Bubba was on his feet again, whimpering. Charly threw up both arms to protect her face from another tongue-washing while Troy stuck out his arm to hold the dog back, and somehow or other, the next thing she knew they were tangled up with each other, his arms were around her instead, and she was fighting him, using her upraised fists to push him away, pummeling mindlessly at his rock-hard chest.
Chapter 11
November 3, 1977
Dear Diary,
Well, I did it. Today after school I broke up with Richie. News sure does travel fast, because a little while later Kelly Grace called and wanted to know what happened and why I did it, and all. She’s mad at me that I didn’t tell her first, and because now she and Bobby can’t double date with us anymore. I didn’t tell her the real reason why I did it. I just said Richie and I weren’t getting along, which is true. He kept on saying if I loved him I’d let him go all the way, and I guess he’s probably right about that. Anyway, I’m pretty sure I don’t love Richie. I don’t want to marry him, that’s for sure! If I did that, I’d have to stay in this town forever, and I have bigger plans than that. First I’m going to California, and then I’m going to college, and after that…who knows?
Then a little while ago Colin came over. He’d heard about Richie and me already and wanted to know what was wrong. He told me he’s been worried about me for a long time because I haven’t been myself. We went for a long walk in the woods. It was a really nice day, sort of cold, but sort of warm, too, the way it is sometimes. And all the leaves are down, and the squirrels were running around all over the place, chasing each other up and down the trees and being real cute. So anyway, I finally told Colin. We both cried, and then we sat and talked for a long time, until it got too cold to stay out and almost dark besides. Neither one of us knows what to do. Colin says I have to tell the judge, though, that’s the first thing. I know I have to, but I don’t even want to think about it. I think maybe I should tell Aunt Dobie first. Maybe she’ll know what to do.
Thought for the Day: Isn’t it funny how one little tiny thing can change your whole life forever?
Even Charly knew it was no contest. How could it be? He was an ex-SEAL, for God’s sake!
She put up more than just a token struggle, though, fighting him partly out of panic and partly because she simply didn’t know-had never known-how to give in gracefully. She called Troy a son of a bitch, with every embellishment she could think of, as well as some she was shocked she even knew.
To her surprise he seemed to approve of that. He kept encouraging her, crooning things like, “Yeah…that’s right…go ahead, get it all out, now,” which only made her madder. She’d been going it alone for more than twenty years, her entire adult life. As far as she was concerned, crying was weakness, to be avoided if at all possible, and if not, then to be indulged in, like other weaknesses, in limited amounts and in strictest privacy. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d cried in someone’s arms.
Oh, yes, she could. And it was that memory-of two frightened teenagers walking in the woods on a lovely November day while the leaves and their worlds fell down around them-that was finally her undoing. Once again, as on that cold November day, she felt as though her world were coming apart, turning upside down. No longer was she Charly the independent and strong-minded career woman, Ms. Phelps the cynical and disciplined attorney. Instead she was back in those Alabama woods again, and she was Charlene Elizabeth, sixteen and in trouble, sobbing out her fear and desperation in her best friend’s arms.
“I…left him,” she sobbed. “He was…so little. He was…my baby.”
“I know,” Troy crooned. “I know…shh…it’s all right.”
“They let me hold him…just for a minute. He had such tiny little fingers…oh, God, he was so beautiful. And then he-he started to fuss, so I gave him my finger to suck on. And I got this feeling…all through me…like shivers, only warmer. Sharp, like pain, only…it wasn’t. It was wonderful…the most wonderful thing in the world. And then they-they took him away. They took him right out of my arms. And it hurt so much…oh, God…”
“I know,” Troy whispered, “shh…I know.” His arms tightened even more securely around her, his hand cradled the back of her head and his cheek rested on its top as he bowed his body, making of it a sanctuary, just for her. And she burrowed into his encompassing warmth like a wounded animal into its den.
“It hurt so much…I didn’t know what to do. I just wanted to get away from there. I had to go. I had to. I didn’t know…oh, God-I didn’t know…”
“Shh, it’s okay. What didn’t you know?”
“He…the judge…my father. He took my baby home. I don’t know-I think maybe he adopted him-but…he was there all the time. He was right there, and I didn’t know. I thought…all this time I thought he was gone. I thought my baby was lost to me forever, and all the time he was here. And I didn’t know…I didn’t know…”
“Of course you didn’t know. How could you?”
“They thought…they thought I’d come back,” Charly whispered brokenly. “But I didn’t. I never came back. Oh, God…” The pain overwhelmed her. This was worse than anything she’d ever known before, worse than Colin’s death, worse even than having her baby taken from her. Because this was her own doing… her own fault. Her own failure. And it could never be undone. How could she ever live with this?
Troy was stroking her hair. His hands were warm and steady, but his voice sounded strange, as if he had a bad cold. “What do you mean, you never came back? You’re here now, aren’t you?”
She shook her head rapidly, brushing her face against his front. “It’s too late…too late. He hates me.”
“Ah, now, it’s never too late.”
“Yes, it is.” She sat up, pulling reluctantly against the gentle restraint of his arms. God, she felt awful. Her sinuses ached, her head felt like a balloon that had been blown up too tight and her nose was running a stream.
She was looking fruitlessly around her for something to stern the tide when Troy matter-of-factly reached into the console between them and pulled out a small, travel-sized box of tissues.
“There y’go,” he muttered as he passed her a good-sized wad.
She took them without a word, blew and reached for more. Troy plucked a bunch and handed them over. She mopped her eyes, pressed them to her nose and muttered, “Boy Scout,” glaring at him over the balled-up tissues.
Troy gave a chuckle that was partly a sigh and eased himself back in his own seat, moving as if his body hurt. “Naw,” he said gruffly, “I guess you’d have to blame that on ol’ Bubba. You travel around with a pup, you better have a load a’ clean-ups handy.” As if on cue, they both craned around to look at the dog, who was sitting erect in the middle of the seat, gazing at them in complete and utter perplexity. They both said, at exactly the same moment, “Hey, ol’ Bubba,” then looked at each other and laughed softly. Together. A gentle and comradely silence washed over them like a healing balm.
Troy cleared his throat. “About your son-it’s not too late.”
Charly blew her nose, then shook her head and said in a stuffy but firm voice, “Yeah, it is. He hates me. And I don’t blame him.”
“He doesn’t hate you. Hell, he’s just young, is all. This was bound to be a shock to him, too, you know-you showin’ up out of the blue. He’s probably as upset and confused as you are. You need to give him some time. He’s gonna come around.”
“Oh, God.” Charly suddenly groaned and leaned her head back against the seat, closing her eyes. Just for a moment. Then she opened them again and stared avidly at the ceiling, wishing she could find the answers she needed written up there. If she only looked hard enough… “I wish…I knew what to say to him,” she whispered. “How will I ever get through to him? I don’t…know how.”
“Hell,” said Troy roughly, “just talk to him. Look, I know it won’t be easy. It’s not somethin’ that comes naturally to you, talking about your feelings-”
“-but you gotta do it anyway. You need to tell him what you just told me, about what happened, how you felt. Give him some time to think about it, and he’s gonna come around. Believe me.”
She swiveled her head toward him, compelled by something in his voice, something she’d been too caught up in her own pain to notice until that moment. The cracking, breaking sounds of a strong man’s emotion. As she stared at him, at his recruiting-poster face, his beautiful, compassionate eyes, a new and formless panic began to creep over her, jangled and raw as she already was. Who in the world is this man? she wondered. How was it she was sitting here telling him things she’d told no one else in twenty years? How could she feel so safe with him, when he was everything she’d been running away from her entire adult life? What was happening to her?
And another, even more frightening thought-could it be, that this was what Mirabella had felt like, that long dark night with Jimmy Joe in his truck?
No! something in her protested desperately. No, no, no.
“How the hell do you know?” she demanded in self-defensive anger. “You don’t know anything about it!”
He scrubbed a hand across his face, making a faint scritching sound, then turned his head slowly toward her. And she noticed with another pang of panic, and an indefinable sorrow, that his normally clean-cut face was all shadows-shadows of whiskers on his cheeks and jaws, shadows of fatigue around his eyes. He’d had as little sleep as she had, she realized. And it wasn’t even his trouble.
The ever lurking tears welled up again in the back of her throat. To contain them, she drew a breath and held it the way a stubborn child does, containing at the same time a powerful urge to reach out and touch his face, to smooth away the shadows with her fingertips.
“Maybe I don’t,” he said softly. “But I do know this-I know what’s important. And I know how to fight And I know that if something’s important enough to you, you fight for it even if it hurts.”
She couldn’t answer him. He held her eyes for a long moment, then turned abruptly and reached for the ignition key, started up the Cherokee’s engine and threw it in reverse.
“Where are we going?” Charly demanded with a gasp, letting go of the breath she’d been holding. Her voice thickened with suppressed sobs. “Aren’t we going in?”
“Uh-uh,” Troy muttered as they bumped out onto the highway, “I’m gonna feed you first. And don’t tell me you’re not hungry, either,” he added as she was opening her mouth to do just that. “It’s been a long time since that b-u-r-g-e-r this afternoon. You’re gonna feel a whole lot better once you get somethin’ in your stomach.”
Somewhat to her surprise, the mention of hamburgers made the ache in her throat ease a little. Her mouth even started to water as she conceded grudgingly, “Well, okay, I guess we can go to the drive-through.”
“Uh-uh. No way. No drive-throughs. For a change you’re gonna eat some real food.”
“I’m not going in any place! Not looking like this!”
“Fine. You can wait in the car.”
She sulked in silence for a minute or two, then turned to glare at the implacable profile of the man who had somehow taken charge of her life. Why, she wondered, didn’t it anger her, worry her, frighten her more than it did?
And again the thought crept around the edges of her consciousness like an unwelcome pest-like a mouse in the kitchen: Mirabella, was it like this for you? Is this how it happens?
“What are you,” she said in a surly tone, “the food police? What do you care what I put in my stomach?”
He lifted one shoulder in an easygoing shrug that made her want to yell like a shrew and punch him. “Hey-you are what you eat. Hell, it’s no wonder you’re havin’ a hard time coping with everything. When was the last time you put a vegetable in your mouth?”
“This afternoon,” she said promptly.
He snorted. “French fries don’t count.”
“I was referring,” she replied in a haughty tone, “to the ketchup.”
There was soft laughter from him then, and a subtle easing, like the wafting of fresh breezes through the air between them. Charly felt her face muscles relaxing as she leaned back against the headrest, perhaps even wanting to smile. She felt battered, drained, exhausted, but-and when she tried to come up with a word for it, the best she could do was…safe. She thought it must be something like spending a long, terrifying night in a storm-tossed sea, all alone in a leaky rowboat, bailing like mad for her very life, and the Coast Guard had just shown up and hauled her on board. The storm might still be raging, but she knew she was safe now, and in good hands.
And even though she had always taken pride in her aloneness, coming so close to foundering, she realized, had been somewhat of a chastening experience for her. She was far too relieved to have been rescued to mind that she wasn’t alone anymore.
Troy managed to find his way to the supermarket he’d noticed yesterday on his way into town without asking Charly for directions. He was glad of that, since she finally seemed to be relaxing a little, and he hadn’t wanted to rile her if he could avoid it. She sat up when he pulled off into the parking lot, though, roused and suspicious.
“What’s this?” she demanded to know, in her edgy, camouflage tone.
“Like I said-real food.” He rolled the windows down and pocketed the keys. “Sit tight-keep Bubba company. Be right back.”
“I swear, if you bring back yogurt,” she said darkly, glaring at him through the window, “you’d better be prepared to wear it. Or anything green!”
“Yes, ma’am.” He gave her a mock salute and went off smiling to himself.
It took him longer in the store than he expected. When he came out, when he first walked up to the Cherokee, his heart did a hard flip-flop, because he couldn’t see either Charly or Bubba inside. But when he got closer, he could see that what she’d done was recline her seat all the way down, and it looked like she and Bubba were pretty much sharing it. She had her arm around the pup’s neck, and he had his big ol’ head tucked in underneath her chin and both of ’em were snoring away like babies.
Troy stood there for a minute just looking at the two of them, the woman he’d only known for a day, and his very own dog. His heart was still doing flip-flops, and there was a wicked little pulse going like a hammer in his belly.
Oh, Lord, he thought. Oh, dear Lord. What am I gonna do about this?
Charly and Bubba both woke up when he opened the door, jumping apart like a couple of kids caught kissing in the closet. The dog, who had the better sense of smell, started whining and drooling, while Charly righted her seat and raked her fingers through her hair and generally tried to look as if she hadn’t really been napping, just resting her eyes for a minute.
Troy plunked the sackful of groceries on her lap and climbed in behind the wheel while she was poking through it, looking for something she could object to.
“What’s this?” she asked, holding up the first thing she came to, which was a foil sack, warm to the touch and fragrant enough to drive poor ol’ Bubba half-crazy.
Troy gave her a smile. “Rotisserie chicken. Lemon pepper.”
She sniffed. “Barbecue’s better.” And a moment later, “Whole-grain bread? Didn’t they have any sourdough?” And finally, “Milk? You must be kidding.”
“That’s right,” said Troy placidly. “Low fat.”
She did some of that swearing under her breath he hadn’t heard for quite a while, then said in a suspicious tone, “Okay, where are the vegetables?”
“They’re in there.”
“Where? What kind? I don’t see any-hey,” she exclaimed as he made a left at the main road instead of turning right, “where are we going? The motel’s back that way.”
“Yeah,” he said, “I know.” And then he took a breath and let it out slowly while he thought about how he was going to ex
plain to this beautiful, sexy, incredibly desirable woman why he didn’t care to be alone with her in a motel room.
As galling as it was to have to admit it, the truth was, he just couldn’t trust himself with the woman in a situation that afforded him both the means and the opportunity to take her to bed. He’d always considered himself a man of fairly good character where women were concerned. and with strong enough willpower to keep himself within the boundaries he’d set for himself. But for some reason, with this woman, all bets were off. God help him, every time he got close to her, he found himself doing things he had no business doing, and wanting to do things he had no business even thinking about. Not with somebody he’d known for less than twenty-four hours. Not with somebody in the state she was in, and based on what had happened last time they’d been alone together, maybe not exactly capable of making her own best decisions, either.
But he didn’t want to explain all that to Charly, partly because he wasn’t comfortable letting her know just how vulnerable to her he was, and partly because he was pretty sure she wouldn’t see anything particularly wrong with it. Not that he thought it was usual for her to go jumping into the sack with a guy within hours of making his acquaintance, or that she’d somehow been overwhelmed by his own personal charms. Hell, no. He didn’t have any illusions about that. She’d been emotionally vulnerable and he’d been available, that was all. End of story. And as far as he could see, those circumstances hadn’t changed a whole lot.
Well, okay, except in a couple of ways. For one, they’d already made love one night. And a memorable, most enjoyable time it had been. Which would make it a whole lot harder to avoid doing again.
And for two…well, to put it bluntly, now he cared about her. Which made it a whole different story.
“It’s a nice evening,” he finally managed to say through the truckload of gravel in his throat, keeping his eyes focused steadfastly through the windshield as he tried to tiptoe his way around a lie. “Nice and warm…doesn’t look like it’s gonna rain. Thought we’d have us a picnic. You know of any place around here we can go and park?”
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