Sparring Partners (24 page)

Henry didn't mind that part. He did mind the
part where he felt like an over-sized sex toy. Well, he minded that
part after he got his rocks off. And, it was getting worse. This
irrational feeling escalated every time he sank into her voluptuous
softness. She treated it like it didn't mean any more to her than a
good yoga class; she'd have another one tomorrow, and if she needed
to find a new instructor, no big deal.

Maybe she didn't like sleeping with men, but
she sure got off on it, Henry thought, more irritated than he
wanted to be. "Could have fooled me."

Finn tossed a pillow at his head.

"That's not what I mean and you know it."
She said, grabbing a pair of yoga pants and pulling them on without
panties. Everything she did made him hot. That irritated him too.
Henry fluffed up a pillow and jammed it behind his back and the
headboard so he could sit up without being jabbed by the
headboard.

Sounding calmer than he felt, he asked,
"What exactly do you mean?"

"I want to sleep alone tonight."

"Really? Is that because you've already
jumped my bones twice today?" His voice deceptively neutral.

"Yes." She didn't miss a beat while throwing
on a t-shirt two sizes too small without a bra to confine her
magnificently real breasts. They jiggled at him as she plumped them
so that the tightly stretched cotton would have a shot at confining
them.

He'd seen and heard enough.

Henry pushed himself away from the headboard
and off the bed in one agile movement and was standing over her in
a tenth of a second. He was generally very careful how close he
stood to people, women in particular, because of his size. Now he
didn't care, he towered over her. He wanted her to feel
intimidated. He wanted her to know there was only so far he was
willing to play her version of 'hide the salami'.

Her head shot up but she didn't back away.
Far from it. Finn's blue eyes shot ice chips at him. He pulled her
to him with one arm around her waist. The catch in her breath and
the flash of something more than hostility in her eyes pacified him
some, but not enough to back away.

"For such an experienced woman, I don't
think you have a clue what you like. Worse than that, you're lying
to yourself about what you want."

Henry bent and kissed her. Hard. Wrapping
his hand around the back of her neck when she tried to pull away.
His mouth mashed against hers until she stopped pretending to fight
and began to kiss him back. The second she did he pushed her
away.

His eyes narrowed as he surveyed her heaving
chest and her tossed sex-kitten hair, hanging in glorious disarray,
covering her in its cinnamon scented cloud. Henry grabbed his
shirt, shorts and sandals, and headed for the door. He quickly
turned and executed a bow worthy of any king.

"The lady has spoken. So be it."

And with that he was out the door. Freya,
Finn's feline hellion, hot on his heels matching him stride for
stride as he headed toward the house. He had his own room at the
house, across from Charlie's, and down from the one Jordon and Reed
shared. Freya followed him the whole way, jumping on the bed and
curling herself around the one pillow he usually slept with. Henry
could have kicked her out, but he wanted the company. He wouldn't
kick her out anyway, he was too pleased that the cat left her
over-sexed and under-loved mistress to stay with him.

Henry threw his clothes and sandals in the
corner and checked the monitors for any sign of activity, only
allowing himself a quick glance at the monitors showing Finn's
workshop. What he saw stopped him dead. Leaning into the monitor
Henry did a double take, closed his eyes and looked again.

He ran one finger over the image on the
screen. "Well Freya, is she crying because you left her? Or because
I did?" Henry glanced at the bed. The feline goddess of love and
war was sound asleep curled in the middle of his pillow, tail
gently swaying.

"I'll bet you a can of tuna those tears are
for you."

Henry scanned all the monitors again,
checked his visual and audio alarm system, grabbed the round, hard
pillow from the old wing backed chair in the corner and plopped
down next to the cat.

Finn's tear streaked face followed him to
sleep.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Lily's dinner at the cottage was put off by
a week due to the impromptu trip to New York with Reed. Jordon
would have preferred his mother forget about the idea entirely, but
Lily was like a dog with a bone. Once she got it, she wasn't likely
to let it go until she ate it or buried it.

The way the week was shaking out for the
residents of Potters Woods, burying was a more apt description for
the morgue-like atmosphere inside and outside the house. Even the
day residents seemed to pick up on the tension.

Jordon buried himself in Potters Woods'
books and spent hour after hour with Finn on the expenses and
income each facet of the business brought in and expended. It was a
nightmare. If he had another month, he wasn't sure he could get
Reed's elder care program far enough in the black to sustain the
house and all the organic produce its patrons consumed. Added to
that was the astronomical fee they were forking out every month for
insurance, not to mention vet bills.

He worked all day, every day, on ways to
bring Potters Woods out of the mire and into profitability. Jordon
said he did it because he wanted to help Reed, and that was true to
a point. What he wanted more, was to avoid her until he fell into
bed every night, neck aching with the strain of too many hours in
the same chair and too little time in the dojo. Too tired to argue.
Too tired to make love. Too tired to do much of anything besides
pulling Reed to him and holding her while he slept.

Jordon wasn't just avoiding Reed. He
couldn't stand the puppy dog eyes Henry kept shooting at Finn
whenever she wasn't looking, or the way Finn tensed, drawing
invisible armor around herself, whenever Henry got within fifteen
feet of her. Isolating himself helped with all of that, but still
he was going stir crazy. So much so, he even considered attending
one of Charlie's fru-fru poetry meetings.

By day three he'd done what he could with
the books. He'd renegotiated the insurance to a figure lower than
the stratosphere, and he'd even gotten a better price on organic
produce from the local co-op with delivery thrown in. Try as he
did, however, he couldn't get the vet to budge. Apparently if their
bill wasn't paid in full they held Reed's animals hostage. He paid
the bill himself and made a list of new vets to interview. The
ladies of Potters Woods were particular about their animals, but
there had to be a less mercenary veterinary clinic that serviced
cats the size of toddlers and dogs taller than the kitchen
counters. Then again, maybe he'd be better off negotiating a flat
yearly rate.

Having stuck as big of a band-aid on Potters
Woods' current wounds as he could, Jordon went in search of
something more physical and less-hair ripping to do. The first
person he ran into was Finn's old flame, Peter, and his
watercolors. Henry smiled evilly at the kid, whose Adam's apple
wasn't even fully developed yet, while rubbing his hands together.
Henry's blatant hostility was completely lost on Peter, whose
peace-on-earth-while-I-strive-for-enlightenment calmness was enough
to make any man want to bury his fist in the man's jaw. It didn't
help that Finn still kissed the kid every time she saw him. Henry
didn't seem to care that it was always on the cheek.

"Hey, Jordon." Peter called to him before he
could turn away. "How about some help with the supplies,
brother?"

What are you? A monk?

Jordon watched Peter's reaction to Finn's
tight tank top and running shorts as she completed her morning jog.
Obviously not a monk. Not of any celibate order.

"Sure thing, Pete."

He'd just finished moving all of Peter's
painting supplies to the meadow, including easels for everyone to
use while painting in the afternoon light, when he was hit from
behind. Jordon spun around so fast he knocked the last easel over
onto his foot.

"Ouch. Damn it, Irma. Why do you keep
running into me?"

"Saves me the trouble of having to shout up
at you to get your attention."

"You could just ask."

"Where's the fun in that?" She had the gall
to look honestly perplexed.

"Sometimes I swear you're a six year old boy
trapped in an old woman's body."

"Takes one to know one."

Jordon put his hands on his hips enjoying
himself despite the throbbing in his heel. "Yeah, and what goes
around, comes around."

"Never spit in the wind."

"If wishes were horses, beggars would
ride."

Irma laughed at him, genuine mirth lighting
her watery eyes and bringing color to her cheeks. Jordon couldn't
help smiling back at her. In the days since they'd first met, they
played this game of one-ups-man-ship with bad clichés at least once
a day. Irma generally won. Not today. Jordon's smile turned into a
grin, his day was looking up already.

"You're too young to know that old
ditty."

"Obviously not."

"Where did you get it?"

"Stop running into me and I'll tell
you."

"I don't want to know that badly."

Irma's laughter turned to a cough, reminding
Jordon just how sick she was. She hid it well, but even the small
strain visibly tired her.

"Let me take you inside so you can rest for
a bit."

She reached out one shaking hand to hit him
but he saw it coming and stepped out of reach. She was old. And
fast. And way too wily. Irma MacDonald was not a woman to be
underestimated, even coughing in a wheel chair. She glowered at him
when her swat hit nothing but air.

"Nonsense. Why would I want to rest? I'll
get all the rest I need when I'm dead."

"Then what's your pleasure madame? I am at
your disposal."

Irma's eyes narrowed like she was trying to
figure out the catch, but Jordon didn't have one. Unless he wanted
to paint, which he didn't, or pull weeds, which he didn't, or go
back to figuring how to make Potters Woods carry its own weight,
which he didn't, he had nothing better to do than spend the
afternoon with Irma.

She eyed him warily for a second longer,
raised her slight shoulders, and seemed to come to a
conclusion.

"I want to go fishing." She said, raising
her shoulders even higher, crossing her arms in front of her sunken
chest.

Jordon couldn't remember the last time he
took the time to fish. He used to love fishing, especially in Grand
Teton National Park, right under the dam. He could almost taste the
brown trout right now. Somehow he doubted fly-fishing was what Irma
had in mind.

Irma gestured with a nod of her head toward
the pond. "Here. Finn stocks it with bass and panfish. The
blue-gills are usually good for a bite."

Not exactly the Tetons, but Potters Pond
would do. "I'll get the gear. Try not to run over any of the
painters while I'm gone."

Jordon took off toward the garage at a fast
jog, whistling
Son of a Sailor
by Jimmy Buffett. It was one
of his father's favorites, the one he always sang when they fished
together, on those few occasions Jordon made it back to Jackson
after he started working for William. The choice was an odd one for
a man who made his home in the Rockies, surrounded by snow seven
months of the year, but the memory was a good one. There were no
mountains in Potters Woods. No mountain lakes so powerful they
needed to be dammed. No bison or antelope. No antler chandeliers,
picture frames, or other home accessories dappled with leather and
hide, yet this place reminded him more of home and his father than
any other he'd been to in the fifteen years since James Bennett's
death.

The memory of his father brought more joy
than pain now for Jordon. It must have been triggered by the
thought of sinking a line with Irma. He smiled and waved to Jesse
on his way to get the poles and the small box of Mepps lures he'd
seen on one of his earlier forays into the black hole Reed called
'the work room' attached to the garage.

"Hey, kid. Hope you're working on your
appetite. We're having fish for dinner."

For Jordon, the day was definitely looking
up.

...

The day started out badly, with the arrival
of the hand-delivered gilded invitation, and spiraled down from
there.

Reed knew the invitation was coming, Lily
told her to expect it, she just didn't want anything to do with a
dinner party for billionaires. Reasons she couldn't possibly attend
rushed through Reed's head with the force of a coastal storm,
sending her confidence crashing like a downed surfer under the
crushing weight of the waves, hoping to relax and remember to
breathe as it passes or drown.

Okay, she thought to herself, swallowing too
much lake water showing off how many underwater summersaults you
can do is not the same as getting pummeled by the ocean while
surfing. And coughing up said water is more embarrassing than
dangerous. But that didn't mean she was going to Lily's tsunami.
She just wasn't equipped, no matter how she looked at it. And,
drowning was drowning, whether it happened in a puddle or an
ocean.

"I'm not going. Reason number ninety-nine: I
don't have anything appropriate to wear." Reed talked to herself
whenever she practiced her arguments for court. She needed to hear
how the words sounded so she could fine tune them.

Now, they just sounded stupid, and refuting
them seemed ridiculously easy.

Lily took care of her wardrobe issue in New
York when she bought more clothes than Reed could possibly fit in
her closet, from designers Reed had never even heard of. No one
needed that many clothes. No one who now made her living at Potters
Woods anyway.