Private Lives

He thought for a minute. “We can try that, Allison. But if your presence creates a problem…” He let the thought hang and added, “When I go to your place to teach Dudley, I’ll leave Jack at home. Does that guitar have all six strings?”

“I’m sure because we’ve never taken it out of the case since my sister, Ellen, gave it to him.”

“Good. If from four to five on Thursday afternoons is good for you, we’ll start.” He’d forgotten about his promise to Jason. “I’ll let you know when I can start.” She thanked him but seemed reluctant to end the conversation.

Brock prided himself in being cautious, but he hadn’t had much experience with what he was feeling and he doubted that just being cautious would solve his problem. And another thing, he had to tell Allison that he’d probably be away from Indian Lake for a week or two, but he didn’t want his announcement to appear more important than it was. In any case, he had to wait until he heard from Jason.

The phone rang but it wasn’t Jason who called him. He should have known he’d hear from Darlene Lightner. “Hi, Mom,” he said when he answered, having seen her name on his caller ID screen. “Don’t tell me. I know you’ve just spoken to Jason. I think I might help him, provided I can.”

“Of course you should help your brother. But I told him that the next time he needs a private investigator, he should find someone else. How’s your book coming along?”

“It’s coming along. I’m only now getting into it. The problem is what to exclude.”

“If I were writing it, I’d start with the first case you took and why you took it. It isn’t often that a lawyer decides to work as a P.I. The rest I’d treat like an autobiography. But I’m not writing it.”

He sat down and got comfortable. His mother—a university professor—had taught English composition and writing for years and he could have discussed with her his plans for the book. But he didn’t want his mother to help him with his work.

“Thanks, Mom. I’ll keep that in mind and thanks for understanding that I want to help Jason if I can. I don’t plan to resume work as a private detective, so not to worry.”

“Thank the Lord. That’s dangerous work. When are you coming back this way, son?”

“I should be in Washington day after tomorrow to start work on Jason’s case. I’ll be staying with Jason, so I’ll drop by from time to time.” He knew that pleased her. “How’s Dad?”

“Your father’s fine and he’s been on cloud nine ever since you told him you planned to practice law again. I have to get to class. Bye for now.”

He said goodbye and hung up. Neither of his parents had approved of his work as a private investigator, but neither had interfered. He was glad that a single opportunity evolved into a career that in eight years had made him a wealthy man. And thanks to the experience, he’d be a better lawyer. He remained seated, thinking how best to tell Allison he’d be away for a short while. Normally, it wouldn’t be a problem, but he’d just agreed to teach Dudley the guitar and he had to postpone the first lesson. He lifted his right shoulder in a quick shrug. The way she reacted would tell him a lot about her.

Allison grabbed Dudley, sat him down and told him, “Mr. Lightner offered to teach you how to play the guitar. You are not going to strum like those kids you see on television. The guitar is a musical instrument, and—”

“It’s okay, Mommie. I’ll learn whatever Mr. Lightner teaches me. How often is he going to give me lessons? Every day?”

She felt a little ashamed about her attitude. Even if he only learned to strum, he’d be able to entertain himself. “He has to work, Dudley, so he can only teach you once a week. Besides, that’s the way most music teachers teach their students, once a week.”

“Okay. If that’s what Mr. Lightner says. When is he coming?”

The phone rang, saving her an answer, at least for the moment. “Hello, Brock.”

“It’s a nice day, Allison, too nice to stay inside. Would you like to walk along Adirondack Lake for a while before twilight? Dudley might like to get out of the house, and Jack needs some exercise.”

“These cinnamon rolls need to bake for another half hour. After that I’m free.”

Half an hour later, he knocked on her front door. When she opened it, Jack—behaving as if he were home—dashed inside to find Dudley.

“Here,” he said. “I brought you this walking stick. They’re useful for climbing that little hill and for discouraging small animals. Ready?”

She wished she could accept what she saw in his eyes. The warmth, sweetness and tender caring—expressions she’d never once seen in her ex-husband’s face—were for her. How had she made such a gargantuan mistake with Lawrence Sawyer?

Dudley ran into the living room, followed by Jack. “You’re going to teach me the guitar, Mr. Lightner? You want to see my guitar?”

He didn’t shift his gaze from her face. “I’ll have a look at it when we get back.”

Dudley stepped close and looked up at Brock. “Where’re we going?”

“We’re going to walk around the lake before twilight sets in.”

Brock reached for her hand and without thinking, she clasped his tightly. His slightly narrowed eyes told her that she’d surprised him. She let it roll off her. Hadn’t he surprised her a few times?

To her relief, they didn’t encounter any wild animals as they strolled around the lake at the edge of the woods, but the wildlife began their eerie conversations and fish could be heard jumping in the lake. She felt a lot safer when they reached her house.

“Would you stop in for a while?” she asked Brock.

“Yes. I promised Dudley I’d check out his guitar and I’m eager to sample your cinnamon rolls. I love those things.”

“Dudley, get the guitar for Mr. Lightner while I make some coffee.”

In the kitchen, she whispered, “Lord, please don’t let me make a mistake with this man. I need him, but I don’t know whether he’s for good or evil.” She made fresh coffee and put a plate of cinnamon rolls on a tray along with coffee cups, sugar, cream and a glass of lemonade for Dudley.

“This is a fine guitar,” Brock said when she returned to the living room. “It has a great tone.” He played a few bars of “The Girl from Ipanema.”

“Am I going to learn to play like that, Mr. Lightner?”

He patted Dudley’s shoulder. “If you practice and study, you’ll play better than that.” She regarded her son’s eyes, his expressions of awe and happiness and thought about how much she owed Brock. She looked steadily then at the man who was digging a place for himself inside her heart and knew with certainty that he was a part of her destiny. She reached toward him, but he must have read her mind and pointed to the tray.

“Are you planning to give me some of those rolls before they get cold?”

Embarrassed that she’d forgotten her son’s presence, she pushed the tray toward Brock. “Help yourself.”

He bit into the roll and closed his eyes. “I could eat every one you cooked if you didn’t have to photograph them. By the way, when do you want the photographer?”

“Monday will be fine. For the first run, I’m baking things that can be photographed after they’re days old.”

He seemed in deep thought for a minute before he said, “Will you and Dudley go out to dinner with me tomorrow evening? For the boy’s sake, we can eat around seven, if you like. If we go down to North Creek, we should be back by nine-thirty.”

“I’d love to,” she said.

“I’m going, too?” Dudley asked when Brock told him. “I always had to stay with a sitter when Mommie went somewhere.”

“Not this time,” Brock said.

She wanted to hug him, but she didn’t dare. His eyes told her that he wanted the same and more. Holding Jack’s leash, he walked to the door. She stepped outside before him, closed the door behind him and, sheltered by the darkness, he pulled her into his arms and she parted her lips for his kiss. With his tongue deep in her mouth, he leaned against the house, gripped her buttocks with both hands and sent frissons of heat plowing through her. She’d never wanted anything or anyone as she wanted the feel of him deep inside of her at the minute. As if he knew how she longed for him, he loosened his grip on her, caressed and hugged her with such gentleness that she blinked back tears.

Maybe she shouldn’t ask questions but should just “take the money and run.” Her common sense told her she’d be a fool to pass up her first chance at genuine lovemaking. Because if Brock Lightner wasn’t a tender and considerate lover, surely no man could be.

She fussed for an hour the next afternoon about what to wear and when Dudley asked if he could wear his white pants, she readily agreed because that gave her an excuse to wear a pale green, sleeveless sheath of cotton voile. And when she opened the door to Brock and saw that he wore a beige linen suit and a tie, she gave silent thanks for Dudley’s vanity. The boy loved clothes and, for once, he’d steered her correctly.

“Mommie, can I wear my jacket? Mr. Lightner’s wearing one.”

She said nothing, but went into the boy’s room, got the jacket that matched his pants and handed it to him.