Vivid by Beverly Jenkins Page A

clad in a pair of patched knickers, standing atop a
crate. She held in her small hand an upright billiard stick. She stood like a
child posed with a fishing pole. Her sister had caught the playfulness and
humor in Lancaster's dark eyes. Viveca Lancaster had been beautiful even as a
child. “Your sister is quite talented," he said, handing the painting
back.
    "Yes, she is. She painted this while
studying in Spain. She's married and lives in Liberia now. I miss her
dearly."
    Vivid hung the picture back in its spot.
“Magic says you paint also?"
    "Yes, but I haven't in many years.
You spoke of having two sisters. Is the other one in California with your
parents?"
    "No, Alicea lives in Boston. She's
the eldest."
    His response to her inquiry about his
painting was so abrupt, she sensed it was not a subject open to discussion.
    He stood looking at the books on her shelf
when he said, "The Quilt Ladies want you to come to tea tomorrow. Two
o'clock, at their place." He took down a volume and leafed through the
pages.
    "Who are the Quilt Ladies?"
    "They do charity work in the area.
They also consider themselves the town's moral society."
    "And they'd like me over for
tea?" Vivid swallowed. "For what purpose?"
    "To see if you're up to snuff, I
would imagine." He replaced the book.
    "Are they an influence here?"
    "They think they are."
    Vivid didn't have to think long about this
decision. If members of the community wanted to meet her, she had no recourse
but to go. "Then I suppose I'll be having tea at two. You didn't tell them
I play billiards, did you?"
    "No," he replied with a small
chuckle.
    "That's probably best for now."
    "Probably," he said. "I
doubt they share your love of the game."
    Vivid chose to ignore the quip and asked
instead if he had been able to find an animal to transport her about town.
    "Vernon's going to see about it later
in the week; his uncle up in Calvin Center has one for sale."
    "Thank you."
    Nate wondered if she'd been paid any other
unseemly visits. “Any of the men from this morning come back?"
    "No. Miss Edna doubts I've seen the
last of them, however."
    "She's probably right."
    "Well, I hope you're both wrong.
Doesn't anyone realize that if I wanted a husband, I could have stayed in San
Francisco?"
    "Did you have a beau back
there?"
    She shook her head no. Beaus were a sore
point with Vivid. "I don't do well with beaus."
    "Why not?"
    "I simply don't," she said,
shrugging. "They disapproved of my billiard playing, or my tendency to say
what I believe, or my choice of profession. In some cases all three."
    He held her eyes. "You are a mite
overpowering," he stated, looking down at her, his arms across his chest.
"For some."
    "Some—most—it doesn't
matter. I have trouble being the docile woman they want me to be."
    "So you're planning on going through
life without a mate?''
    "Medicine is my mate."
    He smiled; an amused dark-skinned
archangel.
    "You find that idea funny?" she
asked.
    "It isn't the idea, it's you,
Lancaster."
    "Ah, that's right. You believe every
woman needs a man."
    "I—"
    "Well, so far I have done very well
without one," she stated.
    "Have you now?" he asked in a
skeptical voice, his eyes holding hers.
    "Yes, I have," she replied
proudly. "I don't need a man dictating what I may or may not do."
    "A man shouldn't have to dictate. His
woman should want to please him."
    Vivid surveyed him a moment, not quite
sure if he was teasing her or if he was serious. "And when will the man
please the woman?"
    “Whenever she asks, and if he does it
properly, she should have no complaints."
    Vivid blinked. His words made her heart
race and she looked away, flustered. "I believe we're discussing different
subjects, Mr. Grayson."
    "Weren't you speaking of a man
pleasing a woman?"
    "Yes, but on a more...intellectual
level."
    "Ah, I thought you were speaking
about passion."
    Vivid's cheeks flooded with heat.
"No."
    "I didn't mean to embarrass you,
Lancaster."
    "I'm not embarrassed, Mr. Grayson. I
am a