Page 19 of Drop Dead Gorgeous

“No sex tomorrow, either.”

“I know.”

“And maybe not on Sunday, either.”

“Trust me, Iknow.”

“Think you could put it in and not move?”

He snorted. “Get real.”

That’s what I’d thought, but it had been worth a shot. Still, when I felt better, it would be interesting to see how long he could go without moving. No, I don’t consider that a human rights violation. Torturous, but not torture; there’s a difference. I didn’t mention my plan to him, but the anticipation made me feel better.

A woman always needs something to look forward to, right?

Chapter

Eight

Itook it easy on Saturday. I did feel better; the headache was still there, but thanks to the ibuprofen, less intense. Mom reported in that she hadn’t yet been able to contact the wedding-cake maker; Jenni called to say she had located an arbor that was the perfect size but needed a coat of paint. It was in a yard sale of all places, and the owner wouldn’t hold it if someone came by who needed an arbor right then. The price was fifty dollars.

“Get it,” I told Jenni. Fifty dollars! That was such a steal, it was a wonder the thing hadn’t been snapped up already. “Do you have enough cash on you?”

“I can swing it, but I need a pickup truck to haul the thing. Is Wyatt in his truck?”

I was upstairs in the second bedroom, on the computer surfing the upscale department stores looking for a wedding dress, and he was downstairs doing laundry, so I couldn’t ask him unless I went to the stairs and yelled down. Going to the window and looking out was easier. Wyatt’s huge black Avalanche, a mobile monument to manliness, sat at the curb. “Yep, it’s here.”

“Can he drive over to get the arbor, then?”

“Give me the address, and I’ll send him over.”

Now Ihadto go downstairs, but I held on to the banister, kept my head as still as possible, and tried to keep my movements slow and nonjolting. I didn’t call Wyatt, because then he would stop what he was doing, and I wanted to watch him doing laundry. I get a kick out of seeing him do domestic stuff. He’s so testosterone-laden that you’d think he wouldn’t be good at it, but Wyatt handles household chores with the same competence that he handles his big automatic pistol. He had lived alone for years, so he learned how to cook and do his own laundry, plus he was good at repairs and mechanical stuff. All in all, he was a very handy man to have around, and it turned me on watching him hang up my clothes. Okay, so I’m easy; it pretty much turned me on watching him do anything.

I finally said, “Jenni’s found an arbor at a yard sale. Could you go pick it up, please?”

“Sure. What does she want with an arbor?”

It struck me that, as much as I’d discussed my plans for the wedding with him, I’d done the discussing and he evidently hadn’t even done the listening. “It’s for our wedding,” I said with remarkable patience, if I do say so myself. He was hanging up my clothes; I didn’t want to piss him off before he was finished.

“Got it.Jennidoesn’t want the arbor, we do.”

Okay, so maybe he’d listened a little. More than likely, though, Dad had told him to just go along with whatever I planned for the wedding. Good advice.

“Here’s the address.” I handed over the slip of paper, plus fifty dollars. “She had to go ahead and pay for it to keep the lady from selling it, so here’s fifty to pay her back.”

He took the fifty bucks and stuck it in his pocket, giving me a sharply assessing look as he did so. “Will you be okay while I’m gone?”

“I’m not putting a toe outside. I’m not picking up anything. I’m not doing anything to jolt my head. I’ll be fine.” I was bored and frustrated, but accepted my limitations—for now. Tomorrow might be a different story.

He kissed my forehead, his hard, rough hand gentle as he cupped the back of my neck. “Try to be good, anyway,” he said, as if I hadn’t spoken at all. I don’t know why he expects me to get into trouble—oh, wait, it could have something to do with being shot, in a car wreck, kidnapped, held at gunpoint, and now almost run down in a parking lot.

Come to think of it, since I’d been hanging out with him, my life had been almost nonstop turmoil, and…“Hey!Noneof what’s happened to me has been my fault!” I said indignantly, catching on that he’d implied otherwise.

“Sure it has. You’re a trouble magnet,” he said as he strolled out the door.

I followed, of course. “My life was calm before you showed up! My life wasLake Placid! If anyone here is a trouble magnet, it’s you.”

“Nicole Goodwin got murdered in your parking lot before I showed up,” he pointed out.

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