Single and Searching (3 page)

Craziness must be hereditary in the family.

"Oh, my word!" Casey's pale skin flushed crimson. "What have you done now, Henry S.?"

Henry S. extended the bear proudly for Casey's inspection. "Dressed Bobby Bear," Henry S. said.

Gabe burst into laughter. Casey covered her flaming face with her hands.

"I can't believe this," she groaned. "This is absolutely the worst day ever. What else can go wrong today?"

Gabe saw instantly what else could go wrong as a monster of a dog chose that moment to come bounding in. The furry hundred and fifty pound ball sped past Casey and Henry S. and trotted straight into the bathroom.

"Oh, no, Dog!" Casey shrieked, then picked up the hem of her robe and darted after the animal.

Gabe instinctively followed and Henry S. toddled behind them.

The three of them stopped at the bathroom doorway just as the animal slid into the flood of water, his giant paws sloshing and splashing as he drank from the toilet bowl.

Henry S. started to run into the room, but Casey scooped him up, and thrust him into Gabe's hands. "Here, hold him," she cried.

Gabe clutched the wiggling toddler away from him, too stunned to do anything but hope the kid didn't go into a tirade or puke on him.

Casey must have read his panic because she burst into tears, snatched Henry S. back, then gently settled Henry S. on the floor in the hallway. "Stay here, sweetheart."

After brushing the moisture from her eyes with the palm of her gloved hand, she turned to the wet dog and pointed to the doorway. "Get out, Dog!"

Gabe narrowed his eyes at the mutt. "His name is Dog?"

"No," Casey said, impatience resonating in her voice. "It's Horace Winchester Xavier Stanford, the Fourth." She had enunciated each word carefully as if he was an idiot. "But the only name he answers to is Dog, because that's what Henry S. calls him. And every time Henry S. calls him, he feeds him treats."

Casey blew a strand of hair away from her face with a huff. She was a creative writer, for heaven's sake. Did he think she was so uncreative she couldn't even think of a name for her dog? And surely, the man had seen messy bathrooms before. After all, plumbing was his line of work. Was he going to help her or not?

Probably not. After all, she was only paying him to fix the darn toilet.

Heaving a weary sigh, she pushed with all her might, finally tugging Dog from the toilet. The furry animal shook, spraying water across the room. Gabe jumped backward, missing most of the flying water, but Casey's hair and robe were soaked. A streak of purple and orange slid down her cheek.

The dog pivoted and lunged for Gabe, planting two wet paws on the front of his shirt. Gabe grimaced, slipped on the wet floor and fell back into the tub, his long legs hanging over the edge. Groaning, he grabbed the dog's soggy fur and tried to pry him loose as the mutt attempted to crawl into the tub with him. The little boy clapped his hands and squealed and raced toward them, obviously planning to join the fun, but Casey scooped him up and swung him back into the hall.

"No, Henry S. Dog, come on!" Exhaling an angry sigh, Casey gripped the dog's collar and dragged him out of the bathroom toward the back door.

"If you'll just get the toilet fixed, I'd appreciate it," Casey said, gritting her teeth as she came back to the bathroom. Maybe she would just have to spell it out for this guy.

"What happened to the toilet?" Gabe asked, finally dragging himself from the tub. He frowned, swiping at the wet pawprint plastered across his stomach. Did Casey make all her dates repair her broken fixtures?

Heat climbed Casey's neck. "Uh... Henry S. flushed a box of condoms down the toilet." Oh, well, she'd considered lying. But obviously, this guy needed the straightforward approach.

"A whole box?" Gabe asked.

"Yeah, well there might have been one missing." Casey's neck grew hotter. "They're neon green, the triple extra-large size." Why she added that, she didn't know. He would find out soon enough when he fished them out. Or maybe he wouldn't even know what they were. He certainly had an odd expression on his face.

"The triple extra-large size?" he asked. Now his voice squeaked like an adolescent.

Casey shrugged. "Yeah. Brick left them here."

His face turned from green to a strange shade of red. Maybe she was embarrassing him. Slow as he was, he probably wasn't very experienced.

Maybe he was even a virgin.

Now, that would be a strange turn of events. Male virgin meets female virgin. Her gaze riveted to his flat male nipples which stood erect beneath the thin cotton shirt.
Maybe we could learn together.

Casey squashed the thoughts. Jenna was right. She needed to find a steady, nice man, maybe a husband to help her fight Henry S.' father. Not a lover.

"Anyway, get the toilet fixed as soon as you can," Casey said. "I need to shower. My date's coming in an hour, and I have to get cleaned up." Casey swept a hand across her robe, fighting a fresh wave of tears. "After all, I've never met this guy before. I certainly couldn't let him see me like this, now could I?"

Gabe's eyes widened in surprise. An hour. Was the woman so scatterbrained she couldn't tell time? Their date was for seven o'clock. It was ten minutes past seven now.

Casey groaned silently as Gabe stood motionless. A dozen words sprang to mind, none of which she could use with Henry S.' innocent ears so close by. Raking her gaze over the man's strong chiseled features, she shook her head as once again sympathy rippled through her.

The man couldn't even answer the simplest of questions. It really was such a waste giving all those looks to someone who didn't have the ability to use words. Such a pity.

"I'll take Henry S. with me," Casey said, picking up the toddler and settling him on one hip. "If anyone comes to the door, just let them in. It should be my friend, Jenna. She's coming to get Henry S. for the night."

Casey shot upstairs, Henry S. giggling as she bounced him up and down on her hip. Gabe stared after her, one hand closing around the slippery doorknob.

Everything in Casey's house spelled disaster. Disorder. Disarray.

The woman was a total wreck, a far cry from the obsessive compulsive neatnik he'd envisioned. There was no way in hell this scatterbrained woman was a criminal. Why, she'd never be able to find a weapon underneath the mess in her house, much less pick a lock or methodically rob another person's domain.

He took a long look at the bathroom. Obviously, Casey thought he was a plumber. He couldn't remember exactly what he'd said that had given her that impression. Maybe he should be offended she thought him a blue collar worker. Then again, maybe it was his lucky day.

A faint scent filled his nostrils, and he glanced toward the kitchen. Cinnamon apples. The smell reminded him of the kind of home he wanted, the kind of woman he was looking for. But Casey? No way.

Sure, when she'd stuck her slender foot out, he'd been shocked at her perfectly manicured red toenails. A smile eased onto his face. Her sultry voice and that little southern drawl made his groin tighten. The lacy underwear had been a pleasant surprise, and neon green condoms—whoa, he hadn't been that daring since college. But, still, all that shrieking, the colored hair, blue lips, and that green gunk were enough to stifle any man's desire.

And who the hell was Brick? Casey actually expected him to fish another man's condoms out of her toilet! And triple extra large? There wasn't such a thing, was there?

Was Brick some stud machine?

Gabe stood at the bottom of the steps, pondering what to do. Casey thought he was a plumber. Maybe he wouldn't tell her any different. He would fix her toilet and sneak out the door. That way he could go home, catch some much-needed sleep, escape a date with what must be the craziest woman he'd ever met, and still have plenty of information for his article.

His decision made, Gabe soothed his conscience by deciding that even though he would be standing Casey up, he was fixing her flooded bathroom. For free.

Getting Brick's condoms out should certainly pay her back for missing their date.

He could telephone later and leave an apology on her answering machine. That should be enough to satisfy Grandma Maude and the southern breeding she'd instilled in him. And his boss, Hank, would love the article he planned to write.

Casey didn't know it, but her wild appearance and her son's taste in teddy bear attire had just given him his opening line.

* * *

Casey patted her swollen eyelids with a cold cloth and raced toward the telephone, muttering every vile word she could think of and a few she'd just made up. After having such a horrid day yesterday and then being stood up last night, she'd cried herself to sleep. A ridiculous thing to do, she thought, as she realized that her burst of emotion had prompted her morning migraine.

And to top it all off, she'd dreamt about making love with the plumber!

Her body still tingled from the unsated passion his broad hands and rough unshaven jaw had provoked. In her dream, she'd rearranged the holes in his jeans in the most strategic of places, savoring each exposed area of flesh with her tongue and teeth and fingers. The man had taken her in a storm of passion, caressing her with beautiful erotic words that he'd whispered in answer to her most secret desires. The only stammering and stuttering he'd done had been out of excitement, when she'd driven him to the brink of desire and he'd panted her name like a crazy man.

The phone jangled again, and Casey jumped. She was the crazy person! Cursing herself for her lewd thoughts, she caught the phone just before her voice mail picked up.

If this was Travis, Henry S.' father, calling again, she'd call the police. If it was Gabriel Thornton finally calling to apologize, she intended to hang up on him. "Hello."

"Hey, Casey, how was your date?" Jenna's cheerful voice was almost more than Casey could handle.

"He never showed." Casey tossed two aspirin down her throat and chugged a glass of water.

"Scumbag," Jenna said.

"You're being nice." Casey plopped into one of her kitchen chairs. "He was a scumbag at 8:00 last night. He's deteriorated drastically since."

Jenna laughed. "Sorry, Case. Men stink. Our luck should prove that."

"I know," Casey mumbled. "I can't believe I let you talk me into placing that ad. Single and Searching – it sounds like a maniac magnet."

"Hey, don't give up. It was only the first guy who answered. I told you three women have been shopping at the store buying lingerie for their wedding nights. They all found husbands through singles ads. You just have to give it time."

Casey huffed. "I wasn't expecting Prince Charming last night or a husband. I just wanted to meet some half-decent guy I could talk into taking me to my awards dinner." She refused to admit her fantasies about the plumber even to Jenna. Maybe she needed psychiatric help.

Or maybe she should call the plumber back.

She could always cram something down her kitchen sink or the toilet in her other bathroom. Just because he wasn't good with words didn't mean he wasn't good in other ways. After all, he worked with his hands. Hmmm.

"How about that guy that illustrates your books? He'll go to the dinner, won't he?" Jenna asked.

Casey sighed. "Sure, but Brick and I are just friends. Besides, his girlfriend, Shelia, is a human piranha."

Jenna laughed. "Well, don't give up. You might just find the perfect guy. Being married would help if Travis takes you to court to get Henry S.," Jenna said convincingly.

Casey unfolded the morning paper. "Yeah, I know. How's the little rascal this morning?"

"An angel," Jenna said.

Casey snorted. "Sure, he always is." Her fingernails tapped up and down the newspaper.

"So, did the guy not even call?" Jenna asked.

"Nope." Casey's fingers paused, scanning the inside page. "It was strange though. I had a message from another plumber that he had an emergency and would call today." An article about dating drew her eye, and she pointed to the title in horror.

"Hey, listen to this, Jenna.
Personal Ad Dating: Dream Date or Disillusionment?
Oh, my gosh," Casey gasped as she began to read the article aloud.

"Some people place personal ads actually expecting to find their true love. They paint evocative pictures of themselves with words hoping to lure the ideal mate. Instead of finding love, they may find romance, or in many cases, the opposite – a disaster."

She scanned the article and read a description of five different women the journalist had dated, the first being a woman who came to the door wearing a tattered robe and ordered her date to fix her toilet."

Her date?
"How in the world?" Suddenly a chill slithered up Casey's spine, and she glanced at the byline.

"Oh, my word," Casey groaned.

"What is it?" Jenna asked.

Anger surged through her as she quickly skimmed the column. Gabriel Thornton had written this article. And she, along with four other women, had been verbally slaughtered by his version of dating via personal ads. He'd described in detail her meeting with the plumber last night He made her sound psychotic! How could he know what had happened between her and the plumber?

Suspicion took a nasty hold on her.

Casey slammed the paper down then pivoted toward her laptop and googled his name. Seconds later, a photo of the man in her house the night before appeared, except this time he was dressed in a sport coat and tie and looked as handsome as homemade sin. A list of his credentials and the articles he'd penned followed.

Dammit!

She wadded up the paper as the truth dawned on her. The man at her door last night had been Gabriel Thornton.

The slimeball had shown up an hour early for her date, disguised himself as a plumber to get his interview, and sneaked away like a thief in the night. He'd probably never intended to take her out.

Details of the other women in the article skated through her mind. At least Frita the fudgecake freak had gotten dinner and four pieces of fudgecake for dessert. He had run from her house before she'd even gotten out of the shower.