Harlequin Superromance August 2013 - Bundle 1 of 2: What Happens Between FriendsStaying at Joe'sHer Road Home

by Beth Andrews

  “You sure you’re okay?”

  “I bumped my head. It’s nothing.” And no way would she tell him she’d momentarily blacked out. He’d insist she go to the E.R. when all she wanted was a hot shower, something to eat and a few hours in his company.

  Being with James was always so easy. So relaxed. No matter how long they’d been apart, when they got together again it was as if they’d seen each other the day before. He didn’t lay guilt trips on her if she didn’t call or text him for months on end. He may not understand the choices she made, and he often teased her about her mistakes, but he never judged her. Better yet, he was always the first one to congratulate her on her triumphs.

  He believed in her and accepted her for who she was, no questions asked. He loved her without reservations or expectations.

  Some days she thought he was the only person who did.

  Tears stung the back of her eyes. To hide them from James’s intense gaze, she stretched onto her toes and hugged him again. He stiffened, his fingers digging painfully into her hips as if to push her away.

  As if to set her aside.

  A crazy thought. James would never do that to her. He’d never be done with her. The mere idea of it was absurd. Irrational.

  Inconceivable.

  Still, panic tightened her chest, made it impossible to breathe. She squeezed him harder. He sighed heavily, his breath ruffling the damp hair at her temple, the exhalation seeming to shudder through him. He slowly shifted closer, slid his hands around to settle at the small of her back, his warmth seeping through her wet clothes.

  A pebble of unnamed emotion lodged itself in her throat and she pressed her face into the crook of his neck and simply held on. She inhaled deeply, and his spicy cologne and the underlying scent of sawdust only made the urge to bawl stronger.

  God, she must have hit her head harder than she’d thought. Sure, her life was in the crapper right now, but it was temporary. A rough spot, one she’d eventually get over. “This, too, shall pass” and all of that. Good times and bad times, successes and failures...they all came and went.

  And eventually she’d get back to looking at the bright side—but right now the glare was giving her one hell of a headache.

  “Hey,” James said, his soft, gruff voice causing goose bumps to rise on her arms. “What’s this about?”

  “Nothing.” She cleared her throat and prayed she didn’t sound as needy and unsteady as she felt. “I’m just...I’m really happy to see you.”

  She leaned back and studied him. His handsome face was as familiar to her as her own: soulful eyes the color of rich chocolate, heavy eyebrows and shaggy dark hair that had the tendency to curl at the ears and nape. His Roman nose bent slightly right, thanks to his taking an elbow to the face when he went up for a rebound during a basketball game their sophomore year.

  Yes, he was the same. Same mouth with the full bottom lip. Same square jaw. But there was one difference....

  “What’s this?” she asked, tapping his chin. She had the strangest, strongest urge to leave her fingertips there, to trail them across his dark whiskers, to rub the thick, triangular patch just below his lower lip.

  She dropped her hand back to his shoulder.

  He stroked his thumb and forefinger across his neatly trimmed mustache and goatee. “Chicks dig it.”

  “No doubt.”

  Then again, females of all ages dug the Montesano men. James may not have Leo’s panty-melting looks or Eddie’s sexy intensity, but he was handsome, kind and when you were with him, he listened—really listened—instead of patting your head or giving you unwanted advice. A woman could trust him—with her thoughts, her secrets and her heart. He was sweet. Safe.

  A good catch, her mother had deemed him way back when he’d been fifteen.

  She’d been right. Irene Ellison was always right. It was her third most-annoying trait.

  “You’ve never had facial hair before,” Sadie said, musing aloud. “I mean, other than that scraggly thing you tried to pass off as a mustache when you turned eighteen.”

  He smiled, one of his easy, warm grins. The whiskers may be new, somehow making him seem harder, edgier than he truly was, but inside, where it mattered, he hadn’t changed.

  And thank God for that.

  “It might have been a little...patchy.”

  “Patchy? It looked like you’d taped a molting caterpillar to your upper lip.”

  He shrugged, the movement causing his chest to rise and fall against her inner arms. Tingles of heat pricked her chilled skin.

  She stepped back. “I sure missed you, pal o’ mine.”

  “I missed you, too. Though I’d miss you more if you didn’t bring mayhem with you every time you came back to town.”

  “You know what they say. One person’s mayhem is another’s good time.”

  “No one says that.”

  “They should. Think I could get it trademarked? I’d make a killing with needlepoint samplers.”

  “I thought you were going to make a killing selling organic beauty products.”

  Heat crawled up her neck. Thank goodness it was too dark for him to see her blush. “Surprisingly, there wasn’t as big a market for them as I’d hoped.”

  And, if she was honest with herself—something she tried very hard to avoid—her products weren’t good enough to be competitive in an already very competitive market. It’d been a whim, one of many she’d followed through on.

  “That is surprising,” James said mildly. Bless him, he never bad-mouthed her ideas or told her they wouldn’t work. “So, what brings you to town?”

  “I didn’t want to miss your birthday.”

  “You’ve missed plenty in the past fifteen years.”

  “But I couldn’t miss this year. Such a special milestone.”

  “Yes. Turning thirty-four is very significant for most people.” He crossed his arms, the movement pulling his shirt open at the neck, showing a sprinkling of dark chest hair, the strong line of his throat. “What’s wrong?”

  “What makes you think anything’s wrong?”

  “Because you’re standing in front of me, wet, muddy and bedraggled—”

  “Ooh...breaking out the big-boy words. I’m so proud.”

  “—which I’m going to guess means you’re flat broke, unemployed or without prospects. Or all of the above. No offense,” he added.

  “None taken.”

  How could she when he’d pretty much summed up her situation? And quite succinctly, too.

  At least he wouldn’t hold any of those items against her.

  “Actually,” she continued, “I prefer to think of it as financially challenged, between jobs and open to life’s many possibilities.”

  “To each their own.” He stepped closer, gave her one of his searching looks, as if he could see inside her head. Too bad she didn’t let anyone, not even her best buddy, get that close to her. “What can I do to help?”

  Those damn tears were back. Here she was, slinking into Shady Grove with her tail and her failure tucked firmly between her legs. But with James, there were no recriminations or smirky looks—oh, man, she really hated those smirky, I-expected-so-much-more-from-you looks.

  Her mother was an ace at them.

  He didn’t list all the many, and varied, ways Sadie had gone wrong in her life—conveniently forgetting the times she’d been successful. Didn’t insist she’d be happy and fulfilled only if she stopped chasing foolish dreams and married some dentist or lawyer, birthed two-point-five kids and spent the rest of her days locked in a three-thousand-square-foot Cape Cod house, complete with inground pool, gourmet kitchen and white picket fence. He didn’t expect her to stay in Shady Grove.

  Didn’t expect her to follow in her mother’s footsteps.

  Irene had
given up her freedom for security. She’d traded in spontaneity and excitement for schedules and monotony, had tossed aside her independence for a life of entitlement, one she hadn’t even earned. She’d settled.

  Sadie never would. She had too much of her father in her. Would rather die than to be...ordinary.

  And James knew it. He knew her, better than anyone.

  She squeezed his forearm. “Thanks, but right now, all I want to do is get into some dry clothes, have a huge piece of your birthday cake and then drown my sorrows with a bottle of wine.”

  “I think we can manage that.”

  “I’ll get my bag.” As she passed the passenger side, Elvis, previously lying across both front seats—the better to spread his muddy paw prints around—sat up, his ears perked. Sadie let him out and he raced to the front of the Jeep, his body vibrating. He barked three times, sounding like some vicious beast ready to tear a man’s arm off and use it as a chew toy, then sniffed the ground, lifted his leg and peed on her front tire.

  James blinked. “There was a dog in your car.”

  “Sherlock Holmes has nothing on your deductive powers.”

  “You got a dog?” he asked, sounding as shocked as if she’d hog-tied good old Sherlock and painted his toenails bright pink.

  The strap of her bag slung over her shoulder, she shut the rear passenger-side door. “Sort of.”

  “Is that like when you sort of had a job as Bill Gates’s personal assistant?”

  “I told you, Bill and I had a real moment at that restaurant. We clicked.” She linked her hands together to show her and Bill’s connection. “He probably misplaced my number, that’s all.”

  James’s snort made her think he didn’t believe her.

  “I never pictured you with a pet, especially one that big.”

  “He’s not technically mine. I found him.”

  “What do you mean, you found him?”

  “I’m not sure how to make that statement clearer. He was in the middle of the road, I swerved to avoid hitting him, hit that stupid sign then went back and found him on the side of the road.”

  “You went back to rescue a stray dog? By yourself?” James asked, incredulous. Worried. Well, it was one of the things he did best. “What if he was rabid?”

  She and Elvis exchanged an amused look—okay, so it was definitely amused on her end. As if he’d understood every word they’d said, Elvis hung his head and slunk over to James, where he sat and lifted his paw quite adorably.

  “Yes,” she said, her tone all sorts of wry, “clearly he’s the next Cujo.”

  But James didn’t hear her, he was too busy shaking Elvis’s paw with one hand, petting him with the other as he murmured to the dog about what a good boy he was, how smart.

  “Aww...there’s nothing quite as heartwarming as a boy and his dog,” Sadie said.

  “No.”

  She blinked innocently at him. No one did innocent like she did—even if she had to say so herself. “What?”

  “I’m not taking him off your hands. I already have a dog.” He straightened. “Unlike this one, she’s never pissed on anyone’s tire and she doesn’t stink. And don’t try to tell me you got him for me for my birthday.”

  Shoot. That had been her next tactic.

  See? That was the problem with someone knowing you so well. No sense of surprise. “So you won’t take him in, raise him as one of your own,” she said.

  “That about sums it up.”

  “But you will help me find out if someone is searching for him?”

  He kept silent, as if he was thinking that one over. Silly man. Didn’t he realize she knew him just as well as he knew her?

  Which was how she knew he was going to agree even before he nodded.

  Grinning, she linked her arm with his, hugged it close to her side. “I knew I could count on you.” Always. Forever. “Come on. Let’s go see about that cake.”

  * * *

  JAMES GLANCED AT his phone. By his calculations, Sadie had been back in his life for approximately twenty minutes and he’d already agreed to help her with her latest problem. Which meant he’d be taking on the responsibility of finding the damn dog’s owners. Twenty minutes. Must be some sort of record. Leo was right. He was a sucker.

  He never could refuse Sadie anything.

  It was his cross to bear, his greatest weakness.

  She was his greatest weakness.

  He stopped just inside the doorway to his parents’ room, flipped on the four recessed lights in the vaulted ceiling, casting the room in a soft glow. The walls, a deep olive green, were offset by low-pile beige carpet and white trim. Filmy, tan curtains with splashes of darker brown hung open, leaving a clear view of the crescent moon trying to break through the clouds, the hills a dark shadow in the distance.

  Sadie pressed against his back. “You sure your mom doesn’t mind me hopping in the shower?” she asked, her breath washing over the sensitive skin at the side of his neck.

  He made the mistake of glancing at her. Damn it, she wasn’t beautiful, not classically so, anyway—her chin was too narrow, her cheeks too wide, her nose on the thin side. But if you put all the elements together—her mouth with its sharp cupid’s bow, her milky-white complexion and ice-blue eyes—she was more than lovely. More than just another pretty blonde.

  She was stunning. Effervescent and sparkling, like the finest champagne.

  And like champagne, if you weren’t careful, you could get drunk on her.

  His hands fisted. Need for her was like an itch between his shoulder blades. One he couldn’t reach, couldn’t rid himself of no matter how hard he tried.

  Story of his goddamn life.

  He forced his fingers open and stepped forward. “It’s fine.”

  Hesitating at the door, looking unsure and vulnerable—neither of which suited her—she rolled her eyes. “It didn’t seem fine.”

  True. His mother had been less than welcoming and gracious—both of which were unlike her. “She’s probably just tired. Plus she’s stressed about her classes starting next week.”

  “Classes?”

  He crossed to the antique, marble-topped table his mom used as a nightstand and turned on the lamp. Better, but the room still seemed too cozy. Too intimate.

  He blamed the king-size bed.

  “Mom’s going to attend Seton Hill part-time.”

  The Catholic university was one of a dozen or so colleges located in Pittsburgh, a forty-minute drive from Shady Grove.

  Sadie finally stepped into the room. “Yeah? That’s great. You must be really proud of her.”

  He was. Of course he was. If his mom wanted to get a college degree, to pursue a career in social work, then he was all for it. But it would mean changes. Adjustments. Not to their family life as much as to Montesano Construction. From the time Frank had started the company, Rose had managed the office. She planned on continuing in that capacity while she earned her degree part-time, but eventually, she’d leave to follow her newly formed dream.

  It just proved you were never too old to change course.

  Though James was too firmly entrenched—in his life, his father’s business, his place in his family—to even think about changing his.

  Why would he? he thought, flipping on the light on the tall dresser, then the one on the round table in the seating area. He was right where he was meant to be, working a job he was good at and enjoyed, surrounded by family and friends he loved.

  He was content.

  And how many people could truly say that?

  “Shower’s this way,” he said, walking into the large bathroom, Sadie following.

  “Oh, dear, sweet Lord,” Sadie breathed. She turned in a slow circle, her eyes wide as she took in the room. Dark woodwork, free-standing sinks on Ita
lian marble, a separate area for the toilet, large whirlpool tub and walk-in shower. Not to mention the heated tiles beneath their feet and a closet the size of most bedrooms.

  James grinned. It was one hell of a room, one of Montesano’s best. They’d redone his parents’ master suite five or so years ago, completely gutting what had been a utilitarian bathroom and turning it into what his mother deemed her oasis.

  Women and bathrooms. He may not completely understand why they went so crazy over them, but he could appreciate their enthusiasm over a well-designed room.

  He leaned against the vanity as Sadie opened the door leading to the closet and peeked in at his parents’ clothes. She’d slipped off her sandals downstairs, had mud splattered across her bare, narrow feet and up her calves. Her bright orange top—one of those wide-necked ones with flowing sleeves that reminded him of something a gypsy would wear—was wrinkled, her yellow pants ruined.

  She was a mess. A walking disaster.

  She’d grown her hair out from the short bob it’d been three years ago. It reached past her shoulders, the wheat-colored strands streaked with thin stripes of pale blond. But even with it frizzing to twice its normal size, and mascara smudged under her eyes, she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

  For the past twenty years, he’d been wishing like hell that she wasn’t.

  Sadie pressed her nose against the glass-encased, walk-in shower.

  “Did you just whimper?” he asked.

  “It has three showerheads,” she said, turning her head to the side, her arms wide as if giving the shower a hug. “Three. It deserves a good whimper. Maybe even a moan or two. And this...” She stepped to the side, sat on the edge of the tub. “It’s huge. Big enough for a small family. Or a large dog.”

  “Not going to happen.”

  “What’s not?”

  “You giving that dog a bath in my mother’s tub.”

  After drying him off, they’d left Elvis in the garage with blankets and a bowl of water and a plate of roast beef Rose had given them.

  “What is this world coming to?” Sadie asked, setting her bag on the floor. She bent to dig through it, her long hair falling forward, her top gaping, giving him a glimpse of her lacy, white bra, the curve of her breast. “It’s so a person can’t even think about something without getting shot down.”