West Wind (20 page)

She sashayed into the center of the room and
batted her lashes. "Thank you. Wish I could say the same."

It was another lie. Spence was dressed in a
pair of tan, baggy pants, a black silk shirt and leather sandals.
His wavy dark hair was pushed back and he hadn't bothered to shave.
He looked reckless and sexy.

He placed his hand over his heart and tossed
his head back, laughing. "Now that's just unkind."

He walked towards Erin. "What can I do to
improve your opinion of me?"

"Obey me. We've got a lot of work ahead of
us."

Spence bowed. "As you wish."

She smiled and turned towards what she hoped
was the front door. They didn't speak as they walked outside.
Without a word, Spence whisked her into his arms and waded through
the tall grass towards her SUV.

Erin gasped at the touch of his warm hand
cupping her bare legs while the other snaked around her back and
curved under her arm. His fingertips brushed the side of her
breast.

"Hey! Put me down."

"Quit complaining," Spence said. "You'd never
make it through the field in those shoes."

Erin flinched as his warm breath caressed her
cheek. She closed her eyes and held her purse tight.

Seconds later, Spence set her on her feet at
the passenger door and held out his hand. Erin shrugged; he knew
the town best, so she handed him the keys and he opened the door.
He smiled as she maneuvered into the high vehicle, then obligingly
tucked her short skirt under her thigh and closed the door. He
climbed behind the wheel, started the truck and wound his way back
towards town.

A few minutes later, Spence pulled into the
shell-packed parking lot of a local restaurant. "You like
seafood?"

"No," she said sniffing at the tantalizing
aroma of grilling meat. "But I do like steak."

She didn't wait for him to open her door.
Instead, she slid down carefully, placing one high heel on the
running board while the other floated inches from the ground.

"You need help?" Spence asked, keeping his
eyes on her thighs as her dress rode high.

"No thank you; I'm fine," she said as she
dropped, groping for the door handle.

"Yes you are," he agreed softly.

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EAST OF EATON

By Madeline Sloane

Excerpt

Chapter One

Erica leaned against the kitchen sink, a
scrap of paper clenched in one hand, the ringing telephone in the
other.

A sleepy voice rumbled through the line.
"Hello?"

"This is Erica Moore. My daughter and your
son have gone out tonight without my permission. I want her home
immediately," she said, each word clipped with impatience.

"My son?"

"My daughter works with Brian at the pool. I
don't mind their friendship, but she's only sixteen and I won't
have her running around with boys."

"Uhhhh …."

Infuriated by the man's soft exhalation, she
curled her left hand into a fist imagining she could reach through
the wires. She heard a rustling on the line, as if the man were
rolling over in bed.

"Look, Mrs. …, what did you say your name
is?"

"Moore. My daughter is out with your son.
Brian needs to bring her home now!" she reiterated, pacing the
kitchen floor.

"Mrs. Moore…."

"Ms."

"Okay, Ms. Moore," he corrected himself with
a trace of sarcasm, "Brian is not my son."

She rolled her eyes. "May I speak with his
father, then?"

"I'm afraid not. His parents are on a
missionary trip to Africa. Brian is my nephew."

"Well, if I can't speak with his father or
mother, I'd like to talk to him. Does he have a cell phone?"

"Uh, maybe. I think so. I've never had to
call him. When he comes home, I'll talk to him." The man
yawned.

Erica held the receiver away from her ear and
stared at it disbelievingly for several seconds, then raged, "Don't
be ridiculous! I've just told you that my daughter is in trouble
and you're going to wait for him to 'come home' before you do
anything?"

"I'm confused? Is she on a date or is she in
trouble?"

"Both! She is too young to be out with
Brian."

"What would you like me to do?"

"Jump off a cliff, you jerk! I'll handle
this."

She slammed the telephone into its wall mount
and grabbed her car keys from a hook by the bulletin board. She
stepped into the foyer and opened the front door of the Colonial
home of her childhood. She paused, then turned towards the
stairwell. "Dad, I'll be back," she yelled up the stairs. "I'm
going to find Daisy. I've got my cell phone if she gets home before
me."

Walter Moore poked his head out the door of
his upstairs study, his fingers caught between the pages of a book,
holding his place. "Is everything alright?"

"No. Everything's not alright. Daisy is out
on a date without permission. I'm going to find that boy and wring
his little neck," she said, her voice rising in frustration. "Then
I'm going to wring hers."

"Honey, calm down. She's fine, probably
having a good time."

"There is no way I'm letting her go out with
some boy she hardly knows."

"Well, how else is she supposed to get to
know him?"

"Dad!" she shrieked. "Errrhhhh!"

Slamming the door closed behind her, she
stomped down the dark sidewalk to her car. Once inside, she turned
the key and gunned the engine. She slid the transmission into
reverse and started backing out when another car turned into the
driveway. She hit her brakes, the small car rocking.

In the rear - view mirror, she could see the
high, tight headlights of a Jeep. She also could see two
silhouettes. Recognizing Daisy's long hair, she shoved the
gearshift back into park, yanked the keys from the ignition and
jumped out of the car. She strode to the driver's ragtop door and
rapped hard on the window. The young driver unzipped the
window.

She flashed him what she considered her "evil
eye," then stood on her tiptoes and glared at her daughter. She
pointed at Daisy, her finger less than an inch from the boy's face.
"You, get in the house now."

"And you," she said, pointing between the
boy's astonished eyes, "get out of my yard and don't come
back."

Daisy bowed her head. Brian's knuckles turned
white against the Jeep's steering wheel as he stared straight
ahead, his mouth full of cotton. Erica stormed back to the
house.

At the steps, she turned and bellowed, "Now!"
then went inside, slamming the door.

She leaned against the stairwell, one hand
draped on the banister, and waited for her daughter. Walt once
again came to the top of the steps, shook his head sadly, then
slipped back into his den.

Mere seconds passed before Daisy erupted
through the door, her dark eyes wide and focused on her mother.
"Mom? What's wrong? Why did you embarrass me that way?"

Her voice, sweet and timid, wavered. Her eyes
brightened with unshed tears. A quiet, artistic girl, Daisy avoided
confrontations and spent most of her time sketching, reading or
working on her computer. Her bedroom served as her art studio and
her sanctuary.

As a child, schoolmates taunted her with
jeers ranging from "shy" to "snob." Now entering her junior year of
high school, she was a confident and beautiful young woman. The
jeers and taunts ceased, giving way to awe and envy.

She is my most precious treasure; I can't
lose her
, Erica thought as studied her daughter's frowning
face, so much like her own. "Where were you and who gave you
permission to go out?"

"We were at the ice cream parlor. Brian gave
me a ride home from the pool, and we stopped for an ice cream.
That's all."

"Didn't you realize that I would be here,
worrying sick about you when you didn't come home? I went to the
pool to check on you and they said you had gone off with that boy.
I've been sitting here waiting nearly two hours for you to come
home."

"I'm sorry. We ran into a couple of kids from
school and we sat around talking. I didn't realize the time."

"You're sorry. Well, that's just fine. You're
also grounded. You can go to work and that's all. You're to come
straight home and no more rides with boys."

Tears flashed in Daisy's eyes. "Mom! That's
not fair. I just had an ice cream with a nice guy. We're not going
to do anything wrong."

"Exactly. With you at home, I don't have to
worry that you'll be doing something you shouldn't. Now go to your
room."

Erica turned her back on her daughter, the
conversation over.

Daisy glared at her mother then stomped up
the stairs, stifling sobs. She went into her grandfather's den.

Walt slid his reading glasses down his nose,
peeking over the rims at his granddaughter. She sat on the worn,
plaid footstool by his chair, a tear sliding down the side of her
nose. His heart ached to comfort her. "Hi, honey."

Daisy immediately turned to her ally. "I
can't believe her, Pappy. She grounded me. I didn't do anything
wrong and now I can't go anywhere."

Walt squirmed in his chair. "Your mom needs
to know where you are all of the time. Why didn't you call?"

"I didn't realize how long we were out. We
were having so much fun, talking to some kids. I never go out and
the first time I do, she reacts this way. She's crazy!"

Daisy kicked the leg of the maple side table
and the footstool rocked precariously. She crossed her legs,
Indian-style, put her elbows on her knees and curled her fists
against her cheeks. Her long, blonde hair shrouded her face.

"She's not crazy. She's worried about you.
Your mom has had a hard life and…"

"So because she's had a hard life, I have to
pay for it? I'm not her. I'm not going to go out and get
pregnant."

Daisy, crying in earnest, ran to her room and
slammed the door.

Walt sighed, put his book on his side table,
walked heavily down the stairs and went into the kitchen. It was
difficult being the only man in the house, especially since the
women could be emotional and, lately, feuding.

His daughter stood at the kitchen counter
swabbing the stainless steel sink with abrasive cleanser. Walt
could tell she was still annoyed by her quick jerks as she rinsed
the sponge, furiously squeezing the soap from its blue pores.

"Erica," he said. "I try not to interfere
with you and Daisy, but I think tonight you went a bit too
far."

"I don't think so," she said. She dropped the
sponge and began flinging dishes into the open dishwasher.

"Don't break that," he cautioned as she
slammed a pot lid against a glass bowl. He continued, "Daisy is
right; she's not you and she's not going to do anything
stupid."

Erica turned to face her father, her hands on
her hips. "That's right. I was stupid, wasn't I? I've lived with my
stupidity every day for the past seventeen years. And you know
what, Dad? I'm not sorry. I know she's the best thing that could
ever have happened to me, even if she did come along at the wrong
time. But this isn't the life I want for my daughter. I want her to
enjoy her youth, finish high school and go to college."

"You finished high school and you went to
college," he pointed out.

"Sure, I graduated from high school with a
baby in the audience. I had to go to college and work a full-time
job to support her."

Erica sighed and turned back to dishwasher,
this time her movements were slower, her anger ebbing. "I know, you
were there and you did everything you could to help. I've always
appreciated that, Dad. And you know I love you, but sometimes I
wonder if Mom had still been alive, if I had had a woman watching
out for me, I might not have gone boy crazy."

The comment stung, but Walt didn't show
it.

"You weren't boy crazy," he said. "You had
one boyfriend. I wish I had been there more, but you were such an
independent child. You never seemed to need my help. It's not your
fault, honey, it's mine. I was too easy going."

"This is exactly why I'm freaking out here,
Dad. I'm not going to let my daughter out of my sight anymore. I
don't care. She's not going to date until she's out of college.
Final answer."

"That's silly, Erica. You know you can't keep
her under your thumb."

"Well, I can try."

Walt shrugged and slowly walked back up the
stairs to his study. He understood his daughter's fears and he,
more than anyone, knew they were justified. He also knew she
couldn't avoid the chaos, the passion and the unpredictability of
life. He said his piece and hoped some of it would sink in. If he
pushed, he knew his daughter's contrarian nature would overcome her
common sense.

Erica turned on the dishwasher and locked the
back door. She moved through the house checking doors and windows,
her nightly routine. She opened the front door and called for her
cat.

"Here kitty, kitty. Jasper."

A faint tinkle preceded Jasper's dash from
the bushes at the front of the house. A shorthaired cat, he sported
a black-and-white coat that reminded Erica of a tuxedo. His red
collar and bell completed his dapper attire. Jasper daintily jumped
the steps until he reached Erica's ankles. Nearly 18 pounds, the
fat cat was friendliest when he hoped she had a treat.

"Let's go to bed, Jasper."

Erica opened the door and held it for Jasper,
who ungratefully took his time deciding to come in. He sat down,
his huge belly bowling out in front of him, and licked his
chest.

Erica put her foot on the big cat's back and
gave it a push. "Move it, fatso."