A Marriage Between Friends. Melinda Curtis

fine.” That self-preservation kicked in again. No longer cold, Jill elbowed Vince back into his own space, sending a glob of green paint flying onto one of his fine Italian-leather shoes. She snatched up a scrap of newspaper and tried to wipe the goop off, but the paint had already soaked into the leather, leaving a dime-size mark.

      “I’m sorry. I’m always such a klutz.”

      “Some things never change.” Vince laughed, a rich sound that seeped into Jill’s system and made her want to relax until she looked in his dark eyes and saw the same lure of heat that had made her heart pound when she was a teenager. Now her heart nearly stopped. Was she destined to be simultaneously intimidated and drawn to Vince?

      As if sensing her confusion, Vince let his laughter fade away. His gaze trapped hers.

      Thunder grumbled in the distance.

      “You say that like it’s a good thing.” Turning away, Jill slapped paint on the last bare corners of her board. The wind had picked up, quivering the tree limbs overhead. “It’s getting late. You need to go before the storm comes.”

      WHAT HAPPENED HERE?

      One minute Vince was convinced Jill was out to fleece him and the next she had him eating out of her hand, only to send him away as if she hadn’t noticed the sparks between them. Which, considering their past, shouldn’t surprise him.

      Vince had driven out to Shady Oak for some answers and had come up empty. Jill had ignored his demands to know why she’d left and he’d forgotten—forgotten—to ask her why she wasn’t going to support the casino. Frustration burned beneath his skin, and the pent-up energy demanded release.

      Vince fired up the Porsche, toying with the idea of gunning it down the driveway as if he were a broken-hearted teenager. Maturity won out only because the gravel would pepper his fenders. Instead, Vince backed out quickly and took off with just a bit more gas than was wise.

      The sky ignited with lightning, and thunder bellowed so close it shook the car.

      His headlights picked up a smoking pink housecoat.

      Vince slammed on the brakes. He’d almost taken out an old woman in curlers walking her poofy, volleyball-size, white dog. And indulging in a pipe.

      The thunder faded away.

      Vince’s heart started beating again. He turned off the engine, left the lights on and hopped out into the windy night. “Sorry about that. Are you okay?”

      Silver curlers glinted in the car’s beams. The old woman drew the pipe slowly from her mouth. “I nearly peed my pants. Think Moonbeam piddled herself. How ’bout you?”

      Relief had him grinning. “Pretty damn close.”

      Moonbeam’s white hair stuck out like porcupine quills, but whether that was from fright or her natural state, Vince didn’t know.

      “Name’s Edda Mae. I buzzed you in the gate.” The woman drew on her pipe, sending wisps of smoke curling into the air. “Saw you speak in town. I had hopes for you, boy.”

      “The project is in the early stages. Don’t give up on me yet.”

      “Wasn’t talkin’ about your money.” Edda Mae gestured with her pipe to the glowing windows above the Edda Mae’s Dining Emporium sign.

      Vince glanced up at Jill’s place, allowing the woman to make assumptions. Jill had left Vegas and made something of herself while he’d flailed around without a clear purpose. A better man might not have felt jealousy. In any case, he’d get this casino off the ground despite Jill’s opposition, and then he’d finally feel as if he’d accomplished something.

      Fat drops fell in a faltering pattern around them.

      “Shouldn’t be out in this weather. You got a place to stay?” Edda Mae’s gaze was piercing.

      “No.”

      “You best park that thing over here. Don’t know why young bucks need to drive like they’re havin’ bad sex.” She turned toward a miniature house on the downhill side of the garage. “Fast, fast, fast. What a waste.”

      “Beg pardon?” He couldn’t have heard her right.

      “The rain’s come,” Edda Mae said, her eyes trained on the rocky ground as she walked away. “The road won’t be safe. You’ll have to stay here tonight. Best hurry before I change my mind, boy.” As Edda Mae climbed the steps to the narrow covered front porch, the rain arrived with a roar, sending Vince scrambling for cover.

      A few minutes later he sat on an antique brocade love seat with worn-out cushions and wood trim that creaked every time he breathed. The small cottage was crammed with an eclectic mix of possessions—Native American baskets and pottery, a short section of picket fence leaning against a wall, a 49ers calendar from two years ago—and smelled of tobacco. Moonbeam sat just out of reach and stared at Vince with dark, beady eyes.

      “Whiskey?” Edda Mae asked, seemingly unconcerned that she was entertaining in her pink chenille robe and curlers.

      “Beer?” he countered.

      “Coffee?”

      “Black. Let me help you.” Vince leaned forward to stand, but Moonbeam started yapping. Vince sat back again.

      “Moonbeam doesn’t like strangers in the house. Best stay where you are. Besides, Jill gave me one of those newfangled coffee machines last Christmas.”

      Vince slid to the end of the couch. The little beast pranced along with him, growling. Vince scowled at her. They were still having a face-off when Edda Mae came out with two mugs.

      She handed the steaming one to Vince and then parked herself in a big brown recliner. “You aren’t a dog person, are you.”

      “Never had one.” The ceramic mug was too hot to hold. Vince set it on a coaster on the antique end table.

      Still growling, Moonbeam tilted sideways along with his arm. All it would take is one swift boot…

      Edda Mae took a swig from her cup and studied Vince through faded brown eyes that seemed too knowing. “Everybody should have a dog. They’re man’s best friend.”

      Vince shook his head. Moonbeam’s nose twitched. The dog was annoying but cute. He could never really hurt her.

      “Ever own a cat?”

      “No.”

      “Canary?”

      “No.”

      The rain came down with hail-like ferocity. Moonbeam licked her chops as if anticipating an Italian snack.

      “That’s just not right.” Edda Mae imbibed a bit more and then pinned him with squinty eyes. “You ain’t been around for Teddy.”

      Vince opened his mouth to explain that he wasn’t the boy’s father, but thought better of it. Moonbeam’s snarl filled the air, instead.

      A framed picture of Jill holding a baby with ruddy cheeks and a gummy grin caught his eye. “You watch out for Jill,” Vince observed, feeling unexpectedly empty. “I should go.”

      If Vince slept on the antique love seat, he’d have to hang his legs over the side, and he was certain to wake up with kinks in several places.

      “No need. I’ll get you set for the night. Jill’s an early riser.”

      Edda Mae stood with the exacting precision of one who doesn’t always feel stable on her feet when she first gets up. “Come along.”

      Ignoring Moonbeam’s noisy protests, Vince steadied Edda Mae, moving her toward what he took to be a closet where he guessed she kept the extra bedding.

      Edda Mae dug in her heels. “I’m not going to let you into my bedroom, young man. We’ve only just met.”

      He released the old woman.