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Two warm -- ?
No, Jack said crisply. She hasn't the energy or time to enjoy it. Y all will be late for
work if you dawdle any longer.
Tommy growled. You haven t so much as flicked a flashlight at the clock.
Jack laughed shortly and swung his legs off the bed.
Cripes. Tommy kissed her wetly between the breasts and then below her belly
button. He always does know. I could have a brother who swings from jungle vines, or who
Clouds Men s Minds, or Runs Faster Than a Speeding Bullet, but no -- I have to have the
Human Alarm Clock. And he s bossy, too. The world is not a fair place, Lorie.
One more word, Jack said, and I ll open the window. A taste of the wind ought to
get you both moving.
Lorie groaned and rolled over. A stark naked man needed a more believable threat on
such a raw morning. Wasn t even morning yet. You open that there window, Jack French,
and come tonight, I ll find a way to stay warm what don t need you anywhere close!
Tommy noisily kissed her shoulder. I volunteer!
Jack opened the window. The icy storm came in, wet enough to feel colder than snow.
Lorie dove under the covers. I ll get you! Just you wait, Jack French! Just you wait!
Nine minutes later, she and Tommy morosely nursed watery, burnt-tasting coffee and
soggy cold doughnuts under the bus stop s skimpy shelter. The subway entrance was only a
mile -- an easy walk on a summer morning -- but the day was just too nasty. Her hair had
been scraped back hard to make the knot at the back of her neck. Too hard. A headache is
just the tee-totally perfect way to begin a day, isn t it?
64 Amber Green
She put a wool scarf and a thick pair of gloves on her mental shopping list. Reckon the
sun ever will come up today?
One of the other women waiting for the bus turned to look at her. Hey, Tilly, this
one s a Southerner! That Southern accent is a scream, isn t it? Hey, kid -- say yawl for us.
Lorie smiled sweetly. Go kiss a dog with worms. I charge a nickel a word to talk to
your kind. She took another sip of coffee. But I ll calculate for free: That s two bits plus a
nickel.
Tommy put an arm around her. She s a card, isn t she? But calling her accent
Southern is like calling your accent New York and expecting you to talk Brooklynese.
How can he be so chipper without a decent breakfast or decent coffee in him? She
popped the last bite of donut into her mouth.
Jack was a natural-born bandleader, but Tommy had been shortchanged this morning,
and he was man enough to do more than just resent it. Likely as not, he was already planning
to find some dark nook at work, someplace they could be alone for ten minutes. Or was he
planning to wait for tonight?
Serve Jack right, dern his hide, for laughing as he burrowed back into the bed. At least
tomorrow was Sunday; she hadn t signed the list to work Sundays, and it would be her turn
to sleep late again.
By the time his brother and Shy returned from the morning shift, Jack had rigged an
icebox and ordered a dime s worth of ice, had bought basic groceries, built a small electric
stove-eye, and fried enough ham and onions to make a pile of hot sandwiches.
Shy limped in, leaning into Tommy s side. Once inside, her nose crinkled and she
looked about, wide-eyed, and her whole face lit up with delight as he pointed at the frying
pork.
Tommy ignored the food; he concentrated on supporting Shy with the care of a man
who knew full well where he d get his next feeding.
Jealousy prickled at Jack s skin. He brushed it off. Neither Tommy nor Shy wore the
smell of sex.
A blow-job at break-time wouldn t leave any scent he could detect anyway. Not after
this morning. But Shy would look at Tommy differently, at him differently, if she had. She
would never be the type who opened her body to a man as casually as a man opened his
wallet. Tommy, slice the bread, please.
Instead, Tommy nuzzled Shy s neck. She chuckled, and he nuzzled again, his eyes
sliding to Jack from behind her calico headscarf.
Jack scowled. Shy ate up physical affection like a huntsman ate the blasting force of a
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