Fiancé at Her Fingertips (4 page)

Sir Walter Scott’s quote about tangled webs and deceit popped into Debra’s head.

“Gee, thanks, Walt,” she said with a disgusted shake of her head. “I really needed that.”

The next morning Debra and Suzi arrived at the club at the same time.

“You’d better do some stretching and warm up beforehand, lady,” Suzi teased. “You aren’t getting any younger, you know.”

Debra pulled a face at her friend. “Just remember, you’re not that far behind me, Miss Thirty-going-on-thirty-
something
now.”

“Yeah, well, that’s a year away. And at least I will always be behind
you
.”

Debra finished loosening up, then hit the running track. “And that’s where you’ll be staying!” she called out. She took off at a good clip, gratified that Suzi, despite her friend’s athletic ability, couldn’t catch her. Not that Debra was in great shape; but at five-foot-one, Suzi had legs that were just lots shorter.

Debra jogged up behind two coeds in spandex conversing about the latest gorgeous man they’d seen, and she gave a disgusted grunt. How on earth did people run and talk at the same time?

“Did you see that great-looking guy playing racquetball earlier?”

“The one with the dark hair and awesome muscles? Of course I saw him. As a matter of fact, I even talked to him.”

“You didn’t! What did he say? What did you say?”

“I introduced myself and asked if he would like to catch a bite after he finished working out.”

“You didn’t!”

“I did!”

“Oh, my gosh! What did he say?”

“He said he was sorry, but that he was dating someone special and didn’t think he should be taking other girls to lunch, regardless of how nice and pretty they were.”

Debra smirked. Sounded like something a litigator would say. Or a diplomat.

“Did you get his name? Maybe his relationship won’t work out.”

“Logan. His name was Logan. He—”

Debra tripped and went sprawling to the ground. She remained there until Suzi caught up to her.

“Geez, Deb. Are you all right?” her friend asked. “It looked like you tripped over your own feet.”

“I’m okay,” Debra wheezed.

Suzi put out a hand and assisted her to her feet. “Do you still feel up to racquetball? Maybe we should skip playing and just hit Taco Time.”

Debra shook her head. “I’m fine. I’ll just go sign us in.”

She limped to the front desk and flashed her membership credentials at the young man working there. Grabbing a pencil, she let her gaze stray to the earlier log entries. A name written in a dark, bold hand jumped out at her. She gasped, and the pencil snapped in two.

The signature scrawled above hers, it wasn’t…it couldn’t be…Debra closed her eyes. She opened one, squinted at the clipboard, and then opened the other. The name was still there. She put a hand to her head and rubbed a throbbing temple. The log read,
8:00–9:00 Logan Alexander
.

Logan Alexander? As in, Logan “Fiancé at Your Fingertips” Alexander?

Debra shook her head. No way. They wouldn’t use real-live people in a retail novelty gift. Would they? She shook her head again to clear it. No. Of course not. This had to be
another one of those bizarre coincidences, another Logan Alexander altogether. But the situation was beginning to freak her out.

“Excuse me,” she said to the club employee on duty. “Could you please tell me about this Logan Alexander who played racquetball earlier? You see, I, uh, know a Logan Alexander, and I’m wondering if it might be the same person.”

The young man shook his head back and forth slowly. “I’m sorry. We’re not allowed to give out information on members. Club policy.”

“I just want to know if it’s the same one. Is he an attorney? Does he come here often? What does he look like? Is he about a thirty-four long?” She leaned across the counter. “Does he wear boxers or briefs?”

The youngster gave her a disbelieving scowl. “I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said again. “I can’t give out that information, even if I knew. Which, believe me, I don’t. The best advice I have is to hang out like everyone else and try to catch him. Sorry.”

“What do you mean, like everyone else?” Debra asked. “Have other people asked about him?”

The employee gave her a get-real look. “You kidding?” he asked. “If I had a dollar for every woman who inquired about that dude in the last month or so, I’d have my first term of college tuition paid for by now.”

“I see,” Debra said, annoyed by the fact that this kid had relegated her to groupie status. “Thanks anyway.” She tossed the pencil pieces down and went back to Suzi.

“Well, that took long enough. You weren’t flirting, were you? You’ve got ten years on that kid, you know,” her friend warned.

“Today it feels more like twenty,” Debra mumbled, and headed to the racquetball court, ready to inflict some serious damage on the balls, the walls, or both.

Logan. Logan. With each smack of the racquetball against the wall, one name ricocheted about in a head Debra was
beginning to worry about: her own.
Logan
. Everywhere she went, it seemed, that name kept popping up. Logan. Logan. Debra made a flying leap for the ball and returned it with considerable force. Suzi couldn’t get to it, and dove to the floor trying.

“Okay. That’s it,” she said. “I’m done. Done in, is more like. You’re pumped today, woman. What gives? You and Prince Charming have a lovers’ spat last night?”

“Not…exactly.” Debra gulped in oxygen.

“Well, what’s put you in this mood, then, if not the mysterious man in your life? PMS?”

“Okay. Yeah, that sounds good. Let’s blame PMS.”

“Works for me,” her friend replied.

Debra grabbed a towel and mopped her face. “I’m ready to hit the showers, Suz; what about you?”

“Ditto. You want to grab a taco for lunch?”

Debra helped her up. “I’d love to, but Mom invited me over for a late lunch. Dad had an early tee time and should be home around one or so. You’re welcome to join us, you know. Mother is always glad to see you.”

“Yeah, uh-huh. Right. So she can console herself that she’s not the only mother who has a daughter who’s an old maid. Of course, now that Logan’s in the picture, your prospects seem to be improving, don’t they? Which means I’ll be the sole specimen stuck under her marriage microscope while she dissects me for telltale signs of why I’m still single. Nope. No, thanks. My mother’s probing, beady little eyes are quite sufficient, thank you very much. Tell your folks hi from me, though.”

“Coward,” Debra accused.

“Okay, I admit it. I’m terrified of the woman. And now that you’re sailing the serene seas of romance on the Love Boat with Logan, your mom will toss her matchmaking nets over the side and try to fix
me
up with her catch of the day. With my luck, she’ll set me up with Charlie Tuna. Or, God forbid, Sammy Shrimp again.”

“Come on, Suzi. You know you complain when you’re with a guy who is lots taller than you are. You insist you look like you’re with some child molester.”

“That shrimp didn’t make five feet with lifts!”

“Oh? So he didn’t meet the legal limit and you had to throw him back?” Debra teased. “Anyway, you’re one to talk about arranged dates. I still haven’t forgiven
your
mother for that double date she set us up on with the Buban twins. They looked so much alike that it was the end of the evening before I realized that, somewhere along the line, I’d switched from Terence to Clarence.”

“And what about your mother and that blind date?” Suzi pushed back. “I mean, the guy was nice enough and everything, but I just wish she’d mentioned he was legally blind or I wouldn’t have suggested a movie with subtitles….”

“You’re one of a kind, you know that, Suzi?” Debra said, laughing.

“Yeah, I know,” Suzi said. “I just wish some rich, single, great-looking heterosexual gentleman would figure that out, too. Catch you later, D.”

After a quick shower, Debra parted company with her friend and headed for her parents’ home in a Springfield suburb. She was helping her mother put the finishing touches on chef salads for a late lunch when the conversation inevitably turned to Debra’s love life.

“So, when do we meet this lawyer?” Debra’s mother peered at her over the top of her glasses. “You’ve been seeing him for almost two months now.”

Debra chased down and speared a cherry tomato, dipped it in low-fat dressing, and popped it into her mouth, making a face. “I told you, Mom. I’m taking it slow and easy. I don’t want to jinx this relationship.”

“Oh, so your father and I are jinxes now,” her mother said. “Isn’t that just what every parent loves to hear from their daughter—that she considers them jinxes?”

Debra rolled her eyes heavenward. “I never said you and Dad were jinxes, Mother. I said
I
didn’t want to jinx this. You
know my track record with men. I don’t want to rush things, that’s all. Slow and steady wins the race.”

“I prefer, ‘God can’t steer a parked car.’”

“Mother.”

“So, what did you two do last weekend? Anything romantic?”

If you call decluttering the pantry, giving McGruff a bath and
clipping his toenails romantic, then affirmative
, Debra thought. She was saved the necessity of contriving another cozy weekend for two by her father’s arrival.

“You’re late,” Debra’s mother barked. “It’s after two and we’re about to expire from hunger.”

Debra smiled at her dad. He looked tired, she thought, his face wan against the white polo he wore. He approached Debra and put his arm around her shoulders.

“Ah, daughter, it’s good to see you looking so chic. She looks like a glamorous movie star, doesn’t she, Alva?”

“She gets her looks from my side of the family,” his wife reminded him.

Debra’s dad winked at her. Her mother’s ancestral tree was inhabited by short, stubby, barrel-shaped body types with adorable little Buddha bellies.

“She’s got that glow, our Debra,” her father continued. “I suppose we owe that to a certain young man named Logan. Am I right?”

Debra grimaced and stabbed another tomato. Logan. Again with the Logan. Debra started to wish she’d never hatched this harebrained scheme.

“You may get the pitcher of tea out of the refrigerator and pour us each a glass now, since your father has at last returned from hitting his little white ball, Debra,” her mother ordered.

“Okay, Mom.” She grabbed the heavy glass pitcher of tea out of the fridge and began pouring it into the chilled glasses Alva had placed on the counter.

“Speaking of your young man, I met Logan today, my dear,” Debra’s father said. “I must say, I approve. I heartily
approve. You were right: You don’t find a man like Logan Alexander every day. I’m glad you had the good sense to snap him up.”

Debra’s head jerked up. She stared at her father. “What did you just say?” she asked.

“For heaven’s sake, Debra, you’re pouring tea all over my counter!” her mother scolded. “I should have known better than to ask you to do the pouring. You’ve never been able to pour without making a mess.”

Debra set the pitcher down with a thud. More tea sloshed over the sides. “What did you say, Dad?” she asked her father again.

He grabbed some paper towels and began sponging up the tea. “I said I met your mysterious Logan. Plays a damn fine round of golf, too. I’d give my eyeteeth to hit a tee shot like he can. Two hundred plus yards, straight as a string and right down the middle of the fairway. Beautiful. Just beautiful.”

Debra gasped. Everything went out of focus, and she dropped like a stone to the bar stool beside her. She hit the edge and landed in a heap on the floor. Had the world gone suddenly mad? Or had she?

Oblivious to her daughter on the floor at her feet, Debra’s mother pounced on her husband’s news like a dog on kibble. “You met him? You talked to him! Face-to-face? In the flesh? The man who may well be our future son-in-law?”

Debra winced. Her mother was almost foaming at the mouth. The guy didn’t even exist and already her mother was ready to include him in the family Christmas and embroider his name on a fluffy red stocking!

Debra’s father gave her a strange look as she got to her feet, rubbing her behind. “Well, to be quite honest, Alva, I did meet him in the flesh. Quite literally. We met in the locker room.”

“Details!” Debra’s mother screamed. “I want details!”

“I thought you said you were starving,” Debra’s father teased.

Debra grabbed the collar of her dad’s shirt with both hands. “The lady said she wanted details,” she ordered. “So spill it!”

“Ladies, ladies, please.” Stuart Daniels placed his arms up, palms out, in an “I give up; don’t shoot” pose. “There isn’t that much to tell. He was in a foursome that started on the back nine. Nailed some incredible tee shots. He looked familiar to me, but I couldn’t remember from where. You know how much that bothers me, Alva.” He looked at his wife. “Anyway, I was just finishing up in the locker room when he comes in. It’s still nagging at me, not being able to put a place or name to his face, so I strike up a conversation with him. He introduces himself, and to my great astonishment, it’s Debra’s Logan—as you said, Alva, in the flesh. Well, you can imagine my surprise.”

“You can’t imagine mine,” Debra said.

“What happened next?” Alva Daniels pressed. “Did you introduce yourself? Did you tell him you were Debra’s father?”

Debra swallowed and prepared for the huge portion of crow she’d have to consume when she was forced to admit this poor, unfortunate Logan Alexander had never heard of her and didn’t know her from Eve. She cringed. The last thing she’d expected was to involve an innocent individual in her little Mr. Right masquerade.

“No, Alva, I told him I was her brother.” Stuart Daniels gave his wife a put-out look. “Of course I told him I was her father.”

“And what did he say to that? Was he surprised?”

Debra began to inch her way toward the door.

“He was, indeed, surprised,” said her father.

I’ll bet
, Debra thought, as she plotted the most direct escape route.

“Well, what did he say?” Debra’s mother pressed.

Debra continued her progress toward the exit.
Oh, that
he’d never heard of Debra Daniels, for starters
.