Foul Play (3 page)

“Never drink coffee. Makes me nervous.” Amy placed her wineglass on the toaster. “Look, I can make my wineglass wobble on the toaster, can you do that?”

She took an unsteady step toward him and walked her fingers up the front of his shirt. “Know what? I'm drunk as a skunk. Good thing you're such a nice person. There are men who would take advantage of a situation like this.”

Jake watched her fingers move from his
collar to his neck. They slid along the outer rim of his ear and tangled in his hair. He felt her breasts nudge against the wall of his chest and he wasn't sure if he deserved her trusting compliment.

“That's me…all-around nice person.” What was she doing now? Lord, she was nibbling at the base of his throat. And her hands…where were her hands going? “Listen, Amy, even nice people lose control. I mean, they have moments when—”

“Not me. Never lose control. Cool as a cucumber.”

“Easy for you to say, but it's hard for me to be cool when you've got your hands on my backside.”

Amy looked down. Sure enough, her hands had found their way into his back pockets. She must be dreaming because she'd never attacked—never even
thought
of attacking—a man in her life. “Oh. Does that bother you?”

“Yes!”

“Me too. Is it warm in here?”

“I thought you were cool. Never lost control.”

“Never have before.” Her eyes opened wide. “This could be a moment-ee-ous occasion. You know why, Jake? Because you make me tingle. That's a first. Are you going to be the first? Wanna know where I tingle?”

“I could be your first?”

“Don't you want to know about the tingles?”

“No. I want to know about the momentous occasion.”

She shook her head sadly. “It's never happened.”

“Wait a minute,” Jake said, “don't tell me you've never—”

“Never.”

“You mean, you're a—”

“Yup.”

A virgin, for Pete's sake. A twenty-six-year-old virgin. He'd thought they'd gone the way of the dinosaur. Jake held her at arm's length. What the devil was he supposed to do with a drunk virgin? Not that he was in the habit of taking advantage of defenseless women—but he had plans for this particular woman. Romantic plans.

“D'ya know, some men don't like that I'm a…um, inexperienced person.”

Jake gently tucked an errant curl behind her ear and realized, with chagrined shock, that he wasn't one of those men. It had caught him by surprise, but the more he thought about it, the better he liked it. It was refreshing to find a woman who'd decided to wait for marriage. And if Amy had decided to wait for marriage, then that was fine with him—because he'd already decided to marry her.

Suddenly, she went slack in his arms, as if some great weight had descended upon her shoulders. “Amy?”

“Wow,” she said. “Wine sure makes me tired.”

Jake scooped her up into his arms and grinned. The little tyke was out on her feet. “Where's your bedroom?”

She nuzzled against his shoulder. “You animal.”

“That's me, Jake the Animal. Is your bedroom upstairs or downstairs?”

“Downstairs.” Amy's eyes opened wide. “Are you going to…deflower me?”

“Not tonight.”

“Darn.” Amy was surprised at that. Virginity had been fine this morning. It had felt comfortable last night and last week. It was all the chicken's fault, she thought. Somehow, the chicken had made her dissatisfied with virginity. Gosh, her head felt funny.

“I think you'll feel differently in the morning,” Jake said, smiling. He gently set her down on her bed and set off to find a nightie for her to change into. He opened a dresser drawer and found red silk teddies, flimsy panties, and wispy lace bras. Didn't look like virginal clothes to him. “Uh, you sure—”

“Trust me. I'm as pure as you can get.” She gave him a big wink.

“So where are your sensible nightgowns?”

Amy looked at him with unfocused eyes. “Jake? I have the whirlies.”

Jake shook his head. “How could you get so drunk on one glass of wine?”

“I never drink anything stronger than root beer.”

“So why did you have wine tonight?”

“I wasn't thinking. You have that effect on me. I get all flustered, and then I do dopey things.”

Jake felt his heart skip a beat.

“And you make me tingle. I've never tingled before. You know what? I like to tingle.”

“Maybe you're hyperventilating.”

“All by myself?”

Jake grinned. “Usually hyperventilating is a solitary activity.”

“Well, I'm tired of solitivity actarities.”

“Okay, maybe sometime when you're sober we can hyperventilate together.” He selected an ivory nightshirt from her lingerie drawer. It wasn't sensible, but it wasn't totally decadent, either. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he began to carefully unbutton Amy's blouse.

“I thought you weren't going to deflower me.”

“I'm not deflowering you. I'm dedressing you. I'm putting you to bed. Alone.”

“Party pooper.”

“Don't push me.”

Jake slid her shirt off her shoulders and groaned at the sight of her in a practically transparent, filmy lace bra. This was torture. Retribution for cheating on his third-grade spelling test. Penance for running yellow lights. And there was Mary Ann Kwiatkowski. When he was in the sixth grade he'd traded a three-page book report for a peek under Mary Ann Kwiatkowski's skirt. She'd gotten a D on the report, and now God was getting him for swindling Mary Ann Kwiatkowski.

Amy grabbed the nightshirt. “I don't think it's proper to dedress someone unless she asks you to.” Amy smiled. “Will you?”

He clenched his teeth.
Elliott, don't even think of it!
“Will you be okay if I leave you alone?”

“I suppose so, but, well, this has been very disappointing, Jacob. I finally decide to ask for help dedressing, and what happens? I can't find anyone to do it.”

Jake smiled and closed the bedroom door. He suspected this was not an ordinary day in the life of Amy Klasse. Amy Klasse was
obviously intelligent and gutsy. She had high professional and personal standards and possessed the self-discipline to maintain those standards…until tonight. Her self-discipline had done a definite nosedive halfway into the meatballs.

He returned to the kitchen and took time to examine the room. Like the rest of the house, it was bright but serene. A rose-and-turquoise Tiffany lamp hung over a round pine table. A deep-purple African violet in a new clay pot served as a centerpiece. The appliances looked new—as did the countertops and pine cabinets. Lulu the Clown must have commanded a decent salary. The house wasn't flashy, but it had a feel of well-chosen quality to it. Jake liked it. It was comfy.

He looked at the bowl of meatball gook and scratched his head. He should do something with it, but what? When in doubt, put it in the refrigerator. He poured himself another glass of wine and hummed happily as he slid a frozen chicken dinner into the oven. He remembered Spot and added a tray of frozen lasagna.

Amy opened one eye and sniffed. A wonderful aroma was drifting into her bedroom. A food-type aroma. That was impossible. She squinted at her clock radio. Seven-thirty. She looked at the multicolored alley cat sleeping at the foot of her bed. “Motley, have you been cooking French toast?”

Motley twitched his ears and looked at her through half-closed eyes.

The ivory nightshirt lying on the floor caught Amy's attention. If the nightshirt was on the floor—then what was she sleeping in? Her bra and her skirt. A fuzzy memory of being undressed crept into her brain. It was followed by the memory of a conversation about deflowering.

“Oh no,” she said. “I didn't. I couldn't have!” Motley was lounging on her white blouse. Good lord, maybe she had.

Jake knocked lightly on the bedroom door before pushing it open with his foot. “Glad to see you're awake.”

Amy's mouth dropped open. There was a man in her bedroom. Jacob Elliott, to be exact. She squeezed her eyes shut and told herself this was all a bad dream. When she reopened her eyes, Jake was still there.

A jumble of emotions boiled in Amy. Disbelief, fear, disappointment, embarrassment. Last night, after only one glass of wine, she'd felt scandalously comfortable with Jake. This morning she wasn't nearly so comfortable.

“What are you doing here?”

“Making breakfast. I'm not much of a cook, but I make a mean French toast.”

“Have you been here…long?” Amy managed, ignoring the voice inside her head screaming,
Have you been here all night?

“Only long enough to make breakfast. I took the liberty of helping myself to your
house key last night, after you passed out. I thought you might be a little under the weather this morning. I can honestly say, I've never seen anyone get so drunk, so fast, on so little.”

Amy pulled the covers up to her chin and watched in dismay as he set a tray across her lap. He'd given her a glass of orange juice, a plate filled with steaming, golden slices of French toast drenched in butter and syrup, and a rose. A delicate, pale pink rose. She didn't know what to say. Not only hadn't anyone ever fixed her breakfast in bed before…but a rose! What had she done to deserve this? She was afraid to ask. “Um, about the rose…”

“I had to go to the supermarket for coffee, and I spied this rose. It's the same shade as your skirt.” He grinned at the blush spreading across her face. “And your cheeks.”

“This rose isn't for…ah, anything special? I mean we didn't…”

“Don't you remember?”

“I remember being unbuttoned out of my blouse.”

Jake helped himself to a corner of toast. “Don't you remember anything else?”

“I remember a conversation about…gardening.”

“You mean that stuff about flowers, deflowering?”

Amy closed her eyes. She'd hoped it had been a nightmare. She'd told an acquaintance of only two hours her most intimate secret…and she was almost certain she'd then proceeded to attack him. “What happened after the conversation?”

Jake sliced off another corner and fed it to Amy. “You tried to get me to go to bed with you.”

“I didn't!”

“You did, but I wouldn't do it. I have my principles, you know. I didn't want you to think I was easy.”

If she could die from embarrassment, Amy was sure she'd be dead in a minute. She swallowed the piece of bread in one gulp and slumped back against the headboard. “I suppose I'm relieved. I was afraid I just didn't remember it.”

“It? You mean the momentous occasion?”

She detected a trace of laughter in his eyes, but his voice was low and purposefully seductive. It was a nice combination, she thought; it was playful. He was trying to ease them through an awkward morning after.

She sipped her orange juice and studied Jacob Elliott, deciding he had to have been at the head of the line when God was giving out all the good stuff. Not just physical good stuff like broad shoulders and perfect teeth. Jacob Elliott had a bunch of intangible qualities that, even in her inexperienced state, Amy knew would make him an extraordinary lover and a good friend. There was a gentleness about him, a satisfaction with life, a generous sense of humor. And he was honorable. Thank goodness.

She couldn't imagine what had gotten into her last night. She'd indulged in a glass of wine from time to time—a nip of sherry at Christmas and champagne at weddings—but it had never affected her like
that.
It probably had to do with being fired. Yes, that had to be it: She'd been vulnerable. And depressed.

She should explain to Jake. He probably thought she was a crazed sex fiend. “I don't usually do things like this,” she said. “I've never picked up a veterinarian before. And I've certainly never tried to get one into my bed.”

Jake nodded solicitously and tried not to smile.

Amy nervously twisted her napkin. “I can't imagine what you must think of me, but it's wrong. Honestly, I'm really very nice. In fact, most men think I'm prudish.”

Damn. This wasn't coming out right, and if he didn't stop smiling she was going to rearrange his nose. “What I mean to say is that I'd never go to bed with you!” Lord, now he looked insulted! “Not that it wouldn't be…ah, pleasant.”

“Pleasant?”

“Incredible?” Did she just say “incredible”? Was that her voice? That shamelessly husky whisper?

She waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “It doesn't matter. I'm not interested in casual sex. I think the union between two people is very special and should be
reserved for marriage. Besides, I could never, um, fool around with my employer.” She looked at him speculatively. “Do I still have a job?”

“You bet. And it starts today.” He glanced at his watch. “I have to get going. Mrs. Tobin is bringing her cat in at eight o'clock. Things slack off around noon. That would be a good time for you to come in to the office and meet my crew. The clinic is just around the corner from the supermarket…you can't miss it. Oh, and Amy…”

“Yes?” She gulped, afraid of what he might say next.

“Wear something casual…something that won't show dog hair.”

 

Amy locked the front door behind her and skipped down two porch steps before coming to a screeching halt. There was no little red car sitting in her driveway. She thunked her fist against her forehead. “Dumb, dumb, dumb.” Her car was still in the supermarket parking lot. No big deal. She could ride her bike. She hustled back into the house and changed out of her blue
sundress into a pair of red shorts and a crisp white blouse. She traded her white sandals for a pair of running shoes.

Thirty minutes later she sailed into the clinic parking lot with sunburned cheeks, her blond curls damp against her forehead. She parked her bike in the flowerbeds to the side of the door and immediately stepped in a soft, malodorous brown mound. The four-letter expletive she uttered fit the occasion perfectly. She entered the empty, air-conditioned waiting room holding her shoe as far from her nose as possible.

Jake looked up from the front desk and grinned. “You have to be careful where you walk around a vet's office.”

“Uh-huh.”

He gingerly took the shoe from her. “Follow me. I'll rinse it off for you and give you the complete tour.” He opened doors as they walked. “Four examining rooms.” He pointed out a room with microscopes and stainless steel gizmos. “We have a good lab.” They proceeded toward the back of the clinic. “This is our grooming and minor-surgery area…over there are intensive-care cages.”

He cleaned her shoe in a deep sink, sprayed it with disinfectant, and waited while Amy laced it back onto her foot. “Boarding kennels are through that door, and major surgery is downstairs.”

He led her into a large carpeted room with wall-to-wall bookshelves and a huge oak desk heaped to overflowing with stacks of manila folders, magazines, apple cores, and a massive yellow tomcat with only one eye and half a tail.

“This is my office. Maybe you could help me get it straightened out.”

The floor was littered with newspapers. Cardboard boxes held unpacked books. Phone numbers had been scribbled on the wall nearest the desk. Photos of patients were taped everywhere.

Straighten it out? Amy gasped. It would take a forklift to clear off his desk. “How much are you going to pay me?”

“It's not as bad as it looks.”

“Is the cat real or stuffed?”

“That's Spike. I rescued him from the shelter. He's had a tough life. He lives here now.”

“Any other animals I should know about?”

“Spot comes and goes with me; you've met him. And there's Ida.”

“What's an Ida?”

“Ida!”
a big green bird screeched from the corner. “Ida, Ida, Ida.”

Amy's eyes opened wide. “My word. I didn't see it there. It blends in with the palm tree.” This, Amy thought happily, was going to be fun.

Jake wanted to kiss her. It was all he could think about. Actually, that wasn't entirely true, he admitted to himself. He could think of other things, but they started with kissing. Hell, maybe one little kiss wouldn't hurt. A gentle kiss. Last time he'd kissed her he'd acted like a Neanderthal. This time he'd use restraint.

He didn't want to do anything that might jeopardize Amy's feelings for him. She was a passionate, responsive woman who'd saved a very special part of herself for twenty-six years. He didn't want to be the one to mess up her plans. He didn't want her jumping into his bed because he'd
stirred up a bunch of vacationing hormones, and then when the flush of desire was sated have her wonder if she'd done the right thing.

After all, virginity wasn't something you could replace. When it was gone, it was gone for good. He wanted to make damn sure that when Amy decided to love someone, it would be the man she'd marry. And by thunder, it had better be him! he thought, thumping his fist on his desk.

Amy flinched in surprise.

Jake felt the flush rise from his shirt collar. “I got carried away.”

“What on earth were you thinking? For a minute there I thought you were going to kiss me again, and then I was afraid you were going to strangle me.”

“Pick one.”

“No way. Is there a ladies' room here?”

Jake sighed. “Two doors around the corner. To the left.” He slouched in his chair and rubbed his forehead, wondering if everyone acted this stupid when they were in love.

The front door to the clinic opened and
Jake heard the unmistakable shuffle of his colleague's size-thirteen feet.

Allen Logan paused at Jake's open door. “You look like you've just been hit by a bus.”

“That's about how I feel.”

“The flu?”

Jake sighed. “The receptionist.”

“What receptionist?”

“Our receptionist. The one standing behind you.”

Logan turned around and grinned down at Amy. “Howdy.”

Jake ambled over. “This is Amy Klasse. Amy, this is Allen Logan, DVM…my happily married partner and resident bear.”

Amy smiled at Allen Logan. He did resemble a bear. A big, lumbering, gentle bear.

“Will you excuse us for a moment?” Allen said to Amy. Grabbing an arm, he pulled Jake into the lavatory and closed the door. “I like her. Nice legs, cute nose, great smile. What the hell are we going to do with a receptionist?”

“I'm going to marry her.”

“Oh.” Allen didn't bother to keep the laughter from his voice. “Does she know this?”

“Not exactly.”

There was a knock on the door. “Jake? There's a horse out here.”

The bathroom door opened and the two men stuck their heads out.

“That's not a horse,” Jake explained. “That's a Great Dane. Mrs. Newfarmer must be early for her one-thirty appointment.”

Amy flattened herself against the wall while the dog sniffed her shorts. “He's drooling on my shoe.”

“Can't blame him,” Allen Logan said wistfully.

A small, round woman appeared in the hallway. “I'm sorry, Dr. Elliott. Brutus was so anxious to see you, he pulled the leash out of my hand and took off.”

“Mrs. Newfarmer, I'd like you to meet my new receptionist, Amy Klasse.”

Mrs. Newfarmer shook Amy's hand. “How nice. This office needs a receptionist,” she confided.

Jake and Allen looked at each other nonplussed.

“I didn't think we needed a receptionist,” Allen whispered.

Jake looked at yesterday's files spread across the front desk. The telephone rang once and then plugged into the answering machine. In the past year his client list had tripled. Maybe he really did need a receptionist. He looked at Allen and shrugged. “Life is strange.”

“Speaking of strange, Mr. Billings is due any minute with Daisy Mae.”

Jake's eyes got round. “Did you tell him he had to have her confined?”

“I forgot.”

The front door opened and a whiskered old man strode in with an enormous gray cat perched on his shoulder. Jake dived for the Dane's leash, but it was too late. The dog lunged at the cat, who catapulted itself onto Jake's chest. Brutus changed direction in midair, striving for a hunk of gray fur from the cat's tail. The cat turned around and made a quick swipe at the dog's nose. The
dog gave a loud yelp and retreated to a corner, where he had an accident.

“He's just a puppy,” Mrs. Newfarmer apologized. “Do you have a mop?”

Amy almost fainted at the sight of tiny pinpricks of blood oozing through Jake's shirt. “You're wounded!”

“Nothing several hundred stitches couldn't cure,” Jake said.

Allen saluted his injured partner. “Dr. Disaster strikes again.”

Jake began carefully unbuttoning his shirt. “I wasn't overwhelmed by
your
bravery, Allen.”

“I was right behind you. I would have done something, but you were in my way.”