Second Chance Girl
Page 2
“I should slug you really hard in the stomach,” she grumbled as they walked to her Jeep.
“Such violence. You’re not embracing the cow mantra of being one with nature.”
“If you say cow one more time, I swear I’m going to—”
He held open the driver’s door and she slid onto the seat. They were nearly at eye level.
“You’re going to what?” he asked.
The dome light illuminated his features. His eyes were dark and his smile nearly blinded her with its brightness. He had broad shoulders and the honed body of a man who used muscles every day in his work.
As happened every now and then around him, she remembered that she was a healthy woman in her twenties who hadn’t been with someone in way too long. Mathias had to know what he was doing—he certainly had enough practice.
Not that he would be interested in her. Not only didn’t she fit his “You must be leaving town” criteria, she wasn’t, you know, special. Or at least not special enough to tempt the likes of him.
“I’m going to start training the zebras to poop in your yard. Have you smelled zebra poo? It’s going to make that perfume seem like nothing.”
He flashed her a smile. “Time to say good-night, Carol.”
“Good night, Carol.”
He closed the door and walked to his sedan. She started down the road, the Mercedes following closely. A couple of miles later, she pulled into her driveway. Mathias flashed his lights, then kept going. For a second, his car disappeared as he rounded a small hill, then she saw him as he came out the other side. The lights turned as he drove onto his property, flashed twice again before disappearing into his garage.
She continued to stand in the darkness until more lights appeared, this time in his massive house on the edge of the animal preserve. There was humor in the fact that her twelve-hundred-square-foot bungalow could fit comfortably in his five-car garage with room to spare, yet he was her closest neighbor. There she was—living on the edge of the world of the “haves” and more than happy to stay on her side.
Carol unlocked her front door and went inside. She toed off her boots, then went directly to her bedroom and barely pulled off her jeans before sinking onto the mattress and sighing.
Morning would come way too early, thanks to Bronwen. Unlike some people who lived in big mansions with views, she had to get up with the sun. Her herd didn’t like to wait for breakfast.
Carol quickly fell asleep only to find herself tangled in a strange dream of flying cows and Mathias begging her to kiss him. She woke to the insistent sound of her alarm and the knowledge that of the two scenarios, flying cows were by far the more likely to happen.
* * *
MATHIAS WALKED BAREFOOT across his patio. It was still early and a light mist clung to the ground—no doubt the result of early-morning watering, but he preferred a more romantic explanation. It was the artist in him.
He took his favorite chair, set his coffee and sketch pad on the table beside him, then prepared to wait.
He wasn’t sure how long ago the ritual had started. Shortly after Millie had arrived, maybe. He didn’t know why she got to him more than the others. She was just a giraffe. Shouldn’t he find beauty in the swift-footed gazelles or majesty in the water buffalo?
While he’d been aware of the animals when he’d purchased the house, he hadn’t really noticed them for the first few months. He supposed they’d crept into his consciousness after he’d met Carol.
Most towns hid their dumps behind gates or far away from any suburban sprawl. Happily Inc had planned differently, putting it just southwest of the population center, carefully downwind.
In addition to running a recycling and reclamation program that was one of the best in the nation, the two men who owned and ran the dump had also purchased hundreds of acres around the landfill. Grasses and trees had been brought in. Once they’d taken root, the animals had appeared. The gazelles had been first, then the zebras. There were a few wading birds, the water buffalo and lastly, Millie.
Mathias knew the basics—the two men who had created a unique African savanna on the edge of the California desert were Carol’s father and uncle. When she’d completed her degree, she’d come to work at the preserve. A year ago, the old man in charge of the animals had retired, leaving Carol to take over. A few months after that, Millie had arrived.
Mathias didn’t know why the giraffe and the woman were so closely linked in his mind, but they were. Now, as he watched the morning fog slowly dissipate, he saw Millie stroll into view.
She was a reticulated or Somali giraffe, nearly fifteen feet tall, with traditional markings. Her face was almost heart shaped, with widely spaced eyes and an inquisitive gaze.
Mathias sipped his coffee before reaching for his sketch pad. He already had hundreds of drawings of Millie and Carol, but he hadn’t yet found the one. He would know it when he saw it, so every morning he waited.
Carol appeared when they cleared the trees. She barely came to partway up Millie’s shoulder. In the morning light, her short red hair seemed almost blond. She was strong and wholly herself—a contrast to his usual type of woman, so he shouldn’t have found her appealing...only he did. There was something about her lack of artifice, something about the way she was so comfortable in her own skin that made him pay attention.
Carol and the giraffe strolled together like this most mornings, after the other animals had been fed. At first he’d thought this was Carol’s way of making Millie more comfortable with her surroundings. But the walks had continued long after Millie had settled in to her new home. When the small donation jars had started popping up all over town, he’d realized Carol was attempting to fulfill Millie’s need for companionship.
A few minutes on the internet had taught Mathias that while male giraffes were mostly solitary, female giraffes lived in a loose group. Mothers often took on babysitting duties so they could each go forage for food. Carol’s morning walks were her attempt to help Millie feel as if she had a herd.
He watched them for nearly half an hour then went inside. Before heading to the studio, he went to his sunroom where he worked from home. Not with glass—that setup would require more equipment, not to mention a very understanding insurance agent—but with pencil and pad or even paint and canvas.
He flipped through the drawings stacked on a shelf. Millie alone, Millie and Carol walking, Millie with the zebras. It was there, he thought, doing his best to ignore the ever-present frustration. He’d been close a couple of times, nearly capturing the image he wanted. It would come—he had to believe that. And when it did, he would create it out of glass. Assuming he still had what had once been his reason to live and breathe.
* * *
ULRICH SHERWOOD, Duke of Somerbrooke, stared out of the eighth-floor conference room window of the Century City high-rise. To the west was Santa Monica and the vast Pacific Ocean, to the east were haze-covered mountains...or maybe that was smog smudging the outline. He’d only been in Los Angeles twice before and hadn’t enjoyed himself either time. This visit was to meet with lawyers—something else he didn’t enjoy but which was in this case a necessary evil. A very well-financed TV producer wanted to set a modern-day Downton Abbey in England and Ulrich’s home of Battenberg Park had been chosen as the location. Not only did the use of the rambling estate mean a hefty fee, Battenberg Park would also receive a “spruce” as the lawyer had called it. For their purposes, that meant fresh paint and a significant upgrade in landscaping. Combined, the fee and the “spruce” had made a trip to Los Angeles more than worth the time and effort.
“Such violence. You’re not embracing the cow mantra of being one with nature.”
“If you say cow one more time, I swear I’m going to—”
He held open the driver’s door and she slid onto the seat. They were nearly at eye level.
“You’re going to what?” he asked.
The dome light illuminated his features. His eyes were dark and his smile nearly blinded her with its brightness. He had broad shoulders and the honed body of a man who used muscles every day in his work.
As happened every now and then around him, she remembered that she was a healthy woman in her twenties who hadn’t been with someone in way too long. Mathias had to know what he was doing—he certainly had enough practice.
Not that he would be interested in her. Not only didn’t she fit his “You must be leaving town” criteria, she wasn’t, you know, special. Or at least not special enough to tempt the likes of him.
“I’m going to start training the zebras to poop in your yard. Have you smelled zebra poo? It’s going to make that perfume seem like nothing.”
He flashed her a smile. “Time to say good-night, Carol.”
“Good night, Carol.”
He closed the door and walked to his sedan. She started down the road, the Mercedes following closely. A couple of miles later, she pulled into her driveway. Mathias flashed his lights, then kept going. For a second, his car disappeared as he rounded a small hill, then she saw him as he came out the other side. The lights turned as he drove onto his property, flashed twice again before disappearing into his garage.
She continued to stand in the darkness until more lights appeared, this time in his massive house on the edge of the animal preserve. There was humor in the fact that her twelve-hundred-square-foot bungalow could fit comfortably in his five-car garage with room to spare, yet he was her closest neighbor. There she was—living on the edge of the world of the “haves” and more than happy to stay on her side.
Carol unlocked her front door and went inside. She toed off her boots, then went directly to her bedroom and barely pulled off her jeans before sinking onto the mattress and sighing.
Morning would come way too early, thanks to Bronwen. Unlike some people who lived in big mansions with views, she had to get up with the sun. Her herd didn’t like to wait for breakfast.
Carol quickly fell asleep only to find herself tangled in a strange dream of flying cows and Mathias begging her to kiss him. She woke to the insistent sound of her alarm and the knowledge that of the two scenarios, flying cows were by far the more likely to happen.
* * *
MATHIAS WALKED BAREFOOT across his patio. It was still early and a light mist clung to the ground—no doubt the result of early-morning watering, but he preferred a more romantic explanation. It was the artist in him.
He took his favorite chair, set his coffee and sketch pad on the table beside him, then prepared to wait.
He wasn’t sure how long ago the ritual had started. Shortly after Millie had arrived, maybe. He didn’t know why she got to him more than the others. She was just a giraffe. Shouldn’t he find beauty in the swift-footed gazelles or majesty in the water buffalo?
While he’d been aware of the animals when he’d purchased the house, he hadn’t really noticed them for the first few months. He supposed they’d crept into his consciousness after he’d met Carol.
Most towns hid their dumps behind gates or far away from any suburban sprawl. Happily Inc had planned differently, putting it just southwest of the population center, carefully downwind.
In addition to running a recycling and reclamation program that was one of the best in the nation, the two men who owned and ran the dump had also purchased hundreds of acres around the landfill. Grasses and trees had been brought in. Once they’d taken root, the animals had appeared. The gazelles had been first, then the zebras. There were a few wading birds, the water buffalo and lastly, Millie.
Mathias knew the basics—the two men who had created a unique African savanna on the edge of the California desert were Carol’s father and uncle. When she’d completed her degree, she’d come to work at the preserve. A year ago, the old man in charge of the animals had retired, leaving Carol to take over. A few months after that, Millie had arrived.
Mathias didn’t know why the giraffe and the woman were so closely linked in his mind, but they were. Now, as he watched the morning fog slowly dissipate, he saw Millie stroll into view.
She was a reticulated or Somali giraffe, nearly fifteen feet tall, with traditional markings. Her face was almost heart shaped, with widely spaced eyes and an inquisitive gaze.
Mathias sipped his coffee before reaching for his sketch pad. He already had hundreds of drawings of Millie and Carol, but he hadn’t yet found the one. He would know it when he saw it, so every morning he waited.
Carol appeared when they cleared the trees. She barely came to partway up Millie’s shoulder. In the morning light, her short red hair seemed almost blond. She was strong and wholly herself—a contrast to his usual type of woman, so he shouldn’t have found her appealing...only he did. There was something about her lack of artifice, something about the way she was so comfortable in her own skin that made him pay attention.
Carol and the giraffe strolled together like this most mornings, after the other animals had been fed. At first he’d thought this was Carol’s way of making Millie more comfortable with her surroundings. But the walks had continued long after Millie had settled in to her new home. When the small donation jars had started popping up all over town, he’d realized Carol was attempting to fulfill Millie’s need for companionship.
A few minutes on the internet had taught Mathias that while male giraffes were mostly solitary, female giraffes lived in a loose group. Mothers often took on babysitting duties so they could each go forage for food. Carol’s morning walks were her attempt to help Millie feel as if she had a herd.
He watched them for nearly half an hour then went inside. Before heading to the studio, he went to his sunroom where he worked from home. Not with glass—that setup would require more equipment, not to mention a very understanding insurance agent—but with pencil and pad or even paint and canvas.
He flipped through the drawings stacked on a shelf. Millie alone, Millie and Carol walking, Millie with the zebras. It was there, he thought, doing his best to ignore the ever-present frustration. He’d been close a couple of times, nearly capturing the image he wanted. It would come—he had to believe that. And when it did, he would create it out of glass. Assuming he still had what had once been his reason to live and breathe.
* * *
ULRICH SHERWOOD, Duke of Somerbrooke, stared out of the eighth-floor conference room window of the Century City high-rise. To the west was Santa Monica and the vast Pacific Ocean, to the east were haze-covered mountains...or maybe that was smog smudging the outline. He’d only been in Los Angeles twice before and hadn’t enjoyed himself either time. This visit was to meet with lawyers—something else he didn’t enjoy but which was in this case a necessary evil. A very well-financed TV producer wanted to set a modern-day Downton Abbey in England and Ulrich’s home of Battenberg Park had been chosen as the location. Not only did the use of the rambling estate mean a hefty fee, Battenberg Park would also receive a “spruce” as the lawyer had called it. For their purposes, that meant fresh paint and a significant upgrade in landscaping. Combined, the fee and the “spruce” had made a trip to Los Angeles more than worth the time and effort.
