CHAPTER ONE
"I've got the backbone of a worm," Lacey Lancaster muttered
as she let herself into her apartment. She tossed her mail
onto an end table and glared at Cleo. "I didn't say a word
to Mr. Sullivan, not a single word."
Cleo, her Abyssinian cat, affectionately wove her golden
brown body between Lacey's ankles. Her long tail coiled
around Lacey's calf like a feather boa, soft, sleek, and
soothing.
"I had the perfect opportunity to ask for a raise and did I
do it?" Lacey demanded, kicking her feet so that her shoes
sailed in opposite directions. "Oh, no, I let it pass by.
And do you know why?"
Cleo apparently didn't. Lacey took off her bright green
vinyl raincoat, opened the closet door, and shoved it
inside. "Because I'm a coward, that's why."
Walking into the kitchen, she opened the refrigerator and
stuck her head inside, rooting out some sorry looking
leftovers, two boxes of take out Chinese, and the tulip
bulbs she'd meant to plant in her balcony flower box last
October.
"I'm starved." She opened the vegetable bin and took out a
limp stalk of celery. "You know my problem, don't you?"
Cleo meowed and wove her way between Lacey's ankles once
more.
"Oh, sorry. You're probably hungry too." Lacey reached
inside the cupboard and pulled out a can of gourmet cat
food. To her surprise, Cleo didn't show the least bit of
interest. Instead, she raised her tail and stuck her rear
end in the air.
"What's going on with you? Trust me, Cleo, this isn't the
time to go all weird on me. I need to talk." Taking her
celery stick with her, she moved into the living room and
fell onto the love seat.
"I work and slave and put in all kinds of overtime-without
pay, I might add-and for what? Mr. Sullivan doesn't
appreciate me. Yet it's my decorating ideas he uses. The
worst part is, he doesn't even bother to give me the
credit." She chomped off the end of the celery and chewed
with a vengeance. The stalk teetered from the attack and
then slowly curved downward.
Lacey studied the celery. "This might as well be my
backbone," she muttered. Unable to sit still any longer,
she paced her compact living room. "I haven't had a raise
in the whole year I've worked for him, and in that time
I've taken on much more responsibility and completed
projects Mr. Sullivan couldn't or wouldn't do. Good grief,
if it weren't for me, Mr. Sullivan wouldn't know what was
going on in his own business." By this time she was
breathless and irate. "I do more work than he does, and
he's the owner, for heaven's sake!"
Clearly Cleo agreed, because she let out a low, wailing
moan. Lacey had never owned a cat before, but after a
devastating divorce she'd needed someone. Or some thing.
The thing had turned out to be Cleo.
She'd first spotted Cleo in a pet shop window, looking
forlorn. Cleo's brother and sister had been sold two weeks
earlier, and Cleo was all alone. Abandoned, the half grown
kitten gazed, dejected and miserable, onto the world that
passed her by.
Lacey had been suffering from the same emotions herself,
and once they met the two had become fast friends. No fool,
the pet store owner knew a sale when he saw one. He'd made
some fast soft shoe moves to convince Lacey what a good
investment Cleo would be. If she bred her and sold off the
litter, within a year or so, he claimed, her original
investment would be returned to her.
Lacey hadn't been so keen on the breeding aspect of the
deal, but it had sounded like something she should try. She
wanted companionship, and after her disastrous marriage she
was through with men. A cat wouldn't lie or cheat or cause
hurt. Peter had done all three with bone cutting accuracy.
Good ol' Peter, Lacey mused. She should be grateful for all
the lessons he'd taught her. Perhaps someday she would be
able to look back on her marriage without the crushing pain
she felt now. He'd vowed to love and cherish her but then
calmly announced one Sunday afternoon, without warning,
that he was leaving her for someone else.
Someone else was a tall blonde with baby blue eyes and a
voluptuous figure. Lacey had sized up the competition,
decided she didn't stand a chance, and signed the divorce
papers. Oh, there'd been some haggling, but she'd left that
to her attorney and stayed out of it as much as possible.
As soon as her divorce was final, she'd uprooted herself,
moved to San Francisco, located a job she loved, and
started life all over again.
Sort of.
This time, she was playing it smart. Men were completely
out of the picture. For the first time, she was supporting
herself. For the first time, she didn't need anyone else.
Because it could happen all over again. Another blonde with
a Playboy figure could disrupt her life a second time. It
was best to play it safe. Who needed that kind of grief?
Not her!
Lacey wasn't discounting her assets. With her straight
brown hair sculpted around her ears, and equally dark eyes,
she resembled a lovable pixie. She was barely five feet
tall, while her brother, who was five years older, was
nearly six feet. Why nature had short changed her in the
height department, she would never understand.
After the divorce, Lacey had felt emotionally battered and
lost. Bringing Cleo into her life had helped tremendously,
so much that Lacey figured she could do without a man. Her
cat provided all the companionship she needed.
"Okay, okay, You're right," Lacey said, glancing down at
her fidgeting feline friend. "I couldn't agree with you
more. I'm a gutless wonder. The real problem is I don't
want to quit my job. All I'm looking for is to be paid what
I'm worth, which is a whole lot more than I'm making now."
She'd come out of the divorce with a hefty settlement;
otherwise she'd be in dire financial straights.
Cleo concurred with a low wail, unlike any sound Lacey
could ever remember her making.
Lacey studied her cat. "You all right, girl? You don't
sound right."
Cleo thrust her hind end into the air again and shot across
the room to attack her catnip mouse. Whatever was troubling
her had passed. At least Lacey hoped it had.
Muttering to herself, Lacey returned to the kitchen and
reexamined the contents of her refrigerator. There wasn't
anything there she'd seriously consider eating. The
leftover Chinese containers were filled with hard, dried
out rice and a thick red sauce with what had once been
sweet and sour pork. The meat had long since disappeared,
and the sauce resembled cherry gelatin. The only edible
items were the tulip bulbs, not that she'd seriously
consider dining on them.
She'd hoped to treat herself to something extravagant to
celebrate her raise. Domino's Pizza was about as
extravagant as she got. But she wasn't doing any
celebrating this night. If she wanted dinner, she'd need to
fix it herself.
Her cupboards weren't promising: a couple of cans of soup
mingled with fifteen of gourmet cat food.
Soup.
Her life had deteriorated to a choice between cream of
mushroom soup and vegetarian vegetable. Blindly she reached
for a can and brought out the vegetable. The freezer held a
loaf of bread. Her choice of sandwiches was limited to
either peanut butter and jelly or grilled cheese.
"Sometimes I think I hate you!" The words came through the
kitchen wall as clearly as if the person saying them were
standing in the same room.
Lacey sighed. Her neighbor, Jack Walker, and his girlfriend
were at it again. She hadn't formally met the man who lived
next door, which was fine with her. The guy suffered from
severe woman problems; from what she'd heard through the
wall, it sounded as if the pair was badly in need of
therapy. Lacy avoided Jack like the plague, despite his
numerous attempts at striking up an acquaintance. She was
polite but firm, even discouraging. She had to give him
credit. He didn't accept no easily. Over the months, his
methods had become increasingly imaginative. He'd tried
flowers, tacked notes to her door, and had once attempted
to lure her into his apartment with the offer of dinner. Of
all his tactics, the promise of a meal had been the most
tempting, but Lacey knew trouble when she saw it and
resisted.
As far as she was concerned, dating Jack was out of the
question, especially since he was already involved with
someone else. Lacey had lost count of the times she'd heard
him arguing with his girlfriend. Some nights she was forced
to turn on her stereo to block out the noise.
But being the polite, don't cause problems sort of person
she was, Lacey had never complained. She might as well
throw herself down on the carpet and instruct people to
walk all over her.
"I wasn't always a worm," she complained to Cleo. "It's
only in the last year or so that I've lost my self
confidence. I'd like to blame Mr. Sullivan, but I can't.
Not when I'm the one who's at fault. You'd think it'd be
easy to ask for a little thing like a raise, wouldn't you?
It isn't, yet I'm left feeling like Oliver Twist. At least
he had the courage to ask for more.
"Mr. Sullivan should thank his lucky stars. I'm good at
what I do, but does he notice? Oh, no. He just takes me for
granted."
Having finished this tirade, she noticed that Cleo had
disappeared. Even her cat had deserted her. She found Cleo
on the windowsill, meowing pathetically.
Lacey lifted the cat in her arms and petted her. "Have I
been so wrapped up in my own problems that I've ignored
you?"
Cleo leaped out of the embrace and raced into the bedroom.
The arguing continued in the other apartment.
"Sarah, for the love of heaven, be reasonable!" Jack
shouted.
"Give it to him with both barrels," Lacey said under her
breath. "I bet you didn't know Jack was dating on the side,
did you? Well, don't get down on yourself. I didn't know
what a womanizer Peter was either."
Sarah apparently heeded her advice, because the shouting
intensified. Jack, who generally remained the calmer of the
two, was also losing it.
If she listened real hard, she might be able to figure out
the cause of their dispute, but frankly Lacey wasn't that
interested.
"I saw him with someone new just last week," she added,
just for fun. Lacey had bumped into Jack at the mailbox.
There'd been a woman with him and it wasn't Sarah. But it
was always Sarah who came back. Always Sarah he quarreled
with. The poor girl apparently cared deeply for him. More
fool she.
"I'm having vegetarian vegetable soup," Lacey informed Cleo
as she strolled into the room, thinking her pet would want
to know. "It isn't anything that would interest you,
unfortunately." Whatever had been troubling her cat earlier
was under control for the moment.
Dinner complete, Lacey set her steaming bowl of soup and
her grilled cheese sandwich on the table. She'd just sat
down when something hit the wall in the apartment next
door. Instinctively, she jumped.
Angry voices escalated. Jack was no longer calm and in
control. In fact, it sounded as if he'd lost his cool
completely. The two were shouting at each other, each
trying to drown the other out.
Lacey sighed. Enough was enough. Setting her napkin aside,
she went over to the kitchen wall and knocked politely.
Either they didn't hear her or they chose to ignore her,
something they did with increasing frequency.
She'd just sat down again when an explosion of noise nearly
jerked her off the chair. One or the other of the
disgruntled lovers had decided to turn on the radio. Full
blast.
The radio was turned off as abruptly as it had been turned
on, followed by a tirade from Jack.
The radio was switched back on.
Off.
Once again, ever so politely, Lacey tapped the wall.
They ignored her.
Then, for whatever reason, there was silence. Blissful
silence. Whatever had plagued the two was settled.
Either that or they'd murdered one another. Whichever it
was, the silence was bliss.
When Lacey had finished her dinner, she washed the few
dishes she'd used. Cleo continued to weave her sleek body
between Lacey's ankles, meowing and wailing all the
while. "What's wrong with you girl?" Lacey asked again.
Squatting down, she ran her hand over the cat's spine. Cleo
arched her back and cried once more.
"You don't seem to be yourself," Lacey commented,
concerned.
It hit her then, right between the eyes. "You're in heat!
Oh, my goodness, you're in heat." How could she have been
so obtuse?
Leaving the kitchen, she rooted through her personal
telephone directory, searching for the name the pet shop
owner had given her. If she was going to breed Cleo, she
needed to talk to this woman first.
"Poor, poor Cleo," Lacey said sympathetically. "Trust me,
sweetie, men aren't worth all this trouble." She quickly
located the phone number and punched it out.
"I'm Lacey Lancaster," she said hurriedly into the
receiver. "The owner of Pet's World gave me your number. I
bought an Abyssinian several months ago."
No sooner had she introduced herself than the arguing in
the next door apartment resumed.
"I'm sorry, dearie, but I can't understand you." The woman
on the other end of the line spoke with a soft Irish
accent.
"I said I purchased an Abyssinian cat-"
"It sounds like you've a party going on."
"There's no party." Lacey spoke louder, close to shouting
herself.
"Perhaps you should call me back when your guests have
left," came the soft, Irish brogue. With that the line was
disconnected.
Something snapped in Lacey. Her never cause a scene
upbringing went down the drain faster than tap water. She
slammed the phone down and clenched her fists.
"I've had it!" she shouted, And she had. With men who
didn't know the meaning of the words "faithful"
and "commitment." With employers who took advantage of
their employees. With Neanderthal neighbors, who shuffled
one woman after another through their apartments without a
second thought.
Lacey walked out her door and down the hall, her strides
eating up the distance in seconds. However, by the time she
reached Jack's apartment the fire had died down. Her anger
would solve nothing. She tapped politely and waited.
The arguing stopped abruptly and the door flew open. Lacey
was so astonished that she leaped back. Sarah leaped back,
too, and glared at her. It was apparent the other woman
hadn't heard Lacey knock.
"Hello," Lacey said, her heartbeat roaring in her ears. "I
was wondering if you two would mind holding it down a
little bit."
The woman, young and pretty, blinked back tears. "You don't
need to worry. I was just leaving!"
Jack appeared then, looking suave and composed. He
brightened when he saw it was her. "Lacey," he said,
flashing her an easy grin. "This is a pleasant surprise."
"With all your fighting, I couldn't even make a phone
call," she explained, not wanting to give him the wrong
impression. This wasn't a social visit.
"I apologize." Jack glared at Sarah. "It won't happen
again."
Sarah's chin shot into the air as she jerked her purse over
her shoulder. "I . . . I don't believe we have anything
more to say to each other." She hurried past Lacey toward
the elevator,
"Sarah." Jack placed both his hands on Lacey's shoulders
and edged his way past her. "I'm warning you . . . just
don't do anything stupid."
"You mean, like listen to you?"
"Dammit to hell," Jack muttered. He stared at Lacey as if
this were all her fault.
Lacey opened her mouth to tell him exactly what she thought
of him and then abruptly changed her mind. Jack wouldn't
listen. Men never did. Why waste her breath?
With nothing more to say, she returned to her apartment. To
her surprise she realized she'd left the door open. Her
immediate concern was for Cleo, and she rushed inside in a
panic.
She stopped cold in her tracks at the sight that greeted
her.
"Cleo!" Her cat was in the throes of passion with a long
haired feline she didn't recognize.
Placing her hands over her mouth, Lacey sagged against the
wall. She wasn't going to need the Irish woman after all.
Cleo had already found her mate.
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