7 Days and 7 Nights Read online

  Wandering into the kitchen, he rifled through cupboards and listened as Olivia advised her callers. A peek in the pantry confirmed that Crankower had delivered on their sponsors’ promises. The pots and pans came from Williams-Sonoma, the produce from Diangelo’s, the imported foods from Gourmet to Go. A case of his favorite wines sat on the counter waiting to be unpacked, and two six-packs of Newcastle were already chilling in the fridge. All in all, everything a man required for a civilized existence was on hand.

  His roommate appeared to have simpler tastes. From what he could see, she intended to subsist on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with occasional infusions of chocolate chip cookies. Her refrigerated goods consisted of two packages of processed American cheese food, a quart of skim milk, and a case of Diet Coke. If she’d requested anything remotely resembling a fruit or vegetable, he hadn’t stumbled across it. In fact, for a doctor, she seemed woefully unconcerned with the basic corner-stones of good nutrition.

  Matt walked back through the living area to observe Olivia more closely. When she bent over to retrieve a slip of paper, he couldn’t help noticing how nicely she filled out her jeans. Her legs were long, her rear perfectly padded. As she settled back into her chair, his gaze traveled up the lean length of her to the high, full breasts that strained against the cream-colored T-shirt. If she was undernourished, she was hiding it beneath some pretty impressive curves.

  Crossing to the seating area, Matt plopped down on the sofa and put his feet up on the cocktail table. It didn’t take him long to decide that Olivia Moore was not deficient in vitamins or anything else that mattered. In fact, she was such fun to watch that he gave himself up to the pleasure of it.

  Her white teeth tugged at her full bottom lip, and her green eyes radiated concern as she listened to a caller’s problem. When she leaned forward to make a note on the pad in front of her, a curtain of blonde silk swirled over one slim shoulder and hid her features from view.

  His pleasure was short-lived. Olivia’s hands stilled and her voice sputtered out and died. Then she looked up and, for a full ten seconds, watched him watch her. When she finally spoke, it was to put her caller on hold for the commercial break. “What in the world are you doing?”

  “Who, me?” He pointed a finger at his chest and checked the room as if looking for another culprit.

  “Of course you. Why are you sitting there? I’m in the middle of a show.”

  “Where else would I be, Olivia? I’ve had too much coffee to take a nap, and I’m not about to spend three hours in the bathroom.”

  “Well, you can’t just sit there and watch me.”

  “Because?”

  “Because I don’t like it.”

  “We have 850 square feet of living space. My options are limited. You’re going to have to do better than that.”

  “Okay. You’re interfering with my concentration.”

  “Then concentrate harder.” He glanced up at the TV monitor and saw them squared off against each other. The Webcam might not broadcast their audio, but no one watching could miss the adversarial body language.

  Olivia took off her headphones and stood. “I’m not kidding, Matt. You cannot just sit there and stare at me while I’m working.”

  “Fine. I’ll read.” He yanked his briefcase off the nearby chair and rifled through it, ultimately taking out a dogeared copy of the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue that he’d brought along just to annoy her. He also pulled out his own headphones, the ones with the cord long enough to allow full range of the living area, plugged them into the control panel, and sat back down on the sofa, raising the magazine up in front of his face with a flourish. When the silence continued, he lowered the magazine and peered over it. Olivia still stood there, headphones in hand, her mouth open in surprise.

  She was very cute when she was stunned.

  “I believe I hear your cue.”

  “What?”

  “I said, you’re on the air, Olivia.” He pointed to his headphones. “It’s time to talk to those people who call in and ask you questions. You know . . . your listeners?”

  He gave her a wink, the raunchiest one he could come up with. “If you don’t get back to work, you’re going to be trailing so far behind me by the end of the week that you’ll have to wear that thong.” Confident that he’d offered the perfect incentive, Matt raised the open magazine in front of his face once again.

  How he managed to stifle his laughter and feign interest in the magazine for the remainder of her shift, he didn’t know. Olivia pointedly ignored him, which he chose to interpret as an indication of her interest in him. But his musings were cut short by the tremulous tone of Olivia’s final caller.

  “Dr. O? I did what you said.”

  “What’s that, JoBeth?”

  Matt’s ears perked up. JoBeth was the name of Dawg’s girlfriend.

  “I told Dawg that I wanted to get married, again. And he told me I was ruining a perfectly good relationship.”

  “Then what?” Olivia’s tone was calm and soothing, in stark contrast to JoBeth’s quiet distress.

  “Then he wanted some, um, milk, and I told him he’d have to find himself another cow.”

  “Good for you, JoBeth. You did the right thing.”

  “It didn’t feel right, or good.”

  “What happened then?”

  “He said he didn’t understand a word I was saying, and that if I didn’t want to be with him, no one was forcing me to stay.”

  Matt turned a page of the magazine, but his attention was riveted on the drama being played out on the air.

  Olivia waited out a long pause and then said, “What did you do?”

  “I moved out. I left him.” JoBeth’s voice vibrated with regret, and Matt took the opportunity to steal a glance over his magazine at Olivia. She sat very still, and the triumphant smile he’d expected to see on her face was absent.

  “I love him, Dr. O. I thought we’d be spending the rest of our lives together.”

  “I know, JoBeth. Sometimes doing the right thing hurts.” Olivia closed her eyes briefly, then opened them, her look momentarily far away. “Now you just have to hang tough. And if that Dawg doesn’t come through, then you’ll go out and find someone who can appreciate you enough to commit. That’s my best advice. You stay in touch. I want to know how it’s going, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Olivia gathered her notes as she launched into her sign-off. “And for the rest of you out there, keep those food pledges coming. You can post them on the station website at the same time you vote for your favorite host. Or you can call the station and make your pledge. Thanks for tuning in. I’m Dr. Olivia Moore, reminding you to live your life . . . live.”

  Olivia removed her headphones, shoved her notes into a folder, and stood up. She knew just how JoBeth felt. It was hard to walk away from someone you loved, and even harder to walk away from someone you wanted to love you.

  Lost in thought, she stepped into the kitchen to search for something to eat and started when she felt Matt’s hand on her wrist.

  “Are you happy?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Do you feel good about the advice you just gave that poor woman?”

  “I don’t know which poor woman you’re referring to, unless you mean one of the naked ones you’ve been ogling for the last forty-five minutes.”

  “I’m talking about JoBeth and all that bullshit about cows and free milk.”

  “It may be bullshit to you, but to that woman it’s a question of self-preservation. I’m entirely comfortable with the advice I gave her. If it weren’t for irresponsible men like you and that Dawg she’s in love with, maintaining self-respect wouldn’t be so damned difficult.”

  They glared at each other, neither willing to look away first. After a long moment, Olivia drew a calming breath and pulled her wrist out of his grasp. She’d known all along that the only way to survive the week was by maintaining her distance. Turning her back on him, she retrieved
her briefcase from the floor next to the console and pulled out a sheaf of papers.

  Coming to stand in front of him, she waved them in his face. “I’ve taken the liberty of drawing up some suggestions for our time together.”

  She saw him bite back a laugh and watched the insulting glint of amusement steal into his eyes.

  “I’ll be glad to read them to you, if necessary. They don’t have as many pictures as your usual reading material.”

  She handed the pages over one at a time, practically nailing them to his chest with her finger. “This is a bathroom schedule. I’ve blocked out the mornings for myself, since I have to be up and on the air by nine o’clock. I wasn’t sure what time of day you liked to shower, so I left your side blank.”

  When he didn’t comment, she continued. “I usually just grab a sandwich or something, but I’m willing to make extra for you and leave it in the fridge so we can eat in shifts. That way we won’t be tripping over each other in the kitchen.”

  He studied her from beneath sable lashes most women would kill for.

  “I figured whoever ate last could handle cleanup. Obviously, on this chart you’re ‘M’ and I’m ‘O.’ ”

  “Obviously.”

  “We should probably work out a schedule for the television, too. There are only a few programs I watch regularly.” She handed him a blank form and cleared her throat. “I’ve gone ahead and divided the living area into two sections so that we each have a place to sit and relax without intruding on the other.”

  Matt walked the three steps to the refrigerator and took out a beer. Bringing it back to the living room, he took the diagram she handed him—the one with a dotted line down the middle of the sofa—took a long sip of beer, and sat right in the middle of her section. Then he put his feet on “her” half of the cocktail table and looked up into her eyes. “Tell me, Olivia, just what is it about me that scares you so?” He took another swig of beer while he considered her from beneath hooded eyes.

  “Don’t flatter yourself, Matt. I just want to be sure you understand what’s acceptable. Take dressing and undressing, for example.”

  “You’re planning to tell me when to dress and undress?” He set his beer down and flipped through the sheaf of papers. “I can’t wait to see this diagram.”

  “There is no visual aid because there’s only one rule: If you’re not dressed, you need to be behind closed doors. In a word, no flashing.” Lord knew she didn’t need the temptation.

  “Well, you’ve certainly spent a lot of energy thinking all this out, Olivia. It’s very . . . industrious of you.” He paused. “I’ll be sure and give your suggestions the consideration they deserve.”

  He folded the sheaf of papers in half, doubled them over once more, and shoved the whole wad into the back pocket of his jeans. Then he cocked his head in her direction and said, “I guess getting you to put on that thong would be out of the question right now?”

  6

  Lunchtime at the Magnolia Diner was no time for deep thought, a fact JoBeth appreciated at this particular point in her life. She’d already wasted an inordinate amount of time worrying over her relationship with Dawg Rollins, and an embarrassing amount in tears since she’d moved out two days ago. Crying over her disappointments was a luxury she’d never before allowed herself, and she wasn’t wild about the idea now. She might not have a whole lot else, but she’d always had her pride.

  Hefting her loaded tray high over one shoulder, JoBeth snatched up a fresh pot of coffee with her free hand and backed through the swinging door. Before she swung around to face her waiting customers, she found and put on her brightest smile. A good waitress didn’t bring her personal problems to work. And she didn’t slack off because some fool man had gone and mangled her heart.

  “Hey, Bert.” One-handed, she set the tray on a serving stand and commenced to dole out the food, refilling coffee mugs as she worked her way around the table of four. “How’s that new grandbaby of yours?”

  “Just fine, darlin’. Head looks kind of like a bowling ball to me, but my Darcy’s real proud of him.”

  “That’s great.” JoBeth fought off a brief stab of envy at Darcy’s good fortune. “You tell her to bring that boy in here soon. I want to have a look at him.”

  “You know I will.”

  Whipping her order pad out of the front pocket of her starched white apron, JoBeth pulled a gnarled pencil from behind her ear and moved on to the next table.

  “Hey, Homer, Myra. You gonna have the fried chicken today?” She scribbled out their ticket and slipped her pencil back behind her ear as she contemplated the white-haired McCauleys holding hands in their favorite booth. JoBeth tried to imagine herself and Dawg snuggling in a corner booth somewhere thirty or forty years from now, but the picture just wouldn’t come.

  Blinking back tears, she swapped the coffeepot for a pitcher of sweet tea and leaned over to pour the elderly couple’s drinks. “You leave some room for dessert now, you hear? Ina made her strawberry rhubarb pie today.”

  With calm precision, JoBeth worked her tables, taking orders, refilling drinks, chatting up the regulars. There was comfort in the routine tasks, satisfaction in the occasional appreciative glance sent her way. Her fortieth birthday had come and gone, but L’Oréal kept her short red curls free of the evil gray intruders, and she liked to believe that the fine lines now radiating outward from the corners of her eyes lent character to what she’d always thought of as a too-cute face. Smoothing a hand down her hip, she paused to straighten her apron and give herself a pep talk.

  There would be life after Dawg Rollins, just as there’d been life during those long years of caring for her parents, and life after they died.

  She had lots of good years ahead, years she could spend on herself now, if she chose. Plenty of time to get the college degree she’d always dreamed of and to turn the tiny house she’d inherited into a home. If Dawg didn’t want to be with her while she did those things, she’d do them alone or take Dr. O’s advice and find someone who didn’t just say he loved her, but proved it. Someone who wanted to have a child with her before it was time to check into a nursing home.

  The bell on the front door jangled, and awareness crept up JoBeth’s spine. Even before she turned to look, she knew it was Dawg. Her heart raced like it always did at her first sight of him, but she made a point not to show it.

  Why, after three years together, the big lug still made her palms sweat and heart pound, she didn’t know. Earl Wayne Rollins, Jr., looked like what he was: an aging ex-linebacker with a profile created at the bottom of a ten-man pileup. His blond hair, shot through with gray, was in full retreat, and his athlete’s physique had begun to lose its battle with middle age.

  JoBeth wiped her palms on the short skirt of her uniform and stood her ground as he approached.

  “JoBeth.”

  She managed a polite nod before forcing herself to turn and go about her work, but she breathed a small sigh of relief when he had the good sense to bypass his usual seat in her section.

  From the corner of her eye, she watched him chitchat with Jackie at the register and say something amusing to Emmylou at the counter where he took a vacant stool.

  JoBeth frowned. Dawg sure didn’t look like a man who’d lost the love of his life. And he sure as hell didn’t appear to be nursing any broken heart.

  JoBeth’s fingers clenched on the handle of the iced tea pitcher as Emmylou batted her eyelashes at Dawg and leaned across the counter to display her double D’s. When Emmylou turned and strutted her stuff back to the kitchen, Dawg’s eyes were practically glued to the blonde’s behind.

  Putting down the pitcher, JoBeth walked through the counter opening, brushing past Dawg. Without a word, she opened the pie case, yanked the strawberry rhubarb off its shelf, and cut two large slices for the McCauleys, leaving the remainder on the counter. Emmylou served up Dawg’s Mile High Burger, with a wide toothy smile on the side.

  The big lummox winked and tucked into his b
urger, unaware of how close to death he’d strayed. He chewed with relish for a while, then put down his burger to take a big swig of tea.

  JoBeth delivered the McCauleys’ desserts and came back to face Dawg across the counter, the strawberry rhubarb in front of her.

  “Hi, JoBeth. You’re looking mighty fine.”

  “Feeling fine,” she lied. “Never felt better.”

  They studied each other, taking silent stock, and she felt her damned heart kick up again. Her insides went all warm and soft under his regard, and her pulse skittered just beneath her skin. Unconsciously, her hands wrapped around the pie plate.

  “Aw, hell, JoBeth.” His voice was quiet and full of a lot of things she couldn’t put a finger on. “When are you going to get over all this marriage nonsense and come on back home?”

  “ ’Scuse me?”

  “The house is empty without you.”

  JoBeth swallowed. She wanted to take Dawg’s head and cradle it against her bosom. Or slam it against the wall. It was a difficult choice.

  “Don’t you talk to me about empty. I’m about as alone in this world as it’s possible to be right now. But I’m not looking for company. I want someone to share my life with. In my book that requires a Justice of the Peace.”

  “Now, JoBeth, if you’d just calm down and come on home, I’m sure—”

  “I’m not coming back, Dawg. We’re not kids, and I’m not interested in being your live-in girlfriend anymore.”

  “Aw, JoBeth, honey.”

  “Don’t you ‘JoBeth honey’ me. And don’t you come into my place of work and ogle other women.”

  “But you’re the one who moved out. You’re the one who said—”

  “I know exactly what I said. You don’t have to throw it back in my face. You’re the one who doesn’t seem to be getting the point.” Her fingers picked nervously at the fluted edge of the pie plate.