Hot Spot (19 page)

"The kids and I went to a Disney movie. It wasn't bad. The new animation is damned realistic. Unlike my opponent's comments, I might add."

Stella pulled out her sketchbook. "We'll have to straighten him out. What's the environmental impact here with the healthy forests law changes?"

"Our state park north of town would be devastated. The lumber companies can take out old growth wood. Some of the big money behind Deloitte is lumber industry money."

"That explains it. But if people understand, they're gonna be on your side. Who doesn't like the state park? It's packed every weekend and all summer long."

"We have to let everyone know what's going on."

"In plain language that people can remember like, 'It's the economy, stupid.'"

"Maybe we could picture some of the campers and hikers. A state park that's so heavily used should have tons of supporters."

"How about 'Preserve His World' with a picture of a kid and his dog, sitting under one of those gorgeous Douglas firs? Maybe with a fishing pole beside him, like Huck Finn?"

"That's perfect! I love it! It's apple pie and wilderness America rolled into one! You should be working for an ad agency!"

"But then I'd have to get up and go to work every morning like I did for years. No thanks. I like working my own schedule."

"I hate to even ask, but how long will it take to get ready? De-loitte's comments are going to set me back in the polls."

"I'll have it ready for the printer in a couple days."

"You're an absolute sweetheart!"

Stella smiled. "So I've been told." As recently as last night, as a matter of fact. Not that it would do her much good now.

"Did he call? Is that what you're talking about?"

"No. Just a general comment." Stella didn't want to get into the good and the bad about last night. Especially because everything was over. "What do I owe you for the muffins and coffee?"

"Are you kidding when you're designing my sign for me? I guess I can afford a couple bucks for your talents."

"I won't be able to start until tonight. The kids and the store keep me pretty busy all day. But I'll put in some time after supper."

"I'll owe you big time. Think of something I can do for you."

"Don't worry about it. You do plenty for me."

"If this thing with Danny Rees doesn't work out, you have a shoulder to cry on. Don't forget. Any time, day or night."

"I'm guessing it was a one-night stand like you said. Not that I was expecting much else.
C'est la vie
with a guy like him. He doesn't take prisoners."

"You don't sound heartbroken."

"Believe me, a night with him had nothing to do with my heart."

Megan grinned. "What was I thinking?"

"Lose that suburban mind-set, babe. Get into the fast lane. Hot bodies like Danny Rees aren't looking for romance."

"You sound sensible about it all."

"I've had time to come back to reality after my sexual nirvana. The pink cloud's gone, and here I am, happy as a clam."

"For real? You sounded frenzied yesterday morning."

"I'm over it." Stella made a thumbs-up sign. "Absolutely." She was guessing it was the caffeine that loosened her tongue and made the lies flow like water.

Megan smiled. "I'm impressed. Such maturity." Stella was impressed, too, with her new ability to lie like a rug. How much easier than embarrassing herself and telling the truth about Danny Rees's super abundant sex life with boat bunnies et al.

The two kids she was tutoring walked in the door just then and tossed their math books on a table. "Duty calls," Stella murmured, with a nod toward the boys who were already reading comics. "Make yourself at home if you want, but I'm going to get their homework done while they're fresh." She grinned. "Less whining. I'll give you a call tonight."

DANNY WAS OUT IN HIS POLE BARN THAT MORN-ing, polishing his '88 Lotus. It was a mindless task, but he worked up a sweat and he needed to burn off some energy. He'd spent a sleepless night, finally nicking on cable and watching some stupid subtitled film that had had one of the most unhappy endings. That misery hadn't helped his sullen mood, and having given up on sleep, he'd put on some shorts and had come out to his pole barn where he kept his cars.

He collected mostly odd cars that caught his eye. Not always top-end models, although the company he'd founded gave him a flashy car like a Ferrari or Lamborghini every year as a bonus. He even drove those testosterone machines once in a while. But mostly he kept his car collection in his pole barn and polished a model or two when he was trying to think or trying not to think. It was his form of therapy.

He'd recently bought the Lotus on eBay and was still infatuated with it—like a kid with a new toy. Painted bright yellow with a black leather interior and the best stereo known to man at the time, it was one sweet machine.

Like Stella Scott was sweet—in the carnal sense. And in a couple other ways as well. He liked her… and her comic book store.

But not her quick temper.

He wasn't in the market for aggravation. No more than he was in the market for permanence. It had been nice, but not
that
nice.

As the phone rang that morning, he'd checked out his caller ID, not in the mood to deal with any problems from the office in L.A. They'd have to manage without him today or punt. Production wasn't in crisis mode right now, anyway. Whatever issues they had could wait.

When he'd sold his company shortly after college, he'd stayed on the board of Riverfront Games and continued to serve as chief designer. With 160,000,000 people playing
Blizzard 9000
at twelve dollars a month, the buyers didn't want to lose his expertise. Nor was he in the mood to throw in the towel and retire at thirty-two.

The new game he was designing was in the fun stage at the moment; he was still changing more than he was keeping. Maybe in another six months, he'd have all the kinks ironed out and he'd send it in to corporate. In the meantime, if anyone had any questions that couldn't be answered via e-mail or phone, they'd have to fly out to see him.

He preferred his privacy here on the farm. The land had belonged to his grandparents, and as a kid, he'd spent summers here. He knew the area. He liked that no one bothered him.

At least no one had until recently.

Now with the break-in, he had a potentially hazardous situation for Riverfront Games's bottom line.

Along with the added problem of Stella Scott, who had become hazardous to
his
fucking peace of mind.

Leaning hard on the bumper, he put his shoulder into it, rubbing the sheep's wool—circle, swirl, circle, swirl, circle, circle, circle. Out damned spot, out, out, out. If only he could erase Stella's image as easily. Reaching over, he turned the volume up on the boom box at his feet. Nothing like loud music to drown out the harsh realities of the world.

He didn't hear the phone when it rang, but the flashing caller ID caught his eye. At the sight of Buddy's name, he lunged for the stereo volume button and the phone at the same time, scraping the skin off his wrist in the process. Kicking the work bench, he picked up the phone, still swearing under his breath.

"Not a good time?"

"A minor mishap. Nothing earth-shaking. What's up?" Not that Danny was fussy. Any diversion was welcome.

"I was wondering how the rest of your weekend went?"

"Can't complain." An understatement of major proportions considering the volatility of his sexual activities. It took him a second to temper his voice to a mildness he wasn't feeling. "Yours?"

"The usual. Sun, drinks, the river. What's not to like? We're golfing at Stoneridge this afternoon. Care to join us?"

"What time?" As if the polish on the Lotus wouldn't wait.

"Tee time's at one. You know Darren and Louis. Maybe we'll check out The Cat Fish Bar afterward."

"I'll meet you there."

"Sounds good."

"See ya." Danny literally breathed a sigh of relief as he hung up, although he chose to overlook that fleeting moment of desperation. He liked to golf with Buddy, he thought in the next swift synapse, obliterating rash exhalations and strung out nerves. Tossing aside the sheepskin mitt, he closed the can of polish, shut off the lights, and walked toward the house sucking on his scraped wrist. He probably should return those L.A. calls before he left, he decided, his mood on the rise. There were times when his sane counsel was badly needed in LaLa Land. And Larry, the marketing manager, had made most of those calls. It probably wouldn't hurt to eat, either. Five espressos weren't exactly the breakfast of champions.

He was even in a good enough mood after breakfast and his L.A. calls to pick up when Marisa called. He was about to walk out the door. The timing couldn't have been better. "Sorry, Marisa, can't talk. I'm on my way out," he said, picking up his golf bag.

"Just when I was thinking of coming over and keeping you company," she purred. "What are you doing that's better than a nice afternoon in bed?"

"I'm golfing with Buddy."

"I didn't know you golfed."

Because they essentially met in bed, he wasn't surprised. "I do on occasion. And Buddy's waiting, so I gotta go."

"You don't know what you're missing." A low, sultry offer of sex in every syllable.

"Maybe some other time." His voice was polite. "I'll give you a call."

"See that you do. I miss your many talents. Ciao, baby."

That was easy, he thought, hanging up the phone. Not even an argument. Not that it would have done any good, but Marisa could be demanding. Luckily, he'd had a bonafide excuse. She was probably already calling the next guy in her little black book.