Aftershocks

CHAPTER EIGHT

PATRICK WHISTLED as he drove home. He wasn’t normally a big one for whistling, but the occasion seemed to demand it. The phone-in TV program had been a bigger success than he’d dreamed possible. It seemed that almost every citizen of Courage Bay had called. The phone lines had stayed jammed and the station had to end the broadcast without having a chance to hear from everyone with something to say.

Regular citizens had phoned in, guys who pumped gas and packed groceries, teachers from the local schools, a cook from the Courage Bay Bar and Grill, homemakers and office workers, retail clerks and business owners. More than ninety percent had supported him in his plea to get that money released. There were some sad phone calls and some downright tragic ones, including a distraught call from Lee Harper, whose wife, Francine, had been killed in the convenience store collapse.

People who’d lost loved ones phoned to plead for the money so others might be saved in the future. Four firefighters called in, some nurses, a doctor or two, an ambulance driver.

The two councilmen who had supported him in last night’s meeting both phoned in to make their positions clear.

Councilman Cecil Thomson didn’t call and neither did his two cronies. Patrick didn’t believe for a second that they hadn’t sat glued to their TVs as they faced public humiliation. He was sorry the funding crisis couldn’t have been resolved in a less public way, but damn, he was glad to be finally getting somewhere. The message to the three hold-out councilmen from their constituents had been loud and clear: Release the money or face a citizens’ uproar.

So Patrick whistled. He had the windows open in the car, and he sure hoped no one could hear him, since his whistling was totally off-key-but he had to do something to celebrate.

He pulled in to his garage and cut the engine. He didn’t cut the whistling, though. He kept that up as he entered the house, pleased to note that he hadn’t missed a chance to see the kids before they went to bed. In fact, if Mrs. Simpson had been watching him on TV with the kids, he probably hadn’t even missed dinner.

SURE ENOUGH, something smelled good when he walked in. His mouth watered. It didn’t smell a lot like Mrs. Simpson’s usual cooking, which tended to include a lot of casseroles that relied heavily on cans of soup tossed over some kind of meat with crushed potato chips on top.

He wondered if she’d been watching one of those cooking shows on TV. There was a definite gourmet odor to his kitchen. The table was neatly set with three places, as per usual, but instead of the regular vinyl table mats, she’d used the good ones from the dining room. That was weird. Was there some special occasion today he’d forgotten about?

Patrick stood stock still for a moment while he ran through all the special days he could think of. His first panicked thought that he’d forgotten one of the kids’ birthdays was soon gone. Dylan would turn ten, but not for a couple of weeks yet. They’d already talked about taking some of his buddies to a batting cage and then returning to the house for a family barbecue.

Fiona was a summer baby, and wouldn’t be six for several months yet. Mrs. Simpson wasn’t big on celebrating her own birthday, but he always gave her a nice check with a card in October.

Stumped, he continued down the hall to the den. “I’m home!” he called out.

“Hi, Daddy!” Fiona shrieked and came flying out of the den in her favorite pink OshKosh corduroy pants and the purple shirt with pink stars on it. Her hair sported little plastic star barrettes. “Hi, Fiona,” he said, holding out his arms as she barreled down the hallway for a hug. He swung her up in the air, and she said, “Guess what?” Her eyes were dancing and her chubby little face was pink with excitement.

Before he could attempt a guess, Dylan called to him, “We’re in here, Dad.” His son sounded so serious, almost as though he were acting the grown-up. Patrick was intrigued. Something was definitely up.

But nothing could have prepared him for the surprise that greeted him when he got to the doorway of the den and saw Briana sitting on the floor, obviously in the middle of a game of Junior Monopoly with the kids. “Surprise,” she said softly.

“Is it ever,” he admitted, feeling too stunned to consider how he felt about seeing her here in his home, with his kids. “Where’s Mrs. Simpson?”

“She had a car accident,” Dylan said, his eyes round.

Briana rose, a slight blush coloring her cheeks. “That’s right. One of the nurses phoned a little while ago. Mrs. Simpson’s in the hospital. Some of the stoplights are out in the area.”

He nodded. “I think it’s more damage from the aftershock.”

“Well, she was driving through the intersection on her way here and someone hit her car. She was knocked unconscious and taken to hospital. She woke up, more worried about the children being alone than about her own health, and couldn’t rest until a nurse phoned to make sure there was someone here with the children.”

“But how did you know they were alone?”

Briana smiled at Dylan and he almost saw his son’s chest puff with pride. “Dylan phoned me at work and explained the situation. We decided it would be a good idea for me to come over.”

“Good work, Dylan.”

“Anyway,” she said, rising from the floor, “Dinner’s in the oven. Oh, and it looks like you’re going to have to find another sitter for the next couple of days. Mrs. Simpson bruised her ribs in that accident and she has a slight concussion.”

He nodded, feeling thick and off center. Briana didn’t live in this part of his world, she lived in the work part, and yet in the past forty-eight hours she’d definitely spilled over into his personal life.

The scary part was how much he liked having her there. As dangerous as it was, he let himself imagine, just for a second, what it would be like to have Briana in his life permanently. In two months of working together, they’d discovered a lot of common interests. They both liked traveling and hadn’t done nearly enough of it. They both liked The West Wing, but also never missed The Simpsons. They both liked the outdoors, and although she was a little vague about her family, he sensed they shared a strong attachment to their loved ones.

Briana was a little more organized than he was, and his math was better than hers. They were a good team at work. A fantastic fit physically.

He could so easily imagine what it would be like to walk into the house and find her in casual clothes, the fantastic smell of her cooking wafting through the house. A special expression in her eyes that she saved for him alone.

Sure, he was getting ahead of himself, but at nearly forty years old, he knew when his feelings for a woman were serious.

If she hadn’t taken to his kids, he wouldn’t indulge such a fantasy even for a moment, but what amazed him was the way she’d acted on Dylan’s phone call almost like a mother. She hadn’t messed around or tried to find someone else. She’d dropped everything and sped over to sit with his children.

“I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t been there today,” he said at last. “Thank you.”

He took a step forward, and she took a step forward, and then they realized at the same moment what they were doing and stopped.

“Well,” she said, “I should get going now you’re home.”

“No,” both kids cried at once. “We have to finish the game.”

“Please?” Fiona said, disentangling herself from Patrick’s legs and giving him the pleading look that always turned him into mush. “Can we finish the game?”

“Can she stay for supper, Dad?” Dylan piped up, more enthusiastic than Patrick had seen him in a long time.

“Oh, I don’t-”

“Can she stay for a sleepover?” Fiona asked loudly, not to be outdone by her older brother.

He bent to ruffle Fiona’s curls, giving Briana a moment to recover her composure. He wasn’t going to be the one to say no to that one. In fact, he thought Fiona had a fine idea there.

They were saved by Dylan, who told his sister, “Grown-ups don’t have sleepovers.”

Well, Dylan had pretty much let Briana know he didn’t have women sleeping over on a regular basis, so that was good. And he’d saved both adults from having to comment on Fiona’s idea.

Patrick glanced up finally to see that Briana’s color had subsided from tomato to more of a watermelon tinge. “Stay for supper. You cooked it. We can at least feed you.”

“That’s okay, really. I love to cook, and since I moved here, I haven’t had a lot of opportunity.” She shrugged. “I was happy to have free run of a big, fully equipped kitchen.”

“I’m not sure how fully equipped this one is anymore. I’m no gourmet, and Mrs. Simpson’s recipes aren’t exactly cutting edge. Our pantry runs more to chicken noodle soup and Cheerios than cilantro or lemongrass.”

Briana laughed. “That’s okay. I used some canned stuff and there were lots of spices in the walk-in storage cupboard. Well, I do want to talk to you about the phone-in show.” She smiled hugely. “You were great.”

Fiona, who’d been waiting impatiently for a pause in the adult conversation, tugged at Briana’s skirt. “Can we finish the game now?”

Briana glanced at Patrick, half-laughing, half-shy. “If you’re sure you don’t mind me staying for dinner…”

“Absolutely sure,” he said. “I’ll go change while you finish the game and then we’ll eat. Sound good?”

He watched as the three of them settled back to Monopoly. Fiona, he noticed, kept shuffling closer to Briana until the two of them were hip to hip. Briana put an arm around the little girl and looked down at her fondly. Dylan stayed in his own spot, but his eyes never left Briana’s face. It seemed to Patrick that Dylan was experiencing his first full-blown crush.

“Get in line, son,” Patrick muttered to himself as he headed down the hall to his own room.

Since he was hot and sticky from a long day at work and the lights in the studio, he indulged in a quick shower, then pulled on his usual postwork uniform of jeans and a T-shirt. He thought about shaving for a second time today, but he didn’t want anyone-especially himself-getting the wrong idea about tonight.

He left his five o’clock shadow, knowing there’d be no after-dinner nooky with a woman who worked for him. Unfortunately.

By the time he made his way back to the den, he saw that his children were cleaning up the game, so quietly and cooperatively, he wondered for a second if some pod-kids had swapped places with his own. Then he realized they were trying to make a good impression on their guest.

He walked on and found Briana in the kitchen, one of Mrs. Simpson’s aprons wrapped twice around her slim waist. She’d taken a casserole dish out of the oven, filling the room with truly heavenly scents.

“That smells fantastic,” he said, his stomach beginning to rumble appreciatively.

“Thanks. It’s a superquick version of chicken cacciatore. I hope your children will like it.” She glanced at him with a worried expression. “I thought I’d serve it over pasta. Kids like pasta, don’t they?”

He had a feeling she could serve Dylan and Fiona nothing but leafy dark-green vegetables and liver and they’d be as excited as though they were eating hot dogs and potato chips. “They love pasta. Thanks again for doing this.”

He leaned against the counter and watched her competently serve up four plates of food.

As much as he enjoyed the show, he couldn’t stop a frown from forming between his eyes. “I’m going to have a talk to the car pool. I can’t believe those women drive off before the kids are inside the house.”

She nodded. “I thought the same thing myself. But I’ve never been in a car pool with children, so I don’t know what the protocol is.”

“The protocol is safety first, or it should be,” he answered shortly. “Whoever was driving today didn’t even check to see that Mrs. Simpson’s car was out front before leaving a nine-year-old and a five-year-old to fend for themselves.”

“The kids did really well, though,” Briana reminded him. “Dylan was very responsible. When Mrs. Simpson didn’t show up, he called you. And he wouldn’t let me in the house until I’d identified myself.”

Patrick smiled in spite of himself. His son was plenty responsible, thank God.

“It was bad luck that Mrs. Simpson had that car accident,” Briana continued. “Things like that don’t happen every day.”

“Around here it seems like they do. Damn lights.”

“I was thinking about that,” she said, turning to him, the ladle in her hand. He watched a single drop of rich, red sauce plop to the counter. “Do you think the lights could be related to the aftershock?”

He nodded. “Maybe. The point is, I need a better backup system for the kids.”

She turned back to her task, and there was a moment’s silence. Finally she said, “I’d be happy to keep a list of alternative caregivers and all their emergency numbers if you like.”

He squeezed the countertop behind him to stop himself from going over there and taking her in his arms. “Briana, I can’t think of anyone I’d trust more.”

“Don’t say that,” she said, sounding almost guilty.

He took a step toward her, and she ducked her head again, her color mounting. What was that about? Surely she could take a simple compliment. Or maybe because she didn’t have kids of her own, she felt that somehow she wasn’t to be trusted. “I do, Briana. I trust you.”

If anything, she looked even more uncomfortable. He would have called her on it, but he heard the unmistakable sound of four young feet pounding toward the kitchen.

“Wash your hands for supper,” he called out, stopping them in midstride. The pounding retreated and both kids headed for the bathroom before reappearing a few minutes later with clean hands. Dylan, he noted, had even brushed his hair.

Dinner that night was the best meal he’d eaten in his own home in ages. It wasn’t just the food-though a woman who could whip up anything that tasted this good, and do it so fast, deserved a medal-but the atmosphere. The four of them had fun being silly. Dylan told some juvenile joke he’d heard at school, and Fiona told Briana about something she’d learned on Sesame Street, then when it was clear their dinner guest didn’t know the entire cast of the show, his daughter happily enlightened her.

Patrick no longer had to hold up the entire adult end of the conversation. He had help.

Not that the kids needed a lot of prompting to talk. They couldn’t wait to tell about their days at school.

“How did you do on your biology test?” Patrick asked his son, remembering they were getting the tests back today.

“I got an A,” Dylan said with simple pride.

“That’s great,” he and Briana said in unison.

“I had to draw a picture of my favorite animal in school,” Fiona informed them.

“What did you draw?” Briana asked her.

“Dylan,” she said.

It was at moments like this, when his eyes met Briana’s in shared amusement, that he realized he’d been lonely. Not the all-by-yourself-with-no-one-to-talk-to lonely. He had a full life as a single dad with a busy job. But lonely in a purely adult way. He missed having a woman in his life. Not just for sex, though he sure as hell missed that, but for companionship. Someone with whom he could make plans for the future, delegate chores, worry over the kids. He missed having a wife and he knew his children missed having a mother.

“Dad, it’s rude to stare.” Dylan’s remark brought him back to the present.

“Hmm?” He blinked and realized that he had been staring at Briana, probably with the same lovesick gaze his son had turned on her earlier. “Oh, sorry. I was lost in thought.”

“We watched you on TV, Daddy!” Fiona said, breaking the tension and allowing them to rehash the call-in show.

“I think we’ll get our funding now,” he told Briana with a smile.

“I’m so glad. Congratulations, you’ve worked tirelessly for that funding.”

“You helped a lot, you know.”

“Well,” Briana said, rising from the table, “the only thing I could find for dessert was chocolate pudding. I hope that’s okay.”

“Sweet!” Dylan yelled, jumping up immediately to help clear the plates without even being asked.

Fiona had recently started helping also, though it was painful for Patrick to watch her carry her plate to the dishwasher, her tongue between her teeth as she concentrated on not letting her knife and fork slide off the plate.

“What a big help you guys are,” Briana said. “Thanks so much.”

After they’d had the pudding, Patrick insisted on finishing the dishes and Briana started to make noises about leaving. “Could you stay and read me my bedtime story?” Fiona asked.

“Um, well, I really should-”

“Briana has to go home to her own house, Fi,” Patrick reminded his daughter. Fiona’s lower lip began to tremble. Oh, boy. It looked like the entire family had a crush on his admin assistant.

“Well,” Briana said, glancing helplessly at him, “I guess I could read you one story.” She disappeared down the hall with Fiona.

After he’d done the dishes, checked his phone messages and gone through the mail, Patrick headed down to Fiona’s bedroom to find all three of them in there. Dylan had obviously decided to listen to the story rather than read quietly to himself, as he usually did.

Patrick paused in the doorway and watched the trio. His gut tightened. It was a wonderful picture, a great fantasy. Why the hell couldn’t it be real? All Briana had to do was take another job, a job he’d find for her, and they could spend as many nights like this as she was willing to spend. She seemed to like his children, she seemed to enjoy his company, and unless he was badly off the mark, she’d enjoyed their intimacy the other night.

What was holding her back from changing jobs?

“The end,” she said, and closed the book, returning it to the shelf. She’d glanced up and seen him standing there. “It’s time for me to go now,” she told the kids.

Fiona held her arms up mutely for a hug. Briana hesitated a moment, then walked over and hugged her, dropping a kiss on her forehead. “Good night, Fiona.”

“Night.” Fiona rolled over and pulled her favorite stuffed bunny into her arms.

Dylan walked to his own room and Briana followed him. Patrick stepped to his daughter’s bedside and dropped his own kiss on her forehead. “Night, sweetheart.”

“Night, Daddy. Love you.”

He was in time to see Dylan get the same kiss on the forehead that his sister had, and as Patrick passed Briana in the doorway, their bodies brushed. Oh, man, he wanted more than a kiss on the forehead from this woman.

Once he’d said good-night to his son, he walked back to the kitchen. Briana was standing there with her shoes on and her bag in hand. Suddenly, the atmosphere, which had been so easy all evening, turned awkward. “Well,” she said, running her fingers back and forth on the strap of her purse, “I’ll get going.”

He nodded. “I’ll walk you out.”

The night was warm for March, and the jacarandas for which the neighborhood, Jacaranda Heights, was named were in full bloom, their scent soft and evocative in the warm night air.

“You don’t need to walk me to my car.”

“I want to. I want to talk to you.”

“Oh.”

He waited until they were standing by her car. She unlocked the driver’s side but he stilled her hand before she opened the door. “Both my kids got a good-night kiss. What about me?”

She shook her head, refusing to look at him.

He struggled to suppress his frustration.

“I don’t suppose I could fire you again until tomorrow morning?” he asked.

She smiled and shook her head once more.

“What I’d really like to do is fire you permanently.”

That got her to look up at him. Her eyes were a vivid green in the light from the streetlamps. “You’ve got no reason-”

He pulled her to him and kissed her with all the pent-up feeling and passion he’d been tamping down since the night in the elevator.

She gave a gasp of shock and stiffened for a second, then seemed to melt into him. She kissed him back, as hungrily as he was kissing her, and he knew one thing. She was as crazy for him as he was for her.

Why then wouldn’t she help him make things right?

He pulled away at last, panting and shaken. He was appalled at the sharpness of his desire. “That’s my reason,” he said.

She put the tip of her tongue out and touched her lips as though amazed at what she and Patrick had just done. “I can’t leave my job now.”

“Why not?”

“It’s complicated, Patrick.”

“What the hell is so complicated about it? Do you think Max Zirinsky or Dan Egan wouldn’t kill to have you on their staffs? Or there are positions at the hospital at a higher level, with a correspondingly higher wage. What’s so complicated about that?”

“I like working in municipal government. That’s what I trained in.”

“Well, there’s plenty of politics in policing and hospital administration.”

She rubbed her arms as though she were chilled. “I…I made a commitment. I can’t break my word.”

“Break it. I don’t care. Of course, I’ll never find an assistant as good as you. I’ll survive. But what about this?” He wrapped his hand around the back of her neck and felt her quiver of response, watched her head tip back so he could kiss her. He spoke softly and from his heart. “Do you think this happens every day?”

She shook her head.

“Briana,” he said, realizing he had to be honest with her and let her know what he was feeling, “I’m falling in love with you.”

She gasped and made a shushing sound, but now that he’d gone this far, he’d give her all of it. “My kids are falling in love with you. Isn’t that worth something?”

“L-love?” she asked, as though it were an unfamiliar term.

“I know it’s too soon to be talking like this, and maybe things won’t work out between us, I don’t know. But I’d sure like to give it a try. In three years I haven’t met anyone who makes me feel as-I don’t know, as alive, I guess, and full of hope about the future as you do. Please, won’t you think about it?”

“I have been thinking about it. But what we’re doing at work is important, too, and I’m egotistical enough to think that I’m making a meaningful contribution at the office.”

“I know. You’re right. I’ll wait…but not too long.”

“Things will improve dramatically when the funding comes through from the bond. Why don’t we have this conversation again in a month?”

He nodded once, knowing she was right. Talking his assistant into quitting for entirely personal reasons wasn’t the best service he could render the people of Courage Bay. “All right, lady. You’ve got a month. And in four weeks-less, if things calm down at work enough that I can replace you-you and I have a date with a king-size bed.”

“If all you want is sex-” she began, but he cut her off.

“You know it isn’t. If I only wanted sex, believe me, I could be having it every night. There are plenty of single women who actually think I’m a pretty good catch. But for some damned reason, the only woman I want, the only woman who’s keeping me awake at night, making me take cold showers and generally making my life hell, is you.”

“Oh.”

“Yes. Oh. I’m not saying it will work out. Maybe it won’t. But in the three years since Janie died, I’ve barely looked at another woman.”

She glanced up, startled. “You mean you’ve never-” She slapped a hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry. What am I saying? That’s none of my business.”

He removed her hand from her mouth and kissed the palm. “Of course it’s your business. We slept together. I think that gives you a right to know about my sex life. And the answer is no. I haven’t had sex with anyone since Janie died. Not until you.” He brushed a hand over the gold of her hair, which was like a halo in the streetlight, and wished he could take her back inside and show her how much she meant to him.

“I had no idea.” She whispered the words, and it almost sounded as though she were close to tears.

“Well, going without sex for three years is not something you plan. But I loved my wife. I missed her for a long time. I still miss her. I guess I always will. And I was so busy with the kids and work that I…I never got around to dating other women. I missed sex of course. I’m still a man.” He grinned in the dark. “But until you came along, I never did anything about it.”

He had no idea if he’d just made himself sound pathetic or needy, but he didn’t much care. He believed in the truth. He tried to be truthful always, especially with people he cared about. And he cared about Briana. More than he wanted to.

“I see.”

“I’ll tell you something else. You can go without for a long time and kind of put it out of your mind, but once you find a woman you desire again, once in three years is not enough.”

She laughed softly, but she sounded almost nervous. Why was she so skittish now? She’d been so passionate and open when they were trapped together in the elevator.

Maybe Briana was affected by something in her past, just as he was. He decided to find out.

“Okay. I’ve told you my story. What’s yours?”

“There’s not much to tell,” she said, easing away from him. They ended up side by side, both leaning against her car.

“You left a job as city manager to come and be an admin assistant. I’m guessing you left your former job for a compelling reason. Bad relationship?”

Her hand was still in his, and now it squeezed into a claw against his palm. Aha. But Briana didn’t admit to a bad relationship. In fact, she shook her head.

“No. I-I just needed a change.” She sighed and looked up into the dark sky. “I was engaged, once. But it didn’t work out.”

“Did you end up with a broken heart?” That could explain her reluctance to get involved with him.

“No. A few broken illusions, perhaps. He was a slick-talking, smooth-moving cattle rancher, and we hit it off right away. Within six months we were engaged. I started planning the wedding, and he grew a little distant. Then I started showing him decorating magazines. I had such ideas for the ranch house. Oh, and the gourmet kitchen I was going to have installed. That house was badly in need of updating, you understand.” She laughed at the memory, but she didn’t sound bitter. “He’d usually change the subject whenever talk turned to home-decorating, and I thought it was just because he was a man. But then I happened to mention some ideas for a nursery. He didn’t merely change the subject on me that time. He changed women.”

“You mean that moron dumped you because you wanted to have kids?”

“Oh, don’t make a tragedy out of it. I think he dumped me because he’d gotten carried away on a fantasy of the two of us on a never-ending honeymoon. He thought nothing would change except that he’d have me there in his world, and here I was, hauling curtain samples and kids into his dream. We simply weren’t a fit.”

Patrick would let her decorate his house any way she wanted, he realized. He’d toss out everything, including the kitchen, and start again if that’s what she wanted. With a stirring of mingled pain and hope, he realized he’d even go along with the nursery. He loved kids, and he’d be happy to have more.

But after half declaring his love and seeing her back off, he wasn’t about to freak her out with an offer to redecorate and set up a nursery.

If he did, she’d probably run from him faster than the ranch boy had run from her.

What he had to do was get the council back in session quickly, vote to release the funds and get Courage Bay ’s emergency services fully functioning again.

Then he could go after the woman he loved.