Somebody to Love(63)

Her mother removed her       sunglasses and gave Parker a level look. “When one hears that one’s daughter       has been in prison, one hops on the next plane. Apparently, you’re following       your father into a life of crime.”

Parker sighed. “Yes, Mother.       That’s it exactly. I’m a drug dealer. It wasn’t prison, by the way. It was       just a holding cell. And the charges were dropped.”

“Just a holding cell. Dear Lord,       what have we come to? Have you gained weight? You look beefy.”

Only Althea would call a size       ten beefy. She herself had the scrawny size-four physique of the desperately       middle-aged—those women who were liposuctioned and implanted and had tans       applied and paid a personal trainer to deny Nature its due. “And calling me?       Why was that a bad idea?”

Althea stared. She might’ve been       scowling, but Botox had frozen her eyebrows into that shiny, plasticine       look, as well as given her a permanent half smile, so Parker could never       tell.

“I wasn’t sure you could get       phone calls, dear. I thought time might’ve been of the essence.”

“How did you know I was in       trouble?” Parker asked.

“Lavinia tracked me down on       Facebook, then called. My goodness, the woman sounds like Yul Brynner on his       deathbed.”

“Since when do you and Lavinia       talk to each other? She told me she hadn’t seen you since you were       kids.”

“Well, I appreciated the call,       Parker. I’m here because I thought you might need bail money.”

“Thanks, Mom.” Althea would       never win Mother of the Year, but her heart was in the right      place.

“What is that?” her mother asked,       squinting as best she was able. Beauty stood on the steps, not quite ready       to defend the place, not quite ready to back down from a stranger, either.       Progress, in other words. “Is that a dog?”

“Shoot, I thought it was a pony.       No, you’re right, it’s a dog. Dang.”

“Sarcasm is the lowest form of       humor, Parker. Did Harvard teach you nothing? And who on earth is       that?”

James was coming down the       ladder. He walked over, all sweaty male glory, and extended his hand. “Hi.       James Cahill. We’ve met a few times.”

Althea deigned to look at him.       “Have we?” she asked.

“Yes. At your grandson’s       christening and again on his third birthday.”

“He works for Harry, Mom. He’s       helping me out.”

“Is he? How fascinating. Put a       shirt on, young man. If I wanted to see a na**d man, I would’ve stopped at       Chippendales.”

James smiled that wonderful,       achingly wide smile, causing Parker’s Lady Land to squeeze hot and hard. He       gave Parker an amused glance and went off. He did not, she was pleased to       see, put his shirt back on.

Althea huffed. “Well, this ruins       my plans. I thought we might spend some time together, do a little       redecorating, but I see it’s hopeless. I absolutely cannot stay       here.”

“Actually, you could have my       room, and I’ll—”

“No. I’ll find somewhere. Surely       there’s a B and B around this godforsaken area.”

“It burned over the       winter.”

“Small wonder. Well. Give me       some time. I’ll see what I can find. Dinner tonight, darling? I’ll pick you       up around six.” She put her sunglasses back on and climbed back behind the       wheel, then gunned the motor, leaving Parker in a cloud of dust.

“What a happy surprise,” James       offered.

“So happy,” Parker      said.

“By the way,” he added, “I think       you look great, beefy or not.”

“I’m not beefy,” she       snapped.

“You’re beautiful,” he       said.

There was that knowing grin, the       I’ve seen you na**d look. “Just…just pipe down, you,” she      said.