Fiancé at Her Fingertips (15 page)

He took her reading material from her. “You mean you can read me like you read
this
book?” he asked.

“It’s a romance, isn’t it?” she said. “Of course, I haven’t
finished the book where you’re concerned.” She looked up at Debra and back. “Why, I don’t believe we’ve even reached the climax yet. The ending’s still up in the air, you know. But eventually there will be a happy ending.”

“How do you know the ending will be a happy one, Gertrude?” Logan asked.

“My dear boy, romance novels always have happy endings.”

Debra was convinced she must be as red as Gee Gee’s candy-apple red lipstick at all this talk of romance and happy endings. Gee Gee couldn’t know that there would be no happy endings for her and Logan. How could there be? By all that was sane and logical, there shouldn’t even be a Logan! Should there? He was simply the stuff dreams were made of.

Debra chewed her lip. When had the lines between real and imaginary begun to blur? When had she started to think of Logan Alexander as a real man who could be the answer to her dreams? A man everyone already believed to be the man in her life? And since when was she content to let them keep on believing just that? These questions and a multitude more ragged at her.

To her relief, Tom arrived with his family in tow. Introductions were made all around, and Debra frowned at the easy familiarity with which Tom and his family greeted Logan. They laughed and teased one another in an easygoing manner, as if they’d known each other for years.

When they all sat down to a lunch of teriyaki chicken breasts, potato salad, cole slaw, baked beans, and Gee Gee’s Boston cream pie, Debra found herself sandwiched between Logan and Suzi at the redwood picnic table. The hum of divergent voices droned around her, and Debra’s head began to throb again. She struggled to keep track of all the fractured conversations, determined to steer dangerous subject matters back to safer ground.

“Logan’s quite the golfer,” Debra’s father was saying. “Smacks that ball like there’s no tomorrow! Remind me to
show you the dandy trophy we got at The Oaks Charity Best Ball tourney a few weeks back.” Okay. Good. Golf was a benign subject.

“Alva, this potato salad needs more mustard.”

“I didn’t use mustard, Mother.”

“I knew something was missing.”

“Grandma, can I have a hot dog?”

“We’re having chicken, Shawn,” she told one of Tom’s sons.

“Are we having homemade ice cream, Grandma?”

“Later, Stephen,” she told the other.

“Can we swim?”

“
Later
, Stephen.”

“This isn’t my coleslaw recipe, Alva!”

“That’s right, Mother.”

“You been keeping that Suburban serviced, son?”

“Every twenty-five hundred miles, Dad.”

Suzi elbowed Debra, no doubt sensing her discomfort. “No wonder you kept Lawyer Logan under wraps all this time. Smart girl. I’m impressed.”

“Logan tells me you two met at the courthouse, Debra. You’re a social worker?” Ione Alexander spoke up.

Suzi jabbed Debra again. “She’s talking to you, Deb,” her friend whispered. “Get your mind off lover boy there for a minute, would you?”

Debra gathered her frazzled thoughts. “I’m sorry. What was that, Mrs. Alexander?”

“I was saying that Logan told us he first saw you at the county courthouse. He said you were there with some homeless fellow. Something about a bicycle.”

Debra blinked. Dear God. How on earth had Logan Alexander learned of Mr. Cooley and his bike? The incident with Mr. Cooley had happened weeks ago, and she hadn’t told a soul. And she certainly would have recalled having met the God’s-gift-to-women attorney-at-law at the time. What in the world was going on?

“Debra? You were telling us about this homeless fellow with the bike,” her mother prompted.

“He wasn’t really homeless,” she found herself explaining the unexplainable. “He lives with his sister. On occasion he just doesn’t make it home. He has a lot of friends in the neighborhood. He depends on his bicycle for transportation, and the neighborhood depends on him to provide invaluable assistance to the homebound, like picking up prescriptions and groceries. His bicycle was stolen by some young thugs. We were there to get the judge to order restitution and replacement of the bike.”

“And, I suppose, when you think about it, running into each other in a courthouse isn’t that unusual, considering your son is an attorney and my daughter, Debra, is a kind of court liaison,” my mother broke in. Apparently she preferred a courthouse meeting to a mall pickup.

“Hey, better than meeting in jail, huh?” Suzi slapped Debra on the back. “That’s where she met that dishy state trooper!”

Debra choked on the potato salad—minus mustard—and Suzi pounded her on the back again.

“Here.” Her friend handed her a glass of iced tea and went on: “Of course, Debra wasn’t being detained or arrested at the time. Were you?” she teased.

Debra rubbed her chin. “Hmmm. Let me think. Wasn’t that the time I was booked for assault with intent to throttle my best friend?”

Everyone laughed. Everyone except Logan’s mother.

“She’s kidding,” Suzi maintained. “I never filed charges.”

“Your mother called you a court liaison,” Ione Alexander went on. “I understood you were a social worker, Debra.”

Debra nodded, wondering how the devil she’d found herself in the unique position of defending her occupation to someone who, odds were, couldn’t exist. “I majored in social work with a minor in psychology. I’m an investigator for the state’s Crime Victims Assistance Bureau.”

“What does such an investigator do?” Ione quizzed. “Wouldn’t any investigation be conducted by law enforcement agencies?”

“The investigator tag is a job title, not a job description,”
Debra explained. “We assist victims of crimes in obtaining restitution. We also provide counseling services for victims and their families, and assistance and support with legal proceedings and court appearances and so on. We’re the people in the victim’s corner, so to speak.”

“You know. The
good
guys,” Suzi piped in.

Ione seemed not to notice. She shook her head. “State workers are notoriously underpaid, aren’t they?”

Debra found herself bristling. “I enjoy what I do.” She couldn’t hide the defensiveness in her voice.

“Of course you do, dear.” Logan’s mother nodded. “Of course you do.”

Debra looked down, surprisingly deflated. Her hand was taken and cradled by Logan’s large tan one.

“Debra has made a big difference in the lives of countless people who had no one else to turn to. She’s made it her life’s work to stand up for those who can’t stand up for themselves, to speak for those who cannot effectively speak for themselves, to care for those people whom society at large would just as soon pretend didn’t exist. She endures low pay and long hours and many times unsatisfied clients—a thankless job, some would say. I say, thank God there are people out there like Debra who still give a damn.”

Debra turned to stare at him, stunned by his fierce defense. How on earth could he know anything about her work? Her job? About her, period?

“Satisfaction with one’s position in life is so important,” Ione said. “As is fulfilling one’s potential. That’s why we support Logan’s political ambitions and encourage him to consider a run for Congress at some point. But, of course, he’s discussed this with you, Debra.”

Debra’s look turned quizzical. Congress? Oh, yes. Lawyer Logan’s profile sheet had mentioned something about an interest in politics.

“Debra and I haven’t discussed politics in much depth yet, Mother,” Logan admitted. “Other things keep coming up.” He winked at Debra and smiled.

“You’re planning a run for Congress?” Debra asked, once again bilious.

“Not in the immediate future,” he said. “But perhaps down the road a ways.”

“Did you hear that, Stuart? Logan wants to enter politics!” Debra’s mother was thrilled, and not afraid to show it. “Imagine that! A politician!”

Debra could imagine the thoughts ricocheting about in her mother’s head:
Congressman and Mrs. Logan Alexander. Senator
and Mrs. Logan Alexander. The Honorable Logan Alexander and
his wife, Debra Alexander
. The expression on her mother’s face was nothing short of rapturous.

“Politicians.” Debra’s grandmother snorted. “A bunch of namby-pamby, hand-in-your-pocket, phony-baloneys,” she said. “Never knew one who didn’t talk out of both sides of his mouth. You sure you want to crawl into bed with those Beltway buffoons?” Gertrude Shaw asked.

Logan grinned. “That wouldn’t be my first choice, Gertrude,” he said. His eyes rested on Debra. “Not by a long shot.”

“You’ll need a wife,” Debra’s grandmother announced. “As good-looking as you are, if you’re not married, everyone will assume you’re gay.”

“Mother!”

“Grandma!”

“Gertrude!”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, I’m just stating the obvious,” Gram said.

“I agree with Debra’s grandmother on one count,” Ione Alexander remarked. “A wife is a very important asset to a political candidate—providing, of course, she is suitable.”

Did Debra imagine the emphasis Ione placed on the word
suitable
?

Logan curled an arm around Debra’s shoulders and drew her close. He bent toward her. “Okay, sweetheart, I guess this is as good a time as any to pose a very important question to you, one I’ve been putting off for far too long. And
I warn you, Debra, the answer may well sound the death knell to our relationship.”

Debra licked sandpaper lips. My God, her fabricated Fiancé couldn’t possibly be suggesting…

“Uh, what question is that?” she asked with a noticeable tremor in her voice.

Logan took her hand in his and looked into her eyes. “Debra Josephine Daniels…” he said, “are you a Republican or a Demo crat?”

Debra Daniels, registered Independent, fell off the picnic bench laughing.

“Do you see much of Clay, my boy?” Logan’s father asked.

“Clay is one of Logan’s best friends,” Ione Alexander explained. “He’s into corporate restructuring or something like that. Right, dear?”

Logan nodded. “Clay keeps busy,” he said.

“Catrina sends her love, Logan.” Ione Alexander’s comment was directed to her son, but the accompanying look was all for Debra. “The poor dear could use your support right now, you know.”

Oh, goody
. Her
again
. The mysterious ex-girlfriend Logan had mentioned to Debra the first time they’d met. The woman whose precipitous phone call to Logan’s apartment had been as effective as a pitcher of ice water. The same woman Logan’s mother had been going on and on about, ad nauseam, since they’d finished eating an hour ago.

“I know she’s been through a difficult time with that husband of hers,” Logan replied.

“Soon-to-be-ex-husband, I hope,” his mother corrected. “Why she ever married that man, I’ll never know!”

“Might’ve had something to do with the seven-figure income he was pulling down at the time,” Logan’s father commented. “Catrina has always enjoyed the finer things in life.”

Behind her discount sunglasses, Debra stifled her giggle with a cough. For every “Catrina this, Catrina that” comment
Logan’s mother gushed, Warren Alexander countered with cynical precision.

Ione: “Catrina’s a beautiful girl.”

Warren: “Girl? She’s hardly a girl.”

Ione: “She wears a size two.”

Warren: “Always wondered if she had one of those eating disorders.”

Ione: “Catrina has gone back to school for her second MBA.”

Warren (confidingly): “One of those professional students who can’t figure out what they want to be when they grow up.”

Ione: “Catrina and Logan were high school and college sweethearts.”

Warren: “Her first BA.”

In the lounger next to Debra, Grandma Gertie began to fidget.

“Who’s she carrying on about? The Virgin Mary?” she remarked.

“Shush, Gram!”

“Catrina’s a
lovely
girl,” Ione went on. “At one time we hoped…thought she’d be one of the family.”

“You wanted to adopt her?” Grandma Gertie’s outlandish comment caught even Debra off guard.

“Adopt her? Oh, no, Mrs. Shaw. As close as they always were, we assumed Logan and Catrina would end up getting married someday.”

“I thought you said she was married.”

“Well, she is. We just thought they would end up being married to each other. If Catrina hadn’t shown such uncharacteristic poor judgment and married that horrible Travers fellow—”

“If ifs and buts were candy and nuts, what a merry Christmas we’d all have,” Debra’s grandmother commented. “Now, me, I tend to believe things happen for a reason. And looking back doesn’t do anything but give you a crick in the neck and keep you from seeing where the hell you’re going. Me? I never look back. Not ever. Not since the time I
stepped off the walkway and into the fish pond at the St. Louis Zoo that one year. You remember that, Alva? All those gigantic goldfish nipping at me? When I got home, I found two dead fish in my brassiere.”

“Mother, this is hardly the time or place to bring up that unfortunate incident!” Debra’s mother scolded.

“Unfortunate incident? I almost ended up Chicken of the Sea!”

“Gram!”

“Mother!”

“Besides, Barbie-doll perfection is dull as dirt.” Grandma Gertie didn’t pause for a breath. She had the bit between her teeth and was not about to be reined in. “Men like a woman with a little substance to her, a bit of backbone, a hefty dose of gumption, not some Stepford trophy wife. Don’t you agree, Logan?”

Debra wanted to crawl under the patio table and not come out until everyone had returned to their own little fictional worlds. Thanks to her grandmother this conversation was drifting in a dangerous direction, with treacherous falls ahead. And as sick and tired as she was of hearing Logan’s mother sing the praises of Catrina the Magnificent—who named their offspring Catrina, anyway?—she did not want her grandmother advocating Debra’s candidacy as the woman of substance in Logan’s life. This was a limited performance she was giving, created out of desperation, concern, and, yes, a touch of insanity. All right: more than a touch. Somehow she’d gone from being a competent professional to the blond equivalent of Betty Boop.

Her mind was taken off her dilemma by the pressure of Logan’s fingers squeezing her biceps. “Definitely a woman of substance here,” he said in answer to Gee Gee’s remark. “She can sure swing a mean golf club. And, yes, Gertrude, I do like a woman with some
bite
to her.” As if to punctuate that point, Logan grabbed Debra’s wrist and brought it to his mouth, taking several playful nips from the soft underside of her arm. Debra shivered.

“Logan, stop teasing that girl!” Ione Alexander scolded. “You’re embarrassing her!”

That
girl
? Debra had the sudden urge to tell Lawyer Logan’s mother to butt out, that Debra wasn’t complaining.

“So, Suzi, what do you do, dear?”

Aha, so Ione could remember names when she wanted to.

“Me? Uh, I’m the assistant human resources director for a major publishing company. Gee, I sound like a contestant on
Wheel of Fortune
, don’t I?” Suzi giggled and wiped some of Gram’s Boston cream pie from her mouth.

“How exciting,” Ione exclaimed. “I imagine you’ve acquired quite a bit of expertise in the area of public relations, haven’t you? Why, you’re probably even qualified to run a political campaign.”

Under the glass-topped umbrella table, Suzi’s foot tromped Debra’s toes. “I’m not much into politics,” she said, “but you wouldn’t believe some of the situations and complaints I’ve encountered during my tenure in personnel.” Suzi began counting off with her fingers. “Let’s see, I’ve had feuding office mates, feuding supervisors, smokers’-rights advocates, antismoking-rights advocates, employees with beefs about insufficient lighting, beefs about too much lighting, too-early work hours, too-late work hours, spats over office space, office decor, office foliage, chair complaints, hair complaints, air complaints—they call it sick building syndrome now, you know—and while we’re on the subject of air complaints, wait until I tell you about the BO battle.”

“BO battle?”

Debra’s foot switched places with Suzi’s.

Her friend shrugged. “Later,” she promised, and winked at Ione Alexander, who dabbed at her mouth with a napkin and excused herself to powder her nose.

“Was it something I said?” Suzi whispered to Debra with a grin. “I guess it’s safe to assume dear old Ione has crossed me off her list of suitable women.” She victoriously shoved another forkful of Boston cream pie into her mouth. “Easy come, easy go.”

“Can we swim now, Mom?” Debra’s ten-year-old nephew, Stephen, approached his mother, Debra’s sister-in-law, Candi. “It’s been over an hour since we ate.”

“
Please
, Mom.” Eight-year-old Shawn added his own entreaty to his brother’s.

Candi, a teacher with large reserves of patience, wiped Shawn’s ketchupy face with a napkin and nodded. “Go ahead,” she said.

The boys grinned, then ran straight for Auntie Debra.

“What do you two characters want?” she asked. “The last time you got this close to me, you put an ugly old woolly worm on my shoulder.”

“I remember that,” her brother Tom remarked. “You screamed so long and loud we were all convinced you had a career in scary movies.”

Debra stuck her tongue out at him and countered, “Perhaps this is a good time to bring up the story of you running out of the house in nothing but your skivvies the time the bat got in your room.”

“Woolly worm?” Tom said. “What woolly worm?”

“You are coming in with us, aren’t you, Aunt Deb?” the boys whined in stereo. “You haven’t been swimming with us since you gave us lessons last summer. Please, please, please!”

Debra ruffled their hair. “Okay, okay, but take pity on this old lady, will you?”

Shawn ran to Logan. “What about you, Logan? Will you swim with us?”

Debra frowned. The last thing she needed was a frolic in the pool in the company of a half-naked cardboard cutout with Cruella De Vil looking on.

“Boys, Logan doesn’t have trunks with him,” she said with fake regret, and stood.

Logan stood, too. “As a matter of fact, Tom called to remind me to throw a suit in my bag, in case the weather cooperated. That’s a nice pool your grandparents have there, boys, and I’m anxious to see what kind of swim instructor
your aunt is.” He leaned toward Debra. “Maybe you can give me a few tips on my breaststroke, Auntie Deb.”

Debra shot him a dark look, followed by one at her brother for good measure.

“Come on, Aunt Deb.” The boys each grabbed a hand and started pulling her toward the pool. “Last one in is a phlegm wad!”

Debra yanked the boys to a stop. “You keep talking like that and you’ll both be landlubbers, maties!” she warned.

“I’m sorry, Aunt Deb,” Stephen apologized. “Last one in is an…an old maid!” he amended. They clearly had been around Debra’s mom way too much.

“Why, you!” Debra made a grab for her nephews. “I’ll make you pay for that, you little twerps.”

The duo took off, giggling and pointing, while their old maid aunt tried to navigate herself out of her sundress as she made for the pool. She dragged the dress over her head and threw it on a nearby chair. Hopping on one foot, then the other, she removed her sandals.

“What? No bikini?” Logan caught up to her and pointed at her black-and-gold one-piece. “I’m disappointed,” he said.

“No, you’re all wet,” Debra countered, and made an exaggerated jump into the pool, showering him with a generous spray of chlorinated water. She struck out with long, powerful strokes, careful not to look back for fear that she would catch the compelling yet complicated counselor stripping. She so didn’t want to go there—not with Logan’s disapproving mother looking on.

Taking a lap, Debra reveled in the motion of her buoyant body cutting through the brisk coolness of the water. Once she’d shown an aptitude for swimming, her father had decided to put in an in-ground pool. She’d spent countless hours as a youth swimming laps and training. For a brief time now, she cast off the anchors of worry and stress, content to float in solitude, at one with her body, if not her mind.

Debra’s tranquillity was short-lived. Her waist was clamped in a viselike grip, and she was hauled underwater. She
blinked away the sting of chlorine and spotted a blurry Logan inches away. His hands tightened around her waist, and moments later his wet lips were sealed against hers, giving her his breath. He folded her body to his and pushed them back upward.

When they broke the surface of the water, Debra gasped for air, and Logan took advantage of the opportunity to deepen an already intimate kiss. Despite her original annoyance, Debra’s body molded itself to Logan’s, and she clung to his tanned, corded neck.

She sighed at the sheer intensity of the exquisite sensations overtaking her. Why did this man feel so right in her arms when he was so clearly wrong for her? For all she knew she could be lying somewhere in a hospital, and when she awoke this man—this incredibly mesmerizing man—would vanish as mysteriously as he had appeared.

Debra embraced Logan, uncomfortably aware that the thought of Lawyer Logan disappearing from her life was not nearly as palatable as it had been a month earlier. The strength of her growing attachment to him stunned her. Frightened her.

“Debra and Logan, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G. First comes love, then comes marriage. Then comes Logan with the baby carriage!” Her nephews chanted the childish nursery rhyme, and Debra pulled her lips from Logan’s, embarrassed by her convincing portrayal of a woman in love. And lust.

“I’m sorry,” she said, for lack of anything better to say. She stared down at the aqua blue water.

“I’m not,” Logan replied, and he gripped her chin, forcing her to look at him.

Seeing her own tattered control reflected in his beautiful blue eyes, she shivered. “The water’s cold,” she said, attempting to explain away her obvious reaction to his touch.

“Not cold enough,” Logan said, pressing his groin to hers, leaving her in no doubt that he was as affected by their closeness as she.

Debra flinched. “The boys—”

“Know I’m crazy about you.”

“They’re half-right,” Debra muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Listen, what do you say we get away from here?” he whispered.

Debra frowned. “I think our mothers would find that rather rude.”

Logan shook his head. “I don’t mean right this minute, Debra. I was thinking of a long weekend together, just the two of us.”

“Long weekend? Just the two of us?”

Logan nodded. “It seems like ages since we’ve spent time together, without parents or grandparents looking on. We could use some time alone.”

“Just the two of us?” Debra repeated, so shell-shocked that she couldn’t think.

He nodded. “Just you and me, kid.”

“Alone?”

“I thought a couple days in the Windy City would do us some good,” he suggested.

Debra shook her head back and forth, just managing to stop herself from screaming something totally asinine, like,
Take me! I’m yours!

“Impossible,” she said, instead. “My dad—”

“Is doing very well. As a matter of fact, he’s all for it. He thinks it will do you a world of good to get away for a few days. He says you’ve been fretting over him too much.”

“My job—”

“Can survive without you for a day or two. Your secretary says you’ve got so much vacation built up you’re maxed out and losing it.”

“But—”

“No buts. This is just what the lawyer ordered,” Logan said, and put his hands on her shoulders. “We’ll take in a ball
game, see a show, attend a bar association awards banquet, ride to the top of the Sears Tower, go shopping—”

Debra stopped Lawyer Logan in midsummation. “Hold on. Wait a second. Back up there a bit. What was that about a bar association banquet? Banquet, as in a banquet room full of lawyers? Uh, thanks, but no, thanks. I’ve got more enjoyable things to do, like tweeze my eyebrows, take a pumice stone to my feet, and, if I’m real lucky, I’ll still have time to clean the oven. A roomful of lawyers? Surely you jest.”