different lifestyles and educational backgrounds. It was the first time she’d articulated the thought, even to herself, and it hit her like an Acme safe falling on Wile E. Coyote.

  Lizabeth Kane, she silently whispered, you’re a snob. You’ve met the man of your dreams, and you’re holding him at arm’s length because he’s a carpenter.

  Could that be true? She’d never thought of herself as a snob before, and she didn’t like the way it fit. It was something she’d have to chew on when she was alone.