Love Has The Best Intentions (6 page)

Was it an earthquake to add fresh
devastation? No, she was trapped in a blast of words seeking to
whirl her away, like an old newspaper caught in a windstorm. Now
she knew why they now named hurricanes after men? Surely, nothing
could match the masculine fury now raging around her.

“What’s the matter with you? Didn’t you see
the stop sign? Or was your Seeing Eye dog taking a nap in the back
seat?

His sarcastic tone glittered as brightly as
the mingled shards of broken glass from the headlights of both
vehicles. Katie shook her head to clear it.

She knew this man. Despite the scowl, his
face was as familiar as her reflection in the mirror when she
brushed her teeth. Each morning they passed on their opposite ways
and he saluted her with a wave and a smile. His handsome features
reminded her of a poster depicting Sleeping Beauty being kissed
awake by a prince, a prince whose heart-stopping smile had
decorated her room until she was fourteen.

As the other driver surveyed the twisted nose
of his vintage Camero, he shuddered with revulsion and turned on
Katie. She hugged the battered side of her car for support as he
raised his voice to a shout.

“You’ve ruined her!”

Katie felt tangled in the sticky web of a
nightmare, the chilling kind where monsters stalked innocent
children playing in a field of daisies. Perhaps she’d hit her head
on the steering wheel. Perhaps she was still asleep and in an hour
would be waving a greeting to the man in the baby blue Camero.

As he pounded the hood of her crumpled car
with a clenched fist and vented his frustration, Katie remembered
the hours she’d spent visualizing their first meeting. They would
pass on the street and he would stop, studying her features with
interest. “Say, don’t I know you? You’re that pretty girl who waves
to me each morning!” Coffee, an intimate candlelight dinner,
dancing—“Katie, you’re so special, darling”—then marriage, children
and happily ever after.

The prince, whose smiles she’d cherished and
hugged deep inside, the man whose every gesture had been stored
away as a special memory, had been changed by enchantment into a
fire-breathing dragon.

A crowd composed of dog walkers, joggers and
the curious occupants of neighboring houses gathered to view and
comment on the accident. Cars trapped behind the two stalled
vehicles honked impatiently.

The sun burned down on Katie’s uncovered
head. She was dizzy and her lower lip, bitten through on impact,
felt as if it had swelled to the size of her mother’s strawberry
pin cushion.

The edges of the scene seemed fuzzy and
surrealistic. She longed to escape and lie down with a cool cloth
over her eyes, but the prince-dragon was still demanding an
explanation.

She swallowed a giggle. You could almost see
the puffs of smoke emerging from his nostrils as he snorted and
snarled.

“Get a grip on yourself, Katie, my girl. I
think you’re delirious,” she cautioned herself before saying aloud,
“I’m very sorry but it was an accident. My brakes must have failed.
I tried to avoid you but we seemed to have been on the same wave
length.”

He winced at the word “wave” and swept an
accusing hand at the damage. “Do you think being sorry is going to
fix
that
?”

“And do you expect me to wave—oops, I
apologize, poor choice of words—point a magic wand and have your
car restored? I’m insured, so relax.”

If this had been a story book romance, he
would be cuddling her shocked, trembling body against his powerful
chest, their hearts beating as one while he assured her he would
take care of everything.

Well, this wasn’t a romance, this was reality
and the man of her dreams seemed unmoved at the sight of the blood
she could feel trickling down her chin. Since he continued to abuse
both her and her poor battered car, her Irish temper finally
sparked. Katie stalked over and slammed her own hand down on the
hood of the his Camero with each word for emphasis. “I’m sorry—I’m
insured—Stop shouting!”

He did, abruptly switching to a moan of pure
pain that she had dared to lay hands on his injured sweetheart. The
pathetic tinkle of the last glass fragments parting from the
headlight casing and falling to the street almost brought him to
his knees.

“She’s only fit to be scrapped. This was a
sleek, hot-blooded cruising animal until your junk heap mauled
her!”

As she stared into his hate-filled eyes,
Katie wondered what she could do to strike back. Kick a tire? She
didn’t want the situation degenerating any further into a black and
white slapstick routine as two motorists methodically dismantle
each other’s cars in revenge.

“Calm down, mister. She still looks like an
animal. Instead of a thoroughbred, though, you’ve got a bull
dog.”

The crowd tittered in appreciation of Kate’s
wit, but the driver of the other car clenched his fists and stalked
towards her. She felt a tremor of fear at having pushed him too
hard. A male jury would never convict him. A shrill cry from the
growing throng of onlookers stopped him from committing justifiable
homicide.

“Adam, that that you? Remember, you’ve a
court appearance at ten this morning—oh, Adam, your car! How
dreadful!”

The woman who approached was apparently also
a lawyer. A calfskin briefcase swung at her side and the severely
tailored black suit did nothing to detract from her ash blond
femininity. Slipping a comforting hand through her colleague’s
rigid arm, she turned a laser-blue gaze on Katie.

“What happened here? Are you hurt, Adam?”

“She destroyed my car, Michelle! My baby’s
ruined. She’ll never be the same. This woman ran right through a
stop sign and plowed into me!”

“Adam, what a terrible tragedy! I can
empathize—I know the pain you’re experiencing. I’d be just as
devastated if a vandal destroyed one of my Persian rugs.”

He scowled, as if resenting any comparison
between his car and a carpet.

Katie felt very tired. Adam and Michelle
deserved each other. She hoped they would get married and buy a
Great Dane which refused to be housebroken around Michelle’s
Persian rugs and chewed the upholstery in Adam’s next car.

Since Adam seemed wrapped up in his own
personal torment, Katie offered Michelle an explanation. “As I told
Adam before, I’m insured and it was truly an accident. My brakes
failed. I’m very sorry.”

Michelle paid as much attention as if a slimy
bug had crawled out of a crack in the sidewalk and attempted to
address her. After a haughty glance in Katie’s general direction,
Michelle patted Adam on the shoulder in an attempt to offer
comfort.

Adam, however, was still obsessed with his
grievance. “Don’t ever wave at me again!” he snapped petulantly and
turned his back on Katie.

“Wave?” Michelle arched perfectly plucked
brows. “You know each other?”

Her assessing glance swept over Katie’s
buttercup yellow sun dress, so bright and cheery an hour early, now
smudged with dust from leaning on the car, the puffed and bloodied
lip she’d seen in her rearview mirror.

Michelle smiled.

The contemptuous smile hurt Katie more than
the sting of her cut mouth. To keep the tears from spilling over,
she turned to survey the damage to her Mustang. The front of her
car was badly crumpled and the jagged metal had also cut and
collapsed a tire. The effect was that of a dignified matron with a
bloody nose.

She wished fervently that the police would
arrive and issue her a ticket—or arrest her. Jail would be better
than being imprisoned here in the street with Adam and
Michelle.

“Katie?”

The familiar voice sent her spinning around,
searching for a friendly face in a haze of hostility. “Matthew! I’m
so glad to see you!”

Puzzled by the warmth of her greeting, the
man thus addressed sent a quick glance over his shoulder, as if to
check whether another Matthew had wandered into the vicinity.

Katie’s relief was genuine, although their
acquaintance was limited to a lunch date several weeks ago. Matthew
had installed the new computer system in Katie’s office. She’d
enjoyed the conversation, but the memory of a gleaming smile, wavy
chestnut hair and a baby blue Camero had kept her from accepting a
second date.

Now the concern in his voice as he asked if
she was all right sent the tears she’d been too proud to shed
coursing down her cheeks. “My brakes didn’t work—I turned his
vintage car into a bull dog—he keeps going on and on about the
damage until I could scream! I apologized, Matthew, but he yelled
at me.” She gulped. “And she smiled ...”

Within minutes, Matthew had Katie seated
inside his truck while he procured a plastic bag filled with
crushed ice from a neighboring residence for her swollen lip.

When a policeman finally appeared, Matthew
explained about the brake failure and insisted that Katie be
interviewed as briefly as possible. A sullen Adam watched his
bruised vintage baby hauled away by a tow truck before climbing
into Michelle’s BMW.

Matthew opened the door. “I’m afraid your car
isn’t drivable, Katie, so I called the garage down the street for a
tow truck. I’m going to run you over to the ER for a check-up and
stitches in that lip. I don’t like the way it’s bleeding.”

“I’m not too crazy about it myself,” Katie
quipped feebly behind the makeshift ice bag. “But don’t you have to
be somewhere on a job?”

Matthew’s gentle smile widened and he winked.
“I’ll call in that I have an emergency. Can’t abandon a lady in
distress, can I?”

As he went around to the driver’s side and
climbed up behind the wheel, Katie studied him out of the corner of
her eye. Why had she decided this friendship wouldn’t be worth
developing? Because Matthew wore khaki work pants instead of a
three piece suit? Carried a tool box instead of a briefcase? Went
to night school instead of joining the country club?

Just because his features weren’t poster
perfect didn’t mean he wouldn’t be perfect for Katie O’Brien. After
the trauma of the morning, Katie was ready to discard her silly,
insubstantial fantasies about a knight in shining armor for a man
who could chase away the real life dragons that lurked around every
corner.

As Matthew turned the key in the ignition,
Katie reached over and patted his hand.

He glanced at her. “Feel all right,
Katie?”

“I’m glad you rode your white charger today,
Matt.”

“Charger? This is a Chevy truck—not a Dodge
Charger. Are you sure you’re not concussed?”

Katie leaned her throbbing head back and
sighed contentedly. “I may not be an automotive expert, Matt, but I
do know my knights.”

THE END

At Home to
Roost

“Linen napkins?” Pulling on his sweater,
Peter gave his wife a puzzled look.

“I want everything to be just perfect,”
Rosemary said, folding the last one and smoothing the
tablecloth.

Peter chuckled. “We never used cloth napkins
at breakfast when the girls lived at home.”

“This Easter is the first holiday everyone is
able to be with us,” Rosemary reminded him. “We’re going to show
all the family in-laws that gracious living is possible away from
the city.”

Buttoning his jacket, Peter kissed her on the
cheek and headed out to do chores. As she bustled around the
kitchen, Rosemary thought back ...

She and Peter had been blessed with three
daughters. The girls had loved farm life, each participating in 4-H
and showing livestock.

Both had fallen in love while away at
college, Dorrie with an aspiring physician, Karla with a software
developer and Alyson with an accountant. Naturally, Rosemary and
Peter had hoped that at least one child would marry a man who’d be
willing to take over the farm eventually. That wish hadn’t been
fulfilled, however, they both knew their daughters’ happiness came
first.

Now, the girls and their families lived in
different cities, and opportunities for reunions were few and far
between. Their husbands were always cordial, but Rosemary didn’t
know them well enough to be truly comfortable in their company.

Everybody had arrived last night. This
morning, Rosemary was determined to overwhelm them with
country-style hospitality. There’d be omelets for the adults, and
French toast strips and maple syrup for the three little ones. A
succulent ham awaited its turn in the oven for the noon meal.

Peter strode in from chores, ice glittering
on his shoulders. “Getting slick out—it’s still sleeting.”

“How are the new chicks?” Rosemary asked,
feeling a twinge of concern.

“All fifty are still alive and peeping.
They’ll be okay ...
if
the power stays on.”

Hurrying to finish breakfast preparations
while Peter cleaned up, Rosemary scowled at the gloomy sky
outside.

Dorrie strolled into the kitchen with her
husband and two children. Alyson and her husband and Karla and Matt
and the baby soon came downstairs to join them. Rosemary scurried
around her warm, wonderful smelling kitchen, so happy to have the
girls home yet still unsure what to say to her sons-in-law. None of
them had a country background and she felt awkward in attempting to
initiate any conversation.

She was adding bacon to the omelet mixture
when the lights flickered and went out.

Rosemary tried her best to smile. “Ice on the
lines,” she said. Turning to her daughters, she advised. “You
better put sweaters on the kids.”

Alyson jumped up. “I’ll get the wood stove
started. Everything will be fine.”

Shaking her head, Rosemary thought about the
newly hatched babies in the chicken house. Without the heat lamps
on, they’d quickly freeze to death.

Peter appeared, reached for his coat ... and
hesitated. Rosemary realized her husband wasn’t going to suggest
the only method of saving the chicks. He knew how much the reunion
and all her careful planning meant to her.