A Hard Man is Good to Find
by Carolyn Faulkner
© Carolyn Faulkner and ABCD Webmasters, 2009
Chapter One
Her nipples were hard, dammit!
Kelsey tried to shrug her shoulders surreptitiously, casting a furtive eye around to see if anyone else had noticed her body's inappropriate response to a certain man's presence just a few feet away. Luckily, her silk shirt and short jacket had a loose enough fit that the gyrations did the trick without her having to spend the next half hour hunched over like Quasimodo.
Never mind that it was a funeral, for God's sake - and for one of her best friends, Calliope Jenks, psychic extraordinaire. As Callie'd said herself many times before, she may be old but she wasn't dead. Kelsey's already reddened eyes flooded instantly with tears through her small, watery smile. Callie wouldn't have taken any offense at Kelsey's middle-aged body having a mind of its own, if there was one thing Calliope had thoroughly enjoyed, it was being right. She would have been tickled pink, partly because she had had a ribald sense of humor and would have heartily appreciated the irony of sexual arousal during a celebration of her death, and partly because she'd've known exactly who it was that caused such a startling reaction in Kelsey.
The culprit was standing across the grave from her - not that there was a crush of mourners; it was just the two of them, Callie's younger sister, and a few of her neighbors. Well, Kelsey thought with a wry twist of her lips, they always were on the opposite side of pretty much everything, why not a funereal service? She let her eyes flicker over him quickly. At least he wasn't wearing those annoying mirrored sunglasses that she hated and he favored. Kelsey bit her lip as her eyes took in his tanned face. It wasn't a handsome face by any means but rather a hard, interesting field of planes and angles, almost no curves or rounded edges to speak of. His eyes were dark, nose sharp, and his lips . . .
She gave a short sigh, almost a whimper, feeling an annoyingly familiar but unwelcome warmth flow through her body to settle achingly between her legs. Her eyes swept rapidly down over the impressive breadth of his shoulders, heavy with muscle, the taut, flat stomach she knew lay beneath that oxford cloth shirt, down to where his hands - ohhhh Lord,, the thought of those hands wielding any sort of an implement was enough to make her shiver - were clasped beneath the waist of his charcoal dress pants. Kelsey frowned, noting his unusual stance - somewhat hunched as her own had been a few seconds ago, with his fingers splayed as if he was trying to cover up something that lay behind them.
Her brow furrowed in thought. What could he be hiding? she mused just long enough for the information to filter through her dirty, active little mind. Her lips formed a startled "o" of surprise when she realized that he was trying to conceal an even more blatant reaction than hers! If his hands and feet were no lie, it was probably a considerable reaction, and she couldn't help a catty grin as she saw him shift almost nervously. Nah. Clint Duncan nervous? Never! Even embarrassed was pushing it some.
Another quick glance at his face caught him staring back at her with the usual assessing boldness. She had an almost uncontrollable urge to stick her tongue out at him, but decided that would be completely tacky, and Callie did not deserve tacky behavior at a service in her honor. Ruthlessly, Kelsey dragged her gaze away from his to the rich, mahogany urn surrounded by beautiful arrangements of yellow roses - Callie's favorite.
Father O'Ryan's monotone voice droned, "Let us bow our heads in prayer: Our Father -"
Kelsey heard Clint's deep voice as he chanted the familiar words to the Lord's Prayer, and another sharp fever-chill washed over her already aching breasts, making them swell against the confining lace of her pink bra. Oh, man, no matter how many prayers she uttered now, she knew she was definitely going straight to hell when she died for feeling like this - do not pass Go, do not collect two hundred dollars! Kelsey muttered to herself, scrunching her shoulders uncomfortably again. She glared quickly at Clint and their eyes collided again - the bastard had a shit-eating grin on his face; he knew what was happening to her; there was no doubt.
Scowling, she bent her head again and studied her shoes, trying unsuccessfully to appear pious and innocent although the religious ceremony was for the benefit of the mourners. Callie had been a child of the world and subscribed to no particular religious philosophy, as a matter of fact her most firm belief was in the inherent intelligence of Chaos Theory. The thought of Callie's total irreverence brought a smile to Kelsey's face as the service ended quietly, and, after hugging everyone there - with one large, brooding exception - Kelsey turned to the priest, a small stipend already in her hand.
But just as she was going to touch the Father's arm to get his attention away from Bridie, Callie's vivacious younger sister, she found her path blocked by a behemoth in a dark gray suit, who pumped Father Ryan's hand up and down several times, saying, "Wonderful service, Father," as he held out a modest pile of folded bills.
Unable to resist, Kelsey smacked Clint on the arm, hurting her hand in the process. "I was going to pay him, Duncan!"
Clint didn't acknowledge either the hit or her presence, moving deliberately so that all she could see was the vast pinstriped expanse of his back. "Here you go, Father," she heard him say.
"Dammit, Clint," Kelsey grabbed his arm and tried to move him, without managing to budge him even a millimeter. So she shouldered past him as best she could, almost standing on top of the poor, shocked priest in her haste to offer her own money for his services. "I'm paying him!"
Father Ryan, God love him, was of the old school, and he'd known Kelsey since she was in diapers. "Kelsey Elizabeth Donohue! Language! I know your parents taught you better than that!"
She could hear Clint sniggering under his breath, but Kelsey was only somewhat subdued by the scolding. "Sorry, Father," she muttered, pressing her own packet of bills into his hand.
"I already paid him, Princess," came the smug statement from behind and well above her head.
That condescending nickname grated on her like nothing else, and he knew it, which was why he'd used it. "Well, then, he's been paid twice due to your own stubborn stupidity, hasn't he?" Kelsey turned to face her annoying adversary, hands on her hips, ready for a fight as always around him. They had gone nose to nose innumerable times before - since the first time they'd met, frankly - and undoubtedly would again. Kelsey had never backed down, despite the drastic differences in their sizes, and she wasn't about to start now.
But before she could begin, Bridie put a firm hand on either of them. "Surely the two of you're not going to be disrespectful enough to start another one of your donnybrooks over my sainted sister's grave, aire ya'?"
Kelsey had always noticed how Bridie's Irish accent was always exaggerated when she was a mite upset. "No," Kelsey answered, realizing that she had no choice but to lay off. "I won't fight here and now. I'm sorry." She dropped a warm kiss on Bridie's soft cheek, getting a sharp whiff of Youth Dew in the process, but she couldn't resist brushing past Clint and growling low under her breath. She didn't know what it was about that man that set her on edge, but he drove her absolutely crazy - in more ways than one.
Callie had not wanted a wake - in truth she hadn't wanted the formal funeral, either, but she had recognized the living's need to grieve and had consented to the small grave-side service. "Have a party," she'd said repeatedly as the end drew near. "Have fun." At one point, she'd even whispered saucily to Kelsey, "Grab a hold of that Duncan man and give him the ride of his life!"
Kelsey had snorted and, she thought in retrospect, protested way too much at the time. Callie had known. She always knew what was in "her girl's" heart. When Kelsey finally got to her car in the small family cemetery, she stood for a moment, looking out over the rich green hills surrounding the small hamlet of Gordon's Cross, Vermont, remembering Callie in her own way and in her own sore heart as the tears once again dripped down her cheeks.
Kelsey lifted her face to the sun, almost defiantly whispering out loud, "Good bye, old girl. I loved you, and I'm gonna miss you a lot."
"So am I," came the low, masculine rumble from behind her.
Startled, she whirled, quickly swiping the backs of her hands over her cheeks. She hated to cry in front of anyone in the first place, and Duncan was the last person in the world she would want to show any weakness to. Clint took in the devastated look on her face and her puffy red eyes, making the split second, probably life-threatening decision to pull her into his arms. He hated to see a woman cry, and somehow, Kelsey's tears - even though she annoyed the pee out of him unfailingly at every given chance - made him feel worse than most. She was not the vulnerable type, especially not around him, and seeing her looking so hurt made his chest squeeze painfully even more than it already had from the moment he'd heard about Callie's death. Clint knew that Kelsey had been there with the old girl to the devastating end, as he had wanted to be but couldn't since duty called. He knew it couldn't have been easy for the little pain in the arse to see one of her best friends pass on, no matter how expected it had been after that long illness.
Kelsey "oofed" softly as she was brought none-too-gently up against the rock hardness of his chest. She didn't want to find being wrapped in those strong arms comforting, but she did, relaxing into him against her will until she felt something hard poking against her lower tummy. Clint's ham-sized hand spread itself possessively just above where her ample bottom rounded out the suit's A-line skirt, not letting her step back from him when she tried to. Kelsey began to struggle in earnest, but wasn't going anywhere until he decided to let her go. "Stay still." His breath was warm on her scalp, and she could hear as well as feel it when he took a deep breath, his nose buried in her hair.
"Not on a bet - let me go!"
It was mere seconds before she found herself entirely immobile, and practically lifted off her feet which made her lie even closer against that impressive ridge of flesh in his pants. Clint wore a smug grin on his face the whole time. "I said be still."
"Pretty soon I'm going to be unconscious, you big lummox!" she panted, still wiggling to her last breath. The tremendous pressure around her ribs eased somewhat, but not enough that she could escape. "I always knew you were weird - you've been hard as a spike through the whole funeral, you pervert!"
Those arms contracted again in warning, then loosened slightly. "Listen to your friendly neighborhood police officer. Relax. And I wouldn't be throwing those particular stones myself, if I were you, considering that your little nipples were pebbled through most of it, too."
Incensed and embarrassed that he had noticed a response in her that he had caused and she'd been wholly unable to control, Kelsey started to swing her feet, hoping to kick him, but good.
She found herself on solid ground instantly, but was no less trapped than before. "You're just askin' for it, aren't you? You'll have to be careful, you might just get it."
Startled, and wary of the direction this conversation was heading, Kelsey snorted. "Not from you, I'm not."
"Kels!" Randy's high, nasally-challenged voice squeaked its way into her ears.
"Here comes Junior," Clint commented snidely.
Kelsey didn't know and didn't care about whatever it was that Clint Duncan had against her boyfriend. As far as she was concerned, Officer Duncan could piss up a rope. This time, though, when she tried to wiggle free, he let her, and she practically sprinted to Randy who, as usual, was too preoccupied to kiss her hello. He never kissed her goodbye, either, and disdained pretty much every other form of physical affection, including, much to her disgust and frustration, sex. But here and now, in front of that noseybody Clint, who was positively leering at them, was not the time for that discussion.
Kelsey took a hold of an arm that it would never have occurred to Randy to have offered, automatically making unwanted and unfavorable comparisons between the size of Randy's arm and the size of Clint's arms . . . Don't go there! She tried to squelch the thought, but didn't quite succeed. Not every man was built like a combination of Schwartzenegger and Hulk Hogan, and not every woman appreciated such flashy and unnecessary bulk in a man.
Unfortunately, Kelsey was one of those shallow women who liked men with obvious muscles, and who were taller than she was - Randy was exactly her height, slim but trim. Almost delicate. There was absolutely nothing delicate about Duncan, including his language and his Neanderthal attitude towards women.
Clint had a bit of a reputation around town. He was a ladies man, and made no apologies about it. Everything he did and his whole attitude towards women screamed self-confidence and an arrogance that drove Kelsey up a wall. He could - and did - go out with a different woman practically each week, with absolutely no pretense of trying to establish a "relationship" with any of them, no matter how much they might cry afterwards, and despite the fact that he was hardly in the bloom of his youth at forty-three. He was scrupulously honest with his women about what he wanted and what he expected, and yet most of the fairer sex would gladly stand in line twice, and they practically fought over him whenever he entered a room. Kelsey shuddered involuntarily. She had no intention of standing in line for a scrap of his attention, no matter how her body tried to convince her that she should.
He must be damned good in bed, she thought, following Randy with a frown. At least his women were getting some. Randy barely touched her, and treated her more like a friend than a girlfriend. It was true that they had a lot of the same interests - computers and science fiction being the top two - but Kelsey was beginning to worry that he was just as happy to have her as a pal. She wanted fairly frequent, hot and heavy sex, and the more she looked at Randy's slight shoulders and wiry build, the more she thought back to how wonderful it had felt to be held tight against Clint's blatant, raging erection. At least he felt something and displayed it, however involuntarily.
"Kelsey?"
Randy had found the person he'd been looking for. Thom Cannizarro - of the Law Offices of Cannizarro, Esposito, and Finch- stepped forward and hugged Kelsey warmly. Kels took a deep breath of Lauder for Men and let herself relax for the first time in a long while. Thom always smelled so damned good!
"Ahem. If you two are through groping each other . . .?" Clint asked as Kelsey lay her head on Thom's broad, expensively clad shoulder. She hadn't realized that Clint had been behind them, and wondered at the note of possessiveness in his voice. Why on Earth would he be possessive of her? And why hadn't Randy asked that question?!
Instead, Randy had cornered poor Father Ryan about when St. Theresa's was going to step into the twenty-first century and get its computers wired together in a network. Kelsey could tell that that was what he was talking about even though he was several feet away and facing away from her, because he was moving his body about and waving his arms passionately. She snorted. If only she could get him to throw some of that passion her way, but then her butt was not stamped with a Windows logo and she was beginning to doubt that he thought she had any interesting ports into which he might want to stick his Ethernet connection . . .
Thom was speaking and Kelsey had missed most of it watching Randy buttonhole the poor beleaguered priest. " - so I want to see the two of you in my office. What time would be convenient?" He looked at Kelsey expectantly.
Kels wished fervently that she had heard the first part of the conversation. "Refresh my memory - "
Thom - and Clint the Neanderthal - frowned down at her. "Translation: you were daydreaming while I was talking and didn't hear a word of what I said." He had no right at all to the long suffering sigh he emitted, so Kelsey hit him sharply.
"I was not daydreaming. I was thinking over the day's events so I could write about them later."
"Sure you were." Neither of them looked liked they'd bought her excuse at all. Thom deigned to repeat himself, albeit impatiently. "I was saying that you two need to be present at the reading of Callie's will."
That was a stark reminder of why they were all there. "Oh. I hope she didn't leave me anything. I told her specifically not to."
Clint couldn't resist needling her. Maybe it would take her mind off things to get mad at him. "Well, Callie was a woman, which means she was going to be contrary and do the exact opposite of what you wanted her to do, like all women. She probably left you the whole freakin' estate."
Kelsey was suddenly too tired to try to come up with a snappy reply, so she didn't say a thing. She just locked eyes with Duncan and rawly let hers fill to overflowing with tears before she trudged away.
"Aw, son of a bitch," she heard Clint curse, but she couldn't even work up a smile as Father Ryan chided him, too, for "language, language". Kelsey felt better at not having been the only one the priest ended up shaking his head over.
At least he didn't follow her this time, for which she was eternally grateful. Kelsey knew that if just one more person hugged her or patted her on the back, she would lose it entirely. She was halfway home, blissfully alone, before she remembered that she hadn't set any time to meet with Thom, so she called his secretary, Anna, and told her what days and times worked for her, then told her to call back with a finalized time. When Kelsey finally walked into her small apartment, cluttered as it was with books and cats and computer stuff, she didn't even pause on her way to her bedroom for a good, long cry.
It was more than a week before Thom's secretary could manage to get everyone rounded up in the same room on the same day at the same time. There were only five of them - Thom, his secretary, Bridie, Duncan, and Kelsey, but Anna would have said it was like trying to convene a meeting of the G-7 with everyone's weird schedules. Bridie did a lot of volunteer and part-time work to make ends meet, and Clint was a Lieutenant in the town police force. Kelsey was the only one - being a bookstore manger - who had a regular schedule. But she'd done it.
Thom sat behind his big mahogany desk after making sure that everyone was as comfortable as possible under the circumstances. "Callie wasn't much for formality, as you all know, so she specifically asked that I not read her Last Will and Testament with all that 'legal folderol', as she so quaintly put it." Everyone laughed softly. That sure sounded like the Callie they all knew! "But I do have it written up inclusive of folderol, in case anyone here wishes to contest it. It is a valid will, and this is going to be fairly short."
Kelsey frowned, wondering why Thom thought someone might contest the will. Whatever Callie left her - probably some small monetary gift - was fine with her. She'd loved Callie the person, not whatever she owned, which Kelsey knew wasn't much, anyway.
"To her sister, Bridget Marie Harrington: her investments and all monies therein, as well as any furnishings you would like from her house, minus several bequests to charities - the American Lung Association, Shambala, and the American Cancer Society are the biggest of those." Thom passed Bridie a paper. "I believe that this is an accounting of the remaining monies, and I have also begun the paperwork to transfer that sum into your name."
Bridie stood up and kissed him on the cheek, making the lawyer blush brightly under his tan. "Thank you, Thom my boy."
Kelsey smiled, wondering how Thom, who was in his mid-forties and the father of three, felt about being called a boy, but she valiantly resisted mentioning it.
But if Bridie didn't get the house, who did?
Thom cleared his throat and shuffled his papers restlessly, almost as if he didn't want to go any further with the reading. "Don't thank me, thank Callie. That takes care of all of her property with the exception of the house."
Clint frowned, sensing impending disaster. What had that cantankerous old woman done with her beloved house?
"Although it's highly unusual, and I did try to talk her out of it, it was Callie's dying wish that her two favorite people in the world - besides her sister, of course - should have her house." Thom looked over the rim of his half-glasses pointedly at Clint and Kelsey. "That would be you two."
"Huh?" came the shocked reply in stereo.
"The terms are as follows, and I believe I'm quoting here, 'let the two of them live in my house for eighteen months together. At the end of that time, they can sell it and split the profits if they like - granted they haven't murdered each other outright. However, it is my fervent wish that they would use this time to come to their senses and' . . . well, uh, she does get a little graphic here about you two getting together in the, ah, biblical sense of the word." He cleared his throat awkwardly, as if his tie was creeping up on him. " 'If either of you should leave before the time is up for longer than twenty-four hours, you will forfeit your half of the house and its proceeds to the other.' She does say that her money is on the two of you, and that she hopes you will live in the house together forever and, I'm quoting a more mild passage, 'have wild monkey sex in every room of the house at least once a day'."
There was a loud silence when Thom finished reading, and then Kelsey began to giggle. She knew it was wholly inappropriate, but she couldn't help it. Callie always liked to have the last word, the old coot. And this time she'd done it quite ingeniously. Callie also knew how much Kelsey loved the big old ranch house she'd lived in on the edge of town, but Kelsey had no designs in that area. Bridie should have inherited the house along with her sister's investments.
"She really did have her money on you two, you know," Bridie was saying in her high-pitched lilt. "There it 'tis, listed down here on the bottom," she showed everyone the entry Thom had made at Callie's behest. "Five hundred dollars: bet with Bridie and Thom about Clint and my girl," the ledger said, plain as day.
Kelsey got up to squat next to Bridie's chair. "But that should be your house, Bridie!"
The older woman patted Kelsey's hand. "No, dearie. That wasn't our family home; the ranch was the house that Callie and her husband bought after they married. It was always so full of love. She wanted that for you and Clint - for the house to be filled with your own love and lust . . . for life, of course."
"But Callie knew that we can barely stand to be in the same room together without killing each other - " Clint stood up, angrily shoving his fists into his pockets.
Despite the setting, Kelsey couldn't resist needling him. "Yeah, she knew you were a raving lunatic but she kept you as a friend, anyway. No accounting for some people's taste . . ."
Clint rounded on her, ready for a fight, but Thom interrupted as the voice of reason. "Enough, enough. The whole town knows you two can't stand each other, but for whatever reason Callie thought you'all protested too much and that there was some spark there. Whether she was right or wrong is a moot point - the question comes down to: can you two spend that much time together and live to tell about it? Do you even want to? Maybe one of you'd rather just forfeit without even trying and just give your half up to the other. Maybe neither one of you wants to deal with this mess, and, in which case, the proceeds of the house once it's sold will go to charity."
That idea grated on Kelsey. She loved that house at least as much as Callie had. It was a big ranch house, with a huge master bedroom, bow windows with window seats in the dining and living rooms, a large country kitchen with every appliance known to man, and it was done in country blue with flowered upholstery accents that Kelsey had helped Callie pick out several years ago when she'd gone on a redecorating binge.
Kelsey was already arranging furniture in her mind when Clint asked a disgustingly practical question. "When do you have to have our answers?"
"By the fifteenth of the month."
That was less than a week away.
The somber group filed out of his office minutes later, with Clint and Kelsey pulling up the rear as they walked to their respective cars. As she put the key in the lock of her beat up old Volkswagen, Kelsey happened to look up and caught Clint staring at her while opening up his big brawny truck. Clint smiled wolfishly, winked at her, then got in. Kelsey gave him the good old-fashioned one-finger salute, and clamored into her own vehicle, revving the engine angrily as he laid rubber leaving the parking lot.
Isn't that just like a police officer? she thought. Do as I say, not as I do.
God she hated that man! How the hell was she going to put up with him on a day to day basis for eighteen months without hitting him upside the head with a two by four and being hauled in for murder? She didn't know the answer to that question, but she did know that she wanted that damned house, and if she had to live, eat, and sleep with the Devil himself, then so be it.
Sleep with? Perish the thought!
Kelsey shuddered, but she recognized the truth of the matter: as much as she detested Clint Duncan, her body absolutely adored him, responding sexually to his presence every time, much to her embarrassment.
Even as she refused to even thing of the possibility of Callie's prophecy coming true, she had to acknowledge the fact that her nipples had been painfully spiked through the whole meeting, and her panties were soaked right through her hose, dammit! Around him, her body definitely had a mind of its own. With what she wanted from a man, she knew she could never consider Clint as a potential anything, not that she ever would.
The fact that her late night fantasies were filled with daring, forbidden thoughts of him taking her in hand was something her conscious mind flatly refused to explore. That was an impossibility. There was no way that she'd ever let the big oaf close enough to her to do that, anyway - or that she'd ever trust him enough to make herself that vulnerable to him.
She hated him. Kelsey just had to keep repeating that fact to herself, like a mantra, even as her mind conjured images of herself stretched over those powerful thighs, getting the spanking of her life.
Nope. Not gonna happen. Not in this lifetime, anyway, she gunned the car out of the lot, her bottom tingling at the thought of submitting to him in that way.