A Soft Place to Fall (11 page)

"Idiot," she muttered to herself as she
climbed the three stairs that led to the back door. Why was she
getting herself all tied up in knots over a stranger? It must be
last night's champagne that had her emotions rippling so close to
the surface. She wasn't one of those women whose eyes teared up
over babies and kittens and sappy love songs. She drew her arm
across her eyes, wetting the sleeve of his shirt. It smelled like
him, a touch of citrus, a touch of spice, a touch of something
indefinable. Her bed probably smelled like him too. The thought
made her go weak in the knees.

So do a load of wash and put yourself out of
your misery.

There was nothing like housework to bring a
woman back down to earth. A capful of Tide and some hot water and
these ridiculous fantasies would be history. She reached for the
doorknob and heard a joyous bark. Max? It couldn't be! She turned
in time to see the yellow Lab bounding around the corner of the
house, headed straight in her direction. He leaped against her,
almost knocking her into the kitchen with the force of his
affections. Every excited yip was like nails on a blackboard but
she'd never been happier to feel more miserable in her life.

If Max was still here, that meant Max's owner
would be coming back and she would be able to thank him properly
for saving her life. And she wouldn't even be naked.

She settled Max in the living room with a
half slice of leftover pizza, cleaned George and Gracie's
litterbox, then set out to perform a miracle. It was going to take
every trick in her beauty arsenal to erase the effects of the night
before but she was determined to give it her best shot. She hadn't
devoured all those issues of
Vogue
and
In Style
magazines for nothing.

Ceil's comments about her well-padded form
still stung. She rooted through the pile of clothes on her bed in
search of something that would make her round body look long and
skinny. George and Gracie watched from their perch on the window
sill as the bed all but disappeared beneath a mountain of discards.
She finally managed to dig up a flattering pair of black bootleg
pants and her favorite red sweater, the one that hung long enough
to camouflage those treacherous hips and thighs.

She wrote down "full length mirror" on a
notepad and underlined it twice. Standing on the closed toilet seat
to see her reflection in the bathroom mirror would get old very
fast. She put the finishing touches on her hair. Not great, she
thought, but adequate. Her hair was still long and it was still
curly and it would probably always look like an untended garden.
She pressed her hand on the top of her head in an attempt to
flatten some of the puffy places but they sprang back the second
she let go. She had been born with big hair and she would die with
big hair.

Annie popped an Altoid in her mouth then
peeked out the living room window. Maybe he had left Max behind as
a housewarming present.

At 8:22, Annie told herself to get away from
the window and do something useful. A few dozen cardboard boxes
waited in the spare room, clamoring for her attention. It wouldn't
hurt to unpack a few while she waited. Besides, that would put the
whole ridiculous thing into perspective.
Oh hi
, she would
say when he finally showed up.
I was so busy that I didn't even
realize you were gone.

At 8:40, she refilled George and Gracie's
water dishes, replenished their supplies of cat chow, then gathered
up her tote bag, wallet, and extra sweater and headed for the back
door. She might as well go to work. She didn't have time to do the
front door repair herself but it would hold until evening.

"How do you feel about flower shops?" she
asked Max. He could be the store mascot as long as he didn't find
blossoms as appetizing as pepperoni pizza.

Max cocked an ear and barked.

Annie winced. "Max, if you knew about
hangovers, you wouldn't do that to me."

Max wagged his tail and barked again, three
times in quick succession, then ran to the front door as a black
Trooper with New York plates came to a stop at the edge of her
driveway.

She opened the back door and Max burst out in
a frenzy of barking and what she assumed to be the canine
equivalent of high-fives as his owner rounded the corner of the
house.

"I'm sorry," she said, meeting him halfway.
The words tumbled out of her unchecked. "You really did save my
life. I don't know how I can ever thank you for what you did." Not
the elegant response she had planned but at least it was
heartfelt.

He stopped a few feet away from her. He held
two large white paper bags aloft and out of Max's reach. "How're
you feeling?" His manner was a little subdued and who could blame
him. She hadn't exactly been Miss Congeniality so far this
morning.

"I'll live, but I doubt I'll be drinking
champagne again anytime soon."

"You might think twice about the candles
too."

She shivered at the memory of her ruined
robe. "I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't been
there."

"Max sounded the alarm," he said, neatly
sidestepping her gratitude. "He ran up to your front porch and
tried to scratch his way through the door." He told her about the
red glow behind the bathroom window and the smell of smoke. "So far
I've managed to trash the inside of your car and wreck your front
door. That's one hell of an introduction to your new neighbor."

The fishing rods in the back of the truck.
The New York State license plates. The fact that he even knew
Bancroft Road existed. "You're Warren's friend?"

"Guilty."

"I thought you were old and retired."

"I thought you were just old."

"Annie Galloway," she said, extending her
right hand over Max's furry yellow head. "I own Annie's Flowers in
town."

"Sam Butler." He hesitated just long enough
for her to notice. "On sabbatical."

"So you're not retired."

"At thirty-five?" His quick burst of laughter
was tinged with something dark. "Nothing that permanent."

Their hands were still clasped tightly.
Neither one was willing to be the first to break the contact. An
edgy current of warmth seemed to move between them. Since Kevin's
death, other men had approached her -- good-looking men, kind men,
interesting men, men she had known and liked forever -- but not one
of them had ever made her feel she wanted to bury her face against
his chest and breathe deeply.

You did that last night, don't you remember?
You slept with your nose pressed against the side of his neck and
he held you and wouldn't let go.

She liked the way his hand felt clasping
hers. So solid and warm. His fingers were rough, a little callused.
A workman's hands. Hands that would know their way around a woman's
body.

Get a grip, Galloway. Just because there was
a man in your bed last night doesn't mean there was a Man in your
Bed. Save your fantasies for Friday nights and the Romance
Channel.

But she met his eyes and something clicked
into place and it was as if she had been waiting all her life for
that moment. It was the difference between black-and-white and
Technicolor except that it wasn't a movie; it was her life. One
second she was living her life in the half-sleep that she'd called
living for so long, and then the next second her blood was bubbling
through her veins and her temperature was rising and the world
exploded in colors and sounds and smells she had all but forgotten
existed. She knew there was no turning back, not even if she wanted
to.

#

Sam probably would have stood there in the
middle of her yard with her hand in his for a week or two if Max
hadn't decided enough was enough. The dog made a running leap for
one of the two white paper bags he had clutched in his left hand
and it took some quick maneuvering to keep the donuts from going
the way of last night's pepperoni pizzas.

"Good ol' Max," he said with a shake of his
head and she laughed and reached for one of the bags.

"You went to Dee Dee's!" she said, peering
inside.

"Me and everyone else in town. They were
lined up out the door."

"If you think that's bad, you should see the
line on Sunday morning. Father Luedtke threatened to say mass there
one day. He thinks he'll triple attendance."

The soft approachable woman he'd first met in
the parking lot of Yankee Shopper was back. He thought he'd lost
her behind the slicked back hair and sleek outfit. Her wild mane
was brushed back from her face and twisted into a heavy coil. Only
a few wispy curls around her forehead and temples had managed to
escape. Her lush curves were masked by black pants and a long red
sweater with a metal zipper down the front. Her freckles were
hidden behind some kind of light makeup as were the shadows beneath
those dark blue eyes. As lovely as she looked right now, she had
been infinitely more beautiful last night when she was naked in his
arms.

"Dee Dee's donuts are legendary around here,"
she said, ushering him into the postage stamp-sized kitchen.

"A baker's dozen," he said. "I had to wait
for the powdered sugars."

"You're off to a good start. First day here
and you homed right in on the best bakery in town."

"Actually it's not my first day in Shelter
Rock. I spent a few weeks here when I was seventeen. I probably put
away a few hundred of her raspberry jellies."

"You're kidding!" She turned toward him,
coffee filter waving between her fingers. "Aren't you?"

"Strange thing to kid about."

"This is such a tiny town. I'm surprised I
don't remember you."

"Warren kept our noses to the grindstone.
There wasn't much time to mingle with the townies."

"Still, if you hung around DeeDee's, I'm sure
we must've crossed paths at least once."

"You probably had so many boyfriends hanging
around you wouldn't have noticed the new guy in town."

"Just one," she said, "and I married
him."

The poor bastard was dead and Sam still
envied him.

"Nancy told me," he said. "I'm sorry."

Her only acknowledgment was a slight nod of
her head. "Stay here long enough and you'll know everything there
is to know about everyone in town."

"All she told me was that you were a
widow."

She faked a shudder. "I hate that word. I
keep waiting for someone to call me the Widow Galloway and then
I'll be forced to do something violent."

"I've been called a hell of a lot worse than
the Widow Galloway."

She looked at him then burst into laughter.
If possible, he found himself more charmed than before. Her laugh
was rich and full and as real as she was.

"Ouch!" She winced and closed her eyes.
"Cheap champagne should come with a warning label."

"Other than the head, is everything okay?"
Do you feel it too, Annie Galloway, or am I the only
one?

He watched, mesmerized, as color flooded her
throat and cheeks.

"Mostly I feel embarrassed," she said.
We
spent the night together and I don't have the slightest idea what
happened between us.

"No reason to be."

She lifted a brow. "I got drunk in my bathtub
and set fire to my robe. Sounds like two pretty good reasons to
me."
I wish I could remember how it felt in your arms.

"You dodged a bullet. You should be happy."
I can still smell your perfume on my skin.

"I wouldn't have dodged anything if you
hadn't come along."

"I'd like to take the credit but Max was the
one who sounded the alarm." .

"I don't think Max put out the fire."
My
hands are shaking. Can you believe that?I'm thirty-eight years old
and my hands are trembling like a girl's
. "You saved my life.
I'm not sure I can ever thank you enough for that."

"You just did."

"I wasn't very nice to you this morning."

"You weren't that bad."

"I shouldn't have yelled at you."

"At least you didn't hit me in the head with
a lamp."

"I wish you'd stop making me laugh," she
said. "My head might fall off."

Your laugh is as real as you are, Annie
Galloway. I wish you'd never stop
. "Coffee, aspirin, and
donuts. World's best hangover remedy."

She glanced down at the filter in her hand.
"Coffee! I knew I was forgetting something. Let me get a pot
started for us before the donuts get cold."

He popped a piece of donut in his mouth, then
broke off another piece.

"Here you go."

She was juggling coffee filter and measuring
spoon. "Just a sec," she said. "Let me –"

"Open," he said. "Grab 'em while they're
hot."

"I'll just be a –"

He popped the sweet piece of donut into her
open mouth and laughed at the way her eyes widened with surprise
that was followed quickly by delight. A spot of powdered sugar
stained her lower lip and he brushed it away with the tip of his
index finger. Her eyes never left his. There was no guile in them,
no pretense. Just curiosity and the same touch of wonder he felt
growing inside his chest. The atmosphere between them was charged.
He swore he could hear the pop and sizzle of neurons dancing in the
air.

I want to kiss you, Annie Galloway. Don't
turn me away.

He dipped his head toward her. She swayed
closer.

Don't ask
, she thought.
Don't give
me the chance to say no.

Their lips touched lightly then touched
again.

"You taste like sugar," he said.

"You taste like raspberry jam." Were donuts
occasions of sin anywhere besides Shelter Rock Cove? She would have
to ask Father Luedtke about that.

He reached into the bag and produced another
donut. "This one's strawberry."

The temptation to indulge was powerful but
she stayed strong.