No Kids or Dogs Allowed Page 11

  Her world disappeared. All around her, now, blood red on black, like a nightmare scene at the back of her eyes, strange manlike creatures appeared out of nowhere and rushed toward her to attack. Their bodies grew huge as they ran, and they were nearly upon her, when the game began.

  “All right now,” said the voice of the attendant. “Here you go.”

  Alien ships dropped like cold blue rain from a thunderous sky. One by one, their black bays opened, and dimly lighted, inside them, Elizabeth saw things move.

  She pointed her weapon at the nearest ship and fired. She caught a movement at the corner of her eye. She whirled and shot one alien which had escaped from an auxiliary module off a parent ship and turned to confront the main fleet again. Another module ejected and moved out of her view. A game, she told herself. This is a game.

  “You’re sweating,” said Steve, when she removed the helmet.

  “I got killed,” she said. “Twice.”

  “You did good,” said the attendant. “Better than most people the first time.”

  “Want to do it again?” asked Steve, grinning.

  “I’d like to do it all night,” she said. “Are you offering me your turn?”

  “‘Let not the marriage of true minds admit impediments,’” he said. “Of course.”

  She fitted the helmet to her head once more. And got killed twice, again, although it took the beastly little homunculi forty-five seconds longer this time.

  While Melody played, Steve instructed Cara. She was bouncing with impatience when she got in the ring and could hardly stand still while Steve adjusted the helmet.

  “Go get ‘em, tiger,” he said, and they could see her grin beneath the long black visor.

  She spun and shot and crowed with victory when she hit a target, and made an inchoate noise of sheer frustration when she missed. Her eyes were glowing when she emerged.

  “I got twenty of them the first round and twenty-three the second round,” she said. “Next time, I’ll do better.” Steve held out his hands, and she slapped her palms against his.

  “Pretty good, sis,” he said. “Won’t be long till you ace the whole game.”

  “Yeah,” she said with satisfaction. “Maybe I won’t be a doctor. Maybe I’ll be a fighter pilot instead.”

  “Perfect job for you,” Melody muttered.

  “Melody,” said Steve, in a warning tone.

  The two girls locked eyes briefly, then spun apart and went to opposite sides of the room.

  “Short truce,” observed Elizabeth.

  “They’ll get longer,” Steve told her. “Why don’t you finish your pizza? I’ll go pick up more game reservation numbers.” He grinned. “You do want to play again?”

  She nodded. “I’m hooked. I admit it.”

  Steve watched her walk across the room. Watched the glossy, black curls swinging across her shoulders; watched the narrow waist, the firm round adorable fanny cuddled in the tight jeans and the gentle, natural, primally female sway of her hips that always made his breath catch in his throat.

  Watched as Joe Salvini appeared out of nowhere, with a wide, delighted smile, to intercept her. Watched as he put his hand on her arm and, as she tilted her head back to look at him, watched as her stance changed provocatively, unconsciously, as it always does when a woman is admired by an interesting man.

  Watched with mounting ire as Salvini sat at his, Steve’s, table. And began to eat his pizza.

  And flirted with his woman.

  To hell with Star Attacks. This was a real battle, with real stakes and real consequences. He lowered his head like a bull moose and charged.

  Chapter Six

  Steve, for the first time in his entire life, was jealous of another man. It rose unstoppably, bitter as gall, and burrowed steadily into his uneasy heart. He was unsure of Elizabeth, uncertain of her feelings, unable to know whether he could make her love him as he was beginning to love her.

  “Is this part of the Westcott peace plan?” asked Joe, as Steve approached.

  “Oh, absolutely,” Steve said. “Elizabeth and I are trying to set a good example.” He laid his fingertips lightly and possessively on her shoulder. “We’re thinking of combining households so the girls can share everything.”

  Everybody laughed politely. Such a funny joke. Both men smiled; neither man’s smile quite reached his eyes.

  Steve patted Elizabeth’s arm and dropped into a chair beside her.

  “Here for the pizza?” he asked, knowing he was reacting like a bloody damn Neanderthal. He couldn’t help it. He felt like laying about him with a club and throwing Elizabeth over his shoulder to cart her off to his cave.

  She must surely be slack-jawed with amazement beside him. He couldn’t make himself look.

  “I’m here for Star Attack.” Joe gave Steve a shrewd assessing look from his sharp black eyes. “Have you played it?”

  “Once or twice,” said Steve modestly, recognizing a challenge. “Very difficult.”

  “How’re you doing?” Joe asked.

  “I’ve crept my way to level four,” said Steve. “Hanging on there by my toenails.”

  Cards dealt; bets placed.

  “We ought to be pretty evenly matched,” said Joe. “I’ve clawed up to level four myself. Want to try a round or two?” There was satisfaction in the eyes of both men. The first bluff had been called, and each of them thought he’d carried it off perfectly. They sauntered toward the sensor circle on the floor.

  Elizabeth, wide-eyed, watched them walk away. Neither man had so much as looked at her, but she knew without question that the entire subtly hostile interchange between Joe and Steve had been about her. She knew now how Helen of Troy had felt.

  And she knew, with a little surge of smug exhilaration, that Helen had liked it.

  “Is that Mr. Salvini?” asked Cara, who had come up behind her. “Cool. Is he going to play Star Attack with Mr. Riker?”

  “Yes,” said Elizabeth. “Want some cola?”

  Melody and her cadre of admirers appeared. “Hey, was that Mr. Salvini?” she wanted to know.

  “Yeah,” said Cara. “He’s gonna ace your dad at Star Attack.”

  “He will not,” said Melody. “My dad is really good.”

  “Yeah, but he’s really old. He’s got wrinkles.”

  “He is not really old,” said Melody hotly. “He’s just sort of old.”

  “Older than Mr. Salvini,” Cara said. “That means he has slower reflexes. He won’t win.”

  Elizabeth got to her feet. “I’m going after more cola,” she said to the little group around the table. She got a firm grip on Cara’s upper arm. “Cara, come help me.”

  “Do you know how rude you’re being?” Elizabeth whispered furiously, once they were out of earshot.

  “I’m not, either,” said Cara. “I’m just being truthful. You told me always to tell the truth. He is old. Really old. He’s old enough to be your father, almost.”

  “Do not say one single word more about Mr. Riker, do you hear me?” Elizabeth ordered. She gave Cara’s arm a little shake for emphasis. “I am sick to death of this idiocy, and I don’t want to hear another word about him. Now take this tray of glasses back to the table.” She thrust the tray into Cara’s hands, then picked up two pitchers of cola and followed.

  She glanced at the sensor circle as she passed. Steve and Joe were still battling. The game operator said, “You guys started out too low. I’m bumping you up to level seven.” The small crowd around them cheered.

  And cheered at what? Elizabeth wondered sourly. There wasn’t a thing to see, except two presumably sane men whirling and stomping and shooting at nothing with a pair of toy guns. She herself was engaged in a real battle, with real combatants and real fighting. Felt like Helen of Troy, did she? Well, the present war was likely to turn out just as badly.

  Cara set the glasses on the table. Before she could separate them to hand them around, Melody plucked them from under her nose and distributed them to the b
oys with a sunny smile. The boys were transfixed. Cara scowled. As Elizabeth filled each glass with soda, Melody said, “I told you my dad was good. Mr. Salvini just got penalized for stepping out of the circle.”

  “Don’t talk about your dad,” Cara sniffed. “My mom says she’s tired of the idiot and doesn’t want to hear another word about him.”

  Elizabeth gasped. “I said idiocy, not idiot, and I also said I didn’t want to listen to you two fight anymore.”

  “No, you didn’t,” Cara insisted. “You said, ‘I don’t want to hear another word about him.’ I remember exactly.”

  Melody’s eyes were narrow with concentration. She was committing every syllable to memory. It didn’t take much imagination to predict the conversation Steve and Melody would have, when Melody got him alone.

  Elizabeth sat, stunned, for about thirty seconds, looking at the two perfectly horrible, thoroughly exasperating little girls. She loved one of them dearly; she knew she would have no trouble learning to love the other. And they were both just absolutely dreadful. Better dreadful than boring, she supposed. Who wants boring kids?

  Then to her surprise, she giggled. The giggle sprouted a chuckle, gained energy, budded, bloomed and blossomed wide. She abandoned herself to it. She leaned back into her chair, threw her head back and laughed. And the more she laughed, the funnier she thought it was: the dagger stares, the suspicious adolescent vigilance, the secret, stolen kisses. Her sides ached; her jaws hurt. The laughter filled her to bursting, supplanted the tension, banished the irritation and left muscles weak with hilarity behind.

  When she was able to raise her head and look around her, the boys had fled. Only Cara and Melody remained, and they were shocked and embarrassed. Elizabeth found that comical, too.

  “What’s so funny?” asked Steve from behind her. He handed her a napkin.

  She wiped her eyes and giggled again. “Location joke. You had to be there. How was the game?”

  “He beat me,” said Steve evenly, sitting down beside her. He knew he was the perfect picture of urbane congeniality; black rage burned in his heart.

  “Well, it wasn’t easy,” said Joe. “Level four? Right. You cheated.”

  “So did you.”

  Joe grinned. “Yeah. I did. I flew fighters for the Navy for ten years. Still do it on weekends. Gave me an edge I didn’t tell you about.”

  Cara, Melody and Elizabeth all swiveled their heads in unison.

  Steve smoldered under the facade of good-humored content. Joe Salvini, damn him, was interesting, intelligent and competent. Under any other circumstances, Steve would have enjoyed his company.

  But it was Elizabeth who enjoyed Joe’s company, and she enjoyed it entirely too much.

  And Melody and Cara listened with open mouths, hanging on to Salvini’s every word.

  Damn that irresistible Italian charm, thought Steve. The man’s a Pied Piper.

  “You did, really, fly fighters?” asked Cara. Her big green eyes got bigger and greener, and her black brows winged upwards. “That’s what I want to do.”

  “Go ahead,” Joe said. “Be a fighter pilot or an astronaut or anything. Tell you a secret.” He leaned forward. “Did you know that when the space program started, NASA did a lot of tests to see whether men or women made better astronauts?”

  “They did?”

  “Yep. And the women won,” said Joe. “They were just as good at science, flying and math. They were smaller, so it didn’t cost as much to send them into space, they had better coordination and hand dexterity, and they worked together as a team better than the men did.”

  “So how come all the astronauts weren’t women?” Cara was captivated.

  “Well, being an astronaut was a big he-man-type job, and the men who ran the program weren’t about to admit that women could be better at it, so they hid the report and hired men. That, my dear, is called prejudice.”

  “It’s better now,” said Cara.

  “It’s better. But don’t give up,” Joe told her. “You have to keep reminding a lot of people that you can do anything. And you remind them by being good at what you do.”

  “At everything?” she asked.

  Joe grinned. “Even history.”

  Cara blushed. “I’m not very good at history.”

  “You could be.”

  Elizabeth frowned. “Exactly how bad is she?”

  Joe turned his attention from Cara.

  Steve, watching them from carefully impassive eyes, had to admit he couldn’t disagree with a word the man had said. He wished he’d said them himself. Maybe, he thought, with the sudden detachment that seized him when an idea for a novel struck, he’d make his next book about a woman. The kind of woman Joe talked about. The kind of woman he hoped Melody would become—and Cara, for that matter—honest, skillful, clearheaded, competent. Like Elizabeth.

  The melancholy ebbed, the jealousy abated; the idea capered enticingly through his consciousness, driving everything else before it. He leaned forward himself and eyed Joe with professional interest.

  “Tell me about learning to fly,” he said.

  * * *

  Cara stood in line for Star Attack two more times and replayed all three games, shot by shot, on the way home. In the front seat, surreptitiously, Steve and Elizabeth held hands.

  “Bor-ing,” said Melody, yawning.

  “Just because you’re not as good at it as I am,” Cara said.

  “You’re just jealous,” said Melody, “because all those guys don’t talk to you. That’s why you played so much.”

  “That’s enough, Melody,” said Steve, in an I’ll-brook-no-more-nonsense kind of voice.

  Both girls subsided. They folded their arms and scowled silently at each other from their corners of the back seat. When Steve stopped the car in front of chez Fairchild, Cara was up the front steps with her keys in the door before the engine quit humming.

  Elizabeth and Steve followed slowly up the sidewalk.

  “Well,” said Steve, as they approached the porch. “Want to make a statement?”

  Elizabeth looked at Cara, waiting impatiently by the open door. Looked at Melody, who glowered from the car window.

  “I’ll pay for it later,” she said, with resignation.

  “Try to remember that you’re the mommy here,” said Steve. “Want the kiss, or not?”

  “Oh, yes,” she sighed, turning toward him. “I definitely do.”

  He took her face between his hands and kissed her gently on the lips. It was a tender kiss, undemanding, understanding and nurturing.

  I’m falling in love, she thought. Oh, God, what shall I do?

  “Good night, sweetheart,” he said quietly. “Call me if you need me.”

  She watched him walk back to the car and drive away, then closed her eyes for a second before she turned to see Cara’s outraged face.

  Cara slammed the door after Elizabeth was inside.

  “You let him kiss you!” said Cara furiously.

  “Yes, I did,” said Elizabeth.

  “That’s disgusting!” said Cara. She radiated anger like a blast furnace radiates heat. “He’s disgusting!”

  “Now, look here, Cara,” Elizabeth began.

  Cara threw up both hands. “You don’t need to tell me anything!” she shouted, wild-eyed and raving. “I already know what you’re going to say—wouldn’t I like to have a father? Well, I’ve already got a father, and I don’t need another one!”

  And with that she ran up the stairs. The bang of her bedroom door rattled the house.

  Elizabeth wandered disconsolately down the hall to the den and collapsed into her favorite chair. The television remote control had slipped between the cushions, and when she sat down, her weight pressed all the buttons at once. The TV surfed maniacally through all sixty-four channels at full volume.

  A metaphor, she thought, digging in the chair. For my entire existence. Loud and confusing.

  The bowels of the upholstery were full of pencils, coins and old sq
uashed popcorn. As her fist closed around the remote control, an upholstery staple sliced under the quick of her ring finger. She jerked the remote control to the surface and examined the finger; it was bleeding. It hurt. She stuck it in her mouth. Then she squirmed into the chair, pointed the control like a magic wand and zapped the television into silence.

  She wished handling Cara were as easy. Steve had said they were in for big trouble if they didn’t take control. Well, he was wrong. They were already in big trouble. She could control what Cara did, but not what Cara thought or felt. Precious, volatile, quicksilver Cara, who seemed unalterably opposed to the man Elizabeth was beginning to love. If she could possibly quit falling in love, go away from him and forget all about him, she would. But going away wouldn’t help. He was in her mind and in her heart, and no separation would erase that. When she closed her eyes, all she could see ahead of her was the misery of loving a man she couldn’t have. And a love which should have been delight promised agony instead.

  For a minute she leaned her head against the back of the chair and let misery wash over her. Then she pulled herself together and went to the kitchen and brewed a restorative cup of tea. With the tea and the third book in the Fireman series, The Lion’s Whelp, she could escape from her troubles long enough to regroup and mount a new assault.

  Steve’s face smiled out from the back cover. Interesting how he changed from book to book. When he wrote The Lion’s Whelp, he was a young father, full of great hope for Melody. And in The Lion’s Whelp, Jord had to protect the most precious treasure in all the Allied Universes—the One Child who would grow up to defeat Kalik the Destroyer. Elizabeth could read between the lines: Steve’s great love for Melody, his fear that he would somehow fail her and that through some mistake of his, she would never realize her promise.

  She sighed. It was every parent’s fear; had been through all of human history, she supposed. Jord’s struggle touched her heart and increased her anxiety.

  Would loving Steve be that fatal error that somehow devastated Cara?