Listen to Your Heart - Fern Michaels [13]
“Not to my way of thinking. Why do you ask?”
Josie told her about Mrs. Lobelia and her son. “I don’t even know anyone who has a perfect mother. More to the point, what is a perfect mother?”
Kitty shrugged as she gulped at the frosty beer. “I guess it’s someone who does everything right, anticipates your every need, is always there, never complains, and always smiles no matter what. Jeez, Mom was nothing like that. Remember how she used to whip our asses with the wooden spoon when we did something wrong? To me, that’s a perfect mother. She wanted us to know right from wrong. We never made the same mistake twice, so I guess it worked. How about another beer since you aren’t going for your walk?”
“Sure, why not?” Josie said glumly. She hated taking these trips down Memory Lane.
The twins were finishing their second bottle of beer when the phone rang. “Right on schedule,” Josie muttered. “The guy is a creature of habit. Does he ever call at two minutes past the hour? Does he have some kind of timer he goes by? Where’s the excitement? How can you get an adrenaline rush when you know he’s going to call precisely at eight o’clock? If you want my opinion, your intended is boring as hell. I’m going for that walk now while you talk about nothing for two hours.”
“The wagon’s by the front door. Rosie is waiting for you,” Kitty gurgled. “Don’t worry. No one will see you since it’s getting dark.”
Rosie yipped her pleasure. Going out the front door in the wagon was something new. Normally, Josie pulled her around in the garden. She yipped again before she cuddled with the stuffed dog. “We’re just going up the street and down the street. I have a buzz on and . . . I probably shouldn’t even be out. Maybe halfway down the block. Halfway is good. That’s what we’ll do.”
It was a beautiful, quiet evening, the air clear and fresh, the sky full of stars. Even though it was getting dark, Josie could make out quiet forms sitting on front porches. Some of the neighbors waved or shouted an evening greeting. She waved back. The jasmine smelled heavenly that evening. Once she’d bought a bottle of expensive perfume called Jasmine and had been so disappointed with the bottled scent she’d thrown it away.
Josie was about to turn the wagon around at the end of the block when she heard the crunch and grind of rusty wheels. She stepped to the side and reached for the lamppost just as a tall form pulling something behind him rounded the corner. Him. It was instant chaos. Whatever he was pulling slammed into the man, pushing him forward until he, too, was hanging on to the lamppost. The boxer leaped and pranced as Rosie yipped and danced her way around him. Traffic crawled by as teenagers whooped and hollered.
“We have to stop meeting like this,” the man said huskily, one eye on the girl pinned under his arms and one on the dogs’ wild antics.
“Why?” Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. Keep your mouth closed so he doesn’t smell your breath.
“Meeting twice in one day like this is . . . rather strange, don’t you think?”
“Is that what you say to all the women you meet? Is that dog of yours some kind of shill or something? Ooops,” she gurgled as she lost her balance. She righted herself and hung on to the light pole. Damn, now he was going to think she was a drunk. So much for the pricey outfit and the sinful perfume.
“Miss Dupré, are you by any chance . . . ah, inebriated?”
“Do I look in . . . inebr . . . drunk?” Go ahead, keep giving him more clues. “Where’s your Cajun accent, you . . . you Cajun playboy? I read all about you. I did. So did my sister.”
“I lost my accent went I went north to school. It didn’t go over very well at Princeton. I’m not a playboy, but I do like to play. I’m flattered that you read my article. I read yours, too. Why don’t I walk you home? You seem a bit unsteady. Do you have any more questions?” he asked patiently.
Did she? She wished she could think straight. Swinging around the lamppost certainly wasn’t doing