"I know, Mom," she answered as she rinsed the bowls and glasses and set them in the drainer.
"Then you know what I'm telling you isn't something I've made up. I saw him, Gabrielle, and you will have a passionate encounter with this man."
"A few months ago that might have been welcome news, but not today," Gabrielle sighed. "I don't think I have the energy for passion."
"I don't think you have a choice. He had a very stubborn look about him. Forceful. He was actually rather frightening. Such intense, dark eyes and such a sensual look about his mouth."
A chill ran up Gabrielle's spine to the base of her neck, and slowly she lowered a pot into the dishwater.
"As I said, I thought he was mine, and I was absolutely thrilled. I mean, if's not every day fate hands a woman my age a young man in tight jeans and a tool belt."
Gabrielle stared at the white bubbles, her throat suddenly dry. "He could be yours."
"No. He looked right through me and whispered your name. There was such unmistakable desire in his voice, I thought I just might faint for the first time in my life."
Gabrielle knew the feeling. She felt faint herself.
"Mrs. Youngerman became so concerned she momentarily forgot all about poor Murray. I'm telling you, dear, I saw your fate. You've been blessed with a passionate lover. He's a marvelous gift."
"But I don't want him. Take him back!"
"I can't take him back, and by the look on his face, I have a feeling that what you want isn't going to matter."
Ridiculous. Her mother was only right about one thing, Gabrielle didn't believe in fate. If she didn't choose to have a passionate affair with a man wearing a tool belt, then she just would not.
By the time Gabrielle hung up the telephone, she was numb and a little shaken. Over the years, she'd come to think of her mother's psychic predictions in terms of Pin the Tail on the Donkey. Sometimes her visions were off the wall and headed in the wrong direction, sometimes they were reasonably close, and every now and then she pinned them so accurately it was spooky.
Gabrielle turned back to the sink and reminded herself that her mother had also foretold the reunion of Sonny and Cher, Donald and Ivana, and Bob Dylan and Joan Baez. Obviously, when it came to amorous psychic predictions, Claire didn't have a clue.
This time her mother was off the wall and spinning out of control. Gabrielle didn't want a passionate dark-haired lover. She didn't want to think of Joe Shanahan as anything other than a hard-nosed cop.
But that night she dreamed of him for the first time. She dreamed he came into her bedroom, looking at her through heavy dark eyes, sensuality curving a corner of his mouth, and wearing nothing but his deep red aura. When she woke the next morning, she didn't know whether she'd just had the most erotic dream of her life or experienced her worst nightmare.
Chapter Eight
No doubt about it. The dream had been a nightmare.
The second Joe set foot in Anomaly the next morning, wearing a pair of jeans worn soft in all the right places and a Cactus Bar T-shirt, Gabrielle's whole body flushed. She'd purposely worn her green-and-black lace crinkle dress to work because it was comfortable and cool, but the moment her eyes locked with his, her body temperature shot up and she'd had to go into the bathroom and press cold paper towels to her cheeks. She couldn't even look at him without remembering the way he'd touched her and the things he'd whispered to her in her dream. Things he wanted to do and where he wanted to start.
She tried to keep herself busy and her mind off Joe, but Thursdays were typically slow, and today was no exception. She squeezed drops of orange and rose oil into the defuser and lit the tea candle beneath. Once the store began to fill with the blend of citrus and floral scents, she took apart a display of cut crystal nymphs and butterflies. She dusted and rearranged, and out of the corner of her eye watched him spackle the holes left in the far wall by the shelving system he'd moved the day before. Her gaze moved up his spine to the back of his head, and she remembered the way she'd imagined his hair would feel between her fingers. It had seemed so real, but of course it had only happened in her mind, and she felt silly letting it knock her off balance and letting it affect her in the light of day.
As if he could feel her eyes on him, Joe looked over his shoulder and caught her scrutiny. His watchful gaze stared back, and she quickly turned her attention to a frolicking nymph, but not before her cheeks burned.
As usual, Kevin stayed in the office with the door closed for most of the morning, talking to suppliers or wholesalers or taking care of his other business interests. Thursdays were Mara's day off, so more than likely, Gabrielle knew she would find herself alone with Joe until closing. She took deep controlling breaths and tried not to think of the hours stretching before her. Empty hours. Alone. With Joe.
Over the top of the crystal display case, she watched him dip his putty knife into the tub of spackle and wondered what type of woman attracted the interest of a man like Joe. Beautiful athletic women with hard bodies, or soft women who baked bread and worried about dust bunnies? She was neither.
By ten o'clock, her nerves had calmed to a manageable level. The holes where filled, and she had to think up another job for Joe. They decided on shelves in the back storage room. Nothing complicated. Just three-quarter-inch plywood held in place with heavy L joints.
Since there weren't any customers to worry about, she showed Joe the storage room, which was hardly bigger than the bathroom and had a single sixty-watt bulb hanging from the ceiling. If a customer entered the front of the store, a bell would ring in the back and let her know.
The two of them slid packing boxes and Styrofoam peanuts to one side of the small room. Joe strapped his tool belt low on his hips and handed her one end of the metal tape measure. She knelt down and held it to the corner of the wall.
"Can I ask you a personal question, Joe?"
He knelt on one knee and found the opposite corner with his end of the measure, then he glanced over at her. His gaze never reached her face. It slid up her arm to her breasts and stayed there. Gabrielle looked down at the front of her dress where the bodice fell forward, giving Joe an abundant view of her white cleavage and black lace bra. She placed her free hand on the bodice and straightened.
Without a hint of shame, Joe finally raised his gaze to her face. "You can ask, doesn't mean I'll answer you, though" he said, then wrote something in pencil on the wall.
Gabrielle had caught men staring at her in the past, but at least they'd had the sense to look embarrassed. Not Joe. "Have you ever been married?"
"Nope. I was close once."
"You were engaged?"
"No, but I came close to thinking about it."
She didn't believe close to thinking about it counted. "What happened?"
"I got a good look at her mother and ran like hell." He looked over at her again and smiled like he was really funny. "You can let go now," he said, and the measuring tape zipped across the wall, flipped up, and snapped his thumb. "Shit!"
"Oops."
"You did that on purpose."
"You're mistaken. I'm a pacifist, but I did come close to thinking about it." She stood, leaned one shoulder into the wall, and crossed her arms beneath her breasts. "I bet you're one of those really picky guys who wants his wife to cook like Betty Crocker and look like a supermodel."
"She doesn't have to look like a supermodel, just reasonably attractive. And no really long fingernails. Women with those really long fingernails scare me." Again, he smiled at her, this time slow and sexy. "Nothing scarier than seeing those long daggers anywhere near the jewels."