No More Mr. Nice - By Renee Roszel Page 0,47

said, “the dumb one that chases skunks. He came home smellin’ like shi—uh—smellin’ gross, again.”

Lucas shook his head. “Moron sounds like a good name for a dog who likes to chase skunks.”

Molly giggled, and that surprised Lucas. She seemed to have bounced back quickly with his reassurance. “I’ll tell Jack,” she was saying. “It’s nicer than most of the names he’s been calling that mutt.” Her big eyes were still glistening with liquid, but she seemed at peace, somehow. Lucas felt an odd gratification about that, then he caught himself and grunted at his slackening of control. “If you kids will excuse me, I have to get back to work.”

“Right. No problem,” Moses said, tugging on Molly’s sleeve. “See ya tomorrow, man.”

“Sure.” He didn’t look up as they left the room. After a minute he took a bite of the sandwich. Leftover meat loaf from the dinner the kids had concocted last night. He chewed, deciding it tasted pretty good. He hadn’t had leftover meat loaf sandwiches since he was a kid. Eyeing the cocoa dubiously, he considered it. Odd how the world could grow colder, crueler, the economy could crumble, countries could wage wars all around the globe, but somehow, cocoa seemed to remain a quaint constant in his life. Somehow it wasn’t just a drink; it invariably came to him as an offering of thanks or help or hope.

He scowled in contemplation. Once, he’d heard a quote—actually a question—that went something like, “Who knows where great things begin?” A long time ago, a great thing had begun for him when he’d been offered a simple cup of cocoa. He lifted the mug, staring at it. Though he wasn’t crazy about the sweet taste, he took a swallow. It warmed him, and he felt curiously melancholy.

“I hope I’m not intruding.” Jess’s hesitant voice shattered his pensive mood and he glanced over to where she stood by the door. All the apprehension she’d ever harbored for him seemed to have returned to her face, and stiffened her stance. He found himself regretting that.

Though obviously she’d distanced herself emotionally from him since her attempt at friendship this afternoon, she looked much improved over the last time he’d seen her, dirt-caked and drenched. Her light-colored hair hung straight to her shoulders, and her wispy bangs half hid expressive gray eyes. Her features were earnest, though apprehensive. He wondered if she had any idea how lovely she was in her own quiet, insecure way.

She had a skittish, fawnlike beauty, especially when casually dressed in jeans and a sweater. She was softer this way than in those power suits she’d worn when they’d first met. Now he understood how out of place she’d felt in them, how she’d never really been herself, dressed for success. She didn’t even like the power-dresser types. Preferred comfortable clothes and affectionate relationships, not boardrooms and techno-bull—any kind of bull, for that matter.

She was a caring, vulnerable person. He found himself warming to the idea of making love to her again, as the memory of their kiss raced through his mind with renewed vigor. But he squelched the thought along with the smile that had almost made it to his lips. “What is it?” he asked, purposefully gruff.

Her tentative smile faded and she gave him a mildly offended look as she approached the table. “Do you realize you have an exasperating habit of making people come to you?”

He scanned her skeptically. “I’ve been eating sitting down for a long time. I didn’t know it was so daunting.”

She flushed, disconcerted. “You’re in a charming mood,” she said, her voice edged with sarcasm. “Find your mistake yet?”

“No,” he admitted gruffly, trying not to give a damn about her feelings. “What do you want?”

She pulled out a chair and sat down, her expression pained. “Okay. You want to play it this way, I can be grouchy, too.” She planted her elbows on the table and laced her fingers below her chin. He had a feeling the move was to keep from tapping her nails nervously on the table. “How familiar are you with horses?” she asked.

“I’ve heard of them, but I’ve never made love to one. Is that all?”

“That’s terribly charming, but not what I meant,” she chided. “I meant, can you ride?”

“It’s been a long time.”

“Well, don’t worry.” She stood and assumed a pose every bit as dismissive as his had been, earlier that day. “I’m sure it’ll come back to you. See you at eight sharp for a day of