Listen to Your Heart - Fern Michaels [26]
The moment was gone as fast as it arrived. Paul was on his feet, his hand stretched out to help her up. “I guess I did look rather silly, and my mother wouldn’t care. It’s late. I need to think about getting you home.”
“Wait a minute. Why the switch up? What did I say to put that look on your face? That you look silly? You did look silly, as silly as I looked. Hey, we’re on Bourbon Street. It was a silly moment. It was fun. Now you look and act and sound like a . . . stuffy banker. I guess it is time to go home,” she said, all the fun gone from her voice.
Later, in her driveway, Paul turned to her and said, “For some reason you rattle me. I don’t understand it. I’m sorry if I took all the fun out of your evening there at the end.”
“You rattle me, too. Did I do something, say something?”
“No. It was just the end of a very long day. Do you still want me to stop by with breakfast?”
“I’d like that.”
“Then it’s a date.” He made a move to open the door. She stopped him.
“Don’t get out. I’ll go around the back. I want to take off these wet clothes in the laundry room. I can’t believe it’s still raining. Thanks for the beads and stuff. I really enjoyed the evening. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Good night, Josie.”
She’d really thought he was going to reach for her and kiss her good night. Instead, he gave her a jaunty little salute before he backed his car out of the driveway. Damn, maybe she wasn’t in love after all. Then what was that giddy feeling that ripped through her back there in the rain?
Josie sloshed through the rain in the dark. She wished she’d had the good sense to turn on the back light before she left the house. It didn’t matter—she knew the yard and garden by heart. She stopped in her tracks when she heard a sound coming from the back porch—a sound that literally stopped her heart. She waited, aware that the tiny purse on her shoulder would be no weapon against an intruder. There was a broom on the back porch. If she could get to the back porch, it might help. If not, it was her time to get mugged. Whoever he was, he was a heavy breather. Chills ran up and down her spine. “I have a gun!” she squeaked. “I’m going to shoot and if I hit you . . . Oh my God,” she yelled when a monstrous four-legged creature slammed up against her, knocking her to the ground. “Zip! How did you get here?” She groaned. “Stop licking me. I don’t need a bath. I’ve been in the rain all night. Okay, okay, come on. I’ll let you in. Poor thing, you’re soaked, too. Have you been here all night? This is amazing. How ever did you get out? Your owner is going to be worried sick just the way I would be if Rosie got out.”
The boxer ran up the steps and stood panting by the back door, his impatience showing by the way he pranced and danced around the porch as Josie fumbled with the key. She watched for a minute as both dogs tussled on the kitchen floor, their delight in one another a joy to experience. “This,” she muttered, “must be true love.
“Hey, Rosie, it’s me. You know, me. Your owner. I’m the one who feeds and walks you and makes sure you don’t get fleas.” The little dog tilted her head, barked twice, her tail swishing furiously. “Okay, if that’s all the greeting I get, I guess it’s okay. Go on. Keep on doing whatever it is you were doing. I let this guy in, you know.”
She was down to her skimpy, lacy underwear when the phone in the kitchen rang. She padded over to the counter and picked up the phone. “He’s here. He was waiting on the back porch. Right now he’s under my kitchen table. You were already out of the driveway when I found him.”
“How did you know it was me on the phone?” Paul asked, a smile in his voice.
“I don’t know anyone else who would call me at one o’clock in the morning. Let’s just say it was an educated guess. It’s okay if he stays. You can pick him up in the morning.”
“He knows how to open the French doors. I didn’t know that until this evening. He’s never done anything like that before. It’s amazing