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“I’ll wait for you and follow you home,” Hank called after her.
She turned at the top. “I’m fine. Go home to Jackie.”
“I’ll buy you a mocha at the Breakfast Barn on the way.”
She grinned. “Okay. Who cares about Jackie.” She blew him a kiss and disappeared inside.
Hank opened the lid of the truck’s toolbox for Cam. “One of our more dramatic messes,” he said with a laugh. “Hey, Freddy!” He patted the back window as Fred’s head appeared. The dog was barking excitedly. Hank leaned an elbow on the side of the truck as Cam put away his tools. “I hear you rescued Mariah Mercer from drowning.”
Cam shook his head. “That’s a little overstated. Brian—one of the kids—held her head out of the water. I just carried her to a bed.”
“Where you gave her mouth-to-mouth and she French-kissed you.”
Cam frowned. “No, she didn’t.”
“Yes, she did. Ashley told me.” Hank grinned. “She’s thrilled about it. She adores Mariah and thinks it’d be wonderful if she could find a husband.”
Cam gave Hank a shove out of his way as he dropped pipes into the back. “Yeah, well, I don’t think Mariah Mercer has designs on me. After she kissed me, she slugged me.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Probably a reaction to the bump on the head, or something. No big deal.”
“So I can tell my mother you’re still on the market?”
Cam opened the passenger side of the cab to let Fred out, the gesture half practical, half vengeful. The dog leaped on him elatedly, then went right to Hank, who always had treats in his pockets. Fred backed Hank up to the side of the truck, his paws on his chest, alternately kissing him and barking a demand for treats.
Pinned to the truck, Hank reached into a pants pocket. “How big is this guy going to get?” he asked, quickly putting a biscuit in the dog’s mouth. “He doesn’t beg—he just mugs you for what he wants!”
“I’m not sure. I guess some Labs get to a hundred pounds or more. Jimmy didn’t tell me that when he sold him to me.” Jimmy Elliott was a fireman and another of Whitcomb’s Wonders.
Treat in his mouth, Fred ran off around the side of the carriage house.
“You must be beat,” Hank said. “You have a class in the morning?”
“In the afternoon. I’ll be fine. I’m a little wired, actually. Letty brought us coffee and I don’t think she bothered to grind the beans.”
Hank took a key out of his jacket pocket and offered it to Hank. “Why don’t you go take a look at the lake house,” he suggested. “You and Fred can even sleep there if you don’t want to go back home tonight.”
Cam tried to push the key away. “Hank, I appreciate the offer to buy your house. There’s not a place in town I’d like better. But I keep telling you—I don’t have the cash.”
Hank nodded. They’d argued this before. “We’ll find a way to keep the payments way down.”
Hank had married Jackie Fortin, the mayor of Maple Hill, a brief two months ago. In doing so, he’d acquired two little girls, ages seven and eleven, and infant twin boys. He’d bought the big house on the lake as a bachelor, but now found that the old family home Jackie occupied was closer to school for the girls, and closer to city hall for Jackie and for Hank, since the office of Whitcomb’s Wonders was located in its basement.
Cam had mentioned once at a party Hank had held how ideal he thought the house was, how warm and welcoming after his cramped apartment behind the fire station.
“We’ll put a balloon payment at the end,” Hank said, “and by then you’ll be a well-known developer. Since you have plans to save our colonial charm rather than replace it with malls and movie-plexes, you’ll be popular and make big bucks.”
“That’s a little optimistic.”
“It never hurts to think positive.” Hank took his hand and slapped the key into it. “Even though that hasn’t been your experience in the past. You have control now. You’re not dependent upon neglectful parents, and you don’t have to worry about a selfish wife. Do what you want to do.”
Cam was touched by his concern and grateful for his support. “You’re pretty philosophical for a NASA engineer-turned-electrician. You didn’t get zapped tonight while standing in all that water, did you?”
“No.” Hank grinned and braced his stance as Fred came running back to them. “I’m charged on life, pal…charged on life. Oof! Go look at the house. Fred needs room to run. And someday you’ll want to think about getting married again and having children.”
Well, he was right about Fred needing room to run, anyway. Cam closed the dog in the car, said good-night to Hank and the cleaning crew still working, waved at Haley, who photographed them, then headed for home. But somewhere along the way he took a turn toward Maple Hill Lake and Hank’s house on the less-populated far side of it.
He pulled off the road onto a private drive that led through a high hedge, and into the driveway of the two-story split-level. He would look through it as Hank suggested, get the notion of buying it out of his system. Then he could just settle down, keep working and going to school so that he could finally achieve the goal for which he’d come here. He wanted an MBA behind him before he bought the old Chandler Mill outside of town and turned it into office space and apartments.
He’d talked to Evan Braga about it, and he thought the idea was sound. Braga was another of Hank’s men who did painting and wallpapering, and sold real estate on the side. He’d been a cop in Boston and had come to Maple Hill for the same reason Cam had—to start over. He hadn’t said why and Cam hadn’t asked.
Anyway…if he was going to buy a house in Maple Hill, it should be one of the classic salt boxes or Georgians that were such a part of the area’s history.
But he loved this house. From the moment he’d arrived at Hank’s party all those months ago, he’d felt as if the house had a heartbeat.
He let himself in and flipped on the light in the front room. Fred stayed right beside him intimidated by the new surroundings. As Cam walked from room to room, he became aware of details he hadn’t noticed before. The master bedroom had a fireplace that was also open to the bathroom, which had two sinks and vanities, a sunken tub and greenery growing all around it. It was probably what a Roman bath would have looked like. He could imagine lying in the tub after a particularly grueling and dirty day in the pipes, and being warmed by a real fire. Here was a tendency toward hedonism he didn’t even realize he had. Each of the three bedrooms upstairs had a private bath.
He walked back downstairs to look around outside and Fred went wild, running through the tall grass that rimmed the lake, chasing imaginary quarry in the dark. He stopped to sniff the air and bark his delight to the woods across the road.
The property spread for five acres in both directions, and except for Fred’s footsteps, there was nothing but the sound of insects. The natural perfume of the dark quiet night took his breath away.
A broad deck ran all around the house, and Cam remembered Hank saying that when he’d bought the place, he’d anticipated having barbecues and inviting his friends. But Whitcomb’s Wonders had been more successful than even he’d imagined, and family life had kept him too busy.
Cam looked at the covered gas grill in a corner of the porch, and the wide picnic table beside it. “I could have the guys over for a barbecue,” he thought aloud. He could get a small boat and go fishing.
As a child, he’d never been able to bring anyone home because of the unpredictable condition of his parents. He’d dreamed of inviting friends over, hosting parties, having a Christmas open house the way his friends’ parents did.
A curious hopefulness stirred in the middle of his chest. He could do that here. He could…maybe…someday…give some thought to getting married again, having a family.
“Oh, whoa!” he said to himself.
Fred, hearing the command and thinking it applied to him, came racing back. Cam caught him as he jumped against his chest.
“I’m getting carried away here, Fred,” he said, going back to the front door to make sure he’d locked it. “That’s the trouble with having a cold, grim childhood and a selfish wife. You get a glimpse of warmth and happiness and you become this greedy monster, wanting more and more.”
Fred raced around his legs, apparently seeing nothing wrong with that.
Cam tested the doorknob and, finding it secure, led the way back to the truck and the little apartment behind the fire station. So he had cardiac arrest every time the alarm went off. He was learning to live with it.
He didn’t need the house. And so far his life had taught him that you didn’t always get what you needed, much less what you wanted.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE ALARM SHRIEKED in Cam’s ear. Without moving his head from the pillow, he reached out to slam it off.
Blessed quiet.
He’d finally gone to bed at 4:00 a.m. and set the alarm for seven. There was too much to do at the school today to allow for eight hours’ sleep. But certainly he could steal another fifteen minutes.
Fred, however, had other plans. The Lab, awake at the foot of the bed and waiting for the smallest sign that Cam was awake, leaped onto his chest and bathed his face with dog kisses.
Cam tried to push him away, but he was weak after the all-night session and the measly three hours’ sleep. The dog plopped down on top of him and chewed on his chin.
Cam knew if he didn’t get up he’d be eaten. It would be done with affection, but he’d be eaten.
“Okay, Fred, that’s enough,” he said calmly but firmly, pushing the dog off.
He sat up to swing his legs over the side of the bed just as Fred decided he’d cooperated long enough and it was time for some serious extreme wrestling. Growling, large mouth open in what Cam thought of as his alligator mode, Fred attacked.
Cam’s body, unfortunately aimed toward the edge of the bed, went over the side, dog atop him and gleefully pretending to kill him.
MARIAH HEADED FROM THE CAR where Parker waited, along the little walkway to the stairs that led up to Cameron Trent’s apartment. She’d awakened this morning determined to apologize to the man who’d given her mouth-to-mouth resuscitation and been slapped for his efforts.
Provided the man was Cameron Trent. And provided he would even want to listen to her. She intended to reassure him quickly that she would take only a moment of his time, then she would never darken his doorway again.
She climbed the stairs, rehearsing her little speech. “Mr. Trent, I apologize for slapping you. I thought you were my…” No. That was too much information.
“Mr. Trent, I apologize for slapping you. I was in a sort of dream state and your lips were…” No, no! Too revealing of feelings she didn’t understand and he was bound to misinterpret.
“Mr. Trent, I’m sorry I hit you. I awoke to see a stranger leaning over me and I…I…”
Okay, get it straight! She told herself firmly. Don’t stammer like an idiot. Maybe a simple “I’m sorry.” He’d know what she was sorry about, so there was little point in belaboring why it had happened.
She checked the note in her hand. Apartment E. Parker had called Addy at the Breakfast Barn, where she always had breakfast with her cronies, and learned Trent’s address.
She stopped in front of the end apartment upstairs, pulled aside the screen door and, bracing herself, knocked lightly twice. The door squeaked open.
She heard a commotion beyond the door and concluded he must have the television on. She knocked a little louder. The door opened farther, making the commotion inside more audible.
But it wasn’t the television. Someone was being attacked! By…dogs? In Maple Hill? The man’s cries sounded desperate. She looked around for help, but Parker couldn’t see her from the car.
She couldn’t just walk away. This man had possibly saved her life; the least she could do was make an effort for him.
She looked around for a weapon and, finding none, simply took a firm hold of the handle of her purse, burst through the door and ran toward the sound.
In a bedroom at the back of the house, she found a sight that chilled her. The man whose face she’d awakened to yesterday now lay half on and half off the bed, his legs trapped in the blankets while a huge black beast, fangs bared, attacked him unmercifully, sounding like one of the dogs of hell unleashed.
She fought a trembling in her limbs and advanced, swinging at the glossy hindquarters with her purse. “Stop it!” she shrieked at the animal. “Get out! Get out!” The dog yelped and withdrew onto the bed, eyes wide. Encouraged that she’d made it retreat, she followed it, purse in full swing.
“Whoa!” the man shouted.
His directive didn’t register, however, as she climbed onto the bed in pursuit of her quarry. “Get out of here you—”
Her threat was abruptly silenced as something strong manacled her ankle, effectively dropping her facedown into the bedclothes.
Momentarily blinded and unable to move, she felt a cold chill as she heard a menacing growl just above her.
“Fred!” Trent shouted. “Down! Now!”
She heard the dog’s claws connect with the hardwood floor.
Fred? Cameron Trent had been viciously attacked by a dog named…Fred?
CAM WAS SURE HE WAS hallucinating. First of all, there was a woman in his bedroom, and that hadn’t happened in a long time. Second, she appeared to be an avenging angel determined to rescue him from Fred’s morning wake-up ritual. An angel he’d rescued himself just last night. Only, she hadn’t reacted like much of an angel.
It took a moment before he realized her determination to save him included hitting his dog with a leather purse that resembled something Evander Holyfield would hang from the ceiling and beat with boxing gloves. And then he reached up and caught her foot.
She plopped down in the middle of his mattress, skirt halfway up her legs, one shoe off, the other dangling from her toe. He experienced a sudden visceral need to put his hand to the back of her thigh and explore upward.
Fortunately—or unfortunately—his foster parents’ civilizing influence had taken root in him and he simply freed her ankle and got to his feet. Then, remembering he was wearing only white cotton briefs, he wrapped an old brown blanket around his waist as she rolled over.
She wasn’t happy.
He wasn’t surprised.
For an instant he simply absorbed the steamy look of her in his bed. She wore another long-sleeved silky blouse, pale blue this time, and another long skirt—black. Her hair was in a tight knot at the back of her head; her cheeks were flushed from exertion.
Nothing about her should have been seductive, but there she was amid his rumpled bedclothes, knees bared, one tendril of dark hair falling from her right temple. Her eyes smoldered.
He concluded that expression was probably fueled by anger or embarrassment, but what it contributed to the picture she made was powerful. He wanted her. Badly.
But what was she doing here?
Fred, standing near the edge of the bed, leaned a long neck and tongue forward and slurped her bare knee.
She shrank back with a little cry.
“Fred!” Cam caught the dog’s collar and made him sit. Fred complied, apparently totally affronted.
“I’m sorry,” Cam said quickly as Mariah looked around herself, her cheeks growing rosy. So it was embarrassment. “I know that appeared brutal, but it’s a game we play. Fred’s just seven months old and very frisky. The snarling and teeth flashing are phony. He’s just trying to get me up for breakfast.”
She drew a deep breath and something inside her seemed to collapse. He wasn’t sure what that meant, but he didn’t like the look of it. Her eyes lost their smolder and filled with the sadness he’d seen in them last night.
Instinctively, he reached for her waist to pluck her off the bed and stand her on the floor. In her stocking feet, she barely skimmed his shoulder. “I appreciate the rescue, though,” he said, his hands still on her. “I’ll bet that purse packs a wallop.”
She put her hands on his and removed them from her waist. “Where is my purse?” she asked stiffly.
It had gone over the side of the bed when she’d fallen. He went to retrieve it for her. It weighed a ton.
When he came back with it, she was hunting for her second shoe. Then she looked beyond him and gasped. Fred, whom he’d lost track of when he’d scooped her off the bed, had it in his teeth.
“Fred, give me that shoe!” she demanded, going toward the dog with a hand outstretched.
“Mariah…” Cam began to caution, but he was too late. The dog had darted off toward the living room, tail wagging, and Mariah went in pursuit.
Cam followed, catching up with them in the kitchen. Mariah had one end of the shoe and Fred the other. This could not end well.
