Twilight. Sherryl Woods

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      4

      The screeching of that damnable doorbell brought Dana to her feet at once. It had to be a stranger. No one she knew liked the sound of it any better than Kate.

      “Want me to get it?” Kate offered.

      “I’m still capable of answering the door,” Dana said dryly, pushing aside the virtually untouched slice of the pecan coffee cake that she had made when she could no longer sit still. “I haven’t lost all my wits yet.”

      She stepped into the foyer and paused. She could see the large shape of a man through the glass panels on either side of the door. Tall, broad-shouldered and wearing an ancient football jacket from one of the Catholic high schools in Chicago, Rick Sanchez was unmistakable.

      “Oh, boy,” she muttered under her breath.

      “Dana, who is it?” Kate whispered, slipping up behind her.

      “Rick Sanchez.”

      “Oh, boy, is right. Has he brought the police with him?”

      “I doubt that Mr. Sanchez is any fonder of the police than I am at the moment.”

      “Were you counting on that when you broke into the Yo, Amigo headquarters last night?”

      “No, I was counting on not getting caught,” Dana said, keeping a wary eye on the man outside.

      He seemed to be growing more agitated by the minute. When he turned and leaned on the doorbell, filling the house with the squealing sound, she decided there was no point in postponing the inevitable. He was here to see her and he’d probably break down the door, if he had to. She was in no position, at the moment, to complain about a little breaking and entering on his part.

      “Okay, okay, I’m coming,” she shouted as she unlocked the door. When it was open, she glared at him and said, “Mr. Sanchez, you really need to work on your patience.”

      A twinkle lit his brown eyes, softening his hard, unyielding expression. “Isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black?”

      Standing squarely in the doorway, Dana refused to concede the point. “Why are you here?”

      “To talk.”

      “I’d say we both made our positions completely clear last night. Anything we said today would be a waste of breath.”

      “Then I guess you haven’t seen the error of your ways,” he said with exaggerated regret. “Too bad. I was hoping this was going to be easy.” He glanced over her shoulder. “Hello again, Mrs. Jefferson. Good to see you.”

      Dana shot a warning look at Kate, whose love life was such that a potent man like Rick Sanchez might be able to charm her with little more than a smile. “Don’t think you can use my friend to get to me.”

      “I wouldn’t dream of it. I’m an up-front kind of guy. My friends say I’m direct.”

      “And your enemies?”

      “They say quite a lot of things about me,” he conceded.

      With his hands shoved in his pockets and his hair tousled by the wind, he had a look of pure innocence about him. Clearly it was deceptive. “I can imagine,” she said.

      “I’m hoping you and I will become friends.”

      “Not in this lifetime,” she said fiercely.

      “That’s what Ken would have wanted,” he added with quiet conviction.

      Dana wanted to hit him for dragging Ken into the conversation, even though he was obviously the reason Rick Sanchez was here. “Do your friends know that you hit below the belt, Mr. Sanchez?”

      He didn’t look half as insulted as Dana might have liked. In fact, he looked her squarely in the eye.

      “I’m a product of the streets,” he reminded her. “I fight any way I have to for what I believe in.”

      The penetrating, brown-eyed gaze, the softly spoken words sent a chill washing through her. For the first time, she fully accepted just how dangerous an adversary Rick Sanchez could be. Knowing the enemy could sometimes be as important as arming against him. With that in mind, she stepped aside and gestured toward the kitchen.

      “Kate and I were just having coffee, if you’d care to join us.”

      There was nothing gloating in his expression, no hint of smug arrogance. In fact, if she’d had to describe what was going on inside him, she would have had to say he looked relieved. Obviously, he hadn’t expected her to capitulate so easily. Good. That meant she’d thrown him off guard.

      In the kitchen, she poured him a cup of coffee, then refilled her own and Kate’s. She deliberately didn’t offer him any of the coffee cake. It didn’t matter. His gaze landed on her slice, then lifted hopefully. “Aren’t you planning to eat that?”

      “No,” she said resignedly and pushed it toward him. “There’s more on the counter.”

      “I can smell the cinnamon and nuts. Just baked, isn’t it?” he asked, sounding as eager as a kid.

      “Yes.”

      “Why’d you bother if you didn’t intend to eat it?”

      “For something to do. What difference does it make?”

      He shrugged. “None, I guess. Just making small talk.”

      “Don’t waste your time.”

      He accepted the advice without comment and pulled out a chair. When he was seated at the round oak table, Dana suddenly wished that she’d suggested the living room instead.

      This table, bought at an auction the first year of her marriage, had been at the heart of her family’s life. Every breakfast and every dinner, they had gathered here, no matter the other demands on their time. This was also where she and Ken had discussed the future, made plans for vacations, argued over finances. It was at this table, lit by the soft glow of candles, that she had first told him she was pregnant on three different occasions.

      It was also where they had lingered over coffee, gazing into each other’s eyes with yearning, both of them regretting for just a moment that there were boys underfoot to keep them from acting on the desire that always simmered just beneath the surface of their relationship.

      Seating Rick Sanchez here, of all places, seemed to defile the memories. She had never wanted this man to touch the intimate portions of her life with Ken. That was why she had stubbornly refused for so long to include him in family dinners, in holiday celebrations. Ken had accepted her decision, had even understood its roots, but it had been clear that he thought less of her for her inflexibility.

      Even then, she realized, Rick Sanchez had found a way to come between them. Now he was doing so by replacing her memories of Ken sitting across from her with his own powerful and very masculine presence. She added that to the list of things to hold against him—the fact that he was so virile, so alive, while just outside her husband was cold in his grave.

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