“And the child?”
“She’s fine. Better than fine.”
“Good. I wish you well, Mr. Mitch.”
“Goes double for me.”
He disconnected, and the tension in his shoulders rolled away.
On the way back to Crossroads, he stopped at the Arby’s on the edge of town and bought an extra-large coffee. He removed the lid and took a sip as he walked around to the back of the store. Once out of sight, he shoved the phone into the hot coffee, put the lid back on, and shook the cup. Then he tossed the whole thing into one of the two Dumpsters back there.
He strolled back to his truck, almost light-headed. The monster, the beautiful, gifted, sickly, twisted monster, was still in New York and nowhere near Crossroads.
10
Mitch expected Julia to come home with Bitsy. But later that afternoon, she burst into the carriage house followed by Sara Jean and a flushed, wind-whipped Neesy.
“Hot chocolate! Hot chocolate!” Julia raced for the kitchen.
“She has a convertible!” Sara Jean yelled, running after Julia.
Mitch glanced out a window. No wonder the girls had been so enamored. The car was long and lean, a red, white, and chrome boat that was older than Neesy. He was guessing late 1950s maybe. It suited her. She seemed like she was from some other time period herself. “You put the top down? It’s practically freezing out.”
Neesy laughed and shivered at the same time. “Actually, it’s a breezy forty-nine degrees. And what could I do? They outnumbered me.”
Mitch sensed she hadn’t put up much of a fight. And after the way Julia had looked this morning, he could only be grateful that whatever it took—even pneumonia—was worth putting the excitement back in her face.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
There was a moment then. An unaccountable shift as they faced each other. Suddenly something between them was different. Neesy was still wearing her body-hugging Crick’s uniform, but she seemed less the man-hungry hunter and more, well, softer, he guessed. Sweeter. And he’d always been a sucker for kindness.
He caught himself staring and tore his gaze away. “You… uh… you want that beer?” he asked.
Her face reddened, and she, too, looked away. “Beer? I thought I heard something about hot chocolate.” She rushed after the girls, but it seemed more a way to put distance between them than anything else.
Which was strange, as up to now she’d done everything she could to bring him closer.
But that had been, what, flirting? Playacting? It had skimmed the surface. Whatever had happened a moment ago went deeper. It had been real. Intimate.
A ripple of dread ran through him, and he couldn’t blame her for scurrying away. Intimacy was terrifying. Not the least because it meant uncovering secrets. And his were too dangerous to share.
Inside the kitchen, Neesy watched Julia stir the milk in a pot over the stove. With a wall between her and Mitch, Neesy could breathe again.
Only this morning, she’d been eager to see more of him. Suddenly, alone with him, looking at her with gratitude and kindness, was way too much.
Maybe it was the afternoon spent with Julia. That kid could break down any walls. Or maybe it was seeing Mitch here, in his home, instead of at Crick’s, where work made things between them less… personal? Real?
Intimate.
Less… intimate.
She’d been intimate before, hadn’t she? Undressed, stark, raving naked. But that was only her body. That moment with Mitch… like he’d stripped her in a different way. Inside. As though every feeling she’d ever had before was false and shallow. Gave her a scary kind of thrill.
She shivered.
“The cocoa will warm you up,” Julia said.
“Can’t wait.” Neesy rubbed her arms, encouraging the mistaken idea that she was cold.
“Sometimes Mitch makes it with real chocolate,” Julia said. “He says it’s not real hot chocolate without it.”
“What is it, then?” Neesy asked.
“Cocoa,” Julia said.
“My mom just opens a package and pours water over it,” said Sara Jean.
“What did your mom do?” Julia asked Neesy.
She thought a moment, though why she took the time was a puzzle, since she knew the answer immediately. “Oh, she didn’t.”
The kids stared at her.
“Not even cocoa?” Julia asked.
“Not even.”
They looked at her, mystified, and a little sad, too. Neesy shifted, uncomfortable. She didn’t want anyone feeling sorry for her, not even these two. “We drank a lot of Coke, though,” she said. “Breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”
“Breakfast?” Julia said, and Sara Jean’s mouth sagged open.
“Sure. Coke and a moon pie. Gets you off to a fine start—a sugar and caffeine high.”
The two girls giggled.
They brought their cups of cocoa into the living room, and Julia handed Mitch one of his own. For a few minutes, the four of them sipped in silence. The girls sprawled on the floor, Mitch and Neesy on the couch.
It was a comfortable enough place. Or at least what Bitsy Blunt had done was comfortable. It was certainly three steps up the ladder from where Neesy lived across the river. This whole side of town was three steps up.
And yet, there was something nondescript about it. Not much of Mitch or Julia hanging around. No family pictures, no souvenirs of places they’d been. The coffee table was bare of magazines, and except for a few library books, the shelves were mostly empty.
Neesy had a cousin who’d gotten pregnant in high school. Neesy had felt betrayed when she found out and had told Trisha to get an abortion—better that than growing up the way Neesy had, the visible proof of her parents’ teenage mistake.
But Trisha didn’t listen, and the father was proud to marry her. They were still married and had three kids now, which only proved that happiness was made for other people. They’d moved to Lubbock years ago, and Neesy had visited a couple of times. The house had been full of their lives together—not only pictures, but also scribblings and drawings and all sorts of kid-created stuff on the fridge and the walls.
Here, the only purpose of the refrigerator door was to open it.
Chalk it up to male habits. Men weren’t sentimental. They didn’t collect things. Although the men she’d known collected empty beer bottles and stolen license plates the way Trisha collected kids. The only thing Mitch collected were the two battered backpacks that sat by the door, waiting, it seemed, to be grabbed at a moment’s notice.
“You always keep your bags packed and ready to go?” she teased Mitch.
“Doesn’t everyone?” He laughed, making light of it.
“I told you to put them away,” Julia said, rolling her eyes. “We don’t need them here.”
He shot Julia a sharp look, and she quickly busied herself with her cocoa. Neesy looked between father and daughter. What had just happened?
Mitch put his cup on the coffee table. “Anyone up for a game of backgammon?”
Julia waved her arm wildly. “Me!” She disappeared into one of the other rooms and came back with a collapsible case that unfolded into a game board.
Neesy had never spent an afternoon like that, playing games with two children. At least, not since she’d been a child herself. The game was easy but the strategy wasn’t, and she made a lot of mistakes. But it didn’t matter. She found herself laughing—at herself, at Mitch, at Julia. They all laughed. It was warm and amazing and like nothing she’d ever experienced.
After the fourth game, Julia invited everyone for dinner. But something moved behind Mitch’s eyes: Neesy had stayed long enough.
Earlier, she’d been uneasy about that private moment with Mitch. After hours in his company, though, that keen, anxious closeness had expanded into real warmth, and she didn’t want to ruin it. The old Neesy might have ignored his signals. But she’d promised herself—she didn’t want to be that Neesy anymore. Sh
e’d like to stay. She would have stayed in a heartbeat. But only if he wanted her to.
“Oh, no. I couldn’t. I don’t think your dad is ready for dinner company.”
“Sure he is. He’s always ready. He can make food out of anything.”
“I’ve got… I’ve got plans,” Neesy said.
“I don’t,” said Sara Jean.
The two girls went over to the Blunts’ to get permission, and Neesy gathered her purse and jacket.
Mitch caught her arm before she could head for the door. “You don’t really have plans, do you?”
She looked into his eyes. They were pale blue, nothing like Julia’s blazing color, but she saw sincerity there. “I do if you want me to.”
“I should,” he said ruefully. “I should hope you have plans from now until the end of the century.”
What he said was unkind, but the way he said it… Encouraged, she asked, “But?”
“But if you don’t mind potluck…”
She smiled. “It’s my favorite.”
Neesy was amazed at what Mitch whipped up from a couple of tomatoes, eggs, peppers, and onions. Julia was right—he could make food out of anything.
“What is it?” Sara Jean asked when dinner was put in front of her.
“Huevos rancheros,” Mitch said.
“Wavos?” Sara Jean picked at the edge of the fried egg with its topping of salsa.
“It means ‘eggs’ in Spanish,” Mitch explained.
“You have eggs for dinner?” Sara Jean was skeptical.
“Why not?” Julia said. “It’s good. It tastes like a taco kind of.”
That got Sara Jean to taste it, and once she did, she liked it. “My dad”—she flicked a glance over at Julia—“I mean, Tommy doesn’t like spicy food. It gives him heartburn, and he says it’s only good for the dogs.”
The mention of dogs reminded everyone how the day began, and there was a small silence.
“Do you think they took him away?” Julia said in a low voice.
“I’m sure they did,” Mitch said.
“What will happen to him?”
Mitch and Neesy exchanged glances.
“They’ll give him a nice burial,” Neesy said.
“Can I watch?”
Dang. “Uh… well, no, actually. It’s private. Animal Control does it all, and they don’t let anyone in. But you can have a memorial service right here,” she added quickly. “Say a prayer or a reading. You know, tell doggie stories.”
Julia nodded. “Maybe I will.”
Later, Mitch walked Neesy to her car. It was dark by then, and the moon hung low in the sky. She shivered and Mitch pulled her jacket closer around her, holding it together at her throat. He was looking at her in a way she’d wanted him to from the first. The way a man who wants a woman always looks—like he was dying of starvation and she was the only food that could bring him back to life.
But the look went on, and he didn’t do anything. Just pushed a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Thanks for that lie about the dog.”
“Couldn’t exactly tell her they were going to burn him up in the trash, could I? Kids take that kind of stuff to heart.”
If Mitch had been another kind of man, she might have egged him on. Leaned a little closer, put her hands on him. But he was Mitch, and she liked him. Not in the way she’d liked Tommy Joe or Ed Pickett—because they’d wanted her, and it felt good to be wanted. But because Mitch didn’t. Because he liked her without wanting her. Or, given that look, despite wanting her. And that was something more truthful and honest than anything she’d felt before.
His hand was still at her ear. It brushed the side of her cheek and sent a shiver of heat through her. “I had a good time tonight,” she said.
He nodded. “Me too.”
Do it again? The words were almost out of her mouth, but she swallowed them. Something powerful held Mitch back. Maybe one day she’d find out what that was; maybe she wouldn’t. Either way, she’d promised herself, hadn’t she? She was done chasing him.
“Thanks again for dinner.” She started to get in her car, but his hand on her arm stopped her. When she turned back to see what he wanted, the question evaporated.
She knew what he wanted.
And when it came, when his mouth touched hers, she nearly stopped breathing. Her heart was thudding like she was thirteen again and this was her first kiss ever. But unlike then, the hands that held her face were strong and sure, and when he let her go, there was more than curiosity in his eyes.
For half a second, they looked at each other. Then every obstacle fell away and they were in each other’s arms. He crushed her with his mouth, his lips. She inhaled him, swallowing his strength right down to her core and below. The winter night was cold, but there was a bonfire between them. His hands were on her back, her face, her hair, her butt. He pressed her into him, and she felt what he was feeling, and she went all liquid heat.
And as quickly as it had come, it was over. One moment his mouth was on hers, her soul in his hands, and the next there was only cold air between them.
She gasped, reaching for oxygen. Mitch’s chest was rising and falling to a similar breathless rhythm. But he looked… horrified.
She opened her mouth to ask what was wrong, but he only shook his head and backed away.
“Mitch—”
“Go. Just go.”
“But—”
He held up his hands like a traffic cop and shook his head again. One hand became a finger, which he put to his lips. The other fisted, white-knuckled and tight. “Get out of here.” He growled it, a demand, not a suggestion. “Go!”
So she did. She got in, turned the ignition over, and gunned the engine. She was out of there so fast the tires squealed.
Inside the carriage house, Mitch leaned his forehead against the door. Christ. Sweet, holy mother of God. What had just happened? He’d wanted her worse than he’d wanted anything in his life. He wanted to wrap her up and let her seep into him like she was sunshine on a gloomy day. What the hell had he been thinking?
He shouldn’t have agreed to dinner. If he’d been smart, he would have let her walk out the door.
But he hadn’t been smart. And he had a terrible, appalling feeling that he wasn’t going to be.
11
Mitch was distracted all day Sunday, but by Monday morning he was braced and tight and ready to keep Neesy at arm’s length.
But when she walked into the kitchen at Crick’s, all his preparation fell apart. He mumbled, dropped a container of maple syrup, couldn’t even look her in the eye.
Not that she was any better. Her gaze remained somewhere around his knees.
“I, uh… I brought this for Julia.” She held out a book tied together with two crisscrossed rubber bands. “It was Mama’s. I thought Julia might… Well, you know, she does like to read. And I thought maybe it might help her get over…” She nodded toward the back screen door and the alley.
It was a hardbound copy of Old Yeller. The plastic film that had once coated the cover was peeling back, and when Mitch removed the rubber bands, he saw that the pages were brittle and brown.
He couldn’t think of a nicer gift, one that was more thoughtful or heartfelt. Suddenly everything that had been there Saturday night outside the carriage house was back. The indescribable warmth that overtook him when Neesy was near. The choking need to touch her, hold her, devour her.
Jesus H. merciful Christ.
“Thank you,” he said stiffly.
“You’re… uh… welcome.”
And then, thank all the powers in the universe, she disappeared through those swinging doors, and he could breathe again.
Somehow they got through the day. And the next. And the next. Neither one of them mentioned the kiss again. But whatever easiness had been between them before was gone. Mitch might regret it, but he was also grateful for it.
The month stumbled along. Julia practically swallowed Old Yeller whole. She talked about
it for weeks, researched rabies, the Confederacy, and the Texas hills on Sara Jean’s computer. She watched the movie over at the Blunts’ about fifty times, and Mitch was so sick of it he was ecstatic when the science project reared its ugly head.
“Sara Jean says she’ll help with it,” Julia said.
Which would have been generous enough if the offer hadn’t also come attached to sleepovers, which he wouldn’t allow.
“You’re being stupid,” Julia huffed.
“I’m being safe.”
“Safe? Do you think they’re going to eat me or something?”
He poked her in the belly. “Wouldn’t get much meat off you.”
She stamped her foot. “Why won’t you let me stay over?”
“Because.”
“That’s not a reason.”
“I gave you my reason.”
“It’s a stupid reason! You’re stupid! I hate you!” And she wheeled around and threw herself into her room.
Mitch sighed. But that night he made baked ziti, her favorite—with homemade sauce.
She frowned when she saw it. “You’re trying to bribe me.”
“Is it working?”
She sat at the table and spooned a huge helping onto her plate. “I don’t know. I haven’t tasted it yet.”
“Why don’t you invite Sara Jean here?”
“Because she has the computer. And the color printer.” The last said like an accusation.
“You know, people did science projects before there were computers.”
“They painted on cave walls, too,” she said unhappily.
Crick’s closed for Thanksgiving, and Mitch was looking forward to a long day of doing nothing. But the Blunts invited them for their traditional feast. From his personal experience, the holiday meal was cold, formal, and prepared by people other than family, so he was happy to bypass it. Besides, his Christmas deadline was fast approaching, and the more attached Julia grew to Sara Jean, the Blunts, and Crossroads in general, the bigger the brawl he’d have to fight when it came.
But Julia had never had a real family holiday, with the table sagging under the weight of food and family. He’d already denied her so much that he gave in to this.
Two Lethal Lies Page 7