Bittersweet Creek

by Sally Kilpatrick

  “Dammit, Romy! I am not going to turn out like Curtis. I am not going to ruin your life.” His fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white and his chest and arms flexed.

  “What about your life? What if you ruin both of our lives by not letting me love you?” There was that heady pull between the two of us again. It robbed me of my next breath and left me dizzy. “What if I love you?”

  “Don’t.” He almost choked on the word.

  “Too late . . . husband.” I advanced on him, and he quite predictably retreated again. A flash of lightning slashed through the house. Thunder rumbled directly overhead, signaling a new storm moving in. Still, I walked down the tiny hall between kitchen and bedroom. Still, Julian backed away from me. His back met the linen closet. The lights flickered and went out with a sizzle. I stopped short, shivering again in my damp clothes. He looked to his right for an escape route. I followed his eyes to the bedroom and straight to his unmade bed.

  “Tell me you don’t love me, and I’ll leave. Right now.”

  “I don’t love you,” he said, his eyes on the floor.

  I stood on tiptoe to kiss him, breaking away just as he gave in to me. “Tell me you don’t love me, and I’ll go. I swear it.”

  His breath hitched; his eyes closed. “I don’t love you.”

  I reached up to kiss him again, but this time he met me halfway, bending down to kiss me. One hand knotted in my hair at the nape of my neck, and the other splayed across the small of my back as he pulled me to him. I felt at least one reason he might not want me to leave. “If you can look me in the eye and tell me you don’t love me, then I’ll go. Really, this time.”

  He dragged his eyes to mine, but all he could get out was an “I—I—”

  “You are one piss-poor liar,” I said before wrapping my arms around him and kissing his stuttering lips.

  Julian

  There were a million reasons I shouldn’t give in to Romy, but I couldn’t think of a damned one. Instead I dragged her body even closer to mine, giving up any hope of being able to tell her I didn’t love her and mean it. Damned Satterfields were a pushy bunch, and the pushiest one of them all had her hand on my crotch.

  Which reminded me of the upside of pushy Satterfields.

  Once my spirit found its way back to my body, I kissed her in earnest. I could tell myself this was a one-time deal, couldn’t I? After all, we weren’t breaking any laws, nor any vows we’d made to each other or God. We might have to revisit those vows later, but for this moment, I wanted to pretend.

  The most selfish part of me wanted her like I’d never needed her before. My fingers fumbled with her bra clasp, while she had lost the ability to unbutton my pants. We were more awkward than we had been as teenagers, but I tried to slow it down, to savor the moment.

  “It’s been ten years,” she growled before pushing me back on the bed. Our mouths met again, teeth bumping at one point. I rolled her underneath, wanting to look down into those green eyes, searching them for any excuse to stop even though I knew I wouldn’t.

  “Julian,” she said, her voice a plea as her fingernails dug into my arms. “For the love of God, get inside me.”

  So I did.

  And it felt like home.

  Afterward, we lay side by side, no longer needing a blanket nor feeling the chill of our wet flesh. Rain softly pinged against the old tin roof, and I should’ve felt sleepy. But I didn’t. “There goes any chance you had for an annulment,” I said, trying unsuccessfully to hold off on a grin.

  She cupped my face, her thumbs rubbing against the stubble on my jawline. “Good thing I’m not interested in getting one.”

  “Romy—”

  She moved that finger to my lips. “Not now, Julian.”

  She pulled me close, squeezing her chest against mine so she could trace each welt on my back with her fingers. I stiffened at her touch, at the memory of what I’d been hiding for so long. “Touching those scars won’t make them go away, you know.”

  She kissed the tip of my nose and said, “I know.” But she kept touching me anyway, and I finally started to heal.

  Romy

  “Julian?”

  Debbie McElroy’s voice brought me out of a deep, blissful sleep and straight into a panic. Julian, on the other hand, didn’t seem to hear her at all. I had to shake him to get him to wake up.

  “Your mother is in the house,” I hissed as I tried to get under the covers.

  He answered with a grunt, then rolled off the bed and looked for some boxers and a T-shirt. “Just a minute.”

  A similar scene from Romeo and Juliet came to mind, and I giggled. Anon, nurse. Or in this case, extra-mean-and-nosy heifer.

  “There you are! I’ve been worried sick about you,” she said from the hallway. “When you didn’t show up for supper—”

  And that gasp had to mean she saw my bra on the floor.

  “Julian Eugene McElroy!”

  “My house, Mama. You should knock before you barge in.” He sounded so calm, and I could tell from the sound of his voice that he was backing her down the hall.

  “It’s her, isn’t it? That Satterfield harlot who tricked you into marrying her. You know she’s just going to leave you again.”

  My heart pounded against my chest. Who uses the word harlot anymore?

  “That’s enough. You need to go. Now.”

  “No. I want to talk to her.”

  Didn’t see that one coming, and I was guessing from the pause that Julian didn’t, either. I glanced around the room, but half my clothes were in the hallway.

  “I don’t think so. Now, hand me your key.” His voice was reinforced steel. He’d been waiting to speak to make sure he didn’t say anything he regretted. I didn’t envy him the situation because what could he say? Yep, it was a one-day stand, but we’re hoping to make something more out of it.

  “I’m not leaving until that hussy comes out here so I can speak to her.”

  I’ve progressed to hussy. Nice.

  “Yes, you are leaving. And you’re handing me that key.”

  “Why? So you can give it to—?”

  “My wife? I just might.”

  My wife. Just the sound of it made me dizzy.

  “You’re not saying a word about any of this to Curtis, either.” The front door slammed, and I heard Julian’s heavy, solid footfalls down the hall. He leaned in the doorway, drinking in every detail of having me in his bed as if he never wanted to forget a single thing. I reached my arm out to him, and he looked away.

  “Oh, no. Don’t you start that business.”

  “Romy, we’ve always been good together like this, but that doesn’t mean we should stay together.”

  But you called me your wife!

  “This is about him, isn’t it?”

  He was quiet for too long, long enough for a lump to form in my throat. Finally, he said, “Naw, I’ve pretty much made my peace with that.”

  “Then what is your issue?”

  “What’s good for me probably ain’t that good for you.”

  I sat up, letting the sheet drop on purpose. “Why don’t you let me decide what’s good for me?”

  He walked to the bed but stopped, as though still considering kicking me out on my ass. Then he slid in beside me. “God knows I should say no, but you have always been a persuasive woman.”

  I drew him closer, my hands wandering up his back. “That’s because you always seem to be in need of persuasion, Mr. McElroy.”

  “Well then, Mrs. McElroy—”

  “Oh, no. I’m keeping my last name. You McElroys aren’t going to win that easily.”

  “Fine. Ms. Satterfield, it’s a good thing I have you here to persuade me.” He kissed me hard, surprising me because I was expecting more banter instead. When I went to pull him on top, he rolled over on his back and shifted me up top instead.

  “But if we’re going to try this, really try this, you have to promise me one thing,” he said.

  “Anything.” My
voice cracked on the word, and I meant it with every bit of my heart even if I had no idea what I was promising in that moment.

  “You have to promise,” he said as he guided me down on top of him and filled me up completely, “to leave me if I ever hit you even once.”

  My yes came out on a gasp.

  He growled as I began to move, his hand reaching up to brush the hair out of my face. “I want to forget everything but you.”

  And I obliged him. Achingly slow and with every ounce of me held back over ten years, I made love to Julian while the world outside grew darker and the rain steadily pinged on the tin roof above us.

  Julian

  I half expected to wake up alone and find it had all been a dream, but no, Romy had burrowed into me, holding on for dear life. I watched her sleep—but not in that creepy, sparkly-ass vampire way. I grinned at the small smile she wore in her sleep. I hadn’t seen enough of that smile since she came back to town.

  And I was responsible for a lot of that unhappiness.

  But you did it for her own good.

  I wasn’t going to admit it, but I felt so much better for having told her the truth and knowing she would gleefully shoot me if I ever beat her. That didn’t solve the problem of what to do about Curtis or how she’d be better off with the Paris family and all of their fabulous wealth, but for this moment she was mine.

  The phone rang, and I thought about not answering it, but something told me my time was up. I trotted to the old rotary phone in the kitchen, the only one I had. Sure enough, I answered the phone to a very pissed-off Hank Satterfield.

  “Yes, she’s here.... Yes, she’s perfectly fine.... Yes, I’ll get her—”

  Romy appeared in the doorway, wearing nothing but one of my T-shirts and a smile. That smile quickly faded when she heard her father’s voice on the other end of the line.

  “Yes, Daddy,” she said as she turned three shades of red. “No, I’m sorry I didn’t call you. Something came up.”

  I laughed at that, and she swatted at my chest.

  “He did what?”

  That didn’t sound good.

  “I’ll be right there.”

  That sounded worse.

  She hung up the phone and turned to me. “I have to go. Richard’s up there.”

  I wanted to sink through the floor, down to the crawl space with the beagle and the snakes. This was it. She was going to change her mind and marry that sonuvabitch after all.

  She brushed past me, gathering her clothes and dancing into them in a way that was almost as sexy as watching her shimmy out of them. Hands off, Julian. She’s probably going back to him.

  When she was as put together as she could be, she turned to face me. “Oh, Julian.”

  “What?”

  “Enough with the stoic routine. I’m coming back to you.” But after those confident words, the doubt seeped in. “Well, that is, if you still want me.”

  “I’ve never wanted anyone else.” The truth of my own words knocked the wind out of me.

  She grinned. I wanted to see that lopsided smile a whole helluva lot more. I owed her that much at the very least.

  “Well, then. Happy birthday to me!”

  My eyes bugged out. It was her birthday. “Can I bring your present by in just a little while?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Julian, you don’t have to get me anything.”

  “I’ve had this present for a while.” A long, long while.

  “You, too?” she muttered. “Okay, but give me a minute to get rid of Richard and to smooth things over with Daddy.”

  Right.

  I stood up and she wrapped her arms around me and kissed me soundly. I wanted to take her right back to bed, but I let her go. For the moment.

  If she thought for one second I was going to hang back knowing her former fiancé was up the road, she was crazy.

  Romy

  As I did my trudge of shame up the driveway, I saw something even scarier than Richard: his mother.

  The full weight of what I’d done twisted my stomach in knots, and I hadn’t really had much to eat other than the omelet Julian made for me at two in the morning. Thinking of the omelet made me think of what came after.

  Rosemary Jane, you are one despicable person.

  Richard and his mother surveyed the little patch of land to the left of the house. At the moment, we were using that land as a vegetable garden, but I could guess Richard’s mother had other ideas from the way she gesticulated. She, of course, was impeccably dressed in white capris and an expensive peasant blouse with matching jewelry. I wondered if there was any hope I could sneak into the house and shower before facing the music. Then I accidentally kicked a rock with my steel-toe boots, and Richard turned around.

  To say he looked hurt and betrayed would be the understatement of the century.

  “Rosemary, darling.” His mother walked forward and air kissed just past each cheek as though it were the most natural thing in the world to have her son’s would-be fiancé walk up the driveway in the nasty, sweaty clothes she probably wore yesterday after a night of wild sex.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Paris.”

  “I was just telling your father that you really do have such a lovely farm. Richard had told me your father was a bit upset about the cathedral, and he needed me to help him drive your present, so I thought I’d take a look. This farmhouse is simply charming! Why, we could clear out this garden, lay down some sod, and have a very nice outdoor wedding right here, don’t you think?”

  Sod? Over the garden?

  Wait. Drive my present?

  I looked at the Leaning Locust Tree of Pisa and, sure enough, just beyond Richard’s Porsche was a car with a bow on top just like Christmas commercials. I looked at Richard, but he looked away.

  “Richard, you shouldn’t have,” I said.

  He muttered something under his breath that sounded an awful lot like, “I know.”

  “Oh, silly me, rambling on about weddings when it’s your birthday. Go on, Richard, show her!”

  Something about her smug tone suggested showing me the car would remind me of just how unworthy of her son she thought I was—not that she would ever say such a thing out loud. Richard, who hated proving his mother right, wouldn’t meet my eyes as he took me over to the car, a brand-new Mustang. A lump formed in my throat. “Richard, it’s lovely, but I can’t accept this.”

  “You need something other than that deathtrap truck,” he said with a nod to the pickup. “Your Honda was a disgrace, and I knew you preferred Fords. And that you liked horses.”

  Such an over-the-top gesture when I’d done so much to hurt him brought tears that stung my eyes. “I’m so sorry. You’re going to have to take it back.”

  He took the keys out of his pocket and pressed them into my hand. “You’re going to need a car, and we both know this was chump change for me. I would’ve given you a more expensive car if I’d thought you’d take it.”

  His words hung between us, the only other sound the birds and the bugs and the occasional car going down the road. “I know you would have, but you deserve someone far better than me.”

  He studied me closely. “So this is it?”

  I nodded because I couldn’t answer.

  “Rosemary, darling, do you think we could get the barn painted?” Mrs. Paris gestured to the barn across the street. “If it were red and white, that would be so . . . quaint, don’t you think?”

  “You didn’t tell her, did you?”

  Richard shrugged. “A man can hope, can’t he?”

  I swiped at the tears that streaked down my cheeks. I didn’t want to marry Richard. I knew that. I also didn’t want to hurt him, but it was too late for that. “Let me get your ring.”

  He nodded, and I raced inside.

  “Rosemary Jane—” Hank started.

  “Not now, Daddy,” I said as I raced upstairs to get the ring.

  I didn’t even look at him as I trotted back outside. I handed the ring box back to Richard a
nd he stuffed it into the pocket of his khaki pants. Then I tried to press the car keys into his hand, but he wouldn’t have it.

  “I meant it. You keep the car.”

  “Richard, this is ridiculous—”

  A whinny from the corner of the yard made us both look. There was Julian leading the scraggliest palomino I’d ever seen.

  And the hits keep coming.

  Julian

  It didn’t take an idiot to see what was going on at the Satterfield place.

  Richard had bought Romy a shiny red Mustang, complete with a damn bow on top. That made me stop in my tracks. I was bringing her Beatrice, who was old, blind, and swaybacked.

  Good call, Julian. He really did buy her a car. He gets her a brand-new Mustang, and you get her an ancient palomino.

  Richard stuffed a box in his pants pocket and made straight for me. That’s when I noticed the nicely dressed woman fanning herself under the oak. She had the same dark hair, so I could only assume she was his mother.

  Romy looked as though she might follow him, but she didn’t.

  He reared back to throw a punch as he reached me, but I easily caught his fist in my hand. “I know I deserve that, but you’re not punching me today.”

  “You deserve a lot worse,” he hissed, his pride stinging from how easily I’d kept him from hitting me. “You couldn’t leave her alone, could you?”

  “She’s a grown woman. For the record, I told her she’d be better off with you.” I nodded at the car to make my meaning clear: She’d be better off financially with you.

  At that point my eyes went to the jewelry-box-sized lump in his pocket. My soul got lighter.

  “I’m going to guess an annulment is a moot point now?” He stared through me.

  “You could say that.”

  He sighed and pinched the space on top of his nose. Just when I thought he was more upset about losing the girl than losing to me, he looked up with eyes blazing. “You know what? Do what you need to do. It won’t take her long to figure out she’s better off with me.”

  “You think she’s going back to you?”

  His hand arced dismissively to encompass the farm around him. “This? You? She has to get that out of her system, but she’s too intelligent and too educated to ever be happy here in the boondocks. And you? Please.”