Shame the Devil (Portland Devils Book 3)

by Rosalind James

  She was allowed to be who she was. The snow goose didn’t have to bathe to make itself white, et cetera. She wasn’t allowed to force other people into something they didn’t feel, or something they didn’t want.

  Right. That was four points. Also, her meat was chopped. She went to the pantry, hauled out the Instant Pot, and when the tears pricked behind her eyes, told herself, Stop. She tried to remember the Tao, or her version of it. Those brave things she’d said to Dyma about living in the present, about living without fear or expectation. About riding down the hill on your bike, taking your hands off the handlebars and flying, just because you were here, and you were alive. Living in all your possibilities.

  The way she felt when she was with Harlan.

  Which was when the front door opened and he called out, “Jennifer? Baby?”

  She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes, because somehow, a few tears had leaked out, and called, “Kitchen.”

  He came in looking like everything she wanted. Golf shirt and shorts, shoulders and biceps and slim hips and height and blue eyes, every part of him moving in the exact way a man’s body should. She thought he was going to kiss her, but he stopped a few paces away and said, “Hey. What?”

  “N-nothing.” She tried to laugh. “Just—being silly. Hormones. I’m just starting dinner. It’ll be about an …” She sniffed. “An hour.”

  “Uh-huh.” He was rooting around in a drawer and pulling out a plastic container, then scraping the meat into it with a knife, snapping the lid on, and sticking it into the fridge. “Change of plans. We’re going out to dinner instead. How do you turn this off?” He inspected the Instant Pot, then shrugged and pulled the plug. “I can never figure this thing out.”

  “I’m not dressed to go out to dinner,” she objected.

  “How about if I give you fifteen minutes, then?” he asked. “Seeing as I’m not dressed for it, either.”

  “Sounds good.” She sighed. “I really wasn’t feeling this pot roast. But I’m not sure how fancy I can get in fifteen minutes.”

  Well, this was surprising. Harlan didn’t much like going out to dinner, for the obvious reason that he couldn’t do it anonymously, and it hadn’t become any easier since the news had broken about his mother’s murder. Not to mention the whole “two teammates dating a mother and daughter” thing, which had also become news. That one bothered Harlan, she could tell, because it was about her. It didn’t bother her. Apparently, after a certain point, you became immune to the judgment of people who didn’t know you, and she’d had nineteen years to practice.

  Harlan never said much about any of it, but she knew that sometimes, the easygoing mask was awfully hard to put on. If he wanted to go out tonight, though, maybe it was getting easier.

  Besides, she really wasn’t feeling the pot roast. What had she been thinking? It was way too hot for pot roast.

  When they were in the car, though, he didn’t head downtown. Instead, he was driving south. She asked, “Are we going to Lake Oswego or something?” Closer to the Devils’ training facility, and closer to most of his teammates’ places, which tended to be located on plenty of space in the rolling hills of the almost-country.

  “Close,” he said, but when they got there, he didn’t take the turn. He kept going, turning off at the sign to the Tumwater Vineyard.

  She asked, “Do they have a restaurant?” This made more sense. More private, and they probably had patio dining, which would be beautiful tonight, looking out over the vine-clad hills as the light softened. Not perfect sense, because she couldn’t drink wine, and Harlan kept it to a single glass during the season and didn’t drink much at any time, which made wine-tasting pretty pointless, but whatever.

  He said, “I’m not sure.”

  “It might be better to be sure,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “Would you like me to look it up?”

  He glanced at her, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You know what? Assume I’ve got this. And I told you, you don’t have to use your Tactful Voice. I’m not a real explosive guy.”

  He didn’t turn left, though, into the vineyard’s entry. Instead, he drove a couple hundred yards farther, made a right at an unmarked driveway, pulled up to a security gate flanked by trees, punched in a code, and drove on through.

  She said, “Oh. It’s somebody’s house. Is it a party? You didn’t have to be so mysterious. That’s fine. Although I’d have put on more makeup if I’d known it was a party. Some of your teammates’ wives are intimidatingly beautiful. Just saying, since I don’t have to be tactful.”

  He didn’t answer. He was taking a curve up one of hills and approaching a house.

  Well, sort of a house. More of a French chateau, situated at the breast of the hill with a view all around. White stucco that was supposed to look like plaster, gray slate roofs, dormer windows, and a round tower at the front. A whole lot of house. It had wings. She’d never actually been inside a house with wings. It also had a full tennis court on one side, with basketball hoops on either end. So, a tennis and a basketball court. Also a putting green. She said, “Yep. This house is NFL all the way. Isn’t that Owen’s car? He’s here, too?”

  He said, “Anybody ever tell you that you ask a lot of questions?” Then he hopped out and came around to open her door. He also put a hand under her arm to help her out, which she appreciated, since she wasn’t feeling what you’d call “graceful” at the moment. He took her hand, tucked it through his arm, and said, “And by the way, you look beautiful. In case I don’t tell you enough … I’m proud you’re mine.”

  She looked startled that he’d said it. In fact, she opened her mouth to say something, then shut it again. Why? Was that wrong? Did it sound like he didn’t respect her personhood or something?

  Modern life was so confusing. He’d just wanted her to feel good, walking in. She seemed not to know how pretty she looked now, or what a thrill he got when he looked at her, because having her pregnant was hot as hell to him.

  He probably shouldn’t say that last part, either.

  He was thinking about that, because he was nervous.

  He wasn’t a nervous guy. He was a cool guy. He was a guy who ran his pattern the same in the fourth quarter as he did in the first. Perfectly.

  Yeah, big shot. But you’re nervous now. Heart pounding. Breath coming too shallow. The works.

  No time for second thoughts. He opened the front door and ushered her inside.

  Kickoff.

  63

  How Forever Feels

  It was an empty house, at least from what she could see. As in, no furniture.

  The front door opened into an entry hall, around the edges of which twined a graceful curved staircase. Ah. The tower was for the stairway. All righty, then. It seemed like a lot of trouble to go to just for a fancy staircase, but whatever.

  She said, “I guess you’d call this decorating style “minimalist.” She nearly whispered it, but it still echoed.

  He didn’t answer. He had her hand and was nearly pulling her through the entry and into the living room. Where the party was.

  Well, if the party was being held in a very large but totally empty house. And if it was Owen and Dyma and Annabelle and Blake and Dakota and … her grandfather.

  She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know what to think. So she just stood there, rooted to the floor.

  “It’s not my birthday,” she finally managed, after she’d recovered enough to kiss Grandpa Oscar, who grinned and patted her on the shoulder and looked pleased as punch.

  “No,” Harlan said. “We’re doing it now because I just bought it. The house.”

  “The … house.”

  “Yeah. The one we’re in is all right, but it’s not good for the baby. The railings on the galleries don’t work for a baby, and nothing’s carpeted. Plus, it’s not cozy. And let’s face it, it’s weird. It also doesn’t belong to me. Rented. I figured—family house, right? It took a while to find it, and I just signed the
papers today, but I wanted you to see it right away.”

  “Oh,” she said. “Well … it’s great. Really, uh, pretty.”

  “I like having more rooms,” he said. “A little separation instead of that museum look. Also, the view’s nice, don’t you think? Here, I’ll show you outside.” He took her through a dining room with beamed ceilings and a wall of windows, a kitchen with every single convenience, out sliding doors, and onto a covered patio. “Outdoor kitchen, living room, all that. These guys are the caterers. The table isn’t mine. We’re doing dinner out here in a little bit. See, I told you I’d take you out to dinner.”

  “You did. It’s a great surprise. I’m really surprised.” Her face hurt from smiling.

  “You could use this even if it’s raining,” he said, “because there are heaters, and misters for summer. Another thing I really liked was that it has a full-size lap pool. I’ll have to get that fenced off, but there’s nothing like swimming outside.”

  “Also a basketball court,” she said. “Putting green. Tennis. Et cetera.”

  “Yeah. But come on.” Around the corner and back into the house at Harlan-speed—in other words, fast enough to make her have to hustle to keep up—and he started opening doors. “Media room. Game room with enough room for a ping-pong table and a pool table. Gym. Gym’s big, which is always good. Oh, and another staircase over here, so you don’t have to go all the way through the house to the curved one in order to get up to the bedrooms. Come up, and I’ll show you.”

  She followed after him, and the rest of them trooped along behind. Four bedrooms up here, and three bathrooms. In an L shape, because the house had wings. “The views are beautiful,” she said. “The bedrooms are a nice size, too.”

  He wanted her to say something more, she could tell, but she couldn’t think what to add.

  Also, she was having trouble controlling her face, because she needed to cry. She’d thought, when she’d seen Blake and Dakota and her grandfather, that this was … something else. That it was a proposal.

  Harlan always knew how she was feeling. He was sensitive. How could he have done this? How could he have gotten it so wrong? Didn’t he know how she felt about him?

  Focus on the moment, she told herself, but it didn’t work. Because in this moment, all she felt was …

  Devastated.

  He couldn’t figure out what was wrong. He’d thought this was a great idea. Even Oscar had thought it was a great idea. At least, when Harlan had gone up to visit him after they’d come back from North Dakota, on a day he’d told Jennifer he had an offense meeting, Oscar had seemed pleased. Of course, that could be because Harlan had rebuilt the carburetor on his truck for him, which had seemed to put him a little further up the ladder, son-in-law-wise.

  “I’d like to get her a house,” Harlan had told the old man while he was knee-deep in car parts. “A real house. Seems to me that a family ought to start out in a house together. She’s still got all her clothes in that apartment of mine, and it’s driving me nuts. Like—the house belongs to me, and she lives in the apartment. What do you think?”

  “I think that’d be a good start,” Oscar had said.

  Clearly not, because Jennifer’s tone was too bright, her face too stiff. She hated the house. Harlan had thought it was perfect, but he should have waited and let her choose. He’d been looking for weeks at the time, though, and had started to think it wasn’t going to work out. And then the realtor had showed him this one. It’d had everything he’d wanted, he’d been positive she’d love it, and it had been vacant, which meant he’d been able to buy it for cash and seal the deal in a matter of days. Also, the first preseason game was next week and Jennifer got more pregnant every day. He was running out of time, and having this unresolved between them was driving him crazy.

  Ever since he’d met her, the restlessness in his spirit had started to settle, like an albatross who’d flown ten thousand miles finally gliding in for a landing and folding its tired wings. For the first time, he wanted to go home at the end of the day, and for the first time, he wanted to know somebody he loved would be there when he did.

  This was the downside of caring, though. Or call it what it was. Of loving. That you put your heart on the line.

  Then put it there, he told himself. All the way. You can’t make the catch if you don’t jump for it. And said, “Come on. One more thing to show you. We’ll take the fancy stairs this time.”

  Not into the living room now. Down the hall and into the master bedroom, a serene place with huge mullioned windows on two sides, looking out on the vineyards, the hills, and Mt. Hood in the distance.

  “Check out the bathroom,” Dyma said, as if she’d noticed how subdued Jennifer had become. “Soaking tub of your dreams, Mom. I wouldn’t call this bathroom eco-friendly, because it must have taken a whole quarry full of marble, but it’s as beautiful as a spa. Also a walk-in closet that’s as big as my bedroom upstairs. Annabelle and I decided the master bathroom is the coolest thing about the house. Except the game room, because the game room’s going to be amazing. And the pool. And maybe the basketball court.”

  “It’s beautiful,” Jennifer said. “It’s a great house.”

  Everybody else was silent. Looking at each other, telegraphing awkwardness. Telegraphing a desire to be anywhere else.

  Harlan thought, One more try. He said, “There are two offices down here. I figured, who needs two? I thought …” He opened the door. And held his breath.

  It was a nursery. A beautiful one, all serenity. A simple white crib, a dresser with a changing-table top, and a white wicker rocking chair in the corner, complete with padded footstool. A pastel-striped rug, and a white wicker bassinette with a canopy.

  Harlan said, “This is what I was doing when I said I was playing golf. I put together the crib, and Owen and the girls hauled the rest. I’ve been keeping it all at Owen’s place. I just got the keys today, because there were some glitches at the end, so we had to throw the nursery together fast to have it ready for you. The wicker rocking chair is the kind my mom had, and I thought …”

  When he’d thought about saying this with everybody listening, he’d imagined a more receptive audience.

  Do it. “I thought about you rocking in it, feeding our baby,” he said, and to his horror, he’d choked up. “And it felt right. But not just because of the baby. The baby is just what made me see what I wanted. What I needed. What I’ve been missing. And it’s you. When I saw this house, I thought … this is us. This is how forever feels. Room for a family, the whole family we’ve got together. Dyma and Annabelle and Nick and anybody else who comes along. Room to put up a play structure in the yard, and with the kind of breakfast nook that makes you want to hang out with your coffee in the morning before you kiss your wife goodbye. Room for a whole life. The real kind. The kind you can count on forever.”

  He was getting something else now, because her hands were at her lips, and her eyes were filling with tears. He opened the top dresser drawer, pulled out the blue velvet box, and opened the lid. And then he got down on one knee and took her hand.

  “I did this twice before,” he told her. “Once exactly wrong. I couldn’t believe I’d blurted that out and made you cry, but I think now that I must have known it was right. Seems like my head’s been behind my heart this whole time. When you saw those wolves in Yellowstone, and you said that white wolf had my eyes, and he stared at you and made you turn around and kept you safe. When I heard those great horned owls calling to each other that same night, and I thought about my mom making me stop and listen, telling me they mated for life. It’s like life’s been giving me every signal it can, all along the way, and I’ve been refusing to read them. Baby—I’m reading them now. I know what I want, and it’s you.”

  He still couldn’t tell, because there were a few tears rolling down her cheeks, and the hand in his was shaking. He said, “You haven’t run away this time, and you haven’t told me we’ll talk about it later, so I’m hoping those t
ears are a good sign. I love you, and all I want in this world right now is my ring on your finger. I want to grow some babies and some flowers here with you, and watch the rosebushes and the kids get taller. And I sure do wish you’d say something, because I’m real nervous here.”

  “It’s … it’s my house,” she said. “Our house.”

  He stared at her. “What? Of course it is. What did you think?”

  “I thought …” Her hand was shaking like crazy now. “I thought you were just … asking for my opinion. Because I’m … good at this stuff. At details. You haven’t said anything, and I … I …”

  She couldn’t go on, and he couldn’t stay down here when she was crying, could he? He stood up, took her in his arms, and said, “Hey, now. Hey. It’s OK. We’ve got this.” He pulled her into his shoulder and tried to laugh. “Last time I said it, you didn’t seem to think I meant it. So I thought—maybe if I buy you a house. A family house. Maybe you’d believe me then.”

  She was standing back, wiping at her eyes, trying to smile. “Sorry. I just—I’m surprised, that’s all. This is why Grandpa, and, uh … everybody. Why you got everybody here.”

  “I thought, because I embarrassed you before,” he said, “that I could make it right.”

  “Then,” she said, still going for that smile, even though it was wobbly, “could you show me the ring again? I have a feeling it’s nice.”

  He laughed out loud, and so did everybody else. The kind of laugh when the awkward part’s over, and the good part starts. He said, “It’s pretty nice, yeah. I remembered how you don’t like fussy things, so I made it simple.”

  A round stone, two carats of flash set into an elegant, sleek platinum band. No sharpness to any of it, and nothing aggressive about it. Nothing but rounded curves, all of it looking like the light shining in the right woman’s eyes, glowing with the warmth of her love. A love that was strong enough to set you straight when you were wrong, and to hold you up when you were weak.