Beguiled Again: A Romantic Comedy (5 page)

“Well, I guess I’ll go get my toothbrush.”

Jeff watched him lope across the room, then blurted out, “You can’t.”

The boy spun around, facing Jeff quizzically.

“Your mom’s taking a bath,” Jeff explained awkwardly.
 

“Oh?” Brad seemed to consider that for a moment, then brightened and shrugged. “That means I have time for pizza.”

The threat of Cecilia’s eldest son, or worse, the arrival of a horde of screaming children, gave Jeff indigestion. “Look, buddy, let me see your teeth.”

Brad bared his incisors for inspection.

“Who told you these teeth were dirty? They look fine to me.”

“That’s what I said,” Brad complained. “But Peter said—”

“Look, just go on back over there, take this pizza with you, and I’ll ask your mom if she wants you to brush your teeth. If she does, she’ll call you back home.”

“Hey, that’s great!” Brad grabbed the plate and headed for the back door. Hands full, he waited for Jeff to let him out. “Peter’s not gonna like you bein’ here.”
 

Jeff snorted. “So don’t tell him.”

A grin widened across his freckled face. “Okay.” He hesitated at the door and squinted at Jeff. “You know that pot holder? Mom’ll never notice, but Peter will.”
 

~o0o~

Cecilia paused as she entered the den. Jeff sat on the couch, holding a slice of pizza and a can of beer. “I hope you don’t mind. I made myself at home.”

“Is there any pizza left, or have you scarfed it all down?”
 

Jeff sprang to his feet. “I’m supposed to be taking care of you. Just sit down. I’ll fix you some.”

Cecilia dropped into the nearest chair.

“Nope.” Jeff grabbed her arm and pulled her up. “That’s not good enough. Come sit on the sofa. You need to relax.”

Cecilia allowed him to guide her, and not until she dropped onto the soft leather couch did she realize how much she needed to lie down. Jeff shook out the afghan, then tossed it over her reclining body, letting it settle with a soft whoosh. “Isn’t that better?”

“Hmmph.” She refused to give him the satisfaction.
 

“Want a beer?” Smiling at her grimace, he answered his own question. “I didn’t think so.” He struggled with the pizza, forcing the knife through its asphalt-shingle crust. “You don’t approve of beer?”

Her eyes slid away from his. “There just hasn’t been any beer around here lately. Your question startled me, that’s all.” She rubbed her nose self-consciously and reached for a slice of pizza. “This is cold.”

“Cold pizza’s good for the soul.” Jeff eased to the floor beside her and resumed eating.

Cecilia watched him from the corner of her eye. Stretched out on the floor, he looked almost the same as the first time she’d seen him...long legs, wide shoulders and that same arrogant cleft in his chin. She leaned against the soft cushion and sighed. If there was one thing she didn’t need, it was another male around the house.

Especially not if that male was Jeff Smith.

He cleared his throat awkwardly. “I realize that this has been an exceptionally bad day for you.”

“Not particularly. If you walked into this house a hundred times, ninety-nine of them would be as crazy as today.” She shrugged. “They’re good kids. A little unorthodox, maybe, but then... Combine heredity with environment, and what else could you expect?”

“Every time I think how much you’ve changed, I realize how much you haven’t.” His lips twisting in a wry smile, Jeff leaned back on his palms and cocked his head curiously. “What do you do to hold things together?”

“I sing.”

Jeff narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “You... sing?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Sing what?”

“Commercial jingles for radio. I’ve done some voiceovers for a couple of television commercials, mainly local stuff. And weekends I usually sing with a dance band.”

Jeff laughed, then stopped. “You’re not kidding, are you?”

“No, I’m not kidding.” Her feathers a bit ruffled, Cecilia squirmed to a sitting position and curled her feet beneath her, holding the old afghan snug around her shoulders.

“Anything I’d recognize?”

This was the part Cecilia always hated. Her list of credits included radio jingles that were heard all over the country, but most of her local work was low-budget commercials, not the kind of resume to impress people who knew nothing about the business. “Probably not.”

Jeff studied her closely. “Is that a particularly lucrative line of work?”

“I manage quite well as a matter of fact.”

“So well that you’re overdrawn.”

“Not often, only occasionally.” She could explain about the other account, but chose to let him think the worst. “It’s really none of your business, is it? But I have a check in my purse I’ve been carrying around since last Thursday, and I still haven’t made it by the bank.”

“You’re kidding me, aren’t you?” he asked, his expression incredulous.

“Will you stop gawking at me? No, I’m not kidding.”

Jeff gulped. “No wonder little Dillinger yells at you.”

“I should have known you’d take his side,” she grumbled.

“I’ll tell you what. Let me take a look at that checkbook. The least I can do is straighten it out for you.”

“You aren’t touching my checkbook, Jeff Smith,” she snapped.

“Cecil, don’t be offended. I’m a CPA. I have my own firm. It’s my business to straighten out people’s financial messes. Strictly business.”

“I’m not impressed, and you’re not touching my checkbook,” Cecilia growled. “Anyway, Peter balanced it this afternoon.”

He rolled his eyes and hoisted himself up from the floor. “This I’ve gotta see.”

“Absolutely not,” she responded sharply. “Peter’s perfectly capable of balancing my checkbook. As a matter of fact, he could probably handle the accounts payable of Chase Bank.”

“Right.”

“So, don’t believe it. I don’t have to prove it, because it’s none of your business,” she repeated.

“No wonder the kid’s such a pain. He’s probably thoroughly convinced that no one on earth’s his equal.”

“Sound familiar?” Cecilia taunted, taking pleasure in the ruddy stain that crept up Jeff’s neck. “A certain senior I knew once had the same tendencies—in spades.”

He laughed then, a velvet sound that tingled from her scalp to her toes. Eyes glowing, he reached for her hand and moved to her side again. “One thing I have to say for you, kid. There never was a dull moment when you were around. And you haven’t changed a bit.”

“We are a rather diverting bunch,” Cecilia agreed, slumping back onto the cushions and dropping his hand. Now it made sense. He was bored and lonely, probably between playmates, and had decided to check out good old Cecil for grins, kind of like a trip to the zoo.

She studied him with more calm than she felt. “Jeff, I don’t know how to say this, but I can’t avoid it.” She drew in a deep breath and then finally voiced the fear that had haunted her all day. “This has been a very strange day for me. Oh, I’m not talking about checkbooks or the kids, or even being sick. I’m talking about you.” Flustered, she caught her breath. She raised her burning green eyes to his surprised brown ones feeling rather foolish.

“Cecilia Evans, are you giving me the brush-off?” His features transformed slowly from confusion to surprise. “You’re afraid of me.”

“Why should I be afraid?” she asked, forcing out the words, her voice husky. “I just don’t have time for...”

“For what?” There was curiosity in his eyes, curiosity and expectancy. The question hung between them, and he seemed as ill at ease as she felt.

He raised his face to hers, and she instinctively touched his cheek. She trembled, fearing the plunge even as she longed for the push that would send her over the edge.

“Don’t do this to me.” She squeezed her eyes shut, jerking her hands to her sides and digging them into the rough afghan to erase the memory of his skin from her fingertips. “Do I have to say it? You don’t fit in here! I don’t want you here!”

Jeff pulled away, looking stunned. She watched the confusion on his face, watched it harden, watched him retreat behind a composed expression. Too composed. And at that moment, she felt a stabbing pain of remembrance because she saw such a remarkable resemblance to the young Jefferson Smith.

“Maybe you’re right,” he said. Then, with a smile that creased sharp edges around his mouth yet never reached his eyes, he said, “I think I’d better be going. But it’s the craziest thing. When you think back on that year you say it was humiliating. When I remember that year I remember wanting to tie you up and dump you in the Trinity River.”

He seemed a little embarrassed, a little confused. “But now... well, it doesn’t seem so bad now. It’s the damnedest thing, but that year seems kind of funny... special, even.”

He moved about the room, and a chill settled over her. His movements were quick and precise as he cleaned up the debris from their dinner, systematically erasing every indication that he had been in the house, even putting the empty beer cans in his own grocery bag to take home with his soup.

Her blunt nails dug into her palms as she fought back the conciliatory words that sprang to her lips. She knew his leaving was for the best. After all, he was only doing what she wanted him to.

Why didn’t she feel relieved?

Jeff stood over her with his brown bag clutched in one hand. She looked up at his towering height with deeper regret than she dared admit, even to herself.

“Are you feeling all right?” he asked quietly. “I could call your friend.”

“No.” She brushed a strand of hair away from her face. “I’ll be fine.”

He grasped her hand firmly and pulled her to her feet. “Walk me to the door,” he ordered. “This time I want the dead bolt locked.”

As he moved away from her, Cecilia fought the impulse to reach out and stop him.
 

What was wrong with her? She didn’t want him there, yet she couldn’t bear for him to leave. It was because she was sick, she told herself. That’s all. Weak and sick and vulnerable and downright stupid.

At the front door she refused to raise her eyes to his. “Thanks for everything,” she whispered numbly.

“For old times,” he answered, then left. She locked the dead bolt and leaned her forehead against the cool surface of the door, listening to his steps fade away. Suddenly the sound of his retreat seemed strangely foreboding. She pushed away from the door and hurried back through the house, flipping off lights as she went. She fell into bed with a sigh of relief... an empty sigh.

She didn’t need a man. She certainly didn’t need Jeff. She only needed a good night’s sleep to banish the curious and hollow ache from her heart.

And she realized how sick she must be when to her relief, sleep came almost instantly.

CHAPTER THREE

AN ARMY WAS pounding down the door with a battering ram, not to mention ding-donging the damned doorbell off the wall. Cecilia tumbled out of bed and stumbled down the hallway, her head feeling somewhat to the east of the rest of her body. Somebody had better be ready for a few choice words. She swung the door open, winced at the bright sunshine, and was confronted by the kids and Ralph.

Carol stood behind them, gesturing helplessly. “I tried to stop them, Cecilia, I really did. But I couldn’t keep them away.” She cast an uneasy glance over her shoulder. “I have to admit, I’m surprised. I’m not criticizing, mind you, but I’m very surprised.”

Peter pushed sullenly past Cecilia and stalked into the house, Brad and Anne-Elizabeth following hot on his heels.

“What are you talking about, Carol?” Cecilia leaned back against the doorjamb and cradled her head in her hands.

“Well, you certainly are cool about it, I’ll hand you that.” Carol peered cautiously into the house.

“Cool about what? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Cecilia repeated.

“Well, honey, I managed to keep the kids in the back of the house last night, but really! How was I to know he’d still be here this morning? When the kids saw his car…”

Cecilia jerked her head up. “What do you mean? Jeff left before ten last night.” Without waiting, she pushed past her friend and flew down the front steps. Parked innocently behind the red minivan was Jeff’s red convertible. Cecilia threw her hands to her forehead and shrieked, “What is it doing here?”

Carol came quickly to her side. “It’s okay, Cecilia. Don’t have a conniption. I’m sure there’s a perfectly logical explanation for this.” She didn’t sound convinced, though. “You mean he’s really not in the house?”

Cecilia puffed up with indignation. “Carol, do you mean to tell me that you honestly thought... Carol! How could you?” she wailed. “And the kids, what are they doing? Checking the beds?”

“Calm down, honey,” Carol begged. “I should have known better.” She glanced at the neighbor’s house across the street just in time to see a curtain fall back in place. “Come back in the house. You’re attracting attention.”

“I’m attracting attention? I’m not the one who left this— this—dune buggy parked in front of my house all night!”