Like Slow Sweet Molasses (14 page)

“Chance,
don’t.”

“Don’t
what?” he remarked disgruntled. “Don’t be concerned about your welfare? Don’t
act like I’m a friend worthy of your trust? Or—don’t put my filthy white hands
on you?”

Angela
reared back offended, seizing his arms as she wavered in her weakened state and
became aware of the stark contrast as brown hands gripped tanned biceps. “This
isn’t your problem. I’m trying to manage the truth of my parentage the best I
know how. I’m sorry if that makes you uncomfortable. I just can’t deal with this…”
she lowered her eyes, “black-white thing.”

“Gotcha.”
He abruptly released her. “The work is almost completed. I’ll get the other
equipment over here and will be out of your hair before night falls.”

She
watched him stomp from her room wondering why his departure blurred in front of
her eyes. “I’m sorry, Chance,” she whispered to his back. “You deserved
better.”

Angela
was unable to stand one more minute alone in the house with him, afraid she
would capitulate and go running into the security Chance’s arms represented. He
made her excuses this morning to his family without them being any the wiser
regarding their little tiff. Everything muddled along after they took their
leave and he did likewise to make the purchases to finish the system.

Now,
he worked at her bedroom door like the mad man he was, hurrying to get the job
done in order to vacate the premises. Muscles rippled in his upper arms exposed
by the white undershirt he stripped down to. Her eyes tagged each flexing
motion as he forced in an uncooperative screw that required extra force. He
turned to catch her drooling. That’s why she flew from the room and out of the
house.

Chance
knew her destination as he followed her escape down the street as far as the
cameras permitted. Most people dulled the pain with alcohol or drugs. Her
anesthesia of choice was the sugar rush of a fruit flavored slush from the
neighborhood store. He ambled about the house setting things to right, picking
up the paraphernalia littering the work areas, reading the gold dedication
plaque on the viola lovingly poised on the music stand in her bedroom and in
the interim glimpsed a familiar vehicle trolling by on the surveillance
cameras. His long legs had him on the lower floor—the entry door locking behind
him—out on the sidewalk and hauling-ass up the street towards the store while
keeping the car in his crosshairs.

September’s
humidity coated Chance’s brow as he thought of Angela and the danger her
association with him placed her in, unknown to her. There was no question Darrell
taunted him once he realized Chance was in hot pursuit. The brake lights lit up
for a second, slowing the vehicle to a snail’s crawl before a spurt of gas sent
the car barreling ahead. That move goaded Chance to give it all he had for he
was hell-bent on putting an end to the little cat and mouse game, once and for
all. Chance veered off the sidewalk so suddenly surprising Darrell with the
boost of energy that almost let him snag the door handle. But, more
importantly, the lunge practically had him flailing to keep from landing on his
face. An irritating chuckle grated in Chance’s ears as the ominous sedan turned
sharply and vanished into the distance.

Unable
to go a step farther, Chance rested with his hands propped on his knees as he
struggled to catch a breath. That’s how Angela walked up on him, terror for his
wellbeing shining in her eyes. He still couldn’t speak and held up one finger
to delay her questions. He had a feeling it wouldn’t work.

“What
happened? Should I call 911?” She set two tall cups on the ground at their
feet. “Chance, say something. Please.”

“I’m…al…right,”
he puffed.

“What
happened?” She pursued the line of questioning.

He
didn’t know how to answer that question. Should he be forthright and tell her
about Darrell?
Jamaican Rose?
Or would doing so only increase her
anxiety about her stalker—whom he now surmised was probably Darrell? “I wanted
to be sure you were okay,” he fibbed.

“So
you ran full steam and stopped before reaching the store?”

“Crazy,
huh?” The look she gave him agreed with his summation. He rose to his full
height petting her with his eyes.

“I
thought you’d like something cold.” She stooped, reclaimed the cups and handed
one off to him.

“Thanks.”

“Are
you sure you’re okay?”

“Positive.”
Sipping absently at his drink, Chance broached the subject from last night.
“Angela, you wanted to know how I knew you were at the jazz club?”

“Yes.
But I figured Mrs. Thatcher told on me.”

“I
hadn’t talked to my aunt.” He started them in the direction of home. “I was
there because of Darrell.”

Angela
lifted curious eyes to him. “What is it between you two, anyway?”

“It’s
a long story. Suffice it to say, we used to be best buds. A century ago.”

“Wow,
that’s definitely a long time ago. What made you hate one another?”

“Hate
is a strong word. I don’t hate him.”

“He
hates you,” she observed.

“Here’s
what you need to know about Darrell. He’s apt to coddle that ride of his to the
exclusion of any woman he encounters. That’s why I asked you to warn your
friends.”

“What
on earth aren’t you telling me, Chance?” Angela had a foreboding she couldn’t
shake.

He
ignored her question to ask one of his own. “What did he say to you yesterday
that upset you so?”

“Well,
first, he knew my name even though no one introduced us. Secondly, he told me
he’d been to my home.” They walked in the evening’s heat like lovers out for a
stroll. “Thirdly, I saw him grapple peanuts from the dish. That was enough for
me to give him a wide berth. It just didn’t work.”

“He’s
been to your home?” Chance heard nothing after that statement—the undercurrent
in his voice obvious to Angela as her gaze relayed. Though circumstantial, all
leads were Darrell bound.

“So
he said.”

“When?”

“Actually,
yesterday. He told me he picked his nephew up after music lessons.”

He
was outdone. “Lessons! At your home?”

“I
teach piano lessons at home.”

“You’ll
have to stop,” he ordered. A tiny frown crinkled her nose. Her eyes narrowed in
fury while her pace hastened to land her at home. “It’s for your own good,
Angela. Until we solve your stalker problem.”

“I
won’t. And—you can’t make me.”

Her
fiery temper ignited his. As if their location was of no consequence, Chance’s
arm linked her to his upper body and he ravaged her mouth right there on her
porch in broad daylight. Her fist thumps barely dented his chest as she twisted
to be free of his bruising kiss. Both nearly lost the contents of their cups to
a fall.

You
can show a person better than you can tell them.
That’s what his grandmother always
said. It was a lesson better learned from him than some other source.

“Get
your things and leave, Chance.”

“Did
that upset you, Angela?” he mocked with a purpose.

“I’m
appalled.”

Chance
had to block her flight to get her undivided attention as he pleaded his case.

“Don’t
touch me!” She choked back tears.

“Angela,
that was to show you you’re not always in control of situations. I apologize to
you.” He was sincere. “I only want you to see the truth in what I’m saying.
Darrell’s dangerous and shouldn’t be trusted.”

“Is
that what this is all about? Your friend Darrell?” Her lips tingled in
unacknowledged delight.

“Partly.”
Chance’s thumbs raked tears from her cheeks. “I’m aware of your devotion to
children in the community. That’s commendable.” His knuckles nipped her chin,
the contact holding her in that position. “If you continue to give lessons at
your home you’re courting disaster. Rearrange your schedule to have your
lessons after classes at school.”

He
paused for her disapproving comments.

“I
can do that.”

“I
know I have no right to impose my beliefs on you, but—” His ears were surely
deceiving him. “What did you say?”

“I
can do that. Chance, I believe you have my best interest at heart. I’ll speak
to Principal Dauchex tomorrow.” She thrilled him with her next move.

Chance
dared not breathe as Angela stood tippy-toed to treat him to one of her
candy-coated kisses.
Oh, man.

“Anything
else I need to know about anything? Like why did you two split up?”

“We
had a disagreement regarding his treatment of females.”

She
was smarter than that. “Females or one certain female?”

“That
creek’s been paddled so many times the bed’s now dust dry.”

“My
interpretation is—mind your own business. I can do that, too.”

Angela
let Chance follow her into the house to bundle his tools and instruct her on
using the system since he installed the new components. The siren that
announced any compromise in her surroundings disturbed the quiet Sunday
evening. She charted everything he did to shut the noise down confident in her
abilities to recreate his actions. At times, Chance’s virile body brushed hers
as he pointed out the multiple functions available on the wall control and the
remote forcing her to admit her fondness for the brash policeman.

“I
hate leaving you here so soon after yesterday’s events.” Chance prolonged the
inevitable. “You’re welcome to stay at my place for a while.”

“That
would be cowardly.”

“Sensible
is more like it. If not my place, stay with Aunt Belle for a couple of nights,”
he recommended. “What could it hurt?”

“My
pride. That’s all,” Angela confessed. “I’m avoiding one enormous issue in my
life already and can’t afford another or I’ll never be able to look at myself
in the mirror ever again.” She left him at the kitchen counter testing and
retesting the various camera angles to seat herself at the table. “You’ve made
it safer for me. I won’t be as afraid with all of this technology to help me
keep an eye on things.”

“But,
you are fearful?” he concluded, the worried tone reflecting on his features.

Her
eyes skipped around the room and into the living room before coming to rest
back on the kitchen door. The chair no longer added the extra precaution to the
door remaining closed for Chance replaced that knob and supplied additional
security with a new deadbolt lock. Her heart thudded whenever her mind drifted
to that scary time and place. Yet, she vowed not to let anyone smother her
abilities to make competent choices in her life, steal her confidence or shake
her faith in her fellow man.

“I’m
a teeny bit,” her fingers measured the degree, “frightened. It’ll pass.”

“Angela,
look at me.” When she did, he forged ahead like a man outrunning his fears.
“Let me stay here for a couple of days.”

“Chance,
I can’t depend so heavily on you. I won’t be transformed into this…this needy,
always a victim…person.”

He
sat across from her clutching one of her hands in his, unconsciously thumbing
her palm. “I’ll stay with Aunt Belle.”

“No,
Chance. You aren’t my bodyguard. I won’t feel comfortable knowing you’re
neglecting your responsibilities or altering your life on my behalf.” She shook
her head adamantly. “No.”

Chance
stood tall, her hand locked in his, lacking her optimism that she no longer
needed his help. He lost himself in her expressive tawny eyes, drowning in the
pools of softness as if lured to the depths by a cunning siren. It was almost
impossible to uncouple from her attraction to scribble his personal numbers on
the back of the card he reached to her.

“Call
me anytime—day or night. Understood?”

She
smiled weakly, flipping the card to read his bold strokes. “Remember the last
time you asked that question?”

“Yes,
I do. I know you learned from that mistake. Right?”

“These
last weeks have been unlike any I’ve had in quite a while. Very enlightening.”

“Is
that a yes or no, Angela?” he asked with a cocked brow.

“Believe
me, Chance. I won’t make the same mistake twice.” His eyebrow remained quirked
prompting her to amend, “I understand. Okay? Day or night.”

Chance
trumped through her house to the front door, exiting without another look at
her. If he did so, he was afraid he would overrule her and orchestrate a sit-in
right there in her kitchen. The very footsteps carrying him away from Angela
put him on another’s trail. He was steaming mad with the stunt Darrell pulled
just to agitate him.

Darrell
was up to no good and baited Chance to try to put a halt to his antics. He
didn’t think Darrell would actually harm Angela for his purpose was one of
control and antagonism. The idea was to get back at Chance for what happened in
high school, an adolescent disagreement that landed Darrell in juvie for
several months and earned Chance a lifetime supply of grief.