He frowned. “Sorry. Not something I’ve got on hand.”
She glanced at his thick, dark—and short—hair. “You don’t need it.”
He finished his roll, wiped his hands on a paper towel, then reached out to lift a tangled strand. “It must be hard to manage, on the move. I’m surprised you didn’t have it cut. Glad, but surprised.”
“If I could look like Zee, I would. But I just look like a little boy.”
True laughed. “Little, I’ll give you. But even at my blindest I never thought you were a boy.”
He lifted the strand again. “Let me,” he said.
“What?”
“You eat. I’ll comb.”
“True—”
“My fault I don’t have conditioner at hand.”
He took the comb from her. If he noticed the gaps from the missing teeth he said nothing. He just started to work, gently, methodically, working his way through the tangles, all the while holding her hair so that it didn’t tug on her scalp.
She’d finished half the roll before it hit her. “You’ve done this before.”
“Yes.”
“Amanda?”
“Yes.”
She hesitated, then said, “It must have been awful.”
“It was. For her.” He kept combing, but his voice was tight. “We were in an apartment then, kind of small, so toward the end, with Zee there most of the time, and hospice people coming and going, it got to be like a war zone.”
“It was a war zone, wasn’t it?”
He stopped mid-stroke. The tangles were gone now, but he’d kept combing. She loved the feel of it, so hadn’t said anything.
“Yes,” he said after a moment. “Yes, it was. And we lost.” There was a touch of anger in his voice, even after all this time. She couldn’t blame him. “She fought every step of the way, lasted longer than they said she would. But one night she woke me. To say goodbye, because she could feel herself slipping. She died in my arms a few hours later. Peacefully.”
Hope didn’t dare speak for a long moment, because that he’d shared this painful memory with her meant the world. That it was one more thing for her to carry when she had to leave didn’t matter just now.
“That damned disease did not win,” she said finally, softly. “It can never, ever take away what you two had.”
He went very still. And then he leaned forward and pressed his lips to the top of her head. For a long silent moment he just stood there, silently. She didn’t know what to say, didn’t want to say anything because somehow this moment seemed crucially important.
And she regretted the moment when his cell phone rang, shattering it.
*
“Mrs. Hawkins?”
He probably sounded as surprised as he felt; this hadn’t been the call he was expecting. Or hoping for at least. And he was still off balance anyway; he’d never told anyone about those ugly last days of Amanda’s life. Zee knew, of course, because she’d been there. She’d even offered to do some of the more intimate, female type things, but Amanda had wanted him. The kindly, gentle hospice workers she allowed, but when they were gone, it was him she wanted. And so he did it. Awkwardly more often than not, but she had never complained. And all the while he knew each time could be the last, and so it was never a chore, only a final declaration of love.
“—bring her?”
Belatedly he tuned back in. “Bring her?”
“Yes, to the house. Adam wants to thank her, but the doctors won’t let him go outside yet, because you know that boy, he’s utterly incapable of not running around at full speed all the time, jumping over this, climbing that, and that’s the worst thing for him right now, so if you could bring Hope over since she doesn’t have a car, that would be wonderful, we’ll have lunch ready and of course you must stay as well, you’re the one smart enough to hire her and—”
“I’ll ask her,” he interjected, marveling as always that the woman never seemed to take a breath.
“Don’t ask, just bring her,” the woman said breezily, with that imperious confidence that her wishes would be obeyed. And since they usually were, True wasn’t sure he could fault her for that. “See you in an hour.”
And the flow of words finally stopped, but only because the woman had hung up. Texas tornadoes had nothing on her.
He looked at Hope, his mouth twisting into a wry smile. “Maybe you should have bought a hair dryer.”
She drew back slightly. He explained. “Oh, no, I couldn’t,” she said.
He gave her a sideways look. “One does not simply say no to Ginevra Hawkins.”
“But—”
“If you don’t show up there, she will show up here and take you in tow. On the other hand, if you go peacefully, she will allow you to escape after a reasonable amount of time.”
“And what,” she asked, “is a reasonable amount of time?”
Forever.
The word popped into his head unbidden. He quickly shifted his gaze back to his phone, staring at it as if he’d forgotten to do something vital. For some reason his silence seemed to convince her. Maybe he should remember that.
“You’ll stay with me?”
He resisted answering with that word; it would likely send her running right now. So he just nodded, figuring that was safe enough.
“All right. I wouldn’t mind seeing Adam again.”
The ride to the Hawkins’s large, just the right side of blatant home was rather silent. He was still wrestling with that word that had shot into his mind, and Hope was not—thank God—a chatterer anyway. Or at least she wasn’t now. He wondered if she ever had been, if in her prior life she’d been a gregarious, outgoing, center of attention kind of woman. He wondered if he would ever know.
“Nice house,” she said as they arrived.
“Her family’s been in Whiskey River practically since Booze.” He managed a grin. “And not always on the same side. Her great whatever granddaddy was a preacher.”
“Fire, brimstone, and don’t drink that whiskey?”
His grin widened, more solid now. “Exactly that.”
She shook her head slowly. “This place. . .I grew up in places that weren’t towns, they were just expansions of a big city. They had names, but that’s all. They were just known by how far they were from L. A. It was all just one big sprawl, practically interchangeable. This place has history. Identity.”
“Yes.”
“It’s. . .amazing.” She looked at the house again. “I feel like I should be more dressed up.”
Since he knew perfectly well that wasn’t an option for her, he just shrugged. “It’s Saturday. Casual. She’ll live,” he said, all the while thinking how much he hated that she had so little. “Besides, Becca, Adam’s mom will be there, and she’s pretty laid back.”
Adam looked good, practically back to himself. And, True guessed, chafing at the bit to get back to his normal, active life. The boy thanked Hope with a nice little speech that was no less sincere for obviously having been practiced. He was followed by his mother, who thanked her fervently for saving her son’s life. There were other relatives clustered about who soon surrounded Hope. Followed by friends. She was the center of attention for the moment, and he was certain that was something she hadn’t had or wanted since that hot summer night in L.A.
She gave True a nervous glance a couple of times, but it was clear everyone merely wanted to thank her, and she eventually seemed to relax a little. Enough so that when his cell rang and he looked at her before he stepped out of the room to answer, she saw him and nodded that she was okay.
He glanced at the screen. Quashed a moment of hesitation, then answered.
“You’re up early,” he said.
A familiar, if long unheard voice said, “It’s eleven here.”
“Early for a rock star after a Friday night show,” True amended. And judging by the noise in the background, the party wasn’t quite over yet.
“Fuun-ny. How the hell are you, True?”
&nbs
p; Well, that could have a variety of answers. “Like your song says, some things never change.”
“And like it also says, sometimes that’s a good thing.”
There was a sudden swell of the background noise, shouting and cheering. True wondered how Jamie could hear at all, but he was probably used to it.
“Look, if this is about Aunt Millie’s house—”
“No. We’ll deal with that later. Right now. . .I need a favor, Jamie.”
There was a split second pause, then he heard, “Hang on, let me get into another room.” True heard somebody call Jamie’s name, heard him move the phone away and answer, “Later, man, this is important.”
True smiled; Jamie Templeton might have left Whiskey River, but he was still a hometown boy at heart, no matter what Zee thought.
A moment later the background noise was gone.
“Shoot, True.”
“I need you to do something for me.”
“Makes this a red letter day, you being the one asking instead of the other way around.”
“It’ll be a pain, and you’ll have to lose the entourage,” he warned.
“Hurt me,” Jamie said, and True could almost see his grin.
“Okay, here’s the deal,” he said. And started in motion something he truly hoped he wouldn’t regret.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“Really, Becca, you’ve already thanked me more than enough. I’m just glad I was there.”
Adam’s mother put a hand on her arm. “That boy is everything to us.”
“Of course he is.” Hope smiled at the woman. “And I can see that you have your hands full with him. He’s a sharp one.”
“Yes, he is. He takes after his daddy.”
“Does he?”
“Yes.” Hope didn’t ask where he was, or even look around the room, but the woman sighed. “He’s in the service, on deployment. Again.”
“That’s rough. And underappreciated.”
“Thank you,” Becca said, smiling now, clearly past a moment of weakness.
Hope saw True coming back into the room after his call. He wasn’t looking at her, so she let herself watch him, storing up the images of this tall, strong man against the time when she wouldn’t be able to look at the real thing.
“You,” Becca said, “are a lucky woman.”
That was a description she hadn’t applied to herself in some time, and her gaze snapped back to Adam’s mother.
“Lucky?”
“I haven’t seen True like this with anyone since his wife died. And believe me, we all tried.”
Hope opened her mouth, then closed it again, thinking what she’d been about to ask would be very wrong. But Becca read her look and smiled ruefully.
“Yes, sadly, I must include myself in that number. I was in the middle of feeling very sorry for myself when my husband’s last deployment was extended, and got a little tipsy at Boots and Bangles, our annual charity bash. True was there, for the first time in years, and. . .I made a pass at him. A pretty heavy one.”
“Oh.” Hope didn’t know what else to say, and decided nothing was the wisest option.
“But True is True. An utter gentleman. He told me as appealing as the idea was—which was a total lie, I was so drunk—he could not and would not do that to Reeve. Or Adam. Or me, since he knew how I’d feel when I sobered up. And he took me home. I mean, the man actually put me to bed, and left.”
Hope studied the woman in front of her, saw the genuine embarrassment in her eyes.
“I was so humiliated the next morning. I mean, I adore my husband, and I’ve never felt worse about anything. To this day I haven’t had the nerve to face the man. But bless True again, he has never said a word to anyone.”
“But you’re telling me?”
“True picked you, so you must be trustworthy.”
Hope felt her cheeks heat slightly at the words that seemed to be a law in Whiskey River. “Did you ever think,” she said quietly to this woman she already liked, “that perhaps that’s why, even drunk, out of all the men there you picked True to make a pass at?”
Becca’s brow furrowed. “How do you mean?”
“That on some level. . .you knew. That he wouldn’t take you up on it, and he wouldn’t blab.”
Becca’s eyes widened. “I. . .never thought of it like that.”
She looked suddenly happier, and that made Hope smile.
“Oh, I see why he’s with you,” Becca said. “You’re not just pretty, you’re kind, too. I’m glad. He’s been alone too long. And that, I know something about.”
Hope started to speak, but stopped when she realized she had no idea how to explain that this wasn’t permanent. No matter how much she wished it might be. A wish that grew stronger every day. Every minute of those days.
Stay.
You can’t. You’re not good enough for him anyway.
She glanced at True across the room. As if he’d felt her eyes on him his head turned. She smiled. He turned back and said something to the man he’d been speaking to, an uncle of Adam’s, although she wasn’t clear on whose brother he was. And then he started toward her. Becca turned as if to go, then stopped. With a glance and a smile at Hope, she stayed. And when he reached them, she smiled up at him.
“I have thanked Hope,” she said.
“Endlessly,” Hope said with a smile.
“Deservedly so,” Becca said. “But I also want to. . .thank you.”
True shook his head. “She did it. I wasn’t even there.”
“She’s here because of you,” Becca said. “And by the way, I’m glad to see it. She’s perfect for you.”
Hope’s jaw tightened as she bit back the exclamation that she was so far from perfect, for anyone, but especially True. She couldn’t look at him, didn’t want to see his face as Becca connected them in that way that sounded inevitable and deep.
“But that wasn’t what I meant,” Becca said. “I’ve waited much too long, but I wanted to thank you for. . .what you didn’t do that night.”
He gave Becca one of the gentlest smiles Hope had ever seen. “What night? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Becca looked at Hope. “See?”
She left them there and went back to her son, who was holding court to visitors from his spot on the couch, wrapped in a blanket under his grandmother’s fiercely watchful eye.
“She. . .told you?”
“Yes. You’re quite something, Mr. Mahan.”
He shrugged. “Doesn’t take much of a man to pass up something that wasn’t really meant and would hurt so many, including friends.”
She wondered if he realized just how many there were who would never pass up such an offer. Surely he did, he was hardly naïve, he’d been through the worst life could throw at a person. Perhaps it was just that that kind of man wasn’t worth his time or thought.
“You know,” he said, clearly leaving the topic behind, “I think with a little nudge they’d throw you a parade.”
She nearly laughed aloud at the idea.
“You could have a place here, Hope,” he said softly.
That longing she’d quashed welled up in her again, to have that place, to belong here, in this place with the quirky history and the tightly knit community. She felt like a child reaching for a treat that was teasingly just out of reach.
Your life is worth fighting for.
We’re a town that pulls together for one of our own.
She had to look away before he saw the tears welling up in her eyes.
*
She wanted to stay.
He’d been quiet all the way home, but he’d seen her fighting tears. And when they got there he couldn’t stop himself from reaching for her. He meant to be gentle, coaxing, knowing Hope was in a fragile place. She wanted to stay, he could see it in her eyes, her face, but she was afraid. And he was so weary of that damned, hideous emotion. He’d seen too much of it, and he hated seeing it in her.
And suddenly it trigge
red something deep within him; maybe she couldn’t fight, but he could. He hadn’t been able to save Amanda, but he’d be damned if he’d let Hope suffer. As if he could burn it out of her with the heat they struck together he didn’t just slip the leash, he threw it away. He wanted that fear in her turned to ash, he wanted the only things in her mind to be him, them, and the amazing thing they’d found.
He had them naked so fast she sounded a little breathless. He wanted more of that, he wanted those moans from her, the rippling of her body against his, and he wanted to hear her cry out his name while he was buried deep inside her. He wanted her thinking of nothing but how much she wanted time after time of this, of how hot, how explosive they were together.
Together.
He wanted that so welded into her mind that there was no longer anything of him or her but only them, more together than either was apart. He wanted to imprint himself on her so deeply she simply couldn’t walk away. Maybe it wasn’t the best way, but it was the only way he knew right now.
He took her hard and fast and deep, and gloried in her wild response. He savored the slick, hot feel of her, and even the sting as her nails dug into his back. He drove harder, his mouth moving over every inch of silken skin he could reach, his tongue circling her nipples, his hand slipping between them so his finger could duplicate the caress over that tight knot of nerves that would send her flying. And when it happened, when he got that fierce, awed cry of his name he let himself follow, and in the end he wasn’t sure which of them was quivering more with the aftershocks of a pleasure unlike any he’d ever felt.
Much later, as the day faded, he opened his eyes to the gleam of her eyes, open and watching him in the faint light remaining. He hadn’t meant to doze off, but wasn’t surprised given how utterly relaxed he felt.
“Getting dark,” he said carefully. There was something in her eyes, something different, and until he knew what it was he couldn’t quash the feeling he needed to tread carefully.
“Yes.”
He half wished she would reach for him, start that incredible dance again. He would never forget how it made him feel, the first time she had initiated it, knowing how tentatively she felt about. . .everything. But that change in her made him wary. Instead he said, “I didn’t realize that was going to turn into a party today, or I would have warned you.”
Whiskey River Runaway (Whiskey River Series Book 2) Page 18