Beguiled Again: A Romantic Comedy (3 page)

“Mom needs her scissors,” the boy said, thrusting the glass at Cecilia. “That’s why I’m here.”

“I don’t know where they are. How soon does she need them?” She took the glass with one hand; the other never left her forehead.

“She needs ’em right now, but don’t worry, I’ll find ’em.” He dashed to the back door and opened it. “Hey, Vincent! Come ’ere and help me find the scissors!” A younger dark-haired boy joined him, and they raced into the living room, shouting for Brad and Peter.

Jeff shifted uneasily. Cecilia seemed to have forgotten him. This whole scene reminded him of Cub Scout day camp. All that was lacking was the chiggers. He cleared his throat.

She stared blankly in his direction. “I’m sorry...”

“Are you sure you’re—” He was no more than halfway finished, when she began to slump. With a startled oath, Jeff dashed across the room and caught her just before she hit the table. Her body slid against his, and he felt her feverish skin. With one arm under her shoulder and the other grasping her free arm, he held her in an impossible position for lifting. He uttered a sharp curse and dragged her toward the sofa.

Halfway there, he was suddenly confronted with what appeared to be at least one hundred forty pounds of snarling Ralph. “Wait a minute, dog,” he pleaded, easing Cecilia’s limp body to the floor and putting himself between her and the dog. Of all times for the mangy cur to discover he had guts.

“What are you doin’ to my mommy?” Anne-Elizabeth leaped at Jeff, and he thought he heard the child growl. Then a set of teeth, obviously not canine, closed on his wrist. Jeff gave a yelp and jerked his hand free. The mop-haired child fell backward, screaming bloody murder. But before Jeff could inspect the damage, the snarling dog and Anne-Elizabeth’s angry wails had summoned the boys out of the woodwork.

“What’d you do to my sister?” Brad demanded.

“Look what he did to your mom!” Mikey shouted.

They all sprang at Jeff at once.

“Oh, hell!” Jeff ducked his head and threw himself across Cecilia’s limp body in an effort to protect her from the onslaught.

A piercing whistle split the air, ceasing all movements. Jeff raised his head and saw Peter standing in the doorway.

“What’s going on here?” Peter’s blue-gray eyes scanned the room with clear disapproval as he twirled a shiny referee’s whistle.

Jeff leaped up. “Help me. Your mom fainted.”

“What did you do to her?” Peter exclaimed, running to his mother’s side. “Look, buddy,” Jeff growled, “I didn’t do anything. She’s sick, can’t you tell? Now shut up and help me get her to the sofa.” Cecilia moaned in his arms, and he felt a strange protective sensation stir within him.

Jeff placed Cecilia gently on the sofa after Peter cleared newspapers and a basket of clean laundry out of the way. Jeff shot his hand out in time to save Cecilia from being doused with ice water. “Mikey, I don’t know who in the heck you are, but if you throw a drop of water on this lady, you’re history!”

Mikey backed off, his eyes wide. “Come on, Vinny, I think we’d better go get Mom!” They disappeared.

“Where’s your dad?” Jeff asked Peter.

The boy’s faced shuttered over.

It was his sister who responded. “With Monica.”

“Monica?” Jeff echoed. “You have another sister?”

“No, dummy,” Brad chimed in. “He married her.”

“He mawwied her,” Anne-Elizabeth repeated.

Peter just stared belligerently at him.

What now? Jeff stared helplessly at Cecilia’s pale face as Peter bustled around in the kitchen, then returned to his mother’s side. Her eyes finally fluttered open, and Jeff felt relief flow through him. She opened her mouth to speak, but Peter thrust an electronic thermometer in. She blinked from Peter to Jeff, to Peter again in apparent confusion, then closed her eyes once more.

When it beeped, Jeff reached for the thermometer, but Peter snatched it away. “Mom, you’ve got a hundred and one. You’re sick.”

Brad whirled toward Jeff. “That means you’ve gotta get outa here, mister. Mom doesn’t allow company when we’ve got fever.”

Jeff started to tell the kid exactly what he thought of him, but was interrupted by a very welcome adult voice.

“What seems to be the problem?” A tall woman with dark almond eyes surveyed the scene from the open back door, flanked by Mikey and Vinny. She cast her appraising look at Jeff. “I don’t believe we’ve met?”

“Jefferson Smith.” He offered his hand awkwardly, feeling uncharacteristically ill at ease under her close scrutiny.

“Carol Bellini,” she responded with a slight smile. “Are you a friend of Cecilia’s?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes. We, er, go back a long way.”

“Mmm-hmm.” She crossed toward Cecilia, patting Ralph’s head as she passed him. The disgusting mutt wiggled with delight.

“Carol…” Cecilia croaked. “What’s happening?”

“That man hurt you, Mommy. But me and Walph stopped him.” Anne-Elizabeth beamed with pride.

“I did not...” Jeff began.

“And he twied to hit me, but I’m too stwong,” Anne-Elizabeth continued.

“I did not!” Jeff said desperately, but the clamoring of the children as each babbled a different version of the fracas drowned out his voice. He closed his eyes in despair. Damn, nothing had changed. Chaos still surrounded Cecilia.

His suit was rumpled and covered with dog hairs, and he’d already missed a meeting. Did he have time to go home and change before his next appointment? First he had to get out of this madhouse. Then maybe the world would shift back to normal.

But when he glanced at Cecilia’s pale face surrounded by the anxious faces of her children, he felt a pang of… of what? What was it about her that grabbed hold of him, made him feel so protective? Those same waifish eyes, that same fiery mop of hair, that same full, pouting lower lip... No doubt about it, she’d turned out better than he had ever suspected a skinny fourteen-year-old possibly could. But what he was responding to was something else.

He couldn’t explain the smile tugging at his lips, the amusement suddenly bubbling up inside him at the sight of her, the thought of her, the reality of Cecilia Greene crashing back into his life again, after all these years. He should be gnashing his teeth with frustration. Instead he was grinning like an idiot.

What the heck had come over him? Whatever it was, he’d better get control of it fast. Without a word, he slipped out of the room.

Ten minutes in this household was enough to convince him he didn’t have the time, energy or fortitude for any further dealings with Cecilia Greene.

CHAPTER TWO

DISJOINTED THOUGHTS RATTLED in Cecilia’s head. Jeff had hit Anne-Elizabeth? Maybe Anne-Elizabeth had hit Jeff. Now that made sense.

Unless he had been a dream... but no. If there was one thing she was sure of, Jeff Smith was real. Even now she could close her eyes and see that oh-so-familiar, yet totally alien face staring at her, sable brows arching wryly as he shook his head.

Swept away in the undertow of fever and humiliation, she’d been too ill to care when he left. She levered herself up on one elbow and tried to read the wall clock in the kitchen. Peter came through the room with his toothbrush and pillow under his arm.

“I’m sorry I was such a pest, Mom.” He ducked his blond head and dug the toe of his Converse high-tops into the carpet. “I balanced the checkbook for you. We’re staying at Carol’s tonight.” He stooped awkwardly and pecked her on the cheek.

“Peter,” she croaked, fighting to keep her eyes open. “What happened to Jeff?”

His thin shoulders stiffened and his chin thrust forward. “Don’t worry about him, Mom. He’s a jerk.”

“I know,” she muttered hoarsely, sinking back into the cushions. “How well I remember.”

An hour later, Cecilia struggled out of a restless sleep and walked on shaky legs down the hall to the bathroom. She squinted at her watch; it was seven-thirty.

She washed her face. The aspirin must have done some good; the cold chills were gone and other than feeling a little woozy, she felt almost normal. She ought to call the kids back home, she thought guiltily.

Suddenly the front door squeaked long and low, opening with more stealth than her children ever exhibited.

She held her breath.

She scanned the cluttered bathroom for a weapon, but found only dirty clothes and towels, nothing that would serve in her defense. She lifted a dirty sock. If she could get it close enough to the prowler’s nose...

“Cecil?” Jeff’s voice floated down the hall.

She dropped the sock as if stung. What in blazes was he doing here? She swung open the bathroom door and saw his dark silhouette in the shadow of the foyer stairs.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she spit out.

Jeff flipped on the light switch, and the yellow glare revealed his quizzical and bemused expression. A brown bag dangled from one hand; a soccer ball was tucked under his arm. His pearl gray shirt-sleeves were rolled back and his tie and suit jacket were missing. He fixed her with a slightly disapproving stare. “The door wasn’t locked. Something tells me that Peter wouldn’t approve.”

“Yeah, well, you’re right.” Unreasonably irritated, she leaned against the doorjamb. “But, then, Peter doesn’t approve of you, either.”

“I noticed. I hope you don’t mind my saying so, but the feeling’s mutual.” Jeff walked toward her.

She fumbled behind her and closed the bathroom door before he could see the mess inside. “Why are you here?” she asked as he stopped a few feet away.

“I got to the office and reached in the back seat for my briefcase and found this.” He offered her the scuffed, dirty soccer ball. “According to my receptionist, it’s an expensive one.”

“Forty-nine dollars and ninety-five cents, before tax.” Cecilia took it from him, trying to feel grateful. She tossed it at the wicker basket beside the front door, a good twenty feet away. It landed dead center. The basket rocked a bit, then settled.

“Swish,” Jeff remarked grudgingly. “Nice aim.”

“Lots of practice,” she replied, rubbing her hands on the back side of her jeans. She tilted her head back. “I, uh, really appreciate all the trouble you’ve been to today.”

“I thought... well, you seemed like you needed a little help.” He aimed a quick glance into the den. “Where are the kids?”

“Next door with Carol.”

“Oh, yeah. We met.” He relaxed visibly and raised the brown bag. “I thought you might need something to eat.”

“That’s very generous of you, I’m sure.” Cecilia took a shaky breath. “But as a matter of fact, I was going to call Carol and have her send the kids home. I feel much better now.”

Jeff snorted. “Just what you need—Little Dillinger and the Keystone Kops.”

Cecilia bristled. “I dare you to say that when I’m up to retaliating.”

“Does he really balance your checkbook?” Jeff asked casually.

That damned checkbook again! “That’s none of your business,” she replied, raising her chin.

“Answer my question, Cecil. Does that kid really balance your checkbook?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.” She raised her chin higher. Let him figure that one out. She stepped toward the door. “I know you’re busy, and I do appreciate your concern, so—”

Jeff ignored her and strolled into the den. “The kitchen’s this way, right?”

Cecilia spun around. “What are you doing?”

He set the grocery bag on the breakfast bar. “Chicken soup.”

“Chicken soup?” Cecilia felt her mouth fall open, and promptly shut it with a click of her teeth.

Jeff gave a tentative half smile. “I really need to be getting back to the office.”

Cecilia brushed a tangle of curls away from her face. “Thank you. Very much.”

“Anytime.” His eyes quickly met hers in dismay. “I mean... for old times’ sake.”

Cecilia forced a brittle smile. He was certainly conscientious, the adult Mr. Jefferson Smith. He hadn’t been able to ignore her plight, but he sure as heck couldn’t wait to leave, either. “I’ll bet you were a Boy Scout,” she said sweetly. “You know the way out, but I’ll walk you to the door. This time I want to make sure it’s locked.” She indicated the door with a jerk of her head, and gasped. The room tilted sideways; the floor vanished from beneath her. Her head roared, and the room whirled. She groped wildly, but felt herself falling.

She hit the floor with a thud and found herself staring blearily at the immaculate creases in Jeff’s pant legs—all five of them. “Oh, Lord.” Desperately she tried to rise.

Jeff squatted beside her and pressed her shoulders firmly onto the carpet. “Just relax. Don’t try to get up yet.” He brushed damp curls from her forehead.

“I can’t believe this,” she moaned. Still light-headed, she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply.

“Just like old times, eh?”

She blinked up at him in consternation. “What?”

“You throwing yourself at my feet. Twice in the same day, no less,” he teased. “Just like old times.”

“I did not!” she protested, struggling to sit up. “I mean, back then I did, but today I certainly didn’t!” She braced her hands against the floor. “I—-I don’t even want you here.”