After all, it was a girls’ night. No men allowed.
“Count me in,” Lucy told the server and was quickly echoed by the others.
The server grinned as he collected their empties. It was a combination of martini glasses, beer bottles, sodas and water; as varied as the women clustered around the table. Some were cousins. Some were spouses of cousins.
And all of them were friends.
Lucy watched the server work his way through the bar. It was Friday night and the place was as crowded as she’d expected it to be. “Who is that kid?” she asked in general. “He looks familiar to me.”
Leandra laughed and leaned her blond head across the table toward Lucy. “He ought to. That’s Mark Strauss. Scott Strauss’s baby brother.”
Lucy winced. “Baby is right,” she muttered. She’d gone out with Scott Strauss a few times in high school and his little brother had been just a toddler then. “This getting old business is for the birds.”
“I don’t even want to hear the word old,” Sarah interjected. She was sitting next to Lucy. “Yesterday, Eli told Max that he wasn’t going to ever get married until he was old like we were.” She gave a mock shudder. “Talk about out of the mouths of babes.”
Lucy couldn’t help but laugh. Sarah was a year younger than she was. And even though her husband, Max, was more than a decade older, he hardly fit the definition of “old.” The guy was the local sheriff, and as hard and handsome and fit as sin.
For that matter, every one of the women she was with had won the lottery when it came to seriously attractive husbands—both outwardly and inwardly. Lucy was the only one at the table who wasn’t married with a growing family.
And just then, as much as she loved them all, that fact made her feel like the sore thumb. “When is Courtney supposed to get here?” Of all the women Lucy counted among her cousins, there were only a few who weren’t married. Courtney was one. She was a registered nurse and only twenty-five. The rest were even younger—from early twenties all the way down to three.
Lucy’s family, no matter the generation, was nothing if not prolific.
“Courtney said she was switching shifts at the hospital,” Mallory offered. She was an obstetrician and had become the latest addition to the Clay family when she’d married Lucy’s cousin Ryan, who was also Courtney’s brother. “She’s still on nights.”
“Well.” Lucy eyed Angeline, who was leaning back in her chair. She had her hands folded over her enormous belly and still managed to look beautiful with her exotic South American heritage. “I guess if Angel there goes into labor, it’ll be good we’ve got an O.B. with us. Once Court gets here, we’ll have a whole medical team.”
Angel gave her a lazy glare. “I’m due in two weeks. I am not having the baby this weekend. Brody would never let me live it down. I had to use all of my feminine wiles to get him to agree to drive us up in the first place.”
J.D.—who was as blonde as her sister Angeline was dark—snorted. “It figures that you, who are about twelve months pregnant, would still have some wiles left to wield.”
Angeline eyed J.D. “As if you and Jake weren’t doing the horizontal up until the last minute before Tucker came along?”
“Probably all that hot, sweaty sex is what brought on the premature labor,” J.D. agreed, grinning wickedly, and they all laughed. Tucker had come early—very early—which had been a worry for everyone, but the infant was making up for his slow start with astonishing speed.
Then the Strauss boy returned, doling out their second round of drinks before taking their food orders, which not surprisingly, were as eclectic as their drinks had been. Courtney arrived soon after, and then their party was complete. Lucy just sat back and absorbed their laughing, easy company.
Yes, she did miss all of this when she was away.
Her fingers toyed with the stem of her wineglass as her gaze drifted from their faces around the bar. A familiar brown head had her stiffening, though.
Sarah noticed and glanced over, too. She leaned her head closer to Lucy’s. “Got a problem with your folks’ builder?”
“Not at all,” she answered swiftly, looking away from Beck as he made his way through the crowded bar toward a table across the room.
He was with two other men. Judging by the strong resemblance, Lucy figured the older one was his father and the younger was the Nick that Beck had mentioned. Thanks to Shelby’s chatter during the much-too-brief hour that Lucy had gotten to spend with her yesterday afternoon, she’d learned that Nick was Shelby’s big brother.
But Sarah just gave Lucy a look, and she exhaled. “I don’t know what to think of him, okay?” Except that he didn’t make her feel old and past her prime.
Not at all.
A wicked smile was toying around Sarah’s lips. “Which means you are thinking something at least.”
Lucy rolled her eyes. “I just got out of one relationship. I’m hardly interested in starting up something new. Consider me currently off men.” Because she’d had to or face their wrath, she’d already admitted to them that Lars had chosen someone else over her. Although, as with her parents, she hadn’t tied that particular point with her sprained knee. Nor had she admitted that her career was hanging by a thread. “Off all men might be overdoing it, but when it comes to Beckett Ventura, it’s probably just as well,” Sarah murmured. “That is one seriously grieving man. Half the single ladies—and a few attached ones, so I’ve heard—have thrown themselves at him and he never even blinks.”
Lucy hesitated. Her gaze kept straying toward him. He was seated at a table on the other side of the room and she didn’t have a clear view. “Do you know what happened?”
“With his wife?” Sarah shook her head sadly. “A coworker of mine had Shelby in her kindergarten class last year. Evidently his wife died of cancer a few years ago. Shelby was only three. Deirdre told me it sounded as if Beck moved his family, lock, stock and barrel away from their home only a few months later.”
He might have moved, but from what Lucy could tell, he hadn’t moved on.
“Anyway, if you’re looking to get over Lars, our Mr. Ventura is probably not the way to go,” Sarah murmured.
“Speaking of…have you heard from Lars since you left?” Angeline asked.
Lucy shook her head. “Nope. According to my friend Isabella—she’s the wardrobe supervisor—” she added for Mallory’s benefit “—he’s very busy with the lovely Natalia.” She grimaced.
“Lars was an ass,” J.D. said bluntly, jumping back into the conversation. She pointed the tip of her fork in Lucy’s direction. “And not worth a minute of your grief. Best thing for you is to jump back on the horse.” Her lips twitched. “So to speak.”
“Is sex all you ever think about?” Angeline asked blandly.
J.D. just smiled and shrugged. “Do you disagree with me?”
Which had everyone rolling into more laughter when Angeline had to admit that she didn’t.
Shaking her head at all of them, Lucy pushed up from her seat and brushed down the folds of her gauzy sundress. She didn’t want to think about sex. Mostly because her thoughts, irritatingly enough, went immediately in the direction of the grieving Beck. “I’ll be back.”
Turning sideways, she worked her way through the tables toward the restroom in the rear of the room. She could see Beck’s table as she went, though his gaze never turned her way.
She wondered where Shelby was. She wondered if Beck would manage to find a smile now that his son was home for a visit. She wondered why she couldn’t stop wondering about the man.
There was a line at the ladies’ room, and by the time she returned to her table, the crowd around it had suddenly doubled. Girls’ night out had been duly crashed by a horde of husbands.
Not that Lucy could spot a speck of unhappiness on anyone’s face. And once the hugs and the kisses were out of the way as the husbands welcomed her back to town, more tables were dragged together, more chairs were crowded in, more drinks and more food
were ordered.
It was hectic, it was chaotic, it was loud and boisterous. It was Friday night at Colbys. It was home.
And later, as couples began drifting off—to the dance floor to grab a romantic moment free from babies and kids, to the pool tables to grab back bragging rights, even to other tables to catch a word with an old friend—Lucy sat at the table with her foot propped on an empty chair and soaked it all in.
When she was in New York, she’d felt like she was home. When she was here? She felt like she was home, too.
But which one was?
She toyed with the stem of her wineglass and her eyes drifted over the bar. It was more crowded than before, though the families who’d brought kids to eat in the restaurant were being replaced by young adults—most on the obvious prowl.
“Refill?” She glanced away from the dance floor to the Strauss boy and shook her head. “I’m good, thanks.” He quickly moved on and when he did so, Lucy found herself looking straight at Beck who’d come up behind the server.
Her nerves went as tight as piano wire.
There was no use pretending that he’d just happened to notice her. Their tables weren’t on the way to anywhere. Not the exit. Not the restroom. Not the long bar itself.
His gaze focused on her leg stretched over the chair between them, the folds of her dress hiding her knee. “Overdoing it seems to be a habit for you.”
The fact that he was right didn’t mean she had to acknowledge it. Instead, she lifted her wineglass and the pale chardonnay that still filled the bottom of it glistened. “Good evening to you, too, Beck.”
His lips twisted and he looked away as his hand closed over the wooden back of the chair. “Looks like they’ve all abandoned you.”
“No more than you’ve been,” she pointed out. His son, Nick—a thinner, younger version of him—was dancing with Courtney. His father—a shorter, slightly stockier version—was dancing with Susan Reeves who’d arrived along with her nephew Jake, who was J.D.’s husband.
Beck gave a silent faint nod, acknowledging the point.
She sipped her wine, studying him. Up until now, she’d only seen him wearing T-shirts and worn jeans and tool belts. Tonight, though, he wore a beige button-down shirt that her experienced eye recognized as silk with black jeans and polished boots. He looked casual, sexy and as comfortable now as he did when he was hefting around power tools and lumber that weighed nearly as much as she did.
And just as disturbing.
She drew her leg off the chair. Thanks to the icing she’d given her knee before she’d come into town and the dose of aspirin, it wasn’t as painful as it had been earlier that day. For which she was grateful. It was bad enough knowing she’d pushed too hard the day before—again—without letting that fact show to Beck. Again.
“Would you like to sit down?” It seemed only polite to invite him, which didn’t explain at all the way she held her breath, waiting for him to shake his head and move on.
He shook his head. Only he didn’t move on.
He lifted his chin toward the dance floor. “I thought maybe you’d rather be out there.”
She hesitated, surprised. “Are you asking me to dance?”
His lips thinned again. “I thought about it.” His gaze skimmed over her. “Not that I figure you ought to be, considering your bad knee and all.”
Something inside her stomach skittered around.
He looked like he wished he’d kept his mouth shut.
So naturally she set down her wineglass and pushed to her feet. “Well, then,” she said sweetly. “How could I possibly turn down such an irresistible invitation?”
As if it were the most natural thing in the world, she wrapped her hand around his wrist, pulling his clamped hand away from the chair and headed toward the dance floor.
Chapter Four
He should have cut out his tongue.
But now it was too late.
The dancer was turning against him, putting one hand on his chest and drawing his other—the one she was holding—around to the small of her back. She tilted back her head to look up at him and her river of blond hair tickled his arm. “Where’s Shelby tonight?”
He didn’t know what he’d have done with his hand if she weren’t still holding it in place behind her, but he was pretty certain it wouldn’t have involved lingering there, absorbing how delicate—how feminine—that faint hollow felt. He stared at the mirror that hung on the wall behind the bar. “Spending the night with her friend, Annie Pope.”
“Ah. She mentioned Annie. Evidently she wants to be a horse?” She smiled slightly.
He knew because he saw it in the mirror.
Hell. Might as well be looking at her face if he was going to watch her anyway.
“She also told me her brother was home for his birthday?”
“For the weekend, yeah. He flies out again tomorrow night. He’s taking classes over the summer.”
“Good for him. Must be a hard worker.”
He glanced at his son. “He’s a good kid.”
“How old is he?”
“Twenty-one as of today.” He still found it hard to believe.
“Ah.” Her dimple flashed mischievously. “Out for his first drink?”
Beck made a face. “His first legal one anyway. He is in college.”
Her smile widened. “What’s he studying?”
“Architecture.”
“Following in your footsteps,” she observed. “Makes a father proud.”
He didn’t take credit for Nick’s successes. That was owed as much to Harmony as it was to him.
“I have to say you don’t really look old enough to have a grown son,” she continued.
“Feel old enough,” he murmured.
She moistened her lips, looking strangely discomfited. “Do you, uh, like country music?”
“Only thing I’ve ever heard playing here.”
Her eyebrows rose. She finally let go of his hand behind her back, which was good.
But all she did was loop her two hands loosely around his neck instead.
Which was bad.
He stared over her head again and wondered what the hell he was doing.
“That wasn’t exactly an answer,” she pointed out after a moment.
“It’s music,” he said evenly. “It’s as good as any other.” Right now the song was going on in a slow, swaying lament which only meant that they were moving in a slow, swaying torment.
“In other words you don’t give a rat’s patootie.”
He looked down at her, catching the amused glint in her eyes. He felt his lips tilt. “Not really.”
She blinked and suddenly looked away. “So you do remember how.”
Just that abruptly, amusement slid into awareness.
Heat streaked down his spine. Coiled low in his gut.
He wanted to swear.
Holding her in his arms had been a serious lapse in judgment.
Because he remembered how to do a lot of things, and every one of them was banging around inside his head reminding him just how long it had been since he’d been with a woman.
“Remember how to smile, I mean,” Lucy continued, making him wonder if he was that easy to read.
“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “I remember.” The song ended, moving seamlessly into another, and he stepped back as the beat picked up. “That’s it for me,” he said. “Thanks.”
She said nothing as he backed away. Just watched him with those pale eyes that seemed to see too much.
Like the fact that he was escaping, pure and simple.
Nick had moved on from the statuesque blonde to a petite brunette, and his father was still sticking close to the Reeves woman. Neither one noticed when Beck aimed straight for the exit.
Outside, he sucked in a deep breath of fresh night air.
The music from inside the bar was muted only slightly. He shoved his hands through his hair and sat down on the bench that faced the empty street.
; He sighed and stared down at the wedding ring on his hand.
He’d hawked his beater of a car when he was eighteen to buy their plain gold wedding rings, and twenty-one years later, he was still wearing it.
Aside from a wristwatch, it was the only jewelry he’d ever worn. He curled his hand into a fist. For so long the ring had been as much a part of him as the finger it circled.
“You all right?”
He jerked and looked up.
Lucy was standing beside him, holding two longnecks in her hand.
“You make a habit of sneaking up on men?”
Instead of being put off by his terseness, her lips curved faintly, though not really with amusement. “Apparently so.” Her voice was mild and she held out one of the beer bottles. “Want it?”
He wanted lots of things, most of which began and ended with a grave in Colorado. If he hadn’t had Nick and Shelby to consider, he’d have come close to climbing in one, too.
But he hadn’t. And he was here. And an annoyingly appealing woman was standing nearby, filling his senses with more life than he wanted to acknowledge.
But he unfisted his hand and closed it around the cold bottle anyway. “Drinking on a public street’s probably frowned on around these parts.”
“Probably.” She twisted open her beer and sat down beside him. “But I’ve got family connections to the sheriff.” She softly clinked the bottom of her bottle against his. “No worries.”
Even if she didn’t have connections, what was the worst that would happen? He’d get a ticket?
Small potatoes in the scheme of things.
He opened his own beer.
And they sat there in silence for several minutes while the muted music from inside throbbed through the wooden bench beneath them.
He stared at the park across the street. There were some kids chasing each other around and their carefree laughter floated on the air.
“There’s a pavilion over there in the park where the teenagers go to neck,” she said. “At least they used to when I grew up here.”
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