Angels And Elves. Joan Elliott Pickart

later was standing under the warm spray of the shower, vigorously shampooing her hair.

      In all fairness she had to admit it had been a sensational, albeit short, kiss. And it wasn’t as though Forrest had hauled her into his arms and kissed the living daylights out of her—which would have been extremely rude.

      No, it had been a rather...polite...yes, polite kiss. A tad pushy, considering they’d only just met, but definitely memorable.

      As Jillian dried herself with a huge, fluffy towel, she was aware of a sense of something nagging at her. What was she forgetting? What was vying for attention that she couldn’t remember? She had been so exhausted the previous night, there was no telling what she didn’t recall in the light of a new day.

      With a shrug of dismissal, she left the bathroom and dressed in jeans faded in spots to white, a baggy red sweatshirt that boasted the slogan Writers Always Have the Last Word, and red-and-white polka-dot socks.

      After a cup of Earl Grey tea and a bowl of granola and yogurt, she called her secretary, Lorraine, to announce her arrival home.

      Ever-efficient Lorraine reported that the necessary bills had been paid during Jillian’s absence, the newspaper delivery would resume today, the housekeeper had been instructed to stock the refrigerator yesterday per the usual procedure, and everything was under control.

      “You’re a gift from the heavens,” Jillian said.

      “I know,” Lorraine said. “I’m fantastic. I have your fan mail here, but fear not, I won’t darken your doorway for two weeks. You’re officially on vacation as of dawn today. What are you going to do this time?”

      “I don’t know yet,” she said, frowning slightly. “The tour was so hectic I didn’t have a spare second to think about it.”

      “Well, darn,” the secretary said. “I look forward to hearing about The Project. That’s in capital letters, you understand. Let’s see. Over the years, you’ve used your two-week hiatus to go on a cruise, take knitting lessons, volunteer to read stories to children in the hospital, and on the list goes. My favorite was when you wallpapered the bathroom.”

      Jillian laughed. “Which had to be redone by a professional.”

      “True. Goodness, Jillian, it’s hard to believe you haven’t settled on The Project. This is day one, you know, and you’re wasting time even as we speak.”

      “I realize that. I’m thinking, I’m thinking. I’ll talk to you later, Lorraine. Oh, how are your husband and your grandchildren?”

      “My darling hubby is still a couch potato, and the grandkids are brilliant and incredibly cute. Bye for now, boss.”

      Jillian replaced the receiver slowly, then stared at it for a long moment.

      Lorraine was right. She’d always decided on The Project well before her coveted two weeks began. Her publisher had her latest book in production, the grueling promotional tour was gratefully over, and she would have her self-indulgent fourteen days before starting a new novel, as per her usual routine.

      “Think, Jillian,” she told herself.

      She thought about The Project while she toted her luggage to her room and unpacked, then stored the suitcases in the back of one of the guest-room closets. She thought while washing and drying clothes, and making a pile to go to the cleaners’. She thought while she sorted through the stack of receipts she’d accumulated during the tour, and made a list of thank-you notes to be written to the bookstore owners who had hosted her autograph parties across the country. She thought while she put the paperwork in her large, sunny office and firmly closed the door, vowing not to open it for fourteen days.

      She thought while she ate a peanut-butter and banana sandwich, then watched a talk show on television.

      As dusk began to darken the living room, she closed the drapes, turned on several lamps, lit a crackling fire in the hearth, and thought.

      She slouched rather ungracefully onto the sofa facing the fireplace, stretching her legs straight out in front of her and wiggling her red-and-white-polka-dot-clad toes. While the wobbling pattern of the socks made her slightly dizzy, it did not transmit a genius-level idea for The Project.

      “Food,” she said, getting to her feet again. “I’ll feed my brain.”

      A few minutes later, she replaced the receiver of the telephone, having requested a Super Duper Pizza Supreme Deluxe Extraordinaire to be delivered to the house.

      Returning to the living room, she began to pace back and forth in front of the fireplace.

      “Skydiving?” she muttered. “Oh, good grief, no, I’d probably break myself. Gourmet cooking lessons?” She shook her head. “I’d become fat as a pig. Learn to speak Russian? Japanese? French?” She frowned. “Who would I talk to in Russian? Oh, darn it, I’ve already wasted one of my precious fourteen days.”

      She plopped back onto the sofa with a dejected sigh, and stared gloomily into the nearly-hypnotizing flames of the fire. When the telephone rang, she jerked in surprise as she was startled out of her semitrance. She snatched up the receiver of the telephone on the end table.

      “Hello?”

      “Jillian? Hi, it’s Deedee. I’ve been trying to call you all day, but it was so busy at the store, I didn’t have a chance. There’s something important that I need to talk to you about. I’d rather do this in person, but... Do you have time to chat?”

      “Sure. What’s on your mind?”

      “First of all, I want to thank you for doing the autographing yesterday. I know how tired you were, and I appreciate your tacking me onto the end of that grueling tour.”

      “No problem. I always enjoy doing book-signings at Books and Books. Your customers are such sweethearts. Now, what’s this ‘something important’ you wanted to talk to me about?”

      “Oh, well, you see—” Deedee paused. “Since you’re speaking to me at the moment, I assume Forrest MacAllister carried out his mission of delivering you safely home. Did you manage to get there without threatening to murder him, or inking him to death?”

      “I slept all the way home.”

      “Oh, you’re such a dud. That is one sexy hunk of man on the hoof, Jillian Jones-Jenkins. He’s nice, too. You know how highly Andrea speaks of him. You slept all the way home? I’m beginning to think you’re hopeless.”

      “Me? Look who’s talking. You’re cruel to the male populace.”

      “I am not. I’m dating three different men at the moment. It’s just that if any of them get too serious, I shoo them out the door.”

      “You’re a coldhearted wench, Deedee. Is this topic the ‘something important’?”

      “No. Well, yes, sort of. What I mean is—”

      “Deedee!”

      “Okay, I’m getting it together now.” She cleared her throat. “Jillian, I want you to keep an open mind while I’m explaining my ‘something important.’ Have you settled on The Project for your time off from work yet?”

      “No, much to my frustration. I’ve already wasted an entire day. Why?”

      “Well, you see, Andrea is very concerned about Forrest. He worked extremely hard while he was in Japan, with very little time off. He claims he’s not going back to work for a few weeks, but Andrea says he’ll never do it. He’ll end up in the office slaving away.

      “She was getting stressed, really having a fit, as we were talking about Forrest. She’s so-o-o-o worried about him, Jillian. To calm her down, I suggested we try to think of a way to get him to relax, enjoy his time off, concentrate on something other than work. So, between us we came up with a plan.”

      “That’s all very nice,” Jillian said. “However, I’m totally confused