A Mother's Wish
Meg covered her mouth as she yawned. “I’m too old for this.”
“You and me both.”
Meg finished her soda, too, and leaned back against Steve, his chest supporting her back. She didn’t dare close her eyes for fear she’d fall asleep.
“Nancy isn’t any too happy about me seeing you, either.”
“I’ll talk to her, explain everything.” Except that, like Lindsey, Steve’s sister probably wouldn’t be too pleased.
“It’s settled, then,” Steve said. “I’ll talk to Lindsey and you’ll talk to Nancy. Neither one of them is going to enjoy being the butt of a joke, but it wasn’t like we planned this. Besides, it serves them right for manipulating us like they did.”
“You’d think they’d be pleased,” Meg inserted. “Their plan worked—not the way they wanted, mind you, but we’re seeing each other and that’s the whole point. Right?”
Steve chuckled and stroked her hair. “Right.”
“I wish it wasn’t like this,” Meg whispered.
Steve kissed the top of her head. “So do I.”
Meg smiled, twisting in his arms so they faced each other.
Steve’s hands lingered on her face. His mouth was so close she could feel his breath against her cheek. A shiver of awareness skittered down her spine.
Meg closed her eyes and lifted her mouth to Steve’s. He hesitated for a fraction of a second, as if he had second thoughts about what might happen next.
His kiss was warm and gentle. But his gentleness didn’t last long. There was a hunger in Steve, a hunger in Meg that flared to life like a fire stoked.
“Meg … “
“I know … I know.”
“Tomorrow,” he said and drew in a deep, even breath.
“Tomorrow,” she repeated, but she had no idea what she was agreeing to. She opened her eyes and leaned back. “What about tomorrow?”
“We’ll talk to Lindsey and Nancy.”
“Okay.”
Fifteen minutes later, Steve dropped her off at the house.
It wasn’t until he drove away that she realized she’d left her purse in his car. Her purse with the key to her house …
“Damn,” she muttered, hurrying into the backyard, hoping Lindsey had forgotten to lock the sliding glass door. She hadn’t; it was locked tight.
No help for it—she searched until she found the spare key, hidden under one of the flowerpots on her porch. It’d been there for so many years she wasn’t sure it would work.
She climbed the stairs and tiptoed into her room. She undressed without turning on the light and was in bed minutes later.
The neighbor’s German shepherd barked, obviously from inside their house, and Lindsey looked up from painting her toenails. “There it is again,” she said.
“I heard it, too,” Brenda said.
“Wolf doesn’t bark without a reason.”
Ever curious, Brenda walked over to the bedroom window and peered into the yard below. After a moment, she whirled around. “There’s someone in your backyard,” she whispered, wide-eyed.
“This isn’t the time for jokes,” Lindsey said, continuing to paint her toenails a bright shade of pink. “We were discussing my mother, remember?”
Brenda didn’t move away from the window. “There is someone there.”
“Who?”
“It’s a man …. Oh, my goodness, come and look.”
The panic in her friend’s voice made Lindsey catapult to a standing position. Walking on her heels to keep her freshly painted toenails off the carpet, she hobbled toward the window.
Brenda was right; she did see someone in the yard. “Turn the lights off,” she hissed.
Lindsey’s heart lodged in her throat as she recognized the dark form. “It’s Steve Conlan!” She saw him clearly in the moonlight; he wasn’t even making any attempt to hide.
“What’s that in his hand?”
Lindsey focused her attention on the object Steve was carrying. It looked like a purse. Gasping, she twisted away from the window and placed her back against the wall. She gestured wildly toward the phone.
“What’s wrong?” Brenda cried. “Are you having an asthma attack?”
Lindsey shook her head. “He broke in to the house and stole my mother’s purse.” Brenda handed her the phone and Lindsey dialed 911 as fast as her nervous fingers would let her.
She barely gave the operator time to answer. “There’s a man in our backyard,” she whispered frantically. “He took my mother’s purse.”
The emergency operator seemed to have a thousand questions she wanted Lindsey to answer. Lindsey did the best she could.
“He’s a convicted felon …. I can give you the name of his probation officer if you want. Just hurry!” she pleaded.
“Officers have been dispatched.”
“Please, please hurry.” Lindsey was afraid that unless the police arrived within the next minute Steve would make a clean getaway.
Steve debated whether he should leave Meg’s purse on the front porch. It would be easy enough to tuck it inside the mailbox, but then she might not find it until much later the next day.
He walked around the house to the backyard, thinking there might be someplace he could put it where she’d find it in the morning.
The only thing he’d managed to do was rouse the neighbor’s dog. He would’ve rung the doorbell and given her the silly thing if there’d been any lights on, but apparently she’d gone to bed. He wasn’t especially eager to confront Lindsey, either. Not yet.
He still hadn’t made up his mind, when he heard a noise from behind him.
“Police! Freeze!”
Was this a joke? Maybe not—whoever it was sounded serious. He froze.
“Put the purse down and turn around slowly.”
Once more Steve did as instructed. With his arms raised, he turned to find two police officers with their weapons drawn and pointed at him.
“Looks like we caught ourselves a burglar,” one of them said, switching on a huge flashlight.
“Caught him redhanded,” the other agreed.
Six
“If you’d let me explain,” Steve said, squinting against the light at the two officers. A dog barked ferociously in the next-door neighbor’s yard. A man in pajamas had let the dog out and joined the audience.
“Do you always carry a woman’s purse?”
“It belongs to—”
“My mother.”
Although Steve couldn’t see her face, he recognized the righteous tones as belonging to Meg’s daughter. Lindsey and her friend stood beside the two officers and looked as if they’d gladly provide the rope for a hanging.
“Wolf.” The neighbour silenced the German shepherd, but made no move to go inside.
“My name’s Steve Conlan,” Steve said, striving to come across as sane and reasonable. This was, after all, merely a misunderstanding.
“I wouldn’t believe him if I were you,” Lindsey advised the officers. “It might not be his real name.” Then in lower tones she added, “He has a criminal record. I happen to know for a fact that he’s a convicted felon.”
“I’m not a felon,” Steve growled. “And it is my real name. Officers, if you’d give me the opportunity to—”
“His parole officer’s name is Earl Markham.” Lindsey cut him off, her voice indignant. “He told me himself!”
“I know Earl Markham,” the younger of the two policemen said. “And he is a parole officer.”
“I know him, too,” Steve barked impatiently. “We went to high school together.”
“Yeah, right.”
The scorn in Lindsey’s voice reminded Steve of Meg when she was furious with him. Like mother, like daughter, it seemed.
“Don’t listen to him,” the other girl was saying. “He lies! He had us believing all kinds of things, and all because he thought we were Lindsey’s mother.”
A short silence followed her announcement. “Say that again?” the older officer muttered. “How well do you know this man?”
“My name’s Steve Conlan.” Steve tried yet again.
“Which may or may not be his real name.” This, too, came from Lindsey’s friend.
“If you’ll let me get my wallet, I’ll prove who I am,” Steve assured them. He made an effort to sound vaguely amused by the whole situation. He lowered one arm and started to move his hand toward his back pocket.
“Keep your hands up where I can see them,” the older cop snapped.
“What’s going on?” The voice drifted down from the upstairs area of the house. A sweetly feminine, slightly groggy voice.
Steve glanced up, and to his great relief saw Meg’s face framed in the second-floor window.
“Meg,” Steve shouted, grateful that she’d finally heard the commotion. “Tell these men who I am, so they can put their weapons away.”
“Steve?” she cried, shocked. “What are you doing at my house?”
“Do you know this man?” the cop asked, tilting his head back and shouting up at Meg.
“Ma’am, would you mind stepping outside?” the second officer asked. He mumbled something Steve couldn’t hear under his breath.
“I’ll be right down,” Meg told them, and Steve watched her turn away from the window.
“Have you been sneaking around seeing my mother?”
“Lindsey, it’s not like it seems,” Steve said, experiencing a twinge of guilt at the way he’d misled the girl. He’d planned to talk to Meg’s daughter soon, but he hadn’t intended to do it in front of the police.
“I’d be more interested to find out why he has your mother’s purse, if I were you,” the second teenager said.
“I already know why he’s got Mom’s purse,” Lindsey said loudly. “He stole it.”
“No, I didn’t!” Steve rolled his eyes. “I was trying to return it.”
“You have my purse?” This was from Meg. “Oh, hello, Mr. Robinson. Hi, Wolf. I think everything’s under control here.” Man and dog went back inside a moment later.
“My purse!” she said again.
Steve relaxed and lowered his arms. “You left it in my car,” he said.
“Thank goodness you found it.” Meg, at least, displayed the appropriate amount of appreciation. “I didn’t know when I’d get it back.”
Now that the flashlight wasn’t blinding him and the officers had returned the guns to their holsters, Steve saw Meg for the first time. In fact, he couldn’t take his eyes off her. She’d thrown a flimsy cotton robe over her babydoll pajamas but despite that, they revealed a length of sleek, smooth thigh whenever she moved. The top was low-cut and the robe gaped open and … Meg grabbed the lapels and held them together with both hands. It didn’t help much.