Stupid Love

by Cindy Miles

  I knew then I was in trouble.

  I couldn’t stop my face from smiling. Why was it the sight of Jace Beaumont, pushing a cart in the grocery store, tickled me so? I wasted no time in hurrying toward him, in the event he tried to escape, and by the time I’d pulled up next to him I was almost ready to laugh out loud. God bless, he was cute as hell.

  “Hey, ca vien! Fancy bumping into you here,” I said.

  Jace smiled. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “Makin’ groceries, same as you,” I answered, and stepped closer to him. “I’ve got to see what lies in the cart of Jace The Tow Truck Guy Beaumont.” I took a quick inventory of his items, then lifted my surprised gaze to his. “You cook?”

  A sheepish grin sat crooked on his beautiful mouth, and he shrugged. “I survival cook. Nothing fancy. Cowboy basics, my mom calls it.” He cocked a brow. “Ca Vien? Makin’ the groceries?”

  I laughed. “Ca vien: how’s it goin? And, you know—makin’ the groceries? Getting the groceries?” I shrugged. “Acadian, boy. You’ll get used to it.” I lifted the whole cut-up chicken. “Whatcha doin’ with this?”

  “Chicken pot pie,” he answered. Then, he moved to inspect my items, and he reached for the frozen lasagna and a bag of Skittles. He said nothing, just cocked one dark brow. “Do you eat these together?”

  I chuckled. Checked myself and made sure not to snort. “That, my dear man, is dinner and dessert. I actually put the lasagna on a plate. You know. So I trick myself into thinking it’s home cooked.”

  “Hmm.” He set them down and then lifted the six-pack of Yoo-hoos! His smile was lazy. Amused. “This is fake milk, Memory.”

  “I don’t care,” I insisted, and smiled. “It’s super good and it’s…very much like milk.” I inclined my head to his giant jug. “I see you’re a fan.”

  Again, he gave a casual shrug that for some reason was about as sexy a move as he could make. Well, almost. “Guess you could say that.”

  Just then, the sweet old woman I’d spoken to earlier came strolling by, and she stopped, gave us both a once-over, and smiled. “Well, don’t you two make the cutest couple! Thank you again, sweetie,” she said to me. “Bye, now.”

  We both watched her toddle on by. “Friend of yours?” Jace asked.

  I looked up at him and gave a slight shrug. “She is now.”

  A soft smile settled against the gruff stubble of his face. “Is that so?” He studied me for a moment then, all smoky and subtle, and I noticed the dark rim of color that encircled the faded sage of his eyes. Fascinating, how eyeballs could entrance…

  “Yep. Well, Jace Beaumont,” I quickly said, glancing at the watch on my wrist. “Although I’d love to talk groceries more with you, I see you are finished and I’m just starting. Plus, I have an order to fill, so”—I moved back to my cart—“see ya later?”

  “An order to fill?” he inquired.

  He wasn’t running away. Which kind of shocked me. And thrilled me at the same time.

  “Yes,” I answered, and pushed my hair behind my ear. “Calypso Designs? Remember?” I rolled my eyes. “Sheesh. I told you to Google it.” I started to walk away. Unfortunately, I really did have to go. I’d turned down pizza with Claire and the girls to finish my order. I looked over my shoulder. “Bye, Jace Beaumont.”

  He stood there, watching me leave, and I have to admit, a shiver of excitement crept over my skin. Kicked up those silly butterflies going crazy in my stomach.

  “Bye, Memory Thibodeaux,” he said. In That Voice. Which caused more shivers.

  How absolutely bizarre, I thought. Me. Memory Thibodeaux. Getting the chills. By some random guy.

  I was usually the one giving them. I had to admit, being the recipient of said erotic fascinating chills was pretty damn interesting.

  I smiled to myself as I finished my weekly shopping and, although I figured he’d be gone by the time I walked out to my Jeep, I still looked for his truck. Yep, Jace had already left, but that didn’t stop me from thinking about him for the rest of the afternoon. I raced home and put the groceries away, finding a nice spot for my YooHoo’s in the fridge to chill. Since my appetite just wasn’t there at the present, I changed into a pair of faded work jeans, a tank with one of Dad’s heavy welding jackets over it, and my boots. I headed out to the workshop to start the order. The light outside had begun to dim as afternoon waned to evening, so I quickly fed Little Joe, threw in some fresh hay, then flipped on the overhead lights in the shop. I’d already gone to Willy’s and picked out the pieces I’d work with, and had them laying across several saw horses near the back. With Captain Gregg to keep me company as he curled up in his favorite corner, I turned on the gas tanks to begin the frame. Grabbing my hood, I pulled my hair into a ponytail, slid the hood onto my head, visor up, and then chose the first two pieces of metal. With the brazing rods in hand, I flipped my head, the visor came down to shield my eyes, I struck the torch and began my artistic touch on the skill of brazing with oxyacetylene. I hadn’t been at it long when the cowbell Dad had hung at the shop’s entrance rang out, and I cut the torch and lifted my visor. Captain Gregg was on his feet and let out a single bark of a warning.

  My jaw nearly hit the ground. Jace Beaumont leaned against the doorjamb, his weight braced by one forearm.

  “So,” he drawled. “I Googled you.”

  My face broke into a grin. “And you just couldn’t stand it anymore, yeah? Had to see for yourself?”

  Jace shrugged, his eyes light, regarding me. “Something like that.”

  “Well,” I inclined my head. “Don’t be shy, boy. Come on over and let me school you on the finer points of brazing with oxyacetylene as an art form.”

  Jace chuckled, so softly I almost didn’t hear him. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he walked that sexy bow-legged cowboy strut toward me, looking around my workshop as he did so. This time, a dark knitted skully covered his head. Dark brows and dark stubble covered his jaw and was in stark contrast to his winter-pale skin, and the skully pulled snug against his head somehow made his eyes stand out, large, green, sharp. He ambled up to me, and sort of ducked his head as though trying to make himself not seem so looming. So tall. I liked it.

  “Hey, Captain Gregg,” Jace said as the traitorous dog trotted up to him, nudging his thigh for attention. He rubbed the thick fur between his ears, then looked at me. “I didn’t mean to stop you from your work.”

  I threw my head back and looked at him with a smirk. “Oh, yes you did.”

  I swear, Jace Beaumont’s cheeks turned a little red.

  I smiled, deciding not to embarrass him. “Okay. Well, I really just wanted to get the frame welded tonight, and I’m almost finished. Give me a minute and I’ll give you the Grand Tour.”

  Jace’s smile was so genuine, yet so cautious, it almost made my insides ache. “Yes, ma’am.” He backed up a ways, Captain Gregg beside him, and propped against one of the empty sawhorses.

  “I assume you know not to look at the arc flash, yeah?” I asked.

  His response was a lazy smile.

  “Thought so,” I replied, then flipped my head, causing the visor to fall into place. I finished brazing the pair of framed legs, the whole while knowing Jace Beaumont was watching my every move. I had to admit, it made me a little nervous. And, a little exhilarated. I couldn’t help but wonder if he still wished to remain just friends. Dare I push it? Ha! Of course I dared! But later. Not now. Even I had boundaries.

  With the arc off, I lifted my visor and inspected my work. The beads were smooth. Perfect. Satisfied, I set the welding rods aside, turned off the machine, and removed my hood and hung it on the wall. When I turned around, Jace was there, inspecting my newly welded work.

  His thumb slowly rubbed the metal, his head dipped down low for a better view, and when he lifted his gaze to mine, I actually saw admiration there. I knew that’s what it was. I’d seen the same look in my dad’s eyes.

  “Pretty decent weld, Ms. Thibodeaux,” he sa
id lazily. “I’m thoroughly impressed.”

  I couldn’t have stopped the grin on my face if I’d tried. “Thank you, Mr. Beaumont,” I returned. Then, I crossed my arms over my chest and cocked my head. “Betcha didn’t expect that from a silly ole drunk college girl, yeah?”

  His features eased into an expression almost too soft for such a gruff face. “I swear, I wrongly misjudged you.” He gave me a polite nod. “I sincerely apologize.”

  I blinked. Didn’t see that one coming. I narrowed my gaze. “What’s wrong? What have you done with the real Jace Beaumont?” I said teasingly, then grinned. “You seem quite…approachable tonight. Why the change of heart?”

  Jace moved to a finished order I had sitting in the corner, waiting to be picked up. It was a massive piece, locally ordered, and approximately nine feet tall at its tallest. He ran his hands over each piece, inspecting the tin paddles I’d hammered, the steel rods I’d brazed, the random selection of iron and metal, the antiquing I’d done to give it the perfect patina finish. From the other side of the windcatcher, he looked at me, then moved on around to stand before me. He shoved his hands into his pockets and sighed. “A very wise person informed me I might be acting like a horse’s ass.”

  I rubbed my chin with my gloved hands. “And, you don’t treat, say, a friend,” I paused on that word, “poorly. Right?”

  Jace said nothing, but his eyes lightened. “I brought some supper,” he said, then held out his hand. “Truce?”

  I stepped closer, pulled one glove off, and slipped my hand into his. My gaze lifted, and for a moment neither of us said nothing. I felt my cheeks grow warm under his intense stare, and once again, I thought he might kiss me.

  “I’m not entirely sure why you’re having such an effect on me,” I said, then grinned. “But I like it, Jace Beaumont. I do.” I gave a firm nod. “Truce.”

  Jace Beaumont didn’t kiss me. Instead, he inclined his head. But there was something in his eyes. Or, something had disappeared from his eyes. Mistrust.

  Which made me feel quite thoroughly shitty.

  “Supper?” he asked. His mouth tilted up. Slightly crooked. Completely gorgeous.

  I smiled. “This I gotta see, yeah.” I hit the lights and closed up the shop, then stepped out into the chilly darkness. Little Joe, waiting at the gate, threw his head back and whinnied, so we walked over, and I scrubbed behind his ears. “Yeah, boy, I know, I know,” I crooned. He blew out a snort, his breath frosting as it left his nostrils, and then bumped me with his big jug head. I chuckled. “I promise I’ll take you out soon, okay?”

  “You ride much?” Jace asked, giving Little Joe a petting under his mane.

  “Not as much as I’d like,” I confessed, then tilted my head skyward. “Wow. Gives the phrase blanket of stars a whole new meaning, doesn’t it?”

  Jace glanced up, and then looked back at me. “Yeah, it does.”

  Then, miraculously, my stomach chose that exact moment to rear its ugly head, and growled. Loudly. We both laughed, and the sound broke through the night air. Somewhere in the wood, an owl called out. Neither of us said anything, but we both listened.

  Jace inclined his head. “Let’s eat before you…turn into something.”

  “Now you’re talking,” I replied, and we started toward the house. Jace stopped at his truck and withdrew a covered dish, and I led the way inside, and stopped long enough to hang my welding jacket on the hook by the door. “Follow me,” I said, and we went into the kitchen. Jace set the dish on the counter, and I peered through the clear glass lid.

  I looked up at him. “Now I’m impressed. You did this?”

  His eyes were on mine. “Technically, the oven did it. I just threw everything together.” His lip twitched. “Not that hard.”

  I lifted the lid and took a whiff. My eyes slowly closed as I inhaled. “Oh my god,” I muttered, then peered at him. “I can’t believe you made this.”

  “Well,” he began. “Since I can eat about three of those frozen bricks of lasagna it lasts longer if I make a big pan of this stuff.” He laughed. “Trust me. I know how to cook just enough to get by.”

  I opened the cabinet above me and retrieved two plates and grinned. “Wanna grab the sodas? They’re in the fridge.”

  Jace seemed to take up quite a lot of space in the small kitchen. Much like Max Thibodeaux did when he was home. It felt strange, and it felt…right, having Jace here. How could that be? Crisco and Bentley and Colton had been in here a gazillion times.

  Why did Jace Beaumont’s presence feel so different?

  “You have a serious affection for strawberry soda,” he chuckled, pulling out two frosty bottles.

  I glanced his way as I pulled out two forks from the drawer, and I noticed his gaze had moved to the half sleeve of ink that was fully exposed in the white tank I had on. He looked at me, and smiled as he set the bottles on the table.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t mean to stare.” He inclined his head toward my arm. “That’s a lot of detail.”

  Then he surprised me and pulled the chair out for me to sit in, and I almost didn’t know what to say.

  “Well,” I finally did say. “There was a lot of thought that went into it. Ink is a very personal form of expression, you know.”

  We both sat, and Jace caught my eye. “What does timeless mean?” he asked.

  I tilted my head, studying him. “What do you think it means?”

  He looked away for a moment, down at the table, and I could almost see the wheels turning in his head. I studied his profile, his strong jaw dusted with dark scruff, his dark hair that had a slight natural wave to it, and his straight nose.

  Then, he looked at me, and I fell into a pool of sun-faded sage.

  “That your presence is always here,” he said. “Long after the body has gone.” He shrugged. “That’s how I’d see it, anyway.”

  He might as well have socked me in the gut. How could he have known that? It was my exact interpretation, and the very reason I’d chosen the word.

  Long after Jace left that night, I thought about his interpretation. We’d talked through supper—which was too amazing for words—and talked more after. I hadn’t learned as much as I’d have liked, but he informed me that his grandfather had been a large male presence in his life, and that he’d suddenly passed away a couple of years before. Also, that old Jasper and Jace’s grandpa Jilly had both been in WWII as well as Korea before settling into law enforcement. And that they’d both trained under the same post for the Rangers. Pretty interesting history, I’d thought.

  Jace was pretty damn interesting, too.

  Dad had called, though, and mine and Jace’s get-to-know-each-other time had been cut short. He’d insisted on going, instead of me calling Dad back. Respectful. That was one thing Jace Beaumont was to-the-gills full of. And it was a damn nice change of pace. I mean, hell. I was used to guys just wanting to get in my pants. A good and casual lay, and I was usually up for it. Good, healthy, hot-blooded youthful fun. I mean, why the hell not?

  Jace Beaumont made me do something I rarely ever did.

  Pause.

  And I wasn’t sure yet if that was something I wanted to make a habit of. Or rather, could make a habit of.

  Dad was coming home next week, and that had me a little jumpy. I knew I couldn’t keep things from him for too long. Max Thibodeaux was always on high alert when it came to his baby girl Memory, and not only that but also my guilt and poor conscious would certainly crack my carefully constructed façade of Everything’s Okay. It was one thing to pull crap on him over the phone. Quite another to do it in person. He’d see right through me.

  I didn’t have classes on Fridays, and since the medicine was laying low inside of me this particular morning, and my head wasn’t hurting, either, I headed out to the workshop to get busy on the order I’d started. Claire and the guys were coming by for lunch, so by eight I had my hair twisted into a loose braid, another pair of faded work jeans, boots, and a tank. I grabb
ed my welding jacket at the door and was slipping it on when my cell phone rang.

  At first, my heart leapt. For some crazy reason I’d hoped it might be Jace.

  It was not.

  When I saw the caller, my stomach dropped. Jesus, what now? I had no choice but to answer.

  “Hello?” I said quietly, and sat down on the porch steps.

  “Memory, this is Dr. Cates.”

  I sighed. “I know.”

  He didn’t laugh or chuckle like he normally did. His voice had an edge to it. The same edge that had been present weeks earlier when I’d gone in for my annual MRI.

  “Memory, I’m concerned,” he started. “You know I don’t like your decision to wait.”

  I stared out over the early morning, and noticed frost sticking to the fence. As I spoke, as I breathed, my warm breath turned to frost when it hit the cold air. “I know you don’t, Dr. Cates.” I inhaled. Exhaled. “But it’s my decision, right?”

  “It is.” He paused. “Have you told your father?”

  I let my eyes close. “No, sir. He’s away on a job. He’ll be home next Wednesday.”

  Another pause. “Memory, I’ve known you a long time, and sweetheart, I am confident that by putting this thing off you’re only making it worse. Perhaps, more deadly.”

  I swallowed hard. “The odds already suck, Dr. Cates. I just really, really need some more time to consider it. I mean everything is at stake here.” My voice caught in my throat, which usually didn’t happen, and I hated it. “I’m just a few months away from my degree. I have to finish college. And,” I breathed. “What if the surgery fails? I don’t want to be a burden on my dad. Ever.”

  “Honey,” Dr. Cates said. “The risks involved with waiting just might exceed the risks of the surgery itself. This thing…it’s fast, Memory. I don’t want to give it one ounce of freedom. Not one ounce of air to breathe.”

  “But you said the medicine would help.”

  “It will, to a certain degree,” Dr. Cates continued, then he grew silent for a moment. “But these things are unpredictable. They can have growth spurts and I don’t want to risk that. Will you at least come in for another MRI?”