Unexpected

by Karen Tuft

  The concierge was very helpful, offering to call her a cab if needed. That put Natalie a little more at ease. It had crossed her mind, after she had run away—yes, she conceded, she had run away—from the dark knight, that Doug knew where she lived, and if he was truly the unsavory sort, he could follow her without any trouble at all. And while his advances were of no interest to Natalie, she really didn’t get the feeling he was actually a serial killer.

  She sighed and ran a hand through her hair. She was going to have to face Doug again. Her batting average stank when it came to holding her own with men. She’d come out on the short end of the confrontation with Wade earlier and cowered in the face of a concerned stranger, and she just wanted to slip away and avoid things this time, but she knew she couldn’t do it. Dating was such a nuisance.

  Then she remembered Earl Childs at the bank that afternoon and how she’d maneuvered around him okay. He wasn’t intimidating, just disgusting. Still, maybe she could deal with Doug after all.

  She straightened her spine, took a deep breath, and walked back into the steakhouse. Out of her peripheral vision, she could see the dark knight sitting with the group of businessmen. Feeling a flush spread to her cheeks, she turned her head away and slipped back into the booth, where Doug sat nursing his beer.

  He smiled his most charming smile at her, but she could tell he had gotten edgy waiting for her to return from her lengthy “restroom break.”

  “Everything okay here?” he asked.

  She looked at him, startled. That was exactly what the dark knight had asked her. She glanced over her shoulder at the group of businessmen. The dark knight caught her gaze and held it briefly. She turned back to Doug and mustered a smile. “What makes you think something might not be okay?”

  Doug shrugged. “You were gone a long time.” He reached for her hand before she could react. His eyelids and smile were relaxed, but the glint Natalie saw in his eyes made her swallow hard. “I thought maybe we could have dessert in my suite.”

  She knew what kind of dessert Doug was suggesting. This was precisely the reason nice, quiet evenings with a good book or an art project appealed to her more often than not. Right now she needed to find any speck of courage she could that might be buried within her and make sure it didn’t abandon her. She steeled herself and took a deep breath. “Doug. I’m flattered, truly. And I am having a nice time. But you need to know that I am actually a very nice Mormon girl, and nice Mormon girls do not have dessert—of any kind—in men’s hotel rooms.” His face went blank, and he tensed, so Natalie lowered her voice to gentle his mood. “I am, however, in favor of dessert in restaurants with nice men—especially when the company and the conversation are pleasant.”

  His eyes narrowed, and he looked intently at her, studying her. She held his gaze like a poker player holding a pair of deuces and held her breath as well. She’d lost the stare-down with the dark knight. She really needed to win this stare-down contest. The tension in the air pulsed around her. Finally, a corner of Doug’s mouth turned up slightly, he made a sound that was almost a chuckle, and he said, “No dessert, huh?”

  She picked up the dessert menu. “I didn’t say no to dessert. I said no to your suite.”

  He drummed his fingers on the table and stared at her again.

  Natalie kept her eyes on the menu and held her breath. She wasn’t home free yet. He still hadn’t reconciled himself to having a dessert with calories and no action. Finally, she gave up pretending to read the menu and set it down. She watched the range of emotions flash across Doug’s face as he came to terms with what she’d said. Insult, aggravation, resignation. Acceptance.

  Finally, he shrugged. “Well, then, Natalie, what do nice Mormon girls consider pleasant conversation?”

  Natalie exhaled slowly. “I can’t answer for everyone, but I’d be interested in learning more about the person sitting across the table from me. Tell me about your family, Doug, and I’ll tell you about my boy and my two girls.”

  His face shifted from vague disinterest to astonishment. “You’ve got three kids? Wow, I never would’ve guessed. A boy and two girls. What’s it like having two girls? I’ve got a little girl myself.” His eyes sparkled, and then for a moment, he looked past Natalie’s shoulder at some far-off scene. “She’s my angel.”

  Natalie smiled and inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. She’d held her own and prevailed. “Lucky you, Doug.”

  * * *

  Allen was bemoaning the faithlessness of women, Bud and Dave were giving each other pained looks, and Sean and Trevor were huddled over napkin scribblings, comparing their fantasy football picks. Much to Ross’s surprise, the blonde had slipped past their table a few minutes earlier and had slid back into her booth across from the Hulk. Out in the lobby, Ross had watched her retreat from him and head to the safety of the concierge. She had tried to put on a brave face, but Ross had scared her. He’d seen a trapped, vulnerable look in her eyes—startlingly green eyes—and since she’d returned, he’d found himself glancing over at the couple frequently. Ross had sensed several minutes of tension there and then had watched the behemoth relax visibly.

  Ross was certain he’d read the situation outside the restaurant correctly. He was sure she didn’t want to be here with that guy. Or maybe it was wishful thinking on Ross’s part.

  The Hulk laughed then, and Ross actually felt a slash of unease cut through his chest. If he didn’t know better, he might have thought he was jealous. He almost chuckled. Jealous. That was ridiculous.

  “And what’s your story, Mac?” Allen asked Ross, referring to him as Mac like they did in the office because of his last name, McConnell.

  Ross dragged his eyes away from the booth just after the blonde crossed her very attractive legs. “Sorry? What story? I lost the thread there for a minute.”

  Dave smiled sardonically at him. “Allen here got the guys away from talking football long enough to try to make us weep over his heartbreaking story. Trevor says he’ll write a country-western song based on the saddest one. You’re up.”

  Trevor looked up from his napkin scribblings and rolled his eyes.

  Ross smiled diplomatically. Allen was pathetic and really needed to get over his bitterness and move on. In his best western twang, Ross said, “I guess I’ve broken my poor ol’ ma’s heart because I haven’t found the perfect little woman yet.”

  “Too easy,” Allen grunted. “There’s no such creature.”

  And didn’t Ross know it. But his pathetic attempt at humor had not diverted the hounds from their scent. They were lawyers, after all.

  Bud gave him a searching look, his brows narrowing. Ross looked back at him, his face expressionless, so Bud stared grimly at his plate and carved off a large bite of steak. Ross knew Bud well enough, trusted him as a friend enough to know he would not dredge up their law school past, more specifically, Ross’s past with Liz—not for the casual entertainment of mere acquaintances. Besides, that was exactly what it was: the past. Long past. Liz was long forgotten. Suddenly tasting something bitter, Ross picked up his water glass and drank deeply. He wanted to get out of the restaurant, get to the gym. He wanted to run. He smiled casually and said, “Well, there was Misty Harwood.”

  Bud visibly relaxed. He was a good friend, a concerned friend who obviously remembered how things had gone south with Liz back then. But there was nothing for Bud to be concerned about now, not after all this time.

  “Misty Harwood. Sounds intriguing,” Dave said.

  “Yes,” Bud added, following Dave’s lead. “I thought I knew all about you, pal, but you’ve never mentioned a Misty Harwood.”

  Ross sighed for dramatic effect. “She had long blonde hair and big blue eyes. All the guys were in love with her, but she chose me. We were blissfully happy. We started making wedding plans.”

  He paused. A good attorney knew how to keep the courtroom with him, play his audience just right. He picked up his napkin, dabbed his mouth with it, and tossed it on his plate. He saw Bud
’s eyes narrow speculatively. Bud knew more about Ross than Ross’s family did. Probably more than was safe.

  He noticed he even had Trevor’s interest now. “Okay, you were blissfully happy. And then what happened?”

  “Total devastation. She pulled out the rug, took me out at the knees. Told me she couldn’t see me anymore, that things weren’t going to work out between us.” Ross glanced at Bud, who was still eyeing him with suspicion.

  “There was someone else, right?” Allen smirked. “Just when you think you can trust them—bam! They tell you they’re sorry, but they can’t help the way they feel. It’s nothing to do with you; it’s just the way it is. They still care about you, but. Then they look at you, all sad and earnest, and say, ‘We can still be friends, right?’ like they really mean it. Women!”

  Ross found he was grinding his teeth. He felt sorry for Allen. It would be hard to be that angry, that hurt. Ross was glad he didn’t feel that way. He unclenched his jaw. Time to lighten the mood. “Sorry to disappoint you, Allen, but it wasn’t quite like that.” He paused and looked wistful. “I’m not sure which hurt worse, the fact that her family was moving to Michigan or that Misty told me her mom wouldn’t let her get married at seven years old.”

  They all groaned in unison. Trevor hooted. Allen’s face went purple, his mouth drawn in a thin line. Ross belatedly realized that Allen didn’t have the benefit of time that Ross had when it came to rejection and therefore couldn’t see the irony. He watched in frank admiration as Allen, obviously embarrassed, got himself under control. He probably shouldn’t have used Allen as the straight man of a joke he didn’t know was coming.

  “That was a cute little story, Ross. Really had us going for a minute.” Allen smiled tightly. “But it seems to me that a man of your age ought to have more in the way of experience than seven-year-old Misty Harwood. One only has to watch the secretaries at the office to conclude that.”

  “Maybe Misty Harwood is the only story worth repeating.”

  “Well, that might be the case. But it isn’t your only story.” Allen took a sip of water and reached in his back pocket for his wallet. “I’m older and wiser than I was just a year ago. Maybe more bitter too, I won’t deny it.” He stood and pulled out some bills for a tip. “That wall you’ve got around you is so well constructed you don’t even see it anymore. But you don’t fool me. I’m becoming an expert on walls myself. I’ve laid a few stones in my own wall this past year. Some little skirt must have messed with you big time. You’re licking your male wounds just like all the rest of us, only I suspect you’ve been doing it a lot longer and you’re a lot better at it.” He clasped Ross on the shoulder. Ross felt himself go rigid. “Good night, gentlemen; it’s been a pleasure.”

  Trevor and Sean looked uncomfortably at Ross, and Trevor laughed awkwardly. “Where did that come from?” he asked vaguely to no one in particular. They paid their tabs, said their farewells to Bud and Ross, and Dave excused himself from the table as well.

  Bud looked carefully at Ross. “I don’t know Allen well, but he seems like a decent enough guy.”

  “Yeah, probably.” Ross shrugged. “Shall we go?”

  “How close was he to hitting the mark?”

  Ross tossed a generous tip on the table, but not before he heard the Hulk laugh at something the blonde said. He abstractedly glanced in their direction and then returned his attention to Bud. “Barclay, old man,” he said, swinging his arm casually around his friend’s shoulders as they left the restaurant, “you worry way too much.” He smiled at his friend convincingly, he thought, but his temples were starting to pound.

  Bud shook his head. “Don’t play me, man. I was there. I watched your guts get ripped out. I pulled you through that last semester, remember? Liz did a number on you; we both know it. And we both know you haven’t had a relationship that went much beyond a second dinner date since.”

  “You should talk. How many women have gone through the revolving door of your love life since law school? Seven? Eight—hundred?”

  “This isn’t about me, and you know it. Besides, Rachel and I have been together for almost two years now, and we’ve even been discussing the m word, sort of.” He lowered his voice and glanced at some hotel guests as they passed. “But you’re the one with the whole religion thing going, that whole ‘family forever’ business hanging over your head. You thought you had that with Liz, and I just want to make sure you’ve really gotten over her and moved on. I don’t see it, and it’s been more than ten stinking years.”

  They were at the elevator that led to the underground parking lot. There was a hammer banging on Ross’s head now. “Bud, you’re a great friend. That was a rough time; I admit it. I made mistakes. Things I overlooked, was willing to overlook.” It was a lie, and he knew it. Liz had been perfect, everything he was looking for. So perfect, in fact, that he had carefully searched his feelings for her just to be sure. He hadn’t wanted to tell his family he was in love, contemplating marriage even, until he was certain. And he’d been certain in the end. That had been the devastation. Now he knew what he was looking for, really looking for, in a woman. And he’d be dead certain she was perfect before he allowed anything like that to happen again. “So I haven’t found anyone yet. It will happen when it happens.”

  “I want to believe you, Ross, but I’m not sure I do,” Bud said.

  “Duly noted. I appreciate your concern, Bud, but I’m fine. Really. Give my regards to Rachel when you get back to Seattle, and stay in touch.”

  Bud shook hands with Ross and clapped him on the back with his free hand, bringing him in close. “Take care of yourself, old friend. Don’t let a semester with Liz affect the rest of your life.”

  “I’m not,” Ross assured him. “I promise.”

  If only that were true.

  Chapter 3

  As the evening progressed, Gorilla Man Doug evolved into Doug Merrill from Carlsbad. He was a thirty-two-year-old, self-made, successful entrepreneur who was in town for the Outdoor Recreational Expo. He had a six-year-old daughter, Bethany, from a past long-term relationship. Her mother lived in Las Vegas, and he didn’t get to see Bethany very often. He’d had to push straight through from California to get to the expo, but he hoped Bethany’s mother would let him see her on his way home. He was definitely into bodybuilding; he also liked deep-sea fishing, rock climbing, and four-wheeling. He planned to be in town until Sunday, and Natalie, ever the pushover, sacrificed her Saturday morning and agreed to go four-wheeling with him. They arranged to meet early because she still had her commitment to clean for Adele Mason in the afternoon, and Adele would be a wreck if the promised cleaning edged too close to party time. Natalie said she’d provide a picnic brunch, and Doug put himself in charge of pulling a few strings to have the four-wheelers ready. He also paid for her cab ride home that evening.

  He showed up punctually the next morning in long, baggy shorts and a Grateful Dead T-shirt. He had a small trailer hitched to his Jeep Cherokee, with a couple of hot little four-wheelers on it, and they spent the morning barreling up Mineral Fork, drinking in the mountain scenery, and eating cold fried chicken, fudge brownies dripping with frosting, and a few fresh peaches, all thanks to the deli section of the twenty-four-hour grocery store near Natalie’s home. Natalie brought along her old digital camera and snapped up the vibrant autumn colors: the auburns and scarlets of the oaks, the aspens fluttering their gold coin leaves like gypsies, the deep Navajo turquoise of the September sky.

  When their adventure ended, Natalie asked Doug for his e-mail address. “I got a few great shots of you,” she said as he walked her to her front door. “I’d like to send a couple of them to you. Maybe you can give one to Bethany.”

  “I’d like that,” he said. “Very much.” Then he held up his forefinger, gesturing for her to wait a moment, pulled his cell phone from his pocket, and punched in a number. “Ron,” he said. “It’s Doug. I’m good; thanks for asking. Hey, I heard through the grapevine than you may have be
en receiving death threats lately.” He glanced at Natalie with a twinkle in his eye.

  Natalie choked back a laugh.

  “Uh-huh,” Doug continued. “That’s what I heard. Anyway, I thought you’d be happy to know that the coast is clear. The lady in question has given you a stay of execution.” He paused. “Let’s just say my blind date didn’t turn out to be what I was expecting. I’ll see you in a few hours, buddy.”

  He ended the call. “I meant what I told Ron, Natalie. This blind date wasn’t at all what I expected it to be. It was much better.” He leaned in and kissed Natalie on the cheek. “You take care, honey.”

  * * *

  Hiking and four-wheeling with Doug had turned out to be a plus. Grinding the gears on her four-wheeler, spitting out dirt, and chewing up the terrain had worked out kinks she’d avoided acknowledging. The wind had blown her worries from her mind as easily as it had whipped her hair around her cheeks. She’d found some great old boards from a long-forgotten fence, gray and weathered, that would make great frames for some of the pictures she’d shot in the canyon.

  After Natalie had said good-bye to Doug, she’d hurried over to Adele’s house, where she then spent the afternoon helping her clean for her big dinner.

  Now, Natalie thought as she tossed her keys on the kitchen counter, she was ready to relax and immerse herself in her latest crazy art project.

  The weekends the girls were with their father were hard on Natalie, so she usually spent them doing what she called her “crazy art”—therapy in the form of creativity, recharging herself and preparing for the damage control that lay ahead. Natalie knew Emma and Callie needed to spend time with their dad, but she worried. They seemed to grow more distant from their father the more time they spent with him. Emma often returned home on Sundays in a brittle mood, and Callie was usually withdrawn. Natalie always spent the next couple of days talking brightly and making the girls’ favorite meals. By midweek, she was emotionally exhausted, but the girls seemed more like their old selves.