Текст книги "Native Affairs"
Автор книги: Doreen Malek Owens
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NATIVE AFFAIRS
FOUR CONTEMPORARY
AMERICAN INDIAN ROMANCES
Doreen Owens Malek
–
Published by
Gypsy Autumn Publications LLC
P.O. Box 383 • Yardley, PA 19067
–
Copyright ©1983, 1986, 1992, 1995 and 2012
By Doreen Owens Malek
www.doreenowensmalek.com
The author asserts the moral right to
be identified as the author of this work
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the permission of the publisher.
All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
Table of Contents
Foreword
An Indian Affair
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Blackfoot Affair
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Epilogue
Medicine Man’s Affair
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Marriage in Name Only
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
About the Author
New Releases by Doreen Owens Malek
Coming Soon
Other Works by Doreen Owens Malek
Titles for Future Release
Foreword
The common denominator in the four romances I selected for Native Affairs is the Native American hero in each story. I chose to write about this Northern hemisphere icon because for me he exemplifies the strength and purpose and stoic masculinity always found in male romantic leads. From the physical trials his ancestors endured to reach tribal manhood, to the indefatigable courage they displayed in fighting the overwhelming numbers of European settlers, American Indians are unique in history. The modern counterpart’s ability to survive in society while retaining the mysticism and respect for nature and its processes that characterize his culture makes him a compelling figure. In my books this tenacity and toughness is translated into a contemporary setting and a relationship with a woman who challenges his background and beliefs. This contrast and conflict is what makes a good story and I’ve exploited that basic difference to tell tales that bring out the best in both characters who come together as a couple.
In Blackfoot Affair the main characters are on opposite sides of a legal battle, and in An Indian Affair the hero is a renegade bounty hunter who meets a teacher he simply can’t resist. In Medicine Man’s Affair the hero is an athlete who has to defy his own prejudices to pursue a woman he doesn’t want to desire, and in Marriage in Name Only a troubled teenager becomes a conflicted millionaire who can’t forget his first love. All four men are a bit difficult, a little dangerous, and a lot sexy. I hope you enjoy reading about this quartet of heartbreakers as much as I enjoyed writing about them. Some details are provided below.
An Indian Affair is a conflict of cultures tale about two people who have nothing in common but can’t stay away from each other. Cindy is both frightened by and attracted to Drew Fox. Even though every instinct she has tells her to put distance between herself and the wild man she is drawn to so fiercely, she listens to her heart rather than her head. How these two achieve a balance between their conflicting natures is detailed in a compelling love story.
Blackfoot Affair is a tale that begins with intense antagonism between professional combatants, Marisa Hancock and Jackson Bluewolf. Their constant conflict produces a tension that flares into a desire that complicates their lives until they give in to it. Once they acknowledge their need for one another they make progress toward happiness. Then an accusation of betrayal drives the couple apart until it is resolved in dramatic fashion, bringing them together in a satisfying conclusion.
Medicine Man’s Affair is a story that shows that prejudices can poison a relationship on either side, but love can bring down these barriers and unite people of diverse backgrounds. Jennifer Gardiner meets Lee Youngson, a professional athlete who wants to be a doctor but believes his dream is impossible. Jennifer helps him to realize his ambitions and see that he doesn’t have to compromise his principles in order to love the woman he truly wants.
Marriage in Name Only is a reunion story disguised as a revenge tale. After rich girl meets poor boy and then they are separated, Heath Bodine tells himself he is determined to punish his childhood sweetheart. But he is really still in love with the girl he thinks abandoned him years earlier. It is an intense, highly emotional story of youthful passion which translates into an enduring attachment once issues of honestly and loyalty are addressed. When Heath finally learns to trust Jessica, a mature and enduring is created between the two lovers.
– Doreen Owens Malek
AN INDIAN AFFAIR
Doreen Owens Malek
–
Published by
Gypsy Autumn Publications
PO Box 383 • Yardley, PA 19067
–
Copyright 1986 and 2012
by Doreen Owens Malek
www.doreenowensmalek.com
–
Originally Published
as
DESPERADO (1986)
–
The Author asserts the moral right to be
identified as author of this work.
All rights reserved. No part of this book, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews, may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, scanning or any information storage retrieval system, without explicit permission in writing from the Author or Publisher.
First USA printing: 1986
All of the characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
DEDICATION
For my godchildren,
Keith Francis Malek
and
Stephen Baldwin Freiberger
Chapter 1
The Florida sun was losing strength, but still brilliant, as Cindy and Paula emerged from the restaurant in late afternoon. Cindy shielded her eyes, and then dropped her hand when they turned to walk down the street.
“How far is it to your apartment?” Cindy asked, watching as her friend pulled a pair of sunglasses from her purse and put them on.
“A couple of miles,” Paula replied. “The complex is right outside of town.”
Cindy nodded. Paula had picked her up at the Clearwater airport a couple of hours before, and they had stopped for a bite in Council Rock before traveling on to Paula’s house.
“When are you going to start the research?” Paula asked, rummaging in her shoulder bag for her car keys.
“Monday, I guess.” Cindy smiled slightly. They’d spent the whole meal catching up on their social lives and had never discussed in detail the reason for Cindy’s visit.
“So you’ve already contacted somebody from the university,” Paula said.
“Yes, the department chairman is going to see me.” Cindy was a graduate assistant in the folklore department of the University of Pennsylvania. The subject of her master’s thesis was the legends of the Seminole Indians, and she’d come to northern Florida to research the topic in the section of the country where the Seminoles had lived for hundreds of years. Paula was a college friend who’d offered to have Cindy stay with her when she heard that Cindy’s work was taking her to the Tampa area.
“What about your supervisor?” Paula inquired, glancing at Cindy.
“I have to mail him my ideas and get approval of my outline, but I don’t think that will be difficult. He’s working in the field himself.”
“Huh,” Paula replied skeptically, snaring her keys and then holding them aloft like a trophy. “Good luck to him. That egghead stuff you write all looks like nonsense to me.”
Cindy was about to reply when a thunderous crash made both women spin around and then jump back. In disbelief, Cindy watched as the picture window of a hardware store fronting the street exploded into sparkling smithereens. Glass fragments flew in all directions as two figures hurtled through the window. Cindy and Paula both threw up their arms to cover their faces. Shards tinkled to the ground as the men who’d shattered the window tumbled to the walkway, almost at Cindy’s feet, rolling over and over, locked in combat.
When the glass finally stopped falling, Cindy peeked through her fingers to see what was happening. One of the men was flat on the ground, face down, with his arms pinned behind him. The other was sitting astride him snapping handcuffs on his wrists.
Cindy looked at Paula, who appeared remarkably undisturbed by the whole episode, observing calmly as the taller man hauled the captive to his feet. Cindy turned her head to watch also. The prisoner stumbled along unwillingly as the victor dragged him to a pickup truck parked at the curb and unceremoniously cuffed him to the rear bumper.
Cindy leaned in to her companion and said in an undertone, “Paula, what is going on here?”
Paula shrugged. “It’s just Drew Fox bringing in another one.”
“Another what?” Cindy demanded, bewildered.
Before Paula could reply the front door of the store flew open with a bang. An irate man, obviously the owner, started berating the tall man in a loud voice, to the vast entertainment of the small crowd that had gathered. The object of his tirade patted his shoulder reassuringly, speaking to him in a low, comforting tone. Mollified, the proprietor calmed down, and was even managing a small smile when a patrol car glided silently to a stop in the street, its blue light pulsating. The fettered prisoner looked on grimly, resigned to his fate.
“Cheese it, the cops,” Paula muttered, and Cindy grinned. There was something amusing about this scene, which shouldn’t have been funny. But the nonchalant stance of the man who had initiated it all, lounging with his hands in his pockets and greeting the policemen affably as if he were the host at a block party, struck her as absurd.
“Look at that guy,” she said to Paula. “You’d never think he just splintered a pane of glass with his head.”
Paula chuckled in response, and the two women watched as the police took charge of the prisoner and led him away to the patrol car. As soon as it pulled away, the crowd began to disperse and the tall man sauntered over to them, pushing his hair back from his forehead.
“Hi, short stuff,” he said casually, talking to Paula but looking at Cindy.
“You’re out of date, Fox,” Paula replied dryly. “My brother stopped calling me that when I was twelve.”
“You still look pretty short to me,” Fox observed, smiling just a little with his eyes, which remained on Cindy’s face.
“Everybody looks short to you,” Paula said.
“Are you ladies all right?” he asked. “Some of that glass came pretty close to you.”
“We’re fine,” Paula replied, for both of them. “But I can’t say the same for you. You do realize that you’re bleeding?”
Fox blinked, surprised, and put his hand to his head again. It came away stained red.
“I thought my hair felt wet,” he said. He pulled a handkerchief from the back pocket of his jeans and tied it around his head like a bandanna.
“Oh, very good,” Paula said. “Nice and sanitary. Why don’t you come by the emergency room tonight? I’ll tape that up for you.”
Paula was a nurse who worked the night shift at Lykes Hospital. “I just might do that,” Fox replied, still watching Cindy.
“I’m surprised to see you jumping through windows again, Drew,” Paula said. “It reminds me of the old days. I thought you’d long ago graduated to international criminal types.”
“I was doing a favor for Sheriff Tully,” Fox replied. “That joker escaped from his jail. I chased him into Barney’s store from the alley out back.” He glanced at Paula, then his gaze returned to Cindy. “Who’s your friend?”
“I’ve missed you too, Fox,” Paula observed acidly, and he grinned.
“Andrew Fox,” he said to Cindy, extending his hand. Cindy grasped it.
“Lucinda Warren,” she replied, her fingers lost in his big palm.
“Lucinda,” he repeated. “Sounds like the princess in a fairytale.”
“Everybody calls me Cindy,” she responded softly. She was mesmerized by his green eyes, which swept over her face, taking in every detail.
“But I’m not everybody, Lucinda,” he replied, continuing to hold her hand. He towered over her, his big, compact body at ease, and yet somehow alert, as if he were ready for anything at any moment.
He’s Indian, Cindy thought, gazing up at him in mute absorption. She could see it in his straight, midnight hair and in the dusky skin, a combination of copper and terra cotta, which complemented his high cheekbones and strong, prominent nose. His other features were European, however: light eyes and a finely molded, thin-lipped mouth. It was an arresting combination, a harmony of opposites that made him, not handsome, but unforgettable.
“What are you doing in town?” he asked, his tone muted, intimate.
“I’m researching my master’s thesis at Gulf Coast University. I’ll be staying with Paula for several weeks.”
He accepted this without comment and then released her hand slowly. As he let go, his two middle finger curled around hers possessively, and then fell away. He turned to Paula, as if remembering suddenly that she was present.
“Say hello to Johnny for me when you see him,” he directed. “I’ll try to stop by the hospital tonight for some T.L.C.” He smiled wickedly.
“Don’t forget,” Paula advised him. “That gash looks pretty bad; you shouldn’t neglect it.”
“I’ll live,” he said lightly. He looked at Cindy again and said, with a slight inclination of his dark head, “Welcome to Florida, ma’am.” Then he loped back to his truck and swung up into the cab, slamming the door shut behind him in one economical movement. Both women remained looking after him until the truck roared away into the distance.
“Kind of unsettling, isn’t he?” Paula commented, with a sly, sideward glance.
“What was all that about?” Cindy countered, ignoring the question. “What was he doing chasing that man, and handcuffing him, and then turning him over to the police. Is Fox a cop, too? Is he a plainclothes detective or something?”
“Whoa, there,” Paula said, laughing. She took Cindy’s arm and steered her in the direction of the parking lot where her car awaited them. “One thing at a time. First of all, Fox isn’t a cop; he’s a bounty hunter.”
Cindy stopped walking. ‘‘A bounty hunter! I thought they only existed in Westerns.”
“Well, Council Rock has at least one. Fox goes after and apprehends fugitives, prison escapees, some bail jumpers.”
“People waiting for trial who flee jurisdiction and forfeit their bail?” Cindy asked, falling into step alongside Paula again.
“Right. In return for bringing them back he collects a fee, which is a percentage of the set bail.”
“I see. So the higher the bail, the more money he makes.”
Paula nodded as they approached her car. “That’s why I was surprised to see him chasing down that guy today. He looked like a petty crook, and Fox doesn’t usually waste his time on them. But he was doing it for Sheriff Tully. He’s another Seminole, and they’re pretty tight.”
“I thought he was Indian,” Cindy said softly, as Paula unlocked her door and walked around to the driver’s side.
“Half,” Paula corrected. “His mother was a tourist from up North. But in his mind, his attitudes, his approach to life, Fox is all Indian.”
They got into the car, and Paula started the motor and drove off, pulling onto the main road which led out of town.
“You said he usually doesn’t bother with small time criminals,” Cindy went on, pursuing the subject. “He mainly chases the big ones, organized crime figures, people like that?”
“Anybody with a big price tag attached,” Paula replied. “He’s the best at what he does, and the cops call him in on the toughest cases, the ones they can’t crack. He goes out of state a lot, sometimes even out of the country. He went down to Mexico a few months back, after some drug kingpin, finally tracked him to Guadalajara. Johnny told me about it. Fox must have picked up a nice piece of change for that one.”
“He ought to buy himself a new truck,” Cindy commented, smiling. “The one he has looks like it’s about to disintegrate.”
Paula shook her head. “He loves that old piece of junk, fixes it himself.” Paula craned her neck at an intersection and then gunned the motor. “Fox is hard to understand. Johnny says he has expensive equipment, a whole roomful of computers—some of them tied in to the government banks—to assist in his investigations. But he’ll drive that raggedy pickup until it collapses into a heap of rubble. He just doesn’t seem to care much about anything but his work.”
“He sounds like an independent type,” Cindy said.
“Oh, he is that, all right. He’s descended from a long line of renegade Seminoles who chose to stay in Florida and live as hunters and fishermen rather than accept reservation life in the West. His father and grandfather made their living from the land.”
“What happened to his mother?” Cindy asked.
Paula glanced at her quickly, then looked back at the road. “She left him with his father and went back North. His father’s family raised him.” She paused and added, “He’s illegitimate. The story goes that his mother viewed his father as a good time, a little distraction during her vacation. She discovered she was pregnant and had the child up North, returning just long enough to leave the baby here—deposit him on the Fox doorstep, so to speak. As far as I know they never saw her again.”
“How horrible for him,” Cindy said softly, thinking of the green eyes, surely the stamp of his absent mother.
“Yeah, I guess it must have been pretty rough, being a half breed in a Southern town, and a bastard to boot. He was pretty much of a hellraiser when he was a kid. My brother Johnny wasn’t supposed to play with him.”
“Because of his background?” Cindy asked, dismayed at such prejudice toward an innocent child.
“No. Because he was always in trouble. My grandmother used to call him ‘that desperado’ and told Johnny that she would box his ears if she saw him with Drew. Which only made Johnny anxious to tag after him at every opportunity.”
“Desperado,” Cindy repeated, laughing. “Isn’t that a little dramatic?”
“Well, she was Spanish, you know, given to colorful expressions in her native language. She also called my father ‘that gringo’ until the day she died, at which point my parents had been married for thirty years.”
“Where is Johnny now?” Cindy inquired.
“Up in Atlanta. My father got him a job when my parents moved there. It was during our junior year, remember?”
“I remember. So you’re the only one of your family left in this area now.”
“Yup,” Paula said, pulling into the driveway of an apartment complex. “I wanted to come back here when we graduated; this place will always be home to me. And Johnny looks Fox up every time he comes to visit me. They were great friends.”
“Fox was raised by his father’s family, then?”
“Until he was sixteen. He left home then, taking a number of lunatic jobs until he found his calling.”
“Lunatic jobs?”
“Jobs only a lunatic would take. He has a natural cunning and amazing agility, so he always wound up doing things nobody else would try. Johnny told me about some of his adventures.”
“Such as?” Cindy asked curiously, as Paula pulled into a reserved parking space in front of an ultra-modern brick building.
Paula sent her an arch glance. “He fascinates you, doesn’t he?”
“Answer the question.”
Paula chuckled, shutting off the motor. “Let’s see. He was a bonded courier for a while, those guys with briefcases handcuffed to their wrists and pistols in their shoes.”
“Briefcases full of diamonds, you mean.”
“Right. He got shot doing that, so he switched to something safer, high rise construction work, teetering on six inch girders five stories above the ground.”
Cindy burst out laughing.
“But that was too dull, I guess, because the next thing I heard, he was riding shotgun on armored trucks transporting government payrolls.”
“Good lord,” Cindy said, shaking her head.
“So you can see how his training and experience were perfectly suited to his current occupation. He can go his own way, work when he wants to, and slake his thirst for adventure at the same time.” Paula gestured expansively at the building before them. “El Rancho Desmond, the second floor of it anyway. Let me help you take your luggage out of the trunk.”
Each of the women took a bag, and Cindy followed Paula up an exterior flight of stone steps. They passed the potted palms flanking the entrance and went through glass doors, which admitted them to the first floor landing. The air inside was blessedly cool. Paula led the way up an additional series of carpeted stairs to her apartment.
“This is it,” she announced, unlocking the door and hefting Cindy’s suitcase over the threshold. “I was on a waiting list six months to get this place.”
“It’s lovely,” Cindy said, looking around at the luxurious apartment. A living room with a cathedral ceiling and a balcony overlooking the street opened into a dining area with a mirrored wall facing them and a gleaming galley kitchen with all the latest appliances. A hall led away from the living room to the bedrooms at the back. The whole place was done in pleasant neutral tones: beige carpeting, furniture and draperies in cocoa, sand and taupe, with warm accents of orange and peach in the throw pillows and in the modern paintings on the walls. “How does a humble nurse afford a place like this?”
“She doesn’t,” Paula replied. “I am also the assistant manager of the complex, for which I get a considerable break on the rent. I collect checks, take complaints, and serve as general dogsbody for the outfit that owns the buildings.”
“I see.”
Paula dropped what she was carrying and headed for the kitchen. “You should have seen this apartment before I took it. I was so anxious to get in here I agreed to take on the mess. I needed two weeks to clean it up before I could move in.”
“It was dirty?” Cindy asked, fingering a china cat on an end table.
“Not exactly. The person who lived here before me had some rather unusual decorating ideas. The walls in the living room were black. When you pulled the drapes closed it was like a full blackout during the London blitz. And as if to make up for that, the master bedroom was fluorescent green, and there were orange flowers all over the bathroom walls.”
“Oh, dear.”
“I almost went blind when the real estate agent showed it to me. I had it all stripped and painted before I brought one stick of furniture through the door.” She pointed to the back of the apartment, at the same time poking around in the freezer for ice. “Just put your things in the guest room on the left.”
Cindy picked up the bag Paula had dropped and lugged her things down the hall, her sandals noiseless on the thick carpeting. The spare bedroom had a single bed with a brass bedstead, covered with a multicolored quilt. It was on the same side of the building as the balcony, which ended about three feet from its window. Cindy dumped her bags on the bed and removed her shoes, wiggling her bare toes blissfully on the cool rug. She ambled back out to the kitchen, where Paula was mixing a pitcher of iced tea.
“It’s instant,” she said to Cindy, when she saw her watching the process. “I can’t be bothered boiling the water for the real stuff. It’s probably full of additives which will kill us both but today I’m too hot to care.”
“Has Andrew Fox always lived in this area?” Cindy asked, leaning on the counter which bordered the dining area.
“Back to him, are we?” Paula said, grinning. “I can see that he made quite an impression. Well, he usually does.”
Cindy merely stared at her until she shrugged and said, “He travels a lot, as I said, but his home base has always been Council Rock. He’s very close to his father’s family, but almost nobody else.” She smiled as she emptied a tray of ice into the plastic pitcher. “He used to live in a lean-to on his uncle’s property, if you can believe that. Then he had an apartment, and now he’s moved into one of those waterfront condominiums on the other side of town. They cost a fortune, and his change of lifestyle has occasioned quite a bit of comment around town. There’s a lot of speculation about his reasons for relocation. It’s rather out of character.”
“Why should it seem unusual?” Cindy inquired. “After all, he must make a lot of money doing what he does. You said so yourself.”
Paula took two tall glasses down from a cupboard and filled them, shaking her head. “That’s not the point. If you knew Fox better, you would know he’d never buy such a place for himself.”
Cindy didn’t respond, mulling that over. She accepted her glass from Paula’s hand and drank deeply, pulling her blouse loose from the waistband of her skirt.
“Do you mind if I take a shower?” she said to Paula. “I’m a little grimy from the trip.”
“Be my guest. There are towels in the bathroom closet and a robe on the back of the door.”
Cindy went into the bathroom and started to strip. As she removed her blouse she noticed that there was a crusted scab just below the short sleeve. The blood had congealed into an irregular mass on the inside of her arm.
She had felt no pain at all. She must have been cut when the window broke.
Shrugging her shoulders philosophically, she took off the rest of her clothes and got into the shower, turning on the taps and adjusting the flow of water. As she washed the cut it began to bleed again and to sting. Annoyed, she finished her ablutions hurriedly and belted the terry robe around her, wadding up some tissue paper and holding it to the cut. Barefoot and dripping, she padded out to find Paula, who was pressing a white uniform on a portable ironing board set up in the living room.
“Look at this,” Cindy said, extending her arm. “I didn’t even know the darn thing was there, and now it’s bleeding all over the place.”
Paula unplugged the iron and moved to take a closer look. “Son of a gun,” she marveled. “That must have happened this afternoon. You mean to tell me you didn’t even feel it?”
“Nope. I didn’t see it until I took off my blouse.”
Paula winked. “Too dazzled by Mr. Andrew Fox, no doubt.”
Cindy sighed. “Do you have a Band-Aid or something?”
“What, are you kidding? You’re talking to Nurse Nancy here. I’ve got the works on hand at all times for just such emergencies. Have a seat and I’ll be right there. I’ll only charge my evening rates. That’s a reduced fee.”
“Very comforting,” Cindy said, settling on the edge of the couch and watching warily as Paula produced a zippered bag from the hall closet.
“First, antiseptic,” Paula announced, kneeling in front of her on the floor. “I love to show off for my friends,” she confided in a lower tone, as she daubed the wound with something from a bottle that looked evil and smelled worse.
“Ouch,” Cindy exclaimed, pulling her arm back.
“Still a sissy, I see,” Paula remarked, taping a patch of gauze in place over the cut. “Remember that time in college when you fell from the ledge outside the boys’ dorm? You moaned about your sprained ankle for the rest of the semester.”
“You’re lucky it wasn’t broken,” Cindy responded sourly. “That’s what I get for going to rescue you when you got stuck up there. I wanted no part of that escapade, if you remember.”
“Pick, pick, pick,” Paula said cheerfully, recapping the bottle and straightening up. “You have to admit that if not for me your college years would have been far less colorful.”
“Far more productive, you mean,” Cindy countered, standing and admiring Paula’s neat, professional handiwork.
“You’re the one who made the dean’s list every marking period,” Paula called from the hall. “I couldn’t have done that much damage.” She walked back into the living room, glancing at her watch. “My turn in the bathroom,” she added. “I’ve got the night shift at the hospital tonight, 7:00 pm to 3:00 am, and I’m running late.” She waved her hand, encompassing the apartment. “Make yourself at home. The refrigerator is full of food; the tv and stereo are self-explanatory. Just make sure you answer the phone because I have to take tenant messages. There’s a pad next to the phone; write down the name and apartment number of anybody who calls and the complaint. The messages are usually complaints.” She grinned, and then vanished down the hall. Seconds later Cindy heard the rushing water of the shower.
She wandered back into her room and fished out some old clothes to wear, things in which she would be comfortable while studying. She planned on spending the evening profitably, organizing her notes. When Paula emerged fifteen minutes later, dressed for work, Cindy was already unpacking her briefcase on the dining room table.
“Look at you,” Cindy said, smiling at Paula’s transformation. In her white nylon pantsuit and sensible shoes, she was a model of decorum. “Even your hair looks starched.”
“It is,” Paula replied. “It wilts like lettuce in this humidity unless I use a can of hairspray on it.” She picked up her purse and car keys from the counter. “Are you sure you’ll be all right here?”
“For heaven’s sake, Paula, what can happen? Go to work.”
Paula nodded, then peered at the cover of the book Cindy held. ‘‘What are you reading?”
“Aboriginal Legends of the North American Indians,” Cindy recited, not looking up.
“Um,” Paula said. “Sounds yummy. Save it for me, but don’t tell me the ending.”
Cindy raised her eyes.
“Okay, okay, I’m going. I’ll try not to wake you up when I come home.” She waved and then left, locking the door behind her.
Cindy worked in silence for two hours, interrupted only once by a phone call. She left a note for Paula saying that Mr. Axelrod in 12-C wished to inform her that his bathtub was leaking, and would she please contact the plumber. She was thinking about making coffee and taking a break when the doorbell rang at about nine-thirty.
