Seeking Single Male

“No.”

“Then what was that loud thump?”

“I threw him out, and he sort of, um, bounced off the wall.”

He shook his head. “Alex assures me you can take care of yourself, but why would you invite a stranger to your apartment?”

“He looked trustworthy. And like I said, he said he was gay.” Then she frowned. “Or rather, he let me think he was gay.”

Jack scratched his temple. “Couldn’t you tell?”

“What a completely homophobic thing to say.”

He sighed. “Forget it. Should I go after the guy?”

Lana thought about it, then shook her head. “Nah. I don’t think he’s dangerous.”

“You also thought he was gay.”

“Yeah, but I don’t think he meant to harm me. In fact, I had the strangest feeling he was…scared of me when I resisted.”

“I’m scared of you,” Jack said. “So, did you hurt him?”

“He has a few bruises, I suppose. And I sprayed him in the face with this—” She held up the pump spray bottle. “Extra hold.”

Jack winced. “Do you know his name, just in case he shows up again?”

“He said his name was Greg Healey.”

Her neighbor’s eyes widened. “Greg Healey?”

She nodded. “He said he was an attorney. Do you know him?”

A laugh exploded from Jack’s mouth. “I used to know a Greg Healey. But it can’t be the same guy.”

“Mid-thirties, dark hair, stuffed shirt.”

Jack pursed his mouth. “Sounds right, but the Greg Healey I knew was a wealthy SOB—he wouldn’t have been looking for a roommate. Damn unlikable. And for that matter, he wouldn’t have been looking for a woman.”

“Let me guess—he’s gay?” she asked with an arched brow.

“No. But he was a seriously confirmed bachelor.”

“Like you?” she teased, nodding toward the gleaming wedding band on his finger.

“More so,” he assured her.

“Must be a different guy,” she said with a shrug, wanting to erase the disturbing incident from her mind. “I guess I should chalk it up to experience and get back to the coffee shop.”

Jack shook his finger. “Don’t invite strange men back to your apartment until you know what you’re dealing with.”

She stood erect and saluted. “Sir, yes, sir.” Lana pretended to click her tennis shoe heels together, then returned to her apartment for her purse and coat. But she was immensely troubled by the fact that equal to the relief for her safety, she felt a curious sense of loss. She had sensed a connection between herself and Greg Healey, darn it, and had been looking forward to a new friendship. Before he’d gone and ruined it all with that kiss of his.

Lana slipped her coat off Harry’s shoulder, then angled her head at him. “I think we should make a pact, Harry old boy. If I haven’t found a decent man by the time I’m ninety-five, and you still have air left in you, what say we tie the knot?”

He stared at her with a big permanent grin.

“Oh, good grief, don’t tell me you’re gay.” She sighed, tracing her finger around the lock of brown hair printed on his wide forehead. “I don’t blame you—the man was rather extraordinary looking, wasn’t he?”

Harry’s big vacant eyes looked at her pityingly.

“I know, I’m getting desperate.” She laughed ruefully. “It must be the holidays. Just don’t tell anyone, okay?” Lana planted a kiss on his plastic cheek and walked out the door, trying to salvage her attitude. She wasn’t about to give Greg Healey the satisfaction of ruining her day—not when so many other things were vying for that special honor.

GREG’S LINGERING INCREDULITY over his encounter with Lana Martina weighted his foot on the accelerator. The black Porsche coupe responded well to his frustration, gripping the curves of the winding driveway leading to the three-story house where he’d spent the majority of his life. His father had ordered that the sprawling structure on Versailles Road be constructed from genuine limestone mined from fertile Kentucky ground. The Healey homestead was a virtual fortress, and would be standing long after the family name died out.

And that would, quite possibly, happen fairly soon, since perpetuating the Healey name depended on his or Will’s producing offspring. His parents had intended that the rooms be filled with grandchildren and great-grandchildren, but they hadn’t counted on Greg’s opposition to marriage, or on Will’s special problems.

Flanked by towering hardwoods standing leafless but proud, the house never failed to lift his spirits. Until now. Now all he wanted was to take a shower, rinse his stinging eyes, and change his clothing that reeked of musty carpet.

The woman could certainly defend herself, he conceded. Almost as well as she could kiss. Not that it mattered, since she was a tease and a nut. He couldn’t imagine how much that woman would have messed with Will’s mind.

Spotting a large package by the front door, he parked in front of the four-car garage and made his way around the sweeping sidewalk to the main entrance. He caught a glimpse of his disheveled self in the glass of the doors and was glad their housekeeper, Yvonne, was away visiting her brother for a couple of days, or else she’d give him the third degree about his appearance and his impromptu trip home in the middle of the day.

But when he realized that the carton contained the saddle he’d ordered for Will for Christmas, he was almost glad for the incident; otherwise Will might have seen the box. Almost being the operative word, considering the bruises Coffee Girl had inflicted upon his person and his pride. Still, Greg admitted with a wry smile as he wrestled the box inside the door, it would be nice to surprise his brother for once.

“Whatcha got, Gregory?”

His brother’s voice startled him so badly he nearly dropped the carton in the foyer. “Jesus, Will, I wasn’t expecting you to be here.”

Will held up a thick sandwich. “I forgot to pack my lunch this morning. Want some help?”

“No, that’s okay—”

With his free arm, Will took the box from him as if it were a bale of goose down. “Is it a new telescope?”

Greg blinked. He hadn’t thought of his broken telescope in months, and it had come up twice today, once with Miss Looney Tunes, and now with Will. “Er, yeah, it is,” he lied, glad the return address label of Cloak’s Saddlery had gone unnoticed.

“Good. I’ll take it upstairs for you,” Will said, hoisting the box to his shoulder while nonchalantly taking a bite out of the sandwich.

Greg followed, shaking his head. He himself was a big man, but Will’s stocky frame was solid muscle from his strenuous job on Kelty’s stud farm that bordered their property. The gentle giant carried the carton to Greg’s suite and deposited it in a closet, none the wiser that he’d just stowed his own gift.

Greg envied his brother sometimes—working outdoors, doing what he loved—and today was one of those times. Tugging on his tie, he suddenly dreaded returning to that damnable corner office. As far as he was concerned, the Hyde Parkland rezoning proposal couldn’t be approved soon enough. He entertained a moment of vindictive pleasure at the knowledge that Lana Martina would be out of a job—she’d regret she hadn’t earned that four hundred dollars when she’d had the chance.

“Gregory, your eye is bruised. Did someone hit you?” Will leaned close for a better look.

He sighed and ran a hand over his eye, wishing he could think of a good lie. But Will had to know how risky the singles scene could be. “I met Coffee Girl this morning.”

His brother’s eyes lit up. “You did?”