The Red Hat Society's Domestic Goddess (10 page)

“Out kind of late, aren’t you?” he asked, his voice deep with concern.

The short hairs at the nape of her neck rose as irritation flickered. She wasn’t used to anyone questioning her comings and
goings. “Funny, you don’t look like my father.”

He chuckled. “Occupational hazard, I guess.”

Perversely, a little disappointment settled her irritation. So his concern wasn’t personal. “Is lurking around in the dark
an occupational hazard, too?”

“No,” he said, his teeth flashing white in a wide grin. “I thought I heard something earlier. I’ve been out here a while now,
looking around, trying to figure out what it could have been.”

“What did you hear?” Her ring of the doorbell? How could he not have recognized that sound?

“I don’t know.” He brushed a hand through his short hair. “Sounded like a sick dog. Some awful howling…”

She glanced the few yards from her door to his door
where, beneath the hip roof of his porch, his yard light illuminated his cement stoop. His empty cement stoop.

Where had the basket gone? Millie would probably not be happy if she didn’t return that basket. More importantly, where was
the cat? If George been out here all that time, why hadn’t he found it? Was it scared of George? Had it run off? She could
so
identify with it.

“So did you find anything?” she asked, resisting the urge to sink to her knees and call out for the cat.

He shook his head. “Nope. Didn’t see a thing.”

Not the basket?

Not the pretty bow?

Not the welcome-to-the-neighborhood note?

Where had it all gone? And why did she care?

“Well, it’s late,” she said, brushing past him as she pulled open her storm door. “See you…”

“Around,” he said. “After all, we are neighbors.”

Even though he’d only lived there a day, she wasn’t likely to forget it. The walls hadn’t seemed so thin when Mrs. Milanowski
had lived next door. Kim had never heard the sputter of water when the shower started and stopped for her. She’d never felt
the vibration of the rhythm of music she had played. Of course Mrs. Milanowski had been more into Lawrence Welk than Lynyrd
Skynyrd. How would she handle three hundred sixty-five days of George?

Kim shoved her key in the lock, turned it, then pushed open her door. As she did, something furry scurried from behind the
bushes and brushed against her leg and… howled.

George laughed. “The basket’s back there, too.”

“Hey,” she protested, “it was a gift. You’re not supposed to return a gift.”

“I had to return it. We don’t know each other well enough to exchange gifts,” George said, promise vibrating in his deep voice
as he added, “yet.”

Despite it being spring, the night air must have chilled because goose bumps rose on Kim’s bare arms. He didn’t mean anything
by that, she was sure. And it didn’t matter if he did because she wasn’t interested.

She glanced down at the gray tiger cat. Its glowing eyes stared up at her, then one eye flickered shut as if it was winking
at her.

T
he plastic bowl slipped in Millie’s damp palms, so she had to adjust her hold on it. Why was she so nervous? It wasn’t the
walking alone at night. She’d insisted to both Kim and Theresa that she’d be fine getting herself home, except that she hadn’t
gone straight home.

She’d stopped here first, outside Charles’ unit. There were only two in his building, each with a three-stall garage, arched
windows, and cathedral ceilings. Even though it was only a street over from theirs, Kim called this area the swanky part of
Hilltop. Remembering what she and Bruce had paid for their small unit, Millie had laughed off her comment. No part of Hilltop
was exactly low-rent.

The wind rustled through the trees and shrubs, casting shadows between Millie and the glow of the street-lamp. But it wasn’t
the shadows outside making her
nervous; it was the shadows she glimpsed behind the drapes in Charles’s front window.

Two of them.

He wasn’t alone.

And it wasn’t his dog standing close to him in his living room. Or a man.

The silhouette behind the drapes, framed by the arched window, reminded Millie of the paper dolls she’d played with as a little
girl. Part of the reason was its seeming two-dimensional; the other was that it had the curvy lines that mimicked Barbie doll’s
impossible figure.

Charles’s visitor was definitely female, in as great physical shape as Kim. It might have been Millie’s athletic friend but
for the long hair flowing around the woman’s shoulders. So who was it, and why did Millie need to know so badly?

Not badly enough, however, to walk up to the door and ring the bell. Instead she ducked behind the bushes separating the driveways
of the two units, then peered between the holes in the foliage.

Now she considered what it meant that Charles lived in the “swanky” area. He had money. So not only was he a bachelor; he
was a very eligible one. That meant nothing to Millie. But she knew it would matter to some women. Undoubtedly hers weren’t
the only casseroles he’d received. Was that what his visitor was doing, dropping off a casserole?

The pie container slipped again. Millie’s fingers caught the lid—the only reason she didn’t drop it behind the shrubs. She
didn’t care what those other women’s
motives were; hers were pure. She was only dropping off a pie.

Okay, maybe she’d been about to attempt a little more flirting. She wouldn’t mind getting to know Charles better.

But if he already had somebody in his life…

She should walk up to the door, just knock and find out. So why was she hiding instead? This was so unlike her, skulking in
the shadows, spying. It was more up Kim’s alley; she was the one who had to know everything that happened in the complex.
Not to spread rumors like Mrs. Ryers, but to make sure nothing “funny” was going on.

Millie had a five second warning that something funny was about to happen when water gurgled under her feet. Then the sprinklers
started, shooting streams of water across the grass. And Millie’s hair and shirt and pants. It even trickled down her ankles
and pooled in her white canvas shoes.

Taken off guard by the impromptu cold shower, Millie’s attention was drawn away from spying through the shrubs. She didn’t
notice that Charles had come outside until his dog was yapping around Millie’s dripping ankles. She pressed a finger against
her lips, hoping the animal would obey the universal silencing gesture before its master investigated what had it barking.
“Shhh…”

It bounced around more, its little body shaking as it vigorously wagged its tail. A motor rumbled, louder than the water rushing
through the spigots, as a car backed down Charles’s drive. Millie caught a glimpse of
his visitor through the driver’s window. Blonde, beautiful, young.

Even though it was only a glimpse, Millie was pretty certain she’d never seen her before. The girl, and the car, disappeared
from view as Charles stepped around the shrubs and blocked Millie’s line of vision. But she’d already seen enough of her competition.
Not that she was actually competing for Charles, at least not anymore. That was the problem with
men
Millie’s age. They didn’t want
women
Millie’s age.

“How many times have I told you to stay out of the sprinklers?” Charles scolded his dog, his deep voice full of exasperation.
And he hadn’t even noticed Millie yet.

“This is the first time that I know of,” she said, swallowing her sigh of disappointment as his gaze traveled from his dog,
which was lapping the water off her ankles, up her drenched body, to meet hers. His amazing blue eyes widened with shock.
He backed away, maybe out of fear, maybe just to give her room to get out from under the water spray.

Either way she took advantage, stepping around the shrubs to stand with him on his driveway. The dog, keeping close to her,
shook itself, sending more water flying at her. Millie resisted the urge, barely, to follow the dog’s example and shake off
some water, too. Charles, speechless, still stared at her.

He undoubtedly thought her a psychotic stalker now. The tide of embarrassment that flooded her body wasn’t entirely unwelcome
as it warmed her chilled, damp skin.

Her brain scrambled for any half-baked explanation. “I was bringing this by,” she said, extending the dripping plastic bowl
toward him, “when I thought I noticed Kim’s cat dart into the shrubs.”

The nearly plausible story spilling from her lips surprised her; maybe cold showers did help clear the mind. At least it had
hers. Or maybe the age and beauty of his visitor had.

He hesitated before reaching for the bowl. When he touched it, his fingers slid across the wet plastic and tangled with hers,
warming them, before he took the bowl from her. It slipped in his grasp, and he fumbled it twice before getting a good grip
on it. “More pie.”

“I know you like it,” she said. And now she knew what else he liked. Young blondes.

“You had some left?”

“No, it’s fresh.” Just like he liked ‘em.

But he seemed less interested in the pie than her dripping clothes. She glanced down and noticed, highlighted in his porch
light, how tightly her pale green knit shirt clung to her. A little pride joined her embarrassment now. She might actually
stop complaining about all those tortuous exercises Kim made her do, since the results of all that hard work had brought about
a flare of interest in a certain set of blue eyes.

“So was it?” he asked.

“Was what?”

“Kim’s cat,” he reminded her. “Isn’t that why you were in the bushes?”

She wished it were. “Oh; yeah…”

“You didn’t catch it.”

She shook her head, and water flew from her curls like it had the dog’s fur. She bit her tongue, holding in a dismayed gasp,
as droplets darkened spots on his white oxford shirt. He wore it tucked into jeans faded by design not wear. Even in casual
clothes, Charles Moelker looked like a movie star.

“That was probably Buddy’s fault,” he said, a bit apologetically.

“Buddy?”

“The dog,” he said, “who adores you, by the way.”

She glanced down at the little Schnauzer, who was leaning against her leg and staring up at her with its tongue hanging out.

For a moment there, she’d thought Charles had come close to looking at her that way. But it was clear to her that the dog
was more interested in her than its owner. And she’d seen the reason why driving away. For now. Millie had no doubt that the
young woman would be back.

But Millie wouldn’t. Her attempts at flirting had embarrassed her enough for a lifetime.

“Well, I better go,” she said, easing away from the dog who flopped on its back and gazed hopefully up at her. She couldn’t
deny it a quick pat to the belly, not after having almost run it over. How the dog could like her after that near miss she
couldn’t fathom.

“Well, thanks for the pie,” Charles said, lifting the container in a little salute. “I hope you teach us how to do this.”

“What?”

“In your class,” he explained. “I hope you share your pie recipe.”

The class. She might not come again to Charles’s house, but she wouldn’t be able to avoid him. Only now, knowing that he didn’t
spend his nights with only Buddy for company, she would not be flirting anymore.

Chapter Seven

“Making coffee has become the great compromise of the decade. It’s the only thing ‘real’ men do that doesn’t seem to threaten
their masculinity. To women, it’s on the same domestic entry level as putting the spring back into the toilet-tissue holder
or taking a chicken out of the freezer to thaw.”

—
Erma Bombeck

C
lass starts tonight,” Theresa reminded Wally as she refilled his coffee cup. She’d switched from decaf, skipped over the lite
brands featuring half the caffeine, and gone right back to the leaded stuff she hadn’t used in ten years in the hopes that
it might give him more energy. Or at least keep him awake until noon.

Wally lifted his gaze from the newspaper, lowered his reading glasses, and blinked bleary green eyes at her. Although it was
late morning, he still wore his robe, not the soft velour one she’d bought him for Christmas but the ratty plaid flannel one
he refused to throw out. “It starts tonight?” he asked. “So did Millie talk her son into joining?”

Theresa nodded as she settled into the padded wicker
chair across from Wally in their sunbathed breakfast nook. This was her favorite part of the condo, with two-story windows
that looked out over the treetops on the east side of the hill. Before he’d retired, Wally had never had time to appreciate
the beauty of the view. She’d thought that would change once he wasn’t rushing off to work early every morning. But still,
he couldn’t appreciate what he had.

“Yes,” she confirmed, “she talked both of them into joining.”

Wally turned the page of his paper and said, “Since they’re going along with it, you don’t need me.”

She was tempted to agree with him. But they’d been together too many years. She reached for a piece of the paper and noticed
that the business section was untouched. All he read now was the sports page, and she didn’t think he had much interest in
that, either, except to leave the wrinkled papers lying around the house.