Caught Redhanded by Gayle Roper

lot.”
    “Let me walk you there.”
    “You don’t have to do that.” I wish you wouldn’t do that. I was finding Tony didn’t wear well.
    He insisted, so I gave in. It wasn’t worth a discussion. When we arrived at the car, he grabbed my red hand again, tuning it palm up and looking at it.
    “Poor palm.”
    “It’s only paint,” I said. It wasn’t like I was going to lose the hand or anything.
    He acted like I hadn’t spoken. He lifted my hand and kissed the center of my palm. I think he meant it to be dashing and romantic, but it tickled and I had to stifle a giggle.
    It was a relief to climb in the car and drive away.
    When I got back to my carriage house apartment, I was surprised to see Curt waiting for me in the parking area. He climbed out of his car as I climbed out of mine.
    “Hey!” I was delighted to see him. “I didn’t expect you.”
    He held up a plastic container. “Turps.” He took my hand and studied it. “How’d it happen?”
    I told him about tripping over Tony’s box. “Poor Mr. Weldon. He’s going to have to fix my mistake.”
    “And he’ll be happy to do it. You know him. Now let’s go clean you up.”
    We walked to my front door past the lilac tree that had been so terrifying to me last winter and was now full and green. I missed the wonderful froth of blooms that had crowded it a couple of months ago. The air had smelled so sweet every time I walked past, and I cut great bouquets for my dining room table and my desk at work.
    Whiskers met us at the door. I didn’t even have time to put my purse down before he began butting me in the ankles.
    “Are you out of food, baby?” I asked as I rubbed my hand down his back. “We’ll fix that problem right away.”
    Whiskers seemed to understand and led the way to the kitchen. Once there, he sat by his empty dish and stared at me. I grabbed his dry food and poured some into his bowl. He sat, still staring.
    “Sorry, baby. No canned food tonight. You had plenty this morning.” I turned to Curt. “Let’s get me cleaned up.”
    We moved to the kitchen sink and he opened the container he’d brought. The strong smell of the solvent made me want to sneeze. He took my hand and held it over the sink in a firm but gentle grip.
    “I can do this on my own, you know,” I said.
    He grinned lazily at me. “But I want to do it for you.”
    My heart went pitter-pat. Yowzah, I loved this man.
    Slowly he drizzled turpentine over my palm, then began to rub with his thumb. The fluid instantly turned red. More turps. Dish detergent. Rinse. More turps, his thumb working the creases in my palm and fingers. I closed my eyes and leaned against his shoulder, enjoying his TLC. No wonder people paid big bucks for a good massage.
    When my hand was once more its normal self, we went into the living room and sat on the sofa. Curt leaned against the arm and I leaned on him. Whiskers immediately jumped up and nestled close. Apparently I was forgiven for not coming through with wet food.
    We talked in a desultory manner, Curt telling me the details about his new commission, me telling him about Good Hands, Tug, Candy and Bailey.
    “I was thinking that it would be a wonderful thing to give each of the people Good Hands helps a Curt Carlyle print,” I said. I glanced up to see his reaction.
    “Those prints sell for a hundred dollars each, sweetheart,” he said. “I can’t just give them away in quantity and at the same time ask others to pay full rate.”
    “Yeah, but you make up a small version for promotion and stuff. What about them?”
    “They’re not the high quality of the big prints.”
    “But if you signed them and they were matted, I think people would be proud to have one.”
    He nodded. “Maybe. Let me think about it.” Then he looked at me sharply. “You didn’t volunteer me, did you?”
    I sat up straight. “Hey, I’ve got some smarts. I’d never do that without asking.”
    “Easy, sweetheart.” He kissed my forehead. “Just