anyway.” And Lucy would be a whole lot easier to watch over among the flower fields that were Germaine’s upholstered furniture than she would be at a party filled with rock musicians, businessmen and media types.
“Oh, you,” Germaine scolded. “A man your age should enjoy a little nightlife.”
Lucy leaned toward her. “We’re not even there yet and he’s already grumping about the music being too loud. Who knew what a fuddy-duddy he’d turn out to be?”
“Fuddy-duddy?” He frowned at her. Fuddy-duddy? For some reason the teasing jab ignited his usually cool temper. “Is that what you think? But coming from someone dressed in nothing more than a scanty pair of handkerchiefs, I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Lucy’s spine straightened. She looked a little bit insulted, too. “Handkerchiefs? I’ll have you know this dress is—”
“Outrageous?” Fuddy-duddy. He couldn’t get the insult out of his mind. “An invitation to pneumonia?”
Her berry-colored mouth fell open and her blue, blue eyes narrowed. “You’re—”
“Children, children,” Germaine interrupted, her voice verging on laughter. “Maybe we should change the subject.”
“You’re right.” Annoyed by his own out-of-character reaction to Lucy’s silly jibes, Carlo shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’ll do better than that and in fact change the washers of the dripping faucet like I said I would.”
Germaine started to rise, but he shook his head. “I know where I’m going and I know where you keep Pat’s tools.”
He couldn’t exit the living room fast enough. If he didn’t already know that Lucy had potential to be a snag in the smooth path of his planned evening, that last exchange would have been proof positive. How the hell had she gotten under his skin so fast?
Fuddy-duddy. Grumping. Good God, he didn’t grump. How ridiculous.
But damn, if the descriptions hadn’t rankled.
Passing the hall portrait of his late partner on the way to the dripping bathroom faucet, Carlo felt his mood dip even lower. As he tinkered, he thought of Pat’s stocky frame and square, capable hands. The man should be here, Carlo thought on a sudden stab of sadness. Pat should be here, working out of his own red toolbox while looking forward to an evening of yet another TV documentary on military history, as well as a slice of his wife’s famous mocha cheesecake.
Instead, Carlo’s partner was gone.
Gone forever.
Upon completion of the repair, his footsteps were as heavy as his frame of mind as he returned to the living room. Hesitating at the archway, he listened to Germaine’s amused voice.
“Then he turned the corner as fast as his old legs could go, wheezing, he said, sure that he’d lost the suspect, only to find the teenager caught on a cyclone fence, hanging upside down by his own oversize trousers.”
Carlo remembered the moment as if it were yesterday and he couldn’t resist adding to the story. “His own oversize trousers that had fallen down to his ankles, leaving his, uh, assets flapping in the breeze.” Coming farther into the room, he couldn’t help but grin at the memory. “Pat picked up the fancy cell phone that had fallen out of the boy’s pocket and took a picture for posterity, while the dumb kid yammered on and on about police brutality.”
He laughed. “Pat told him the only brutal thing about the event was his having to be subjected to a view of the kid’s skinny butt.” Laughing again, he recalled the expression of insulted outrage on the perp’s upside-down face.
“Oh, Carlo.”
The odd note in Germaine’s voice zeroed his gaze in on her. “What?”
She smiled. “It’s good to hear you laugh. It’s good that we can remember my Pat with lightness in our hearts. He’d want that.”
Carlo felt the smile he was wearing die as yet another pang of sadness sliced through him. All that Pat had wanted was to grow old with his beloved wife. Just a few relaxed and peaceful years of happily-ever-after.
He turned away, embarrassed by his sudden grief and just as determined to hide it. His hand speared through his hair and he cleared his throat. “Anything else I can do for you, Germaine?” His voice still sounded thick.
“No, but, Carlo…” Germaine’s own suddenly teary voice filled with a sympathy he couldn’t handle, yet couldn’t run away from, either. Without looking at her, he sensed her rising and he steeled himself, desperate not to be weakened by any more emotion.
But then Lucy was there first, her hand looping around his arm. “Well, then I think we should be going, Germaine. I have to get the fuddy-duddy to the party before he turns into a pumpkin.”
A new jolt of annoyance overrode his other feelings. Fuddy-duddy again! Pumpkin. He shook his head, frowning down into her bright face and naughty smile.
“Brat,” he murmured. Okay, beautiful, but a brat all the same.
Germaine brightened. “Yes, yes. You must go on to your evening out.”
Lucy’s answer was to tug him toward the door. “Did you hear that, Carlo? Let’s get a move on or next thing I know you’ll be too busy filling out your AARP membership forms to find your way to a party.”
Half-amused by her burst of energy and half-bemused by her second round of insults, he allowed her to pull him through the front door and toward his car. Even without a rock band, she was already dancing along the pavement and chattering away about the stars, the clear sky, how happy she was to be back in San Diego, which always held a hint of ocean in the night air.
When he pulled out of the driveway, he realized he was smiling again. Relaxed. She took a breath and he took advantage of the brief moment of quiet. “Lucy, I’m…”
“Feeling better?”
His head jerked her way. Her gaze was on him, her eyes big. Empathetic.
She knew.
She’d known he was close to losing it back there in Germaine’s living room.
It was as embarrassing as hell to realize, but now it was clear that Lucy had intentionally come to his rescue. By stepping in with her sassy attitude and smart remarks, Lucy had given him the time and the distraction necessary to compose himself. Germaine hadn’t needed him dumping his sorrow on top of her own.
Lucy had made sure he didn’t.
“Lucy…” He was at a loss for words, still embarrassed that she’d read him so easily. Swallowing, he tried again. “You…”
She sent him that bright brat smile and fiddled with the hem of her too-short dress. “Look great in a pair of handkerchiefs, right?”
His gaze fell to her half-naked legs, then jumped back to the impish curve of her bright berry mouth. His blood rushed south and he felt that recognizable tightness at his groin. Of course, it couldn’t be because of Lucy and how good she smelled and how delectable she
