“Not much to tell,” Miss Gaspich said. “I was a personal secretary to the president of an insurance company for fifty years. I took the job right out of high school, and when my boss died at age eighty-three I retired. That was five years ago. I gave up my apartment and moved into the hotel for ladies on my pension and small savings. I never thought I’d find myself living in a train station. I suppose I should have put more away for a rainy day, but I always thought…” Miss Gaspich gave her head a shake. “I don’t know what I thought. I never had a good head for business.”
“Never married?”
“No. The right man never came along, and I wasn’t the one to settle. I always had a cat.”
Berry entered the darkened kitchen on tiptoe. It was twelve o’clock, and if she had any luck at all, no one would wake up. She inched across the floor, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dim light, and almost screamed out loud when she stumbled into Jake.
His voice was soft and lethally lazy. “It’s late.”
Berry used to go fishing with her uncle Joe back in McMinneville. They’d sit all day in the warm shade of a willow tree, listening to the hypnotic drone of dragonflies and crickets, and then when she was just about asleep, Uncle Joe’s voice would buzz low in her ear. “Well, look at this. This big ol’ catfish is finally taking my bait. If we just wait here nice and quiet that fish’ll hook himself and we’ll have catfish for dinner.”
That was the sort of voice Jake had used. A catfish-catching voice.
Berry made an effort to swallow the panic that was rising in her chest. “Miss Gaspich and Bill left early, and I stayed around to tidy up.”
His hands were at her neck, massaging little circles. “You feel tense.”
You bet I’m tense, she thought. I’m not as dumb as that ol’ catfish. I know when I’m about to get reeled in.
She felt his breath whisper through her hair while his hands slid over her shoulders and nestled against the fullness of her breasts. It was an act of gentle possession. As was the taking of her mouth: a silent affirmation of the power he held over her. His tongue touched hers in confident intimacy, and she felt his arousal stir against her belly. She placed both hands against his chest and pushed away. “Lord, you’re probably murder on catfish, too.”
Even in the dark she could see the look of astonishment on his face. “Catfish?” He rested his head against the refrigerator and groaned. “Do you hear someone at the front door?”
“Miss Gaspich?”
The door opened, and Bill’s voice drifted through the dark house in a stage whisper. “Mildred, I had a great time tonight.”
Miss Gaspich’s answer was low and indiscernible. There was a prolonged silence.
“Holy smoke,” Berry said, “you don’t suppose they’re…”
“Sounds to me like he’s got a more cooperative partner than I do.”
Berry and Jake cringed at the unmistakable
“Mmmmmmmildred!” Mrs. Dugan pronounced it like a drum roll.
“This is Bill Kozinski,” Miss Gaspich said. “We were just saying good night.”
“He has a tattoo.”
“It’s an anchor. He was in the navy.”
A car door slammed in the driveway, and Mrs. Fitz and Harry joined the party.
“What the devil is this?” Mrs. Fitz demanded. “Why isn’t everyone asleep?”
Mrs. Dugan stood her ground. “You’d like that. You’d like to have the living room all to yourself, I suppose.”
“Darn right. How’re we supposed to neck with you standing there gawking at us?”
Bill put his arm around Harry’s shoulders. “Time to leave.”
They made a quick exit.
Mrs. Fitz glared at Mrs. Dugan. “See what you’ve done. You made them go away.”
Mrs. Dugan shook her finger at Mrs. Fitz. “You’ll never catch a man that way. Everyone knows men don’t buy what they can get for free.”
“Well, that’s fine with me ’cause I don’t want to be bought.”
“Me either.” Miss Gaspich giggled. “I don’t want to be bought, but I might be persuaded to give it away for free.”
Mrs. Dugan and Mrs. Fitz instantly turned scarlet. “Mildred!”
“I think we should all go into the kitchen and make a nice pot of tea.” Miss Gaspich smiled pleasantly. “I’m just dying to tell someone about Bill.”
Chapter Seven
Berry sipped her orange juice and watched Jake from the corner of her eye. He was clearly lost in his own thoughts. He glanced at the clock while he unconsciously drank his coffee. An air of brooding expectancy gave his dark eyebrows an ominous slant. She’d successfully avoided him since the kitchen encounter, trying with little success to sort out her feelings. It was like playing the game of plucking petals off a daisy. Keep The Plan. Junk The Plan. Keep The Plan. Junk The Plan.
In the beginning it had been her body that wanted to junk The Plan, but more and more, it was her mind that wanted to love Jake Sawyer. Oddly enough, he carried a sense of order and security with him. His lifestyle was a little extravagant, what with one-of-a-kind cars and exploding cereal, but his house was a home. That was the part that really scared her. Was she still looking for someone to take care of her mittens? Was she still looking for someone to fill in the blanks in her personality? Jake Sawyer was the man every woman dreamed of, but some incomprehensible, elusive instinct gnawed at her stomach when she thought of commitment to him.
Mrs. Fitz hadn’t noticed Jake’s preoccupation. She was contemplating the raspberry-colored egg on her breakfast plate. “Looks like Jell-O. Is it Jell-O?”
Jake checked the clock one more time. “Nope. It’s not Jell-O.”
Mrs. Fitz tried to cut it, but it skittered across the table. “Slippery little devil,” she remarked.
Berry had a similar object on her plate. It was green. “You sure this is edible?”
Jake looked injured. “Of course it’s edible. It’s also entirely natural and high in protein.”
“How’d it get green?”
“Spinach extract.”
Berry rolled it onto her spoon and watched in dismay as it slithered off Slinky style. “How do you eat it?”
Jake leaned back in his chair. “That’s the fun part.”
“You have a bizarre idea of fun.”
This was better than a room filled with first graders, Jake thought. He got to test out ideas on the ladies. Tomorrow he was going to see what they thought of his dancing Brussels sprouts.
Mrs. Fitz poked the egglike thing with her finger. “Is this a bedroom toy? Is this for those people who spray themselves with whipped cream?”
Mrs. Dugan looked up horrified. “Land sakes, Lena. You’re such a pervert. Where do you get these ideas?”
“Well, it don’t seem right for breakfast,” Mrs. Fitz complained. “At seven o’clock in the morning I don’t have the energy to chase my food around.”
Miss Gaspich glanced at her watch. “It’s not seven o’clock. It’s nine-thirty. It’s Saturday.”
“It don’t matter. It’s still too early.”
Mrs. Dugan looked disdainfully at Mrs. Fitz. “If you got to bed at a reasonable time, you’d be able to get up in the morning. I think it’s disgraceful, a woman your age staying out to all hours with that man.”
Mrs. Fitz narrowed her eyes at Mrs. Dugan. “What do you mean a woman my age? I’m not so old. Besides, I’m getting younger now that I have a beau. Haven’t had this much fun in twenty years.”
Miss Gaspich looked happily pensive as she stirred her tea. “I think I’m in love,” she said.
