Almost Perfect (20 page)

As if he had no sensitivity whatsoever, Jared flipped the menu to the back page and pointed out the list of nonalcoholic concoctions. “Or we could indulge in Merry Mary Margaritas or some of these Yummy Tummy Strawberry Dairy-kiris. Makes the mouth water, doesn't it?”

No, actually, it revolted her as she remembered the sickeningly sweet drinks she'd first started out on as a teenager. Wrinkling her nose in distaste, she gave up any interest in sulking. “I never even liked beer. I just drank it to be sociable.”

“Yeah. Friend of mine did the same. In college, he was hospitalized after a binge drinking episode to be sociable. Graduated to wine and became a connoisseur to impress us after college and stuck with that for a while, then sampled martinis to impress his colleagues over business lunches. By the time he was thirty, I never saw him without a glass in his hand like a crutch.”

“Does this story have a happy ending?” she asked dryly.

He lifted a careless shoulder. “He's dry, for now. His wife agreed to give him a second chance. But he could have taken out an entire busload of innocent teenagers when he drove home drunk on the wrong side of the turnpike one night. Fortunately for everyone, he swerved at the last minute and only lost a kidney in the wreck.”

“That
was
lucky. The drunk is usually the only one who walks away unharmed. I might start believing in the Almighty if the drunk got creamed more often.” Uncomfortable again, Cleo stared at her menu. Wasn't he supposed to
avoid
these kinds of subjects?

“I'm not totally shallow,” he said, out of the blue.

Cleo made the mistake of looking up and really
seeing
him. Eyes so dark they almost appeared black stared back at her, and for a moment, she could almost feel him reaching out to her, for the connection that shimmered in the air between them—a connection that whispered temptingly of trust and understanding and something far more elusive.

She wasn't that big a jerk. She slapped the menu closed. “That's what I'm afraid of.”

Jared tried not to feel disappointment at her reply. For a moment there, he'd thought they'd really linked, that she'd understood what he was trying to tell her and how much it meant. He'd almost felt a chord humming between them, but then, he had an active imagination.

Maybe there was something wrong with him. It didn't take much to know when a woman simply wanted his influence, his prestige, his name on her bedpost, or just the jollies of good sex or laughter or even a shoulder to cry on, and he'd never exerted the effort to understand more— until Cleo. He'd thought with Cleo he could really connect on a deeper level. Stupid of him.

She thought all he wanted was sex.

Until now, she'd probably been right.

Whoa, one step back, boy.
Maybe he really was starting to lose it. First the TV flop, then the writer's block, and now he was looking at an ex-con addict as a soul mate? Worse yet, a narrow-minded zealot who hated Hollywood and probably screenwriters as well. Had he turned into Tim when he wasn't looking?

The waitress arriving to take their orders relieved him of any responsibility to respond. Cleo ordered a salad with fried chicken nuggets on top for her cholesterol of the day. With his eye on the enormous dessert menu,
Jared stuck to the basic food groups of fried chicken and mashed sweet potatoes.

Once the waitress took their menus away, Cleo nailed him with that steely glare of hers. “All right, McCloud, tell me what this is really about. You didn't come all the way into town to tell me you're not a jerk.”

“I might have been looking for a little positive reinforcement,” he said in a tone of aggrievement. “But then, I really would have to be a jerk to look for it from you.”

She burst out laughing, turning all heads in the dining room to the delicious sound. Jared grinned in approval at how her whole appearance changed in a moment of un-self-conscious enjoyment. The sunlight from the window caught the red highlights of her hair, her hauntingly beautiful eyes lost their shadowed cynicism to crinkle in wideeyed pleasure, and her mouth …

That mouth was straight out of heaven's pleasure book. He could watch the way it curved seductively or scowled ferociously or trembled uncertainly for the rest of his life, but parted in laughter, it was a joy to behold. All right, he was truly smitten. He could handle that for a couple of months.

“You won this round,” she agreed, visibly smothering her laughter into a smile as the waitress brought her tea. “You're not shallow.”

The sparkling water could have been champagne bouncing effervescent bubbles through his brain as Cleo actually relaxed in his presence. He'd always resented his family's opinion of his character and occupation, but he'd never really cared what women thought of him— until now. For some reason he wanted this wacky, hardnosed female to see him as something besides a free ride. “Convince my family of that.”

She lifted a lovely tanned shoulder in a shrug. “Why
bother? You're the one who has to live inside your skin, not them.”

“How simple you make that sound,” he said dryly. “My father is an eminent authority on pre-Elizabethan literature. My mother is on the board of half a dozen well-endowed charitable trusts. My older brother has degrees in more obscure sciences than I can remember, and even my baby brother has copyrighted enough software to make Bill Gates green. I took folklore and basket-weaving in college and was too busy drawing cartoons for syndication by my senior year to remember to graduate.”

Instead of shaking her head in disapproval, Cleo grinned in appreciation. “Making people laugh at their own foibles is not something everyone can do. Science degrees and software come a dime a dozen.”

“Yeah, well you try being court jester in a castle of knights sometime,” he grumbled testily. “And I'll really have them rolling on the floor when they learn I probably lost everything in the market today. They told me to put it into bonds.”

She shook her head with no sympathy. “Easy come, easy go. Are you trying to tell me you can't pay for lunch? Want my credit card?”

Something tight in Jared's chest suddenly loosened, and he regarded her with more than his usual admiration. “Damn, you're tough. You don't flinch an inch. If I could bottle your attitude, we could make a fortune.”

It was her turn to squirm. “I am not tough. You saw plenty of evidence of that the other day, and I'll thank you not to mention it. Now quit diverting the subject. What is it you want, McCloud?”

“I talked to my friend the psychologist. She says if Kismet tells a counselor of anything that smacks of criminal abuse, the counselor is legally responsible to
report it or they can get sued.” There, he'd said it. He still thought reporting the abuse the best for everyone concerned.

Cleo grimaced. “Yeah, I got the same answer. If I'd had a crystal ball years ago so I could see the result of my stupidity … There isn't any way I can persuade the court to let me take them. I am officially labeled a poor risk, the next best thing to incompetent.”

Jared breathed easier. He'd thought she might storm out in fury over the bad news. “All right, so you're incompetent and I'm a failure. That doesn't help the kids.”

A large group of laughing, office-dressed women entered and headed for a meeting room in the rear. The noise effectively cut off her reply, and the familiar figure swerving from the group at the sight of them shut Cleo's expression into its usual closed mask.

“Jared! Cleo! Just the people I need to see.” As the laughing group proceeded on without her, Liz Brooks stopped by the table. “I've been trying for days to reach Kismet's mother, but no one ever answers. I'm concerned. One of the teachers reported Kismet slapped another student today. The child is troubled and is desperately crying out for help.”

Cleo sank deeper into her chair and didn't say a thing. Jared kicked her shoe but she only scowled at him.

“Gene told me his mother is out of town this week,” he lied. “But we've talked to Linda. She says she can't afford counseling.” There, that ought to start a discussion.

“The county provides services for those who can't pay,” Liz said primly. “That's no excuse. We'll be fortunate if a parent doesn't call the sheriff and complain. I don't want to see the child expelled, but we are responsible for the well-being of
all
our students.”

That was guaranteed to put Cleo in a receptive mood. Jared didn't even have to look at her to feel the steam
rising. “I really don't think Kismet could hurt a fly, so you might investigate the allegation a little more thoroughly, Liz. But we're on this. We'll keep trying.”

He could see the struggle between disapproving teacher and feminine flirt as Liz sought a reply. Flirt won. She beamed at him. “I'm sure you'll do what's best, Jared. Are you ready for a hurricane? We just heard the forecasters say it turned away from Florida and our likelihood of being hit is up to thirty percent.”

“I live in Miami. I know how to run.” He considered reaching over and squeezing Cleo's hand to prevent her from scratching Liz's eyes out, but she'd just tell him that assuming she was jealous smacked of male ego. She'd be right.

“Good seeing you again, Cleo,” Liz said cheerily. “Gotta go.”

“I bet she knits baby booties,” Cleo growled as the counselor walked away, blond hair swaying gently across the pink silk of her round collar.

“And sticks pins in pincushions,” he agreed solemnly, enjoying the flash of ire in eyes he could swear suddenly turned pure green.

“Shut up, McCloud.” She stabbed her fork into a chicken nugget on the salad that had just been delivered. “Your superficial tendencies are showing.”

“So, shallow is easier. We can't all hold grudges against civilization.” He sampled his mashed sweet potatoes, considered the levels of butter and sugar that rendered them palatable, and wondered if he should save them for dessert. “I assume you have a weather radio so we can know if the storm does turn this way?”

“You assume wrongly. Weather radios cost about a hundred bucks so no, I don't have one.”

“Primitive. With the way my luck is running, the
whole island will blow away.” He considered the likelihood pretty high. Maybe he ought to pack up his computer and move inland.

“My truck is available if you're thinking of leaving,” she said sweetly, reading his mind.

He shot her a dark look. “You'd like that, wouldn't you? Then you could pretend I didn't exist and whatever this is between us is a product of your imagination.”

She sucked in a breath and stared at him in disbelief over a forkful of lettuce. “And you said
I
was blunt. Do you ever listen to yourself?”

Not if he could help it. He was already down for the count, he might as well lie here and let her walk over him. Maybe it was this damned tendency to lay himself open that got him trampled so often by his family. “You're gonna deny it?” he demanded. “I'm scaring you silly, and you're trying to close your eyes and make believe I'll go away.”

Cleo shoved her lettuce aside and forked a cherry tomato. “This is not a productive topic,” she said stiffly. “If you want to discuss how to help Kismet—”

“Counseling will help her. Arresting that pervert will help. Getting her out of hell will be a major step forward. But I'm not calling the sheriff until you give the okay, so this isn't a productive topic either.”

Cleo gritted her teeth and tried to stay calm. This was the reason she didn't socialize. People prodded her private space, battering old bruises. Instinct required she strike out, but she didn't want to strike this man anymore. It wasn't any more effective than slamming her fist into his iron gut.

“Then maybe we should discuss hurricanes,” she agreed gloomily.

“The weather as a conversational icebreaker, how
original. Look, Cleo, I'm trying to help. I
want
to help. You're just not giving me any options.”

“What difference does it make to you?” she demanded. “You'll be gone in a couple of months. Go back and draw your pretty pictures and let us scrabble along like we have been.”

The lines around his mouth tightened but he calmly finished chewing his chicken while his dark, understanding gaze penetrated her soul. She
hated
it when he did that. It made her feel things she had no right feeling, want things she couldn't have.

“Ever heard of cars, Cleo?” he finally asked. “Telephones? Airplanes? The world is a very small place these days.”

“Definitely not big enough,” she agreed. “But I can promise when you finish whatever it is you're working on, you won't look back here. Just drop it, all right? This isn't a date, we have nothing in common but deprived hormones, and we'll never agree on anything.”

He grinned as if she'd handed him the moon. “It isn't just me, then. You're feeling the tug, too. Admit it, and make the one bright spot in my really lousy day.”

“I'd have to be a loon to admit any such thing.” She was already kicking herself as it was. He made it too easy to reveal things she never even said to herself. “You'd never leave me alone. The lunch was nice, McCloud. Let's not do it again.”

Cleo left the store early to be home when the school bus arrived. She wanted to make certain the kids got off at her stop. She hadn't had time to confront Linda and her new boyfriend. In actuality, she hoped they'd both go away and make things easy on her.