Where Dreams Begin (22 page)

She knocked lightly before peering in Luke’s door. “Do you have another minute?” she asked.

He checked his watch. “I have a couple. Come on in and sit down.”

Too restless to sit, Catherine moved to the window instead. “I just heard from a reliable source that the Candyman was paying $2,000 a head for virgins. What kind of a miserable human being would stoop that low? These kids are little more than children, and all they have to sell is themselves.”

“Catherine,” Luke murmured. He left his chair and came up behind her. “That’s not even the worst of it. There’s plenty of porn on the Internet, and I’ve heard the horny teen sluts are real popular.”

“Yeah, I know. I only check my email about once a week, and there’s always several of those ads even more disgusting than the previous week’s crop.”

Luke slid his arms around her waist and pulled her back against him, but she remained as tense as a broom handle. “Maybe we ought to post explicit warnings in the hall, but I do all that I can to discourage the kids from taking money for sex or porn.”

“I’m sure you do.” She tried to draw on his strength, but failed. “I don’t want the blonde blamed for another’s crimes, but what if I bought a black satin dress and a long red wig? Could you point me toward a pimp who deserves to die?”

“Catherine!” Luke scolded. “You might have the makings of a spectacular slasher movie, but I can’t see you stabbing anyone.”

“Maybe not, but I could sure swing a baseball bat with deadly force and smash heads like spoiled melons.”

Alarmed, he tightened his embrace. “Go on home and take the nice, long bubble bath we never got around to the other night.”

“What makes you think I take bubble baths?”

“There’s a big bottle of vanilla-scented bubble bath beside your tub, and your skin always has a delicious hint of vanilla.”

“Are you trying to distract me?”

“Completely,” he admitted.

She turned in his arms. “Well, it won’t work. We aren’t doing nearly enough here to protect these poor kids.”

He rested his hands lightly on her waist. “I know, but it’ll take a lot more in grant money to expand our services, and I’ve nearly exhausted every source.”

“I’m not criticizing you,” she stressed. “But the kids need tutoring, GEDs, the chance to join the Merchant Marine, to go to beauty school, whatever. They just need a whole lot more than lunch and a sympathetic ear.”

Luke dropped his hands and stepped back. “You bucking for my job?”

“No, I just want Lost Angel to offer more than pimps.”

“So do I. The awful reality of the kids’ lives grinds up the majority of our volunteers to aching little bits. I don’t want that to happen to you. Now, please go on home. We’ll work on broadening our services just as soon as we get the mural started.”

“Promise?”

He raised his hand. “Scout’s honor.”

“What about scouting?” she asked. “How many eagle scouts come through here?”

Luke opened his door. “Go.”

“I’ll be back.”

He laughed. “I’m counting on it.”

She closed the door on her way out and smiled as Pam winked at her. “How can you stand working here?” she asked.

“I came with Luke, and I’ll leave when he does. You ought to hang in there too, girl. He’s worth the trouble, and I know he thinks the world of you. He’s even come into work smiling a time or two lately, and that didn’t happen before you arrived.”

Catherine had not viewed Luke and Lost Angel as inseparable entities, and it startled her to think that maybe she should. She planned to volunteer only through the summer, and yet she’d made demands Luke couldn’t easily fulfill. Embarrassed now, she left for home burdened by the weight of a guilty conscience.

That evening, Luke stopped by Catherine’s house on his way home. “You didn’t list your email address on your application,” he told her.

He actually appeared perplexed by the oversight, but she doubted he truly was. “You have an amazing array of excuses for making house calls, Dr. Starns, but come on in. Would you like something to drink?”

He followed her into the kitchen. “No, thanks. I’m serious, Catherine, I really should have your email address.”

She’d just finished her dinner dishes, and she folded the dish towel over the rack before she replied. “It was Sam’s, and I still think of it as his. I seldom access it and then only to dump the spam.”

“I might want to send you a message,” he coaxed.

Because that was no motivation, she couldn’t help but laugh. She moved close to loop her arms around his waist. “The answer’s no, then, because I like having you deliver your messages in person.”

After a small shrug of defeat, he drew her closer still for a soft, yet increasingly luscious, kiss. He slid his fingers through her hair, then ran his hands down her back as though he wished to absorb her right through his skin. That first kiss slid into a dozen before they finally had to draw back to breathe.

Then he managed only a sad, sweet smile. “Are you seeing anyone else?” he asked.

Catherine couldn’t have been more astonished had he slapped her. “What?” she gasped. “Do you think I’d welcome you through the front door while another man snuck out the back?”

“Just answer my question.”

She shoved away from him. “No, Dr. Starns, I’m not, which should have been obvious from my kiss just now. What about you? Am I merely one of the stops on your route?”

“No,” he swore. “I didn’t mean to upset you, but it’s never wise to rely on assumptions, and I just wanted to get things straight between us.”

“Did you? Do you ever stop to analyze your own motives as thoroughly as you study everyone else’s?”

“You’ve lost me.” He propped his hands on his hips, clearly annoyed with her.

“What a shame. I was trying to find the real man beneath the layers of professional expertise.” She grabbed one of the glasses she’d just washed and filled it with water from the tap. After taking a long drink, she replaced the glass on the counter and turned back toward him.

“You might have said you cared about me and hoped I wouldn’t want to see other men. You might have suggested we agree to date exclusively, you might have asked…”

He took a step toward her. “All right, I get it, but when it comes to dating etiquette, I’m dreadfully out of practice.”

He looked sincerely pained, and she regretted having been so curt with him. “It isn’t practice that’s needed, Luke, it’s simply heart.”

“Then we have a problem,” he replied, “because I don’t have one anymore. I’m just as hollow as the Tin Man.”

She watched him walk out and made no move to stop him. It wasn’t until she began to prepare for bed that she realized something must have prompted Luke to ask if she were seeing other men. His ill-timed question had actually revealed a great deal. His heart might be badly bruised, but clearly, he still had one.

Chapter Eleven

After being away all day, Luke returned to Lost Angel with only a few minutes to spare before his afternoon counseling session. When he dropped off his briefcase in his office, he found Sam Brooks’ business card on his desk. He carried it out to Pam.

“Was Catherine Brooks here all day?” he asked.

Pam glanced up at the clock. “Yes. She left about half an hour ago. She’s real excited about the mural.”

Luke nodded thoughtfully, then handed Pam the card. “Please make a note of her email address for our files.”

Pam read the name on the embossed card. “Is it current?”

“Apparently so, even if Sam Brooks isn’t.”

Pam studied Luke’s pensive frown and chose the safest conclusion. “The meeting didn’t go well?”

“They never do, and it’s my fault because I hate to beg for money. Unfortunately, I’ve no other choice when we need the donations and grant dollars so badly.”

“True, but it must have been a tough day. You look as though you could use a nice evening. Maybe you know someone who’d care to join you for dinner?”

Luke’s preoccupied frown deepened to a threatening scowl. “My personal life is off-limits. Back off.”

Undeterred, Pamela tidied up her desk as she offered another unsolicited opinion. “You didn’t think Catherine would be here today, did you?”

“Frankly, no, I didn’t.”

“Well, she was here, and she seemed real disappointed when you weren’t.”

“That’s wild speculation on your part. If you don’t have anything more important to do than obsess over my social life, go on home.”

Pam picked up Sam’s card. “I’ll just enter this email for you, and then I’ll be on my way, but it doesn’t take a degree in psychology to know a woman who’d pass out her late husband’s business card needs to be shown some tender concern.”

“Are you saying I’m too great an oaf to recognize such an obvious fact? Do you think I drag women off by their hair?”

“No, of course not,” Pam responded with an amused giggle. “Although it would be something to see. I’m just urging you to be careful. Catherine’s a treasure, and the timing might be wrong for both of you, but don’t let her slip away.”

“That’s it. You’re fired. Clean out your desk.”

“Yes, boss,” she replied agreeably, but they both knew she would be there tomorrow morning. She made a mental note to bring him some coffee and a danish in hopes it would keep him from being grumpy two days in a row.

Catherine found an invitation to have dinner at Joyce’s house on her answering machine, and she was delighted to accept. Joyce had furnished her stark modern home with an abundance of leather and chrome. Catherine admired the simplicity of the striking decor, but she much preferred her own far more colorful and comfortably appealing furnishings.

“Thanks for coming over.” Joyce fussed with the single blue-violet hydrangea bloom she’d chosen for a glass beaker as a centerpiece. “How’s the salmon?”

“Delicious, but what’s the occasion?”

“It’s nothing special. I’m just trying to keep my feet firmly planted on the ground, and cooking does it for me. I could also use some advice.”

Catherine felt confident it would be related to Shane Shephard, and between bites of salad, she nodded to encourage her friend.

“I had the best time with Shane Sunday night. He came to get me in a Porsche. It’s from the sixties, but I’ve forgotten just which year. He restored it himself. It’s a pumpkin color and so pretty it looks new. He took me to a nice steak house, but I can’t even tell you where it was or what I ate. Isn’t that awful?”

“No, it simply sounds as though Shane is an extremely charming man.”

“Yes, he is, and he told such amusing stories that my sides ached by the time he brought me home. I had absolutely no idea that growing up in Oxnard would provide such a wealth of ridiculous situations, but he appears to see everything in a humorous light.

“I invited him to come in, but he said he had to get up early Monday morning for a big job. He kissed me again, and my God, does he know how to kiss, but I sure didn’t want him to leave.”

Joyce paused for a quick sip of Chablis. “Then he told me if I really intended to incorporate plants in my interior design work, I ought to come up to Oxnard and tour his nursery.”

“Why not? Did he give you a specific time?”

“No, and that’s what worries me. I’m trying to believe that he’ll call, but get this, he said he wants me to meet his mother.”

“Don’t you regard that as a good sign?”

“I suppose it could be construed as such, but I’m sure she won’t like me. The problem is, if I refuse to visit the nursery, then Shane will think I don’t like him. What am I going to do? I’m dead if I go, and dead if I don’t. Then I keep wondering why he didn’t come in Sunday night. Do you suppose he waits for his mother’s approval before he sleeps with a woman?”

“That’s a little bizarre, don’t you think? He probably did have a job scheduled for early Monday morning and thought you deserved more than a quickie. As for his mother, he might want to show you off.”

“Oh yeah.” Joyce rolled her eyes. “She’ll surely notice I’m on the wrong side of thirty and convince Shane he can do a whole lot better.”

“Do you really believe that?” Catherine inquired softly.

Joyce raised her napkin to brush away the threat of tears. “Shane looks like a model. He owns his own successful business. He can tear apart a car and put it back together again. How many men do you know who can build anything, even a birdhouse, anymore? He doesn’t need an older woman.”

“Please, you’re not his grandmother’s age. Besides, I don’t really believe we can choose whom to love. But rather than rush things, try and take them one step at a time. When Shane calls, make plans to visit the nursery. Take a notebook and write down the names of the plants as though you had a place to put them next week. Then find one, of course.

“As for Shane’s mother, she may be delighted you have a career which dovetails so neatly with her son’s. You also have a natural style I doubt they see much in Oxnard, and she might be impressed with your artistic flare. At least give her the benefit of the doubt. If she’s nasty, then you wouldn’t want her for a mother-in-law anyway.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. I could tolerate some pretty awful in-laws to have Shane,” Joyce mused wistfully.

“Relax and get to know him, Joyce. Give it at least a year before you start making wedding plans.”

Joyce appeared crushed by that prospect. “If I wait a year, I’ll be thirty-eight before we could marry. That means I probably wouldn’t have a baby before I was thirty-nine. I’d be forty or forty-one before I could have a second child.”

Joyce slumped back in her chair. “The years are just flying by, and what do I have to show for them? Nothing at all.”

“All that self-pity is beginning to annoy me,” Catherine warned. “You have a beautiful home. You’re a wonderful cook, a great friend, and a damn good interior designer. Now stop worrying about Shane, hurry up and eat something, and then I’ll help you with the dishes.”

Joyce sighed sadly. “You’re right, of course. That’s why I invited you over. Whatever happens will happen whether or not I cry myself to sleep, won’t it?”

“It sure will,” Catherine confirmed.

Joyce paused with her fork poised over her salmon. “So how are things with you and Luke?”