Crazy for You

  “Talk to you for a minute, Nick?” Bill called out, and Nick straightened from over Pete Cantor’s Jeep and said, “Sure. What’s up?”

  “It’s about Quinn,” Bill said, and Nick thought, Oh, hell, I never touched her.

  “I know you’ve been helping her,” Bill said, “and I appreciate it, but I don’t think that this move is good for her.”

  Nick let go of his guilt gratefully and regrouped. “What?”

  “That house,” Bill said, looking like a wise but regretful Viking. “It’s a bad idea. She’s there all alone, and the place is going to fall down around her ears any minute.”

  “Meggy says it’s sound.” Nick turned back to work. “I really wouldn’t worry.”

  “What does Meggy know?” Bill shook his head. “We really have to get her out of there.”

  Nick stopped. “Bill, she likes it there. I think she’s staying.”

  “If you hadn’t helped her move—” Bill began, and his voice sounded tight, almost angry.

  “Of course I helped her move.” Nick frowned at him. “We all did.”

  “Well, stop,” Bill said. “It’s bad for her. And people are going to start talking. People who don’t know you two are like brother and sister. You want to ruin her reputation?”

  Nick tried to think of something to say, but all he could come up with was “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “You helping her move. People are going to start thinking she’s just one of your…” Bill’s voice trailed off as he searched for a word.

  “One of my what?” Nick said dangerously.

  “Girlfriends,” Bill said. “You know, the kind of girl you date.”

  Nick controlled his temper. “Bill, I don’t give a damn what people think, and if Quinn does, she’ll tell me to butt out. I haven’t seen her since we moved her in, and I’m not planning on going over there any time soon, so if that’s what you’re worried about, you can forget it.”

  Bill’s face cleared. “Thanks, Nick. I knew you’d understand.”

  Then you know more than I do, Nick thought, but he watched Bill leave without saying it. He’d had enough conversation with Bill Hilliard for one afternoon. In fact, considering the conversation, that was probably enough for a lifetime.

  Ten minutes later, when somebody pounded on the back door, he thought, Oh, Christ, not again, but when he opened it, Quinn was standing there, her face pale in the cold, and in spite of all his rationalizations and promises to Bill, he was so glad to see her he almost reached for her.

  “What’s up?” he said, deliberately keeping things light and distant—reaching would be bad—and she pushed past him into the garage. She had on a blue down parka that made her look huge, jeans, and black rubber boots with buckles. She looked like a clown, and he should have been grateful, but his first thought was to wonder what she was wearing under all of it. Then he saw her face and he stopped thinking obscene thoughts.

  “Katie’s in the pound,” she said, her voice on the edge of panic. “I called to report her missing, and they said they had her but I couldn’t have her back because I wasn’t the licensee and that she’d bitten somebody and they’re going to destroy her—”

  “Wait a minute, wait a minute,” Nick said, wanting to put his arm around her and knowing better. “Start over. How did she get in the pound?”

  “I don’t know,” Quinn said. “The gate was shut, but she got out anyway, and now they’re going to kill her.”

  The fear on her face made him sick. “Tonight?”

  She shook her head. “I’m not sure. I went over there, but they said the licensee has to come in, and Bill had told them to go ahead because if she’d bitten somebody she was dangerous. They won’t give her back to me because the license is in Bill’s name, and he won’t answer the phone when I call, so he might already be out there signing to have her killed because he hates her—”

  “Who’d she bite?” Nick said, trying to make some sense of it. Katie wasn’t a biter.

  “I don’t know. They said somebody called in and said he’d been bitten by a dog that was running loose, and when they went to check, they found Katie.” Quinn swallowed in a pathetic attempt to get calm. “And now they have her—”

  “Oh, hell,” Nick said. “Let’s go talk to them.” He picked up his jacket, knowing he was making a huge mistake and glad anyway because he was going to be with her again.

  “They said no,” Quinn said, her voice quavering. “I went there already and they said no. I couldn’t even see her.”

  “Well, we’ll talk at them until they say yes,” Nick told her, not having any idea of what he was going to do. It sounded good though, and Quinn tried to smile.

  “Thank you,” she said. “I know I’m a hassle but I really need you on this.”

  “You’re not a hassle,” he lied. “Come on, let’s rescue a dog.”

  The truck took the miles to the pound without any problem, and Nick had plenty of time to think about Quinn next to him. It was a real turn-on being alone with her in the dusk, but then he’d known it would be a turn-on being alone with Quinn anywhere, which was why he’d taken so much care not to be alone with her. Of course, the thoughts he’d been having lately weren’t helping, filled as they were with bright underwear that was filled with Quinn until he stripped it off her and bounced her on that huge bed—

  Stop it, he told himself. The woman’s dog was in danger, for Christ’s sake. She was upset. What kind of a creep would think about doing her at a time like this?

  His kind of creep.

  Beside him, Quinn scrubbed at the window with her sleeve, and he tried to see her the old way, the way she’d used to be before she’d come to occupy his thoughts permanently. This is Quinn, he kept telling himself, but as a warning it was losing power. It was Quinn he wanted.

  “There’s the drive-in, it’s right after that,” Quinn said, and he felt her soft, urgent voice in his solar plexus. This is Quinn, he told himself again, and his solar plexus said, Sure is. Go for it.

  “The turn is right up here—there it is!”

  Quinn grabbed his arm and he tried not to think about her so close as he pulled in and parked in front of the shelter. The place was deserted, not a car in sight, and he had a bad feeling that there wasn’t going to be anyone to talk to. He glanced at the clock on the dash. Six-fifteen. Not good. “You stay here.”

  “No,” Quinn said, and when he knocked on the door, he could feel her close behind him and it took everything he had to resist the urge to lean back into her. “Hello?” he called and pounded on the door this time.

  “They’ve gone, they’re closed,” Quinn said in his ear, and he flinched at the warmth of her breath.

  He tried the door but it was shut tight. “It’s no go,” he said, and she said, “Break it down. They have my dog.”

  He turned to her and said, “Quinn, I am not going to break a door down, especially a door to government property. Get a grip,” but she looked up at him, her hazel eyes huge in the dusk, and he had to do something soon or he was going to grab her.

  “My dog’s in there,” Quinn said, and he said, “Oh, hell,” and turned and walked around to the back of the shelter where the pens were. At least a dozen dogs came out to see what they were doing, barking their heads off, and the last one in the last pen was Katie.

  “Oh, no.” Quinn ran to the pen and fell to her knees. “Oh, baby, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  The little rat did look pathetic, shivering in the cold, its wiry little body pressed desperately against the mesh in a futile attempt to get to Quinn.

  “Okay,” Nick said, “we’ll get here first thing in the morning and—”

  “They’ll kill her,” Quinn said.

  “So we’ll get here really early—”

  “No,” Quinn said. “I’m not leaving her.”

  “Quinn, be reasonable—” Nick began, but she jerked her head up and said, “That’s what Bill would say. This is not about being reasonable
. This is about loyalty and love and trust and betrayal, and I am not leaving this dog. They’re going to kill her.”

  “Oh, right,” Nick said. “You’re going to sit here and freeze to death.”

  “There’s a blanket in your truck,” Quinn said. “Leave me that.”

  “I’m not leaving you,” Nick said, outraged. “What kind of guy do you think I am?”

  “Well, I’m not leaving Katie,” Quinn said. “So whatever kind of guy you are, that makes two of us.”

  “Oh, hell.” Nick looked down at Quinn, immovable and irresistible, and at Katie, shuddering against the wire.

  Against his will, he began to plan. The fence was only about six feet and it was smooth at the top. Getting over it was unfortunately doable. Illegal as hell, but doable.

  “It’s okay,” Quinn said. “Just give me the blanket and go home. I know there’s nothing you can do.”

  And to think that she had once been the quiet part of his life. “Okay,” Nick said. “I’m going for the truck. You get away from the fence.”

  “I told you, I’m not leaving her,” Quinn said, and he said, “Neither am I, but if we’re going to get her out, I’m going to have to back the truck up here.”

  Quinn’s mouth fell open. “You’re going to get her out?”

  “It’s either that or stay here and freeze my ass off with you,” Nick said. “I like you, but there’s a limit to what I’ll put up with to be with you.” Not much of a limit, though.

  Quinn stood slowly. “You are the most wonderful man in the universe,” she said, looking into his eyes with so much hero worship that he felt hot even in the cold. “I’ll never criticize you again, ever, I swear.”

  “Good,” Nick said. “That’s almost worth going to jail for. Now get your butt out of the way while I go get the truck.”

  It wasn’t hard getting over the fence once he’d backed the truck up. The difficult part was convincing Katie to come to him since she ran back inside as soon as he landed on the concrete beside her. Quinn called her and coaxed her until she edged her way out again, slinking submissively along the pavement, and when he reached out and grabbed her, she peed on him as he scooped her up.

  “I’m really sorry about that,” Quinn said as he handed the dog over to where she stood in the back of the truck. She took the dog into her arms and said, “Oh, Katie,” and cuddled the dog to her, and he was struck by the irony of the dog getting caressed and kissed while he stood shivering in the pound in a pee-stained jacket.

  “You’re going to owe me big for this,” he told her and grabbed the top of the fence to climb back.

  “Anything you want,” she told him, and he thought of several things even before he began the climb back over.

  He’d just landed back in the truck when the police cruiser came around the corner of the shelter.

  Darla stared in her bathroom mirror, appalled. Forget that the thing she had on was called a merry widow, not the best omen under the circumstances. Forget that it was black lace and scratchy, forget that it was so tight her breasts stood out like they were propped on a shelf, forget that the bikini that had come with it was so brief there wasn’t enough bikini wax in the world.

  Concentrate on the fact that she looked like a rogue dominatrix.

  She put her hands on her hips, which didn’t help, and confronted her own personality. Confronted was a good word, she thought. Confrontational, abrasive, domineering…

  If Max didn’t have a submissive side, she was toast.

  Or maybe not.

  She let her hands drop and tried to look less angry. It was the anger that was doing it, she decided. The anger that she was having to try this hard to seduce her husband, to wear this stupid lace thing that Quinn assured her was sexy—“He’ll have a heart attack,” Quinn had told her. “Can I borrow it if I ever get Nick?”—to plan what he’d used to plan, coax, and seduce her for.

  He’d been so good at seducing, too. “Nothing below the waist,” she’d tell him, really meaning to be a good girl this time, if her mother ever found out she’d be in so much trouble, “I mean it, Max,” and he’d say, “Sure,” and kiss her, and his hands would be so hot, and she’d feel herself going soft all over, and pretty soon they’d both be breathing into each other’s mouths, letting their hands travel, and he’d say, “It would feel so good,” and she’d be dying for it—

  “Max!” Darla said, and opened the bathroom door to go into the bedroom. “Could you come in here for a minute?”

  No, that wasn’t the plan, she tried to remember what the plan was, but all she really wanted to remember was the way his hands had felt—

  “What?” Max said.

  He stood in the bedroom doorway, a Sports Illustrated in his hand, and it took him about half a second to switch from mildly annoyed to astounded.

  “Sweet Christ,” he said.

  “Nope,” Darla said. “This is pagan. We’re going to hell. Let’s make the most of it.”

  She walked up to him and he dropped the magazine to put his hands on her automatically, sliding them around her waist, which was cinched tighter than usual, smaller, so that his hands on her waist made her feel sexy, and she arched her hips into his as she kissed him.

  He kissed her back immediately, hard, just like the old days, spontaneous and urgent, and she wanted him so much—

  Then he broke the kiss and said, “What is this?”

  She froze, literally cold all over with rejection. “What?”

  “Is this about Barbara?” He dropped his hands from her waist. “Because we’ve been married a hell of a long time and you’ve never pulled this stuff before.”

  Darla felt her breath come faster, and it wasn’t from lust. “I don’t believe this.”

  “I told you, you don’t have to worry about Barbara.” Max’s voice was tight with anger. “I told you, but you don’t trust me. Our marriage is fine.”

  “The hell it is,” Darla said, and stomped back into the bathroom to slam and lock the door. She peeled the merry widow off and left it on the floor while she yanked on her long flannel nightgown. Obviously her mother knew her better than she did. “You’ve never pulled this stuff before,” Max had said. Just not a sexy woman. Can’t even seduce her own husband.

  “Darla?” Max said through the bathroom door.

  “Go to hell!” Darla said, and sat down on the floor and cried because she was so damn mad.

  She was pretty sure it was because she was so damn mad.

  Nick took off his pee-soaked jacket and flannel shirt and tossed them in the back of the truck before he climbed in the cab beside Quinn.

  “He really isn’t going to arrest you, is he?” she asked, and Nick sighed and said, “He already did.”

  He started the truck. “The only reason I’m not in jail and Katie’s not back in the pound is that it would take too much trouble to do the paperwork on me and get the shelter people out here.” Tibbett’s police force wasn’t known for its aggressiveness in its best moments, and Gary Farmer had never been one of its even mediocre moments. “We’re just damn lucky it was Gary and not Frank Atchity.”

  “I’ll tell them it was my fault,” Quinn said.

  “We’ll tell them your dog got stolen, and it has a medical condition,” Nick said. “A urinary problem that needed attention.”

  “I’m really sorry about your jacket,” she said. “Aren’t you cold in just your T-shirt?”

  He looked over at her, cuddling her dog in the growing twilight, her eyes huge and grateful and her body undoubtedly round under that down coat. “No,” he said, and told himself that he was not going in her house when they got there, that he was just going to pull up out in front with the motor running.

  “I’m truly grateful,” Quinn said, and he considered not stopping at all, just slowing down enough so she could jump out with the dog.

  But when he got to her house, a U-Haul was parked out front and all the lights were on inside.

  “You know anything about th
is?” he asked, and when she said, “No,” he turned off the motor and followed her inside to find out what else cataclysmic was going wrong in her life.

  When she walked in the door, the first thing Quinn saw was a lot of furniture from her past. Her mother’s dining-room table was in the dining room with its full complement of chairs and her living room had three familiar end tables and an extra armchair.

  “Quinn?” her mother said, and Quinn turned to find her standing in the doorway of the kitchen. “We just brought you a few things.” Meggy looked flushed and harried, but she was smiling, a real smile, full of excitement, a smile Quinn couldn’t remember seeing before.

  “Mom?”

  “We knew you needed furniture, and we had the U-Haul, so we just brought all the extra stuff over,” Meggy said.

  “We?” Quinn heard Nick close the front door behind her. Her mother’s smile faded a little as she saw him. “We who? Why did you have a U-Haul? What extra stuff?”

  “Edie,” Meggy said and went back into the kitchen, and Quinn looked at Nick, who shrugged.

  “If you don’t need me anymore—” he began and she said, “I need you.” He looked doubtful, so she said, “The least I can do is give you a thank-you beer. Come on,” and when she went out to the kitchen, still carrying Katie as if she might disappear, he sighed and followed her.

  Edie was putting Meggy’s mixing bowls in the cupboard.

  “You bought new bowls?” Quinn finally put Katie down and got a beer from the fridge.

  Meggy said, “No, Edie’s were nicer.”

  Quinn handed Nick the beer. “What does that have to do with you?”

  “I’m moving in with your mother,” Edie said. “She decided that if you could change your life, so could she.” She looked over at Meggy with fond approval.

  Meggy added, “Edie and I spend so much time together that we thought it’d be easier just to live together.”