The Grand Finale by Janet Evanovich
Berry clapped her hand to her mouth. “Oh, Lord, no!”
Mrs. Dugan, Mrs. Fitz, and Miss Gaspich were supposed to be safely housed in that building. At this time of the afternoon they would be taking naps and making tea. Please, please, please, Berry pleaded, let them be okay. Please don’t let them be behind those four fire-blackened windows.
Berry stumbled into the street and broke into a run. Her chest was tight with fear, her vision blurred by the pounding of her heart. How could you grow to love three little old ladies so quickly? she wondered. She’d known them less than a week, but they’d become a precious part of her life.
She slowed to a jog when she caught sight of the women standing behind a fire truck. They were safe!
And then wonk! Instant black.
Minutes later Berry struggled through the murk of semiconsciousness. She opened her eyes and smiled. “Thanks for the pudding, Mom.”
Jake tightened his grip on her. “What?”
“The pudding. It was great.”
“Honey, I’m not your mom. Look at me.”
Berry blinked and concentrated, shaking the last of the cobwebs away. Did she just call Jake Sawyer Mom? He felt like Mom. Strong and reassuring, pressing kisses against her temple, into her hair. She could get used to this. This could be habit-forming. Jake Sawyer was going to make some woman a wonderful mother…except he looked awful. Grime streaked his face, emphasizing the grim set to his mouth and the cold terror in his red-rimmed eyes. Berry touched her fingertip to a sweat-soaked ringlet that had fallen across his forehead. “You look terrible.”
Jake broke into a grin, his teeth seeming extraordinarily white in the soot-darkened face. “I’m okay. Are you okay?”
“Of course.”
“You got smacked in the head with a fire extinguisher that fell off the truck. It knocked you out.”
“That’s what happens to you when you don’t make time for breakfast. You get wimpy. My mother warned me this would happen.”
The stricken look left Jake’s face and was replaced with an only moderately successful attempt at anger. “Don’t ever skip breakfast again. It’s enough to scare the daylights out of someone.”
How great is this, Berry thought. No one was hurt, and Jake Sawyer was worried about me. Okay, so my apartment is trashed, and that’s a bummer, but I’ve got a man hovering over me who seems to genuinely care if I live or die.
Jake looked at her carefully. “You sure you’re okay? Your apartment just burned to a crisp, and you’re grinning from ear to ear.”
“I know. I can’t help it.” Berry pushed her mouth together with her fingers, trying to wipe away the smile. “I’ll try to look more serious.”
Mrs. Fitz dabbed at her nose with a tissue. “Lingonberry, I’m so sorry. It was all my fault. I got a nice big tip for delivering those pizzas, and I spent it on some newfangled electric curlers, and the dang things burned the apartment up.”
Berry looked to Jake. “Is that true? Is that how the fire started?”
Jake nodded. “Mrs. Fitz plugged the curlers in to heat up, and then she set the case on the couch. Somehow, the curlers overheated and started to spark. The couch caught fire, then the curtain went up.”
“How bad is it?”
“Could be worse. The fire was confined to the couch area. Mostly what you’ve got is smoke damage. The downstairs wasn’t affected at all.”
“Can I go in?”
“Yeah. I just went through with the fire marshal. They’re packing up to leave. You’ll have to go down to the fire station later to fill out some forms.”
Berry nodded and led the little parade of three ladies and Jake Sawyer up the stairs to her apartment. She walked into the middle of the living room, her feet squishing across the wet carpet, and blinked into the darkness. Everything was charcoal-gray. The walls, the ceilings, the rugs, the windows. The couch looked like it had been burned to cinders by the fire, stomped into oblivion by overzealous firefighters, and drowned.
“Yikes,” Berry said.
“It makes a body want to cry to see it like this,” Mrs. Fitz said. “It was so cozy.”
“It’ll never be the same,” Mrs. Dugan said. “Everything in here smells like smoke. All our clothes, all the linens, all the tea bags.”
Berry agreed. “It is pretty smoky. Tomorrow morning we’ll open the windows and try to air it out.”
“Maybe we should go back to the train station for a while,” Mildred said. “You could come with us, Lingonberry.”
Jake gave a long-suffering, earth-rocking sigh. “Nobody’s going to the train station. I have an empty house with plenty of space. You can all stay with me for a few days while we get the apartment cleaned.”
Berry looked at him sidewise. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
He wanted Berry in his house, big time. Mrs. Fitz, Mrs. Dugan, and Miss Gaspich, no. They were nice ladies, but he had no desire to live with them. Problem was, he had even less desire to see them living at the train station.
“I’m sure,” Jake said.
“A house!” Mrs. Fitz elbowed Mrs. Dugan. “Hear that? We’re gonna live in a house.”
Miss Gaspich carefully squished across the room. “I’ll get my toothbrush and my nightie.” She stopped at the bathroom door and gasped. She plucked a dingy gray object off the sink and held it up for inspection. “Is this my toothbrush?” Tears filled her round eyes and made streaks down her sooty, wrinkled cheeks. “That’s the last straw. Even my toothbrush.”
Jake gathered the ladies in his arms and ushered them down the stairs. “We can get new toothbrushes and clothes. Let’s just get out of here for now. Everything will look better in the morning.” He locked the apartment door, put the closed sign in the window of the Pizza Place, and locked the front door. “I got a rental car today. It’s just down the block.”
Berry looked at Jake when they reached the car. It was a tan SUV.
“You don’t seem like the SUV type,” Berry said.
Jake helped Mrs. Dugan climb into the backseat. “I don’t know what type I am. One minute I’m a carefree bachelor, riding high on Gunk, and then all of a sudden I’ve got a houseful of women. And none of them are any good for bachelor-type pursuits.”
Berry rammed her hands onto her hips. “What’s that supposed to mean? What do I look like, chopped liver?”
Jake tugged at a yellow curl. “I’m afraid, Lingonberry, that you are very much like your name: delicious but virtually unobtainable. You would not be the first choice of a carefree bachelor. You are definitely wife material.”
Berry thought about it for a moment and decided he was right. She wasn’t much of a party girl. Even if she didn’t have The Plan, she’d still be more apple pie than martini.
Jake cranked the SUV engine over, pulled away from the curb, and headed north.
“Hey, look at this,” Mrs. Fitz exclaimed, ten minutes later. “We’re out in the country. Isn’t this something?”
“This isn’t the country,” Mrs. Dugan said. “This is the suburbs. You can tell the difference because the suburbs haven’t got cows. There are cows in the country.”
Berry tried to relax as the scenery on Ellenburg Drive flew by. Cows or not, in her book this was country. There were pretty houses, tucked back off the road with lots of space between them. The road narrowed to cross a good-sized creek and then began to snake uphill to Jake Sawyer’s house. Berry felt as if she was going on vacation. She hadn’t been on a vacation in six years, but going on vacation was like riding a bike—you never forgot the feeling.
There was a sense of expectation in the car. The air over the backseat fairly crackled with it as the ladies leaned forward in hushed anticipation, and in the front seat Berry couldn’t have been more excited if she was spending a week at St. Moritz. She hugged herself and grinned. There would be lots of peace and quiet, and crickets chirping, and trees whooshing in the wind, and Jake Sawyer in his underwear. The image of Jake Sawyer in his sexy blue briefs was
Berry bit her lip, silently groaned, and rolled her window down a crack. It was getting warm in the car. This would never do. She had to put all this into proper perspective. This was not a vacation. And this was certainly not going to include Jake Sawyer in his you-know-what.
Mrs. Fitz poked her in the shoulder. “Are we almost there?”
“Yes,” Berry said, “and this is not a vacation.”
Mrs. Fitz shook her head. “What a ninny. Of course it’s a vacation.”
The house looked smaller and much less menacing by daylight. In fact, Berry decided it was downright cheerful. The house was bordered by dormant flower beds and a broad lawn. Several oak trees pressed their limbs toward the yellow siding. The lawn was surrounded by a buffer of woods. The white gingerbread trim sparkled in the sunshine. The front door was carved oak and topped with a stained glass window.
Mrs. Fitz gave a long, low whistle. “This is a pip of a house.”
Berry stood in the foyer and admired the freshly waxed hardwood flooring, the hand-carved cherry banister that spiraled up the stairs, the ornate doorjambs. The entire downstairs had been painted a creamy white, giving the house a light, airy feeling. It contained few pieces of furniture. A large, overstuffed, buff-colored couch and matching club chair had been placed at the perimeters of an Oriental area rug in the living room. A pottery table lamp sat on the floor next to the chair. The foyer opened into a breakfast area at the rear of the house. A large round wood table nestled into the curve of a long bay window. It was a great house, Berry admitted. Worth every cent of Jake’s Gunk money. And it deserved to have a terrific car sitting in its garage. She felt a true pang of remorse for the loss of the Gunk car. The car and the house belonged together.
“This is gonna be fun,” Mrs. Fitz said. “I always wanted to live in a house like this. Boy, this feels like home. I could stay here forever. Come on, ladies, let’s go upstairs and explore.”
Berry caught the look of horror that passed through Jake’s eyes and had to clap her hand over her mouth to keep from laughing.
Jake grabbed her by the nape of her neck. “I saw that smile. You’ve got a mean streak in you, Lingonberry Knudsen.” His thumb massaged small circles on her neck just below her ear, and his muscled thigh grazed against her denim-clad leg. He put his mouth to her ear and spoke in a husky whisper. “She wouldn’t really stay here forever, would she?”
“Mmmmm,” Berry purred. “Mmmmaybe.”
“And what about you?” Jake asked. “Will you stay forever?”
“I have a plan,” Berry whispered.
Except The Plan was hazy when she was pressed against Jake like this and his thumb was doing those magical circles on her neck. The Plan seemed more like an idea she’d once had. The plan she had at the moment involved nibbling on Jake Sawyer’s neck. Lord, he smelled good. Masculine—like musk cologne and campfire.
Her eyes opened wide. Crap. Hold the phone. Sawyer didn’t smell like campfire. He smelled like her charcoal-roasted couch!
Jake stopped the massage and grinned at her. “Changed your mind?”
Berry blinked at him. “What do you mean?”
“For a minute there, you looked like you were contemplating nibbling on my neck.”
“Jeez.”
He stepped closer, backing Berry up against the foyer wall. “Just to get the record straight, I think I should tell you that it’s okay for you to nibble on my neck any time you want. It isn’t as if we’re strangers, you know. After all, you’ve seen me in my underwear.”
Berry stared at him in stoic resignation. They were back to his underwear. This was never going to work. He had an evil sense of humor, he read minds, and he gave her a hormone attack just by lowering his voice an octave. “I think I should go home,” Berry said, inwardly wincing when her voice cracked on the word home.
Jake shook his head. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. Where’s your sense of adventure? Don’t you want to be bold, like a red geranium?” His voice was teasing, but his eyes were serious, and the sexual tension stretched taut between them.
Berry gnawed on her lower lip. “Geraniums aren’t in bloom yet. And neither am I,” she added. “We’re out of season.”
Jake moved two inches closer, and Berry felt the panic rise in her throat as the tips of her breasts crushed against the wall of his chest. Oh, Lordy, she thought, he’s going to kiss me again. He’s going to plant those incredible lips of his on mine and melt the soles of my sneakers. She didn’t know whether to close her eyes and pray it didn’t happen, or leave her eyes open so she wouldn’t miss a single thing. Jake lowered his mouth to hers before she had a chance to make a decision, and gave her a short, gentle kiss.
“Are you blooming, yet?” he whispered against her lips.
“No,” she said. “I’m not even nearly blooming. I’m not going to bloom until I’m good and ready.”
He ran his finger across her lower lip and tangled his hand in her hair. When he kissed her this time it was with barely checked passion. He broke from the kiss and held her at arm’s length when he heard Mrs. Fitz come thumping down the stairs.
“Wait until you see the upstairs, Berry. It’s wonderful,” Mrs. Fitz exclaimed. “You can see forever from the third-floor windows.”
Mrs. Dugan followed her. “Not much furniture in this house. No window shades. I can’t live in a house without window shades.”
Jake gestured to the cartons stacked along the dining room walls. “There are extra linens in one of those cartons. We can tack a couple sheets up for tonight.” He zipped his jacket and opened the front door. “I guess I’d better go buy some toothbrushes.”
Chapter 4
Mrs. Fitz, Mrs. Dugan, and Miss Gaspich perched on the edge of the couch, their eyes glued to the television set, their mouths slightly open as they watched the last few minutes of Ghostbusters. Scattered in front of them were the remnants of supper: Styrofoam hamburger cartons, a few ketchup-soaked French fries, five empty milkshake cups, and a large bakery box containing one lonely doughnut.
Berry sat on the rug, her back resting against the edge of the couch. A gigantic marshmallow man had just appeared on the screen, and Berry decided he didn’t seem nearly as menacing as Jake Sawyer stoking the fire in the Franklin stove. Jake wore jeans that seductively clung to the most mouthwatering butt Berry had ever seen. Definitely not the butt of a chemist, she concluded. It would be a sin to hide that butt under a lab coat. Jake Sawyer had the butt of a pirate. A rogue butt. Her eyes glazed over in silent appreciation while she memorized the contours and speculated on the hidden details. When Jake stood and stretched, she quickly transferred her attention to the movie.
She sensed, rather than saw, Jake moving toward her. His knee grazed her shoulder, and Berry knew if she turned her head she’d be staring into the intriguing bulge behind his zipper—the one part of his anatomy that was possibly more perfect than his butt. Don’t look! she told her eyes. You know what trouble you got into last time you ogled that bulge!
He nudged her again with his knee, more firmly this time, pushing her forward a bit. “Scoot up,” he whispered.
Before Berry knew what had happened she felt him slide behind her, sandwiching himself into a sitting position between her and the couch, trapping her between his legs. She inched forward, but he wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her secure against his chest. His voice hummed softly into her hair. “This is nice.”
Nice? Nice was a little bland for what she felt. What she felt was more like wow and holy Toledo. Unfortunately, this was not the time for wow feelings. Her life was complicated enough. She could barely hold her own between the Pizza Place and her studies, and it kept getting worse. First the ladies, then the Jeep, now the fire. Jake Sawyer was pretty darn fabulous, but he was not part of The Plan.
“I don’t think this is a good idea,” Berry said.
&
Berry looked to the ladies but found them engrossed in the heroics of Bill Murray. She wriggled within Jake’s grasp, attempting to free herself.
“Lord, Berry, now you’re disturbing me,” Jake said. “Will you stop sliding around? This is going to get embarrassing.”
She carefully relaxed into his chest and sat perfectly still, not wanting to encourage anything, but secretly enjoying the intimacy. His steady heartbeat vibrated throughout her body, rain had begun to splash against the dark windows of the cozy Victorian, and the marshmallow exploded.
Mrs. Dugan’s eyes shone with excitement as the credits rolled across the screen. “First time I’ve ever seen that movie. It’s a wonderful movie.”
Mrs. Fitz agreed. “It was a treat.”
Jake eased away from Berry. “Speaking of treats, I have some goodies to distribute.”
Two minutes later he returned from the kitchen with an armful of shopping bags.
“Mrs. Fitz, this belongs to you,” Jake said, handing her a bag. “Mrs. Dugan, here’s your loot.” He handed a bag to Miss Gaspich.
“Lipstick!” Mrs. Fitz announced. “He bought me lipstick. And a nightgown.” She held it up for inspection. “It’s a pip.”
“Here’s the toothbrushes.” Miss Gaspich smiled shyly. “This is better than Christmas. We got slippers, and face cream, and hairbrushes.”
Berry looked at Jake. “You’re awfully good at buying women’s toiletries.”
“I have four younger sisters. I know all about girl things,” he told her proudly.
Miss Gaspich stifled a yawn, “I can’t wait to get into my nightgown and climb into bed.” She looked questioningly at Jake. “Where is my bed?”
Jake stuffed his hands into his jeans pockets. “I have four bedrooms, but only one bed. I suppose the most sensible arrangement is for you ladies to use my king-sized bed. Berry and I will sleep downstairs.”
Mrs. Dugan narrowed her eyes. “You’re not planning any funny stuff, are you? I won’t put up with hanky-panky.”