Because of Jane

Lenny gave her a once-over, surprise settling on his face like a flag falling after a football play. “Boy—his name is Boy. And he’s harmless but overly friendly. It’s part of his charm.” He smiled as if to say it was also part of his charm. Then he lifted her bags to settle them in a spot by the stairs.

At least her bags were advancing, even if she wasn’t.

Jane followed, stepping around groaning bookcases and ancient sideboards stacked with dishes and dolls, hoping to open a dialogue. “Boy? Your dog’s name is Boy?”

Lenny shrugged, stalked to the refrigerator in the long, multi-windowed kitchen. This room had a lot of country charm, all frilly and old-fashioned and overdone with roosters of various sizes. And more dishes, along with cabinets filled with pots and pans, and more dolls on some of the counters. The only saving grace—the big windows were thrown open to allow the crisp fall breeze to play through the lacy white curtains.

Lenny Paxton looked as out of place in here as a gladiator in a queen’s sitting room. Which only added to his mystique. Why had he come to this particular place in this particular time of his life? And how could someone so intimidating and burly live with all this dainty stuff?

Jane jotted copious notes in her writing pad. When Lenny turned around, she hid the pad then pushed at her glasses. “Boy?” she repeated, trying to work up some meaningful discussion. Since he seemed to love the dog, she decided to start with that. Except that every time she said “Boy” the dog looked at her with hopeful expectation. The man did not.

“Yes, his name is Boy.” He patted the dog’s head. “It was the only thing he’d answer to when my granddaddy found him up on the highway. It kinda stuck.” He looked out over the big backyard. “Granddaddy died about a year after he found Boy.”

Jane registered that information and the reverent way he’d told her, since she hadn’t been able to find out much about his early years. Famous she could research; private, what-makes-you-tick stuff was harder to investigate. “I’m sorry. Were you close to your grandfather?”

He turned with another attempt at a smirk, his hostility bouncing off the walls like the beats of a big brass drum. “You are not going to get any fodder out of me, so don’t even try. I don’t have any issues. I’m perfectly content. Or at least I was until you got here.”

“Sorry. I was trying to be polite.”

Lenny gave her a long, curious stare, then nodded toward the dog still hassling at her feet. “At least Boy seems to trust you. But then, he’s dumber than dirt.”

“What exactly is he?” Jane asked as she brushed off her dress. She could feel the hives working their aggravating way up her neck. Thankfully, she had a good supply of hand sanitizer and allergy pills in her bag.

“Part hound, part collie, I think.”

“Are you sure there isn’t some wolf and wild boar mixed in there somewhere?”

That actually made the man smile. He had a nice, devastating smile.

Clearing her throat, Jane watched as he took a vintage Fiestaware pitcher out of the refrigerator then poured some water into a plastic Razorback cup. Pushing at the various dishes, he found a dainty crystal glass and filled it with water then shoved it at her. “Drink this.”

Jane took the water, watching as he picked up the plastic cup then lifted it in a salute. When he downed the whole thing, desire flooded through her system with a thousand-watt brilliance. Desire for the water, not the man, she assured herself. And just to prove that point, she also downed part of her glassful.

He turned, stared at her as if she were in the way then shrugged again. “I’m so sorry. Where are my manners? We need to sit down and talk about how to get you back to wherever it is that shrinks go to roost.”

He was playing hard to get, siccing his dog on her, making insults. Typical hostile male behavior. Meaning this would not be a good time to tell him she was also on assignment with Sidelined magazine. “Just pass the water jug again, would you? I’m hot and tired, and the least you can do is allow me the courtesy of your time. I might be able to help you if you give me a chance.”

He stood back, his intimidating crystal eyes shot full of misgivings. “Is this one of those shrink games? A trick to make me change my mind?”

“No, absolutely not,” she said, advancing a step. Boy followed her, stopping whenever she stopped. She didn’t like playing the helpless female, but Jane had to try a different tactic with this one. “I was counting on this assignment. I like the money, of course, and I need some time away from my other patients.” Almost to herself, she added, “They’re really getting on my nerves.”

He arched his thick eyebrows, his nostrils flaring as if he’d just sniffed something in the air. “I thought it was your job to keep people from going crazy.”

“It is. I mean, I do. Actually, I just help people to gain self-esteem and get rid of some excess baggage in both their personal and emotional lives. I’ve written books, based on some of my experiences, with my clients’ permission, of course.” She glanced around at the ceramic roosters filling the kitchen, her fingers itching to straighten things about as bad as the hives on her neck were itching to be scratched.

“Don’t count on doing that with me,” he retorted, his tone quiet and deadly, even with lace curtains lifting behind him in the afternoon breeze.

“Uh…well…it’s not just that,” she said, wondering if she’d ever gain his trust. “Sometimes, it’s good to get out of the office now and then.” Rummaging through her purse, she found her allergy pills, took one with the water then sat the glass on the one clear spot amid the sports magazines and obvious unopened bills on the table.

Lenny cranked up a portable CD player sitting on the counter. Steve Miller’s “Abracadabra” filled the air. “Running from something, doc?”

Jane realized her mistake. Lenny Paxton thought she was too wacky to advise anyone. And maybe he was right. She was a klutz at times. And she did have her own issues. Especially regarding jocks. She was so not a jock-type woman.

Reminding herself to stay professional, she pushed at her chignon. “Could I sit down, please?”

He found a clear chair—all chrome and red aged vinyl—then with a flourish, lifted his hands toward her and said in a sarcastic tone, “By all means, sit, take a load off.”

Jane urged her tired bones toward the cushioned chair. Didn’t this house have air-conditioning? In spite of the cool breeze coming from the window, she felt flushed.

“Thank you,” she said, taking in the old, linoleum-topped breakfast table. Then she sank against the table, causing its chrome legs to scrape across the wooden floor. “I didn’t want to be a part of all the Razorback hoopla back in Little Rock. My family tends to take game day very seriously.”

He grinned the way a warrior with a spear would grin as he went in for the kill. “You don’t like football?”

Jane stood up straight, trying to focus, trying to reach the volume dial on the CD player. “Not at all.”

Lenny pushed her hand away. “But you came here anyway, to fix me? Or is that it? You hate football, so it’s your goal to fix all football players?”

She cleared her tight throat. “It’s a paying assignment, regardless of the unpleasant subject matter.” Then Boy decided to make another play for her. Gasping, Jane backed up against the chair. And got dizzy again.

Lenny caught her by her elbows, then frowned an inch away from her face. “What ails you, anyway?”

“I…missed lunch.”

“Sit down,” he said, shoving her onto the chair. “You obviously aren’t used to this late-summer heat.” His mock-concerned look didn’t give her hope that the man did have a heart.

“I grew up in Arkansas,” she pointed out, a triumphant tone in her voice to undermine her wobbly legs. “I know all about heat and humidity. It’s rather nice out today and the leaves are just starting to turn.” She smiled, squirmed, looked away. “All in all, rather enjoyable. In fact, I’d forgotten how lovely the fall leaves are.”

“Too bad you won’t get to stick around. Fall in the Ozarks is really pretty. That is, when you’re out in the peace and quiet of the country.”

“All the more reason to be here, instead of cooped up in my office back in the city.”

He made a sad face. “If only you could stay.”

“Let’s forget all about that for now. Did you grow up in Arkansas?”

He didn’t answer. Instead he slapped her question back at her. “Did you grow up in Little Rock, or just find a place to roost there and hang out your shingle?”

“Yes, I grew up in Little Rock,” Jane replied, trying to be honest in hopes that he’d do the same. “My dad was in the air force so we traveled a lot, but when he retired we settled back in Arkansas. My parents are both college professors now. We moved to Fayetteville when I was in high school. They taught at the University of Arkansas there for years.”

And she’d been an awkward, geeky teenager who’d babysat instead of going to homecoming and prom. “So my family—I have a sister and a brother, both younger than me—are all Trojan and Razorback fans. My parents moved back to Little Rock a few years ago, and during football season, everyone congregates for football parties. Everyone but me, unless I’m forced to do so.”

“Wow, you really do hate football. Isn’t it sacrilege to miss a Razorback game?”

Jane felt the need to defend her position. “I work a lot. I keep a private practice, and my self-help books and magazine articles are doing quite well. I lecture at major companies, help train employees, get people motivated to live their best lives. I can do the same for you.”

He ignored that suggestion. “Why didn’t you move—say to New York or Los Angeles? You know, some place where all the really crazy people live?”

“I love Arkansas,” she said, not even daring to voice her real reasons for staying close to home.