“Pop and his wife, Ace. Brenda died when Wood and I were eight, Neet was six. Diabetes,” Tate answered.
“That’s horrible,” I whispered.
“Yeah, horrible normally, more horrible because Brenda was a beauty, inside and out. Pure through and through. Pure goodness. Pure kindness. Pure love. The real deal. A good girl. Everyone loved her,” Stella added and Tate’s arm tightened around my shoulders when she said “a good girl”.
“I’m sorry,” I said to Stella.
“Long time ago, darlin’. Sucks to say but one thing good about it, she didn’t live to see Neeta turn out the way she did and she didn’t live a life like Kyle, puttin’ up with Neeta’s shit,” Stella remarked.
Before I could stop myself, I turned to Tate and started, “But Wood said –”
“Wood blames Pop ‘cause that’s Wood,” Tate interrupted me. “He’s gotta have someone to blame.”
“A trait you two share,” Stella put in smoothly, Tate’s eyes cut to her and his mouth got tight.
My whole body got tight.
They held each other’s eyes and I stood there, supremely uncomfortable while they did it. Something was happening there and I didn’t get it.
Stella proved herself the Queen Biker Babe by not backing down from Tate’s dark look and instead saying, “You two share a lot, Buck.” Her eyes slid to me and then back. “And not just taste in women.”
“That’ll do, Stell,” Tate warned in a low voice.
“You let it go, he finally might be able to,” she went on.
“What’d I say?” Tate asked.
“He took your old lady’s back, Tate,” she reminded him of a fresh memory. “Goes without sayin’ that was big, seein’ as he was thinkin’ Lauren would be on the back of his bike.”
“Stella,” Tate’s tone had degenerated from scary to ominous.
In return, her voice got soft. “Cut him some slack, Buck, all I’m sayin’.”
Tate didn’t speak but a muscle in his jaw jumped.
Stella kept at him. “You get Jonas, and you’ll get Jonas, Tate, Neeta’ll make it a pain in your ass but you’ll get him, what with her history, her record and that ass in her house not to mention Pop and me at your back. Then when you get him, you’ll need all the family you can find. Wood loves that kid. He’d do anything for him. And you’d be a fool to harbor bad blood when you can let it go and build a family for Jonas.”
“You done?” Tate asked.
“Never,” Stella answered.
“You are for now,” Tate replied and then turned us away from her, tagging the cart with a hand and moving the cart and me unavoidably forward without saying good-bye.
I twisted my head to look over my shoulder at Stella.
“Um… see you later?” I called.
“Yeah, darlin’, you take care,” she called back.
“You too,” I replied, smiled an embarrassed smile and looked forward again. “What was that all about?” I asked Tate under my breath.
“Curtains, Ace,” was Tate’s non-answer.
“Tate, honey, I think you get I’m not big on you keeping stuff from me,” I reminded him gently.
He stopped the cart and looked down at me.
Then he stated bluntly, “Wood killed my Dad.”
I blinked.
Then I whispered, “Sorry?”
“Car wreck. Wood was drivin’. Wood walked away. Dad died at the scene. Now you know. Can we buy curtains?”
I didn’t hesitate even a second in my response.
“Yes, baby,” I was still whispering but my arm had moved to slide around his waist both to support him and also to keep myself standing.
I had questions. Lots of them. But they weren’t for a home wares store.
I led Tate to the curtains.
* * * * *
I wasn’t paying attention when we walked up to the cash registers.
This was because they always put the good stuff around the cash registers and therefore my attention was turned and I was wondering if Tate had a cool spoon-slash-bowl scraper in the awesome color of teal. Then I wondered if he should have two, one teal and one purple. Anyone could easily use two spoon-slash-bowl scrapers in their house. You could use them for everything.
“Ace!” Tate called, I jumped, looked to see he was at the head of the line at a register and I grabbed both the teal and purple ones because, from the look on his face he was pretty much done with Deluxe Home Store and I obviously didn’t have time to make a considered decision about the spoon-slash-bowl scrapers.
I rushed to the cart and started unloading. Curtains for the bedroom (denim). New curtain rods (awesome). New kitchen towels (bright and cheery). New bathroom towels (thick and lush). And one of those shelf things for the shower because Tate really needed one.
Our cart was so full because Tate had been distracted by brooding over his conversation with Stella. I wasn’t proud of my behavior but I couldn’t deny I took advantage.
“Girlfriend!” our cashier cried, I straightened and looked at her.
It was my cashier from when Wendy and I were there a few days before. Her eyes were fastened on Tate in a way it looked like it might cause bodily damage if she was forced to tear them away.
“Hey,” I greeted, her body jolted and her eyes came to me.
She asked with a tilt of her head to Tate, “This your hot guy?”
Tate looked at me.
I bit my lip. Then I said, “Yeah.”
The clerk’s head shot around and she shouted, “Hey, Maybelline! This is the sheet chick and her hot guy.”
A rotund, older black lady four registers down turned to us, gave Tate a once-over and shouted, “Oo doggies. That boy’s hot all right!”
Wow. Conversation in the staff room at Deluxe Home Stores must be relatively limited for my sheet purchases to make the agenda.
“Uh… Ace,” Tate called and my head swung in his direction to see his eyebrows were up but his mouth was twitching.
“Don’t,” I warned.
“What’d she get this time?” Maybelline called.
The clerk at our register was scanning as she called out our purchases across the register lanes, “Curtains! Kitchen towels! Bath towels! Rods! A shower shelf! Oo! And a teal and purple spoon bowl scraper.” She looked at me. “Good choice, I got the purple first and came back for the teal. These things are great! They don’t even melt. You can use them making cakes and cookin’ scrambled eggs. You got two, you can do both at the same time.”
“Great,” I muttered.
“Sounds to me like someone’s settin’ up house,” Maybelline remarked loudly.
“Me too,” our clerk called back.
Tate’s hand came to my hip and slid around to my belly as he pushed the cart through to the end and then his mouth was at my ear.
“Uh…Lauren, you wanna tell me why –”
I twisted my head to look at him.
“Don’t,” I whispered.
He grinned down at me. “Babe.”
I looked at the clerk and asked, “What’s your name?”
“Wanda,” she answered.
“I’m Lauren.”
“Hey Lauren.” Her eyes slid to Tate then back to me. “You gonna be in lots?”
“No,” I answered.
“Probably,” Tate answered at the same time.
Wanda leaned toward me. “Sorry, girlfriend, but I’m gonna go with his answer, you know, just ‘cause it gives me hope. We girls, we need hope, even if we’re hopin’ for someone else.”
“By all means,” I invited and she smiled and looked at Tate.
“Next week, we’re havin’ a sale,” she informed him.
“I’ll put that in my calendar,” he replied on a grin.
“You do that,” she muttered and gave us our total.
I dug in my purse and came out with my wallet just in time to see Tate hand Wanda his credit card.
“I thought I’d –” I started, Tate’s eyes came to
me and I pressed my lips together and shoved my wallet back in my purse.
“Good call,” Wanda whispered to me and swiped Tate’s credit card.
We’d left Wanda and Maybelline behind with fond (loud) farewells and were walking through the parking lot to the Explorer, Tate guiding the loaded cart with one hand, his other arm around my shoulders, my arm curled around his waist when Tate spoke.
“You wanna explain about Wanda?”
“No,” I replied.
“You know her?”
“Not exactly, except she gave me a mini-counseling session when I came here with Wendy.”
“Come again?”
“Doesn’t matter,” I murmured.
Luckily, Tate let that go.
“You wanna tell me why you know everyone every place we go?” he asked.
“No,” I answered.
“How long you been in Colorado?” he went on.
“Um…”
“Babe,” he muttered and I knew he was smiling.
“I’m nice,” I explained and he didn’t respond so I continued. “And to be nice you have to be friendly so even if someone you don’t know butts into your conversation and gives you advice, you stay friendly. Wanda’s kind of nosy and somewhat inappropriate but she means well. And anyway, I’m nice and I’m friendly and I don’t know how else to be.”
He stopped the cart and me at the back of the Explorer and looked down at me.
“We get home, maybe you can be friendly to me.”
I felt a twinge in three places.
Regardless, I informed him, “You have to install curtain rods when we get home.”
“Right, then after I install the curtain rods, we can close the curtains and then you can be friendly to me.”
“No,” I replied. “I’m making a Moist Factor Five Hundred cake, I’ll be busy.”
“A Moist Factor Five Hundred cake?”
“Shambala told me one of his secrets. I’ve been dying to test it out.”
“Ace, we got five pounds of lemon shit in the truck. Do we need a cake?”
“Everyone needs a cake and I haven’t had a kitchen for months, except when I was home and then I didn’t get to enjoy it because my Dad was in the hospital after having a serious heart attack.”
“You a good cook?”
I shrugged. “Passable.”
Tate stared at me.
“I’m a passable cook but I’m a hell on wheels baker,” I bragged truthfully.
“So you like bakin’,” he noted.
“Love it.”
“Miss it?” he asked.
I nodded.
He stared at me again. Then he cupped my jaw with his hand, tilted my head back, bent his head and touched his lips to mine.
“Then you can make your cake,” he whispered.
“Thanks,” I whispered back.
He grinned. “After that, you can be friendly to me.”
The twinges came back double strength, he let me go, beeped the locks and pulled up the back of the SUV. We loaded up our bags, Tate let me in the cab, returned the cart, came back, climbed behind the wheel and we went home.
* * * * *
I was in Tate’s kitchen chopping cucumbers and tossing them in the bowl with the rest of the veggies I’d prepared for the salad we were having with dinner.
The Moist Factor Five Hundred cake was in the oven and the bowl of my grandfather’s famous mustard glaze I’d mixed together was fermenting in the fridge ready to put on the pork tenderloin which would go into the oven after the cakes came out.
I sensed movement and my head came up from chopping to see Tate walking through the dining room toward the kitchen, a drill in one hand, the handle of a toolbox in the other. I was so busy chopping, I hadn’t noticed I wasn’t hearing the drill anymore. His eyes came to me, I smiled at him, his face got soft in a warm way when he caught my smile and he walked right through the kitchen to the hallway leading to the garage.
I stared after him long after he disappeared.
I didn’t think I’d ever seen his face get soft like that but I figured I didn’t because it was definitely a look I’d never forget seeing.
I pulled myself together, dropped the knife, wiped my hands on a towel and walked to the bedroom.
The curtains were up. They were to-the-floor, dark denim with loops at the top that were hooked over rusty-looking thin, square rods that had killer jagged ends. Tate had two big windows in his bedroom, one facing the front of the house, one the side, the bathroom and walk-in closet took the back of the room. The curtains transformed it. The new sheets and comforter were one thing but the curtains offered a big slash of color, giving the room personality, making it homier and making the big room seem almost cozy.
All the room needed now was a paint job (the walls were a little tired and I thought a nice, warm, pale blue would be awesome, maybe with a terracotta accent wall); blinds (because with those dark curtains closed, it would be a blackout situation); and some pictures on the walls.
And I knew exactly what picture would be perfect.
I’d seen it through the window of one of the biker shops in town. A large frame around which was a sepia photo of two bikers riding side by side into town. There was no one on the straight road for as far as the eye could see except those bikers, they had their backs to the camera and to their side was the sign that was still there that read “Welcome to Carnal”. Even though the bikes were older, the picture taken probably decades ago, the long Main Street of Carnal lay in front of the bikers and it didn’t look much different. When I’d spied it, I’d stopped and studied it through the shop window. It was awesome and it would be perfect over Tate’s bed.
Buster pranced in and jumped up on the bed. She stood there, blinking at me, her tail swishing then she blinked at the curtains at the window facing the bed that had a view out the front of the house. Then she collapsed on a flank, stretched out her other flank and delicately licked her foot.
I decided to take that as approval.
Tate sauntered in.
“They look great,” I told him.
“Yeah,” he agreed, coming to stand by me.
I twisted my head to look up at him. “Now you need some venetian blinds,” I informed him. “Just in case you don’t want blackout conditions but still want to mute the light.”
He looked down at me then he curved an arm around my shoulders and began to curl my body to his.
When my front was pressed to his, he stated, “I’ll get right on that, Ace, soon’s I pay off the million dollar lawyer’s bills I’ll be accumulatin’ in order to get Jonas.”
I bit my lip because I hadn’t thought of that. He’d spoken several times about his money situation. He had a son to win; he didn’t need to be buying home wares.
“Captain –” I started but Tate had turned me and was moving forward, pushing me backward toward the bed. I felt my legs hit it, Buster jumped away, I went down and Tate came down on top of me.
His face went into my neck and he declared, “Rods are up. Time for you to be friendly.” Then I felt his tongue slide along my neck.
My arms circled him, the fingers of one hand going into his hair as I turned my head to say in his ear, “Cake’s in the oven, honey.”
His head came up and he looked at me. “How long we got?”
I shrugged, my shoulders moving on the bed. “Ten minutes?”
His mouth came to mine. “Time enough to start bein’ friendly.”
“Tate –”
“Then you can finish bein’ friendly later.”
“Tate –”
He kissed me and I instantly got friendly, so did he. I thought he was friendlier than me but he might have been able to argue that.
We got so friendly, we were both shirtless by the time the buzzer on the oven interrupted our friendliness.
“Cake’s done,” I breathed against his mouth as I shivered when his hands slid lazily along the skin of my sides.
“Yeah,” he whi
spered then knifed up.
I’d moved on top and therefore automatically straddled him. He lifted us both up from the bed, putting me on my feet. I started to pull away to bend and get my shirt but his hands at my hips turned me and then they guided me to the door.
“Tate, my shirt,” I protested.
“Takin’ cakes outta the oven doesn’t require you bein’ fully-clothed,” he replied and I didn’t exactly agree but we were out the door, he was moving me down the hall and I was wearing nothing but a pair of khaki shorts and my bra.
I decided not to fight it. I was into being friendly and as soon as the cakes were out of the oven, I could go back to that.
We went to the kitchen and I opened the oven. The cakes smelled amazing, the house reeked of it and I forgot how much I loved that smell. I stuck my hand in, did the press test, the cake bounced back so I grabbed a kitchen towel and took them out, putting them on the burners of the stove.
I turned the oven off and looked up at Tate to see he was staring down at the cakes.
His eyes came to me. “Looks good, babe.”
I grinned. “Yeah.”
Then he moved and I was over his shoulder. I let out a little, surprised scream and grabbed onto his waist.
“Tate!” I shouted when we were going through the dining room.
“Friendly,” he returned.
He wanted to carry me to his bed? All right, well, whatever.
He threw me on the bed, came down on top of me and we started getting friendly again.
We were redefining friendly in a very good way when something strange happened. Something mammothly strange. Something so strange it tilted the foundations of all that I’d come to be.
Tate’s fingers were curled around my breast, my hand cupping his behind, his lips were trailing down my throat and I was out of mind and in my body when I came back to my mind with a vicious snap.
“So you forgive him for bein’ a cheatin’ asshole and a liar and a dickhead who’s so fuckin’ dumb he throws away a good thing but you can’t forgive me for sayin’ somethin’ stupid?”
My eyes opened and my body stilled. Tate’s mouth moved down my chest.
“You want sweet dreams, lose the attitude and you might find I’ll give you reason to have them.”
I closed my eyes and my arms around Tate flexed.
Sweet Dreams Page 34