Where Dreams Begin (10 page)

Pam was paying bills and licked an envelope before she replied. “Of course, he’s very good at planting a subtle suggestion and making the kids believe it’s their own. A couple of detectives came out and took their statements. Then Luke explained the National Runaway Switchboard’s Home Free partnership with Greyhound Bus Lines. The girls were from Arizona and were back home by the next morning.”

“That’s so good to hear,” Catherine said, sincerely relieved. “Are there more flyers to post?”

Pam grabbed for the banker’s box. “Here you go. Watch out for paper cuts. We had a real sweet lady bleed all over a stack of flyers yesterday. I can’t take the sight of blood two days in a row.”

“I’ll be extremely careful,” Catherine promised, and she again opened the drawer of the spare desk to remove the scissors. “I had no idea this would be such hazardous duty.”

“That’s a good point,” Pam replied. “I’ll have to ask Luke to add a warning to his orientations. As it is, we’ve had volunteers trip and fall down the steps, slice themselves up in the kitchen, and get burned ironing clothes, but Luke always takes the worst of it. That’s his third black eye in as many months, but this one’s by far the most colorful. I keep telling him to use a two-by-four to break up fights, but he just wades right on in without a thought for himself. It’s either brave or just plain stupid.”

“You’re awfully cheeky for a secretary,” Catherine offered with an amused smile. “But I bet Luke really depends on you.”

“He needs someone he can trust,” Pam replied rather wistfully.

“We all do,” Catherine agreed quietly, and as she opened flyers, she made a quick reminder on the back of an envelope to bring rubber gloves on Saturday. The mother of a high school friend had painted in an old trench coat and shower cap. Both were splattered with paint to the extent the woman resembled a walking Jackson Pollock painting, but Catherine thought she would stick with merely being practical rather than dare the bizarre.

When Catherine arrived at Lost Angel on Saturday, Luke had already shoved his office furniture to the center of the room and covered it with a tarp. Drop cloths were spread over the floor, and the plant which had inspired the project sat safely out of the way on Pam’s desk.

Luke was dressed in a pair of worn jeans. While ripped at the knee, the faded blue denim still clung to his muscular thighs and cupped his backside provocatively. His white T-shirt stretched to fit his broad shoulders and grazed his flat belly.

Catherine’s glance lingered over his well-muscled arms, and she thought him so incredibly distracting she doubted she would actually get any paint on the walls. Each time she saw him, she wondered if the subtle changes in his appearance were deliberate on his part, or merely her imagination. Whatever the cause, she wished she knew him well enough to slide a tender caress across his back or along his deeply tanned arm.

She’d dressed in a pair of green shorts she wore to work in the garden and a T-shirt silk-screened with flowers. She’d pulled her hair back in a ponytail and thought with scuffed tennis shoes and an old apron, she was ready for work. She’d failed to consider how sexy the amazingly fit Luke Starns would be, however, and now wished she’d worn something prettier.

She walked back out to store her purse in Pam’s desk drawer and made a silent vow to begin thinking with her head rather than a far more neglected part of her anatomy. “What would you like me to do?” she called from the outer office.

He responded with a suggestive chuckle. “Let’s concentrate on painting, shall we?”

She stepped back through the door. “That was what I meant. I brought a couple of pairs of rubber gloves. Would you like one?”

“Thanks.” He took the gloves and handed her a roll of masking tape. “Why don’t you put the tape on the window. I want to patch the nail holes before I start painting.”

He grabbed hold of the gallon resting on the covered desk and used a screwdriver to pop the lid. “What do you think of the color?”

Catherine was almost afraid to look, but the paint proved to be a handsome terra-cotta. The large window and overhead light fixture provided the room with ample light, and the vivid hue almost glowed.

“I like it a lot,” she replied. “It’s warm and yet suitably masculine.”

“Well, thank you, ma’am. I tried to match my eye, but by the time I got around to purchasing paint, it had taken on a greenish tinge that I found too nauseating to surround myself with every day.”

“Yes, I can well imagine. Terra-cotta is a much better choice.”

She slipped on her apron, moved to the window, pulled off a long piece of tape and placed it against the edge of the glass. She knew she would be wise to keep her back to Luke, but he kept moving about the small office prepping the walls. She wondered if he was deliberately brushing against her, or if with the furniture heaped in the center, the office was simply too crowded for them to avoid an occasional bump.

“I want to talk about tutoring,” Luke remarked as he did a final sweep for missed holes. “I mentioned it to Ron Flanders, but these kids need to learn basic math, not the trig and calculus he’s been teaching.”

To provide a sensible response, Catherine had to reel in her wildly straying thoughts. She stalled as she put the last piece of tape on the glass. “So he’s not interested?”

“He said he’d help with whatever we need, but his lip curled while he said it. He got me to thinking that you might have the same problem. I doubt many of your students at La Cañada High were unable to read well.”

“No, none.” Discouraged again, she turned slowly to face him. “I see what you mean. Ron and I would set our sights too high, frustrate the kids, get discouraged ourselves, and no one would be better off.”

She was silent a long moment, then offered a new proposal. “What if the kids here were to tutor elementary school students? They surely know more than struggling first graders, and it would give their egos a tremendous lift. Is there an elementary school nearby?”

“Yes, but I’d have to think about your idea before I approached the principal.”

“You’re being very diplomatic, but I’m simply being presumptuous again, aren’t I?”

Luke pried open a quart of white enamel for the woodwork. “The kids who find their way here have mastered how to survive by their wits. Amazingly, some still have good hearts. There are others, however, who’d steal a little kid’s lunch money and justify it by insisting they needed it more than he does.”

His easy smile was reassuring, but she still wished she’d kept her mouth shut. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid none of my ideas are any good.”

“No, they’re all good,” he argued persuasively. “We just have a difficult situation here.” He handed her the white paint and a two-inch-wide brush. “Painting my office was a terrific idea. Will you start on the woodwork?”

“Why? Because I’m the girl?” Catherine challenged.

“Hey, I didn’t ask you to bring lunch. If you’d rather use the roller on the walls, I’ll do the trim. Or we could flip for it.”

“How about rock, scissors, paper?”

“You drive a tough bargain, lady. Three out of five?”

“You’re on.” She placed the white paint and brush back on the covered desk. Then she shook her hands and took a deep breath as though she were a champion preparing for a big match.

“On three?”

“Fine.” Luke laughed as he won the first round with a rock to crush her scissors, but she won the next three pairings, and he had to concede defeat.

“Okay, you win. I’ll do the trim.”

“Actually, I’d prefer to do the trim myself,” she assured him. “Besides it would be a waste of your longer reach to confine you to the woodwork.”

He whistled softly. “You just wanted to give me a hard time, didn’t you? You’re far too clever to be painting offices on the weekends.”

She carried the quart of white paint over to the window and dipped in the brush. “I consider it one of the perks of volunteering here.”

“At least you’ve found some advantages. Frankly, I stick around for Mabel’s cooking.”

They continued their playful banter until the telephone rang, and once Luke had located it under the tarp, he listened only briefly before beginning to swear. He tugged off his glove and covered the mouthpiece.

“Rafael Reynosa has gotten himself arrested for shoplifting.” He completed a series of terse commands to Rafael and then slammed down the receiver.

“I never post bail for anyone, and all the kids know it. When Rafael was born, his birth mother tossed him in a Dumpster, and he was found by a homeless man scrounging for food. The story got the usual press coverage, and Rafael was adopted, but by a family who’d lost a child to cancer. Apparently Rafael proved to be a poor substitute for the angelic son they’d lost. He began running away at ten. His adoptive family gave up on him, and he ended up in foster care.”

Luke had made a good start, but as he glanced around the small office, he shook his head sadly. “I’d hoped we’d get through this project without being interrupted. Let’s just put the lids on the paint, and I’ll clean up after I’ve been down to the LA County Jail to see Rafael.”

Catherine had already given the window and door the first coat, and the acrylic paint was dry. “I’d like to finish up the woodwork if you don’t mind. I promise not to snoop through your files.”

“I appreciate that, but I keep them locked. Don’t try to finish the whole room on your own. I’ll do the last of the walls later. I really am sorry. I’d hoped you’d at least get a nice lunch for your efforts.”

She hid her disappointment behind a friendly smile. “You needn’t apologize. This really has been fun.”

“Yeah, while it lasted.” He tossed his gloves on the tarp and hurried out the door.

Catherine remained by the window and watched him cross the parking lot to a black Subaru Outback. She hadn’t known which car was his, but the sporty wagon suited him.

Luke had already unlocked the door when Dave rounded the end of the overgrown shrubbery separating the parking lot from the discount carpet warehouse next door. He was carrying a pair of hedge clippers, and broke into an easy lope when Luke waved him over. Luke jerked a thumb toward the office. Dave nodded, used his arm to wipe the sweat from his brow and broke into a wide grin.

Clearly he was delighted to take over the painting, but the exchange left Catherine feeling as though she’d just been handed off to a fraternity brother. That was even more distressing than Luke’s hasty departure, but from what little she’d seen, the unexpected was almost routine there at Lost Angel.

That made it ridiculous to take a sudden change in plans so personally, but the hurt remained surprisingly sharp. She’d had fun with Luke that morning, and she was sorry to see it come to such an abrupt end.

Dave strode through the door and stopped to stare. “Wow. This is a dramatic change, but I really like it. Luke told me he had to leave. Do you mind if I give you a hand?”

He was dressed in khaki shorts and a gray Bob’s Dog Otis T-shirt imprinted with their intriguing spiral logo. Perhaps it was merely the name of the rock group, but Dave reminded her of a big, eager puppy, and anything less than a warm welcome struck her as cruel.

“Would you please?” she responded. “I’d love to have it finished today.”

“No problem, consider it done.” Dave picked up the roller and continued where Luke had left off. “You can tell me it’s none of my business, but do you and Luke have something going? Now, don’t get me wrong. I’d think it was great if you do. I’m just curious.”

Catherine fought to keep regret from coloring her reply. “Quite frankly, the thought of starting all over again and dating simply terrifies me. I’ve no idea what Luke’s feelings are on the subject.”

“Well, I sure wouldn’t invite a beautiful woman to spend a sunny Saturday morning painting my office,” Dave muttered under his breath.

He was teasing her too, but she caught herself before leaping to Luke’s defense and promptly changed the subject. “Driving here, I pass several buildings that might be good candidates for murals, but if gangs are responsible for the graffiti, would they hassle the kids who paint it over?”

“Good question.” He paused to run his roller through the paint tray; then he tackled the wall with brisk strokes. “We’d have to pick a subject they’d respect.”

“Hold a contest maybe?”

He glanced over his shoulder. “Luke’s a man who likes to have all his ducks in a row, so he’ll insist upon getting an owner’s permission before we get the kids all excited about an art contest.”

“That’s undoubtedly wise, but wouldn’t an owner be more likely to agree if he or she had an idea what the artwork would be?”

“Makes sense to me, but I’m going to suggest angels, and not only to honor Lost Angel itself, but as a strong antiviolence message. No one opposes brotherhood, at least not openly.”

“Yes, that’s a beautiful thought.”

“Thank you. I used to be paid quite handsomely for my thoughts. It’s nice to know I haven’t lost the knack.”

Catherine added the last few strokes to the door and stood back to admire her handiwork. The expanse of white brought clouds to mind, and she began to imagine angels, some dipping toward the earth, while others gazed skyward. Their robes would be tinged with gold, and their smiles would offer a glimpse of paradise.

“I do love your angel theme. Do you suppose a space could be left open in the mural’s design, not for graffiti, but for people to add names of those they’d lost?” she mused aloud. “That way, it wouldn’t only be an inspiring mural, but a memorial wall, as well.”

“That’s a great idea. That way, the mural would belong to everyone who added a name. That’s exactly how it ought to be. Luke will be blown away by your idea.”

She doubted it. “He might see it as merely morbid.”

Dave gestured with the roller. “No, it’s positively transcendent.”

“You’re the one who suggested angels in the first place,” she reminded him. “You deserve the credit.” She wiped her brush on the edge of the paint can. “There, that’s it for me. Looks like you’ll be finished soon too.”

“I’ll let it dry and check for holidays, or missed spots, before I clean up. Why don’t you go on home and enjoy what’s left of the day.”