Along Came Trouble(86)

Caleb was supposed to be fun. Having an affair with him was supposed to be something she was doing for herself. This was not remotely fun.

“You can’t have it both ways, Clark. Protect me from the ravening hordes if you want to, but don’t expect me to like it. Don’t expect me to thank you for it, either.”

She turned her back on him and stomped toward the house as best she could in bare feet. More of a hobbling mince than a stomp, unfortunately, because her feet felt all chewed up. Her everything felt all chewed up.

Caleb Clark. For Christ’s sake. Not an hour had gone by since she met him that he’d failed to put her through the wringer. What had possessed her to sleep with him?

Multiple orgasms.

Yeah, there was that. But she could live without those. She’d managed to live thirty years without them, after all.

Passing a guy who was pulverizing her geraniums with his work boots, she turned around one last time and told Caleb, “That tulip tree cost a fortune. Don’t let them cut it down.”

Caleb had his soldier face on. He gave her a grim nod.

Ellen wanted to smack him. She wanted to smack somebody, anyway.



By nine, Jamie couldn’t stand it anymore. Ellen was up in the loft grumbling to herself about the fence—which in his opinion she was blowing way out of proportion, but no one had asked his opinion—the construction guys outside were making a racket, and all he could think about was Carly next door. Carly looking happy to see him. Carly in his arms again. Kissing Carly. Oh, man, kissing Carly.

“I’m going over there,” he announced to nobody in particular.

The scene outside was uglier than he’d expected. Caleb’s guys had chain link stretching all across the front yard, and a few of them were lining it with blue plastic fabric. There was a gap for Ellen’s driveway and another gap over at Carly’s, but he couldn’t see any cars parked along the street except the Camelot Security ones. Maybe Clark had put up a roadblock or something. If so, he’d moved pretty quickly for a yokel.

Bad move on the fence, though. The guy should have known better than to think he could get it past Ellen without a fight. And Ellen could bear a grudge for a good long time.

There were some gawkers on foot at the base of the drive, and he could hear the cameras whirring as he walked up Carly’s porch steps. “Jamie! What brings you back to Camelot, Jamie? Look over here, Callahan! Your mother’s ugly! Jamie! You’re a jerk!”

They’d say anything to make him look. If he looked, they got a better picture, and then they got to go on vacation in the Caribbean. Freaking vultures.

He took a deep breath and rang the bell.

An older woman with wild, curly white hair answered the door. She was Carly all over—the hair, the elfin chin, the sparkling blue eyes. This had to be Nana Short.

“Well, hello there, handsome!” she said with a smile. “I’ve been waiting for you to turn up.” Nana looked him over slowly, toes to crown and then back down again. “People magazine didn’t lie. You are one fine piece of ass. Turn around so I can see your butt.”

Carly had told him Nana was “feisty,” but somehow the word hadn’t conjured up this sort of cheerful lechery.

He extended his hand. “Hello, Nana. Pleasure to meet you finally.”

He’d always wanted to meet Nana, but Carly hadn’t allowed it. At first, he’d assumed his missing her was accidental. Later Carly claimed that she’d wanted to protect their time together. Only after she dumped him had it crossed his mind that she might have another reason—that she might be ashamed of him, or so unserious about their relationship as to make introducing him to her family inadvisable.

Nana shook his hand quickly, but she seemed more interested in inspecting his forearms, turning his arm this way and that to consider his musculature.

“Dang,” she said quietly.

“Uh, is Carly home?”

“Yes, yes, of course. Not going to turn around, are you?” She darted out the door, skirted behind him, and, apparently, ogled his ass. “Ha! I knew it. Those are some fine buns. Old men never have butts like that. What happens to your butts as you get older, do you think? It’s like they just disappear, and there’s nothing to grab onto anymore.”

An image he could have lived without.

Hoping to distract Nana from talking about the disadvantages of geriatric sex, he turned around—though this gave the photographers a better shot—and offered her a broad smile. “Carly’s told me all about you.”