Scott pulled in a deep, steadying breath through his nose. Even though her sentiments weren’t far off from the very thoughts he’d been wrestling with, they still rankled. “Mrs. Jackson,” he said quietly, “my mother drilled it into all our heads from the time we were babies that people are people, that who they are isn’t defined by what they have. Or don’t have. I’ll admit, I am fascinated, because I’ve never known anyone like her. But when I say that, I’m talking about her character. Who she is. Not what she is. Do I make my point clear?”
Several seconds passed before a soft cackle fell from Enid’s shapeless, wrinkled mouth. “I guess you do at that. Don’t mean I’m still not keeping my eye on you.”
And he thought the dog was bad. “Wouldn’t have it any other way,” he said with a little salute, then walked back to Christina’s door, realizing he’d been gripping the flowers hard enough to practically bend the stems.
Over Gumbo’s excited barking, Christina yelled, “Door’s open, come on in! Dog! For crying out loud, hush!”
Scott’s entrance sent Gumbo into his happy-happy-joy-joy dance, his long tail wagging so hard it was a wonder it stayed on.
“Sit,” Scott commanded, and after some effort the poor animal managed to lower his wriggling butt so it hovered right above the carpet, eyes glued to Scott in rapturous adoration. To complete the look, one ear, then the other, slowly flopped out.
“That’s as close as it gets,” Christina said fondly. “Something about the way he’s put together, he can’t get his backside all the way to the ground.”
Then she noticed Scott had turned his frown on her and a chill snaked through her whole body, and that was the sorry truth. Good Lord, he was big. Bigger than she remembered, frankly. Or maybe it was only that her apartment seemed smaller.
“Why’re you looking at me like that?”
“Like what?” he said. Still frowning.
She sighed. “Like your little chat with Enid isn’t sitting so well.” The dog looked from Scott to her, figured nobody was paying attention to him—which would never do—so he sashayed over to the sofa and hopped up beside her. Wedging his sturdy little body between her hip and the cushioned back, he laid his head on her lap with a contented groan. “Those flowers for me or the dog?”
“You can share,” he said, handing her the bouquet. “You heard us?”
“Your voices, yes. Not what y’all were saying.” She buried her nose in the delicate lavender mums, the scent fresh and sweet, then lifted them to Scott again. “I don’t even own a real vase, but you might find a jar under the sink that’ll work. I take it she was doing her Rottweiler number on you?” she said as he crossed to the kitchen.
“I was thinking more along the lines of rabid Chihuahua, but yes.”
“She means well,” she said over the water’s thrashing into a big olive jar. “And it is nice to have somebody on my side.”
Scott returned with the flowers, which he set on the fabric-covered footlocker she used as a coffee table. Still standing, he pushed back his jacket, shoved his hands in his pockets. Frowned some more. “I’m on your side.”
“I mean somebody who’s gonna stick around.”
Silence. Then: “She wanted to know what my intentions were. Toward you.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Christina said, even as she thought, Yeah, wouldn’t mind knowing the answer to that one myself. “She sure has the wrong end of the stick there, doesn’t she? I mean, you’ve been real sweet and all, but—”
“But what I haven’t been, is entirely honest.”
“About?”
Chafing his palms together, Scott sank onto the edge of the old recliner, pushed out a short, dry laugh, then lifted his eyes to hers. “Okay…those hours we spent together in the airport…jarred something loose in my brain. You jarred something loose, and…I don’t want to say too much, too soon—the last thing I want to do is scare you off—”
Like she had any place to go?
“—and anyway, at first I thought…well, never mind what I first thought, that’s immaterial now. Because the thing is, the more time we spend together, my feelings—for you, I mean—they’re becoming more…real.”
Then he gave her That Look. Like the one the Jane Austen hero always gives the heroine when he finally comes to his senses.
Except that’s always at the end of the movie, you goober! Not the frickin’ beginning!
“Scott,” she said when she finally found her voice. “You can’t be serious. Besides the fact we met less than a week ago…I’m not even remotely your type!”
A half smile tilting his lips, he leaned back, his hands gripping the chair’s arms. Nice, strong hands, she couldn’t help but notice. Because she was observant like that. “Yeah, well…I’ve dated plenty of women who were supposedly ‘my type’ and have never felt…drawn to them the way I am to you.”
Christina opened her mouth to argue, only to hear a little voice in her head pssst at her, reminding her there was no arguing with Scott Fortune. Men like that, once they made up their mind, that was it.
Except…what was it he’d made his mind up about, exactly? So he was “drawn” to her. Big whoop. Didn’t mean anything would come of it. Especially since…
“May I remind you, in case it escaped your notice, that my home is here? And yours isn’t?”
“Well aware of that—”
“And even if that weren’t the case, I simply do not have the wherewithal right now to be in a relationship. Or even think about one. So if there’s an ulterior motive behind your wanting to help out, you might want to rethink a thing or two.”
He laced his hands high on his stomach, looking completely relaxed. And not the least bit perturbed. Except the steely look in his eyes sent another one of those shivers scooting up her spine.
“So Enid was right. That you’ve been screwed over?”
Christina’s eyes narrowed. “What did she tell you?”
“Nothing more than that.”
“Then let me fill in a blank or two. I was married before, when I was very young. It ended badly. I’ve dated some since then, and those relationships all ended badly, too—”
“Which is why you haven’t dated in two years?”
“Did kinda put me off, yeah,” she said, wondering what else she’d said that night that he’d remember. And she might not. Ergh. “And I finally realized,” she said, hoisting her little booty back on track, “I needed to stop trying to define myself by looking to other people. Especially the wrong people. Because until I figure out who I am, I have no earthly idea who I need. Or what I need.”
He tented his fingers in front of his face. “And why do I get the feeling you’re leaving out several huge chunks of the story?”
“Because it’s kind of hard to break free of the past if you keep revisiting it.”
“None of us can fully escape our pasts, Christina—like it or not, the past shapes who we are—”
“Not if we don’t let it. The sores are healed over. For the most part, anyway. Please don’t ask me to rip them open again.”
They stared each other down for some moments before Scott said, “I don’t give up easily.”
“Then this should be interesting, because I don’t give in easily. Not anymore. And I told you, my home is here.”
Seconds ticked by, punctuated by another groan from Gumbo.
“You’re absolutely sure of that?” Scott said at last.
“Yep. So, see?” She lifted her hands, palms up. “Pointless.”
“Okay, then,” Scott said, getting to his feet and heading to the door, “I’ll…see you tomorrow.”
Except, after he left Christina didn’t feel all that relieved, truth be told.
And that made her very, very nervous.
Chapter Six
“Here,” Wendy said, setting a towel-covered basket on the wrought-iron table in front of him, along with a knife and butter dish. “I made muffins.”
Glancing up from his iPad, Scott smiled for his sister, her dark brown hair glowing in the morning sunlight flooding the whitewashed, glassed-in porch snuggled up against the back of her and Marcos’s modest three-bedroom house in town, where he’d been bunking since the family’s return to Atlanta. Apparently, the former leather-and-chrome “décor” had been centered around the big-screen TV in the living room, until she’d wrought her magic. Now Bare-bones Bachelor Pad was turning into a fun, funky mix of contemporary sleek and cozy cottage, as sassy and sophisticated as its new mistress.
“You spoil me,” Scott said, setting down his coffee mug to pluck a still-warm pumpkin muffin from the basket. “And aren’t you supposed to be off your feet?”
Air rushed from Wendy’s lungs as she sat across from him, then dragged over another cushioned chair to prop up her feet, a pair of puffballs underneath her fuzzy slipper socks. It was pretty obvious she was about to go stark raving bonkers from boredom. And, Scott suspected, loneliness. After finally convincing Miguel it was okay for him to return to New York, Marcos was rarely around, between tending to his duties at Red and frequent trips to San Antonio with his father and Rafe to keep tabs on Javier. In which case, considering the shenanigans his sister could get up to, a baking binge was the least of their worries, her puffy ankles notwithstanding.
“Giving you breakfast is hardly spoiling you,” she said. “Especially since this is the first morning I’ve caught you before you left again. I mean, I know you didn’t hang around to keep me company, but still.” She faked a pout, only to immediately grin. Then she grabbed her own muffin, yanking it apart like a starving urchin and slathering it with soft butter. “By rights, I should be mad at you.”
Scott frowned. “For what?”
“Usurping my position as the family’s black sheep.”
“Nobody ever thought of you as a black sheep. A lost one, maybe,” he said with a smile. “But not black.”
Chewing, his sister waved one hand. “Whatever. But my point is, I was always the one voted most likely to do something crazy. Not you.” She reached for the rest of her muffin. “You do know they all think you’re nuts, right?”
Thinking, Oh, just wait, Scott leaned back in his chair, his gaze wandering outside and past their yard, to the vast, serene sky delicately veined with bare tree branches…as his thoughts wandered to that conversation with Christina, where she’d declared she’d never, ever leave Red Rock. “They can think what they like. For the first time in my life, I feel as though things are finally making sense.”
“Poor baby. You’ve really got it bad, don’t you?” When Scott nodded, she laughed. “So you’re telling me Christina is as down with…whatever this is as you are? After a week?”
“I didn’t say that,” he said, which got a snort from his sister. Scott glowered at her, then looked outside again. “As you said. It’s only been a week. Right now I’m just in…the exploratory stage. Not anywhere near ready to sign on the dotted line.”
Which was never going to happen as long as Christina kept him at arm’s length, doling out bits and pieces of herself as though they were rationed. True, he might have given the impression that if she didn’t want to talk about her past, that was her prerogative. And in theory he was fine with that. Except it bugged the life out of him, that she didn’t trust him. Not entirely, at least. Understandable, he supposed, given the circumstances, but—
“May I say something?” When Scott faced his sister, a crease marred the otherwise smooth space between her brows. “I know you’re used to making things go your way. Heck, we all are. Especially after hearing our entire lives how anything’s possible if you work hard enough for it.” A wry grin twisted her mouth. “Or throw enough money at it. But—and bear in mind I don’t know Christina, so I could be talking through my hat—” The crease deepened. “This is a human being we’re talking about. Not a business transaction. Have you considered how you’re going to feel if she never…comes around?”
“What makes you think she won’t?”
“What makes you so sure she will?”
Inexplicably annoyed, Scott got to his feet, grabbing his leather jacket off the back of his chair and digging in the pocket for the keys to the SUV.
“And now I’ve chased you off,” Wendy said, clearly amused.
“Brat,” Scott muttered without heat, and she chuckled.
“By the way, have you talked to Blake since they left?”
Although still several years older than Wendy, his youngest brother and baby sister shared a special bond that had been cute as all get-out to witness when they were little. And he knew they talked nearly every day, even now. “No. Why?”
“He seems…I don’t know. Different, somehow. I can’t put my finger on it. So I was wondering if he’d said anything to you.”
Scott shook his head. “No. Things were so crazy after the tornado I didn’t really get a chance to talk to any of them. But…”
“What?”
“That experience…I doubt any of us are the same. Except for Mike,” he said with a humorless laugh. “Nothing affects him. And I mean nothing. I swear, sometimes I think the man’s an android.”
Wendy laughed. “That would explain a lot. Oh…take the rest of the muffins to Christina, will you? Otherwise, I’ll eat the whole batch. And that would be wrong.”
He returned to get the basket, then met his sister’s gaze, realizing with a rush how much he adored her. How much he’d like—
“Wanna meet her?”
A huge smile lit up Wendy’s beautiful face. “Yes, please!” Then, on an “Oh!” she clapped her hands together. “She could help me pick out stuff for MaryAnne’s nursery! Oh, don’t give me that look—she’s probably going as stir-crazy as I am, with her broken foot and all. And what woman doesn’t like to help decorate? It’ll be fun, I promise.”
At the hope twinkling in his sister’s eyes, he sighed. “I’ll give her the message.”
Leaning painfully on her crutches as Scott drove up, Christina stood on the porch watching Gumbo zigzag around the small plot of grass bordering the trees next to the complex.
“What are you doing outside?” Scott asked as he got out of the car. Completely at ease, like they’d never had that conversation. Brother.
She angled her head, squinting at him through the sun. Wondering when he was going to snap out of…whatever this was. “Drying my hair. Letting my dog do his business.” Then, with a sigh, she looked back at Gumbo, sniffing in the weeds. Happy as a dumb clam. “Cleaning up after him is a bit tricky, though. Enid said she didn’t mind if I let it go for a bit, it being winter and all, but I do.”
Scott set the basket he was carrying—like he was Red Riding Hood or something—on the lopsided metal table by the front door, where Christina had dumped the scooper and stuff. Which he then grabbed. “I can do that—”
“Oh, no…I cannot let you clean up my dog’s poop!”
“After mucking out a horse’s stall? No contest.”
And off he went to tend to a chore she guessed was not part of his usual routine, chatting away to the dog trotting alongside him, presumably to show him the ropes. Or whatever. Then Scott calmly disposed of the little package in the Dumpster at the end of the parking lot, looking ridiculously pleased with himself.
“Now that I’m completely mortified…” Christina mumbled as she thumped through the door. Scott washed his hands at the kitchen sink—thoroughly, she noticed—then disappeared back outside. For good, if he was smart.
But no. Because no sooner had she resumed her usual spot on the end of the sofa, her foot stretched out in front o
f her, than he and the dog returned with the basket. Which, no matter how he held it, made him look extremely silly.
“You really mucked out horse stalls?”
“I really did. I gather from your wet hair the chair finally arrived?”
“It did.”
“So how was it?”
“The chair? Hard.”
“I meant your shower.”
“Awkward. But after a week of sponge baths? Glorious.”
“Did your foot hurt? Without the cast, I mean?”
“A little. But I was real careful not to put any weight on it.”
“Maybe you should have held off until I was here to help you.”
Silence hummed between them.
“Wendy sent muffins,” he said, carting the basket to the small kitchen table, then rattling around in her cupboards for plates and utensils and things. If not his dignity. “Pumpkin orange. Although she looks nearly as miserable as you do. She can’t go in to work, Marcos is rarely around, and her doctor’s told her to keep her feet up as much as possible until the baby comes. She’s not taking it well.”
The dog hopped back up beside her to stretch out on his back, paws in the air, head upside down in her lap. Like he was waiting for her to feed him grapes. “Tell her I feel her pain.” Realizing Scott was watching her, she glanced up with a too-bright smile. “Bless her heart. Thank you,” she said when Scott set a muffin and a glass of orange juice on the coffee table within her reach, then sat on the chair across from her. “Are we pretending everything’s fine between us?”
“I wasn’t aware things weren’t.”
“But you—”
“I know. And I apologize for spooking you. Eat your muffin. You won’t regret it.”
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