Roberta woke when a coarse tongue flicked across her neck and cheek. "Give me a break, Stanley,"she mumbled before opening her eyes to look at the aging brown tabby perched atop her chest. She brushed Stanley's fluffy tail aside to see the alarm clock on the nightstand. It was five o'clock. "Learn to tell time,"Roberta said, turning over. "I don't have to get up until seven."
Closing her eyes, Roberta felt herself drift back down into ... the arms of Justin Hastings?
She bolted upright, accidentally knocking a dozing Stanley to the floor. The cat cocked its head and stared at her. "I'm sorry, okay? I almost had a nightmare."Stanley made a quiet trilling sound and began to lick her paw.
Swinging her legs off the side of the bed, Roberta removed the old high school football jersey she used as a nightshirt and tossed it on top of the pile of dirty laundry next to the bathroom door. She gave Stanley a disparaging look when the cat stalked the pile and pounced. "I'll wash them later, if you don't mind."Stanley purred and began rolling in the laundry pile.
After a brisk shower, Roberta returned to the bedroom to put on her work clothes: blue twill pants and a matching shirt over a plain white T-shirt. She added heavy socks and her work boots, then retrieved Stanley from the pile of laundry, nuzzling the cat before setting her down.
Together they went through the living room where automotive magazines and books covered every available surface. Stanley crouched, then pounced on a stack of magazines, tumbling from the back of the blue velvet sofa to the floor. Roberta cast the cat a sideways glance. "I get the idea,"she mumbled. They passed through the unaccountably clean dining room and into the tidy kitchen.
While Stanley devoured a hefty helping of specially blended tuna and cod paté, Roberta had blueberry yogurt and a cup of coffee. She tossed the plastic yogurt container and spoon in the trash, then set her cup in the sink where other cups and glasses had been rinsed, but awaited washing. She glanced at the clock on the microwave. There was time enough to wash these and get a start on the other housework. Or not. "Catch you later, cat."
It began to drizzle as Roberta locked her back door. She dashed to the end of the driveway, keys in hand, to find that the truck door wouldn't open. She jiggled the key without success, then ran around to the passenger side. That door opened, but not until Roberta was soaked. She cursed and kicked the Ramcharger's dashboard as she climbed over the console into the driver's seat. She'd get rid of this hunk of junk if it didn't hold such sentimental value. As she often did, Roberta wondered how the salesman had talked her usually sensible father into buying this prize-winning lemon as a high school graduation gift.
When she arrived at the garage, Roberta entered through the side door, getting even wetter as the rain turned into a torrent.
Justin was near one of the red metal tool cabinets, wiping grease from the handles and replacing them. "Why didn't you call? I would've opened one of the bay doors for you."
Glaring at him, Roberta brushed her damp hair out of her eyes. "Why aren't you gone yet?"
"I didn't want to leave the place unlocked. Besides, I called Tom and asked him to pick up some donuts on his way over. My treat."
Roberta twirled her finger in the air. "Whoop-de-do,"she retorted, walking towards her office. Once Tom Haggerty arrived, she'd never get rid of Justin. Tom had been her dad's friend since childhood, and with six daughters, he'd welcomed Justin into the family with opened arms. And Justin, being the ladies' man that he was, had eaten it up.
Oh, well. At least she'd be able to get some paperwork done. She slowed her pace, not eager to face the stack of current bills that waited for her to divide what little profit she'd made this month. She had to find a way to bring in more business. Maybe she could call her friend Tony and get him to split a newspaper ad with her, or....
Roberta's thoughts skidded to a halt when she stepped through her office door. She scanned the room in disbelief. This wasn't her office, this was some strange land. An unsullied, fresh smelling land where her dingy filing cabinets returned to their original light gray, and the beige geometric design on the dark floor tiles appeared from under layers of grime. Why, even her magazines and repair manuals had arranged themselves in numerical sequence in the old pine bookcases.
Feeling faint from the alien cleanliness, Roberta hurried to her chair, a chair that no longer wobbled or squeaked. She leaned forward, looking at her reflection on the freshly polished desk top. This was weird. This was frightening. This was like that old story of the shoemaker and the elves.
Her eyes fell on the government-issue sleeping bag propped against the recently washed wall.
Some elf.
She stood, intending to toss Justin Hastings out on his GI rear, but stopped herself when Tom Haggerty's chipper voice echoed through the garage as he greeted Justin with a patented Tom Haggerty lame joke.
"Hey, Justin, why did the legless frog cross the road?"
"Why did the legless frog cross the road, Tom?"
"Because he was stapled to the chicken."
Shaking her head, Roberta sat back down and took the company checkbook from her lower desk drawer. She looked at the two neat piles on the left of the desk top. It figured. Justin had separated the current bills from the past dues, and had arranged them in order by date.
Picking one invoice at random, Roberta made out the first check. She hoped Justin's jaunt down memory lane with Tom would be a short one. The sooner he disappeared from her life again, the better.
"Want a donut?"
"No thank you,"Roberta said without looking up, ignoring the rumbled protest of her stomach.
"Don't tell me you're watching your weight. You're scrawny as hell."Justin paused, then continued when Roberta did not answer or glance up. "Come on. I saved you the best one. I even brought you a cup of coffee."
Roberta glanced up then, ordering her eyes not to notice how Justin's T-shirt molded itself to his well-developed pectoral muscles and biceps, and how the whiteness of the fabric contrasted with his sun-bronzed skin. He was sexy. He was gorgeous.
He was trouble!
Encouraging her resentment to grow into anger, Roberta stood and looked him straight in the eye. "You're too much, Hastings. You waltz in here, get yourself a free room for the night, you put those squeaky clean paws of yours all over my personal belongings, then you save me a crappy, peanut-covered donut, and top it off by drinking out of my favorite cup and giving me the one with the broken handle! Just who do you think you are?"
"Your new mechanic,"he said calmly, taking a sip out of Roberta's Snoopy mug.
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