Romance on Mountain View Road (8 page)

He was smiling when he drove down his street after work. Chelsea would have gotten her sunshine bouquet by now and it would have done the trick.

She loved flowers. She worked part-time at Mountain Nursery and she'd planted all kinds of flowers around their house that made it look really nice—roses and a bunch of other things, names she'd rattled off that left him glassy-eyed.

He wasn't into flowers. But he was into his wife and he felt confident his peace offering would prove it.

He lost his smile when he pulled up in front of his place and saw a kitchen trash bag with a yellow flower head sticking out the top. She'd tossed the arrangement? Seriously? And that wasn't the only bag on the porch. Several huge garbage bags sat huddled together, and beside them was his baseball bat, his glove and his fishing gear.

Okay, this was not funny. He got out of the car, marched up to the porch and checked inside one of the trash bags. Clothes. She'd just wadded up his clothes and stuffed them in garbage bags. He was going to have to pay a fortune to get his pants pressed.

He banged on the door. “Chels!”

Of course she didn't answer.

He banged again.

Once more the bedroom window flew open. There she was again, that pretty face, that long, brown hair. That frown. Sadness overrode his anger. “Come on, baby. What do I have to do?”

“Change.”

“I'm trying,” he protested. “I sent you flowers.”

“That's not changing. That's bribing.”

“That's saying I'm sorry,” he corrected her.

“Do you see any daisies around here?” she demanded.

He looked around. “Umm.”

“I hate daisies. They smell. And if you ever paid attention to anything I said, you'd know that and you wouldn't have sent them to me.”

“Sorry.”

“Yeah, well, so am I. Go away, Adam,” she said, and slammed the window shut.

Now the anger was back, full force. He kicked the bag holding his rejected bouquet off the porch. Then he grabbed a couple of bags of clothes and stormed to his SUV and threw them in.

Another two bags got hurled into the SUV, followed by his baseball stuff and his fishing gear. He got behind the wheel, slamming the door after him. If this was how she wanted to play it, fine.

But by the time he reached his new home, sweet home, the anger had burned off. What was he going to do?

Jonathan was already there and was putting enough hot dogs for two lonely men on the grill when Adam came up the walk, carrying a trash bag of clothes and a fishing rod. He'd known. He didn't say anything, though, and Adam appreciated that. One of the great differences between men and women. Women loved to say
I told you so.
Men didn't say anything.

“Where can I put these?” Adam asked. Only five little words but he almost choked getting them out.

“Upstairs spare bedroom,” Jonathan said, and turned a hot dog, “the one with the books. I put a bed in there for you.”

Adam walked past Jonathan's bedroom. It was decorated bachelor-style, with only a bed and a couple of blankets, a nightstand with a lamp and a paperback romance—more research, probably—a dresser and a dog bed. He hadn't bothered with curtains at the windows, just a shade.

Pretty different from how Chelsea had fixed up their bedroom—all vibrant reds and gold, lots of pillows on the bed, a hope chest at the end of it. The rest of the house looked equally good, with coordinated furniture, attractive knickknacks here and there, always flowers. He'd taken her decorating for granted, as if houses just sprang up all furnished. Now, comparing it to Jonathan's place, he realized how much she'd done to surround his life with comfort and an atmosphere that said, “Ahhh.”

He moved on past another bedroom Jonathan had turned into an office with a desk, chair, bookcase and a bunch of computer equipment and entered the room that would house his clothes and toys. This room, too, was spare. One wall held a giant bookcase. In the corner next to it sat an old overstuffed chair that looked like a family hand-me-down and a floor lamp.

Jonathan had left him a blow-up mattress and an air pump. Adam started inflating his new bed and watched morosely as it took shape. A night on the couch was one thing. A blow-up bed and his own room was something altogether different. It symbolized what both he and Jonathan knew. He was in deep shit and was going to be stuck here for some time.

He didn't find any hangers in closet so he laid his pants and shirts on the floor. He wondered if Jonathan had any hangers he could borrow. He doubted it. Hangers were one of those things that women remembered to get and men took for granted.

Like they took a lot of things for granted. Adam frowned and went back to his SUV for another load.

Once back in the spare room, he checked out the books on the shelf. He knew Jonathan was a smart guy—anybody who could fix computers was—but it still surprised Adam to see that his pal was such a big reader. Funny how little he knew about the men he played poker with every week, especially their host.

He and Jonathan had met a year and a half ago. Adam had needed some work done on his computer and had hired Jonathan. They'd gotten to talking, and somehow the talk had gotten around to fun guy stuff. Adam had admitted to always wanting to learn how to play poker and Jonathan had mentioned the weekly poker game he was putting together. Next thing Adam knew, he'd found some men to hang with. But that was all they really were.

Except now here he was, rooming with one of them. If someone had told him five years ago that he'd be playing poker with a nerd, he'd have laughed. And if someone had told him he'd be staying with one, he'd have been horrified. Now he was simply grateful.

He read the titles of some of the books on the shelf.
The Dragon of Zoon, Zoon in Ruins, Return to Zoon.
Those all looked dumb. Jonathan also had several volumes of science-fiction anthologies, a ton of novels about wizards, works by Stephen Hawking and some novels by Michael Crichton. Even some money management books. Adam thought of how easily he burned through a paycheck. Yeah, he had a lot of toys to show for his big salary, but he was willing to bet that Jonathan, who probably made a third of what he did, actually had money in savings. The dude was a thinker.

And he was doing research on women. Maybe he had something there.

Adam went back downstairs and found that Jonathan had moved from the barbecue to the kitchen. He had the hot dogs on a plate and a package of buns sat next to them, along with a potato salad from the Safeway deli department. He'd put out ketchup, mustard and hot dog relish and was now busy opening a bottle of beer.

Adam was embarrassingly aware of the fact that he had contributed nothing to this repast but his empty gut. “Hey, man, thanks,” he said. “I'll pick up dinner tomorrow.”

The thought that tomorrow he wouldn't be going home for dinner took the edge off his appetite.

“Sorry you're still stuck here,” Jonathan said, and handed him a bottle of beer.

“I'm in deep shit,” Adam admitted. “I sent her flowers today and you know what she did with them? She tossed them.”

“She's mad,” Jonathan said, stating the obvious.

Adam smeared some mustard on a hot dog bun, all the while tallying how many meals his wife had prepared for him versus the times he'd thanked her for making them. He took a bite of his hot dog. He loved hot dogs, but this one didn't taste so good. “She's right. I do take her for granted.”

“I guess that happens,” Jonathan said diplomatically.

“I don't know how I'm gonna get her back.”

“Research,” Jonathan said. Then he went into the living room, turned on the TV and brought up a sci-fi thriller.

Adam sat next to him and watched the humans battling the aliens trying to take over their space outpost. Battling aliens. If only that was all he had to do.

After the movie, Jonathan went outside to play with his dog, leaving Adam to do whatever he wanted. Another paperback was sitting on the coffee table. The couple on the cover looked like they had it all together. Adam picked up the book and read the back. The heroine had gotten involved with a drug dealer (what a fool!) and was running for her life. The hero was an undercover cop out to get both her and the drug dealer. Wow, they had issues. Why did his wife like reading this stuff, anyway?

Maybe he needed to find out.

Chapter Six

J
onathan had been thorough in his research and now had what he considered a comprehensive list of important romantic-hero traits.

According to Vanessa Valentine and other female experts, women wanted:

1. A man who's buff and good-looking. (And they give men a hard time for wanting a hottie. Talk about a double standard!)

2. A man who has a smooth tongue.

3. A man who can be forceful and take charge. (Need to stop being a gutless wimp when I'm around Lissa.)

4. A man who knows when to be tender (but it's okay to beat up other guys for her).

5. A man who makes romantic gestures (the bigger the better).

6. A man who will help her when she needs it.

7. A man who will give up everything for her.

8. A man who will fight for what's right (take a stand when it counts).

“Hey, that's pretty good,” Adam said as they waited for the rest of the guys to come over for poker night. “You oughta show this to Kyle.”

Jonathan shook his head. “It's just stuff I'm seeing in the books. I don't know how to make it work in real life.”

“I think you've nailed it,” Adam said. He tapped Jonathan's iPad. “All women drool over good-looking guys. That's one we
know
is true. I don't buy the romantic gestures thing, though. It didn't work with Chels.”

Flowers were supposed to be a sure winner but they hadn't won Adam any points. “Maybe it wasn't the right gesture,” Jonathan suggested.

Adam threw up his hands in frustration. “Nothing is.”

Poor Adam. The week hadn't gone well for him. He'd tried everything—texting, phone calls, another visit to the house—but so far his wife had kept the wall of ice firmly in place.

Jonathan wondered if the flowers hadn't worked because the seventh attribute on his list had escaped Adam's notice. But he kept his mouth shut. When a guy was hurting, the last thing he needed was another man poking a stick in the wound. Adam would have to figure out his woman problem for himself, just like everyone else had to do.

Adam was back to studying the list. “That tongue business.” He waggled his eyebrows. “I've got that one down.”

Jonathan pulled a handful of pretzels from the bag Adam had bought for the night's refreshments. “Not talking about using it that way. I read somewhere that men fall in love with their eyes but women fall in love with their ears. They want to hear nice things. And be flirted with,” he added, thinking of Todd Black. “Sweet talk, flattery, like what the heroes in the books say to their women.”

Adam slumped back against the couch cushions. “I can't remember the last time I said anything like that to Chelsea.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I must've said
something.
”

The screen door opened and in walked Kyle Long. “Hope you guys broke your piggy banks, 'cause I'm here to win tonight.”

“Yeah, till Vance comes,” Adam joked.

Kyle put his six-pack of beer on the counter. “He's just lucky.”

Jonathan thought of what Bernardo had said—unlucky in cards, lucky in love. He sucked at poker. Maybe that would stack the odds in his favor with Lissa.

Vance was next in the door with a can of mixed nuts. Right behind him came Bernardo, carrying a platter with vegetables and dip and looking glum.

“Carrots?” Kyle observed, eyebrows raised.

“Anna has me on a diet,” Bernardo grumbled.

Kyle made a face. “And she has you bringing them to us why?”

“To make sure I don't cheat,” Bernardo said glumly.

“You are whipped,” Adam told Bernardo.

“Whipped but sleeping in his own bed,” Jonathan muttered. Adam shot him a dirty look so he shut up.

But it was too late. “Who's not sleeping in his own bed?” Kyle asked. Of course there was only one man present who qualified. He stared at Adam in shock.
“You?”

Adam's face suddenly looked sunburned. “Chelsea threw me out.”

Kyle gawked as if he'd just been informed that Santa Claus and the Grinch were one and the same. “You're the king of cool. How could she do that?”

“I forgot our anniversary.”

“That's the worst thing a man can do,” Bernardo said, helping himself to a handful of pretzels. “That's even worse than dissing her mama.”

“Don't women usually, like, remind you?” Kyle asked.

“Well, Chels does. Did,” Adam corrected himself.

“It was probably some sort of test,” Vance said. “Looks like you flunked. Let's play cards.”

“What are you gonna do?” Kyle asked as they moved to Jonathan's kitchen table.

Adam grabbed a beer and took a long draw. “I don't know. I can't sleep in Jonathan's spare room forever, that's for sure.”

Jonathan wholeheartedly agreed.

“I need a plan.”

“Me, too,” Kyle said. “There must be a way to get a chick to see you.”

“And to take you back,” Adam said. “But hey, I think Jonathan's on to something.”

“Jonathan?” Vance said in surprise.

It was embarrassing to have Adam mention him as some kind of expert since everyone knew he wasn't exactly a love machine. Jonathan could count on two fingers the number of girlfriends he'd had in the past ten years. He shook his head and waved away the comment.

“What?” Kyle wanted to know.

“Well, I, uh...” How to confess that he'd been studying romance novels? Surely that had to be the most unmanly thing a guy could do.

“He's been reading chick books,” Adam said.

Kyle's brows knit. “Chick books?”

“You know, romances.”

The other men looked at Jonathan as if he'd just announced he was getting a sex change.

Now Jonathan's face felt like the top of a lit matchstick. “Research,” he mumbled.

“Okay, that's weird,” Kyle said.

“Sounds smart to me,” Vance said. “Okay, fellas, let's play some seven-card stud.” He began to deal. “High-low split.”

“I don't get it.” Kyle picked up his cards. “Why would you read those?”

“Because he wants to see how women think,” Adam explained.

“Hell, nobody has a clue about
that,
” Kyle said.

“Our man here does,” Adam told him. “He's even made a list of things women want in a man. Right, Jon?”

“Just some observations,” Jonathan said.

“I need that list,” Kyle told him.

“I want to know what books you're reading,” said Bernardo.

“And I want to play cards,” Vance said.

That closed the subject until the end of the evening. But once the beer and chips had been consumed and Vance had won the pot, Kyle returned to women and romance novels. “So, how come you want to know what women think all of a sudden?” he asked Jonathan. “Why are you reading this stuff?”

Jonathan needed to say something before Adam blabbed that he was hoping to hook up with some mystery woman at the reunion. Kyle would solve the mystery in a heartbeat. “Thought it might help my love life,” he said with a shrug.

“I guess,” Kyle said dubiously.

“I never heard of this Vanessa Valentine.” Adam picked up a copy of
Surrender
from the coffee table. “But you know, this one's not bad.”

Kyle's eyes bugged. “You're reading them, too?”

“Hey, I need to get my wife back.”

Kyle frowned suspiciously at the book. “Looks dumb.”

“Well, it's not,” Adam said, and his tone of voice didn't encourage Kyle to argue.

Kyle held up a hand. “Okay, whatever you say.”

Vance chuckled. “See you losers next week,” he said, and strolled out the door.

“I'd better get home,” Bernardo said.

Jonathan picked up the plate of veggies. “Take your carrots.”

“Are you loco? If I take those home, she'll know I didn't eat them. You keep them,
amigo.
”

Just what he always wanted, carrot and celery sticks. Bernardo hadn't wanted them, either. He'd eaten half a bag of potato chips but Jonathan didn't remember seeing so much as one carrot go in his mouth.

“
Hasta
Las Vegas,” Bernardo said, and followed Vance out the door.

Kyle, however, lingered. “So, you really think there's something to reading those books?”

“Yeah, I do,” Jonathan said.

“Dude, show him your list,” Adam urged.

Jonathan brought it up on his iPad and passed it to Kyle.

He read, nodding as he went. “You know, this is great stuff. You got all that from reading romance novels?”

Jonathan nodded. “Actually, they're pretty good stories.”

“More than pretty good from the way you've been devouring them this week,” Adam said.

“So have you,” Jonathan retorted.

Kyle picked up the copy of
Surrender.
“Mind if I borrow this?”

“Go ahead. I'm done with it,” Jonathan said.

“Thanks.” Kyle took the book and made his exit.

“How about sending me a copy of that list so I can keep it on my phone,” Adam said.

“Sure.” Anything to help a friend...get out of his spare room.

* * *

The rest of Kyle's weekend was busy. His older sister Kimberly and her husband had bought a house, and Saturday it was all hands on deck to help them move. By the end of the day he was perfectly happy that the only date he had was with his computer, where he watched a movie. Sunday was taken up with family dinner. Kerrie's fiancé had joined them and Kyle felt like the Lone Loser with everyone else all coupled up.

Not
everybody
is matched up, he reminded himself as he pulled into his space in his condo building's parking lot. He waved to Cecily Sterling, who owned a condo one floor up and was just parking her car a few spaces down. If a gorgeous woman like her was still single, he didn't have to feel so bad.

“How was your weekend?” she called to him once she was out of her car.

“Great,” he called back. “How about you?”

“It always goes too fast.”

Not if you were waiting for Monday. He gave her another wave and then hurried to the stairs before she could ask for any details about his great weekend. It looked like she had some groceries so she'd probably take the elevator, and that meant a safe getaway for him.

You could have offered to carry her groceries,
he told himself. He would next time. When he'd actually had a great weekend and had something to talk about.

His place wasn't much yet but it was all his. After roommates and renting, he'd finally taken the plunge and purchased it from a retired schoolteacher who'd claimed that Icicle Falls was getting too busy and had relocated. He'd only been in it a couple of months so his living room was furnished with nothing but a leather couch, a spare coffee table his parents had donated and all his computer stuff. He'd hung a couple pieces of digital art he'd done in college on the wall, but it still looked a little bare. The dining table, his newest acquisition, was contemporary with sleek silver chairs. Whenever he looked at it he felt like...Mr. Suave.
I understand, Jillian. It's easy to confuse me with my cousin James. Yes, Bond. But I prefer my martini stirred, not shaken.

Yeah, right. Some Mr. Suave. More like Mr. Nobody.

Okay, maybe it was time to check out that book he'd brought home from Jonathan's. He got a can of pop from the fridge, flopped onto the couch and turned to the first page.

The family tree of Edward Northfeld, the fifth Earl of Blackthorne, was one that went back for generations, and its roots had been drenched in blood.

Hmm. Not bad. Maybe he could get into this. Another page and Kyle was no longer in his condo in Icicle Falls. He was in nineteenth-century England with Edward, the fifth earl. And he stayed there until almost midnight when he finally closed the book. Man, that was
good.

He went online and downloaded several more books by Vanessa Valentine on to his e-reader. Then he downloaded a couple of short stories on to his phone. If anyone asked, of course, he would never admit that he was reading romance novels. He'd say he was doing research. It worked for Jonathan.

He went to bed but took his e-reader with him. What the heck. He'd start one more story. He wasn't sleepy, anyway.

He fell asleep somewhere between London and Gretna Green.

The alarm on his phone jolted him back to the present and he dragged himself out of bed with reluctance. He wished he had a country estate in England instead of a job to commute to in Wenatchee.

Until he remembered that the woman of his dreams was at that job. He showered and dressed and tried to imagine himself as a dashing earl rather than an office peon who entered data into a computer.

Jillian's casual morning greeting didn't do anything to make him glad he was a modern man. As usual, she was saving her best smiles for Ted. What would the earl do?

The answer to that was easy. He'd grab her by the arm and say, “You vixen, do you think I don't know what sort of game you're playing?”

If Kyle did that, he'd get escorted out of the building.

He scowled his way to his cubicle.

“I guess I'd better not wish you a happy Monday,” Mindy said as he sat down.

“Oh, go ahead. Make my day.”

“That's what you say when you want to shoot someone. I saw that movie on the classics channel.”

He smiled. “I promise I won't shoot you.”

“Good to know. You look like you didn't get much sleep last night.”

“I didn't.”

“Busy weekend?”

“Yeah, it was. How about you?”

“I did something really fun.”

“A big date?” Had Mindy found someone on that internet dating site, after all? Jeez, everyone had a life but him.

“No,” she said.