Smitten

Four

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. And it made her stomach upset. Nerves, she told herself. 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.

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 Bob the Cat stretched across the bottom of the summer patchwork quilt. "You see what that man has done to my life?" Lizabeth questioned Bob. "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. It sat in the pit of her stomach-a small dark lump of panic that was only noticeable at two in the morning.

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 and 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 nut-case 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 into his coffee mug. 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. Peekaboo 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's upper lip curled back. "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. "Angle'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?"

Matt raised his eyebrows. "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 suddenly skyrocket. He'd known his share of women. He'd seen them wallowing in Jell-O, floundering in mud, and dancing on bars… and he'd never had a problem with the fit of his slacks in public. But watching Lizabeth strip a doughnut of its icing had him squirming in his seat.

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 get 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?"

Lizabeth rolled her eyes. "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. Ill 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.

Lizabeth felt the heat shoot through her. She watched him move onto another fingertip and surprised herself by moaning out loud when he took the finger in his mouth and circled it with his tongue. She immediately snatched her hand away.

"You sure you wouldn't like to fool around a little?"

"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 life-styles 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 Road Runner. She wondered if that was the problem eating away at her stomach every night. Different lifestyles and educational backgrounds. She'd graduated from Amherst and Matt had a tattoo on his forearm. 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.

Matt watched her with raised eyebrows. "Well?"

"I have to give this some consideration."

"Listen, if it's a morality thing about prenuptial sex I could fix it. We could get married. I know a justice of the peace who works on Sunday…"

"No!" Lizabeth cleared her throat and lowered her voice. "I'm not ready to get married. I had one bad marriage, and I don't want another. I don't want to rush into something I might regret later. Besides, I have a suspicion that if I said 'yes' to your proposal you'd take the first train out of town. You're playing with me."

There was some truth to that, Matt thought. He could afford to be bold about commitment, knowing she'd reject him, but he didn't think he'd take the first train out of town. Impossible as it seemed, even to him, he actually, wanted to get married. "Okay, so let's go over this then. You like me. You might even decide you love me after due deliberation." He was ticking each point off on his fingers. "You don't want to rush into another marriage. And you obviously don't want to rush into what might be an incredibly passionate but purely physical relationship."

Lizabeth gave a sigh of relief. He understood. "Yes."

"How far do you want to go?"

"Pardon?"

"I thought it would be helpful to set some boundaries. Just to make everything clear. So I know exactly how far I can go."

Relief turned to alarm. "Do we have to decide that now?"

"I don't want to make any mistakes. I assume kissing is all right."

"Kissing is fine."

He leaned across the table. "With tongues?"

She felt the flush beginning to creep up from her shirt collar. "Tongues are okay."

"How about touching? What body parts am I allowed to touch?" His eyes dropped to her chest. "Can I touch your breasts?"

Lizabeth unconsciously pressed her knees together. "I don't think this is necessary right now…"

"Can I take your shirt off? Can I-"

Lizabeth smacked him on the side of the head with the doughnut bag. "Listen up. I am not going to bed with you. As far as I'm concerned, anything up to that point is fair game, but I put the burden of stopping on you. You are totally responsible for maintaining my virtue."

"That's rotten!" Matt narrowed his eyes and grinned malevolently. "You're doing this because you have no willpower. You're putting the burden on me because you're afraid once you get going you won't be able to stop"

"Yup. That's true."

"Heh, heh, heh."

Lizabeth picked up her coffee cup and took a sip, looking at him over the rim. "You don't scare me. You're an honorable person and you're supposedly in love with me."

"Yes, but I'm also a desperate man."

"So you're telling me you'd take advantage of me when I was in a weakened position?"

"Damn right!"

Elsie came in for another doughnut. "What's going on in here?"

"We're making plans for a barbecue," Lizabeth said. "We're going to invite the whole neighborhood."

"I'm not going to have to cook for this, am I? Don't think I'm making potato salad for two hundred people."

Lizabeth shook her head. "Well ask everyone to bring something-a dessert or a covered dish. And well provide the hot dogs. We can borrow a couple of grills."

Elsie pulled a cherry Danish out of the bag. "Sounds like a pain in the behind to me. You got some good reason for having this shindig?"

Lizabeth hesitated, debating whether to confide in Elsie. Elsie wasn't known for her ability to keep secrets. Not that it really mattered this time. In fact, maybe it was for the best if the flasher knew he was about to be found out. "I thought if I got all the men in the neighborhood together I might recognize the flasher."

Elsie's eyes sparkled in approval. "You're from the Hawkins side all right. We don't just sit around on our butt. No sir, we go out and get the job done. You think we need to have a gun on hand in case he gets unruly? I'm real good with a gun."

"No guns!" Lizabeth stood at her seat, palms flat on the table, and leaned toward Elsie to make her point. "I don't want any guns in this house."

Elsie bit into her doughnut. "I suppose it wouldn't be neighborly to shoot him, anyway."

"And the police would frown on it," Lizabeth said. "They're not fond of vigilantes."

Elsie turned her attention to Matt. "Did you come over here just to plan a barbecue?"

"No. It's supposed to rain tonight, so I thought I'd take a look at the roof. I might be able to patch some of the worst spots."

Lizabeth caught her bottom lip between her teeth. "You don't have to go up on the roof to do that, do you?"

"Worried about me?" Matt asked, looking pleased.

"Of course I'm worried. The roof is a mess. The tiles are loose and the wood is probably rotted. If you fall off and get hurt they'll raise the rates on my homeowner's insurance."

He drained his coffee cup and rose. "I'll keep all that in mind."

'Do you need help?"

"You bet. I need someone to hold the ladder." He slung his arm around Lizabeth's shoulders and dragged her out of the kitchen. "Holding the ladder is a very important job. Not just anyone can do it. It has to be someone you trust."

"Uh-huh."

"And if you turn out to be good at holding the ladder, later on I might let you hold something else."

Lizabeth's stomach did a rollover. "I'm not sure I want to hear this."

He turned and pinned her against the front door. "Lizzy Kane, you have a dirty mind."

He was silently laughing, and his mouth was just inches away. She could feel his chest crush into hers, feel the soft denim of his jeans slide between her bare legs, feel his heart thumping behind his black T-shirt. "You set me up," Lizabeth said.

His face was a study in offended innocence. "Not true. I was thinking you could hold my shirt if it gets too warm on the roof, or you could hold my hammer while I carry the shingles." He leaned even closer, and his mouth settled onto hers in lazy possession. He slid his tongue along the inside of her upper lip and pulled away just enough to be able to look into her eyes. "You were the one who thought about holding more intimate objects," he whispered. "You want to know what I think? I think you want to hold my-"

Lizabeth made a strangled sound in the back of her throat.

"Something wrong?" Matt asked. "I thought talking was okay. I thought everything was allowed except the ultimate act."

She felt her temper flare. He was seeing how far he could push. Well, that was great. Two could play that game. "Fine," Lizabeth said. "You want to play hardball?"

He was close enough for her to feel the laughter rumbling deep in his chest.

"No," he said. "There's no doubt in my mind that I'd lose."

"Really? Scared of me, huh?"

"Yup. I'm in love with you, and that makes me vulnerable. If you wanted, you could squash me like a bug. You could trample my ego flat."

"I bet when you were a kid you got away with murder," Lizabeth said.

Matt propped the ladder securely against the house. "What makes you think that?"

"You know all the right things to say to disarm a woman. You probably had your mother wrapped around your little finger."

"Hardly. I was the fifth kid in a family of seven. Half the time my mother couldn't remember my name."

To Lizabeth it seemed like a bitter statement to make, but there was no bitterness in his voice. In fact, there was no inflection at all. The tone had been flat. Matter-of-fact. His eyes, usually so filled with feeling, were blank, and his face held the sort of vacuous expression that came with denial or followed unbearable pain. There's been a tragedy here, Lizabeth thought. And it has been dealt with and filed away. She didn't want to drag it out and open old wounds.

She silently searched for something to say, but found nothing. She wanted to hug him, but she wasn't sure if he'd like that. It was so much easier with children, she thought. You could ease their hurt with a kiss and by holding them close. You could tuck a little boy under your arm and read him a book and chase all the dragons away, but men were much more complicated. From her limited experience she realized men had a strange ego that one had to contend with. And they had weird ideas about what represented weakness. Her ex-husband had detested her protective instincts. Not that she wanted to judge all men by Paul, but it was all she had to go on.

Matt watched her slim hands nervously twisting the hem of her T-shirt. Great, he thought, good going, Hallahan. He had made her feel bad. "Look, don't worry about it. It's no big deal. My childhood left something to be desired, but it's behind me."

"I didn't mean to pry."

He took her in his arms and held her close, pressing a kiss into the curls at the top of her head. "It's okay if you pry. You're allowed. When you grow up in a family of seven kids you get used to people prying. Privacy was an unknown quantity in my life."

"Wouldn't that make you want to guard it all the more?"

Matt's mouth twisted into a wry grin. "No. Mostly what I guarded was my underwear. I had four brothers who all wore the same size."

"I guess that pretty much puts things in perspective," Lizabeth said. "It always helps to have your priorities straight."

"You have any brothers or sisters?"

She shook her head. "No. I was the pampered, overprotected only child."

Matt squatted while he opened a box of shingles. "These aren't going to match exactly, but at least they'll keep the rain out." He looked up at her, his lopsided grin giving his features a rakish quality. "Did you wear pretty dresses and bows in your hair and white socks with lace on the cuff?"

Lizabeth laughed. "Yes, but the effect was usually marred by skinned knees, unruly hair, and grass stains on my skirt. I was a completely unmanageable child. One time I tied a tablecloth around my shoulders and jumped out of a tree Superman style and broke my leg."

"But mostly you wanted to be a fairy."

She was surprised he had remembered. "Yes. Fairies were my favorites. A fairy isn't afraid of anything," Lizabeth said. "A fairy just grabs life by the throat."

"That's not what I heard. I heard fairies were outrageously promiscuous. I heard they grabbed life about two and a half feet lower."

"Hmmmm. Well, I suppose there are all kinds of fairies, just as there are all kinds of carpenters. Some are undoubtedly more sexually oriented than others."