Rachel, Out of Office

by Christina Hovland

  Yup, she’d felt it. The evidence of his desire was tenting his boxers, and there wasn’t a thing he could do about it.

  Rachel opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again. She seemed to be steeling some kind of resolve.

  Her leg brushed his as she kicked to tread water, and that seemed to make her decision for her. “Travis, I’d like to—”

  “Mom!” Kellan’s voice pierced the quiet of their side of the lake.

  Travis swam away from Rachel faster than he’d ever moved in the water. He didn’t look back, because he really needed to get his body under control.

  “Hey, baby.” Rachel waved to her son. “Are you coming in?”

  “Can I?” Kellan asked.

  Rachel nodded, and that’s all it took. Kellan stripped down to his Lightning McQueen skivvies and ran down the length of the dock like a hooligan with the police on his tail.

  Brady followed, but he took his time getting out of his clothes, folding them neatly and setting them beside his mother’s.

  Dave moseyed along behind the boys, stopping at the end of the dock while they cannonballed into the lake a la their uncle Travis. He, however, did not strip down and jump in.

  Instead, he took a look at Travis, then he glanced at Rachel already playing an impromptu game of Marco Polo with her kids, and then he shook his head. “I’ll head up to the house and grab you yahoos some towels.”

  “Towels are for weenies and old people,” Kellan yelled.

  “Kellan,” Rachel admonished. “Use your nice words when someone offers to do something kind for you.”

  “I’d love a towel,” Travis hollered. Giving a thumbs up for good measure.

  His erection disappeared, thank fuck, and he had every intention of getting in on this game of Marco Polo. Back in high school, he’d been known as the Marco Polo prick. That wasn’t true, but it could’ve been because he was that good at the game. He did have two brothers, after all.

  Rachel was saying something to Kellan, quiet-like, but with intensity. Kellan was listening because Rachel likely wasn’t giving him a choice in the matter. Travis had a feeling he was getting an earful about respect, if he had to guess.

  Even fun Rachel, in a lake, had her limits, apparently.

  “No, thank you, Uncle Dave,” Kellan hollered with a wave. “No towel for me, but Brady and Mom want one.”

  “Bring me two in case we need an extra,” Travis said, mid sidestroke.

  Dave gave a return thumbs up and headed back down the dock.

  “Now, boys, I would like to show you how to play Marco Polo.” Travis ducked under the water to show them just that.

  There was a great deal of scurrying of limbs, and he did not check out Rachel’s legs under the water. That’s his story, and he was sticking to it.

  Travis could hold his breath for an abnormally long time. When he was a kid, it used to freak his mama way the hell out.

  He had his eye on Rachel’s calf and followed her, careful to stay low enough not to make ripples under the water.

  Finally, she stopped moving, and he surfaced in front of her, touching her gently on the shoulder and said, “Polo.”

  Rachel. Shrieked.

  Her kids cracked up.

  She whacked him in the chest. “I can’t believe you just did that. How long have you been there?”

  The boys were still laughing and roughhousing and generally having a great time, so he took the opportunity and leaned forward, whispering in her ear, “Long enough to want you to look at me like you did before everybody showed up.”

  Turned out he could be serious. Serious about playing with fire.

  Rachel’s mouth parted, and that was all he got because the boys tag teamed him and both climbed on his back. It was the kids against the team they’d elected to call the elderly and, in the end, Dave showed up with towels and Rachel called it a draw.

  For the record, it wasn’t a draw, and Travis had totally won.

  He pulled himself onto the dock, still high on adrenaline from the lake, and the kids, and Rachel.

  His mama stood next to Dave. She did not appear thrilled. As a matter of fact, if he had to guess, she’d start talking about her pretend cat pretty soon.

  Dave gave him a sorry-she-made-me-bring-her-along look.

  Travis pulled each of the boys out of the water onto the dock. Rachel was already climbing the ladder and made it to the top before he could even offer assistance, because, of course, she didn’t need help.

  She was Rachel.

  And as soon as she hit the top step, she wrapped a towel around herself—which was a shame—and helped her boys dry off.

  He didn’t realize he was staring at her until his mother hissed his name. “Travis.”

  Mama’s tone caught his attention.

  He turned.

  She stepped forward, towel extended like a peace offering. But he knew that look in her eyes. Knew that was not what this was.

  “Rachel is Gavin’s wife.” She said the words softly, but in the tone she used when there was no debate.

  His mother had already made her feelings on the Rachel subject perfectly clear.

  “They’re not married anymore,” Travis said, doing his best to ignore his mama’s tone. “They had one of the shortest marriages in the history of marriage. You should know, you were there.”

  “Messing around with your brother’s wife is not what our family stands for.” Mama’s cheeks were scooting right past pink into red territory.

  “No, we stand for toaster tarts.”

  Past red and into full crimson, her face blazed. “My cat is so disappointed right now.”

  Her and her fake cat.

  Travis took a deep breath and leaned forward to peck his mama’s cheek.

  “Rachel is off-limits,” she said.

  “You should know better than to set limits,” Travis replied, just as softly as she’d spoken. “I don’t pay attention to them anyway.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “My mum always used to say, ‘If you can’t be good, be CAREFUL!!!!’” — Liz, North Yorkshire, UK

  Travis

  Travis was in the doghouse.

  Not the figurative doghouse. This was of the literal variety, as the puppies were his to watch for the night.

  “We need to talk about Brady.” Travis held his cell up to his ear as he stretched out on his bed.

  “The airplane stuff?” Gavin asked carefully.

  The “airplane stuff?” It was never just the “airplane stuff.” Travis knew the look in Brady’s eye; heck, he’d experienced it himself when he was about Brady’s age. The look that meant the kid was destined to be a pilot. That type of desire settled deep in the soul, and there was only one solution—flight.

  “Yeah,” Travis said, already knowing how the conversation would turn.

  “Rachel reached out. She said you might talk to me, too.” Gavin’s resigned voice came through the other end. “She doesn’t want him to fly.”

  Travis held his palm to his face. “He loves the sky. I can feel it.”

  “I think he’d be a great pilot.” Gavin sighed. “But I won’t even attempt to try to overrule his mom. Rachel has her reasons; you’ll just have to convince her.”

  Rachel had made it clear there was no convincing. Which meant, hell. The kid was gonna have to wait until he was old enough to do it himself.

  Like Travis had.

  And that stuck sideways in Travis’s craw.

  “You know,” Gavin continued, “if you could not piss her off while you’re there, I’d appreciate it.”

  Travis sighed. Fine. “I’ll drop it.”

  For now.

  “And if you might keep Mama at a distance from her, that’d be much appreciated, too,” Gavin added.

  “Dave and I have it under c
ontrol.” They did. They’d even agreed to a tag-team method that would keep Evelyn out of Rachel’s hair.

  Gavin sighed. “Mama can just be…”

  Travis glanced at the dogs lying on the other side of the mattress.

  He knew exactly how their mother could be. His setup that night was his mother’s doing, and he had her number on this one.

  She acted innocent enough when she’d made the arrangements for him to have two furry bedmates, but his mama worried he’d make a move on Rachel. Frankly, after the incident at the lake when he’d nearly kissed her, he’d worried about that, too.

  So his mother had saddled him with the two puppies.

  No doubt, she hoped they’d keep him occupied, so he’d have no time to go sniffing around for Rachel.

  “She can be Mama.” Travis chuckled as he punched the pillow behind his head, willing it into place. “We’ll make sure she doesn’t go full Puffle Yum on Rachel.”

  “Thanks.” Gavin said something to someone in the background. “I’ve gotta go, but I’m checking in with the boys again in the morning.”

  They said their goodnights and Travis turned off the ridiculous lamp made of antlers on the bedside table. But Travis could not close his eyes. Every time he did he saw Rachel’s pink lips.

  Despite what had happened earlier at the lake, he understood that logically he and Rachel should just stay friends. It kept things simple.

  He liked simple.

  He liked his privacy.

  He did not like having his mama all up in his grill about who he was seeing romantically. Therefore, he should keep his romantic entanglements outside of anyone his mother knew, had known, or planned to know. Unfortunately, Travis was never very good at doing what he should.

  A wet nose nudged his cheek.

  Travis turned his head. Pete stood on the top of the bedspread, wagging his tail and nudging Travis again with his wet snout.

  “I’m trying to sleep,” Travis said, adjusting his pillow and closing his eyes.

  Pete nudged him again.

  Travis rubbed the mutt behind the ears. “Time for bed, kid. Playtime’s over.”

  He’d already taken them out and tossed some balls around with his nephews and the pups before Rachel sent the boys to bed. Then he’d taken them out again for an extra bathroom break before he’d crashed himself.

  Travis cracked an eyelid as Pete lay down on his stomach, his face right up against Travis’s.

  Travis pulled the blankets over his head, and rolled over, willing to dog to go crash on the doggie bed or curl up with Re-Pete at the foot of the mattress.

  Pete hopped up and his little paws padded across the bedspread.

  Then the distinct sound of a stream of liquid dropping onto cloth had Travis bolting upright. It sounded like someone had turned on a trickle of a faucet.

  Given that that there was no faucet in the room and two barely housebroken dogs, Travis flicked on the lamp beside the bed and—with his teeth on edge—he glanced at the dogs.

  Re-Pete was still sleeping.

  Pete was mid-leg-lift at the edge of Travis’s bed, letting it all flow.

  Shit. Well, not shit. But that sound Travis had heard wasn’t water.

  It was piss.

  Travis groaned and rolled out of bed.

  “Dude.” He scrubbed his palms over his cheeks. “I’m not into that. You gotta ask before you try that the first time you spend the night with a guy.”

  Pete hopped from the bed and ran to the door. He paced back and forth, glancing at Travis and practically broadcasting he needed o-u-t.

  “C’mon, you two.” Travis stripped the bed as fast as he could—being careful to avoid the puddle—and grabbed the two leashes. Then he nudged Re-Pete awake and hurried with the dogs outside so they could do what they needed to do and not do it on his bed.

  He shivered. Damn, it was cold. Mountain air was especially crisp at eleven o’clock at night.

  He should’ve grabbed a jacket or a not-peed-on blanket, because the dogs were in no hurry to finish up.

  Re-Pete was now wide awake and sniffing all around the edge of the small lawn, apparently searching for just the right location to leave his gift for Mother Nature.

  Pete, on the other end of the spectrum, was peeing everywhere. Lifting his leg on anything not moving.

  Which was why Travis shifted from foot to foot and kept his eye on the little troublemaker.

  “Your mother asked me to talk to you.” Dad’s voice came from behind.

  Sheesh, Travis hadn’t even heard him approach. He blamed the fact that his teeth were chattering.

  “I just bet she did,” Travis replied. He turned to his dad, then gestured to the dogs. “We’re almost done here. You think we can take this inside, so we don’t turn into Popsicles?”

  His dad had had the brains to put on a bathrobe before he came out into the chill. He watched the dogs for a beat, shook his head, then glanced at Travis. “Meet me in the study.”

  Dad didn’t linger, already heading back inside where it was warm. His dad was a very smart man—no one ever really argued that point.

  Like Travis, Dad took the most direct approach to solve an issue or have a conversation. He was decisive but fair.

  Travis leashed the dogs and then, all together, he and his new pack headed for the study. At least this was where his dad kept the good hooch.

  Travis had barely entered the room, his skin slowly returning to having some kind of feeling.

  “You. Rachel. No hanky-panky,” Dad said as he poured Travis a bit of amber liquid and repeated the measure for himself. “Your mother is flipping out. She’s convinced herself that you’re in Rachel’s pants.”

  “This is why you tracked me down?” Travis asked. “In the middle of the night?”

  “Have you met your mother? She can’t sleep, which means I can’t sleep.”

  “I’m not, how you so eloquently said, in Rachel’s pants,” Travis said once they settled in. They sipped the scotch as the dogs lazed under the desk.

  “All right, I’ll tell your mama that.” Dad didn’t make a move to get up. He wouldn’t, either, not until he’d finished his scotch.

  “Mom should just be glad that Rachel and I are getting along and communicating,” Travis said, stretching out in the leather armchair.

  His dad harrumphed. “Your mother can pull problems from thin air. Problems that didn’t exist two minutes prior.”

  Pete let out a snore, apparently ready for bed now that he’d emptied the entirety of his bladder all over the property. So it was Re-Pete who hopped up to sit on Travis’s lap.

  Aside from his father explaining why Travis shouldn’t consider banging his former sister-in-law, the whole thing had a very Norman Rockwell vibe.

  Then again, “banging” was the wrong word. Travis didn’t want to bang Rachel.

  Well, he did, because she was gorgeous, and he had been feeling some serious chemistry in the lake. He enjoyed the way she laughed, smelled, and he was pretty much desperate to see how she tasted. But there was more to it than that. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what that was, but there was definitely more.

  Dad turned the cut-crystal tumbler around in his palms. “I’ll explain to your mama what we talked about and then maybe we can all get some sleep.” He added a, “Finally,” under his breath.

  “So this is less about me and Rachel and more about you wanting some z’s?” Travis asked.

  His dad nodded. “Yup. Glad we’re on the same page here.” He stood and set his now-empty glass back on the tray by the liquor.

  “My mama needs to take her own advice and mind her own business when it comes to who I’m spending time with,” Travis suggested, hoping that his father would find a way to put a spin on that request that would bring his mother around.

  “It’s
complicated. You know that.” Dad shook his head and rested his elbows on his knees.

  “What’s complicated about me being nice to the mother of my nephews? What’s complicated about wanting to make things a little easier for her?” Travis asked. This wasn’t rhetorical—he really wanted to know.

  His mother had never asked him for a list of his previous hookups, previous girlfriends, previous anything. Everything was fine until Travis started interfering with her perception of happily ever after for Gavin. That’s, ultimately, what this boiled down to—Travis couldn’t be with Rachel because Rachel should be with Gavin.

  Which, given what both of them had said, discussed, and illustrated, was never going to happen.

  They’d trusted Gavin to handle her with care and he’d wrecked it. They wouldn’t trust Travis because they worried he’d wreck it again.

  But he wouldn’t.

  “Gavin and Rachel aren’t getting back together,” Travis said. Hell, Gavin was now engaged to someone else.

  Dad nodded. “You know how your mother gets when she has an idea that something should be a certain way.”

  “And she’s worried I’m going to screw that up.”

  “No, not that.” Dad wasn’t much of a talker. Travis was pretty sure that’s why he’d married Mama. Mama was the talker in the relationship, which was why she must’ve been really concerned if she sent Dad to have this chat.

  Dad sat again, reluctantly this time. “She’s worried that if you and Rachel get into an…involvement…it’ll mean Gavin stops coming around and, eventually, if you and Rachel stop being…involved…then she’ll stop coming around. Then the boys will stop coming around. At the end of the day, it means your mother doesn’t get to see her grandkids.”

  “I’d just like to point out that the grandkids are here. Rachel is here. The only one missing is Gavin.” Travis stood. Paced. “Maybe you should be having a little chat with him.”

  Dad gave a curt nod. “Not a bad idea.”

  Travis studied the blue decorations on the rug as his father left the room. But when he did finally look up, he had two golden retriever puppies staring at him like they were ready to start peeing again.

  “You two need to knock it off.” He pointed to one, then the other for good measure.