Oh My Sweet Carolina

Chapter 3

As soon as Alan got in the car he called Denny and apprised him of the situation and told him what he needed from him. Denny readily agreed. Alan then hung up with him and dialed Ryan Fraiser, Brad Chase's assistant.

"Hello, Ryan. Alan Shore here."

"Hey, Alan. What's up?"

"Well, you see, Ryan, I've got a special case that I'm working on in North Carolina. And it seems I need someone who is industrious and resourceful. Naturally, you were the first person I thought of since you've done some great work for me in the past."

"I'm flattered. What do you need?"

"I need you to gather up about two or three of your old law school buddies. You know, the ones you used to smoke pot with while you partied with hookers and played illegal games of high stakes poker in the back rooms of seedy little bars."

Ryan's silence was tense then he said, "Uuuhhh…I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, I think you do. My keen intuition tells me that you and I are cut from the same sort of sordid cloth—a dog always knows another dog."

"Well, Mr. Chase…"

"He makes you call him Mr. Chase? He would." Alan rolled his eyes. "Ryan, don't worry about Bradley. I'll send my temporary assistant to help him—something tells me she would rather be there anyway."

"Your temp…"

"Don't worry about that right now. Are you in or not?"

Ryan wavered.

"Did I mention that I will absolutely make this worth your while?"

"How much are we talking?"

"Ten each."

"So what do I need to do?"

"Get the first flight to Mooresville, North Carolina—on the firm's dime, of course. Talk to Denny; he'll take care of that. Give your flight schedule to Brenda and have her call me with details. Pack light. I'll have a car pick you up at the airport. You'll get the rest of the information when you get here. Get here yesterday."

"Got it." He hung up.

Alan pulled into a bookstore, made a small purchase and headed to a nearby Kinko's.

His phone rang; it was Brenda. She gave him the flight details for the three men.

Alan said, "Brenda, listen closely, this is what I want from you. You will book the penthouse suite of the most luxurious hotel in Mooresville for two nights then you will call for a limo to pick up those men in Mooresville when they land. Got it?"

"Yes, sir."

"You will then go to Mr. Chase that you will be his assistant for anything he needs. Tell him that Ryan is ill and has gone home, but he took the liberty of calling the temp agency to arrange for your services. And you will assist him, but I may still need some minor assistance from you as well. Of course, whatever assistance you give me is strictly between us. I'm relying upon your discretion. If anyone asks you where I am, just say I'm out."

"You are out, Mr. Shore."

"Good girl, Brenda. Just stick to that." He rolled his eyes. "You will also be the contact person for Ryan Frasier if he should need you. Did you get that other stuff I needed?"

"I did."

"Good. Fax it to this number right now." He gave her the number for the Kinko's as he pulled into the parking lot.

"It's going through now."

"Thank you Brenda."

He went inside the store and within a few minutes left with his faxes. He headed back to T.'s house to begin putting his case together. Jimmy, Ray and T. were at the kitchen table when Alan walked in.

"There you are!" T. said. "We were just talking about you."

The men all shook hands, introducing themselves. Alan ran his eyes over Ray who was at least six feet tall, tanned, frosty blue eyes and shaggy, dark hair. He was lean and athletic—the kind of guy that would like kayaking and climbing mountains; the kind of guy he imagined Miranda might have gone for in her college years—or worse, might still go for. He wasn't any less jealous of Ray's father Jimmy who looked like an older version of his ruggedly handsome son. They smelled of the sun, sweat and earth—not an entirely unpleasant scent.

Alan said, "You two remind me of cowboys."

The men chuckled.

Jimmy said, with his charming, white smile. "I suppose we are—in a way."

T. jumped up from the table. "Have you had lunch yet, Alan?"

Alan chuckled. "I had forgotten actually."

"I'll make you something. You must be famished; it's nearly three o'clock. You just sit yourself down here at the table and I'll whip up something for you. You don't mind a sandwich do you?"

"Not at all."

Alan said, "Jimmy, Ray, I'd like to get your version of what happened yesterday." He pulled his legal pad out of his briefcase and tore off two sheets. First I need you to write your version and then I'll have some questions for you. Also, during the questioning, if you have any information about the men involved in this—stuff like shady deals, affairs, or other scandals, I would love to have that information as well." He pulled two pens out of his briefcase and handed them to the men. Alan noticed the pens looked incredibly dainty in their tanned, thick, calloused hands. He wondered if Miranda had a past with either of these men.

She placed a chicken salad sandwich in front of him along with a bowl of homemade vegetable soup and a glass of iced tea. "And if you're still hungry after that, there's plenty of that blackberry crisp left over."

"Sounds great." He didn't realize how hungry he was until he began to eat. By the time Ray and Jimmy had finished their accounts of Miranda's fight, Alan had finished his meal.

He read the papers quickly then asked them questions to get more details and information. When they had finished, the men returned to their work outdoors while Alan questioned T., over a bowl of blackberry crisp, about what she was able to discover.

The conversation eventually turned personal about family memories. He learned a great deal about Miranda as a young girl—full of vigor and mischief, but altogether sweet, generous, loving and compassionate. In the middle of a story about Miranda rescuing via theft a dog from an abusive owner, his cell phone rang and he had to excuse himself from the table. He stepped across the hall into the den; it was Ryan.

"We've landed and we're in the limo—a sweet ride by the way."

"Check into your rooms in the hotel." He looked at his watch. "I will meet you in the lounge at six—don't be late."

He returned to the kitchen where T. was putting dishes in the dishwasher. "Forgive me, but I need to leave for awhile. I have to meet with some associates who are going to help with the case.

"Will you be home in time for supper?"

"I should be back around 7:30 or 8:00, if that's okay, but don't trouble yourself. I can always grab a meal in town."

"Nonsense. You bring yourself back here for dinner."

He smiled crookedly. He was completely charmed by T. and her Southern hospitality. "I suppose I can't argue with that."

"You can not."

"I imagine it would be like trying to argue with Miranda."

She laughed. "You'd be right about that."

He gathered up his things. "Is there anything you need while I'm out?"

"Nope. See you soon."

He smiled warmly. "Yes." He headed out the door.


Before going to the hotel, he stopped by the jailhouse to see Miranda again. When he approached the cell he saw her practicing kickboxing moves in her cell.

"Is it safe to enter?"

She turned around, smiling. "I'm not sure. Did you bring the chocolate?"

He held up a plastic bag.

"Then yes, it's safe to enter."

The officer opened the door and Alan stepped in.

"I can't stay long," he said, checking his watch. "I'm meeting some associates I've brought down from the firm."

"Who?" She said, taking the plastic bag and looking inside.

"I think it's best if you don't have that information right now."

She shrugged. "Okay. Oh!" She pulled out the bag of dark chocolate Lindor truffles. "You are the perfect man. I love you more than ever now."

He chuckled. "I think there are many who disagree about the perfect man label, but as long as you still think so…"

She quickly unwrapped a truffle and popped it in her mouth, smiling ecstatically. She kissed him quickly on the lips.

"Mm, chocolaty."

"Thank you sooo much." She did a little dance. "It's the closest thing to an orgasm I can get right now." She rifled through the bag for another, unwrapped it and popped it in her mouth.

He chuckled. "Indeed." He ran his eyes slowly up her body, as he inhaled deeply, dreamily. "When you're released, however, I would be more than happy to assist you." He ran his fingers down her hair. He picked up a strand of it and trailed it over his lips.

He sat down on the bench and patted the empty spot beside him. "I brought you something else," he said, pulling a few books out of the bag and holding it out to her.

She sat next to him, took the books in her hands and read the titles I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, Crime and Punishment, and The Count of Monte Cristo. She laughed aloud, throwing her head back—that deep throaty laugh he so adored. "Clever. Very clever. I've already read all of these, but it will be good to read them again, like visiting dear old friends; this should be plenty to keep me busy until Friday." She ran her hands over the books as if she were touching something cherished and priceless. "Thank you, sweetie."

He watched her. Feeling his eyes on her she looked up at him. "I do love you," she said. "And even if…" she hesitated and looked away. "I will continue to always…"

He smiled faintly. "Does it help to hear the old adage that if it was meant to be it will be?"

She sniffed a laugh. "Not really."

"Yea, it never really helped me either."

She put her hand in his and they sat there in silence, holding hands, both of them staring at the concrete wall before them.

After a few minutes Miranda said softly, "You should probably go have your meeting." She squeezed his hand and lifted to her lips, placing a kiss on it. He leaned in and kissed her softly.

She pulled back and said, "You definitely need to go now. If you kiss me like that again, I can't be held responsible for what I'll do next." She smiled coyly at him.

He stood and buttoned his suit jacket. "I'll be back in the morning."

She nodded.

He turned and left. Miranda flopped down on the bench and picked up I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings. There was handwriting on the inner cover—Alan's hand. He had written the following: "I can't write poetry, but I feel it, and I know when a poet has expressed the very thing I would wish to express to you—Pablo Neruda has been able to put into words in his Sonnet XVII that which only I'm capable of feeling:

I don't love you as if you were the salt-rose, topaz
or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:
I love you as certain dark things are loved,
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that doesn't bloom and carries
hidden within itself the light of those flowers,
and thanks to your love, darkly in my body
lives the dense fragrance that rises from the earth.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,
I love you simply, without problems or pride:
I love you in this way because I don't know any other way of loving

but this, in which there is no I or you,
so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand,
so intimate that when I fall asleep it is your eyes that close.

And so I thought you should know it and remember that this is how it will be…no matter what."


Ryan and his friends were waiting in the hotel lounge when Alan showed up. They were in rumpled suits, ties loosened, drinking beer at a corner table. It was a dark, simple pub, empty but for the bartender and the one server.

"Gentlemen," he said, indicating to the server he'd like to have a drink. He unbuttoned his suit jacket and sat down, crossing one leg over the other. He ordered his scotch and looked around the empty room. "It seems Mooresville isn't exactly equipped with luxury hotels. Nevertheless, you won't be here long. Besides there are other bonuses you'll appreciate more." The server placed the drink on his table. He thanked her and she disappeared.

Ryan was about to introduce them when Alan held up a hand to still him. "Never mind that. I'm sure you all have names, but I don't care what they are. The less I know about you, the better."

"All right then," Ryan said, leaning on the table, "So, what do you need?" He was short, thick muscular build, cocky. His black hair stood in short messy spikes. His black eyes always seemed to have a mischievous glitter. He gnawed energetically on a toothpick. Alan liked him and despised him at the same time—this kid was too much like himself in many ways, except for the fact that Ryan wasn't quite as polished or refined as Alan was at his age.

"My assistant, Ms. Houston has been arrested for assault down here and they are holding her for a million dollar bail."

The curly-haired man said, "A million dollars for an assault? Who did she beat up—little orphans and nuns or something?"

"Exactly."

Ryan and his friends glanced at each other. "Who did she assault?" The blonde man asked.

"A lawyer by the name of Eddie Garnie."

The men laughed. Ryan asked, "She beat up a dude? What did she do to him?"

"Black eye, broken nose, split lip, broken jaw, a dislocated shoulder and possibly a few cracked ribs."

"Damn!" Ryan said. "She's a vicious bitch."

Alan glared at him coldly. "Poor choice of words, Ryan."

Recognition glimmered in his eye and Ryan said. "Oh yea, I've heard rumors that you and Miranda are, uh…"

"That's about as far as you should go." Alan's eyes slid to Ryan. He stared at him with hard, steely eyes until Ryan began to fidget and squirm.

Ryan held up his hands in a gesture of peace. "My apologies. Be cool. I meant nothing by it. So why did she do it?" He said, rolling his toothpick between his teeth.

"Because a particular businessman by the name of R.J. Pullman wants her family estate. He is using his cronies in the local government to claim eminent domain in order to force a take over of the land. He wants it for his condo and strip mall developments." Alan clenched his jaw. He tossed a folder on the table. "That's where you three come in."

Ryan grabbed the folder and opened it, skimming the papers.

Alan continued. "In this folder are the names of every person I am targeting at this time. There may be more to come, but these are the hub of this operation. You are to scour this town and find out every nasty, dirty rotten scandalous detail about each and every one of them. If they cheat on their wives, if they embezzle funds, if they pocket money from church coffers, if they kick puppies for a good time, I want to know about it. It is my intent to utterly destroy them all." He sipped his scotch. "I want her out no later than Friday, which means you have 24 hours to dig up all you can. You will work around the clock. Take turns sleeping if you have to. You will not party, hang out with girls or patron clubs and bars while you are here. For the next 24 hours, I own you mind, body and soul. Of course, you will be recompensed most generously for your work. You will not pay a dime for the flight, food or your hotel. I will pay you each ten grand." He removed his wallet from the inside of his suit jacket. He pulled out his credit card and tossed it on the table toward Ryan. "Put all expenses on this. Make sure it's necessary. Unnecessary expenses on that card will be reimbursed… one way…" he lowered his voice menacingly, "Or the other. When you return to Boston, I will have a special bonus for you. However, if you even think about falling short of these requirements, I will bury you along with these men and you can spend your days getting very intimately acquainted with them in federal prison." He took an envelope out of his pocket and tossed it on the table. Ryan opened it, it was full of cash. "For bribes; you will need it. Yours is coming later—when the job is done."

The man with thick black rimmed glasses spoke up. "How do we know we'll get paid? We need some sort of assurance."

Ryan put his hand on the guy's arm. "Hold it, Tommy. I've done work with Alan before. If he says he's going to pay, he'll pay. He may have a reputation for being a real douche-bag, but he's an honest one."

A look of exasperation crossed Alan's face. "Thank you for coming to my defense so…eloquently, Ryan."

"No problem."

Alan rolled his eyes. "Ryan, I will be checking in from time to time. Any questions?"

"Nope. Let's get started." The three young men all jumped up.

"Good." Alan finished off his scotch, stood slowly, and buttoned his suit jacket. "Of course, I think it goes without saying that discretion is…top priority."

"Got it."

"Otherwise, Dean of Admissions at Harvard might find out that you, Tommy, have been re-enacting The Graduate with his wife. By the way, I've seen the pictures and I can't say that I blame you. Neil, your ultra conservative law firm might not share my appreciation for the S&M lounge you secretly run out of an old building downtown. And Ryan…" A hint of a smile crossed Alan's lips. "I sure would hate for anyone at Crane, Poole and Schmidt to find out that you've been lining your pockets from the company treasure chest. I can certainly understand the temptation. I even did it myself once—allegedly."

All three of the men froze like deer in headlights; the blood drained from their faces and their eyes grew wide.

Alan touched his hand to his middle and said, smiling, "Don't ever make the mistake of thinking you can outwit me gentleman. The thing about under-handed douche-bags, like myself, is that we put a high value on people dealing honestly with us, we also make a point of knowing exactly who we're in cahoots with." He set his jaw. "Good day, gentlemen and happy hunting. I look forward to your report." He turned and walked slowly away, leaving the three men whispering among themselves, wondering how in the hell he knew all that stuff.

At last Ryan said, "Hey. None of us said anything, we know that, so don't worry about how he found out; it doesn't matter. I told you already, he's some kind of friggin' genius mind reader or something. Let's just get this done, get our money and get out of here."


At six on the following evening, Alan showed up at the hotel room. The Ryan answered the door. His hair stood on end, he obviously hadn't shaved and his clothes were wrinkled.

"Been napping, little Ryan?" Alan said.

Ryan rubbed his eyes and face. "Yea, just a little," he said groggily, scratching his chest.

"I came to get the report." Alan stepped slowly into the room. "I see cleanliness has not been a top priority." He scanned the piles of take out food containers, soda bottles, Red Bull cans, dirty coffee cups, piles of wet towels and rags. Neil was still stretched out, face down on the bed, still fully dressed. Tommy was sitting up on the couch, stretching.

Ryan slapped Neil in the back of the head. "Get up man." Neil snorted.

Alan moved through the room toward the television. He switched it off and sat in a chair beside the sofa. Tommy sat up on one end of the couch and Neil shuffled in to sit on the other end.

Ryan sat on the corner of the coffee table, facing Alan and handed him a folder. "Here it is—every little nasty detail."

Alan opened the folder and skimmed the papers. When he had finished, he slowly closed the folder and smiled. "Good work, gentlemen. I'm very pleased." He opened up his suit jacket pocket and pulled out three thick envelopes. "Here is your money, as promised. You can stay here one more night to spend on whatever your seedy and degenerate hearts desire." He stood, leisurely, buttoning his suit jacket. "If you'll pardon me, I have some work to attend to. When I get back to Boston, I will apprise you of the other recompense. Good evening." He walked out of the room and closed the door quietly behind him.

He went down to the lounge and began making calls to arrange a meeting with Pullman, Judge Henderson, Eddie Garnie, a couple of city council members, the chief of police, the city manager and the assistant city manager.


On Friday morning, Alan woke early and dressed in Miranda's favorite tie—the pale blue one—she said it brought out the blue in his eyes—with his charcoal pinstripe suit.

When he appeared in the kitchen to have breakfast with T., she said, "Well aren't you a handsome devil."

Alan chuckled. "Well, the devil part is certainly appropriate for today's meeting." He smiled, pulling at his shirt cuffs.

After a leisurely breakfast they rose from the table.

She said, "Here, let me get your tie." She straightened his tie for him. "Now I want you to go into that meeting today and give 'em hell. I want you to be the only man walking tall and proud out of that room. Send the rest of those curs scattering with their tails tucked between their legs."

He looked at her softly, smiling wanly. Her manner was so motherly, so nurturing. He wondered what it must have been like, growing up in this house with two parents who doted and…He swallowed hard and managed a hoarse whisper, "I'll do my best."

She smiled warmly at him and patted his cheek. "I know you will. Now go on and go in with both guns blazing."

He thought about Denny for a moment who would take her metaphor literally. He chuckled to himself. He picked up his briefcase and stepped outside. T. followed him out and down the porch steps to see him off.

Before he got in the car she said, "Alan?"

He paused, looked up at her.

"I'm very proud of the choice my daughter has made."

He set his jaw, issued a faltering nod and got in the car.


He arrived in the meeting room at the courthouse and burst into the room. "Good morning gentlemen…and lady…" He motioned to the female assistant city manager. He furrowed his brows and pointed to the city manager beside her. "Are you sleeping together?" Their eyes grew wide. "Not that it matters to me really, but I was wondering how your respective spouses felt about that?" He waved his hand. "Oh never mind. I don't suppose it's really all that important." He looked back at the city managers. "You look tired; you must have had a long night. I mean, when I look at these pictures…" He pulled a few pictures out of his briefcase and started flipping through them. "I can see how you would be very tired this morning." He held up a picture. "How did you get your leg in that position? I've tried, but can't seem to manage it. Perhaps I'll take up yoga." He tossed that picture on the table in front of them. The woman grabbed it and quickly hid it under a folder. He picked up another picture. "But I think I like this one most of all. The light from the street lamp gives this scene an artsy appeal—like something out of a Fellini film" He tossed that picture down. "If you are tired after a rigorous night of love-making, by the way, I can have someone bring in some coffee. As for myself, I'm just bursting with energy. There's nothing like a hearty country breakfast of bacon, eggs and biscuits to get you going in the morning, am right gentlemen…and lady? I really think I could get used to the food here."

Frustrated and anxious, the judge said, "Mr. Shore, we don't have all day and I don't give a damn about your breakfast. Could we just get to the point here, please?"

"Oh certainly. I've made copies for everyone." He began pulling folders out of his briefcase and tossing them around the table. "I'm just thrilled with the Kinko's here. 24 hour service and everything."

The people sitting around the table began flipping through their folders and looking around nervously.

Alan continued without missing a beat. "You see, contained within these folders—and don't worry about losing yours because I've plenty of spare copies in case you do—is a very long prison sentence for each and every one of you." He paused and then added quickly, "And, for a few of you, a very nasty divorce where the wife…or husband…takes away the kids and the dogs, the house, and about seventy five percent of your income for alimony, palimony, child support, and vengeance. I personally don't handle divorce cases unless they involve murder, but I can recommend some excellent divorce attorneys in case you need one."

"You can't surely expect to blackmail us," the judge said.

"Oh, but I can and I will. Because, you see, I've made a habit of making important friends and connections in my line of work and I've got a wonderful friend at CNN, we had a…thing…once, but she really was a sort of lackluster lover so our relationship never really went anywhere. However, what she lacks in the bedroom, she more than makes up for in her career as an investigative reporter. She would just love to get her hands on this juicy little tidbit of a story. Where, you, Mr. Pullman roll into town with all your fancy cars, big bucks and high-rolling ways and you dazzle the local townsfolk into investing with your company. There are a lot of people, most of them in this room, who stand to make a whole lot of money if only you can get your hands on enough land to develop it into condos and strip malls—urban sprawl at its finest. And you manage to do all this by buying out the people who don't really want their land, but love having the money. Until you run into Mrs. Theresa Houston. She doesn't want to give up her land, but you tried to bully her and force her out and when that didn't work, you got your friends here at the government level to declare her property eminent domain. These friends will then sell it back to you, pocket the money, you will develop the land and they get a percentage of that as well." He paused, poured a glass of water and slowly drank it. "Extorting criminals is thirsty work. In addition to this, I've discovered the city council members present today; you, honorable Judge Henderson, and the man hired to protect and serve this fine community, Police Chief Adams, all…wait…is this correct?" He looked closer at his paper. "Oh yes, it's right here in black and white. You are all in on an embezzlement scheme where you are swindling money from the city coffers, to pad your already inflated incomes. I bet the good citizens of Mooresville would love to have this information. I wonder what their reaction would be? It's my understanding that there might be some good old-fashioned vigilante justice brought down on your heads. Interestingly enough, however, I also have some very good friends in the FBI and the IRS, some fellas I used to play illegal high-stakes poker with in the backrooms of illegal massage parlors that fronted prostitution rings…uh…allegedly, that is. And these very good friends of mine would simply drool over a case like this where they can swarm down on a little town, guns a-blazing—they love every opportunity they can get of dressing up in all that manly SWAT gear and toting their big, big guns. Then, as I've also discovered, gentlemen and lady, there are a few politicians up in Washington who would really not like it if this little operation were exposed because that would call too much attention to their…activities, since, you know, they are connected to some of the people in this room and some of your activities. I would love to go into detail, because the sordid sleazy details are the ones I like the most, but I'd really like to get to my main point…"

"Please do," the judge said, leaning back, crossing his arms over his chest.

"In exchange for my silence I would like Miranda Houston released from jail, no bail, her record completely wiped clean—so clean, in fact, that there is no evidence that she was even down here this week. In addition, I want you and all your little comrades to leave the Houston estate alone—no phone calls, no visits, no threats, no letters, not even a sly remark or an innuendo—nothing. That property remains untouched indefinitely. If I'm told that one of you so much as gives Mrs. Houston a cross look in the grocery store I will descend on this town with a fury and light it on fire. I will make it my life's mission to see each and every one of you go to federal prison—and not the posh, tennis-playing, resort prison—for the rest of your lives. And I will not stop there. I will strip away every penny, every asset you own until your families are left begging in the streets—not unlike what Mr. Garnie threatened to do to Mrs. Houston and her family. The only difference is, gentleman and lady, I have the audacity and the ability to turn a threat into reality."

The judge's face grew red. "And what guarantee do we have that you will not turn us in once you get what you want?"

"I give you my word."

The judge laughed. "I think I need a little more assurance than that."

"There's an unwritten code among bastards like us, isn't there, your honor. Your ass is covered as long as mine is. But once my ass stops being covered, it's every man for himself."

"I suppose that's true."

"But in case that doesn't ease your mind, here are the numbers for a few people, much in the same position you're in, who could vouch for the veracity of my word."

Then Eddie chimed in and spoke through his wired jaw. "Hey wait a minute! What about my medical bills?"

Alan's eyes slid over to him. "You'll pay for them. It's the least you could do after your harassment, your trespassing on private property, your libel, slander and inciting violence. As I see it, she was defending her property; she gave you what you were asking for—and what you most needed."


Alan showed up at the jail cell that afternoon. Miranda was sitting cross-legged on the bench, reading. The officer opened the door. Miranda looked up.

"You're free to go," the officer said.

"Really?"

Alan smiled. "Really."

She grabbed up her books. "It's a good thing. I was almost out of chocolate."

Alan chuckled.


As soon as they arrived back at T.'s house, Miranda hugged her mother tightly then declared she wanted nothing more than to take a hot shower. After her shower, she put on her robe and stood at the top of the stairs. She called out for Alan, claiming she wanted to speak with him a moment. He appeared at the bottom and looked up at her. She smiled mysteriously and walked away, closing her door behind her. He crept up the stairs. As soon as he entered the room, she grabbed him by the front of his shirt and crushed her mouth against his, kissing him hungrily, pulling him toward the bed.

He pulled away and said, "Your mother is downstairs."

"Then we'll have to be much quieter than usual." She pulled his shirt out of his pants and pushed him onto the bed, straddling him.

"Not possible…the bed squeaks."

"Then we'll do it on the floor." She said breathlessly, undoing his belt. "I want you desperately, Alan." She nibbled his ears while her hands ran over his body. She slid to the floor and pulled him down on top of her.

After slaking their desires, they lay in the floor spent.

"Wow," Miranda said. "I really needed that."

"Me too."

"Do you want to ride back with me tomorrow, instead of flying?" Miranda said. "We can take the long, scenic route back to Boston."

"Why not. Sounds like fun."

"So how did you get me out?"

"Extortion."

She laughed. "That's my man. I can't thank you enough for everything—for always being there." She kissed his lips gently. She sat up and pulled her robe back on. "As much as I hate to, I suppose we should go back downstairs so I can help mama get supper on." She stood up and rummaged through her suitcase, pulling out a pair of jeans and a black tank top. He lay in the floor, propped on one hand, watching her dress. She put on her tank top and then, much to his surprise, slid into her jeans without her panties.

"You are a wicked, wicked woman and don't play fair at all."

"What's that?" She looked into the vanity mirror, clipping her hair into a messy ponytail.

"Wearing nothing under your jeans. Now that I know that, I'll be distracted for the rest of the night with all sorts of delicious fantasies."

She looked over her shoulder and winked at him. "Good." She put some lip gloss on. "You could probably use the distraction, since I'm sure you've had a grueling week." She checked her lips in the mirror. "You should probably get dressed, sweetie." She sprayed some perfume on her skin and left the room.

He lay for a moment taking in the scent of her perfume as it spread through the air, fully content and, dare he think it, happy.