It Stays White Right Here

By Cali Moore

Lance was pathetic and he knew it. Prolific, successful, and wealthy, yes, but still pathetic. He simply couldn't manage the day-to-day responsibilities of living. Nor could he hang onto a housekeeper. When he was home, he was writing and when he was writing, he wasn't approachable. Then endless parade of women Chris had sent had all fled the desolation he called home.

            When Chris and Will suggested he hire Sara Prindle, he'd never heard of her. Her husband's death at her hands had been major news for months and, as usual, he'd been completely oblivious. She'd never been charged and had been released quickly, but that hadn't stopped the press or the public from deciding she was a murderess. With a four year old daughter. Great.

            It sounded perfect to Sara. She needed time for things to die down and her daughter to find a sense of peace again. Chris's warnings of life with Lance concerned her only in the possible effect it might have on Susie. For herself, she didn't care if the man never spoke to her.

            But no one saw what was coming, especially Lance. The little girl charmed him. The woman fascinated him. As for her dead husband, there was a lot more going on there than even Sara had known.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cali Moore
• Release date: Oct 25, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201419066

Book preview

Chapter One

Aweek was his limit and it had been two.

Lance Fletcher grimaced at the chaos around him. There were no clean dishes in the cabinets and all he had eaten in all this time was frozen food and sandwiches. He might have toasted a bagel or two. How the hell had he dirtied all the dishes?

He was out of bagels.

He was out of coffee.

He was out of scotch.

He had to go to the store for that at least.

And clothes, he thought with a shudder. He was out of sweatshirts. The hamper had been full days ago and his discarded, soiled clothes were strewn across the bathroom and bedroom. He counted six dirty towels. The remnants of his daily shaving were crusted in and around the sink.

There were more spots than clean places on the mirror.

Lance sat on the toilet and groaned.

A full grown man, a successful man as far as the world was concerned, and he couldn’t even take care of the basics of living.

Not to mention, hang onto a housekeeper for more than a month.

Ah, shit!

He again surveyed the damage in his bathroom, sighed and walked through the bedroom trying to remember when he’d last slept on clean sheets. Three weeks, he decided. The last housekeeper did laundry on Wednesdays and she’d left on a Tuesday. At least he thought she had.

Two weeks ago.

That explained the lack of sweatshirts. It had been three weeks, not two.

He did shower everyday, even if he didn’t leave the house. And he still had underwear. Just how many pairs of boxers did he own for Christ’s sake?

He didn’t have time for this. He had a few planets to save from total annihilation. Not to mention a romance that had taken a wrong turn.

Straightening that out was going to be a lot harder than saving the planets.

He never had understood women.

Lance made his way into the filthy kitchen and picked up the phone.

God, how he hated these calls.

Hey, Chris.

Lance, she said warily at his pitiful tone. Again?

Two weeks ago, he admitted. He had never, ever lied to this woman that had once been his wife and he still loved, though they both knew, not enough. Help.

Jesus Christ, Lance. You live alone in a house that is basically unfurnished. Got anything but a piano in the living room yet?

No.

She sighed. It’s not going to be easy, you know. The girls talk. No one wants to work for you. You give them the creeps.

You’d think I was an ax murderer or something, he muttered dryly. Isn’t there one female, or male, what do I care as long as it can cook and do laundry, I’m out of sweatshirts, you know, who likes their own company?

Chris had no trouble following that tirade, which was about the most horrible sentence she’d ever heard. But then, he was much better with a pen. Or computer, as was the case these days. You have dozens of sweatshirts. And they were pretty much all he wore on the top half of his body.

He snorted. Your sweet Audrey threw half of them out. Called them rags. Damn it, Chris, I’m out of sweatshirts!

She grinned at the phone, perfectly able to picture his distressed expression. The man really was hopeless. So, do laundry.

He groaned. Chris, find someone! Yesterday!

She laughed at the sound of the dial tone. Fletcher, you’re pathetic but I still love you. She always would and she knew it. She also knew she would never live with him again or remarry him. Lance Fletcher was one of a kind and needed little from a woman but her domestic skills and her body.

The real world only interfered with his imaginary one.

But he was cute. When he did occasionally leave his office and venture out, he did very well. He could appreciate a joke and play the Hollywood game when necessary, which was only when the screenwriters were adapting his books to film. He had been very shrewd about that, absolutely refusing until the publishers couldn’t keep up with the demand. In doing so, no script went into production without his approval so his tales didn’t get butchered in the transition.

But the man was basically, and quite happily, a hermit. He knew nothing of real intimacy, despite being fabulous in bed. Other than herself, he had only one friend he would actually welcome at his door without prior warning. And now that friend’s wife. Chris had actually felt a little jealous over how easily Lance had taken to that woman. But then she’d met the woman and knew why. It had nothing to do with sex or attraction, and everything to do with comfort. The woman who had tamed the man Hollywood most loved to hate, could tame an entire race of cannibals.

And they talked mostly of her enigmatic husband, whom Lance had known for over fifteen years.

I do hope you’re dreaming about me.

Chris smiled at Will Sharp. She’d been dating him for almost three years and was more than fond of him. She hadn’t yet agreed to marriage. She wasn’t sure if that was because she was gun-shy, or of it was because he was as dedicated to his work as Lance was to his writing. Living together might have been an option but for her business being in Aspen and his in Denver. They usually only saw each other on the week-ends.

Why couldn’t she fall in love with a man who hated his job and just wanted to forget it when he came home?

Actually, she said with an impish grin, I was thinking about Lance.

Will scowled. Why?

He’s out of sweatshirts.

It took him a minute to catch on to the meaning behind that, but when he did he sat down and smiled. Another housekeeper ran screaming for the milk of human kindness?

He’s not mean, she defended him quickly.

No, but he is cold, right?

She shrugged. Lance could be, but she wasn’t about to admit that. Basically, he was just inattentive.

Got anyone?

No.

He grinned. I might.

Chris sat forward. Really? Who?

Sara Prindle.

Chris stared at him. She’s not a housekeeper.

What is she going to do, Chris? It’s perfect. Your ex lives in a natural fortress with no neighbors. His needs, from what you tell me, are really very minor. The problem has always been that the girls you send up there for the position get bored to tears. Sara wants to hide for a bit. The charges were dropped, but there was a lot of press. She can hide, spend time with her daughter, they can both heal, and Lance gets his meals and clean sweatshirts. Sounds perfect to me. She won’t care that he only grunts at her occasionally.

There’s no one for Susie to play with up there, Will. There’s nothing but nature up there.

There’s no gossip up there, he countered. And she’ll have her mother virtually to herself. What could it hurt to ask him?

This was exactly the reason she kept turning down his proposals. Will’s job as defense lawyer for Sara Prindle was done, yet he couldn’t let it go. Even when he knew a bastard was guilty, he worked his butt off to protect his client’s interests. His dedication to the law was as obsessive as Lance’s was to his fantasies.

But in this case, he could have a very good idea. Except the child. Lance could scare the hell out of a four year old girl without even realizing it.

Would she agree?

Yes. As I said, it’s perfect for her.

You’ll warn her?

That if Lance grunts at her she’ll be lucky? Yes. I think that might appeal to her at this point.

Chris sighed. All right. Let’s go see what he thinks.

Both of us? he asked incredulously. Chris, I’ve never even met the man. And, he would admit only to himself, he was a little intimidated by Lance. Not only had he been married to the woman he loved, he was famous.

It’s time you did. Especially if you’re going to subject some unsuspecting female to him. She glanced at the clock. It was close enough to five she could shut down for the weekend. You’re early.

The DA pulled a fast one and the judge is letting him get away with it. Court is out until Monday at nine.

Is there something you should be doing?

Nothing I can do until I know what he’s got and I won’t until Monday. Plus, this one leaves a sour taste in my mouth. The guy’s guilty as sin. He’s still entitled to a good defense, but not to the point that I give up my weekend. Maybe I don’t want to meet your ex.

She grinned. This was progress. Why not?

I might like him. I prefer hating the ex-husbands of my lovers. Makes it simpler somehow.

Unsound reasoning, Counselor, Chris teased and pulled on her coat.

How so?

You should thank them for freeing up your lovers. She kissed his nose. You’re not the type to go in for adultery. We’ll take him dinner. Poor man.

Will rose and grunted. Poor man, my ass. Every time he has a problem, you handle it for him.

That’s my job, Will. After all, I run an employment agency and he’s a client.

Lance carted all the clothes down to the laundry room and dumped them on the floor. He looked at the machine in horror. It looked nothing like the ones in the dorm and frat where he simply put his quarters in the slots and pushed. When it finished he did the same with the dryer. He didn’t dare look at his dryer. He didn’t want to know how many buttons and lights it had on it.

He decided to go for scotch. That, he could handle.

Lance drove back home in his Blazer. Old body type. He didn’t like the new ones. To him, the sleek new cars were a mockery of technology to come and he would wait for the real thing. Detroit and Japan could make them look like the space shuttle, but until their wheels left the ground, they were still just cars. In the summer he drove a beautifully restored Chevy stepside.

He thought it was cute.

Lance poured himself a glass of scotch and sorted his clothes according to the directions on the bottle of detergent. He didn’t have enough of a bleach load to bother so he threw his few whites into the light pile and estimated he had three darks and two lights.

Of course that didn’t include his sheets, bath towels, and dish towels. They would make two more loads.

For one person? In three weeks?

Damn.

He stared at the controls on the washer again and decided the hell with it. If he had bothered to sort clothes, he could damn well use the machine properly. He went to his filing cabinet to pull out the manual and returned to the laundry room to read it while standing in front of the machine to compare diagrams to reality.

There was a whole section on percale and since that was what his sheets were, he decided to start with them. He was descending the stairs when the doorbell rang and opened it, his arms loaded with blue and green striped bedding.

Why is the alarm off? Chris asked.

I forgot to turn it back on, Lance replied. Do my laundry?

I brought you dinner.

I should never have let you leave, he muttered and shifted his burden to kiss her cheek. It was then he saw the man behind her. Lover boy. Great. He turned away and started down the hall. Come on in. What’s for dinner?

Chinese, Chris answered and followed him as far as the kitchen, Will at her heels. It’s cold by now. I’ll nuke it.

Fine. I’ll be there as soon as I figure out this damned machine. Why does it have so many buttons?

You told me to buy the best. Doing the sheets first?

Thought I would. Is that wrong?

She laughed. There is no right order, Lance.

Intrigued by this total display of helplessness, Will left Chris to the dinner and followed Lance into the laundry room beyond. You write sci-fi and the controls on a washer intimidate you?

Look at them all, Lance complained and waved his arm at the bright silver dots on their shiny black surface. Do you know how to set them?

Will moved to the machine and looked at the settings. The last load had most likely been bleached whites. He switched everything for warm color and started the water.

The soap’s not in yet.

So, put it in. Then let the water dissolve it a little before you add the sheets. It’s real important if you try stuffing a load. Undissolved soap sitting in a crease leaves a tell-tale trail.

Lance carefully measured out a scoop of detergent and dumped it in. The voice of experience?

Yeah. I ruined a few pairs of jeans in college before I figured out why.

So that’s what happened to them, Lance said as if a great mystery had been solved. I always ended up with funny streaks on my jeans. I chalked it up to the guy before me having used bleach.

Nope. Overstuffed and under dissolved.

Lance grinned. I’m sure if I thought about that long enough, I could come up with an obscene thought or two. Overstuffed and under dissolved. The moment of amusement left as he regarded the piles of clothes. What about the other piles?

Anything new that might run?

Run?

Bleed. The colors. Red’s a good one for turning white’s pink.

Oh. No, it’s all pretty old.

Then leave everything where it is and you’ll be OK.

Lance frowned. Then why the hell do they come with all those buttons?

So they can charge more. Why else?

Lance grunted and threw the sheets in the almost full washer. I assume you’re Will Sharp?

Yes.

Lance leaned against the now-agitating machine and lifted his scotch. I love Chris.

Meaning? Will asked warily.

Meaning, don’t hurt her. I’ve done enough of that.

That admission was the last thing Will was expecting to hear. Then why did you?

He sipped his drink. Selfishness, I suppose. I make a lousy husband. Fortunately she realized it before we learned to hate each other or have children. I’d also be a lousy father. The real world takes a back seat to the ones in my head.

Damn, he’d been right. He probably would like Lance Fletcher. I read you, you know. See all the films. I did even before I met Chris. There’s something to be said for worlds where a man can still play by his own rules.

The beauty of fantasy, Lance agreed. We all have them.

But we can’t all put them on paper.

Damn good thing if you ask me. Lance pushed off the washer. Want a drink? I know I have scotch, and there’s probably some other stuff in the liquor cabinet. I think there’s beer.

Drinks in hand, they settled around the kitchen counter to eat. The dining room was empty of furniture. Why don’t you have any furniture? Will asked.

Chris bought it and I told her to take it. She left what I needed. The bedroom and the piano.

Surely you have a desk.

Ah. That I do. She never touched my office.

No one touches his office, Chris corrected. It’s an offense punishable by death.

Merely disfigurement, Lance said with a grin. I have added a few things. There’s furniture in two of the other three bedrooms now. One for guests and one for the never-ending line of housekeepers. Did you find one? He asked Chris hopefully.

She sighed. That’s why we’re here.

He looked from one to the other. Somehow I don’t think Will is burned out enough to want to be my housekeeper and I know damn well you’d never live under the same roof with me again, so why the we?

Would you be willing to give Sara Prindle a try? Will asked.

Who?

The lawyer looked at Chris. He’s kidding, right?

She smiled smugly. Doubtful.

Should I know this Sara Prindle? Lance queried.

Mr. Fletcher, don’t you read the paper? Watch TV? Listen to the radio?

I listen to music constantly, but it’s never the radio. I love music. I hate the chit-chat. It distracts me. I don’t own a TV and never have. And the paper? Well, I used to do the crossword puzzle and cryptoquote, but now that Damien isn’t terrorizing actresses, it’s not much fun to read anymore. I cancelled it. What have I missed?

Jesus, Will said and raked his hands through his hair. Months of publicity. Kidnapping, a manhunt, a murder.

I assume Sara Prindle committed at least one of these offenses? He held up his hand when Will started to respond. Chris, short and sweet.

Domestic. Prestigious husband abuses wife, who finally leaves him. Bum takes kid. She finds him before the police and blows his brains against a motel wall with a Colt 45. No charges. He was trying to rape her at the time, it was his gun, and after twelve hours of hospitality from the Denver cops, she was released. The press is all over her and she needs to get away for herself and her daughter.

Daughter?

Four.

Abused?

Not physically or sexually.

Lance shoved back his chair and walked to the window. Chris, you of all people know I’m no therapist.

They needs peace, Lance. Not therapy.

The kid’s OK, Will supplied. The bastard didn’t hurt her and she didn’t see the murder. He’d locked her in a closet before Sara arrived.

Lance sighed. What do you think, Chris?

Will might be right. I’ve never met her or the girl, but she’d have peace here. She’d be able to hide and spend some good, stress free time with her daughter. I can’t say how long she might stay, but I would think a few months at least.

Background?

It was Will who answered. Twenty-eight. She’d had two years of college before getting married. Her parents are alive, but not supportive. They’ve behaved a little oddly about all of this. Hubby was an orthopedic surgeon, he said dryly.

A catch?

Her parents thought so, especially her father. What he was, was a real bastard, Fletcher, and I’m convinced even I don’t know everything that went on. Sara won’t talk about any abuse but the night she killed him. He’d beaten her and had every intention of raping her. I don’t know much about earlier.

Emotional?

Yeah. Classic stuff, certainly. Make her feel worthless and dependent so she’ll do anything for you. The problem was, or the solution, depending on the side of the fence you’re on, is that he never succeeded. Or if he did, it wasn’t for long. I gather it really started when the kid hit three and Sara started to get her into playgroups and things. She’s not from Colorado and didn’t know anyone but her husband until then. He didn’t like her branching out and not being available when he wanted her.

So, she’s not beaten?

No. She’s tired and raw. She’s worried about her daughter. This is perfect. Chris says you really don’t need much. Just someone to make sure you eat and keep your house and clothes clean. How much time can that take?

If the press still want her, they’ll find her through her paycheck.

No, they won’t, Chris argued. She’s not with my agency, Lance. This would have to be a cash deal. If your conscience bothers you about taxes and such, file a 1099 at the end of the year. Better yet, withhold payment until after January and file next year. That would give her plenty of time to become old news.

Her husband left her something, then?

Will shook his head. No, he went through it as fast as he made it. He liked to look the part of wealthy surgeon.

The house?

Mortgaged to the point that she’ll get nothing out of it.

Bastard.

Chris smiled at him. She hadn’t asked for alimony. He’d demanded that she take it in the form a percentage of the royalties on everything he’d written until the time of their divorce. That had amounted to thirteen best-selling novels, seven of which had been made into films and two were presently in consideration. She had seen a lot of money from her marriage to Lance Fletcher and would continue to for a long time.

She had used it to start her business and support it until it stood on its own. Part had paid for her modest house and now she invested what came for her old age and played philanthropist when the mood struck. She worked because she liked to, not because she needed to.

He’d been exceedingly generous when he didn’t have to be.

But that was Lance. He wouldn’t always talk to you, but he would hand over his credit card without blinking an eye. He spent little of his money and the only major thing he’d ever bought was this house, close enough to Aspen to ski when he wanted, but far enough from the tourists to ensure his privacy.

Well? She prodded.

The job’s hers. Two hundred dollars a week cash until the end of the year, no 1099. If I get in trouble for that little bit, so be it. We’ll negotiate the terms of payment for next year if she decides to stay. Lance disappeared and returned with a lit cigarette.

Chris frowned. You only smoke when you write.

I’m writing. When are you leaving?

Chris rolled her eyes. I assume after I clean up?

Ah. Good. Will, you can deal with the next load. Nice to see you both.

He disappeared again, only this time he didn’t come back.

Will put the sheets in the dryer and threw a dark load into the washer before returning to the kitchen, where Chris was just finishing up. He’s really not coming back?

He was obviously stumped. At some point, he solved his problem and now he’s getting it down.

No wonder you left.

Yeah. She made a face. It would be easier to resent him if he wasn’t so unaware at these times and overly aware after the fact. He knows he does it, he just doesn’t know when he’s doing it. Does that make sense?

Will thought of Lance’s odd admission in the laundry room. Yes, actually, it does. And it means he can’t change, even if he wanted to. He still loves you, Chris.

I know.

Do you still sleep with him?

What? No. Well, I did. Until I started sleeping with you. Now I don’t and he doesn’t try to change that.

Will didn’t doubt that. Nor did he doubt that Lance would welcome her into his bed if she made the overture. Their relationship was oddly unsettling. Divorced couples weren’t supposed to still love each other. Was that why she kept turning down his proposals? Was her love for Lance still that strong?

He didn’t really believe that, but whatever the reason, Lance Fletcher had something to do with it.

Lance saved a world. He didn’t resolve the lovers’ spat. Why do I get myself into these messes? He knew why. It had earned him a huge female following. He wrote sci-fi, but there was always a romance thrown into it. The fact that he knew nothing about romance didn’t seem to matter. Or maybe it was the draw. He eventually muddled through that quagmire of human emotions.

Stuck again, he extinguished his final cigarette and went to fix a drink. He had two hard and fast rules about his vices. He only smoked when he wrote, because he smoked a hell of a lot then, and he never drank when he did for the same reason. He could handle killing himself with tobacco, but he absolutely refused to become brainless on booze. And the fact was, he lit more cigarettes than he actually smoked.

He glanced at the silent laundry room with dread. If Will had put the sheets in the dryer, he would have to make up the bed. He looked and confirmed that was the case.

Lance sat at the kitchen table and thought about the horrors of folding laundry. His murderess better get here quick.

A murderess.

And a four-year old child.

He looked around with dismay. There was nothing here for a four-year old child to do. Hell, he didn’t even have a TV for her to watch Sesame Street. No picture books, no stuffed animals, nothing.

He didn’t dare call Chris again. He might have if lover-boy wasn’t there, but he was. He called California instead. Audrey, he said with relief when the housekeeper answered the phone. It’s Lance. Is Zarina around?

No, Lance, but Damien’s right here.

He’ll do.

Lance, Damien greeted. What’s up? Are you coming to town?

No. Listen, Damien. You’ve got to do me a favor. Or get Rina or Jessie to do it, but do it fast.

What’s the matter? Damien asked, instantly alarmed by the panic in his friend’s voice. Are you in trouble?

Hell, yes. New housekeeper. She’s got a four-year old daughter. I haven’t anything for a four year old to play with!

Damien chuckled. You want toys?

Yes! Yes, toys, that’s what I need. Quiet ones. Can you do it?

The chuckle turned to a laugh. We can do it. Stand by for Federal Express.

Lance’s panic subsided. Don’t overdo it.

I’ll send you the bill, Damien vowed.

And a TV! Sesame Street! Lance heard more laughter and then the dial tone. The bastard had hung up on him. He was probably already on the line with FAO Schwartz to bankrupt him.

He should have been less panicked and more specific.

Damn.

He poured another scotch, dealt with the laundry and went upstairs to make his bed. He hadn’t made his own bed in over ten years. He hoped he remembered how.

Chapter Two

Sara Prindle hung up the phone slowly and wondered what she had gotten herself into. Will Sharp had said it was perfect for her. Chris Fletcher, the author’s ex-wife, had agreed, though she’d admitted that Lance might not seem all that wonderful to Susie.

She glanced at her sleeping daughter and wondered what that meant.

Susie was all that mattered now.

Sara knew she had to do something. She had to leave Denver and couldn’t, or more accurately, wouldn’t, go home. She might get something after the government and lawyers had dealt with her husband’s estate, but it wouldn’t be much. There was no way the insurance company was paying her a penny. She was down to three hundred and twelve dollars and fifty-two cents. The motel alone would take care of that in no time.

She couldn’t go back to the house as the reporters were still dogging it. The law may have acquitted her, but the people had not. She had killed a prominent citizen of Denver and many wanted her hung in front of city hall.

How the hell had life gotten so screwed up?

The solitude of Lance Fletcher’s house appealed to her. A winter high in the mountains surrounded by peace and beauty appealed to her. Without Susie to consider, she would be on her way.

She knew nothing about the man. She’d never read one of his books. His ex-wife said he was perfectly capable of being civil and holding an intelligent conversation, but he would end it abruptly and disappear into his office to write. She’d told her that for Susie’s sake, she’d said. The child should be warned to expect the unexpected from him and not let it hurt her, it was just the way he was.

Room and board for two and two hundred dollars a week free and clear. At least for a couple of months. That was more than generous, considering how little work she was going to have to do. She had mentioned that to Mrs. Fletcher, who had simply said Lance knew the value of a good housekeeper and was willing to pay for it. If she decided to stay, she could probably get more.

She couldn’t turn it down out of hand. She would go and if it wasn’t a good situation for Susie, she would leave. It was that simple. Until she got to where she would go then.

Sara looked at their meager possessions and wondered if she dared risk a trip to the house for Susie’s toys. She didn’t. This was the third motel she had stayed in in her efforts to elude the press. There was no way she was going to give them a trail to follow to what might prove to be a sanctuary.

Lance fretted all Saturday morning that there was nothing for the child. Even Damien couldn’t deliver before Monday and he had no idea when Sara Prindle and her daughter might arrive.

Stuck in his current love snarl anyway, he used it as an excuse to give it up for a bit. For the second day in a row, he went into Aspen. It was still dead by winter’s standards. Halloween was days away and there hadn’t been as much as a flake of snow yet. Lance glanced with longing at the green slopes. Other than writing, skiing was his greatest joy.

He’d learned in college. Damien had taught him and he’d taken to it like a fish to water. As soon as he’d made it as a writer, he’d bought this place in Colorado just so he could ski when he wanted to in good conditions. Other than the times he had to be in LA or New York, he almost never left anymore.

He quite simply loved the place.

Not Aspen. That was needed only for the slopes, but the mountains that weren’t heavily inhabited. Their raw beauty, majesty. So much had been written about the Rocky Mountains, fact and fiction. He loved the fact. The stories of the miners, the boom towns and ghost towns. It had taken real men to challenge these mountains back then. And women. Hearty, solid, strong. With man’s modern way of life, anyone could live here now. He was proof of that.

Lance knew why he wrote science fiction. It was because of his love affair with the past. The past was done. Recorded history. But the glorious triumphs and the devastating defeats would always live on. He used the lessons of the past to write for the future. In many ways, it was laziness. He didn’t want to have to constantly check dates and clothing. Easier to make up your own and set it in a place no one