More Than She Expected

by Karen Templeton

  That he’d ever be her equal.

  Like she’d known he was thinking about her, Laurel—with Boomer beside her—appeared at the doorway, wearing that I-got-this expression he’d finally decided was her default mode. Sure, she got pissed sometimes, same as anybody else. Except...she didn’t stay pissed. Not that he could tell, anyway. Or go looking for things to get pissed about.

  She handed him a water bottle. “Figured you could use this about now.”

  “Thanks,” he mumbled, taking the bottle and wrenching off the cap, slugging half of it down while frowning at the damn wall like it was gonna talk to him.

  Because he was conflicted about that, too. Not the wall, Laurel’s calmness in the face of things no reasonable person should be calm about. Maybe he’d promised to keep his yap shut about the subject, but it still bugged him, how she’d let Jonny’s father off the hook. Man, it was killing him not to go all Sopranos on her, pull a full-blown Whatsamatterwithyou? fit to make her see reason. To let him and Matt go after the guy’s sorry ass. Because Matt and his cronies in the department could find him, Tyler was sure they could. Except even that made him feel several rungs lower on the evolutionary scale than she was—

  “Tyler? Everything all right?”

  He turned, noticing that Boomer had planted his butt right beside Laurel, his head slightly tilted, like he was wondering the same thing. “Yeah. Sure. What about you? You look a little flushed.”

  “That’s called glowing. At least, that’s what I’m gonna go with.” She leaned farther into the room. “Oh, wow...this looks so good.”

  “So the color’s okay? ’Cause sometimes, it doesn’t look the way you think it’s going to from the paint chip—”

  “No. It’s perfect. Exactly what I saw in my head.” She laughed. “When I thought about blue, anyway.”

  Man, he did like that laugh. The way her eyes got all crinkly...

  “When I get the trim painted, it’ll look even better. Like right out of a decorating show.” He frowned at the floor, scuffed all to hell underneath the rumpled plastic. For whatever reason, the rest of the house was carpeted—a hideous Berber that’d seen better days ten years ago—but somebody’d ripped it up in here, leaving the floor naked and wounded. Which in turn hurt something deep in his soul. “If you want, I could refinish the floor—”

  “Oh! No, you’ve already done so much—”

  “It wouldn’t take that long. It’s a small room. And the wood’s good.” He squatted to lift the plastic. “Maple, looks like. Definitely worth refinishing. I did the floors in my house, and they came out great. In fact, at some point you should consider doing the rest of them, too. It’d definitely add value to the house.”

  “In other words, the carpet’s from hunger.”

  “That, too.”

  “I’ll...think about it,” she said. “In the meantime, come eat lunch. Outside, it’s nice under the tree. Sandwiches and chips, nothing fancy. And don’t even think about declining. At this rate I’ll owe you meals until we’re both eligible to move into Gran’s place.”

  The dog preceding them, Tyler helped Laurel cart their food out and down to the yard, where they set everything on the picnic table. And she was right...it was nice out here—the leaves quivering in the breeze, the fountain gurgling away. Like a pretty little park. Except...

  “All that rain we’ve been getting, your lawn needs to be mowed again—”

  “Good thing I already hired Dawson next door to do it tomorrow, huh?”

  “Dawson? You’re not serious?”

  “What’s wrong with Dawson?”

  “Other than he’s trouble waiting for a place to happen? Not a thing.”

  “And why do you think that?”

  “Because he reminds me of me when I was that age. In fact, he’s—”

  “Already been in some trouble. I know. His mother told me. And how do you know?”

  “Matt. He filled in for one of the juvie officers for a week, and Dawson was brought in for—”

  “Shoplifting.” At Tyler’s frown, Laurel pointed to her face. “For some reason this inspires people to tell me their deepest secrets.” She lowered her hand to pick up a couple of carrot sticks, giving one to the dog. Who actually ate it. Weirdo. “Although I get the feeling Yolanda doesn’t need much inspiration.”

  “And you still hired him?”

  Her mouth twitched. “Trust me, there’s nothing in my yard he can filch. Or would want to. And I doubt he’ll be armed. Although if it makes you feel better I’ll frisk him when he gets here—”

  “He’s got an attitude.”

  “For heaven’s sake—name me a thirteen-year-old who doesn’t.” Her gaze narrowed. “Especially a thirteen-year-old whose father’s been sick for the past two years. And if he reminds you of you, why aren’t you more sympathetic?”

  “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Not if you don’t explain it, I won’t.”

  He felt his foot pop up and down underneath the table. “Look, it’s great you want to help the kid out. Really. And I am sympathetic, I’m sure he feels like life has totally screwed him over. But my loyalty’s with you, not him. And I don’t want you getting in over your head.”

  “You think I’m naive?”

  And there it was. Tyler let his gaze lock with Laurel’s. She looked more amused than pissed. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. “I think you’re too...” He thought. “Trusting.”

  Breaking eye contact, she gave the last bite of her sandwich to the dog. “There’s no such thing, Tyler.”

  “Then you are naive.”

  “No, I’m not.” She looked up, her eyes sparkling. “Especially since you were about to say forgiving, weren’t you? Yeah, you were...I can see it in your face.”

  “Fine. Whatever.”

  She actually laughed for a moment, then let her gaze drift to the fountain. “I used to think, when I was a kid, and I saw how my father treated my mother—by being distant, making it clear how much he resented being there—that there was something wrong with her, too, just...taking it like that. As I got older, though...”

  A whole chip disappeared into her mouth. “For one thing,” she said, chewing, “I realized she was desperately trying to keep the peace as much as she could. For my sake. But I also eventually caught on, that by her not feeding my father’s fire, it usually fizzled out. Or frustrated him no end, that he couldn’t get a rise out of her. Which actually gave her the upper hand, didn’t it? Not only was she not afraid of him, she refused to kowtow to his bullying.”

  “But...if your mother was so strong, why did she stay with him?”

  “I asked myself that a lot. Still do, now and then. As a kid, I never found the courage to ask her, and then she was gone, and...” She shrugged. “Maybe because she would have seen leaving as a failure? That she’d given up? Who knows? But I honestly believe she stayed because she was tough. Or stubborn,” she said with a fleeting smile. “Not because she was weak. Or didn’t believe she had any other options. Gran would have taken us in, in an instant. So Mom wasn’t trapped, by any means.”

  “And—I’m sorry...but what does that have to do with Dawson?”

  Her eyes met his. “I’m not blind, Ty. I’m aware of the kid’s issues, that I need to be wise. But that’s not the same as being afraid. Which would give him—or rather, his issues—power over me. And worse, it gives them power over him. I also believe—and I know this sounds nuts to a lot of people—how we see others can have a real influence how they see themselves. For good or bad.”

  Tyler crossed his arms. “Didn’t work with your father, though, did it?”

  “That wasn’t the point,” Laurel said gently. “The point was, it worked for my mother. Gave her dominion over the situation. And even if it didn’t ‘take’ with my father, th
at doesn’t mean it never does.” Her shoulders bumped. “I prefer to see the good in people than the bad. And if that makes me a Pollyanna, so be it.”

  By now Tyler felt like the Battle of the Titans was going on beneath his skull. “I don’t get it—you said yourself, you’re all about being practical. How is shoving your head in the sand about people being practical? Let alone logical?”

  An enigmatic smile danced across her mouth. “Because it’s not about refusing to see the truth. It’s about looking beneath the surface for a truth maybe others have a hard time seeing. Now,” she said, clumsily extricating herself from the attached bench, “I am seriously jonesing for a Fudgsicle. Want one?”

  Tyler nodded, then watched Laurel walk back to the house, unable to decide if the woman was a damned saint or completely off her rocker.

  Boomer suddenly snapped ineffectually at a rogue fly buzzing round his face, before hauling himself upright to lay his slobbery chin in Tyler’s lap. Sighing, Ty looked into those adoring yellow eyes and thought, This, I can handle. Then his gaze lifted, landing on Laurel through the kitchen window, doing some weird dance as she dug their treats out of her freezer.

  Sainted, insane women, however...not so much.

  * * *

  By the last week of August, Laurel was seriously considering moving. As in, to anyplace where it was winter. Chile, maybe. Way up in the Andes where they wore those funny hats. Not that she’d ever been a big fan of feeling like a freshly stewed prune, but prior to this summer she’d sweat and swear and live off salads and iced tea, and she survived. Now, however, as she approached her last month of pregnancy, all she wanted to do when she heard the weatherman’s gleeful prediction of “Highs in the nineties at least for the next week,” was smack that cheery smile right off his face.

  What Kelly had said about aliens taking over her body? So true.

  Speaking of whom... “So. Will you teach me how to cook?”

  Behind the wheel of her vintage minivan as they returned from Babies “R” Us, Kelly laughed. “Seriously? Everybody can cook, honey.”

  “In theory, maybe.” Laurel shoved a hand under her damp hair, lifting it off her neck. Too long to be cool, too short to pin up. Sucked. Especially since there was clearly some sort of hormonal force field in place making her impervious to the car’s air-conditioning. “In practice, not so much.”

  “Oh, please. If caveman—or woman—figured out that fire not only kept them from freezing to death, but also made things tasty, I think you’re good. Plus, you can read. Which puts you at a distinct advantage over your average prehistoric goober without internet access.” At Laurel’s sigh, Kelly chuckled. “It will be my pleasure to teach you how to cook. But what’s the occasion?”

  “Impending motherhood. Kid can’t live off pizza.”

  “Unless the pizza’s homemade and loaded with the good stuff. Cheese, veggies, chicken...”

  “No pepperoni? No sausage?”

  “Nitrates, baby. Not to mention enough sodium to replenish the Dead Sea. So we do chicken. Free range, if possible.”

  “You have got to be kidding me.”

  “You sound like Matt,” Kelly said, pulling into Laurel’s driveway. “First time I made pizza for him, he automatically turned his slice sideways, waiting for the grease to drip off. When it didn’t, he looked at me like I was trying to poison him. So I think that’s where we’ll start,” she said, cutting the engine and pushing open her door, letting in a dragon’s breath gush of hot Jersey air. Laurel made a face and Kelly laughed again. “You’ll love it, I promise.”

  Once in the house, Kelly booked it to the bathroom while Laurel punched on the air-conditioning, then turned on the hassock fan squatting in the middle of the living room floor until the house cooled off. Grunting, she lowering herself into the armchair, as gracefully as a rhino. Not to mention as classy, spreading her knees to let the breeze swirl underneath her dress.

  All her grandmother’s hard work to civilize her, undone in an instant.

  She heard the whoosh of the toilet, half saw Kelly zip into her kitchen. “Tea okay?” the redhead called out.

  “Help yourself, but I’m good with ice water, thanks.”

  “You got it.”

  Laurel heard ice cubes clatter into the glass; a minute later, Kelly returned and handed over her drink, then flopped on the sofa to kick off her espadrilles and hike her own skirt over her knees.

  “Sorry, it takes a while for the air-conditioning to kick in.”

  “Our house is the same way, so no worries.” Twisting her own thick hair off her neck, her new friend leaned back, grinning at Laurel as she raised her glass of tea. “To surviving Babies “R” Us.”

  Lifting her own glass, Laurel pushed out a tired laugh. “Not to mention the traffic to get there. Was everybody in Jersey out today?”

  “Pretty much, yeah. This is going to be so much fun,” she said, and Laurel sighed, thinking of the slew of regrets in response to the shower invitations Kelly had sent out the week before.

  “And I told you, at the rate we’re going it’s going to be you, me and my grandmother. It really is a lot to expect people to schlep out here from the city. And everyone else...well. There’s school, and sports, and...you know. Life.”

  Kelly gave her a hard look. “There will be a party, sweetie. Even if it is only us. We will play stupid games and eat until our eyes pop and, if push comes to shove, watch every movie Channing Tatum’s ever been in, and it will be glorious. Anyway...now that I’ve seen the baby’s room again, I think the light wood furniture you picked out is going to look terrific against that blue. Great color. And the rug with the dinosaurs? Adorable.”

  Not looking at Kelly, Laurel sipped her ice water, waiting out yet another variation of the same weird feeling she’d been having since the day the room was painted. “That’s Tyler’s doing.”

  “Yeah, he told us he’d painted the room—”

  “No, he chose the color, too. Well, made the final selection. And thank God, or the room would probably still be mauve. But then—get this—he ‘just happened’ to be in IKEA and found that rug.”

  “Really.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Huh.” Frowning at the coffee table, Kelly tilted her tea to her lips, then canted her gaze to Laurel. “Is there something we should know? Aside from Ty’s being a closet interior designer, I mean.”

  Laurel laughed. She’d deliberately not brought Tyler into their nonstop conversation during the past three hours, partly because she knew it would be hard enough to focus on choosing stuff for the registry as it was, partly because, well...she wasn’t sure what to say. Because frankly, she had no idea what the heck their relationship was. For sure this was nothing like any friendship she’d ever had before—although, duh, she’d never been friends with a guy before—so basically she was drifting in totally uncharted waters. With no landmarks in sight. Which, alas, was making her more bonkers than she already was.

  “Other than he’s kind of appointed himself my...keeper? No. Although God knows why. And you can stop rolling your eyes—”

  “Sorry, automatic BS sensor.”

  “Then you need to have that sensor checked. Because, for one thing—” she waved her hand over her bulging middle “—hello? And for another, hello, again? Older woman? Which I’m guessing he’s not into.”

  “Five years doesn’t exactly make you a cradle robber.”

  “Five? He’s... Wait.” Laurel frowned. “Thirty?”

  “Hey, you can still do math. Impressive.”

  Laurel plucked an ice cube from her drink and threw it at Kelly, making her shriek. “So,” the redhead said, fishing the melting missile from her cleavage and walking it back to the kitchen, where it pinged into the stainless sink, “now that you’ve crunched the numbers...” She returned, clearly unrepentant. �
�Are you still sure there’s nothing going on?”

  “Yep. Just like I’m still sure I’m pregnant.”

  “That, however, won’t last forever.”

  “Promise?”

  “I do.” Kelly sat back down. “Of course, then you’ll have leaky boobs for weeks, which can definitely put a damper on...things.”

  “And I still have three ice cubes left here.” At Kelly’s snort, Laurel propped her elbow on the arm of the chair, leaning her head in her hand. “This is a pointless conversation, you realize. I’ve barely even seen him in the last month.”

  “Because he got, what? Three out-of-town salvage bids?”

  “Four,” Laurel said, smiling a little, remembering Ty’s whoop of delight when he’d come over to see how she was doing—while Dawson was mowing her lawn, hmm—and one of the calls had come through, that he’d gotten the bid. The way he’d grinned...and hugged her... “Even so—”

  Kelly snorted into her drink, and Laurel sighed.

  “Fine. I’m not going to pretend I’m not attracted, since one—”

  “Nobody would believe you?”

  “It’s so sad. I can’t walk six feet without getting winded, but my libido is supercharged.”

  “And Ty’s not exactly ugly.”

  “That, too. But I think it’s safe to say neither of us is what the other is looking for.”

  “Which would be?”

  “For me? Somebody who actually wants the white picket fence experience.”

  “And you’re sure he doesn’t?”

  And there was the fifty-thousand-dollar question, wasn’t it? “Okay, to be honest? Way, way down deep? Like, to the core of the earth deep? I think he does. But I have neither the time nor energy nor inclination to go tunneling past all those layers only to get burned. Again.”