Kara Lennox - Tame An Older Man

"What's the deal with the cactus?" Phoebe asked. "I know Helen loves her plants, but I never heard her talk to them before."

"She bought some new ones just before the trip, a couple of cacti. The lady who sold them to her said they would bloom if she talked nice to them."

Phoebe laughed. "I'm sorry I interrupted. What else does the card say?"

"That's it, just 'Love, Grammy and Granddad.'"

"You call Helen 'Grammy'?" She couldn't suppress a chuckle at the thought of big, macho Wyatt calling anybody "Grammy."

"What's wrong with that? What do you call your grandmother?"

Phoebe sighed. "I never knew either of them. One lived in Denmark, so I never met her. The other I didn't see after my parents split up when I was a baby. But she remembered me. She left me her condo when she died."

"I'm sorry. I forgot for a minute that you'd lost your grandmother. I shouldn't have been so glib."

Phoebe shrugged, wishing she'd never brought up the subject of grandmothers. She'd always regretted that she hadn't made an effort to see her father's mother before the woman died. Her grandmother had sent an occasional letter, and usually a card with a few dollars tucked inside on Phoebe's birthday, and Phoebe had dutifully sent thank-you notes, but her mother hadn't encouraged communication even though her grandmother had obviously wanted it. Olga's bitterness toward her ex-husband colored her thinking.

Still, Phoebe had no business unloading any personal stuff onto Wyatt.

And he didn't have to be so damn sympathetic. It just made her like him more, and she didn't need any more reasons to be attracted to him. Wrong time, wrong man, she reminded herself.

"How was lunch?" she asked brightly, changing the subject.

He didn't answer right away.

"Was it that hard a question?" As she sorted through her bills, she peeked at him from the corner of her eye. He really did seem to be having trouble answering.

"Lunch was fine," he said carefully. "But some things did come up, and I need to talk to you about them."

Uh-oh. "You're not pleased with my job performance?"

"No, oh, you're doing a great job, Phoebe. You have a real talent for making people look their best on camera."

"Thanks."

"But I do need to talk to you."

"Now?"

"I know it's been a long week, but I want to… go over a few things while they're fresh in my mind. It won't take long, I promise." He reached into the plastic bag at his feet, pulled out a package of something, then shook it invitingly at her. "Gourmet coffee?"

Sure enough, it was a half-pound of JamaicanBlueMountain, her favorite kind. She could smell it.

"I thought you didn't drink coffee."

"I don't, but I got some to have on hand for guests."

For sleep-over guests , she added. A non-coffee-drinker didn't spring for JamaicanBlueMountain unless he was trying to impress someone. Could that someone possibly be her?

Her old movies could wait, Phoebe decided. Though on principle she didn't like employers to monopolize her free time, Wyatt was paying her a ridiculously high salary for part-time work, so she couldn't begrudge him an occasional after-hours meeting. After all, she had skipped the staff lunch meeting today.

"I'll be over in a few minutes," she said, feeling a small surge of energy mixed with something akin to dread. It wasn't that she didn't like Wyatt. She did, probably too much. The idea that he'd bought that coffee for her … well, it was just nice, that was all, and it made her want to please him.

But he made her tense. Since that kiss, the desire had crackled between them whenever they were within twenty feet of each other. She would have to let that go, she decided. Surely it was simply a matter of their getting more accustomed to each other.

Phoebe changed into comfortable clothes, filed her mail and listened to her phone messages. She wasn't too surprised to get a panicky-sounding message from her mother. Olga considered it a major crisis if she broke a nail, and she called Phoebe almost every day in a tizzy over something or other.

"Addy, call me right away!" Olga said breathlessly. She never called Phoebe by her "Hollywood" name, even though Olga was the one who'd encouraged Adelaide Phelps to morph into Phoebe Lane. "I have to talk to you."

Phoebe shook her head and rewound the tape. She would call Olga back once she got done with Wyatt.

When she stepped out her front door a few minutes later, the coffee was already brewing at Wyatt's. She could smell it all the way down the hall, and it drew her in like a siren song.

Wyatt let her in, and she immediately took note of his own casual attire-jeans faded almost to white and another T-shirt. Had she actually tried to tell herself she didn't like those clothes on him? He looked so approachable. Huggable. She almost wished for another broken pipe so she could see that T-shirt clinging to every muscle-

No . She was going to learn to enjoy him and appreciate him as a friend, neighbor and coworker. Nothing more.

"The coffee's almost ready," he said by way of greeting. "We can sit out on the balcony if you want."

She nodded. "Yes, that sounds nice."

He poured her a mug of the fragrant brew, himself a glass of skim milk-was he a health nut?-and wandered out to the terrace, which looked like nothing so much as a rain forest with all the fronds and vines. All appeared to be thriving.

"Looks like these plants aren't suffering under your care," she observed.

"I water them first thing every morning."

"These cactus plants aren't blooming." She leveled a frown of disapproval at him. "Are you talking to them?"

"Of course. I'm not taking any chances. I sweet-talk them twice a day-or face being disowned."

"I seriously doubt Rolland or Helen would disown you. They think you walk on water and carry stardust in your pockets."

Wyatt laughed, as they found chairs, a nice, safe distance apart. "If I've turned out well at all, it's their doing. I was not exactly your basic well-behaved, well-adjusted boy."

"I'd never guess that. According to them, you were a perfect child."

"They must have a lot of suppressed memories."

Enough , Phoebe thought. This conversation was too personal, too intimate. She set her coffee on the glass-top table, opened her notebook, took a pen from the bib pocket of her overalls, and prepared to be a good little employee.

"So what went on at the staff meeting?" she asked brightly.

Again, that hesitation from Wyatt.

"I ended up not going to Vito's for lunch," he finally said. "Instead, I followed you."

Phoebe suddenly felt as if she couldn't gulp in enough breath. She was not going to fly off the handle, she coached herself. Wyatt must have a logical reason for following her. "W-Why?" she managed to stutter.

"I was worried about you. I know it's not my place to be your watchdog-"

"It certainly isn't," she couldn't help saying.

"But after what happened on Monday-"

"Please, can we forget about that?"

"It just occurred to me that you're very vulnerable. A woman living alone, and not just any woman but a TV star-"

"Used-to-be TV star."

"Still, you make an easy target for any wacko nut-case who's seen 'Skin Deep.'"

"So you're planning to follow me around for the rest of my life to make sure no one makes a pass at me?"

"No! It's just that, the way you rush away from the station each day, obviously with someplace to go, and the fact that you're so mysterious about it-"

"It's my private life!" It was all she could do to keep her voice low enough that all of Mesa Blue wouldn't hear her.

"I know, and I apologize, but I started worrying that you'd gotten involved in something bad, maybe something you couldn't handle-"