A Marriage-Minded Man

by Karen Templeton

  Taller. More solid. Curly, light brown hair still too long, the Henley T-shirt still too loose, the jeans still ragged. The person wearing them still too damn sure of himself for his own good. And—much as it pained her to admit it—for hers.

  Her hands stuffed in her jacket front pocket, Tess shrugged, reminding herself the sexually predatory divorcée was such a cliché. “No worries on that amputation thing. Um…what’s this?”

  “Dinner,” he said, flashing her the dimpled grin that had been her undoing so long ago. Ducking the not-half-bad wrought-iron chandelier over the table, he set down a plate of enchiladas, then another, like Enrique used to once upon a time, when they were first married and the future beckoned, unblemished and secure.

  The anger flared. “I thought I said—”

  “I know what you said,” Eli said mildly, although there was nothing mild about the way he was looking at her. Don’t do that! she wanted to yell, even as longing—hot and thick and syrupy—welled inside her to mix with the anger. Since, you know, he looked at pretty much every female in the county like that—

  “I’ve also been working my butt off all day,” he continued, still watching her, and her eyes latched onto his mouth, and another memory flashed, of what good a kisser he’d been, and she realized she was an inch away from pity party status, which only made her madder—

  “And you live clear on the other side of town. So I’m gonna eat before I take you home, if it’s all the same to you. And since my mama taught me it’s rude to eat in front of people without offering to share…” He gestured toward the plate on the far side of the table. “You may as well join me.”

  Staring at the table, Tess removed one hand from its cocoon to jerk her hair behind her ear—a habit left over from when she’d still had hair. For some reason, this set the anger loose all over again. Not a single, neatly defined emotion or reaction to any one particular thing, but a whole damn herd of pissed-off thoughts, stampeding through her brain and soul and body—

  “Tess?”

  Eli’d said her name so softly it took a moment to register. “It’s okay,” he said gently when she jerked her gaze to his, and her eyes burned, partly because it wasn’t true—at all—and partly because it felt so strange, somebody reassuring her, a job that had been hers for as long as she could remember. His hands resting lightly along the top of one of the high-backed wooden chairs, his gaze was warm and steady and completely unthreatening. Not at all what she’d thought she’d seen earlier.

  Yeah, like that was a step in the right direction.

  Only because she was starving, and because her options at home began and ended with frozen pizza, she sighed out a “Fine,” her leg only hurting a little as she crossed to the table, plopping into the chair he held out for her. She thought she might’ve caught a smile before Eli turned to the refrigerator, a white, no-nonsense old-timer that wobbled slightly when he opened the door. “What would you like to drink? I got tea, Coke, water—”

  “What happened to the booze offer?”

  He turned, eyes sparkling, dimples dimpling, and wasn’t she thrilled to notice they were both far more deadly now than they had been a dozen years ago? And they’d been pretty damn deadly then. “Somehow I’m thinking whiskey on an empty stomach isn’t the best idea.”

  And she was thinking she’d never get through the next twenty minutes without something to dull her senses. Especially those prone to reacting to cocky smiles from sexy old boyfriends with baaaaad reputations. “Beer, then? Unless you don’t have any.”

  “Oh, I’ve got some, but—”

  “Then hand her over.” At Eli’s dubious—and annoyingly protective—look, she sighed. “I can hold a single beer, Eli.” Never mind the nasty little voice whispering that, actually, no, she couldn’t, which was why she rarely drank. “Especially if I’m eating.”

  The voice sniggered.

  Oh, for crying out loud—so what if she got a little buzz on? She somehow doubted the world would implode. But dammit, she thought as she watched Eli pour out a can of Bud into a tall glass—which he rinsed out first—she’d been responsible for everyone and everything for so, so long, what was one little old beer in the scheme of things? And besides—

  “And besides—” Her hands fisted on the table, she looked him square in the eye. “This is weird, okay? Me being here with you, in your house. What with all the other weirdnesses going on in my life…”

  “Got it.” Eli handed her the beer, then sat with his own, and he was all big and solid and manly and such, and she remembered that baaaad reputation of his.

  “Don’t you think this is weird?” she asked, shivering a little.

  “Heck, yeah,” he said, lifting his glass to her. Spearing her with those eerie light brown eyes. Almost gold. Kinda the same color as his hair. The too-long hair half covering his ears, glossy in the chandelier’s light, all those hard-edged features at odds with those soft, soft curls—

  Tess tipped back her glass; three gulps later, it was half-gone—

  “Hey,” she said when Eli grabbed it from her. “Give that back.”

  “Not until you eat something,” he said, tucking into his own food while holding her glass just out of reach, the creep. Only after Tess downed several bites and her eyes were streaming from the chili did Eli take pity on her and return her drink. Her mouth on fire, she finished it off. The belch just kind of escaped.

  “Whoa,” Eli said. Grinning. Tess blinked, thinking she could practically see the pheromones rising from his warm skin. Like ghosts from a graveyard on Halloween.

  And you know this is only because every time you see Ricky you go a little crazy. Has nothing to do with Eli.

  “You know, these are almost as good as mine,” she said, jabbing her fork at the enchiladas. Which were beginning to get a little blurry.

  “No way,” Eli said, forking in a huge mouthful. “Nobody makes enchiladas better’n Evangelista.”

  “Oh, and you would know this how? I love Eva with all my heart, but my grandmother’s recipe…People have been known to kill for her enchiladas.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Okay, not really. But close.” Tess took another bite. Then burped again. And frowned at her glass. “S’empty.”

  Laughing, Eli stood, pulling a pitcher from the fridge. “How ’bout some tea now?”

  “Hell, no. I can have tea at home.” She held out her glass, suddenly fascinated with the way it sparkled in the light from the chandelier. “Hit me with another Bud, bud.” She giggled. And hiccupped.

  Eli got a funny look on his face. “You sure?”

  She rolled her eyes. They felt a little loose. “Not driving, I’m good. Oh, come on—have pity on the poor divorcée, huh? What’s the worst that can happen?”

  “You get bombed and puke all over my rug?”

  Tess shook her head. Decided maybe she shouldn’t do that again. “I didn’t even throw up when I was pregnant,” she said, which made her sad, thinking about her babies and how much she loved them and how hard it was when they were off with their father, even though that only happened maybe once a month, if that, and that here she was, sitting in Eli Garrett’s kitchen, drinking his beer and not even thinking about them. Except she was, because she was always thinking about her babies.

  She thought maybe she was getting a little…confused.

  Nothing another beer couldn’t fix, right?

  “Please,” she said, and Eli took her glass, pouring another beer into it, God bless his baaaaad self.

  “Need any help?” Eli heard Tess ask when he went to clear the table shortly after they’d finished their meal.

  “Nope. All under control. Soon as I give ’em a rinse, I’ll run you home. If you’re ready.”

  She gave him a slightly guarded smile, then nodded. “Sure thing,” she said, getting to her feet. More or less steadily, he was relieved to note. Not that she was exactly sober—feeling no pain was the phrase that came to mind—but thankfully she’d stopped well
short of stupid drunk. Eli’d been with his share of stupid drunk women over the years; whatever amusement he’d at one time found in those sorts of shenanigans had long since faded. And besides, Tess getting plastered…just didn’t seem right.

  In any case, he got the feeling the beer had only been an excuse to let go—which something told him she hadn’t done in a very long while. Not that she’d gone all maudlin on him or anything; mostly, they talked about her kids, Miguel and Julia—pronounced with an H instead of a J—and his recently married and very much younger brother, Jesse, and his wife, Rachel, how they were dealing with being new parents, stuff like that. In fact, whenever Eli’d tried to steer the conversation in Tess’s direction, she’d steer it right back.

  Because, okay, he was curious about what had happened between her and Enrique, who’d been deployed overseas for most of their marriage. Maybe more than curious—he’d watched his older brother, Silas, go through a nasty divorce, knew how hard it was. Especially on the good ones. Like his brother. Or Tess.

  Still, the protective feelings boiling up inside him went way beyond your garden-variety gee-I-hope-she’s-okay concern. What did it matter to him whether she got drunk or not? Or made a fool of herself?

  So why, as he stood at the sink, half watching her walk into his living room with her hands tucked into her jacket’s front pouch, did he feel compelled to make sure she wasn’t gonna keel over or anything?

  “Everything okay in there?” he called over.

  Tess nodded. A little too vigorously. “I like what you’ve done here.”

  Stacking the plates in the dishwasher, he laughed. “I think ‘done’ might be overstating it. Unless you consider shoving around a bunch of castoffs and thrift store junk so I can walk through the room without injuring myself ‘done.’”

  “It’s…” She gave him a puzzled look over her shoulder. “You.”

  “Lot to be said for not having to consider anybody else’s opinion.” The dishwasher shut, he was about to say, “Ready?” when she spun around and collapsed into the couch, an old beige corduroy number that had been in his parents’ family room. The fluff was worn off in some places, and the cushions sagged from being crushed by a whole bunch of butts over the years, but it was still comfortable as hell—

  “What’s wrong?” he said when Tess leaned into the cushions, her eyes closed.

  “Probably shouldn’t’ve done that spinning thing.”

  “You gonna be sick?”

  She laughed softly. “Told you. I don’t do that.”

  “Not even when you get stomach flu?”

  “Nope. And by the way, technically that’s not the flu.”

  “Technically, I don’t much care what it’s called. And how do you not throw up?”

  “Sheer willpower,” she said, except the words seemed a little frayed around the edges. Eli crossed his arms, trying not to think how soft and vulnerable she looked, all sunk into those deep cushions with her eyes closed like that. “Comfy?”

  “As comfy as one can be when your brain’s on the puree setting.”

  “So you are drunk.”

  “Maybe. A little.” Finally, she opened her eyes, frowning at him. “I didn’t expect you to be…nice.”

  Eli frowned. “I’m always nice—”

  “I mean really nice.”

  “What that’s supposed to mean?”

  “I’m not entirely sure.” Tess snuggled farther into the corner of the sofa, letting out a shriek when the mass of fur that owned the place jumped up onto the sofa arm beside her. “Dear God—what’s that?”

  “A cat. What’s it look like?”

  “Something from a ’50s horror movie. After the radiation experiment went horribly wrong. Wait—” She shifted her frown to Eli. “You have a cat?”

  “Got a problem with that?”

  “Geez, touchy much?” she said, then looked at the cat again. Leaning back a little. “He’s bigger than my two-year-old.”

  “She. And big is a definite advantage when you live in the woods. Chased a bear up a tree once.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Wanna see the video?”

  “No, I’ll take your word for it. Does she have a name?”

  She would have to ask. Warmth prickled his cheeks. “Maybelline.”

  Tess’s wide-eyed gaze flew to his; a moment later, she snorted out a very unladylike laugh. “You’re not serious.”

  “I didn’t name her, okay? Some lady we were working for, it had been her mother’s cat, only the old lady died and her daughter was allergic. Damn thing glommed on to me from the moment I walked into her house, so she asked me if I wanted her.”

  “And you actually said yes.”

  “She’d already asked, like, ten people. It was me or the pound. Anyway, look at that face—how could I say no to that face?”

  Another laugh. “And you actually call her Maybelline?”

  “Actually, I call her Belly. For obvious reasons.”

  Sitting on the arm of the sofa and purring loud enough to rattle skulls in a five-mile radius, Belly shot an offended look in Eli’s direction, although with one eye partly closed and her snaggleteeth on full display the effect was kinda lost. One ear was half—bitten off—Eli didn’t want to know what she’d tangled with, or what condition she’d left the other guy in—and it’d been a while since she’d let him brush out the knots in her fur. He supposed maybe she didn’t give the best first impression.

  Now, sensing some lovin’ in the offing, she jumped down and trotted over to Eli, her saggy belly swaying from side to side. In one swipe, Belly coated the bottom of his jeans with a half inch of cat fur. Eli scooped her up to roughly scratch under her chin, getting her motor going full throttle. Cat did love her chin rubs.

  “You. With a cat. Unbelievable.” Tess grinned, for a second looking almost like the girl he used to know. A moment later, though, she swiped the red Netflix envelope off the end table next to her, slipping out the sleeved disk. “Bond, huh?” she said, and Eli thought, Why are you still here?

  Because she was making him feel maybe not so protective, which was in turn making him twitchy. He scratched the cat harder.

  “Not just Bond. Craig’s Bond.”

  “I’m a Brosnan girl, myself.”

  “Get out.” Please.

  “What can I say?” she said, pushing herself to her feet. “I like suave…oh, hell—”

  Cat went flying when Eli lunged forward to catch Tess as her knees buckled. She molded herself to his chest—what the hell?—only to immediately shove away again, shaking her head. Good call.

  “You need to sit,” he said, trying to make her sit.

  “I don’t need to sit. I’m fine, I’m—”

  Tears bloomed in her eyes before she pushed past him to the door. Except she wobbled again, crashing into an armchair.

  “For God’s sake, Tess—!”

  She wheeled on him. “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve watched a movie with another adult?”

  That thud he heard in his head would be any hope of getting her out of his house before one of them did something stupid. Because clearly whatever she’d been keeping locked up inside her was only now lurching to the surface. And, since she was there to begin with at his insistence, dumping her now probably wouldn’t be cool.

  Yeah, this would be a good time for the evil, scum-sucking side of his personality to kick in. If he’d had one. “You’re more than welcome to stay and watch—”

  “That’s not the point!” Tess cried, charging him. Flailing a bit. “The point is…” She stopped, shaking her head, looking a little wild-eyed. “The point is, that there is no point! To any of it!”

  She’d started pacing his living room like she was fixing to lift off any moment. Maybe not the best time to interrupt the flow.

  “You know what I felt when Ricky said he wanted a divorce? Relief. That I could finally stop holding my breath, because it was over. He was officially no longer my responsibili
ty! No more lying awake at night, worrying…no more wondering when he’d be home, if he’d even make it home…no more going around with a fake smile plastered across my face, pretending that everything was just hunky-dory when all I wanted to do was hit something, somebody, only to find out he’d fallen out of love with me! All that worrying for nothing, Eli! Nothing!”

  She closed in on him, fists raised; although she couldn’t have hurt him if she tried, Eli grabbed her wrists, then wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight as all hell broke loose, as she railed against her husband for leaving her and the kids for months on end, for coming back from Iraq only to leave her for good. Then, somehow, they were on the couch, and he was holding her in his lap—just trying to comfort her, stop the emotional hemorrhage—when he all of a sudden realized they were kissing, seriously kissing with tongue and everything, and while on one level he was enjoying it and all, in the back of his mind he thought, Dude—seriously messed up.

  And wasn’t now a helluva time for the growing-up thing to kick in?

  So he wrenched their mouths apart and said, “This is just you being drunk and upset,” and she said, “Yeah, so?” and planted another one on him, and blood rushed hither and yon, doing what rushing blood will do, and it occurred to him watching movies wasn’t all Tess hadn’t done with another adult in a long time.

  Especially when she mumbled, “Please tell me you’ve got condoms.”

  Chapter Two

  With more regret than the world would ever know, Eli put some distance—not enough, but some—between him and the woman currently responsible for an erection so hard his ears were ringing.

  “Honey—you don’t really want this.”

  Her answer to that was to unzip her running suit top and struggle out of it, tossing it over her shoulder, her exercise bra no match for her nipples’ attempts to punch right through the stretchy fabric. “And if you don’t touch my breasts within the next two seconds, I may have to kill you.” When Eli shook his head, she clamped her hands around his face and stared him right in the eye. “They hurt, Eli. I hurt—”