But what captivated and held Elizabeth's attention was the man. His shirt was unbuttoned to reveal a sturdy chest and flat stomach. Patches of dark, curly hair grew in strategic places. The supple muscles of his arms and shoulders contracted and relaxed each time he moved. A lock of sweat-damp hair had fallen over his brow. He laughed at something Matt said. When he did, he threw back his head and revealed a strong, tanned throat. As he stood up and brushed sawdust off his jeans, Elizabeth couldn't help but notice how they clung to his thighs.
"What's the matter?" Lilah moved up behind her and peered through the window over the sink. Elizabeth heard her sister's gasp. For several moments, they stared at Thad Randolph until he heaved the contraption to his shoulder and carried it into his garage. Matt and Megan trooped after him.
Elizabeth turned her back to her sister and busied herself with pouring another cup of coffee.
"Elderly, huh?" Lilah said wryly.
"I told you I couldn't guess his age."
"Lizzie, men who look like that don't age, they ripen. Looking like that, what the hell difference does it make if he's fifty? A hundred and fifty?"
"It makes absolutely no difference to me. A vital point which seems to escape you.
"What color are his eyes?"
"Sort of blue." Sort of sparkling, shimmering, sapphire blue.
"What does he do for a living?"
"He, uh, owns a cement company, I think. That's what one of the neighbors told me when he moved in. His Jeep has the name stenciled on the side."
Lilah snapped her fingers. "Randolph Concrete. His trucks are on every construction site in town. He must make a bundle."
"Mother always taught us it was vulgar to discuss someone's finances."
Lilah had stopped worrying about what their mother considered vulgar years ago. She was unabashedly gazing out the window in hopes of catching sight of him again. "Did you see the way he handled his tool?"
Elizabeth's head snapped around and Lilah giggled. "Gotcha! I was thinking about his hammer. What were you thinking about?"
"What you're thinking is all wrong," Elizabeth said with asperity.
"And what's that?"
"That there's a romance brewing across our backyards. He's a nice man. He's patient with my children."
"A real tribute considering his advanced age," Lilah said sarcastically. "Don't they disturb him during his afternoon nap?"
Elizabeth glared at her. "Frankly I'm grateful for the time he spends with Matt particularly. He needs a man's influence. But it stops there, Lilah. I could never be attracted to a man like Mr Randolph."
"Have you checked your pulse lately? If he doesn't attract you, you're dead."
Elizabeth sighed. "He's not my type. He's too… physical. Too large…"
"Um-hum." Lilah smacked her lips. Elizabeth made a supreme effort to ignore that too. "I could never go for a hard-hat type."
Lilah grinned wickedly. "I'll bet his hat isn't all that's hard."
"Oh! Will you go wallow in the gutter? I'm sure your mind would enjoy the company." Lilah only laughed at her. "And you can forget about my writing down any fantasies for publication. I don't even have any fantasies!"
Chapter 3
The figures blurred in front of her eyes again. Impatiently Elizabeth tossed down her pencil and gave up trying to concentrate on Fantasy's financial records. It was Monday morning. The shop had been open only half an hour. So far she'd had no customers. She was catching up on some bookkeeping while waiting for Mr Adam Cavanaugh to arrive. She'd been notified that he would be circulating through the hotel later that day.
But every time she tried to review the profit and loss columns in front of her, her mind began to wander. It kept going back to the discussion Lilah and she had had the previous Saturday morning. Her sister had planted a seed in the fertile field of her brain, and it had germinated in spite of her wishes that it wither and die.
If an interrogator had shoved slivers of bamboo under her fingernails, Elizabeth wouldn't have admitted writing out her stable fantasy in the privacy of her bedroom late Saturday night. She'd toyed with the tempting idea all through the McDonald's dinner and Disney movie she'd treated her children to that evening. On the outside chance that she might see Thad Randolph, she hadn't wanted to hang around the house. She'd kept the kids out as late as possible and was miffed to see that his Jeep wasn't parked in his driveway when they finally did get home.
The outing had still been well worth the effort. The kids had loved the classic animated film. They'd individually thanked her for taking them when she kissed them good night. But as always when she went into her room, undressed, and got into bed, she was alone.
It was then that she had taken a spiral notebook out of the drawer in her nightstand and begun to write down the word pictures her mind was constantly painting. She became lost in the effort. The words seemed to appear on the paper through no volition of her own. They flowed freely from the pen as though it were as magical as the wand in the fairy tale she'd just seen.
Descriptions of the characters, their clothing, the setting, all came easily because she envisioned them so clearly. But some words she found difficult to write. Words which she would never have occasion to speak aloud. Anatomical parts for instance, or words with blatantly sexual connotations. But she penned them nonetheless. By the time she put a period at the end of the last sentence, her body was damp with perspiration and her heart was thumping in a lovemaking rhythm.
Laying her pen aside, she flipped back through the pages and read what she had written. After reading the final word, she threw off the bed covers, ripped the pages out of the notebook, and destroyed them in the bathroom.
Her fantasy had sounded dopey. Lilah was insane and she was insane for ever listening to her. Agitated with herself, she returned to bed and snapped off the lamp. She tried to sleep, squeezing her eyes shut so tightly she got a headache from the effort. Tossing and turning, she tried to convince herself that the fantasy she had written had been so bad as to be unreadable. But that wasn't true. She'd ripped it up because it had been so good.
She had lived with herself for twenty-nine years and had never guessed what a dirty mind she had!
Fantasy was closed on Sundays. That afternoon she'd taken the children on a picnic in the municipal park to keep them occupied and away from the house. When they left, Thad had been out pruning shrubs.
"Can Thad come on the picnic too?" Matt had asked her as she shepherded him into the car.
"Thad's busy."
"He pro'bly wouldn't be busy if we asked him to come on the picnic."
"We aren't going to ask him."
"We've got plenty of food."
"He can have some of mine," Megan offered.
Elizabeth climbed behind the steering wheel and quickly started the car to end the argument. The picnic had been successful. But while the children played on the jungle gymn, Elizabeth sat on a park bench and analyzed the fantasy she'd written the night before. She thought of ways to change and improve it. Then she would remember that it no longer existed and was a closed issue. She forced herself to forget it.
Well, now it was Monday. She had work to do. The owner of the hotel chain was due to arrive at any minute. And she still hadn't forgotten the erotic dream she'd committed to paper. She was preoccupied with her fantasy and her troublesome neighbor.
Although that was the trouble, he wasn't troublesome. She couldn't fault him for anything. As neighbors went, he was perfect. He could have been a real hell-raising bachelor who had women constantly parading through his house. He could host drunken orgies that would keep her up nights. He could be ornery about the noise her children made when they played in the backyard. The motorcycle seemed a bit out of character. She suspected that he was no angel, but at least she didn't have to contend with a party animal.