His Ordinary Life

by Linda Winfree

  She eyed him, looking for clues in his expression. He could close up and hide his feelings, but he’d never been any good at lying, his expressive eyes always giving him away. Was he being sincere or merely looking for a graceful way out of the tentative recommitment they’d forged? She blew out a shaky breath. Maybe after last night, he’d changed his mind.

  “You’re right,” she said, looking away. On the still highway, heat mirages shimmered and merged in distant black pools. A haze lay over the trees lining the fields and tall corn drooped under the blaring sun. Another trembling breath racked her chest. She felt like that corn—tired, wrung out and completely past her prime.

  The gearshift clicked and the vehicle shuddered. A warm hand wrapped around her nape. “Barb.”

  She blinked away sudden tears. “What?”

  “Stop thinking that.” He fluttered the edges of her hair with gentle fingers. His breath, mint with an edge of black coffee, caressed her ear and sent heat pooling in her stomach with a low, achy drag. A hint of cigarette smoke lingered on his clothes, a holdover from being in Tick’s presence.

  “Stop thinking what?” Subtle pressure induced her to turn toward him. She stared into dark eyes, no longer impassive and distant, but stormy and full of wanting. Her mouth dried and she moistened her lips. “I don’t know what—”

  His mouth covered hers in a slow kiss devastating in its thoroughness. Starved, she clung to his shoulders and kissed him back, relearning the sensations of smooth teeth and hot velvet. When he pulled away, his chest lifted with an unsteady breath, and she could actually see the heavy pulse in his throat. She touched a fingertip to it, his skin damp. Her eyes closed. If they were alone, really alone, and not kissing in his truck on a back highway traveled by every farmer in two counties, she could press her mouth to that same spot and slide her hands under his shirt, feel his muscles firm and bunched under her hands.

  “Stop thinking I don’t want you.” His rough gasp rasped against her ear, his mouth brushing her skin. He stroked his knuckles along her cheek. “I want you so bad my teeth hurt.”

  “That’s…that’s just physical.” He put off an incredible amount of heat, surrounding her, making her melt.

  “Uh-uh.” He shook his head, the thick silk of his hair soft against her temple. “I want you. All of you. I want our life back—the simple, ordinary life I threw away like a fool. I want to make a new life with you, a better life than what we had before. It’s not going to happen overnight, baby, and I don’t want to risk the kids, getting their hopes up.”

  She couldn’t resist touching him, but settled for pushing his hair away from his forehead. “I thought that was my line.”

  He straightened in the seat, his gaze straying to the rearview mirror. He didn’t look at her. “I think the real question is whether or not you really want me.”

  After that kiss, he could ask that question? She stared at him, watching a muscle flex in his jaw. He was silently grinding his teeth, she knew it as surely as she knew he was breathing. Just like his running a hand along his thigh, another dead giveaway he was tense and nervous. In the early days of their marriage, with Blake a baby and money tight, she’d watched him fret over their checkbook and a stack of bills, that same muscle moving in his jaw.

  Answering nerves jumped in her stomach. “I think that’s pretty obvious, don’t you?”

  “That’s physical.” A small smile flashed across his face and died. “I’m talking about taking me back. Is that really what you want, Barb?”

  Panic jumped in her chest, speeding up her pulse and making her mouth dry. He wanted her to open up, to make herself vulnerable. For long moments, the word “no” trembled on her lips. She moistened them with the tip of her tongue and swallowed. More than anything, she wanted to say yes, but she simply couldn’t make the words come out. What if it didn’t work?

  A horn blared behind them, and she relaxed with relief. A reprieve. She gestured toward the highway in front of them. “Shouldn’t you go?”

  He didn’t move to put the truck in gear. Instead, he draped a wrist over the steering wheel and looked at her, one of his eyebrows raised, a black, questioning wing.

  The horn tooted once more.

  She forced a nervous laugh. “Del.”

  “Yeah, baby?” He folded his arms over his chest. “So what’s it gonna be, Barb?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The horn blew again. Del sighed. “Wait a minute. Forget that. I’m pushing after I told you I wouldn’t. When you’re ready, Barb.”

  Del swallowed his disappointment and shifted the truck into gear. He’d told her he wouldn’t push, and he meant it. He didn’t want anything halfway this time—he wanted it all. If that meant waiting until she was sure, he was more than capable.

  Even if he bit a hole through his tongue before the waiting killed him. He forced his fingers to loosen their stranglehold on the steering wheel. Familiar landmarks flashed by.

  “Del.” Her quiet voice held an unhappy note. “I know what you want. I’m afraid, and I can’t—”

  “It’s okay, Barb.” He moved a hand from the wheel and squeezed her knee in a brief caress. His palm tingled. “I’ll wait.”

  “What if I’m never ready? What if it’s too late and we can’t make it work?”

  “We will.” He glanced at her again, the lost expression on her face making his chest tight and painful. “We’ll take our time and do it right this time.”

  Silence lay between them for long moments. When she spoke, her voice was quiet and she didn’t look at him, her face turned toward the window and the fields outside. “I guess what happened in the kitchen yesterday was a really bad idea.”

  Del darted a look at her. Still staring out the window, she picked at a loose thread on her jeans. He cleared his throat. “I could never regret making love to you, Barb, but, yeah, that probably wasn’t the smartest thing we’ve ever done. I don’t want you to ever think you made a mistake by taking me back. And the way we are together physically…well, it tends to cloud the issue.”

  “I know.”

  He swallowed a groan at her small, hurt voice. He was screwing this all to hell. Glancing over his shoulder, he slowed and pulled onto the shoulder. After shifting into park, he killed the engine and turned in his seat. Sunlight glinted off her bent head, picking out strands of gold and wheat in her hair. He stroked a finger down the side of her neck, her skin smooth and soft.

  “Barb, look at me.”

  She sighed, her shoulders shuddering, and lifted her gaze to his. Tears glittered in the blue depths, and she blinked. Del cupped her chin, caressing the line of her jaw. With nerves jumping in his stomach, he took a deep breath, struggling to get oxygen into desperate lungs.

  “I don’t want to be the mistake you keep repeating,” he said. “I know what I want. I’m sure. I just want you to be, too. If that means waiting, I’ll wait. As long as it takes. As long as you need me to. Because you’re worth waiting for, Barb, and I’m sorry I didn’t see that before.”

  Her lips parted. “Del—”

  He stopped the words, brushing his thumb over her mouth, and he tried to smile. Tears spilled over her lashes. She reached for him, her hands cradling his face, and she kissed him. He tasted her fear and uncertainty as well as something deeper, more familiar. Something close to the love she’d once had for him. He drew back and smoothed her tears away.

  “We have to get moving,” he said. “Tick’s meeting us at the hospital.”

  She straightened as he pulled onto the highway again. “Why?”

  “He wants to talk to Blake. Plus, he’s been over at the crime lab in Moultrie. I’m hoping he has something to tell us.” Worry lingered in his voice, and he knew he hadn’t been able to disguise it when she glanced at him.

  She reached for his hand, lying on his knee and twined her fingers with his. “Oh, Lord, what if he was involved? I don’t want to think that, but all I can see is how little I really know him.”

  “St
op.” He lifted their hands, kissing her knuckles. “I went through the same thing this morning. You’ll drive yourself crazy.”

  “I keep looking at all these things I didn’t see before. He’s lied to us, Del, and—”

  “Baby, please. It’s not the same thing.” He’d struggled with those very fears that morning, but watching Blake sleep, the certainty of his son’s innocence had settled on him. Blake wasn’t trying to save his own skin by refusing to talk; he wanted to protect his family. Del simply had to convince him he needed to turn that worry over to a recently absent father. “He didn’t kill Cassie Howard. He doesn’t have it in him.”

  Her fingertips brushed against his palm. “You sound awfully sure.”

  “I am. About a lot of things.”

  A smile played about her lips, offering him hope. They didn’t speak again, but their hands remained clasped for the rest of the drive.

  *

  In the hospital parking lot, the early afternoon sunlight bounced off windshields and Barbara squinted against the blinding arcs. Del had relinquished her hand when they left the truck, and she missed the strong reassurance of his fingers around hers.

  Small groups of teenagers milled at the entrance. Blake’s friends. She’d have to tell them Blake was still off-limits. She glanced at Del, only to find him staring at the kids, his eyes narrowed. “What is it?”

  “I’m looking for the kids I saw in the hallway with Blake.”

  She frowned. “What kids?”

  “The first day I picked him up at school. There were two boys in the hall with him—”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Irritation flared. Lord, he’d never change, and a growl of frustration curled in her throat. She didn’t need protecting anymore. “I probably could have told you who they were.”

  He shook his head. “I didn’t think about it at the time, and later, there was so much going on between us, it slipped my mind.” He glanced down at her and sighed. “Come on, Barb, quit looking at me like that. I wasn’t trying to leave you out or take over. I just didn’t think about it.”

  Only slightly appeased, she surveyed the boys and girls, most of whom she’d known since their early childhoods. “What did they look like?”

  With a tight shrug, he surveyed the group again. “I don’t see them. A little taller than Blake, dark hair, same style as his. That’s all I remember.”

  Frustration vibrated through her, released in a deep sigh. “That describes half the boys in high school.”

  His mouth twisted. “Yeah, I figured that out about three-thirty this morning while I was looking through Blake’s yearbook.”

  Despite the muggy heat, a shiver trickled over her. “What if we never find them? What if—”

  “Stop it. If Tick doesn’t find them first, sooner or later we’ll get through to him, and he’ll tell us.”

  “Miss Barbara!” Traci Herndon, a junior cheerleader, rushed forward, her long blonde curls dancing around her shoulders. “Can we see him? Please? They won’t let any of us go up without your permission.”

  Barbara glanced from Traci’s pleading expression to Del’s reassuring gaze. Tick thought allowing Blake visitors would draw his attacker out, and surely nothing could happen to him while she and Del were present. She gave a slow nod. “But only two or three of you right now. He still tires easily. I’ll let them know at the desk.”

  “Okay. Thanks!” Traci’s tiny jump of excitement set her hair bouncing again. She wrapped Barbara in a quick hug, then bounded away to rejoin the others.

  “Are they all his friends?” Del murmured the words close to her ear before he reached for the door. Over her shoulder, she looked at the small crowd as she walked by him into the lobby.

  “Acquaintances.” She shook her head. “I don’t see Jamie or Thad. They’ve called every day, though, and I told them he wasn’t ready for visitors yet.” She grimaced. “Teens live vicariously through each other, including the tragedies. When something awful happens, kids end up with more ‘friends’ than they ever thought of having.”

  A frown tugged at his black brows. “Jamie Reese? Is he still hanging out with that kid?”

  Barbara punched the elevator button and made sure she kept her voice even. This was an argument she didn’t intend to have with him again. “Yes, he is. They’re good friends.”

  “I don’t like it. I never did.”

  She could see that. She studied him, his arms crossed over his chest, his jaw set in a tense, stubborn line. She feathered her hair back and sighed. “Del, come on. We’ve been over this before. You can’t blame the boy for what his family has done.”

  “His uncle raped my sister.” His voice had risen and he glanced around, a muscle flicking in his cheek. “I don’t like him hanging out with my kid.”

  “Our kid.”

  “Yeah, fine. I don’t like our kid hanging out with the nephew of my sister’s rapist.”

  With a hushed tone, the elevator door opened. He placed a hand on the side and waited for an elderly couple to exit. Barbara stepped inside, tension gathering at the base of her neck. Del leaned against the opposite wall, arms over his chest once more. She clasped her hands. “He’s a good boy, Del.”

  His harsh laugh exploded in the air between them. “In my experience, ‘good’ and ‘Reese’ don’t usually belong in the same sentence. Hell, even in the same zip code.”

  Hadn’t she decided two minutes ago not to have this argument with him? And yet, here they were, treading familiar ground. Maybe they were doomed to remain locked in the same cycles.

  She forced a smile. “Even Tick thinks the friendship has been good for the two of them.”

  Silent outrage simmered in the glance he shot her way. So, invoking that name hadn’t been the smartest thing to do. “Fine,” she said, resisting the urge to soothe with a touch. “Can we agree to disagree on this?”

  “Meaning I can have an opinion but it doesn’t mean a damn thing.”

  And she’d thought her teenagers were moody. Two choices lay before her—kiss him or kill him? Two steps and she cupped his face, loving the bristle of his unshaven jaw against her fingertips, staring up into dark eyes brimming with confusion and anger. She pulled his mouth down and savored his taste, a mixture of coffee and mint.

  Another hushed tone heralded their arrival on the fifth floor and she stepped back, satisfied with the altogether different fire in his eyes now. “It means you can have an opinion, but you don’t get to make all the rules anymore.”

  He reached out a long finger to hold the “door closed” button. His head descended and he plundered her mouth in a swift, hard kiss. “If I haven’t already told you, Barbara Gail Calvert, I like the new you.”

  His words gave her a giddy rush. She rested a hand against his chest. Heat radiated through cotton, her palm tingling, and she smiled. “Really?”

  “Yeah. Really.” With his free hand, he caressed the curve of her cheek. “Makes us more equal. More like partners.”

  Breathing ceased to be an automatic activity and she had to focus on getting oxygen in and out of her lungs. Darn him, he was handing her everything she wanted, and how was she supposed to resist that? Tears blurred her vision and she blinked. She rubbed her fingers against the smooth cotton of his shirt. “I like the sound of that.”

  “Me, too.” For a moment, his gaze dropped to her mouth, then he stepped away, releasing the door hold button. “Let’s get out of here and see our son.”

  Quiet bustling filled the hospital corridor. Her hand felt curiously naked and exposed without his. Now that Blake had been released from the surgical ICU, he had a room at the end of the hallway, near a large bank of windows. Sunlight washed over the tile floor in a golden pool.

  Reading a magazine, Tick leaned against the wall outside Blake’s room, and even though she’d known he’d be there, a chilly fear invaded Barbara. So much remained that they didn’t know—what had really happened with Cassie Howard, the extent of Blake’s involvement. She wanted to w
rap her son close and rush him away somewhere safe. At the same time, she wondered if the boy she loved with each breath was merely an illusion.

  Del cleared his throat, an uncomfortable sound, and she looked up, finding the same worry darkening his eyes. Oddly reassured by that, she stiffened her posture and met Tick’s enigmatic gaze head on.

  He straightened, folding the magazine and stuffing it into his back pocket. He nodded in Del’s direction. “I waited for you.”

  “Thanks.” Del didn’t smile. “So what did you find out from the lab?”

  “Well, the first good news is that none of the fingerprints taken from Cassie Howard’s watch and belt belonged to Blake. Neither did the human hairs we lifted from her shirt.”

  Barbara sagged with relief. Thank You, Lord.

  “You said the first good news,” Del said. “That means you have more, but there’s something bad, too, isn’t there?”

  “There was dried blood on a couple of tombstones out there. One of those samples does match to Blake. He was definitely there.”

  “But you don’t know when.” Del’s voice had hardened, his stance that of a protective male. “He could have been there before the Howard girl died. Hell, we know someone beat him. He could have had a nosebleed during that—”

  “Or he could have been there during or after.” Tick pushed a hand through his hair. “It looks like kids have been in and out of there for days after the murder.”

  Remembering the groups of teenagers downstairs, Barbara shivered and wrapped her arms around her midriff. Taking on each other’s tragedies. How many of them had known of Cassie’s death and kept it to themselves? Was Blake one of them?

  “He didn’t do it.” Quiet anger vibrated in Del’s voice.

  “I’m not saying he did.” An equal frustration colored Tick’s tone. “I’m saying he knows something and I need him to talk to me.”