Harlequin Superromance November 2013 - Bundle 1 of 2

by Mary Brady

  She had condemned J.T. for keeping silent and then turned around and done the same thing. She had been so wrong. So misguided.

  Almost as misguided as he had been to fall in love with her.

  * * *

  J.T. USED TO BELIEVE that he could never despair the way he had the night he left Comeback Cove. But on Monday afternoon as he packed a U-Haul truck with furniture to deliver to the resale store in Brockville, he knew that leaving home had been a walk in the park compared to leaving without Lyddie.

  “That’s everything?” he asked. Iris nodded and he slammed the heavy rear doors. “Guess I’d better grab the keys and get on the road.”

  He walked back into a house that ached. The living room was completely empty. His footsteps sounded all around him as he walked across the hardwood floors to fetch the keys from the mantel. The other rooms, he knew, weren’t quite as bleak. Those holding items to be moved were actually crammed full. Others held a few bits and pieces that were to be given away—a hodgepodge of tables and trays and the ornate carved buffet that Iris had deemed too heavy to move, even though she’d inherited it from her grandmother.

  But it was the living room, stripped of all but the paint and curtains, that called him. He could empathize with this room. He knew exactly how it felt: like a shell, purged of everything that brought it to life.

  He shoved his hands in his pockets and stared out the window. It was an hour each way to the drop-off site. He should get on the road. But somehow, when he stood in this room that mirrored him, he didn’t feel quite so alone.

  “Did you find the keys?”

  Iris’s question made him turn to face her. “Yeah. Just, you know, going over the directions in my head once more.”

  “You take Highway 31 to the 401, you get off at the second Brockville exit and take Route 29 to King Street. Since when did that become so complex that you have to think about it?”

  He shrugged. She sighed and crossed the room to lay a hand on his shoulder.

  “Are you going to tell me what happened?”

  “Probably not.”

  “J.T., you’re going to be the only person I know in Tucson. I’ll have plenty of time to badger you about this. You might as well tell me now.”

  “You don’t hold back, do you, Ma?”

  “Not when it comes to you. Now out with it.”

  He tossed the keys in his hand. “Not much to tell. I gave it my best shot and she said no.”

  “No, she didn’t love you, or no, she wouldn’t move?”

  “Both.”

  “Do you believe her?”

  “Strange question.”

  “Humor me.”

  He thought about it for a moment. “Leaving—yeah, I believe she’d stay here. She thinks the kids need to be here, and she’s not going to do anything to hurt them.”

  “Even if it means losing you?”

  “Even if.”

  “What about her feelings for you?”

  His sigh was so filled with frustration that it almost shook the chandelier. “That’s the worst of it. I really think she might love me. Or she would with just a little more time. And it kills me that she might not figure it out until it’s too late.”

  “Would it ever be too late for you?”

  “No. No, she could pick up the phone three years from now and I would still want her with me. But if I’m not here to help her see what we’ve got, I think she’ll just pretend it never happened. Or that it did, but it meant nothing.”

  Iris nodded and crossed her arms over her chest. “That sounds like a load of defeatist claptrap to me.”

  He blinked. “What?”

  “Are you really going to let her go that easily?”

  “What do you suggest, Ma? Kidnap her while she’s sleeping and stick her on the plane with me?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. She’s not going to uproot those children just for you. She needs to do it for them.”

  “You never mentioned any of this before.”

  “I didn’t want you to think I was saying it just to get you to move up here for me.”

  He would have protested. Then he remembered the secret he’d kept from Lyddie, just to avoid any hint of ulterior motives, and he shut up.

  “You have a long car ride ahead of you—plenty of time to figure out a way to win her over. Pretend she’s one of your students. What do you do with them when they won’t listen to reason?”

  “Back off, give them what they think they want and let them try it their way.”

  “Then think. How can you make sure Lyddie gets exactly what she thinks she needs—now, while you’re still here to remind her of what she stands to lose?”

  * * *

  ON TUESDAY NIGHT, Lyddie sat on the sofa with Tish cuddled against her, listening to Ben slam basketballs in the driveway, inhaling the aroma of pot roast as only Ruth could cook it, and tried to convince herself that the giant hole in her heart was because Sara wasn’t with them.

  She was doing a lousy job.

  “I liked Magic Kingdom the best, because I liked going down Splash Mountain. But at the other one, Mommy, they had Beauty and the Beast!”

  “Did you meet Belle?”

  Maybe her melancholy was due to the long-anticipated call from the esteemed music teacher. He had finally made contact earlier that day. Lyddie had had no idea how high up he was until he started listing his credentials.

  Sara was going to hate her forever.

  “No, not Belle. But I hugged Lilo and Stitch, Mommy, really, I did. Gran took a picture. But they had this show. With Belle and the Beast. And Chip and Mrs. Potts and all the others. And they sang the songs and there were fireworks!”

  Fireworks. That’s how it felt—like all the fireworks were gone from her life, forever.

  It was almost like when she lost Glenn. Except then, she’d been too numb to understand the depth of her loss. This time, she knew.

  Which was absolutely ridiculous. She had loved Glenn with all her heart. She couldn’t love J.T.

  “And then Gaston—you know, the bad guy—he sang the song about kill the beast. And there were bats that glowed in the dark.”

  The phone rang. Lyddie started to sit up, damned fool hope pulling at her, but Ruth called that she would get it.

  Tish continued, snuggling back against Lyddie’s side. “Gaston thought it would be easy to kill the beast. But he didn’t know about the magic.”

  Lyddie swallowed, hard. She had thought it would be easy to find excitement with J.T. Simple and uncomplicated. She, too, hadn’t counted on the magic.

  Ruth appeared in the doorway. The phone was tucked against her shoulder and disapproval was clear in the tight lines of her face.

  “Lydia. It’s that Delaney man.”

  “J.T.?” She could barely get the words out past the treacherous bubble of hope rising within her.

  “He wants to talk to Ben. Something about taking him fishing tomorrow. But he insisted I check with you first.”

  Ben. Of course. Ben hadn’t thrown J.T.’s heart back in his face.

  She was so damned stupid.

  “It’s fine.”

  Ruth scowled. “Really, Lydia, do you think that’s—”

  “Yes, I do. It’s absolutely fine with me.”

  The glare Ruth bestowed on her as she went to call Ben made it obvious that Lyddie was going to hear about this.

  Good. She was more than ready to light into someone tonight. Fighting with Ruth would give her a few minutes’ respite from thinking she was making the biggest mistake of her life.

  “Mommy! Are you listening to me?”

  “Sure, honey. Tell me more.”

  But as Tish told the saga of Beauty and the Beast, Lyddie didn’t dare listen. It st
ruck too close to home, especially when Tish got to the part where the whole town chased the Beast— “But Belle knew he wasn’t that way, not really.”

  Lyddie sank a little deeper into the sofa and pulled Tish closer, burying her face in her daughter’s soft blond hair in case a stray tear or two leaked out. Holding for dear life to one of the biggest reasons why she had to stay in Comeback Cove.

  * * *

  HE’D GIVEN BEN his word, or so J.T. told himself as he slammed the door to his car and walked up Lyddie’s driveway. He had to take the boy fishing.

  Of course, there was no law that said he had to set a pickup time so early that he knew Lyddie would still be home. But everyone knew that fish bit better in the morning.

  He vaulted the three steps to the porch. The inner door stood open. An invitation?

  He knocked softly and let himself in, aiming for the voices he heard in the kitchen. Lyddie rounded the corner into the hall. She stopped short, hand to her mouth, eyes wide and wary. Her hair still tumbled loose around her shoulders, triggering a vivid memory of how she looked when she lay beside him.

  He drank in the sight of her. Neat, tidy polo shirt hid the curves he knew rested beneath. To the world, she would look fine.

  To him, attuned as he was to her smallest changes, she looked...fragile. Her eyes were too shadowed. The lines around her mouth were too brittle. And the way she took a tiny step back when he moved toward her broke his heart.

  “Morning, Lyddie.”

  She nodded. For a second he thought he saw everything he was feeling reproduced in her face—all the fear, the hope, the desperate need. But then she turned toward the kitchen.

  If she called for Ben, his chance would be gone.

  “Wait. Please.”

  She hesitated, glanced his way. It was enough to make him press on.

  “Lyddie, I know I came on too strong the other day.” He kept his words low, so they wouldn’t be overheard and to lure her closer. “I’ve known how I feel for weeks now. I know you need time to... I don’t know. To catch up to me. I’m sorry I didn’t give you any warning. I know you can’t uproot everyone just like that. I wasn’t trying to make things worse.”

  She palmed away a tear. He took the last step to stand beside her and slowly traced the still-damp track on her cheek. When she didn’t push him away he reached for her hand, holding it close to his chest.

  “It came out wrong, I know, but I meant all the important parts. I love you, Lyddie. And I think, maybe, you might love me, too.”

  She shook her head, mouthed a silent “No,” but the fact that she was still with him, still holding tight to his hand, made him think she might be trying to convince herself more than him.

  “We don’t have to decide anything now. All I’m asking you to do is think. Remember those nights in the cottage. The way you needed me when you were scared about Sara. Think about how good we are together, about that night we sat outside and you said I meant something to you.”

  At last she turned toward him. Her river-blue eyes were liquid now, flowing with pain.

  “Lyddie,” he whispered. “Lyddie, tell me you don’t feel anything. Tell me it meant nothing to you, that you haven’t been walking around like the living dead just like I have. Tell me that, and I’ll walk away from here and never bother you again.”

  She closed her eyes and turned away.

  “Or,” he said hoarsely, “tell me you love me and I’ll wait forever.”

  He’d thought she was frozen in place before, but now she seemed to turn to stone. The seconds ticked past.

  At last she opened her eyes. She inhaled, a catching breath that cut straight through him. She stroked his bristly jawline, the way she always did after they made love.

  Then she turned away from him.

  “Ben,” she called, with a hitch in her voice that stabbed him. “Your ride’s here.”

  * * *

  SHE MADE IT THROUGH the rest of the week, forcing herself to sling coffee with a smile, hiding the hurt as Ben gushed over the fishing trip. She silently endured Ruth’s pointed comments and judgmental stares. She even slept at night—that is, if dozing off between bouts of staring at the ceiling could be called sleep.

  At last, it was Sunday. Lyddie kneeled in front of the remains of the old tree trunk, pouring her emotions into her saw as she sliced through the last hunks of roots. Her movements were jerky, much like her breath. She was too distracted to be doing this safely and she knew it. But she couldn’t sit in the house and wrestle with thoughts of Tuesday’s planning board meeting, wondering if J.T. would be there. And if he was, could she stay?

  No, better to be outside, forcing her attention on the blade cutting through the splintered wood. She could do this. She could rip these roots from the ground and haul them away. She could look at the gaping hole where the tree used to stand and tell herself she would fill it with daisies and petunias and make the yard better.

  While she was at it, she could tell herself that the salty liquid burning her eyes was just sweat.

  She paused, backhanded her bangs out of her eyes, checked her progress. She’d burnt and hacked her way almost to the end of the job. She could finish it up tonight with just another hour or so.

  And forty-eight hours after that, the meeting would be over. She would never need to see J.T. again. On Thursday, he and Iris would drive to Ottawa and get on their plane and all this...insanity would be over. She could get her real life back.

  If only she could silence the voice inside her that insisted there weren’t enough daisies in the world to fill the hole J.T. would leave in her life.

  She adjusted her position, leaned forward, grabbed another hunk of root.

  “Mommy!”

  Tish ran across the lawn, phone in hand. Lyddie considered straightening, then decided she didn’t have the strength and plopped back on the grass, not caring where she landed. She needed a shower, anyway. What difference would a bit more dirt make?

  “Who is it, Tish? Aunt Zoë?”

  Tish shook her head hard enough to make her pigtails fly across her face. “Nope. It’s Sara. She’s crying.”

  Lyddie scrambled to her feet, reaching for the phone. “Sara? Baby, what’s wrong?”

  “Mom...tell me...say it...isn’t true.” Sara’s voice was so choked by tears that Lyddie could barely make out the words. She frowned in concentration.

  “Sara, sweetie, take a breath. I don’t know what you’re saying. What’s the trouble?”

  “I...had...my...last lesson...today. Ms. Rasmussen said...she said...”

  Lyddie closed her eyes, holding back the words she couldn’t say in front of Tish. The nitwit teacher had told Sara everything.

  “She said...she said they wanted me for the advanced music school...that I could get in there this year, that I could be good...and you said no!”

  The words ended on a wail of such agony that Lyddie had to hold the phone away from her ear. She checked on Tish, motioned her away from the saw and pushed herself upright to pace in tiny circles around the remains of the trunk.

  “Sara, honey, take a breath. Breathe, okay? Can you hold it together for a minute and let me explain?”

  “No! I don’t want to listen to you! You ruined everything! I worked so hard, I practiced and practiced, and I did it, Mom, I got in, and you won’t let me go!”

  “Sara, that’s not true. I told them you could do summers there but not—”

  “I hate you, Mom. You’re going to make me stay in that stupid, stupid place, and there’s nothing there, and no matter how good I am they’ll never let me be a musician because Glenn Brewster’s daughter has to be just like he was, and I can’t do that anymore, I can’t and I won’t and I’m not coming back and you can’t make me!”

  Lyddie ceased her pacing, stopped by the shee
r intensity of Sara’s words. She felt like she’d been swallowed by an avalanche and had no idea how—or where—to begin digging her way out.

  “Sara. Did you hear what I said? You can go back for the summers. We’ll sign you up for the Ottawa youth orchestra. And when you’re done with school, if you want to go to college there, you can.”

  “Oh, stop it! Stop pretending you’re going to let me go! You want me to rot there, just like you. Everyone thinks it’s such a great place, but I hate it there, Mom! I hate who I am when I’m there and I hate you!”

  “Sara—wait—” Damn! Lyddie glanced at the sky, but there were no answers to be found in the deepening shadows. She cursed the miles separating her from her child. “One thing at a time, okay? I know you’re upset and don’t want to listen to me now, but once you come home we can—”

  “No! Don’t you get it, Mom? I’m not coming back. I’m not! I won’t get on that plane. You’ll have to tie me up and kidnap me, and then I’ll run away, over and over. And no matter how many times you find me, I’ll keep going. Because I can’t live there, Mom, I—”

  There came the sound of other voices, a brief discussion that left Lyddie pulling at her hair in frustration while shooing Tish back inside. The crying and screaming faded and Zoë’s voice came over the line.

  “Lyddie? Are you okay?”

  She blew past the lump of distress in her throat. “No. This sucks. Where’s Sara?”

  “Kevin took her out back. She’ll be okay, I can see them out the window. She’s pacing and crying but it looks like she’s calming down.”

  “I’m going to kill that teacher.”

  “I’m right behind you in the line. But, Lyd...it’s not just the teacher.”

  Dear God, what else?

  “She’s been like this almost from the moment she came. All I’ve heard, all summer, is how much more she likes it here. First I thought she was just being polite. And hey, when you’re fourteen, everybody thinks home sucks, right?”

  “I guess. Maybe.”

  “But she made friends, got to know folks around the neighborhood. And she’s always talking about how it’s so much easier here. She says things like, she can tell people her name and not get that look—whatever that means.” Zoë sighed. “I think the music is only the symptom, Lyd. I think there’s something bigger bothering her.”