Somebody to Love (Gideon's Cove #3)(69)

“Hey, Beauty,” he said. She wagged again. “Are you a sweet girl?” She bent her head, seeming to acknowledge that yes, in fact, she was. Very slowly, he knelt down. She didn’t run. “Are you a pretty girl, Beauty?” The wagging grew more constant, though still tentative. “You got any pointers for me, dog?”

When James was a kid, they’d had a dog. Brandy, a big old Irish setter. After what happened, it seemed as if she was the only one left who still liked him. She died two years later, and the Cahills had never gotten another.

Slowly, James reached out to pet Beauty’s head, but just as he almost touched her, a car came roaring up to the house, and the dog bolted, disappearing around the front and down the stairs toward the dock.

Collier Rhodes. Why not Jay Gatsby, right? Same overall message. The Porsche purred to a stop, and James threw his hammer down with more gusto than was perhaps necessary and walked over to the driveway.

“Hi, Jim! How’s it going here?”

“Collier.”

“So, is Parker around?”

Why don’t you go step on a rusty nail, huh, pal? “She’s either at the flower shop or the library.”

“Awesome.” Collier glanced around the cluttered little yard. “Think she’d be interested in having dinner on my boat tonight?”

Yep. Lockjaw would definitely improve you. “Better ask her.”

“I will.” The guy looked at him for a second. “So this buddy of mine and I were talking the other day.”

“Sebastian Junger?”

“No. Though he and I did shoot the breeze at a fundraiser a few years ago. Why? You know him?”

“No.”

Collier frowned. “Anyway, this buddy of mine happens to work at the SEC.”

Oh.

James gave him a long look, noting the smug gleam in the alien blue eyes. “I have to get back to work,” he said. He turned and walked back to the side of the house.

“Does she know?” Collier called.

James didn’t answer, and a minute later, he heard the snug thunk of the sports-car door closing, then the expensive thrum of the motor as Collier left.

* * *

“POOR LITTLE KITTEN went through the pearly gates into heaven, where there were rainbows and butterflies and flowers and fields, and so many friends! Poor Little Kitten was not poor anymore, nor was she squished from the tractor. ‘It’s beautiful here!’ she mewed happily.

‘I know,’ said Spike. ‘Now, don’t forget, you have to choose a heaven-name.’

‘I choose Princess,’ said the sweet little cat, and all the other cats cheered. With that, Spike kissed the little kitten on her soft, fluffy head, then sped back to earth on his magical roller skates.

‘Her heaven-name is Princess,’ he told the children as their tears dried in the sunshine, ‘and she’s very, very happy. Now, who wants some angel food cake?’ And with that, Golly, Polly and Molly, Ike, Mike and Spike brought the mortal children to their special tree house, ate cake, and everyone felt much, much happier. The end.”

Un-fricking-believable that these books had made a fortune.

Parker swallowed the familiar bile that had crept up her throat during the reading and looked at the assembled children. Collier and her mother stood together in the back, and Lord have mercy, Collier was wiping away tears. Grow a pair, pal, she thought, even as she nodded with a smile.

James wasn’t here.

Just thinking his name made her heart speed up. But James was absent, despite her note telling him exactly where she’d be. So what was that about? A guy kisses the stuffing out of you, you’d think he’d accept a blatant invitation to come see you. But he hadn’t. And it was a bit surprising how disappointing that was.

“Any questions?” she asked.

“Did you write Harry Potter?” asked a cute little blonde girl. Judge Freeman’s granddaughter, if she wasn’t mistaken.

“No, honey, I didn’t, but I sure love those books, don’t you?”

“Are you gonna go to Hollywood and see the movie of your books?” asked another little girl.

“No, not to Hollywood. But my son and I will see the movie, sure. He’s five. Anybody else here five?”

Several hands shot in the air, and for the next hour, Parker took questions. Which Holy Roller was her favorite? Why did Mike have blue eyes and Ike have brown? Did she draw the pictures? Why not? Was she rich? Why not? Had she ever met Harry Potter? Why not?

Was she writing more books?

The little bloodsuckers always asked the hard questions.

“I’m taking a little break this summer,” Parker said. “But I’m reading a lot. What are some of your favorite books?”

There. Truth deferred.

The truth was, Parker still had nothing. Every day, she’d tried, and yet every idea had been so ridiculous that she couldn’t bear to go on. Fairies, leprechauns, gnomes, dwarves, giants. Farm animals, wild animals, domestic animals. City kids, country kids, kids from the future, kids from the past, kids on drugs—that was going to be a young adult novel, which had petered out after sentence number four. Horses with wings, horses with horns, horses with psychic powers. Wild cats, domestic cats, long-haired cats, big cats, blind cats who formed a penal colony and ruled using their heightened sense of smell.