Текст книги "Searching for Always"

Автор книги: Jennifer Probst

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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

three

STONE KNEW WITHIN two minutes he’d rather have gone to an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. Or passed a kidney stone. Hell, he would’ve even agreed to be tortured by a drug lord for hours rather than deal with this nightmare.

Anger management sucked.

He tried not to sneer at the other two participants as they sat in their cushioned folding chairs and focused their attention on Arilyn Meadows like two kiss-ass students looking for an A from the teacher. Dude one seemed like an intimidating kind of guy who had a serious case of road rage. Good-looking, with spiky brown hair, blinding white teeth, a nice build, and an obvious horn dog. He seemed way too eager to please Arilyn. His gaze stripped her, his smile seemed too smug, and he tried to keep her questions directed at him. He was too physically eager. Like, maybe if he tried seducing her, he’d get out of class early.

Like that was ever gonna happen under Stone’s watch.

Dude two was an African American guy with glasses who seemed the intellectual type, enthusiastic about overcoming his societal issues to restore and heal the gaps in the relationship with his spouse. Yeah, big words, convoluted speaking, definitely some type of teacher. Stone wondered what he looked like when he lost his temper. Could be fun to find out.

“Officer Stone Petty?”

He shook his head and focused on her face. He’d been hoping to walk in and realize that strange connection between them was gone. Counted on putting his time in with no distractions by a pretty hippie with an enchanting scowl and a rocking body.

Yeah. Scratch that.

It had actually gotten worse. The zing of energy in the air practically sizzled like greasy bacon in a hot pan. She knew it, too, just chose to ignore it. The slight widening of those green eyes and the tiny catch of breath in her throat confirmed her own reaction. The pure rush of satisfaction that wracked his body screamed of trouble. This was no woman he could tumble quickly and walk away from in the morning. Unfortunately, his cop instincts burned to figure her out. Craved to know if her surface matched up with the depths of the woman beneath.

He didn’t think it would.

In his gut, Stone Petty thought she was a big liar. Push past her sweet, serene, flowing do-gooder façade and who knew what type of woman he’d find? Why did he suspect a wild streak buried somewhere? The moment he began baiting her, she rose to the occasion. She pretended to be all calm and centered, but an angry energy radiated around her and damned if he didn’t recognize it well. Maybe because he lived it. Was it possible Arilyn Meadows was a complete fake? Did she own an actual temper and backbone?

It would be damn fun trying to find out. Anything had to be better than her boring Buddha-like attitude.

She waited for him to answer, seemingly calm and patient. “Officer?”

“Yeah?”

Arilyn gestured to the other men. He’d forgotten their names already. “Eli and Luther have shared the circumstances that brought them to this class. Would you like to elaborate a bit on your own story?”

No. God, he hated sharing, especially in circles with strangers. Why did women always want to talk about their feelings? Didn’t actions speak louder than words anyway?

“I was called into a situation. It got out of hand. I lost my temper.”

She tilted her head. Long, silky strands of rich strawberry gold slid over her shoulders and wrapped around her waist. He wondered what she’d look like naked, with all that glorious hair spread out over white sheets. Did she think her casual clothes hid her body? The Lycra pants clung like second skin and caressed like a lover, emphasizing every subtle curve. The hard tips of her small breasts pushed against her tank top in a lovely game of peekaboo. Her skin was fair, with a nice array of freckles he’d love to explore. A slight frown marred her brow at his obvious perusal.

“What happened when you lost your temper, Officer?”

“Stone.”

“Excuse me.”

His gaze bored into hers. “My name is Stone.”

Dude A—Eli?—laughed and tried to get back her attention by launching into an explanation. “I think Arilyn is trying to get you to open up more. This is a safe place. If you don’t share, she won’t be able to help you.” The guy beamed, as if he deserved a medal for being teacher’s assistant.

“How about you share your way and I share mine, buddy?”

Arilyn cleared her throat. “Umm, thank you for helping, Eli, but everyone here is entitled to commit completely to this process or fight it. What you take from this class is up to you. We’ll be doing daily group therapy, but I’ll also be working with each of you privately.”

Eli looked way too satisfied. Stone wondered how an anger management class was already pissing him off. Dude B spoke up. “I agree with Eli. There’s a layer of trust within group therapy that needs to be carefully built. For instance, I trigger over jealousy. The idea that my wife can be looking at another male short-circuits my brain.”

“I hate traffic,” Eli said. “Wasted hours trapped amidst stupid people who can’t drive.”

Both men nodded at each other, congratulating themselves on their accomplishment. On their sharing abilities. Stone was tired. Cranky. He wanted a smoke, a steak, a good night’s sleep, and to stop being aroused by a woman who had no place in his life. He put his hands on his knees and leaned forward.

“I get pissed off when drunk assholes beat the hell out of their wives and children.”

Eli and Luther jerked back in surprise.

“Guess I win. Is it lunchtime yet?”

He felt better already.

ARILYN REALIZED THE MOMENT he walked in the door she was in trouble.

He was as intimidating as she remembered. The man had to literally duck to get through the doorway when entering the small room they’d rented from the town. Dressed in worn jeans, a washed-out Yankees jersey, and a backward baseball cap, his casual attire did nothing to soften the raw sexual energy that radiated around him. He moved with purpose, each motion economical, his gaze pinned so tight and hot on hers, she fought an answering tremble. What was wrong with her? Sure, she had a weakness for authority figures, but she was attracted to the starving-artist type—long hair, graceful features, charming smile, lean body. She adored men who created, stared softly into space with a dreamy look in their eyes, caught up in their muses and the magic of the world. Gentle souls who needed support and unconditional love.

She wondered if Stone Petty had ever had a dreamy thought in his life.

He was way out of her league. All hard muscle and primitive male, those sulky lips curled up in a bit of a sneer when he reached her. With his midnight hair, thick and a bit unruly, charcoal eyes, and rough goatee, he looked like he’d jumped out of a Sons of Anarchy episode. He cocked a hip, meaty fists clenched by his side, and spoke in a gravelly voice that shimmered with command.

“So we meet again, Arilyn Meadows.”

She hated the way her heart sped up a bit from the use of her name. He was the one mandated to attend these sessions, and already she sensed his mockery. Jerk. Did he believe he was above the other men here and her teaching methods? Wait till she got done with him. He would not only be a convert, but maybe after forcing him to get real with himself using her creative methods, he wouldn’t wear that smirk so often.

Maybe.

“Yes. Welcome. I’d like to do an introduction with all three of you and then give you a summary of what to expect.”

That lower lip kicked up a tiny bit. “I’m a nice Catholic boy. Not too keen on chanting to Buddha to channel my inner saint. Against the rules.”

Ah, his sarcastic sense of humor was another element she remembered well. Arilyn rose to the occasion. “Funny, I thought nice Catholic boys were taught not to judge others and to turn the other cheek. No worries, Officer. You can always attend confession.”

He moved an inch, but she already felt crowded. His massive body blocked out everything else. The light. The shadows. The air. “Maybe. But the first lesson they teach you is being truly sorry for your sins.”

She arched a brow. “And are you?”

He had a crisscross scar on his brow. His jaw was a complete square, and his nose had definitely been broken. A few times. He smelled like everything primal. Sweat. Coffee. Earth. No wimpy over-the-counter scent for him. Just all the delicious musky fragrances combined to spell out M-A-N. “Sometimes.” He dropped his voice. “Other sins no one should be sorry for. Those are the best kind. Don’t you agree?”

Oh, Lord, he was flirting. Wasn’t he? How dare he flirt with her? She was in charge. If he thought he’d charm her into letting him off easy, he was smoking more than cigarettes. She chilled her voice. “No,” she said. “Much easier to avoid those types of sins completely.”

Her skin tingled under his burning gaze. “Pity.” He paused. “Maybe you just haven’t encountered the right temptation.”

Oh, yeah, he was flirting. Or just screwing with her mind—he was too damn smart for his own good. She snapped off her comment with one goal in mind. Total eradication of any future come-ons. “Been there. Done that.” Arilyn made sure to rake his figure with a dismissive gaze. “Not tempted to do it again. Take a seat.”

He didn’t move for a moment, as if reminding her that he did things on his own terms. He finally obeyed, but his mocking grin told her he had allowed her to win this round. Another shiver shook her from the thought of him controlling all aspects of a relationship. Total nightmare.

Arilyn cleared her throat, dragging herself back to the present. The three men listened as she outlined the rough syllabus and goals for the full six weeks. She preferred to keep some of her field trips a surprise until the day of so no one worried or had too much time to weasel out of them. After Stone’s last statement, Arilyn decided it was a good time to break for lunch and regroup in the afternoon. Her head throbbed slightly, reminding her that she had forgotten her herbal supplements and had eaten only a Greek yogurt with fruit this morning. Maybe she’d have time to stop for a veggie wrap before she headed home to let Lenny and Mike out. Since the breakup, she’d been extremely unorganized and felt like her head was stuffed with cotton. Time to refocus. The three men in the room deserved it. Kinnections deserved it. And the shelter needed her sharp, considering the current crisis going on with funding. This was the time when she truly wished she was rich and able to funnel tons of money to them so there were no worries.

She hurried out of the firehouse and down the sidewalk, then stopped short.

Officer Stone Petty stood under the bright green-and-yellow awning of Stella’s Beauty Shop, transfixed on the object in his hands.

A crumpled pack of Marlboros.

The sudden spurt of rage surprised her. She may disapprove and try to help, but Arilyn understood the power of free choice and being ready to quit any vice. But for some reason, the sight of this powerful man slowly killing himself made her vision blur. Since her car was parked right by him, she forced herself to walk past, yank open the door, and mind her own business.

It didn’t happen.

“Enjoying yourself, Officer?”

He turned his head. “Huh?”

She clenched her hand around the handle and shook with temper. “Enjoying your cigarettes?” she sneered. “Having fun destroying the body God gave you so you can wake up one day gasping for breath and talking through a tube?”

He raked his gaze over her in a lazy, assessing way that only made her madder. “This is the second time you threatened me with hospitals and tubes. I take it you don’t agree with smoking?”

She fumed. How was he so calm when she wanted to jump across the street and throttle him? The image of her mother slowly dying of lung cancer still haunted her, but she managed to live with it. Watching her dad die after her of a broken heart, not caring that he left his only daughter alone, had been even harder. Mom had fought to live. Dad had fought to die.

Stone obviously cared about people, especially since he was a cop. Why couldn’t he care about himself, too? Was that so hard to do? Arilyn swallowed back the words and managed a shrug. “I don’t agree with waste,” she said. “Or suicide. But it’s your choice. Enjoy your smoke.”

She turned her back, ready to get in her car, but his words sliced through the air.

“I quit.”

She slowly cranked her head back around. “Yeah. That’s why you’re holding a pack.”

He held up the package. “It’s empty. I’m on the damn patch, but sometimes I go nuts for a craving and need to smell it.” He let out an aggravated breath. “Stupid, I know, but it helps. I’ve been clean for a month now.”

Relief cut through her, but she didn’t dare analyze it. “Oh. Well, good for you. I know it’s hard. Do you have someone you can call?”

His rough laugh made her tummy dip. He was so . . . virile. “Nah, no smoking sponsor for me. In fact, no one’s pretty much given a damn if I quit or not. Until you.”

Heat coursed through her, and it had nothing to do with the sun. She cleared her throat. “I care about everyone,” she said. The prim tone made her want to wince, but she owned it. “Aren’t we all worth more than we think?”

Like a falcon sighting prey, he remained still and silent. Those inky eyes refused to release her. Yet. “Sure. If that’s your party line.”

The annoyance snapped back. “You don’t believe everyone deserves not to be judged?”

“Nope. Criminals deserve shit.”

“What if they committed a crime with a higher purpose?” she challenged. “There’s plenty of gray areas. Not everything is black-and-white.”

“I don’t care what someone’s lofty ambition is if they break the law. Or are you one of those touchy-feely types who believe the garbage on death row should be forgiven? Released back into society for a second chance?” The already familiar sneer touched his lips. “Easy to forgive when you’re not the one who was affected by the crime, huh?”

“I think people make mistakes,” she shot back. “Like you did. Now you’re trying to correct your behavior.”

Why did he set her off just by opening his mouth? He wasn’t worth the energy of losing her temper. She’d just breathe, smile politely, and walk away.

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m the real criminal here. Too bad the punishment sometimes doesn’t fit the crime, huh? I mean, this anger management junk should be saved for serial killers.”

Oh, she really, really didn’t like this man.

Arilyn turned her back before he baited her further. “Be back at two. Don’t be late.”

His voice mocked her departure. “Yes, ma’am.”

Arilyn got in her car and drove away, refusing to look back.

four

STONE STUDIED HER while he filled out more ridiculous forms with the goal of targeting his “true” anger issues. At least it was a break from Luther’s ramblings and Dude A’s lame attempt at flirting. They’d been warned that the first day was a full eight hours, and then they would move to three-hour sessions for the rest of the prison term.

Faint lines settled into the crease above her nose, and she seemed distracted. Probably running around saving the world, one criminal at a time. Still, he’d been right about his instincts. She was cute when she got pissed. Trying to hide it by being all Zen and above the regular humans only made her losing it more amusing. He’d try to up his game to distract himself from this daily nightmare. Much better than being stuck with the two bozos beside him discussing feelings.

She stood up, collected the papers, and gestured to the four purple mats laid out on the floor. “Thank you for taking the time to fill these out. Honesty is everything in this course. Besides working on your triggers and digging a bit into what makes us angry, we need to learn coping techniques. I’ll be focusing on how our bodies feed our responses, so make sure for the rest of the week you come in comfortable clothing.”

Great. Here we go with the yogi crap. Stone tamped down a groan. Maybe she’d demonstrate the poses first and he’d focus on her hot body. “If we can shift to our mats, and sit cross-legged, we’ll tackle the first element of control: the breath.”

Stone got up from his chair, settled on the mat, and barely managed to cross his long legs. His back gave a bit of a spasm and reminded him his gym routine consisted of weights but little else. The smoking had killed his running and endurance, which he was trying to build back up. But stretching? He couldn’t remember the last time he had had to sit on the floor like a toddler.

Arilyn took her position in front, easily twisting her legs up on each knee, back ramrod straight, fingers curled and resting on her knees. She practically glowed with a warm energy radiating around her, making the men take a deep sigh. Her presence alone touched something inside of him he rarely made note of. Too bad he couldn’t put a name to it yet. He had no idea what it was.

“Anger sprouts from a variety of places, but there’s one simple mantra I want everyone to remember. Leave with this one thing from the course, and your entire life will change for the better.”

The men leaned slightly forward.

“Control your breath, control your life.”

Oh, yeah, he remembered what she touched in him now.

Aggravation.

Dude A and Luther nodded, hanging on to her Buddha-like advice with an openness that made him want to roll his eyes. Puh-leeze. If it were that simple, no one would ever lose their temper. Did she really think they were that stupid?

His face must’ve shown his doubt, because those meadow-green eyes focused on him. “Officer Petty? You seem skeptical.”

He shrugged. Damned if even his shoulders hurt from this ridiculous position. “Not for nothing, but it’s a bit disappointing as the big secret to all anger. We breathe every day.”

A tiny smile curved her lips. “Correct. All roads lead from the breath. It is our biggest connection to our body, mind, and emotions. When we experience anger, our muscles tighten, adrenaline rushes through, and we stop breathing. The oxygen flow is stopped up, and this is the key turning point where we may lose control.”

Damn, her teacher voice was hot. “So, next time I’m in a situation with some dickhead criminal, I should stop what I’m doing to breathe first?”

Her smile never wavered. “Correct.”

He wondered if she breathed to ward off a climax. If he had her in his bed, he’d make sure to push every button she owned to make her lose that almighty control and see if she was able to breathe then. Holy crap, where had that thought come from? She’d probably kill his arousal the moment she opened her mouth to speak anyway. Stone decided to push. “And this works for everything?” he prodded. “No matter what the circumstance?”

“Yes. By the end of this course, I’ll show you how it can be done.”

Oh, no, she wasn’t getting off the hook that easy. “Let’s take this scenario. Some jacked-up druggie starts his freak-out attack and goes for a gun. Instead of reacting with normal human emotions such as, oh, I don’t know, irritation, general crankiness, and rage, instead I’m supposed to go all Zen and concentrate on breathing before going with my general gut reaction of self-protection and male testosterone. Does this sound right to you?”

Her jaw tightened, but she remained stubbornly tranquil. “You would experience and feel those basic emotions, Officer, but with this practice you’d be able to transition them by connecting with the breath. You will be taught to move past them. Not attach yourself to the up-and-down roller coaster our emotions put us through on a constant basis. This is the way you avoid making bad decisions.”

Dudes A and B looked even more enchanted. Stone scratched his head. It was a good excuse to move his hips and wiggle out of the excruciating position for a moment. “Huh. Sounds a little bit like a magic pill to me. Or like drinking the fruit punch.”

Those green eyes flashed. He tried not to chuckle.

“Since I tend to avoid both pills and sugary drinks, why don’t we allow actions to make up our minds?” Her smile was forced and not directed at him. “Let’s begin. Close your eyes. Breathe slowly in and out, and follow your breath. Thoughts will interrupt the flow, but try to let them flicker past your closed eyes like a movie; you’re not attached to them. When you find yourself wandering, bring your mind back to the breath. We’ll sit quietly for ten minutes. Feel the air rush in and out of your lungs and let yourself go.”

Stone closed his eyes and succumbed to ten minutes of ridiculousness. He intended to do exactly what she said, though, so at the end of this workshop he’d be able to tell her honestly that these methods didn’t work.

He listened to his breath. He wished for a cigarette. He thought about what he’d have for dinner. He cursed the growing cramps in his leg but didn’t hear the other two wiggle around, so damned if he’d move first. Was it over yet? How long was ten minutes? How would she know the time was up? He craved to open his eyes and peek at her but refused in case she caught him and used him as an example of bad behavior.

He’d rather be bad with her in other ways.

Huh. There was that thought again. All sexual. He must be pretty hard up. How long since his last affair? He ticked down the days, then realized he was going on weeks. Yep. Way too long.

Stone clenched his fists, remembered to relax his fingers, and went back to the breath. Who would’ve thought he breathed so much in ten minutes? He needed to go to a chiropractor. It had been on his to-do list, but he’d gotten too busy at work and forgotten. Oh, he had to pick up beer on his way home, too—he was all out and yesterday he’d craved an IPA and had nothing in the fridge. Back to the breath. Was ten minutes over yet?

Her rich, smooth voice caressed his ears and immediately calmed him.

“Begin to bring yourself back. Deepen your breath, feeling your chest expand and release. Let your body sink into the mat, feeling the earth support you, and slowly open your eyes.”

Oh, thank God it was over.

He heard movement, so he stretched out his legs, trying not to wince at the wimpy charley horse in his calf. Okay, he was definitely stretching more. She’d proven his body needed something other than manly weights.

“We’ll be using that simple exercise regularly. Would anyone like to share how they felt?”

Dude A rushed to answer. “I felt that if I’d known about that technique before, I would’ve used it in traffic jams. My head got clearer.”

She beamed. “Excellent. Luther? Any thoughts?”

Luther looked thoughtful. “It was an interesting technique. Hard to focus but has intriguing possibilities to integrate in the future to avoid emotional reactions due to my wife’s male clients. That’s usually a hot spot for me.”

“Wonderful. Officer Petty?”

“Stone.”

He enjoyed the slight flush to her cheeks, but she remained professional. “Stone, did you have any physical difficulty? Usually men have the most trouble sitting in this position for a while.”

“Nope. Piece of cake.”

“Wonderful. We’ll be increasing our time increments until we sit for half an hour regularly.”

Well, fuck. Won’t that be a barrel of laughs!

“Did any strange thoughts or emotional issues crop up?”

He met her gaze head-on and grinned. “Actually, I kind of had a lightbulb moment. If I hadn’t remembered, it could’ve been a disaster.”

She leaned in, intrigued. “Really? Would you like to share?”

“Sure.” He never released her from his stare. “I ran out of IPA. In my house, that’s cause for a full temper tantrum.”

Luther frowned. “What’s IPA? Some kind of file code?”

“It’s beer. Good beer.”

Luther looked just as disappointed in him as his instructor did, and damned if he didn’t feel even better at the dual reactions. Yeah, he was twisted.

Her lips tightened, but she never let the obvious annoyance seep into her tone. “I’m thrilled this session helped, Officer Petty.” She emphasized his title so subtly it was like a graceful sweep behind the knees. Quiet but deadly. “I’m looking forward to hearing more on your lightbulb moments in the future. For now, that’s it, gentlemen. I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.”

She rolled to her feet in one graceful motion, turned her back, and began gathering her things.

Stone gritted his teeth and stood, refusing to show he felt stiff and achy. The bastards next to him seemed fine. Maybe they had kids they sat on the floor with regularly. He needed to get a nephew or a niece or something.

He watched her hurry out the door, enjoying the swing of her tight rear. Her license said five eight, but he pegged her as being a bit taller. Those legs could wrap tight around a man’s hips and squeeze so hard he’d probably pass out in pleasure. Of course, once her mouth opened he’d be resuscitated and dragged into hell.

Too bad.

Maybe he’d shoot some pool with Devine tonight. If he was gonna be suspended, he sure as hell wasn’t staying at home, bored out of his mind. Since he couldn’t have a smoke, he’d stop at Dunkin’ on the way and get his favorite chocolate Munchkins. He’d bring some for the guys at the station and see if he could sniff out a good crime someone needed help on. Like who purposefully mixed the recyclables up with the trash.

Stone headed out.

“POPPY, WHAT ARE YOU doing here?”

The bungalow was filled with the scents of onion, grease, and comfort. She laughed at the doggy attack of squirming fur and crazy tongues, then dropped to the floor in surrender while she hugged her fur babies. The stress of the day eased from her shoulders. Dorothy was so right. There was nothing quite like home.

Her grandfather walked over, spatula in hand, and shook his head. “You got your hands full with these monkeys, honey,” he said. “Decided to walk them and surprise you with dinner. Unfortunately, I think Mike got hungry early and raided the kitchen. The garbage was torn up and scattered everywhere.”

Arilyn groaned. “I thought I locked it up! I was running late and forgot. I need to get one of those big cans with the lid. Hey, how’d you know it was Mike?”

“Because Lenny was already chewing on your sneaker.”

Great. She always shut the closet, but Lenny had become smart enough to use his paw to drag it open to find the treasure. Damn, she’d loved those new Skechers. She wagged her finger at both puppies. “You two are in big trouble. No Frosty Paws ice cream tonight.”

Lenny scampered up her legs and licked her ear in a sloppy apology. She giggled and scooped him back to the floor. “Sorry you had to clean up, Poppy.” She rose to her feet and gave him a hug. The familiar scents of Irish Spring soap and Old Spice surrounded her. After her parents passed, Poppy had become her rock. The only stability left in her life, he gave her structure, shelter, and love. He made her laugh with his wild streak, penchant for fun and gambling, and advice to live large or go home trying. So like her mother, until cancer had eaten everything decent and good within and spat it back out.

He was dressed in his usual uniform of brown pants, white shirt, and sturdy leather shoes polished to perfection. The black tattoos of the memories of his fallen comrades in Vietnam climbed down each arm. A cross and a name. Eight of them. She used to sit in his lap and study the tats for hours, fascinated by the detail and boldness. Though painful for him, he used to tell the story of the war to keep the memory alive. So no military member or person fighting for his or her country would ever be forgotten again.

He lived in a cozy brick house filled with interesting antiques, old movie posters, and an attic bursting with trunks full of old clothes and photos. She’d get lost up there for hours when she needed a connection with her parents, poring over her family heritage ripped away from her too soon. Poppy was tough and smart. He aged with a grizzly endurance that taught her to appreciate life in all forms and stages, good and bad, old and new, giving her hope that each morning would bring a surprise. He’d owned a small auto repair station for years, content to spend his days under the hood, where the memories of war and what he’d left behind faded under the turn of a greasy wrench. He’d taught her a bit about cars and how to take care of herself. Arilyn used a lot of his techniques and turned it toward computers. In some ways, mechanics were the same: there was a larger picture where everything finally fit. The journey was half the fun.

He’d been a handsome man, with piercing green eyes and a full head of silver hair that competed with thirty-year-olds’. Sure, his face reflected a map of deep wrinkles, his teeth were no longer his own, and his hands had been gnarled by a touch of arthritis, but Poppy was still her rock.

When they diagnosed him with type 2 diabetes, she realized he couldn’t be alone any longer. He needed to be monitored, and living two hours away wouldn’t work. He was the one who agreed to give up his house and move closer to her. The Best Friends Center in Verily was the perfect fit. The center boasted a lively crowd, with bus trips, group activities, and a certain amount of independence. Besides spending more time with him, he’d be able to keep up his social calendar.

Unfortunately, he was having a hard time fitting in.

“Hey, it’s Tuesday night. Why aren’t you at bingo?”

Those bright green eyes shimmered with outrage. “They won’t let us gamble. Tried to get a pool going, and Elmer Fudd ratted me out. What good is a game if you can’t bet money?”

“Who’s Elmer Fudd?”

“You know that fat guy with the bald head and pudgy cheeks? I always think he’s gonna tell me he’s been hunting wabbits.”

Arilyn pressed her lips together. “It’s not nice to call people fat, Poppy.”

“Everything’s so PC nowadays.”

“How about trying to concentrate on the thrill of winning without money?”

“Boring. Bingo is lame anyway. Hey, is there a way to hook up an iPod in my room? If I have to listen to Dean Martin or Frank Sinatra play on the speakers for one more minute, I’m gonna puke.”

This time she did laugh. “I can’t trust you with an iPod. We’ve already gone through three cell phones before I cut you off.”