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  She stepped into the living room, her small silver evening bag in her hand. Spence, sitting in an armchair and toying with the TV remote, whistled.

  "I didn't think you'd wear it," he said, referring to her dress.

  "Why not? That's why I brought it."

  "You clean up nice."

  She sashayed into the center of the room and batted her lashes. "Thank you. Wish I could say the same."

  It was another lie. Spence was dressed in a pair of tan, baggy pants, a black silk shirt and leather sandals. His wavy dark hair was pushed back and he hadn't bothered to shave. He looked reckless and sexy.

  He placed his hand over his heart and tossed his head back, laughing. "Now that's just unkind."

  He walked towards Erin. "What can I do to improve your opinion of me?"

  "Obey me. We've got a lot of work ahead of us."

  Spence bowed. "As you wish."

  She smiled and turned towards what she hoped was the front door. They didn't speak as they walked outside. Without a word, Spence whisked her into his arms and waded through the tall grass towards her SUV.

  Erin gasped at the touch of his warm hand cupping her bare legs while the other snaked around her back and curved under her arm. His fingertips brushed the side of her breast.

  "Hey! Put me down."

  "Quit complaining," Spence said. "You'd never make it through the field in those shoes."

  Erin flinched as his warm breath caressed her cheek. She closed her eyes and held her purse tight.

  Seconds later, Spence set her on her feet at the passenger door and held out his hand. Erin shrugged; he knew the town best, so she handed him the keys and he opened the door. He smiled as she maneuvered into the high vehicle, then obligingly tucked her short skirt under her thigh and closed the door. He climbed behind the wheel, started the truck and wound his way back towards town.

  A few minutes later, Spence pulled into the shell-packed parking lot of a local restaurant. "You like seafood?"

  "No," she said sniffing at the tantalizing aroma of grilling meat. "But I do like steak."

  She didn't wait for him to open her door. Instead, she slid down carefully, placing one high heel on the running board while the other floated inches from the ground.

  "You need help?" Spence asked, keeping his eyes on her thighs as her dress rode high.

  "No thank you; I'm fine," she said as she dropped, groping for the door handle.

  "Yes you are," he agreed softly.

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  EAST OF EATON

  By Madeline Sloane

  Excerpt

  Chapter One

  Erica leaned against the kitchen sink, a scrap of paper clenched in one hand, the ringing telephone in the other.

  A sleepy voice rumbled through the line. "Hello?"

  "This is Erica Moore. My daughter and your son have gone out tonight without my permission. I want her home immediately," she said, each word clipped with impatience.

  "My son?"

  "My daughter works with Brian at the pool. I don't mind their friendship, but she's only sixteen and I won't have her running around with boys."

  "Uhhhh …."

  Infuriated by the man's soft exhalation, she curled her left hand into a fist imagining she could reach through the wires. She heard a rustling on the line, as if the man were rolling over in bed.

  "Look, Mrs. …, what did you say your name is?"

  "Moore. My daughter is out with your son. Brian needs to bring her home now!" she reiterated, pacing the kitchen floor.

  "Mrs. Moore…."

  "Ms."

  "Okay, Ms. Moore," he corrected himself with a trace of sarcasm, "Brian is not my son."

  She rolled her eyes. "May I speak with his father, then?"

  "I'm afraid not. His parents are on a missionary trip to Africa. Brian is my nephew."

  "Well, if I can't speak with his father or mother, I'd like to talk to him. Does he have a cell phone?"

  "Uh, maybe. I think so. I've never had to call him. When he comes home, I'll talk to him." The man yawned.

  Erica held the receiver away from her ear and stared at it disbelievingly for several seconds, then raged, "Don't be ridiculous! I've just told you that my daughter is in trouble and you're going to wait for him to 'come home' before you do anything?"

  "I'm confused? Is she on a date or is she in trouble?"

  "Both! She is too young to be out with Brian."

  "What would you like me to do?"

  "Jump off a cliff, you jerk! I'll handle this."

  She slammed the telephone into its wall mount and grabbed her car keys from a hook by the bulletin board. She stepped into the foyer and opened the front door of the Colonial home of her childhood. She paused, then turned towards the stairwell. "Dad, I'll be back," she yelled up the stairs. "I'm going to find Daisy. I've got my cell phone if she gets home before me."

  Walter Moore poked his head out the door of his upstairs study, his fingers caught between the pages of a book, holding his place. "Is everything alright?"

  "No. Everything's not alright. Daisy is out on a date without permission. I'm going to find that boy and wring his little neck," she said, her voice rising in frustration. "Then I'm going to wring hers."

  "Honey, calm down. She's fine, probably having a good time."

  "There is no way I'm letting her go out with some boy she hardly knows."

  "Well, how else is she supposed to get to know him?"

  "Dad!" she shrieked. "Errrhhhh!"

  Slamming the door closed behind her, she stomped down the dark sidewalk to her car. Once inside, she turned the key and gunned the engine. She slid the transmission into reverse and started backing out when another car turned into the driveway. She hit her brakes, the small car rocking.

  In the rear - view mirror, she could see the high, tight headlights of a Jeep. She also could see two silhouettes. Recognizing Daisy's long hair, she shoved the gearshift back into park, yanked the keys from the ignition and jumped out of the car. She strode to the driver's ragtop door and rapped hard on the window. The young driver unzipped the window.

  She flashed him what she considered her "evil eye," then stood on her tiptoes and glared at her daughter. She pointed at Daisy, her finger less than an inch from the boy's face. "You, get in the house now."

  "And you," she said, pointing between the boy's astonished eyes, "get out of my yard and don't come back."

  Daisy bowed her head. Brian's knuckles turned white against the Jeep's steering wheel as he stared straight ahead, his mouth full of cotton. Erica stormed back to the house.

  At the steps, she turned and bellowed, "Now!" then went inside, slamming the door.

  She leaned against the stairwell, one hand draped on the banister, and waited for her daughter. Walt once again came to the top of the steps, shook his head sadly, then slipped back into his den.

  Mere seconds passed before Daisy erupted through the door, her dark eyes wide and focused on her mother. "Mom? What's wrong? Why did you embarrass me that way?"

  Her voice, sweet and timid, wavered. Her eyes brightened with unshed tears. A quiet, artistic girl, Daisy avoided confrontations and spent most of her time sketching, reading or working on her computer. Her bedroom served as her art studio and her sanctuary.

  As a child, schoolmates taunted her with jeers ranging from "shy" to "snob." Now entering her junior year of high school, she was a confident and beautiful young woman. The jeers and taunts ceased, giving way to awe and envy.

  She is my most precious treasure; I can't lose her, Erica thought as studied her daughter's frowning face, so much like her own. "Where were you and who gave you permission to go out?"

  "We were at the ice cream parlor. Brian gave me a ride home from the pool, and we stopped for an ice cream. That's all."

  "Didn't you realize that I would be here, worrying sick about you when you didn't come home? I we
nt to the pool to check on you and they said you had gone off with that boy. I've been sitting here waiting nearly two hours for you to come home."

  "I'm sorry. We ran into a couple of kids from school and we sat around talking. I didn't realize the time."

  "You're sorry. Well, that's just fine. You're also grounded. You can go to work and that's all. You're to come straight home and no more rides with boys."

  Tears flashed in Daisy's eyes. "Mom! That's not fair. I just had an ice cream with a nice guy. We're not going to do anything wrong."

  "Exactly. With you at home, I don't have to worry that you'll be doing something you shouldn't. Now go to your room."

  Erica turned her back on her daughter, the conversation over.

  Daisy glared at her mother then stomped up the stairs, stifling sobs. She went into her grandfather's den.

  Walt slid his reading glasses down his nose, peeking over the rims at his granddaughter. She sat on the worn, plaid footstool by his chair, a tear sliding down the side of her nose. His heart ached to comfort her. "Hi, honey."

  Daisy immediately turned to her ally. "I can't believe her, Pappy. She grounded me. I didn't do anything wrong and now I can't go anywhere."

  Walt squirmed in his chair. "Your mom needs to know where you are all of the time. Why didn't you call?"

  "I didn't realize how long we were out. We were having so much fun, talking to some kids. I never go out and the first time I do, she reacts this way. She's crazy!"

  Daisy kicked the leg of the maple side table and the footstool rocked precariously. She crossed her legs, Indian-style, put her elbows on her knees and curled her fists against her cheeks. Her long, blonde hair shrouded her face.

  "She's not crazy. She's worried about you. Your mom has had a hard life and…"

  "So because she's had a hard life, I have to pay for it? I'm not her. I'm not going to go out and get pregnant."

  Daisy, crying in earnest, ran to her room and slammed the door.

  Walt sighed, put his book on his side table, walked heavily down the stairs and went into the kitchen. It was difficult being the only man in the house, especially since the women could be emotional and, lately, feuding.

  His daughter stood at the kitchen counter swabbing the stainless steel sink with abrasive cleanser. Walt could tell she was still annoyed by her quick jerks as she rinsed the sponge, furiously squeezing the soap from its blue pores.

  "Erica," he said. "I try not to interfere with you and Daisy, but I think tonight you went a bit too far."

  "I don't think so," she said. She dropped the sponge and began flinging dishes into the open dishwasher.

  "Don't break that," he cautioned as she slammed a pot lid against a glass bowl. He continued, "Daisy is right; she's not you and she's not going to do anything stupid."

  Erica turned to face her father, her hands on her hips. "That's right. I was stupid, wasn't I? I've lived with my stupidity every day for the past seventeen years. And you know what, Dad? I'm not sorry. I know she's the best thing that could ever have happened to me, even if she did come along at the wrong time. But this isn't the life I want for my daughter. I want her to enjoy her youth, finish high school and go to college."

  "You finished high school and you went to college," he pointed out.

  "Sure, I graduated from high school with a baby in the audience. I had to go to college and work a full-time job to support her."

  Erica sighed and turned back to dishwasher, this time her movements were slower, her anger ebbing. "I know, you were there and you did everything you could to help. I've always appreciated that, Dad. And you know I love you, but sometimes I wonder if Mom had still been alive, if I had had a woman watching out for me, I might not have gone boy crazy."

  The comment stung, but Walt didn't show it.

  "You weren't boy crazy," he said. "You had one boyfriend. I wish I had been there more, but you were such an independent child. You never seemed to need my help. It's not your fault, honey, it's mine. I was too easy going."

  "This is exactly why I'm freaking out here, Dad. I'm not going to let my daughter out of my sight anymore. I don't care. She's not going to date until she's out of college. Final answer."

  "That's silly, Erica. You know you can't keep her under your thumb."

  "Well, I can try."

  Walt shrugged and slowly walked back up the stairs to his study. He understood his daughter's fears and he, more than anyone, knew they were justified. He also knew she couldn't avoid the chaos, the passion and the unpredictability of life. He said his piece and hoped some of it would sink in. If he pushed, he knew his daughter's contrarian nature would overcome her common sense.

  Erica turned on the dishwasher and locked the back door. She moved through the house checking doors and windows, her nightly routine. She opened the front door and called for her cat.

  "Here kitty, kitty. Jasper."

  A faint tinkle preceded Jasper's dash from the bushes at the front of the house. A shorthaired cat, he sported a black-and-white coat that reminded Erica of a tuxedo. His red collar and bell completed his dapper attire. Jasper daintily jumped the steps until he reached Erica's ankles. Nearly 18 pounds, the fat cat was friendliest when he hoped she had a treat.

  "Let's go to bed, Jasper."

  Erica opened the door and held it for Jasper, who ungratefully took his time deciding to come in. He sat down, his huge belly bowling out in front of him, and licked his chest.

  Erica put her foot on the big cat's back and gave it a push. "Move it, fatso."

  His ears flattened and he leaned back disapprovingly, then fell sideways. Ever arrogant, Jasper stood up. His tail twitched twice and he stalked into the house.

  Back in the kitchen, he forgot her disrespect and winnowed between her feet. Erica gave him a spoonful of milk, then headed up the steps to her bedroom.

  Once in her room, she kicked off her sandals and unbuttoned her shirt. She moved into the private, adjoining bathroom and tossed the shirt in the laundry basket. Her jeans followed along with her bra. She turned on the water in the shower and while it the water heated, she brushed her teeth.

  She paused, studying the mirror. She tried to imagine herself as others saw her, but couldn't. She'd stopped thinking of herself as a woman, much less an attractive one, long ago. She spent so much time de-sexing herself, being a mother first, a daughter second, a businessperson third.

  When she selected clothing, it was based upon durability and comfort. She never bought anything that needed dry-cleaning. She rarely wore makeup, either, preferring tinted skin moisturizer, a little mascara and neutral lip-gloss.

  She felt she had been in limbo for years, waiting for something, or someone, to happen before she could begin her "real life." Meanwhile the years slipped away. She forged ahead, earning a college degree and working as a researcher at a local law firm while she saved money for her own business.

  And she raised her child as best she could. Living with Walt was a blessing. Not only did she have her father, but Daisy had her grandfather and a built-in nanny. Widowed for nearly twenty years, Walt cherished his small family. He retired from his job as a public school teacher when Daisy was born so his daughter could work and then go to college. Once Daisy began Kindergarten, Walt went back to substitute teaching at local schools. It was a good arrangement and Daisy helped to heal his grieving heart.

  Erica stepped into the hot shower and steam enveloped her. She concentrated only on the world within the large, claw foot tub. After letting the spray stream over her head for a few moments, she picked up the shampoo and sudsed her wavy, dark brown hair. She had a habit of running her hand through her hair, pushing it from her eyes, which precluded her from keeping a specific style. She kept it informal and shoulder length.

  She squirted shower gel onto the bath puff and soaped her long legs. I'm getting soft, she thought, as she ran the puff over her calf. Erica didn't exercise; she walked during her lunch breaks. When she was younger, especially after Daisy was bor
n, she jogged and worked out at the gym, but in recent years, she preferred walking. She found it meditative, relaxing. As a result, her body lost its lean, muscular definition. She became more rounded. She considered herself a few pounds overweight, but she didn't let it bother her. Not too much.

  Finishing her shower, Erica turned off the water and stepped out of the tub. She dried off quickly and grabbed her favorite nightgown off a hook on the bathroom wall. She slathered moisturizer on her face and hands, petroleum jelly on her lips and exited the steamy bathroom.

  She didn't have a television in her bedroom; she preferred to read at night. Like her father, books were her passion. She enjoyed reading about others and their vicarious adventures, while keeping her own life ordinary.

  But all of that was about to change, she mused. Last month she signed the papers for her own business -- she now owned a bookstore. The former owners of Sullivan's Books, an elderly couple retiring to Florida, ran the shop for generations. It broke their hearts, the woman confided in Erica, that their own children weren't interested in operating the store and, in fact, moved from the area in search of greener, more exciting pastures. For Erica, it was the fulfillment of her dream. She scrimped and saved money for a down payment, and then scrimped more to expand and renovate the shop.

  She fell asleep, her paperback unread on her pillow, dreaming about the grand opening of her new bookstore.

  Chapter Two

  Daisy cried herself to sleep. When she woke up, her face was puffy and sad. Erica stirred half-and-half into a cup of coffee and felt a bit guilty when a listless Daisy walked into the kitchen. Erica tried her standard bribe.

  "Want to go shopping later this afternoon? I've got to go to Peachy's for some things for the store."

  Peachy's, the heart of Eaton despite its location on the outskirts of the town, served the community needs with its various shops and businesses. Owned by the same family since 1842, Peachy began as a general store. During the past century, it evolved to include everything from goldfish to gasoline, and provided services ranging from haircuts to hot tub repairs. Each generation of the Peachy family added to the business, expanding it as their various interests and talents emerged.