by Grace, Carol
“Can I come in?” he asked.
“I’m pretty tired,” she said with an elaborate yawn.
“Just for a few minutes.”
Suzy gave up and got out of the car. Brady was right behind her. When he wanted something he usually got it. That’s why he was so upset that she’d left him. He hadn’t really believed she’d do it, and now that she had he didn’t know what to do.
Suzy opened her front door. Her mother got up off the couch, switched off the TV and said hello to Brady as if it was the most natural thing in the world for him to be coming home with her.
“I haven’t had a chance to congratulate you since the election,” her mother said with a warm smile.
“Thank you, Mrs. Fenton. I owe it all to Suzy. I couldn’t have done it without her.” Brady smiled back at her mother.
“How was Travis?” Suzy asked, anxious to change the subject and put an end to this conversation. An end to the conversation and an end to the evening. She was exhausted from the cumulative effects of standing on her feet every day all day for a week. All she wanted was to stretch out in a bathtub full of fragrant bath gel for a half an hour with her poor tired feet propped up on the edge of the porcelain.
“Travis was just fine. He’s an angel. Don’t you think so, Brady?”
Suzy’s mouth dropped open. Before she could protest that Brady hardly knew Travis, Brady nodded emphatically.
“Absolutely,” he said.
She wanted to say that the scattered toys, the half-eaten applesauce on the kitchen floor and most of all the exhausted baby and baby-sitter on the couch when she got home that night he’d baby-sat for her were not exactly indicative of angelic behavior.
“Well, I’ll be off,” her mother said, slipping into her sweater. “I made a batch of cookies, Suzy. Maybe Brady—”
“Brady just had a piece of apple pie at the diner, so I don’t think—”
“I’d never turn down a homemade cookie, Mrs. Fenton,” he said, holding the front door open for her mother. “Watch your step.”
As soon as her mother waved from inside her car, Brady closed Suzy’s front door and leaned against it as if he wasn’t planning on leaving anytime soon. She had the distinct feeling it would be easier to move a granite statue out the front door than Brady.
“Why don’t you have a cookie?” she suggested, removing her shoes. “While I check on Travis.”
“I’ll come with you.”
Suzy took her shoes off and tiptoed down the hall. Brady followed right behind her to Travis’s red, white and blue bedroom. In the glow of the nightlight, Travis’s cheeks were round and pink, his blond hair ruffled against his blue blanket. He was sleeping peacefully.
“Your mother was right,” Brady whispered.
Suzy smiled. Travis was an angel. He was her angel.
Brady reached for her hand. They stood together at the edge of the crib, watching him sleep. She felt an incredible sense of peace and well-being. Forgotten were the mixed-up orders, the spilled water, her aching feet. The warmth of Brady’s hand in hers made it seem as if she wasn’t the only one caring for her child. As if she had someone to share the good times and the bad...as if...
She swallowed over a lump in her throat and pulled her hand away. No, Brady was not his father. Brady was not father material. She must find Travis a father. She would find him one. If she had to work sixteen-hour days at the diner. If she had to wear out a dozen arch supports and a hundred pair of support hose. It would be worth it.
She squared her shoulders, turned and went back down the hall to the kitchen. She’d give Brady a cookie and he’d leave. He had to. If that was what he really wanted.
She pointed to the plate of cookies on the counter and then she leaned against the butcher block in the middle of the room and took a deep breath. “I’m trying very hard to start a new life, Brady. You’re not making it any easier for me.”
“How’s that?” he asked, his dark eyebrows drawn together in a quizzical frown.
“You come into the diner and you stare at me. I’m nervous enough about getting the orders straight. And then I see you looking at me as if you’re waiting to see if I’ll mess up.”
“I’m looking at you?” he asked “Who was it noticed I had the apple pie?”
“I can’t help it, it’s my job,” she said.
“It’s your job to keep tabs on my eating habits?” he asked. “What do you do, feed it into a computer along with my social security number?”
“It’s my job to keep the pie case stocked. I don’t care if you eat ten pieces of apple pie, as long as we don’t run out.”
“So you don’t care what I eat,” he said.
“That’s right,” she said.
“You don’t care anything about me.”
“No,” she said firmly, but she couldn’t tell a lie and meet his gaze. She looked at the messages stuck on the refrigerator. She stared at the clock on the wall and watched the seconds tick by. The room was still and very warm. The smell of cinnamon hung in the air. Even without looking at Brady, she was only too aware of his potent male presence, totally out of place as it was in her feminine, yellow and white kitchen. His broad shoulders in a dark blue corduroy shirt, muscular thighs in jeans, exuded strength and determination.
She ought to run her bath. She ought to go to bed. She ought to hand him a cookie and push him out the door. But she didn’t. She didn’t have the strength to do any of these things. She was weak, despicably weak. Because, damn it, even if she had the strength, she wouldn’t push him out the door.
She wouldn’t admit it, but she’d missed him. Missed sharing the day with him, the small-town gossip. Missed working on projects with him. Taking his calls. Listening to his voice booming from the next room. Missed the teasing and the laughter. Sometimes at night, after working all day on her feet, she missed him most of all.
“I think you’re lying,” he said with a smug smile. “I think you do care.” He took two steps and he was towering over her, all six feet three inches of male arrogance.
Her eyes widened. The nerve of him. She reached up to push him away, both palms pressed against his chest, but he misinterpreted the gesture and he closed the gap between them.
In a flash she was in his arms, clutching handfuls of corduroy, trying to catch her breath while he kissed her, while his mouth covered hers and his tongue met hers. Oh, mercy, she was lost, caught in a whirlwind of wild passion. She kissed him. Not once, not twice, but over and over. She couldn’t stop. Her self-control was gone. She opened her mouth to him and let him explore the deep, dark recesses of her soul. He tasted like dark, black coffee and deep, dark danger. He was the most exciting man she’d ever met. And the most dangerous. Dangerous to her mental health and well-being. Dangerous to her future plans.
She knew this, but at that moment she didn’t care. She wanted him with a fierce longing, and she knew he wanted her, too. His strong arms held her tight, as if he’d never let her go. She knotted her hands around his neck, holding on for dear life. As if she was afraid he’d leave. Though only minutes ago she’d wanted nothing more. To get him out of her kitchen and out of her life. But the fires that had been banked inside her erupted in a firestorm, robbing her of her reason and good sense.
He stepped backward and leaned against the refrigerator. She went with him. Unwilling to let go. He loosened his grip, let his hands drift lazily down to her hips and gazed at her, his eyes hooded and filled with desire.
“Oh, Suzy,” he groaned. “I want you so much. What you do to me ought to be against the law.”
“Maybe it is,” she murmured, pressing her cheek against his chest to hear his heart thudding. “Maybe we ought to look it up in one of those old books.”
“Maybe we ought to make love and get it out of our system,” he said in a hoarse voice. His hands cupped her bottom, and she could feel the strength of his desire through her jeans. “And the hell with the law.”
“Is that the sheriff talking?” she
gasped in mock horror. Anything to change the subject, to gloss over the suggestion that they go to bed together. A suggestion that had the heat building inside her, starting in her very core and spreading like a wildfire outward until she thought she might go up in flames.
A vision of Brady in her four-poster bed, under her patchwork quilt making love to her caused her heart to race into overdrive.
“Damn right,” he said. “What about it?”
“I...” For a moment she hesitated, tempted to grab his hand and pull him down the hall to her bedroom, shedding her sweater, jeans, bikinis and lace bra as she went. Then when she was totally naked, leaving a trail of clothes in the hall, she’d take him into her room and she’d help him take his clothes off, admiring every inch of his big beautiful body as she went. She shivered with anticipation.
But a ray of sense crept into her overstimulated brain. She did not want another one-night stand. The last time was a disaster. Except for the fact that it had produced Travis, it was the dumbest thing she’d ever done. To get carried away by a handsome face and a long line of flattery and promises. She wouldn’t make that mistake again. Not that Brady was flattering her or promising her anything. Only a night of passion, that was all. But in the morning, what?
She knew the answer to that one from past experience. In the morning, nothing. He’d be gone, satisfied, and that would be the end of it.
“No,” she said abruptly, backing out of his arms.
“No? Why not?” He sounded genuinely puzzled. “I want you, and you want me, too.”
“That’s the problem. ”I want you, but I don’t want another one-night stand.”
“It doesn’t have to be—”
“One night? I suppose it could be two or three. And then what happens? You have no intention of having a permanent relationship with anyone, and I have no intention of having anything else.” She ran her hand through her tangled hair and with trembling legs, sat down at the kitchen table.
“I understand that,” he said straddling the chair across from her. “You’ve made it clear to me over and over. But what does that have to do with you and me? You’ve been at the diner all week. By your own admission, you haven’t found Mr. Right. So in the meantime...?”
“In the meantime I have an affair with you? Is that what you’re suggesting?”
“Why not?” he asked, his lips curving in a devilish grin.
“It’s a terrible idea,” she said, stiffening her spine. “Because I’ve been that way before. I know what happens. I’m not strong. I can’t resist temptation. Before you know it, I wouldn’t be paying attention to the men in the diner. I wouldn’t be looking for the man of my dreams.” As if she was now.
As if she wasn’t only too aware of every move Brady made, where he sat, who he talked to. She rushed on before she lost her train of thought. Before she got distracted by the look in Brady’s eyes, the look that said he was worth the distraction, worth the trouble, worth the agony of watching him walk away when he was through with her.
“I’d forget about my goals,” she continued. “And I can’t afford to do that. I have Travis to think about.”
“Travis likes me,” Brady said.
“Even worse. I don’t want him to like you. I don’t want him to get attached to somebody who’s not going to be around tomorrow.”
“I’ll be around tomorrow,” he said.
“You know what I mean.”
“By tomorrow you mean forever,” he said.
“Yes. Is that too much to ask? My friends have found husbands. Why can’t I?” She didn’t mean to sound plaintive or pitiful, but the warm sympathy in his eyes told her that was just how she’d sounded.
She got to her feet before he could answer. And just stood there looking at him, waiting for him to leave.
But he didn’t leave. He reached for her, put one arm around her waist, the other on her shoulder. She stiffened, determined not to let him get under her skin again. But he did. With a gentleness that rocked her to the soles of her stockinged feet, he traced the outline of her jaw, and ran his thumb under her chin.
“I understand what you’re saying, Suzy. I just hope you find what you’re looking for.” He brushed his lips across hers in another tantalizing, breathless, mind-boggling kiss.
“I will,” she whispered with more confidence than she felt. Then she put her hands on his shoulders and with every ounce of strength she could muster, she held him at arm’s length. How could she find what she was looking for with Brady’s kiss lingering on her lips? And still he didn’t leave.
“Good night, Brady,” she said.
He nodded, his lips pressed together, and without another word, he finally walked out of her kitchen.
She stood there listening to his footsteps as he walked through the living room and out the front door. She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Until she knew he’d gone. Then she exhaled the breath she didn’t even know she was holding, took her bath and went to bed. And dreamed of Brady.
She began work at the diner again on Monday, filled with a renewed sense of determination She would not let Brady near her. Physically or emotionally. She would put him out of her mind. Once and for all. She would look long and hard at any available man who came in. She did so all week long.
This plan was made possible because she’d finally gotten the order taking down and had made peace with the cook. She was even able to relax between customers and chat with Dottie, the oldest waitress, a permanent fixture there. A woman who’d seen and done just about everything, according to her.
“So, I’ve been meaning to ask you, what’s a nice girl like you doin’ working here?” Dottie asked her on Friday as she rolled silverware up inside of paper napkins.
“I thought it would make a nice change,” Suzy said, pouring herself a cup of coffee before the lunch crowd came in.
“Used to work for the sheriff, didn’t you?” Dottie asked.
“Yes, yes, I did.”
“Handsome devil,” Dottie noted. “If I was fifty years younger, don’t know that I wouldn’t make a play for him myself. Or is he married?”
Suzy sipped her coffee slowly. Why, oh, why did every conversation—whether it was Tally or her mother or Dottie—have to center on Brady? “No, he isn’t. He was, once. I guess once was enough for him.”
“Not me. I been married three times and still lookin’ for Mr. Right.”
Suzy set her cup down. “Did you meet any of your husbands here in the diner?”
“All of them.”
“Really?” Suzy wished she’d never asked. This was not what she wanted to hear, that Dottie had found three husbands right here in the diner and none of them had worked out. “What went wrong?”
Dottie laughed. “Everything. But I learned a lot. I can tell now just by looking, who’s a good man and who isn’t.”
“Maybe you can teach me,” Suzy said.
“Sure thing,” Dottie said, giving Suzy a pat on the shoulder. “Here’s one heading our way now. You waited on him last week, I believe. Easy on the eyes, too.” She winked encouragingly and went to the kitchen to change her apron.
The man hung his hat at the door and moseyed over to the counter where Suzy was now filling the salt and pepper shakers. Suzy remembered him. Remembered that he was tall and lean with a Gary Cooper kind of face. When he ordered the lunch special, she remembered he had a Gary Cooper kind of voice, also. She wrote fried chicken, mashed potatoes and carrots in a cream sauce on her order pad, while sneaking glances at the handsome cowboy. She’d forgotten to notice last week, but he wore no ring on his left hand. Of course that didn’t always mean anything, but still...
“Thank you, ma’am,” he said when Suzy filled his water glass. “I wonder, can you tell me where’s the best place to buy silver jewelry around here?”
“They’ve got some at the general store,” she said. “Belt buckles, rings and what not. You’re kind of new in town, aren’t you?”
“Yep. Just recently star
ted working at the Stewarts’ place. First whole day off I’ve had. Last week I came in to pick up some fencing and stopped here for lunch. Guess you don’t remember me.”
“Oh, yes, I do.”
“That’s mighty kind of you,” he said. “Well, today I’m on my own. But I don’t know where anything is. Got a whole list of stuff to get. Birthday present for my mother. Toys for the kids.”
“Toys for the kids?” Oh, no, he was married.
“Nieces and nephews. I promised when I got a job I’d send ’em each something.”
“The best place for toys would be the general store,” she said with relief. “Actually it’s the only place. And the selection isn’t that great. I generally go to Reno or order through the catalogs.”
“You have kids?” he said and his mouth turned down at the corners. “Then you’re married.”
“No, I’m not. But I have a one-year-old son.”
“That so?” he said, looking up at her with undisguised interest. He held out his hand. “Kyle Henderson.”
“Suzy Fenton,” she replied, pleased at how firm his grip was.
“Pleased to meet you.”
In the absence of anything better to do, Suzy rearranged the mustard and ketchup bottles.
“You wouldn’t be available to help me with my shopping, would you?” he asked with a shy smile.
“Well, I...”
“When do you get off work?”
“At five, but I wouldn’t be much help in the jewelry department. I don’t know anything about it.”
“Bet you know what you like,” he said.
Yes, she did know what she liked. She liked men who were polite, friendly and family oriented.
She asked what kind of dressing he wanted on his salad.
He scratched his head at the number of choices, and Suzy almost expected him to say, “Aw, shucks.” But he just ordered the ranch dressing. He was almost too good to be true. Besides polite and kind to his mother, he was also easy on the eyes, as Dottie had noted. Was this the man she’d been waiting for? Was he the reason she’d taken this grueling job?