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Authors: John Inman

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BOOK: Spirit
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I tried to act nonchalant, especially when I saw the bug had not only missed me but had gathered its wings about itself and actually flown off in the opposite direction, but Timmy didn’t look fooled. In fact, he was still laughing, although he had buried his face in Thumper’s belly while he did it. Thumper was sound asleep. It takes a lot to impress Thumper. Or even wake her up.

I cleared my throat.

“Remember at dinner last night? You said the man in the basement was nice. What man were you talking about?”

Timmy put his head to the floor, nose to nose with Thumper. Thumper opened her eyes and gave the kid a lick. Timmy licked her back.

“Don’t lick the dog,” I said.

“She did it first.”

“Yeah, but she cleans her butt with that tongue. Presumably, you don’t.”

Timmy popped up to a sitting position, wiping furiously at his mouth with a corner of the blanket. “Oh,” he said.

“And don’t wipe your mouth on that blanket. It’s filthy.”

“You’re worse than Mommy.”

“Thanks. About the man in the basement—”

“What about him?”

“Who is he?”

Timmy shrugged. “Some guy.”

“You saw him through the little window yesterday?”

“I didn’t see him. I just heard him. He said you were getting fat.”

I stiffened.
“What?”

Timmy giggled at another one of my horrified expressions. I seemed to acquire a lot of them when Timmy was around. “Just kidding,” he said, all innocent charm, which didn’t fool me in the least. “Can I cut your hair, Uncle Jason?”

“That would be a big fat no,” I said. “I still don’t know what we’re going to do about yours.”

I gave the air a minute to clear from all this extraneous conversation about haircuts and me getting fat (damn, that hurt) and finally got back to the mysterious man in the basement.

“What did he look like?”

“I told you. I didn’t see him. He just talked to me.”

“Through the window?”

Timmy nodded. “He sounded sad. I guess he didn’t like you getting fat.”

“Stop saying that!”

Timmy snorted a laugh.

“You’re making this up,” I said.

“No, I’m not.”

“Then talk to him now.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Tell him to show himself.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re afraid of a bug. You’d prob’ly fall over dead if a ghost popped out.”

“He’s a ghost?”

“Maybe.”

“Do you see him now?”

“No. But I think he’s listening.”

“Does your mother make you wear a straightjacket at home?”

“Only when we’ve got company.”

I threw my gloves and hat and bandanna on the basement floor and tried to beat the dust off my clothes. The basement looked marginally better than it had when I’d started. At least you could walk through it now without breaking your neck. I figured that was good enough.

I pulled the outside security door closed and pushed the deadbolt in place. “Let’s go eat lunch.”

“What are we having?”

“The extortion we didn’t eat yesterday.”

“Is it still good?”

“Extortion is always good.”

He was obviously leery. “Well, okay, then, I guess.”

I threw the kid over my shoulder, making him squeal with delight, tucked Thumper under my arm, making her growl with something
less
than delight, and headed for the stairs.

I reached out to flick off the basement lights, and before I could touch the switch, the lights went out on their own.

I stood there blinking, staring at the switch in the dark. Say—
huh?

Timmy tapped the side of my head with his little fist like he was knocking on a door. I could actually hear the bonking sound it made.

“See?” he said, still dangling down my back like a feather boa. “Told ya. Ghost.”

Chapter 3

 

G
REAT
. T
WO
days with Timmy and already the kid’s head was butchered and my house was haunted. Oh, well. At least the basement was organized.

Once again, Timmy and I were sitting at the kitchen table. He was making a face over his lunch.

“This ’stortion tastes like fish.”

I smiled to myself. “Imagine that.”

“Where does it come from?”

“What?”

“’Stortion.”

“It comes from Argentina. Great herds of them roam the Pampas looking for little boys to eat. You’re lucky. You ate this one before he ate you.”

His eyes were leery. He gazed from me to his plate, then back again.

“It still tastes like fish.” Timmy said, turning to stare through the kitchen window as if mulling it all over. Then his eyes opened wide. “Look at that man.”

I jumped. What? Another ghost? I followed Timmy’s stare through the window and saw a man standing behind Jack’s MINI Cooper, jotting down the license number. He was cute, but he didn’t look like a cop. He was wearing blue jeans and a polo shirt, and even from this distance, I could tell he had a really nice ass. Shows where my priorities lie, huh?

“Stay here,” I said.

Naturally, Timmy followed me right out of the house.

As I stepped through the front door, I saw the man slip the little notebook he was holding into his back pocket. Happily, it didn’t do too much damage to the outline of his butt. And a fine outline it was too.

“Can I help you?” I asked.

The man was perhaps my age or a little younger, with a shock of chocolate-brown hair waving all over his head. When he turned and nailed me with a pair of warm brown eyes, it took all my willpower not to fluff my hair like Mae West just to make sure I looked my best. An easy smile twisted his mouth, and a flash of white teeth glittered in the sun as he took me in from head to toe. I have to say he didn’t seem
too
disappointed by what he was gazing at.

He stepped toward me finally, hand outstretched, and met me at the curb.

“I remember you from the wedding,” he said. I automatically extended my hand in return, and he scooped it into both of his, not so much shaking as simply holding it. The feel of his skin sent tingles to every erogenous zone on my body. It was a wonder I didn’t ignite like a road flare and lay sizzling in the street.

Then his words soaked in. I had only been to one wedding in my life. “You mean my sister’s wedding?”

He nodded, and as he nodded, he gazed down at Timmy and his smile widened. Timmy smiled right back. Maybe he was smitten too.

The young man’s voice was as soft as a warm cotton blanket when he turned back to me and said, “Your sister’s and my brother’s.
That
wedding.”

A long-forgotten memory snagged my attention. A young man just out of high school five years earlier, brother of the groom, chowing down on wedding cake at Sally and Paul’s reception. He sat stiff and uncomfortable in his new blue suit, and he was absolutely stunning with a little dollop of white icing smearing the corner of his mouth.

“I remember,” I said. “You and your family came into town for the wedding from—” I snapped my fingers, trying to recall. It wouldn’t come.

“Tucson,” he prompted.

“Tucson!”

He laughed at my response. And when he laughed, my erogenous zones tingled again. Every damned one of them. To cover my embarrassment, I knelt down by Timmy and said, “Say hello. This is your uncle—”

Then I realized I had no idea what the guy’s name was. Happily, the young man filled in the blanks as he knelt on the sidewalk beside me, facing the boy.

“Sam,” he said, giving Timmy a gentle smile and reaching out to take Timmy’s tiny hand in his big paw.

“Sam!” I barked. “That’s right!” Then I blushed, because really, what the hell was I barking for? Nerves? Hormones? Endorphins? This time Sam and Timmy both laughed at me.

I tried to gather up the shredded remains of my dignity and said, “Timmy, say hello to your uncle, Sam.” Then it was my turn to laugh.
Uncle Sam?

Sam watched my mouth curl up and laughed. “And you’re Jason, I think.”

I nodded. “Yep. Jason.” So we shook hands
again.
“Did Sally know you were coming?”

He brushed the hair out of his eyes and glanced at his watch. “I might have mentioned it. I don’t remember.”

It took me all of two seconds to decide my next move.

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” I said. “Timmy and I were just sitting down to lunch. If you aren’t in a hurry, come inside and join us.”

Sam seemed a little stunned by the invitation. I wasn’t sure why. Did I look that inhospitable?

After a couple of heartbeats, he said, “Thanks, Jason. I’d like that.”

We stood, and Timmy tugged on Sam’s pant leg before we could walk toward the house.

“Yes?” Sam asked kindly, bending all the way down so his and Timmy’s noses were only inches apart.

“You can have my ’stortion,” Timmy said. “It sucks anyway.”

Sam got that expression one gets on one’s face when a cab driver who can’t speak two words of English starts blabbering in some unrecognizable language about God knows what.

“Did you say ’stortion?”

Timmy looked disappointed that Sam was so poorly educated. “Yeah, they find it in the Pampers.”

“Well, uh, gee,” Sam hedged, obviously not knowing what the heck the kid was talking about. “Thanks, I think. But maybe I’m not as hungry as I thought I was. And by the way. Who cut your hair?”

Timmy straightened his shoulders—a battered peacock putting every ruffled feather on proud display after a heart-stopping run-in with a passing automobile. “I did. Why? You want me to cut yours?”

Sam gave a whistle, then made a god-awful face for my benefit alone, turning his head just enough that Timmy couldn’t see it. “Oh, no. Thanks. But yours looks great. Best haircut ever.”

It was at that very moment I knew I liked the guy. Liked him a lot. Sam seemed like a really nice man, and I have a weakness for really nice men. Especially when they looked like this one.

I threw Timmy over my shoulder again, this time to shut him up, since he seemed about to jabber on forever, and the three of us laughed our way into the house.

Sam was muttering to himself behind me. “I’m not eating
anything
that comes out of Pampers.”

 

 

F
INALLY
, I
had another adult around to appreciate my cooking, and I have to admit, the salmon was delicious. Tender, buttery, perfect. Since Timmy had glowered and pushed his portion to the side of his plate like a dead salamander, I broke down and fixed him another hot dog, which renewed his good humor immediately.

Sam never took his eyes off the boy, except for those moments when, out of sheer politeness because I was speaking to him, he was forced to lay those sexy brown orbs on me.

Soon I had set a place and filled a plate for Sam, and we all got down to the business of eating.

After tasting his food, the first thing Sam said was, “This is salmon, right?”

And the first thing I said was, “Hush.” I rolled my eyes in Timmy’s direction, hoping Sam would understand. He did.

Then I decided to do a little interrogating. I was nosy.

“Why were you so interested in Jack’s car?”

Sam centered those eyes on me again, and my toes curled. “Jack?” he asked.

“Yeah. Sally’s boyfriend.”

“Oh, is that whose car it was? I just liked the looks of it. Even wrote down the model of it just in case I won the lottery.”

“It looked like you were writing down the license number.”

Sam laughed. “Why would I do that?”

I couldn’t think of a reason, so I assumed I was wrong and let it
go.

“So how long are you in town, Sam?”

“Just a few days.”

“Business?”

“Uh, yeah. Taking care of some business for my dad.”

“You’re pretty,” Timmy said, and he wasn’t talking to me.

Sam had the good grace to blush. “Thanks, kid. You cruising?”

Timmy thought that was funny, although I doubted he knew what it meant. Those two little words gave
me
food for thought, however.
My God, is Sam gay?

“Married?” I asked, being ineptly sneaky.

“Nope. Gay,” Sam flatly stated, being honest and not sneaky at all. How can you not like a man like that?

I almost choked on a green bean. Before I could stop myself, the words were out of my mouth. “And I’m sure the gay world is happy as hell about it.”

He blushed again, this time around a very attractive smile. “Thanks, Jason.”

“Although you do tend to make the rest of us look like trolls.”

“Oh, please,” he said. And then he seemed to think he should clarify that statement. Trying to look surprised, he added, “Oh, are you gay too? I didn’t know.”

Yeah right. And the earth is flat.

Even with his insincere comment about not knowing I was gay, I found myself enjoying the man’s company immensely. My eyes kept being drawn to his arms. Lord, they were sexy. Nicely tanned, ribboned with muscle, and spattered with a pelt of dark hair I really wanted to reach out and stroke. His longish hair seemed to perpetually hang in his eyes, but he was one of those people who wasn’t bothered by the fact. When he blinked I could see his long, gorgeous eyelashes nudging that curtain of brown hair out of the way. That would have driven me crazy. I’d be wearing a barrette to keep my bangs off my face. And no, I’m not really butch if that’s your next question, although I’m not a flaming queen either. At least, I hope I’m not.

BOOK: Spirit
2.64Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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