Susan Donovan - Public Displays Of Affection

Living room-fine. Dining room-whatever. Like he'd be doing a lot of entertaining. He went up the stairs and looked out over the open foyer-God! If he had kids he'd be scared they'd crash through the railing and plummet to their deaths. Who designed houses like this? He grabbed the polished oak railing and shook it to make sure it was secure.

He poked his head into an open door-his bedroom. Good enough. What concerned him most was his office- he'd told the movers that he wanted the biggest bedroom for his office space, and he was relieved to see they'd followed through.

Joe stood in the doorway of what was probably referred to as the "master suite" in LoriSue Bettmyer's world. It had a vaulted ceiling, dual ceiling fans, four huge windows, two walk-in closets, and a fancy attached bathroom with a Jacuzzi tub. He could live with that.

The movers had set up his desk against the inside wall. He'd have to change that. He wanted it by the windows. He'd be spending a lot of time at the computer, and maybe an occasional dose of fresh air and sunshine would lessen the feeling of imprisonment.

He bent down to double-check that all his computer equipment and files had been delivered. He counted thirty-two boxes. Everything was here.

Joe ran a hand through his hair and scratched his chin. His two-week goatee was just starting to feel smooth under his fingertips, finally past the itchy phase. He hadn't had facial hair since his Mexico City days, and it was going to take some getting used to. And the hair on his head-he'd had a good eight inches hacked off the day after Steve and his family were killed. He remembered watching the hair fall to the barbershop floor in dark hunks, visual proof that another undercover assignment had ended. He stared at the dark curls, waiting for the sensation of relief to hit him the way it usually did. That sensation never came.

He sauntered over to the wall of windows and tested the action in the miniblinds. He saw drapery hardware still attached to the window frame and decided he'd get real thick, real private drapes as soon as possible. He'd better start a shopping list.

His eye was drawn to the big Palladian window in the master bath, right over the tub. As he walked toward it and took off his boots, he figured whoever built this house must have had a penchant for flashing the neighborhood. When he stepped into the sunken tub to pull down the blinds, he saw them.

Three kids and two women sat at a wrought-iron patio table under an umbrella. They were talking and eating, maybe an after-school snack. He checked his watch-it was four o'clock, so that would be about right.

He got a good look at the older woman-the grandmother probably. One of the kids was a redheaded, chubby girl no more than seven or eight. She looked like a pistol. There were two older boys. The mom had her back to him, but he could see nice reddish hair up in a ponytail. She had slim shoulders and she was laughing with the kids.

Joe found himself easing down onto the edge of the tub, in slow motion, his hand frozen on the miniblind pull. He leaned forward, breathing hard. His skin had started to tingle. His blood had begun to hum. And he was hit with the oddest combination of sensations: dread, regret, lust, utter disbelief. The scent of honeysuckle cut through his nostrils and into his brain.

Just then, the mom stood up from the table, bent over to pick up a tray of cups and plates, and he got a good look at her petite, shapely body. Her little round ass. Her dainty waist.

She turned and headed to the back patio door, calling over her shoulder. He saw that graceful throat. That sweet face. That shiny hair.

He slapped down the blinds, nearly tumbling over the edge of the tub in his hurry to get on the phone to Roger.

"Get me the hell out of here," Joe said as soon as his boss answered. "I don't care if it's North-fiickin'-Dakota. You gotta get me out of here."

Charlotte could not recall the last time LoriSue Bettmyer had been in her house. Probably the day of the funeral, but she couldn't be sure. The whole town had invaded her home that day, yet she'd been so numb she didn't recall a minute of it.

But here was LoriSue now, leaning up against Charlotte's kitchen counter in her tight little blue businesswoman suit, chatting with her and Bonnie like this was an everyday thing, munching on a carrot stick as friendly as could be. Charlotte had to concentrate doubly hard in order not to lop off a finger while she chopped zucchini, her eyes occasionally moving to Bonnie's face for confirmation of this strange occurrence.

"So we'd love to have you and the kids over for dinner one night, Charlotte. You know, to repay you for having Justin over here every once in a while."

Bonnie's eyes darted to Charlotte's, and she knew immediately what her friend longed to say: "Every week-night is more than once in a while."

Charlotte smiled to herself, knowing that the kid hadn't earned the nickname Justin-Time-for-Dinner for nothing.

"He's always welcome," Charlotte said. And she meant it. There was no point in being cruel to a little boy just because his parents were jerks. "You know, LoriSue, he really misses you and Jimmy. He says you've been working alot."

"Oh! It's been crazed , let me tell you! The market is megahot right now with the rock-bottom interest rates, and we're getting new listings left and right. The office is swamped."

Charlotte grabbed another zucchini and hacked off the end, wondering why some people even bothered to have children if they didn't spend time with them.

"We're lucky that Justin has always been such an independent little boy."

"Uh-huh," Bonnie said from her seat at the table. "So, LoriSue, any idea who's moving into the Connor place? We've been wondering when-"

"A man," LoriSue said, pushing away from the counter. She reached around Charlotte for a zucchini slice and nibbled, not saying more, obviously thrilled that the women now relied on her for information.

Charlotte stopped slicing, wiped her hands on her jeans, and looked at LoriSue. "Okay. I'll bite. A man alone? One guy in that big house?"

LoriSue sucked in her cheeks and pursed her lips, producing a look that announced she had hot news to share.

"Ladies, I spoke to the movers the other day. He's a mystery writer. Isn't that a trip? He came into toe office for his keys just a little while ago, and I've got to tell you he looks like a Chippendales dancer. Not an exaggeration. Absolute male-stripper material."

Bonnie snorted.

Charlotte's mouth fell open. "Are you serious?"

"Swear to God." LoriSue held up the zucchini slice, then took another nibble. "Drives a black Mustang. Divorced. No kids. Dark hair just past his ears. A little goatee. Earring. I'm telling you, he is one juicy piece of man."

Bonnie snorted again.

Charlotte went back to cutting vegetables.

"His name is Joseph Mills. I don't know if people call him Joe. He didn't say. He didn't say much of anything, really. Not the friendliest guy in the world, not that it matters." LoriSue giggled. "I'll tell you what-this has been so much fun! We should hang out together more often, just us girls."

Suddenly it all made perfect sense to Charlotte. LoriSue was in her kitchen because of its geographic proximity to the Chippendales' bachelor pad.

"Would you like to stay for dinner, LoriSue? We'll be eating about six, and then it's off to baseball and Boy Scouts."

"Oh! No-but thanks. Got to get back to the office. Do you think you could give Justin a lift to the scout meeting?"

"Of course," Charlotte said. Like tonight should be any different.

When LoriSuer was safely on her way and the lasagna was in the oven, Charlotte crossed her arms over her chest and frowned in Bonnie's direction. "Do you think she's right about the guy next door?"