Bride Candidate #9. Susan Crosby
put you to work tomorrow. Sam and Marguerite, too, I guess. I’m assuming they’re here to help.”
“I promised the board of directors at the Center that we’d oversee the finances of this event. I want to make sure there’s a profit, not just the break-even goal you said would satisfy you.”
“No one told me that”
“Are you on the board?”
“No. I’m an angel, though. And this event was my idea.”
“Well, now, I’d say your golden hair might lead some people to think you’re wearin’ a halo, but I’ll bet Saint Peter’s gonna give you grief at the Pearly Gates. He’ll have seen the way you treat me.”
She wrinkled her nose at him. “Benefactors are called angels. I’m on the board of the Angel Foundation, which contributes regularly to the Center.”
“I’m curious about that, Ariel. How do you support yourself? As far as I’ve been able to determine, you’re not employed.”
“Interest.” She tucked her feet under her and cupped the mug more closely.
“Interest?”
“On investments. People don’t volunteer time the way they used to. I can afford to.”
“You’ve got an MBA from Stanford, but you don’t put it to work. Why’s that?”
“Who says I don’t put it to work?” She lifted the mug again, then lowered it to her lap. “How’d you know that, anyway?”
“Part of my investigation into the Center. I checked out everyone. We had so little time, we hired a PI.” He tapped his fingers against his mug. “Funny thing. He didn’t find any record of you before you enrolled at Stanford.”
She took a quick sip of tea. “Why would that matter?”
“Professionally? For no reason. But personally? I was curious.”
“What’d you expect to find?”
“Perfect attendance in elementary school? A driver’s license issued on your sixteenth birthday? I don’t know. A past. Apart from learnin’ you’re twenty-seven years old, you’re Stanford educated, you’ve lived at this address for three years, and you donate your time to a lot of worthy causes, I don’t know anything about you.”
“There’s nothing mysterious about it. I told you I grew up in Europe.”
He noted that wariness had combined with weariness to darken her eyes. “And you said you were tired Me, too. Let’s go to bed, darlin’.” He took her empty mug and stood. “Now, don’t you go lookin’ at me like that. I wasn’t bein’ suggestive. I have nothin’ but the utmost respect for you. I can’t help it if you’ve got a dirty mind”
He returned from the kitchen just as she levered herself up from the couch. She shook her head.
“You’re incorrigible, Lucas.”
“Well, see, that’s where you’re wrong. I’m putty in your hands, just waitin’ to be molded. So, what time do we get started in the morning?”
They walked across the living room. “I have to be at the senior citizens center at eight. You probably have friends or teammates you want to see, so feel free to do whatever you want until ten, then we should get over to the youth center.”
“I don’t think my hangin’ around with the Dusters is a good idea. I’ll tag along with you, instead.”
“You’ll probably be pretty bored.”
“I doubt that.” He pushed her hair back from her face; his fingertips grazed her temple.
Oh, hell. She was begging to be kissed. He could see it in the dark pull of her eyes and the way her lips parted He stopped a sigh from escaping by pressing his lips to her forehead. “Sleep tight, darlin’.”
She laid her hands flat against his chest and leaned into him. He didn’t seem to have a choice other than to wrap his arms around her. He heard her sigh. He felt her nestle, her cheek rubbing his shoulder. Damned if she didn’t feel good there, all cuddly and subdued Wifely
A moment later she pushed herself away. “I’m glad you made it here safely,” she said, her words bright and cheery again. “Good night.”
Intrigued by her changing mood, he half smiled and rubbed his jaw as she shut her door. “Good night?” He wondered
Ariel dragged a towel along her throat, across her chest, down one arm, then the other. Her sweat-dampened pajama top lay discarded on the bed beside her. Her gaze flickered to the clock. Two-thirty. Her hand shook as she lifted the glass of water from her nightstand and gulped it down, not coming up for air until the glass was drained. She gasped a breath, managed to set down the glass, then blotted her face with the towel.
She wondered if she’d screamed. Probably not or Luke would have rushed in. She lay back and stared at the ceiling. Her skin tightened into a mass of goose bumps from nightmare sweat and winter cold.
She hadn’t had the dream in so long. So very long.
And she knew exactly what had triggered its return.
She raised herself on her elbows, needing to get a fresh pair of pajamas, but her body wouldn’t cooperate further. If Luke hadn’t been there she would have washed away the terror with a long, hot shower. He was there, however, separated from her only by a communal bathroom and two closed doors.
Part of her wanted to crawl in bed with him, beg his sympathy, find oblivion in making love until she couldn’t think another thought. Until she couldn’t picture anything but an imaginary field of flowers misted by a spring shower—anything other than what she’d just seen again in the dreams she’d thought were long gone.
It hadn’t worked before, though, so why should it this time? If anything, it would probably be worse, because of who and what Lucas Walker was. Would always be. She had no fantasies about him changing. Part of his charm, albeit questionable sometimes, was his unapologetic belief in himself. It’s true he was searching to find a new place in the world now, but nothing stood in the way of his accomplishing that goal. He would have a normal life. She didn’t doubt it for a minute.
Oh, for the comfort that would bring.
“I hand each person a card as they pass by?” Luke asked, shuffling the stack Ariel had just handed him.
“That’s right. Every time they arrive back at the information table you give them another one. That way they keep track of the number of laps they’ve gone, around the Center’s walking course.”
Luke rubbed his jaw. “They can’t remember?”
“Shh” She looked around. She’d chosen a job for him that would keep him busy while she attended to other business at the senior citizens center. “No, they can’t always remember. They get busy talking and forget.”
“Does it even matter?”
“They have goals they set for themselves, Lucas. They want to know if they’ve reached or exceeded them.” She watched him take note of the people milling around, dressed mostly in jogging suits.
“Some of them aren’t wearing shoes with enough support,” he noted.
“Care to make a donation?” she asked sweetly.
“I might.” He cupped her chin and looked hard at her. “I don’t believe you caught up on sleep last night.”
“You snored. The noise kept me awake.”
He let his hand drop. “I do not snore.”
“Is that a confirmed fact?”
“Curious