by Sharon Sala
Earlier, she’d almost lost his company when she had gone into the hair salon to pick up a bottle of her favorite shampoo. One of the stylists had flirted, which he’d calmly ignored, but when the shampoo girl came by and pinched his behind, Cara thought he was going to bolt. Cara had calmly told the girl to go molest someone else, which had made everyone laugh, including David. After that, the rest of the morning had been fairly innocuous. But now there was this. She glanced at David, judging his expression. To her surprise, he was looking at her.
“What do you think?” Cara asked.
“It smells good in here,” he said.
She smiled. “The food tastes as good as it smells.”
“Then I think you made the right choice, and I think those people at the table near the window are trying to get your attention.”
Cara sighed. “Yes, I know. What do I do…about you, I mean?”
An eyebrow arched. “What do you want to do…about me, I mean?”
She grinned. “One thing has certainly changed since I first knew you. You have a wicked sense of humor. Now be serious. Is it, uh, safe to introduce you as David or should I—”
David slid his hand along the length of her spine and gave her a gentle push in their direction.
“I am who I am. If it was dangerous for me to surface, I damn sure wouldn’t have brought it to you.”
She looked startled, and he realized she hadn’t considered that aspect of his life having a negative impact on hers.
“Cara! Dear! How wonderful to see you.”
Cara smiled. Obviously they’d stood too long at the door waiting to be seated. Her friend Debra Shay had been too curious to wait.
“Good to see you, too,” Cara said.
“Well…aren’t you going to introduce me?” Debra asked, and then glanced coyly at David.
Cara smiled. “If you promise not to pinch him on the backside, I will.”
Debra giggled and patted David’s arm in commiseration. “Oh, no! You must have been at Ream’s Salon. That Janis female is lethal around good-looking men.”
David smiled. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said smoothly. “I’m David Wilson. It’s a pleasure to meet one of Cara’s friends.”
“David, this is Debra Shay,” Cara said. “Ray worked with her husband, Roy.”
David nodded congenially while thinking that he felt like he was playing a part. Normal chit-chat, ordinary people, having lunch in a tearoom in Chiltingham, New York. It was a far cry from subterfuge and espionage. And then the hostess arrived and the moment ended.
“I’m sorry for the delay,” she said. “Please follow me.”
“Nice to meet you,” Debra gushed, giggling again as David and Cara were shown to their table.
David seated Cara, then took the chair beside her. As soon as the hostess left, he took Cara’s hand.
“That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
She made herself smile. “No.”
“Why do I feel like there’s a but just waiting to come out?”
She sighed. “Because there is.”
“Then what?”
“This doesn’t feel real.”
He started to smile, which was the last thing Cara would have expected him to do.
“What’s so funny?” she asked.
“I’d forgotten that we used to think alike.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just a few moments ago I was thinking the very same thing. I feel like I’m acting a part and any minute now someone is going to yell cut and I’m going to turn back into—”
He caught himself before he said the word Jonah and looked away, but the message was clear. Cara put her hands over his and gave them a squeeze.
“It’s all right, darling,” she said quietly. “If you’re uncomfortable, we can go home. I’ll make us some sandwiches and we can—”
“Hell, no. I’m not fragile, just out of practice,” he said, and then handed her a menu. “Now, tell me what’s good.”
The smile on her face was worth every uncomfortable moment he’d had thus far. When she bent her head to study the menu, he watched her changing expression as devoutly as he’d watched the sunrises over the Rockies. He didn’t know how this journey was going to end, but he would never be sorry he’d made it.
“How hungry are you?” Cara asked.
He blinked. Telling her the truth about what he really hungered for would probably embarrass her, but when she started to blush, he figured she’d just read his mind.
A small grin tilted the right side of his mouth, then as quickly disappeared.
He leaned across the table until their foreheads were almost touching. “I’m starving,” he said softly
Her blush heightened. “Just don’t lick the corner of my mouth again until there’s a really good reason.”
His eyes glittered warmly as he sat back in his chair. “You’re safe for now,” he promised. “Now, since you’re the expert here, why don’t you order for me?”
“Really?”
“I think I’m secure enough as a man to let a woman order for me without feeling threatened. Besides, I’m curious as to what you think might appeal to me.”
“What if you don’t like it?”
He thought of the times he’d eaten grubs and insects to survive and decided against mentioning it.
“I’ll still eat it.”
She beamed. “My kind of man.”
The teasing disappeared from his eyes. “Sweetheart, I was always your man.”
Unprepared for the gentleness in his voice, Cara’s eyes teared, but she blinked them away.
“Just for that, you’re going to get their famous dessert, too,” she said.
“What’s that?”
She grinned. “Cake. It’s called Better Than Sex.”
David thought she was putting him on until she pointed to the dessert portion of the menu.
“No way,” he muttered, wondering what else had changed in this world while he’d been hiding behind the generations of Jonahs who’d gone before him.
“Oh, yes, and when you’ve finished your meal, I’ll prove it,” Cara said.
At this point, David’s sense of justice got the best of him. He’d never had a bite of food in his life that was better than making love to Cara—not even when he’d been starving.
“You just do that,” he whispered. “And I’ll be a really good boy and eat everything on my plate, but when we get home, I’m going to prove to you that there isn’t anything better than sex, especially when it’s with the right person.”
“May I take your order?”
Startled, Cara looked up. The waitress was grinning—proof that she’d overheard, at the very least, the last thing David just said. Cara glared at David and then rolled her eyes. This would be all over the tearoom before they’d been served their first dish.
The waitress waited, her pen poised above her pad.
Refusing to look at David, Cara gave their order. As soon as the waitress was gone, Cara glanced up, but he seemed preoccupied with a couple across the room. She turned to look and then sighed. It was Ben and Katie Murphy and their new baby girl. Probably their first outing since the baby’s arrival last month. She looked at David again. The pain in his eyes was unmistakable. Despite the fact that everyone in the room would see and put their own interpretation on the action, she reached for his hand.
Startled by her touch, David blinked, then turned his focus to Cara.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly.
He sighed. So she’d read his mind again. So what else was new?
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he said briefly.
“Don’t, David.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t deny your feelings…not to me.”
“Okay then. What do you want to hear first?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “That I envy that young couple the life ahead of them, or that I want things I know I can never have?”
&nbs
p; “I can’t give you back your youth, but I can give you a daughter…and grandchildren.” She held her breath, afraid to say the rest of it—that she would be his wife if he wanted it.
David made himself smile, unaware that the action never reached his eyes.
“You’ve already done that,” he said. “And I can only hope that they will forgive me as quickly as you have.”
“There’s nothing to forgive,” Cara said, refusing to admit her disappointment that he had mentioned nothing about the future of their relationship. “When they get to know you, they will love you.”
Before David could answer, he saw a woman approaching their table. From the look on her face, the curiosity was eating her up. He gave Cara a nod and then braced himself, thankful he was sitting down. This one looked as if she wouldn’t settle for a simple pinch on the behind.
“Ooh, Cara, who’s this big hunk and where have you been keeping him?”
Cara flinched and David saw it, identifying the woman as someone other than a friend. Whoever she was, she’d just become his enemy, too.
“Macie, I thought you were in Reno.”
“I just got back, and look, I’m a free woman again.” She wiggled the empty fingers on her left hand as proof.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Cara said.
“Don’t be! I don’t know what I was thinking when I married that Glen Harvey.”
“That he owned his daddy’s business?” Cara muttered, too low for anyone but David to hear.
“Well,” Macie said. “Aren’t you going to introduce me?”
It was the way Macie Harvey leaned over, displaying her more than ample charms in David’s face, that pushed Cara’s buttons. That plus the fact her husband, Ray, had confessed to having a brief affair with Macie between husbands three and four. Although she had finally forgiven Ray, she had never confronted the woman. Suddenly, now seemed like the perfect time to yank her chain.
She turned in her seat, giving Macie a beatific smile.
“Macie, this is David Wilson. He’s not only my childhood sweetheart, but also Bethany’s father. David, Macie Harvey. Elizabeth Taylor has nothing on our Macie for shedding husbands. I believe Glen was number seven…or was it eight?”
David was surprised but secretly pleased that she’d admitted their relationship. He stood and held out his hand.
“Mrs. Harvey, my condolences on your recent divorce, but as I’m sure you must know, time does heal all wounds, except those that kill you, of course.”
Macie blinked. She didn’t know whether to be insulted first, or run to spread this juicy bit of news. She opted for the news.
“Yes…well…thank you, I’m sure,” she said, giving Cara a fierce glare.
Cara returned the look, still wearing her smile. Macie was the first to look away.
“I’d better get back to my table,” Macie said. “I think my order has arrived.”
“Enjoy,” Cara said.
Cara’s eyes were glittering as she turned to David.
“Cara, honey?”
“What?”
“Remind me never to make you mad.”
She started to grin. “Why?”
“Because you shed blood better without weapons than anyone I’ve ever seen.”
She tossed her head and then smiled primly. “Thank you. It’s part of the gift of being a woman.”
“Old enemies are often the most difficult to dispatch,” David added, thinking of Frank.
“She had an affair with Ray. They thought I didn’t know.”
David’s heart twisted. So many things she’d had to endure, and all because he hadn’t come home. This time, he was the one reaching for her hand.
“This time, it’s me who’s saying I’m sorry.”
She shrugged. “You didn’t do it. You have nothing to apologize for.”
“Oh, but you’re wrong,” he said softly. “It’s what I didn’t do that has caused the most hurt.”
Before she could answer, their food arrived and the tension of the moment dissipated.
“Hot beef sandwich and tuna salad, coming up,” the waitress said, setting the hot plate of thinly sliced roast beef on toast points with thick brown gravy in front of David and the plate of cold tuna salad on lettuce in front of Cara. “Eat hearty, folks, but remember to save some room. You don’t want to forget that dessert.”
David laughed.
It filtered through Cara’s anger, leaving her weak and breathless. It had been so long since she’d heard that remarkable sound.
“This looks great,” David said. “I don’t remember the last time I had this.”
He dug in with relish, rolling his eyes in appreciation.
Cara smiled and tucked into her own food, all the while thinking about cake and sex with the marvelous man at her right.
Chapter 4
Frank Wilson slammed the phone down in disgust. So far, no amount of money had been able to buy him any pertinent information on where his baby brother had gone. David had disappeared as thoroughly as he had when he’d first come back from Vietnam. He frowned as he stared across the room. He didn’t like not knowing where his enemies were. It left him defenseless, and he didn’t like being weak.
Abruptly, he strode to the window overlooking the street below. East L.A. was an easy place to get lost in. Cash bought anonymity here. Identification was unnecessary for renting rooms or cars if enough money changed hands. Despite all that, the fact that he was still in the United States was dangerous. He’d messed with Uncle Sam’s elite, and even though he’d gotten away, he’d ruffled far too many feathers to think they’d brushed him off.
His frown deepened as he absently stared at the people on the street below. There were too damned many people in this world and not a one of them knew their hand from their ass. The longer he thought about it, the more convinced he became that that was what was wrong with his plans. No more trying to get to David through other people. He’d taken eleven runs at the man and come up empty-handed every time. The next time it happened, it would be himself and David—face to face.
Next time.
In frustration, he suddenly slammed his fist against the window ledge, and in doing so, jarred his shoulder, sending a barrage of pain up his neck and to the back of his head. What if there was no next time?
Cursing the infirmity that caused him pain, he turned away from the window and moved to the bed to lie down, telling himself that he would find David. It would happen—when he was ready. He had no desire to face him again until his gunshot wounds weren’t so tender. Another day or so and he’d be raring to go.
He closed his eyes, letting his thoughts drift. Outside, the squeal of a police siren came and went, while down the hall, he could hear a man cursing and a woman’s shrill cries for help. He rolled over on his good shoulder and pulled the pillow over his head. Crazy. The world had gone crazy. Within a few minutes, he was snoring. Sometime later, he began to dream.
“Frankie, go find your brother and tell him supper is ready.”
Ten-year-old Frankie Wilson rolled his eyes, then peeked over the kitchen counter to the pies cooling on the rack near the sink.
“Okay, Ma, and can I have seconds on dessert?”
“If you eat good.”
“I will,” Frankie said, exiting the kitchen on the run.
He jumped off the porch and ran around the holly bushes toward the side of the house where his six-year-old brother, Davie, had been playing. But when he got there, the yard was empty.
“Dumb kid,” he muttered, thinking of the dessert awaiting him inside. “Hey, Davie! Supper!”
No one answered and no little kid came running. He began to circle the house, thinking that Davie must have moved to the shade tree in front. But when he got there, his little brother was nowhere in sight.
“Hey, Davie! Davie!”
No answer. He frowned. Frankie Wilson considered himself almost grown, but Davie was just a kid, and he knew better than to leave the yard without per
mission.
He jogged toward the sidewalk, and as he did he heard the unmistakable cry of someone in pain. A few feet farther, he rounded the lilac bush and saw his little brother sitting on the curb, holding his knee. His bicycle with training wheels was lying on its side in the street.
“Hey, kid, what happened?” Frankie asked, as he knelt in front of Davie.
Davie sniffed loudly, then wiped a dirty hand beneath his nose.
“I fell and skinned my knee,” he said.
Frankie looked. Sure enough, the kid was missing a good chunk of skin and bleeding all over his shoes.
“You weren’t supposed to be in the street. If Ma finds out, she’ll whip your butt.”
Davie’s eyes widened. Not only had his brother used the B word, but he was right about their mother. She would whip him for riding his bike in the street.
“Don’t tell on me, Frankie. I don’t want a whipping.”
Frankie sighed. Being a big brother carried a lot of responsibilities. He patted Davie on the head and then helped him to his feet.
“Come on, kid. I’ll get your bike in the yard and Ma will just think you fell off there, okay?”
Davie nodded. “Okay.” Then he smiled through his tears. “Thanks, Frankie, you’re the best brother ever.”
“Yeah, I know,” Frankie said. “Now hurry. Supper is ready and we got cherry pie for dessert.”
A car backfired and a motorcycle revved before taking off, leaving a single trail of rubber behind on the L.A. street. Frank jerked in his sleep, but he didn’t awake. Instead, the sound shifted his dream from childhood to Vietnam.
David came out of nowhere. The stupid little bastard. He was going to mess everything up. Then Frank’s shock turned to panic when he realized the gunrunners were reaching for their weapons.
“Don’t!” he yelled. “He’s my brother.”
“Get rid of him,” one of them snapped, “or we’ll do it for you.”
Before he could react, David stepped between them, yanking the money out of Frank’s hands and throwing it on the ground.