by Lee McKenzie
He gave her an odd look. “I wasn’t planning to go shopping. My mother collects clothing for the homeless shelter, so she always has things on hand. Everything will be secondhand, but it’ll be clean and mended.”
“Oh.”
“Unless that’s not going to work for you.”
What he meant was, unless that’s not good enough for you. She could hardly blame him for having such a low opinion of her.
She squared her shoulders and wished she could stop shivering. “Since I’m temporarily homeless, that’ll work just fine. Please thank your mother for me. When my life gets backs to normal, I’ll have the clothes dry-cleaned and return them.” Under the circumstances, it was the least she could do.
“I’ll be sure to tell her.” He looked as though he’d like to say more. Whatever it was, she was glad he kept it to himself. She was on the verge of tears again, and the last thing she wanted was for him to try to console her.
He fished his keys from his pocket, and Max jumped up right away. “Sorry, boy, not this time. You stay here with Leslie.”
The dog’s tail-wagging—assuming there was a tail under all that fur—subsided only slightly as he looked from Brent to her and back again.
“You can take him with you. I’ll be fine.”
“I’m sure you will be. Still, I’ll leave him here. He’ll let you know if anyone comes to the door and he’ll keep barking until they leave. You won’t have to bother answering, and you’ll know when they’re gone.”
“Are you expecting someone?” Since she was absolutely certain that no one would come here looking for her, she could only assume that Brent didn’t want any of his potential visitors to know she was here.
“No one in particular. Your brother’s been known to show up, though, and I just thought that given what’s happened…”
Of course. That possibility hadn’t occurred to her. “Good thinking. I don’t want to see anyone right now.” Especially not her family.
“I don’t get a lot of company, so it looks like you’ve come to the right place.”
She looked longingly at the steam rising from the tub. “Thanks again,” she said, clenching her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering. “I really do appreciate this.”
“You’re freezing. I’ll get out of your way.” He was out the door before she remembered the zipper.
“Brent?”
He looked back. “Yeah?”
She turned sideways and pointed over her shoulder. “Um…I can’t reach the zipper. Would you mind?”
He looked as though he’d rather wrestle a grizzly bear, but he slowly stepped back into the room. “Turn around,” he said gruffly.
She complied and stood stock-still. The day had been filled with unexpected situations. What was one more?
Firm fingers brushed her skin. She closed her eyes, as if that might somehow block out his touch. No such luck.
The length of time it took him to undo the hook-and-eye closure at the top of the zipper was proof that the tiny device had not been designed for big workman’s hands. When it finally gave way, his breath came out in a rush, as if he’d been holding it, and sent a delicious shower of warm air down the back of her neck.
The zipper gave him no trouble at all and when it neared her waist, he let go all of a sudden and backed away. “You can manage the rest.” And then he was gone.
Startled, Leslie opened her eyes.
The front door opened and banged shut.
Max’s ears perked up and he dashed out of the room.
For a few seconds she’d actually forgotten where she was, and who was undressing her. No, that wasn’t the truth. Every heightened nerve ending and every inch of chilled skin had been perfectly well aware of who was doing the undressing. Careful, she warned herself. That’s one place you never wanted to go, and now is not the time to consider it.
She had every intention of having a quick bath and being dressed by the time Brent returned, but just to be safe she closed the bathroom door and turned the lock.
She shimmied out of the dress and let it fall to the floor. The air against her damp skin made her shiver. She quickly unfastened her wet bra and dropped it onto the dress. She tried to slide her panties down her legs. The damp fabric stuck to her thighs but she finally managed to roll them off.
She stepped into the bath and lowered herself into the water, gasping slightly as her cold skin adjusted to the warmth. Then she rested her head against the back of the tub and closed her eyes. The dangling, diamond-studded strands of her earrings grazed her shoulders. She slipped them off and reached for the clasp of the necklace. The jewelry had been a wedding gift from Gerald. She reached over the edge of the tub and tossed them onto the dress.
She slid deeper into the tub, hot water swooshing around her shoulders. She wanted to be furious with Gerald, but she was having trouble mustering any real anger. Loathing. Disgust. Definitely those. As the wedding date had drawn closer, she’d started to feel antsy and unsure of herself. She didn’t believe in premonitions, but maybe her subconscious had been picking up things that she hadn’t wanted—or even been ready—to acknowledge.
Things like what a two-timing, no-good son of a bitch she’d almost married. Luckily she’d found out about his affair before the ceremony and not afterward.
She was even grateful for the bizarre twist of fate that had landed her here. Brent’s timely rescue had bought her some precious time. No one knew where she was, and when she finally did see her family and her good-for-nothing slimeball of an ex-fiancé, it would be on her terms.
By now Gerald would have figured out that she’d seen him with another woman. And not just any woman, but one of her bridesmaids, one of her best friends. Meanwhile he’d be trying to convince everyone that today’s disastrous events had been her fault.
She squeezed her eyes shut in an attempt to block out the image of the two of them in the back of the coat room at the church.
A big, fat tear rolled down her cheek. You will not cry, she told herself. Gerald Bedford III and Candice Bentley-Ferguson deserved each other. Not only were they cut from the same bolt, they’d each chosen someone who was bound to cheat on them.
Leslie opened her eyes and reached for a bar of soap. The ring on her left hand sparkled.
Damn it.
It was a gorgeous ring. She’d been the envy of everyone she knew, and probably lots she didn’t. When Gerald had given it to her, it had represented everything that was right about their relationship. They were young successful professionals with brilliant futures. They had everything going for them.
Why wasn’t that enough? Better question. Why wasn’t she good enough for him?
In spite of her best efforts to hold the tears at bay, her eyes filled up and the room blurred. Today she was supposed to cross number five off her Life List. She slid the ring off her finger and tossed it into the soap dish. She’d earned the right to a little self-pity, as long as she got herself under control before Brent came home with her hand-me-downs.
BRENT SLAMMED the gear shift into Reverse and backed out of the driveway as fast as a ton of lumber would allow. Leslie probably thought he was a lunatic for tearing out on her like that, but he’d had a hard-on that would stop a train and there had only been two possible outcomes.
Either he’d do something he’d regret, or he’d get the hell out of there before he did something he’d regret.
The feel of her skin, the scent of her damp, sweet-smelling hair and the sight of her lacy white bra were now branded into his brain, and still had his libido on full alert. Which might account for his uncharacteristically bad driving, although it would make a lousy defense if he crashed into someone. He eased off the accelerator and brought the truck to a stop at a red light, chiding himself for being such an idiot.
She’d always made it abundantly and sometimes scathingly clear she didn’t want to have anything to do with him. In the seventh grade, at Candice Bentley’s birthday party, he’d finagled his way into playing
seven minutes in heaven with her. That kiss had lasted somewhere in the neighborhood of four seconds.
Leslie had been a little slip of a girl in those days but she’d packed a mighty wallop.
Undaunted, he’d pursued her through high school. It had actually turned into a game, and he’d always been the loser.
He would ask her out. She’d say no.
He’d call her. She’d hang up.
He’d tuck a note into her locker. She’d scrunch it into a ball and toss it in the trash.
A horn honking behind him told him the light had turned green. He was glad to have an excuse to get away from her for a while. Too bad it meant going to his mother’s place though. She would question his sudden need for women’s clothing, and he’d never been any good at flying under her radar.
Maybe she wouldn’t be home, he thought. He could just help himself to whatever he could find and she’d be none the wiser. He pulled up along the curb and spotted her ancient Dodge station wagon in the driveway. No such luck.
He sprinted through the rain to the back door and let himself in. “Mom? You home?”
“In here, dear. What brings you by this morning?”
He followed his nose into the kitchen. She was making chicken stew. “It’s almost lunchtime. And since when do I need a reason to visit the most gorgeous woman in Collingwood Station?”
“Since you’re blocking the street with a truckload of building materials and trying to use that sweet talk on someone who knows better than to fall for it.”
“We were supposed to start a new job on Monday. I have to deliver that load to the site sometime today, so I won’t be here for long.” He crossed the kitchen and planted a kiss on the top of her head.
“What do you mean by ‘supposed to’?” she asked.
“I might be tied up with something else for a few days.” He reached over her shoulder and snagged a piece of raw carrot from the pile on the chopping block.
“Watch it, young man, or you might lose one of those fingers.”
He laughed. “I’ll take my chances. Are you expecting company?” he asked. If the size of the stewpot was anything to go by, she was cooking for a crowd.
“I thought I’d make enough for a meal or two for myself and take the rest to the shelter. They’re a little short on food this weekend.”
At this rate she’d never be able to retire, but talking to her about it was a losing battle. She’d carry the weight of the whole world on her shoulders if anyone asked her to. His mother was younger than most of the mothers of his friends, but she often looked tired and older than she actually was. Today was one of those days.
She’d become a single parent at sixteen and had struggled through a lot of hardship. He remembered her helping him with homework while she studied and worked to put herself through college. Nothing had changed when she became a social worker. In spite of an ample salary, she still lived in the little old house she’d purchased twenty years ago, and somehow she managed to keep her geriatric Dodge running. Every spare penny went to help those who were less fortunate than she was.
She tossed handfuls of diced carrots and celery into the pot and started on the potatoes. “So, you haven’t told me what brings you by.”
He might as well cut to the chase. “I need to borrow a few things.”
“What would you like? And don’t tell me it’s take-out chicken stew. If you want any of that, you’ll have to come back and have dinner with me.”
“Sorry. No can do.”
“Your loss.” She gave him one of her big, warm smiles. “So if it’s not food, what are you after?”
“I need some women’s clothing. Enough for a few days. Size four,” he said. “If you have anything.”
She set her knife on the butcher block and wiped her hands on a towel as she turned to face him.
“That’s an odd request.”
“Not really. A friend of mine is in kind of a jam and she needs a few things. Just temporarily, until…”
His explanation trailed off as his mother’s scrutiny intensified.
“Please tell me this friend of yours isn’t Leslie Durrance.”
Damn, she was good.
Chapter Two
“Why would you ask that?” As soon as he said it, he knew his evasiveness sounded like a yes.
And his mother’s eagle eye never missed a trick. “I stopped by Donaldson’s Deli to pick up the day-old bread that Mr. Donaldson donates to the shelter. The place was buzzing. Apparently she bolted and left Gerald whatshis-name at the altar.”
“Man, what is it with this town and gossip?”
“You haven’t answered my question, and that usually means—”
“Okay, fine. She’s at my place,” he confessed. Yes, at that very moment Leslie Durrance was in his bathtub. Naked and single. “And she has nothing to wear but a soaking-wet wedding dress and a pair of high-heeled shoes.”
“Do I even dare ask how she ended up with you?”
“I was driving by the church—”
“Oh, Brent. You can’t be serious.”
“What do you mean?”
“You might be able to fool yourself, but you can’t fool me. I thought you were over her years ago but even if you’re not, why torture yourself by driving by the church on her wedding day?”
He hated it when she looked at him like he was one of her homeless people. He didn’t want her to be concerned about him. He should be taking care of her for a change. “Under the circumstances it’s a good thing I showed up when I did.”
“Because?”
“She needed help.”
His mother let out a long sigh. “She’s a millionaire, Brent. She can buy anything she wants, when she wants it, without asking how much it costs. Why would she need your help?”
The sparkle of that enormous diamond ring flashed in his memory. “Well, she didn’t have her purse with her.”
His mother burst out laughing. “You dear, sweet boy. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that my Prince Charming would race to her rescue.”
“It’s not like that, Mom. She hasn’t told me what happened, but I know Leslie. She wouldn’t run out on her wedding unless something really bad had happened. I get the feeling she wants to lie low for a couple of days and there’s no way she can do that in Collingwood Station, money or no money, without a little help from someone.”
She rested her hand against the side of his face. “And that someone had to be you. At the very least, I hope she appreciates this. And who knows, maybe she’ll come to her senses and realize she couldn’t possibly do any better.”
Yeah, that should happen right around the time money started to grow on trees. He covered her hand with his. “I wouldn’t count on that. Besides, like I said, that’s not what this is about. She’s in a tight spot and I was there to help.”
“Still, I can’t help wondering if your timing was good or bad.”
When he didn’t respond, she sighed again. “There’s always a first time for everything and this is definitely the first time I’ve had to provide clothing for a homeless millionaire, but you’re in luck. I just finished cleaning and mending all the clothes that were donated this month. I was going to take them into the shelter on Monday.”
“She said she’ll have everything cleaned and return it.”
“How generous.”
“Come on, Mom. It’s not her fault that people are homeless.”
“Whose fault is it?”
Here we go, he thought. Once she climbed on her soapbox, he knew better than to argue. “If I ask, I’m sure she’ll make a donation, too.”
“Too bad you have to ask.”
All righty then. “She’s not a bad person, Mom.”
“She is if she breaks your heart again.” She turned back to her food preparation. “The clothes are on the bed in your old room. I sorted them into piles by size, so you shouldn’t have any trouble finding something that’ll fit her.”
“Thanks. I really appreciate th
is. So does Leslie.”
He didn’t get a response, so he headed up the stairs.
This old house held a lot of memories. Good ones. The door to his old room creaked when he opened it. He’d been on his own for a lot of years so it surprised him that his mother had never reclaimed this space. His baseball trophies were still lined up on the dresser and an old Reggie Jackson poster was tacked to the closet door.
The clothing for the homeless shelter had been carefully arranged in piles on the bed. He picked through the small-sized women’s clothing and chose a pair of jeans that looked as though they should fit her, a pair of faded yellow shorts and a couple of T-shirts. The pink one looked great, actually. In high school she’d had an undetermined number of sweaters in every shade of pink imaginable, and every single one of them had suited her perfectly. He hadn’t thought of it in years but if anyone had a signature color, Leslie did. And it was pink.
He’d never forgotten how beautiful she’d looked the night of his senior prom. Had she been wearing pink that night? Probably. Technically it hadn’t been her prom, since she’d been in her junior year, but she was on the student council, which apparently meant she was on the prom committee, too. He’d asked her to be his date and of course she’d said no, so he’d gone solo in a futile attempt to prove a point. Undaunted, he’d waited and watched until finally, near the end of the night, she’d been sitting alone at her table and the band was playing a slow song. He’d asked her to dance and in a moment of apparent weakness, she’d accepted.
Aside from that stolen adolescent kiss in her friend’s closet, that dance had been the only other time he’d ever touched her, and he’d never forgotten it. That time their kiss had lasted significantly longer and had been a whole lot sweeter. The instant the song ended she’d pulled herself away and marched off the dance floor, but at least that time she hadn’t slugged him.
He gave his head a shake in an attempt to dispel the memories and surveyed the rest of the clothing piled on the bed. There was an assortment of undergarments, which he quickly ruled out as being way too personal, but he added a nightgown to the things he’d already chosen. He unfolded a sleeveless red dress that looked like something a hooker might wear and quickly put it back.