Man With A Message

She met his lips avidly, basking in the almost-forgotten comfort of the shelter of a man’s arms.

HER RESPONSE WAS FAR MORE enthusiastic than Cam had expected. He wasn’t entirely sure what was happening here, except that it wasn’t what he’d originally intended. He’d been teasing her, playing with their previous connection, trying to taunt the stiffness out of her because…he wasn’t sure why. Stiff, tight women weren’t his type. And neither were small ones. They made him feel huge and inept and afraid to move.

But she wrapped her arms around him gamely, dipped the tip of her tongue into his mouth with tantalizing eagerness, combed her fingers into the hair at the back of his neck and somehow touched something inside him that seemed to rip in two everything he thought he’d decided about women since his first wife, Allison.

Then without warning she sagged against him, dropping her forehead to his chest and remaining absolutely still for several seconds. When she raised her head, her eyes were stormy with something he couldn’t quite define.

She punched his shoulder as if to release some pent-up emotion. But it didn’t seem to be anger.

“Now you’re going to have to come back tomorrow,” he said, trying to lighten the abrupt sadness in the room, “and apologize for hitting me again.”

“So this is what’s taking so long,” a female voice said from the doorway.

Cam looked up and Mariah started guiltily out of his arms.

“Parker!” she said, her voice sounding strangled. “I’m sorry I kept you waiting. I thought the dog was devouring him and came in to…”

Parker glanced at Cam, still partially wrapped in a blanket, then listened interestedly as Mariah tried to explain, then gave up. It did sound ridiculous.

“Oh, never mind.” Mariah looked up at Cam, opened her mouth to speak, then apparently decided against it. “Goodbye,” she said, instead. She walked past Parker and out the door. Fred whined.

“Good morning, Parker,” Cam said politely, feigning a normalcy the situation denied.

Parker, who’d always been warm and kind to him the few times they’d met in city hall, now studied him with a measure of doubt. “Mariah’s my sister,” she said.

He nodded. “Hank told me.” He explained briefly about Fred and his growling game. “It was 4:00 a.m. when I got home. I pulled my shoes and socks off on the porch because I was drenched, came in with an armload of stuff and kicked the door closed—or thought I had. When Mariah heard Fred playing, she assumed I was in trouble and came in to rescue me.”

“That kiss was a thank-you?” she queried.

“No,” he replied. “You should probably ask her what it was.”

She nodded and prepared to leave. He walked her to the door, where she stopped and smiled. “She’s a very nice girl who’s had a very bad time recently.”

He leaned a shoulder in the doorway. “The ex-husband?”

Parker looked surprised. “She told you?”

“Only that she had one.”

“He was a good guy,” Parker explained, “who turned out to be a bastard. I’d hate to have that happen to her again.”

“Don’t worry, she’s learned to defend herself,” he said with a wry smile. “She keeps hitting me.”

Parker frowned. “She came to apologize for that.”

He laughed lightly. “She did. Then she hit me again.” He straightened and assured her seriously, “I’m not a bastard. My background isn’t pretty and I wouldn’t claim to be a good guy, but I’m not a threat to anybody’s safety, either.”

She studied him, as if deciding whether or not to believe him. Then she finally nodded. “Okay. I’ll take your word on that. Otherwise, I know how to massage your shoulder into your eye socket.”

“Rough women in your family,” he noted with a grin.

She smiled pleasantly and hurried down the stairs.

Cam closed and locked the door, fed Fred, then decided against cereal in favor of stopping at Perk Avenue coffee shop on his way to work. He deserved a little sugar after what he’d been through this morning.

In the bedroom, he yanked off the blanket, delved into the closet for fresh jeans and a sweatshirt and started toward the bathroom, but something sparkling in the middle of the bed caught his attention. He reached for it and found that it was a little gold hoop with three tiny beads—an earring. Mariah’s earring.

He tossed it in his hand, remembering her leaping to his rescue, sprawled in the middle of his bed, leaning into him as he kissed her.

He had to draw a breath to clear the images. He didn’t need this. If he did intend to get involved with a woman, he wanted some buxom, uncomplicated ray of sunshine who’d want to make a home, raise children and help him forget all he’d lost or never had.

He didn’t need a tiny brunette with troubled eyes who’d had “a hard time.”

He tossed the earring again as he headed for the bathroom, caught it, then stopped with a growl of complaint when it bit into his hand. He opened his palm to find that his overzealous grab had caused the sharp post to jab his ring finger.

A metaphor for his involvement with her? he wondered.

CHAPTER FIVE

THE SECOND MORNING AFTER the deluge, Mariah encouraged her little troupe to finish breakfast so that they could get to school on time. They were rushed this morning. Mariah had overslept—something she never did—and it had taken Ashley’s violent shaking to wake her up.

“I’m sorry I have to hurry you,” she explained, shooing the girls upstairs to brush their teeth. “I know it’s all my fault, but we can still be on time if we put some effort into it.

“We were late yesterday,” Philip said, “and nobody cared.”

“That was because of the excitement the night before. But today it’s our responsibility to be punctual.”

“There’s still no carpet,” Amy complained as she and the other girls started up the stairs.

Mariah nodded. “We have to wait for the wood to dry. It’ll be replaced at the end of the week.”

“So, where do you think the gold is?” Peter asked Brian as the three boys, teeth already brushed, shouldered their backpacks.

Brian considered. “Cam says I have to do more research.”

“Well, where else could it be?” Philip asked.

“I’m thinking maybe in…”

Mariah missed whatever it was he thought as he lowered his voice to a whisper.

Brian had dropped Cam’s name at every opportunity since the flood. The boy had acquired status among the other children because the man who’d rescued Mariah had asked him to help. He was clearly enjoying his popularity.

Mariah tried not to think about that night—or yesterday morning. Her behavior in Cam’s apartment had to have been a result of her embarrassment at discovering that he hadn’t been in danger at all, simply playing with Fred. Added to that was the fact that she hadn’t seen a partially naked man in a long time, and the fact that the hormones she’d been sure had died with her marriage were still very lively. She had to have lost her mind just a bit.

Otherwise, why would she have practically asked him to kiss her?

Why would she have enjoyed it?