In the Groove by Pamela Britton Page B

the high beams on a car. "I need to get out of here."
    "Yeah," he said softly. "As much as I hate to admit it, that's probably a good idea. We should probably both get out of here."

    He helped her back inside, running into Rosa in the kitchen who, thankfully, helped her back to her room.
    Lance sat down on a kitchen chair, head in hands, knowing he'd narrowly escaped doing something really, really stupid.
    He'd almost slept with his newest employee.
    But, no, he wouldn't have slept with her. He'd only wanted to kiss her. He'd been curious what it might be like. If she kissed like a gentle little schoolteacher, or a ferocious kitten. A half hour ago he'd have laid bets she'd be meek and mild. Not anymore.
    Eeyowza.
    "She be settled in the bed," Rosa said, sashaying into the kitchen in that wide-hipped way of hers, brown eyes staring at him in disapproval. "What you been doing in that bus o' yours?"
    "Nothing," he said. "Just showing her a few things."
    "Yeah. I bet," she said, narrowing her eyes.
    Rosa wasn't just his housekeeper, cook and help around the house. Rosa was Mother Theresa. Rosa was the Virgin Mary. Rosa kept him in line. She booted the women out that he'd brought home on the occasional basis—the ones who thought that because he'd slept with them, he wanted them to stick around. But he never wanted more than a night.
    Until now.
    And, see, that was crazy. Just plain nuts. How could he be having thoughts like that about someone he'd just met?
    "You look like a man who eat one too many prunes."
    "I what?"
    "You heard me. You like this new employee of yours?"
    "Rosa, I don't like her. I'm just concerned about her. I'm wondering if maybe I should call Doc Brown and tell him about her reaction to the drugs."
    "Yeah, right," Rosa said, black eyes narrowed.
    Lance got up from his chair. "How many milligrams did he give her, anyway?" he asked, ignoring the way Rosa's eyes followed him about like one of those paintings—the kind with holes where the eyes should be, a real pair of eyes tracking his every move. He grabbed Sarah's medication that was sitting alongside the sink.
    "That's no what I gave her," Rosa said.
    Lance spun around. "What?"
    "It's no what I gave her. You said to give her the pills that were in the cabinet above the counter," she said, pointing to a bottle near the sink.
    "No, I didn't. I said her pills were not the ones in the cabinet above the counter. That they were by the sink."
    "Yeah. In the cabinet, above the counter, by the sink."
    "No," Lance corrected, suddenly horrified. "Not in the cabinet, but by the sink."
    "Uh-oh," Rosa said.
    "What the heck did you give her?"
    "I don't know. Who knows what's up there, you always banging and crashing into things. I can no keep track of your medicine and now hers." She erupted into Spanish, a sure sign that she was upset.
    Lance went to his cabinet, grabbing the only bottle of prescription medication that was stashed amongst cold remedies and cough medicine.
    "Percocet," he said. "Seven hundred milligrams. Jesu—"
    Okay, okay. No need to panic. Obviously, she hadn't had an adverse side effect, well, aside from double vision and a loss of balance. But, still, he'd better call Doc Brown just to be sure.
    "Couldn't you tell it had my name on the outside?" he asked, swinging back to Rosa.
    "You know I no read English very good."
    "But surely you recognized the name Lance Cooper on the bottle."
    "I look for the name of your doctor and that good enough for me."
    And when she assumed a man's combative stance, her arms crossed in front of her and her toe tapping the ground, he turned away and called Doc Brown.
    An hour later he'd been reassured that no harm would result. He'd sent Rosa up to check on her; the housekeeper reported that she was snoring away.
    And despite himself, he found himself smiling, and then frowning, and then smiling again and then shaking his head in exasperation because this was just the sort of thing he didn't need right now.