It Must Be Love

her mother would tell her anyway.

'Three days ago, while your aunt Yolanda and I were in Mexico, your grandfather ran over Mrs. Youngerman's poodle.'

She almost dropped the receiver and had to grab it with a soapy hand. 'Oh, no! Not little Murray?'

'Yes, I'm afraid so. Smashed him flatter than a crepe. Sent his soul to poodle paradise, poor thing. I'm not altogether sure it was an accident and neither is Mrs. Youngerman. You know how your grandfather felt about Murray.'

Yes, Gabrielle knew how her grandfather felt about the neighbor's dog. Little Murray had not only been a nonstop barker, but he'd been a habitual leg-humper, too. Gabrielle didn't like to think her grandfather would go so far as to purposely run the dog over, but at the same time, Murray had directed his ardent attention to her grandfather's calf on more than one occasion, and she couldn't rule out the possibility.

'That's not all. This afternoon, Yolanda and I paid a condolence visit, and while I was sitting in Mrs. Youngennan's front room, trying to calm her, I felt the space behind my forehead clear. I'm telling you, Gabrielle, it was the strongest clairvoyant vision I've ever had. The vision was so clear to me. I could see the dark curls of hair brushing his ears. He's a tall man…'

'Tall, dark, and handsome, huh?' Once again she cradled the telephone between her shoulder and ear, then set to work on the dinner plates.

'Oh, yes. I can't tell you how excited I was.'

'Yeah, I'll bet,' Gabrielle murmured. She ran the plates under water, then set them in the dish drainer.

'But he isn't for me.'

'Bummer. Is he Aunt Yolanda's?'

'He's your fate. You're to have a passionate romance with the man in my vision.'

'I don't want a romance, Mother,' Gabrielle sighed and dropped the salad bowls and tea glasses into the sink. 'My life just can't take the excitement right now.' She wondered how many mothers predicted passionate lovers for their daughters. Probably not many, she guessed.

'You know you can't wish fate away, Gabrielle,' titie voice on the other end scolded.

'You can fight it if you choose, but the outcome will always remain the same. I know you don't believe in fate as strongly as I do, and I would never tell you that you're wrong. I've always encouraged you to seek your own spiritual feast, to choose your own path to enlightenment When you were born…'

Gabrielle rolled her eyes. Claire Breedlove had never imposed, dictated, or dominated her daughter. She'd introduced her to the world and insisted Gabrielle choose her own path. For the most part, living with a mother who believed in free love and freedom had been great, but there had been those years in the late seventies and early eighties when Gabrielle had envied children who took nice normal vacations to Disneyland instead of dowsing for Indian relics in Arizona or communing with nature at a clothing optional beach in northern California.

'… when I was thirty, I was gifted with second sight,' Claire continued with her favorite story. 'I remember it as if it happened yesterday. As you know, it was during our summer of spiritual awakening, shortly after your father died. I didn't just wake up one morning and choose my psychic ability. I was chosen.'

'I know, Mom,' she answered as she rinsed the bowls and glasses and set them in the drainer.

'Then you know what I'm telling you isn't something I've made up. I saw him, Gabrielle, and you will have a passionate encounter with this man.'

'A few months ago that might have been welcome news, but not today,' Gabrielle sighed. 'I don't think I have the energy for passion.'

'I don't think you have a choice. He had a very stubborn look about him. Forceful. He was actually rather frightening. Such intense, dark eyes and such a sensual look about his mouth.'

A chill ran up Gabrielle's spine to the base of her neck, and slowly she lowered a pot into the dishwater.

'As I said, I thought he was mine, and I was absolutely thrilled. I mean, if's not every day fate hands a woman my age a young man in tight jeans and a tool belt.'

Gabrielle stared at the white bubbles, her throat suddenly dry. 'He could be yours.'

'No. He looked right through me and whispered your name. There was such unmistakable desire in his voice, I thought I just might faint for the first time in my life.'

Gabrielle knew the feeling. She felt faint herself.

'Mrs. Youngerman became so concerned she momentarily forgot all about poor Murray. I'm telling you, dear, I saw your fate. You've been blessed with a passionate lover. He's a marvelous gift.'

'But I don't want him. Take him back!'

'I can't take him back, and by the look on his face, I have a feeling that what you want isn't going to matter.'

Ridiculous. Her mother was only right about one thing, Gabrielle didn't believe in fate. If she didn't choose to have a passionate affair with a man wearing a tool belt, then she just would not.

By the time Gabrielle hung up the telephone, she was numb and a little shaken. Over the years, she'd come to think of her mother's psychic predictions in terms of Pin the Tail on the Donkey. Sometimes her visions were off the wall and headed in the wrong direction, sometimes they were reasonably close, and every now and then she pinned them so accurately it was spooky.

Gabrielle turned back to the sink and reminded herself that her mother had also foretold the reunion of Sonny and Cher, Donald and Ivana, and Bob Dylan and Joan Baez. Obviously, when it came to amorous psychic predictions, Claire didn't have a clue.

This time her mother was off the wall and spinning out of control. Gabrielle didn't want a passionate dark- haired lover. She didn't want to think of Joe Shanahan as anything other than a hard-nosed cop.

But that night she dreamed of him for the first time. She dreamed he came into her bedroom, looking at her through heavy dark eyes, sensuality curving a corner of his mouth, and wearing nothing but his deep red aura. When she woke the next morning, she didn't know whether she'd just had the most erotic dream of her life or experienced her worst nightmare.

Chapter Eight

No doubt about it. The dream had been a nightmare.

The second Joe set foot in Anomaly the next morning, wearing a pair of jeans worn soft in all the right places and a Cactus Bar T-shirt, Gabrielle's whole body flushed. She'd purposely worn her green-and-black lace crinkle dress to work because it was comfortable and cool, but the moment her eyes locked with his, her body temperature shot up and she'd had to go into the bathroom and press cold paper towels to her cheeks. She couldn't even look at him without remembering the way he'd touched her and the things he'd whispered to her in her dream. Things he wanted to do and where he wanted to start.

She tried to keep herself busy and her mind off Joe, but Thursdays were typically slow, and today was no exception. She squeezed drops of orange and rose oil into the defuser and lit the tea candle beneath. Once the store began to fill with the blend of citrus and floral scents, she took apart a display of cut crystal nymphs and butterflies. She dusted and rearranged, and out of the corner of her eye watched him spackle the holes left in the far wall by the shelving system he'd moved the day before. Her gaze moved up his spine to the back of his head, and she remembered the way she'd imagined his hair would feel between her fingers. It had seemed so real, but of course it had only happened in her mind, and she felt silly letting it knock her off balance and letting it affect her in the light of day.

As if he could feel her eyes on him, Joe looked over his shoulder and caught her scrutiny. His watchful gaze stared back, and she quickly turned her attention to a frolicking nymph, but not before her cheeks burned.

As usual, Kevin stayed in the office with the door closed for most of the morning, talking to suppliers or wholesalers or taking care of his other business interests. Thursdays were Mara's day off, so more than likely, Gabrielle knew she would find herself alone with Joe until closing. She took deep controlling breaths and tried not to think of the hours stretching before her. Empty hours. Alone. With Joe.