Chasing Rainbows A Novel - By Long, Kathleen Page 0,41

didn’t have to look up to see the expression--or the vertical lines between her eyebrows. I knew they were there. They’d always been there whenever I’d surprised her. Not being one to often admit being at fault, my admission surely surprised her now.

“I shouldn’t have taken Ashley anywhere without checking with you first.” I casually inspected the zipper of a patchwork bag as I said this, knowing the trick to making the first move was to appear nonchalant.

“I might have been a little harsh.” Diane’s typically strong voice filtered weakly through the hanging straps of leather and suede.

You think?

But I didn’t say it. I thought it and then I tucked it away.

Arguing with Diane now wasn’t going to get me anywhere. Besides, she was pregnant and she was the mother of a teenager. She had a right to yell at me. Bottom line was this. She knew what she was doing when it came to kids. I hadn’t a clue. Five days does not an expert make.

“I’m sorry.” I lifted my gaze to hers and smiled at the puzzled expression on her face. Then I laughed. I couldn’t help myself.

Even though we were speaking softly to each other, she was obviously tense. Red blotches had exploded across her cheeks and down her neck, making her look like a mutant strain of chicken pox had taken over her face.

“Is it bad?” she asked.

I rounded the rack and linked my arm through hers. “Nothing a tropical smoothie won’t cure.”

She raised her brows and tipped her auburn head from side to side. “There is that.”

And as we headed out into the mall, the tension I’d carried since the night we’d argued began to ease. Relief spread through my muscles and bones.

“I’m sorry, too,” Diane said. “I saw you at the talent show.”

The talent show.

I flashed back on my conversation with Ryan and then on Diane and David’s performance, and I used the term loosely.

“What did you think?” Her voice jumped an octave, the note of hope ringing loud and clear. “Be honest with me.”

I rolled my eyes. From years of experience, Diane knew exactly what that meant.

“That bad?”

I rolled my eyes again.

Diane shook her head. “Ashley shaved off her eyebrows in protest.”

I stopped dead in my tracks. “She what?”

“Shaved off her eyebrows.”

But before I could say anything more, I spotted the security guard from hell. Unfortunately, I was fairly certain he’d spotted me as well, based on the way his eyes morphed into angry slits.

I squeezed Diane’s arm, dropped my chin and steered her toward the food court.

“Shaved her eyebrows?” I asked the question softly, still unable to picture Ashley without her typically arched brows.

Diane giggled, the sound growing from a slight chuckle to a full-out belly laugh. She stole a glance over her shoulder at the security guard.

“He’s on his walkie-talkie. Maybe we could try to blend in with the crowd.”

I pressed my index finger to my chin dramatically. “You’re big as a house, covered in red spots and laughing like a hyena.” I shook my head. “I really don’t see blending in as a possibility.”

We were still laughing as the guard escorted us out of the mall, smoothies in hand.

But, we had a firm grasp on our friendship as well as our drinks, and that was worth any humiliation the mall security flat foot could dish out.

o0o

When I got home that afternoon, I’d planned on taking a long, hot shower, changing clothes, grabbing the Christmas gifts I’d purchased and heading to my mother’s house for a family dinner.

I hadn’t planned on finding a note taped to my front door.

Come ring my bell. I’ve got something for you.

Those two short sentences were so loaded with double entendres, I smiled in spite of myself. The note-writer hadn’t identified him or herself, but I had a strong suspicion of just who he’d been.

Number Thirty-Six.

After all, the only thing Mrs. Cooke would like to give me was a noise violation citation or a visit from animal control.

Before I had time to do much more than lift the note from the door, a Christmas tree made its way up the sidewalk. The tell-tale pair of work boots sticking out from below the trunk ensured the tree-bearer wasn’t Mrs. Cooke.

Heat flushed my cheeks at the thought of the last time Number Thirty-Six and I had been face-to-face, so to speak. The memory of my less-than-clothed state still stung, and the last thing I needed was a stark reminder of my stark nakedness.

“What are you doing?” I had