Anyway, wasn’t that the coward’s way out? Liquor was everywhere—at every restaurant and bar she frequented, at every friend’s house, part of every celebration, everyday life. If she could stay sober only by creating a liquor-free safety zone around herself, it didn’t say much for her chances, did it?
And besides, that ugly little voice inside her whispered, you never know when you’ll wake up all fragile and really needing a drink. You’re weak that way, Jess, and you know it.
Scowling, she turned the lock on the bedroom door, stepped out of her flip-flops, and turned back the covers on the bed, a king size that had been too big for her and Aaron together and was damn sure too big for her alone. No wonder she sometimes felt lost in the night. She could share it with Oz and a few of Dalton’s Oreo-striped cows and still have room left over for a gorgeous foal or two.
Or forget the animals and invite their owner in instead.
Damn, that put the image of Dalton in her head—big, strong, muscular, naked—and the thought of sex with Dalton, or any man, stone-cold sober, made her need that tiny sip even more.
No, not need. Want. There was a huge distinction.
And she was determined to figure it out.
Chapter 5
Lucy took the rare gift of turning off her alarm and sleeping Wednesday morning until she woke up on her own. The sun was shining, Norton was sprawled across his bed against the wall with his rubber ducky tucked under his chin, and her stomach was grumbling. The clock on the bedside table flipped to 9 a.m. as she rolled over and swung her feet to the floor. The dog opened one eye and looked at her, as if trying to determine whether this was an official rising/feeding/letting him out or merely a bathroom break.
“Yes, I’m actually getting up,” she said with a yawn, standing and stretching, then headed for the kitchen. Nails scrabbled on hardwood as he jumped to his feet, then an instant later he passed her in the hall at a hell-bent-for-leather pace. She was used to the flybys—rather, had gotten used to them after he knocked her to the floor one day and happily sat on her back, glad to have her at his level for once—and routinely walked next to the wall to give him room.
By the time she reached the kitchen, Norton was waiting at the door, panting, reaching out a time or two to paw at it. “You really have to go, huh? You’re not the only one, buddy, but at least I can hold it long enough to let you go first.”
Actually, he could hold it, too. He just refused.
Giving him a gentle shove back, she undid the lock, then opened the door. Norton lunged outside and made a beeline for the iron-and-tile table on the patio, where Joe sat with a cup of coffee and a Krispy Kreme box. He shared a doughnut with the dog before glancing her way. “Jeez, Luce, I thought you were never gonna get up. I’ve been awake for three hours.”
Doughnuts. Aw, damn it, today was going to be the first day on my diet. How can I start a diet with doughnuts?
It would be rude to say no when he’d gone to the trouble of bringing the treats. The shop was on the other side of town, and he always ran there—as in, on his own two feet—instead of driving. The trade-off, he said, for the indulgence. That was why he looked the way he did, and she looked the way she did. She indulged; she just skipped the trade-off.
And she could indulge one more day. Hell, she could even start her diet with lunch.
She raised one finger in signal for him to wait a minute, went to the bathroom, poured herself a cup of coffee from the auto-start pot on the counter, grabbed creamer and sugar—since she was postponing the diet a few hours—then joined him at the table. “I know. And you’ve run five miles and done a thousand push-ups and updated the playbook and designed new uniforms for the team.”
“It was only nine hundred and ninety push-ups,” he said with a smirk, then tilted his head to one side. “Are you trying something new with your hair? ’Cause I’m pretty sure it’s not working.”
She returned his smirk before combing her fingers through her hair. It probably was a sight. Mike once joked that sleeping with her was like snuggling up to a hyperactive sidewinder. Images of wildly coiling snakes had haunted her nights for a week after that.
“I got your favorites.” Joe pushed the box toward her.
It was nice that at least one man knew her favorites in something. Not that it was a sign of anything more than friendship with Joe. They were buddies, pals, excellent neighbors. Besides, she knew his favorites, too, and with women he was pretty reliable: tall, reed-thin, and buff, more likely to run a marathon than make marshmallow fudge.
“Thanks.” She chose a maple-glazed bar, loving the scent released when the slight pressure of her fingertips cracked the frosting. The first bite was pure goodness—deep-fried, airy, overly sweet. She could eat a half dozen.
Hence, the extra pounds she carried.
“Any word on when George’s funeral will be?”
She shook her head while swallowing the bite. “LoLo will let Patricia know when he—when his transfer will be made.” Dignified transfer—that was what the Army called the shipping of the fallen soldier to his home. “A chartered jet will bring him to Tulsa, where the family will meet him, then he’ll be brought here with an escort of law enforcement and the Patriot Guards motorcycle group.” It was very impressive, very sad, and—
Oh, Lord, would Patricia want her to go along? Would she have to stand on the tarmac a second time and watch as the body of someone she knew and cared for was unloaded in a casket?
She could keep Patricia company. She could help her hold together. She could help with the funeral plans, if needed, and she could stand on Main Street with a flag in her hand, tears in her eyes, and a prayer in her heart.
But she didn’t think she could make it through another heartrending transfer at the airport.
“Are you spending the day with her again?”
“Yeah, after I shower and get ready.”
Joe tore another glazed doughnut in half and tossed one piece to Norton, who gulped it in one bite. “Is her son going to be there?”
“Ben? I don’t know. He spent the night.” When she’d gone over after dinner last night, the atmosphere had been a little less tense. She’d wondered how much of that had been from Ben and Patricia talking and how much from Joe and Lucy showing up. Patricia adored Joe and had doted on him, as always, fixing a plate of food for him, brewing his tea fresh, setting aside pieces of his favorite sweets. How had Ben felt, practically a stranger to his own mother by her choice, watching her fuss over another man as if he were her own?
“Ben?” Joe mocked. “You have to ask, or did you just want to say his name? He is the only son she’s got.”
Lucy blinked in surprise. Next to Mike, Joe was the easiest-going person she knew. He liked people, and his openness, modesty, and sincere, what-you-see-is-what-you-get attitude made them like him back. She’d never known him to make a snap judgment about anyone, but after only thirty minutes in Ben’s company, he had done just that.
Maybe he was being overprotective on Patricia’s behalf. With his own mother living in Alaska, Patricia was like a surrogate mother to him. Maybe—
The middle part of what he’d said registered belatedly. Did you just want to say his name? Oh, crap, had he seen that she had a crush on Ben? Her face flushed. It was one thing for Jessy to recognize it. Jessy knew her in a best-friends woman-to-woman sort of way. But Joe…he was clueless half the time, especially if there was food anywhere in the vicinity. He shouldn’t have noticed anything.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, giving him only the quickest of glances. “I wasn’t sure you remembered his name.” She shoved the rest of the maple bar into her mouth, chewed, then took a big drink of coffee. The taste made her gag.
Joe smirked again. “You might want to put some sugar and cream in that coffee.”
Lucy scowled as she added a spoonful of sugar, then relied on a lot of the thick French vanilla–flavored creamer to add a few more layers of sweetness. When the coffee was diluted to
a nice café au lait hue, she took a sip and sighed gratefully. “Much better.”
Deliberately keeping her tone light, she went on. “I love summer. I should have become a teacher so I could have summers off.”
After a moment’s silence, Joe apparently agreed to follow her lead. “The downside is you have to put up with kids all day the rest of the year.”
“I love kids.” She and Mike had planned to have three, three years apart. He’d wanted boys he could do manly stuff with, while she’d hoped for at least one girl. She had so loved seeing his little nieces wrap him around their pinkies.
“I guarantee you, there are kids in high school even you would find hard to love. Besides, the worst part is their parents. Whatever goes wrong is never the kids’ fault. You don’t know how often parents have tried to coerce me into changing their kids’ grades or letting them play even though they hadn’t shown up a single day since the last game.” He grinned the way she liked, abruptly, unexpectedly, the brighten-your-day sort of grin. “If I had ten bucks for every time a parent has threatened to have my job, I’d be sitting on a beach in the Caribbean instead of your patio.”
“Which you’ll be doing in a few weeks anyway.”
“Seven days, six nights, in the U.S. Virgin Islands.” His tone turned coaxing. “It’s not too late to go with me. You’ve got the vacation time. You’ve got the money. Come on, Luce, think how much fun you’d have.”
Closing her eyes, she tilted her face up to the sun, imagining tropical heat, ocean breezes, island music, incredible food fresh from the sea…and appearing in shorts or a swimsuit in front of the world. While she was perfectly comfortable sitting on the patio in her pajamas, without makeup, her hair combed, or her teeth brushed, with Joe, there was no way she would subject anyone to the view of her in a swimsuit. She wouldn’t subject herself to it, and she saw herself naked every day. And what would that leave her to do while everyone else enjoyed Paradise?
Eat. A lot.
Giving her head a shake, she opened her eyes again. “You’re going to have a great time anyway. Diving, snorkeling, seducing all the beautiful girls. Besides, it’s a family trip.”
“Nah, it’s just my brother and me.”
“That’s family, Joe. And isn’t he bringing his girlfriend?”
“Yeah, so if you came, that would balance everything out.”
Because the swimsuit image wouldn’t leave her head—and the girlfriend was probably a perfect size zero—she shook her head again. “Follow Nicky’s lead, Joe. Find a woman to go with you.”
His gaze narrowed to slits as he leaned closer. “Guess what, Luce? You’re a woman.” Then he moved closer still. “And guess what else? Ben just came out of Patricia’s house and is headed this way.”
She darted a look across the lawn, caught a glimpse of Ben indeed walking toward them, let out a tiny yelp, and rushed inside. “I’m taking a shower!” she hissed through the crack in the door. “I’ll be ready soon as possible.”
He mumbled something in response before she slammed the door shut. Given his earlier mood, she was pretty glad she didn’t understand it.
* * *
Ben’s jaw tightened as Lucy disappeared into her house. Great, he’d come looking for sweet-woman-he’d-like-to-get-to-know-better and instead he was stuck with perfect-surrogate-son Joe while he waited for Lucy’s return. The guy was kicked back on the patio as if he belonged there, and the way her dog hovered beside him, drawn no doubt by the doughnuts but also by the scratching, looked proprietary.
Cadore wore another orange-and-white Cowboys ball cap, and his T-shirt was emblazoned with the name of the local high school football team. Ben had learned last night that Cadore was the head coach of the team, as well as a teacher. Probably physical education, if schools actually offered that anymore.
It wasn’t like Ben not to get along with strangers. He was a nice guy, a little too driven to describe himself as overly friendly but still likable. He got along great everywhere—at the coffee shop he frequented, the restaurants and shops, the hospitals and the clinic. He didn’t get along with rude, obnoxious people, but Cadore wasn’t any of that, and he still set Ben’s teeth on edge.
Was it jealousy? Ben dismissed it out of hand. He wasn’t a jealous person—hadn’t dated any woman regularly enough since graduating medical school to justify it. And what did Cadore have to make him jealous?
A better relationship with Ben’s mother than Ben himself.
Nope. Couldn’t be. Ben had given up on Patricia so long ago that he couldn’t possibly be jealous of any guy she allowed into her life. He didn’t have the emotional attachment. It was just that everything was screwed up at the moment. That had to be the reason.
As soon as he set foot on the patio, the dog shifted deep brown eyes his way and let out a rumble, the kind that vibrated so low it was barely distinguishable from the birds in the trees and the car passing out front. Cadore scratched his head again. “Norton says hello.”
“Sounded more like, ‘You’ve come far enough.’” Ben didn’t dislike dogs. He didn’t have much experience with them, other than Sara’s squeaky piece of fur that always tried to chew on his shoes. Frankly, he preferred his shoes unchewed, his quiet undisturbed, and his downtown loft dog hair- and saliva-free.
“Give him a doughnut, and he’ll love you for life.”
The mention of the word doughnut was enough to make the dog’s gaze jerk quickly to the box, and drool formed at the corners of his mouth.
“Yeah. No, thanks. I use these fingers to do my job. I don’t want to lose any.”
With a shrug, Cadore tossed half a doughnut to Norton. The dog’s jaws snapped shut with surprising force. “Lucy’s getting dressed. It won’t take her long. Have a seat.”
Ben hesitated. Technically, all he had to do was issue Patricia’s invitation for breakfast. He didn’t have to sit, didn’t have to be friendly, didn’t have to keep wondering in the back of his mind if Cadore annoyed him for a legitimate reason or if he did somehow resent his place in his mother’s life.
But avoiding Cadore meant returning to the house and Patricia, whose best cosmetic efforts couldn’t hide the puffy redness of her eyes. She must have cried half the night. It had been awkward to start, him sleeping in George’s house, without listening to her sob as if her heart was breaking.
He sat. “Patricia sent me over with an invitation for you and Lucy for a late breakfast, early lunch, whatever.”
Cadore continued to scratch the dog. “You call your mom Patricia?”
“Yeah, well, after twenty years, Mom seems a little personal.” The snideness that crept into his own voice annoyed Ben. He didn’t want to discuss his private life with a stranger.
Though Lucy had been a stranger when they’d met. For maybe ten minutes. But talking with her was totally different. She was warm, understanding, and going to a lot of effort to comfort a friend. She was what Brianne called a Nice Woman. Brianne insisted that Nice Women were hard to come by and should be recognized, cherished, and held on to.
Cadore looked as if he wanted to say something else—maybe ask whose choice that was—but instead he gave the rest of the doughnut to the dog, then chugged back his coffee. “Lucy says you’re an orthopedic surgeon in Tulsa. We went through one season where we kept the surgeons in town in business. The worst bad-luck team I’ve ever seen.”
Okay, Ben could make an effort, couldn’t he? It was either that or go back to the house and be alone with Patricia. “Yeah. I do ankles, knees, and hips. A lot of my patients are athletes. A lot of them end up broken down before they’re thirty.”
Cadore’s expression tightened, his eyes narrowing. Great. Criticize the man’s profession.
“A lot of them finish their football career without so much as a sprain and use their talent to get through college. Even medical school.” Cadore waited a beat before adding, “George—your stepfather—played at West Point.”
Now it was his own face tightening. George Sand
erson didn’t merit any form of that designation. The only two fathers of any kind in his life were his father and his grandfather. “You mean Patricia’s husband. He wasn’t my—”
The back door opened, and Lucy almost stumbled on her way out. Heat flushed her face, and her hands fluttered a moment before she clenched them tightly together. “Good morning, Ben. Pardon my graceful entrance. Or would that be exit?”
He forced his gaze away from Cadore and automatically smiled. Her brown hair was damp and scraped into a ponytail that made her look ten years younger. She wore a sleeveless shirt in a bright pattern and denim pants that came just below her knee. Her shoes were flip-flops, the straps decorated with vividly colored fish made of sequins.
She made such a pretty, bright, happy picture that Ben couldn’t help but feel better about his day just at the sight of her.
“Everyone fumbles at some time,” he said as he stood. From the corner of his eye, he saw Cadore stiffen at the comment. “Patricia would like you to come over and eat. She’s cooking.”
“I was just heading that way. She’s a great cook, and I haven’t had a chance for breakfast yet.”
Cadore unfolded from his chair, too, standing several inches shorter than Ben. “What about that—”
Her smile never wavering, Lucy punched him on the shoulder. “Yeah, that was a long time ago. Norton, time to go inside.”
The dog looked at Lucy, then showed a hint of teeth to Ben before squeezing close to Cadore’s leg and gazing up at him with a wolfish grin and a question in his eyes. Norton might belong to Lucy, but there was no doubt he was Cadore’s dog.
Ben wasn’t convinced that dogs were as smart as people claimed. For two years, Sara’s little furball had been crazy in lust with a yellow stuffed dragon, and he still thought his reflection in the window was another dog invading his turf.
“Don’t encourage him, Joe,” Lucy said with a scowl. “Norton, get inside. Your breakfast is in the dish, and I’ll be back later.”
A Love to Call Her Own Page 9