Overheated

CHAPTER FOUR

CRYSTAL WAS DREAMING OF expressive, hazel eyes, broad shoulders and tousled, dark hair. Larry drew her into his arms, whispering in her ear. She couldn’t make out the words, but she could feel the puff of his breath on her skin.

He was panting.

Then his cold, wet nose touched her shoulder.

Wait a minute.

She blinked her eyes in the dim light, coming face-to-face with Rufus.

Crystal groaned.

The dog cocked his head, ascertained she was awake, then turned toward the door. Two paces later, he stopped and looked back, obviously expecting her to follow.

“Now?” she asked aloud.

His brows knit apologetically.

She supposed this was what she got for taking in a geriatric dog.

She threw back the covers, planting her bare feet on the woven mat, then tugging her light, sleeveless nightgown down her thighs.

“All right,” she told the dog, following behind. “I’ll open the door, but you’re on your own out there.”

Hopefully, Rufus would be smart enough to water a tree behind the back fence and hightail it back into the apartment. She took her responsibility as a pet owner seriously. But she took her responsibility as a babysitting auntie more seriously.

She followed Rufus through the living room where, to her surprise, he veered off to the spare bedroom.

“Hey,” she hissed. “No. This way.”

Again, he stopped, glancing over his shoulder, waiting patiently.

Then she heard it.

Muffled sobs coming from the kids’ room.

She quickly scooted past Rufus to find David, his face burrowed in his pillow, his little body quivering beneath the sheet.

“Hey, buddy,” she crooned, smoothing his dark hair and crouching down beside the bed.

She gave Rufus a grateful scratch on the head.

“What’s wrong?” she asked gently, trying not to wake Jennifer who was in the other twin bed across the room.

David shook his head, sniffing and drawing in a shuddering breath.

She grabbed a tissue from the bedside table and handed it to him.

He haphazardly wiped his nose.

“Are you sad?” asked Crystal.

He shook his head.

“Scared?”

A small, hesitant nod.

“Did you have a bad dream?”

He nodded again.

“Come here,” Crystal groaned, slipped her arms around his waist. “Give me a hug.”

He came willingly out of the bed in his Superman pajamas, and she slid down to the floor, sitting him across her lap. His skinny arms went around her neck, and he tucked his face against her shoulder.

“Can you tell me about it?” she asked.

“It was…” He took three rapid indrawn breaths. “A monster.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” She rubbed his back. “No wonder you were scared.”

His arms tightened.

“But it’s all over,” she crooned.

“He was big and hairy, and he roared like an angry lion.”

“Auntie Crystal’s here now.” She tried again.

“And I tried to run. But my legs were stuck, and then…and then…”

Crystal’s heart went out to him.

“Mommy came,” David whimpered.

“Did Mommy save you?” asked Crystal.

David shook his head. “The monster got Mommy.”

Crystal’s heart lodged in her throat.

The monster was big and hairy, and he yelled.

She nearly groaned out loud. There was every possibility the monster was Zane.

She brushed David’s sweaty hair from his face. “You know the monster’s not real, don’t you?”

He hesitated, but then he nodded.

“Dreams are just your brain making up crazy pictures.”

David nodded again.

Crystal drew him away so she could see his face in the dim light.

“I once dreamed I landed on the moon,” she told him. “And I met a pink bunny. She was made entirely of cotton candy, except she had licorice whiskers.” Crystal wrinkled her nose then made a show of licking her lips. “She looked delicious.”

David cracked a smile.

“So I asked her.” Crystal paused. “Can you guess what I asked her?”

David shrugged.

“I asked if I could eat her tail.”

His eyes went wide, while Crystal made up the sweetest, tamest dream story she could conjure.

“She told me yes,” said Crystal. “She said it wouldn’t hurt, and her tail would grow back.”

“Did you eat it?” asked David.

“You bet,” said Crystal. “And then her friend Bobo came along. Can you guess what Bobo was made of?”

David pursed his little lips. “Marshmallows?”

“Yes,” said Crystal. “Bobo was a little wiener dog made out of marshmallows.”

“Shouldn’t he be made of wieners?”

“Like I said, dreams are crazy.” She rolled her eyes. “A wiener dog made out of marshmallows. Isn’t that the silliest thing?”

“The silliest thing would be the Mallo-Puffs Man made out of wieners.”

Crystal giggled. “That would be sillier,” she agreed. She rubbed a finger across the tip of his nose. “But not as tasty.”

“Did you eat the marshmallow dog?”

“Only his tail. That’s the way it was on the moon. You could eat the tails, but nothing else.”

David sobered. “I wish I had candy dreams.”

“What’s your favorite candy?”

“Caramel.”

“And what’s your favorite animal?”

He thought for a moment. “An elephant.”

“And what would a caramel elephant be named?”

“Mr. Sticky.”

“Great name.”

David nodded.

“When you lie down again-”

His arms convulsively tightened around her neck.

“-I want you to think about all the adventures Mr. Sticky could have.” She almost said on the moon, but quickly switched the thought. “In Candy Land,” she finished.

“What if the monster comes back?”

“In Candy Land,” Crystal said softly, “monsters are made of ice cream. And since Candy Land is warm, they melt away.”

David looked skeptical.

“Tell you what,” she said, trying one last idea. “How would you feel if I let Rufus sleep up on the bed with you?”

David looked at Rufus then back at Crystal. “Really?”

She nodded. “Really.”

David compressed his lips bravely. “Okay.”

Crystal smiled. “Good. Hop up then.”

He straightened his skinny legs, standing to climb back under the covers.

She tucked him in, then patted the foot of the bed. “Come on, Rufus.”

The dog looked at her as if she’d lost her mind.

“Up here,” she said encouragingly with another pat.

Rufus cocked his head, eyes narrowing.

“Come on, Rufus,” called David.

The dog gave Crystal one last, searching, suspicious look. Then he rose to his feet, gathered his body and jumped onto the bed.

“Good, boy,” she sang, scratching behind both his ears. “Now, lie down.”

She’d already learned that lie down was a familiar command to Rufus. He curled his body next to David’s feet, then dropped his head down on his front paws.

She moved back to the head of the bed. “You going to be okay?” she asked David.

He nodded.

“Remember, Mr. Sticky and his adventures in Candy Land.”

“With his faithful dog, Rufus?”

“What’s Rufus made of?”

“Bubble gum.”

“Perfect,” said Crystal, giving David a final kiss on the forehead.

“G’ night, Auntie Crystal.”

“Good night, David.”

She glanced over to Jennifer’s bed.

The girl’s eyes were open.

Crystal moved across the room and straightened the covers. “Good night to you, too, sweetheart.”

“I like Rufus,” Jennifer whispered.

“I like Rufus, too,” said Crystal as Jennifer’s eyes fluttered close.

Crystal walked to the bedroom door, pausing to gaze back at her beautiful niece and nephew and the somewhat scruffy Lab who seemed to be standing guard over them.

Her tomorrow would revolve around another dinner with Larry. But she’d have to find a way to talk to Amber, as well. If Zane was the monster in David’s nightmare, then he had to get out of their lives-permanently, and soon.

AFTER LIBBY DIED, LARRY’S family and friends had told him to get on with his life. Get a hobby, they’d said, don’t work so hard. As if throwing himself into his work wasn’t the best and only way to keep from going insane with grief.

He’d ignored them, and his approach had worked. For a while.

But on this last wedding anniversary, something inside him snapped. He realized he needed to rejoin the human race. And to do that, he needed to take on something brand new, something totally unconnected with Libby. So, he’d taken his family’s advice, used some of the money he’d earned through mathematically calculating the stock market, and bought himself a hobby-a big, old Victorian house on the shores of Myrtle Pond.

Two hours northeast of Charlotte, the tiny community of Myrtle Pond was on the edge of the national forest. The road in was worn and potholed. He had a total of fifteen neighbors. Calling the big house a fixer-upper was being kind, but it was exactly what he wanted, needed.

He’d stocked up on power tools and two-by-fours and transported them to the house last month. Today, since he’d been up at four o’clock-which wasn’t a problem, because he’d been cursed his entire life with a need for only four hours sleep-he’d fired up his compact Cessna airplane and flown from Charlotte to Myrtle Pond.

By one in the afternoon, crowbar in hand, he was staring at a pile of broken drywall, bent nails and the bare two-by-four frame of the formal dining room.

“Do you have the first clue about what you’re doing?” came a man’s voice from behind him.

Larry turned to see his nearest neighbor Nash Walkins standing in work boots, blue jeans and a faded T-shirt. Nash wore his usual orange baseball cap, and his burly arms were folded across his chest.

He owned a fishing store and boat rental business now, but Larry had learned he was once an architect in New York City.

“Not even the slightest,” Larry admitted. He’d hoped that by revealing the guts of the sagging wall, it would become obvious how to fix it. He had a number of reference books and some faded building plans for a similar house.

He’d decided to start with the dining room, since it seemed to be in the worst shape, followed by the upstairs bathroom, the kitchen and, well, pretty much everything else except the master bedroom, which had been redecorated by the previous owner.

Nash took a step forward. “You’re gonna want a jack to support that while you cut out the dry rot.”

A jack. Good idea. “Can I get one around here?”

“You’ll have to head up to Asheboro. Drucker’s will have them in stock.”

Larry nodded. Not today, then. “I have to get back to Charlotte by six.”

“Giving a lecture?”

Larry hesitated for only a moment. “I’ve got a date.” He liked the sound of that. He really liked the sound of that.

Nash grinned his admiration. “I don’t suppose she has a sister.”

“Her sister’s reconciling with her ex.”

“Now, that’s a damn shame.”

“Are you going through a dry spell?” Larry had been up to Myrtle Pond at least once a week for the past two months. From what he could see, there was a fairly steady parade of attractive women on Nash’s deck next door.

“Always on the lookout.”

“For the right woman or the next woman?”

Nash measured the height of the dining room wall. “For the next right woman, of course.”

“Then it’s not going to be Crystal’s sister,” Larry warned. “Or anyone else she knows, for that matter.”

Nash selected a couple of two-by-fours from the pile at one end of the room. “Don’t worry. I won’t mess things up with your girlfriend.”

“Not girlfriend,” Larry corrected.

Nash turned a dial on the table saw. “First date?”

“Second. Well, second if you count Pizza Heaven.”

Nash paused and looked back at Larry. “You took a woman to Pizza Heaven? How long did you say you were married?”

“Thirty years.”

“Man, are you out of practice.”

“Her niece and nephew came along,” Larry defended.

“You got any metal strapping?”

“Sure.” Larry exited to the living room, hunting his way through a line of cardboard boxes.

He’d pretty much given the guy at the hardware store free rein to load him up with tools and supplies. He’d also ordered a series of home renovation books. He was becoming familiar with the terminology and tool usage, but he was stifling the urge to read his way through the series before he got started. The whole point of this hobby was to get his nose out of books and to move his mind from the theoretical to the practical.

The table saw was whining when he reentered the dining room.

“You might want to think about steel-toed boots,” said Nash, glancing pointedly at Larry’s tan suede sneakers.

“Guess I haven’t made it to that chapter yet.”

Nash gave a barrel laugh. “Grab a set of cutters. We’re going to strap three two-by-fours together and brace the frame.” He pointed. “Then you can start cutting out the dry rot.”

“Got it,” said Larry, happy to have the advice.

“Don’t you want to know how long?” asked Nash.

“How long what?”

“How long to make the straps?”

Larry gave Nash a look of disbelief. “It’s three two-by-fours. Are you seriously asking if I’ll have trouble with the math?”

“My mistake,” said Nash.

“Don’t worry about it,” said Larry. “I’m still getting over the fact that Fibonacci seemed to have no role in the development of standard building materials.”

“Maybe not. But the golden ratio is everywhere in architecture.”

“Not in this house,” said Larry. Damn shame, that. From the Parthenon to Notre Dame to the United Nations Building, the ratio of 1.618 had been used to provide beauty and balance.

Then, Larry had an idea. A fabulous, exciting idea. “At least, not yet,” he added.

Nash glanced around. “We’re going to rebuild your house using Fibonacci numbers?”

“Why not?” The more Larry thought about it, the more he liked it. It would help him engage in the project in a more meaningful way. He could work on the plans while he was back in Charlotte, making his time at Myrtle Pond more efficient.

“Sounds like fun,” said Nash. “But first, can we make sure the wall doesn’t fall down?”

TALKING WITH NASH TODAY about the golden ratio had Larry analyzing Crystal’s face across the candlelit table at Rouladen’s. He could easily see why she had been picked as a model. Beauty and balance. Her lips, her nose, her chin her forehead. He was willing to bet she was a collection of one-point-six-one-eights.

He smiled.

“What?” she asked, pausing, her wineglass poised in midair.

“I was thinking you have phi all over your face.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“Math humor,” he confessed.

“You think my face is funny?”

“I think your face is perfect. Mathematically speaking. The ratio of your nose to your lips, and your eyes to your chin, your pupils to your eyelashes, and the spiral of your ears.”

“My ears?”

“Yes.” He let his gaze rest on her perfect ears.

“This is a good thing?”

“It’s a very good thing. It means that not only me, but everybody in the world thinks you’re beautiful.”

She set down the glass of merlot, lips thinning, and a line forming between her eyebrows. “Is that what you’re looking for?”

It was his turn to squint in confusion.

“A mathematically perfect woman?” she asked.

“I’m not looking for anything,” he answered honestly. And he wasn’t. Crystal had breezed into his life that morning in the garage, and their connection was something he wanted to explore. But, beyond that, he had no expectations whatsoever.

“Maybe to give you mathematically perfect children?” she continued.

“Huh?” Larry had already raised his son. Grandchildren might be nice at some point, but they’d have nothing to do with mathematics-except that one and one sometimes made three.

“They talked about the golden ratio and perfect beauty, while I was modeling.”

“And you have it.” It was a simple fact.

“I don’t want it,” she responded sharply.

“If it helps, balanced facial features also tend to denote good health.”

“Lucky me.”

“Is there some reason you don’t want to be beautiful?” It hardly struck him as a severe handicap.

She gave a frustrated sigh. “It gets in the way.”

“Of what?”

“Of people, men in particular, having any interest in anything else.”

“We can talk about your IQ for a while. Or your cookbook. Or your niece and nephew. Or your dog. How is Rufus, anyway?”

She didn’t smile.

“Seriously,” said Larry. “How is he?”

She finally seemed to relax. “I think he’s still waiting for his owner to show up. But he was great last night. He woke me up when David was having a nightmare.”

Larry was assailed by memories of Steven as a little boy. His bad dreams were few and far between. But every once in a while, he’d show up in their bedroom, his scruffy, brown teddy bear dangling from one hand.

“Is David okay now?” Larry asked.

“He seemed fine this morning. But I’m a little worried…”

Larry waited, while Crystal focused on the tiny, yellow flame flickering between them. The soft sounds of a string quartet and muted conversation floated around the high-ceilinged room.

“I’m afraid the monster in his dreams might be Zane.”

Larry drew back. “Do you think Zane might harm the kids?”

“I asked Jennifer this morning, in an oblique sort of way. She said Zane yells a lot, but he doesn’t throw things and he’s never hurt David.”

“Do you believe her?”

Crystal nodded. “But he’s a loose cannon. He’s all sweetness and light when he wants something. But once he wrings Amber dry, he can get mean.”

“Did you talk to your sister about it?” Larry asked softly.

“She’s on the manic high of Zane being back in her life.”

“Anything I can do?”

Crystal shook her head. “I wish there was.”

Larry felt a strong urge to take the worry out of her eyes, even if it was only temporarily. “In that case,” he said, pulling his chair back and coming to his feet. “Would you like to dance?” He nodded to where a few other couples were swaying to the string quartet.

Crystal had worn her red dress, and she looked stunning. Even if she was shy of her beauty, Larry admitted he’d like nothing better than to hold her in his arms and be the envy of every man in the room.

She nodded and set her linen napkin on the table.

Larry moved forward to pull out her upholstered chair, watching with appreciation as she came to her feet.

“This music’s slower than I’m used to,” she told him, as he took her hand in his, leading her in a snaking pattern past a few occupied tables.

“Life’s an adventure,” he pointed out, taking her into his arms. She fit absolutely perfectly.

And she was a wonderful dancer, light on her feet, responsive, graceful. He caught the eyes of one gentleman watching from the sidelines, then another and another.

He couldn’t help but smile to himself and pull her that little bit closer, molding her curves to his body.

“You’re a great dancer,” she whispered.

“So are you.”

“I mean, really good,” she insisted. “I’m just following along.”

“Music is all math,” he told her. “It’s patterns and fractions, sound waves and Hertz frequencies. Ever wonder why C and G are consonant, while C and F sharp are discordant?”

“No,” she answered.

“Really?”

“Do you ever just listen?”

“To what?”

He felt more than heard her soft chuckle.

“Do you ever simply think a piece of music sounds nice, or a flower is pretty?”

“Would you like to know why flowers are pleasing to our eyes?”

“No,” she said again.

He drew back to look into her face. “You’re not curious?”

“The world is not simply a living, breathing mathematical equation.”

“Actually, it is.”

“Larry,” she warned.

“Your dress is beautiful,” he told her.

A grin grew on her face. “Full stop?”

He matched her teasing smile. “I could tell you mathematically why, but I won’t.”

They gazed at each other for a few moments, still swaying to the soft music. He felt his heart beat deepen, and prickles of desire pop out on his skin.

“Tell me why you want to kiss me,” she teased.

“There’s a theorem involving pheromones and evolutionary computing, first postulated by Smythe and Heinz in the 1990s. But it gets complicated.”

“You mean this can’t be explained by simple mathematics?”

“Simple?” he scoffed. “I’m sure if we brought in enough variables, I could eventually come up with an algorithm for our specific-”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

That was exactly what he should do. He should stop doing calculations, forget about the age difference, forget about everything but the magic he was feeling.

Larry stroked his palm over her impossibly soft cheek. He gazed into her jade green eyes, then stroked the pad of his thumb over her red lips.

He wanted this, wanted it so bad. But he forced himself to go slow, forced himself to keep it appropriate to the dance floor. Which proved more difficult than he’d imagined.

Her lips were sweet and soft, moist and tender. They parted ever so slightly, and his arm instantly tightened around her waist. She tipped her head, and he followed suit, fitting their mouths more firmly together.

His blood sang; the world blurred. It had been so long-so long since he’d held a woman in his arms, inhaled sweet perfume, tasted satin skin, felt soft curves pressed against his hard body.

The violin hit a high C, jolting him back to reality.

He forced himself to break the kiss, drawing back to the puff of her sigh.

“Sorry,” he whispered, taking up the dance again.

“I’m not,” she breathed back, falling into step.

Neither was he.

He wasn’t sorry he kissed her. He was only sorry he’d had to stop. And he was already wondering when he’d get a chance to do it again.