Taking his business card from the top of the hutch, Lindsay dialed Ike’s cell phone, feeling that emptiness in her chest again. It occurred to her that if she’d told her mom how totally disinterested Ike had been when she’d mentioned dating John Fielding, her mother wouldn’t have wasted a second worrying.
In a moment, his deep, recorded baritone came on. “This is Ike. Apparently, I’m out of range right now because this thing’s always turned on. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you.”
“Hi, it’s me,” she replied soberly. “I’m just calling to tell you that it didn’t go well with my mother. I’ll talk to her again tomorrow—Saturday—after she’s had some time to think about it, then I’ll contact you again. No need to return my call. Have a good evening.”
But as Lindsay finished clearing the table and returning her pretty cut-glass dessert cups to the cupboard, she had to admit that she didn’t want him to have a good evening. Not after making an absolute mess of hers without even being here.
And where was he tonight, anyway? What was he doing, and who was he was doing it with?
With renewed energy, she started the dishwasher, moved the lilacs from her table and yanked up her lacy tablecloth, determined not to think about it. The two of them had moved on.
Isn’t that what she’d just told her mother?
Wired, Ike strode inside the one-story, pale brick Spindrift Public Library on Saturday morning and stopped at the aging librarian’s desk for directions to the children’s section. Getting them, he moved past a row of idle computers, then past a few elderly men reading newspapers in the sunlight spilling through a wall of windows.
He spotted her the instant he rounded a corner near the rear of the building, and he experienced an unwelcome, but pleasant little ping. From her perch on a low stool surrounded by shelves crammed with books, she was reading and laughing with the dozen four-to-six-year-olds sitting Indian-style around her. Their attention was riveted on her. She held the tall book open on her lap as she paged through it so the kids could enjoy the bright illustrations.
Something brushed his leg. With a start, Ike jerked a look down at the floor. A little orange tabby cat looked up at him, then apparently decided he wasn’t worth her time and padded by him. A moment later, she’d joined the children, and a moment after that, was wending around Lindsay’s feet. Lindsay kept reading, stroked the cat, then turned the page.
A cat in a library? Her cat? He hadn’t noticed a cat when he’d visited her two nights ago. Then again, he’d barely noticed anything but her green eyes and mile-long legs.
Taking a book from a shelf, Ike hung back, mostly out of sight, flipping through it and listening to the expressive sound of her voice as she read. She looked like a young, doting mother, beautiful and engaging and slender… And he had to look away before his body betrayed his other thoughts.
Nostalgia hit as he recalled her expressing an interest in working with kids several times during their marriage—thought about getting involved with Brownies or the Big Brothers and Sisters program during her spare time. That was before he’d gotten to know and enjoy Sam and Jennie’s toddlers, and he’d asked why she’d want to do that. Grinning, she’d replied that she needed some practice for that “someday” when they’d have little ones of their own.
But someday had never come, and Ike felt the old edginess return as his mind sifted through the facts and once again assigned blame.
Disappointed whines erupted as Lindsay finished and closed the book. Then she handed each child a rainbow-colored coupon for ice cream and suddenly they were hugging her and chattering happily again. Seconds later they bolted from the room to join their parents, the little orange tabby briskly following, her flag of a tail in the air.
Ike returned the book to the shelf as Lindsay walked unerringly toward him. He hadn’t noticed her noticing him…but then, they’d always had a connection of sorts, an energy that flowed between them like honey from a hive. An exciting buzz, an intuitive realization that the other was near.
“Hi,” she murmured.
Ike took in her khaki slacks and white knit top. Today her sun-streaked blond hair fell to her shoulders and waved softly around her face. “Hi. I got your message.”
“Then you’re aware that she said no.”
“Yes.” He was disappointed, but more than that, he was frustrated. He wanted to move on this thing. He had nothing solid to base it on, but his gut told him that timing was important—and searching through Ricky’s things was the only way he could think of to… To what? Get absolution for his sins? To prove to Lindsay and her mother that if someone hadn’t gotten to Ricky the day he’d died, there would’ve been another attempt to keep him quiet?
“How can we change your mother’s mind?”
Lindsay looked around, then glanced toward the desk. “Let me get my purse from the librarian, then we can talk outside.”
“Your purse—and your cat?” he asked.
The somber look in her eyes left. “Oh, Marmalade’s not mine. She lives here. She’s one of the library cats.”
“There are more?”
“Yep, three. It’s a trendy thing that seems to be catching on—mostly in cities where the libraries are located in older buildings. The cats are invited in to keep down the rodent population.” She quirked a brow at him. “I’m surprised they don’t have them in Portland.”
Ike quirked a brow back. “When have you ever known me to spend time in libraries?”
“Never?”
“Right.”
They approached the graying librarian at the desk, and with a smile, the woman extended Lindsay’s purse.
“Thanks, Mrs. Arnett. I’ll see you in two weeks.”
“Looking forward to it,” the librarian returned cheerfully. “The youngsters enjoy you so much.”
“Not half as much as I enjoy them,” Lindsay answered warmly, and Ike could see that she was telling the truth. There’d been a glow about her as she’d interacted with the kids.
When they were out in the bright sun, she returned to their “cat” conversation. “Getting back to our kitties, they don’t work for their dinners here. They’re just furry little welcome wagons. Most people love them—think they add a homey feel to the place.”
“And those who don’t?”
She grinned. “Those who don’t, ignore them and get the same treatment from the cats.”
The municipal parking lot was several doors ahead, just past a small brick insurance office and a beauty parlor. They walked together beneath the leafy trees lining the street, the heels of Lindsay’s sandals sounding softly on the sun-dappled concrete.
She glanced up at him. “So how did you find me this time?”
“Your neighbor—the one with the R.V. parked in the driveway. She saw me at your door and called over that it was your Saturday to read to the kids.” They turned left and entered the lot, the breeze tossing her hair and giving Ike a glimpse of gold hoop earrings. “So I guess you meant what you said to the librarian, huh? You looked like you were having a good time in there.”
“I was. Kids are great. They’re interested and attentive and always eager to learn new things. That’s something I don’t always get from adults.”
“You read to adults, too?”
“No, but last year I started teaching CPR courses. Some of the businesses around here require their staff to know the basics, just in case a problem arises. Occasionally I get the feeling that one or two of them are only there because their