Stacking the Deck (A Betting on Romance Novel Book 2) (9 page)

“There.” He yanked open the back slider. “It’s out. You can stop panicking now.”

“I wasn’t—
the cat!
” she shrieked as Eddie darted through the open slider. “He’s not supposed to go out!”

Liz raced out the slider, as a blur of orange tabby zipped behind a rhododendron. “Eddie, honey? Come on. Don’t be scared.” She flipped on the rear spotlight, hoping to shed some light into the shadows by the house, and pointed to the bush. Carter caught her eye and rounded the other side. “Eddie. Come out. Please?”

“Your parents have a cat?” Carter asked as he inched toward the far side of the bush.

“He’s mine. He doesn’t like to be boarded, so I brought him with me from Chicago. He’s not used to being outside,” she whispered so as not to alarm Eddie. “I think the commotion scared him.”

“Is that why he’s growling?” Carter whispered from somewhere in the shrubbery.

“That’s not growling. It’s a fear moan. I think. He’s generally quite friendly to people who like cats.” Liz wrung her hands then noticed the action and dropped them to her sides in self-disgust. “Can you reach him?”

Carter was on his belly now, half hidden beneath the branches. “I think so— Christ! This is your cat? He looks like Tony Soprano. Are you
sure
he’s friendly?”

“He’s a pussycat. Unless he’s scared, then he can be a little… unpredictable.”

“Uh-huh. Here goes nothin’.” Eddie gave a short yowl of protest, and then Carter was backing out from under the bush. He stood up, clutching Eddie tightly in his arms. Neither looked particularly happy.

“Did he scratch you?”

“Are you kidding? I’m a professional.”

“A professional cat-nabber?”

“Just get the door. Your cat’s giving me the evil eye. I don’t think he likes me.”

“He always looks like that,” she said a little breathlessly as she followed Carter into the house. “If he hasn’t bitten you yet, you’re way ahead of the cur...” But the rest of her words died on her tongue as she turned toward the kitchen.

Smoke clouded the room. Black soot coated the ceiling. She coughed, adrenaline pumping sickly through her veins. “Oh God. And here I’m supposed to be making the house fit for sale?”

Carter shooed Eddie into the dining room, closed the door and turned on the stove exhaust. Liz opened the window above the sink. Carter waved a dinner plate toward it. “Come on. I think your folks will be amazed with what you’ve done so far.” She watched as his dead-pan expression tilted into an easy, infectious grin. “I’m thinking we set off a few small explosives and our work here is done.”

“It’s that bad, isn’t it?”

“It’s not great. I won’t lie. But I’ve seen worse. Why don’t you put together those sandwiches and point me toward a fan so we can keep this smoke from drifting through the rest of the house?”

“You don’t have to—”

“I’m hungry, Liz. Make some sandwiches, and I’ll start cleaning.” He gave her a look. “If you don’t, I might be forced to eat the rest of the swiss cake rolls.” His lips twitched charmingly. “You know you like them.”

“They’re full of sugar and preservatives.”

“That’s what makes them so good.”

She shook her head, the scent of burnt bacon overwhelming. Classical music filled the air.

“Liz?” Carter said.

“Yeah?” she said, trying to ignore the obvious.

“You’re pocket’s ringing.”

“I know.” She pulled her cell phone out of her skirt pocket. Grant again. “I’m sorry, but I’d better take this. There’s probably a fan in the front hall closet.” As Carter left in search of the fan, she turned toward the back yard. “Hello?”

“Liz?
Finally!
I thought you were going to make yourself available.”

“Sorry. Some things came up.”

“Yeah, well things came up here, too, and I could use your help. Now’s not the time to go AWOL on me. Did you get my text? My e-mail?”

“Not yet. I was out. What’s going on?”

Something wrong?
Carter mouthed, box fan in hand.

Liz shook her head.
Work,
she mouthed back.

“…Janice is having a fit about the disaster recovery meeting Friday. I thought you worked that out with her,” Grant said.

“I did. I—”

“And, I need you to send me the schedule again. I can’t find the copy you left me, and Ethan’s getting annoyed we don’t have it posted on the board already.”

“No problem. I—”

“No problem? You’re not having to deal with all the fires that keep creeping up! The Scrips2U people are complaining that some of their CSRs can’t access the ordering system, and to top it off, the software vendor isn’t returning my calls.”

“Okay. I’ll call Andy. I’m sure it’s—”

“It’s a pain in the ass is what it is! Where have you been? I sent you a text about this over two hours ago!”

Had it been that long?

Liz gritted her teeth as Carter set the box fan in the window and plugged it in. “I doubt it’s a software problem. If it’s only some of the CSRs, they’re probably forgetting to enter their new ID codes. The system will lock them out after three attempts as a security measure. Just have a shift manager enter his/her override numbers for now, and I’ll have Andy sort it out in the morning.”

“The job is done, Liz. We shouldn’t have to hold their hands like this.”

“It’s our job to hold their hands. If these transitions were easy, they wouldn’t need us.”

Grant heaved an audible sigh. “The wrap-up is complete. We did what we were contracted to do. Sometimes you need to cut the cord and move on. Andy needs to take care of this now. Not you.”

“You know Andy is getting married next week. He’s preoccupied.”

“It’s a civil ceremony, Liz. At the town hall. It’s not a big deal.”

“It is to them,” she said, coughing a little. The lingering smoke was beginning to irritate her throat. “Listen. I’m sorry, but I’m in the middle of something. I’ll follow up with Andy, and I’ll e-mail the schedule as soon as we hang up. Anything else?”

“No. That’s it. For the moment.”

“Great,” she said.

“Great.”

Liz pocketed her phone and hurried to open the back slider as Carter waited to take the still-smoking skillet outside. She avoided his eyes as he walked past, her gaze drawn to a large, sooty handprint on the hip of his jeans, the dark outline of fingertips just brushing his back pocket.

She swallowed in alarm.

Grant wasn’t the only one with fires to put out.

CHAPTER NINE
____________________
Twelve years earlier…

B
ETH STOOD ALONE at the far end of Jenny’s living room and carefully sipped her cup of punch. Her stomach growled. The Whitmeyer’s owned The Old Mill Bar & Grill across town and were notoriously cool. They were probably watching horror movies in the master suite upstairs, while their famous hot wings and potato skins sat in chafing dishes for the masses.

Beth eyed the cookies, salsa and tortilla chips on a nearby table, but there was no way she’d risk dribbling salsa down her shirt or getting cookie crumbs in her teeth. Besides, she couldn’t eat in front of boys. No way.

They came in periodically, the boys that is, raiding the chips bowl, jostling and joking and dropping crumbs on the floor in testosterone–fueled orgies before they elbowed each other and laughed their enticing, low laughs and wandered away again. Beth sucked in her stomach and pretended to be engrossed in her manicure like she’d seen the other girls do. She let out a nervous exhale. She’d thought the pale mauve looked quietly elegant and understated but now it just looked like she’d borrowed nail polish from somebody’s grandmother.

Wishing she were more the type that could get away with metallic blue, she set her paper cup down on a window sill. Bailey was right. It was stupid to come.

She was just about to walk down the hall in search of a restroom when Valerie and her gang stepped out of the kitchen. They flipped their hair at the boys who were lingering around the cupcakes. “Hey, guys.”

Chip Otterman, Dan O’Connell and a few other popular guys stood around, periodically dipping their fingers into the cupcake frosting and licking it off. Dan winked at Valerie. “Hey, gorgeous.”

Valerie preened and flicked her hair again, her giant silver hoop earrings glinting as she did so. “You’re not going to stand here all night and eat cupcakes, are you?” she teased.

He eyed her as only a horny teenaged boy can, a mixture of hope and confidence warring on his features. “Got any better ideas?” he asked.

“Oh, I’ve always got ideas,” Valerie cooed. My God, she was good. Beth watched as Valerie pulled an empty wine bottle she must have retrieved from the recycle bin from behind her back. “How about we all have a little fun? Who’s up for Seven Minutes of Heaven?”

Dan frowned. Chip looked hopefully at Jenny. The other boys chuckled nervously.

“Oh, come on,” Valerie urged. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”

Chip nudged Dan. “Why not?”

“Shut up. You just want to kiss my girlfriend.”

“Worried?” Valerie asked, sauntering toward the door. You could tell she already knew she’d won. “Afraid he’s a better kisser than you?”

“Heck, no,” Dan said, grabbing Valerie’s waist. He licked her ear. Beth could see his tongue snake out. “I’ll make sure you only reach heaven with me, baby,” he said.

Gag!

Beth did her best to blend in with the upholstery, horrified at the turn of events. This was
so
not where she belonged. A make-out game?
Ack!
No amount of reading Trish’s
Cosmo
s on the sly could make her good at
that.

She could hear voices outside the front door. Great. More people to ignore her.

She took a step back into the curtains, waiting for everyone to leave so she could go find a restroom. Hide. But, just as they were about to disappear into the kitchen, Valerie turned and looked Beth straight in the eye.

“Coming?” she said.

CHAPTER TEN
____________________

C
ARTER KNOCKED LIGHTLY before entering his grandmother’s living room. It was one of three small rooms on the ground floor in Ma and Pop’s house Grams had been given to use after her knee replacements.  He scootched by the TV and Grams’ recliner and pulled a slip of paper from the pocket of his sweats.

“Here’s your ticket and receipt. The lottery commission thanks you again for your donation.”

Grams snatched the scratch tickets out of his hand. “We’ll see who’s laughing when I hit the jackpot. Ooh!
Shh!
They’re starting again!”

She set the lottery tickets on a side table by her chair and waved impatiently for him to sit.

“Sorry I missed dinner. I—”

“Never  mind that.” Grams waved away his apology. “Leftovers are in the fridge if you want to take them home. Okay. You’ve already missed the recap of last week’s episode, so I’ll bring you up to speed. They’ve done the little vignette on each of the three finalists. Now he’s gone into seclusion to decide which two he wants to take on the final adventure.” She leaned forward in her recliner to see around him as he toed off his sneakers.

Carter plopped onto the loveseat. “As if he can actually find ‘true love’ after ten episodes. This show is completely rigged.”

“Is not,” Grams retorted, riveted to the screen. “I read about him in
People
. He’s a lonely widower and would love to find love again, but it hasn’t happened. Let’s face it, he’s thirty-five now. Time’s a tickin’. As he pointed out in the article, this show isn’t any different than having a friend set you up on a blind date.”

“Except my friends don’t follow me around with a camera crew.”

“
Pfft
. Marcia says the couples forget the cameras are even there.”

‘Marcia’ was the host of the popular reality show and the supposed “matchmaking guru” who used her own proprietary romantic screening process (probably a Magic-8 ball) to “handpick” candidates to date the lead. Unlike other dating shows, Marcia believed real-life challenges were what made or broke relationships, so dates were less about wine and cheese picnics and more about changing a tire in the rain, hosting a birthday party for a pack of preschoolers or getting lost (i.e. dropped) in the woods and having to find your way back to civilization with only a roll of aluminum foil, a rope, a chocolate bar and a towel between you. (That was a fun episode.)

“Go ahead and poke fun. I love this show. It’s the classic tale of finding true love.”

“As observed by twenty million Americans in their living rooms.” Carter helped himself to popcorn and settled in for the season finale. They had the same conversation every Monday night. He wouldn’t have missed it for the world. Grams lit up when she talked about true love. Who was he to deprive her of that?

He just needed to keep creepy old men from capitalizing on her naiveté.