by Diana Palmer
Nettie’s heart had to squeeze out the next beat, but she managed to shove her cheeks back into smile mode. “Oh, that,” she tossed off as lightly as she could. “I’m afraid my fling is finito.” Rising, she began to gather the used napkins and plates. “You were right. I’m not fling material.”
“What happened? Did he say no to a longer commitment?” Sisterly loyalty put palpable anger in Lilah’s tone.
Nettie shook her head, mopping smears of peanut butter dip off the oak table.
“Why don’t you leave that stuff and sit and talk to me,” Lilah suggested. “Sara says you’ve been doing your Martha Stewart impersonation again.”
Nettie stopped wiping and looked up. “Is that why you came?”
“She’s concerned. I’m concerned, too. Sara wasn’t sure how to help you, so she called.”
Lilah shrugged with her customary casual grace. This time it irritated Nettie to no end. “You were both worried when I was planning to have an affair. Now you’re worried that I’m not? Seems a little ironic, wouldn’t you say?”
“We just want you to be happy, Net.”
Nettie gave an uncharacteristically cynical huff of laughter. “Yeah. As long as my happiness doesn’t interfere with Sara’s feeding schedule or your next audition.”
It was a shocking, completely uncharacteristic thing for Nettie to say, and they both knew what she was referring to. Lilah’s face went pale beneath her makeup.
“We were scared, Nettie. We thought you wanted…to be alone. We didn’t know what to do.”
“Well, that made three of us.”
After Brian and Tucker had died, Nettie had been helpless to take care of anyone’s emotions, even her own. It was understandable, but frightening to the two women who had relied on her most of their lives. Even through her own despair, Nettie had seen her sisters’ discomfort and though she had felt like a marionette lying limp and disjointed on the ground, she’d somehow managed to scrape herself together and hold her body upright long enough to tell her sisters to go home, get on with their lives…she’d be fine. Like a marionette, she’d been hanging on by a thread.
Guilty but relieved, they had left, and at the time Nettie had felt grateful that she could still “be there” for her family. Make everything feel normal and safe for them, just as she always had. Except that by then she’d understood there was no such thing as “safe.”
Well, this time she was fresh out of illusions. The dream of experiencing a happiness with Chase that couldn’t be snatched away was only that—a dream.
Facing Lilah with an uncompromising stare, Nettie said, “He has a son. Seven years old.” That was it, all she had to say, really. Tucker would have been six.
Lilah so clearly wanted to respond, wanted to tell her So what? Go for it, but she didn’t dare.
“Who will be there this time, Lilah, if everything falls apart?” Nettie drove her point home. “Sara? You? Will you stick around and pick up the pieces? Because—” Her voice started to break. Relentlessly, she pressed on. “I wouldn’t survive it another time. I don’t think I’d want to.”
“But maybe it won’t fall apart this time, Net. You’ve had your share—”
“You think that’s how the world works? You still think it’s fair? Tragedy isn’t dealt out like a deck of cards—everyone gets five and then you go around in a circle and tell the dealer what you want. No one cares what you want! Nobody’s checking to make sure you only get what you can handle.” Nettie slashed a hand through the air. “That is such a crock! Mother and Daddy were thirty-four when they died and they had three children. And everyone else on that plane had people who loved them and needed them. You want to talk about fair? Brian was twenty-three. Twenty-three.” She didn’t even say Tucker’s name; she couldn’t. “Maybe the truth is some people get more than their share because they’re jinxed. Maybe I’m doing Chase a big favor—”
Nettie began to shake. As if she were standing with her feet in ice, the shivering started from the legs up, until her entire body quivered without control.
All she’d wanted was a little bit of joy to remind her she was still alive. What she’d got instead were reminders she didn’t want of a life she’d never have again.
Leaving everything—plates, napkins, Lilah—right where they were, Nettie turned to run up the stairs. If a life lived in avoidance meant she was only half alive, fine. It was also half the pain.
It had taken seven years for Chase to discover he was a father, mere hours to travel to Florida to meet his son for the first time, a couple of minutes to note all the physical resemblances between them and about two seconds to realize he was in over his head. Way over.
Twisting the top off a bottle of cold beer, he slumped into a chair at the kitchen table. Given an aisle seat on the plane ride back to North Dakota, Colin had preferred to gaze silently out the window, rather than converse with his father. Chase wondered if they should have spent a few days at Disneyworld, or if he should have brought a gift, something to break the ice. Hell, he hadn’t thought to take along a single thing a kid might want to eat or play with or wear.
On the ride from the airport to Nick’s, Chase told his son about Nick’s horse, received an encouraging but brief flicker of interest and then…zilch.
Now Colin was upstairs, preferring to unpack on his own while Chase remained downstairs, nursing a cold beer and a gutful of self-doubt rather than the walloping sock in the chest of fatherly love he’d expected to feel.
Chase took a long pull from the bottle of Budweiser. Yeah, this father gig was a real piece of cake.
Elbows on the table, he dropped his forehead onto his palms. He wanted to talk to someone. But not just any someone.
Nettie.
She was the first person who came to mind. And the second. Furious with himself, Chase shook his head. She’d bailed. Only moments after those robin’s egg eyes had said, yes, her mouth had uttered no to any possibility of a relationship. Because he had a kid.
Chase put a hand on his breast pocket, remembered he’d foolishly given up smoking and rose to pace to the window.
He knew firsthand what it was like to be an unwanted kid. Nothing…no one…would make his son feel that way.
Forget her, Chase ordered himself. Forget her, it’s done. He must have had too much adrenaline in his system, anyway, to imagine that he was ready for a relationship with a woman and a child. One at a time would be more than enough.
Returning to the table, he grabbed the beer and opened the refrigerator. Nick was out of town for a few days, which meant he and Colin were on their own for meals. Unfortunately, Chase didn’t cook. He had no reason to; he was never at home. Peering at the shelves, he searched for something that looked like kid food.
Catsup, bratwurst, more beer, butter. There was a loaf of bread and a box of cereal on top of the fridge. Bratwurst on bread with catsup? Slamming the refrigerator door, he hung his head. He was in serious trouble.
Leaving his beer on the sink, he headed upstairs, heart thumping as if he were the kid. When he reached the guest room, he halted at the door. Colin stood at the window, staring out. His small sloping shoulders appeared to hold the weight of the world. Chase felt his anger rise at anyone—everyone, himself included—who had contributed to that sadness.
The simple act of drawing his own child’s attention filled Chase once again with an aggravating self-doubt. He didn’t know how to address his own kid—how pathetic was that? It was on the tip of his tongue to say, son, but that seemed wrong, as if he hadn’t earned the right.
Resigning himself to indecision, high blood pressure and ulcers for the remainder of his natural life, Chase cleared his throat and smiled when Colin turned. “Listen I’m getting hungry, and I thought, uh…” Come on, this is easy. It’s only food. “My favorite dinner is a cheeseburger, french fries and a vanilla shake. How about you?”
Huge brown eyes gazed warily beneath a mop of straight coffee-hued hair. “I like chocolate.” No smile and only a halting enthus
iasm, but Chase was encouraged.
“Ever been to a real old-fashioned diner?” Confused, Colin shrugged. Okay, no frame of reference for a diner. “Come on.” Chase gestured to the door. “Have you ever had a milkshake served in a tall silver cup? No?” Feigning disbelief, Chase followed his son down the hall. “Aw, man, are you in for a surprise…”
Given its status as “the only restaurant for twenty miles,” Ernie’s did a fairly brisk business in the early evenings, particularly when the weather was good. Chase ushered his son into a dining room that was crowded, relatively speaking, and filled with the aromas of grilled meat, homemade gravy and pie that smelled freshly baked.
Obeying a sign that read Take a Menu, Take a Seat and Wait Yer Turn, Chase chose a booth near a window, watched his son crawl across the vinyl seat and then slid in opposite him.
Ernie arrived almost immediately with a pot of coffee, pouring before Chase could accept or decline.
“Welcome back!” Ernie displayed overly large dentures in a sincere greeting as he sloshed hot liquid into a brown ceramic mug. “Thought you might carry a few hard feelings after you got yourself arrested the first time you was here, but I can see you’re a man with a sense of humor.” He slapped Chase heartily on the back.
Chase lurched forward, amazed by the wizened old codger’s strength. “Yeah.” He reached for the creamer. “I love a joke.”
“Glad to hear it. And who’s this good-lookin’ fella?”
Colin stared at Ernie with more interest than he’d shown in anything so far. It was understandable. Ernie resembled an elf come to life. Smiling, Chase made the introduction exactly as it first came into his head. “This is Colin, my son. He just got into town.”
“Happy to meet you, Colin.” Ernie stuck out a knobby hand, which Colin accepted and manfully shook. “This your first visit to North Dakota?”
Colin nodded.
“Well, that’s fine. There may not be much to do, but we got plenty to see. Say, did your dad tell you he spent the night in the same jail that once housed the great Toothless Shoeless Pistol Pete and Dead Eye Dunnigan the night before they was both hanged for bank robbery? Same thing your dad was arrested for.”
Colin’s eyes bugged wide. He stared at his father with new interest. Chase winced. Turning to Colin, he said firmly, so there would be no misunderstanding, “I didn’t rob anything. It was a mistake. The sheriff mistook me for somebody else.”
Colin’s interest didn’t dim a bit. “You were in jail?”
Chase shifted uncomfortably, earning another whack from the old man. “Now, don’t be embarrassed, son. Plenty a folks has been falsely accused. Important thing is no one was shot.” Ernie went into another fit of cackling. Obviously at least some of the story had made the rounds in town. Interestingly, Ernie didn’t seem to be distressed by the part he’d played.
“I was never really ‘in jail,’” Chase insisted. “The sheriff took me to jail, but I was never officially booked for any crime.”
“I want to be a policeman.” Colin announced.
“You oughtta meet our sheriff, then,” Ernie said. “She knew she wanted to be sheriff from the time she was your age.”
“The sheriff is a girl?” Colin seemed doubtful.
“Yep.” Ernie looked proud. “She’s our very own Calamity Jane. I bet she’d give you a tour of our jail.”
“Really?” Powered by enthusiasm, Colin’s feet smacked the legs of the table. “When can I go? When are the tours?” He hopped out of the booth.
“Okay, Colin, sit down. We’re going to have dinner—”
“Sheriff’s right over there.” Ernie pointed to a booth across the dining room. “Why don’t you ask her?”
“Oh, boy!” The seven-year-old took off like a shot.
Ernie chuckled. “Kids.” He shook his head. “They got so much dang energy.”
Chase twisted around, sliding to the edge of the bench-style seat.
“Don’t worry.” Ernie hastened to reassure him. “He’s not bothering anyone. We’re all friends here.”
But Chase was worried. His body stiffened as his gaze settled on the three women in a booth across the restaurant. Digging into a huge slice of pie à la mode that was placed on the table between them, the women were laughing, wielding their forks like swords as they battled for control of the dessert.
When Colin skidded to a halt at their table, they glanced up. Chase spared only a glance for the redheaded sheriff, who was, as usual, dressed in uniform, and for the unfamiliar blonde who smiled at his son.
Now that he was at their table, Colin seemed to suffer another attack of reserve, twisting his small hands behind his back as he addressed himself to the local law. Chase had no idea what was spoken between Sara and his son, but he realized Colin must have identified him as “father,” when, almost as a unit, the women turned to look in his direction.
Nettie’s gaze locked with his and she looked, he thought, exactly the way he felt—as if he’d suffered a punch to his sternum.
Briefly, he considered staying right where he was and waiting for Colin to return to the table. In fact, he might have—thereby letting both himself and Nettie off the hook—except for one thing: Before she’d noticed him, Nettie had been having a perfectly good time. The relationship she’d killed wasn’t even cold in the grave, and she’d managed to put it behind her. And that irked him. Big time.
Sliding out of the booth, Chase begged a cursory pardon as he brushed past Ernie.
From her place in the corner of the booth, Nettie watched his approach. Shifting her gaze between father and child, she felt the few bites of pie she had taken turn to cannonballs inside her churning stomach.
This was Chase’s son, the boy she hadn’t wanted to meet. He stood, nervous yet fascinated, gazing at Sara. Tall for his age, sturdy and obviously hale beneath a too-sober countenance, Colin bore a striking resemblance to his father, though his hair was a shade darker and impossibly thick, sitting atop his head like a thatched roof. His mother must have had a devil of a time running a comb through it.
Feeling herself smile, Nettie abruptly reined in her thoughts. That was exactly the kind of thing she didn’t want to think.
When Chase reached their table, he put a protective hand on Colin’s shoulder. His expression stony, he looked at Nettie but remained silent, almost daring her to speak first.
Nettie had no idea what to say. From her peripheral vision, she noted Lilah turning her head, assessing the situation. When no one ventured a word, Lilah took the bull by the horns, thrusting out a hand.
Chase reacted in slow motion, pulling his attention off Nettie and putting it on the vivacious blonde.
“You must be this charming young man’s father.” Taking the hand Chase proffered, she flashed him a dazzling grin. “I’m Lilah Owens. And your name is?” To Nettie’s amazement, Lilah tilted her head, actually batting her long, mascara-laden lashes.
Flirting? She was flirting with him? In disbelief, Nettie watched Chase respond with a smile that said he was duly charmed. “My name is Chase, Ms. Owens.”
“Lilah,” she corrected.
“Lilah,” Chase agreed, keeping her hand. “I’d know you anywhere. From the photo on the mantel in your family’s home,” he clarified when she arched a brow in question.
“Such an old, old photo,” she laughed.
“But so clearly indicative of the great beauty to come.”
“I may hurl.” Sara could have been referring to the quantity of pie she continued to consume, but Nettie knew better and for once she shared the sentiment.
Lilah continued as if Sara hadn’t spoken. “Ah, you’ve been to our house?” Gracefully withdrawing her hand, she glanced around the table and then back at Chase. “You must know my sisters then.” Her surprise was a shade too enthusiastic to be genuine.
Chase’s eyes met Nettie’s. She longed to kick Lilah beneath the table. What kind of game was her sister playing? Sitting in the corner of the booth, Nettie felt
her anger rise. Now Chase was going to think she hadn’t cared enough about their relationship to tell her own sister about it! On the other hand, she corrected herself sternly, it made no difference. She certainly didn’t want him to think she was carrying a torch for him. Did she? No! Of course not.
Afraid she looked as fidgety and uncomfortable as she felt, Nettie tried to use the pie as a focal point to gather her racing thoughts, but Sara kept hacking away at it with her fork. And Lilah kept staring at Chase in that irritating way. And Chase…Already he’d removed his gaze from Nettie and returned it to her blonder, sexier sibling. Irrationally she felt more piqued. What kind of inconstant jilted would-be lover was he, anyway?
With a lazy smile, he confirmed for Lilah, “I’ve had the pleasure of getting to know both your sisters. My stay in North Dakota will always be highlighted by the memory of your family’s…unusually warm welcome.”
Nettie’s eyes narrowed. Unusually warm? Either he was referring to being handcuffed and nearly shot or…to being propositioned by a country widow within a week of his rolling into town. Either way, it didn’t sound like a compliment.
“Excuse me,” she said, finding her voice at last and determined to nullify his insinuation that they had somehow embarrassed themselves, “but the fact is, we greet everyone like that.”
His brow rose. “That must be a boon to North Dakota tourism.”
Nettie lifted her chin and tightened her jaw to keep from grimacing. Damn. Damn!
Chase squeezed his son’s shoulder. “Come on, Colin. I’m sure these ladies want to get back to their dessert, and we’ve got some great burgers waiting for us.”
Colin craned his neck to look up. “But we haven’t ordered yet.”
“Right.” Chase laughed. “That’s right. So let’s do that. Ladies.” Studiously avoiding Nettie, he nodded.
“But I want to see the jail,” Colin resisted his father’s tug. “Will you show me your jail?” he asked Sara. “I want to be a policeman.”
Judging by the expressions on their faces, Sara and Chase were in a dead heat for Least Enthusiastic About the Idea. On the other hand, Nettie watched the eager face of the child and wanted to kick both adults for allowing their personal grievances to stand in the way of a simple request. The child had lost his mother. He’d been shuttled to a new place with a father he barely knew. A tour of local points of interest wasn’t much to ask.