Nora Roberts - High Noon

"An additional thank-you." She brushed his lips one more time.

"For understanding I have to get myself home earlier than Cinderella most of the time."

He trailed a finger around her ear. "If I buy you some glass slippers, do you think we could arrange a sleepover?"

With a laugh, she got out of the car. "You know, I was talking myself into backing off this-whatever this is-with you."

"Oh?" He got out so they stood for a moment, studying each other on opposite sides of the car. "Why is that?"

"I'm trying to remember. I had my reasons. Duncan, I'm resistant to being swept away."

"I'll leave the broom in the closet."

Too late, she thought. Much too late. "You're better at this than I am."

"At what?"

"At whatever this is."

Lights sparkled over in Forsythe Park, and there were soft pools of shadows along the street. Ava's flowers perfumed the air that threatened to turn sultry. Through the open windows of a passing car Delta Blues throbbed like a broken heart.

Here she stood, Phoebe thought, looking over at a man who excited her so she noticed those small details she often overlooked. So that those details were like colorful backdrops in Act Three of her personal play. And she was fretting over it because she wasn't absolutely certain how the play would end.

"Did you ever get your heart broken? No, don't answer that now." she said quickly. "That may be one of those long stories, and I have to get inside."

"Go out with me tomorrow night, and I'll tell you all about the many shattered pieces of my abused heart."

"How much of it will you be making up?"

"You'll have to go out with me to find out."

"You're just a little too appealing for my own good." She let out a sigh, glanced back at the house. "I can't tomorrow-shouldn't. I don't like to spend too many evenings away."

"Pick a night."

"Don't you know about playing hard to get?" He walked around to her. "I'm not playing."

Her heart took a hard bump. "No, you're not. I… well." Flustered, she glanced back at the house again. "This week is a little difficult. Carly's school play is Thursday night, and there's a school holiday on Friday, so-"

"Can I go?" He eased a little closer and touched her. Just fingertips sliding down her arms until she wanted to shiver and sigh. "To the play."

She managed a laugh. "Oh, trust me, you don't want to sacrifice yourself on the altar of an elementary school play."

"Sounds like fun." Sensing nerves, he smiled. Wasn't she the most interesting, contradictory woman? "Cinderella, right? Wicked stepsister."

"How do you know that?"

"Essie told me. Thursday night. What time?"

"Seven, but-"

"Seven's curtain? Should I meet you there, or come by and pick y'all up? Plenty of room for you and Carly, Ava and… Essie can't go," he realized, and his easy humor faded. "That must be hard, must be hard for her."

"Yes, it is. Very hard. We're getting it videotaped, but it's not the same. Duncan, if you really want to go-and that's very sweet-you should just meet us. I have to get Carly there an hour ahead, for costumes and such. I'll get you a ticket, leave it out front for you. But you don't have to feel obligated."

Don't feel obligated, he thought, intrigued when she backed up a step. He decided on the spot that wild horses wouldn't keep him from a Thursday night date with Cinderella. "I don't think I've ever been to a kiddie school play."

"You must've been in one."

"I was once a belching frog. And I have a vague recollection of being a turnip once, or maybe it was a radish. But it was so traumatic, I've blocked it out. Y'all got any plans for the weekend?"

"Ah, we're working out a Saturday playdate with Carly's current best friend. Details are not finalized."

"Great. Maybe they can do me a favor. Family fun center. Playworld? Heard of it?"

"Been there, yes."

"Did Carly like it? Hate it? See I'm thinking about investing, but I haven't decided whether to go into an established place like that or maybe do something new. Fresh. We could go on Saturday. Kid-test it." She stared at him as if he'd sprouted a second head. "You want to spend your Saturday in an amusement center with a couple of little girls?"

"You make that sound just a little perverted. Actually, more than a couple of little girls would be better. I've been tugging on Phin to bring Livvy into it, and maybe some of the others. You up for that?"

"I imagine Carly would be delighted. Why an amusement center?" she asked as she turned toward the house.

"Ah, well, fun would be the primary factor. If you're going toHold it." He grabbed her arm, pulled her back.

Over the top step in the wash of the house light, the carcass of a dead rabbit drooped. The ruff around its neck was matted with dried blood that shone black against the brown fur.

"Oh, God, not again. I need to- Don't just touch it," Phoebe snapped out, "with your hands."

"I use my hands instead of my feet for touching. Just a quirk." He lifted it by its hind legs. "What do you mean, not again?" Because her stomach pitched, Phoebe gave herself permission to look away. "Let me get something. A bag, a box. Jesus. Take it around to the courtyard, would you? I'll be right there."

She dashed into the house while Duncan frowned at the rabbit.

Wasn't mauled, he mused as he studied it. It sure as hell didn't strike him as roadkill. He'd given up hunting after his first and only foray into that area on a trip with a couple of friends as a teenager.

He'd liked the gun-the feel, the sound, even the jolt-but he hadn't much cared for what it could do when the target was flesh and blood.

If he had to guess, the rabbit had been shot, small caliber. But why anyone would shoot a rabbit and toss it on Phoebe's steps was a mystery. He carried it through the courtyard gate just as she rushed out with a plastic grocery bag. "We need to put it in here."

"You want to tell me why Bugs ended up dead on your steps?"

"I don't know, but I'm going to have to build a damn graveyard if this keeps up. This is joining the rat I found out here a couple weeks ago, and the snake on the steps a few days ago."

"You had any altercations with any of the neighborhood boys?"

"No. I ran that one down already. I don't think the local hellions are responsible. Put that thing down, will you?"

As he heard distress as well as disgust, Duncan eased the corpse into the bag. "I think you're going to want to take this one in-to forensics or whatever. I'm pretty sure it's got a bullet in it."

She let out a long breath. "I'll deal with it in the morning. Come inside, wash your hands."

He'd go inside, Duncan thought, but washing a little dead rabbit off his fingers wasn't primary.

He followed her in, stepped to the kitchen sink. "Got any beer?" he asked.

"No. Yes. I don't know."

After drying his hands, he simply walked to the refrigerator, opened it. Mostly girl food, as he thought of it. Lots of fruit, fresh vegetables, cartons of yogurt, skim milk. Why did anyone want to skim milk? A question for another time.

He didn't find any beer, but pulled out an open bottle of California chardonnay. "Glasses?"

"Oh." She pushed at her hair as she turned to a cabinet. It was manners that had her reaching for glasses, he thought. She'd have been happier if he'd dried his hands and said good night. So she could think, and so she could handle whatever was going on herself. Tough for her, he decided. He wasn't built that way.

He poured the wine himself, sat at the little table. Which, he knew, left her trapped by those manners into sitting down with him.

"I appreciate you dealing with that," she began. "I hate knowing I'm squeamish enough to balk at doing it myself."

"Who dealt with the rat?"

"Well, I did-with a lot of embarrassing squealing and shuddering.