by Candis Terry
As expected, Emma had ignored him the rest of that night and to make matters worse, he’d had to suffer through watching Hamilton flirt with her. Emma appeared to have gotten sucked right into the farm supply owner’s “Look at what a good, upstanding guy I am” routine.
When the game had ended with a series of groans and complaints from the inebriated spectators at the Naughty Irish, Jesse had accompanied Emma out the door. He’d taken her home while Dean had gone home to an empty house. With thoughts of Emma traipsing through his head, Dean had been unable to sleep. To keep those thoughts of her at bay, he’d stayed up all night researching the internet for more information on how to create a non-profit organization.
Days later he sat in the downstairs office of the lodge house, turned on the laptop he’d brought from Houston, and checked emails. One from his agent asked the progress of his recovery. Dean hit the delete key. Two more were from his coach, asking the progress of his recovery. Delete. Delete. None of the emails were personalized. There had been no “Hey, what’s up, butthead?” and Dean began to realize that they valued his arm more than him.
Outside the big picture window in his office, snow drifted down and steam rose from the hot springs. He should just take a bottle of Jack down there and have a good sip and soak. But whiskey at ten in the morning had never been his breakfast of champions. Besides, every time he looked at that damn hot springs, he thought of Emma naked and wet and so hot for him she nearly melted the granite surrounding the pool.
He thought of the way the moonlight had peeked through the clouds to come out and dance in her hair. The way the fireworks over the lake had glittered in her eyes. The way she grabbed his hair between her fingers and cried out his name while she came against his tongue. He couldn’t ever remember celebrating New Year’s in such a dynamic way.
The following day changed things for him. In his mind he could see them cuddled up and laughing together. Something he never did with the women he usually dated. He’d never been a cuddler. Hell, just using the word threatened the retraction of his “man” card.
He shook his head. Emma was a strong woman who knew what she wanted.
Unfortunately, she didn’t want him.
He stood and with the backs of his knees he shoved the desk chair away. He went into the kitchen for another cup of coffee. He’d just dropped in two cubes of sugar when the doorbell rang. His bare feet squeaked against the hardwood floor as he went to the huge double doors and opened one. His sister Kelly stood on the veranda. Snow dusted her blond hair. Her nose was pink and she clasped the front of her soft pink parka together.
“Let me in, I’m freezing out here.” She pushed past him and strode into the living room. Snow clung to the soles of her boots and left a trail of melted droplets across the floor.
“Nice to see you, little sister. How was your flight?”
“Typical. Why is it these airlines can never seem to get out of the gate on time?”
“They try.”
“Yeah. Tell that to the screaming kid who sat behind me all the way from Chicago to LA kicking the back of my seat. And please remind me of that the next time you need a favor.”
“I really do appreciate it, Kel.”
“I know. Actually, I had a moment to stop in at the Shack on the way here.”
“How’s it going?”
“Busy.” She tugged off her coat, tossed it on the back of the leather sofa, and went to stand by the fire in the enormous stone fireplace. “Kate’s up to her elbows in Valentine’s Day specialty cake orders. Dad’s off helping Edna Price install a new water heater. And I’m here to help you.”
He lifted the cup to his mouth and sipped the tepid coffee. “When do you head back to Chicago?”
“Tomorrow. So let’s get this summer camp deal off the ground. There’s a ton of paperwork to file.”
“That’s why I called you back. Cup of Joe?”
“Please. Fake sugar. Got cream?”
“Milk.”
“That’ll do.” She followed him into the kitchen where the bank of windows overlooked the snow-covered meadow. “I still can’t believe you bought this place. You must have paid a fortune.”
“Nope.” He picked up the glass carafe and poured the coffee into a mug. “It had been on the market for so long the owners were eager to make a deal. When I told them what I wanted to do with the property I must have touched something in their hearts because I only paid half of what it’s worth.”
Kelly’s green eyes widened. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.” He handed her the coffee. “Want a tour?”
“Duh. I’ve driven by this place a million times and have never set foot on the property before.”
Dean led the way up the stairs. “Not even to sneak in a soak in the hot springs?”
Kelly gasped. “It has a hot springs?”
Dean stopped so fast she ran into his backside. “Man, you really are Sister Serious, aren’t you?”
“I’m what?”
“Didn’t you ever put down the books and break out of the scholar dungeon for a little fun when you were a kid?”
Her small nose wrinkled. “Apparently not.”
“Then I say put them down right now and learn to cut loose a little.”
“Yeah. See, that’s not a good idea.” She sighed. “When I cut loose I have a tendency to lose all control.”
They reached the top of the stairs. “Hmmm. Kate’s wedding reception?”
“Don’t remind me.”
“Hangover?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“Would I have to kill someone?”
“Yeah. Me.”
“Not a certain deputy with a wild reputation?”
Kelly’s head jerked up. “Why would you say that?”
“Personal knowledge of going in for the easy score.”
“I am not an easy score.”
Dean laughed. “Everybody’s easy when they’re drunk off their ass. Come on, wipe off that prosecutor’s glare. A tour of this place might take awhile.”
True to his word, it took Dean almost half an hour to show his sister the five-bedroom, four-bath house plus adjacent acreage and outbuildings. She’d appropriately oohed and ahhed over his plans to turn the guest cabins into bunkhouses for the kids and counselors, and grinned at his dream of adding horses and smaller animals for sensitivity therapy. She made him promise to hold a big BBQ as soon as the weather warmed up and the snow melted.
They strolled back into the house and Dean poured her another cup of coffee before he guided her toward his office.
“Don’t take this as an insult,” she said, admiring the rough timber grandfather clock in the hall. “But I can’t believe you came up with this idea all on your own.”
“I do have a business degree.”
“Oh yeah. I forgot about that.”
“And I might have had a little help,” he admitted.
“From who?”
A certain ghost mama. He shook his head and grinned. “If things go forward, as I expect they will, you’ll find out at the appropriate time.”
“Wow. That’s cryptic.”
“You have no idea.” He chuckled. “Guess we better get down to business.” When they reached his office he opened his laptop. She sat across from him, studied him like he was a two-legged spider. “Got something else on your mind?”
“Ugh. Am I that transparent? Or are you really that good at reading me?”
“I read signs for a living. I watch the eyes of my opponents to see what their next move is going to be. You’re not transparent, but you’re pretty damned close.”
“And yet, I chose to be an officer of the court.”
“Spill, Kel.”
“What’s up with you and Emma Hart?”
Unfortunately nothing. “Why?”
“For starters, everyone saw how you acted the other night at the Irish. Your team was playing and yet you couldn’t keep your eyes off her.”
“
And you know this because you have a magic mirror in your Chicago apartment?”
“I know this because—”
“Baby sister ratted me out.”
“Yeah. Kinda.”
“Well, Kate must have been seeing things,” he said, “because if she failed to mention it, Emma was on a date.”
“With Jesse Hamilton. I know. Look, Jesse is a stand-up guy. He’s one of the nicest, most responsible younger men in this town.”
“And what am I, the big bad wolf?”
“I don’t think of you like that and you know it. Kate does, though. She thinks you suck at relationships.”
“I do not.”
“Seriously?” She gave a tilt of her head and her ponytail flopped to one side. “When was the last time you had a relationship with someone that lasted more than two weeks?”
“They all last more than two weeks.”
“I meant to say two months.”
“Okay. You got me.” Dean took a slug of coffee, winced at the burn on his tongue, and set his mug down on a stone coaster. “The only long-term relationship I’ve ever had is with a football.”
“Exactly.” His sister brushed her blond hair behind her shoulders. “Which is what has Kate’s apron in a knot. Emma Hart is looking for love, Dean. A real one-on-one connection that will lead to a forever relationship. She wants children. She wants her own happily-ever-after.”
“Did she send you here to tell me that?”
“Emma? Are you kidding? She’s a very private person. Kate knows more about her than I do and that isn’t much.”
Hell, he probably knew more about Emma than both his sisters put together. But they didn’t need to know that. What Emma had told him would remain private unless she decided otherwise.
“And this has what to do with me?”
Kelly leaned forward and placed her hand on his arm. “You’re a good guy, Dean, but Emma’s not your type. Like I said, everyone saw the way you watched her the other night at the bar. She needs a man who will be there for her. And as much as I love you and I think the world of you—”
“I get it. I’m not a keeper.”
Jesus. Who did they think he was, Hannibal Lecter?
“No worries, Kel. You and Kate can sheath your Power Ranger swords. Your sacred little schoolteacher is safe from the big bad quarterback.”
For now.
The car keys twirled in Dean’s hand as he punched the garage door opener and headed toward the less-than-economical SUV he’d bought when he’d come back into town. But as he opened the driver’s door, he glanced at the rusted heap of crap parked next to the SUV. He hadn’t had a conversation with his mother since he’d come back from Houston. Maybe he’d take the Buick and see if she had time to pop in for a chat.
Several miles down the road Tom Jones began to moan through the radio.
“Oh, goody! You’re back!”
Dean smiled, pulled to the side of the road, and turned in his seat. She hadn’t changed. Same red flannel over her overalls. Same gray bun on top of her head. Same bright golden glow hovering all over the place. “Hi, Mom. Fancy seeing you here.”
“Well, you wouldn’t have if you’d driven that big old gas guzzler. What’s up with that?”
“I thought it would come in handy with transporting people around.”
“For the charity?”
“Yep.”
She clasped a transparent hand to her chest. “Oh, Son, I just can’t tell you how wonderful this is going to be. I know you’ll be so involved you won’t even miss football.”
“Of course I’m not going to miss football. I’ll be headed out to training camp in July.”
“Yes. Of course.” She glanced away. “That’s what I meant.”
He lifted a brow. “Is it?”
“Is it what?”
“Stop dodging the question.” He leaned closer. “You can’t see into the future, can you?”
“Pffft. No. Of course not. That would be ridiculous.”
“And me sitting in your car talking to you after you’ve been dead for five months isn’t?”
“Well, there is that. So what’s the plan? Tell me all the details.”
“You are so transparent.”
“Well, of course I am, silly boy. I’m dead.”
Dean laughed, turned in his seat, and leaned against the door. For the next ten minutes he ran his whole game plan by his mother the same way he had when he’d been in high school and college. If anyone had driven by, they would have called the men in little white jackets to take him away. As it was, their in-depth conversation hadn’t been disturbed. The strange reality that he happened to be having this exchange with someone who no longer existed did not slip past him.
“Does dad know you still hang around?” Dean asked when they’d wrapped up.
“Well, not like you and Kate. I’ve got to catch him when he’s sleeping. He doesn’t believe in ghosts and things that go bump in the night.”
“Mom? I don’t believe in that stuff either.”
“But you’re more open-minded. Someone,” she pointed her finger skyward, “who shall remain nameless says that within every mind there is the possibility to see what does not always seem believable. Which is why children are so open to the possibilities. No one has told them what they can or cannot see. Their imaginations are works of art. But when you get older, the heart gets jaded and you rely too much on the evidence instead of the possibility of the miracle.”
“Wow. That’s pretty deep.”
“Yeah.” She laughed. “Weird, huh.”
He nodded. “Pretty damn weird.”
“Just saying, it doesn’t hurt to keep an open mind and open heart at the same time. You just never know what might be right around the corner.” She leaned forward and patted his shoulder. “Who knows, you could even fall in love.”
“That wouldn’t be a miracle, Mom. That would be a disaster.”
Fire crackled and popped in the woodstove as Emma sat on her floor and prepared the week’s lessons. Between her notations, she’d put down her pen and dangle a catnip mouse in front of Oscar’s twitching whiskers. Instead of his usual pounce and attack, he barely touched it with his pink nose. He looked up at Emma with his one blue eye and one green eye as if to say he wasn’t in the mood for felt mouse-chasing or for getting catnip-tipsy.
“What’s the matter, boy?” She lifted his chubby body into her arms and stroked him between his pointy ears. “Did you eat something that upset your tummy?”
Oscar turned on his motor and head-butted her chin. His way of saying I love you. She held her old friend in her lap. His warm body curled up on her legs and his purr got louder while she stroked his silky fur.
She and Oscar went way back to a time when she’d learned about life the hard way. She’d been eighteen and so far off the radar with the cool kids she didn’t even register. Then she’d met the college buddy Dean had brought home for the summer. Nick Harris had been cute and muscular and for some reason he’d singled her out and invited her to the bonfire party. Up to that point the closest she’d ever gotten to one of the infamous bonfire parties was when her Memaw had driven past it on their way to a friend’s house to play Yahtzee.
To Emma the invitation had been huge. A sign of acceptance into the cool kid club. She’d gone there with good intentions. She’d left there without her pride or her virginity.
On the way home from that bonfire party she’d discovered Oscar. A tiny kitten who’d been abandoned by a dumpster at the school yard where she’d hidden until she could gather herself together. She’d known she couldn’t go home until she made that happen. Causing any distress for her Memaw had been out of the question. She’d cuddled that kitten against her chest all the way home and they’d become one.
At night, Oscar slept beneath the covers between her ankles. She’d always been careful not to move suddenly so as not to injure him. But Oscar hadn’t minded the occasional bonk on the head. When he grew from a kitten to a cat, h
e’d seemed to sense her moods. On those nights when loneliness crept up, she’d lie on her side so the tears would slide down her face and onto her pillow. Oscar would settle himself against her body with his head on her shoulder. He’d look up at her with his mismatched eyes as if he wished he could take away her pain.
She stroked his soft fur and leaned down to kiss his head right between his pointy ears. “I love you, Oscar. Even if everybody else thinks you’re evil and grumpy. They just don’t know you like I do.”
“Merrrrooowww.”
Emma laughed. Her cat never just said a plain meow. He always had an extra little grrrr to add.
The knock on the door surprised her. Who would come by this late? She lifted Oscar from her lap and gently set him on the floor. Tail swishing, he followed her as she reached for the deadbolt and swung open the door.
Dean stood on the other side of the threshold in the dark gray Kodiak parka that made the green in his eyes almost glow.
His gaze lowered down her legs then climbed back up to her face. “You’re really into cartoons, aren’t you?”
She glanced down at her Minnie Mouse pajama bottoms. “They make me smile.”
His gaze lowered again to her tank top and the hard peaks poking against the thin fabric. A corner of his mouth lifted. “Me too.”
“Merrrrooowww.”
Dean looked down where Oscar rubbed against her leg. “Hello to you too, evil cat.”
“He’s not evil. He just has discriminating taste.”
“He hates me,” Dean said.
“Like I said.”
Dean laughed.
“Why are you here?” Emma asked. “It’s nine o’clock at night. Shouldn’t you be out carousing at the bowling alley or something?”
“Good one, teacher. Aren’t you going to invite me in?”
“Probably not.”
“It’s cold out here.”
“Then maybe you should get back in your—” She glanced out the door to see his mother’s rusted bomber parked in her driveway. “Where’s that monster of an SUV you bought?”