The Rocky Road to Romance

Chapter 2

At twelve-thirty Steve pulled into the Belle Haven Marina parking lot. He faced the news-car toward the Potomac River, giving Daisy a view of grassy parkland, the river, and the WoodrowWilsonBridge that joined Virginia and Maryland.

“It isn’t necessary for us to do any more driving,” he said to Daisy. “We’ve checked out all the trouble spots. You get good scanner reception here, and you’re free from interference on the two-way. You have a good view of bridge traffic. It’s the perfect place to wait out the afternoon.”

It was the perfect place to roll around in the grass like cats in heat, he thought. That’s how he felt-like a battle-scarred tom that had finally found the love of his life. He wanted to crawl into the backseat and yowl. But he didn’t think Daisy was ready for his yowling and besides, he had meetings all afternoon, so he squashed his animal instincts and used his cell phone to call for a cab.

While he waited, he leaned his back against the driver’s-side door, stretched his long legs as best he could in the compact, and draped an arm over the steering wheel. He didn’t want to leave yet. He wanted time to get to know her better. And he wanted to stay and help with the traffic report. It wasn’t fair to throw her into this job and abandon her after less than two hours of instruction.

“Are you going to be able to handle this?”

Their gazes locked, and she knew he needed an honest answer. “I’m not going to give up on it, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“That was part of it.”

“And the other part? I suppose that has to do with ability. I’ll be able to do a decent traffic report after a few days. Just don’t expect me to sound like Menken.” Daisy thought the key word there was decent. She was going to give it her best shot, but she didn’t think traffic was ever going to be her forte.

The cab arrived, and Steve turned to face Daisy.

“You’ll be fine,” he said.

He got out of the car and walked the short distance to the cab.

She watched him, then looked at the bridge in the distance. The cars crawling across it seemed like tiny toys. A small boat made its way upriver, a man and a woman sat eating lunch at a nearby picnic table, two cyclists skimmed along the blacktopped bike trail in front of the car. The air coming through the open windows was warm, carrying with it the smell of grass baking in the sun.

An hour and a half earlier she’d been afraid to be alone in a car with Steve. Now she was scared to death to have him leave. He still looked very much the predator, with his dark, sensual eyes and sleek, muscled body, but he’d been a perfect gentleman all morning. He’d been patient and polite and extremely helpful. Just proved how deceiving looks could be, she told herself. Never judge a book by its cover. Steve Crow obviously didn’t have a lecherous bone in his body-at least not where she was concerned.

Daisy had her head in the freezer compartment of her refrigerator when her fourteen-year-old brother tapped her on the shoulder.

“There’s a lecher at the door,” Kevin Adams announced. “He says he’s come to see you.”

Daisy stopped foraging for supper. She withdrew from the freezer with a bag of french-fried potato balls and a plastic tray of chicken nuggets. “A lecher?”

“You probably think I’m given to exaggeration, but I know a lecher when I see one. And this guy has a big-bucks car. A sexy two-seater foreign job.Long and low and black. Man, would I ever like to have a car like that. I tell you, his car is evil. It could probably get airborne.”

Daisy walked into the foyer and found Steve Crow standing on her front porch. He was holding several bags, and he smiled at her through the screen door.

“Decided I needed to tell you some more things about the job,” he said. He held the bags up for her inspection. “I know I’m coming unannounced at an awkward time, so I brought supper.”

“Supper?” Kevin said to Daisy. “Maybe he’s not so bad, after all. Besides, you could probably use a lecher in your life. I know I sure as heck could use some food in mine.”

Daisy rolled her eyes. Her little brother drank a gallon of orange juice and a gallon of milk a day. It took him two days to go through a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter, fifteen minutes to eat a half gallon of ice cream, twenty minutes to eat a chicken, and if she bought a pie, it was gone before she had a chance to take the rest of the groceries out of the bag. “Don’t you ever think about anything except food?”

“Sure. I think about girls. That’s why I eat so much-substitute gratification. I have all this nervous energy. Us fourteen-year-olds are just a hotbed of hormonal activity. That’s how come I’m so good at recognizing a lecher. I figure if I work hard enough at it, I could grow up to be a lecher someday.”

Daisy grimaced at her brother and opened the door to Steve. “This is very nice of you. I was just about to defrost something.” She motioned to Kevin. “This is my brother Kevin. He’s staying with me while my parents are away. My dad is being transferred to San Antonio and my parents are in Texas house hunting.” Truth was her dad had been a victim of downsizing. Daisy’s parents had never been rich, but they’d always managed to pay the bills… until two years ago when after twenty-two years at Gruber Printing her dad had been let go. Finally, the job search had paid off, but it involved relocation.

“Boss car,” Kevin said.

Steve could see the family resemblance. Same blond hair and blue eyes. Same nose, same wide smile. That was where the similarity stopped. Kevin was all gangly arms and legs, and he had feet that looked like they belonged on Bozo the Clown. Fourteen years old… the hungry age. Steve decided to change his strategy for the evening. He handed Kevin a bag. “You like ribs?”

“We’re gonna be friends,” Kevin said. “What are your intentions toward my sister? Are you going to marry her?”

“Not on an empty stomach,” Steve said. “One thing at a time.” He gave Kevin the other two bags. “Biscuits and coleslaw and ice cream,” he told Kevin. “And they’re all yours. I’m going to take your sister on a field trip. We’ll eat out.” He looked at Daisy. “Is that okay? Did you have plans for this evening?”

“I was going to the library…”

“She always goes to the library,” Kevin said. “She’s a real brain. She rented this place because it’s near a library. Can you believe it?”

“I don’t have much time,” Daisy said. “I try to be efficient.”

Steve took the bags of frozen food from her and stuffed them into the crook of Kevin’s arm. “Put these back into the freezer.”

“So what kind of field trip is this?” Kevin asked.

“I work at WZZZ. Daisy’s taken over the job of traffic reporter, and I wanted to show her how to use the portable equipment.”

“Awesome.”

“I won’t be late,” Daisy said to Kevin. “Don’t blast the neighbors out of their houses with the stereo. Mrs. Schnable just had a hysterectomy and needs her rest.”

She stopped midway to the car and stared. Kevin had been right-it did look a little evil. And it looked very expensive.

“Nice car,” she said.

Steve nodded. “It’s transportation.” Did she buy that? It was a toy, and he knew it. He’d bought it on a whim and regretted it ever since. It attracted weird women. Women left their phone numbers attached to his windshield wipers. Sometimes he found panties draped over his antenna. And one time he’d returned from grocery shopping to find a woman had handcuffed herself to his grille. His next car was going to be a big, stupid SUV, he’d decided. Women probably didn’t handcuff themselves to an SUV.

They got in the car and drove to a Mexican restaurant close to Daisy’s subdivision. Steve took a small leather rucksack from the backseat and carried it inside with him.

When they were seated in a booth and had given their order, he said, “I forgot to tell you about the portable scanner this afternoon.”

He took it from the rucksack and handed it to her. “If you have to leave the newscar for any reason, you should carry this with you. It’s very similar to the scanners mounted on your dash. Just pull the antenna up and you’re all set to go.”

Daisy noticed there was something else in the leather bag. She slid her hand in and withdrew a small tape recorder. “What’s this for?”

“It’s nothing. You don’t have to worry about that.”

“It must be here for a reason…”

Steve mentally cussed himself out. In his haste to see Daisy he’d forgotten to remove the recorder. In some ways WZZZ was the last bastion of old-fashioned reporting. Most of the programming was done live, and because they had a newscar circling the city, they were often first on the scene of a fast-breaking story. Menken could reach the site of a plane crash or a Metro accident quickly, use the recorder for an on-scene interview, and broadcast the recorded interview from his car. But Menken was a seasoned reporter, as was the rush-hour team. Daisy Adams was not.

He searched for another purpose for the recorder. “You could use it to prerecord your one-minute slot, but I don’t think that will be necessary. Your reports later today sounded fine.” Actually, they were terrible, but he wasn’t completely stupid. He didn’t destroy a fledgling reporter’s confidence with harsh criticism, and he didn’t insult a woman with cornflower eyes.

Daisy felt like giving a sigh of relief. She’d been afraid he’d taken her to dinner to fire her! And here he was telling her she was fine. She could hardly believe it. “Was I really fine? I was scared to death.”

“It was actually unique. It was the first time we’ve ever had a traffic reporter sign off the air with a recipe for meat loaf.”

“I thought people might be getting bored listening to the same old traffic stuff. And it was so depressing. There were accidents and jam-ups everywhere.”

He took a few deep breaths and told himself to remain calm. She obviously didn’t understand the concept of continuous traffic reporting. It was a natural mistake. He’d have to discuss it with her-sometime when there weren’t more pressing subjects of conversation. Sometime when he’d already learned about her favorite color and what kind of music she liked and whether she slept in the nude.

“To tell you the truth, the recipe came from my Bones for Bowser cookbook,” Daisy said. “Last week my brother accidentally ate some meat loaf I’d made for my neighbor’s dog, and he really liked it, so I figured it would be all right to pass along the recipe as people food. Ordinarily I don’t have time for cooking, but I cook and dog-test all my Bowser recipes.”

The waitress brought a soda for Daisy and a beer for Steve. It was the second time she’d made reference to her lack of time, Steve thought, sipping his beer. He hoped it wasn’t a boyfriend that was keeping her so busy. That would complicate his plans.

“I suppose graduate school is pretty demanding,” he said. “Doesn’t leave much time for cooking and socializing?” He congratulated himself on being so slick.

“I think I must not be very good at managing my time. I never seem to have enough of it.”

“Maybe I can help. I’m good at time management. You can tell me what you do every day, and I’ll tell you what you’re doing wrong.”

“I don’t know-”

“For instance, what time do you get up in the morning?”

“I get up at five.”

Steve took that under consideration. The last time he saw five o’clock was four years ago when there was a fire in the basement of his apartment building. “Why do you get up so early?”

“I deliver papers. It takes me two hours to go through my route. It’s a terrific job for people still in school because you get it over with first thing in the morning.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Then after the papers are delivered I go home and change into my crossing-guard uniform-”

Steve blinked. “You’re a crossing guard, too?”

“Only in the morning. Last year a little girl was hurt in my neighborhood because they didn’t have enough crossing guards to cover all the busy intersections.”

“So you volunteered,” Steve said.

“It’s really fun. The kids are great. During the regular school year I work at the high school and then at eight o’clock I go over to Elm and Center streets to cross the grade-school kids. Summer school is only in session at the high school right now, so I’m done at eight o’clock.”

“Gee, what do you do with all that spare time?”

“I used to jog for an hour and then get to work on school stuff, but now that I’m the traffic reporter I’ll have to leave for the station at somewhere around eight-fifteen to eight-thirty.”

She held her hand up. “I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that the traffic job will be too much for me to handle with all my other commitments, but you’re wrong. You see, it actually will make things much easier for me. I used to wait tables during dinner and moonlight as a cab driver. I think I can give up those jobs now.”

“Cab driver?”

“Actually, I’m terrible. I get lost all the time.

Traffic reporting is a snap compared to cab driving.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You have any other jobs?”

“No. Well, yes, if you count the internship?”

“What internship?”

“It’s part of my doctorate program. I do some recreational counseling at a nursing home.”

“You don’t have a boyfriend, do you?”

It had been more statement than question, and it took her by surprise. “No. How’d you know that?”

“Lucky guess.”

Her eyes widened when the waitress brought what looked like a taco mountain and plunked it down in front of her. “So what do you think?” she asked. “What am I doing wrong?”

“You’re overcommitted.”

She scooped up a glob of refried beans and taco sauce with a piece of tostado shell. “I’ve been thinking of giving up the paper route.”

Good choice, he thought. The paper route would put a major crimp in his style. It would greatly restrict the early-morning activities he had planned for Daisy. “Definitely. The paper route should go.”

They ate in silence for a while until a woman came over to the table and stared at Daisy. “Excuse me, but are you Daisy Adams, author of Bones for Bowser? I recognize you from your author photo.”

“Yup. That’s me,” Daisy said with a smile.

“I wouldn’t miss your show for anything!” the woman said. “I made your chicken-guts recipe for my dog Sparky, and he just loved it. Do you suppose I could have your autograph?”

“Of course. And I’m glad Sparky liked the recipe.” Daisy scrawled her name on the woman’s napkin.

The waitress sidled up beside the woman. “I couldn’t help overhearing. Are you really Daisy Adams? Did you do the traffic report today?”

Daisy nodded. “I’m filling in for Frank Menken.”

“Well, let me tell you, you were wonderful,” the waitress said. “It was the first time I could make anything out of that traffic report. I never knew what that Menken fella was saying. Everything was always so fast and technical. Now when you told us there was an accident by the gas station with the green-and-yellow trim and the tubs of red geraniums by the gas pumps I knew exactly where you meant.”

Steve remembered the broadcast, too. That was when he’d sent his secretary out to buy more aspirin.

The waitress patted Daisy’s hand. “The dessert’s on me, honey. You just have whatever you want.”

“Vanilla ice cream,” Daisy said. “I need something cool after this taco extravaganza.”

The waitress hurried back with a twelve-scoop bowl of vanilla ice cream smothered in strawberries and whipped cream. “We don’t often have celebrities here,” she said. “This is a real pleasure.”

Twenty minutes later the ice cream had been greatly reduced, and what was left was almost completely melted. Steve and Daisy listlessly stared at the carnage.

“I can’t eat any more,” Daisy said. “I’m getting sick.”

Steve let one more spoonful slide down his throat. He had mixed feelings about Daisy’s celebrity status. As a businessman he knew he should be loving it. As a newsman he felt a little offended. And as her future lover, he didn’t like it at all. He was surprised at that last revelation. He’d never felt possessive about a woman before. It was a lot easier being a modern man when you weren’t in lust, he concluded.

He paid the bill and escorted Daisy from the restaurant. When they reached the car there were three pieces of paper attached to his windshield wipers. “Junk mail,” he said, removing the notes and instantly crumpling them.

“Don’t you want to see what they say?”

“They’re phone numbers of women I don’t know. It’s the car. Women feel compelled to leave their phone numbers on it.”

“How odd.”

“Yeah. Sometimes it gets even odder.”

The ride home was quiet, giving Daisy time to think about the notes impaled on Steve’s windshield wipers. It wasn’t the car that drew women, she thought. It was Steve.

Most likely those women had seen him park or perhaps drive down the street. Not only was he drop-dead handsome, but he radiated sexual attraction. It was almost impossible to sit across from him and keep her mind on things like ice cream and radio broadcasts. Watching him eat had been torture. He had a great mouth, she’d decided. Nice full lips but not at all feminine. Probably he was a terrific kisser, probably she wouldn’t mind test-driving his lips. She gave herself a mental head slap. Daisy, Daisy, Daisy! What are you thinking?

She was a quiet overachiever who was going to spend the rest of her life counseling senior citizens. Steve Crow would find her boring beyond belief. And she was sure she’d find him overwhelming. Steve Crow belonged with a hot pink, hot-pants type of woman. Daisy ran more to well-washed denim. Besides that, he was her boss.

It was dark when Steve parked in front of Daisy’s town house. The subdivision wasn’t exactly run-down, but it wasn’t spiffy either, he decided. The houses were small, mostly brick and he guessed about twenty years old. It was a modest neighborhood with small front yards overrun with azaleas and impatiens. Maple trees shaded slightly neglected lawns. Roots snaked beneath sidewalks, causing them to shift and crack. It would be a childless neighborhood, Steve thought, inhabited by singles, newlyweds, and seniors. Families required more space, more yard. Families lived in the nearby subdivisions of colonial houses that had spread like a heat rash through Northern Virginia.

Okay. Steve thought. This is it. This is where I get to make a move. Casually but suggestively slide my arm across the back of the seat. Give her the never-fail little smile. Slight devilish sparkle in my eye. No, wait a minute, not the sparkle. The sparkle isn’t sincere. I should look sincere. Smoldering, maybe. Let her know how I feel right up front. No, that’s not right either. If she knew how I felt, she’d probably leap out of the car and run for cover.

Suddenly the front door to Daisy’s house crashed open, and Kevin came flying out, followed by a big black dog. Kevin spotted the car, ran up to it, wrenched the door open and jumped in, pushing Daisy over the gearshift, squashing her against Steve Crow. Kevin slammed the door just in time to shut out the dog. The animal snuffled at them through the window and licked the glass.

“Hi,” Kevin said. “Have a nice dinner?”

Steve went with what he had and put a protective arm around Daisy, drawing her even closer. “Very nice. How were the ribs?”

“Oh, man, the ribs were great.”

Daisy felt a thrill race all the way to her toes. Her skin felt scalded where it pressed against Steve Crow. Too bad it was just an innocent scrunching together, she thought. It had been way too long since she’d felt like this about a man. Actually, it had been never.

“So what’s with the dog?” Steve asked Kevin. “He a friend of yours?”

Kevin’s eyes bulged. “I opened the back door to take out the garbage, and he lunged at me!”

“It’s only Fang,” Daisy said. “He belongs to Emily Atkinson, two doors down. I don’t have a dog so I use him to test my new recipes.

Sometimes when he’s hungry he finds ingenious ways of getting into my backyard-like digging under the privacy fence.”

“I’m telling you, that dog’s a killer!” Kevin said.

Daisy leaned forward a little and looked at Fang. “He’s just a puppy. He hasn’t learned manners yet. He starts obedience school next week.”

Kevin wasn’t convinced. “I don’t like the way he’s looking at me.”

“You’re going to have to get used to him,” Daisy said. “He’s the only dog in the whole subdivision. I promised my publisher a sequel to Bones for Bowser, and Fang is my guinea pig.”

Steve leaned forward, pretending to look at Fang, but actually finding an excuse not to lose body contact with Daisy. She felt good tucked back against his chest-too good to let go. He looked at Fang and had a stroke of genius. He rested his cheek against Daisy’s blond curls and lied to her. “You could use my dog.”

His voice was low and raspy, whispering through the loose tendrils that had escaped the comb and curled around her ear, and it took her a moment to realize he hadn’t said something seductive. She turned to face him and was intrigued by the amused curve to his lips-as if he’d done something very clever and was enormously pleased with himself.

“I didn’t know you had a dog,” she said.

“Yup. I’ve got one.”

“What’s his name?”

Steve stared at her for a full minute. “Bob.”

Fang circled the car, snuffled into the window one last time, and left. Everyone watched while he walked down the street and scratched at his door to be let in. Emily Atkinson opened the door and shook her finger at him. A moment later, she dragged him in by his collar.

“Bob would be a real challenge,” Steve said. “He’s very finicky.”

“What kind of dog is he?” Daisy wanted to know.

“Big. He’s a big dog, so he has to eat lots of good food. But he’s gentle. You’d like him. I could bring him over tomorrow after work.”

Daisy really didn’t have time. On the other hand, a finicky dog would make a much better guinea pig than Fang-who-ate-everything. And she would like to see more of Steve Crow. She might even be able to find a way to plaster herself against his incredible body for a few minutes. Not that she wanted anything to come of it, but another innocent scrunching wouldn’t be too terrible. “Okay,” she said, “I have a recipe for stir-fry I could try out on him.”

“You make the dog food, and I’ll bring the people food,” Steve said.

“All right!” Kevin gave Steve a high five and got out of the car. “See you around.”

“See you around.”

By the time Daisy slid over the gearshift Steve was waiting to help her out of the car.

“It’s nice of you to offer,” she said, “but it isn’t necessary for you to bring dinner tomorrow.”

“It’s the least I can do. After all, you’re going to be slaving away over a great meal for old Fred.”

“I thought his name was Bob.”

“Yeah. That’s what I meant. Bob.”

He was a little forgetful. She thought that was endearing. “Well, good night.”

“Good night.”

Neither of them moved.

The devil in Steve’s head whispered, “Hell, go for it!”

“One more thing,” he said to Daisy, taking her by the shoulders. He pulled her forward into the circle of his arms and kissed her. It wasn’t a getting-to-know-you kiss. It wasn’t at all polite. It was pure passion, deep and hard, right from the beginning. He felt her respond, felt the tip of her tongue against his, and he crushed her closer, leaving no doubt about his future intentions.

When he finally released her and stepped back she noticed that his satisfied smile was back in place. “Good night,” he said pleasantly. Then he turned on his heel and left.

“G’night,” Daisy said. Wow.