Drew’s voice was just as buttery as the honey color of his skin. “Go down four houses, turn left. They’re on the corner.”
“Thanks.”
She kept her foot on the brake, unsure what to say next. She gazed at him, willing herself not to stare. It didn’t work.
The man looked great. There was no question. His hair just beckoned a woman to smooth it out. He moved his arm. A titanium watch encircled his wrist, a wrist that he now rested on the steering wheel. She could hear rock and roll softly playing out of the speakers.
Vaguely wondering what he was doing here, she was about to ask when he said, “I live across the street from the Greenbaums. They’re good people.”
Of course he lived in here. A former pro-ball guy could afford most anything in Timberline if he’d invested his money wisely. He’d been retired for more than a few years—at least that’s what Susan had said.
“I like the neighborhood,” Lucy remarked, glancing at the big home to her right. The drive was circular, the stonework stunning.
“Me, too. You ought to come over sometime. Bring the boys and I’ll show them my baseball stuff. I’ve got a bunch of team balls and autographed jerseys in my office. Lots of photos.”
That he could casually invite her to his house put a ridiculous skip in her pulse. Why in the world would he be interested in her when he had a girlfriend? That just proved her point. He was involved with one woman and flirting with another. Then again, maybe he was sincere about showing her boys his baseball memorabilia.
But she’d seen how the women in Red Duck threw themselves at him, and perhaps he expected her to do likewise. She’d watched the baseball moms, even the married ones, hone right in on him on the playing field. It had been ludicrous the way they drooled over him. She wasn’t like that. Not at all—
He was smiling at her and she forgot her train of thought.
“I’m sure the boys would like that.”
What was she thinking, responding with that answer? She was losing her mind.
“I could show you the creek that runs through my property. I have the kids out and they fish in it. Never really catch anything.”
And Lucy didn’t want to catch an infatuation for the town’s single, and too-good-looking-for-words, coach. Especially since he seemed to forget he was taken.
“How’s Jacquie? Your girlfriend?” she added bluntly.
“She’s good.” His voice didn’t change in inflection, as if it was no big deal. Perhaps Lucy had wanted to see if she could get him to shift in his seat, make him uncomfortable. But he didn’t display any signs of discomfort.
“Well, I better go,” Lucy said after a moment, more upset with herself than anything else. “See you around.”
“See ya, Lucy.”
The way he said her name gave her an involuntary shudder of pleasure, and she grimaced that she could be so easily charmed by him. She accelerated, forced thoughts of him from her mind, then found the Greenbaums and gathered what she needed to make her presentation.
Once inside the lovely home, she immediately liked the couple and felt confident she could sell herself and her menu.
Cooking was Lucy’s passion. When she was a child, she’d watched PBS Saturday cooking shows rather than cartoons. Most of her recipe inspirations came from the Internet or cookbooks. She was always trying something new, enjoyed discovering wonderfully delicious flavors in restaurants, then putting her own twist on the dishes. Lucy especially favored hole-in-the-wall cafés with cooks who looked a little disreputable. The food served there was usually handed down through generations, and owners were almost always willing to brag and share.
Her parents loved her cooking, and whenever they were in the same city together, Lucy did all the meals. In awe of her talent, her mother asked Lucy how she could do what she did for a living. Lucy always smiled and said because she’d learned it from Grandma. Most of the basic recipes she had in her folder were family-related, passed down from her grandmother and great-grandmother before that.
She showed the Greenbaums her entrée catalog, explained how her services worked, what they would be required to do, and she showed them the fact questionnaire they’d need to fill out.
Ted and Shirley Greenbaum gave praise to the creativity of her nut-crusted turkey breasts, basmati rice pilaf and the spring salad. In case they had special dietary needs, she made sure they were aware she could prepare Atkins and vegetarian options.
“I’m all for it,” Ted said, nodding his head.
Lucy had learned he was an avid golfer and liked to bring Shirley onto the greens with him. He was a retired stockbroker, living on investments. The couple had been married thirty-four years, their children both living in Los Angeles. Their fifth grandchild would be arriving soon.
Shirley smiled. “I will say you’re more subdued than Raul.”
Reining in her frown, Lucy kept her expression pleasant. “I’ve heard Raul’s roulades of beef is fabulous, but mine’s great, too.”
She had to land this account.
“Your menu looks delicious, Lucy. Raul favors heavier flavors, some with almost too much of a Basque flare.” Shirley gazed at her husband for his opinion.
“Shirley, I’ve never liked Raul and I only tolerated him for you. I think he’s too splashy and the man wears a cologne that spices up our house every time he’s come over.” Ted looked to Lucy. “I’ve been telling Shirley for years I was ready to give Raul the boot.”
“Yes, but there’s never been anybody else remotely as good as him in town.” Shirley shrugged. “A few personal chefs have come and gone, but I think Raul runs them out. He’s a little eccentric like that.”
Lucy maintained a personable air, listening to the couple talk about her rival. It was rather enlightening.
“Well,” Ted exclaimed, rubbing his hands together. “I guess we have ourselves a new cook!”
“Thank you so much,” Lucy responded, grateful beyond words and just thrilled.
After the paperwork had been filled out, Lucy received her deposit check and a date to begin. She felt much better about her future. So much so that she glanced out the home’s massive multiwindow front to see if she could catch a glimpse of Drew’s place.
There was a house, but it was recessed too far for her to make out more than the chalet-style roofline.
Drew had definitely been generous in inviting her and the boys over. Perhaps she could put her opinion of him aside. After all, she didn’t know him well and was only going on gut instinct—which was like cooking a recipe for the first time. Until she put the ingredients together and sampled them for herself, she wasn’t sure if she’d like the blend of flavors or not.
In that regard, Drew could be a good influence on Jason. She had seen him around her sons and he did seem to care. Matt thought he was the greatest thing since his Roger Clemens card. Perhaps Drew could be a positive roll model for Jason, a man he could look up to. Unlike his absentee father.
Lucy decided to go “fishing”—and not in Drew’s creek.
“I was talking to Drew Tolman on the way in,” she said in a manner she hoped sounded casual as she put away her notebook. “He’s my son’s baseball coach and he mentioned living across the street.”
“Tolman is a hell of a good guy,” Ted said, resting his arm on Shirley’s shoulder. She was wearing a cardigan sweater, a string of pearls around her neck. Both husband and wife had matching silver hair, groomed neatly, and both were dressed with style and chic.
Shirley touched her pearls. “I like him, too. Although, Ted, I’m not too fond of that girlfriend of his. Sometimes I see her drive by late at night.”
Lucy’s interest piqued.
Ted chuckled. “That woman is a pistol. He needs someone who’ll appreciate him for more than his looks.”
Lucy couldn’t argue about Drew Tolman’s looks, and any woman who had a pulse would notice that about him first.
She stood. “I’m sure Drew was quite the player in his day.”
“Oh, he’s still a player.” Shirley laughed at the offhand comment. Lucy hadn’t meant it like that.
“I mean baseball,” she clarified, although she knew the other interpretation was probably just as apt.
“He was the best. Too bad about the drugs.” Shirley’s response froze Lucy to the spot.
Before she could close her open mouth, Ted explained, “They say he shot himself up with steroids all the time, was a real big user. I don’t buy it, but then who knows? I mean, why did he quit the game when that steroid scandal broke? Makes you wonder.”
“But I still like him, Ted.” Shirley stood, her husband following, and the pair walked Lucy to the door. “People make mistakes.”
Ted guided Lucy onto the stoop and they all stared across the street to the sprawling home of the man in question. The house appeared to be bigger than the Titanic, barely seen behind the curtain of white pines and the graveled circular drive that led up to what seemed to be a massive overhanging porch.
Drew was a former drug user….
Lucy couldn’t think clearly.
Ted said, “I agree, Shirley. Tolman’s the best. I don’t care what the rumors are. He still gets aces in my book.”
Smiling halfheartedly, Lucy said her goodbyes and left the porch. She got into her car, turned over the engine and drove away without another look at Drew’s house.
And definitely without another thought of bringing her boys over to get to know him better.
Nine
Drew spent the better part of the morning in his batting cage slamming baseballs.
The sky was cloudless, and mature trees with heavy branches shaded half his house, keeping the interior cool and ready to absorb the mild afternoon warmth of June as the calendar made its way to summer.
A crisp chill hung in the air and he worked up a good sweat, got out some pent-up energy before walking back into the house to shower.
He ate breakfast at home instead of at Opal’s Diner. He made oatmeal and drank half a pot of black coffee until he felt a jittery edge start to give him a headache.
Jacquie had called him just after seven and, in her cigarette-raspy voice, said they needed to talk.
He knew what was coming and, frankly, he didn’t want to hear it. There was nothing he could do about last night and missing her birthday. He’d left the hospital, driven Lucy and her sons to her car, come home and given Jacquie a call. All he got was her voice mail greeting. He’d left a message, then went to bed. He never heard from her all night. When he woke and realized she hadn’t gotten back to him, he’d thought about how he’d make it up to her, but the bite in her tone this morning quickly washed out those thoughts.
This relationship merry-go-round was getting old.
He was done. Enough was enough. They should have been finished long ago, but for his own damn comfort and the familiarity he had with her, he’d let things ride. Way too long.
He’d postponed meeting her at the time she’d suggested, said he was busy until ten. She had an appointment and countered with ten forty-five. He didn’t want to make a public scene, so when she suggested they meet at her house, he agreed.
Driving out of the Knolls, he’d run into Lucy and was glad for the chance to see her. He’d been telling himself that his reasons for wanting to end things with Jacquie had nothing to do with anyone but him and her. But Lucy’s face had crept into his mind, filling his thoughts as he’d fallen into a hard sleep last night.
He remembered how upset she’d been at the hospital. He was pretty sure something was going on with her son, but without her talking about it, he could only speculate. Watching her cry, losing her emotional composure like that, had gotten to him. But he’d held back and refrained from placing comforting hands on her because he hadn’t wanted to add to her misery in case he didn’t do it right. He wasn’t sure he had a consoling gene in his body.
He couldn’t console Jacquie when she was crying. It undid him when she let the tears flow, and he itched to be out of her company. Why Lucy’s state of tears felt different to Drew, he could only speculate. When he thought about it, it bothered him that he could be cool toward one woman’s emotional struggle, yet want to respond with his heart to the tug of another.
What did that say about him?
Drew was used to lots of testosterone, playing baseball with the guys and coaching boys. When you got hurt, you stood up and shook it off. You didn’t let hurts linger, and you sure as hell didn’t cry over something unless it required a minimum of fifty stitches or a broken bone that needed to be set without a shot of anesthetic.
Guys were different.
But they liked their women to be soft, sometimes helpless and weak. They wanted to feel needed. And that’s something he was finally figuring out about Jacquie that just didn’t make their on-and-off relationship work for him anymore.
Jacquie Santini didn’t need anyone.
She was very capable, could handle anything. Hell, she even owned a gun, and if anyone was stupid enough to break into her house when she was home, he had no doubts she’d shoot him in the nuts.
Sometimes he wondered if Jacquie even had a soft side. If she ever felt vulnerable. Yeah, she could cry about a bruised ego, but was it an act? He wasn’t sure anymore. If she did feel despondent, she didn’t show him. Either that, or he just hadn’t clued into that part of her personality.
The interesting thing was, what drew him to Jacquie was the very thing he now questioned.
He’d liked that she was strong, assertive. But it left him with little to do. She had no use for him other than hot sex, and for him to take her around town to her black-tie events and show her off.
A time or two, Jacquie had called him shallow. Now that was the umpire calling a strike a ball. For the most part, Drew brushed her words off. Nobody could get to the Tolman-ater. Or so he thought. Jacquie had begun to rub him wrong with her stubborn streak, her attitude. Forget about using each other for good sex.
For a change, he wanted to feel needed by a woman.
He’d felt good about being able to help Lucy Carpenter last night, however small a role he’d played. She had needed him to be there. That male instinct was alive and well in him, and it was something he wanted to explore.
Wind blew through the open window of the Hummer as Drew listened to loud music. He loved rock and roll, loved how it vibrated through him, made him sing lyrics that brought him back to the days when he was in high school. He couldn’t carry a note out of a choir hall, but that didn’t stop him from singing.
Drew pulled the large SUV into Jacquie’s drive and grabbed his cell phone and keys. She answered the door before he could knock.
Jacquie looked as if she hadn’t slept all night. Her long black hair was twisted and pulled into a claw at the base of her skull. She looked presentable enough to have met with a client this morning, but he knew her better. Carefully applied cosmetics only hid so much.
Viewing the gray shadows beneath her eyes, it hit him—she’d probably tied one on. She liked to party on special occasions, and a birthday was a big deal to her.
He felt a moment’s regret he hadn’t made more of an effort to track her down last night. He knew her turning forty was a dicey event, one she hadn’t been looking forward to. She’d wanted to spend it with him, to make it memorable.
He wondered what she’d done, where she’d gone. And without him. A sharp feeling assaulted him, and he ignored the jealousy that rose, but quickly ebbed and faded to nothing.
“Come in,” she said, her voice low.
She stepped aside and he entered her well-appointed home. A color palette of black and green made up the entry and led into a very spacious kitchen. Jacquie decorated with flare, an occasional spot of red in a pillow or lamp to make a statement.
The house smelled like espresso and stale perfume, along with the stagnant odor of smoke. The large window above the granite counter and kitchen sink was open, but it didn’t do much to ventilate the air in the house.
On high heels, Jacquie walked to the breakfast bar and grabbed a pack of cigarettes. She knew he didn’t like her smoking around him. But he had no say-so in her home. And once in a while, he hated to admit it, but the smell of a burning cigarette was a temptation. He used to smoke many years ago, and the draw of a nicotine fix could sometimes flare up.
Knowing their conversation was going to get rocky and that she’d probably get histrionic on him, he was halfway to asking to bum one off her when she blurted, “I was unfaithful to you last night, so we need to end things.”
Drew held back, felt as if he’d been hit by a ball. He’d been prepared for one kind of pitch and didn’t see this knuckleball coming.
Stef Ann Holm Page 11
