The Rocky Road to Romance

Chapter 5

Steve slouched behind the wheel and closed his eyes as traffic momentarily stopped. Now he remembered why he’d originally decided to live in the high-rise. It was five blocks from the station, and there was never any traffic. He hated sitting in traffic. Ten minutes ago he’d punched the radio off and put a CD into the player because he couldn’t stand hearing another depressing traffic report. There was a disabled car stuck in an intersection up ahead, and the resulting backup now stretched three miles. It would probably get worse before it got better. Not even a tow truck could cut through gridlock. A tow truck had to inch along just like everybody else.

Daisy was probably somewhere in front of him in this mess, Steve thought. He’d been delayed in a meeting, and she’d been unable to wait. Something about books due at the library and Kevin needing a ride to a friend’s house. Daisy didn’t have many minutes to spare.

He glanced in the rearview mirror at Bob. Bob was sound asleep in the back, his nose stuffed up against the air-conditioning vent. Tough life.

Steve drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, letting the car creep forward. He couldn’t wait to get a look at the idiot causing this disaster. If it turned out to be some fool who ran out of gas, he’d choke him with his bare hands.

He heard the whup, whup, whup of chopper blades and looked up to see the WZZZ helicopter pass overhead. Pride shot through him, followed by frustration. WZZZ was going to tell him there was traffic on Braddock Road. No kidding!

At least he was getting closer to the source of the problem. Cars were feeding into a single lane, and orange lights flashed in the distance, signaling that a tow truck was on the scene.

When he was three cars back from the flashing lights, traffic came to another standstill. He stuck his head out in time to hear a motor churn and catch.

A hood was slammed down while someone revved the disabled car engine. A thick cloud of black exhaust billowed over the tow truck and drifted back to Steve, temporarily obscuring his view. When the cloud lifted he could see the car that had caused the traffic jam pull ahead and proceed down the road without the aid of a tow truck. The car was old. It was covered with rust and had a coat-hanger antenna. The rear bumper dipped on the right side, where it had been snagged by another car eons ago. The paint was faded but probably had been maroon and yellow. There was only one car like it in Northern Virginia-possibly in the world. It belonged to Daisy.

“We have to get her out of that car,” Steve said to Bob. “It’s a health hazard. And it’s a threat to my sanity.”

Bob looked up from the backseat.

“I have a plan,” Steve told him. “I’m not going to tell you about it because it’s dastardly, and you’re obviously a dog of high moral fiber.”

Daisy zoomed into Steve’s driveway at seven o’clock and hit the ground running. “Sorry I’m late!” she said to Steve, adjusting the pink T-shirt she’d thrown on just five minutes earlier. A small swath of flesh was exposed between shorts and shirt, and no amount of tugging would fill in the gap. “Damn,” she said, “it must have shrunk in the dryer.”

Steve took in the cutoff denim shorts and slightly too small shirt and thought they looked perfect. He was highly in favor of exposing Daisy’s flesh.

“You’re not late. And I needed some time to unpack a few things and organize the kitchen. Moving is hell, even when you hire a great company that’s supposed to do it all for you in one fell swoop.”

Daisy looked at the brick colonial and smiled in approval. It was only a few years old and had been nicely landscaped. There was about a quarter of an acre, and the backyard was fenced. If he’d had a wife and three kids, it would have been the ideal house. As it was, it seemed a tad large for a bachelor. Of course there was Bob to help fill it.

“It’s nice,” she said. “I’ve always liked a traditional colonial.”

Steve turned to lead Daisy through the house, and she did a fast body assessment. He wore khaki shorts with a black T-shirt that showed off corded forearms and well-developed biceps. His legs had lots of muscle definition in the quads and calves. He hadn’t gotten that kind of body from sitting behind a desk all day, and she wondered how he managed to keep in such good shape. Most of the men she knew were starting to soften in the middle. Even the tennis players and spa-goers seemed to lose tone as they climbed the corporate ladder.

The front door opened to a small foyer that felt very welcoming, with a spindle-backed bench and eighteenth-century chest set against one wall. The living room was to the left. The furniture was overstuffed and comfy-looking. Very Ralph-Lauren-looking, she thought.

Brown leather and big red plaids, brass lamps, and Oriental area rugs. The dining room was to the right of the foyer. He had a formal table that seated six. The wood was dark. Mahogany, maybe. The walls were a Williamsburg print. The Realtor had been right, the print was lovely.

Steve stopped at the kitchen and took a platter of raw hamburger patties from the refrigerator. “What can I get you to drink? Beer, wine, soda?”

“Soda.”

He gave her a root beer, a bag of chips, and two bowls of salsa to carry outside.

“Two bowls of salsa?” she asked.

“One for Bob. I hate when he dips his chips in mine.”

The phone rang and Steve answered it in the kitchen. He hung up a few minutes later, frowning. “That was security at the station. They caught someone tinkering with the news-car. The guy pulled a gun on the guard who found him and got away.”

“My Lord, maybe the Roach really is out to get me. Is he really out on bail?”

“Let’s not panic. We don’t know for sure. Didn’t fit the Roach’s description.”

“Could be one of his friends.”

“Could be.”

“Was there any damage to the car?”

“Nothing noticeable.” That was a lie. The man had written “Death to the Dog Lady” in spray paint on the side of the car.

“Well, that’s a relief. And I’m glad you’re taking this so calmly.” She pushed the back door open and carried the chips outside. “I guess I overreacted. Not much we can do about it anyway, is there?”

“We can take you out of the traffic car.”

Daisy put the chips and salsa on the picnic table. “Haven’t we had this discussion before?”

“Last time we yelled at each other. This time we need to talk.”

“Okay. That sounds fair. Go ahead and talk.” She straddled a picnic bench and opened the bag of chips. “Put the hamburgers on the grill first. I’m starved, and Bob looks desperate.”

“There’s a remote possibility that this guy meant to harm you. I think we need to take precautions against that.”

“We did take precautions. We hired Elsie.”

Steve groaned.

“Well, okay, so she’s not some big macho guard, but she’s very dedicated… and your hamburgers are on fire.”

Steve smacked at them with the spatula, but they kept burning.

“Must be your flame is too high,” Daisy said.

He fidgeted with a few knobs and the flames subsided.

“I’ve never barbecued before,” he said, examining the charred hamburgers. “You think these are too done?” He slid a spatula under one and it crumbled and fell into the fire. The next one slipped off the spatula and fell onto the grass and Bob ate it. The third one made it to a bun, but nobody wanted to eat it-not even Bob.

“I don’t think I have the knack for barbecuing,” Steve said. “Maybe I’m not cut out for this suburban stuff.”

Daisy patted his hand. “Of course you are. We’ll try it again tomorrow. Where’s your peanut butter?”

An hour later they were stuffed with peanut butter sandwiches and were making their way through a quart of chocolate-chip ice cream. It was eighty-seven degrees outside, but they’d built a fire in the fireplace and were sitting in front of it, eating from the ice-cream carton.

They sat on the floor with their backs to the couch because Bob had claimed the couch first and was now stretched the length of it. At least that’s the excuse they made for sitting on the floor. The truth is the floor seemed less threatening. There were no cushions to mark boundaries on the floor. They could sit side by side, and the invasion of personal body space wasn’t so noticeable.

Daisy stole a glance at Steve as he dipped his spoon into the ice cream, then handed the carton to her. The sun was setting, and they hadn’t bothered to turn on the lights. His face was lit by the fire and seemed extraordinarily sexy. His eyes were shadowed, the line of his mouth drawn firm as he followed secret thoughts, and she found she was still a little frightened of him when he looked like this. Or maybe it was the proximity that was frightening. They were so close that if she leaned toward him ever so slightly, they’d be touching. It was a tantalizing thought, and it sent a dark sort of thrill racing through her.

“Last scoop of ice cream,” Daisy said. “You want it?”

“Wouldn’t touch it. You eat the last scoop of ice cream and you’re destined to become an old maid. My Aunt Zena told me that.”

Daisy ate the last scoop and set the carton aside. “I don’t have an Aunt Zena so it doesn’t count for me.”

“It counts for everyone. You’re in big trouble.”

“I like to live dangerously. I take my chances.”

His eyes shifted to her mouth, and she could feel desire growing between them. It felt like a thunderstorm gathering on the horizon. He was going to kiss her, and this time there’d be nothing to stop the kiss from turning into something much more serious. No Kevin in the next room, no pager to remind him of a meeting. She’d have to rely on her self-control, not something she could count on in this instance, she decided. She took a moment to debate the issue and reached the conclusion that sleeping with Steve Crow wouldn’t be in her best interest. She didn’t have the personality to dally, and Steve Crow looked like a dallier. More important, she didn’t have the time to devote to a romance. That last thought prompted an unconscious sigh of regret.

“I don’t like the sound of that sigh,” Steve said.

“I should be going home. I have studying to do.”

He slid his arm around her shoulders and playfully tugged on a curl. “What about living dangerously? What about taking chances?”

“I think I’ve tested the fates enough for one night.”

His hand curled around her neck and heat flooded through her as he drew her closer. “Don’t you want to hear what Aunt Zena has to say about missed opportunities?”

“You probably don’t even have an Aunt Zena.”

“That’s not the point,” he whispered into her hair.

She felt him kiss her just below her ear, felt his lips working their way around to her mouth, felt his hand slide under the too-short shirt. She gave herself one last warning. This was a mistake, she told herself. Their relationship would be irrevocably changed if they made love. Maybe not in his eyes, but certainly in hers. She couldn’t treat it lightly. It would bring a whole new set of responsibilities with it, and she already had more responsibility than she could handle. She was drowning in responsibility. And even worse would be the emotional investment.

She was already halfway in love with him. He was caring and generous and fun. He could be oddly vulnerable without ever seeming insecure. And she admired his balance. He had his ducks in a row, while she felt as if hers were all quacking for attention at once. Her clutch of ducks had gotten unwieldy and a little frantic. She’d never thought of herself as being unstable, but she was afraid of going on emotional overload if she allowed herself to fall more deeply in love.

Her arguments might have been valid, but they didn’t amount to a damn when he claimed her mouth. Her aspirations, responsibilities, carefully thought through plans for the future, and her fears skittered off as passion poured through her. She responded to his kiss with a kiss of her own that told him everything he needed to know. She wanted to be loved. She was hungry for it. In fact, she was more than hungry; she was starved.

His hands were under her shirt and she followed his lead. Thank goodness one of us knows how to do this, she thought. Not that she was a virgin, but it had been a long time. His hand moved to her leg. His fingers crept up the leg and under her shorts. Daisy did a mental yikes. His fingers found the elastic edge of her panties and skimmed across the silky material.

“W-w-wow,” she whispered

“Yeah,” Steve said softly. “Wow.” And then he did the skimming thing again.

“Go for the zipper,” Daisy said. “Lose the shorts!”

Lord, she thought. I’m such a slut, but man this feels good. And then it got a lot better.

They lay together for a while afterward, sweat-slicked and replete.

He trailed his fingertips across her temple, stroking the hair back from her face. He didn’t speak because he wasn’t sure he could trust his voice. Passion had been temporarily quenched, and had been replaced by tender possession so strong it took his breath away.

She was the first to stir, pulling her head back so she could see his eyes. She was embarrassed in the aftermath of the storm. “I think I got carried away,” she said.

His voice was softly reverent. “Lady, carried away doesn’t begin to say it.” He rolled to his side and kissed her. “I hope your intentions are honorable.”

“Honorable?”

“I’m not easy, you know. I have standards. I expect you to make an honest man of me. Especially after we did all this in front of Bob.”

“I don’t think you have to worry about Bob. I’m not sure he’s breathing. Maybe you should hold a mirror under his nose.”

“My reputation is at stake.”

“Just exactly what is it you expect me to do?”

“Marry me, of course.”

Daisy giggled. “Of course.”

“You’re not taking me seriously.” And God help him, he was serious.

He was lying sprawled on his back, and he seemed perfectly comfortable, while Daisy felt more self-conscious with each passing second. She felt physically and mentally naked, and she wasn’t used to either. She’d practically attacked him. Granted there’d been sexual tension crackling between them since day one, but until this evening she’d managed to be civil about it. Until this evening she’d managed to hide her randiness, or at least to conceal it a little. Now he knew she was deprived and desperate. Or maybe he thought she was like this with everyone! She didn’t know which would be worse.

She sat up and grimaced at the tangle of clothes on the floor. “I have to go home.”

He kissed her at the base of her spine. “You could spend the night.”

“No!”

They both were surprised at how vehemently she’d said it.

“I’m sorry,” she said, wriggling into her underwear. “I didn’t mean to shout.”

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No. You were wonderful. You did everything right… better than right. It’s me.”

Besides being mortally embarrassed, she realized she was scared. She was feeling emotions she had no business feeling. She loved him. Good Lord, don’t even think it, she warned herself. Don’t say it out loud, don’t formulate it in your mind, and wipe that expression of adulation off your face.

She was within inches of her doctorate; she was maxed out on education loans, and she was starting to get tired. If she slowed down now, she’d never make it. And Steve Crow could slow her down big-time. He’d have her going around in hormone heaven, dreaming fairy tales about how poor psychologists grow up to marry handsome oil tycoons.

She dropped her shirt over her head and tugged her shorts over her hips. “I’m sorry to have to run off like this. You probably think I’m rude, but the truth is, I’m a little discombobulated.”

“I understand.”

“Really?”

He pulled his shorts on. “No, but it seemed like the right thing to say.”

She caught a look at herself in the hall mirror and groaned. “I look like heck.”

“I think you look great. I think you should look like this more often. Every morning, in fact.And maybe once in a while in the afternoon.”

“Every morning?”

“For the rest of your life.”

“My Lord, I’d be dead in a year.”

Steve smashed his hand down on the alarm clock and stared glassy-eyed at the digital numbers. Five o’clock. So this was what it felt like to wake up at five o’clock, he thought. Not something he’d want to do on a regular basis. It was still dark outside. He didn’t give a fig about A.M. and P.M.; if it was dark it was night. He’d always thought people who rose before the sun were a little loony. He rolled out of bed and staggered into the bathroom, where he stared into the mirror for a while, waiting for his brain to catch up with his feet. He brushed his teeth, splashed cold water on his face, put on some jogging clothes, and tried to wake Bob.

“Get up,” he said. “I have a real treat for you today. We’re going jogging.”

Bob opened one eye and snuggled deeper into the quilt.

Steve turned on all the lights. “Look at this, fella. It’s morning!” he said, giving Bob a shake.

Bob growled low in his throat and kept his eyes firmly closed.

“That’s it,” Steve said. “No more Mr. Nice Guy. Get your lazy butt out of this bed!”

Fifteen minutes later they were in front of Daisy’s house. Steve held Bob’s leash in one hand and a box of Pop-Tarts in the other.

“This is the last one,” he said to Bob. “And you can consider this to be an official bribe. I expect a good performance out of you. I expect you to look like we do this all the time. We don’t want Daisy to think we’re a couple of slugs. Let her find that out after she marries us.”

Light shone from Daisy’s living room windows. The front door opened and a bar of yellow light appeared, slashing across the small front porch. Bob ripped the leash from Steve’s hand and streaked across the lawn. He barreled through the door, pushed past Daisy, and bolted up the stairs. Steve ran after him.

“Sorry,” he said to Daisy, “we were out jogging and he got away from me.”

It took Daisy a couple of beats to figure it out. “He ran upstairs. He was going so fast I didn’t even recognize him.”

They both went upstairs and found Bob deep under the covers on Daisy’s bed.

“Smart dog,” Steve said. “Why didn’t I think to do that?”

Daisy looked at the empty Pop-Tarts box. “Breakfast?”

“Bob needs motivation in the morning.”

She looked at the lump in her bed. “I’d say he’s found all the motivation he needs.”

Steve wrapped his arms around her. “Me too. I’m suddenly feeling very motivated.”

She knew all about his motivation. It was poking her in the stomach, and she thought it must be difficult to jog with that sort of physical condition.

“How about you?” he asked, sneaking his hand under her shirt. “Are you feeling motivated?”

A thrill zinged through her at his touch. Be strong, she told herself. There were people out there, waiting for their papers. They didn’t give a hoot about her need for morning moti-vation-they needed the funnies to start off their day. The responsibility hung heavy on her. “I’m feeling motivated to deliver my papers,” she said with obvious reluctance.

He pulled her closer and kissed her just below her ear. “Bet I could change that.”

Of course he could change it. All he had to do was look at her, and she felt the earth shift on its axis.

“Kevin is asleep in the other room,” she said, pushing him away. “And besides, I have this responsibility…”

Steve was beginning to hate the word responsibility. “Okay,” he said, “looks like I’ve lost my jogging partner, so suppose I help you with the papers?”

“That’d be terrific. If I get done in time, I might be able to squeeze in breakfast.”

Big whoopee. She was going to try to squeeze in time for breakfast before going to her job as a crossing guard. Things were going to change in Daisy Adams’s life, he decided. She deserved better than this. She deserved not only breakfast but a leisurely second cup of coffee in the morning. Why was she a crossing guard anyway? Where were all the mothers and fathers? They were sitting in their comfortable kitchens reading the paper Daisy had just delivered, Steve thought as he followed her downstairs.

She gave him a heavy bag filled with papers. “Since you’re going to help me, we can take the car. It goes faster that way. You drive, and I’ll run the papers.”

“No way,” Steve said. “You drive and tell me where to deliver.”

It took several tries before her car kicked over. She gunned the motor, the car backfired twice, and settled down to its normal death-rattle idle. She drove half a mile to a subdivision of single-family homes. There was a sprinkling of lights shining from bedroom and kitchen windows. Northern Virginia was awakening. Steve took an armload of papers and ran from house to house. After a half hour he’d worked up a sweat and was breathing heavily. “How many papers do you deliver?” he asked.

“Hundreds,” she told him. “You don’t want to know.”

The route ended in her own subdivision of town houses. They had one paper left. It was Daisy’s. Steve wasn’t sure he had the strength to carry it into her house. He was in pretty good shape, but he wasn’t accustomed to this sort of activity at six in the morning. At six brushing his teeth seemed strenuous.

“Yipes,” Daisy said, looking at the kitchen clock. “I’ve got five minutes to get dressed and get over to the school.”

“What about breakfast?”

“Maybe when I get back,” she said, dashing up the stairs. “Help yourself to orange juice and whatever.”

Steve looked in the refrigerator. There was an empty orange juice carton and an empty container of milk. There was a plastic bag containing one slice of bread, a box that used to hold English muffins, and there was an empty jelly jar. Kevin, he said to himself.

Daisy thundered down the stairs and flew into the kitchen, strapping herself into a glow-in-the-dark orange vest. She snatched her keys off the counter and left. “See you in a little bit,” she called to Steve as she whisked out the door.

He heard the car backfire and pull away, and he concluded he was in love with a crazy person. How did all those old people stand her? He could see her rushing into a retirement home, knocking old people over like bowling pins.

He jogged home, got his car, went food shopping at a nearby convenience store, and arrived at Daisy’s house just as she was getting out of her wreck.

“Now can you have breakfast?” he asked her.

“I have to take a shower and get dressed. I have to leave for the station at eight-thirty at the latest.”

Kevin met them in the kitchen. He took the grocery bag from Steve, looked inside, and his face lit up. “Doughnuts!”

Daisy took one upstairs with her. “I can eat one while I shower,” she said.

Steve poured himself a glass of juice. “Is she always like this?” he asked Kevin.

“Pretty much. She’s the family overachiever.” He finished off a doughnut and selected a second. “And she’s a real sucker. If you’ve got a cause, you go to Daisy. She never refuses anybody anything.”

Steve knew differently. She’d refused to go to bed with him this morning.