Monkey Wrench (21 page)

He loved that expression—so sensual, yet with the light of intelligence, kindness and humor unmistakable in her eyes.

“I feel like a kid myself,” Joe said huskily, brushing his fingers back and forth along the underside of that wonderful curve. “I'm afraid to touch you the way I really want to, Susannah.”

“You won't hurt me.”

“No, but...I want you in a very grown-up way, and I'm afraid to start something I won't be able to stop. I find you hard to resist, Miss Suzie.”

Her hand traced a line from Joe's neck down his chest, to rest just above where his heart had begun to hammer. She whispered, “I'm having a hard time resisting you, too. I barely know you, Joe, but I can't help feeling the way I do.”

“How do you feel?”

She smiled, but turned her head away shyly, so Joe touched
her chin and brought her face up to look at his again, forcing her to answer him straight. Her gaze was dreamy. She said, “I feel like making love with you.”

He melted inside and kissed her. Her mouth was sweet and pliant, her tongue met his joyously. She caressed him, too, finding the sensitive spots on his body with her trembling hands. She touched his thighs, his hips, his belly—and brushed one sensual caress across the throbbing ache that most threatened his composure. Joe felt a sweat break out on his brow.

“Suzie...” he said hoarsely.

“Touch me.”

He took possession of her breasts then, rubbing his palms against her sweater until the hard nubs of her nipples came erect. He could feel her breath catch and heard her soft sound—half moan, half whisper—as he caressed her through her clothes. He wanted more. A lot more. And so did she, if he read the signs correctly. Before he could think straight, Joe found himself tugging at the hem of that damned woolly sweater and pulling the tail of her shirt out of the way. The bare flesh of her stomach felt like silk and she writhed at his touch.

All the maneuvers of typical teenage grappling came back to him then, and Joe found a way to get under her bra. He caressed her, teasing her nipples, stroking the smooth roundness of her until Susannah gasped with pleasure. He wanted to explore those pretty breasts with his mouth and tongue, and began to push her down across the seat to do just that.

Then he heard the snap of his own jeans, and a new fire leaped up inside his body. She wanted him, too. Susannah fumbled, but her breath came in determined gasps, and in another moment she was going to have her way with him right there in the front seat of his truck, in full view of Worthington House.

Joe caught her wrist, laughing against Susannah's lush mouth. “Wait...”

“You feel wonderful.”

“And you make my head swim.” He held her hard, almost pressing her down across the seat. But with all the strength he could muster, he held back. “Susannah, we can't—”

“Kiss me again,” she whispered with a deliciously erotic lack of control.

Who could resist? He kissed her, and for a long moment they were both lost in their own world of temptation and passionate desire.

But a minute later, Joe became aware of giggling.

He lifted his head, and Susannah froze, too. Through the steamy windows of the truck, they could see a circle of curious elderly faces peering at them from the porch. A group of Worthington House residents had come outside, and some of them looked appalled at the sight that greeted their eyes. Joe could see old Inger Hansen glaring furiously at him.

But the rest of the crowd began to laugh at the sight of two grown adults necking in the front seat of a pickup truck.

“Goodness!” Susannah cried, sitting up hastily and straightening her hair. But she was laughing, too, Joe noticed with relief.

He also laughed—half to release his own pent-up tension and half because of the foolishness of his own actions. He jauntily saluted their audience before starting the truck and pulling away from Worthington House.

“Are you all right?” he asked when they stopped laughing.

“Just embarrassed.”

“Don't be. We're two consenting adults.”

“Adults don't act like...like—”

“Like sex-crazed teenagers? Don't bet on it, Miss Suzie. I don't know about you, but I enjoyed it very much.”

She slanted a smile across at him and said, “So did I.”

* * *

B
ACK AT HER
grandmother's house, Susannah's euphoria must have been obvious.

“You had a good time,” Rose observed from the chintz-covered chair where she sat reading the newspaper.

“A wonderful time,” Susannah said, stripping off her
jacket and hugging herself as if to hold in the butterflies in her stomach. “Joe and I got to know each other a little better. He's really very sweet.”

“Yes, he's a good man,” Rose said, setting aside the newspaper. “And his daughter's not bad, too, for a teenager.”

Susannah laughed. “What does that mean?”

“Oh, I wish we could find her a date for the Tinsel Ball, that's all. She has her heart set on it.”

Sometimes brilliant ideas arrive like bolts of lightning, and that was exactly how Susannah felt when she bent to pick up the newspaper: the perfect solution came down out of the heavens and hit her on top of the head.

“Good grief! Why didn't I think of it before?”

Rose looked startled. “What?”

“Not what—who! Lars! The paperboy!” Excited, Susannah cried, “We'll get Lars to take Gina to the dance.”

“Do they even know each other?”

“Of course! And Lars has been mooning around after Gina for ages! He adores her!”

“What does Gina think of Lars?”

“I'm not sure,” Susannah admitted. “She seems to be determined to dislike everyone—me included. But here's my chance to settle a couple of things....”

“What things?”

“Never mind. The point is, Lars and Gina would have a wonderful time at the Tinsel Ball.”

“Now you're starting to sound like me! Matchmaking must run in our blood.” Rose's pleasure shone in her face. “How do we get them together, partner?”

“I'll call Lars,” Susannah said, already heading for the telephone. “If properly coached, I think he'll be delighted to invite Gina to the Tinsel Ball. Where's the phone book?”

Her grandmother followed, smiling. “In the drawer.”

“What are you smiling about?”

“You.” Rose patted Susannah's hand. “It's nice to see you so concerned about Joe's daughter.”

“I just thought of a good solution, that's all. It's not as if I'm trying to win her affection.”

“Of course not,” Rose agreed, straight-faced. “But you're going to make a lot of people very happy.”

“It's the Christmas spirit, that's all,” Susannah said. But she knew she wasn't quite telling the truth. It was love that motivated her to telephone Lars that evening. Love that was growing every day for a man whose daughter needed a little help.

“T
HE PLAN'S IN MOTION
,” Susannah told Rose the next day. “I persuaded Lars to invite Gina to the dance.”

“Was it hard?” she asked, delighted to see Susannah looking so pleased with herself.

“Lars didn't need encouragement, just tips on handling Gina. He called after school to report that everything went smoothly.”

“Wonderful!”

Rose decided to put her own plan into action and telephoned Gina to invite the teenager on a shopping trip. There were some things a girl needed help with, and buying the right dress for a big occasion was one of them. Rose suspected Joe could handle most crises that arose from raising a rebellious daughter alone, but no father should have to endure a trip to the formal-wear department of Gates Department Store.

Gina was surprisingly gracious about accepting Rose's offer, and they made arrangements to meet at Gates that afternoon.

Although styles had changed dramatically in the past twenty years, girls' attitudes weren't very different from when Rose had taken Susannah shopping for prom gowns. Girls still wanted to look pretty for a date to a dance.

But Gina was hard to please, for she didn't want to look “dopey,” as she said to Rose. “I don't want a dress that makes me look like I'm going to a masquerade party.”

The headstrong Gina finally selected a red dress with puffy sleeves and a sleek way of clinging to her athletic figure. She used every penny of the money her father had sent along, and
chipped in thirty dollars of her own. When Rose saw the dejected look on the girl's face when they carried the dress past the shoe department, she encouraged her to choose a pair of shoes that matched her new dress. At first, Gina politely refused the offer, but Rose didn't have much trouble persuading the teenager to accept the gift. In return, Gina helped Rose choose a birthday gift for Susannah at the jewelry counter.

Afterward, they trooped down to the basement luncheonette to enjoy a predinner scoop of ice cream. Joe arrived at the curb outside the department store at the appointed hour, and drove Rose home.

“How did it go?” Susannah demanded when Rose let herself in the front door after the trip.

“We had a wonderful time,” Rose replied, sinking gratefully into the nearest chair. “But I'd forgotten how tiring a shopping excursion can be. Gina's quite a handful!”

Susannah's face folded into a frown. “I'm worried about your color, Granny Rose. I think I'll call Dr. Phelps.”

“No, no, I'm just a little worn-out. And I had a snack at the store.” Rose touched her stomach. “It may not be agreeing with me. But I enjoyed myself thoroughly. Gina is a sweet kid under that hard-as-nails exterior she tries so hard to keep in place.”

“You shouldn't have exhausted yourself for her, Granny Rose. I could have taken Gina shopping.”

“Oh, stop fussing.” Belatedly, Rose realized her tone sounded too sharp. She reached for Susannah's hand and squeezed it. “Don't mind me, dear. Did you call Roger? What are your plans?”

Susannah took a deep breath. “My plans are canceled.”

“Canceled?” Rose stared up at her granddaughter. “What do you mean? What about your vacation?”

“I can go to the beach anytime.” Susannah knelt by Rose's chair and turned up her face to her grandmother. “But a Christmas in Tyler comes only once a year, Granny Rose. I want to be here for your party.”

“But...but what about all that money you've spent?”

Susannah shrugged. “Roger said he'd try to get a partial refund, but I'm not worried about that.”

Rose felt a pang of guilt. “You're worried about me, aren't you?”

“A little,” Susannah agreed carefully. “But I'm being selfish, too. I love spending the holidays in this old house with you.”

“I wonder if anybody else contributed to your change of plans?” Rose inquired teasingly. “Anybody I know?”

“I haven't the faintest idea who you're talking about,” Susannah replied cheerfully, getting to her feet. “So let's not even open that subject, shall we? Hang on to my arm and I'll help you into the parlor. Would you like a cup of herbal tea to settle your stomach?”

“That sounds wonderful, Suzie.”

“Keep your ear tuned for the doorbell,” she said over her shoulder. “My secretary is sending some of my clothes and things by courier.”

“How nice! You won't have to wear those jeans to my party!”

“I might anyway,” Susannah shot back with a laugh.

Although Rose felt bad about spoiling Susannah's vacation, she was also delighted to have her granddaughter at home for the holidays. Not only was Susannah good company, but she was a great help around the house.

For Rose, the week passed in a flurry of preparations. Joe Santori and his men appeared promptly at eight each morning to work on the kitchen, to get it ready in time for the party. Susannah managed to be on hand when Joe was in the house—to spare Rose the ordeal of supervising the job, she claimed. And she took Rose out of the house for various shopping excursions, too. Each evening after the men departed, Rose and Susannah hurriedly baked the goodies that would cover the buffet table at the party. Once Rose caught Susannah surreptitiously wrapping packages on the dining room table. They took a turn at delivering Meals on Wheels on Wednesday, and Susannah found time to polish the silver, too.

Relieved to have such expert help in the house, Rose allowed Susannah to do more than her fair share of the work. Together, they baked cookies and shopped for wines, draped the whole house in garlands of fragrant pine and took turns telephoning friends and neighbors to extend invitations. At the end of each day, Rose found herself very tired, and she was happy to allow Susannah to tuck her into a comfortable chair for a nap before dinner.

But Rose did not allow her exhaustion to slow her down for long. She loved holiday entertaining.

The annual Atkins open house was a party that half the town of Tyler made it a point to attend. It was a highlight of the Christmas entertaining season, and Rose took absurd pride in the event.

“Maybe this year we should cut back a little,” Susannah said the afternoon she discovered Rose nodding off at the dining room table, where she'd been tying green satin ribbons around the fruitcakes she gave to her closest friends. “You seem tuckered out, Granny Rose.”

“Nonsense, my dear. I'm just saving up my energy for the party.”

Susannah's face registered concern. “I'm sure your friends won't mind if you skip the fruitcakes this year. Eventually, you'll have to slow down a little.”

“Who says?” Rose challenged her granddaughter, snipping ribbon with renewed vigor. “I'm going to do everything I please for as long as it pleases me—and if it shortens my life by a few months, what does it matter? Having this party makes me happy.”

Susannah laughed. “All right, have it your way. But let me finish these fruitcakes, will you? I'll make you a cup of tea and you can relax for a little while.”