Small-Town Girl (Mills & Boon Vintage Superromance) (Mills & Boon Superromance)

by Carmichael, C. J.

  “Well, I suppose it would be okay if they were your infertility problems.”

  Julie almost smiled. Hell, he was making progress here. He’d amused her and they were broaching the subject of sex. But before he could advance the conversation, she switched subjects entirely.

  “I think I’ll buy a gallon of exterior latex tomorrow at the Handy Hardware. While the weather’s good, I’d love to freshen up the porch and the front door.”

  Sex would have to wait, he realized. Besides, he hadn’t picked up any condoms. But maybe she’d started on her pills again, after the reminder. He wanted to ask but made an offer, instead. “If you get the paint, I’ll do the work on the weekend.”

  “That’s not necessary. I’m the one with all the time on my hands.” She arranged her pillows into a nest. When she sank her head into them, all he could see was a bit of her hair.

  “Good night, Russell.”

  He held out a hand, thinking to touch her hair, lean over for a kiss or maybe just pull the covers over her smooth shoulder.

  But if he touched her once, he didn’t think he could stop. He lay back into his own pillows and contemplated the dark. This move had been a good thing for Ben and for him, too. And it would be, eventually, for Julie. Soon she’d emerge from that dark place she’d been hiding in and be the old Julie again. He’d be able to tease her into laughing and they’d make love with abandon, just like the old days.

  Soon.

  JULIE SET THE GALLON PAIL on a drop cloth she’d placed over a section of the sidewalk, then pried off the lid with the blunt end of a flat screwdriver. The black paint glowed, rich with drama. She smiled, pleased with her choice of color. If there was one thing this house needed, it was drama.

  Into the paint Julie dipped the wooden stir stick that T. J. Colins at the Handy Hardware had provided. Good-looking guy, about her age, with a warm, sympathetic smile. She bet he did a very nice business with the farm ladies of the community.

  The thick, rich paint moved as slowly as cake batter, resisting her attempts at one final stir. She reflected on her conversation with T.J. He’d been polite, but she’d sensed he thought she was making a mistake.

  “You want black?” he’d asked. “You sure, ma’am? For as long as I can remember, that house has had yellow trim.”

  “I’m sure.” For a second the ma’am had frozen her. Not that long ago a man like T.J. would have flirted with her, not treated her with such careful respect. Maybe the problem was her painting clothing—her white overalls and black T-shirt were unlikely to inspire wolf whistles. Ditto her hair, which she’d gathered into a ponytail and pulled through the back opening of one of Russell’s ball caps.

  But more likely it hadn’t been her clothes. Her manner, she knew, could strike some as unapproachable. Partly her reserve was cultural. But since the accident, she’d become even more quiet and withdrawn.

  She sighed, feeling tired and old. Imagine feeling old at thirty-three. Ridiculous.

  Julie gave up on the stir stick, setting it aside, and picked up the brand-new paintbrush she’d also purchased at the hardware store. Already she’d removed the brass fixtures from the front door and given the wood a quick sanding. It was ready for the first coat.

  She carried the gallon pail up the stairs and set it down on a second drop cloth. Through the front window she saw that Skip, who’d curled up on the scroll arm of the love seat to watch her through the window, had fallen asleep. The wee kitten looked so adorable. Julie didn’t have the heart to insist she stay off the furniture.

  The first coat did a poor job of covering. T.J. had warned her this would be the case with black and so she wasn’t discouraged. So what if she had to apply two coats, or even three? She had the time and she’d always enjoyed painting.

  Hands on hips, Julie surveyed the new look. The contrast of the white porch with the black door gave a colonial feel to the house. As she was considering this, she heard footsteps on the sidewalk behind her.

  “’Morning, Julie.”

  She knew that voice. Turning, she saw her mother-in-law dressed in slacks, a floral blouse and navy sweater. On her shoulder she carried a black handbag. Not the tan designer bag Julie had sent her for her birthday last spring, which would have matched her shoes.

  “Hi, Betty. Going to do a little shopping?”

  “Need some cream for my coffee. That’s a dark color you’ve picked there.”

  “Yes.” Julie laid the paintbrush across the top of the gallon pail, then wiped her hands on a rag that had once been Russell’s sweatshirt.

  “Well.” Betty couldn’t seem to drag her gaze from the front door. “It’s very…dark. I must admit I thought the yellow was pretty. But black is popular, I suppose, in the big city.”

  “It’ll look better after another coat.”

  “Mmm.”

  Julie heard the stamp of disapproval in Betty’s tone and told herself it didn’t matter. She liked the door. And this was her house, right?

  Reminding herself she was speaking to Russell’s mother and Ben’s grandmother, she forced herself to smile.

  “Like a glass of lemonade?”

  “Wouldn’t mind at all. It is getting warm out here. Farmers will be happy for the good harvesting weather.”

  Julie hadn’t believed Betty would accept her invitation. She quickly covered her paintbrush in plastic, then placed the lid over the paint can to prevent a film from forming on the surface.

  “Come on in. You can meet our kitten. Ben named her Skip, of all things.” Julie stepped to the side to allow her mother-in-law to precede her. “Careful with the door.”

  “Skip? You named the kitten Skip?”

  “Ben did. She’s such a sweetie.” Julie opened the glass-paned door to the living room, where she’d put her grand piano and antique love seat. Skip lifted her trusting face into Julie’s palm as she scooped her up with just one hand.

  “Oh, she is a darling.”

  Pets and babies, Julie reflected. Best icebreakers in the world.

  “Would you hold her while I get our drinks? Just be careful she doesn’t slip out that front door.”

  “I will.” Betty accepted the little ball of fur and brought it up to her rouged, weathered cheek.

  In the kitchen Julie filled two glasses with ice and lemonade. She arranged some of Heather Sweeney’s cookies on a plate, then used a tray to carry everything to the kitchen table. Betty met her there and settled with the kitten on her lap.

  “How did the first day of school go?”

  “Fine. Ben really likes his teacher.”

  “Heather Sweeney is a lovely girl.” Betty selected a cookie, then took a sip of her lemonade. “I know her well. She used to hang around the house a fair bit. Still drops in for the occasional visit.”

  Ah. Julie considered mentioning that Russell had told her he and Heather used to date. Then decided no. “Heather baked these cookies. She dropped them over two days ago. Very hospitable of her.”

  “Oh, Heather’s like that. Heart of gold. Born to be a mother, that one. And not a bad cook, either.” Betty took a second cookie, to prove the point.

  “Yes, she seems lovely. Too bad about her husband.”

  “Such a tragedy. A senseless, awful way to die. Not that I ever thought Nick was quite the man for Heather.”

  Betty avoided looking into her daughter-in-law’s eyes as she gave the kitten another cuddle. “I should be going. Larry will be home for his lunch soon, and I still need to pick up the cream.”

  “Nice of you to drop by.” Julie spoke the words out of courtesy, which seemed to be all that either she or Betty had to offer each other. She shut the kitten back into the living room, where she would be safe, then waved Betty out the front door.

  “Dinner on Sunday,” Betty reminded her.

  “Would you like to come here this week?” Julie offered. “We’re pretty organized now.”

  “Goodness, no. I’ve already bought the roast.”

  Julie pictured a fre
ezer filled with, oh, about a million roasts. “We’ll look forward to it.”

  She waited until her mother-in-law was out of sight before unwrapping the paint brush. For a few moments she rehashed their strange, stilted conversation. Interesting that Betty had voiced an opinion on Heather’s deceased husband.

  Who did Betty think would be the right man for Heather? If Julie were given three guesses, she’d name Russell for each of them.

  THAT MORNING RUSSELL HAD packed lunches for himself and Ben. He’d told Julie he needed to stay for a staff meeting at noon and Ben wanted to spend the entire lunch break playing with his new friend, Craig.

  In Chatsworth, a differentiation between the farm children and the town children was inevitable. Farm kids brought lunch to school and couldn’t play after the end-of-the-day bell because they had to catch their bus. Town kids were able to run for school at the last moment in the morning, go home for their noon meal and play after school hours.

  “I feel sorry for Craig,” Ben had announced. “Can I take lunch and keep him company every day?”

  Julie had compromised. “How about two times a week?” She didn’t want to give up this new treat of seeing her son at noon altogether.

  By twelve, Julie had finished with the two front windows. Even though her family wasn’t coming home for lunch, she decided to take a break from painting. Thanks to those cookies and lemonade—was Betty going to make a habit of these morning visits? Surely not—she wasn’t very hungry.

  After a quick change and washup, she stopped in the kitchen to grab an apple. Next to the bowl of fruit she noticed Ben’s medication on the table. Had Russell remembered to pack his noon dose?

  Julie picked up the bottle, tapping her thumb against the computer-generated label. In the morning rush, Russell might have forgotten. She’d reminded him once, but he might not have heard her, since she’d called from a different room.

  Well, the school was only a few blocks away. What could it hurt to check?

  She tucked the bottle into the side pocket of her dress, then slipped on a pair of mules. On the front step, she paused, wondering if it was safe to leave the house, not only unlocked, but with the front door ajar. The paint was still too wet to close the door firmly.

  Of course, they had a guard cat on duty now. “Watch the place,” she admonished Skip through the double-paned window.

  Skip yawned prettily, then brushed her paw over her nose.

  Kids were sprawled all over the school yard when she arrived, taking advantage of the lovely weather to eat outdoors. Some sat under the shade of the old poplars; others trolled on swings or perched on monkey bars. A group of boys kicked a soccer ball around in a big circle as they munched on sandwiches.

  No sign of Ben, though. She decided it would be best to check with Russell anyway, as Ben hated his pills and might tell her he’d taken one when he really hadn’t.

  Inside the school, she surveyed the dark wooden banisters that banked the stairs, the worn wooden floors, the brass hooks lining both sides of the hall. What a charming, old-fashioned school. She saw a sign that read Office and headed there.

  From the informal chatter, she assumed the staff meeting hadn’t yet begun. Hesitating on the threshold, she considered knocking but was spotted before she could do so.

  A brown-haired woman, about her age, gave her a smile. “You must be Julie Matthew. Looking for Russell?”

  “Thank you, yes.”

  “I’m Bernie English—grade-two teacher.” She had a warm, pretty smile. “Come on in—he’s sitting in the back, by the windows.”

  Bernie. The woman whose husband had the low sperm count. Automatically Julie checked out the woman’s relatively slender waist. Then chided herself for having paid attention to the gossip.

  “Nice to meet you, Bernie.” She shook the woman’s hand, then eased farther into the room. She recognized the school principal—who also taught grade six—but couldn’t place the three women clutched around a dripping coffeepot. Presumably those were the grade one and three teachers. And perhaps an administrative assistant?

  Russell was the only male on staff, then. She supposed that was to be expected in a small-town elementary school. And there he was, just as Bernie had said, sitting on a worn sofa in front of the windows.

  With Heather.

  Julie saw them for a few seconds before they spotted her. In an instant she gained an impression of comfortable old friends. Nothing improper, certainly, but more than she’d bargained for when she’d thought of Russell working with his old girlfriend.

  Heather noticed her first. The words she’d been about to speak died on her lips. She nudged Russell’s arm and indicated he should turn his head.

  “Julie.” Russell smiled with mild surprise at seeing her. He set aside his lunch to rise and clasp her hands. “Did you miss me?” he murmured.

  Knowing Heather was watching, Julie felt tempted to flirt back. She ignored the childish reaction. “I wasn’t sure if you’d packed a pill for Ben’s lunch.” She pulled the bottle from her skirt pocket.

  Russell dropped both of her hands, suddenly serious. “I did. And I stopped by his classroom right after the bell to make sure he took it.”

  “Oh, good.” She felt suddenly silly. Of course Russell wouldn’t forget Ben’s medication. He was as familiar as she was with the routine.

  “I’m sorry you came all this way for nothing.”

  “Don’t be. It made for a break from the painting. And I’m glad I had a chance to see the inside of the school.” She nodded approvingly at the double-hung windows, with original wood casements. “It’s a charming building.”

  Insanely she didn’t want to leave now that she was here. But she could tell a few of the women were getting antsy to begin the meeting. The coffee had finished dripping and all their cups were full.

  “I know you have your meeting, so I’ll leave. See you tonight.”

  Russell placed a dry kiss on her cheek. On her way out the door, she saw him settle back into the sofa next to Heather. The redhead waved bye to Julie, then leaned over to whisper something to Russell.

  Julie walked out of the building stiffly, as if someone were watching, even though she guessed no one was. Least of all her husband.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  TO BED THAT NIGHT, Julie wore a short, peach-colored silk thing. Her penchant for ultrafeminine, expensive lingerie was one of the many facets of Julie that had fascinated Russell at the beginning of their relationship.

  Up until then, he’d only known girls who wore cotton T-shirts to bed, tank tops and boxer bottoms, and sometimes…nothing.

  But Julie. Even that first time they’d been together, in her room of the apartment she shared with three other girls, she’d come to him wearing silk and lace. And he’d been sunk on the spot.

  Now what he’d once loved—Julie’s choice of sleepwear—was his deepest torment.

  Tonight, Russell vowed to keep his glasses on and his attention fixed to the black print of his novel. Never mind that the story no longer engaged his imagination. Sounding out the meaningless words in his head kept him from noticing the sway of Julie’s breasts, the outline of nipples against silk, of thighs and bare legs.

  “Is something wrong, Russell?” Julie slid between the covers, riding the bottom of her chemise up to her hips.

  He must have made a sound, Russell realized. A groan, a moan, a betrayal of desire. Or pain.

  “Stupid book,” he said, tossing it to the side. He sensed Julie’s involuntary cringing at his callous treatment of a nicely bound hardcover.

  “But you love that author.”

  He shrugged. “You dropping by the school at noon was a nice surprise.” Seeing her unexpectedly had given him a lift. He’d wished for five minutes alone with her. Instead he’d had an audience of six women.

  “I should have known you wouldn’t have forgotten Ben’s pills. Your co-workers probably thought I was paranoid.”

  Well, she was, a little. But who could blame
her? He didn’t. He only wished he could help her, reach out to her. But whenever he tried to be reassuring, she just looked at him as if he didn’t understand. Which wasn’t fair. He worried about Ben, too. Was he being insensitive because he hadn’t made his concern a full-time occupation?

  He flicked off his bedside light but didn’t hunker down into the covers. That heavy petting session the other night had whetted his appetite for more. For real intercourse with his wife. A few seconds later, after Julie had turned off her lamp, he caught her hand, kissed it.

  “I like the black door,” he told her. “Adds a touch of class to the place.”

  “Really? I’m glad. Your mother didn’t seem impressed….”

  He kissed her hand again and inched marginally closer to her. He did not want to talk about his mother tonight. “You look very sexy in that peach thing.”

  She plucked at the neckline. “I’ve lost weight.”

  “You still look great.” He kissed her, tasting her mouth, her neck, her chest between her breasts. Her only reaction was to push her fingers through his hair, until they knotted in the curls.

  “You need a trim,” she said.

  Easing a flimsy peach strap from her shoulder, he told her he’d take care of it soon. At that moment, he would have promised her anything. If only she wouldn’t ask him to stop.

  But she did. At a very crucial point she pushed back on his shoulders.

  “Birth control. Russell, did you buy any?”

  “No.” He hadn’t had time, what with school, then helping Julie finish up the painting. “But haven’t you started…”

  “I need a new prescription. I haven’t even found a doctor yet.”

  “Oh, shit.” Oh, shit. Oh, shit!

  He ached to be inside her tonight. Nothing else would do.

  “Maybe we could still make love if I just withdraw….”

  “That isn’t very reliable.”