Small Town Romance Collection: Four Complete Romances & A New Novella

by Brown, Carolyn

  "Hi! I didn't hear you knock."

  "I let myself in. You left the door unlocked."

  "You're a little early." He grinned through the cream on his face, which made her grin back.

  "Am I? I dawdled as long as I could. Put on my mascara one lash at a time. Ironed my jeans."

  Austin nodded sagely.

  "I know how it is. Without the kids around, it feels like you've got all the time in the world to take care of yourself for a change."

  She nodded.

  There was a brief and awkward pause. Austin's nearness, his semi-nakedness, was affecting Tracey more than she'd ever care to admit. He'd filled out through the chest and shoulders, and was furrier than she'd remembered. A mat of curly dark hair covered his pecs, and narrowed into a thin streak that disappeared into his jeans.

  Tracey forced her eyes up to his face. There was that crazy coyote grin again. She turned away from him, and fussed with the table setting so she didn't have to look at him. She moved the forks a quarter-inch to the left and the knives a quarter-inch to the right.

  "There. That's better."

  Austin gestured toward the casserole with his razor.

  "What's that?"

  "Chili cornbread."

  "Shucks. You remembered. Thanks, ma'am."

  "Don't call me ma'am. Makes me feel about a hundred and five years old."

  He looked amused.

  "Sorry, Trace. Thanks for cooking. But you didn't have to. I've got jumbo shrimp that personally crawled all the way here from the Gulf of Mexico."

  "They must be tired."

  "They're waiting to be turned into Shrimp Scampi."

  It was Tracey's turn to look amused.

  "I didn't know you'd turned into a gourmet chef."

  He winked.

  "Shrimp Scampi? No big deal. Just the kind of fast and dirty cooking I do best. You peel the shrimp, sliver some garlic, melt a little butter, and poke 'em around for a couple of minutes. Then you run 'em under the broiler for a few seconds, and serve with salad and rice."

  "And some very expensive champagne." She nodded toward the icy bottle with the French label.

  "Yup. This is a special occasion. Let's open it right now." He picked up the bottle, wrapped his shaving towel around it with a waiterly flourish, and unwrapped the foil around the cork. Tracey giggled.

  "You haven't finished shaving, Austin. How's that going to taste with pine flavor shaving cream on your lips?"

  "Right. I’ll go finish shaving. You stay put."

  He went back in the bathroom, and Tracey listened to him sing while he shaved. She fought the temptation to go and watch. The wry faces he'd made when performing this daily male ritual had always made her laugh. But he looked a little too delicious with no shirt, and he might prove to be a temptation that would cause trouble. Tracey pulled out a chair and sat primly by her casserole.

  Austin returned, pulling on a polo shirt, to her infinite relief.

  "Okay," he drawled. He picked up the champagne bottle again, and braced his thumbs against the cork. "One. Two. Three!"

  The cork ricocheted off the ceiling, and he caught it handily, still holding the overflowing bottle. He gave the cork ceremonially to Tracey, who set it by her plate, and poured them each a foamy glass. He handed one to Tracey and took the other for himself.

  "A toast. To Jackson and Emily, who are having the time of their lives over at the sorority house."

  "I'll drink to that." Tracey clinked her champagne flute delicately against his. Austin's gaze lingered warmly on her, and Tracey felt as giddy as a schoolgirl.

  "Toast number two. To us."

  Tracey set her glass down.

  "Us?" she asked anxiously.

  "Us."

  "I don't know, Austin." She stood up and moved away from the table, but Austin caught her gently around the waist with one arm. She turned within the circle of his embrace and found herself looking up at him. His dark eyes smoldered, and he leaned down to kiss her, just once, very softly. Her lips parted and he took full advantage of that to press his mouth to hers, and kiss her for real.

  Tracey surrendered to his embrace, letting him hold her close, molding herself to the strong body she remembered so well and had once loved so dearly. Austin's hands moved down her sides, caressing and searching, and back up to her breasts, cupping them tenderly.

  His fingertips rubbed her nipples through the material of her blouse, as he had done when he'd kissed her in the office. Tracey felt her willpower dissolve at his touch, his every lingering caress, and knew she had to stop him now. But she could not.

  Austin murmured endearments against her earlobe, and moved his mouth along her neck, trailing hungry little kisses to the tops of her breasts. He pulled her hips tightly against him, undeniably aroused, and locked her more closely in his passionate embrace.

  Tracey summoned every ounce of resolution she had left, and gently eased away from him. He hung on to her belt loops, though, with the same look of fierce disappointment he'd had before, as Tracey held her hands against his chest to at least put some breathing room between them.

  "Trace—" His voice was low and ragged with desire.

  "I can't do this."

  "But you want to. You know it and so do I."

  "Austin, if anything ever happens between us—and I don't know if or when it will—" She stopped, unsure of her own feelings or even what to say. "We have to be friends first. Then parents. Then—I don't know."

  "Okay."

  He released her.

  "I know that's not really okay with you, Austin. But that's the way it has to be."

  "Forever?"

  "I just don't know."

  Tracey awoke with a start and realized the telephone was ringing. She opened one eye and looked at the clock. Three o'clock in the morning. Who would be calling her at this awful hour? She picked up the receiver and fell back into her pillow.

  "Hello?" she said groggily.

  "Trace." Austin's voice was raspy and his breaths were shallow.

  "Austin, what's wrong?" Suddenly she was wide awake.

  "I hate to wake you, but I need help," he gasped. "Called the hospital and they said for me to come there right away. I don't think I can drive."

  "Give me a minute to wake Jackson. You get Emily and meet me in front of your apartment. I'll pull my car around." She grabbed her fishing jeans and hopped into them.

  She didn't wake Jackson but picked him up and carried him to the car where she propped him up in the back seat, buckling him in. She drove around the apartment complex and parked beside the familiar black pick-up. Austin was waiting, holding a sleeping Emily in his arms. Tracey jumped out of the car and settled Emily into the back seat next to Jackson. Then she threw her arm around Austin and supported him while he collapsed into the front seat, moaning.

  His face was drawn with pain, and colorless."Wasn't feeling too good today," he said weakly. "Figured I was getting that flu that everyone else in the English department had." He moaned and clutched his stomach.

  "Austin, there's something really wrong with you. This isn't flu!" She kept her voice low so as not to wake the children. "I'll get you to the hospital, but you better still be breathing!"

  "I can still breathe," he whispered back. "I'm not gonna die. God, it hurts so bad, Trace. My doctor said it's probably acute appendicitis. If it is, and they send me in for surgery, call my mother for me. Tell her not to worry."

  Tracey drove the car right up to the emergency room doors. Two green-uniformed orderlies brought out a wheelchair and put him in it. Emily woke up and started to cry when they whisked Austin through the big automatic doors and into the hospital.

  "You stay with Trace now," he whispered as the orderlies turned the chair around. "She'll take care of you. I'll be fine."

  By then Jackson had also awoken, demanding that someone tell him why he was sleeping in the car and why those men were taking his daddy away in a wheelchair. Tracey drove to a parking spot as fast as the speed
bumps allowed, and ran with both children into the ER waiting room. They were a disheveled lot; she in yesterday's faded jeans and her hair an absolute fright, both kids in their pajamas.

  "Are you Mrs. Miller?" the receptionist behind the desk asked.

  "No, just a friend," she said, near tears herself. "Can I see him?"

  "Okay. For a few minutes. Usually it's relatives only. But the children can't go back there," she said kindly. "I'll keep an eye on them for a little while. It's pretty quiet tonight, thank goodness."

  "Thanks," Tracey said. She explained to the children that she would be back in just a few minutes, and settled them next to the receptionist. The friendly woman gave them each a picture book from a nearby rack as Tracey raced to the examination room.

  "Trace . . ." Austin managed to stretch out a hand to her when she stepped around the curtain.

  "Have you seen a doctor yet?"

  He nodded. "And had my blood drawn by a vampire nurse with weird blue eyes."

  "You're hallucinating."

  "She's coming back. You can see for yourself. Anyway, my white blood cell count is way up, and I'm about doubled over with abdominal pain. Doc's almost positive it's my appendix. They're setting up for an appendectomy right now. He thinks it might have begun to rupture. Hurts like the devil," he muttered, holding on tightly to her hand.

  A nurse holding a clipboard opened the curtain and came over to the hospital bed. "Doc's right. You're in big trouble." She beamed at him, until she saw Tracey. Tracey vaguely remembered her from the school party after Jackson's theatrical debut. She was one of the women who had been flirting, or trying to, with Austin. She was short, had gorgeous black hair, and eyes so strangely blue it was clear that she was wearing colored contacts.

  "You're scheduled for surgery in the next ten minutes. I'll prep you first." She favored Tracey with a sideways look. "Is this your sister?"

  "No, my fiancée," Austin replied, almost inaudibly. He didn't let go of Tracey's hand. She just stared at him, flabbergasted. If he simply wanted her to stay in the room, he didn't have to go that far.

  The nurse looked visibly disappointed. "Oh. I didn't know you were engaged, Mr. Miller."

  A tall, thin doctor in a white coat looked around the drawn curtain and gave Austin a thumbs-up sign. "You won't be going home tomorrow, pal. Not with a possible rupture." He looked curiously at Tracey. "You must be this Tracey he keeps talking about."

  "I sure am," she said. She wondered what Austin had been saying.

  "Call Mom. She'll get Emily," he said as they rolled him out into the hall.

  "I'll keep Emily. You just promise me you'll wake up when this is over. Anesthesia scares the hell out of me. I'll come see you tomorrow with the kids if they let me bring them. Don't worry." She kept his hand in hers until they took him through the last set of double doors. Just before she let go she leaned down and kissed him gently on the lips, mostly for the benefit of the ER nurse who looked all too eager to prep him for surgery. Austin, moaning despite the painkillers he'd been given, was well past knowing if anyone was flirting with him or not.

  She went back to the waiting room to find the children on the floor with several books on the floor around them. They were absorbed in reading one together, and the receptionist nodded and whispered they'd been busy as bees and quiet as mice.

  "Well, what's going on here? Is this a pajama party?" she asked cheerfully.

  "Tracey, where's my daddy? Is he sick?" Emily began to sob as soon as she saw Tracey.

  "Yes," Tracey sat down in the floor between the children, picked her up and wiped the tears away. "He's got the world's worst tummyache, but the doctor's going to make him better right now. You can stay with me and Jackson, and we'll come see him tomorrow."

  "My daddy will get well, won't he?" Jackson drew his eyebrows down and looked like his own tears might start flowing at any moment.

  Tracey sighed. She wasn't about to explain an appendectomy to two worried preschoolers right then and there. Tomorrow would be soon enough, when all of them could admire Austin's stitches.

  "Of course he will," Tracey reassured them. "We can go home now and you can sleep some more. Then you can go to school and when the day is over we'll get your daddy and take him home."

  "But Mommy," Jackson reverted back to his old title for her. "I don't want my daddy to be sick."

  The receptionist looked confused, but Tracey didn't have the energy to explain the whole situation to her. So she was Mommy to one kid and not the other, and they both referred to Austin as Daddy, but she wasn't Mrs. Miller. Let her figure that one out, and if she could do it in less than five minutes, she got a gold star for a high IQ.

  Chapter Eight

  Tracey put the children to bed in Jackson's room while she sat on the sofa, drank black coffee and called his parents' house in Tom Bean. The last time she'd punched those numbers, she'd been in her bedroom in Purcell, and Austin had just told her he was marrying Crystal. When she hung up the phone that time she tried to will herself to forget the number and Austin Miller both forever, but her heart had been stronger than her will and she didn't forget either one of them.

  "Hello," a cheerful voice answered. How could anyone be so cheerful at five o'clock in the morning, Tracey wondered.

  "Hello, this is Tracey Walker. I'm sorry to wake you. Is this Mrs. Miller?"

  "Sure is. You didn't wake us. I was already fixin' breakfast," the woman told her.

  "Well, Austin asked me to call you . . ."

  Mrs. Miller's voice got a lot less cheerful.

  "Is somethin' the matter? An accident or—"

  "No, no. Nothing like that," Tracey said hastily. "But Austin's in the hospital."

  Mrs. Miller took a deep breath.

  "What happened?"

  "He had to have his appendix out." "Oh, mercy. Poor Austin."

  "He said to tell you not to worry. And Emily can stay with me."

  "Oh-kay," Mrs. Miller drawled, and Tracey knew where Austin got that particular mannerism. "We'll get going right after breakfast and drive up to the hospital and visit him. You're sure you can manage all right with Emily? I'd be glad to keep her here but she would have to miss the week in school," Mrs. Miller said.

  "I can manage," Tracey said. "Two kids are easier than one."

  "Good. I think that would be best, anyway. When will he be out of the hospital?"

  "Not until the end of the week. His appendix had begun to rupture, and they're keeping him longer," Tracey explained in a tired voice.

  "Well, thanks so much for calling us. I bet you haven't slept a wink." Mrs. Miller sounded sincere. "And Trace, come see us and bring Jackson. We're all anxious to meet the new grandson," she said softly.

  "I'll do that," Tracey promised, touched by Mrs. Miller's words. "After Austin is up and around. I'd be happy to bring Jackson to meet you. Thank you for the invitation."

  "Family don't need an invitation," Mrs. Miller said firmly. "Tracey, we'll be up there as soon as we can. They got it out in time, didn't they? He did say he didn't feel right when he called yesterday afternoon, but he thought it was just a nervous stomach or the flu or something."

  "Yes, ma'am. Just barely. But he'll be there a few days," she told her again.

  "Oh-kay. We're on our way." Austin's mother hung up the phone before she could say anything else.

  The day crawled. Between classes, Tracey called the hospital to check on Austin twice before lunch. His parents were there the first time; two of his brothers, the second. But Austin was sleeping and they told her he was still groggy the few times he did open his eyes. She had a meeting at noon with the English department to discuss new textbooks, and everyone there wanted an update on Austin.

  "How did the surgery go?" Dr. Benson asked. "Did they do that new laser stuff?"

  "No, they couldn't. The appendix had begun to rupture," she told him.

  "Well, with these new antibiotics he won't be laid up too long. I was in the hospital for six weeks when they too
k my appendix out forty years ago. Tell him I asked after him."

  "I sure will."

  "Oh, Tracey," Dr. Taylor called from across the room. "Tell Austin we miss him."

  Tracey nodded.

  "Well, hello," Damian whispered just inches behind her. "I hear lover boy had a busted hose last night. Is there anything I can do for you while he's laid up?"

  Tracey turned to face him. "This is an English meeting. "What are you doing here?" she asked edgily. Even though he'd kept a healthy distance since their encounter in the elevator, the man still gave her the creeps.

  "Nothing." Damian held up his hands like the victim of a robbery. "I just came for the latest health bulletin on poor old Austin. And to see if his fiancée needed help with anything."

  "Fiancée? Me? Who told you we were engaged."

  "I'm dating a certain nurse," he said slyly. "With dazzling blue eyes. Seems like you and Austin have been keeping some happy news from your fan club," he added.

  "What goes on between me and Austin is none of your damn business, Damian." She moved away, fuming, and took her plate to the table where the librarian, David Robbins, was sitting.

  "Congratulations on your engagement." He reached across the table and shook her hand genially. "I just heard this morning."

  You and me both, thought Tracey crossly. She managed a polite smile at David, who meant well, after all, and seethed inwardly.

  One month ago she didn't even know or care where Austin Nelson Miller was, or even what had happened to him. Now all of a sudden, her son knew that Austin was his daddy, and everybody seemed to think that she was going to be his wife.

  Something was happening here, and Tracey didn't quite get it. First, Austin had gotten on her father's good side, which couldn't have been that easy. And then he'd won Jackson over in a heartbeat. Now he seemed to be maneuvering her slowly but surely toward the idea of marriage, simply by casually telling whoever would listen that she was his fiancée.

  If he weren't so sick at the moment, she'd gladly choke him until he turned blue and his eyes popped out.

  Her afternoon classes were finished at two o'clock. She went by her office but Twyla wasn't there. A note telling Tracey that everything was done and asking if Austin really had proposed, was thumb-tacked to the cork bulletin board on her door. She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling and wondered how many faculty members and students had stopped and read the notes on her door that day.