Fool's Puzzle by Earlene Fowler (reading eggs books .TXT) 📕

reaching for the check. He snatched it up first and slid out of the booth.

“I’ll get it.” His face dared me to protest.

I picked up my purse, too tired to argue. We didn’t speak as we walked out to the parking lot. Freezing night air turned our breath to floating white powder. The sky was clear, moonless, black. The old mercury vapor street lights illuminated everything with a blue, spooky cast that caused an involuntary shudder to run up my spine.

“Cold?” Ortiz asked.

I pulled my denim jacket closer, wishing it was my sheepskin. “Just a goose walking over my grave.”

He laughed out loud, startling a nervous cat crouched underneath my truck. “My grandfather used to say that.”

“Your Kansas one?”

He gave an ironic smile. “So you found me out.”

“Derby, Kansas.” I shook my head. “Who would have ever guessed?”

“Well, I spent my last two years of high school in California, and I have lived there over twenty years. I assimilate easily.”

“A real asset in undercover work, I bet.”

His laugh was a low growl that, simply because it was masculine, sounded comforting. “What have you been doing, reading my personnel file?”

I lowered my chin and smiled into my jacket. “All information ends up somewhere. You said so yourself.”

“There’s nothing more disconcerting than having your own words thrown back at you. Those records are suppose to be confidential. Even I have to fill out a form in triplicate to obtain one. How did you manage?”

I shoved my hands in the pockets of my jacket and kept quiet.

“You know someone in Personnel.” He tilted his head to see my face better. “You probably went to school together. It shouldn’t be too difficult for me to find out. Breaching confidentiality in that job is probably grounds for dismissal.”

A small surge of panic for Angie flashed through me. “Look, I’m sorry. My friend shouldn’t have to pay for what I did. Please don’t make trouble for her.”

His eyes crinkled with amusement. “Humility. Now there’s a quality I’ve never seen in you before. I could get used to it.”

“Oh, shut up.” I laughed and made a fist, punching him lightly on the chest the way I did Jack when he teased me.

He grabbed it, covered it with his large hand, and shook it gently, his eyes cloudy and serious.

“Albenia Harper, you are driving me nuts. Why do you think that is?”

“Gabriel Ortiz.” I pulled my fist away and poked him in the chest with my finger. “You’re the one writing a master’s thesis on Kierkegaard. Why is anything the way it is?”

A small groan rumbled in the back of his throat. Before I realized what was happening, he slipped his hand behind my head, his fingers tangling in my hair, and pulled me to him. His embrace was powerful and his kiss intense, searching; it tasted of coffee and peppermint and salt.

I don’t know what made me kiss back—desire, anxiety, loneliness. But as our kiss deepened, somewhere in the twisting caverns of my mind, Jack’s brown eyes lurked, dark and tender, and the memory caused me to stiffen and pull back. Ortiz’s arms tightened for a split second, then let go.

“I can’t,” I said, feeling dazed and nervous and irrationally guilty, as if I were cheating. My rapid breath blew a small white cloud that floated up and mingled with his.

“I’m sorry,” he said, something close to a look of desperation on his face. “That was ... I don’t know why ...” His voice trailed off. Then he frowned. “Go home.” He turned and walked toward his car, his back rigid, the gravel crunching like tiny bird bones under his feet.

I stared at him open-mouthed. He was acting as if I’d done something wrong. I was as embarrassed as he was, but you didn’t see me snapping anyone’s head off.

“Don’t make such a big deal about it, Ortiz,” I called after him, my voice quivering more than I would have liked. “It certainly isn’t to me.”

He stopped, turned slowly around and looked at me, the hard, shadowy planes of his face blank.

“Let’s just blame it on the moon.” I pointed up at the black, empty sky, wondering why in the world I was trying to make this easier for him. I guess being married as long as I had, it just came out without thinking. Old habits die harder than loco weed.

His face relaxed slightly. “You’d better go home,” he said softly and turned away.

I climbed into my truck and sat there for a minute, hugging myself; his kiss had affected me more than I wanted to admit. I leaned my head on the steering wheel, inhaled deeply and tried to sort out my feelings.

The physical memory of his warm lips, the scratch of his raspy mustache, the comfort of his strong arms, lingered on my skin. I felt aroused, embarrassed, ashamed. Jack had been dead only nine months. What kind of person would even be thinking what I’m thinking? Especially about someone they’d only known four days?

A person who’s alive and kicking is what Dove would say.

After three tries and some creative language, the truck’s engine turned over. I flipped my headlights on. Seconds later, Ortiz’s came on. That small protective act made me smile. It was exactly what Jack would have done.

He followed me to the corner, but when I turned right, he kept going straight. I sighed in relief. The way I was feeling and after what happened between us, my place at three A.M. would have been a mistake. A big mistake. And by the fifth or sixth time of telling myself that, I almost believed it.

12

“YOU LOOK LIKE ...” Meg started.

“Don’t say it.” I lowered the brim of my blue Dodgers baseball cap in an attempt to conceal a face that needed about six more hours sleep.

“I was just going to say you look like death warmed over.” She twisted a strand of toffee hair and giggled nervously. “But that’s a bad choice of words, I guess. Isn’t it awful