Truth about Cats Page 6

  "You can bribe me with desert any time," Carla told him.

  A few minutes later, Rick and Jennifer stood in his living room waiting for Carla to go through whatever steps women go through to get ready. "Can I ask why you decided to wash my truck?" he asked.

  "Do I have to have a reason?"

  Jennifer looked defensive. Rick also noticed that she had avoided answering the question.

  "You might--"

  The little black and white kitten chose that moment to attack his ankle and cut off his follow-up.

  Jennifer made a cooing noise and tugged the cat into her arms, cuddling it against her breasts. "Such a darling little thing," she murmured. "Don't you go bothering Uncle Rick."

  Rick wasn't quite sure how to react to becoming an honorary uncle. It was better, he thought, than being a father. He didn't think he was ready for the leap to parenting a herd of cats.

  On the other hand, if Jennifer was the mom and he was the uncle, did that mean she had only sisterly feelings for him? Playing house with Jennifer just might have its benefits.

  Carla finally emerged and Rick led the way to his newly clean truck. He opened the passenger door, then stood there holding it like a valet while Jennifer and Carla played out a little skit.

  First Carla took a step toward the door, then Jennifer. Then both stood back and looked at the other. Finally Jennifer gave Carla a long glance and slid in. Carla clambered in after.

  The reason for their indecision was obvious. It was going to be, Rick realized, a tight squeeze.

  He closed the door behind Carla, walked around to the driver's side and climbed in.

  He sat as carefully as he could, but the full length of his body came into direct contact with Jennifer's. Every nerve went onto full alert. Her heat radiated through the fabric of his jeans and T-shirt sparking a fire he knew all the ice cream in Farley's Corner would fall short of dousing.

  It was just as well Carla was there as a chaperon. Before this weekend, he'd always prided himself on his control--when it came to women, business, or anything else. Jennifer changed the rules. Whenever he touched her, however innocently, his hormones went into overdrive and his common sense went out the window.

  He grimaced, stuck the key in the ignition, and grinded the transmission into first.

  Farley's Corner was about a mile from his home and he covered the distance in less than four minutes. He pulled the truck to a stop, still uncertain whether he wanted the painful pleasure of near full-body contact between himself and Jennifer to end at once, or to continue indefinitely.

  "Have you ever been to Farley's before?" Rick asked Carla as they entered the ice cream shop's air-conditioned interior.

  "Nope. I've heard it's great, but I've always been a little hesitant to wander into Oak Cliff. You hear such bad stuff in the news."

  "It's not all drive-by shootings and drug dealers," Rick said as they got in line behind a half-dozen people.

  ***

  Step four, Jennifer made a mental note. Get Rick into a part of town where a bank vice president might live. Maybe Plano.

  She tore her mind back to the present. At least she could think now. Rick probably suspected she'd been struck dumb for all she'd said during their ride over.

  "I hear Farley's rum-raisin is especially good," she contributed, trying to pick up on the conversation. She would think about implementing Step Four later. Once she got Rick past Step One. Maybe by then he would have adopted her twelve-step improvement plan as his own.

  "Oh, I love rum-raisin," Carla gushed.

  Rick made a face.

  "What's wrong with rum-raisin?" Jennifer asked.

  "According to us purists, the only flavors worth bothering with are chocolate and vanilla." He paused for a moment, then continued. "I take it you haven't eaten here either."

  She looked around at all the couples enjoying both ice cream and each other. A place like this made her question her decision to avoid men. "I try to watch what I eat," she said, not wanting to admit she'd done so little exploring in the neighborhood he seemed to love.

  "Makes less mess that way," Rick agreed.

  "That's not--"

  Carla laughed, and Rick joined her. Jennifer felt an unreasonable stab of jealousy. Just because Rick and her friend shared the same lame sense of humor? Ridiculous.

  Jennifer cleared her throat. "Let's figure out what we want to order before we lose our place in line."

  "If you really want Rum-Raisin, I promise I won't tell anyone," Rick said in a stage whisper.

  "Nobody else would mind," Jennifer shot back.

  "It's my best offer."

  Carla giggled at the interchange. Obviously the woman was getting a charge watching the friction between herself and Rick. At least Jennifer hoped it was friction. Certainly the sensation of his body against hers in the truck had created enough heat to start a fire. Why hadn't she changed into something less revealing when she'd had the chance?

  Carla caved in to Rick's pressure and ordered a chocolate sundae with vanilla ice cream. Rick ordered a small bowl of chocolate. His ice cream was so rich and dark it looked more like fudge than anything else.

  Only her need to resist Rick's narrow-minded definition of ice cream selection let her resist the lure of chocolate. She ordered a rum-raisin cone. They all trooped to a wrought iron table and sat to enjoy the treat.

  "Omygod, this is so good." Carla made enjoyment noises that would have been more appropriate in a bedroom than in a crowded restaurant.

  Jennifer licked her cone carefully, letting her tongue travel up from the cake cone, then pulling the sharp tip between her lips and savoring the taste. After Rick's joke about watching what she ate, it would be poetic injustice to end up with ice cream all over her front.

  Rick froze, his spoon suspended halfway between the bowl and his mouth.

  Jennifer looked up from her cone. "What?"

  "Uh, nothing."

  She shook her head, then took another lick.

  Rick seemed unable to tear his eyes away from her cone.

  "If you want one, I'll buy one for you," she offered. Surely she could find two dollars somewhere in her purse.

  "Oh, no. I'm happy with what I have."

  She stared at her cone for a moment, moved it back toward her mouth, then stopped as she belatedly realized what was bothering Rick. Although she didn't have a great deal of personal experience, she had read widely. The way she was eating her cone must be reminding Rick of some kinky experience.

  Step Five, she made a mental note. Keep Rick away from low-class women who wear tattoos and who distract him with their tacky willingness to yield to a man's lowest depravity.

  Jennifer took a hard bite on the sharp point her lips had left in the top of the ice cream cone and closed her eyes to enjoy the sensation of cool from the ice mixing with the fire from her body.

  Then she opened her eyes and mentally erased step five. It might be good for Rick, but she had to be honest and admit she'd invented step five for herself, not him. Time to erase, back up, and come up with something better.

  Chapter Five

  Rick strained as he slowly drew himself to the chin-up bar he’d hung in the tall doorway to his bedroom. "One hundred," he grunted. Enough for a Sunday, that was for sure. He dropped to the floor, then reached for his towel.

  "Do you think you're getting enough carbohydrates?" Jennifer asked.

  He spun around quickly, almost losing his balance. Even two years previously, he would never have let anyone sneak up on him like that. The fact that he no longer depended on his reflexes for day-to-day survival was making him soft.

  Jennifer stood in the doorway to her bedroom apparently completely unaware of the cat draped over one shoulder. As she spoke to him she stroked the animal in an automatic, yet sensuous gesture. Her hair was still mussed from sleep and, obviously ready for the shower, she carried her towel over the catless shoulder.

  The combination of Jennifer's tousled beauty and the cat's fe
line savagery put Rick in mind of a warrior princess. He made a mental note to bring the image to the attention of one of his artists. If he could just use Jennifer as a model, he was willing to bet the design would become a best-seller.

  Given her feelings about tattoos and the Internet, she'd probably hit him with another fish if he suggested it. Besides, he wasn't sure he wanted every pervert in America lusting over artwork showing a scantily clad Jennifer.

  "I'm worried whether you get your carbs," she told him.

  He wasn't getting enough something, but carbohydrates were not even on the list. "I had potatoes last night," he reminded her.

  "Mashed potatoes with gravy hardly counts," Jennifer lectured.

  "Hum. I guess the butter on the bread takes that off the list too."

  "Don't joke about this. Carbs are important."

  "Can I joke about proteins, then? They're pretty funny."

  Jennifer's face contorted in an interesting but ultimately losing battle to stay serious. "Diet isn't a joke," she insisted.

  "I agree. That's why I thought we'd go out to Flora's after my run. Their coffee is strong enough to cut with a knife. If that isn't a carbohydrate, I can't imagine what is."

  "You're running?"

  "Yeah. You can come if you think you can keep up." The Jennifer he'd known years before could hardly resist a challenge. He wondered if the new Jennifer would rise to the bait.

  There was the slightest sparkle in her blue eyes. "I think I can manage."

  "Fair enough. How long before you're ready?"

  Jennifer shrugged. The gesture sent attractive jiggles through the thin material of her T-shirt. "Two minutes."

  "Meet you at the front door, then."

  He filled his water bottle at the sink, took a long swig, then walked to the door and bent over to stretch.

  When he straightened, Jennifer was staring at him like she'd seen a ghost.

  "What? Do I have a hole in my shorts?"

  "Uh, no. Ah, I'm ready."

  Rick raised an eyebrow. Apparently he wasn't the only one who'd spent the past couple of days feeling distracted.

  ***

  After at least twenty minutes on the run, Jennifer wanted to stop. The morning was definitely warming up, and her sweat was soaking through her jog bra and gluing her T-shirt to her in ways that showed every possible imperfection. Even the unexpected pastoral beauty of Oak Cliff's public golf course couldn't cool her down, or put more air into her lungs. But she wouldn't let Rick see her falter.

  A golf cart veered toward her and she swerved to avoid it. The driver snarled at her and splashed a puddle over her. Apparently he couldn't be bothered to move out of their way.

  Rick's route had surprised her. She hadn't realized there were so many beautiful old houses in Oak Cliff, nor that this fancy golf course even existed.

  When Rick was a bank vice president, she wondered if he'd join the golfing set. What if he became a snob, or just plain rude like that guy they'd just passed? It didn't seem likely, but maybe she should add some sort of attitude-monitoring to his self-improvement list.

  A cart full of women swerved out of Rick's way an instant later.

  Before Jennifer could think polite thoughts about courtesy from the female golfing set, the driver ran into a tree. She, along with her three companions, giggled, but continued to stare at Rick.

  "You doing all right?" Rick asked, apparently oblivious to the ogling.

  She looked down at her mud-spattered legs. "Better than if I'd hit a tree."

  "There are some bad drivers here all right." A golf ball bounced past his head. "All kinds of drivers," he added.

  Jennifer had thought Rick a reckless driver when he almost hit a telephone pole. Had he merely been distracted by her, just as those women were by him? She smiled at the possibility.

  "I didn't think you'd make it this far," Rick continued.

  Her happy mood evaporated. "That's so sexist. Uh, how far are we were going, anyway?" She could keep this up for a while longer, but Rick wasn't even breathing hard.

  "I usually run five miles."

  "Usually?"

  His grin, something she hadn't seen much since she'd moved in with him, made him look approachable and likable. When he made bank vice president, she decided, he would have to smile a lot. For that, she would change banks.

  "I thought I might go farther today."

  She managed not to groan. "So why change today?"

  "Promise not to let this go to your head?"

  "Cross my heart." She made the traditional gesture.

  Rick stumbled into a sand trap, though he managed to get out without falling down, something she could never have accomplished. Maybe his Tai Won Mo, or whatever he called it, helped him with his balance.

  "Were you going to tell me something, or did you just want to do a clown act?"

  He ignored her jibe. "I wouldn't tell just anyone this, but I've enjoyed running with you."

  It wasn't much of a compliment, but Jennifer took it in and treasured it because it was about her, not about her looks or her body, but about who she really was. If only he could learn to love cats. She tried not to wonder whether he could learn to love her. They'd gone that route. It hadn't really worked--for either of them.

  Next to her cats, Jennifer loved running more than anything. She'd never met a man who could actually keep up with her before. In her experience, most guys started out like rockets but petered out after the first sprint. Rick seemed to have endurance and staying power.

  Her face burned as she followed that thought to its naughty conclusion.

  "You're looking a little peaked."

  "I'll show you who's peaked. Last one to that clubhouse is a monkey's uncle."

  Not being an idiot, she shouted the challenge from a full sprint. His legs might be longer, but there was no way he could catch her with that lead.

  To her surprise, though, their hands slapped the clubhouse wall at exactly the same moment.

  "You almost caught me," Jennifer admitted, gasping for breath.

  "Almost? Ha. Who would have thought a monkey's uncle would be quite so, uh, female."

  She let her laughter bubble up from deep inside. Even though she knew her time with Rick was short, already it had been enough to heal wounds so deep inside of her that she hadn't dreamed they were still there. For the rest of her life, she would cherish these few days together.

  "If I'd lost, which I didn't, I'd be a monkey's aunt. Besides, with this jog bra on, I practically look like a boy."

  One side of Rick's mouth turned up into a lopsided smile. "You definitely don't look like a boy. What you do look is hungry. Or at least I am. Let's go home, grab a shower, and get something to eat. I'll even eat carbohydrates. I was planning on biscuits and gravy. With the coffee."

  A mental image of sharing a shower with Rick refused to yield to her gentle nudges. After only a fractional second of confusion, or maybe wishful thinking, Jennifer realized he wasn't suggesting that.

  "Biscuits and gravy are not complex carbohydrates."

  "Pancakes?"

  She shook her head. "Loaded with fat."

  Maybe she should scratch "healthy diet" off Rick's list. He already looked the picture of health. His body gleamed with a thin sheen of perspiration. His breathing was still easy despite the miles they'd put in--miles that came after he'd already worked out. She noticed, though, that he was inhaling a little more deeply. That only made his chest appear more massive.

  "Right. So let’s head home."

  Jennifer started off, then let him catch up and pull alongside. "So Rick?"

  "Yeah?" He sounded suspicious. Almost as if he knew she was planning something.

  "I was wondering if we had any plans for this afternoon."

  "Nothing that can't be changed."

  "I usually go and see my parents on Sundays. I could take the bus, but I'm sure they would be happy to see you again.

  ***

  The way Rick figured it, Jennif
er's parents would only be happy to see him if he was in a coffin. Jennifer knew that at least as well as he did. "You can borrow the truck."

  Her frown surprised him.

  "You used to like my mother's cooking a lot. Remember?"

  "I used to like anything that didn't come out of a can. Still do. That's why I eat out so much." Until he'd turned twelve and gotten his first job, he'd been happy when there was a can of anything in the house. Still, Sally Hollman, Jennifer's mother, did have a real knack in the kitchen.

  Jennifer wrinkled her forehead. "My parents' lives have changed a lot since you knew them."

  "You said something about your dad having problems with some Internet investment, but--"

  "It was more serious than that. He lost everything day-trading on the Internet--his business, his trust fund, everything."

  It took a moment for Jennifer's explanation to sink in. "You mean your parents are ... poor?"

  "Compared to what they were. My dad has a job. He pretends to be happy, but how could he be? He hardly makes anything. My mother gave up all her old friends because they're embarrassed to let anyone see how they live."

  "Those don't sound like real good friends."

  Jennifer stared at the ground. "I want you to promise me something."

  The sudden vulnerability in her voice stopped him in his tracks. She must feel about her parents like she thought about her cats. More poor pathetic creatures who needed to be rescued.

  "What?"

  "Promise you won't make fun of them."

  Amusement fought disappointment. What kind of man did Jennifer think he was? As a kid, he'd had to fight for everything. Now he picked his battles. Making fun of Jennifer's parents wasn't even on the list.

  "If you want me to go, I will," Rick said.

  Jennifer's sly smile let Rick know he'd been right. She did have an ulterior motive for bringing him into contact with her family. Well, life was like that. He had ulterior motives too.

  After this run, there was just no point in denying reality. Sometime over the past couple of days, some mental connection deep in his brain had switched on. He wanted Jennifer Hollman. Wanted her in his arms. Wanted her in his bed with her long slender legs wrapped around his waist pulling him more and more deeply into her. If going to see her parents was on the path toward that destination, he'd go.