Out on a Limb

by Lauren Giordano

  Remembering her wistful smile made him miss her even more. Her contagious laugh. Hell—just . . . everything. Every damned thing about her was perfect. He admired her strong will most of all. MaryJo was her own person. She wouldn't yield on what she believed. Yet, she’d been willing to bend. To accommodate. To allow him access to her life. To share. She'd helped him close the divide with Curt. He'd pulled her into his mess and she hadn't hesitated—jumping in with suggestions. Offering to help—when she'd known nothing about the problem. She'd trusted him—even when he so clearly hadn't trusted her.

  Until Sunday, MaryJo had seemed to wholeheartedly accept him. His flaws. Never questioning when he didn't want to discuss something. Yet, somehow managing to encourage him to want to open up—about things he never discussed. About the stuff he'd locked away and tried to forget.

  To thank her, he'd offered criticism. He’d shamed her. Releasing a ragged breath, Travis winced, the sharp-edged knife twisting his stomach again. He'd ridiculed something original and refreshing and so utterly MaryJo-like. He'd belittled her values. Her beautiful eyes had shimmered with a mixture of pain and disbelief as his words hit home. Worse than hurting her, he'd destroyed her confidence. Made her doubt herself. Knowing he was responsible for that was almost more than he could bear.

  His actions reminded him of someone. For days—it had eluded him. "Jesus." A shudder rolled through him as he finally connected the dots. Shirley. He'd treated MaryJo like-

  "There is something seriously wrong with you." Maybe his mother's contempt had been right all those years ago. Belittling him at every turn. Reminding him all the reasons why he would never amount to anything. Why he wasn’t worthy of love. It had taken long, painful years before Travis realized Shirley's love could never be earned. That he could never, ever measure up. That the harder he tried, she would continue to move the goal posts.

  By then, he'd given up. Accepting the futility of ever receiving his mother's approval, something inside him had hardened. Travis had embraced the toughness. Feeling nothing was easier. But somewhere along the way, he'd stopped trying with everyone else, too. Only the car accident had brought him back to his brother. Jarred awake by a terrifying middle-of-the-night call. Learning Curtis was clinging to life . . . that his drug-hazed actions had taken an innocent life—had filled Travis with remorse. For giving up on him. For failing to bully his way back into Curt's life when he'd known his brother needed guidance.

  After college, he'd tried to reconnect with Curtis, but had met with little success. Because the sweet, shy kid who'd idolized him was gone. The kid he'd protected from their abusive mother no longer believed he was hot shit. Travis' college scholarship had been a godsend. A rope thrown to a drowning man with only moments remaining before he went under for the last time.

  To Curtis, the scholarship meant abandonment. Instead of holding out the same hope for college—for an escape from the degrading, violent misery of their childhood, Curt had chosen differently. His eager-to-please personality meant he accepted whatever friends took an interest in him. Without Travis prodding him, his brother had chosen the path of least resistance. The weed had started at fifteen. It hadn't been long before he'd developed a taste for everything else.

  The night of the phone call, Travis had been twenty-six. Acknowledging his brother might die had doubled him over, the pain agonizing. Like the aching misery he was experiencing tonight. He'd realized Curt meant something to him. Though little remained of the brother he'd left behind—Curtis was trapped inside the battered, disillusioned shell. And Travis had discovered he still had the capacity to love someone after all.

  Taking the stairs two at a time, he pulled his jacket from the hall closet. It was only nine. MaryJo was still up. She would see him. "You can finally apologize." Once he'd settled that, he'd be able to concentrate on work again.

  "DAMN IT, JACK. WHERE are you?" Frustration warred with anxiety as MaryJo paced through the neighborhood once again, flashlight in hand. After the week she'd endured—spending hours in the bleak, cold darkness was icing on the cake. The prospect of a bottle of Merlot and a Star Trek marathon had been high on her list for dulling her misery that evening.

  First Travis—not only dumping her, but humiliating her in the process. Sure—he'd sent apology flowers. A gorgeous, fragrant arrangement that still sat on her kitchen table. Mocking her. Several times, she'd picked them up, intent on hauling the beautiful reminder out to the garage. Where they'd freeze to death. But, she hadn't been able to do it. Though sending flowers was likely routine for him—it wasn't routine for her to receive them. From his description, Travis slept with lots of women. Flowers were standard issue—after a job well done. MaryJo had obviously made the other list—the women he'd pissed off.

  His apology was an obscenely expensive florist's dream—hydrangeas, roses and enormous, pink peonies spilling from the frosted vase. Yet, she preferred the grocery store bouquet he'd presented the night of the game. The wrong school's colors—chosen by the beautiful man she’d so misjudged. Still alive, though dwindling in number, Travis’ daisies were perched in a vase near her bed. Despite the fact they were starting to fade, she'd been trimming the stems—adding fresh water—in the hope they'd linger a while longer. All because he’d presented them with a boyish grin.

  "You're an idiot," she muttered, shoving a hand in her pocket. Her flashlight hand she kept free, exposed to the biting cold only a raw February night could bring. Her week had only deteriorated from the disastrous date night. Sean was pressuring her on the hacking project, which was proving to be a bear, requiring hours of attention. The client she worked for was entirely distrustful. No site visit allowed. No questions could route directly to him. Everything had to run through Sean. Which was time-consuming. And a waste of the client’s resources. Because every test took so much longer. For reasons unknown, she was working in a system that wasn't live—yet was still being utilized. The client had insisted on a beta before he would agree to bring them in for a full security audit. He wanted to know the weaknesses she would find on the in-house system; methods of penetration; portals that could be exploited.

  That meant her work hours couldn't begin until the system wasn't in use. The last thing she needed was to crash it while someone was in there working. But the problem was, there was always someone working in it. Late at night; early in the morning. She'd successfully logged a few evenings when there hadn't been activity. But, funneling her questions through Sean to his contact at the mystery company resulted in days passing before receiving answers to basic questions. She'd already conducted several tests on the dummy system, determining how to breach and corrupt it. Isolating on the weak spots, she could develop methods to close the loopholes and devise the means to deflect an attack. But even that—the client wanted reports on the exposures before he’d allow her to shut them down. "It's counter-intuitive." When she found gaps—why not close them right away? "Then I'll write the damn reports."

  Moodily kicking a pebble in the road, MaryJo's breath huffed out in crystal clouds. "Now that it's over with Travis, you'll have some free time." Hearing a car behind her, she edged closer to the curb. It was late for her neighborhood. A driver wouldn't be expecting to see someone out walking this late on a below-zero, Wednesday night. "No sense getting hit." She'd freeze to death in the gutter—seven houses away from her own. The car rolled by, seeming to slow down as it passed her.

  She frowned as she glanced at the bumper. Hadn't she just seen that sticker five minutes earlier? "Are you lost in the neighborhood?" Maybe it was a car pool. She thought of the times she'd been dropped off after basketball practice.

  "Jack?" As the noise of the engine faded, she listened for the recognizable yowl. Still nothing. Stamping her feet in the cold, she debated another trip around the block. "You've got nothing better to do," she muttered.

  Though she'd tried not to plan ahead, she'd fallen victim to Travis' likeability. Stupidly, MaryJo had imagined their date going well, which might have mea
nt spending more time with him. She’d rearranged her schedule—in that regrettable way she had—when she made assumptions about a promising relationship that inevitably turned out to be wrong. "At least now—you have plenty of time on your hands." To moonlight on her father's last-minute project.

  Despite the bone-chilling cold, her neighborhood glowed with warmth, light spilling from perfect rectangular windows in otherwise darkened homes, the scent of wood smoke curling through the icy, clean air of the starry night. Though she was outside freezing, the golden light exuding from the windows presented the illusion of safety. Of happy, warm people residing behind the drapes. If only she could find her annoying, pain-in-the-ass cat, she'd be able to finally trudge home and enjoy the same in her own house.

  As she rounded the block again, she heard the sound of an engine. Again. Not turning around, MaryJo veered back to the curb. "Maybe he needs directions." A moment later, the squeal of tires hitting a patch of ice sent a tremor down her spine. Glancing back over her shoulder, she barely had time to leap out of the way as the dark sedan seemed to skid toward her. She tripped on the curb, tumbling back into the frozen grass as the car crashed into the curb where she'd stood a moment earlier. "Ow." Her ankle twisted as she fell. Would he jump the curb? Heart in her throat, she waited, paralyzed as the driver fought to get his car back under control.

  The engine protested when it was thrown into reverse at a high rate of speed, screeching as he swung it around and peeled away, down the street to the front of the neighborhood. Shaken by the close call, MaryJo remained sprawled in the grass, pulse pounding in her ears, the frigid dampness beginning to seep into her jeans. "That's okay. I'm good," she called to the fading taillights. "No need to stop." Releasing a shaky breath, she rose to her feet and wobbled. "Ow."

  Ignoring the tremor of fear drizzling through her, she remembered Jack. It was too damn cold out for him to be skulking around somewhere—trying to find warmth. She'd circled the neighborhood three times. Now—she'd nearly been hit by a car. Wincing as she tested the ankle, she sighed with relief. She glanced down the darkened street. It was after nine. He'd been outside for two hours. First light would arrive at six.

  Probably, she'd awaken to discover him curled up on the back porch. Or, Jack would wake her during the night. His adventure over, he'd arrogantly yowl until she let him in. Hell—who was she kidding? You won't sleep tonight. She'd pace the floor, wondering where the hell he was. Worried that he was cold. Or scared. Trapped somewhere. Turning for home, MaryJo sniffed back tears. Lord, she was pathetic. Fixated on her damn cats as though they were human. But, as she hobbled home in the dark, numb with cold, her eyes dripping tears, she knew the truth. Jack and Danielle were all she had. "So, you should probably take better c-care of them." Or soon, she'd be left with literally no one who loved her back.

  As she approached her driveway, weary and shivering, MaryJo stumbled. Someone was there—on her porch, the shape of a bulky coat outlined in the overhead light. Jack! Had someone found him? Quickening her step, she covered the remaining distance in record time. As the person turned, hesitation marked his steps. Don't leave, she thought. "I'm here," she called, watching the person startle at the sound of her voice.

  "MaryJo? Is that you out there?"

  Travis. Skidding to a stop, she released a panicked breath. God—not now. She couldn't handle dealing with him on top of everything else. Why now? Sudden shivers overtaking her, MaryJo resolutely scrubbed the tears from her eyes before she trudged toward him, a wave of defiant despair washing over her.

  "WHAT ARE YOU DOING out there?" His heart thudding a little faster, Travis ignored his nerves, remembering how disappointed he'd been moments earlier—when he'd thought she wasn't home. He'd spent an uncomfortable few minutes standing there, his brain leaping through the possibilities. She was out—hopefully with friends. But—maybe on a date. With a nice guy, he amended. One who didn't question her beliefs. One who hadn't embarrassed her. She was probably with a guy who'd wait twenty dates-

  "What do you want, Travis?"

  Her wary voice sounded tired. Of him? Drawing closer, her face was pale and drawn under her ski cap. Her cheeks pink with cold. She'd been outside for a while. When she stepped under the light, the tears sparkling on her lashes finally registered. And Travis forgot everything else. "What happened? MaryJo—what is it? What's wrong?"

  When he reached for her, she drew back. Gut-punched by her action, the pain ricocheted to his chest. MaryJo didn't want him to touch her. Not even for comfort. Hell—she disliked him that much.

  "Jack's missing. I've been out looking for him."

  Her voice, husky with unshed tears, scraped along his nerves. For the first time in years, Travis felt helpless. Inadequate. "I'll . . . I can help you look for him. Why don't you warm up for a few minutes? I'll take a spin around the block-"

  Her hand on his arm stopped the flow of words. Words he'd hoped would fill the void between them and somehow make things right again. They weren't the apology he wanted to offer—because that was the last thing she wanted to hear right now.

  "It's okay. I've been out here for hours. He's just . . . n-not there." Her strained voice lanced through him as she battled tears. "I'll start again in the morning."

  "I can—I'll . . . help you." Christ—please. Please, MaryJo. Let me help. Let me make it up to you. So—she wouldn't hate him anymore. His brain shouted the words he was too afraid to voice.

  Offering him a polite smile, she shook her head. "Thanks. I can manage it." Turning from him, she stuck her key in the lock. "Goodnight, Travis."

  THE RIDE HOME TOOK only minutes . . . yet felt unbearably longer. Travis had left his house thirty minutes earlier, confident he'd win her over. Eager to voice his apology, he'd been certain his words would be enough to get them back on track. He would dance around the reasons why he'd been such a jerk. Because his explanation would never make sense to a normal person. Unlike his life, where vicious cruelty had been the norm—for most people, it wasn't. MaryJo was so forgiving, he'd assumed he could blame his actions on work stress. She'd already picked up on that vibe anyway.

  Instead, he returned home deflated. Perhaps more than when he'd left. Because now he had proof of the harm he'd inflicted. There'd been no warmth in her eyes. No comfort from his offer to help. She'd been distant. And sad. And defeated. Now—his chest tightened with a measure of the hurt he'd inflicted on her.

  Letting himself into the house, Travis tossed his keys on the counter. The stillness of his quiet house wrapped around him. Usually a source of comfort to him, tonight, the hovering silence felt a great deal like emptiness. What he should probably do was head back out. Hit a bar—find some woman to go home with—so when he returned home again, it would be nearly dawn. In the light of day, things would maybe look different. His house wouldn't feel so empty.

  The faint scratching sound near the kitchen table had him frowning in the dark. Christ. Now what? His patience at an all-time low, if he had to contend with a mouse scuttling around his kitchen, he would likely lose it. Snapping on the light over the table, he searched for the sound. A minute later, he turned on the outside light. Staring back at him through the French doors was MaryJo's cat.

  "Jack, what are you doing, buddy?" Relief flooding him, he found his first smile in several days. Unbolting the door, he greeted the greatest ally he'd never realized he had.

  After a can of tuna for Jack and three unanswered calls to MaryJo, Travis was still undeterred. He was going to give her his speech, damn it. And now, he had a bargaining chip. Scooping up his keys, he hesitated only a moment. "C'mon, Jack. We're going back out."

  Chapter 11

  Finally warm for the first time in hours, MaryJo frowned at the persistent ring of her doorbell. "Who the hell is at my door at ten o'clock?" Annoyance guiding her movement, she jerked open the door. And discovered Travis. Again. "What is it, Travis?"

  "Can I come in?"

  Why now? Why couldn't he just let it go? It had been
three days since their disastrous evening. She was finally reaching the point where she could relive their conversation and not feel humiliated. Another few days and she'd probably be able to laugh about it. "It's late. I'm tired. And we don't have anything to say."

  "Please, MaryJo? I have something for you." Unlike his condescending smile a few nights earlier, Travis' smile was encouraging. Hopeful.

  Reluctantly, she stepped aside, if only to close the door on the bitter wind. They may as well get this over with. She could let him apologize, then inform him she was no longer interested. A lie—but what the hell? They'd both move on. Maybe end up as friends.

  Shutting the door, she turned to face him. And finally noticed what was poking out of the front of his jacket. Shock rolled through her as she lurched toward him. "Jack! Oh my God, Travis. Where did you find him?"

  Unzipping his jacket all the way, Jack's squirming mass left his chest, leaping gracefully to the floor. Weaving twice around her legs, he bolted for the kitchen when Danielle poked her face around the corner, wondering what all the fuss was about.

  Staring at Travis' beautiful smile, she forgot her disappointment with him. Hurling herself into his chest, she threw her arms around him. "Thank you. Thank you so much." When his arms encircled her, when they tightened convulsively, MaryJo experienced an excruciating sense of longing. A painfully exquisite sense of rightness. How could she be so hopelessly wrong about him? When being with him felt so completely right.