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“Toads have warts, not frogs.”
“I stand corrected, since you’re the writer. Did you major in English or journalism or American Literature? How does one become a writer?” All right, so he was interesting to talk with. And, Molly had to admit, she had few adult conversations that didn’t center around a menu.
“I majored in Business Administration at my father’s insistence since he was paying the tab. But I minored in English and took all the lit courses I could squeeze in.” He stuffed the fluffy pillow into the case, struggling to get it to fit. “As to how someone becomes a writer, I think it’s something some people just have to do because they have these stories in their head they need to get out. And because they’re unable to fathom holding down a structured job, day after day, doing the same thing over and over. Like my parents did. Or rather still do.”
“What do they do?”
“They’re in hardware. Own and operate six stores in the L.A. area. They’ve worked twelve-hour days seven days a week as long as I can remember.”
“So it’s the long hours you want to avoid and the monotony?”
“Not even that.” He caught his half of the lightweight cotton blanket she spilled onto the bed. “Apparently they love what they do. Different strokes for different folks, as they say. I like to set my own hours. Sometimes I write half the night and sleep all day. Some weeks I work every day, other weeks only three days. Depends on how the book’s going and how close my deadline is. I like the freedom of making my own choices without punching a time clock.” Finished, he straightened, wondering if in stating his preferences, he’d offended her since waitressing was as structured as working in a hardware store.
Stopping to gaze out the window, Molly sighed. “I understand perfectly and I couldn’t agree more.”
Devin walked over to her side of the bed. “Tell me why.”
As Molly turned to face him, they both heard the toot-toot of Hank’s truck horn. “I’ve got to go.”
He touched her arm. “Later, maybe?”
“Maybe.” She walked around him, needing to go outside. Hank wasn’t in the best of moods and she didn’t want to upset him. She also didn’t want to reveal any more about herself right now. Devin Gray seemed able to knock aside her usual defenses and get her to talk about herself far more than usual.
Interesting, Devin thought as he walked toward the back door. He decided to go back upstairs so old Hank wouldn’t get his nose any further out of joint. Besides, he’d discovered that he and Molly Shipman had more in common than he’d thought.
Worth pursuing, he decided as he poured himself a cold drink in his kitchen. Definitely worth pursuing.
It was two o’clock by the time the last of her things had been brought over and unloaded. A grateful Molly opened two cold drinks and handed them to her helpers. “You can’t know how much I appreciate all you’ve both done, guys.”
“No thanks necessary,” Hank answered for both of them before tilting his head back for a long swallow.
Molly couldn’t help noticing how her employer’s mood had brightened after he became aware that Devin had left. She still couldn’t figure out why Hank had been borderline rude. Walking out to the truck with the two of them, she decided there was no point in bringing up Devin’s name.
She smiled at Hank. “Now I’ve got the rest of today and all day tomorrow to put everything away so I’ll be ready for the early shift on Monday.”
Jerry moved closer to the fence enclosing the pool. “You get to use this?”
“Yes, it’s part of the rent. I’m sure Mrs. Bailey wouldn’t mind if you wanted to take a swim, Jerry,” she offered. “You, too, Hank. I know you’re both hot and tired.”
“Nah, we don’t have time,” Hank said, as he drained the soda can.
Molly watched a disappointed Jerry stroll back. She reached up to give him a quick hug. “Maybe some other time, then.” She saw the blush he couldn’t prevent before he turned away.
Hank’s narrowed gaze was on the upper apartment. “He give you any trouble, anything at all, you let me know, you hear?”
Molly almost smiled, but she knew that would hurt his feelings. Not only protective but almost fatherly. If her father had stuck around long enough, maybe he’d have felt the same way. “Why would you think Devin would give me trouble?” she asked quietly.
“I don’t trust him. He’s got shifty eyes.”
She knew he meant well, but at twenty-eight, Molly didn’t think she needed quite so much protection. Nevertheless, she owed Hank a lot. Stepping close, she put her arms around him and pressed her cheek to his.
“Thanks, for everything.”
“Yeah, sure.” Somewhat embarrassed, he climbed behind the wheel.
Molly watched them drive off, then hurried back inside. She still had a lot to do to make that small apartment into a home.
From his upstairs window, Devin stood looking down. He’d seen Hank glare up at his place, guessing he’d then issued a warning to Molly about him. Over what, he couldn’t imagine. Apparently it hadn’t bothered her for she’d given Hank a big fat hug.
Stepping back, he stuck his hands in his pockets, annoyed with himself. Why should he care who Molly Shipman hugged? To be fair, she’d hugged the kid, too. She’d stiffened each time he’d touched her yesterday, but she hugged these two freely. Because she knew them well, he decided.
Maybe he’d get to know her well, too. He wouldn’t mind taking her in his arms, holding her close, feeling her heart beat against his. No denying it, she intrigued him. A man couldn’t spend every spare minute working. He’d operate on the reward system, he decided. He wouldn’t allow himself to check on Molly until he’d finished the chapter that was halfway completed. No guilt that way.
Whistling, he went back to his office.
Sunday morning just before ten, after putting in three less-than-fruitful hours on his novel that suddenly wasn’t going all that well, Devin decided to ride his Harley to the nearby strip mall and pick up the L.A. Times. He felt nostalgic about his hometown newspaper.
Jogging down the steps, he decided he’d pick up some bagels and coffee to see if he could tempt Molly with some breakfast. He’d be willing to bet she was so busy settling in that she’d forgotten to eat.
Leaning over the fence, he rubbed King’s head briefly, not feeling guilty about leaving him behind since he’d taken the dog on a half-hour run around six. As he unlocked his Harley, he saw a vintage blue Cadillac drive up, its horn honking away.
Two women got out, one on the chubby side and dark-haired, the other older and very blond, artificially so most likely, Devin thought. A curly-headed girl of five or six climbed out of the back and squealed Molly’s name. Molly stepped off the porch, looking surprised. “Samantha!” she cried.
The child hugged her aunt happily. “Mom says you’ve got cable TV now. Does that mean Disney, Aunt Molly?”
“You bet it does, sweetheart.” Molly smiled down at her pug-nosed niece.
“She probably hasn’t had time to get someone to hook it up yet, Sam,” the girl’s mother said.
“I hooked it up myself,” Molly informed her sister, then moved to take a large pan from her mother. “What’s all this, Mom?”
Gloria Shipman withdrew a box from the back seat before answering. “It’s roast chicken and vegetables. I just know you won’t take the time to eat right.” She held up the box. “And chocolate chip cookies.”
“Mmm,” Sam murmured. “We’re having a welcome-to-your-new-home party, Aunt Molly.”
“What a terrific idea.” Although she still had a long list of things that needed doing, Molly smiled her welcome. It was so seldom that the four of them got together, mostly due to her busy schedule. “Let’s go inside. I’ve got coffee made.”
Though he felt a little overwhelmed by four females all at one time, Devin couldn’t very well retrace his steps and sneak upstairs, nor could he continue to stand there staring. As unobtrusively as possible, he walked his Harley down the drive, giving a wide berth to the new arrivals.
But he wasn’t fast enough to escape the notice of an inquisitive little girl. “Wow, a motorcycle!” Samantha abandoned Molly and ran over. “Is it yours? Will you take me for a ride?”
“Sam!” The child’s mother hurried over to clamp her hands on her daughter’s shoulder. “What have I told you time and again about talking to strangers?”
Looking more mischievous than repentant, Sam was ready with an excuse. “He’s not really a stranger if he’s in Molly’s yard, is he?”
Aware of her precocious niece’s friendliness, Molly went over, still carrying the pan her mother brought. “Actually, he’s not, Lucy. He’s my neighbor, just moved in upstairs.” Quickly, she introduced her family.
Devin acknowledged each of them, noting that Molly didn’t resemble any of the three. Her sister and niece had dark hair and eyes, as did her mother despite the obvious fact that Gloria Shipman dyed her short hair even blonder than Molly’s. Both women were several inches shorter and full-figured whereas Molly could be described as tall and willowy. She must take after her father, he decided.
“It’s good to know you’ll be living here with my daughter,” Gloria Shipman said, her approving gaze roaming his tall frame. “Not that this is a bad neighborhood, but a woman alone can’t be too careful.” Her smile was just short of flirtatious.
She can’t help herself, Molly thought, for the umpteenth time. An attractive woman in her youth, Gloria still turned on the charm for every man she met, young or old, tall or short, rich or poor. She basked in the glow of attention from men as much as Molly turned from it.
Molly sent an apologetic look to Devin, but she needn’t have bothered. He’d read Gloria like a book.
“I agree, Mrs. Shipman. I’ll certainly keep an eye on your daughter.” He turned his attention to Sam whose wide eyes were checking out the chrome of his Harley. “It’s not safe for someone as young and pretty as you to ride one of these without a helmet, and I don’t have one small enough to fit you. Maybe one day, we’ll pick one up. Okay?”
“You mean it? Great.” Sam’s mind raced with possibilities. “Is that your dog?” she asked next, spotting King who was pacing along the fence.
“Yeah, but I’d rather you didn’t go over to him until I take you to meet him, and I don’t have time right now. Is that all right?”
Reluctantly, Sam nodded. “Okay.”
Molly had to hand it to Devin. He’d appeased the daughter without upsetting the mother. His people skills, which hadn’t charmed Hank, were more in evidence today.
Her head cocked, Molly’s sister Lucy had been studying the man with the Harley. “Did Molly say your name is Devin Gray? Are you the Devin Gray who wrote Murder at Oak Creek Canyon? You are, aren’t you? I recognize you from the picture on the back of the dust cover.”
Devin seemed embarrassed. “I guess you caught me.”
Lucy’s round face moved into a big smile as she turned to her sister. “I’ll bet you didn’t even know that this man’s famous?”
Molly was taken aback. Devin had told her he was a writer, yet she hadn’t even bothered to ask what he’d written. She sent him her second apologetic look in as many minutes. “Lucy works at a bookstore in the mall.” She felt she had to say more, to explain. “I don’t have much time to read fiction.”
“You should find the time to read this one,” Lucy insisted. “It takes place here in Arizona, up in Sedona.” Her smile beamed at Devin. “You’ve got a second one just out, something about the Grand Canyon, right?”
“Yes. Death at the Grand Canyon.”
“My, my,” Gloria murmured. “A celebrity in our midst.”
“A very minor one, I assure you.” It was the first time he’d been recognized with the exception of book signings, Devin realized, and the attention made him oddly uncomfortable. Molly’s sister probably wouldn’t have recognized him if she didn’t work in a bookstore. He’d rather people concentrated on searching out his books rather than the author.
“I’ll have to get you to autograph a copy for me,” Lucy went on.
“Any time.” Devin cleared his throat. “Well, nice to have met you all.” He nodded to Molly, winked at Sam, then climbed on his Harley.
All four of them watched him ride off, his dark hair whipping about in a strong morning breeze.
Gloria was the first to speak as she turned to her oldest daughter. “Molly, you didn’t know he was a famous writer?”
She shrugged. “He’d told me he was a writer, but I didn’t ask what he wrote.”
Lucy exchanged a knowing glance with their mother. “Of course you didn’t. I’m surprised you knew his name, as cautious as you are.”
Molly felt she had to defend herself as she led the way into her apartment. “I only met him two days ago.”
“Leave her alone, Lucy,” Gloria admonished. “Now that Molly knows he’s an important writer, besides being quite a hunk, she’ll warm up to him.”
Whether he’d written War and Peace or drove a garbage truck, Molly knew she had no intention of warming up to Devin Gray. Not wanting to have this same old discussion again, knowing full well that both her mother and sister were critical of her hands-off-men policy, she decided to bring a little levity into play. “Mom! A hunk! I can’t believe you said that.” Holding the roasting pan on one arm, she slipped the other around her mother and hugged her. “There may be snow on the roof, but there’s still fire in the heart, eh?”
“Well, I’m not dead nor am I blind. He’s a very attractive man, Molly. And he probably makes a pile of money. You could do worse.” She stepped through the door Molly held open.
“You saw him for five minutes and you think I should set my cap for him?” She loved her mother, but her constant nagging that she should find a good man to take care of her rather than work so hard got on Molly’s nerves. She’d had a so-called good man, and where had it gotten her?
“Who said anything about permanence?” Lucy asked with a grin. “You don’t have to marry him to have a little fun with him. I’m going to have to get his books. I wonder if he’s a sexy writer.”
Molly set the roasting pan down on the kitchen counter. “So, you haven’t read his books?”
“Not yet, but I intend to. I’ll bring them over after I finish so you can read them, too.”
Molly wasn’t altogether sure she wanted to read what Devin Gray had written. It would indicate more interest in him than she was willing to admit to.
Determined to put her neighbor out of her mind, she took Sam’s hand. “How about the grand tour, which should take all of five minutes? The apartment’s not real big, but it’s sunny and clean and close to work.”
“I think it’s charming,” Gloria commented, leading the way.
By four that afternoon, Devin had had it. He had a crick in his neck and his shoulders ached. He’d been at the computer since he’d returned with The Times, leaving it to read later. On his ride, he’d worked out one of his plot problems, an old habit of his, and he’d gone to work immediately after returning. Finally, he was back on track.
Rolling his shoulders, he saved his material and shut off the computer. His rumbling stomach reminded him he hadn’t put anything in it lately except several cups of coffee. In the kitchen, he opened the refrigerator and examined its pitiful contents. It looked very much like he’d be having canned soup and a glass of milk again. He really had to go grocery shopping tomorrow.
As he grabbed an apple from the bowl on the table, he heard King give out several playful barks. The German shepherd was three years old and not much of a barker. Chewing, Devin sauntered out onto his back porch. He couldn’t have been more surprised at the sight that greeted his eyes.
Molly was hanging sheets on the clothesline with King trailing her every step. Devin could hear her talking to him, though he couldn’t make out what she was saying. He saw her reach to take the stick from King’s mouth, then throw it across the yard before bending to her clothes basket for a pillowcase.
The big dog raced across the grass, picked up the stick and hurried back to her. Smiling down at him, she petted his large head, then reached to secure the pillowcase. Devin could swear he saw King move close to Molly and nuzzle up against her bare legs. How had she managed to win his dog over in a couple of short days?
She was wearing a long yellow top that came nearly to the hem of her white shorts. She had incredibly long and very shapely legs. Definitely a distraction, one that got his juices flowing every time he looked at her. Watching her bend down to hug King’s head, Devin felt a foolish flash of jealousy. How far gone was he that he was beginning to envy a dog? he wondered.
As Molly gathered up her basket and spare clothes-pins, Devin went down the stairs and met her at the gate. “Don’t you ever let up, take a break, maybe sit down and relax? I hear you moving around down there constantly. I would imagine you’re exhausted.” She didn’t look exhausted, just a little warm. The temperature had to be over ninety.
“Not really. I needed to get settled in since I have early shift tomorrow morning.” He was wearing a black T-shirt over gray knit shorts and hadn’t bothered to shave. The word hunk that her mother had used floated back to her. Yeah, it fit. “I hope I’m not making so much noise I’m disturbing you.” The house had to be at least thirty years old with a few squeaky floors and air vents that allowed some sounds to travel between the two units. “I wouldn’t want to keep you from writing the great American novel.”
He saw her mouth twitch and realized she was teasing him. “Not to worry. My books will never become required reading in school. Purely escape stuff. And you’re not disturbing me.”
“Good.” He seemed genuinely modest, had seemed uncomfortable at Lucy’s comments. She liked that about him. She felt King’s wet nose at her back through the cyclone fencing, turned and smiled before raising a hand to acknowledge him.
“I see you made friends with King.”
“Yes. He’s quite the sweetheart when you get to know him.”
Devin glanced over at the pool, shimmering in the late afternoon sun. “I was just thinking of cooling off with a swim. Want to join me?”
Molly had no trouble picturing that hard, masculine body in a swimsuit. “Thanks, but I’ve still got some things to do.” Carrying her basket, she walked off. “Have a good swim.”
Damned if he wouldn’t, Devin thought. It would have been nice to have company, but he’d go alone. He needed the exercise.
Molly stood at her kitchen window, gazing out through the gauzy curtains she’d brought over from her former apartment, watching Devin do laps in the pool. He was big and looked very strong with not an ounce of fat on him. She’d been counting and was up to twenty. Finally, he eased out and brushed his wet hair back with both hands as water dripped from the dark curls on his chest and legs. He turned to straighten a lounge chair while Molly admired the smooth skin of his back, the muscles rippling as he moved. He sat down in the chair and leaned back, closing his eyes and letting the hot sun dry him.
Her hands trembled ever so slightly as she wondered what it would feel like to run her fingers over those broad shoulders, to examine that deep cleft in his chin. It had been so long since she’d touched a man, or allowed one to touch her. That brief moment when he’d first introduced her to his dog, the nearness of his big body close to hers, the way his hand had lingered on hers, had awakened a dormant need. She would deny it if asked, often denied it even to herself, yet there were times like now that she longed for that strong male touch that was like no other. A man who could make her want and need and ache.
