by Pamela Toth
Unfinished business always made Brandon a little nervous, so he’d finally decided to find out whether his mind had been playing tricks on him or if Emma was truly as sweet as he remembered. As tempting.
As unforgettable.
She had good reason to be upset with him, he conceded. The last time he’d been with her, he was summoned back to Reno for an early morning meeting with a nervous investor over a deal that threatened to turn as sour as outdated milk. Thinking back, Brandon should have chartered a plane instead of driving, but he hadn’t been thinking too clearly at the time.
Emma had been a virgin. That hot late August night in her apartment he’d only meant to kiss her, to acknowledge the bond they shared, both having been abandoned by their mothers when they were young, both still struggling with unanswered questions. Emma’s response to that first kiss had been so honest, so open, that it knocked him sideways. After he had tasted her mouth and felt it yield to him, the hazy part of his brain that still functioned had tried to slow things down, to give her the chance to change her mind. Instead she’d stepped back into his arms, her eyes dark with desire and her lips softly parted. By the time he realized she was a virgin, it was way too late to stop.
Now he figured the talk they should have had afterward was eight months overdue. And he still had no idea what to say to her.
First he had some fence to mend, as the locals would put it, but challenges didn’t concern him. Nothing came easy in this life and he’d always gone after what he wanted. Some people accused him of being ruthless; he called it persistence.
Brandon grabbed the roses he’d bought on impulse and followed a group of people toward the café. When he glimpsed Emma through the window, a jolt of desire went through him. Time hadn’t embroidered her image in his mind. With her long auburn hair pulled back into some kind of smooth knot, exposing her rounded chin and the curve of her neck, she looked both warmly familiar and yet different in a way he couldn’t quite pinpoint. His grip tightened on the flowers. He’d been a fool to neglect her for so long, but Brandon Harper rarely made the same mistake twice.
From inside the café, Emma glanced at the large party coming through the front door as she headed back to the kitchen. She was going on a much-needed break; let the other waitresses deal with the newcomers.
Pouring herself a cup of coffee, she sank gratefully down at a small table half hidden by stacks of cartons and put her tired feet up on an empty chair. Not for the first time, she wondered what she was still doing in Whitehorn now that her reason for coming here had blown up in her face like an M-80 with a defective fuse.
It had taken Emma months to trace her birth mother, and weeks more to deal with the news that the meeting Emma had so looked forward to would have to take place at the nearby women’s prison. As hard as the truth had been to accept, she’d come too far to leave Montana without finishing what she’d started.
Emma could still remember how nervous she had been when she’d gone to meet Lexine Baxter. Emma had never even seen the inside of a jail before that day and the only citation she’d ever received was for a defective taillight.
At the prison, she was processed and shown to the visitors’ room. Part of her wanted to bolt, fantasies intact, but her curiosity and her need for answers were too strong. Finally a guard brought in an older woman who sat on the other side of the Plexiglas window.
Emma had been so busy staring that she nearly forgot to pick up the phone. She could see no family resemblance in her mother’s face, etched in bitter lines, nor the brassy hair, grown out at the roots, nor the flat, hard gaze that bored into hers.
The woman was nothing like the parent Emma had prayed would rescue her from each new foster home in which she’d been dumped, alone and scared. Face-to-face with reality, she struggled to keep an open mind.
At first Lexine seemed pleased to see her, but her attitude shifted when Emma asked how she could have abandoned her own baby. Instead of taking responsibility, Lexine piled one excuse on top of another. She’d gotten mixed up with a married man, had to scramble for work, become involved with the wrong people, had bad breaks, believed Emma was better off without her. She was so intent on painting herself as a victim that she even blamed the men she killed for provoking her.
The lack of sympathy Emma hadn’t bothered to hide sent Lexine into a rage, the abrupt change in her a shock to witness. She accused Emma of looking for her because she might have money hidden away. Considering Lexine Baxter’s present circumstances, the idea was ludicrous. The sheer unfairness of the accusation brought tears to Emma’s eyes, and Lexine’s scathing remarks about Emma’s appearance broke her heart.
Finally she’d run from the room in tears with the sound of Lexine’s harsh laughter echoing in her ears. Just thinking about it still made Emma want to cry.
For so many years she had dreamed of finding her birth mother. Now Emma felt as though she’d been rejected for a second time; she was drifting, unable to make plans, unwilling to move on. Except for the couple who raised her, there was nothing left for her back in South Dakota; at least here she had a job, a few friends, and a roof over her head.
She moved to push her glasses back up and then remembered that she’d replaced them with contact lenses a couple of weeks before. Lexine’s cruel comments about her appearance had been a factor in her decision, but Emma was pleased with the change and she’d gotten several compliments at work. As far as she was concerned, her improved appearance was the only good thing to come from the whole painful incident.
The confrontation with Lexine wasn’t the only reason Emma would never forget this little Montana town. For a while Brandon Harper had played a big part in her reluctance to leave, until it became painfully obvious that what had been a turning point in Emma’s life had been nothing more than a one-night stand for the wealthy entrepreneur.
If Brandon had been back to Whitehorn since he’d crawled out of her bed, she hadn’t seen him. She tried not to think about him and she’d long since given up on the idea that he might contact her.
She sipped her coffee and glanced at the clock. Now that she’d actually met Lexine, who had to be one of the most infamous citizens Whitehorn had ever seen, Emma was thankful she had followed her instinct and not told anyone in town about their relationship. If Emma’s luck held, it would stay her secret until she was long gone.
“Emma! Where’s Emma?” Charlene, one of the other waitresses, demanded, poking her head through the door. She saw Emma sitting at the table with her feet up. “You better get out here, girl. Someone’s here looking for you and he’s got flowers.”
Emma gaped at the older woman. “Is this another one of your jokes? If you make me get up for nothing, I’ll see that the next party with little kids sits at your station.”
With one finger, Charlene drew a big X on her ample chest. “Cross my heart. But if you aren’t interested, I’ll be more than happy to take the roses and the fellow that brung ’em off your hands. He’s enough to make a statue drool.”
Curious now, Emma got to her feet. Charlene had to be mistaken. “What would Will think about that?” Emma asked. Will was Charlene’s boyfriend of a dozen years and a fixture at the counter every morning for breakfast.
Charlene chuckled as Emma brushed past her. “Who says I’d tell Will?” she muttered.
Emma took one look at the man seated at his usual table in her section and froze. Brandon Harper! Had her thoughts somehow conjured him up?
She was about to duck back into the kitchen when he glanced up and saw her. He got to his feet and held out a sheaf of yellow roses wrapped in green paper. His smile was every bit as lethal as she remembered, his eyes just as blue. Heat flooding her cheeks, she managed to walk over to his booth without stumbling.
“Hi,” he said as easily as if it had been days and not months since she’d seen him. As if their last meeting had been here at the Hip Hop and not her tiny apartment. “How have you been?”
Emma wanted to demand why he even bo
thered to ask when it was obvious he hadn’t given her a thought since he’d slid from her arms like the snake he was and left without a backward glance. Instead of throwing her order pad at his head, she dragged up a return smile and tried to act as though a floral gift from an old lover was an everyday occurrence. Considering that Brandon had been her first, it was a little hard to pull off.
“I’m fine,” she replied with a careless toss of her head, ignoring the roses. “Would you like a menu?”
Brandon’s expression tightened and he laid down the flowers. “Emma—” he began again.
She glanced around and tapped her order pad with her pencil. Several customers seated at the counter had turned to watch. “I’m busy,” she hissed, the heat of embarrassment warming her face. She’d always hated being the center of attention. “Shall I get you a menu or are you ready to order?”
He sighed and sat back down. “I guess you can bring me a menu,” he replied, his eyes narrowing as he studied her.
For a moment Brandon’s gaze held hers. Emma refused to soften her brittle smile. If she relaxed her features even a little bit, she might just cry instead.
By the time Emma brought his steak sandwich and fries, Brandon’s smile was firmly back in place.
“You forgot your flowers,” he said after she’d set down his plate with a thump.
Wordlessly she picked up the bouquet as though it were a piece of meat that had turned bad and made a beeline for the kitchen. When she came back with his iced tea, he resisted the temptation to ask whether she’d bothered to smell the roses before chucking them in the garbage. “Can you sit for a minute?” he invited instead, refusing to be discouraged by her unfriendly attitude.
“I just came off my break.” There was more ice in her voice than in his drink.
“Take another one,” he suggested cavalierly, trying to look at the bright side. At least she wasn’t indifferent.
Her response to his suggestion was like the blast of an air conditioner. “Not a chance.”
Brandon leaned closer. “I like the new look.” He’d realized she wasn’t wearing her glasses anymore, that she had contacts now. Of course it wasn’t technically new to him; she certainly hadn’t been wearing her glasses in bed, but she’d worn them at work.
Her hand went to her face, as if to push the glasses back up her nose. At the last moment she fingered her tiny gold earring instead. “I’m so glad you approve.” She glanced around, but her section was empty except for two elderly couples who were talking over sandwiches and coffee.
“So why are you here?” she demanded, a hand on her hip.
He’d been about to tell her that he hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind, but her tone of voice struck his ego like a sour note at a symphony. He’d have to work up to it gradually.
“I’m visiting my relatives,” he drawled instead, even though he hadn’t given the Kincaids a thought until now.
A man’s pride could only take so much rejection at one time. He’d brought flowers, which she’d done her best to ignore. He’d been willing to apologize for neglecting her, had she given him the chance. Instead she’d attempted to turn him into a human Popsicle with her icy gaze. Perhaps he needed to rethink the entire situation before he made any more tactical errors.
A young couple sat in a nearby booth, hands clasped across the table. The man was wearing a battered Stetson and scarred boots. Their clothes showed hard wear. Emma glanced over her shoulder, but the couple appeared to be much more interested in each other than in anything the café might have to offer.
Brandon found himself envious of the rapt attention the rather plain woman paid the man as he talked. What would it feel like to be the recipient of such adoring concentration, even when one lacked wealth or power, as it was obvious the other man did? Suddenly Brandon felt a raw emptiness inside he knew the sandwich in front of him would do nothing to fill.
While he was trying to not stare at the other couple, Emma walked away. She took with her Brandon’s last hope that roses and a smile might smooth her ruffled feelings so they could pick up where they’d left off back in August.
With a twinge of regret, he recalled the connection to her he’d felt when she talked about growing up in foster homes, as he had, hungering to know her real parents. She’d been sure they had abandoned her because she wasn’t good enough, and she was scared that no one would ever love her because she didn’t deserve it. He had wanted to tell Emma then that he’d experienced every one of those doubts, but the words stuck in his throat. He thought back to his own foster parents. All of them. Just an infant when he entered the foster care system, Brandon had been quickly adopted by the Harpers, a young childless couple from Nevada. But his adoptive father turned out to be abusive, and at only eight years old, Brandon had been removed from the Harper house and shuffled from one foster home to another. Though as an adult he’d tried telling himself differently—to no avail—as a child, he’d believed deep down inside his heart that it was his own fault that it never worked out with any of those families. He’d never admitted those feelings to anyone, certainly not to other women he knew. Now he was damned glad he hadn’t said anything to Emma, either.
She brought him a red squeeze bottle of catsup and slapped it down beside his plate. “Will there be anything else?” she asked with exaggerated politeness.
The face he’d seen glowing with pleasure was now carefully blank. The hair that had brushed his naked skin was tamed, with only a few wisps floating free. The lips that had softened and parted beneath his were compressed into a straight line. Worst of all, the eyes that misted with pleasure were cold.
Brandon glanced down at his sandwich and shook his head. “No, thanks.” His appetite had fled.
Emma tore off his check and laid it next to his iced tea. “I’ll be your cashier when you’re ready,” she recited without feeling.
He watched her walk over to the other table, hips swaying gently, and greet the young couple. Then Brandon turned his attention to the lunch he no longer wanted. Perhaps he would drive on out to the ranch, after all, just so his return to Whitehorn wasn’t a total waste of time.
With a sigh of regret, Emma watched the brake lights on Brandon’s car flicker as he exited the parking lot. After he’d tossed down some bills and left without trying to talk to her again, she’d given the flowers to Charlene, knowing she couldn’t bear to take them home where the golden blooms and waxy dark green leaves would only serve as an unhappy reminder of something that had started so wonderfully and ended up so painfully wrong. Despite the sneer from her sensible side, Emma hadn’t been able to resist keeping one perfect bud for herself.
For a moment when she’d first seen Brandon sitting in his habitual place, casually dressed in a gray tweed jacket over jeans and a blue chambray shirt, happiness burst in her chest. Her surroundings faded abruptly and all she could see was him, hair mussed, eyes dark with passion, as he’d been the last time they’d been together. He’d been wearing the same killer smile that night, the one that turned her good sense to mush and her resistance to jelly.
Then reality came rushing back. She felt so…vulnerable. So out of control, as she had at the prison. It was a helpless feeling.
He’d made her first time into the memory every woman hoped for, and then he’d dropped off the earth without a word. She’d spent the first week jumping when the phone rang, rushing to the mailbox, looking up expectantly every time the door to the café opened to admit a customer. The second week she’d examined everything she’d said and done that night with him, trying to figure out what had gone wrong, and bursting into tears without warning. She’d told Janie that her hormones were giving her fits, but she didn’t think Janie bought the excuse.
Finally realization dawned. Brandon had no reason to call. She had opened herself up, both emotionally and physically, but it hadn’t been enough to hold his attention. Simply put, she’d bored him, both in and out of bed. That hurt worse than the pain of missing him. Eventually,
though, the wound had scabbed over, but now he’d come back to rip it open again.
When Charlene had first summoned her from the kitchen, Emma’s survival instincts had risen like the protective shields on an intergalactic starship. Red eyes, sleepless nights and a wastebasket full of tear-soaked tissues were the least of what her bad judgment had already cost her. Between Brandon and her mother, Emma felt as though she’d had more than her share of disappointments since coming to Montana. Caution had been a painful lesson, but one she’d learned well.
“What’s going on between you and our resident hunk?” Janie asked Emma, making her jump. “I haven’t seen him in months.”
Though Janie and Charlene—and even Melissa North, the café owner—had teased her unmercifully when Brandon had come in over the summer, at least none of them had commented when he disappeared. If Janie or her husband, Reed, had seen Brandon’s car the night he stayed at Emma’s, they hadn’t mentioned it to her. But now that he’d resurfaced, Janie was asking questions, especially when he’d shown up bearing fifty bucks’ worth of roses.
“Until today, I hadn’t seen him, either,” Emma replied. “And there’s nothing going on.” She liked working with Janie, she appreciated the garage apartment the Austins let her rent and she didn’t want to appear rude, but she wasn’t up for dissecting Brandon’s behavior. “He just came by for lunch.” She didn’t mention the roses, hoping Janie wouldn’t, either.
Janie searched Emma’s face. “He’s always seemed nice enough, but just remember that men like Brandon play by a whole different set of rules than the good ol’ country boys we know and love. Be careful, girlfriend.”
Emma swallowed a laugh. Janie’s warning had come a little too late. Emma had learned the hard way how very differently she and Brandon saw the world.