The Love of a Stranger Read online

  “How’re you passing the time between now and tomorrow?”

  “Slowly. In truth, I need to be on the road.”

  “Want to see a movie?”

  He had to ask, had to do something to hold on to her company a while longer. Compared to most of the women he encountered socially, she was a breath of fresh air, even with her sarcasm and grouchiness. His brain didn’t work fast enough to process all the questions he wanted to ask her. She hid behind a mask, which made her a mystery. And solving mysteries was what he had done for years. Not only was he good at it, he enjoyed it.

  He gestured her toward a bench at the edge of the sidewalk. As they sat down, he unfolded his newspaper, looking for the entertainment page.

  “I haven’t been in a movie theatre in years,” she said.

  When he found the page, he handed it to her. “How ’bout you pick one?”

  She didn’t take the paper. “How about I say thank you for lunch and we go our separate ways?

  I need to get a room and—”

  “What, afraid to go to the movies with me?”

  What was he doing, challenging her? He didn’t have time to go to the movies himself. If he had an ounce of sense, he would part from her right now and stick to his original plan—stop off at Home Depot, pick up the items on his list and head back to Callister. But he had never been known for doing the sensible thing when it came to women. The idea of spending an afternoon with the cranky Miz McGregor held a masochistic appeal. He had always been willing to let the fairer sex torture him to a point. “Here’s a new one I’ve read is good. It’s at a theatre in the mall. You want to drive or you want me to?”

  “Really, I can’t—”

  “C’mon. You already said you don’t have anything to do.”

  A creased formed on her brow. “I don’t remember saying that.”

  “You said it.”

  She heaved a sigh. “Okay. Pick one out. But I don’t like blood and gore. Or monsters.”

  “No violence. Got it.”

  The movie he chose happened to be in a mall theatre on the other side of the city. Since she knew the territory and he didn’t, she volunteered to drive. She led them to a fire-engine-red Cadillac parked beneath the building where Culpepper’s office was. Doug was surprised at her car. Her classy subdued look made him think Mercedes or Lexus. He would have never guessed she would own a red El Dorado with gold trim and wheels.

  They left the ninety-degree afternoon temperature and settled into the dark, air conditioned comfort of the movie theatre. Their arms kept bumping as each of them tried to claim the seat arm and he solved the problem by tucking her arm beneath his.

  The next thing he knew, they were watching a sweaty naked actor pump between the legs of a glassy-eyed actress. His glistening muscles flexed and strained with each thrust and the actress panted open-mouthed. Doug glanced Alex’s way. She was staring stone-faced at the screen.

  “I want to go,” she said all at once and stood up.

  Uh-oh. Doug swung his knees to the side and let her pass. In less than two minutes, they were outside. “Hey, it was acting. You said no violence. You didn’t mention sex. It’s supposed to be a good—”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Like a speed walker, she was trekking toward the Cadillac. He followed her, lest he be left stranded in the mall’s parking lot a long way from his truck. She fired the engine, he told her where he had parked and they must have broken a speed record crossing Boise. At his truck, he tried to apologize again.

  “Just get out,” she snapped.

  “Okay. I’m out.” He scooted out of the Cadillac and she was gone before he could dig his keys out of his pocket.

  Chapter 10

  “What was I thinking, going to a sex movie with Doug Hawkins?” Alex mumbled to herself as she headed for Kinko’s. “What ideas will he take from that?”

  At Kinko’s, as she prepared a listing contract to present to Andersons tomorrow morning, a part of her mind stayed on Doug Hawkins and sitting there in the dark theatre, her arm tucked under his, her bare skin warmed by his. They hadn’t been holding hands. What they had done felt more intimate somehow. She couldn’t stop thinking about how a real couple, aroused by the movie’s love scenes, might go home, climb into bed and have sex.

  She tried to picture Doug in bed, asleep on his stomach, his brawny arms hugging his pillow, his narrow bottom tight even while relaxed. She would bet he slept naked and the image set off an uneasiness she had never felt before. “Good Lord, Alex,” she muttered, “what is wrong with you?” Why, the man was a criminal of some kind. He had been involved in a nasty political free-for-all and charged and tried for a crime. She wished she could remember the details. Maybe she would look them up in California.

  After she finished at Kinko’s, she checked into Evergreen Inn, not decadently luxurious, but plush enough for the rooms to cost nearly two hundred dollars a night. She never paid for a hotel room without recalling the time she hadn’t had the money to pay any price for a room, much less two hundred dollars. And she remembered just how arduous the journey from Level I to Level II had been.

  Her large room reeked of artificial floral fragrance and the air conditioner roared like a wind tunnel. Two hundred dollars didn’t muffle sound. Watching TV news, she dined on bottled water and cheese crackers bought from a vending machine in the lobby, but the afternoon wouldn’t leave her mind.

  Well, maybe it wasn’t a sex movie. In reality, maybe it was a love story— and a tender one at that—of a man and woman who shared a deep bond.

  As some politician blathered at a talk show host on TV, a feeling of isolation settled within Alex. Deep bond. It had been ten years since she had felt even a shallow bond to another human being. Longing welled up inside her for...what? Love and companionship? Sex?

  Sex. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had sex, couldn’t remember how it felt to have a man around her, inside her or the emotions that accompanied it. She didn’t even know if all her parts still worked.

  “Oh, Alex,” she mumbled. “Just stop thinking about it.”

  A commercial came on and a smiling couple strolled across the screen, arms crossed behind each other’s backs. She tried to imagine herself doing something similar.

  Don’t be silly, she scolded herself. With whom would she stroll? Ted? He was her best friend besides her assistant, Judy, but she couldn’t imagine him as a lover. She thought of the handsome Lake Oswego shopping center developer who sent her presents. Could she become romantic with him? Once, after a nasty episode with Charlie, she had actually gone to an expensive resort with him, then chickened out at the last minute. He might still be willing, but the idea held no spark for her.

  There was nobody.

  Her mind called up statistics and she did a calculation. Barring accident or fatal illness, she had forty-five more years to live. Forty-five more years without a link to another human being. Then the image that invaded her reverie was that of Doug Hawkins. Her stomach flip-flopped. Exasperated by the thought, she left her chair and went into the bathroom, washed her face and brushed her teeth.

  As she turned back the covers and plumped the pillows, she could see Doug Hawkins’ smirky grin and how the cute college-age hostess at the café had worked to get his attention. Well, that settled it and good riddance. A jock with a Don Juan reputation would have no interest in a thirty-six year old woman. He was bound to have a big ego. It would take someone younger, a lot younger, to feed it.

  Unh-unh. I like older women.

  “And the moon’s made of Swiss cheese,” Alex muttered.

  ****

  Home Depot was closing its doors by the time Doug loaded his pickup bed with roof sheathing and shingles and insulation. He hoped he hadn’t forgotten anything because through the entire shopping experience, his mind had been on Alex instead of his projects. Her personality had him so flummoxed, he hadn’t even thought to mention his dented fender to her, for which he still hadn’t gotten repair esti
mates.

  The nighttime drive back to Callister gave him another two and a half hours to stew. They had communicated. She had opened up a little there in the park, actually seemed friendly. But then they had gone to the movie…

  I want to go....Just get out.

  What had gone wrong? Most women would have appreciated lunch and a good flick. And it was a good movie, probably award-winning. He had enjoyed it, or what he had seen of it. He liked a good psychological drama with its share of plot twists and the steamy sex scenes added an extra punch.

  Was it the sex in the movie that had pissed her off? Did she have something against sex? Had her ex-husband failed her in that department, too? For a woman with Alex’s killer body not to like sex would be a monumental tragedy.

  Sex with the aloof, Miz McGregor. Unlikely enough to be a true fantasy. And a challenge.

  ****

  “Ed Anderson?...Bob Culpepper told me to come see you.”

  An elderly man, levering himself with a cane, creaked up from a rocking chair on the front porch of a two-story farmhouse. His thin gray hair was combed slick. He wore a white dress shirt and a tatty necktie, both of which Alex suspected he had donned for this meeting. She guessed him to be in his eighties.

  Behind the house, Alex could see acres of fruit trees climbing up the foothills in tidy, straight rows, their limbs heavy with ripening apples. The Norman Rockwell sight was only enhanced by the bright morning sun and the limitless expanse of blue, blue sky.

  “Bob said you need help selling your place,” she said, stepping up on the porch that gleamed with a fresh coat of paint.

  The wizened little man hung his cane on his arm and reached out to her with a shaky purplish hand. “Bobby told me you were coming.”

  They shook hands and exchanged farm talk. She knew about growing things. In her youth, her and her grandmother’s gardens had filled their stomachs and Charlie’s as well.

  Bob Culpepper had supplied her with a large survey map of Ed Anderson’s acreage. She withdrew it from her leather attaché case. “I have the dimensions of your property, but I’m interested in the topography. The site preparation that will have to be done will affect the price you can get.”

  “We can walk over some of it if you like. I take a little walk around it every day.”

  “Fine. Just let me change shoes.”

  Suspecting she might have to walk over rugged ground, she had stowed her work boots in the Cadillac’s trunk before she left Callister. While Ed waited on the porch, she returned to her car and traded her shoes for the boots. For a listing contract on a prime property worth several million dollars, she didn’t mind walking a mile or two. She had brokered thousands of acres to land developers. Many commercial brokers never bothered to walk the raw land they sold, but her on-the-ground knowledge had often given her a leg up on the competition.

  She followed along as Ed pointed out obscure features of the property on which he had lived his entire life. At the same time, he told her anecdotes of the ups and downs of a farmer and father of three sons and two daughters. Alex listened, all the while making mental notes of the quality of the soil, the slope of the ground, the path of runoff water.

  Ed told her the orchard had been in his family for three generations, how his children didn’t want him to sell out, but the savings he and his wife had spent a lifetime accumulating had been depleted by medical bills.

  Alex had heard variations of his story. She often dealt with elderly owners of valuable real estate. Many times she had seen them relinquish their hold on the earth to pay for medical treatment, which had always saddened her.

  Their walking tour in the sun raised a sweat and Ed invited her into the house for a cold drink. While he shuffled about the kitchen, breaking out ice cubes and taking a pitcher of lemonade from the refrigerator, Alex looked over Hayes Winfield’s offer.

  “I don’t know much about negotiating with big shots,” Ed said. “I don’t know if I should accept Mr. Winfield’s bid.”

  “This is under market,” Alex said. “Lucky you didn’t accept it.”

  “But he’s the only one who’s showed any interest. I don't want to make him mad. We need the money and we need it now.”

  Though she hadn’t met Hayes Winfield, Alex felt confident she could convince him to pay market value for Anderson’s property. And if for some insane reason he refused, she knew other developers to contact. “I understand your fears, but trust me. I won’t let you get hurt and I won't make Mr. Winfield mad. We just need to get him to pay you a fair price.”

  “Bobby Culpepper told me you were the best, Mrs. McGregor. He told me to do whatever you said. If he feels that way about you, I know you’re the right person for this job. Did he tell you he and my oldest boy used to play together? Culpeppers lived right up there.” Ed raised a thin finger and pointed toward the window.

  Alex’s gaze followed his finger and she tried to visualize her suave and sophisticated lawyer growing up as a farm boy.

  She removed the listing contract she had prepared from her briefcase and laid it on the Formica table. Ed brought two glasses of lemonade and joined her. “I’ll need Mrs. Anderson’s signature. I know how ill she is. I hate to disturb her, but—”

  “She had a hard time getting around this morning, so she took a nap. She’s probably awake now. I can take it up to her.”

  Alex dragged her chair over to sit beside Ed. Paragraph by paragraph, they read through the agreement that would allow her to act as his agent in the sale of his property. She made sure he understood every part of it.

  The reading finished, the document lay before him, the signatures lines marked by yellow neon highlighter. Alex removed a pen from her purse and laid it beside the contract, making a soft tink on the table.

  The farmer’s demeanor changed, as if the sight of the pen rammed home a deferred reality. His eyes became shiny with tears. “This isn’t what we planned,” he said.

  Alex could have wept herself, caught up in his grief. Fortunately, Bob Culpepper had greased this one for her. Her emotions were still unsteady. She wasn’t up to giving a lengthy pitch to persuade Ed Anderson what he should do.

  Braced on his cane, Ed leaned forward, removed a handkerchief from his hip pocket and wiped his eyes. “This is a good home. It was built by my father. I was born here. It’s been a happy place.” He looked at her with red-rimmed eyes. “I suppose Mr. Winfield will tear it down if he puts a lot of new houses here, won’t he?”

  Alex’s heart ached. She couldn’t alter the circumstances time and cancer had wrought, but she could get the Andersons top dollar for their property, something they couldn’t do for themselves. She swallowed the lump in her throat and forced an upbeat answer. “I won’t mislead you. I honestly don’t know what will be done with the house. It looks to be in good shape. Perhaps it’ll be moved to another site.”

  “If they move it somewhere, maybe another family will learn to love it as much as Martha and I have. You ask him to move it, Mrs. McGregor. It’s a good home.”

  “I can do that much,” she said. “I promise.”

  He reached for the pen and began to sign. Alex rose and crossed the kitchen to the sink, leaving Ed to her back. A black and yellow bird landed on a tree branch outside the window above the sink, bobbing its head and chirping. She concentrated on its activities, forcing her thoughts away from her own uncertain circumstances. She didn’t turn back until she again heard the tink of the pen on the tabletop.

  She returned to where Ed sat and placed her hand on his shoulder. “If I go upstairs with you to get Mrs. Anderson’s signature, you’ll be able to stay up there with her. I can find my own way out.”

  He nodded and pushed himself to his feet. As he shuffled toward the stairs, she followed, carrying the pen and the document that, after old age and illness, would change the remaining lives of Ed and Martha Anderson and their children.

  From the doorway of the first bedroom, Alex saw the diminutive form of Martha Anderson. Medical p
araphernalia crowded the room. A painted metal TV try filled with assorted pill bottles stood beside the bed. Though the house was clean, the stench of serious illness and urine-soaked bed linen permeated the air. Alex felt a sting in her eyes and a twitch in her jaw. She had played a similar scene before, at the bedside of her own grandmother.

  Ed approached his wife and placed his hand on her shoulder. “Mother, this here’s Mrs. McGregor. She’s the one Bobby said would help us. She needs you to sign something.”

  After the signature had been done, Mrs. Anderson’s eyes peered back at Alex from their sunken sockets. “I won’t be here by the time you get this taken care of, Mrs. McGregor. So you look after my Ed. We’ve never done this before.”

  Alex cleared her throat, bent forward and took Mrs. Anderson’s hand. “I will, Mrs. Anderson.”

  And she would.

  Leaving with the signed contract in hand, Alex stopped in the doorway and fished a business card from her pocket and handed it to Ed. “I’m on my way to Los Angeles, but I have my cell on all the time. Hayes Winfield is in Alaska and won’t be back for a month. I’ll see him when he returns. Don’t worry. If things don’t work out with him, I know someone else. I’ll be in touch.”

  Outside, she stopped at her car door and cast a lingering look at the upstairs window of Mrs. Anderson’s bedroom. Hayes Winfield. Snake. No wonder Bob Culpepper had wanted her to get involved. Any developer would buy Anderson’s property for two, maybe three times what Hayes had offered them. Ed Anderson would have never known the difference if she hadn't entered the picture. How dare Hayes try to cheat old people? She would show him. By the time she met that bastard face to face, she would know all his weaknesses.

  She had never been able to be unaffected by the real-life dramas in which her job forced her to participate. Remaining detached and clinical was getting harder all the time. She only hoped the Salt Lake deal jelled so she could quit.

  Seated and belted in, she pulled down the visor mirror. Her mascara had run. She removed a tissue from her purse, dabbed away the black streaks on her cheeks and pointed Charlie’s car south.