I have run banquets for five hundred people, complete with flaming baked Alaskas. Why on earth am I as terrified as if I were serving the queen of England and all the court? She swallowed a cube of ice, choked and coughed as hard as though she’d inhaled phosgene gas.
Because they’re Seth’s friends and colleagues, dummy, she thought as she wiped the tears from her eyes and coughed a final time. I want him to see me as competent. So far I haven’t managed competence in any way, shape or form.
She chose to ignore the great barbed-wire debacle and hoped Seth would do the same. She no longer limped on her twisted ankle, and she’d washed the dried blood out of her hair. Plenty of hair spray kept the little spiky bits lying flat. Occasionally they popped up so she looked like Buckwheat in the old Our Gang comedies, but she couldn’t help that.
She was worn out from ironing and scrubbing, but she hadn’t cut the grass or pruned the azaleas. Too late now.
At the rate she was sending out résumés looking for another job, she’d be working for Barbara as a part-time clerk when she filed for Social Security.
Would that be so bad? It was more fun than being charming to corporate executives who thought she appreciated being hit on by drunken, middle-aged men who considered her a perk of whatever deal Nathan pursued with them.
If Nathan offered her job back, would she take it? If she didn’t, she should be locked up in the local home for the seriously deranged. But it no longer sounded as much fun as it once had.
And scrubbing rust off tables was?
She saw Seth’s SUV roll into her driveway, and her heart did that thing it did whenever she saw him. It was extremely annoying that she felt her ears turn red and the pulse in her throat begin to thrum so loudly that she worried he could hear it from the road. That sort of reaction was supposed to happen when you had a crush on the paperboy when you were thirteen!
* * *
SHE WAS SITTING on the top step of her porch drinking a big glass of iced tea. He hoped she was waiting for him. Her chopped hair shone in the afternoon sun like a bucket of doubloons from a Spanish treasure shipwreck. How had he thought when he first met her that she wasn’t beautiful? Granted, she’d looked like a drowned, angry bobcat, but he should’ve been able to see through that. His hormones certainly had.
It would seem that he preferred streaky-haired blondes with eyes as gray as thunderclouds to brunettes with hazel eyes like Clare.
Emma’s eyes met his head-on. No sideways, flirty glances. He got those a lot. Must be the uniform.
As he walked across the road to bring her the cake, he wished she’d jump up from the porch stairs and fling herself into his arms. If she did, he wouldn’t let her go.
Except it would smash the cake.
Cake or no cake, that wasn’t going to happen. She might not admit it even to herself, but she was wounded. He saw the wounds in her psyche from the way she moved toward him one minute and backed away the next.
Okay, he recognized her wounds because he was wounded, too. Nobody plans to get divorced, and nobody comes out of a divorce unscathed.
Either losing her job or dumping her fiancé would’ve been enough to crush most women, but combining the two gave Emma a big load of history to fight through.
Seth could be as big a jerk as the next man when it came to beautiful, sexy women, but he didn’t want to carry the guilt that taking advantage of her vulnerability would entail. He refused to be the rebound guy. When and if they came together, he wanted her to come to him with a whole heart.
On the other hand, he was sick of being the good guy. He wondered how long he could avoid grabbing her and tossing her on the nearest bed.
Something in the way she looked at him, when she didn’t think he could see her, made him believe she’d stay on that bed…
He couldn’t take the chance she’d stay there for the wrong reason. To prove she was over Trip.
“Cake delivery,” he said, and almost stumbled when she flashed that smile at him. “Velma swears if you put it in the refrigerator overnight, it’ll be perfect for the picnic.”
She put her glass down and walked over to him, but not to throw herself in his arms. She seemed more concerned with the cake.
“Thank you so much for picking it up on your way home,” she said. “It’s beautiful. I had no idea the folks at the café could do a cake like that.”
“We’re not all hicks.”
“I didn’t mean that. But it’s no fancy French bakery either. I wish I could cut into it right now.”
“Back off,” Seth said, and swung the cake beyond her reach. “Put it in the fridge. Now, come on. I’ll take you to dinner and buy you chocolate cake for dessert.”
“I’m not dressed.”
“You’re clean, aren’t you? You smell like soap and your hair’s still damp. In country terms, you’re dressed for a formal dinner.”
She took a deep breath, considered for a second that seemed much too long to him, then said, “Okay. Let me check on the babies and get my purse.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
HE WISHED HE could offer Emma the sort of fancy dinner she was used to. Instead, they ended up with country fried steak, salad and fresh vegetables at the café. She turned down the chocolate cake on the menu. “It’ll go straight to my arteries or my thighs,” she told Velma.
“Sorry it’s not fancy or French,” Seth said. “Pickins are limited.”
“Can’t get tomatoes that actually taste like tomatoes this early in the city. And I love okra. Don’t apologize. Anyway, I forgot to have lunch, so I could eat the rest of the cow this came from. And an entire chocolate cake is waiting for tomorrow. When will people get there?”
“Not too early. Nine or so.”
He saw her go instantly on alert. “That early? I’ll have to have coffee and orange juice and fresh doughnuts at a minimum…”
He reached across the table and laid his hand on hers. He could feel her trembling. “Whoa! Not one mouthful. You give them doughnuts and coffee, we’ll never get any work out of them.”
“But I can’t just…”
He shook his head. “Yes, you can. We’ll be through in time for lunch. This isn’t tea at the White House. It’s a work party and a picnic. Those boys of Earl’s are good kids, but they go into overdrive. You’ll probably need to help Janeen keep an eye on them. Make sure they stay out of the back pasture. They’re perfectly capable of falling into the lake or bringing what remains of the old barn roof down on their heads.”
“How old are they?”
“Earl Jr. is eleven. Carl is eight. They’re tough and self-sufficient, but they’re still boys.”
Seth had parked his SUV a block away from the restaurant. The night was perfect for a stroll down Main Street. Seth longed to take her hand, but figured she’d look at him as if he’d lost his mind. They’d both gone silent, and yet it was the companionable silence of two people who were beginning to know each other and liked what they found.
They were nearly at the car when a voice said, “Seth? Is that you?”
Seth froze. Instinctively he reached for Emma’s arm and held her back, as though they were walking into danger. In a sense, they were. A second later, he said, “Come on.” He clicked the lock, opened the door for her, then put a hand on the small of her back to move her into the car.
He felt her stiffen.
“What?” she said and turned back.
He knew the man who stood ten feet from them by the only streetlight on their side of the street. “Get in,” Seth snarled.
She stared up at him. It had definitely been a snarl. She could picture him using that tone on DUIs or poachers as he shoved them into his squad car. He reached up as though to place a hand on her head the way cops did when they put a suspect into a squad car.
“Seth? Wait a minute.” The man walked toward them fast, appa
rently afraid that Seth would slam the door and drive off.
Seeing Seth’s expression—tight mouth, angry eyes—Emma decided he planned to do just that.
She laid her hand on his arm, felt the muscle tighten. He intended to be rude.
Emma didn’t do rude, unless she knew why and generally not even then. The guy who’d called Seth seemed like an ordinary middle-aged man. He was almost as tall as Seth, but a lot thinner. His hair was gray and cut short. He didn’t have a beard and was freshly shaved. He wore a respectable polo shirt, clean jeans and a dark brown hoodie. He didn’t seem homeless or drunk or drugged out, and he didn’t smell.
“Maybe you could introduce me to this pretty lady,” the man said. His voice sounded scratchy, as though he didn’t use it very often and had pickled it in cigarettes or alcohol. The smile he turned on her, however, was pure charm.
Emma noticed he stopped slightly beyond Seth’s reach but close to the light from the open door of the car. In that instant, she knew who he was. Seth’s father. “How do you do, Mr. Logan,” she said, “I’m Emma French.” She stuck her hand out to shake his.
Seth startled her by putting his hand on her forearm none too lightly, pulling it out of shaking range and holding it against his side, as if he was afraid of contagion. He didn’t speak to the man.
“Nice to meet you, Miss Emma.” Another flash of that killer smile. She’d never seen Seth smile like that.
“We have to go,” Seth said. “Now.” He dropped his hand and turned to walk around the car to the driver’s side.
“Nice to meet you, too, Mr. Logan,” she said. It wasn’t nice, but being polite was imprinted in her. She climbed into the car, and Seth’s father closed her door. He barely had time to step back before Seth turned on the ignition and laid rubber out of his parking spot, then narrowly avoided sideswiping a pickup that was driving peacefully down the street beside him.
“Hey, tiger, we’ll get whiplash,” Emma said. Her attempt at lightening the atmosphere fell completely flat.
“Don’t ever do that again,” he whispered. Much scarier than if he’d shouted.
“Do what? Act like one polite human being to another?”
“He’s not a human being. He forfeited that designation a long time ago.”
“You don’t mean that. He’s still your father, whatever he did.”
“He’s a killer. Anyone who kills another human being—even worse, his own flesh and blood—is something other than a human being.”
“You don’t mean he actually killed somebody.” But she remembered Barbara’s rather vague comments about Seth’s younger sister…
“He was responsible, whatever he tells himself. I don’t want to discuss it.”
“You say something like that and you expect me to ignore it?”
“Like I said, I don’t want to talk about my father. I didn’t know he was back in town. If I had, we’d have driven to Somerville for dinner.”
“It’s a small town. You can’t live your life hiding from him.”
“He needs to be the one doing the hiding. Anywhere else but around here.”
At that moment his cell phone rang. Emma jumped. Seth caught his breath and glanced at the display on the dashboard.
“Aren’t you going to answer that?” she asked. “Could be poachers were spotted or something.”
“I know who it is.”
The phone stopped ringing and went to audio. “Seth, I know you’re there. Call me right now. I mean it.” A woman’s voice.
“Well, pull over and call her,” Emma said. Girlfriend? Ex-wife? She felt a stab of jealousy she had no business feeling.
The phone began to ring again. This time he picked up. “I know you’re there,” the voice said again. “Call me right this minute or I’ll drive straight out to your house and snatch you baldheaded.”
Not a girlfriend, then.
“It’s my mother.” He pulled over and parked, but left the truck running.
“Let me get out and give you some privacy,” Emma said and reached for the door handle.
“No! Don’t move. You might as well hear this.” He punched the phone hard enough that Emma was afraid the button would snap. Of course, he would have his mother on speed dial. Obviously also synced for hands-free speaker, so he wouldn’t have to stop if he got to call out.
“I’m here,” he said through clenched teeth. “I’m sitting by the side of the road, and I am not alone, as you no doubt already know. He must’ve called the minute we drove off. If you’re trying to intercede for him, don’t bother.”
“Hello, whoever you are with my son,” the disembodied voice said. “I hope I haven’t spoiled your evening.” The woman’s voice was low and very Southern, not unlike some of Emma’s friends’ mothers.
“How do you do, ma’am,” Emma said. She didn’t protest that Seth’s mother hadn’t spoiled their evening, because obviously she had a hand in it.
“My son is being a jackass. He doesn’t do that often, but makes a doggone good job of it when he does.”
“Mother,” Seth growled. “Why didn’t you warn me he was back? He’s not staying with you, is he?”
“Your father—and he is your father, however much you wish he wasn’t—is staying in a room downtown somewhere. I do not know where. He’s got a piddling little job selling hardware out by the expressway. Staying with me? The very idea!”
“Yeah, right.”
“Now you just hush up and listen. He’s sober, Seth. Has been for over three years. He showed me his two-year Alcoholics Anonymous pin.”
“Which he probably stole.”
Heavy sigh down the line. “Now, you stop that. I’ve been tellin’ you for years to let go of all that anger. It’s hurtin’ you a darned sight more than it’s hurtin’ him. He’s trying to get his life straightened out.”
“So you’ll take him back?”
“Certainly not! But I don’t hate him. He gave me you and Sarah…”
“Then he took her away.”
“You don’t have to take him out to dinner, but you could at least speak to him in the street,” she said.
“You might let him get away scot-free with killing Sarah, but I can’t. So far as I’m concerned, he gets a life sentence, no parole. Let Saint Peter decide after he dies whether he goes up or down. At that point, it’s out of my hands.” He clicked off the phone.
“You just hung up on your mother!” Emma squealed. “Call her back and apologize.”
Seth started the truck and pulled into traffic. “I’ll call her later.”
“This is none of my business,” Emma said. “I’m sorry if I made things worse with your father.”
“Not your fault. You had no way of knowing who he was when he waylaid us.” He growled like a wounded grizzly bear. “I already told you I don’t want to talk about it.”
She was out of his truck and on her front porch before he could open the truck door for her. “Thank you for a lovely evening,” she said in her coolest voice. “At least the first part.” He stood at the foot of the porch stairs. His body language showed he was still angry. His voice said he was disappointed, as well.
“You’re still coming tomorrow morning, aren’t you? And doing the grilling?”
“Of course. Emma, I’m sorry you heard all that.”
“Don’t be. Don’t people say that every family is more or less dysfunctional? We all drive each other nuts.” She came back down the stairs, held out her arms and hugged him. It took him a second to react, then he nearly crushed her ribs.
She stepped away from him and was across the porch and into her house before he was in position for a good-night kiss. Which obviously she didn’t want. He couldn’t blame her. Maybe he had acted like a jackass, but that was simply the way it was, the way he was. The situation wasn’t about to change until his father left town
again. As he would. On his own. If he took too long, Seth would do it for him.
He walked back across the road. Emma was right—he’d have to call his mother and apologize. She’d want to know all about Emma.
Yeah, he’d like to know all about Emma, too. Right now he wasn’t sure where he stood with her or where he wanted to stand. All he knew was that he ached to hold her, make love to her—and the hell with everything else.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
EMMA WAS UP at the crack of dawn to see to the skunks, but also to set up for the picnic. Maybe tablecloths and linen napkins was going a little overboard for hamburgers and hot dogs, but she wanted to show the people who were kind enough to help build her kennel that they were important to her.
She wasn’t unused to getting up early. When a meeting started at nine in the morning, she always had the setup checked by eight. That meant leaving home at seven. The town house on Mud Island was no more than two miles from the office, but she still drove her SUV from one parking spot to another. If she left it at home, guaranteed she’d have to make a quick trip to see a client in Forrest City or the suburbs of Memphis. Today, however, she wouldn’t be moving it from the side yard—the other side from where they were finishing the kennel. She was as jumpy as if she was doing a presentation for the CEOs of a dozen Fortune 500 companies.
At ten o’clock a giant silver crew cab pickup pulled into the yard and parked. Before it had stopped moving, all four doors opened, and a pair of half-grown boys tumbled out of the backseat while an attractive woman climbed out of the passenger side. She was carrying a big covered plastic bowl.
Earl came from the driver’s side. “Hey, Emma, how’s your foot?”
She’d prayed he wouldn’t mention her catapult into the azaleas. At least he didn’t go into big explanations for his wife.
“Fine, Earl. You do know how to wrap a sprain. Hey, you must be Janeen.”
She’d been interested to see the woman Earl had married. No sense in putting out her hand. Janeen was using both to hold the potato salad above the boys’ heads.
Harlequin Superromance May 2018 Box Set Page 40