Best Laid Plans (15 page)

"I remember thinking at the
time, reading Gardner would be the quickest way for me to learn a modicum of
law without being bored and perhaps dazzle you with something legally profound.
The author was a skilled lawyer, so I knew the facts in the books would be
correct even though the stories were fiction." A half smile quirked her
lips. "I always had this . . . this silly dream that one day you'd turn
into a lawyer-detective like Perry Mason."

Lucas gave a rueful laugh. "The
only time I get to play detective is when I hunt for precedents." Rolling
on his side, his long fingers walked the few inches needed to curve around her
wrist. "That was really a wonderful thing for you to do, Mandy." His
deep voice held no hint of teasing.

"I always liked being able to
share in what you were studying, Lucas. I knew I'd drive you crazy with
questions, so . . ."

"Actually," his thumb and
forefinger smoothed his dark moustache, "I have a confession to
make." At her inquiring arched brow, Lucas gave a self-conscious laugh.
"I used to read all those
Women's Wear Daily's
you tossed out so I
wouldn't make any fashion faux pas and say that Coco Chanel was a type of
French hot chocolate."

Amanda leaned from the waist, her
lips a breath away from his firmly molded mouth. "She was, Lucas."
Her fingers caressed the white collar and placket on his burgundy sport shirt.
"Very French, very hot and…" her eyes glittered like onyx rimmed with
silver, "just as consuming a passion as choc-o-late." She was
flirting again but neither of them seemed to mind.

"I'm buying you a housewarming
present," Amanda announced at breakfast.

Lucas looked over the top of the
sports section. "Don't be silly! All the decorating you're doing is
certainly present enough." He refilled his empty mug from the carafe
sitting on the kitchen counter.

"No. No. I really want to. I
insist."

"Okay."

She laughed and shook her head.
"You're such a hard sell, Lucas!"

"Hey, I know better than to
argue with you." He confiscated the last piece of toast. "What am I
getting?"

Amanda tapped the newspaper.
"Neiman's January in April white sale starts tomorrow. Since you're taking
me into Dallas, I can stop and get you new bath towels." She sipped her
coffee. "Listen to these colors: cantaloupe, peach, cinnamon,
nutmeg."

"Sounds a little too fruity and
spicy for me." Lucas' words were mumbled around buttered bread.

"Listen," she pulled down
the newspaper, "as a guest, your towels leave a lot to be desired. You've
got -" Amanda held up her hand, her fingers ticking off each statement,
"five from various hotels, four from NYU, three from the health club, two
from the U.S. Army and…"

"A partridge in a pear
tree?" His hazel eyes were alive with laughter.

She gave an unladylike snort.
"Believe me, Lucas, I don't think any bird would consider nesting in one
of your towels."

"Okay, okay," his hands
were held in a gesture of surrender. "Just buy more spice than
fruits." The digital display on his watch snagged his attention.
"I've got to run. It's going to be all day in court for me." Lucas
slid off the barstool and reached for the raw silk jacket that matched his
taupe slacks.

"I'm going to phone in a
wallpaper order. I found the perfect pattern for the kitchen and one for the
foyer in those sample books I prowled through last night." Amanda twisted
around in the swivel seat, reaching up to straighten the lopsided knot in his
gold and black striped tie. "You look very nice." She patted the
light blue shirt collar.

His nose wrinkled at her
paint-spattered work clothes. "Well, despite your tawdry attire, Miss
Wyatt," bending his head, Lucas rested his forehead against hers,
"it's certainly wonderful to see your beautiful face over the newspaper in
the morning." He had meant to kiss her nose but somehow his mouth found it
impossible to ignore the silent invitation of her lips.

***

Amanda ordered a flame-stitched,
earth-toned fabric for the entry hall and a leather look-alike in bronze for
the kitchen. She was promised delivery early on Friday along with the
appropriate hanging tools and paste.

Intricate plots and characters on the
daytime soap operas kept her company while she sculpted stucco swirls on the
last two walls and made necessary touch-ups. The couple on TV were enjoying a romantic
interlude on a sunny Caribbean island (totally ignorant of the evil being
plotted against them) when Amanda rudely became aware that she too was being
threatened.

The sunlight illuminating her work
area was rapidly dissipating, and by four o'clock the clear, azure Texas sky
resembled midnight. Rain had yet to make an appearance, but thunder and
lightning heralded its imminent arrival.

Lucas, however, proved more turbulent
than the forthcoming storm. His raging masculine bellow caused Amanda to drop
her trowel. "What the hell!"

An upraised hand halted her question,
even more so than the violent expression that contorted his normally placid
features. Lucas marched through the house and through the patio doorway, jacket
and tie thrown in his wake.

Amanda gave an expressive shrug,
wiped her hands on a cloth and followed. She found him at the woodpile, yanking
an ax from a tree stump.

"You lost the case."

"I did not lose the case."
He placed a log on the stump, motioned for her to step back, then heaved the
ax. The wood was split neatly in two.

"You had an accident."

"I did not have an
accident." Another limb shattered under the guillotine blade, the dry wood
crackling louder than the lightning.

"You got a ticket."

"I did not get a ticket."
Lucas cleared his throat, wiping his sweat-beaded forehead on his shirt sleeve.
"I have a headache."

Amanda's mouth twisted in a grimace,
her toes burrowed into the dirt. "I didn't know chopping wood was more
effective than aspirin." Three more boughs were lacerated.

"Aspirin," he took two deep
steadying breaths, his massive chest heaving under inner tensions,
"aspirin will not cure this headache. A drink will not cure this
headache." Lucas grabbed another log. "Destroying something . . .
that will cure this headache."

A large drop of rain splashed
Amanda's arm. Her face turned upward, more droplets pelted her cheek and nose.
"Why don't I get cleaned up and start dinner." She reached for a few
pieces of the already stacked firewood. "Whenever you finish destroying
your quota," she said, shivering against another wet assault, "why
don't you come in and we can talk."

The slate hearth was set in lieu of a
table. Pristine white plates, polished silverware and two crystal goblets
waited impatiently to hold a banquet of roasted hot dogs, German potato salad
and long necks - Lone Star's finest brew.

A sheepish Lucas knelt on the floor
cushion, his dark gaze focused on the warm, steady flame that crackled in a
friendly greeting.

"Mustard, relish and onions. One
perfectly accessorized frankfurter." Amanda placed the bun-wrapped entree
on his plate. "Are you feeling any better?"

"Un-huh." He shook a bottle
free of the ice-packed spittoon, twisted the cap and poured two glasses of
beer, the foam a perfect half-inch head on the golden, effervescent liquid.

Amanda sighed and complacently chewed
her dinner. "Of course, you do realize you're going to be arrested for
murder."

His dark brows pulled together in
silent confusion.

"I'm dying of curiosity."
She wiped her mouth on a napkin, her words exhaled in a rush. "You chopped
enough wood for two winters, then you were in the shower for twenty minutes,
took your sweet time changing into a sweat shirt and jeans and now…"
Amanda's hands cradled Lucas' face, "you're sitting here not saying a
word." Her fingers rubbed against the stubble on his jaw. "Lucas, you
know I hate the strong, silent type!"

Two heavy masculine arms were draped
around her neck. Lucas rested his chin on Amanda's soft, terry-covered
shoulder. "I had a terrible day, Mandy." He groaned in her ear,
taking a deep breath. The clean soap-scent of her skin excited his nostrils.
His hands roamed freely over her back, fingers making random zigzags in the
blue material. "I wished the courtroom floor had opened up and swallowed
me, but it didn't."

"Poor baby." Amanda wrapped
her arms around him, hugging Lucas as if he were a small child. "What
happened?"

"This was the most idiotic
insurance case I've ever handled. The people were con artists, the claim was a
fraud and their attorney is one of the city's best-known shysters."

"But Lucas, you said you didn't
lose the case."

"I know. I didn't. I won."

"Lucas." Amanda's voice
lowered in a distinct threat, her fingers giving a light tug against the thick
hair that curled on the nape. "What happened?"

Another groan was issued. "I had
just finished punching holes in the so-called eyewitness' testimony when the
aforementioned lady witness said to the judge," Lucas' deep voice rose
three octaves: "Your Honor, that attorney's so cute. I want to know if
he'll go out with me tonight."

Amanda coughed, cleared her throat
but couldn't contain the hysterical bubble that finally erupted. She collapsed
backward on the floor, hands trying to ward off Lucas' irate strangler attack.
"I'm sorry. Really. . ." she sniffed and blinked. "That's why
you were so upset, because she called you cute?"

"Damn it, Mandy, of course I was
upset." Disgusted with her reaction, he turned back to his dinner. "I
did not appreciate being called cute when I was trying to be tough and
uncompromising." He drained his glass, hoping the cold beer would temper
his anger. "The courtroom broke up, and so did Judge Hollander. I was
demoralized." Another beer cap was twisted.

"Lucas." Amanda scrambled
on her knees to his side. Her hand caught his face, thumb and pinky finding the
dimpled indentations in his cheeks. "You are cute."

Lucas pulled away. "Amanda, cute
is fine when you're three," his tone curt and cold.

She cleared her throat and sighed.
"You're absolutely right." Her fingernail lightly scratched a jagged
line from his eye to the corner of his frowning mouth. "How about a
scar?" Her laughing suggestion was rewarded by a hot dog stuffed between
her lips.

***

The Jaguar turned past the Quadrangle
Shopping Center and headed for Cedar Springs. "I really love this part of
the city," Lucas told Amanda. "The homes have been converted to
offices, restaurants and boutiques. It's very…" he searched for the
correct adjective, "quaint and relaxed, more so than the glass-and-steel
edifices downtown."

Amanda's gray eyes studied his rugged
profile. "Just as long as no one describes the area as cute." Her
smile belied her grave tone.

He reached over and rearranged her
sienna curls. "Stop it, Mandy," came his gruff warning. "You teased
me enough last night."

"Did I ever tell you that my
mother's initial reaction to you was -"

"If you value your life, don't
say -"

"Cute!" The word was spoken
in unison. The tiny car echoed with shared laughter.

"This is charming," Amanda agreed
as the sports car was parked in front of a post-World War II-style bungalow.
The gabled roof and porch stood white against deep red aluminum siding. At the
front door, she paused to let her fingertips trace the engraved letters on the
shingle that proclaimed: Lucas Crosse, Attorney-at-Law. "I can't believe
you still have this." Amanda shook her head in amazement. "I gave
that to you -"

"Nine years ago," Lucas
supplied. His hand slid around her neck. "I packed that sign away with
inordinate care. I knew someday it would grace my own office."

The reception area was attractive and
functional in design. The black and pewter tweed carpet emphasized the
monochromatic color scheme. Smart, polished chrome sled-base chairs, with black
upholstered arms and seats, formed dual modular groupings that were serviced by
glass and chrome end tables. Crisp white plaster walls displayed large
photographs that depicted old and new Dallas in historical daguerreotypes.

"The building rented furnished.
Fortunately my office isn't quite this modern," Lucas explained, hanging
Amanda's desert-hued striped jacket on the valet rack. "I share half the
building with Gary LaBelle. He's a C.P.A. and we often give each other
clients."

An interior door swung open. A
jovial, thinly lined feminine face framed by close-cropped black hair peered
out. "Good morning, Mr. Crosse. I thought I heard someone out here."

"Gloria Dale, meet Amanda
Wyatt." Lucas' broad smile encompassed both women. "Gloria keeps both
offices running smoothly. She's our resident wizard."

"That new computer system you
and Gary bought, that's what makes me a wizard." Gloria moved behind her
desk, settling her bifocals into position. Dark brown eyes assessed Amanda's
jade blouse and burlap brown bias skirt that was casually elegant compared to
her own austere gray flannel suit.