A Love to Call Her Own

by Marilyn Pappano

  His hand was unsteady as he reached out to her, using the tip of his index finger to wipe away the cream. She was amazingly soft and warm and delicate, but the look in her green eyes as she stared at him was as shaky as his fingers. They’d agreed to take it slow, not to repeat the mistake of sex too soon. Was this too soon?

  If he had to ask, it probably was.

  Damned if the part of him that had been celibate too long didn’t care. The part that thought one afternoon of sex was nowhere near enough to make up for five years without was willing to take the risk.

  But the part that wanted not just sex but Jessy herself had a little more patience, a little more determination.

  Slowly he drew his hand away, missing the contact immediately. There weren’t enough soft things in his life, but he could wait.

  Awhile.

  Chapter 11

  On Wednesday the margarita sisters filled an entire row at the post chapel, their dresses bright splashes of color per Patricia’s request. Dane sat at one end in his dress uniform, Joe at the other in a dark suit. Lucy sat between him and Marti, her thoughts flowing from the eulogy to bittersweet memories and back again.

  There was much more to say about George and his accomplishments than her family pastor had managed with Mike. Mike had lived only half the years George had. Her husband never would have attended college or become an officer; he would have done his twenty, then gone home to California to work in his father’s carpentry business.

  Still, he would have done great things. He would have helped her raise wonderful children; he would have cared for his parents as they aged; he would have been the one all the neighbors called on when they needed help.

  He wouldn’t have been the kind of guy who made a place for himself in the history books, but he would have been—had been—the guy everyone loved and respected and missed.

  Damn, she missed him.

  Warm, strong fingers closed over her hands, and she realized they’d begun to tremble. She glanced at Joe, staring straight ahead, gaze locked on the carved cross on the wall behind the reverend. The sight of Joe at her door this morning in a suit and tie had startled her even more than the fact that he’d gotten his hair cut. For a man who lived in sweats, shorts, and T-shirts, he wore the suit amazingly well. He was, the sisters had all pointed out, amazingly handsome.

  Bennie, her ebony skin glowing in contrast to the fiery purple of her dress, had given her a skeptical look. I don’t get this just-friends stuff, Lucy.

  You don’t think men and women can be friends?

  Of course I do. But a guy who looks like Joe? He’s way too fine, chica, to waste on just friendship.

  But Lucy’s heart already belonged to Mike.

  And she was looking to give a piece of it to Ben.

  Ben sat in the second row between his sisters, flanked by distant relatives. He wore a suit, too, pale gray with an even lighter gray shirt. He’d been in a mood when she’d seen him the night before and again this morning—contemplative, she thought. Even Sara and Brianne hadn’t been able to draw him out.

  Patricia was composed in the front row. Though she looked unbearably weary, she sat erect, and her eyes were dry. Lucy had always wondered, on seeing photos and videos of military widows at their husbands’ funerals, how they held themselves together. Was it some special quality she lacked, maybe some secret they learned that had been denied her?

  Then Mike had died, and she’d found out, in her own case, at least, that it wasn’t composure. She’d sat erect through his service, eyes dry, because she was too tired to do anything else, because she had already cried so many tears that she just didn’t have the energy to produce one more. She’d been numbed by grief and shock, coping only one minute at a time, not yet thinking ahead to the huge scope of her loss: the rest of her life without Mike.

  Her hands trembled again, and Joe held them a little tighter.

  The minister quoted Marine Corps General Paul X. Kelley: Lord, where do we get such men? And General George S. Patton: We came here to thank God that men like these have lived. And Mike’s favorite: The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.

  Mike and George, Marti’s husband and Bennie’s and Ilena’s, all of them, had been such men, good men, and they’d given their lives in the fight against evil, and she was so very thankful they had lived.

  But so very heartbroken they had died.

  * * *

  Patricia’s house began clearing out around seven. Ben couldn’t even guess at how many people had been in and out, how much food had been brought, how much eaten. The funeral home had delivered enough flowers and plants to fill the house with competing fragrances, to occupy most surfaces and spread across the front porch in a rainbow of color. He’d met so many strangers that he’d given up trying to remember names and connections to Patricia and George.

  He was exhausted. Mentally. Physically. He wanted—needed—the busyness of his practice and the comfort of his own bed. He needed to go home.

  Then images from the day passed through his mind—Patricia accepting condolences from dozens of people, sitting under the funeral home canopy at the cemetery like a windup doll that was finally running down, murmuring a prayer, flinching at the firing of the salute, accepting the casket flag from the post’s commanding general, saying good-bye at the grave site, leaving a handful of red roses on George’s casket, getting lost inside herself on the way home.

  Ben couldn’t go just yet. The staff had rearranged his schedule; his partners were taking over the cases that couldn’t be put off. He wasn’t needed there.

  He’d shed the coat and tie and rolled his sleeves up, but hadn’t changed clothes yet. Tired of voices, of people, of the little bit of guilt crawling along his spine periodically, he went outside to stand on the patio. Thanks to the tall trees next door, the bricked area was shaded from the evening sun, the chairs with their thick padding inviting, the subtler smells of tree, earth, and flowers more pleasing to breathe.

  “How long have you known about Bree?”

  He didn’t glance at Sara as she joined him. Instead, he gazed at the back of Lucy’s house. She’d left a while ago to feed the dog and walk him—probably to decompress, too. Today hadn’t been easy for her. He’d seen it in the lines that framed her mouth, that edged out from the corners of her eyes. Too many memories, and few of them happy.

  “She told me a couple days ago.”

  “I can’t believe all these years she’s been missing Mom.”

  “Haven’t you? At least a little?”

  “No,” Sara replied bluntly.

  “You were nine.”

  “And smart enough to see that she chose him over us.” She sipped a glass of wine from the supply one of Patricia’s friends had brought. “Have you missed her?”

  He shrugged. “I never really thought about it. About her.” It was true. She’d left them to make their way the best they could, and for him, that had been by shutting her out. He’d gotten very good at it, but the past week and a half had changed that.

  “She wants to meet my family,” Sara said. “Bree mentioned it. She thinks it’s a great idea.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I don’t know. She chose to skip out on two thirds of my life—important times. Why should she get to come back now?” With a deep exhalation, she sat on the edge of a chair. “Bree says the past is past. It can’t be undone.”

  That was true. Their perfect family had been shattered. Their father had been broken. They’d lost their balance and happiness and illusions, and none of that could be changed. So should they forget it? Set it aside as if she hadn’t been responsible for the shattering and give her a chance? Trust her, forgive her, welcome her, and maybe even start to love her again?

  And what if she abandoned them again?

  “You don’t have to decide anything this minute,” he said at last. A lame answer, but sometimes lame was the best he could offer.

  “I know.
In fact, Bree and I have to head back to Tulsa. If we make good time, I’ll get to tuck the kids in and read them a story.” She stood and swallowed the last of the wine. “When are you going home?”

  “Soon. Tomorrow. Friday.”

  Her expression suggested the answer didn’t quite please her, but she didn’t comment on it. “Help me pry Bree away, will you?”

  They returned to the house, where they did, in fact, have to pry Brianne from Patricia’s side. She wanted to delay going home, but three words from Sara—Matt, Lainie, Eli—stopped her protest. Patricia hugged her tightly and said a more subdued good-bye to Sara, then Ben walked them outside to Sara’s car.

  He hugged them both, ruffling Sara’s hair just to make her grimace, then shoved his hands into his pants pockets and watched as they drove away. Part of him wished he could follow behind them in his own car. But another part knew that leaving Tallgrass just now would be a mistake. He didn’t know why he felt the need to stay another few days. He just did.

  After gazing at the crowded house for a moment, he circled around the side to the backyard, then ignored the patio and headed for Lucy’s. He was tired, his head ached, and his nerves were wound tight. If anything could make him feel better, it was Lucy with her soft voice, reasonable mind, and even softer hands.

  As he reached the patio, the back door opened and the mutt burst out, dragging his owner behind him with his leash. A quiet growl vibrated from the animal.

  “Oh! Hey, Ben.” Lucy reeled the dog in, her expression all pleasant surprise. Already Ben was feeling evidence of improvement. “Norton, sit. Behave.”

  The dog ignored the first and studied Ben, tongue hanging out, a calculating look in his doggy eyes.

  “Hey.” Ben backed a step away from Norton. “I was wondering if you’d like to go somewhere. Dinner. Dessert. A drive.” Even as he said it, he realized it was exactly what he needed: a quiet time, not judging or being judged, no bitterness, no history separating them, just friendship drawing them together and the possibility of a future.

  “Oh. Wow. Um…” She tucked a strand of hair worked free of her ponytail behind her ear, then her gaze moved past him. Ben didn’t need to hear footsteps to know someone was approaching or to hear a voice to know it was Joe Cadore. The mutt was having a fit of glee.

  “Joe, hey,” Lucy said. “Uh, listen, would you mind walking Norton for me tonight? Ben asked me to—to go somewhere. Dinner. A drive. Out.”

  Cadore was wearing a ball cap backward, along with gym shorts and a T-shirt with the sleeves ripped out. He reminded Ben of a kid, with no responsibilities, no interest except in good times, and not a serious thought in his head—plus a good dose of suspicion. His gaze went from Lucy to Ben to Lucy again, his eyes narrowed, and a muscle twitched in his jaw. “What about—”

  A look from Lucy stopped his question, and he grudgingly said, “Yeah, sure, I guess.”

  She thrust the leash at him. “Let me change real quick, Ben, and I’ll be ready.”

  Before he could say she looked fine, the door closed behind her and he was left alone with Cadore and the dog. He didn’t say anything—talking would only encourage them to stay—but Cadore didn’t take the hint. Norton sat at his feet, leaned against his leg, and watched them.

  Ben shoved his hands into his pockets again and studied the house. It was well maintained, painted within the last year or two, the color somewhere between white and light yellow. The shutters and door were green, and the same shade striped the cushions on the patio chairs. With tubs of flowers grouped in corners, the place would have been comfortable without the two nuisances eight feet away.

  Before manners or sheer discomfort forced Ben to say something, the door opened again and Lucy stepped out. She’d changed into a dress, sleeveless, vivid blue, with flip-flops. Her hair was down again, soft waves reaching to her shoulders, and she’d touched up her lipstick. She was about the prettiest and sweetest companion he could ever want for enjoying a warm summer evening and a setting sun.

  “Thanks, Joe,” she said, oblivious to the tension in the air. “Just put him back inside when you’re done. See you later.”

  Ben followed her across the patio and into the grass. He couldn’t resist looking back just once. Cadore scowled back before muttering something to the dog, then taking off at a slow jog around the house and toward the street.

  * * *

  By noon Friday, Jessy was stinky, damp, and tired, but she had five sweet-smelling dogs ready to meet prospective owners to show for her efforts. None of them had enjoyed their baths—What’s wrong with you? she’d asked. Don’t you know a long soak in a tub is one of the great pleasures in life?—but they had endured in exchange for the serious combing and treats she and Angela had given each of them.

  Now she sat in an inexpensive webbed lawn chair in a back room, a bottle of cold water on the table in front of her. Angela had gone to get lunch—sprouts or something from a little health food place Jessy had never noticed—and Meredith was at her other job, so Jessy was alone in the place. She liked it—the smells, the stealth of the cats, the play and barking and snores of the dogs. Who knew she would feel so at home at an animal shelter?

  “I’m back,” Angela called a moment before she appeared in the hallway. Cats swished around her feet. Somehow, with her, the action appeared sweet and affectionate. Jessy was pretty sure that when they did the same to her, they were just trying to trip her.

  The blonde began unpacking the plastic bag she carried before snagging a folding chair on the other side of the table. A large plate in hand, she hesitated. “I forgot to ask if you have any dietary restrictions. Are you vegetarian? Vegan? Gluten-free? Diabetic? Paleo, Atkins, South Beach?”

  Jessy blinked. “I eat everything.”

  “Good.” With a grin, Angela continued unpacking. “So do we, but when Meredith and I lived in L.A., our friends were following so many different diet paths that we couldn’t even have a dinner party.”

  Jessy began peeling foil from the containers, each containing two portions of food: grilled chicken strips; tomato, onion, and feta salad; black beans with cilantro in a spicy dressing; blackened pepper strips, grilled rings of red onion, sticky sweet slices of mushroom; and soft corn tortillas to wrap it all up. If this was health food, she needed to sign up.

  “What brought you to Oklahoma?” she asked after they’d each made a taco/wrap hybrid and taken the first few bites.

  “Meredith went to vet med school at OSU. I didn’t want to be apart that long, and she didn’t want to practice in California, so I came with her. We’d both been involved with animal rescue groups, so when she came to work in Tallgrass, I got a job here, and now we run the place.”

  She made it sound so simple, as if uprooting her life and moving from Los Angeles to small-town Oklahoma was no more difficult a decision than what to have for dinner.

  But it really wasn’t, Jessy reminded herself. Not when you were going with someone you loved. She’d done it. So had all her friends, numerous times, and they would all do it again if necessary. She hoped it never became necessary…though she wouldn’t mind a move of six or eight miles.

  If things progressed to that point with Dalton. He hadn’t even kissed her yet. She hadn’t even kissed him yet. She knew he wanted to, and damn well she wanted to, but there was that nagging worry. What if they did it too soon again? What if they screwed up what was turning into a very good thing?

  But what if they waited too long and he met someone else? She knew too well how loneliness and dissatisfaction turned a rational person into an easy pickup who felt like crap in the morning.

  “You look awfully somber,” Angela said, drawing Jessy’s gaze. “If you need to talk about something, I’m a very good listener.”

  “Thanks.” But I’m a very good secret keeper. But keeping secrets took its toll on her. It made her antsy and embarrassed and filled her with dread. Look at how hard she’d tried to keep her drinking and attempts to stop it to herself, convinced t
he margarita sisters would be so disappointed in her that they’d dump her, but they hadn’t. They’d supported her. Encouraged her. Fia said she was proud of her.

  And keeping getting fired to herself…Dalton hadn’t gone running the other way. He’d seen the humor in it. He’d smiled about it. He’d made her smile about it.

  She swallowed the last bite of her wrap, then slowly put another together. “There’s this guy,” she said with a calculatedly careless shrug.

  “Oh, honey.” Angela laughed. “Do you know how many stories start with ‘There’s this guy’? That’s why I prefer women.”

  Jessy laughed, too. “No, this guy…he’s a good one.”

  “Is he the first one since your husband?”

  Not the first, though she wished he were. But the first serious one? “Yeah. His wife died in the war, too. We’re kind of…feeling our way, I guess.” Feeling emotionally, but not physically. Wednesday night, when Dalton had held her hand, it had made her almost light-headed. Like she was young and innocent and starting all over again, luxuriating in that small intimacy and anticipating more.

  But when they got back to her apartment, he hadn’t done anything more. He’d seemed reluctant to let go of her, but he hadn’t moved closer, hadn’t nuzzled her neck, hadn’t wrapped his arms around her. He hadn’t even looked her longingly in the eyes, though he’d asked if he could take her to dinner after the wedding rehearsal. Since this was the second time for both of them, Carly and Dane had decided against the formal rehearsal dinner, along with most of the other trappings of a wedding. They were committing to each other, not to a ceremony.

  “Wow. You don’t look for the path of least resistance, do you?” Angela said. “Was he happy with his wife?”

  Jessy’s muscles went stiff, her jaw clenching, as she lifted her gaze to her boss’s face. Angela’s blond hair was pulled up on her head with a big clip, her blue eyes were clear, her expression showing nothing but curiosity. “Why do you ask that?” Jessy asked, wondering if her voice sounded hollow because of the fifteen-foot metal walls and ceiling or because she’d suddenly gone empty inside.