The Devil Has Dimples (9 page)

How interesting.

“Why does he hate the thought of marriage?”

Margie snapped the book shut.  She looked at me with pain in
her eyes.  “He’s always been against marriage, and when he did marry, it was a
disaster.  Could you get the next book?”

 I had stepped into dangerous territory, so I rose to do her
bidding.  As my hands reached upward, I asked.  “Just how many books are
there?”

“Oh, just two.  Grant was impossible to catch for photos
once he was in high school.”

My hands grasped the book and I handed it to Margie.

Her hands were quieter now.  She turned immediately to the
back and turned the pages from left to right.  There were photos of Grant and
some high school boys dressed for wrestling.  When Margie turned the next page,
she stopped.

“This is it.”

There stood Grant.  And my mother.  Maudie.  Pride shown on her
face as she turned up to look at Grant.  Her dainty hand on his chest.  I moved
my finger to touch my mother’s face. She seemed so tiny next to Grant.  She was
in profile, so I couldn’t see her clearly, but she had a graceful quality to
her.  I don’t think I looked anything like her.

How I wished that things could have been different.  My own
graduation picture showed my mother--Edna--standing there, looking
uncomfortable.  I doubt that she was as happy as Maudie appeared to be.  Grant
wasn’t Maudie’s child, yet the love showed on her face.  Where was the love on
my mother’s face?

I let out a deep sigh.  Some things would never be known.

“You can have that picture.  That is if Grant says it’s
okay.”

I carefully removed the picture from the corner holders and
slipped it into my pocket.  “I’ll ask him if I can have it.”

“Maudie was a lovely woman.  I miss her.”  Margie said.

“I’ve heard so many conflicting statements about her.”

There was a pause, as though Margie debated on what to tell
me.

“Maudie was awfully good to me.”  Margie stated.

I looked at the woman next to me, and asked softly. “How?”

“Oh, she took Grant in hand after Lenny and I married.  He
was so hostile.  Still is in many ways.  I know our marriage bothered him.  We
never told him the real reason we married so quickly after his mother died.”

“Don’t you think you should?  Maybe it will release some of
his anger.”

She snorted.  “I don’t think so.  I was pregnant.”

“Oh.”  Yeah, I don’t think that Grant would take that news
gently.

“I lost my baby two weeks after we got married.  The doctor
told us there wouldn’t be any more.”

“How sad for you.”

Margie shook her head.  “How sad for us all.  Grant lost his
mother, I lost the only chance of ever being a mother, though I surely tried
with Grant.  I’ve left this place exactly as it was when his mother died, so he
could always feel like he was ‘home’.”

Surprise.  Surprise.  Surprise.  No wonder it looked
outdated.  It was.

Should I tell her?  She seemed like such a nice person, and
she deserved more from Grant.  “Redecorate.”

“What?”

“Redecorate.”

“Oh, I couldn’t do that.”

“This is your home.  Grant has to get over the fact of your
marriage.  Maybe by your keeping it just the way it always was reinforces all
that he lost when he lost his mother.”

Margie thought for a moment.  “Maybe you’re right.  I’ve
hated the decor ever since I walked in the front door.  I did redo the master
bedroom.  Would you like to see it?”

“I’d love to.”  I closed the album.  I finally had a picture
of my mother and touched my pocket for reassurance.  Perhaps I could help Grant
to see his stepmother as well, as someone who obviously loved him.

I put the album back on the shelf and followed Margie out of
the room.

Margie walked across the hall and threw open the door.  She
clicked on the lights and I gasped.

It was wonderful.  Margie had created a haven in this room. 
The room radiated confidence.  It clearly did not match the rest of the house,
except for the kitchen.  Margie was a decorator in disguise.

Margie looked at me with a question in her eyes.  She looked
like a puppy lusting after a good word.

“It’s gorgeous.”

Margie beamed.  “You like it.”

“No.  I love it.”

Margie walked into the room and ran a loving hand along one
of the four posts on the massive bed.  “Maudie found this for me.”

“Wow.”  I walked over and examined the exquisite hand carved
roses that ran up the post.

“She told me that she thought of me when she saw it.” 
Margie fussed with the handmade quilt on the bed.  “I never quite understood
why she thought what she thought, but when I saw it,  I had to have it.”

“It’s a work of art.  But what you’ve done with the rest of
the room is absolutely stunning.”

Margie’s eyes gleamed.  “Thanks.  I don’t get a chance to
invite people up here, and I’m rather proud of it myself.”

“You have every right to be proud of this room.”  I strolled
around the room, looking at the delightful surprises that showed the hand of a
true decorator.

I stopped, turned and looked at Margie.  “I have an idea. 
Why don’t you come down to the shop tomorrow and check out the stock, you might
find something to get you started on the downstairs.”

Margie laughed gleefully.  “You surely are Maudie’s
daughter.”

I know I looked confused.  “Why do you say that?”

“Shoots, Maudie bugged me all the time to go to her shop and
start on another room.  But I just never had the courage.”

I went over to Margie and gave her a brief hug.  “Have
courage, I intend to have you help me upscale the shop.  Some of the settings
Maudie did need help.  It’s hard to explain, but they don’t have the verve that
her apartment has and I’m way out of my league.  But I have a feeling that you
could really help me out.”

“I decorated Maudie’s apartment.  She asked me to help.”

Another surprise.  One that Grant didn’t know about.

“Are you sure about the downstairs.”  Margie looked
doubtful.

“No.  I’m positive.”

* * *

“Are you positive about this?”  Grant asked.  He was driving
slowly, glancing over at me from time to time.

“Sure.”

“You’re making a mistake.”

“No, asking Margie to help me out won’t be a mistake.”

“We’ll see.”

I glanced over at him, wondering.  Why was he so doubtful of
Margie’s intentions.

Grant pulled up in the alley and parked next to the truck.

I jumped out walked to the back door, fumbling with the
keys.

Grant took them out of my hand, picked out the right key and
shoved it roughly into the lock.  He pushed open the door, and flipped on the
lights.  He was angry.

I was angry too.  I huffed up the stairs, leaving him behind
to lock up.  I walked into Maudie’s bedroom and slammed the door.  Men!

Slinging off my shoes, I quickly began to undress.  I was
down to my underwear when the door opened.

I turned around to see a slack-jawed Grant staring at me.

“Uh, sorry.”  Grant shut the door as quickly as he opened
it.

I began to laugh.  Now we were even.  Both caught in our
underwear.  I looked, and sure enough, mine were pink too.

I wondered if he was intrigued with my pink underwear as I
was with his?

* * *

That was stupid.

I know better than to open a bedroom door without knocking. 
But it was unlocked.

Clothes only hide her luscious body.  Her legs are even
longer than I thought.

Plus her pink underwear made her look like she was nude.

I wanted to kiss her, and a lot of other things that
would most likely get me disbarred.

But I can’t touch her.

Ever.

She is Maudie’s daughter.

I was preparing pancakes when Grant came out of his room.  I
automatically handed him a glass of orange juice.

He looked at it suspiciously.  Then smelled it.

What was he doing?

“Anything wrong?”

“Ah, well, I thought there might be poison in it after last
night.”

What he needed was a good dose of reality.  “Drink up.  I’m
putting poison in the batter.”

Grant gave me a dimpled smile.

I felt my heart start to race.  My hand kept pace with my
heart and I whipped the batter in seconds.

“Aren’t you over-beating that?”  Grant looked at the bowl of
batter in my hands.

I realized what I was doing and stopped.  “No.  This is a
special technique of mine.”

“Oh.”  He downed the juice and grabbing me before I knew
what he was doing, then brushed a light kiss across my mouth.

It was heaven.  It was a rush.  He tasted like orange
juice.  My heart began to beat faster than I thought it could.

And then he was gone before I could react.

But he left a tingling sensation on my lips.

Dimples and delicious lips.  Life wasn’t fair.

I sighed, then began to pour pancake batter into the
sizzling pan that couldn’t match the sizzling elsewhere in my body.  I wished
that he wouldn’t have kissed me.  The attraction between us would never go
anywhere.  He was a jock, and I wasn’t about to tread down that road again. 
Ever.

Grant was still smiling when he returned from his run.

“Something smells good.  I hope it’s breakfast.”

“It’s in the oven, Grant.  Melted butter and honey are on
the stove in that pot, so just help yourself.”

I got up to grab the coffee pot to refill my cup and poured
a cup for Grant at the same time.

He busied himself fixing his breakfast of pancakes and bacon
that nestled side by side in the oven.  He was making those little moaning
sounds again.  The man surely liked food.

I wondered if the old adage was true.  Man - stomach - heart. 
I smiled.

“What’s funny?”  Grant asked as he poured the butter and
honey mixture over his stack.

“Nothing.”

I watched his hands slowly spiral above the stack, it was
sensual to see, I wondered what his hands would feel like on my body in that slow,
steady, circling motion.

Get a grip!

The syrup slowly oozed across the top and down the sides,
stopping only to pool around the bottom.

Something was starting to pool around my bottom, only it
felt like a warm glowing fire.  Time to think of something else.  Though the
idea of brushing all the things off the breakfast table and throwing myself on
top, screaming ‘take me, take me’ did come to mind.  What a sap I am.  I just
can’t get the ‘jock’ thought to come before the ‘him’ thought.

I decided to change my direction of thought.  Ah, Tina. “So,
did you run with your ‘buddy?’”

He appeared to evade my question, stuffing another big bite
of pancake into his mouth.

Men.

Thunking down my coffee cup, I stood and began finishing the
morning dishes.  Grant could wash up his own dishes.  It was hours before I had
to report to work, but Margie promised to come early this morning before working
hours.  It only took a minute to wash up, then trot over to the winding
staircase and start down.

“Where’re you going?”  Grant asked.

“Margie is coming to help me out this morning.”

He didn’t look happy at that news.

Tough.

I unlocked the front door but left the closed sign pointed
to the street.  After yesterday, the curiosity seekers were sure to come in
droves, with more questions than answers.

I started a fresh pot of coffee, then brought some old,
heavy porcelain mugs from the antique kitchen in the back.  Putting my hands on
my hips I glanced around the shop wondering what room to tackle first.

A tapping on the front door glass turned me around, and I
motioned for Margie to come in.

“Hey.”  Margie was smiling.  She closed the door gently
behind her and came over to where I was standing.  She looked cute. She was
dressed ready to work in teal sweats, though she still looked like a Southern
Belle.

Margie paused a moment beside me, then had to ask.  “What
are you looking at?”

“I’m trying to decide what area needs work first.”

We both stood there.

Margie pointed to the left.  “That dining area could look a
lot better than it does.”

I grinned.  “Go for it.  Just tell me what you need me to
do.”

“Fix me a cup of that coffee I smell.  Two sugars, no
cream.”

“That’s easy enough.”

Thundering footsteps clambered down the winding staircase. 
Grant came into view.  I watched as Margie’s face lit up with hope.

Grant took one look at her, turned around, and went back up
the stairs.

I watched as Margie’s face crumpled into disappointment.

“I forgot something upstairs, I’ll be right back.”  I raced
up the staircase, I knew that Margie watched me.

Grant was heading down the hallway toward the back door when
I yelled.  “Wait!”

He turned, a frown on his face.

It couldn’t quite match the frown on mine.  “If you can’t be
cordial to a guest in
my
establishment, then I expect you to move out by
the end of the day.”

“What?”  He stepped closer to me.  Anger suffused his face.

I lowered my voice so Margie couldn’t hear.  “You heard me. 
If you can’t be cordial to Margie, then get out!”

Grant didn’t bother to lower his voice.  “You know what she
is!”

“Yes.  I know precisely what she is.  So play nice or get
out.”

Grant moved to within kissing distance.  “She snowed you
too.  In just one evening?”

I jabbed my finger into his chest, not once but twice. “No. 
She didn’t
snow
me.  She showed me.”

Grant backed up, rubbed his chest where I poked him.  “What
did she show you?”