A Nuisance
Lass Small
Mr. January Name:Stefan Szyszko (Pronounced "Cisco"), confirmed bachelor. Allergic To: Horses… and marriage-minded women. His Ex-Girlfriend: Carrie Pierce. A long-legged filly just lookin' for love. For Stefan, footloose and fancy-free was the only way to live.Even Carrie, his frisky ex, couldn't make him change his mind. Besides, he'd already dated - and discarded - her… . Then he began to notice that there wasn't a man in TEXAS who didn't have an eye for Carrie. And when one of them tried to rope her in, Stefan realized it was time to get Carrie into his corral - for good!
A Nuisance
Lass Small
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To three very charming men.
Stan Kulak, who taught me the two Polish sentences.
And the original Stefan Szyszko, who loaned me his name, appearance and allergy to horses.
And our son-in-law Roger Johnson, who wrote the song for our daughter, Liza.
Contents
One (#u4c91745b-4e97-5538-82e4-51e3cb3dfe4d)
Two (#u0fb37ac0-40a5-5e09-ad8a-58fec3143677)
Three (#u96b269bf-22ca-512a-93fd-8922915af241)
Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
One
Stefan Szyszko was a TEXAN, born and bred. From his parents to his great-great-grandparents, the Szyszkos had fit their lives into the town of Blink, near Fredricksburg, TEXAS. When the town was established, it was so small that if you blinked, you missed seeing the town.
Times, population growth and new migrations had changed that, but the name stuck.
While Stefan Szyszko’s last name was spelled in that remarkable way, its pronunciation was only subtly different from Cisco which is a very comfortable name in the state of TEXAS. The gently shaded difference could be discerned, and Stefan’s ear caught which way he was being addressed.
Stefan Syzszko got a lot of mail addressed to Steve Cisco.
The Szyszkos were Polish. Not just in ancestral roots but in attitude. They were humorous. Their eyes twinkled, their mouths quirked and their laughs were deep and sincere. They were stubborn and independent. They backed what they believed with their talk or fists or their lives.
That probably explains why, in World War II, Germany killed fifteen thousand captive Polish officers, at one time, in one place, deliberately. The Germans knew they couldn’t keep the Poles captive. The Polish officers would do their damnedest to escape and fight them again.
All that explained Stefan Szyszko. He was a cheerful, gregarious, stubborn man. He was tall. He stood exactly six feet. He had black hair, which ducktailed. His eyes were blue. He was built like a woman’s dream of a man.
He had a rift scar through his right eyebrow. He’d gotten it in a fight over an eleven-year-old girl back when he was about twelve. And in his left earlobe, Stefan wore the plain, wide gold wedding band of his great-grandmother. It balanced the eyebrow scar for the look of a benign pirate.
Nobody had ever seen Stefan really angry. He visited and laughed and gestured and listened. He had one problem. For a TEXAN it was pretty bad. He was allergic to horses.
Pepper Hodges was Stefan’s erstwhile good friend who, since puberty, had become his competitor. After Pepper learned of Stefan’s allergy, he’d just about always smelled of horses. Then, some of the females had mentioned Pepper always smelled like a horse barn.
Since Pepper was very interested in being close to females, he bathed and changed clothes before any gathering. While it had helped Stefan, it hadn’t been for him that Pepper had changed.
So what does a TEXAN do when he’s allergic to horses? Stefan had an automobile franchise. Among the Chrysler products, he sold Jeeps. This especially touched his grandfather’s heart because he’d used one in Europe in World War II. So nostalgically, he bought a Jeep from his grandson, but he had expected a very large discount.
Bending to kinsmen was one of the debit sides of living in a community that held generations of relatives. Everybody felt they should have a discount on purchases, and they felt free to tell Stefan how to live.
“When are you going to marry?” Stefan’s mother asked periodically.
“When I find her,” he gave the same, old reply.
“That’s not soon enough.”
With tested patience, he told his mother, “I’m only thirty.”
“Find a good Polish girl and get us some grandchildren.”
“I’m to look for a baby maker?”
His mother shrugged. “You can find one. A good, sturdy girl with nice, wide hips.”
“If I go around measuring hips, I could have trouble with the daddies.”
“No. You’re such a good catch, the papas would help you measure and cheat with the tape.”
Stefan looked patient. He mentioned, “It’s possible that hips aren’t the most vital part of a marriageable woman.”
His mother gave him a side-eyed look and scolded in her humorous nudging, “You want more?”
“Well, her face would have to pass —at least basics.”
She waved the idea aside, as if discouraging a nasty fly. “Picky, picky.”
Not quite a swear word, he said to his mother, “Dam’d right.”
His dad came into the room, and Stefan’s mother turned to Stefan’s father to complain, “He’s looking for a beauty.”
Mr. Szyszko raised his eyebrows and looked down his nose at his wife as he replied, “Well, I got one, so why shouldn’t he?”
And his wife grinned, tilted up her chin and looked smugly at her son as her head indicated the father. She told the son, “He’s smooth. Take lessons.”
* * *
Stefan figured thirty was too young to get serious. There were too many women to choose from, and all were so delightful that the choosing was an engrossing chore. Well, there were a couple of burrs he’d met, but all the rest were pure delight.
As he drove his new Jeep in the direction of his car lot, his mind came to one of the burrs. She was the most irritating woman God had ever concocted. She worked for the local TV station and was serious about it. She’d be an old maid, a reject. She was already one of his discards.
Ah, but she was something to look at. Her name was Carrie Pierce, and she didn’t have the hip measure to please his mother. Carrie was slender. More like a long-legged reed. She had no bosom to speak of, and her hips were narrow. There was no way a man could get a hold on her.
Her hair was strawberry blond. She wore it long, and it was soft and wavy and got tangled up in everything. The wind teased it around so’s a man’s eyes watched, and his hands would curl for the wanting to get tangled up with her, hair and all.
But the brain under that lure was Carrie’s. It was sharp and snotty.
She’d look at a man with those dark brown eyes of hers, and her eyelashes would call attention to themselves in a total lack of modesty. Her brown eyes were like microwave radar, and she would say things like, “What was your car doing at Maggie’s the other night?” Just like it was her business to know!
Being a gentleman, he’d respond courteously, “It’s none of your business.”
And she’d sass “I’ll bet,” for whatever that meant.
She wasn’t even Polish, for crying out loud. Her, with her long, flyaway hair and those narrow hips.
* * *
When Stefan’s Jeep arrived at the dealership, he looked on the neat, perfectly parked lot with great pride. There were all the little flags lining the elevated wires to call attention to the car lot. The place was spotless. The cars shone in the good TEXAS sunshine. Actually, it was clouding over and about ready to allow the dry TEXAS soil a taste of heavenly moisture.
Stefan drove into his slot and eased himself from his Jeep with great alacrity, easily done with a Jeep. He loved that blunt car. He patted it as he would a good horse, and went into the glass-walled building.
Manny greeted him with, “Kirt Overmann came by for those two Jeeps he ordered.”
Stefan asked ominously and with dread, “Did you go over the Jeeps with him like I told you?”
“He was in a hurry.”
“Damn it, Manny, I told you he’d pull that on you! You were supposed to stall him off and get him to check out each one!”
Earnestly, Manny explained, or complained, “I just couldn’t get a word in edgewise.”
Scowling, Stefan asked, “Which of the two did he pull?”
“The green one.”
Stefan moved his lips around as if rinsing his mouth with a minimum of water, and he guessed, “He’ll call just before supper and say the green one doesn’t work.”
“Leave now.”
“I can’t. Mac is coming in to make me look at that discard Jeep of his. You know what a pain that’ll be?”
Manny comforted his boss. “It isn’t even one of ours.”
“Try telling him that.”
“Show him our file! It isn’t there.”
Stefan looked at the damned cheerful flags. “He says we snuck the warranty out and burned it.”
“You got peculiar friends.”
“They’re enemies.” Stefan sighed. Then he mentioned, “You do recall that Kirt has three marriageable daughters he’s trying to palm off on unsuspecting men?”
And Manny’s nodding agreement was empathetic.
The phone rang, and Stefan said quickly, “Don’t answer it!”
But Manny had already picked it up, and he squinched his face in helpless distress. He had no choice, “Cisco’s.”
“Steve there?”
Manny’s courage only went so far, he said, “Yeah.” And he handed the phone to Stefan.
Giving Manny a narrowed-eyed look, Stefan punched the speaker button so Manny could hear both sides. Then he said to the phone, “Stefan here.”
And Kirt replied heartily, “Well, hello, Steve, got the Jeeps, but the green one don’t want to work. How about coming out and fixing it.” A demand.
Stefan looked at his watch. “I can make it about nine-thirty tomorrow morning.”
And Kirt asked, “What’s pushing you tonight? Everybody ‘round owes me, I’ll use one of the IOU’s to pry you free tonight.”
“It’s a woman.”
There was a pause, and then Kirt asked in a rather deadly way, “Who?”
And right out of his mouth, Stefan lied very stupidly, “Carrie.”
Relief rushed through Kirt’s, “Carrie? Great! She’s here now. You can pick her up...here. Plan on supper.” And he hung up.
Stefan slowly, gently recradled the phone. He looked up at Manny’s compassionate face and asked, “How many times is it, now, that I’m going to strangle you?”
“Last count? I think I’m down to thirteen.”
“Thirteen isn’t a lucky count.”
“Well, it’ll go down lower if you go on out to Kirt’s tonight for supper. You got Carrie to protect you from Kirt’s daughters, you can get the green Jeep put back together, eat and sneak away whole.”
“You go.”
“You know good and well tonight’s my night off. You’re the boss, and you get to fill in for me.” He smiled. “You want me to rescue Carrie? I’d be glad to save her and have her grateful.”
“Don’t.”
Manny then was curious. “What did you have on for tonight that I can help you with?”
And Stefan gave that woman’s excuse that covered everything, “I gotta wash my hair.”
Manny laughed until he got the hiccups.
Stefan watched stony faced and unamused.
Hiccuping, Manny stood grinning, but with some empathy, he said, “When there was something I had to do that I didn’t want to do, my mother always told me, ‘It’ll grow hair on your chest.’ I did more terrible, demanded things than I can count, and look —” he unbuttoned two buttons “ —no hair. She lied.”
With infinite worldly wisdom, Stefan explained, “It was a figure of speech. She meant the discipline would make a man of you. You need more discipline to reach that goal. Go to Kirt’s tonight.”
Manny shook a sorrowful head as he said, “God, I’m sure sorry, but I have to go to a funeral.”
Stefan narrowed his eyes, his brain going over the obituary columns of the area newspapers in the past week. “Who?”
Gesturing with grandiosity, Manny said, “You, if you interfere with my plans tonight.” And he left.
* * *
To go to the Overmanns’, Stefan didn’t shower. He didn’t wear his regular clothing. He stripped naked and pulled on some smelly, sweat-and-grease-stained coveralls. He wiped his face and hands with a grease rag. He went in the utility Jeep to Kirt’s house on land outside Blink.
He was completely confident that he was safe from being invited into the Overmann house. But dirty, in those grease-stained coveralls and wearing that golden earring, he looked like a potentially dangerous pirate.
The Overmann girls all came out and laughed and flirted while Stefan soberly switched and rearranged wires and connections which had been...switched and rearranged. He didn’t make any comment at all about the mess. He just...fixed it back.
Amid the friendly dogs, there was that passel of charming young women, the expansive daddy and the singleton guest named Carrie Pierce. She watched him with almost closed eyes and said nothing at all. She irritated the very hell out of him.
She had on red nail polish. It was daytime. It was too early for her to’ve gotten dressed for a date. She wore pink polish in the daytime and wore red at night. How come it was daytime and she had on red nail polish?
She had a date that night? Who was he? It wasn’t any of Stefan’s business. She was a discard. She could go out with any yahoo she wanted to tussle. It was none of his business.
Kirt’s wife hollered from the porch, “Get your hands washed, it’s about time to eat!”
And Kirt said, “Peel off them coveralls and come on inside. You can finish that up later.”
But Stefan had anticipated that very demand and managed a reasonable hesitancy as he looked at the grinning daughters. Helen, Alice and Trisha. Under his breath, Stefan said just for the daddy, “I don’t have on nothing else?” That was the TEXAS questioning statement. “This is almost done and — “
In a carrying voice, Kirt exclaimed to the whole community and surrounding area, “You mean to tell me you’re nekkid?”
And a genuine blush took over Stefan’s face.
The girls giggled, putting their hands to their faces and exchanging laughing glances, but Carrie just watched.
Kirt then said, “No problem. I’ve got some things you can borrow.”
Still working on the mixed-up connections, Stefan next tried a verbal rejection, “I had a late lunch.”
“Then you can sit with us for dessert.”
Stefan’s eyes went reluctantly to see how Carrie was taking all this, and he met her unsympathetic regard. How like her to be aloof when a man was in trouble. No heart. No compassion. No sliver of concern in that icy heart of hers.
He was lucky her strawberry hair hadn’t ensnared him. She’d let a man go to the guillotine and never bat those heavily lashed eyelids. She was a mean woman, and he’d made a lucky escape when he’d shunned her.
Then to indicate an unarguable defense, Stefan looked at his cast-off, greasy shoes and shook his head once. “I got to stay outside. Thanks, anyway.”
And one of Kirt’s pushy daughters said, “We’ll all come outside. We’ll sit on the porch.” And she went to the house to tell her mother.
So her mother hollered for the other girls to come in to help move the meal outside.
Stefan warned them, “It’s gonna rain.”
And the daughters laughed. “The porch is big enough. You can sit in the rain and get cleaned off.”
Snippy. He sorted the daughters out and that one was Helen. He grinned and glanced aside to find Carrie’s eyes weighing him.
Why would she do that?
He told that slender, nothing woman with all that blond-red hair, “You’d better get inside. Rain’ll melt you.”
And wouldn’t you know, she had a reply, right away. She said, “I’m not made of sugar.”
He was back inside the Jeep’s engine, but he did hear her. He mumbled, “I can’t argue that.”
She asked, “What?”
“I said, ‘None of the tires is flat.’” But he pulled his head out of the engine to look at her to see if she believed him, and she laughed.
Those damned brown eyes of hers had all sorts of sparkles in them before those lashes dropped down and hid it all. Asinine woman.
It was Kirt who told Carrie, “Hadn’t you better get on home before the storm hits?”
“I was invited to dinner before Stefan got here. If there isn’t enough to include us both, he can leave.”
Stefan relaxed. “Yeah.”
“Or he can follow me home, to be sure I get there in this wild and woolly storm that’s going to spray us with a few sprinkles.”
Kirt narrowed his eyes and considered her.
Stefan said, “With the storm coming, you probably ought to get on home. I’ll follow you and come back tomorrow and finish this up.”
Kirt broke in. “No. You stay. We promised you dessert. You can’t wiggle out of that. We’re having Mildred’s pe-can pie.”
Stefan groused, “No! Good thing I’ve already eaten. Her pie is so good I’ll have to have two pieces.”
The father put in, “The girls all can make that pie. They’re good cooks.”
Stefan thought what a touter Kirt was. He’d get those girls married off —but not to Stefan. He went back to working on rescuing the tangled connections.
Kirt said, “Give it up for now. It’s about to rain.”
“I don’t have much more to do. I’ll get it done. Go ahead. I’ll be quick. Carrie, you hold the flashlight.”
Kirt said, “No. I will.”
Stefan countered, “You need to clean up a little before you go inside Mildred’s pristine house. You know that for a fact.”
And Kirt knew it. “We’ll fix you a place. Come along, Carrie.”
But Stefan told Kirt, “She’s gotta hold the flashlight.”
There was nothing Kirt could do about that. He had to go inside. His daughters were all inside the house, helping their mother. Carrie was the only one left outside to hold the light for Stefan. Damn!
Kirt gave Carrie’s slender body a look and was reassured. It was just her hair. Nothing else on her could lure a man, and he knew that Stefan was immune to her. So he turned away. “Don’t be long.” And Kirt left.
As soon as he was out of earshot, that nasty Carrie giggled.
Stefan chided, “Shame on you.”
“Hush. Don’t say another word, or I’ll leave you here and go on home.”
Stefan groused, “That’s just exactly what you’d think of doing. You’re a witch!”
“You’ve said something like that before.”
“I never!”
She was emphatic, “When I wouldn’t stay the night with you.”
“Shame on you, saying that kind of thing about a nice young man like me.”
“You’re past thirty.” She pointed that out like he hadn’t known such a fact. “You’re supposed to be a responsible man.”
“I’m getting this damned motor rewired. That’s really taking responsibility the hard way.”
She was flippant. “So’s behaving yourself.”
“You weren’t interested.”
She didn’t say anything.
He lifted his head up and looked at her across the engine. “You’re a damned tease.”
She didn’t respond.
“You’re lucky I didn’t wring your neck.”
She was silent.
The rain started gently.
He said, “Go on inside. I can finish this in just a minute.”
The flashlight held steady.
He told her, “You’re going to get wet.”
And her husky, wicked voice replied, “I’ve already told you that I won’t melt.”
“You won’t. You’re hard-hearted and mean. There isn’t anything on this earth that would make you pliant.”
And her laugh was low and soft.
* * *
It wasn’t long before Stefan wiped his hands on his greasy coveralls. He went to the Jeep and slid onto the newspaper Kirt had insisted on putting across the driver’s seat. The Jeep started like it’d never had a problem, and Stefan gave a huge sigh of endurance.
He turned off the ignition, got out of the Jeep and looked at Carrie. He said, “You can turn off the flashlight. We’re through. You’re good help. Thank you.”
She didn’t reply. She just turned off the light and went over to put it in the glove compartment.
The initial rain was gentle. TEXAS rain was just about always like that, so as the ground wouldn’t be too shocked with the coming wetness. Stefan lifted his face to it.
In the dusk’s light rain, Stefan stood in his messed-up coveralls, with that earring and the rifted eyebrow. He looked more like a pirate than ever. Carrie licked her lips.
From the house, Kirt hollered, “Hustle up, you all, we’re just about finished!”
“Coming.” Stefan said the word so they could hear him on the porch, but he was looking at Carrie.
She smiled faintly. She was very alert and her eyes went over him in quick moves.
Stefan closed the Jeep up and wiped his hands on the already greasy rag in his hip pocket. He gestured and said, “Ladies first.”
She lifted her eyebrows slightly and mentioned, “Lady? The last time I heard you refer to me, you called me a cold – – – – –.”
He slid his narrowed eyes over her and replied, “I was being polite.”
She tilted her head and regarded him. “Polite? Then...or now.”
But Kirt hollered, “Hustle up!”
* * *
Sitting under the roof of the overhang by the porch, Stefan ate two quarters of one pie. It was delicious, and Mildred insisted he take the rest of it home. She smiled and told him, “Helen did this one.”
Helen laughed with such humor that Stefan knew the mother lied.
Although the host insisted he’d follow Carrie home to be sure she was safe —in that isolated, pure, staid area —he couldn’t argue when Stefan explained Carrie was going in his direction and her house came first.
So the marriageable daughters and their papa all went out to supervise the separate ones in getting into their cars and leaving the Overmann place.
Kirt was at Stefan’s Jeep, talking, as Stefan waited for the sisters to finish their farewells to Carrie. They’d been talking since last night, apparently, but they still had things to say...and things to laugh about.
Finally, finally Carrie eased her car along, and the sisters walked along to finish one more hysterical comment. Carrie eased her way with the sisters bending over and touching one another in their hilarity.
As he followed Carrie, Stefan wondered, What was so funny?
With dispatch, the cold witch drove perfectly down the road, staying on her side of it, not nudging the speed limit, driving perfectly. Women were such an irritation.
Deliberately sagged down in his seat, Stefan lagged along. Keeping her in sight, he was looking around just wishing some yahoo would harass her. And he could go to her rescue and sort things out.
Now...why on this earth would he want something like that to happen?
He moved his mouth around as he mentally chewed on such a stupid wish. He supposed it was because she was so damned confident that, at almost twenty-three, she felt she was more mature than him.
They entered the town of Blink from one side and drove through residential streets. From some distance, he saw her turn between the cement posts at the entrance of the Pierce driveway and park her car by the back door. She got out and immediately went into the house.
He leisurely swung his car between those same cement posts and into her drive...as the back house light went out.
She hadn’t waited to thank him for his escort.
Her parents were out of town. Her brother was in grad school. Carrie was alone in the house.
He pulled his car up in back of hers and got out with great, enduring patience. He went up on her screened back porch’s steps and pounded his fist, rattling the wooden frame of the screen door.
He heard the upstairs shower turn on.
Now, she had to’ve heard his Jeep. She had to’ve heard the Jeep door slam. She had to’ve heard his feet clunk on the back wood steps. And she had to’ve heard his knock on the loose, although hooked screen door. He knew it was hooked because it had not opened to his tug.
So he sat in the mist, on the steps, and waited. When the upstairs shower finally turned off, some time later, he swung his fist around and really rattled that door.
After a time, he repeated the rattle.
She came to the kitchen door that led onto the screened porch. She was dressed in a bathrobe that buttoned under her chin, and said, “Some problem with your Jeep?”
Still sitting on her back steps, he replied, “You got inside before I knew nobody had accosted you. How’d I know the sound of the shower wasn’t a cover-up of a ravishing?”
In a dead voice with no emphasis at all, she replied, “Glory be.”
“You’re not only cold, you’re mouthy.”
“Yeah.”
He said grudgingly, “Thank you for the protection you gave me tonight at the Overmanns’.” The words were wooden, but along with an eye-rolling sigh, his mother would’ve been proud of him.
But that nasty, mostly blond redhead said with greatly exaggerated candor, “What was threatening you out at the Overmanns’? On the way here? How did I help you? You’re allergic to water...the rain? Why don’t you get back in your Jeep and get out of the rain?”
He gave her a slow turning of his head and a withering look that should have shriveled her. It did not. Then he rose and stretched his tired muscles. He breathed the misting air before he took his own sweet time going back to the Jeep and leaving her standing there, in her doorway, watching after him.
But as he was slowly backing down her driveway, he heard her phone ringing.
Some poor dolt was trying for her. Stupid guy. It never entered Stefan’s mind that the caller might be female. He only thought of some guy talking in her ear in a low and intimate way and...trying.
Sourly, he drove on to his car lot. He went around, being sure it was all secure...followed by the patient security guard, Tad.
Tad said, “Mac was here. He thinks you’re avoiding him. That you won’t face your responsibilities.”
“Do you know how long he’s had that Jeep? He got it at a post World War II government auction.”
“He says it was here.”
“I wasn’t alive then. This was grazing land at that time. I don’t sell used Jeeps. Nobody gives them up.”
“He’s allowing you that privilege.”
“Tad. This has not been a good day. Kirt bought two Jeeps and got away with them before Manny or I could go over them with him. Do you realize how many times I’m gonna have to go out yonder to his place...just before supper?”
Tad smiled.
“Tad...would you go th —”
“I’m tagged. Eula wouldn’t allow me to set foot on Kirt’s property. She’s a hellcat.” His voice was benign and a bit smug.
Stefan gave him a slow and deadly look. “I hate a bragging man.”
“You need a permanent woman. She’ll be nice to you. She’ll guard you from other women. You can tell her now isn’t the best time to get it legal.”
“You’re smarter’n me.” Stefan looked glumly out over the darkening night fall over the TEXAS land. The rain was a benediction. How could he be so glum? At his age and circumstance, he should be carefree and jubilant. He ought to be able to peel off those coveralls and go out and romp in the gentle rain, glorying in being alive and free.
Everywhere he looked, there were traps.
Two
Stefan turned away from his night watchman, Tad. He walked toward his Jeep. He was ready to leave his car lot and said his usual comment, “Watch.”
So his night watchman replied with great patience, “Hell, man, I do. That’s why you hired me. Me and Tom are good watchers.”
Stefan frowned at the placid dog. “I knew of a watchdog in Florida who did only that. He would watch as the whole kaboodle was stolen.”
“You’re offending him.” Tad indicated his alert dog.
Stefan placated, “Naw. Saying ‘watch’ is just automatic. My mother still tells me to ‘be careful’ every time I leave their house, after visiting.”
“Mine just says ‘behave.’ I wonder who’s spilling her guts to my momma.”
“Nobody. Mothers set traps.”
“Yeah.” After a thoughtful silence, Tad inquired, “If your mother says that, what’s your dad say?”
Stefan gestured to indicate grand wisdom. “He said that to deal with a Polish man, American women need only two sayings in Polish.”
“What’s that?” Tad looked interested.
“Idz do piekla and jacie kocham.“
“What’s that mean?”
“‘Go to hell’ and ‘I love you.’ Those two sayings will cover any situation. In conversation, a woman needs only to listen.”
Tad laughed.
Stefan again started for his Jeep. “Watch.”
“Hell, man, we just went through all that.”
“Yeah.” And Stefan finally left.
As he drove along, he studied his restlessness. Why? Well, it seemed to him that a whole lot of nothings got in the way of his life.
Look at Kirt fooling with the innards of a new car because he had three marriageable daughters. Or his own mother’s anxiety over his single life. There was that stupid, old man, Mac, claiming Stefan was responsible for an antique government-issue Jeep finally groaning with age. And then there was the damned woman with the blond-red hair who was so cool and collected...but not by him.
Now why had he thought of Carrie as a problem of his? He’d discarded her three months ago. She was a holdout and pigheaded and impossible.
Impossible was sure true. Any woman who’d kiss like that, and then say no, was mean! Think what a woman like that would do with little kids! She’d rule with an iron hand. “Eat that spinach!” “It’s bedtime. You get yourself right upstairs. This is the last time I’m telling you!” “You play hookey and I’ll blister you!” She’d be relentless.
She’d probably want more Polish words than just “go to hell.” She’d tongue-lash a good man.
But then he began a dreamy vision of her tongue-lashing him, here and there, and he lost all his hostility. He’d be putty in her seeking hands. She’d turn him into a slave. He’d starve, waiting for her attentions.
It was just a good thing he’d wiped her from his mind and excluded her from his life.
* * *
On the other side of Blink, out where Stefan lived, there were no sidewalks. There were wire fences along the road. And the county didn’t mow the sides of the road, so the weeds were high outside the fence. His “yard” was somewhat mowed, but there was no trimming done. It was all pretty weedy and loose. Casual? It suited Stefan.
However, the house was plumb and painted, and so was the garage and shed in back of it. There was also a neat outhouse, just in case. Across the back of the house was a great, open screened porch, a lot like the ones other people had.
Inside, the furnishings were family castoffs. He did have a new bed, a good refrigerator, stove and a dishwasher. He did not wash dishes by hand.
He looked over the place and it was his.
When he got out of his car, the phone rang. That surprised him. It was almost ten, and people went to bed early in Blink. He went into the unlocked house and picked up the receiver with some curiosity.
Her tongue said, “You got home okay?”
He took a satisfied breath and began to sit down to talk as he said, “Yeah.”
But the witch hung up.
Why the hell had she called? She was paying him back for him making sure she’d gone into the house safely?
Tit for tat.
That only set his mind off again.
He went through his sparsely furnished house and up the stairs into his bedroom. Upstairs, his bedroom was the only furnished room. Stefan went to the shower and used the liquid soap to get rid of the remainder of the grease. Then he put on clean pajama pants and faced the fact that there wasn’t much else to do but go to bed.
So he did.
And the next thing he knew, he awoke to the alarm. His bed was a torn-up mess, and he was not rested.
So what was the problem? He sure as hell didn’t need more exercise.
He lay in his silent room in the silent house and went over his potential conversation with Mac, who was eighty-two, a childless widower and lonely. Stefan’s dad’s solution was to just go ahead and give Mac a new Jeep.
At that time, Stefan had replied, “Hell, Dad, if I did that, every yahoo in the county would come a-running, declaring their Jeep was one of mine, defective and needed to be replaced.”
So his dad had said, “For Mac’s Jeep, make it seem like a competition. It might cost you a Jeep or two, but it would salve that old man’s heart. He’s lonely. Why don’t you hire him as a salesman?”
“I thought I was supposed to hire Carrie.”
His dad had agreed. “Her, too. She’d draw men in like they’re flies after honey.”
“I can’t submit her to that sort of harassment.”
His dad had slid his eyes over to his youngest son and inquired, “Jealous?”
“I gave up on her over three months ago.”
“When was that?”
“Dad, you’re pushing it.”
His dad had shrugged. “We like her.”
“Which ‘we’? Are you implying Momma likes her?”
“You and me.”
Stefan had reminded his gene contributor, “Momma called her a tart.”
His dad had soberly nodded agreement. “It was the dress. It was like a second skin.”
“So you did notice. I thought you told Momma you hadn’t seen it.”
His dad had gestured openly. “There are just times when a man’s better off temporarily blind.”
“Now you tell me.”
“Hell, Stef, I’ve told you that ‘til I’m blue in the face! Just look!”
Stefan looked his dad over quite critically, because he was feeling critical. He said, “Your face’s pretty pink. There’s a blood vessel there that looks busted.”
“That was from the night you first took out the car, alone, with that youngest Sorrus girl.”
Stefan had sighed and shaken his head in empathy for a lousy time. “I remember that.”
“I should hope you would!”
Stefan had to remind his father, “It’s stuck in my head because I had to go and get her daddy to get his mules to haul us out of the sand.”
“That did take guts.”
“It was the car,” Stefan again vowed. “I couldn’t allow my first car to sink in quicksand.”
“But you left her inside the car,” his father had retorted in a censorious manner. “I’ve never understood that.”
“I told you. She had on high heels, and I didn’t want to wait around for her to make the trek. She was fifteen. She wobbled in high heels on a smooth surface. What if somebody else had come along, pulled the car out and took it off. I figured if she stayed in it, the car was still mine.”
“And if it sunk?”
“Dad.” Stefan had been very adult. “All this happened fourteen years ago.”
“You asked about my burst blood vessel.”
“No.” Stefan had then managed to be excruciatingly patient. “I just barely mentioned it. You asked if your face was blue from giving me sage advice.”
“Sage? You a horticulturist?”
That had done it. In order to avoid a burst blood vessel of his own then, Stefan had said, “Tell Momma I was here.”
“Probably.”
That one word had caused Stefan to hesitate on his way to the door. “Why...probably?”
“I’ll have to test how she’s feeling about you, before I admit you was here.”
“Do you realize there are people that have real, normal parents? How’d I end up with you two?” Then, hopefully, he’d asked rapidly, “Was I adopted?”
“No. You’re ours.”
“That’s scary.” And Stefan had left.
* * *
Stefan had four brothers. They were a year apart in age. Stefan was youngest. His mother had told Stefan that when he was born, and she was exhausted and groggy, his father had told her—at that time, mind you—that he’d finally figured out how to have daughters. Even Stefan’s father admitted that he could have chosen a better time for his pronouncement. His wife didn’t speak kindly to him for two years.
So why did Stefan think Carrie would be any different? She was also a touchy female, just like his mother. Well. Why was he interested in Carrie who was a rejected woman? It was that hair. And disgruntled, he thought about the fact that everybody has hair. Well, someplace on them. There aren’t very many people who are bald all over. But Carrie had all that mop of shimmery blond-strawberry hair. It was alluring. A man wanted to be wrapped in it.
He decided he’d casually mention to her that some of the men at his place had talked about the fact that she’d look better with her hair cut short. If she cut it, he figured, it ought to solve his lured-attention problem.
Then, more than likely, she’d mention something he should cut. Like his own throat.
* * *
When he came back into his house the next time, the phone was ringing, and it was that woman, Carrie, who said, “You get home okay?”
He didn’t sit down that time, he just said, “Yeah.”
“Who all did you accost?”
So he eased down and heard himself saying, “Some guys out at the lot were talking about you.”
“Naturally.”
She was snippy and just asking for some man to take charge of her and straighten her out. He went on, “And they think you’d look cute with your hair real short. I told them they were crazy.”
She hung up.
* * *
Several days passed and just about everyone in Blink heard of the scam Stefan’s dad had contrived. Stefan was going to give away a new Jeep in exchange for one from the time of World War II. Ownership had to’ve been continuous.
The idea was attention-getting. Stefan would actually trade a new Jeep for an antique. But it was worth doing because of the publicity.
Mac did win. The two runners-up each got a hundred dollars.
Kirt said thoughtfully, “Mac’s old Jeep up on a pole out front of the car lot would be a plus. Up in the air, thataway, it would be seen from the highway.”
It is odd what happenstance does. While Stefan was just trying to get Mac off his neck, the newspapers from around the area clear to San Antonio, up to Austin and over to Fredricksburg came for interviews with Stefan...and pictures!
Those combatants left from World War II were getting precious. World War II had been a “good” war. It wasn’t like the newer wars, so nasty and appalling.
Memory is selective.
Stefan had never had such publicity. It was good for business. He gave a second Jeep to his father.
Was his father delighted? No. He said furiously, “What the hell you trying to do? You want me to look like a moocher?” And he refused the Jeep.
Stefan begged God to prove he was switched at birth. Or at least adopted!
As he drove around the area for television interviews, he dreamed his real parents would recognize him and claim him. He hadn’t dreamed that since he was fourteen, just over half his life ago.
Then he heard by chance that Carrie had all his TV interviews taped! The very thought of her watching him on tape wobbled him. Why would she tape the interviews?
But he overheard his father say, “Our VCR went crazy and chewed up tapes, but Carrie volunteered to tape the TV bits on Stefan for us. She has a double VCR that can hold twelve hours of—”
The sound of his daddy’s voice went away, and Stefan’s head was filled with the popping air waves of a vacuum. It was fascinating. Eventually, he was aware that the stunning reason for his mental vapidness was the fact that Carrie would volunteer to tape his interviews for his parents!
Did that mean... Did she have copies?
His father’s voice came back to Stefan. “We don’t even have to watch or fool with the recorder. They give Carrie the day, channel and hour, and she just sets the time and so on. She really doesn’t mind, it’s so simple.”
Stefan was deflated. She didn’t have to watch the tapes. She just programmed the VCR. That sobered him.
Why had he been...un-sobered? Why had his libido gotten so excited when he heard she was... But she wasn’t. She was simply being kind to his parents.
Yeah. And just why was she being kind to his parents? Hmm?
His head waggled a little, his body moved a bit and he touched his tie. Carrie Pierce was interested in Stefan Szyszko?
He could understand it. After he dumped her, she hadn’t been able to get over him. She was courting his parents to get through to him. She was trying to get them on her side and trap him. Yeah.
* * *
At church the next Sunday, Stefan watched in some shock as Carrie came inside with Pepper Hodges. What the hell was she doing with Pepper, of all men? And why was she with him...in church!
And Stefan knew. Just that fast, it came to him. Pepper was the fall guy. She wanted to see Stefan. And she wanted him to see her with another man and get territorial. Yep.
Knowing all that, he wasn’t surprised when she didn’t look around to find him. He sat there with his parents, three of his brothers and their families, in a Szyszko fortress of relations, and he knew that she knew right where he was.
When had she gotten that big, floppy hat? It looked really good on that skinny, shapeless woman. She had good taste. And she was there, in church, with Pepper Hodges. She was lucky she was in church with a guy like that. She’d better be careful.
How come she had paired off with Pepper? Well, she didn’t belong to that church. Coming with Pepper was the only way she could seem normal when she came inside. But she still didn’t look around. How did she know he would know she would be with Pepper?
And Stefan figured it out. She’d come in during the week and checked the pews for names. Yeah. She had. She knew where he was. He relaxed and studied the statue of Jesus showing his cross-impaled heart wrapped in thorns, and Stefan felt great compassion.
* * *
When the service was over, and they were moving out of the church, Stefan saw that Carrie and Pepper were ahead of him. It seemed odd that she would allow that. She should have waited until he exited the church and was standing around outside as he talked, then she could have come out and been surprised to see him.
She wasn’t handling a confrontation at all well. But she was a novice. She’d learn.
However, she had taped his interviews. He would be kind to mention his mother’s gratitude. He’d be casual about it. He squeezed through impossible barriers of talking people, knocked a lady’s hat askew and walked through empty pews and got outside just in time to see her being put into Pepper’s car!
What was the rush?
And a thought stopped him cold. What if...what if she was allowing Pepper to...court her!
Yeah. What if?
And he found he was stunned by the idea. His mind rejected it. How could he be so upset over a woman whom he’d discarded three months and seventeen days ago?
How come he knew exactly how long ago it had been?
Was he sulking? Had he been waiting for her to call him and make up with him, saying he was right and she’d been rude? Yeah.
So what was he supposed to do?
* * *
Knowing her family was still away, Stefan called her the rest of the day, and fortunately she didn’t have the pushy answering machine connected. Each time, he could let the phone ring twenty times. If she deliberately was not answering, it would be annoying for her to have to listen to the long rings, but he knew she wasn’t there. No single woman would resist a ringing phone.
When he couldn’t contact her the next day, he began to get a breathing disorder. Where was she? How could he find out without seeming interested? A man’s life and times were a heavy burden.
He drove by her house, using different cars from the lot so he could be anonymous. Sure. But he went by the next night and her driveway was filled with cars. She was having a party, and he hadn’t been invited?
He was crushed. It was several days before he found out her visitors had been sorority sisters. Finding that out kept him from going into a decline. But...why would he care?
* * *
Then Pat Vernon called. He was one of the people from the TV station in San Antonio who had interviewed Stefan. Pat had called because Mac’s earpiece didn’t accept the telephone. Pat had found a World War II veteran who was only sixty-eight and he could still qualify to fly a single-engine plane.
His name was Jerold Kraut. It would be good copy if Mac would go on a flight with Jerold. Pat asked Stefan, “Would you find out if Mac would be interested? We can land the plane right behind your car lot. It’d give you some free publicity.”
Stefan said, “Great. Why don’t you come out and talk to the old man with me.”
“Is there a motel around there? I don’t recall one in Blink.”
“You can stay with me? I have the room. Mac’ll come into town, and it’ll probably be fun. My mother will fix the meals and you can’t get any better than that.”
“You talked us into it. What day?”
So they got that figured out.
Stefan’s father and a couple of his brothers helped him move an extra bed out of the family storage in the barn. The struggle to put it into one of the vacant rooms at Stefan’s house was so difficult that it was hilarious, and they became weak from laughing. Then they decided they might just as well put a bed in the other room. So Stefan bought a case of beer.
His mother told Stefan to buy some mattress covers so the stains wouldn’t show. She loaned him sheets and towels. And pillows. And dishes. And she donated two braided rugs. She told him that if he put one end under the bed no one would notice the indelible stains on one of the rugs. And she added a rocking chair to set on the stubborn stain on the other rug.
Stefan said, “That’s the rocker you used for feeding us kids.”
His mother looked at it critically. “It’ll last.”
Slipping it in slyly, Stefan offhandedly asked his mother, “Can we come to your house at mealtime? Just supper.” He gestured as if that was no big deal, and “just supper” was letting her off the hook.
She was agreeable, but she gave Stefan a look, and he knew she was collecting brownie points. She’d hit him with some god-awful job for him to solve, and he would be committed to it. The weight of that reality came down and landed heavily on his shoulders.
Carrying the burden of probable obligation, Stefan checked with the area weatherman. He said the weather ought to be okay for the next several weeks, and to check back.
In an afterthought, Stefan finally had to go see Mac because he couldn’t talk to him on the phone. Mac was willing to be involved in the filming. By then, Stefan wouldn’t have been at all surprised if the old geezer had flatly refused. Stefan’s confidence in himself wasn’t high.
But then Mac hesitated. “You say the pilot’s not even seventy? A whippersnapper. You suppose he’ll know what the hell he’s doing? What’d you say? Don’t mumble, boy.”
Therefore, it was a real fluke that Stefan had a valid excuse to call Carrie. She wasn’t at the TV station, but she was home.
Before she could reject his call, he said, “I wonder if you’d be kind enough to set your VCRs to tape another string of great promo coverage.” He just went ahead and told her what and when and why.
She said a calm, “Sure. No problem. I’ll contact your mother for the times.”
“I’ll make a list and bring it to you.”
“No need.” She rejected seeing him. “You’ll be busy.”
“Carrie.”
“Yes?”
Quite serious and deliberately vulnerable, he told her, “I’d like you to be my guest for this. Would you?”
“I’m very busy.”
“Please.”
There was a long silence. He resisted any of the crowding questions that he sweat over, like: Were she and Pepper sleeping together? Was she totally finished with Stefan Szyszko? Could she bring herself to be with him even just one or two days? He wanted her filmed with him, if the film crew did that.
She said, “I suppose.”
“You photograph so well, you’ll be the star.”
“Why Stefan Szyszko, you’re a gentleman!”
“I’m sure as hell trying.” And his breath caught in his chest over his own unexpected words. What was he saying?
She waited then said, “Call me when the schedule is solid.”
“Why don’t I pick you up now and we can figure where it’s best for the plane to land and take off?”
She laughed low and very amused.
Since he was dead serious, he wasn’t aware of anything except that she hadn’t hung up on him, yet.
Carrie’s voice said in his ear, “Now, how will we know something like that?”
And his tricky mind supplied, “We can figure how the wind blows and how we can get the takeoffs and landings with the car lot in the background.”
“Smart. Ask the pilot.”
Unhappily, his stupid tongue then demanded, “What were you doing in church with Pepper Hodges?”
Just like that, she replied, “I was so surprised to see you there that I was a total blank.”
His voice went low and velvety. “So you knew I was there.”
“The other people all looked like good churchgoers...then there was you. You tend to stand out in any crowd, but you are a sore thumb in a church.”
He was offended. “Why?”
“You look like what most women are praying about.”
“To get me?”
And her voice was soft and gentle. “To get away from you.” And she quietly hung up.
Thoughtfully serious, Stefan laid his phone gently in its cradle. He was sober and pensive. She wanted to get away from him. Why?
So he went into a period of grief. He was being shunned. He forgot all about having discarded her...so recently. He only knew she felt he was unsuitable and therefore a man for a woman to escape. His opinion of himself wavered.
His mother recognized his conduct. She was kind and gentle with her youngest. His brothers were roughnecks and laughed at him, but the fact he didn’t notice their abrasive humor caused them to ask their parents, “What’s eatin’ the shrimp?”
Their father replied, “Let up on him.”
And their mother said, “Leave him alone.”
So his brothers knew it was something serious. They made inquiries about his car business and learned he was doing great. They discussed his health and it was okay. So it had to be a woman, but they couldn’t figure out which one. He’d discarded the strawberry blonde.
They took him hunting, and scoffed at him and needled him and razed him so that he would feel loved.
And in case the problem was a reluctant woman, they mentioned that they envied him for being single and loose.... They told about all the times they’d been turned down, and they made it hilarious.
It was a great time. Then without shooting a rifle but with the beer gone, they went home. The brothers felt they’d been indispensable. Stefan would be okay, since he knew he had four brothers and they backed him.
Stefan hadn’t really noticed.
* * *
The time came when Pat Vernon, the producer from the San Antonio TV station, came to Blink to plot the flight. The television crew came along. They invaded Stefan’s house as if it was their own. And they groused at the cameraperson, who was a slender brunette woman. She didn’t budge from wanting a bedroom to herself. Selfish. They had all been unselfishly willing to share. She was just another stubborn woman.
That gave Stefan a perfect excuse to call Carrie and ask, “We have a woman cameraperson here—” He allowed that to soak in. “She insists on sleeping alone, using all of one of the bedrooms. Would you be kind enough to get her out of our hair?”
Stefan was that unkind because he wanted Carrie to understand he couldn’t be lured by another woman. While he recognized his motive, he didn’t examine it at all.
“Tell her to come on over.”
“Well, she doesn’t have a car.”
“I’ll come fetch her,” Carrie volunteered. “She can use mine.”
“What’ll you do?”
“Pepper has a sp—”
And Stefan’s speech tromped on anything Pepper might be able to do. Stefan said in a hurry, “You can have one of the spare cars.” And he was exuberant! She’d be driving one of his cars! His smile spread over his face.
But Carrie mentioned logically, “Just lend a Jeep to the woman.”
Stefan was appalled. “Uh. She can’t drive a Jeep.”
“I thought you said even a little child can drive one.”
“She’s stupid,” he hurriedly told Carrie. “She needs a basic car.”
“Mine is not automatic. Can she shift gears?”
“Yes.” Stefan had to admit it.
“Then let her use the Jeep.”
His mind racing, Stefan blurted, “I don’t trust her with one of my good Jeeps and—”
“Stefan,” Carrie was extraordinarily patient. “If you wouldn’t trust this strange female with your Jeep, then why should I lend her my car?”
“I’ll get back to you.” Then he added hurriedly, “Thank you for taking her in. The guys need two rooms. She was selfish. Just like—” And he stopped.
“Just...like...what?” Carrie’s voice was deadly.
His Baltic Sea, Polish pirate genes replied without his permission, “Just like you.” And he gently hung up on her exclamation.
He sat silently, trying to sort out how he was to handle this woman. Carrie. It was not a Polish name. It was from the British Isles. No wonder he was having so much trouble with her. The Irish had been there first and the British were still having trouble controlling them. Stefan understood the frustration of the British.
But his Polish blood understood the Irish. Poles disliked being pushed or dominated.
Then Stefan tried to think of any people who willingly submitted to another, and he came up without any race who would.
And then there were women and men. Men were in an endless struggle to try to control females. It was just about impossible. But men were tenacious and they would survive and dominate.
Fat chance.
Three
The brunette cameraperson’s name was Minnie Tombs, but a couple of the guys called her Many Times and snickered a lot.
There are just males who are slow to mature.
Minnie was enduring. Since Szyszko didn’t harass her, she looked at him with some interest, until she saw how he looked at Carrie.
Minnie and Carrie hit it off from the first glance. Carrie was that way. She fitted in with other women very easily.
Watching the two, Stefan thought he’d just made a very formidable mistake, allowing that cameraperson into Carrie’s house and into Carrie’s control. He considered them and frowned.
The men bached it at Stefan’s. The eighty-two-year-old Mac fit into the male household with ex-military ease. He was the only one who had a room alone. He’d been a master sergeant in World War II. Everybody knows a master sergeant has things the way he wants them, and he didn’t cotton to sharing a room with any other male.
Stefan had to share his room with Pat and one of the other men, and those who were left took over the third bedroom. At night, the snoring was really something.
As usual with new people, the guests were fascinated with Stefan’s last name. That started when one of them said, “You have a good TEXAS name...Cisco.”
Just the pronunciation showed the name was wrong. Stefan replied, “I’m Polish. My last name’s spelled different.”
“Yeah?”
So Stefan spelled his name and that threw them all for a loop. “What!”
The owner of the Polish name was practiced in his patience with the uninitiated.
* * *
Stefan and the crew, plus Minnie, would be out for days looking over backgrounds for filming, but they spent suppertime and the evenings at the Szyszkos’.
Besides helping with setting the table and the clearing away and dishwashing, the photo crew was primarily learning how to spell the Szyszko name, and complaining because the Szyszko parents hadn’t had daughters.
That brought up Mr. Szyszko’s telling his wife about him finally knowing how to make girls just after his fifth son was born. The guys loved the story; Stefan’s mother was patient.
About that time, Carrie brought Minnie and some other women along, and the guys got polite and careful.
Mrs. Szyszko mentioned the quietness to her husband, and he explained, “Women terrify men.”
She scoffed.
He was surprised, “Haven’t you ever noticed how careful and quiet I am around you?”
She gasped, too quickly.
Then the guests wanted to know why Mrs. Szyszko was choking. “What’s the matter?”
Patting her back, Mr. Szyszko replied, “I shocked her.”
“What did you say?” They were concerned.
“Something obviously too adult for you kids.”
They objected their youth, and they all made suggestions on how to stop Mrs. Szyszko’s coughing. “Pat her back.”
“Raise her arm up.”
“No, the left one. Higher.”
They sought to distract her. They played like apes and made strange noises and tried to scare her—the mother of five sons—but she only coughed harder.
Mr. Szyszko instructed, “You scare hiccups!” But he took his wife out of the room.
It was only then that Stefan realized Carrie had cut off just about all of her magical hair! He was stunned. She’d done that?
He stared at her. And in all that bedlam, she slid her eyes over and returned his stare. Then she turned away from him and rejoined the chattering laughter.
With Mrs. Szyszko gone from the room, Pat Vernon suggested to Minnie, “Hiccup. We’ll figure out a way to scare you.”
She was used to them and declined the entertainment.
Pat chided, “You’re selfish.”
Stefan thought that exactly identified Carrie. She’d selfishly kept her body to herself and now she’d cut off her hair. How come he hadn’t noticed that right away? He hadn’t because she was magical. A man was so stunned by her aura that he didn’t immediately notice detail. She’d cut off her hair!
No man should get involved with a woman like her. And he watched her through slitted eyes as she laughed and hushed and chided the teasing men.
They were after her. They had no chance at all. Then...why was she laughing thataway?
Stefan strolled casually over and positioned himself beside Carrie. He would protect her. She was not alone. He was there. He proceeded to give various males his deadly, narrow-eyed cut it out right now look.
They ignored him.
Stefan sighed. He’d obviously never appeared to be the formidable threat he knew he was.
When Carrie tried to leave his side, Stefan took her arm in his hand and asked through clenched teeth, “Why’d you cut off your hair?”
She carelessly rumpled what was left. It was thick and ducktailed charmingly under her hands, but her mouth said...she actually said, “You told me to.”
He gasped in indignation! But at the same time, he clearly remembered goading her with the false statement that the guys had all said she ought to cut her hair.
So she had!
Women were excruciatingly stupid.
She smiled at him and said, “See? Is this better?” And she had the gall to wait for his reply.
Stefan was stilled by appalled shock! The other men heard her question and got to crowd around her and touch her head and ruffle her hair, what was left of it. But Stefan was unable to move or comment because he was still in the speechless, staring stage.
With Carrie’s hair cut off that way, attention was drawn to her luscious body. The men had always stared at her body, but then they could alibi, “Her hair is really something.” And they discussed and touched her hair, but they looked at the rest of her.
Under the jocular byplay of the mob, Stefan could quietly ask the wicked woman, “You drawing attention to yourself?”
“Not that I’m aware.”
“You cut your hair so’s men would notice your body?”
She looked down at her gorgeously refined shape and had the sass to question, “This old thing?” But she glanced up at him and her eyes were serious and rather cold.
He shivered.
So she asked, “What’s the matter with you?”
“You’re freezing me out.”
She tilted back her head and said through her teeth, right there in his parents’ living room, “You discarded me.”
“When?”
She stopped her tongue, which was about to give the exact day count, before she replied, “Some time ago.”
Stefan frowned and squinted as he tried to recall doing any such thing. “I don’t recall doing anything like that.”
“You did. You walked out on me and you shut the door.”
She turned and left him in the silent room where people were laughing and gesturing and enjoying each other’s humor. Stefan was alone in a vacuum.
How was he to recapture her attention? She didn’t answer her phone. She wouldn’t talk to him. She was snippy and aloof. How could he reach her?
Women were a pushover for any injury. He needed to bleed. His parents’ house had been an injury-proof haven since their first son was born. Now, how could Stefan get a wound there? He signaled Jeff with a backward move of his head. His friend came over.
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