Love and Chaos (19 page)

“I
don’t think my father would be too happy though. He keeps talking about me
taking over his business.”

“What
does your father do?” Emma asked curiously.

“He
owns a meat distribution company,” the boy said. When Emma burst into laughter,
Mal rolled his eyes. “Yeah. Even I get the irony, and I’m just a kid.”

“Malcolm,
listen to me. I’m going to tell you something that your parents would kill me
for if they heard me. You spend a huge chunk of your life working. You need to
love what you do. OK? If that means that you’re disinherited, you live with it.
Don’t ever make your decisions based on money - yours or someone else’s. You’ll
be disappointed.”

“Vet
school is expensive,” Mal said thoughtfully.

“So
you take out loans and live in a group house. Or sleep on my couch, that’s fine
too. But don’t compromise on your career. You’ll regret it.”

“What
about you?” Malcolm asked. “Do you like what you do?”

“Every
second of it,” she replied. “There are some days that are crummy, like when a
kid gets sent into a situation that I’m sure is not best for him or her. But I
feel like I’m making a difference. And that’s important.”

“Did
your parents support you?”

“Yeah,
at least in terms of emotional support. I still needed to pay for law school -
we didn’t have that kind of money.”

Malcolm
thought for a few minutes. “I think I’d rather have the emotional support than
the money.”

Emma
grinned, then reached out with her arms and crooked his head into her, rubbing
the top of his hair with her other fist. “You’re a smart kid. And you’ve always
got my support, if that means anything.” Letting him go, she pointed to the
other end of the park. “Race you!” And she was off.

“Cheater!”
Malcolm cried from behind her. She turned and grinned, running backward until
the kid sped by her. She caught up with him at the other end of the park and
they both fell to the grass, laughing. Chaos ran around them, sniffing and
chasing leaves.

“Thanks,
Emma,” Malcolm said.

She
smiled at him. “Anytime. Hey, Mason is out of town tonight. I’m going to see if
I can light myself on fire by cooking burgers on his incredibly complicated
grill. Want to come over and bring Michelle? I’ll let you man the fire
extinguisher.”

Mal
laughed. “I’ll ask her.”

Malcolm
became a regular fixture at Mason’s house. Mason was traveling a lot for work,
and Emma was glad for the company. Michelle would come with him a lot, but some
nights she liked the break from her childcare duties, and Mal would just come
over and play with Chaos. As the nights got a little cooler, they’d sit in
front of the fire, play cards or scrabble, and eat. There was always food
involved in an evening with Emma.

One
Saturday, Emma and Mal were out in the yard playing Frisbee when an errant
throw landed the disk on the roof of the garage.

“It’s
your fault,” Emma said to Malcolm as they stared balefully at the Frisbee.

“Mine?
You’re the one who tossed it.”

“Yeah,
but if you ate your Wheaties, you could have leapt the eight feet into the air
and caught it,” she contended.

“You’re
kind of a crazy lady. You know that, right?”

Emma
sighed. “Yeah. I’m aware. OK. Let me see what’s in the garage. Maybe I can
still get it down.”

When
Mason arrived home ten minutes later, it was to Emma on his garage roof, and a
little kid in the yard, staring up at her. He parked his car, and got out, just
staring up at the woman standing ten feet above him. Oh dear Lord, what was
that woman doing now? he thought. If she fell... his heart leaped into his
throat.

Emma
rolled her eyes when she saw Mason pull up. Five minutes later and she would
have been down. Instead, she saw the thunderous look on his face and tried to
head his lecture off at the pass. Looking down at Malcolm, she made the
introductions from the roof.

“Mal,
this is Mr. Parker. Mason, this is Malcolm from next door.”

“Hi
Mr. Parker,” the boy said dutifully, as he inched his way toward the gate in
the fence.

“Hello
Malcolm. Emma, what in the name of all that’s holy are you doing up there?”

“We
were playing Frisbee and I tossed it onto the roof of the garage. I’m fetching
it.”

“Get
your pretty little butt down here before you break something. For God’s sake,
Emma. You could hurt yourself.”

“That’s
why Malcolm is here. He’s ready to dial 911. Right Mal?”

But
Malcolm had skedaddled when Mason showed up. He waved from the other side of
the fence, almost apologetically, then disappeared.

“Traitor!”
Emma yelled, laughing.

“Can
you please get down?” Mason asked, with what he felt was a world of patience.

“Sure.”
She tossed down the Frisbee. Chaos expertly caught it, then realized that it
wasn’t food. He dropped it. She swung onto the ladder and was down on the
ground in seconds.

“Where
did you find the ladder?” Mason asked evenly.

“The
garage.”

“What
were you doing in the garage?”

“Looking
for a ladder.”

Mason
counted to ten. Slowly.

“Emma,
you could have fallen. Broken something.”

“Unlikely.
I do ladders well,” she said. “It’s throwing Frisbees that I’m not so good at.”

“But
suppose you did fall?”

“Then
Malcolm would have called 911, the ambulance guys would have come and yelled at
me for being on the roof, and they’d have taken me to the hospital. And my
health insurance would cover my mishap, though my rates might go up.”

“Are
you done?” Mason asked with a sigh.

She
grinned. “Mostly. And I’m hungry. Mal and I worked up an appetite. I was going
to ask him to stay for dinner, but you scared him away.”

“What’s
he doing over here, anyway?”

“Hanging
out with me. His parents are away, and Michelle is watching TV, so he came out
to play in the yard.”

“Michelle?”

“His
nanny.”

“I’m
not sure that his parents will want him over here,” Mason pointed out.

She
shook her head in exasperation. “Oh for heaven’s sake. His parents wouldn’t
notice if he boarded a barge for Argentina and didn’t return until he was 25.
He’s fine. And I like him. Do you want dinner, or not?”

He
sighed. Heavily. “Yes. I want dinner. I especially want dinner if you’ve
cooked. Have you?”

“Yes.”

“Good.
And I need wine. So I’m going to go pick out a bottle. Red or white?”

“White
tonight,” she said with a smile. “As much as I love red, white will go better
with dinner.”

“White
it is. Dry, I assume?”

“Yes.
Please.”

With
a wave at Mal, who was still hovering near his back door, Emma headed inside.

On
Thursday night, Emma got home late after a discouraging day at the office. She
was tired, she was hungry, and she was in no mood for anything but dinner and a
run with Chaos. On her way to the kitchen, she poked her head into Mason's
office to ask if he’d fed the dog. Because really, there was no other way to
tell. Chaos would eat supper over and over and over again with the same amount
of gusto.

“I
did. About an hour ago. That dog is a vacuum,” Mason grumbled.

“No
kidding,” Emma said as she rolled her eyes. “Thanks for feeding him. I’ll take
him out for some exercise in a bit,” she added. “You’ve eaten?”

“I
have, yes. There’s leftover Thai food in the fridge if you want it.”

“Thanks.
I’ll take you up on that. I still have some work to do tonight, so that will
save me time. Thanks, Mason.”

He
nodded. Leaning back in his chair, he crossed his arms over his chest and
informed her, “You had a phone call tonight.”

Emma
was surprised. Nobody ever called her here. That’s what her cell was for.
“Really?” she asked. “Who called? Gran?”

Mason’s
gaze pinned hers. “Some guy. Some guy named Will.”

Confused,
Emma responded, “Will? Will called here?”

“Who
is he, Emma?” Mason asked conversationally.

“He’s
a lawyer,” she responded, absently, wondering what Will could have wanted. “He
worked one of my recent cases with me. Did he say what he wanted?” she asked.

“He
left a message, yes.”

“Is
it still on the phone? Should I listen to it?”

“Sure.
Feel free.”

Mason's
response had her looking at him more closely. He seemed annoyed. No, more than
annoyed. He seemed irritated. No. Not that either. Angry? Why would he be angry
that a colleague had called her at home?

“For
heaven’s sake, Mason. Just tell me. I have a million things to do before
tomorrow. If Will has information that I can use on one of my cases, I need to
know.”

But
Mason shook his head slowly. “It wasn’t a work-related message, Emma. Did you
forget to tell him that you’re married?” he asked casually.

She
looked over at him, puzzled. “It never came up. We’re colleagues. Strictly
business.”

“Not
according to the message he left.”

“What?
What did he say?”

“That
he enjoyed dinner the other night, and was hoping to do it again. Soon. Perhaps
on Friday night.”

Emma
was flabbergasted. “What?” she said again, with a touch of annoyance.

“Did
you go on a date with the man, Emma?” Mason was asking.

“Of
course not!” she said incredulously.

“So
what dinner is he referring to?”

“A
dinner that about ten of us went to after we closed a case. He seriously called
here?” she asked again.

“Yes,
Emma. He did.”

She
shook her head. She really didn’t need this tonight, she thought. “And because
of that, you went straight to the conclusion that I’m dating him?”

“Are
you?”

Emma
sighed heavily. “Mason.”

“Because
he also happened to mention that he found the restaurant that the two of you
were looking for in San Diego.”

“Well,
that’s awesome, since I’ll be going back there in a few weeks. But if you’re
thinking that I was there for any kind of romantic rendezvous, or that I’m
headed back there for some kind of secret liaison, you’re wrong.”

Mason
just looked at her, before asking evenly, “Are you seeing him, Emma?”

She
responded through clenched teeth. “Again. No.”

“Does
he think so?” he persisted.

Emma
threw up her hands. “If he does, he’s way dumber than even you are. For
heaven's sake, Mason...”

He
ignored the insult, standing up and moving to the front of his desk. He leaned
back against it, looking over at her intently. “Why were you having dinner with
him in San Diego, Emma?”

“Because
we were both there, and we were both hungry. We’re colleagues, Mason. That’s
all. We occasionally work on the same cases together.”

“You’ll
tell him that you’re married.”

“Well
apparently I’ll need to!” she said in exasperation. “I had no idea he was
thinking of me in any way but as a lawyer. Good Lord.”

Mason
continued. “Because if you don’t, I will. Right after I call my lawyer, Emma,
and invoke the additional two-year clause.”

That
got her attention. She turned and faced him, the expression on her face one of
disbelief and fury. “You
can’t
do that. I did
not
cheat,” Emma
said vehemently.

But
Mason did not back down. If anything, his response was more intense. “I can,
Emma, and I will. I do not expect to be listening to messages on my phone
asking my wife out on a date.
My
wife.”

But
the possessive tone in his voice just got her mad. She was still tired, she
still hadn't eaten, a colleague had made a phenomenally ridiculous move (in her
eyes), and she did not want to be blamed for it. But more than that, she did
not want Mason to be calling her his anything. And she told him so.

“I’m
not your wife, Mason. Except in name only,” she added scornfully. “We might be
married, we might share a house, but that's all just semantics and paperwork.”

“Semantics.”

She
crossed her arms stubbornly. “Yes.”

Mason
pushed himself off from the back of his desk, straightening up to his full
height. Too late, Emma realized that he was furious, and that she had just
stirred up a whole nestful of hornets.

“Mason...”

He
strolled over to where she was standing, then reached out and took her chin in
his hand and lifting her face to his. She stared at him, defiant, willing
herself to stay still, not to run, not to struggle. He took a step forward.
When she held her ground, his body moved up against hers. She couldn't help
herself - she stepped back. He followed. In two more steps, her back was
against the wall of his study, his hips firmly holding hers in place as his
hand gently moved down her face and over her cheek, his thumb stroking roughly
over her lips.