Confused, Mary bit her lower lip. “Okay, thanks.” She released his hand and punched his phone number into her phone as he relayed it. How did she tell him that when she was with him, she was stronger, confident? She couldn’t after mentioning her fiancé. That was just tacky.
Yet, how did she express her gratitude for his presence when she was dealing with so much difficulty?
She climbed from the high seat, closing the door and stepping hesitatingly toward the house over the cement walkway.
Go back and get him! Don’t let him go. Her heart screamed, aching as she walked further from Ian. Why hadn’t she ever felt like that about Edward? Or anyone?
Because no one had ever been that nice to her.
The truck pulled away, the roar of the engine fading in the distance. She didn’t want him to leave. Not yet. She wasn’t ready.
But the steps pulled her forward. Flowers wilted in chipped flower pots on two of the stairs. The grass had a crispy look to it, like it would snap just from a breeze.
At the top of the chipped stairs, Mary straightened her shoulders and leaned over to push on the plastic rectangular doorbell. From inside, a muffled chime announced her.
Shuffling and the click and grind of locks dragged the fifteen seconds out with excruciating slowness. Come on, Mom. Mary shifted from side to side, careful to hold her purse strap tight to her shoulder like a safety line.
The door opened and her Mom stood there, peering out into the day.
“Mom?” Mary had forgotten what a comfort seeing her mom was.
“Mary?” Her mother stepped to the side, pulling the door open further. She looked around Mary, like she expected to find more people or something to define the moment more. She focused on her daughter and narrowed her eyes. “What do you need?”
Taken aback, Mary folded her hands. “I don’t need anything. I came to see you. It’s been forever.”
Another long moment passed while her mom sized up the situation. She pushed the door open further, ushering Mary inside. “Well, come on in, then.” Her hairstyle hadn’t changed in all that time, the tight bun still firm to the back of her head. Small pearl-like earrings dotted her lobes and her makeup had a finished look.
Her housedress hadn’t lost its style of simple paisley lines, the hem falling to mid-calf. If Mary hadn’t known better, she’d assume her mother stepped from the pages of a magazine directly from the 1950’s.
Inside, the furnishings matched the owner’s look. Faded orange countertops and burgundy carpeting sent a wave of nostalgia and regret over Mary. Her mother wasn’t even that old.
“Would you like some coffee?” Her mom moved around the modest kitchen, dishes clinking in the ceramic basin.
“Yes, please.” Mary claimed her old chair at the table with its vinyl padding and metal frame. She couldn’t help it. She had to comment. She had to. “Things haven’t changed a bit.” But she didn’t mean it rude or insulting. For once the consistency of her mother’s life cooled Mary’s pain like a balm. She ran her gaze along the lines of the kitchen, through the door into the simple living room, and back to her mom who had stopped bustling.
Sighing, her mom turned, crossing her arms. “Did you come all this way to make rude comments? Because I won’t have it.” She lifted her eyebrows, a ribbon of strength where Mary had never seen one.
Mary lifted her arms to her side, standing. “Mom, I’m not trying to—”
“You are being rude. Drop how I live my life, Mary.” She held her gaze on her daughter, but the firmness shook as Mary walked toward her.
Closer to her mom, Mary opened her arms. “Why do you always jump to the worst? Stop being so dang defensive, Mom.”
Her mother flinched as Mary moved even closer. And Mary froze. She had never hurt her mom, she’d never touched her. Yet, there she was flinching from her like Mary had been abusive. Mary backed up toward the table, unable to stomach causing her mom fear.
Tracing the whorls in the vinyl pattern with her fingertip, Mary glanced at her mom who hadn’t turned back. “Can you tell me the truth about Dad? The truth everyone else seems to know but me?”
Her mother clenched her jaw and slightly shook her head. “Devlyn made me swear not to say anything to you about anything.”
“Mom, he’s dead. You have nothing to be afraid of, now.” Mary watched goosebumps rise on her mother’s arms and a shiver quake through her shoulders in the warm house.
“He haunts me. I can never escape him, Mary.” Dark circles, faded by makeup, attested to the honesty of her words. She glanced down and to the side, folding her arms together. “Why are you here?”
Did Mary have a reason? Was there logic in her arrival that day versus every other day she could’ve chosen? Everything had made sense as she’d prepared to come, but stepping through the door and seeing her mom had only muddied her senses and rationale. “I’m trying to understand what or who I am. There’s so much going on and I don’t know what to do. Mendez is hounding Lisa to get us girls together and I don’t know that I can do it. That I even want to do it.”
“You’re still hanging with Lisa Trinkett?” Her mother’s forehead wrinkled and she claimed two mugs to pour coffee into. Crossing the small distance, she joined Mary at the table, lowering herself gracefully into the seat across from her daughter.
“Not really hanging… but it turns out we’re sisters.” Mary smiled humorlessly at her mom. She jiggled her foot. “Turns out, Devlyn had more than one happy home, huh?”
Her mother’s face tightened, enhancing the small lines of lipstick running from her lips. “He’s your father, you refer to him with respect. He never loved those women. He needed a release. Sometimes he wasn’t home. I met him shortly after he left that Trinkett woman’s arms. She didn’t have class.” She shrugged softly. “He said I did.”
Mary took her coffee black, and sipped the bitter liquid while processing her mother’s words. Lisa’s mom had never done anything to deserve the comments from that day or any other day. But things were too tenuous with Mary’s mom and she didn’t want to insult her. Again.
After sipping her own coffee, Cheri tilted her head. She crossed her legs. “Did you say Mendez?”
Mary nodded, glad to focus on something besides the irrational talk of a woman mentally lost in a decade from another century. “Jason Mendez. He’s an FBI agent seeking something of Dad’s.”
Cheri shrugged softly. “Your father ran with a Joaquin Mendez. It’s not a common name in these parts, you know? Cruel man. I remember some of the… well, that’s not to bear repeating.” She shook her head, puffing her chest out with remembered confidence. “I don’t have anything to tell you, but I did save some things for you, in case this day ever came. Let me get the box.”
Leaving the kitchen, Cheri returned a moment later carrying a large cardboard box, taped shut. “I haven’t opened it in a while. Haven’t wanted to dive into the past.” Sadness clouded her features.
Biting her tongue on the craziness of that comment while sitting in a kitchen from the dang 50’s, Mary nodded like she understood. She eyed the box with mounting trepidation.
Her mother set it by the door. “You can take it with you. I don’t have any need for anything in there any longer.”
Was that Mary’s cue to leave? Her mother never welcomed visits for long, like she didn’t want more time from people than she needed. But Mary wasn’t people – she was Cheri’s daughter. Shouldn’t her mom try to keep her there as long as possible?
Even with the years between them, things hadn’t changed. Mary had never been close to her mom and her mom had a decisive discomfort around Mary.
Their difficulty around each other was from more than misunderstandings. If things about Devlyn were true, he would be the reason Mary and her mother didn’t fit together.
If that was the case, how could she ever forgive her father for destroying so much?
Chapter 12
Ian
Leaving Mary alone at her mother
’s didn’t sit well with Ian, but what did he do? She’d all but kicked him down the road. Maybe she didn’t feel the same things that were messing with his heart. How could she not feel the spark between them? They had something; he just couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was.
She seemed to still cling to whatever Edward had over her. Was she leading Ian on?
In the parking lot of the local bookstore, Ian parked his truck and hung his head. Who was he kidding? She’d mentioned her man and jealousy had reared its ugly head in Ian’s gut. Guess that answered his question about his interest being real or imagined.
What was he going to do? He hadn’t liked any of the girls around Dawson Ranch in a long time. Not since his sister’s death. She’d been a constant in his life and he’d locked himself away in depression and hard work for so long, he’d almost missed his window of being young and in love.
He’d finally found a girl he liked and she was someone else’s.
Ian snarled. Turning off the engine, he climbed from his rig and strode into the bookstore. He wasn’t a creative man or even a very talented one in many aspects, but he loved books. He loved stories. A bookstore could calm him down in just about any situation.
When his parents had died, he’d hidden himself in the largest bookstore in London, waiting for his grandparents to arrive. His sister had been the only person who knew where to look for him.
Elena had always been his best friend.
He didn’t hesitate inside the aisles with their crazy colors and overflowing shelves of books. The quilting section’s newest arrivals would be in and he loved surprising Nana Nell with the latest notions books or magazines. She always got a kick out of the new trends and gadgets.
After picking up three recent arrivals, Ian wended through the stacks to the thrillers. His genre of choice.
A romantic suspense with a black and blue cover grabbed his interest, but not for him. For Mary. She seemed like the type of girl who secretly liked danger but wouldn’t let her hair down long enough to run from or to excitement. A romantic thriller would probably be right up her alley. He stacked three more books in his arms.
His phone buzzed in his pocket and he set the stack on the cashier’s counter. A text from Mary.
I’m ready. Thanks.
So succinct. What did he expect from a woman who dated an abusive man? No that wasn’t fair. He didn’t know what type of a person stayed with someone who hurt them, but Elena hadn’t been torn up or even riddled with a low self-esteem. She’d been one of the most confident women he’d known and she’d still… He couldn’t continue the thought of how she’d fallen under that man’s control and never gotten back up.
He paid for the books, carrying the plastic bag to the truck. Mary’s mom’s place wasn’t too far from there. Before he lost his heart, he’d better get her home and stop checking on her.
The only problem with that plan was he had a terrible sensation his heart had already begun packing.
At the brick home, Ian’s long strides carried him up the path fast. He hooked his thumbs in his front pockets after knocking on the door. An older, outdated version of Mary answered. If her genes carried to her daughter, Mary’s mother promised a very gentle aging process on Mary.
Ian tilted his hat and nodded his head. “Ma’am. I’m here to pick up Mary.”
“You must be Edward.” Her mother extended her hand, softly taking Ian’s fingers in her own. “I’m Cheri Caracus. Nice to meet you.”
Inclining his head, Ian blinked. “No, ma—”
“Mom, that’s Ian. He’s a friend. Edward isn’t here. We’re not really talking right now.” Mary pushed at her shirt hem, as if trying to make it blend with the cotton of her pants. She avoided Ian’s eyes.
A flood of relief that she’d defined something with Edward – if not to him, at least in front of him – swelled over Ian. He didn’t feel bad having feelings for her when she wasn’t even talking to her fiancé. Maybe he had a chance.
She finally met his gaze and smiled softly. “Ready?”
“Yep.” He gave an answering smile, wishing he could ask her what it meant that she and Edward weren’t talking.
Bending down, she wrapped her arms around a box, but Ian intercepted her. “Here, let me.” He hefted the box into his arms, the weight not extremely noticeable. Heavy or not, Ian wasn’t going to let a woman carry something when he was capable and right there. Nodding at Mary’s mother, Ian murmured, “Ma’am.”
He returned to his truck, setting the box inside on the floor between the passenger and driver seat.
Moving to take his position beside Mary’s door, he waited while she said her goodbyes and then joined him, standing awkwardly while looking up at him.
She picked at the strap of her purse. “Thanks for picking me up so fast.”
“Of course.” He nodded, closing the door after she climbed inside. He could at least try to say something witty, but he was coming up dry.
In his own seat, he turned to her, busying his noticeably shaking hands. “I got you something.”
“Me? But you already gave me flowers.” She narrowed her eyes, watching him like he might hand her a scorpion or rattler.
Rummaging through the plastic bag, he pulled out the book and passed it to her.
Mary took the gift slowly, staring at its suspense-inspiring cover with her mouth partly open. “I love this author. Thank you.” Her eyes glistened and she sniffed.
“What’s wrong?” How had Ian done something to hurt her feelings? He’d only meant to give her a small gift. She’d claimed to like the author, too.
“No one has ever given me a book as a present before. It’s the best gift ever.” She raised her eyes to his, clutching the book in her hands. “Thank you.” She turned the book over, searching out the back. “How did you know I like romantic suspense?”
Appeased he might have done something right, Ian started the truck and pulled out of his spot in front of the fence. “You’re a closet thrill seeker and I’m out to prove it to you.” He looked her way and winked at her shocked expression.
She slowly closed her parted lips, pondering him with a somber seriousness. “I’ve never met anyone like you, Ian Dawson.”
His lips twitched. “That’s a good thing. It has to be my English charm.”
Mary’s laughter tinkled through the truck cab, filling the small area with delight. “Yes, it must be that. Do you think you’ll go back to the UK?”
“No.” He shook his head, emphatically. His smile slipped slightly. “Montana is my home. The only family I have left is Nana Nell. There’s nothing like family.” He shot a peek at her between glances at the road. “I’m glad you and your mom are talking.”
“Me too.” She murmured, turning to stare out the window, her book held tight against her chest.
They drove in silence the rest of the way to Lisa’s house, but it was a comfortable, warm silence they needed.
At Lisa’s place, Mary pulled the box to her lap and arranged her book on top. Ian jumped down and rounded the truck to open her door for her and help her from the lofty seat. Ian took the box and placed it on the side rail of the bed of the truck. He placed his hands at her waist, pulling her from the cab.
They stood there, chests mere centimeters from each other, and gazed into each other’s eyes. Mary turned toward the box, but Ian grabbed her hand, folding her fingers into his palm. Tugging her closer, he whispered, “I wouldn’t keep you from anyone, or expect anything from you. If you were mine.”
Mary stared at him, her chest barely moving, her eyes wide. She inhaled sharply, licking her lower lip like she had no idea what to say or do.
Lifting his hand, Ian brushed at the hair grazing her cheek. “Go out with me. On a date. Let me take you out, Mary. Let me show you how you should be treated.”
She couldn’t speak, but nodded the slightest amount, like she was terrified to do anything more.
And they stared at each other, taking as much of the other as th
ey could. Slowly, Ian bent at the waist and kissed her forehead, the contact tingling his lips across his cheeks. “I’ll see you Friday.”
Before he ruined everything and pressed her against the truck and kissed her full on the lips, he carried the box up the stairs and placed it outside the door of the condo. He chucked her chin when he passed her again on his way to his truck.
She didn’t move, just watched him in wonder.
His satisfaction would have to come from the stupefied expression on her face as he drove away.
Regretting Redemption Page 7