Rachel, who was just thirty-six-years old, was no better than any of the rest. But he was a changed man. Changed, and considered permanently damaged goods.
There’d been only one woman good enough for him. And damn her! She’d left town a little over ten years back.
Rachel rounded the long countertop, shoved open the swinging doors, and hollered at the top of her lungs to the gamely high school kid cooking the food in the back. She then went to pour cups of coffee for the three men already seated at her counter; each one from not around these parts. Their ten-gallon hats were a dead away.
Making a move for the water pitcher set out on the table, Jake poured himself a glass and slugged it down without thinking or breathing between the moments the moisture touched his lips to the second it hit the bottom of his gut. His thirst unquenchable, the expected circumstances of last night’s endeavors, water was the only thing near his reach.
As he turned his head toward the remainder of Rachel’s early morning customers he suddenly caught a familiar gaze staring straight at him. The glass nearly slipped out of his hand.
It took a bit to steady that hand.
Good God, Almighty! Was his eyes deceiving him so early in the morning, on a Sunday no less?
Or was that . . . is that? . . . Liddy seated four booths over from his?
Her face was as white as a ghost, drawing him in.
He blinked hard to get her image out of his eyes. He even wiped those eyes with his fists. But, Nope! She was still in them, still wreaking havoc in his head, still making a man regret most, if not all of an incredibly long night. He very slowly set down his glass of water then swallowed. Hard.
What was he supposed to do now? Get up and walk over to her? Say ‘Hi? How’s it been? Long time, no see?’
This was so not happening to him. Not today! Not now! He would rather run across the street and throw himself at the mercy of Debra, climb back into the slammer all on his own, have the beefy witch with too much authority toss the key in the trash, than have any need to speak to Lidia today.
Or, ever talk to her again!
So why was it, from head to toe, he could feel the devil creeping into his soul, reaching its clammy fingers around his innards, and yanking hard?
Chapter Three
Liddy took the choice of Jake speaking to her completely out of his hands. She slid over in her booth, stood up, and quickly walked his way, as if the faster she got to him the less likely anyone would have noticed her moving.
He could see her indecision if this action as wise trapped in her gaze, and it pulled at the tightly wound strings dangling inside him for far too long. Strings so entangled inside of Jake he could barely think straight most days.
His own indecision to hide out under the table until she left the diner sat at the forefront of his brain. He wasn’t chicken. He was, however, a bit shell-shocked.
Did not a man have the right to catch his breath? Locate an escape route? Hide from a woman he hadn’t seen in years, because he did not want to ever to see her again?
Apparently not.
Liddy waltzed right up to his booth and all he did was staring at her. Was his mouth hanging open? It sure as hell felt as though touching the floor; the hard scrape of crumb splattered tiles difficult to miss.
My, she’d changed a lot over the last ten years. No longer did she have stringy blonde hair or traces of those youthful brown freckles on her face he would always tease her about. In fact, the more he looked at her, the more she was somehow turning into one hot babe within his eyes. Extremely hot!
Was there sweat rolling down his back? Fuck! There was. He hadn’t had sweat roll down his back since . . . Hell, this hadn’t happened to him since he’d first met Lidia Humphrey back in high school! And look how great that turned out.
It simply had to be the suit making him feel as though his body was engulfing itself in flames. He wouldn’t have kept the suit on, had he the time to change out of it.
Liddy’s dishwater blonde hair was now tied up in a ponytail. She was wearing a form fitting white tank top and faded blue jeans. The jeans were torn at the right knee and the tank top a bit snug. Yet even without any plastered-on makeup, she was—Hell, she still is a very stunning woman.
Her breasts were much bigger than he remembered. In fact, her breasts seemed huge in comparison to the rest of her body. Jessica in the Roger Rabbit movie quickly darted into his head.
Jake pulled his sight from this particular direction post haste then shifted in his seat to hide the evidence of the hurried assessment of a woman he hadn’t seen in over ten years—before anyone caught wind of his every thought and the huge bulge between his legs. Within seconds he’d taken off her clothes; paid the price for doing so, tenfold.
“Jake.”
Her lone word turned into sweet, summer sunshine in his ears.
Finding voice, he answered, “Liddy.”
However, his brain was having a very difficult time with forming any actual words other than simply her name likely because it had other, more substantial issues to deal with.
He shifted in the booth again, forcing his body to retract the blood flowing to his cock. Nothing seemed to help.
“May I sit down?” She motioned toward the opposite side of the booth, waiting for approval.
Hell! Sit down? For what?
And where in God’s name had he put his manners? Probably in the same place he’d stuck his libido as of late. Locked storage.
“Of course you can sit down. It’s a free country. I can’t stop you from sitting down.” He straightened his spine so she could clear his long legs on the other side, as she slid into the booth.
No, his booth—and more often than not, unshared.
Jake tried breathing normally—a task failing him at every turn—failing him quite miserably, in fact, as she stared at his face.
“You’re a hard man to find, Jake Giotti.” Liddy drifted her eyes from his and directed her gaze to the other side of the diner, then, back to his face—much slower than whence it left.
He clenched his jaw, pissed his body wasn’t cooperating. Did she really have to say the word hard?
She was probably deciding if simply bolting from the diner would be far easier to deal with than actually speaking to a guy she hadn’t seen in ten years.
And why the hell did she have to show up in Preacher’s Bend, today, of all the days! When, so far, this woman already ruined his life.
Making a move for the water glass, he caught sight of his hand. Not once in the last ten years had he been so out of touch with his movements.
Jake decided being incredibly thirsty was far better than Liddy witnessing him shaking.
Damnit! Why was she here? Back in his life, upsetting his world, and while at it, endangering all those around her. How the hell could she do this to him, after all these years?
“Why are you here, Liddy?” he snapped out. His unhidden thoughts had to be said quickly; and he surely not meaning for them to come out at such a staggering pace. Yet something inside of him always snapped whenever it came to dealing with Liddy Humphrey.
Technically, Liddy Giotti.
He was still trying hard to forget one slightly insignificant detail of his life. But the woman staring at him was still his wife. Her actually married to him was on paper only. It certainly wasn’t in any physical sort of way. No siree! He hadn’t seen the whites of her eyes in ten long years. Ten years, folks! In ten truly fucked up years this woman had somehow forgotten how to pick up a telephone just to let him know where she’d been living. Nor did she figure he might have wanted to know she was okay, and not splattered on some highway somewhere.
Jake had spent the better part of ten years wondering; and waiting. All this did for him was given him reoccurring migraine headaches. Besides, it was always best just to get everything out in the open. A man beating around the bush only made him look like a coward. Pussyfooting around on pins and needles to save face was for sissies.
; Jake wasn’t a coward or a sissy, and he had the muscles to back up this claim. He would deal with whatever it was she here for—once and for all. There should be no surprises blind-sighting him this time. Nothing brought out in the open that could chop him off at the knees—like last time. He might get a vice clamped to his nuts, but at least he’ll be able to stand on his own two feet.
It was just him, her, and ten incredibly long years of his life wasted while wondering.
Liddy bit down on her lower lip. Oh, Jesus! That was a sure sign trouble was headed his way—hurricane-style fashion. Liddy always bit down on her lower lip to keep from telling anyone exactly what it was she was thinking. It was the woman’s very vain attempt at trying to be truthful.
She must have simply figured if the words could not get out of her mouth they could not be said to get her into any more trouble than she was already in.
He’d heard she became a lawyer, or something to do with law. Bully for her! This particular occupational choice should leave him off the hook. He was a damn beekeeper, for God’s sake: beekeeper, peach tree tender, and all around Mr. Nice Guy. If she came back to town just to get her hands on a ton of money and a huge bank account, she was about to be sorely disappointed.
As a lawyer, she must have made far more than he ever would have. And if he knew her well enough—Hell, knew her at all!—Liddy was not here for the sake of old times. Good God, no! She’d made this fact very clear the night she left town—and him—and never once looked back. She would’ve chewed off her own arm, than admit to losing her pride.
If the woman had any thought something would stand in her way . . . and take that away from her?
Liddy was very good at protecting herself. She was born that way, so it was best to let her have at it.
Rachel quickly came to the booth with his slightly changed order. To what? Save his neck? Interrupt a good thing? She must have thought she could protect him, if ever the need there. But she brought a cup of coffee for his significant other to drink, and she carried in her hand an extra plate.
Oh, hell no!
Did the café owner actually think he was going to share any of his food with this woman? Because if asked he’d be more than happy to correct this mistake. He wasn’t sharing anything with Liddy Humphrey-Giotti, at least not anymore.
Rachel hadn’t been living in Preacher’s Bend when he’d so foolishly married this woman. She did not know Liddy from Eve. Although the rest of the town must surely recognize her, the diner’s owner probably thought Liddy as just some big-city chick hitting on him. A woman out to get her kicks with a guy who looked to be dressed in his Sunday best; while she passing through the place on a whim.
If his significant other even so much as thought to try to hit on him . . . he’d haul off and smack her one. The act would probably land him in jail—again. Nevertheless, it might be worth the chance.
Jake’s fists balled under the table as he openly glared, centering this glare right between Liddy’s brows. His clenched hands were itching to hit something hard as of late. And his walkabout wife’s rather thickheaded attitude about certain things should certainly be hard enough.
She had yet to answer his initial question. She was stalling and this meant trouble.
He not only hated her, he hated Liddy’s uncanny ability to procrastinate far more.
“As I said, what are you here for?” Jake grabbed a hot fry off his plate and shoved it into his mouth. He was hungry. No missing wife for ten years was going to stop him from eating a very late supper. And so what if the clock said it was now breakfast time? And, everyone inside Rachel’s was suddenly staring at his booth, while Jake consuming his morning nourishment.
If his day was turning out to be this bad already, he would be hard pressed to keep even a meager amount of food in his gut once he met up with Debra. Deputy Wesley probably had every intention to sucker punch him in this exact location for not checking in sooner than now. Debra was good at sucker punching a man when said man down on his luck.
So, he’d drank far too many beers late last night than to have anyone sucker punch him this morning. He’d been punched once or twice already. Damnit! His gut was sore. His head hurt too; as did the rest of his body. And his arm? Jesus! He wasn’t going to put any thought on the arm.
He’d driven all night in Theo’s beat up `68 Oldsmobile just to make it back to Preacher’s Bend before eight a.m. It was now nine-thirty. Perhaps Debra would let his tardiness slide this time. Once he could explain the circumstances, she might even understand. If not?
There was really nothing he could do about this now, if not.
And still saying nothing to him, Liddy was doing one damn fine job at pissing him off. All she had to do was look at him, and it hurt, badly. The pain seemed to be getting worse by each passing second.
She swallowed, thrust out her chin, and with a tremble in her voice, told him flat out, “You look good, Jake.”
His eyes widened. His jaw clamped shut on the one lone French fry he’d put in his mouth, as it decided to go down sideways all of a sudden. Hell! ‘You look good’ surely was not what he’d wanted to hear from her.
He looked good? Of course he did! Every woman in Preacher’s Bend thought so. She hadn’t told him anything new.
He swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the wretched potato before it got the better of him, and reluctantly admitted to the hot babe staring back at him, “You too,” while reaching for the glass of water on the table. Trembling hands, or not, he needed to dislodge the French fry before he passed out.
His estranged wife took a deep breath and upon quick release dragged her sight from his. “Okay. I can see this is going to be extremely painful for the both of us.”
Again, not what he expected to hear coming out of her mouth.
But again, if Jake did not think this situation to be extremely uncomfortable, he would’ve laughed at Liddy’s highly unusual play on words. Of course, this was going to be extremely painful. Coming face to face with a woman you’ve not seen in years . . . was supposed to be painful! It could certainly make a man squirm.
He reached for the tie that was no longer around his neck.
“So I might . . . I might as well get it all out in the open. Then we can deal with this as mature adults. You can go do what it is you do; get on with your life . . . somehow. And I can go and do what it is I have to do. Get on with mine. How’s that sound?”
“Sounds practical enough,” he slipped off the tongue, feeling the bitter aftertaste of these ill-spoken words. Why she thought he didn’t have a life without her, was beyond useful thought.
“But then I’d have to know exactly what it is I am dealing with to make any sort of judgment on this . . . or not,” he added.
Liddy was always good at getting the upper hand on him. Nevertheless, ten years of absence—her absence—had finally given him the time to gain the upper hand on his walkabout wife.
There was always a first for everything, he suspected; a first time, and a last that could pull the rug out from under him.
“I need you to sign something, Jake. I will leave town just as soon as you do. You will never have to see me again. And you can go back to doing whatever it is you are doing,” she started, then paused.
Her mind looked set as she sat opposite him, wringing her hands together. Liddy then glanced at her hands as if they’d somehow changed right in front of her eyes. It took her a few seconds to raise her sight back to his.
There shouldn’t have been anything stopping either from getting what he or she wanted from this morning, but Jake Giotti never liked doing what was expected of him. He enjoyed going against the grain of life. He liked making people squirm. Most of all, he had to set the pace to this unexpected horror. Stopping Liddy in mid-stride by simply holding up his hand, he got his one and only chance, thus far, to get in a word edgewise.
“Whoa! Hold on there, Little Darlin`. We’ve not seen each other in ten long years. Can’t a man catch his breath in between
you running him over with a truck?” He picked up his glass and quickly set it back down with a thud. Some of the water spilled over the top. To dare drink any would have been foolish.
“Where the hell have you been, Liddy?” He couldn’t help but hiss his words through his clenched teeth, shaming a viper’s tongue. “Forget how to use a telephone? Perhaps finally remember where it was you’d lived most of your life? Stuff like that?”
“There wasn’t time,” she admitted—ruefully.
She suddenly looked sad and confused.
Tough shit! He didn’t care if she burst into a flaming waterfall of tears, blew a fuse, or killed someone. He was pissed.
“Hell and damnation, Woman! There is always time. Damn plenty of it, as a matter of fact.”
Jake could feel the heat in his face; the shift in the universe; a cosmic fluctuation he’d been unprepared for. This meant his anger was surfacing faster than he expected.
His eyes turned to hers, narrowing. “Ten years is a whole helluva lot of time, Liddy. A two year stint in the county jail is a lot of time!” He ground his teeth harder on that particular. “A man trapped inside a personal hell, while said wife off running about the globe with not a care in the world . . . is a lot of time, Liddy! Not seeing my wife for years and then having her coming back here, today, with no good reason other than she wants me to sign something? Fuck, Liddy! I would say time is being quite cruel to me. For you to think otherwise is, was, and will always be bloody damn selfish.”
His jaw clamped together to hold the rest of what he truly desired to speak to her in for as long as was possible. “And while we’re at it, it’s a hell of stint for a man not to being having sex!”
Jake rolled his eyes at what he’d suddenly admitted, unwittingly—aloud. He then pinned his gaze to his estranged wife and held fast.
“There was always time, Liddy. Yet not much of it had you ever spent wisely.”
She was about to speak but he wasn’t done.
“And if anyone cares to ask, I’d say you’re the one who wasted the most of it while we’d been together.”
Roundabout Road (Saving the Sinners of Preacher's Bend Book 2) Page 3