Right Back Where We Started

by Fiona West

  For now.

  CHAPTER TEN

  CARTER CAME HOME EARLY on Friday to do some studying for his fourth exam. He'd claimed his father's office months ago out of necessity, but now he found he quite liked being near the front door. No one could come in or out without his knowledge, which was handy when your mom sometimes thought she'd walk ten miles to the grocery store. No, no one escaped his notice. Not even the hot nurse practitioner currently attempting to tiptoe across the foyer. Her suede, chunky heeled boots weren't exactly conducive to quiet. His mouth went dry when he saw what she was wearing: it was a far cry from the baggy scrubs she usually wore. Her thin maroon cowl-neck sweater dress hid nothing of her curves, and the fringe at the bottom played peekaboo with her long legs.

  “Where are you off to, Ms. Lopez?” Carter winced internally. He wasn't her dad, for heaven's sake. He hated calling her that. He had to keep from spitting it out of his mouth every time. He'd actually spent time practicing while he was brushing his teeth last night, trying to remind himself. Since their windows-down conversation outside the other night, it had gotten even harder. Every time he looked into her eyes, he was right back in his teenage bed, snuggled with her against his chest, kissing her, touching her . . . Carter averted his eyes before she could see what was happening in his head. She was too shrewd sometimes.

  “Just meeting a friend for drinks,” she said, but the rapid flutter of her eyelashes showed the statement for the lie it was. She's seeing someone. The jealousy that reared up inside him was foreign to him, like being picked up from Oregon and dropped on a desert island. His heart was beating out a war drum pattern, ready to annihilate whoever it was. No, he reminded himself. She's single. I'm single. We're just two single . . . friends.

  “A friend, huh?”

  “Friends,” she amended quickly. “Just friends.”

  A wicked thought entered his head, and he grabbed onto it with both hands. “Oh. Well, you look amazing. Have fun.”

  The side-eye glance she gave him told him she wasn't buying his “too cool” act. “Thanks. See you tomorrow.”

  “Mmm.” He put his gaze back on his laptop, enjoying her hesitation at the front door, her long stare. He waited until she'd been gone ten minutes, then he put on his shoes and grabbed his keys.

  “Mrs. Sánchez,” he called into the kitchen. “I'm going out. I'll be back late; see you tomorrow.” Carter took his black Lexus SUV; he'd heard it might be icy this evening. Unusual, but not unheard of this time of year. He hoped it wouldn't kill the daffodils in the front; his mom had planted those herself, years ago. They were always the first sign of hope that winter was almost over. When he pulled in and saw those daffodils, he knew it was going to be okay, even if he couldn't feel it yet.

  He found the highway quiet and empty at this time of day. The parking lot at Annie's was full, however, so he parked in the back of the building. Inside, the room was warm and smelled like pizza and beer. She did an Italian thing on Fridays . . . and there was Martina. She was sharing an appetizer with a man Carter didn't recognize . . . mozzarella sticks, from the look of it. She laughed as she stretched the warm cheese, sucking it off her fingers seductively. He'd pay anything for it to be his fingers. Then again, money wasn't going to fix this problem. He strode into the bar, feeling a little of his old bravado, ignoring her as he went by like he hadn't noticed her there. As if that was even possible when she lit up the room like that. Like his soul wasn't drawn to her like a moth to flame.

  Annie smiled at him and slid him a Cascade Lakes Secret Weapon stout. “Saw you coming,” she winked as she passed someone a napkin and nodded at another customer who wanted to order.

  “Thanks, Annie.” She really was the best. Some kind of mind reader. It wasn't like he always got the same thing . . . was it? Dang. He did always get the same thing. When did he get so boring? He needed to get some of his old spark back. He used to take off and drive to the coast just to watch the sun set over the ocean. Stow away in a freight car just to see where it was going. Jump off the top of waterfalls for the heck of it. Okay, maybe that last thing wasn't very safe. But he was sick to death of being safe. Playing it safe hadn't gotten him what he wanted at all. His mom was still dying. Martina was still here with someone else.

  “Your favorite nurse is here again.” The strange voice behind him was too far away to be speaking to him.

  “Heard he hired her.” The stranger had a companion, apparently.

  “Who?”

  “Carpenter.”

  The two men behind him weren't speaking as quietly as they probably thought they were. His ears perked up at his own name, even as his shoulders pinched with stress. He used to love being talked about: for his soccer championships, his hot girlfriend, his academic prowess. This gossip had a different bent to it. He didn't care for it.

  “No. No f'ing way.”

  “It's true. Hired her to take care of his mom. She's got dementia or something.”

  Apparently, they didn't see him sitting a few feet away from them. He pretended he couldn't hear them. He wished he couldn't. His brain began replaying his mom's best hits: all the birthdays she'd made special, all the times she'd shown up to cheer him on, helped him study, quietly encouraged him to be his own person, been his ally. Who better than she understood how it felt to be on the other end of a Harrison Carpenter agenda? He'd owed it to her to get the best care available. And that was Martina.

  “Figures. They want something, they just buy it.”

  “Must be nice.”

  “I know, right?”

  Who were these muttonheads? He hazarded a glance over his shoulder. Ranger Zane and his brother Dirk sat at the small table, each with several empties in front of them.Whatever. He hadn't bought her; if they thought that was even possible, then they didn't know her at all. He peered past them to see her, just for a second. Now she was feeding him a bite of her pasta? Ugh. Why had he come here? Uh-oh. She'd noticed him. She was coming over, carrying their wine glasses. Nice cover, Tini. He grinned at her.

  “Fancy seeing you—”

  “Save it. What are you doing here?”

  “Can't a guy just enjoy a drink at Annie's on a Friday?”

  “Some guys can. You can't. Not if you're here to spy on me.”

  He sipped his beer, enjoying the notes of chocolate, considering. “Spy on you? But you said you were here to meet a friend. That's not something I'd care about, right?”

  She gave her high-heeled boot a kick against the rough wood floor like she couldn't help let out her frustration somehow. “You know what I meant.”

  “Yes, I did,” he smiled, turning on the stool so that his elbows rested on the bar. “So who's Friday-worthy?”

  “Huh?”

  “Fridays are a prime date night. Why does this guy rate?”

  “His name is Dr. Trout, and he's a very nice man.”

  Carter nodded in agreement. “He looks like a nice man. Look at the crease in those chinos. He even put product in his hair. Looks like a keeper.”

  Martina folded her arms. “What's gotten into you tonight?”

  “Me? Nothing. Nothing but this delicious stout and the feeling of being out on a Friday night for once, I guess.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a blonde woman approaching him, but he kept his attention on Martina until he felt a hand on his arm.

  “Hey, Crash,” Jennie Wallace cooed. “Don't see you around here much.”

  “That's because I don't come here much anymore,” he said, leaning toward her a little bit, grinning. He enjoyed the way Martina's eyes widened a little and she rolled her lips between her teeth like she was afraid of what she'd say if she opened them. “How've you been, Jennie?”

  “I'm better for seeing you,” she said, leaning on the bar, sliding onto the stool next to him. Then she paused. “Oh. Hey, Martina. Didn't see you there.”

  “Well, here I am.” Her tone was slightly salty, and Carter hid his smile. “I'd better be getting back to my
date. Excuse me.” Martina walked away without the wine glasses that Annie set down on the bar, her thick hair flying as she whipped around quickly. He turned back to Jennie, who seemed oblivious to the subtext of what had just happened.

  “When do you think she'll remember her drinks?” Annie asked, leaning forward on the bar in a rare moment of non-movement.

  “I'm not sure she's going to,” Carter answered, sipping his beer. “This really is so good, Annie. Thank you for introducing me to it.”

  “My pleasure,” she said, stepping away to help James carry a large box of beer bottles and using her phone to restart the music playing through the restaurant’s speakers.

  “Jennie, would you excuse me for one second?”

  “Sure,” she smiled. “I'll be right here.”

  Carter picked up the two wine glasses and took them over to Martina's table. She looked none too happy to see him; in fact, he wanted to touch his face to see if her glare was leaving burn marks on his face, but his hands were already full, unfortunately. “Here you go, two glasses of seedless red for Table Seven.”

  “That's a M*A*S*H quote!” the man exclaimed, and he seemed delighted by the fact.

  “Yes, it is,” Carter smiled.

  “You've got good taste, man. I love that show.”

  “Me, too. I'm Carter Carpenter,” he said, extending his right hand.

  “Greg Trout.” The man had a firm handshake. Carter could respect that. At least he wasn't one of those wimpy, limp fish handshake people. He hadn't learned many useful things from his father, but that was one of the things he'd insisted on. Eye contact and a firm handshake.

  “Sorry to interrupt your date, but Ms. Lopez ran off before she could claim your drinks.”

  “Hey, thanks. You want to sit down?”

  “No,” Martina said sharply, but she softened a little under the surprised gaze of both men. “No, I just mean . . . this is a date. And Mr. Carpenter is my boss. I see him all the time.” She reached out and took Greg's hand across the table. “Tonight's just for us. I can see him any time.” Carter stood there, staring at their joined hands, wondering what he could do to make him stop touching her. Probably nothing. That knowledge wasn't doing much for the feeling of too much acid in his esophagus. He didn't want her to be unhappy and alone . . . but that's what it amounted to, didn't it? He couldn't be selfish like that again, asking her to be alone just because he was. It wasn't fair. Carter forced a smile.

  “Enjoy your evening, you two.” He shuffled back to his stool, quite forgetting that Jennie had wanted to talk to him, until she cuddled up against his side. “Sorry about that. How've you been?”

  “Oh, not bad. My cousin had a baby in my bathtub a few weeks ago. That was pretty great.”

  Carter tried not to show his disgust. That didn't sound great, that sounded like a household cleaning nightmare. He wasn't a neat freak by any stretch, but bodily fluids in his bathtub? Hard pass.

  “How interesting. You still working at the Falls?”

  She nodded, sipping some kind of pink drink that smelled sweet. “Yup, sure am. We just had another tour group come through today. Thirty people.”

  “I haven't been up there for a long time.” He wasn't much of a hiker. If he was going to be outside, he preferred to be engaging in some kind of competitive sport. His rec soccer league hadn't started up yet, but it would soon, as soon as the weather improved for more than five seconds. Maybe he’d play indoor this year.

  “Oh, you should come! The new visitor center is so nice! And we've got local artifacts and taxidermy from all over the county. It's really neat. The kids especially like the owl pellets.”

  Carter leaned down to scratch his ankle, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Martina sit up straighter. What was she . . . Oh. She thought I was going to kiss Jennie.

  Jennie Wallace. She'd always been a flirt. It wasn't inconceivable.

  “Owl pellets, huh?” he asked, leaning closer to her, and Martina's face went from its normal tawny to more of a rosy glow. She definitely wasn't paying attention to Greg Trout, whose back was to him, and appeared to be telling some sort of very animated story that involved a lot of gesturing with his hands.

  Jennie smiled at him. “Yeah, you can see all the little bones from the food they ate. It's pretty neat.”

  “Sounds like it.” Carter gave her a super-fake grin. “Can I buy you another drink?”

  “Oh, sure,” she said, tucking her hair behind her ears. “But it's just a Shirley Temple. I have to work tomorrow. Saturday's our busiest day.”

  The work part of Carter's brain chimed in to wonder whether insurance companies should be charging more to tour groups that took people out on Saturdays . . . if the parks and attractions were more crowded, did it make them more ripe for an accident? Less supervision over more people might be a factor, too. Fewer staff to remind people to stay on the walkway, not climb the fencing, etc. He realized he was staring at Jennie, and she'd stopped talking, her eyebrows doing a cute little dance that told him that she was somewhat perplexed by his spacey behavior.

  “Shirley Temple. Got it. I happen to be a fan myself,” he teased, and he lifted a finger to signal Annie. She brought Jennie another one, and Annie looked between the two of them. Her meaning was clear: “What the frack are you doing?” Carter gave her a one-shouldered shrug, tilting his head subtly toward Martina, who was stiffly watching their interactions. Annie rolled her eyes and rather than leaving immediately, she decided to make conversation.

  “How's your mom?”

  Two-shoulder shrug this time. “A little better, actually. Ms. Lopez has been a great addition to her medical team.”

  “Martina's the best,” Annie agreed.

  “I love Martina. She's so fun when we go out,” Jennie agreed. “Once, we went skinny dipping in Detroit Lake, right by the highway. Full moon and everything.”

  “Full . . . moon?” Annie asked, cocking her head, as she dried a load of glasses with her white towel. “You wanna rephrase that?”

  Jennie looked at her blankly, then laughed. “Oh, how funny! That was a total coincidence.”

  Carter nudged her with his elbow good-naturedly, and he didn't even need to see Martina's response.

  “Excuse me,” Martina said sweetly. Before he knew what was happening, she was squeezing between the two of them, and Carter had to scoot back, lest she knock him right off his stool. “Annie, can we get a dessert menu? I think we want some of your Death by Chocolate cake, but I want to see what else is available.”

  Annie gave her a nod and scurried off to meet her request. Martina made no attempt to step back, her hands braced on the bar like it was going to fall down if she let go.

  “Cake,” he mused. “That's a good idea. You want to split a piece, Jennie?”

  “Sure!” she bubbled. “I love cake!”

  Martina's hands tightened on the polished wood, her knuckles going white.

  “Everything okay, Ms. Lopez? You seem . . . tense.”

  “Just been a long week. I was looking forward to relaxing tonight.”

  “So why don't you?” he asked softly, waiting for the moment she'd turn to face him. “I bet Dr. Trout would rub your shoulders.” As usual, her big brown eyes look his breath away. Forget the cake; that honeyed gaze was so sweet, even when she was mad at him. And make no mistake, she was mad at him. But it was something real. Something more than that 'Mr. Carpenter' BS and having a professional relationship and clinical indifference toward him. Yes, he thought, give it to me. Let me have it. Yell at me. Shout. Make a scene. Just don't ignore me. And don't pretend you feel nothing for me. We both know that's not true. He held her gaze until Annie came back, then Martina shook her head a little like she had a leaf in her hair she was trying to get rid of. Instead of giving him a morsel of truth, Martina turned without a word and went back to her table, leaving him hungry. Thank God Jennie remembered to order a large slice of carrot cake; he'd completely forgotten about it. Something about those big brow
n eyes had wiped his mind clean of any thought that wasn't about her.

  He ate it quietly; he'd planned to tease Martina some more, feeding bites to Jennie. Instead, he just listened to Jennie talk more about the wildlife at the state park and how she was planning to hike Timberline this summer as soon as the snow melted enough. He nodded through stories about her sisters and her cousins. At ten o'clock, since he was starting to yawn, he put on his coat and walked her out to her car. They passed Martina and Greg, who were still sitting at their table. He tried not to notice their entangled fingers, and the way his thumb swept back and forth over the back of her hand.

  “This was really fun,” Jennie said, rolling the edge of her shirt in her fingers as they crossed the parking lot. “We should do it again sometime.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” Carter said noncommittally. “See you around, Jennie.”

  “Crash, wait.” She trapped him by his jacket sleeve, and he turned back to her patiently. “Do you want to . . . I don't know, come back to my place?”

  “Oh. Wow.” He hadn't been expecting that. He scrambled to answer in a way that wouldn't hurt her . . . it wasn't easy when her wide blue eyes were staring up at him, all trusting and vulnerable. He felt like he was talking to a human incarnation of Bambi. “I don't know if that's such a good idea,” he said gently, pulling her hand away from his sleeve, then sheltering it in both of his. “But it's not you. Seriously. I'm just . . .”

  “In love with someone else,” Jennie finished with a sheepish smile. “I can tell. Sorry, I shouldn't have asked. I just hoped that if she was moving on, you might . . .” She shook her head.

  He gave her a rueful smile. “I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong impression.”

  “No, you were a perfect gentleman. Just wishful thinking on my part.” This smile was all sympathy. “I hope you guys can work it out. I really do.”

  Carter brought the back of her hand up to his lips for a grateful, innocent kiss. “You're a sweet person, Jen.” His eyes snagged on movement across the parking lot; Greg and Martina had just exited the bar. Greg was trying to help Martina with her coat, holding it open for her, but she was standing stock-still, her fists balled at her side, watching him and Jennie. Not over me, either, are you, beautiful?