“It's right nice, Dawg. But I'm afraid you're a bit late.”
Dawg snatched the box back and snapped it closed. “What do you mean?”
“JoBeth bought herself a fancy new dress for her dinner with Kevin tonight. If I don't miss my guess, she's expecting him to propose.”
Dawg slid out of the booth and stood, towering over the waitress. “Where are they, Noreen?”
“Well, now, I'm not sure I shouldâ”
“Noreen, I'm going to give you exactly one chance to tell me where they are, and then I'm going to pick you up and sling you over my shoulder and carry you out of this place. If you don't tell me where they are, I'll make you show me.”
Noreen giggled like a teenager. “It does my heart good to see you finally realizing what you've had all this time. They're at La Parisienne. I just hope you're not too late. Their reservation was for seven.”
Dawg looked down at his watch as he raced for the door.
Damn
. It was eight-thirty, and it would take him at least twenty minutes to get there. He tried not to run over anyone on the way into town, and while he drove he prayed that the service was bad at La Parisienne, or at least real slow.
Twenty minutes and a twenty-dollar bill later, he was knotting the loaner tie around his neck and squeezing into a dinner jacket made for a much smaller man. The maitre d' led him to a small linen-covered table in a secluded alcove, where Kevin Middleton sat alone.
“Where's JoBeth?”
“ 'Lo, Rollins. Guess I shouldn't be surprised to see you here.”
“Where's JoBeth?”
“You've been on every date we've had. Been a silent partner in every conversation. Might as well be here tonight.”
“You're drunk, Middleton. Where's JoBeth?”
“Ladies' room, I think. Asked her to marry me, and she started crying. Said she had to go to the bathroom.”
“But what did she say? Did she say yes?”
“Don't know. Couldn't understand a word she was saying. She was blubbering all over herself.”
Heartened by Middleton's confusion, Dawg got directions to the ladies' room. After a warning knock, he opened the door and went inside.
JoBeth sat on a fancy sofa sobbing into a wet hanky. When she looked up and saw him, she cried harder.
“JoBeth? Honey?”
“Wh-wh-what are you doing here?” she sobbed. “Don't want to talk to you.”
“Now, sweetheart.” He plucked a big wad of tissues out of a gold-plated holder on the counter and went to sit next to her on the couch. “Why don't you tell me what happened?”
Her face crumpled, and a line of black gooey stuff streaked down one cheek as she cried. “K-K-Kevin asked me to marry him.” She wailed even harder, as if her heart were broken. “Supposed to be the happiest day of my life. Wahhhhhhh.”
He put an arm around her shoulder and drew her up against his chest. “Hush, sweetheart. It's okay.”
“No, no it's not.”
She sobbed until his shirt grew damp from her tears. Not knowing what else to do, he patted her on the back and rocked her like a baby. “Everything's okay, JoBeth.”
“I wanted to fall in love with him. I tried so hard.”
“I know, sweetheart. I know you did.”
Her sobs lessened. She hiccupped, and he handed her another wad of tissue, taking the used ones and shoving them in the jacket pocket.
“But I already love you.” She looked up at him, the tears rolling down her cheeks and carrying the last of her makeup with them. “I can't help it.”
“I know, JoBeth. Me too.” He used the pad of one thumb to wipe the tear tracks off her face. And then he bent down and kissed her.
“I'd rather just be with you than marry anyone else,” she whispered.
Even tear-stained and without makeup, she was the most beautiful woman Dawg had ever seen. He wanted to make babies with her and grow old by her side. He'd buy her a gym membership, so she could help him around the equipment when he was old and doddering.
“But I want you to be married,” he whispered back.
JoBeth sat up and sniffed. She looked at him in confusion. “You do?”
“I do.”
He pulled out the velvet box and placed it in her hands, smiling at the way they shook as she opened it, reveling in the gasp of surprise and delight when she saw what lay inside. “As long as you get married to me.”
33
Matt Ransom took out his little black book, the leather one with years of good times in it and a coded rating system so Machiavellian it had never been broken. Other guys had gone to Palm Pilots when the technology had presented itself, but Matt liked to see the possibilities right there in black and white.
He'd given Olivia fair warning. He didn't want to spill his guts, examine his motivations, or try to understand his family's dynamics. He just wanted to be himself again. And that meant going out and having some uncomplicated fun with women who weren't looking for more than he wanted to give.
He flipped through the book's gilt-edged pages and smiled over the memories they evoked. There were the Barrett twins, who'd insisted on doing everything together, including him. And Cindy Culpepper, who might have become a nun if he hadn't helped her discover how important it was to experience lust before confessing it.
In this book resided the phone numbers of all the women he had known, and while many of them were just pleasant memories at this point, others made ongoing guest appearances in his life.
Olivia Moore's was the only number he'd ripped out of the book and never intended to call again, the only woman he'd been unable to deal with on such a casual basis. She was too serious, too earnest in her beliefs, too determined to make him think and feel things he didn't want to think or feel.
He should have paid closer attention to how things had turned out eight years ago. At some point one had to learn from one's mistakes.
He flipped past Darlene Draper and Carly Feinway and stopped at MaryAnn Hightower, now a well-known television news anchor in Chicago. Olivia wanted him to explore his past? Fine, that's exactly what he'd do. And he'd make damned sure she knew how much effort he was putting into it.
Olivia entered the control room and found Di hunched over a morning newspaper. Her producer's shoulders stiffened, and she folded the paper and stuffed it into her handbag before turning around to acknowledge Olivia.
“What's in the paper?”
“Hmm?” Di looked guilty.
“Did you wrap something in that paper?” Olivia sniffed suspiciously. “Do I need to do a McMuffin search?”
“I'm clean, boss. Really. No back-sliding for me.” Diane pushed her purse under the control board with her foot, never breaking eye contact.
“So what are you hiding?”
Di swallowed. “It's just
USA Today
.”
Olivia held out her hand.
“It's nothing you want to see. Believe me.”
That could mean only one thing. Olivia waggled her fingers at her producer. “Come on, give it up. Who'd he go out with this time?” Her tone was carefully nonchalant, but her stomach was clenched against the blow.
Diane pulled the paper out of her purse and passed it over.
Olivia unfolded it. “Oh, good, another picture.”
Together they studied the grainy black and white photo of radio personality Matt Ransom “out on the town” with Chicago anchorwoman MaryAnn Hightower. Even shot through a restaurant window, Olivia noticed, Matt looked like an advertisement for tall, dark, and handsome. His companion, an angular blonde with perfectly styled hair, had the kind of cheekbones that belonged on the cover of
Vogue
.
Two days ago
People
had run an article headlined “Guy Dates, Will Doctor Wait?” accompanied by a photograph of Matt sandwiched between twin brunettes. Ever since they'd been caught on the Webcam during the remote, the paparazzi couldn't seem to get enough of him, and in every picture Matt looked happy as a clam. None of the women seemed to be complaining, either.
Olivia could hardly believe how much it hurt. Every headline, every picture that she shrugged off in public tore its own little piece of flesh. She'd taken so many direct hits that if she were a submarine, she'd be lying at the bottom of the ocean right now. And the more she shrugged off Matt's actions, the more frenzied his social life becameânot exactly a healthy scenario for any of the parties involved.
“How many tall, beautiful, professional women do you think there are in Chicago, Olivia?”
“I don't know,” Olivia responded. “Millionsâand it looks like Matt intends to date them all.”
She kept her tone flip, because admitting to the hurt would only make her an object of pity. But the time had come to end the psychological dance she and Matt had been doing.
As much as she wanted to believe Matt could deal with his baggage and come out the other side, her experience, both professional and personal, told her just how wishful that kind of thinking was. The time had come for her to cut Matt looseânot just on the outside, but deep down inside where he'd taken hold and wouldn't let go.
Gianelli's was mobbed. Customers stood three deep at the bar and elbow to elbow in the entrance. Those unlucky enough to be without reservations did their waiting out on the sidewalk.
Matt let the maitre d' escort his date to their booth while he went in search of his sister. He found her busing a just-vacated table.
“Wow. I've never seen it like this. What happened?”
“You did.” Sandra shouted to be heard above the crowd. “Toss me a dishcloth, will you?”
Matt did as she asked, squeezing by a rowdy party of six to reach the other side of the table she was turning.
“The
USA Today
caption mentioned the restaurant, and the phone's been ringing off the hook since we opened.”
“Gee, I guess you owe me.”
“You're right. And because I'm so grateful, I'm going to give you some free advice.”
“Oh, now there's a change.”
“Cut out the shit, Matt. You're going too far and you're taking too long. If you keep waving women under her nose, the good doctor is going to write you off.”
He broke eye contact with his sister to watch his date accept the glass of wine he'd had sent to their table. Like the others, she was beautiful and entertaining. She didn't have Olivia's keen intelligence, or her sincerity, and she didn't listen with the same kind of intensity, but then, who did?
She accepted him at face value and had no interest in turning him inside out and forcing him to grow as a human being. Being with her and the others was easy, restful . . . and surprisingly shallow and unsatisfying.
Matt frowned. “You don't really think Olivia has any interest in hearing from me at this point, do you?” he asked.
Sandra stopped shoving chairs into place. “That's it, isn't it? You
want
to scare her off. This whole public dateathon is your pathetic attempt to get out of having a serious relationship.”
She shook her head in disgust. “Thanks for the free publicity, little brother, but I don't really want to be a part of this. If you can't see what you're throwing away, you're not smart enough to be a Ransom.”
She gave a small nod toward the willowy redhead waiting for him on the other side of the room.
“Dr. O is right, you know. It's time for you to grow up. And way past time for you to stop playing with dolls.”
Matt lifted his beer and drained it in one long gulp. It was 2 A.M. and he, Jonathan, and D.J. were firmly ensconced at their favorite table at Nick's. They'd shot pool with some of the old gang and consumed more than their fair share of alcohol. Only a handful of other tables were still occupied. It was time to start thinking about calling it a night.
“Are you okay, man?” Jon was one of Matt's oldest friends. He and his younger brother, D.J., had been Matt's carousing partners long before they'd been legally eligible to carouse. They were guys' guys, great to run with and no more anxious to settle down than he was.
“Yeah, I'm fine.”
“I don't think you're as fine as you think you are.” D.J.'s voice rasped from too many hours in a smoke-filled room.
“Why's that?” Matt's eyes felt like D.J.'s voice sounded.
His head hurt, and something Dawg Rollins had said on the air about being bushwhacked by love kept teasing at his brain.
“Because you sent that redhead home in a cab at eleven o'clock. Eleven! And for the last two hours you've been totally ignoring the blonde over there.”
Jonathan shook his head sadly. “There is something wrong in the world when Matt Ransom doesn't give a good-looking blonde a second glance.”
Matt sat up and studied his friend. “You don't think I need to grow up and stop running around with women?”
D.J. motioned for another beer. “Hell, no. Why, that would be like Sammy Sosa refusing to hit another homer, or Tiger Woods giving up golf! It would disturb the natural order of things. What's got into you, anyway?”
Matt ran a hand through his hair and turned to look at the blonde. She was exceptionally well put together, and when she noticed him looking she shot him a silent invitation no man could mistake.
Matt didn't feel the slightest flicker of interest.
He cocked his head, gave her a slow once-over, and watched her run her tongue seductively across her lips.
Still nothing. He knew exactly who and what had gotten into him, and he didn't like it one bit. He considered getting up and taking the blonde up on her offer just to prove a point, but he was getting kind of tired of making the same point over and over.
He looked at the woman once more. Then he looked at his friends. Without intending to, he'd already taken a long hard look at himself. And he couldn't say he was too impressed with what he'd seen.
The following day Matt sat on a bench and watched the late afternoon sun glint on the lake. He tore the remnants of a hot dog bun into bits and tossed them to the ducks. A green mallard honked loudly before gobbling up the offering, his webbed feet paddling vigorously as he positioned himself in front of the others.
The boulder that had claimed his brother's life looked like nothing more than a random geological formationâ just a big rock, not something that could change the course of a family's life.
He let his mind roam freely back to the summer days when he and Adam had raced around this lake with their friends and cooled off in its depths. Like he had every day for the past twenty-three years, Matt wished his brother were there to talk to. He also wished he hadn't argued with Sandra the night before, and that it wasn't time to go home and face Olivia. But wishing didn't make it so.
He heard soft footsteps on the grass behind him and looked up to see his mother approaching. Surprised, he moved over to make room for her, and for a time they both stared out across the lake, each lost in thought.
The bossy mallard honked loudly, and the rest of the flock fell into a loose V-formation behind him. They paddled toward the opposite shore as his mother began to speak.
“I've missed this lake.” She paused. “And you.”
Matt's gaze left the ducks to settle on his mother's face. The old pain was still etched clearly across it, and the lines that radiated from the corners of her eyes reflected years of looking inward. Or trying not to.
“I never meant to shut you and Sandra out. I never meant to do that.”
“Mom, you don't have to . . .”
She turned away from the rock to face him . . . and, finally, their past. “Yes, I do. When Adam died, I was so stunned by the emptiness that I couldn't reach out. I couldn't make myself do what I knew needed to be done.”
Her voice broke, and Matt waited silently for her to continue.
“When you and Sandra found the strength I couldn't, I was so ashamed. I knew you were hurting, I knew you needed me, but I just kept falling into that hole that Adam left.”
He took his mother's hand in his and gave it a squeeze, knowing all too well the emptiness she described.
“Sandra's found her own way,” his mother said. “She's got Dan and the boys and the restaurant. But I worry about you. You spend all your time sidestepping that hole, when what you really need to do is fill it in.”
Matt smiled at the mental image. “So you're saying I need some emotional fill dirt?” Today's conversation with his mother would go a ways toward filling in the bottom layer of that hole; Olivia could probably dump in a whole truckload, if only he would let her.
He let himself really think about Olivia then. He thought about her sense of moral rightness, her desire to help others, and her determination to fight for what she believed in. She saw right through him and insisted on loving him anyway. Though he had no idea what she thought he had to offer in return, she seemed very certain he was worth having.
Wouldn't it be a pisser if she was right?
Across the lake the ducks changed formation, the mallard once again taking the lead. When they reached Adam's rock, they waddled ashore and shook themselves off in the fading light. A breeze ruffled their feathers and skimmed across the water to tease the branches of a nearby elm. There were good memories in this place, too, and a sense of comfort as well. With a new sense of purpose, Matt took his mother's arm and helped her up from the bench.
“Sandra said she thought you'd be heading home soon.”
“Yeah,” Matt said. “I have an appointment with my agent tomorrow morning, and then I'm going to drive back to Atlanta. I've got some loose ends to tie up.”
Matt's agent, Brad Hanford, pushed his half-eaten omelette aside and sat back in his chair. “Let me see if I've got this straight. You want me to tell Syntex Communicationsâthe biggest syndicator of radio programming in the universeâthat you are willing to consider their proposal for an opinion show with Olivia Moore. But you want them to lock her into the deal before you'll commit.”
“Well, it does sound a little . . . unusual, but I have my reasons.”
“Yes, I believe they're called fear and cowardice. The woman has already admitted she loves you, Matt. All you have to do is grovel a little. Men do it all the time. It isn't all that painful.”