Passionate Pleasures (7 page)

“Ben Sullivan,” the man now holding MacTavish said, offering a hand to shake. “I suppose you know you’re the talk of the town,” he said with a grin. “You a golfer?”

Tim shook his head. “My father was, but it never interested me much. I played squash in the city.”

Ben Sullivan nodded. “They got a good court at the country club. One of your perks as the new principal is a membership there. Think you’re going to like it here?”

“I don’t know,” Tim said candidly. “I’ve never lived out of the city, but I have to admit Doris Kirk found me the perfect house. The apartment in the city was way too big for one man after my parents died.”

“No wife?” Gloria Sullivan said. “Heaven help you, Mr. Blair. Every single woman in Egret Pointe will be chasing after you.”

“Unless you’re gay,” Ben Sullivan said. “You gay?”

Tim laughed. “No,” he said. “Just a little slow with the ladies. I spent the last three years looking after my widowed dad. Between that and my job there didn’t seem to be any time for a personal life.” He smiled his winning smile at Gloria Sullivan. “I’ll rely on you, Mrs. Sullivan, to help me sort out all the ladies who are going to come after me. Well, I’d best be getting home now that Rowdy has had his walk. Oh, perhaps before I head back, you might tell me something about your librarian. I’m afraid I had a bit of a run-in with her yesterday.”

“We heard,” Ben Sullivan said. “She’s something else, Miss Kathy. Descends from one of the original families who founded Egret Pointe in the seventeen hundreds. Her family built the library, and the librarians have all been St. John women. She can be a bit intimidating at times. I heard your car windows were open, and your dog had water. No need for her to carry on like she did.”

“Rowdy got a little frightened when I left him to grab some groceries,” Tim explained. “He set up quite a howl, and I think she thought he was harmed. She’s obviously not a dog person, I guess.”

“Miss Kathy? Nah,” Ben Sullivan said. “A pet would spoil that perfect, orderly life she lives.”

“Ben!” his wife scolded him. “Miss Kathy isn’t your mother’s librarian, Mr. Blair. She’s modernized the library, added wonderful programs for the children, for the seniors, for young mothers and families.”

“And spent the budget on a bunch of silly women’s books,” Ben grumbled.

“That isn’t so at all,” Gloria Sullivan said. “My husband doesn’t think popular commercial fiction like romance is literature. But it is! And thanks to Miss Kathy you get to read all the latest suspense and thrillers that come out, Ben, so hush up.”

“I thought I would go and make my peace with the lady tomorrow,” Tim said.

“I think that’s a wonderful idea,” Gloria Sullivan encouraged him. “You know she runs a terrific summer reading program for the Elementary and Middle School students. Ask her about it when you see her.”

“I will,” Tim said. “Good night now, Mr. and Mrs. Sullivan.” He turned back to his little house. Rowdy was tugging on his leash now, anxious for a bowl of food before settling himself on Tim’s bed for a good night’s sleep. Tim wanted to make himself a sandwich. He hadn’t eaten much today with all the excitement of moving in.

He slept surprisingly well that night, awakening even before his alarm went off at seven. Getting up, he showered, shaved, and let Rowdy out in the backyard. He didn’t want to miss Mr. Bills. Draperies and curtains were an absolute must. He’d undressed in the lighted walk-in closet the night before, and dressed there this morning. Putting on a pot of coffee, he reheated several of Mrs. Bills’s cinnamon rolls, and sat down to eat.

Mr. Bills arrived at eight o’clock, pulling his truck into the drive, and coming in from the breezeway. “ ’Spect you know who I am,” he said. “The missus sent me down to get your curtain rods up. Let’s see what you got to hang, Mr. Blair.”

“I put the cartons over here,” Tim said, “opened them last night, and laid everything in the proper rooms before I turned in for the night.” He led Mr. Bills to the living room.

The handyman examined how the curtains should be hung, nodded, and grunted to himself. Then he followed Tim into the study and finally the bedroom, where he repeated the same proceedure. “The missus says you should have a small shade for the bathroom. She gave me the size, and I picked it up at the hardware store for you along with the rods you’ll need. She told me what rods to put in the kitchen and on the back door. Says she’ll discuss what goes there with you on Friday. No need for you to stand around, Mr. Blair. You go about your business, and I’ll go about mine.”

“How do I pay you, Mr. Bills?” Tim asked.

“I’ll leave the bill on the kitchen table,” came the reply. “You can give the money to the missus on Friday. She’ll give it to me. I’ll start in the living room.” He picked up the toolbox he had brought into the house with him and exited the kitchen.

Tim fed Rowdy, who had come in with Mr. Bills, then put his dishes in the dishwasher. Going down the hall to his bedroom, he made his bed. Then, going to his study, he began to unpack the rest of the books and get his computer and desk set up.

When Mr. Bills finally came into the study, Tim went to the living room to see how the handyman had fared. The valances were set perfectly. The slim, heavy draperies with their sheer curtains hung perfectly.

Tim emptied the remaining cartons of books he wanted to keep. He quickly discovered there wasn’t enough room for all the volumes that had come out of the apartment. He intended donating what he didn’t want to the library. He had already given his father’s law library to Ray Pietro d’Angelo. Ray’s gratitude made him glad he had given those books to someone who would appreciate them. And his father would have been pleased. He had always liked Ray.

By eleven o’clock Mr. Bills had finished the job he had been sent to do. “I’m leaving the bill on the table, Mr. Blair,” he called out. “Give the missus cash if you don’t mind. I prefer cash on jobs like these.”

Tim caught the handyman before he got out the breezeway door. “You did a spectacular job,” he said, complimenting Mr. Bills. “Thanks so much.”

Mr. Bills smiled slightly. “Glad to oblige, Mr. Blair. Good morning.” And the handyman was gone, out to his truck.

“Rowdy,” Tim called. “Let’s take a walk to the library.” He clipped the leash onto the dog’s collar, made certain his keys were in his pocket, and headed out the door.

The mail woman walking her route patted Rowdy on the head, and greeted him by name. Tim smiled and nodded at her, noting she put some mail in the box in front of his house. He’d check when he got back, but right now he had to focus on making a friend of Egret Pointe’s starchy librarian, Kathryn St. John, pronounced
Sin Gin
. If he couldn’t win her over, then maybe Rowdy could. Rowdy was good at winning women’s hearts, even if his master wasn’t.

T
he sign on the front door of the brick Victorian library said most distinctly SHIRTS AND SHOES. NO DOGS ALLOWED
.
Of course no dogs, Tim thought. Miss St. John obviously didn’t like dogs, even if she had a soft spot for what she thought was an abused animal. Deciding to check out the library anyway, Tim tied Rowdy’s leash to the old-fashioned black iron hitching post. “Sit. Stay, Rowdy,” he commanded the dog. Then he patted him on the head. “I’ll be back, boy. You just wait for me.”

Rowdy thumped his tail and whined softly as Tim moved away from him.

“It’s all right, boy.
Stay
,” Tim repeated. He entered the library, surprised to find given its exterior how light and bright it was. He walked up to the slightly curved walnut front desk. “Good morning. Is Miss St. John available?” he asked the pretty woman standing behind the counter.

“I’ll see if she is, Mr. Blair,” the woman said. “I’m Mavis Peabody.” She held out a hand, which he shook. “Nice to meet you.”

“Same here,” Tim responded. He had stopped wondering how everyone knew who he was, and knew Rowdy’s name.

Mavis Peabody turned and hurried back to Kathryn’s office. “Kathy!” she said excitedly. “
He’s here!
Mr. Blair, the new Middle School principal. He’s asking for you. Do you want me to bring him back here to your office?”

Kathryn St. John was surprised. What could that irritating man possibly want of her? She stood up, involuntarily smoothing her skirt and reaching up to be certain her hair was neat. “No, I’ll come out.” She moved quickly past Mavis, seeing him almost immediately. She had been so mad about the poor dog the other day, she hadn’t really bothered to look closely at him. She took a moment now to do so. Tall. Maybe six three or six four. Unusual. She had never met a man as tall as that. Clean shaven. Nicely barbered chestnut brown hair with just a touch of gray at the sides. Khakis, a dark green tee that revealed a toned body. Good grief! Why was she possibly considering that aspect of the man? “Good morning, Mr. Blair,” she greeted him.

“Good morning, Miss St. John,” Tim replied. “I thought I’d come by and apologize for any harsh words I might have uttered the other day over our little misunderstanding.”

She was surprised, but good manners dictated she accept the apology. “That’s very kind of you,” Kathryn answered him. “I’m afraid my concern for your dog caused me to act in haste without fully evaluating the situation, Mr. Blair. I hope you’ll accept my apology too.” There! She had reciprocated. It would be over and done. She waited for him to say good-bye.

Instead he smiled. “I can’t fault a woman with a kind heart toward the beasties,” he said. “And Rowdy can sound so pitiful when he howls.”

“It sounded like he was dying,” Kathryn admitted.

“I understand from my neighbor, Mrs. Sullivan, that you have a wonderful summer reading program for the Elementary and Middle Schools. Can you tell me about it? Do you give the kids an initial list of books to read? Or let them pick from a larger list? And what incentives do you offer, and how do you know they actually read the book that they checked out?”

Kathryn was impressed that after being in town for two days he knew about the summer reading program. And at that point she noticed that he had blue eyes. Startlingly bright blue eyes. She swallowed hard. What was the matter with her? “I start the children off with a list of six books,” Kathryn told him. “They have to come and give me a verbal report. I hold a reporting session every Friday morning between eleven A.M. and twelve. I take each child individually into my office to report to me. That way they can’t cheat. When those six books are read and reported properly, the students are given a total of sixty points. Their names and points are posted where everyone can see them on the bulletin board behind the checkout counter. After that they get to choose their own reading material, but they still have to report to me.

“For the first one hundred points they are awarded a coupon for an ice-cream cone at Walt’s. Reach two hundred points and you get a two-scoop sundae. Reach three hundred and you win a banana split with three scoops of ice cream, three sauces, whipped cream, and a cherry.” Kathryn smiled. “We’re going to have at least five three-hundred-point winners by summer’s end this year. Three are in the Middle School, which is pretty good considering the distractions kids that age are bombarded with nowadays.”

“Agreed,” he said. “I think you’ve devised a great program, Miss St. John! Maybe next summer you’ll allow me to offer a few suggestions for reading material?”

“Of course,” Kathryn answered, surprised he would even be interested. His predecessor had never cared. She had been grateful for the program, and left it up to the library to do it. “I do try and challenge the children.”

“Yes, that’s a good thing. Make it too simple and they’re bored,” he said.

Suddenly they both heard Rowdy begin to howl.

“I never knew a clingy dog,” Kathryn said, half irritated.

“He’s not clingy.” Tim defended his animal. “That’s his
Help! I’m scared
howl.” He turned and went back outside. Rowdy was hunkered down, attempting to make himself invisible behind the hitching post. He was shaking. Seeing Tim, he yelped and tried to leap at him, but his leash, still tied to the post, hindered him. “It’s all right, boy,” Tim assured him, kneeling down to put comforting arms about Rowdy.

“What on earth is the matter with him?” Kathryn, who had followed him outside, asked. “He’s absolutely shaking all over. Is he sick? You did say he had had his shots.”

Tim looked about, and then he spotted it. A large, fat ginger tabby cat was seated beneath a blue hydrangea bush, calmly washing its paws and staring directly at Rowdy. “That’s the problem,” Tim said, pointing to the feline.

“
The cat?
What on earth could Dickens have done to that dog of yours that’s caused him to go all to pieces like that?” Kathryn asked him.

“Rowdy is afraid of cats,” Tim told her with an apologetic grin.

“A dog afraid of cats?” she said disbelieving. “Nonsense!”

“Not at all,” Tim replied. “I got Rowdy from friends who lived in the country. He was one of three puppies born to their dog after a casual encounter with a neighbor’s male dog. When he was about six weeks old he found the family’s litter of two-week-old kittens. He didn’t hurt them. He was just curious. The mother cat attacked him, however. She scratched him up pretty badly, and he’s been afraid of cats ever since.”