Circle on Home (Lost in a Boom Town Book 5)

by MJ Fredrick

  “A big step down from corporate law in New York City.”

  A lot of people were going to be saying the same thing, and trying to figure out the reason behind her choice. She still didn't know, for certain, why. “It’s what I want.”

  “Then that’s what you should do. I’m just saying, to start out, maybe you should just work from the house.”

  “I thought about that, and there’s a room there I could use for my office, but I don't want to disrupt Riley or Jolie’s lives if I have clients in. They have such irregular hours, and it’s their home, too. I’m okay with renting a small office. And it will be my space.” She’d had an office in New York, small as it was, but it hadn't felt like hers. She wasn't sure where this need for her own space came from. It was a recent development.

  “The place you’re looking at in good shape? I know Sage was renovating those places, but I don't know how far she got before she started repopulating Evansville.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “She’s got two kids and is pregnant with number three.”

  “She hasn't even been married that long, has she?” Miranda knew she’d been pregnant when she was here last Christmas, but she hadn't seen her since then. Sage was a little younger than her, more Allison’s friend than hers.

  “Nope.”

  “Well, it could use some work, but it’s habitable. I think a coat of paint, some floor scrubbing, and it will serve the purpose.”

  “You ever painted an office?”

  She laughed. “What makes you think I was planning on doing it? I’m sure there are some high school boys around looking to make some money for Christmas.”

  “Probably more than just high school boys,” he said, his tone turning grim.

  “I’m sure this slow-down is just temporary, since there’s still plenty of oil.”

  “Just not worth drilling until the prices go up. But like you said, nature of the beast.”

  She was surprised to see a road sign proclaiming they were so close to Pearsall already. The time and the conversation in the truck had flown.

  “It’s funny, you know, in Texas things are so spread out, but it takes just as long sometimes to get to places that are close together in New York. We lived in Battery Park, but worked in Midtown, and traffic was always so bad, we’d have to leave an hour ahead to get somewhere.”

  He grunted. “Too many people.”

  “There was glamour in that, for a while. And there’s convenience—food delivery, stores that never close. It’s going to be a challenge to adjust, to start planning ahead for what I need. I kind of got out of the habit living up there. Even in Austin.”

  “So I guess I really can’t figure out why you came back to Evansville after living in those places. What’s the appeal of coming back here after experiencing all of that? It’s not that you’re so close to your mom or your sister. It’s not that you even loved the town.”

  She pushed her hair over her ear. “It might not make sense, but as much as I wanted to belong to the glitz and glamour up there, I always felt like I was faking it. I always figured someone was going to call me out on being a fraud, and it was stressing me out.”

  “A lot of them probably felt like frauds too,” he reasoned.

  “I’m sure they did, but maybe they felt more comfortable about it than I did.”

  “What did you think would happen if they called you out on it? That you wouldn't get to play with them anymore?”

  “Something like that. Belonging to that group was very important to Damian, and I didn't want to disappoint him.”

  “Did he know it was stressing you out?”

  “How could I tell him? I was afraid he’d say something like, well, yes, that’s true. You don't belong here.”

  “Sounds like a charmer,” he growled.

  “He was a charmer. That was part of the appeal. He could make me feel like I was the only woman in the world. The way he’d look at me sometimes, especially early-on. Not as much lately, which made it easier for me to make my decision. So I don't know. Maybe here isn't where I belong, either. But after being home this summer, well, the appeal was greater than it’s been in years.” She didn't want to say that seeing him had been the tipping point. Seriously, she didn't know what he was like now. He could be just like his father, for all she knew. He’d come into the Sagebrush the other night, but had left without getting drunk. He could have become just as angry and bitter as he claimed Ben was. So far she hadn't seen evidence of it, but she just didn't know what kind of damage his father’s drinking and his mother’s death had done to him. And yes, she’d considered all of this before she’d moved to Evansville. She still had a compelling need to come home. “And it wouldn't hurt for me to try to get along with Mom and Allison better. I don't think I could do it while living at home, though, strangely enough.”

  He turned onto the road leading into town, and she sat up, paying attention to the changes here. She hadn't been here in over a decade, but so much looked the same. He drove down to the electronics store that would in no way offer competition to the big box stores in San Marcos, but he seemed confident she’d find what she wanted. She stretched her legs beside the truck before joining him where he waited on the sidewalk, and following him into the glass-fronted store.

  “See, now you couldn't tell what a picture looks like online,” he said, leading her to a row of televisions, all tuned to the Aggie game. He sucked in a breath as the Aggie quarterback was sacked onscreen, and looked from one screen to another.

  “I need something smaller. My room’s not very big, and neither is the dresser I plan to put it on.”

  He guided her to another row, and she saw the prices were fairly competitive with what she’d seen online. And he was right, she could see the picture on one was significantly clearer than the one she’d thought to buy online.

  “All right. I’ll take this one.”

  He seemed taken aback by the abruptness of her decision. “Are you sure? You don't want to look some more?”

  “I came here for a television. This is the size I wanted, it has a good picture, and the price is reasonable. Isn't this why you brought me?”

  “Um. Sure.” Before he could say more, a salesman approached, a wide grin on his face. He must have overheard.

  She completed the transaction, and the salesman, Sam, loaded the boxed set into the back seat of the truck for them.

  “Anything else you want while we’re here?” Noah asked, opening the driver’s side door.

  She caught sight of the liquor store across the street and down a bit. Evansville didn't have a liquor store, though the grocery store had wine and beer, as did the convenience store. But if a girl wanted a margarita…

  “Do you mind stopping by the liquor store? New house needs new liquor cabinet.”

  He gave her a look she couldn't decipher, and opened the truck door for her. “Your wish is my command.”

  The liquor store was small, but she was used to that. No stores in New York were particularly large, but they carried a lot of stock. This one, not so much. When she’d lived with Damian, they’d kept gin, vermouth and Scotch in stock as well as rum and vodka. He hadn't been a particular fan of margaritas, so never any tequila. She picked up the biggest and most expensive bottle, added triple sec, rum, vodka and a couple of bottles of wine and ended up spending almost as much at the liquor store as she’d spent for her TV. Both Noah and the clerk had watched her with fascination.

  “I’ve never known a woman who made decisions like that,” the clerk said in a drawl as he bagged her purchases. “I guess you’re a woman who knows what you want.”

  “I guess I am,” she said, lifting one bag while Noah took the other. She squashed the familiar sensation of feeling like a fraud, because she had no idea what she wanted right now. She followed Noah to the truck to load the beverages on the floor of the seat.

  “I guess it looks bad, me buying all of that,” she said at last when he pulled back onto the main street.<
br />
  “I didn't say anything.”

  “I get the feeling you’re judging me.”

  “I don’t judge. It’s your house, your life. I get stocking up while you can. As long as you’re not planning on going through a bottle a day, or drinking and driving, I’ve got nothing to say about it. Don't have any say, anyway, but you know what I mean.”

  “I’m just starting over in a lot of ways. I mean, resupplying my life. I only brought my clothes with me, so I’m starting fresh, so to speak.”

  “Like I said, I’ve got nothing to say.”

  She opened her mouth to say something about having a glass of wine at night being good for you, but he reached across the cab and put his hand on her wrist.

  “Miranda. You don't have to defend yourself. Not to me, not to anyone. You’re a grown woman, you make your own decisions. Don't let anybody put you on the defensive.”

  She looked down at his hand on her arm, at his long fingers, wanted to feel his touch in more interesting places, remembering how he used to caress her, knowing that now, older, stronger, more callused. Yeah, that would be fun. Dangerous, but fun. Her libido was moving faster than her brain.

  Once back in Evansville, he drove to the town square first. Miranda was confused, then remembered she’d left her car there. She was glad he’d remembered, because as small as Evansville was, she didn't want to walk from the house to pick up her car.

  “I’ll follow you to the house and we can unload there,” he said when she opened the back door to get her alcohol purchases.

  She nodded. That made sense. “Well, you know where it is, but you can follow me.”

  “You don't have to carry it upstairs for me,” Miranda said as he pulled his truck in front of her house and unstrapped the TV from the back seat. Her house. She’d never thought those words before and meant that it was truly hers.

  “You’re going to carry it up yourself?” Noah returned.

  She knew she couldn’t. “You can just leave it in the living room.”

  “Until what? Stop being so skittish. I’ve got it.” He swung out of the truck and lifted the boxed set from the back seat with a grunt. “That is, if you can get the door.”

  She dragged her gaze away from the straining muscles in his arms and hurried up the sidewalk to open the door, hearing the steady fall of his footsteps behind her. He didn't sound like he was in a hurry, but she’d tried to pick up that box, and knew how heavy it was.

  He rested the box on the top step of the porch while she opened the door, and let him precede her inside.

  “Which room?” he asked as he started up the stairs.

  “First on the right.”

  He grunted, and she got the feeling he was grateful. She started up the stairs after him and struggled not to stare at his ass in his Levis. The cotton had stretched a bit, but she had no trouble picturing the flex of his buttocks as he climbed the steps.

  “Here?” he asked over his shoulder as he stopped at her bedroom doorway.

  “That’s the one.”

  Her pulse picked up as he turned into the room and set the box on the dresser. Ridiculous that she should be anxious about him entering her bedroom—which didn't even feel like her bedroom yet because she hadn't even slept there.

  He turned from the dresser and his gaze fell on the twin-sized bed in the middle of the room.

  “Is that your bed from home?”

  “It is.”

  He gave her a sideways glance as he folded his arms over his chest. “We did a lot of things in that bed.”

  They had, almost caught by her mom more than once, and heat crept into her cheeks as she remembered the first time he’d seen her naked, way he’d touched her, the way they’d lost their virginity together when her mother was at one of her committee meetings.

  “I’m not keeping it. I mean, I have another bed ordered. It should be here next week.” Did that sound like an invitation? Because she didn't mean for it to sound like an invitation.

  He lifted an eyebrow, then turned toward the door.

  “Thanks for taking me to get my television,” she said, following him down the stairs. “I didn't mean to take up your whole day.”

  “My pleasure.”

  And the way he looked at her, she got the feeling it really had been. He seemed…relaxed. He tipped an imaginary hat at her as he stepped out onto the porch.

  “I’ll see you around,” he said. “Let me know about the kittens.”

  Kittens. Right. She needed to talk to her roommates.

  When she came back into the house with her liquor store purchases, Riley was in the kitchen, organizing cookware.

  “Hey, I thought you said you didn't cook,” Miranda said, wondering how she could start to help. Three women, one kitchen, none of them would want it organized the same way.

  Then she realized Riley was crying. She didn't know the woman well, but she couldn't stand to see someone cry.

  “What is it? What happened?”

  Riley shook her head. “Jackson just left.”

  “He made you cry?” He’d seemed like such a nice guy, but right now, Miranda wanted to do violence.

  “I told him to leave. I can’t believe he showed up here, actually. I thought we’d ended things.” Riley dropped into a chair and looked up at Miranda.

  Miranda’s emotions were too up-in-the-air after her day with Noah, but she guessed they were doing this. She sat, too, wishing they had groceries so they at least had something to do with their hands.

  “You’d already broken up once?”

  Riley laughed roughly. “More than once. It’s…complicated. He moves here, he moves back. He’s divorced, but his ex still calls him when she needs help, and he goes, and at one point it really looked like they were going to get back together, but they they didn’t, and I decided I just don't want to live like that, you know, like a yoyo. And I tried to explain it to him, and he swears it’s over between him and his wife but I just can’t take that chance.”

  “How long have y’all been together?”

  “On and off, not even a year. He’s been divorced almost three. You’d think he’d be able to cut ties.”

  “Does he have kids?”

  “No, thank God. I don't think they would have divorced if they’d had kids.”

  Miranda thought that was a pretty sad statement. “Do you love him?”

  “I don't know. I think I do, but seeing him hurts so much. That can’t be love, right? I mean, that’s like self-abuse. I know I was right to send him away, but the idea that I won’t see him again just rips me up.”

  “I’m sure you’ll see him again.”

  “No, he doesn't live in town. He lives in San Marcos. He was just here to work on Sage’s place, and then he worked on mine. He specializes in old buildings, and during the boom, I guess there was a lot of potential here. Now the only reason he comes back is to torture me.”

  “I’m sure he doesn't do it to hurt you.”

  “No, he insists he cares for me, but neither one of us has mentioned love. I think he’s afraid to, and I’m just not sure enough.”

  Miranda was at a loss. She didn't know what to tell her. “Yet you’re crying because you’re going to miss him.”

  “I know.” Riley’s voice rose in a wail and she dropped her head to her arms.

  Miranda hesitated, then rubbed her hand between her roommate’s shoulder blades, not sure how the woman felt about contact. Riley stiffened, then dissolved into deeper sobs.

  “I hate to tell you,” Miranda said, “but I think you’re in love with him. This might call for margaritas. Do we have any ice?”

  Chapter Six

  Jolie walked into the kitchen to find her two roommates slouched on the table, water condensing around the bottoms of their plastic cups. Ice, they had. Margarita glasses, no. Jolie looked from them to the empty blender carafe sitting beside the sink.

  “You had a party without me?”

  “Love stinks,” Riley announced, pushing her
cup toward Jolie with the tips of her fingers. “Will you drink to that?”

  Jolie dropped into the chair across from Miranda with a sigh. “I don't actually remember enough about love to agree or disagree.” But she took a sip anyway, and made a face. “This is more water than margarita.”

  “I’d make up a fresh batch but we’re out of limeade,” Miranda said.

  “She makes them way stronger than the Sagebrush.” Riley struggled to sit up straight, as if her head was too heavy for her body.

  Jolie looked at the liquor lined up on top of the fridge. “Did a frat move in when I was at work?”

  “I was in Pearsall and thought I’d stock up since we don't have a liquor store.”

  “She was in Pearsall with Noah,” Riley said.

  “Noah?” Jolie asked.

  She was also new to town so she didn't know about Miranda and Noah.

  “Her high school sweetheart. Noah Braun. The vet. You know.”

  Jolie shook her head. “I don't think I’ve met him.”

  “You’d know him if you saw him. Tall, dark, curly hair. Yummy. Serious all the time.”

  Jolie shook her head again.

  “Has the sister with Down’s.”

  “Ah. Yes, I’ve met him. He’s…” She glanced at Miranda, who was watching her more sharply than the tequila should have allowed. “He’s very handsome, and yes, very serious. Are y’all getting back together? After all this time?”

  “When I saw him, this summer, I couldn't stop wondering what might have been. I mean, his life went to hell at about the time I was getting ready to go to college, and I took the easy way out, but I still wonder what would have happened if I’d stayed, or what might have happened if his mom hadn't died and his dad…” She let the words trail off. “If things had been normal.”

  “What’s normal?” Riley asked, rolling her head to one side. “Loving a guy who can’t walk away from his ex-wife?”

  Jolie took a swig of margarita from Riley’s cup. She didn't need to have any more anyway. “There is no normal. Right now, for us, the three of us here, this is normal. Okay?”