Everything His Heart Desires

by Patricia Preston

He could live with that. It was a start.

  They made their way past the tables, and Brett noticed some of the guys at the bar giving Natalie a second look. At her side, he reached down and took her hand. The silk shawl shimmied when she turned her head and gave him a surprised glance.

  Outside, they stepped into a warm fall night with a harvest moon hanging low in a black sky. A couple of musicians unloaded equipment from a van, and two cars searched for a vacant spot in the well-lit parking lot. She stopped beside a platinum-colored Lexus GS. The blonde in black and the silver car made for an alluring sight.

  He released her hand. “Great car.”

  “Courtesy of my dad.” She looked at the parking lot, where new cars and old ones were parked side by side. “Which one is yours?”

  “The Road Runner.” He pointed to Rhonda, parked in a reserved space.

  She smiled as she regarded the Road Runner, which had a hood scoop and white, fender-to-hood stripes across its shiny blue body. “That car is so you.”

  “You wanna take a ride?” The words tumbled out of his mouth as cylinders fired inside him. The night was young, and there was so much about her he didn’t know. The Natalie Layton he remembered was cute but clueless. How had she become such a provocative woman?

  “Can I drive?”

  “It’s a stick shift.” He never let anyone drive one of the girls.

  She wet her cherry lips. “I can handle a stick shift,” she assured him.

  He wanted to go for it. Let her handle the stick shift and whatever else she was willing to handle. But warning bells rang in his mind. Train wreck ahead. He stared at Rhonda. Contemplating.

  “How big is the backseat?” Natalie asked, and his eyes widened. A smile played at the corners of her mouth until she could no longer contain it. She laughed. “I’m just messing with you.”

  “So you’re not interested in driving up to the overlook and having sex in the backseat?” He could mess around, too. “It could be unforgettable.”

  She grinned. “I’m sure that sex in the backseat of an old car with the guy who picked on me in high school would be memorable.”

  “Hey, I only picked on you because I thought you were cute.” And I couldn’t have you.

  “I have to go,” she said quietly. “Nana won’t like if I’m late and they have to start the game without me.”

  “Yeah.” He didn’t want the old lady upset with Natalie. Reluctantly, he stepped aside so she could get in the Lexus. As the motor purred, he bent down, and she lowered the window. One of the streetlights in the parking lot cast a glow over them.

  “If you can get hotels on Boardwalk and Park Place, you’ve got the game won,” he said.

  “I usually end up going directly to jail.” She nailed him with a suggestive look and his sudden arousal surprised him. “See you tomorrow night.”

  He stepped back, and his gaze followed the gleaming silver car as it pulled out of the parking lot and vanished down the highway. Dragging his hand over his jaw, he sucked in a deep breath of the cool night air.

  Lusting after Natalie Layton was stupid, and he had never been stupid.

  He started toward the Thunderbird. The band would be playing soon, but he stopped before he reached the door. His interest lay elsewhere.

  Natalie. Something just seemed too different about her. Yet his memory was too foggy to fit together the puzzle pieces without some help, and for whatever crazy reason, he couldn’t let it go any longer.

  He headed toward his Road Runner.

  Chapter 5

  At Cherokee Sam’s, a log cabin diner specializing in breakfast foods, the cars and trucks in line for drive-thru service wound past the building. A testament to the best biscuits ever. Natalie had been thrilled to see that Cherokee Sam’s was still in business.

  The vehicles inched along, meaning it took a while to get to the drive-thru window. There were at least ten cars ahead of her. But the food was so worth it.

  While she sat in the Lexus, waiting her turn, she talked to Amber, whose voice came across the speakers in the automobile.

  “Backseat sex?” Amber cackled as Natalie told her about Brett and his Road Runner. “When was the last time you did something like that?”

  “Several years ago.” Natalie eased the car forward an inch at a time. “When I was in Kuwait, I met this really hot Ranger, and he had a Hummer.”

  “Natalie, you are a good girl gone bad.”

  “I guess you could say that.” Sometimes, she felt gone. Not gone bad or gone good. Just gone. “Anyway, my common sense prevailed last night. But there were moments when I thought I might like to go there, you know, because he looked fine.”

  The moment she had spotted him at the bar, awareness had simmered in her body. She had managed to keep the lid on it, but there were a few times when it threatened to boil over, especially when he took her hand as they were leaving the Thunderbird. She had felt the urge to cozy up to him, take things one step further, but she’d sworn off bad ideas.

  “You and Brett Harris,” Amber remarked. “Nobody would believe it. That would be the craziest thing ever!”

  “True. It’d probably be the greatest regret of my life. Like the morning after, I’d want to shoot myself or something.”

  “Or you might decide to go back for seconds,” Amber joked. “Who’s to say he’s not going to fall crazy in love with you?”

  “Amber, that’s not on his agenda. He wants that position at the hospital. It means everything to him,” she repeated his words in the conference room. “I’m like a chess piece in a game he plans to win. He’s trying to figure out how to play me. That’s all.”

  A chime sounded in the background, and Amber said, “That must be Mrs. Lexington for her appointment. Cut and curl. The story of my life.”

  “I’ll call you later,” Natalie promised. As their conversation ended, she eased her foot off the automobile brake and moved forward a couple of feet. She might get to the drive-thru window by lunch.

  She glanced at Cherokee Sam’s. Three men came out of the diner. They wore orange hunting vests and camouflage caps, and they walked alongside each other, talking and laughing. Buddies. She was reminded of the camaraderie among the patrons at the Thunderbird last night and how unsettled she had felt in their midst.

  She had recognized several people last night. People who had been part of her life so many years ago. She had wondered about the “what ifs.”

  What if she had never left Lafayette Falls? What would her life be like now? Would she be like Brett and all the other people who were there? Enjoying themselves on a Friday night in a place they loved. Following the simple, everyday patterns of their lives. She had sat in the booth with Brett last night and she imagined having her old face back and that Brett had bought her a ring. They often had dinner at the Thunderbird and a few drinks. Some dancing. They would have been the same as most of the other couples in the Thunderbird. Hoping to make their relationship work or a marriage last. And she would have been okay with that because that was the life she knew. It was the life everyone in the Thunderbird knew.

  But the reality was that she had known something entirely different.

  A car horn blew, and Natalie gave a jump. The man behind her was annoyed because her vehicle was sitting still and the ones ahead of her had moved on. “Okay,” she muttered as she caught up with the next car in line.

  Her phone, which was synced with the car, lit up. Brett’s name flashed across the screen on the control panel. She glanced at the time. It was seven-thirty. Had he just rolled out of bed and called her?

  She started to take the call, but she hesitated. A cautionary feeling raced through her. She had to be careful when it came to him. Physically, she found him attractive. She always had. It was one of those unexplainable things. She loved his eyes—the blend of gold and green beneath dark lashes—and sometimes, when he looked at her, it was like a direct hit of testosterone.

  He had that kind of rough-around-the-edges look to his fa
ce. Like he’d been through a few storms in his life.

  She’d love to do a portrait of him. Use low lighting. Have shadows darken his face except for his eyes. She pictured him with his shoulder braced against the opening of a barn. Outside, a storm cloud passed over, and his hair would be damp from the rain blowing in. Or, better yet, an indoor shot of him without clothes, sprawled amid white cotton sheets. She’d love to have a picture of that.

  The cars inched forward. Cherokee Sam’s needed to expand.

  She sighed as she thought about last night. She had been joking about the backseat, but that was not to say she hadn’t yearned for the feel of cool leather and Brett’s warm body. The temptation to go with him had been strong.

  Especially since she preferred one-night stands, where emotions didn’t matter and the only thing messy was the sex.

  But Brett was a guy from home. The boy who had worked beside her in lab class. She did have history with him, and she knew she couldn’t vanish come morning.

  And that’s what she always did.

  She had traversed some of the darkest places on Earth, and occasionally she had turned to a quick sexual encounter as a brief respite from desperation and fear. Come morning, she was gone. Heading to the next airport, the next base, the next convoy to hell. Leaving behind a guy who meant nothing to her.

  She had only made love to one man in her entire life. She touched the screen of her phone and looked at a photograph she had taken twelve years ago.

  Aidan Spencer had tousled black hair that brushed his shoulders, gorgeous dark brown eyes, and a smile that had melted her heart the first time she saw it. A college student with a passion for old books and history, he had been the kindest and most loving soul. He was the best thing that ever happened to her. She traced her finger over the screen, her heart full of affection for the man who had been the wind beneath her wings.

  I know what love is.

  The phone chirped. Brett had left a voice mail. The car in front of her moved, and she finally approached the drive-thru window. She placed an order for Cherokee Sam’s famous bacon, egg, and cheese biscuit, along with coffee.

  As she was pulling away from the drive-thru window, her phone started playing “I Can’t Get No Satisfaction.” The call was from Ian McKinley of McKinley Media in London.

  Ian, who had come of age in the sixties, was a devout fan of the Rolling Stones. He considered them the best rock band ever. Photographs from the concerts he’d attended, autographed pictures of the band, copies of interviews he had conducted, and original album covers hung on the walls in his London office.

  She had a perfect mental picture of the room and redheaded Ian with a cigarette dangling from his lips. “Hiya,” Ian said. “Just thought I’d give you a ring. How’s home?”

  “The same and different,” she answered as she pulled her car into a parking space in front of Cherokee Sam’s. She told Ian she had gotten settled in the Castle House and had been to see most of her relatives. “After all these years, I’d forgotten how crazy my family is.”

  “You sound good. Cheery.” Ian paused to take a drag off a cigarette.

  “Yeah. I’m good. I’m enjoying my visit,” she said. “So what’s going on?”

  “I wanted to let you know that I’m sending a team out on assignment in January.”

  “Where to?”

  “The Turkish-Syrian border. I know it’s a bloody hot zone, and the only reason I’m telling you about it is because I don’t want you to think I’ve lost faith in you. I haven’t, but I understand if you don’t want to come back.”

  “Thanks,” she said softly, realizing that before the bombing in Kabul, she would have jumped on the opportunity without any hesitation. “I’m just not sure.”

  Ian’s voice softened, too. “I know, lass. And you’ve got nothing to regret. Not ever.”

  “I didn’t win the Pulitzer.” If she had ever had a career goal, that was it.

  “You got close enough. The bloody Pulitzer isn’t worth your life.”

  “You have a point there.” She took a sip of her coffee. “I bought a camera yesterday so I can take some pictures while I’m here. The autumn colors are great.”

  “Nothing wrong with freelance work, and there’s markets for it. I’ll check around for you.” Ian took a draw off his cigarette, and she heard someone say something in the background. “It’s always some twit,” he muttered. “I’ve gotta go have my nineteenth nervous breakdown. It was good to hear your voice. Don’t be a stranger.”

  “I won’t. Cheers,” Natalie said as she unwrapped her breakfast sandwich. Worth the wait, she thought after she had taken a bite. She listened to the voice mail Brett had left.

  “Hey, I’m at the hospital, doing some work. But I’ll be done shortly. If you want to meet someplace for breakfast, let me know.”

  She finished her coffee. She considered ignoring his message. They weren’t seeing each other but from the sound of his message, you might think they were a couple. That was probably his angle.

  She imagined the wheels in his brilliant mind spinning, coming up with a slick route for success with her grandmother. Win over the granddaughter first.

  She had no doubt that Brett was accustomed to winning women over with a minimum amount of effort. When they were in school, he had easily latched onto girls, but he never stuck with any of them for long. It was strange to think about how he used to break hearts all the time, and now he was a heart doctor. What a paradox.

  I’m not going into this blind, stupid, or enamored, she thought as she sent him a text message. Thanks, but I’ve already had breakfast. I’m on my way to the waterfall to take some photographs.

  Within a minute, he responded. I’ll see you there.

  Her eyes widened. You’re coming to the waterfall?

  Yeah.

  Talk about persistent. He had probably never given up on anything he wanted. Well, he’d have his work cut out for him when it came to Nana.

  She dumped her trash in the bin outside of Cherokee Sam’s and told him she was about to get on the road. Feeling naughty, she asked: Are you driving the Road Runner today? She added a devil emoji just for fun.

  No, I’m not driving the Road Runner, but I could.

  Some other time, was her reply along with three smiley faces.

  * * *

  Brett stuck his phone inside his leather jacket. He completed a consult note on a patient he had just seen in ICU. Then he clicked the mouse a couple of times and checked his hospital schedule for the next couple of weeks. His cath lab procedure days, Monday and Wednesday, were already filling up.

  He was scheduled to be on call for cardiology on Thanksgiving. He always took call on Thanksgiving and Christmas so the other cardiologists could enjoy the holidays with their families. Since he had no family and no interest in family-oriented holidays, he didn’t mind working on Thanksgiving and Christmas.

  He did celebrate the New Year’s holiday. That was his kind of holiday. He always took a couple of weeks’ vacation and headed to Bermuda for fun in the sun. This coming year, though, he was going to Kauai because Marla, who was the closest thing he had to a sister, and her husband, Carson, had offered him the use of their penthouse on the island. Talk about heaven.

  At the nurses’ station, he reminded the nursing supervisor to call him when the test results came back on the patient he had seen in the consult. Finished for the day, he took the stairs down to the ground floor and headed for the physicians’ parking lot, where he got behind the wheel of his Camaro, which had placed first at a car show last month.

  Cathy was a 1968 Camaro SS, painted a shiny garnet red with a black nose stripe and chrome trim. She was like a first-rate stripper with a great body and a lot of class.

  Her black interior had been completely restored and she had that heavenly new car scent that every man loved. She had three hundred and fifty horses under the hood, a stick shift, and cams that produced a guttural sound when she was running. She was a bad boy’s pla
ything.

  He considered driving Cathy home and taking Rhonda to the waterfall, but he didn’t want to be too obvious. As he drove down Commerce Parkway, his thoughts shifted to Natalie and the discovery he had made last night when he had left the Thunderbird and headed home.

  He lived in a two-story house on a multi-acre lot in Lyndhurst Estates. The house was actually larger than he needed, but it was only five miles south of the hospital, and he had wanted a house with enough land to build a garage that could accommodate his collection of cars.

  When he had gotten home last night, he headed upstairs. The master bedroom and bath were downstairs, so he rarely had cause to go upstairs, where the rooms were unfurnished. He did have the housekeeping service vacuum and dust the upstairs when they came. Otherwise, the rooms remained untouched.

  He went into the first bedroom on the left. A bookshelf held textbooks and medical journals that he had used in school. He probably needed to get rid of those. He turned to the plastic storage boxes stacked against the wall. They had all come from Uncle Mark’s old house.

  One of the plastic storage boxes was marked SCHOOL. Brett pulled that container into the middle of the room. Sitting on the wooden floor, he dug in the box and found his and Natalie’s senior yearbook.

  He flipped open the cover. In the front of the book was a picture of the annual staff that had put the yearbook together. Natalie stood with the group, a camera in her hands. She was the yearbook staff photographer, responsible for a lot of the candid shots in the annual. He had forgotten that Natalie had taken pictures for the yearbook as well as for the school newspaper. She was always at school events or programs with the kind of camera that professionals used.

  He spread the yearbook open in the center, where the photographs of the superlatives were located. His picture was there. He had been chosen Most Likely to Succeed. He turned past the boy and girl selected as the Best All Around, and on the next page were the class favorites. He looked at a headshot of Natalie.

  “What the hell,” he murmured as he sat on the floor looking at a teenage girl with pixie-styled platinum-blond hair, huge blue eyes, a blunt, triangular nose, and nondescript cheeks. The physician in him knew immediately that she’d had a nose job.