Julia Spencer-Fleming - I Shall Not Want

What was he going to do? Sell it? Then what? Buying another house seemed pointless. Keep living with his mother? He had a sudden vision of himself, a decade on, sixty years old, coming back to his eighty-five-year-old mother's house-the women on her side of the family lived a long time, he had no doubt she'd still be alive and kicking-eating the same low-carb dinner, watching the Yankees kick the hell out of the Red Sox, nothing changing, everything exactly the same as it was now. As it had been since Linda died. That's what he had wanted, wasn't it? To stop time? To never let go of her?

God Almighty. What was he doing to himself?

He swiped his hand over his face. Rolled down the window. In the park across the street, the band was playing "In the Mood," and somewhere in the crowd Hugh Parteger had his hands all over Clare Fergusson.

Jesus Christ. What the hell was he doing sitting in this damn truck?

He twisted the key out of the ignition, popped open the door, and thumped to the asphalt. He recrossed the street. The dancing had been going on long enough that people had wandered out to the edges of the park, women fanning themselves, men tugging at their ties and unbuttoning their cuffs. He passed a "Chief Van Alstyne!" and a "Hey, Russ," but kept his course single-mindedly toward the bandstand.

The music stopped, and applause burst like champagne bubbles in the air around him. He looked around, but for the first time that evening he couldn't spot the red dress. His stomach tightened. I could always put him up at the rectory . What if she decided… What if they had-

"Why, hello, Chief Van Alstyne." He looked down to see Mrs. Henry Marshall, one of Clare's vestry, smiling up at him. She was in bright pink tonight, with matching lipstick that was almost fluorescent compared to her white hair. Her hand was looped through the arm of her-'gentleman friend' was the right term, he guessed.

"Evening," Norm Madsen said.

"Hi," Russ said. "Have either of you seen Clare?"

The elderly lawyer frowned. "Not more trouble, I hope?"

Mrs. Marshall gave her escort a look of loving contempt. "I don't think that's why he's asking, dear." She cocked her head at Russ like a sharp-eyed sparrow. "Is it?"

He shook his head.

"She said she was going to get something to drink. But I'm sure she'd be happy to dance…"

He didn't stay to hear the rest of her comment. He tossed a "Thanks!" over his shoulder as he elbowed his way through the crowd.

He found her as promised, near the refreshment table, sitting on one of the folding chairs strewn haphazardly beneath the chestnut trees, drinking from a paper cup. Parteger, standing behind her, was trapped in conversation with Robert Corlew. Clare looked up. "Russ." She sounded surprised. "Is something wrong?"

Her eyes were large and dark in the half-light filtering through the leaves. She was faintly flushed, a little damp, as if she had just toweled off after a shower. She looked… edible.

"I'm off duty," he said.

She dropped her gaze to his hip. "Oh," she said.

"Dance with me," he said.

She jerked her head back up to meet his eyes.

"Please," he added.

She glanced around. Unfolded herself from the chair. "There are a lot of people we know here," she said, keeping her voice low.

"Yeah," he agreed.

"Are you sure you want to dance?"

"Yeah."

"With me?"

He grinned. "Oh, yeah."

She drained whatever she had been drinking. "Why, then, thank you, Chief Van Alstyne. I'd like that." She turned and handed the empty paper cup to Parteger. "Hugh, will you excuse me?"

He took her hand-and didn't that feel weird, holding her hand in public-and led her to the dance floor. He didn't recognize the opening bars until the bandleader began to sing There may be trouble ahead , and Clare laughed and he swung her into his arms.

"Did you request this?" she asked.

"Just coincidence."

"You don't believe in coincidences."

"No, but I'm working on believing in fate." He put a little cha-cha into it and she followed perfectly. The tiny white lights overhead made her skin glow.

And while we still have the chance …

"There are people looking at us," she said.

"Yeah?"

"This is going to be all over town by lunchtime tomorrow," she said.

He didn't answer, concentrating on moving them toward the less crowded edge of the floor. Her red skirt twirled around the front of his legs. He decided if she let Parteger do it-and slid his hand up her back. No bra. Lots of bare skin.

Let's face the music and dance .

"Stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you want to eat me or something."

He smiled slowly. "I do."

She stumbled. He caught her and steadied her until she regained the rhythm.

"You make me think of those great glazed doughnuts they have over at the Kreemie Kakes diner," he went on.

"I make you think of a doughnut?"

He shrugged. "I am a cop." The music segued into "Old Devil Moon" without missing a beat. "Anyway, you know when they have them straight out of the fryer? They're all hot and the icing is just running off them?"

Her cheeks and chest were flushing.

"I love 'em like that. I like to lick the icing off, bit by bit, until it's all over me"-She made a barely audible sound-"and then I wolf it down in great big bites." He pulled her closer and she went, unresisting, until she was pressed against his chest, their thighs moving together in the steps of the dance. She turned her face up to him, her eyes dilated almost to black.

Finally she said, "Mrs. Robinson, I think you're trying to seduce me."

He laughed quietly. They swayed together. He ran his thumb along her jaw, where a piece of her hair clung. "Actually," he said, "I'm doing all this talking because I'm scared that if I don't, I'm going to start kissing you. First here"-he brushed his fingers over her lips-"then here"-he trailed down her neck, making her shiver-"then here"-he rubbed his hand over her collarbone and shoulder before sliding it down her back-"and from there, God only knows."

She swallowed. Inhaled. "Would you like to walk me back to the rectory?"

Now it was his turn to breathe in. "I don't think that'd be such a good idea. In fact, it's probably not a good idea for me to be manhandling you on the dance floor like this." It was like bench pressing his own body weight, but he managed to push her a few inches away and resume a stance that suggested dancing more than making love.

"That's very thoughtful and responsible of you," she said. "Dammit all."

"I'm trying."

She looked at him, heavy-lidded, and brushed close to him. He could feel the heat rising off her body. "Is it hard for you?"

He groaned and closed his eyes. "Okay, I deserved that."

"I could walk home by myself."

He shook his head. "No."

"All right. Mr. Madsen and Mrs. Marshall could escort me. He's parked in the small lot behind the church." Which was separated from the rectory's driveway by a tall hedge of boxwood.

"I'll accept that."

"Where's your truck?"

"The lot on the corner of Elm."

"Why, that's just two houses down from where I live. But conveniently out of sight of the neighbors."

"Uh-huh. Although somebody might notice if it's still there at six o'clock in the morning."

She raised one eyebrow. "My, aren't you the confident one. Are you forgetting my live-in duenna?"

"I thought we could play three-hand pinochle."

She laughed. "Nobody really knows how to play pinochle."

"Okay, Scrabble."

The music ended and they broke apart to clap. She leaned toward him to be heard over the noise. "Double score for dirty words."

He smiled at her, helplessly. "God, I love you."

She opened her mouth, then closed it. "I better go tell poor Hugh good night."