by Marie Harte
Smith felt irritable, sad, and angry at mention of her name. “She was a bitch, okay? Can we drop it?”
Cash glanced at him, and Smith swore he’d belt the fucker if he saw one iota of pity. But Cash just nodded. “Charles, my dad, turned on me when I was just a kid. Went from father of the year to shithead of the year. He found out I wasn’t his, and he never let me forget it. Mostly I heard how useless and lame I was. A few times he hit me. He treated Reid like gold, which made it all worse. Reid felt guilty for stuff that wasn’t his fault.”
Smith watched Cash’s fingers whiten on the wheel. “What did Angela say about it?”
“Not a goddamn thing.” Cash snorted. “She was so wrapped up in TV and books she never noticed us. I think that hurt more than the stuff the old man said.”
They remained quiet as traffic broke up.
Smith kept his gaze on the cars outside and tried to separate emotion from fact. “Meg spent my childhood telling me how precious you fucks were, how her sister had the absolute best kids anyone could have, and wasn’t it sad all she had was me. Uncle Allen would come over. We’d play a game together or mess around with toy cars. Then he’d go fuck Mommy Dearest for a few hours. He’d leave. And I’d be stuck with her ranting and raving about him until the next month when he rolled back into town.”
“Hold on. You met him?” Cash sounded incredulous.
Smith turned to him. “So what? At the time I thought he was a friend of my mom’s. The ‘Uncle’ was like an honorary title. Turns out she had a thing for him, but he only wanted Angela.” Smith allowed himself a cruel smile. “Only thing I can thank him for. He made Meg’s life a living hell. She wanted him. He loved Angela; but he couldn’t have her, so he did the next best thing, using Meg as a stand-in. Best part was she knew it.”
Cash stared at him for a moment before turning his attention back to the road. “Damn. That’s harsh.”
“Life is harsh.”
“Can’t argue that.”
They continued the rest of the drive shooting the other side glances and pretending not to be interested. Arriving at the storage unit, they moved the clients’ belongings in no time and returned to Vets on the Go! Cash parked the truck. Smith paused, and they sat in the dark, not speaking.
Then Cash asked, “Do you ever still see him?”
“Allen? Nope. I was a kid when he visited Meg. He’d come once a month for a while. Then he just stopped coming. She never heard from him again, and he never tried contacting me either. Hell, I don’t know if he ever knew I was his kid. I only know who he is now because Meg felt it was her God-given duty to tell me the full truth of my hated existence the day I came home from the Corps. You know, in case I thought she and I would live as Mommy and Son happily ever after.” He snorted, ignoring how much it still hurt to know the truth—that he’d never been wanted by either of his mothers.
He opened the door to leave.
“Hey,” Cash said, stopping him.
“What?”
“Ah, have a good time at Reid’s. Naomi can seem a little intimidating, but she’s actually pretty nice.”
“Yeah. Okay.”
Now if he could just reassure himself that Erin would come with him, and that she still wanted anything to do with him…
Saturday afternoon, Erin sat with Tilly in Tilly’s apartment, making marionberry scones for Tilly’s book club on Monday. Apparently, Rupert, Willie, and a few of Tilly’s other friends gathered once a month to discuss erotic fiction.
Erin suppressed her desire to ask so many questions. Instead, she worked on the scones and watched Tilly polish off the casserole from last night’s dinner.
“So, you’re all fixed up now?” Tilly looked worried. “You sure the heat is working, right? Because that’s all I need, for the furnace to be going out.”
Erin reassured her. Again. “The heat is fine. Apparently, there was something stuck with the thermostat, but Smith fixed it. Oddly enough, the thermostat is also the problem with the oven. The oven still works. I just need to rely on a separate thermometer, so I don’t burn what I’m baking.”
“Bah. We’ll get that fixed after the hot water heater issue and the electrical mess I’m now dealing with in 7B.” Tilly groaned. “First 6B, then 7B. When it rains it pours. Everything has been working just fine for years. Then suddenly, it all goes to shit.” She eyeballed Erin, her gaze narrowed with speculation. “Right when you arrived.”
Erin laughed off Tilly’s suspicions. “You can’t blame me for things breaking down. Besides, you said you love the amazing meals you’ve been eating. That’s got to be worth a few thermostats.”
Tilly eyed the tray going in the oven. “Well, I suppose. Say, is that white glaze going over the scones when they’re done? I like ‘em on the sweet side.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And you’re going to prep everything for Monday too, right? My coffee, the table settings, all the doodads and flowers and crap? Going to set it all up for me then skedaddle before our book club?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“House cleaned up a day early in time for the guests?”
Erin suppressed a sigh. They’d already been over all this. “Yes, ma’am.”
“The good towel out for my powder room? The monogrammed one?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You bumping uglies with Smith yet?
“Yes, ma’am—I mean, no!” They hadn’t bumped much, though they had touched and kissed a good bit. But no way she could call anything on Smith ugly.
Tilly smirked. “It’s only a matter of time, I suppose. I know how to read people. And you and that boy had it at dinner the other night. It.” She nodded. “Just like Rupert and Willie. I put those two together, you know.”
“Good Lord.”
“Yep. I’m magical when it comes to matchmaking. Inherited that talent from my me-maw.”
And that was Erin’s cue to change the subject. She’d learned early on that stories concerning Me-Maw had a bad habit of turning sexual or scatological, and one time a little of both. She cringed at the remembrance. “Smith and I are friends, Tilly. We’re going out tonight to hang out with his brother and girlfriend.”
“Oh-ho. Meeting the family, eh?”
“Kind of. But not like you’re making it sound,” Erin said. In this light, actually, Tilly looked a little bit like Grandma Freddy, and the sight made Erin smile.
“What’s so funny?”
“You know, you kind of remind me of my grandma.” Erin’s pleasure felt bittersweet. “I still miss her.”
“Ah. Passed away, did she?”
“Four years ago. She was so funny. She had all these rules about being a lady, teaching me life lessons to make some man a good wife.” She snorted at that. “She was the only one in my family that would talk about the naughty side of life with me.”
“You mean sex?”
“Yes, sex.” Erin had no idea why she turned pink saying the word. “Grandma Freddy had some old-fashioned ideas about catering to a man, but she always told me the truth when I asked for it.”
“Catering to a man? Well, I suppose that’s not too bad. If the man caters to you too.”
Erin sat and drank her tea, pouring another cup for Tilly. “Did your husband cater to you?” She’d seen a few framed photos of Tilly and a man, presumably her husband, around the house. But since Tilly had never before mentioned him, Erin hadn’t brought up the subject.
“Hell, yes, he did.” Tilly’s fond smile took years off her face. “Hank and I met when we were in high school. Fell in love at first sight, that’s what he told me. Took me a little longer to see what a gem he was. We were married for fifty-six years until he died. Five years ago next month marks his passing. And each year I celebrate his life by getting drunk and partying, the way he wanted it.”
“You must have really loved each other.” Erin envied her.
“Oh, we did. But he used to get on my last nerve, and he knew it. Said that made him sp
ecial, because I only got that mad with him and the boy.” Tilly sighed. “Hank Jr. I miss him more than I can say sometimes.”
“Hank Jr?” Erin asked, seeing a softer side to the normally cussing, outlandish Tilly.
“I loved that boy to pieces. He was just like his daddy with an ornery spot of me in him.” Tilly grinned. “Poor fool had a patriotic streak a mile wide too. We lost him in Vietnam.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Me too.” Tilly’s eyes looked suspiciously shiny, but since she glared at Erin as if daring her to mention it, Erin focused on the glaze. Tilly harrumphed. “War is hell. It’s a fact. But he went out the way he’d wanted, and his daddy and I were so proud of the man he’d been.” Her voice turned thoughtful. “Probably why I took to Smith right away. He reminds me some of Hank Jr, but don’t you dare tell him I said that. He hears I’m going soft, he’ll try to weasel out of working for me.”
Erin didn’t see that happening, but who was she to say? “I won’t say a word.”
“Yep. That Smith Ramsey is one big pot of trouble. Sasses and swears like a Marine for sure. But he helps me when I need it. And sometimes even when I don’t.” She scowled. “He had the balls to tell me to watch myself on the stairs. Said I should be taking my old ass up and down in the service elevator. Can you believe that?”
“Somehow I can see him using those exact words.”
Tilly’s eyes crinkled with amusement. “He’s a horse’s patoot. Must be why I like him.”
Erin could name a dozen reasons why she liked him. Her date Thursday had blindsided her, making her feel so much she wasn’t yet ready to handle. She didn’t want to talk out of turn, but she needed Tilly’s opinion. “I learned a few things about him when we spent the day together downtown.” She noted Tilly’s attention and continued, “Smith had a pretty bad childhood. Lots of drama, and now he no longer talks to his mom. It’s sad.”
“Huh.”
“But he found out he has family he never knew about, and he doesn’t know how to deal with them. That’s the family I’m meeting tonight. A brother he just learned he had. I want to help him, but I feel kind of out of place.”
“Why?”
“Well, because…”
“You’re his friend, aren’t you? So, go with him and be his friend. Don’t focus on being his mattress. He needs emotional support from you right now.”
Erin nodded. “That’s what I figured. Being there to help him.” Then what Tilly said penetrated. “Wait. Did you say not to focus on being his mattress?”
“With a man that big, it would have to be king-sized. You’re kind of tiny for the position, ain’t ya?” Tilly hooted. “Sorry. Sometimes I can’t help myself. I mean it though. Be his friend. We all need ‘em.” Tilly brightened. “And on that note, Rupert said he’s going to give you a phone number so you can make your own kinda friend. I guess you made an impression on my nephew. And don’t forget about the Hall-o-ween party on the 31st. We like to give out candy for the kids in the building, and the McCallisters like to hold open houses for people to mingle and get to know each other. It’s nice. The McCallisters serve good booze.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Nervous about just who Rupert might be trying to set her up with, she said, “Rupert doesn’t owe me anything. I’m actually doing pretty well on friends now.”
“Yeah? Who do you know?”
“You, Smith, and Reid—his brother.”
“That’s just sad.”
Erin sighed. “I know. I’m trying. I haven’t been in town all that long.”
“Funny, feels like you’ve been here forever.” Tilly grinned. “And not in a lingering-fish-smell-in-the-fridge kind of way either. The nice kind.”
“Er, thanks.” Erin finished the scones, listened to Tilly’s gossip about Mallory and Jill Keen fighting over Jill’s supposed affair, about Mark Johnson’s apparent addiction to wine, because who the hell drank fifteen bottles a week, and Brad Battle’s shoe size, because all the women Tilly talked to thought he just might be that impressive “where it really counted.”
Finally, Tilly ran out of gossip, and Erin managed a word edgewise as she finished with the scones, now drizzled in white glaze. “If you’re saying all this about my neighbors, what do you say to others about me?”
Tilly wiggled her brows. “I tell everyone you snagged the unattainable Smith Ramsey. Seriously, everyone wants to meet you at Hall-o-ween.”
Good Lord. What would Smith think of that? “Tilly, stop gossiping.”
“I swear I will…the day I’m dead and buried. Ha! Now go on and get ready for your hot and heavy date with my handyman. But you be nice, Erin Briggs. I need him happy and in one piece. Without him around, this place would go straight to hell.”
Erin read the serious undertone of worry in Tilly’s voice. “I have no plans to hurt your handyman. Let’s just hope he doesn’t break my heart. It’s barely mended from Cody.”
“Nah. That was just an infatuation with a little prick. And I mean that literally.”
Erin ignored the sad truth of her statement.
“Smith’s a man. He’ll take care of your heart if you give it to him. But that’s the kicker. You have to hand it over, honey. He might act like a brute, but he’d never take what wasn’t willingly given.”
Then Tilly physically pushed Erin out the door and slammed it behind her.
“Well, that was just rude.” Erin went back to her apartment, showered, then spent half an hour trying to figure out what to wear, all the while thinking about what Tilly had said about Smith not taking what wasn’t willingly given.
Erin knew that, believed it. And that fact made it that much more difficult to remain distant from a man who started to scare her. Badly. Smith was someone she could grow to love.
Already the lust she felt for him had transformed into a desire mixed with warmth and respect. As much as she didn’t want another relationship like the one she’d had with Cody, she had some kind of “ship” with Smith, and they both knew it.
But how to handle him when he turned awkward or sweet and gentle? When he acted human?
“You are killing me, Smith Ramsey.” If only he’d remain an arrogant blowhard. But even that aspect of the man hid something precious, a need for affection she was dying to give.
She kept holding clothing up to the bathroom mirror, stepping back to get the right angle to see herself, when someone pounded on her door. Crap. She tossed on her only robe—in baby blue cotton it reached her midthigh—over her bra and panties and looked through her peephole.
She opened it and dragged Smith inside. “You’re early.”
“You’re late.” He looked over her with an appreciative grin. “Not that I mind, but you might want to get dressed before we go over. Reid will like the outfit, but Naomi might get jealous.”
“Just… Hold on.” She hurried into the bathroom and grabbed the two outfits she’d narrowed her choice down to. “I’m going to wear jeans. But with this shirt or this one?” She held them both out for his inspection.
He looked baffled. “It’s just a top. Who cares?” His look turned sly. “But I’ll help you pick out a bra. Or, you know, you could go without.”
“Choose.” She shook the shirts at him.
He shrugged. “The sweatshirt.”
She gasped. “It’s not a sweatshirt. It’s a pullover.”
“Jesus. Fine. The Tee-shirt, then.”
“It’s a blouse,” she corrected.
He groaned. “I’ll be at my place, waiting. When you’re dressed and ready to go, or naked is fine by me too, come on over. We’ll go in my truck.” He stalked to her, gave her a quick kiss on the lips, then left.
Breathless, she stared after her closing door. “Be his friend,” Tilly had said. But Smith didn’t feel anything so casual as a friend. Yet if not that, then what was he?
After a few minutes, she chose the pullover and dressed for casual comfort. Minimal makeup, cute earrings, and a spritz of perfume she’d
picked up for herself the other day—she’d tossed the perfumes Cody had once bought her.
She knocked on Smith’s door. It opened right away, and she shoved the plate of lemon meltaways at him. “We’re bringing this. Here.”
He looked down at the plate, puzzled. “Reid said not to bring anything.”
She snorted. “Please. I go to someone’s house for dinner, I always bring something. It’s only polite to bring a dish or wine.” She frowned. “Darn it. I should have picked up a bottle.”
He blinked at her, as if having discovered a new species, and grabbed his keys. After locking up, he drove them a short distance toward Naomi and Reid’s house, also in Greenwood, but more toward Green Lake. After giving her a brief background about Reid—former Marine and genius behind a desk—and Naomi—PR guru and successful boss of her own company, he had thoroughly intimidated her. Though she tried not to show it.
“Don’t worry about anything,” he told her. “They say anything that pisses you off, we’re outta there. And Naomi isn’t a bad cook, so I hear. But she does have a thing about chocolate.” He grimaced. “If you don’t want to eat something, just pretend you like it, choke down a bite, then shove it around on your plate to look like you ate some.”
His instructions amused her. At first. But she heard his buried nerves and felt his unease. This had to be so hard for him, learning how to deal with family he’d never known existed. And knowing him, as she did, she could see how his abrupt attitude might put others off.
She put a hand over his knee. He tensed all over. In a soft voice, she said, “It’ll be fine. I have you with me, don’t I? We’ll be okay.”
He sighed. “I sound stupid, don’t I?”
“Not at all. Being social isn’t easy for a lot of people. I don’t mind it, but then, I never have to see these people again. You do.”
He shot her an odd look, but they’d pulled to a stop in front of a cute Craftsman-style house Erin would have loved to call home. It had a small though well-tended front yard, a driveway and unattached one-car garage, and a dark plum color with white shutters and a wood porch bracketed by potted evergreens.