LITMIR.BIZ

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advice, Linda pulled on one of her many braids and rolled her eyes disdainfully. “Not me,” she objected, slumping down in the straight-backed chair. “All I have to do is look at my mama and then look at you. There’s never going to be a man smart enough to con me into having a baby. After taking care of all my mama’s babies, I’d have to be touched in the head to have one.”

       Naomi didn’t like the trend of the conversation. “You’ll see things differently when you’re older,” she responded, thinking that she would have to teach Linda that life was more enjoyable if you laughed at it sometimes.

       “Really?” the girl asked skeptically. “I see you don’t have any kids.” Linda opened her book, effectively ending the discussion. Shocked, and unable to find any other way to get the privacy she needed, Naomi lowered her eyes.

       They completed the literature assignment, and as Naomi reflected on Linda’s above-average intelligence, the girl suddenly produced a drawing.

       “What do you think of this?” she asked, almost defensively.

       Naomi scrutinized it and regarded the girl whose face was haunted with expectancy. “You’ve got good technique, and this piece shows imagination. I like it.”

       Linda looked up and smiled wistfully. “I love to paint most of all. It’s one thing nobody can tell me is good or bad, because I always manage to paint exactly what I feel.” As if she had disclosed something that she thought too intimate to tell another person, Linda quickly left the room.

       Naomi watched her leave. Crazy about painting and forced to study literature. It was almost like seeing her own youth in someone else, except that she had had all the advantages of upper-middle-class life that Linda lacked. She understood now that her strong attraction to Chuck had partly been escape from loneliness. He had fulfilled her need for the loving affection that she missed at home, and he’d made her feel wanted. Cherished. God forbid that because of a desolate life, Linda should follow in her footsteps, she mused, getting up to replace her teaching aids in the cabinet that held her supplies.

       Rufus stole silently away from the open door and, deep in thought, made his way slowly up to the president’s office. He was a board member of Urban Alliance and stopped by One Last Chance to discuss with its president participation in the Alliance’s annual fund-raising gala. He hadn’t known of Naomi’s association with OLC and was surprised to find her there. Certainly, he would not have expected to witness her gently nurturing that young girl. She had empathized totally with the girl, whose background was probably the exact opposite of her own, holding him nearly spellbound. He mounted the creaky spiral staircase whose once-regal Royal Bokhara runners were now threadbare, thinking that perhaps he had misjudged Naomi again. He had gotten the impression from her letters that career and independence were what she cherished most and that, like his ex-wife, she thought of little else and wouldn’t take the time to nurture another human being.

       Maybe she was different from what she represented herself to be. She was tender and solicitous with his boys, who were immediately charmed by her. Captivated was more like it. Not because of the ice cream, either; they ate ice cream just about every day. No. It was more. He couldn’t define it any more than he could figure out why she’d had such a powerful impact on him, why she was constantly in his thoughts.

       She was brash and a little cynical. But she was also soft and giving. He remembered his sudden need to get out of her apartment, away from her; he had never had difficulty controlling his libido until he’d met that woman. He grinned. She affected his temper that way, too.

       He sat listening to Maude Frazier outline her plans for One Last Chance’s contribution to the gala, aware that her words held no interest for him; his mind was on Naomi Logan. In an abrupt decision, he politely told Maude goodbye and loped down the stairs in hopes of seeing Naomi before she left. He was relieved to find her in the basement laundry room. And what a sight! Without the combs and pins, her hair was a wild, thick frizz, and her slacks and shirt were wet in front. He leaned against the laundry room door and watched her dash around the room folding laundry and coping with an overflowing washing machine.

       “Want some help?”

       She dropped a clean tablecloth back into the sudsy water, braced her hands on her hips, and stood glaring at him.

       “See what you made me do? You frightened me.” He observed her closely, but with pretended casualness. Was she trembling?

       “Sorry. Anything I can do to make up for it?”

       “You can help me fold these things, and you can wipe that cocky grin off of your face.” She hated being caught off guard; he didn’t blame her. It put you at a disadvantage.

       She was obviously wary of him, and he wanted to put her at ease, so he spread his hands palms upward in a gesture of defenselessness. “I’m innocent of whatever it is you’re planning to hang me for, Naomi. Now, if you’ll show me how you want these things folded, I’ll help you.” She did, and they worked in companionable silence.

       Rufus carefully hid his inner feelings, controlling the heady excitement of being with her, but he wouldn’t bet that he’d be able to hold it back for long. He wouldn’t put a penny on it. She zonked him.

       His impatient nature wouldn’t allow him to wait longer before probing. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

       “And why would that be? Why do you think I don’t care about people?” she asked him, a bit sharply.

       Didn’t she know that her defensiveness was bound to make him suspicious? He was a journalist, after all. He shrugged and decided not to accept the challenge. He wanted to know her, not fence with her. “Did I say that, Naomi? I’ve seen softness in you.” And I want to know whether it’s real.

       “Humph. Me? A career woman?” Her glance must have detected the tenderness, the protectiveness that he felt, because she reacted almost as if he’d kissed her. Her lowered eyes and the sensual sound of her sucking in her breath sent his blood rushing through his veins.

       Rufus quickly cooled his rising ardor. He sensed her nervousness but didn’t comment on it, as he weighed her consistent refusal to carry on a serious conversation with him. When she finally looked directly at him, he spoke. “You treat everything I say with equal amounts of disdain.”

       “Be fair. Aren’t you exaggerating?” He was sure that his words had stung her, though that was not what he had intended.

       “Not by much, I’m not,” he answered, running the fingers of his left hand through his hair and furrowing his brow. “Do you volunteer here often?” He switched topics in the hope of avoiding a confrontation and making peace between them. “You seemed to have unusually good rapport with the girl whom you were tutoring. Most kids in these programs don’t relate well to their tutors and mentors. How do you manage it?”

       He found her inability to disguise her pleasure at his compliment intriguing; it meant that she valued his opinion. If he let her have the psychological distance that she seemed to want, maybe she would open up.

       “You saw us?” He nodded. “It isn’t difficult; she’s hungry for attention and for a role model, and I really like her.” They were leaning against the washing machines, and he appraised her with a thoroughness that embarrassed her.

       “Is she one of the girls sent here from Juvenile Court? What had she done?”

       Naomi’s eyes snapped in warning, and her tone was sharp. “Linda found her way here on her own. She had the intelligence to realize that she needed help. I doubt she’ll ever become a delinquent.”

       Her fierce protectiveness of the girl puzzled Rufus; his reporter’s instincts told him that something important lay behind it, but he didn’t consider it timely to pursue the matter. He looked at the pile of laundry that they’d folded and sorted. “Well, that’s finished. Anything else?”

       “No. That’s it. I’ve got to get home and deal with my work.” When he didn’t respond, she looked up, and he had the satisfaction of seeing guilt mirrored

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