by Ann Whitaker
Nick finally returned to the room, and before he could speak, I seized the moment. “My mother’s expecting us for dinner tonight.”
“So?”
“Well, you’ve got to eat. You don’t have to sit by me.”
He sat down, picked up a book, and began to thumb through it. “Not a problem.”
“You won’t need a tie. The slacks you have on will be fine.”
I got up and pretended to straighten some magazines on a nearby table to avoid looking at him. Did this mean he wasn’t too mad at me? “I’d better warn you. My mother is…well, she’s rather eccentric.”
“Like her daughter?”
I gave a wry laugh. “We’re nothing alike.”
If I was lucky, Sarah would play peacemaker tonight, as she always did. Not only had Sarah inherited Daddy’s business smarts and his disposition, she knew how to humor Mother. I, on the other hand, was not the humoring kind. When the two of us got together, sparks usually flew. Even if Nick was—or had been—as crazy about me as Sarah said, one evening with my mother could put an end to that.
I slipped into some black pants and a black top with a gold beaded pattern on the front. The black suited my mood, and I didn’t want Nick to think I was trying to impress him by getting too fancy. I also didn’t want to give my mother any ideas about mine and Nick’s non-existent relationship.
At the Abilene Country Club, a dozen staff members “Miss Julied” me into the main dining room where Mother and Sarah waited. So much for trying to hide my past. Nick eyed me appreciatively. “You’re pretty well-known around here.”
I tried to downplay the scene. “Yeah, well…my mother hangs out here a lot. She plays gin once or twice a week.” And drinks her share of it, too, I almost added.
“And your father?”
“Dead.” I hesitated, then added, “Airplane crash. Small airplane.”
“Oh, sorry.” Nick’s smile didn’t fade. It vanished. “I guess that explains why flying makes you nervous.”
“I know it’s silly considering the statistics. I’d never been afraid before, but after that…”
“Not silly at all.” He gave me a brief hug, filling me with a warm glow that didn’t last long enough.
Time to feed Nick to the lioness. As we neared my mother’s table, I saw her red hat and knew my fears were well-founded. Ever since she’d taken up with some group calling itself the Red Hat Hot Tamales, she wore a red hat whether she was with them or not. Mother thought it was a hoot. I found it pretentious. Sarah took it in stride. Tonight’s chapeau bore a striking resemblance to a giant male cardinal with ruffled feathers perched atop a nest.
As soon as Mother spotted me, she arose, reaching out her arms dramatically. “Julie! I’m so glad you’re back.” But her eyes never left Nick.
Heat rose to my face. I’d always hated her displays, her flamboyance. “I’ve only been gone a couple of weeks.”
For a woman in her mid-fifties, she was attractive in a high-maintenance sort of way. Her hair was blond, like Sarah’s, though Mother’s had a lot help from her friends at Hair Today, where she had a standing appointment every Thursday. Her bright red acrylic nails matched her hat and blouse. Her black skirt was short, revealing well-muscled, shapely legs. Though she rarely dated, I sometimes wondered if she was on the lookout for another husband. Something about her struck me as vaguely predatory.
“Mother, Nick Worthington. Nick, my mother, Elizabeth Shields.” Please, please don’t call her Liz.
Nick took her hand. “Good evening, Mrs. Shields. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Very kind of you to ask me to join you.” Then he nodded toward my sister. “Good to see you again, Sarah.”
Mother’s eyebrows shot up, no doubt impressed and obviously sizing him up. None of my former boyfriends had possessed Nick’s dignified manners. He pulled my chair out for me and took the empty place next to mine across from Mother. How would he ever keep a straight face with the bird hat across from him? I slid my eyes to the side, trying to catch his expression. He was giving my mother one of his dazzling full-frontal Chiclet smiles, like Noche. I could hear the ka-ching as she racked up points in his orthodontic ledger.
After the waiter served our drinks, I pretended to study the menu, steeling myself for the fusillade of questions my mother was about to unload. I didn’t have to wait long. “Sarah tells me you’re a pilot. Is that your occupation or just a hobby?”
The question might have sounded innocent to Nick, but I knew the subtext. She was fishing for some sign of Nick’s monetary worth.
“A little of both.” Nick lifted a glass of water to his lips, so I couldn’t tell if he was smiling or grimacing.
“You mean you fly by choice?”
“I guess you could say that. I’ve wanted to fly since I was a kid. At one point, we lived close to an Air Force base, so I decided when I grew up, I’d learn to fly. For me it’s freeing to transcend the world below.” He paused. “I’m sorry. Julie told me about your husband’s accident.”
My mother mumbled a thank you and changed the subject. “So you’re from Waco. I used to know some people from Waco. Do you know the Hudsons? They lived in Castle Heights.”
Castle Heights was one of the oldest, most elite parts of town, home to many of Waco’s movers and shakers, the ones with “old” money. I loathed my mother’s practice of dropping names, trying to impress people, and she was on a roll. “I think I attended UT with a boy named Worthington. He was studying to be a doctor.”
Then, before I could stop her, she zeroed in with the question people in Abilene over fifty always ask a person they’ve just met. It usually came right before: “Have you found a church home yet?”
“And what does your father do, Nick?”
“Which one?”
My mother drew back in surprise. “How many do you have?”
“There’s my adoptive father, a retired alcoholic proctologist. And then my birth father, a carpenter in Mexico.”
My mother’s painted-on brows drew together. “I love New Mexico. What part?”
Nick chuckled. “Old Mexico.”
Sarah held her menu in front of her face. “What are you going to have, Julie? The chicken-fried lobster looks pretty good to me.”
Mother was not deterred. “My heavens. Why would anyone choose to live in Mexico? I’ve read about people retiring there because the cost of living is so low, but think of all the amenities one would have to relinquish.”
Nick smiled. “My father was born in Mexico. So was my mother. The Worthingtons adopted me.”
Mother’s head bobbled, and I wondered if the bird hat was about to take flight.
I sucked in my cheeks to keep from bursting with laughter at the look on her face. A hush fell over the four of us, and for a moment I thought Mother might choke. Instead, she surprised all of us by throwing her head back and braying like a donkey. She used her napkin to wipe a tear from the corner of her eye. “Oh, that’s priceless. Born in Mexico, indeed. Which would make you Mexican?”
“No ma’am. Born here in Texas. I’m afraid I’m an ugly American, just like a lot of other people.”
I stole a quick glance at Nick and saw a shadow pass across his face. Was it possible he was telling the truth? It hit me I knew nothing of Nick’s background except for Carmen’s comment about his mother being a bossy woman. Now he was getting a shit-pot load of my mother. If her antics didn’t make him cut and run, nothing would.
I gave silent thanks when the waiter served our food. My mother continued to hold court, wrapped up in her own small world. “We wanted Julie to be a doctor.” My life choices were some of her favorite topics. “She took all the required courses for medical school, then told us she wanted to be a veterinary technician. Can you believe that? Why would a young woman with her looks and intelligence want to work with dirty animals all day when she could be treating people?”
My mother needed one of those T-shirts that said, “I’m talking, and I can’t shut
up.” I concentrated on chewing my steak, letting her ramble on. Fighting her was useless.
She took a sip of wine and pointed a red fingernail at Nick. “Can you believe Julie refused to attend her coming-out parties?”
Nick looked baffled. “Coming out? They give parties for that?”
At first Mother appeared confused. Then she caught on and brayed again. “You are so funny. Julie, wherever did you find him?”
I’d like to say my mother had a few under her belt by this time, but her wine glass was only half empty. Mother’s drug of choice tonight was serving as Queen de la Dinner Table.
“Coming out. You know. Here we call it the Cotillion. In Waco it’s the Cotton Palace. Cotillion Belles, princesses. When a girl reaches a certain age—it varies by region—her family and friends host coming-out parties to mark her entrance into society. When Sarah came out, there were parties every weekend, and teas…why, it lasts months. The newspaper runs their pictures. And on the final night, they’re presented to family and friends at a ball in their honor. They wear designer gowns and long white gloves. Such a lovely affair…very elite. Of course, not just any girl can be a deb. She has to be sponsored by someone who’s a former belle or debutante.”
I suppressed a yawn as Mother shifted from Cotillion Belles to Sarah’s pledging the “right” sorority in college and her involvement with the Junior League. Sarah had the decency to look embarrassed, but we both knew it was useless to try to change the subject. Poor Nick. He’d be sorry he ever set foot in Abilene.
My mind drifted off. I was jerked back to reality when something warm touched my thigh. It was Nick’s hand, and it was on the move. A slow burn crept upward to my face, while lower, a throb of pleasure pulsed. I ceased to breathe as I slowly turned to face him.
Eyes as unfathomable and as blue as Lake Waco met mine. I think that’s when I made my decision.
Chapter Eleven
I took the long way home, hoping to engage Nick in conversation, but once we left the country club, he spoke little. Probably shell-shocked from two hours with my mother, not to mention my own offenses. I’d deluded him and made him feel like a fool. Still, he’d piqued my curiosity with the mention of his parents, and I’d never been one to let questions rest unanswered for long.
I glanced toward him, but all I could make out in the darkness was his profile, silhouetted against the window. “Were you serious? About your parents being from Mexico?”
He gave a wry chuckle. “Do you think I’d make up something like that?”
“Maybe.”
“All true. The blue eyes throw people off.”
I drove slowly. “And your real name?”
“Short version. I was christened Nicolás Tomás Solano-Perez. Born in America. When I was two, my parents had to return to Mexico, but they wanted a better life for me. My mother cleaned house for a couple who couldn’t have children—the Worthingtons. She was the controlling type and wanted children; he didn’t like kids. She convinced him they should adopt me. I was twenty-eight before I knew any of this. Sorry, I guess that’s not the shortest version.”
An incredible sadness filled me. Sorrow for the parents who’d lost a child, and for Nick, who grew up not knowing the truth about his past. “Did you ever see them again? Your real parents?”
He paused for so long I wondered if he was going to answer. “Only my father,” he said, as we pulled into my garage.
Maybe Sarah was right. Maybe he was more sensitive than I’d given him credit for. Sure, he had the dark good looks I always fell for, but had I judged him too harshly, writing him off as just another handsome hunk with an airplane?
Once inside, I told Nick to make himself at home while I paid Philip’s sitter and sent her on her way. Then I checked on Philip, who’d settled under a table. I lowered myself to the floor and crawled over beside him, putting my face close to his and petting him gently while I crooned. “My poor baby. Poor little leg.”
I was still crouched down with my butt in the air when I heard a noise and looked up to see Nick standing behind me in the doorway. I jumped up quickly, bumping my head on the table.
“You okay?” Nick asked.
I reached up and rubbed the top of my head. “Yeah. I’m hardheaded.”
“What about him?” His eyes darted in Philip’s direction.
“He’s doing okay. Just needs time and some TLC.” I leaned down again and kissed Philip’s furry head, making sure my butt wasn’t facing Nick this time. “Don’t you, sweetie? You know your mama loves you.”
“You sound like Carmen,” Nick muttered.
I laughed. “Guess so. You jealous?”
“Of a dog?”
I grinned. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”
Nick moved to the sofa, and I chose a chair opposite him. I wanted to bring up the subject of his parents again but thought better of it. I needn’t have worried. He had his own agenda. He leaned forward in his chair and looked directly into my eyes. “Enough about me. What about you?”
“Me?” He was interested in me?
“Why take a job as a dog trainer when you evidently have plenty of money?” He held his palms up and looked around the room.
“My mother inherited the money. I got this house.” I didn’t mention the sizable trust fund I’d receive only if I got married. Getting caught husband hunting on the Internet had been embarrassing enough.
Nick looked at me as if waiting for more. Okay, he’d asked for it. This is where most guys I dated tuned out. “For a long time now, I’ve had the dream of opening an adoption center, where throwaway animals can get a chance at life in a loving home. I’ve raised enough money to start building, but we need a whole lot more. When this house sells, the proceeds will go toward the new Lookin’ for Love Adoption Center, but until then, I need money. And Carmen needed me. That simple.”
Nick crossed his legs, leaned back, and stared at me, as if seeing me for the first time. Finally, he spoke. “Quite an ambitious venture. And selfless.”
“Hey, don’t get me wrong. I’m no saint.”
He chuckled. “Don’t I know that. But who is?”
Though I’d thought my heart was so toughened it would take a gallon of meat tenderizer to soften it up, I realized a prime cut had Nick Worthington’s name on it, a slice as tender as a filet at Texas Roadhouse.
Too, his hand on my thigh under the table at the country club had once more roused my libido from hibernation. Maybe a few months wasn’t all that long, but I wasn’t a bear either. At dinner, each time I’d looked into his blue denim eyes, a green light signaled “GO!” Add it all up, and it was enough to make me to rethink my decision to remain a born-again virgin.
I poured us each a glass of wine and sent Nick out onto the deck with his, telling him I needed to freshen up. I’d made a decision and needed to set the stage. Nick was right about one thing, I did have control issues. I wanted everything perfect. Maybe I was more like my big sister than I wanted to admit.
Though my imagination had always pictured us someplace exotic—like Hawaii, Rome, or Paris—instead, here we were at my house in Abilene, Texas, USA. I’d have to make the best of it.
First, I pulled out my unopened set of One Hundred Fifty Romantic Country Hits, guaranteed to steam up the room or your money back. I popped the seal with a fingernail and placed all ten discs in the player. Since batteries wouldn’t be involved, I might need some extra time. Then I lit about twenty candles. Soon, the scent of jasmine filled the air. I hoped some of it was making its way out onto the deck. Nick was in for one big surprise. Till now, I’d put up roadblocks. Tonight, I planned to take him cruising down the freeway.
I hurried into the bedroom and ripped off my black pants and white cotton granny panties and pulled on a pair of bikinis and a skirt. He’d just have to accept the fact the only thongs I’d ever wear would be on my feet. I slipped off my bra, then changed my mind. First of all, without my padded, push-up bra, all I really had upstairs were my two pencil er
asers that might not pop up unless I got cold. And it was summer in West Texas. Reason two—Nick needed something of mine to remove. Men liked doing that. Working at it seemed to raise the value of the goods. Not that my goods were bargain basement, but they were slightly used.
Then I practiced twisting my hips so my flippy little skirt would draw attention to my legs, but when I looked outside, I noticed the sun had set. I raced downstairs. Since it was too dark for Nick to see my legs, I grabbed up one of the jasmine-scented candles and carried it outside with me, hoping to create an aura of beauty and sensuality.
He was sitting on the glider. Good. Room for two.
I imagined I was Kathleen Turner in Body Heat. No wind chimes, but I had plenty of heat.
I moved slowly, like a snake. Some woman on Oprah teaching pole dancing said slow movement was the key, so I concentrated on changing my default from fast forward to slow motion. It was a stretch for me. Normally, I raced around like a greyhound.
“You all right?” Nick asked, tilting his head.
“I’mmm wonderrrfulll,” I answered, my speech slow as a Texas drawl. I continued my sinuous walk across the deck until I stood mere inches from where he sat.
His eyes grazed my lower half. Yes, I thought. But when he spoke, his voice was full of concern. “Did you hurt your leg? You’re walking funny.”
“No, I’m fine.” I answered more sharply than I intended. Instead of sitting across from him as I usually did, I eased myself onto the glider, close as a tick on a dog, and held the candle up to my face, trying to look dreamy-eyed.
Nick’s face seemed to brighten. He’d never seen this Julie before. My subtle change must be working. Men were supposedly intrigued by mysterious women.
“Nice house,” he said. “Where’d you get the art?”
Another point for his side. He’d noticed it wasn’t paint-by-number. “Oh, here and there.” I tried to maintain an enigmatic air. “Why do you ask?”