Excerpt from
The Catnapped Lover
by Sue Charnley

 CHAPTER ONE

1:00 AM, April 1^st, Chicago

“Adam Talcott, it’s my turn, and I dare you,” Jack Hunter challenged. “I double-damn dare you to live on your own for two months.” The two men staggered along the street toward their favorite blues club, with Adam’s chauffeur-driven limousine creeping along behind.

Adam loosened the tie of his tux, then started on his shirt studs. Damned tuxedoes, even the best tailor can’t make them comfortable. But the tux was part and parcel of indulging his mother’s penchant for giving birthday parties.    “Whaddaya mean? I’ve been living on my own for ten years.” Not quite as long as they’d been trading birthday challenges, Adam thought. He fiddled with the fastenings of his cummerbund and tossed it aside.

“No, you’ve had your own residence for ten years. You have servants, employees and  s-sy-sycophants at your beck and call. Tha’s not living on your own. You have money too.” Jack hiccoughed.

“You mean I can’t live on my own and have money too?” The street tilted before Adam’s eyes as he tried to follow his friend’s logic.

“Unlike myself, you’ve always had money.” For emphasis, Jack smacked his palm on a non-existent table and fell forward.

Adam grabbed him before Jack could smack the pavement with his head. “I don’t get it.”

“Face it, buddy, you’ve always had money, and you’ll always have it. Your entire family is rish. They’ve been rish for so many generations, that none of you would know what to do without servants. Take away your credit cards and your social connections, and not one Talcott could survive for more than a day.”

Adam snorted. “You’re kidding. You don’t believe that. I’m a very resourceful person. You’ve said so yourself.”

“When it comes to capital investments and risky stock buys, there’s no one more ingin, ingangren, ingenuous...”

“Ingenious,” Adam offered, pleased that he wasn’t as far-gone as his friend.

“Thank you. No one more ingenious than you. But you’ve never had to live off the sweat of your brow. You’ve never had a woman turn you down because your bank account wasn’t big enough. And that’s my challenge.”

Adam paused beneath the club’s blinking cat logo to stare at his friend. Behind them, the limo stopped.

“That’s redica...stupid. You want me to find a woman who will turn me down because of my bank account?”

Jack leaned against the wall of the building. “Nah.” He shook his head as if trying to clear it. “You gotta find a job. Manual labor.” His tongue tripped over the words, and he wiped his hand across his face. “Live on that income for eight weeks. No use of your business or social connections.”

Adam considered the options—live like a poor man for eight weeks or lose the CEO’s office to Jack. They’d both had too much to drink, so considering took a while. The neon-red sign hung over the club’s doorway distracted him. “Why did we come here? This place always reminds me of my mother’s demented Persian cat.”

“You love that cat, and you know it.”

“Okay, but I don’t like the hairballs it leaves in my shoes.” Adam shivered. “I’m cold. Let’s go to your place.”

“S’okay with me,” his friend replied, turning with Adam toward the limousine.

The chauffeur got out and opened the car door. Adam followed Jack inside. “Mr. Hunter’s condo please, Raoul.” The door closed. “That challenge is too easy, Jack.”

“Not!” Jack protested. “Besides, as the partner with only 49% of the stock, ‘s’my turn to challenge you.” He waved his left fist, index finger extended, punctuating his words. “I can choose any reason—hic, scuse me—able thing I want, and you have to do it or turn over the controlling two percent of the corporation. Two years ago in Mexico, you should have let me try again. Holding me to the challenge during an earthquake was a dirty trick.”

“Was not.”

Jack ignored him. “I’m determined to get the CEO’s chair back. You surprised me, last year, when you actually climbed that mountain. I was sure your fear of heights would do you in. I had to come up with something I know you can’t do.”

Adam lifted an eyebrow. “That’s what comes from sharing a birthday and a successful business. After fourteen years of friendship, you should know the word can’t isn’t in my vocabulary. Anyone who tries to put it there usually regrets the attempt. Besides, we both know I can’t decline a birthday challenge.” Adam blithely ignored his own vocabulary rules. “Even if I am taking advantage of you.”

“You aren’t.”

“Just remember, Jack, you’re the one who dared me to put this birthday challenge business into the articles of incorporation for AFD Inc. I never should have let you goad me into that.”

“I had you dead to rights on that coin flip. If you hadn’t taken my dare, I’d be CEO for life.”

“We might have been better off,” Adam muttered.

“Nah, we’d still be just as successful. But the business’d be a dead bore.” Jack spoke with increasing sobriety. “With the possibility that AFD’s leadership can change in any given year, we both have to stay on our toes and up to date with everything that happens.”

“The challenge does tend to keep the blood pumping.” Adam grinned. “I still remember the first challenge.”

“Yeah, it was kinda weird how two April Fools Day babies ended up celebrating in the same bar.”

“Thanks to the untimely arrival of the cops, we never did settle who won.”

“The way I figure it, we both won.” Jack gestured broadly. “Look where we are now.”

Adam looked out the windows at the intersection where the limo waited for a light to change. “Next to a trash can, underneath the Ell?”

Jack punched Adam in the arm. “Cut it out, you idiot. We’re on top of the financial world.”

“I agree. However, when we got thrown in jail, my family’s lawyers made it feel like we were the biggest pair of losers ever to hit Chicago.”

“Well, we proved them wrong. Heck, the idea for AFD Inc. was born in that holding tank we shared.”

“And we have this great method for keeping the AFD leadership fresh.”

“So whaddaya say, Adam? Do you accept the challenge? Or do you wimp out and hand over the reins and the two percent without a fight?”

“I still think I’m taking advantage of you.”

“No way. I know what I’m doing.”

The limo pulled up at Jack’s condo. Without waiting for Raoul, Adam opened the door and got out.

“Okay, I’ll do it. Let’s discuss the details over coffee.”

Jack preceded Adam into the chilly April night. Punching the air, he grinned and led the way past the doorman into the elevators. “All right! CEO chair, here I come.”

“I’ll have to let my family know I’ll be out of touch for a while. I don’t want their demands to give you grounds to say I failed the challenge.”

“I’ll take care of your mom, but you know how little influence anyone has over your brother.” Jack left the elevator, proceeded down the hall to his home, and unlocked the door of his condo, giving an exaggerated bow of welcome.

Adam nodded. “I like owning the majority of the stock in our company too much to give up two percent to you just because my busybody relatives think they’re worried about me.”

“Hmmm,” Jack ambled to the kitchen and started the coffee. “You’ll need a car and some different clothes.”

“I’ll call down to Raoul.” Adam picked up Jack’s phone. “He’ll know where to find an appropriate car and clothing at this time of night.”

“You’re leaving tonight?”

“In a couple of hours. Besides, this dare is more nuisance than challenge.”

“Just wait ‘til you try to find a job without a reference.”

“Now, that’s going too far. I’ll have to supply at least one reference, if asked.”

“All right.” Jack’s eyes gleamed. “Have any potential employer call me. Give them my personal number. But you’ll have to go along with whatever background story I give.”

“What if I tell them something different?”

“Then you’ll look like a liar, so I wouldn’t risk saying much, if I were you.”

“Yeah, yeah. I took a bigger risk climbing that mountain.”

Jack pulled a smug smile. “Go ahead, be reckless, but you’ll see I was right. This is the toughest challenge of your life.”

 *          *          *

  10:00 AM, April 1^st, Detroit

Balancing an armload of mail, an overloaded briefcase, and a gym bag with two yogurt cups teetering on top, Rue Clancy rushed to her cubicle. She prayed that her chauvinist boss hadn’t realized she was missing. For the fourth time this week and the umpteenth time this month, she was late. Once again a power outage in the decrepit apartment building where she lived had caused her alarm clock to fail. As a result, she’d gotten up late and still hadn’t caught up.

The yogurt cups threatened to topple off the gym bag. Sending one hand to their rescue, Rue sacrificed her hold on the mail and the briefcase. She wasn’t about to let her lunch decorate the linoleum underfoot. The mail showered to the floor. The briefcase hit her foot. With her free hand she plastered the cups to her side. The gym bag slid down her arm. The webbed strap twisted tourniquet fashion around her wrist.

Rue managed a couple of sideways hops that brought her to the edge of her desk. The gym bag swung wildly. Leaning against the arm weighted down by the gym bag’s stranglehold she, managed to dump the yogurt cups onto the desk without mishap. She pulled herself upright and reached for the tightly twisted strap at her wrist.

Somehow, during all the hopping, the bag had swung around her legs and gotten wedged in the narrow space between her desk and file cabinet. The same strap that cut off circulation to her hand pressed into the backs of her knees, pinning her neatly to the desk. Only an act of extreme dexterity could save her from her own folly. Imbecile, why didn’t you make two trips?  She scolded herself.  Because you didn’t want to risk having the boss see you coming in late, that’s why.

“CLANCY! You’re late.”

 Rue’s heart hit the ceiling. She knew the shout—a cross between an operatic tenor and a pig at slaughter—belonged to her boss. Still, she hadn’t been prepared to hear his screeching quite so soon.

 “What the hell are you doing with your coat still on at 10:00 in the morning? Do you know how many clients we have backed up in the lobby? They’re all waiting for you to get your lazy little behind to work on their ADC and Food Stamp applications.”

 “I’ll get right on it, sir.” Rue tugged at her imprisoned arm and wondered exactly how she was going to free herself. At the same time she prayed that her boss would remain blind to her obvious difficulties. The lecher would love an opportunity to put his hands on her while she was literally bound at hand and knees.

 “Good. Get those people cleared out of here by noon, then come to my office.”

 “Yes, sir.”

 Rue heard the man lumber on down the hallway, and she expelled a disgusted breath. If you hadn’t been so wrapped up in yourself, Rue, you would have heard him coming. Yeah, and if you had made two trips, you wouldn’t be wrapped up at all. So get yourself out and get to work.

 She leaned her weight against the strap where it crossed her thigh hoping to pull the bag free with her weight. What’s it going to take to loosen this stupid bag, a ten-ton truck? I know I’m a bit small, but this is ridiculous!

 She swung her hips with increased vigor against the webbing. She bounced. When I get out of this, I’m going to cut this bag up and feed it to the nearest garbage disposal.

 Praying that she didn’t slip a disk, Rue gave a mighty heave with her backside, throwing her entire body into breaking the webbed hold. Something gave.

 Rue flew across the tiny space, landing shoulder first against the opposite file cabinet. Her hair tumbled out of its neat chignon. Her shoulder ached. Her formerly numb hand tingled. She blew rust-colored curls out of her face and turned to survey the damage.

 The webbed strap remained completely intact. The bag was a total loss. Make-up and hair care products littered the cubicle floor. One of her gym shoes had landed sole up on the file cabinet. Her sports bra and workout clothes lay in a heap framed by the shredded bag.

 “Unusual decorating choice, Rue. Too bad personal items are against regulations. You might have started a trend.” Carolyn DeWitt, Rue’s best friend and co-worker, leaned against the cubicle opening.

 “It’s nice to see you too, Carolyn.”

 “Having a bad day?”

 Rue lifted a hand and pushed aside the strands of hair that tickled her face. “You might say that.”

 “Well, it just got worse.”

 “It couldn’t.”

 “The boss stopped by my cubby and told me to take on your cases. He wants to see you as soon as you think you can ‘put your fanny in gear’.”

 “He told me noon.”

 “He must have changed his mind.”

 “Guess so.” Rue shrugged. “Mind giving me a hand with this mess, so I can hurry down to the executioner’s office? It might take me a minute too long if you don’t.” She gave a wan smile.

 Carolyn returned a hearty chuckle. “Sure, what are friends for, if not to send you off to your doom sooner than you have to go.”

 Minutes later, Rue entered her supervisor’s office, leaving the door open behind her. She knew what was coming. While she didn’t mind being called on the carpet if she was in the wrong, she did object to her employer’s sleazy attitude toward female employees.

 The boss didn’t look up from his work. He kept her waiting until he finished perusing the document in his hands.

 If he thinks he’s going to intimidate me, he’s wrong.

 When he finally looked at her, he aimed his gaze at her chest. He spoke around a huge wad of gum that showed purple every time his mouth moved. “Clancy, do you know that the state does not reimburse Crisis Services Corporation for non-contracted services?”

 “Yes.”

 “Of course you do. So you also know that personal involvement with our indigent clients places the corporation at risk of lawsuits, don’t you?” The question was rhetorical.

 “Yes,” Rue answered anyway.

 Her boss nodded, then placed his hands on the desktop and levered his bulk out of the leather chair. “You and me had a discussion about those policies just last week, didn’t we?

 “Yes.”

 “You came in here Friday afternoon, asking for permission to deviate from policy, so you could take an indigent and her child home with you for the weekend. You said it was too late to get them assigned to a shelter. Isn’t that right, Clancy?”

 “Yes.”

 “Did I give you permission to deviate from policy?” He moved around the desk toward her.

 “No.”

 He shoved his face to within three inches of Rue’s. “So why did I get a thank you letter from that same indigent person, praising your generous good nature?”

 Rue remained silent and still.

 “I got that letter because you went ahead and housed that indigent woman and her brat in your private residence. You defied me and the clearly stated policy of Crisis Services. Didn’t you?”

 “I lodged a protest first, sir.”

 “So you knew before you did it, that you acted against policy.”

 “Absolutely.”

 “Well, I absolutely gotta tell you that you might have been on ninety days unpaid suspension, pending a hearing by Quality Assurance Division as to the desirability of retaining your services as a case-worker.” He grinned and turned back to his desk.

 “Might have been?” Rue watched him fumble in his desk drawer. 

 He took out a squarish, unwrapped lump of gum, dusted something off the surface and shoved it into his mouth, continuing to smile and talk as he chewed. “Yeah, might have been. But see, you’ve been late so much that I get to fire you without going through all that garbage with the quality creeps.”

 “You can’t do that. You have to give me three warnings in one month before you can fire me for tardiness.”

 “You had three warnings as of last Monday.” He picked up a sheaf of papers and shoved them at her. “Here are your copies. Now, go clean out your desk. Hand in your keys to security on your way out of the building.”

 Mute, Rue took the papers and left. Her damned apartment. If the power hadn’t cut out while she slept, she never would have been late. She’d still have her job and money to pay the rent. She ought to sue the rental company for lost wages. She would have, if she’d had any savings to spend on a lawyer.

 At her desk, she sorted through the mail she’d brought with her from home. One letter was marked certified mail. Whoever sent this wanted to be certain I received it. She ripped the envelope open and scanned the contents of the letter, frowning as she read.

 Special Treatment Realty Management Corp. regrets to inform you that the property at 2235 Mayfield has failed to pass Detroit City safety inspections. We estimate that repairs will not be cost effective. Demolition will begin in four weeks. Residents must relocate within two weeks in order for demolition preparations to be made in a safe and timely manner. We regret any inconvenience and look forward to doing business with you in the future.

 “Great. Just what I needed,” she muttered in disgust. She tossed the letter into the trash, then headed for the hall storage closet. She retrieved two boxes and returned to her desk. Carolyn stood waiting for her.

 “You’re on suspension again, aren’t you?”

 “You could say that.” She felt Carolyn’s gaze.

 “There’s more, or you wouldn’t be so upset.”

 The statement called Rue’s attention to the tightness in her face, shoulders and neck. “I didn’t think it showed.”

 “It does, to someone who’s known you for seven years. What’s the problem?”

 “I’m not on suspension. I’ve been fired.”

 “I don’t suppose the boss made another mistake.”

 “No.” Rue gestured toward the papers. “He had all his ducks lined up this time.”

 “I’m so sorry. How will you pay your rent?”

 Rue chuckled, “I won’t have to.”

 “Excuse me?”

 “My apartment building’s being torn down. I have the next two weeks to find a new place to live and move my belongings.” Rue pulled the center drawer out of her desk and shook the contents into a box. She shoved the drawer back in with a bang.

 “Oh, Rue, I know how hard a time you’ve had since Paul cleaned out your bank account and left town.”

 “Don’t mention that name. It only reminds me how stupid I was to trust a man.”

 “They aren’t all bad. You know you like Scott.”

Rue did like Carolyn’s husband. “Everybody likes Scott. Besides, he’s not a man, he’s your husband.”

 Carolyn chuckled, “I’m not certain I appreciate that comment.”

 Rue blushed. “You know darn well what I meant.”

 “Sure I do. Just to prove there are no hard feelings, why don’t you come live with us?”

 Rue thought for two seconds about sharing the tiny one-bedroom apartment with Carolyn and her husband of four months. “I can’t do that. Even if you weren’t newlyweds, I need my privacy as much as you and Scott.”

 “What will you do?”

 “I don’t want to, but I’ll ask Aunt Shea to put me up until I can get a job and new living quarters.”

 “The aunt with the farm outside of Hamburg?”

 “Yeah. It’s spring, and she’ll be glad to give me room and board if I take on some of the chores.”

 “From what you’ve told me, your aunt would probably give you everything she owned, if she knew you were in trouble.”

 “That’s why I don’t want to call her, so she won’t know. And no conniving co-worker of mine will tell her. Right?"

 “Right.” Carolyn raised her right hand, palm outward. She held her left behind her back. “When will you leave for your aunt’s place?”

 Rue could imagine the crossed fingers on Carolyn’s left hand. “I’ll go out there today, but I won’t move my stuff for a week or so. I promise that I’ll give you a call when the move is final. Now, lend me a hand getting these boxes down to my car.”

 Carolyn grabbed a box. “I’ll miss seeing you at work. You’re the only one around here with the guts to stand up to the boss.”

 “I’ll miss you too, Carolyn.”

CHAPTER TWO

 Adam stared down the empty stretch of Michigan country back-road, hoping that if he stared long enough something would appear. Steam hissed and wailed from the radiator behind him.

 “Jack’s wrong. This is the stupidest challenge ever. I suppose an emergency repair kit is too much to expect,” Adam mumbled to himself, then turned and opened the hatchback of the rusted-out, candy-pink Gremlin.

 Wrappers from every fast food joint on the planet littered the storage space of the car. “Where did Raoul get this heap?” Giving a snort of disgust, Adam reached into the mass and felt a seam rip at the shoulder of his borrowed flannel shirt. “It couldn’t be the same person he got these clothes from. No one who eats this much junk food could be this small.”

 Adam shook off a clinging candy wrapper. “I should have kept my cell phone and my wallet,” he muttered, annoyed with himself for accepting Jack’s conditions without more thought.

 He slammed the hatchback shut, then stalked around to the front of the car. The hiss subsided, but the cat-like wail continued, sounding like his mother’s cursed Persian in heat.

 Adam smiled at the thought. Of all his mother’s charity cases, he liked the cat most. Though he’d be damned if he knew why, since it regularly left hairballs and other unpleasant gifts in his shoes. The feline complaint continued. Curious, Adam followed the caterwauling that came from the direction of the roadside ditch.

 Moments later, he found a cat covered in muck and pinned beneath a discarded oil drum. Gingerly, he lifted the metal barrel.

 Freed from the trashy weight, the cat should have raced away. It didn’t. It lay there, crying, struggling with its forepaws to drag itself out of the muck but was too weak or injured to succeed.

 “Just what I need.” Adam stooped over the cat once more, examining the muddy animal. “A broken cat to go with Raoul’s broken car. You couldn’t have been a nice, friendly dog. You had to be a cat. If I try to help, you’ll scratch me, won’t you?”

 He reached out and carefully dug away at the mud surrounding the feline until he could slide a hand beneath it. Then, one hand supporting the cat’s hind end and the other hand under its head, he lifted the animal free.

 Surprisingly, the cat didn’t scratch. It lay in Adam’s arms, its sides heaving, that heart-wrenching hideous wail coming from its throat.

 By the time he struggled out of the ditch, Adam was just as muddy as the cat. “Jack would be delighted if he could see how disreputable I look,” Adam told the beast.

 The exhausted cat stopped wailing.

 “Silence can be taken for consent, you know.”

 Once more, Adam looked down the dusty road. He hadn’t passed another vehicle in hours. “I don’t suppose you’d know where the nearest repair shop is?”

 The cat panted heavily.

 “A fat lot of help you are. If I want help, I’ll have to find it myself.”

 Settling the animal firmly in one arm held against his chest, Adam turned his back on the despised Gremlin. With Jack’s laughing challenge ringing in his ears, Adam stepped forward into the sunrise.

*          *          *

 Shea Doyle stood in the shadow of the barn and watched the man trudging up her lane. In her sixty odd years of life, she’d seen a lot of drifters and bums, but this one took the prize. He was dirty, like most of the men who came to her farm looking for work. She’d bet money he was hungry and thirsty too, just like the others. But in the twenty plus years that she’d worked Shea D’s Rest alone, she’d never seen a bum with so much muscle.
   This fella was an eyeful. His long legs marched carefully over the ruts in the lane. His dark head was bent, eyes focused on the uneven ground in front of him. Broad shoulders filled the muck-encrusted plaid shirt that strained at the buttons despite a large rip at one shoulder seam. Mud plastered ankle-length pants to his heavy thighs. He held his left arm bent across his middle where a huge, brown-black splotch decorated his shirt.
    Hector’s horsepucky, the man’s injured. Now I’ll have to tend him as well as feed him before he’ll be any good for work. Prob’ly have to buy him new clothes too. Maybe he only wants a handout, not a job. Too bad, I sure could use some cheap help.
    He reached the spot where the lane split between house and barn. Shea picked up an empty bucket. She left the barn and trundled her short, sturdy frame toward the man who stood wavering on his feet under her sugar maple. “Howdy. I’m Shea Doyle.” She up-ended the bucket in front of him. “You look mighty uncomfortable. Set yourself down, and I’ll take a look at that arm for you.”
    “The name is Adam. It’s not my arm than needs looking at.”  
    “If you say so. Why don’t I take a look-see anyhow?”
    “No, I’ve just got a cramp. It’s this cat that needs attention.”
    “Cat?” Shea looked closer. Two glassy green eyes peered at her from the stain on the man’s shirt. “You poor thing.” She stopped in mid-reach. “I’ll get some water. Be right back.”
    She returned quickly with a tray containing a small pan, some towels, a glass of milk, a saucer and a plate holding a sandwich and strawberries. Sitting down in front of Adam, she pointed to the tray. “Feed yourself while I take care of this critter.”
    “Thanks.”
    “You’re welcome.” She dipped some water out of the pan into the saucer, then grasped the cat gently and lifted it out of Adam’s arms.
    The cat mewled. The pitiful sound resembled a cross between a baby chick and a metal file in action.
    “I think he’s dehydrated and hurt, Mrs. Doyle. I found him this morning when my car broke down. I didn’t know what to do for him. But my mother would make Armageddon look like a tea party if she ever found out that I’d left an injured animal by the road.”
     “Call me Shea. Your momma sounds like a woman I’d admire. What happened to your car?”
     “My radiator overheated. I started out on foot at sunrise.”
     Shea set the cat on the ground near the saucer. It made a few feeble licks at the water with its tongue, then lay panting, as if exhausted by that small effort. Carefully, she started to clean mud and dirt from the cat.
     The cat was partially cleaned when Shea discovered three deep gashes in its side. “I gotta get this critter to a vet. You look pretty beat too, Adam. Take yourself and that food up to the hammock on the porch and rest ‘til I get back.” She bundled the cat into the dry towels and stood. “Don’t suppose you’d be interested in a job?”
    “I might be.”
    “It’s only seasonal farm work. But I need a hired hand.”
     “I’ll think about it.”
     “So will I. We’ll talk when I get back.”
     With the cat in her arms, she strode to a battered pick up truck. She placed the cat inside, then pulled herself into the cab. A minute later, the truck rattled down the lane, and Adam was alone.
     Adam did as Shea suggested. He’d never used a hammock before, but he managed to get himself settled. While he finished the sandwiches, he assessed what he could see of the place. A dilapidated rail fence separated a field from the jumble of buildings grouped near the house. Even though the paint was peeling and a few boards were missing here and there, most of the structures looked sturdy enough.
     He guessed that the one surrounded by wire was a chicken coop. No doubt the large building farthest from the house was a barn. Without closer inspection, the other small buildings escaped analysis. Shea was right about two things. She definitely needed help—probably more than one man could provide. And he was beat. The late morning sun and the slight sway of the hammock had him closing his eyes. The chirp of insects and gentle rustle of leaves sang him to sleep.  

*          *          * 

  As Rue eased her car up next to the barn, she noted the battered farm truck was missing. Aunt Shea must have gone to the market, Rue thought. She got out of the car, taking a small traveling case from the passenger’s seat. I’ll get settled and make some lunch, so the two of us can chat when she returns. Focused on what she intended to say to her aunt, Rue strode across the dirt-packed yard, her well-worn flats making little noise when she climbed the porch steps.
    At the far end of the porch, the hammock creaked. Rue set her case down, turning toward the sound as she spoke, “Horace, do you—Oh, my.” She stared at the man asleep in the swaying hammock. “You’re not Horace,” Rue whispered.
     Horace was the large, homely, unkempt friend of her aunt’s who shod the horses once a month and mooched off Shea’s generosity on a semi-regular basis. The man in the hammock was large too. The stranger was also unkempt, to put it mildly. However, this man was anything but homely.
     Handsome didn’t quite do justice to the broad forehead, high cheekbones and strong, narrow jaw. Ebony lashes adorned his shuttered eyelids and echoed the hue of the fine, thick hair that feathered over his smooth brow. Her gaze drifted across wide shoulders and narrow hips to long legs.
     Rue’s throat went dry. Her ex-boyfriend, Paul, had been almost this good-looking. And Paul had conned her out of her savings.
     The man’s generous mouth lifted at the corners. Whatever he’s dreaming about, he’s certainly pleased with himself, Rue surmised. I wonder who he is and what he’s doing in Shea’s hammock? Is it safe to wake him up? Her glance took in the half-full glass of milk and crumb-laden plate on the floor. He’s either a very stupid thief or another of Aunt Shea’s strays. Rue groaned and decided that the latter was more likely. She gave the fellow’s shoulder a nudge. “Hey,” she said loudly, “Who are you, and what are you doing here?”
     Adam sat bolt upright and immediately tumbled out of the hammock. His head struck the hard planks of the porch, giving him a beetle’s eye view of the flowers that crowded the edge of the structure. “Ow.”
     Above him a cool feminine alto murmured, “Do you always exit a hammock on your head, or is falling on your face a common form of greeting where you come from?”
     The woman’s sunny, spiced aroma mixed with the perfume of the flowers. Adam turned his aching head. Small feet encased in dusty leather flats came into view. Delicate ankles and graceful calves blurred in his vision. The woman’s legs stretched a long way up, disappearing into the shadows of her navy blue skirt. For a moment, the pain in his head dulled and Adam rose to his knees.
     “Ordinarily, I stand up when I meet a beautiful woman for the first time. I’m not usually attacked and pushed to the floor until the second date.”
     The woman gave a ladylike snort, then spun on her heels. “Wait there. I’ll get something for your head.”
     He watched, dumbstruck by the shift of her hips and the play of tight navy blue over her rounded bottom. Smooth, Talcott, real smooth. You meet an attractive woman and what do you do? You make sexual innuendoes without even discovering her name. You must have taken idiot pills for breakfast. No wonder you accepted Jack’s stupid challenge.
     By the time she returned with water and a towel, he’d regained his feet.
     “Come over here and sit, while I take a look at that bump.” She gestured to one of the two rattan chairs that flanked a low table at the opposite end of the porch.
     Adam took one step forward and heard a clink followed by a crunch. He looked down to see his foot surrounded by broken glass and spilled milk. The milk spread rapidly across the porch. He raised his eyes to meet the woman’s gaze and got his first good look at her.
     Words jammed in his throat. The legs he’d seen earlier should have belonged to a tall, blonde amazon. They didn’t. She was a sprite. Probably about five foot…and comfortably endowed. A cloud of red-brown hair surrounded high cheekbones adorned with clear, honey-colored skin. Her nose was a bit too broad to be elegant. Long, thick lashes framed warm, maple sugar eyes that stared at him with mild contempt.
     His body stirred, alert to the attraction he felt. Dizziness buzzed in his ears. He struggled to hear the words issuing from rose-tinted lips.
     “Walk much or just practice a lot?” she queried.
     Adam grunted. He’d rather be knocked sideways with a two-by-four than let her know how off balance she made him. Determined to show self-control, he stepped boldly forward. He managed two strides before he slipped and landed solidly on his backside. The impact knocked the breath from him. With the sudden loss of oxygen, a burning sensation flooded his body. He opened his mouth, gasping for air. A red mist filled his vision.
     As if from a distance, her voice sounded. “Oh, you poor man. I’m so sorry I teased you. I had no idea you were disabled. Here, let me help you. Have you had balance problems all your life?”
     Adam sucked in huge gulps of air. The red mist resolved itself into a mass of curls. The burning subsided into an ache that hounded every bone and muscle. He could feel her small, warm fingers wrapped around one of his hands and the pressure of her arm lifting his head from the floor.
     “I’m okay,” he managed to get out between breaths.
     “Hold on to me while you get up.”
     There was an invitation he couldn’t refuse. Adam gripped her arm with his free hand and levered himself upward. She stood as he rose. Once upright, he leaned heavily against her for a moment, taking full advantage of her innocent generosity. She was soft, too soft to resist.
     “Can you walk, if I help you balance?”
     “I think so.” He let her support him all the way to the chairs where he sat down. She tried to pull her hand away, but he held on. “Thank you.”
     She blushed. “You’re welcome.”
     He let go of her hand and gazed into her wary brown eyes.

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Copyright,
Susan C. Charnley,
January 2006.
Most recent update,
October 2008

Top border art courtesy of  
Bradley W. Schenck, http://www.webomator.com/bws.