Fanta C

Chapter 3

The figures blurred in front of her eyes again. Impatiently Elizabeth tossed down her pencil and gave up trying to concentrate on Fantasy's financial records. It was Monday morning. The shop had been open only half an hour. So far she'd had no customers. She was catching up on some bookkeeping while waiting for Mr Adam Cavanaugh to arrive. She'd been notified that he would be circulating through the hotel later that day.

But every time she tried to review the profit and loss columns in front of her, her mind began to wander. It kept going back to the discussion Lilah and she had had the previous Saturday morning. Her sister had planted a seed in the fertile field of her brain, and it had germinated in spite of her wishes that it wither and die.

If an interrogator had shoved slivers of bamboo under her fingernails, Elizabeth wouldn't have admitted writing out her stable fantasy in the privacy of her bedroom late Saturday night. She'd toyed with the tempting idea all through the McDonald's dinner and Disney movie she'd treated her children to that evening. On the outside chance that she might see Thad Randolph, she hadn't wanted to hang around the house. She'd kept the kids out as late as possible and was miffed to see that his Jeep wasn't parked in his driveway when they finally did get home.

The outing had still been well worth the effort. The kids had loved the classic animated film. They'd individually thanked her for taking them when she kissed them good night. But as always when she went into her room, undressed, and got into bed, she was alone.

It was then that she had taken a spiral notebook out of the drawer in her nightstand and begun to write down the word pictures her mind was constantly painting. She became lost in the effort. The words seemed to appear on the paper through no volition of her own. They flowed freely from the pen as though it were as magical as the wand in the fairy tale she'd just seen.

Descriptions of the characters, their clothing, the setting, all came easily because she envisioned them so clearly. But some words she found difficult to write. Words which she would never have occasion to speak aloud. Anatomical parts for instance, or words with blatantly sexual connotations. But she penned them nonetheless. By the time she put a period at the end of the last sentence, her body was damp with perspiration and her heart was thumping in a lovemaking rhythm.

Laying her pen aside, she flipped back through the pages and read what she had written. After reading the final word, she threw off the bed covers, ripped the pages out of the notebook, and destroyed them in the bathroom.

Her fantasy had sounded dopey. Lilah was insane and she was insane for ever listening to her. Agitated with herself, she returned to bed and snapped off the lamp. She tried to sleep, squeezing her eyes shut so tightly she got a headache from the effort. Tossing and turning, she tried to convince herself that the fantasy she had written had been so bad as to be unreadable. But that wasn't true. She'd ripped it up because it had been so good.

She had lived with herself for twenty-nine years and had never guessed what a dirty mind she had!

Fantasy was closed on Sundays. That afternoon she'd taken the children on a picnic in the municipal park to keep them occupied and away from the house. When they left, Thad had been out pruning shrubs.

"Can Thad come on the picnic too?" Matt had asked her as she shepherded him into the car.

"Thad's busy."

"He pro'bly wouldn't be busy if we asked him to come on the picnic."

"We aren't going to ask him."

"We've got plenty of food."

"He can have some of mine," Megan offered.

Elizabeth climbed behind the steering wheel and quickly started the car to end the argument. The picnic had been successful. But while the children played on the jungle gymn, Elizabeth sat on a park bench and analyzed the fantasy she'd written the night before. She thought of ways to change and improve it. Then she would remember that it no longer existed and was a closed issue. She forced herself to forget it.

Well, now it was Monday. She had work to do. The owner of the hotel chain was due to arrive at any minute. And she still hadn't forgotten the erotic dream she'd committed to paper. She was preoccupied with her fantasy and her troublesome neighbor.

Although that was the trouble, he wasn't troublesome. She couldn't fault him for anything. As neighbors went, he was perfect. He could have been a real hell-raising bachelor who had women constantly parading through his house. He could host drunken orgies that would keep her up nights. He could be ornery about the noise her children made when they played in the backyard. The motorcycle seemed a bit out of character. She suspected that he was no angel, but at least she didn't have to contend with a party animal.

Of course he could have been more modest than to leave his shirt unbuttoned when he was working outside in his yard. On the other hand, he might not have been wearing a shirt at all. What if he'd been shirtless when the emergency with Baby occurred? What if his arms and their bunching biceps had been bare when he reached up for her and encircled her waist with his strong hands? What if she'd had to touch his naked shoulders and be pressed against that broad, hairy chest and flat, corrugated stomach? What if —

"Mrs Burke?"

Elizabeth jumped as though she'd been shot and whirled around to see that a group of people had congregated just inside the door of her shop. They were staring at her curiously and she wondered how many times the man had spoken her name before rousing her.

"Yes?" she said, breathless with embarrassment.

"Hello. I'm Adam Cavanaugh."

The dark-haired, dark-eyed man who was crossing the plush carpet, hand extended, was heart-stoppingly handsome. Impeccably dressed in a well-tailored three-piece pin-striped business suit, he still managed to look as dashing as a Caribbean pirate. That reckless flare was in his smile, which was wide, white, and friendly, and in his coffee-colored eyes, which twinkled with amusement, as though he knew he had caught her red-handed in a naughty daydream. He clasped Elizabeth's hand in a firm handshake.

"Mr Cavanaugh, it's a pleasure to meet you in person." She congratulated herself for not stammering, which, under the circumstances, was a real feat.

"The same goes for me." He released her hand and looked about the shop. Turning to his entourage of yes-men, who respectfully lurked in his aura, he nodded with apparent satisfaction. "The photographs I was sent didn't do Fantasy justice." His dark eyes swung back to Elizabeth. "I love it."

"Thank you."

"Wherever did you get the idea?"

She shrugged self-consciously. "I've always liked beautiful things. Feminine things. When I decided to go into business for myself, that's what I wanted to sell. I tried to think of a suitable location for such a shop, where there would be men buying presents for their… ladies. At that time, Hotel Cavanaugh was still under construction." She smiled up at him. "It seemed a natural."

"Very intuitive."

"I'm glad you saw the same potential that I did and accepted the proposal I sent you."

"Actually I can't take the credit for approving your idea. I have lessee managers who handle that. However, I couldn't be more pleased that they decided in your favor."

She was appalled at her naïveté. Adam Cavanaugh was far too important and busy to concern himself with each and every lessee. She felt herself blushing.

"I'm sure your appearance boosts your sales, Mrs Burke." Without compunction, Cavanaugh studied her face and hairdo. The chignon was loose and wispy enough to suggest that it had been mussed. Perhaps by a man's caressing hands. "You certainly look the part."

Elizabeth grew warm beneath his appraising stare. "I brewed some spiced tea." She hoped to remove his attention from her by indicating a simmering silver pot and a collection of porcelain cups sitting on a small round table covered with a lace tablecloth. "Would you like to sample some of the chocolates I sell?"

"I'll pass on the tea, but the chocolates, by all means," he said with a brilliant smile which was almost boyish.

Not only was Adam Cavanaugh incredibly handsome, he was likable. He chatted with Elizabeth while the lackeys in his entourage sipped tea and munched down almost fifty dollars' worth of chocolates. The entrepreneur seemed genuinely interested in her. When she mentioned her children, he quizzed her about them at length and paid close attention to her answers. It was little wonder why this man was so successful. He was a good listener and made the speaker feel that what he had to say was important, interesting, and entertaining.

He took her hand again and pressed it between his. "I'll be in and out of the city for the next few weeks," he told her. "I want us to get together for a private meeting. Can that be arranged?"

"Certainly," Elizabeth replied with more composure than she felt. His touch was that of a man who touched women frequently, who knew how, and who enjoyed it.

"I'll look forward to it, then."

He retained her hand for several seconds before saying good-bye and turning toward the door. He was brought up short at the sight of the woman standing on the threshold. She had on tight black leather pants tucked into knee-high boots. A long fringed paisley shawl had been tossed over a black turtleneck sweater. Gold disk earrings dangled from her ears, nearly brushing her shoulders. One had a feather in it.

It was Lilah. Elizabeth's heart sank when she saw the mischief dancing in her sister's eyes. Lilah was so unpredictable, one never could guess what she was going to say or do.

"Hello, Adam." She flashed Cavanaugh an audacious and dazzling smile. At the familiar use of his first name, several members of his entourage blanched. "I recognize you from your pictures in the newspaper."

Though she would rather undergo oral surgery, the responsibility of making introductions fell to Elizabeth. "Mr Cavanaugh, this is my sister, Lilah Mason."

"How do you do, Ms. Mason?"

Lilah's shoulder settled against the doorjamb in a relaxed posture that matched her lazy voice and half-mast eyes. "How do I do what?"

One of Cavanaugh's subordinates cleared his throat. Another gasped. From behind Adam's back Elizabeth glared unspoken threats at her sister. But Lilah was undaunted. "If you were on your way out, don't let me keep you."

"I don't intend to." Cavanaugh turned his head and gave Elizabeth a curt nod good-bye, then brushed past Lilah who was still indolently leaning against the doorjamb. The Cavanaugh thanes scurried out in the wake of their angry warlord.

"Lilah, how could you?" Elizabeth hissed as soon as the group had cleared the door.

Lilah laughed easily. "Relax, Elizabeth. You had him eating out of your hand. I was watching through the window. I behaved so badly that you'll seem like an angel by comparison. In essence, I just did you a big favor."

"Well, don't do me any more! You embarrassed me half to death. Mother and Father would be aghast."

Lilah twirled off her shawl with a matador's flourish. "I doubt it. They know I'm the black sheep. Can I have this last chocolate? I didn't think those buzzards were going to leave a single one." She popped the piece of candy in her mouth and chewed with vigor.

Elizabeth rubbed her forehead. "I have a headache."

Lilah took sympathy. "How was it going before I made my entrance? It looked good from where I was standing."

"He's positively charming."

"I could afford to be charming, too, if I had his zillions."

Elizabeth ignored the crack. "I didn't expect him to be so sincere, so human. I thought he'd he brusque and all business. Intimidating."

"Honestly, Lizzie, you take the cake. He's as slick as a billiard ball, but it's all an act. Don't you realize that? Enjoy his charm, but don't fall for it."

"I liked him."

"You're supposed to like him."

"He asked me to meet with him in private sometime soon.

"Oh, really?" Lilah sipped at a cup of tea, made a disagreeable face, and returned it to the table.

"Don't say 'Really?' in that tone of voice. It will be a business meeting." Lilah's expression reeked with skepticism. "Strictly business."

"I'm sure it will be." She said it in a tone that indicated she didn't believe it for a minute.

"I don't see why you're so suspicious of him."

"Then I'll tell you why. He's gorgeous, granted. But I'm always leery of men who are that debonair. I just don't trust them. There's got to be a worm in an apple that shiny."

Elizabeth had tired of the subject. Adam Cavanaugh would probably never speak to her again. He might even terminate her lease after her sister's behavior. "What are you doing here anyway? Don't you have any patients today? And is that the latest in uniforms for physical therapists?"

"That all depends on the kind of therapy one is dispensing," she said with a ribald laugh. "Don't you like the outfit?" Lilah pirouetted and Elizabeth had to admit that her sister looked smashing. "In fact I'm wearing this for one of my patients. He's paraplegic because of a motorcycle accident. He's been bitching that people are prejudiced against bikers, me included. I thought I'd show him just how free-spirited I can be."

Elizabeth's mind backtracked to her conversation with Thad about motorcycles and sitting astride them.

Lilah drew her back to the present. "Written down any fantasies for me?"

"No." Lilah instantly saw through Elizabeth's lie, but before she could take issue with it, a customer entered the store. He looked around uneasily. Elizabeth recognized his symptoms. He was uncomfortable in such a feminine environment, just like a woman would be in a hardware store looking for a particular nut to fit a certain bolt. He was wearing that same lost, bewildered expression. "Can I help you, sir?" she asked him.

"I'm looking for something for my wife. An anniversary gift."

"I have a wide selection of crystal perfume bottles. Would you like to see them?"

Lilah took the brush-off for what it was. She replaced her shawl, then sashayed toward the door. As she went past the nervous man, who was paunchy and balding, she whispered, "Forget the fancy perfume bottles. If you want something that won't collect dust, check out the red satin garter belt."

"…to the carnival Saturday night."

The last several words of Matt's endless monologue jabbed through Elizabeth's headache and disturbing mental review of her meeting with Adam Cavanaugh. The fork she had been mechanically feeding herself with halted midway between her meat loaf and her mouth. "Carnival?"

"The Fall Festival at school, Mom," Megan patiently explained. She was much like John. He had been a stickler for details. Always organized, on time, and in control. While Elizabeth was unfailingly absentminded, her daughter never forgot anything.

"Oh, of course. The Fall Festival." She remembered sticking a notice to that effect on the refrigerator door a week or so ago. Glancing toward it now, she saw that the photocopied bulletin had been covered up by a crayon drawing of a grinning jack-o-lantern and six flying ghosts. "It's this Saturday night?"

"From seven till nine-thirty," Megan informed her. "And we want to stay for the whole time, don't we, Matt?"

"Yeah. The raffle drawing for the compact-disc player isn't until nine-fifteen, so we can't leave before then. Thad said so too."

"Thad? What does he have to do with it?"

"I invited him to go with us."

Elizabeth's fork clattered to her plate. "You didn't really, did you?" she demanded of her son when she was able to speak again.

Matt looked at her warily and nodded his head up and down. "This afternoon."

"And what did he say?" She dreaded to hear.

"He said sure."

Elizabeth rolled her lips inward to keep from uttering the swearwords that surged to mind. "How could you do that, Matt, without consulting me first? I can't believe you did such a thing."

"She said I could."

"Who said you could?"

"My teacher. Miss Blanchard. Both parents are s'pposed to come to the festival. Everybody else has a mom and a dad. Since I don't have a dad I asked her if I could 'nvite somebody else and she said I could." His lower lip pooched out and began to tremble. "But you won't let Thad come with us. You won't let us do anything fun. You're mean! You're the meanest mom in the whole world."

In tears, the boy raced from the table, knocking over his glass of milk in the process. Elizabeth let him go. Her head fell forward into her waiting hands. She dismally watched the milk pool on the table, then dribble over the edge onto the tile floor, and still she didn't move.

It had been difficult for Matt when he started public kindergarten and realized that most children had a living father, even if he was divorced from the child's mother and lived in a separate house. Matt had been just a toddler when John was killed, so he didn't remember what it was like to have a father. Elizabeth had spent hours explaining John's death to him. But to a five-year-old child, a deceased father was a difficult concept to grasp, much less become reconciled to.

"Mom, the milk's dripping all over the floor. Do you want me to clean it up?"

Elizabeth raised her head and smoothed her hand over Megan's straight, wheat-colored hair. "No, darling. I'll do it. But thank you for offering."

"I told Matt maybe he should ask you first."

"I'll talk to him when he's had a chance to calm down."

"Are you going to let Thad come with us?"

Her daughter's wistful tone hit Elizabeth like a steamroller. Every little girl needed a daddy and Megan missed having one. "Of course he can come," she heard herself saying as she forced a smile.

After the dishes were done, she went in search of her son and found him sprawled across his bed, his Pooh bear tucked under his arm. Dried tears had left salty tracks on his cheeks. Elizabeth sat down on the edge of the bed and leaned over to kiss his forehead.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you." He said nothing, but swallowed a sob. "I was surprised, that's all." She explained why she should have been consulted before he issued the invitation. "But I guess it's all right this time."

His cloudy eyes cleared immediately. "He can come?"

"If he wants to."

"Gee, that'll be great!"

Yeah, great, Elizabeth thought. After the children were in bed, she reasoned that Thad might be as unenthusiastic about attending the school carnival as she was to have him along. He might have accepted the invitation out of pity for her fatherless children. Shouldn't she give him an opportunity to back out gracefully?

She removed her apron and applied fresh lipstick before walking across the dark lawns. He was sitting in an easy chair on his back porch. Over the weekend he had covered the screens with glass panels to winterize the room. By the light of the TV set, she could see a tray with the remains of his dinner on it. A steak and a beer.

He wasn't watching the television, but reading a magazine. She wondered if it was a men's magazine full of pictures of naked women. If so, now wasn't a good time to come calling. But she'd come this far and she wanted to get this over with as soon as possible so she could stop dreading it. He didn't notice her until she knocked. His head came around and his eyes speared into her like twin lasers.

He left his chair and switched off the TV set before opening the door. He had laid the magazine down in the seat of his chair; Elizabeth didn't have a chance to see the cover.

"Hi," she said awkwardly.

"Hi. Come in."

"No, I, uh, can't stay but a minute. I left the children sleeping." She wasn't about to go into his house alone. What if some of the other neighbors saw her? Human nature being what it was, they would jump to the wrong conclusions. Gossip would spread as quickly as wildfire.

He stepped through the door and reached behind him to close it. "Is something wrong?"

"No. Well, that is, I hope not." She wasn't making any sense and knew he must think she was a jibbering fool. As well as she could remember, she'd never spoken a coherent word to this man. There was no reason for her to be so nervous. He was just a man, for heaven's sake… but so much man.

"Matt told me he invited you to the Fall Festival at his school," she said in a breathless rush.

"He did."

"Are you going?"

"I told him I would."

"I know. That's what he said. But I don't want you to feel obligated to go just because he asked you to."

He studied her for a moment. "You don't want me along, is that it?"

"No! I mean, yes. I mean…" She drew a deep breath. "It's fine with me if you really want to attend something so… It's an elementary-school carnival. There'll be a thousand kids running around like wild Indians and frantic parents chasing after them. It's noisy and messy and… and…" She made a helpless gesture. "It's not something I think you'll enjoy."

"Because I'm a confirmed old bachelor."

Damn! Now I've insulted him, she thought when he turned his back on her and headed toward his Jeep parked in the driveway. "It's not that, Mr — Thad. I just wanted to give you an opportunity to back out if you wanted to. I'd make it all right with Matt and spare you having to tell him."

He had let down the tailgate of the Jeep and now slid a monstrous box from the back of it. He hefted it to his shoulders and retraced his steps into the backyard. Not knowing what else to do, she dogged his footsteps. He eased the box to the ground.

"I've never had kids, but I'm not so old that I don't remember being one, Elizabeth." When he spoke her name, it did something funny to her tummy. Like his fingers had stroked her there.

"I didn't mean to imply that — "

"I even remember a few school carnivals and how excited I got over them. I was lucky enough to have my mom and dad to go with me."

Elizabeth leaned against the nearest tree trunk and sighed. "You make me feel as guilty as Matt did. I scolded him when he told me he had invited you. I was mortified. I didn't want you to feel obligated. He called me the meanest mom in the whole world."

Thad chuckled. "I hardly think you're that. I don't feel obligated to go to the festival. In fact, I think I'll enjoy it a lot. And I didn't want to make you feel guilty. Okay? Now can we stop apologizing? In fact, I'd like to drop the subject altogether. Tell me what you think of this."

He knelt down and tipped the large cardboard box forward. Elizabeth dropped to her knees beside him and studied the photograph on the side of the box.

"A hammock! How lovely."

"You think so?"

"Yes. I've always wanted one. One exactly like this." According to the picture on the box, the hammock was made of woven white jute. Long fringe hung from the sides of it.

"I've always wanted one too. I thought I'd hang it between these two trees." He pointed them out to her.

"Oh, yes. And in the summertime, it'll be wonderful to — " She broke off abruptly.

"To what?" he asked quietly, watching her face. When she declined to answer him, he said, "To lie in?"

"Isn't that what hammocks are for?"

"Uh-huh. Feel free to lie in mine anytime."

"Thank you."

"But you won't, will you?"

She looked up at him quickly, stunned by his keen perception. "Probably not."

"Why not?"

"I wouldn't want to take advantage of the offer."

He shook his head. "Nope. That's not it. You don't want to lie in my hammock because the other neighbors might start gossiping about us. They might think you're lying in my bed as well."

Her stomach bobbed in her middle like a helium balloon, weightless and flighty with nowhere to go.

"There's absolutely nothing for the neighbors to gossip about."

"And you're making damn sure it stays that way."

"Do you blame me?"

"Blame?" His brows drew together over the bridge of his nose. "'Blame' isn't the word I'd use. I just think it's silly for you to go out of your way to avoid me."

She had no comeback so she didn't offer one. He had her pegged and she'd only look sillier to deny his allegation.

"I understand why you go to such lengths," he said softly. "You have to protect your reputation. People are watching to see if you'll slip up, become an irresponsible parent, do something scandalous."

"It's almost a cliché, how young widows are supposed to be — "

"Sex starved," he bluntly supplied. "And I'm a bachelor who lives alone. That in itself makes me suspect. So if you came inside my house for something as innocent as borrowing a cup of sugar, the gossips would have it that we'd had a quickie on the kitchen table." He laughed shortly. "Quickies have their uses, but personally I've never cared much for them. They're like rushing through an excellent bottle of wine. You don't drink it because you're thirsty. You drink it for the pleasure you can derive from its taste." His blue-hot gaze moved to her mouth. "Some things should be savored, lingered over."

Elizabeth's throat had closed to any words she might have uttered, had she been able to think of any. Her heart, however, was making enough racket to compensate. She was certain he could hear it banging against her ribs.

"You're shivering." He raised his hand and touched her arm where the flesh was pebbly.

"I'm cold. I should have brought a sweater with me."

"Come on, I'll walk you to your door."

"That's not necessary."

"It is to me."

They confronted each other stubbornly, but Elizabeth was the one who eventually capitulated. She had left the light on in the kitchen and, as they picked their way across the dark lawns, was amazed to see how much was visible through the windows. She rarely thought to close the blinds because she liked letting the sunlight in during the day.

Could Thad see into her house from his screened back porch? She must remember never to come into the kitchen at night in a state of dishabille or he wouldn't need his girlie magazines to get his kicks.

"Have I thanked you for trimming my side of the hedge?" she asked, remembering that she owed him a thank you.

"Did you notice?"

"I noticed. Thanks. How are the puppies?"

"Doing very well. Growing."

"Good." They had reached her back door and could, thankfully, end this ridiculous conversation.

"What time Saturday?" he asked.

"I think the kids said seven. If you're sure."

"I'm sure. I'll pick you up."

She started to object, but something in the determined set of his chin prevented that. "Okay. That sounds fine, Thad. Well, good night."

"Elizabeth." He caught her hand before she could shield herself with the screen door.

"Yes?"

"Have they healed?" He ran his thumb over the palm of her hand. His touch was feather-light, but it might just as well have been electric for the currents it sent through her arm.

"My hands? Yes. They've healed. Completely." As though doubting her, he raised her hand closer to his face and studied the palm. He was still staring at it when he said, "If you should ever need me, for any reason, call. To hell with what the neighbors think."

When he did lift his gaze back to hers, it took her breath. Before she could regain enough of it to offer a comment or another good night, he released her hand and disappeared in the darkness.