by Gerri Hill
When she’d left Laura and gotten back inside her house, Becki had been pouring a cup of coffee. She’d told Cassidy that she looked adorable. She’d tugged Cassidy back up the stairs and into bed. Cassidy had pretended to enjoy the sex, much like she’d done last night.
She was beginning to wonder if something was wrong with her. She had lots of practice making love with women she wasn’t in love with. Why, suddenly, had it become such an issue with her? Had turning forty-four really been that traumatic? Or was she simply tired of it? Tired of playing the game. Tired of feeling lonely—alone—even with a woman in her bed.
She heard a car start up next door. Their garage was at the back of the house with their driveway on the other side. She looked up at the house, wondering where Laura’s bedroom was. The first set of windows was closer to the street with the maple tree blocking most of the view. The second set, though, would have a clear view of the pool. Judging by Laura’s blush earlier, she guessed her bedroom was the second one.
She smiled as she remembered Laura’s expression when Cassidy had mentioned skinny-dipping. It wasn’t the first time she’d sensed someone watching her. Laura had obviously been embarrassed but not so embarrassed that she hadn’t voiced her opinion on Cassidy’s dates.
“You have the worst taste in women.”
Was that true? Did she? Granted, she tended to ignore personality in favor of looks. That was a habit that had started in college. She wasn’t blind to her own looks. She had known she could go out with anyone she wanted to. She took that for granted. Now that she was older, she realized how conceited she must have been back then.
But had anything changed? Sure, she was forty-four, but she took care of herself…and her body. She had financial security, she had a successful business. She never lacked for female company—gay or straight. Had anything changed?
She moved her hands lazily in the water, putting the float in motion. No, the only change was that she had gotten older. She was still alone…still searching for that one special person. That person who could steal her breath with just a look. That person who could make her smile, make her laugh. That person who could read her, who knew what she was thinking, feeling, without the need for words between them. That person who she couldn’t wait to see, to be with—every day. That person who could be both best friend and lover. That person. She feared, however, that that person didn’t exist. At least not for her.
“You have the worst taste in women.”
Yeah…apparently it was true. But how was it that Laura Fry could see that—from a distance—and Cassidy—up close and personal with them—could not?
Chapter Sixteen
“So you haven’t written anything?”
Laura grabbed a chip and dunked it in the bowl of salsa that had been placed in front of her. She paused before eating it, meeting her sister’s eyes.
“I have written something, yes. Just not…you know, the makings of a book.”
“No offense, but have you considered the possibility that you were only a one-hit wonder?”
Laura stared at her. “It’s been eight years. What do you think?”
“Maybe this isn’t your calling.” Laura looked at her mother, who simply shrugged. “If you’re meant to write another book, you will. I think you’re pressing too hard. Maybe you should take a break from it.”
“I’ve been breaking for eight years.”
“No, from what you’ve told me, you’ve been trying to write another book.”
That was true, of course. She had not really ever taken a break from trying. She couldn’t even begin to guess how many she’d started, then discarded. Fifty? Some she’d toss after only a few pages. Others, months’ worth of words—going nowhere—would be shelved, hoping she could someday salvage them. She never could.
“I guess maybe I could give it a rest, but that just seems wrong.”
“I think Mom is right. You’re trying too hard. Focus on something else.”
Laura snatched up another chip. “Well, I do have a part-time job.”
“Really? What?”
“She’s mowing the neighbor’s yard,” her mother supplied.
“What? Why?”
“Because she asked me. And she wants flowers.”
“What does she pay?”
“Four-fifty a month.”
“Four-fifty? That’s it?”
Laura smiled. “Four-fifty for a couple of hours of work a week…plus use of her pool. I think I got a great deal.”
“So you like this yard stuff, huh? Maybe you should start a business.”
She knew Carla was teasing, but honestly, it had crossed her mind. There were several retired and elderly couples in the area, and she’d seen them struggling to maintain their lawns. She just didn’t know if that was something she wanted to commit to. Taking care of her mother’s place and now Cassidy’s…that was enough—for now—to occupy her, given that much of the rest of her time was spent staring at her laptop, hoping words—a novel—would come to her. If she took a break, as they’d suggested, might she find that she had too much time on her hands? She smiled to herself. Of course not! She now had access to a pool. She was fairly certain she could kill multiple hours per day lounging in Cassidy’s pool.
With that decided, she found it safer to change the subject. “So what is Stephen doing today that you were allowed to escape without the twins. Not that I wouldn’t mind seeing them,” she added quickly.
“I know you think they’re brats. Quit lying.”
“They’re just at that age,” she said evasively.
“You’ve been saying that since they were two.”
Laura smiled and shoved a chip into her mouth. “Okay…brats.”
“Stephen took them to a movie,” Carla continued.
“Pity the poor souls who sit by them,” she said without thinking.
“Bryson was looking forward to the movie. I’m sure he’ll behave. Brooke, however, didn’t really want to go. She’ll be the problem one.”
“How could you let them get to be eight years old and still be little terrors?”
“Holy terrors,” her mother chimed in, causing Carla to stare at her with an open mouth. “As if you don’t know,” her mother added with a wave of her hand.
Carla sighed. “I blame Stephen. We tried for so long to have kids that when it finally happened, he spoiled them rotten.” She pointed a finger at Laura. “And you didn’t help things, Aunt Laura. Always bringing them presents and toys.”
“I at least try to discipline them when I’m around. They don’t even like me anymore.”
“They don’t like anyone right now.” She stared past them. “Lunch is served. Don’t forget, I get one of your enchiladas in trade for a taco.”
“Not so fast, sis. I said I would see how the taco looked first,” she reminded her. The plate placed in front of Carla contained three large, stuffed-to-the-gills, crispy tacos. Laura smiled. “And I approve. Gimme one.”
Chapter Seventeen
Laura felt a twinge of guilt—albeit a very tiny twinge—for playing in Cassidy’s pool before she’d even done one single thing that constituted yardwork. She was mentally planning flowerbeds, she’d told herself as way of an excuse. But she really didn’t need an excuse, did she? No. Cassidy had given her permission to use the pool. She never once put qualifiers on it.
And it was simply glorious. The water looked crisp and blue. Refreshing. And oh, it was. And she’d had two beers. And she was relaxed. No, there would be no yardwork this afternoon. She’d make up for it tomorrow. She’d head into town—in Frankie’s old truck—and buy the materials she’d need for the flowerbed. She’d also buy two large planters for out here at the pool. She’d definitely get those done before Cassidy came on Friday.
She sighed as she looked up into the sky. Wonder who she’ll bring this weekend? She shook her head as the float bumped an edge and she shoved off with her foot, pushing her back into the middle. She didn’t profess to know Cassidy
in the least. They’d only had a handful of conversations, after all. But still, she seemed nice. Normal. Attractive. Really attractive. Obviously wealthy enough to afford this huge ass house. She’d seen her car—a Mercedes. So yeah, she probably could get any date she wanted. Why then would she settle for these bimbos that she’d had over?
Oh, in all fairness, bimbo might be too strong a word. She’d not actually spoken to any of them. No, but she’d seen them through binoculars, seen enough to know that not a single one of them was a keeper. But even though those women weren’t her type, that didn’t mean they weren’t Cassidy’s type.
“The worst taste,” she murmured.
The ringing of her phone brought her around and she paddled as fast as she could to the side, sliding the towel toward her, the towel that her phone rested on. Her eyes widened when she saw who it was. Crap!
She cleared her throat before answering. “Hello.”
“Hey…it’s me. Cassidy.”
“Hi.” She looked around her guiltily, hoping Cassidy couldn’t hear the sound of the pool water lapping at her float.
“Am I calling at a bad time?”
“No, no. I’m just…just…actually, I’m over at your place. Scoping out possible flowerbeds,” she lied.
“Oh, that’s great. I was just thinking, it was presumptuous of me to expect you to pay for everything and get reimbursed later. I mean—”
“A couple of hundred bucks won’t break me,” she said.
“Well, I didn’t know. I assumed you didn’t have a job.”
“Actually, I don’t.”
“Independently wealthy?”
Laura snorted. “In my dreams. I’m…” What? A writer? “I’m taking a break from…from my job. My mother needed someone to stay with her after Frankie died. I got the short straw.”
“Oh, I see. Well, this weekend, if you could give me an idea of what you’re spending, then I’ll leave some cash for you to use. In fact, I should have done that anyway.”
“Cassidy, you don’t—”
“I’ll leave it in the pool closet,” she said, ignoring Laura’s protest. “Whatever you take out, put a receipt in. That’s fair, right?”
It would help, she acknowledged. Lately, if she kept more than five hundred dollars in her checking account, it was an anomaly. She had been milking her savings account for the last year, touching it as little as possible. Still, to be thirty-seven years old—thirty-eight in two days—and barely have ten thousand dollars in savings was a little scary.
“Okay. Deal.”
“Great.” A pause. “So…how’s the pool?”
Laura rolled her eyes. “I swear, do you have a sixth sense or what?”
Cassidy laughed. “Don’t drown. It’s so hard to find good yard help these days.” Another light laugh. “I’ll see you over the weekend.”
Laura was smiling as she placed her phone back on the towel. So much for feeling guilty. There was no need to now. Cassidy knew she was in the pool. She flipped off the float, dipping under the water to cool off.
Yep, she had a pretty sweet deal going on here.
* * *
Cassidy twirled around in her chair, a smile still playing on her face. So Laura Fry was in her pool. She wondered what she was wearing. She didn’t picture her as the bikini type. She was a little too tomboyish for that. Of course, she’d been called a tomboy more times than she could count and she still wore a bikini on occasion. But hell, at what age do you give up the bikini and go to a one-piece?
“When your body tells you to,” she murmured. “Or your friends tell you to.”
She tapped her thigh absently with her fingers, her mind still on Laura. She was…nice? Would she call her nice? Their first couple of conversations weren’t exactly pleasant. She grinned quickly. She’d called Laura a bitch. Oh, that was so bad, she thought, still smiling. But yeah, she would call her nice. And honest. She could have very well denied being in the pool, even though Cassidy had heard the subtle sound of water. And she could have denied watching the pool from her upstairs window, but she hadn’t. All she’d accused Cassidy of having was a sixth sense, thus admitting that it was true.
She turned back around to face her desk, wondering how she was going to kill the last few hours of the afternoon. The company was running like a well-oiled machine. Her brother had a handle on the crews. Tanya managed the office staff without much help from her. She’d already gone over the new marketing plan and had approved it. There was no crisis for her to handle since the glitch with the online appointments had been fixed. There was actually nothing for her to do. Maybe she should take a page out of her father’s book. He was out at the lake, on his boat.
But she needed something to do. Something to organize, to plan. She smiled slightly. A party. A pool party. A real pool party. The one she’d thrown earlier had been more party and less pool, even though some had taken advantage of the heated water. But a daytime party sounded like more fun. A casual party with burgers or hot dogs on the grill. Or catered again. She mentally went over her list of friends, trying to come up with twenty or twenty-five who would mesh in that casual setting. Memorial Day Weekend was coming up. Could she plan a party in less than two weeks?
She decided she could.
Chapter Eighteen
Laura wiped the sweat from her forehead, wishing she’d started on the flowerbed earlier. She should have started yesterday after she’d finished mowing, but the pool had beckoned—again. In fact, she’d been in the pool every day this week except Tuesday. That’s the day Cassidy’s pool guys came to clean. The only day she hadn’t done any yardwork—either at her mother’s or here—was on Wednesday. She didn’t want to do anything to celebrate her birthday and she’d already told her mother not to make a big deal out of it. Another year older…what was there to celebrate? But she did take the day off from “work.” She had packed herself a picnic lunch and a small cooler for refreshments. She had beer. She had a sandwich. She had wine and cheese. She blasted music from Cassidy’s outdoor stereo. And she had the pool to herself on a blissfully cloudless, windless day. She sang, she floated, she napped. By the time she dragged herself out of the water, she was as limp as overcooked spaghetti. Still in a waterlogged state, she slept as soundly as she had in years. All in all, it was a good birthday.
But her day of play had set her back. Two large planters out by the pool were stuffed with colorful flowers. They looked so nice, she thought she’d get two more, if Cassidy approved. But designing and digging the flowerbeds out front proved to be harder than she’d thought. Actually, she’d been a bit exuberant in her plans, and she was nowhere near finished with either one. Her hands were dirty so she wiped them on her shorts before pulling her phone out to check the time. Just after three. Cassidy usually didn’t arrive until after five, although last weekend it was four thirty. She wondered where she worked that she was able to sneak off early on Fridays. If she lived in the city—with Friday afternoon traffic—she’d be lucky to get here by seven if she worked until five.
She leaned on the hoe for a minute to rest, then went back to work, chopping at the grass that the old tiller hadn’t pulled up. The back of Frankie’s truck was loaded with mulch and compost and a pallet of stone. She’d hoped to get all that put out today, then pick up flowers on Monday. By the looks of it, she’d be finishing up the flowerbed on Monday and flowers on Tuesday. That is, if she could stay out of the pool.
The sound of Cassidy’s gate opening made her jerk her head up. The familiar black Mercedes drove slowly up the driveway, managing to squeeze by Frankie’s old truck by inches. Cassidy smiled at her as she drove up to the house and parked.
“Great,” she murmured as a rather thin, rather young, rather bleached-blond beauty got out of the passenger’s side. “I look like Farmer Brown and she’s got a model with her.”
Cassidy headed her way, still smiling, followed closely by the model. Laura leaned on the hoe again, barely resisting the urge to yank her ball cap off and tid
y her hair.
“Hey,” Cassidy said in way of greeting. “This is Ashly,” she said, pointing at the model. “Ashly…meet Laura, my neighbor.”
Laura nodded at her with a brief smile, then turned accusing eyes at Cassidy. “You’re early.”
Cassidy nodded. “Yeah. A little.”
“You must have a cushy job.”
Cassidy laughed. “Well, I’m the boss.”
“Of course you are,” she said dryly. “In the future, if you could let me know you’re going to be early, I’ll be sure to get out of here before you come home.”
“It’s no problem that you’re here.” Cassidy stepped closer. “You’ve got some…some dirt here,” she said, rubbing Laura’s cheek with her thumb. Laura’s breath held as their eyes met. “And some here,” Cassidy continued, brushing across her eyebrow.
Laura swallowed with difficulty. “Thank you.” She finally took her cap off and ran a hand through her hair, conscious of the model staring at her.
Cassidy took a step away, still smiling. “So…this is how you build a flowerbed, huh?”
“Yes, well, it’s a little more elaborate than I’d planned.” She put the cap back on, hiding her sweaty, dirty hair. “I’m sorry I won’t finish it today.”
“No hurry. Although if you could have it finished by next weekend, that would be great. Memorial Day Weekend. Party.”
“Oh. Goody. Can’t wait.”
Cassidy laughed. “We’ll try not to be too boisterous.”
The model cleared her throat and Cassidy glanced at her apologetically. Laura wondered if Cassidy had forgotten she was there.
