Twila's Tempest

by Natasza Waters

  “No, should I be?”

  “Yes,” he said, pulling her into the living room. “I know you’re not a weak woman. And you’re not the type to complain. You just accept what is and make do.” He glanced around her trailer, mostly filled with her parent’s things. She hadn’t tried to make it her place, preserving their memory instead and living within it.

  “There’s nothing to complain about,” she said, watching him with a wary look.

  “What will it take to piss you off?”

  “What?” Shock covered her expression. “Why do you want to see me angry?”

  “I want to see your passion, woman, outside of the bedroom. You scorch me when we’re in each other’s arms and then you recede like the tide, falling into the role of nurse maid and speed bump.”

  Twila’s hands curled tightly at her side. “It’s my profession, Drake. And I’m not a speed bump. I pick my battles.”

  He glared at her. “Then make it your profession and start a business.”

  She flapped her arms. “Why are you so bound and determined that I start a business again?”

  He watched her pace. “Because you have to. You said you were thinking about it. Do it. Let’s find a place and stock it with whatever you need and hang the shingle. Whatever you need, I will get.”

  “I was going to do that with Dr. Aikens—”

  “No way. Not with him.”

  “Why not?”

  He shook his head. “Twila, he wants you, not your services.”

  She surprised the hell out of him when she whirled around. “And what’s the matter with that? He’s…he’s a doctor. He makes a good living. You’re leaving. We had our fling.”

  He gripped her arms to steady himself, but at the same time, wanting to shake some sense into her. “It’s not a fling!” he yelled.

  “I know that you don’t do forever. Regardless of how we feel, you have to get back to your business. What do want me to say? Don’t go?”

  “Yes!” he shouted, and then stilled, his heart banging hard. “Yes, that’s what I want to hear. I didn’t want to hear it from Heather or any other woman I’ve ever known, but I want to hear it from you.”

  “There’s no point, and I’m not a charity case. I will figure out my own shit.” She crossed her arms tightly over her chest.

  “Why? Why won’t you accept my help?” Being stubborn was going to tear them apart. “It’s not help, it’s…it’ll be…ours…us.” What the fuck was he trying to say? “Set up shop in the Keys. Aikens says there aren’t old timers there. He’s wrong. There’s plenty.”

  “I can’t move there.”

  “Why not?”

  “I just can’t. I have to get a part time job and start…never mind.”

  She marched into the kitchen, and he followed because they were about to cross a line, the one she kept well-hidden and held her fears behind. He watched her yank open the fridge door and pull out a juice container. At the same time, she thrust a beer at him. He took it and plunked it down on the counter, not interested in anything but convincing her that they had a future.

  “You need money, correct? You’ve been draining your account while taking care of the residents here.”

  She closed her eyes and sighed. “It’s none of your business.”

  “I don’t want to leave here without you. Why do you think I’ve been dragging my ass about leaving and chasing yours every second I get? I want us to live together, come to the Keys and move in with me.” He dropped the huge bomb in the middle of her kitchen, and his guts ticked like an explosive ready to detonate.

  She blinked and stared at him in total shock. “This is crazy talk. I think…” She took a steady step away from him. “You need to go now. I have things to do, and you have your luncheon to prepare for.”

  Nervous as hell, but so was she, he could tell she wasn’t even going to entertain the idea. This wasn’t the most romantic conversation, but knowing he wouldn’t be able to see her every day freaked him out. Twila wasn’t the kind of woman who’d shack up with a guy. “Sweetheart, I will get a sum total of zero done if I walk away from you now.”

  “It’s not the end of the world. You’ve got a huge future. Go get it.”

  The technical side of his brain evaluated with cold scrutiny, but his heart easily overruled the facts. Wasn’t he the one who wanted to keep relationships simple? He needed a cold beer and a quiet place to think. The Rebecca jumped into his mind, and the image of Twila was right there. She was everywhere, and soon she would be nowhere.

  “Drake?”

  “You want me to leave.”

  She nodded.

  “You want me to leave and not come back.”

  She nodded again.

  “Look at me, Twila.” When she raised her eyes to meet his, he said, “I want you to consider something very important before you decide to set us adrift.”

  She waited for him to continue, her gaze telling him she would.

  “For once in your life, I want you to put yourself first, and I hope like hell you’ll fight for us.”

  He placed a soft kiss on her forehead. Finding the answers at the bottom of a bottle of beer was his only hope right now, because for some reason he knew it would be impossible for Twila to put her dreams in front of anyone else.

  Twila followed him to the door. “You’re going to the luncheon.”

  He nodded. “It’s business, Twila, that’s it. I’ll come by afterwards and pick you up for dinner.”

  With a swift step, she hid in the shadows of her Florida room. “No, Drake, I’m busy tomorrow night.”

  He turned a shoulder to step through her patio door. “Woman, you just don’t know when to say no, do you?”

  “It’s not a resident.”

  Standing on the lawn he squinted to make her out. “Who then?”

  “Dr. Aikens wants to talk about including my services with his practice. He’s serious about the offer. You’re right, it’s time I move on.”

  A wave of jealousy washed over him, but years of Marine training came to the rescue. He didn’t reveal how her words impacted him, but they’d obliterated his heart. Was she doing this because she wanted to start again, or because of the poison apple of doubt Heather left in her wake? “Move on from me, you mean.”

  “The captain of the football team needs his head cheerleader, and the gal on the sidelines needs to pull her head out of her fairy tales and get on with life. Both are happy endings, Drake.”

  His happy ending obviously was a helluva lot different than Twila’s. Twila leaned against the doorframe, her head resting against it. Exposed to the afternoon light, her curls shimmered, framing her sweet features. The twisting pain in his heart cinched tight, seeing tears glisten on her cheeks.

  “Take care of yourself, Twila.” A lump formed in his throat, his chest squeezed tight with regret. “If you need anything, I hope it’s me you’ll come to.” He turned his back and walked away from her.

  So this is what it felt like to have a broken heart.

  Two hours later, his Dad sat down beside him on the deck, and pushed his fifth beer from his reach. He’d been slowly sucking them back all night watching the moon cross the sky. When he finally gave his father his attention, he saw him purse his lips with sympathetic concern.

  “Think I recognize that look,” his dad said. “And a good game on TV won’t help, but neither will getting sloshed.”

  Drake put his attention back on the branches of the old oak.

  “When you were young, you used to talk to me about your troubles,” his dad commented.

  He nodded. “There’s no right answer,” he said sullenly.

  “Son, I’ve never known you to give up on anything. Even when you and Layton were kids, you never left a fort unfinished or abandoned anything you built. Why would you abandon something as important as Twila? Or your happiness for that matter?”

  He swallowed and eyed the beer. “I’m not,” he said, folding his hands over his stomach and shifting
in his chair.

  “Did you know that I met your mother on a trip to New York? I lived in Michigan at the time. My brothers and I had gone out for lunch, and I saw your mom in a coffee shop. She was with some friends. My older brothers weren’t shy, and they moved in on the girls. I couldn’t take my eyes off your mom. She was so beautiful. Still is in my eyes.”

  He smiled at his dad. “I can see that.”

  “Your mom gave me her number, and we spent two weeks talking on the phone every day. I couldn’t get her out of my head. I packed my bags and headed to New York with no clue of what I’d do, but I was sure your mother was the woman I wanted to be with for the rest of my life.”

  “It’s a little different, Dad. You know that.”

  “I know you only live a few hours away. I know communications have gotten a helluva lot better than just the pay phone and a pocket full of quarters. Just because you have to leave, doesn’t mean you have to say good-bye.”

  Drake couldn’t see her, but knew his mother listened at the patio doors. He sighed and turned in his seat. “You might as well let me have it as well. Don’t want you having a stroke keeping it inside.”

  His mom took a position behind his father and wrapped her arms around his neck. His dad was quick to cover her hands.

  “What happened son?” she asked, without the usual zeal she put behind her words.

  “Heather came by. Whatever she said to Twila, it worked. Twila doesn’t want to see me anymore.” He bit down on the ache in his heart since she’d told him to go away. “Obviously, she’s seeing things more clearly than I am.”

  Both his parents watched him without saying a word. Miracles happened every day, but this one unnerved him. A minute passed and then two. “There’s a luncheon tomorrow. Heather’s father set it up. Plenty of possible customers.”

  “Twila will understand it’s business,” his mom said.

  “She does, but Heather convinced Twila she has nothing to offer in comparison. Twila accepted that my time here has an expiration date, and she hasn’t asked for anything.”

  His father sighed. “Do you love Heather?”

  He shook his head absently. “No. Never did. Never will.”

  “Have you ever been in love, son?” his mother asked gently.

  “Once.” He jerked his head to look away. “I first saw her struggling with a plant too heavy to carry so you could have it for your birthday.” He drew in a heavy breath and tears glazed his eyes. “I saw her on her hands and knees, pulling the weeds around the flowers she’d planted in honor of her mother’s life. With an honest, loving smile, she tucked a blanket around an old woman’s legs, worried that soon she wouldn’t be able to live alone, and I saw her tears as she told me to conquer the world without her.” He shook his head, but the tears kept falling. “But I don’t want to conquer it without her.” He heaved himself out of his seat, swiping his face with both hands. “I’m heading to bed. Good night.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Heather paced the pool house. A light knock on the door made her turn. “Come in.”

  Her best friend, Gretchen, walked in and flopped onto her couch. She was all decked out in her ‘have to impress the folks’ outfit with a proper length skirt and barely-there makeup. She and Gretchen had been friends since they were girls. Both of them grew up in wealthy families. They’d gone to college together, partied together, and woke up in strange places together.

  “You look like shit,” Gretchen said.

  She was always honest with her. With a tilt of her head, the long braid of blonde hair she wore draped alongside her arm.

  “Of course I look like shit. I don’t know what to do about Drake.” She flapped her arms. “I think he’s actually in love with that piece of cheap trash.”

  “When I saw them together at the restaurant he looked pretty into her, Heather. I don’t know what to tell ya.”

  She gazed at the ceiling not knowing whether to be pissed off, or cry her eyes out. “I have a plan, at least the start of one.” she said.

  “Plan? As in?”

  “Today at Daddy’s luncheon, I’m going to prove to Drake that I am the woman he needs.”

  “How’re you going to pull that off? You said on the phone he told you he was in love with that little brunette bitch. Maybe it’s time to kick him to the curb, girlfriend. There’s plenty of rich men in this state.” Gretchen twirled the tip of her braid around her fingers. “It wouldn’t take you an hour to find someone else.”

  Heather flicked her index finger against her hip as she paced. Give up on Drake? Never. Giving in to that little piece of useless trash he’d hooked up with, not a chance. “I think Drake is tired of the party scene and little Miss Molly Maid is bringing out his alpha. You know, protect the weak crap. It’s all that left over jazz from when he was in the Marines. In a way it’s kinda sweet, but that’s not who I want him to be.”

  Gretchen tucked her legs beneath her and leaned an elbow on the back of the couch. “You don’t want a white picket fence, do you? I mean, you can’t change who he is.”

  “I don’t plan to,” she said as if the thought was akin to picking up dog shit. “I just want him, and of course my platinum credit cards and his bank account. Once we’re married things will even out. I’m not planning on becoming pregnant. I still have years of modeling I can do. I’ll throw the best parties to wine and dine his clientele. He’ll love me for it. He just needs a little push to think I’m not only capable of being reserved and the perfect wife, but maybe the perception that I’m a little weak too.”

  “So why are we meeting here like some cliché spy movie?”

  She turned to face her long-time friend. “You’re going to help me pull this off. I need to create a little incident where Drake can come to my rescue.”

  “What if he doesn’t?”

  “He can’t help it. Whether he wants to or not, he’s going to be a gentlemen and save my honor.”

  “Not to be a bitch or anything—”

  “But you are.”

  Gretchen gave her a tart smile. “Say it works, if he’s actually in love with this other woman, it’s not going to change anything.”

  “I had a little talk with Twila, she won’t fight for him. In fact, she’s probably already told him to walk away. I pointed out that I am better for Drake’s future. She didn’t argue. The woman lives in a sad little trailer and is content with mopping floors and wiping the dribbling chins of old people. She certainly can’t stand beside him like I can. She has nothing to offer. Besides, there’s nothing she has that he wants.” Backing up to the wine fridge, she pulled a crisp white and two wine glasses. “Shall we forge a plan?”

  “Pour,” Gretchen said with a smile that matched her own. “How long do I have to implement your evil recovery plan?”

  “Four hours tops.”

  * * * *

  Drake pulled up and parked in a spot inside the estate next to the DeCourcy mansion. The enormous house with brick turrets, surrounded by a botanical garden for privacy, rested on the waterfront in the wealthiest part of town. Several cars and a few limousines graced the cobblestone driveway. He scrubbed both hands through his hair and sighed. This was the last place he wanted to be. Making deals on an hour’s sleep was not a smart move.

  With long strides, he followed the meandering pathway to the front door, then stood back and gave his shoulders a shrug. He’d dressed semi-casually in a blazer and jeans. He wasn’t here to impress anyone by playing the part of someone he wasn’t. He built ships, a working guy with craftsmanship to sell. If Heather was here, he hoped she could behave herself and not create a scene. If she did, he was walking, plain and simple. When the massive door cracked open Heather offered a demure smile. Easy on the eyes in an off white dress hemmed to just past her knees and her hair pulled back in delicate up-do, she looked the epitome of a wealthy Floridian wife. Dainty buds nestled against her earlobes and her face was free of makeup, except for a little mascara. A picture perfect young woman.
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  “Heather, you look lovely.”

  She leaned toward him, and he accepted the small peck she laid on his cheek.

  “Thank you, Drake. Please come in.” As they walked through the airy entry with an endless vaulted ceiling and breezy Caribbean furnishings, she said, “Most of the guests are here. You’re fashionably late,” followed by a sweet chuckle.

  He half expected her to try and take his hand and join the party as if they were together, but she didn’t. She stepped ahead of him onto the patio where the guests milled about with drinks in their hands and talked in small groups. The mild fall day, a balmy temperature with an ocean breeze from the Atlantic.

  “Drake, welcome,” her father greeted with one arm extended.

  They shook hands. “Mrs. DeCourcy.” He nodded to Heather’s mother who was always the premier hostess.

  “Drake,” she gave him a polite smile, but he could see Dennis had told his wife about Heather and him, and she wasn’t happy.

  Heather stayed beside him as they wandered the patio meeting the guests. She knew how to work a crowd with intelligent conversation. What the hell was she trying to prove? He noticed a few of her friends were there, accompanied by their parents.

  “Drake, what would you like to drink?” Heather asked, her hands twined together, her lean figure and straight shoulders the perfect image of innocence. He almost snorted. Innocent his ass.

  “Nothing, thank you, Heather.” With little sleep, adding alcohol on top would dull the senses and he felt like he was casing a mission. He scanned his surrounding, noting who was where, when they moved and where they moved to. Nuts! This wasn’t enemy territory, but his gut told him to keep aware.

  Heather gave him a pretty little smile, but her gaze spoke volumes with head-banger concert levels. She wanted his defenses down. He winked at her, and it discharged some of the stiff intensity flaring from her tense smile.

  “Drake, it’s good to meet you.” A big man with a polished smile and a thousand dollar suite nodded and extended his hand. “I’m Senator Macdonald.”

  “Good to meet you, sir.”

  “Dennis thinks you’re the man I need to talk to about building my next yacht. He says you make a solid craft and your attention to detail and the customer are top priority.”