Crazy Little Thing Called Love

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

“ Devastated in Denver , you’re on the air with Dr. Hartwell. What’s on your mind tonight?”

The silky voice floated across the airwaves as gentle as a caress between lovers. It was a voice that inspired sympathy, hope, and in some, lust-induced dreams.

She shivered, glad she hadn’t been desperate enough to fall off the wagon and gorge herself with a plateful of fried lard or furry granola, and waited for the caller to ask her question. There wasn’t time in her hectic schedule to lose another twenty pounds.

“Thanks for taking my call, Dr. Hartwell.” The tear-clogged caller had obviously been crying, the sniffles and occasional hiccup giving her away.

“I think my husband has lost interest in me.” The woman burst into a fresh round of sobs, and Faith had to spend a few minutes quieting her down enough to listen.

“Have you talked to him about your concerns?” Faith asked.

“Oh, no. I could never do that. What if he leaves me?”

Faith pushed aside her impatience. She had no tolerance for women that stood around and refused to fight for love. It was too precious and much too rare in her mind to throw away just because being a coward was easier. She pushed her own failure out of her mind and focused on Devastated in Denver .

“Why do you think your husband has lost interest in you?” Faith asked gently, trying to smooth the woman’s ruffled feathers.

“Because he never wants to make love anymore. He just comes home from work, eats the food I put in front of him and then falls asleep in his chair watching sports. It’s the same thing every night, even on the weekends.”

“Do you try talking to him about his day?”

“I shouldn’t have to do all the work in the relationship, right?” the woman asked.

Faith rolled her eyes. “Have you tried getting his attention? Maybe greeting him in sexy lingerie? Or nothing at all?”

“Goodness, no,” the woman said, scandalized.

Which was, in Faith’s opinion, the crux of the problem. People weren’t willing to take enough chances when their relationship was on the line.

“What does your husband do, and how long have you been married?”

“He’s a taxidermist, and we’re going on eight years.”

“Have you ever thought that maybe your husband needs something more animated in his life with you at home? He spends all day with, well…things that don’t move or talk back.

The last thing he probably wants is more stillness and silence when he gets home.

So when he sees that you’re not going to engage, he moves to the TV. ”

“I’ve never thought about it that way before,” the woman said, as if a lightbulb went on above her head. “What should I do?”

“Your husband needs to see you as vibrant and engaging. He works with the permanently preserved all day. Make sure he knows you’re very much alive.

Try something completely unexpected—dance around the kitchen while cooking dinner, plan a spontaneous weekend trip, or just engage him in a passionate debate about something you both care about.

And when you’ve reconnected, tell him your fears about him losing interest. He’s part of your relationship too, and you should share each other’s burdens. ”

“Thanks, Dr. Hartwell. I’m going to do it tonight. I don’t know what I would have done without you.” The woman’s tears had dried up and a sliver of hope was now in her voice. That hope was what Faith lived for—to know that she’d helped in some way, no matter how small.

“Thank you, Devastated in Denver . Please let us know how things work out. You’ve been listening to Dr. Faith Hartwell on WKTP’s national radio syndicate. This is Dr. Hartwell signing out until tomorrow night.”

Faith removed her headset and tried to straighten her haphazard ponytail.

Her hair had a mind of its own, thick and rich, the true blue black of the Irish and all the unruliness of Little Orphan Annie.

She went to great lengths at the beginning of the day to straighten and smooth, but in the end she always ended up with a ponytail that looked like it had been set with TNT.

“Great show tonight, Faith.”

“Thanks, Lucy.”

Lucy Potter was the producer for Faith’s show and her good friend.

Everyone around the station called her Lucy the Destroyer.

She was barely an inch over five feet tall, and she could cut a person off at the knees with her sharp tongue if something went wrong during one of her shows.

Her dark corkscrew hair and bright blue eyes didn’t soften the blow any because it was like being scolded by Shirley Temple with fangs.

Faith adored her. And she secretly admired the way Lucy wore leopard-print spandex on a size-fourteen frame with no doubts or self-consciousness at all.

“How’s Mark?” Faith asked, stretching her sore muscles after sitting in a chair for four hours.

She bent over and touched her fingers flat to the floor, inciting a wolf whistle from someone walking by the glass-enclosed booth that she called her office for a few hours every night.

Whoever the whistler was, their love life was sadly lacking if they found a woman in gray loungewear and white sneakers sexy.

Faith was glad to be out of private practice just because she never had to wear pantyhose again if she didn’t want to. She had the perfect job.

“Mark’s fine. We’re still looking for a house that both of us can agree on. We both know exactly what we want and we both have a vision. The problem is that our vision is completely different.”

Faith smiled sympathetically. “You’ll find something. You’ll compromise and both get exactly what you want. Don’t worry, house hunting takes time. Look how long it took me to find my house.”

“That’s true,” Lucy said with a sparkle in her eye. “And it looks like you should have taken your own advice, because your house is a disaster. Have you gotten the back porch fixed yet?”

Faith gave Lucy an irritated look for mentioning her poor judgment and started gathering her things.

Her back porch had collapsed from the rotted wood that was apparently prominent throughout her entire house.

Unfortunately, she’d been standing on it at the time and fallen through to the basement.

She tried to look at it as fate lending a helping hand, because she hadn’t even realized she’d had a basement.

It had been sealed up years before. Her knee was still stiff from the fall.

“No, I’ve had to put off my plans for the porch. My toilet fell through the floor from the second story last night, so I’ve moved my list of priorities around a little.”

Lucy gasped in horror. “Faith Hartwell, it is not safe for you to live in that house until everything is up to code. You could be seriously hurt. What if that toilet had fallen on your head? You can’t give advice on people’s love lives from six feet under.

I’m going to report you to the city inspector myself if you don’t get something done about it fast.”

And she would too, Faith knew. Lucy didn’t make idle threats. “I’ll get it taken care of,” Faith said, dutifully scolded. “But I may end up a pauper before I’m done. I didn’t realize how much money is going to have to go into this project.”

“You couldn’t be a pauper in your wildest dreams. You have more money than Midas.”

“Yeah, but this house is going to change my life drastically. I can feel it in my bones. Not to mention the fact that I’m still researching restoration companies and contractors. That’s not a decision you can make on the spur of the moment.”

“You bought that monstrosity on the spur of the moment, so I think hiring a contractor is small potatoes compared to that. You’re going to have to buy life insurance for every person that steps foot on your front porch. That hasn’t collapsed yet, has it?”

“No, not yet.”

“Well, it’s only a matter of time,” Lucy said, with confidence.

“You’re not helping. I obviously can’t take advice from myself. I don’t know how thousands of other people do it. I have rotten judgment. Why don’t you give me advice tonight? I’ll do whatever you say.”

Lucy opened her mouth, but Faith interrupted her before the words could be spoken. “I’ll do anything except sell or live somewhere else.”

Lucy shot her a dirty look and left the control booth to head back to her desk, her black stilettos clicking against the hard floor.

Friends…what a pain . Faith slung her bag over her shoulder and left the booth, already dreading the night ahead.

She was currently sleeping in the middle of the living room because that seemed like the safest place.

But she was thinking about setting up a tent in the backyard after the latest bathroom incident.

“Hah, I found it,” Lucy said victoriously, waving a business card in the air.

Faith realized that Lucy had taken her seriously when she told her to give the advice for a change. A sinking feeling in her gut made her future seem more than grim. She wasn’t good at taking other people’s advice. That’s why she was always giving it out.

“This is the number of the contractor that did all of the work on our condo last month. He was brilliant. George increased the value of the house a lot, and we’ve already had several offers from interested buyers.

I want you to call and leave a message on his machine tonight,” Lucy said, obviously looking for an argument and waiting to combat it.

Faith looked at the card in her hand and back at Lucy. “Hand me the phone.” She knew good advice when she heard it.

The company was called Murphy-Madsen Construction and Restoration, and the names of George Madsen and Jake Murphy each occupied a bottom corner of the card in bold print. She decided to go with George because that was a name that said dependable construction in her mind.

The phone rang several times before the answering machine picked up and a gruff voice welcomed her to leave a message and contact information. She smiled at the voice. That had to be George.

“Mr. Madsen, my name is Faith Hartwell, and I’m having a little bit of a construction crisis.

You came recommended from a friend, and I’m pretty desperate since the toilet from the second-floor bathroom fell into my downstairs bedroom.

” She left her address and phone number and prayed they would have time in their schedule to help her.

“See, that wasn’t so bad,” Lucy said, beaming as if she were a proud parent. “You did good, Hartwell.”

“Thanks, boss. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

“I’m looking forward to it. All the crazies call on Friday night, plus it’s a full moon.”

Faith groaned at the thought. Friday nights were always interesting.

“Look on the bright side. Somewhere in Denver tonight, a lonely housewife is dancing around her kitchen, trying to seduce her husband. Sage advice, Dr. Hartwell,” Lucy said, giggling. “That is definitely one for the record books.”

“Well, at least someone is getting lucky. Lord knows it’s not me.”

“That’s because every man you might consider for a relationship is going to be terrified of your house.”

Faith waved bye to Lucy’s delighted laughter and headed down the elevator to the parking garage.

Lucy was wrong. Men weren’t afraid of her house, they were afraid of her.

No one wanted to be with someone who was supposed to be an expert on relationships.

Her own failed marriage had taught her that.

Good men didn’t stay interested in a woman like her after the initial curiosity began to fade.

She would have been just another statistic if her divorce from Steve had been finalized before he’d died.

Faith wished she had the luxury of calling in to her own show, because Lonely in Dallas needed some serious advice.