A Love to Call Her Own

by Marilyn Pappano

  To his? Or Jessy’s?

  He deliberately refused to think about it. He would just let instinct guide him.

  Dane and Carly were holding hands, their chairs angled close enough to bump shoulders. He fiddled with her engagement ring for a moment before clearing his throat, then looking up. “Listen, Dalton, I—we have a favor to ask.”

  A lump formed in his own throat, and he swallowed hard over it. Favors had never been a problem for him; he’d done them for everyone until Sandra’s death. Sometime after that, Noah had muttered he’d rather ask help of a pissed-off rattlesnake than his brother. The memory embarrassed Dalton.

  “Okay,” he said because it seemed the thing to say.

  “Carly and I are getting married on June first. It’s a week from Saturday. Her family’s coming in from Utah and Colorado, and my mom from Texas, and her sister-in-law Lisa is going to be her maid of honor, so…”

  Dane took a breath, then looked at Carly. She gave him the kind of sweet, gentle smile Dalton would always remember from Sandra. “If it’s not too much to ask, would you be my best man?”

  Hell. It was too much to ask. He hadn’t been in a church since Sandra’s funeral, before that not since the Las Vegas chapel where they were married. He hadn’t worn a suit since then, hadn’t stood before God, hadn’t done anything flat-out, no-excuses, gotta-be-happy in so long that he didn’t know if he could.

  But to even be asked…After Dillon left town, Dalton figured the only groom he might ever stand up for would be Noah, if the kid could settle down with just one girl.

  Carly laid her free hand over Dalton’s, the pressure light, warmth radiating from her skin. “If it brings back too many memories, Dalton, we understand.”

  “You don’t need anything to bring back the memories, do you?” he asked quietly. “They’re just always there, and you live with them. I’m learning to live with them.” Then he managed a phony smile. “I’d be happy to.” Okay, so he lied. Happy was over the top. But he owed Dane for listening to his story about Sandra’s betrayal, for lightening his burden a little.

  “All right!” Carly exclaimed. “When I tell Lisa she’ll be escorted down the aisle by an honest-to-God Oklahoma cowboy, she’ll be delighted. Cowboys are a rarity in her world.”

  “What world is that?” They were so common in his world that he forgot they didn’t exist everywhere.

  “She’s a genius rocket scientist,” Dane remarked.

  Carly gave him a chastising look. “She’s not a rocket scientist. My younger brother is.” To Dalton, she added, “She is a PhD, but a normal one. She can relate to people and use regular language and everything.”

  Taking part in a wedding, standing up in a house of God, with a woman whose IQ probably wasn’t even in view from his own spot on the intelligence scale…He’d better get out of there before he got himself into something even worse, like having to plan a bachelor party or something.

  It took him about ten minutes between starting good-byes and actually getting into his truck. He thanked them for the dinner; they invited him to a cookout on Monday; Carly told him about the rehearsal the night before the wedding.

  He should’ve grabbed a beer for the road. He could have beaten himself in the head with the bottle after he’d drunk it.

  He drove west along Cimarron toward First Street. Now it was time for instinct to kick in, to tell him whether he was going home or accepting Jessy’s invitation. He couldn’t say it was instinct exactly, but something prompted him to turn left on Third and, a few blocks later, right on Main. Soon he was parked in front of her apartment.

  A few strides took him to the door, painted brown, peeling at the edges, with crooked adhesive numbers: 108½. His index finger hovered over the doorbell but didn’t press it. Maybe he should go home. He’d seen enough people for one day. He had books to work on, and Oz would need to go out before long, and—

  The door jerked open and Jessy burst out, practically plowing into him. She stopped so suddenly that she had to grab the door frame and she actually lost one flip-flop. Her eyes widened, her breath escaping in a small, “Oh!”

  He took a step back, wondering where she was headed at this time of night, whether what he’d taken as an invitation had merely been politeness, how she managed to look so damn good even when startled speechless.

  It took her a moment to gather herself—catch her balance, catch her breath, slide her shoe on again. When she did, a sly, teasing smile curved her mouth and her natural sexiness amped up. “Well, well, look what someone left on my doorstep.”

  “You going somewhere?”

  She looked at the purse in her left hand, the keys in her right, before slowly bringing her gaze back to him. “Just to get some coffee. Something possessed me to buy decaf last time, and it just doesn’t cut it. I need the hard stuff.” Her expression quirked at the last words.

  “You looking for a cup or a few potfuls?”

  Tilting her head to one side, she considered it for a moment. “I think one mega-sized cup will do for tonight. Java Dave’s is still open for”—she checked the time and temp display at the bank—“fifteen minutes. Want to walk over?”

  In response he gestured, and she stepped out and locked up, then they crossed the street. Java Dave’s was on First, south of the courthouse, so they cut across the lawn, passed the gazebo behind it, and came out on the street. Except for a tiny restaurant a few doors down, everything else on the block was closed.

  “How was dinner with your friend?” she asked, slinging her purse so the strap was over her head, the bag riding on her right hip. She wore another little skinny top, and the leather strap crossed right between her breasts, making it clear that she wasn’t wearing a bra. It was a tempting sight, one that he let himself get lost in for a moment. It had been so damn long since he’d truly admired a woman’s body, the differences, the softness, the roundness, the delicate bones, the satiny skin, the curve of a breast or a hip, the—

  “Hey, cowboy. My face is up here.” Her voice was a little ragged, its edges a little sharp. Like she was teasing, but not quite.

  His gaze jerked to hers, heat warming his cheeks. Noah would have made some smart-ass comment. Dillon would have been a smart-ass and charming at the same time. There was a time Dalton would have had an at least semi-charming comeback, but damned if he could think of one now.

  Except for that one afternoon with Jessy, he’d been alone a hell of a long time. If he took a moment, he could calculate it to the exact date: the night before Sandra had shipped out. Five years and a few weeks. For a long time he hadn’t missed sex, but since that afternoon with Jessy…

  Now he not only missed it, but missed thinking about it without guilt. Guilt for feeling like he’d betrayed Sandra. Guilt for having sex with Jessy knowing nothing about her. Guilt for getting drunk and acting out of character, because sex had never been that casual for him. For regretting it and for her pretending not to remember it and for being pissed off by that more than what they’d done.

  He didn’t want to feel so damn low for wanting what every man in the world wanted.

  It was complicated, maybe not for other men in the same situation but for Dalton, definitely. You make things complicated, Dillon’s voice taunted.

  Yeah, well, life was easy when you didn’t give a damn about anyone besides yourself.

  Dalton realized they’d stopped and were standing in front of the coffee shop, lights casting angles across the sidewalk. Jessy was watching him, an expression he’d never seen on her face. Uncertainty? She opened her mouth, then apparently decided better of what she’d been about to say and gestured instead. “Let’s get our coffee to go. We can sit in the gazebo.”

  Nodding, he opened the door, then followed her inside. Every table in the small space was occupied, and he’d guess not one of the customers was over eighteen. The kids ignored them as they walked to the counter, though the boy behind the register did check out Jessy and her thin little top without looking the least da
mn bit embarrassed.

  She paid for the coffee—I invited you, she said when he pulled out a twenty and she swiped her card instead—then they stepped back out into the quiet evening. Neither of them spoke until they settled on a bench in the gazebo.

  She pulled the lid off her cup, blew away the steam rising from the coffee, then took a cautious sip before saying, “It’s kind of awkward sometimes, isn’t it? You, me, two months ago, now.”

  “Yeah. Sometimes.” Though he’d come a long way in two months, from wishing to God they’d never had sex to wondering if they would again. From never wanting to see her to seeking her out. Wanting to get to know her. Wanting sex with her again. Wanting…something.

  “We could forget it ever happened,” she suggested.

  He gave her a dry look. “Yeah. I was never very good at forgetting.”

  “Then you didn’t have the right incentive. I’ve spent my entire life doing it.”

  He didn’t have to ask what she tried to forget: that her parents hadn’t loved her enough; that she couldn’t turn to her family when she needed them; that her husband had died. It sucked that the Wilkes parents were self-centered and petty and that the Wilkes daughters valued peace more than their sister.

  “Or…” He took a deep breath, noticing that despite the warmth of the cup, his fingers were cold. The first taste of coffee had turned sour in his gut, and his nerves had wound tighter than a roll of barbed wire in about two seconds flat. “We could acknowledge that it”—shouldn’t have happened was what he’d intended to say, but his brain switched words on him—“was too soon, and we can…not screw it up next time. We can…know what we’re doing and…why.”

  Even in the dim light from the streetlamps, he could see her expression: surprise, a little bit of anxiety, maybe even a bit of panic. He felt the same way. Damned if he knew what he was doing.

  But he wouldn’t take the words back if he could.

  * * *

  Next time. The words kept echoing in Jessy’s brain, demanding attention one second, a backbeat to her emotions the next.

  Dalton wanted to have sex with her again. Not careless, stinking-drunk, didn’t-know-what-they-were-doing sex, but deliberate. On purpose. Sober. He’d seen her at her worst, but he wanted a next time.

  No one had ever wanted Jessy after they’d seen her at her worst. Even Aaron, bless his heart, had never known what depths she was capable of. Dalton didn’t know all of them, granted, but he still wanted to give her a chance, to give a relationship with her a chance.

  The thought scared the pee out of her.

  She had watched the clock all evening, wondering how long dinner with friends could take, whether he’d come by again, and why he would bother. She’d waffled a lot, too: If he came back, cool; if he didn’t, that was cool, too. No big deal either way. She spent the majority of her evenings alone. She could handle one more.

  Then seven thirty passed, eight, eight thirty. He was a rancher. He had to get up before the sun. He probably had nighttime chores to take care of. She’d already kept him out the night before. He had better things to do than deal with her.

  By eight forty, she’d wanted a drink more than anything in the world. Wanted it badly enough that she was already savoring the taste, feeling the smooth burn. Needed it so much that her stomach was queasy with anticipation, her hands were trembling, her head was aching, and her chest was hurting.

  Using midnight Sunday as her officially gone-sober time, she figured she’d gone 5,560 minutes without any alcohol. Best she’d done in months, but not good enough.

  Because she’d been on her way to Buddy’s when she’d met Dalton at the door.

  All the shakes and aches were gone. She couldn’t help thinking how much better her coffee would taste with a splash of rum, but she wasn’t hurting for it now. No wonder Alcoholics Anonymous used sponsors. Having someone to distract her helped.

  And what a hell of a distraction Dalton offered.

  “If you need that long to think about it—” he began stiffly, but she interrupted.

  “I have a tendency to act on impulse. That’s why we did”—hell, they were both adults, and neither of them could say had sex to the other—“why I did what we did too soon. So now I’m trying to be grown-up and not blurt out the first answer that comes to mind.”

  Her words eased some of his tension, but the rest remained evident in the taut lines of his face, the shadows in his eyes, and the stillness that radiated from him.

  We can not screw it up next time. “I’m not very good at not screwing things up,” she admitted. “It started when I was born ten days past my delivery date and forced my parents to postpone the postpartum vacation they had planned before they’d planned me, and I’ve never gotten better. I screwed up my relationship with my whole family, I screwed up my job at the bank, I screwed up—”

  Her mouth clamped shut. She’d been about to say my marriage—one of the secrets she hadn’t shared with anyone. She was the only soul on earth who knew how badly she’d let Aaron down, and she intended to take it to her grave.

  “Everything,” she said with a lame shrug.

  “Then it sounds like you’re due for a break.”

  It sounded like he was willing to give her one.

  Jessy, who pretended she never cried, who told her girls that life was too damn short to waste on tears, had to blink rapidly to clear her eyes, and right then and there she fell just a little bit in love with Dalton Smith.

  * * *

  The sun was up at 6 a.m. but just barely, still sleepy like Lucy, its rays able to penetrate the cloud layer only here or there with shafts of pale golden light. It was pretty, really it was, but she was praying for rain and an extra forty-five minutes in bed.

  She didn’t get either. Joe let himself into the kitchen as she quickly swallowed the last of her cereal bar, then inhaled the rest of her coffee. He was too damn cheerful, greeting Norton, filling his food and water bowls, giving him the chance to gobble down both while retrieving his leash from a hook near the front door.

  “Good morning,” he said at last.

  She grunted.

  “I thought we’d take Norton with us. He could use some exercise, too.”

  “He wouldn’t need it if you didn’t feed him from your plate all the time.” She pulled her hair into a ponytail, then looked down at herself. Cropped pants and a T-shirt that both fit more snugly than she’d like, moisture-wicking socks, her comfy walking shoes, keys, cell phone, and lip balm in her pockets. “Let the punishment begin.”

  Joe frowned at her as he hooked the leash onto Norton’s collar, then followed her outside. “Adjust your attitude, or we’re gonna have to change your name. You know Luce means light in most languages, don’t you?”

  “My light only shines at a decent hour.” She picked up one of the bottled waters he’d left on the patio table, then at the corner of the house made a left turn to get to the street. “If the Lord had wanted me up at the break of dawn, He’d have made me a chicken.” Large breasts, large thighs, preferring to hide rather than face her weight problems head-on—oh, wait, maybe He had.

  Joe ignored her crabbiness. That was one of the things she loved about him. “This is my favorite time of day. The sunrise is awesome—well, when it’s not all clouded over. It’s not hot yet, there’s not a lot of traffic, not many people. It’s a good time to think.”

  Another time, she would have given him a verbal poke—You actually think?—but she wasn’t in the mood today. Joe was a jock, but there was a lot more to him than just sports. He loved his family, his friends, his kids at school. If he ever settled down, he’d make a great, if sometimes immature, husband and a wonderful father.

  And what man around wasn’t sometimes immature?

  Ben, her crush whispered. She’d seen nothing the least bit immature about him. Gorgeous, sexy, intelligent, caring, even if he did have problems with his mother.

  Not that Joe isn’t adorably cute, the friend in her felt obliged
to say on his behalf. His workout clothes were disreputable, he owned more OSU baseball caps than he did shirts, and he didn’t think twice about dropping a bundle on running shoes every few months. Still, every single woman in town flirted with him. His smile was killer, he really was interested in people, and he was so darn nice that people couldn’t help but adore him.

  “You’re being awful quiet.”

  She slanted a gaze at him before turning her attention back to the sidewalk. He’d promised to shorten his stride, and he’d done so, setting a reasonable pace that was no problem for her…yet. “I’m thinking about finding you a girlfriend.”

  As soon as she said it, she recognized it for the great idea it was. Wasn’t that a fair trade? He would help her lose weight so she could be thin and sexy and pretty, and she would help him find the love of his own life. Then he and Ben would lose the animosity, and the four of them would live happily ever after as best friends.

  A scowl knitted his brows beneath the brim of the black-and-orange cap. “I can find my own girlfriends.”

  “I know, but you’re in between right now, and I know a lot of women. Let’s see, there’s Fia. She’s twenty-three, a personal trainer, your type.”

  “What’s my type?”

  She ticked the list off on her fingers. “Tall, thin, muscles on muscles, athletic, beautiful.”

  “You think that’s all I’m looking for in a woman?” He sounded injured and managed the expression to go with it, but she knew him. It was all put on.

  “I’ve seen every girl you’ve gone out with since you moved to Oklahoma. Of course that’s all you’re looking for. That’s all most men are looking for.”

  He reined in Norton as a mom with a stroller approached. He and Lucy automatically stepped into the grass on opposite sides, giving Mom the sidewalk. The little girl in the stroller grinned at Norton, then reached both hands to Joe as they passed.