And here he was, perpetuating the lie, protecting his adopted family—his gaze slid to Shelby—and burning for her.
Thank God Carl and Sally had filled the fridge and the cabin with plenty of alcohol, Eli thought. He was damned sure going to need it.
Eli leaned forward, caught Carl’s eye. “I’m going to skip the dessert and head on out,” he said with a small wince, his voice low. “Can you make my excuses to your lovely wife, please?”
Carl merely grinned. “Don’t want her shouting at you from across the room, do you?”
Eli bit the inside of his cheek. “Not particularly, no.”
His grin widened and he nodded once. “I understand. You slip on out and I’ll see you in the morning.”
Eli slid away from the table, preparing to make his silent exit, when Carl’s expression grew more serious, making him pause.
“It means a lot, you being here,” the older man said, his gaze warm and sincere.
Eli’s throat tightened. “Wouldn’t have missed it.”
And in that moment, he realized it was the truth.
* * *
HE’D LEFT.
She didn’t know whether she was more shocked, hurt or angry. Her fingers cramped around her fork from squeezing it so hard and her jaw suddenly ached, a result of her tightly clenched teeth.
Correction, Shelby thought, her eyes narrowing dangerously—she did know which emotion had taken top billing. She wasn’t merely angry...she was furious. Granted she hadn’t behaved as well as she could have at Micah’s service, but she’d offered an olive branch this morning. If for no other reason than their shared friendship—which definitely strained the definition of the word, she knew—he still shouldn’t have sneaked away as if she was some pesky ex-girlfriend who wouldn’t leave him alone.
How galling.
Shelby had kept an eye aimed at the dining room entrance in the event that Eli had merely gone to the restroom, but when ten minutes passed and he didn’t rejoin the group she’d realized with a sickening sense of disappointment that he’d left.
Without saying goodbye, without speaking to her, when she’d specifically told him that she needed to talk to him.
Especially now, she thought, remembering the unpleasant visit from Katrina. If she got to him first...
Growing angrier by the second, Shelby made a valiant effort to remain pleasant. She smiled through the dessert round, through Carl’s heartfelt tear-jerking thank-you speech, then insisted on helping Sally with the cleanup. Every fiber of her being longed to bolt, to get into her car, drive out to the cabin—where she knew Eli was staying—and then ask him what the hell his problem was.
With her, specifically.
If he wanted to freeze her out and have nothing else to do with her, fine. But he ought to have the damned balls to give her an explanation to her face. The length and nature of their...friendship? Relationship? Hell, she didn’t know. It defied labeling. Whatever it was demanded that much, at least.
She fully intended to do that, too, just as soon as she’d helped Sally get the kitchen and dining room back in order. She’d tried to shoo her away, of course, but Shelby wouldn’t have it. She knew the older woman was tired—cooking en masse was hard work—and that she’d be feeding the same hungry crew first thing in the morning. Shelby simply couldn’t leave her with this mess.
“Eli seems very reserved, doesn’t he?” Sally mused, rinsing a plate to load into the dishwasher. A furrow of concern wrinkled her brow. “He barely smiled tonight. Did you notice?”
She had, but made a noncommittal sound as she continued to sort leftovers. Sally lived by the more-is-more philosophy when it came to food, and made certain that she never ran out of anything. Thankfully, she had the Tupperware collection to back it up. “I’m sure he was just tired,” she said. “It was a long drive from Georgia and he put in a full day’s work.”
Sally hummed under her breath. “True,” she said. “But I think it’s more than that. He seemed tense and ill-at-ease. I hope that he doesn’t doubt his welcome,” she went on. “That he doesn’t think that because we’ve lost Micah he’s no longer a part of the family.” She turned then and shot her a warm smile. “And that goes for you, too, young lady,” she told her, her eyes twinkling with affection. “Micah brought the two of you into our lives and we love both of you. He’s gone—” her voice cracked “—but you and Eli aren’t, and the truth of it is...we need you.” Her misty, emphatic gaze held Shelby’s. “Never doubt it.”
Feeling a lump lodge in her throat, Shelby nodded. She’d needed to hear that and was so thankful that Carl and Sally had still held her in fond regard after the breakup. While Sally had admitted that she’d been initially disappointed, she’d later confessed that she was happy Shelby had called things off instead of proceeding out of some misguided sense of obligation. It was easier to end an engagement than a marriage. An ounce of prevention was worth a pound of cure and all that.
Funnily enough, that’s something that her grandmother used to always say and hearing the old adage from Sally had made her miss her gran more than ever. It also compounded the realization that she’d really come to depend on the Hollands as part of her adopted family since her grandmother’s
passing.
Having lost her parents at two years old to a car accident—an exhausted truck driver fell asleep behind the wheel and veered into their lane—she’d grown up with her widowed paternal grandmother.
Louisa Hillenburg Monroe had been a remarkable woman. A seamstress by trade, she’d been servicing Willow Haven and the surrounding areas since her early twenties. She’d been a founding member of the local community theatre and worked the New York Times crossword puzzle in ink. She was smart and fearless, interesting and forward-thinking. The same hands that could so skillfully create a length of lace finer than a butterfly’s wing could just as easily shoot a clothespin from the line at a hundred yards. A faint smile turned her lips, remembering.
She’d been amazing, her grandmother, and there wasn’t a day that went by when she didn’t miss her, didn’t think about her. She’d died during Christmas break Shelby’s sophomore year. At her beloved sewing machine, of course. Heart attack. Shelby still struggled with that. Gran had been the picture of health. Fit and trim, a routine walker, she’d attended regular yoga sessions at the local health club. She’d been fine, hadn’t complained of any pain, fatigue or shortness of breath. Here one moment, gone the next.
“You’re going to rinse the gold leaf right off that plate,” Sally teased, jarring her from her thoughts. She frowned, concern lighting her eyes. “You all right, honey?”
Shelby nodded, offering a smile. “I’m fine. I was woolgathering.”
“No worries,” she said, seemingly satisfied with the answer. She grimaced in sympathy. “I do a lot of that myself these days.”
That was certainly understandable. Shelby couldn’t begin to imagine the pain the Hollands were going through. The death of a loved one was terrible enough, but losing a child? Could it possibly be any worse? Having no children of her own yet, she didn’t know, but could only speculate that it would be the worst kind of grief.
Sally loaded the last of the cutlery into the machine, then filled the dispenser with a dishwasher tab and closed the door. While she wiped down the sink and countertops, Shelby stored the various containers of leftover food into the massive double-doored refrigerator and then swept up.
She loved Sally’s kitchen. It was huge, with lots of white glass-paned cabinets, an old farmhouse sink and new custom granite countertops. Herbs grown in her garden hung from a pot rack which doubled as a light fixture and the scent of rosemary and sage perfumed the air, mixing pleasantly with the smell of lemon cleaner and oil soap.
A buttery saffron colored the walls and her collection of antique crockery lined the cabinet tops. The ceiling was covered in copper pressed-tin tiles and battered wide-plank pine blanketed the floors. An antique pot-bellied stove, which always had a fire burning
through the fall and winter months, sat in the corner. Modern farmhouse chic, Sally liked to call it, and Shelby completely agreed. It was warm and functional, the true heart of the house.
“Are you sure you don’t want to take anything home?” Sally asked her. “A plate for lunch tomorrow?”
Shelby winced and shook her head. She’d be having a salad for lunch tomorrow. If she let Sally feed her every meal she’d be bigger than the side of a barn. She worked hard, but sewing was a sedentary job and didn’t burn off nearly as many calories as she’d like. As such, she’d taken up running three days a week to help combat her insatiable sweet tooth, but she wasn’t one of those runners who actually enjoyed it. The serious ones, who shared their mileage and times through social media and bought fancy running clothes.
Ha. As if.
She ran because she had to, because the exercise gave her the most bang for her buck, so to speak, but she had no desire to enter a marathon, run faster or longer or anything else. It was strictly a calorie burning tool, an “if I run for thirty minutes, I can have a slice of pie with dinner” sort of thing.
“I’d better not,” Shelby told her. “Isn’t lasagna on the menu for tomorrow night?”
Sally grinned. “It is. With caramel cake for dessert.”
Shelby inwardly moaned with delight. Sally’s caramel cake was legendary—it had won the blue ribbon at the state fair for the past several years in a row. It was to-die-for. A diet assassin.
Sally hesitated for a second, her warm gaze becoming serious. “Shelby, I have a favor to ask.”
“Of course. Anything.”
“I want you to go out of your way to really spend some time with Eli this week,” she said. “I couldn’t help but notice that things were strained between you at the service and—”
Oh, hell. “Sally, it was a—”
“Difficult time, I know,” she finished for her. “But you and Eli were the two people outside our family who meant the most to my son and I think it would pain him to know that y’all had a falling out.”
Shelby swallowed. “But we haven’t had a falling out.”
Sally’s gaze softened. “I couldn’t help but notice that you didn’t speak this evening.”
“It was his first day back in town,” she said, using the only excuse that came to mind. “We haven’t had a lot of opportunity.”
“I understand that, but make the opportunity. Please. For Micah’s sake, if not for mine.”
She’d planned on doing that, anyway, Shelby thought, but having to do it to put Sally’s mind at ease—particularly considering her feelings for Eli—was definitely a sticky wicket. Furthermore, the fact that he’d ignored her this evening and left without saying goodbye had clearly upset Sally, which was a mean thing to do, all things considered. Her temper flared once more, further igniting her irritation.
Eli might not want to talk to her, might not want to help her, might blame her for the breakup and the resulting heartache that it had cost his friend in what turned out to be his final months...but he was just going to have to get over it.
At least until this week was over. Then he could go back to ignoring her.
For the time being, the Hollands were going to have to come first.
5
IT WAS HER. HE KNEW IT.
So much for trying to avoid her.
Eli chuckled low, the sound rife with irony and dread, then brought the bottle to his lips once again. He was drinking Southern Comfort—appropriate, considering that was the only form of relief he was likely to get during this godforsaken week from hell. That must have been why Carl had left it for him—he must have anticipated that Eli would have to self-medicate.
Water sloshed against the side of the tub and splashed onto the back porch as he deliberately shifted into a more relaxed position. It didn’t matter that he was wound tighter than a two-dollar watch, that the mere thought of Shelby sent a bolt of heat directly into his groin.
Perception, naturally, was key.
How did he know it was her who’d pulled into the driveway? From the back porch, no less? The particular sound of her car door? The crunch of a light-footed person across the gravel? Those keen senses honed by years of specialized military training?
He snorted.
Nothing that sophisticated, unfortunately. It was the tightening of his gut, the prickling of his skin across the nape of his neck, the slight hesitation from the moment the car motor turned off until the driver decided to exit the vehicle. As though she was steeling herself, preparing to face him.
That’s what had given her away.
“I’m back here,” he called, before she could mount the front porch steps. He might as well get this over with, Eli thought. He’d known a reckoning was coming, that she wouldn’t be ignored.
That’s why he’d started drinking the minute he’d gotten here.
She hesitated once again, then resumed movement and changed direction. Eli closed his eyes and prayed that she’d be in something other than that damned dress she’d had on earlier today. It was short and...flouncy. Not the least bit inappropriate—this was Willow Haven, after all—but somehow managed to be sexy as hell all the same. It hugged her curvy frame, showcased her healthy tan and moved when she did. The hem fluttered just so with every swing of her hips, a silent “take me” with each step she took.
It was infuriatingly, unnervingly hot.
And of all the women in the world...her? Really?
Still?
A startled “Oh,” made him open his eyes, his gaze instinctively shifting toward the direction of the sound.
He mentally swore. Just his luck—she was still wearing it.
Pale green eyes rounded in surprise, her lush mouth mimicking the action. As if he needed another reason to look at her lips. Sheesh. It had been hell avoiding her at dinner, watching her plump mouth slide around her fork. It was fascinating to watch a woman who loved the taste of food eat, Eli thought. She didn’t just push it around on her plate, torn between what she should have versus what she wanted. She savored. Enjoyed.
It was hot.
“Evening, Shelby,” he drawled, taking another pull from the bottle in his hand. The light from the back porch illuminated her achingly familiar face, while dusk settled over the lake and a hum of crickets sang in the background.
She blinked, her gaze sliding gratifyingly down his bare chest. It would have slid farther, he was sure, had the water not gotten in her way. She swallowed a couple of times, blinking a few more. “You’re naked,” she said hollowly.
He grinned at her, the alcohol making his smile loose and easy. “It’s called bathing. I highly recommend it.”
A flash of anger lit her gaze, painting color on her cheeks. “I’m familiar with the practice, smart ass.” She gestured awkwardly. “I just don’t know why you’re doing it on the back porch.”
He shrugged, unconcerned, and took another pull from the bottle. “It’s where the tub is.”
“There’s a shower inside,” she said tightly. “Could you get out of there? I need to talk to you, remember?” she prodded tightly. So much for the hesitancy he’d noted earlier, Eli thought. He should have known that it wouldn’t last, should have realized that deliberately avoiding her wouldn’t put her off, but would, conversely, make her that much more determined.
Whether it was her imperious put-upon tone—as though she were the one being imposed upon—or the circumstances surrounding this unholy relationship and even unholier attraction, he couldn’t say, but he did exactly what she asked him to do.
He shrugged lazily, set the bottle aside, then stood. Water sloshed over the sides and sluiced down his body. He pushed his hair back from his face, careful to flex his biceps in the process.
He arched a deliberate brow. “Anything for you, Shelby. Happy now?”
She blinked wide, inhaled some garbled little sound between a squeak, a gasp and a choke, which he found intensely gratifying, then snatched the towel he’d brought out with h
im from a nearby chair and hurled it at him.
“I’m going inside,” she announced, looking everywhere but at him. “I’ll wait for you in the living room.”
Eli took his time drying off, then anchored the towel loosely around his hips before following her in. The alcohol had worked wonders for his mood, but very little for the tension creeping back into his belly. Awareness, warm and potent, coiled through his stomach, then advanced lower, circling and settling into his groin. He gritted his teeth.
This was why he’d been avoiding her, Eli thought. Because simply by virtue of breathing in close proximity to him, she spun him tight. Made him want to lift the hair off the nape of her neck and press his lips against the hollow, slide his tongue along her jaw, dip it into the delicate shell of her ear then flip her skirt up over her lovely ass, bend her over and bury himself in her sweet, tight heat. He wanted to lose himself inside of her, wanted to hold on to her and forget about everything else.
But there would be no forgetting, he knew. He could not let that happen.
Rather than put on clothes, which he knew was what she expected, Eli sauntered into the living room and dropped heavily into a chair, the bottle dangling loosely from his fingers. More to torment her than himself, because in coming here she’d forced the confrontation. He could have miserably gone on avoiding her, had she simply left things alone. He broodily considered her, took in the straight line of her back, the tense set of her small shoulders. Despite the bravado, she was ill-at-ease. Nervous. His lips slid into a droll grin.
No doubt it would pass.
Cool air from the ceiling fan swirled over him, lowering the temperature of his heated skin. Having wandered over to the mantel to inspect pictures, she turned when she heard him and arched a brow, her gaze dropping deliberately to the towel, then finding his once more. “Wouldn’t you like to go put on a pair of pants?” she asked, her voice flinty.
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