In This Town

by Beth Andrews

  It was all an act. Part of her illusion. There was nothing real about her. Was there?

  He grabbed his keys, went outside. The cold on his bare feet reminded him he didn’t have any shoes on. He went back inside, caught sight of himself in the mirror above the dresser, tried to smooth his hair down, realized it was no good. It took him fifteen minutes—twenty tops—to shower and change. By the time he pulled into the Yacht Pub’s parking lot, he wondered if he’d made a mistake.

  Walking into the bar he was sure of it. It was a dive, one where regulars went. Dark with ancient woodwork and scarred tables and fishing items hanging on the walls—including a huge swordfish—it smelled of stale beer. Though it was still early by Saturday night standards, there was a decent size crowd. He didn’t see Tori as he walked farther into the room. She’d probably already left. Or had never been there.

  He was about to turn around when he caught a flash of color from the corner of his eye, saw her on the dance floor.

  And was so mesmerized by her natural rhythm, the sensual way she moved, her hips and arms swaying to the beat, it took him a minute to realize she wasn’t dancing alone. Her partner was tall and lanky and all of twenty-one, twenty-two at the most. The kid couldn’t take his eyes off Tori, didn’t seem to mind in the least having her rubbing against him.

  Ignoring the curious looks he got from the other patrons, Walker crossed to the dance floor, walked up to Tori and took a hold of her arm. “Time to go.”

  She startled, her eyes showing her surprise—and even though he hadn’t taken long to get there, she was well past tipsy and quickly heading to drunk. But then, as if realizing what he was doing, what he’d said, she tugged free.

  “I’m not ready to go.” She smiled up at the kid, laid her hand on his chest—and Walker wanted to smack the kid’s sloppy, self-satisfied grin off his face. “Me and James—”

  “John,” the kid corrected, taking advantage of Tori’s position enough to settle his own hand just above her ass.

  More and more that smack seemed like a great idea.

  “Whatever,” she said with a wave of her hand. “We’re dancing.”

  “Yeah?” Tired of her games, pissed that he’d ignored good sense and was even there, Walker yanked her against him. She stumbled and fell into him, one of her damned pointy heels landing on his foot. No doubt purposely. “Now you’re done,” he ground out, his big toe throbbing.

  The kid stepped forward. “Now, wait a—”

  “John,” Walker said in a tone that had the kid freezing and looking uncertain. “Be smart here.”

  John was bright enough to realize he’d best be on his way.

  “Hey,” Tori called as John walked over to the bar, unable to follow him with Walker’s strong grip on her arm, “where are you going?” When John ignored her and started flirting with a girl his own age, Tori glared at Walker. “That wasn’t very nice.”

  Nice. Jesus. “Did you bring a purse?”

  “To the Yacht Pub?” She tried to break free of his hold. He held tight but wished he had a pair of cuffs on him. “What am I, stupid?”

  “That has yet to be determined.”

  He pulled her out of the bar without any problem. Guess the clientele didn’t want to get involved.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she demanded, struggling to keep up with him in her heels, her balance unsteady.

  “Saving you,” he muttered.

  “What?”

  He sighed. Stopped and faced her. “I said I’m saving you.”

  “I don’t need saving,” she said emphatically, her words only slightly slurred. “I don’t want saving.”

  “Well, you should. That kid was barely legal.”

  Even in the dim parking lot, he could see her blush. “He’s twenty-five.”

  “My mistake,” Walker said, opening the passenger door of his car. “But playtime’s over. Time to go home.”

  She slid him an unreadable glance. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

  “Only the stubborn ones.”

  “Lucky me.”

  “Yeah. Lucky you. Get in,” he said, indicating the passenger seat.

  “I’m perfectly capable of driving my own car.”

  Walker edged closer, forcing her to back up until she was trapped between the car and his body. He searched her eyes, noted the glassiness, the alcohol on her breath. “Don’t make me put you through a field sobriety test.”

  “I only had a few shots.” She frowned as if thinking caused her great pain. “And a rum and Coke. And then another shot.”

  “Uh-huh.” No wonder she was halfway to being completely toasted. Shots had a habit of doing that. “Get in.”

  She hesitated and he’d had enough. He practically shoved her into the passenger seat and slammed the door shut. He slid in behind the wheel then reached over her to pull her seat belt across her lap, his knuckles brushing the side of her breast. He wrenched the belt hard enough to have it snapping loose, clicked it into place and sat back.

  “What about my car?” she asked, turning to look out the window at the parking lot as he pulled away.

  “Guess you’ll have to get it tomorrow.”

  She slid down into the seat and crossed her arms. “You’re a real prince, you know that?”

  He had no desire to be a prince. At the moment, he was cursing himself for giving into this hidden noble streak. “How the hell did you get so much to drink when you didn’t even bring your purse?”

  He felt her looking at him. “Do you really think I have to buy my own drinks?”

  Good point. She probably had guys lining up to ply her with liquor the moment she set foot in a bar.

  And he was the one to take her home.

  He strangled the steering wheel, not loosening his grip until he pulled into her driveway and shut off the engine.

  “I guess it’s not surprising you know where I live,” Tori said, unbuckling her seat belt. “Weird, but not surprising.”

  “It’s my job to know.”

  “It’s still weird.”

  He climbed out, circled the front of the car and opened the door for her. Without a word, without even one of her seductive glances, she brushed past him and walked up the short driveway. He followed her across a covered patio and up the steps into a tidy kitchen.

  She sat on a chair at the table, reached down to slip off a boot, wiggling her toes with a soft groan. Repeating the action with the second boot, she looked up at him. “Your good deed for the day is done so you can go now. Since you’re not interested and all.”

  Oh, he was interested, all right. Attracted. Even when she was amped up and looking for a fight.

  There must be something wrong with him.

  “I could make coffee,” he said, searching through her cupboards.

  He heard the second boot hit the floor with a thud. “I don’t want coffee. I want you to go.”

  But she sounded uncertain. And when he turned, she looked so fragile sitting there, her arms crossed, her shoulders drooping, as if one wrong word would break her. He realized he didn’t want that. Didn’t want her spirit broken or even cracked. He just wanted to know her, to catch even a glimpse of the woman she was beneath her high heels and makeup, beneath her cynicism and smart mouth.

  “I could stay,” he heard himself say.

  Just like that, her expression closed. Studying him intently, she rose, crossed the room until she stood before him. “What for?”

  Without her heels, the top of her head only reached his nose. “We could…talk.”

  “Is that what you call it?” she asked, her tone sensual. She laid her hand on his chest, like she’d done with John on the dance floor. Walker froze; even his heart seemed to stop beating. She stepped closer and he could feel her warmth, could see the flecks of gold in her eyes. “Okay,” she whispered, her breath fanning his chin, her other hand sliding up his arm to settle at the back of his neck. “Let’s talk.”

  She rose onto her
toes, brushed her mouth against his. Want, need, unlike anything he’d ever experienced coursed through him, tightening his body, heating his blood. And he knew if he wasn’t very, very careful, this woman, this irritating, fascinating, complicated woman, could bring him to his knees.

  He gripped her shoulders and pushed her away from him. Dropped his hands before she could see they were unsteady.

  “What is your problem?” she asked, sounding confused and exasperated. “Don’t you find me attractive?”

  “You’re beautiful,” he said gruffly. Honestly.

  Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Then there’s no reason to stop.”

  “No reason except that you’re a possible subject in a murder case—”

  “We both know I didn’t kill anyone.”

  He didn’t know that, not for certain, though something told him she was innocent. But was that his gut talking or his desire for her?

  “Even if I wasn’t on the job,” he said, “even if you had no connection to Dale York, you and I would never happen. Not when, fifteen minutes ago, you were plastered against another man, ready to take him home, to your bed.” He tugged her forward, bent his knees so they were eye to eye. “Not when I’m some sort of backup lay.”

  Her head snapped back as if he’d slapped her, the color drained from her face. “I want you out of my house, my home,” she whispered.

  He should. He absolutely should because he had no right to be there, he’d had no right to drag her from that bar—even though it was in her best interest. But he’d put that injured look in her eyes, caused her pain.

  He’d only been honest, but he’d hurt her. And he hadn’t meant to. Hadn’t known he could.

  He opened his mouth, but had no idea what to say, if he should say anything.

  “Leave,” she said, before he could speak. “Now.”

  Her mouth was set, her body unyielding. She wasn’t going to listen to anything he said. He would never get through to her, at least not tonight. A smart man knew when to cut his losses.

  And if there was one thing Walker Bertrand was, it was smart.

  “Good night, Mrs. Mott,” he said. Stepping into the dark night, he swallowed past the apology stuck in his throat, the one that would only cause more problems, would make it seem as if he cared about her personally. He’d already stepped up to that line separating his job from his personal life by tracking her to that bar and driving her home.

  One little nudge could push him into dangerous territory.

  * * *

  TORI’S HEAD POUNDED. She hadn’t had that much to drink last night but she’d still ended up with a wicked hangover.

  Guess that was what she’d missed out on by getting pregnant so young. When all of her high school friends had been in college and partying at bars, she’d been home with her baby and husband.

  Thank God. She’d hate to think about what her life would’ve been like if she hadn’t gotten pregnant. She liked to pretend that she’d have gone on to college, would have moved away from Mystic Point and had some fabulous career. But with age came wisdom and hers told her she probably would’ve stayed in this town. At least this way she had something to pin the blame on.

  The back door opened and Brandon came in. She smiled. She did love her kid even if he drove her crazy sometimes. “Hey. How was your night?”

  “Good,” he said, not bothering to look at her, avoiding her touch as he walked past.

  She opened her mouth to call him back when Greg and Colleen stepped inside.

  “Tori,” he said, “do you have a minute?”

  “Sure,” she said, determined to be pleasant and polite no matter what. “Come on in. Hi, Colleen.”

  See? She was all sorts of friendly.

  “Good morning,” Colleen said in her soft way.

  They were an odd couple, Tori thought. Greg was still as handsome as he’d been in high school with thick brown hair and green eyes. He was average height but had broad shoulders and only the slightest paunch. He wasn’t as tall as Walker or as handsome.

  And why she was thinking of that son of a bitch, she had no clue.

  Shoving all thoughts of Walker out of her head, she concentrated on her ex. Greg was a good man. Honest and honorable and easygoing. He’d done his best to make Tori happy, to give her whatever she’d wanted. Colleen was plain and chubby but good-natured and a little on the shy side. The complete opposite of Tori.

  Brandon preferred Colleen. It ate Tori up.

  Greg stood by the counter, seemed nervous, which was unlike him. Then again, this was the first time he’d stood between his ex-wife and his current girlfriend in what used to be his home. He and Tori had been together for so long, at times she couldn’t remember a time when he wasn’t a part of her life, wasn’t her partner. Her friend.

  She missed him, she realized with a jolt. Not as her husband or lover, but as her friend.

  “Do either of you want coffee?” she asked, trying to ignore the ache in her head, the way her stomach turned.

  Greg looked to Colleen, who shook her head. “No, thanks,” he said. “Listen, we need to tell you something.”

  “Did something happen with Brandon?” Tori asked.

  After the fight yesterday, she and Greg had agreed that Brandon should be grounded for a month with no electronics of any sort, then they’d gone with him over to the Nashes to apologize to Dalton and his parents.

  Tori had sat on their ugly, floral-print couch, all the while remembering what Brandon had told her Dalton had said. She’d felt ill and guilty, as if she’d somehow done something wrong, as if there was something wrong with her, something lacking in her as a mother. Those thoughts, those worries, had pushed her into going to Walker’s motel room.

  He’d been right. She had been lonely. Had been so tired of being alone.

  Then he’d proved why being alone was so much better.

  “No,” Greg said. “Brandon’s fine. It’s…it’s about us.”

  “Us?” No sooner was the word out of Tori’s mouth than she realized he wasn’t referring to them—him and her—but to him and Colleen.

  He tugged on Colleen’s hand and brought her forward to stand next to him. “Colleen and I are getting married.”

  Tori jerked her gaze from their faces to Colleen’s left hand, saw the ring sparkling there. “You…” She inhaled deeply to quell the nausea in her stomach. “That’s…great. Congratulations. Does Brandon know?”

  Greg nodded. “We told him at breakfast.”

  “Oh.” She swallowed, rubbed her thumbnail along the crease of the counter. She had no idea what to say. She wanted Greg to be happy, of course she did. But shouldn’t he have waited a little longer?

  It hadn’t taken him long to replace her.

  “Have you set a date?” she managed to ask, proud she sounded so mature and reasonable when she hated herself for feeling so envious and petty.

  “I’d like a Christmas wedding,” Colleen said, smiling shyly at Greg.

  “That sounds…nice.”

  “Tori,” Greg said, “there’s something else. It’s about Brandon…”

  “He’s not happy about the engagement?” she guessed. She could only imagine how this would affect him.

  “No, just the opposite. He’s really excited about it. In fact, he…” Greg pressed his lips together, softened his voice. “Tori, he wants to live with us.”

  Tori stilled, could hear the pounding of her heart in her ears. All she could do was stare at Greg. Finally she blinked. “I’m sorry.... What?”

  Greg looked at her with such pity, it almost undid her. Even Colleen, plain Colleen who’d probably never had a boyfriend before Greg, who was so much…less than Tori, pitied her.

  “Brandon wants to live with Colleen and me,” Greg said.

  “Brandon lives here,” Tori said, her lips barely moving. “He lives with me. We agreed he’d stay with me.”

  When she’d asked Greg for a separation a year ago, had asked him to move out to giv
e them both time to figure out what they wanted, he’d agreed without hesitation. Without argument. And, after two months when she’d realized they were both better off on their own, when she’d told him she wanted a divorce, he’d gone along with it. Good ol’ Greg, always giving her what she wanted.

  She knew, had known for years, she was honest enough to admit to herself, that their marriage wasn’t working, would never work. Greg gave too much.

  Tori took. She was a taker, like her mother. And she hadn’t wanted him to end up like her father.

  But she’d also wanted more out of her life. Was that really so wrong? So selfish? Didn’t she deserve to have everything she wanted? Why did that make her a bad person, a bad mother?

  She and Greg didn’t have a formal custody agreement because they’d both wanted Brandon to stay in the house where he’d always lived. They had wanted to give him that stability.

  “We did agree to that,” Greg said, as always patient, “but now circumstances have changed and I think we should do what’s best for Brandon.”

  Tori trembled with outrage, with pain. “I’m what’s best for Brandon. I’m his mother.”

  She had always prided herself on being a good mother, one who’d given her son equal amounts love and discipline. Time, attention and freedom to explore who he was, who he wanted to be. She was nothing like her own mother who’d only been good at being fun and beautiful. Tori hadn’t had enough of her mother’s attention so she’d made sure Brandon hadn’t lacked for hers in any way. And now that wasn’t good enough?

  She wasn’t good enough as a mother.

  “No,” Tori said. “No. Brandon lives here and he’ll continue to live here.”

  Greg looked disappointed in her, as if he was her father and not her ex-husband. “I think we need to take Brandon’s wants and needs into consideration.”

  “Brandon wants us to not have gotten divorced,” she said flatly. “He needs to know he can’t always get his own way.”

  She hated knowing her son didn’t want her, didn’t want to be with her. Hated having this conversation in front of Colleen, the next Mrs. Gregory Mott. It was humiliating, not being good enough.

  “This isn’t about him getting his own way,” Greg said while Colleen just looked uncomfortable. “This is about doing what’s best for him. And if you don’t agree that he can move in with us, that he can live with me full-time, we’ll have to go to court.”