by Brenda Novak
Rebecca propped a hand on her hip. “How much?” she asked him.
Josh considered what he had in his pocket. “A hundred bucks says I’ll win.”
“Make that two hundred, and you’ve got a game.”
“Ooee, she’s feeling it tonight,” Billy Joe cut in, putting another quarter on the table.
“Maybe it’s time to humble her,” Josh said, but he knew, even if he won, there was no humbling Rebecca Wells.
“Talking trash already?” she asked.
“Two hundred dollars.” He grinned. “Ladies first.”
Rebecca sank two solids but missed the third.
“Nice start,” he said, chalking up. He eyed the table from several angles, went after the thirteen and sent it into the far corner pocket. Then he buried the ten, but he also knocked down Rebecca’s five.
“Thanks for the help,” she said, smiling.
Mary came up beside him. “You can take her,” she said, her words almost fierce.
Josh glanced up for a second and noticed that they were attracting quite a few new spectators. His brother had come downstairs and was among the crowd, standing toward the back. Booker and Katie had joined them, too.
Josh watched Rebecca take aim. He hadn’t left her much of a shot, but she was good enough to work with what she had. She sent the seven flying with just the right amount of power to bounce it off three sides before nearly sinking it in the closest corner.
“Darn,” she said, stepping back when it didn’t fall.
He walked around the table, considering what was open to him. The twelve was in a pretty good position. But if he hit the twelve, he might leave her with the perfect opportunity to drop two more of her own balls.
“Try the nine,” Mike said, suddenly at his elbow.
“The twelve’s looking pretty,” Josh said. “Dangerous but pretty. I think I’m going to have to take the twelve.”
He aimed and fired, the twelve fell, and then they were three to three.
“What did you leave me?” Rebecca muttered, frowning.
Fortunately not as much as he’d thought he would. But she managed to bury the one ball on a trick shot that should never have worked. That opened her up for an easy shot along the left side, which took care of the three. Next she attempted to tap in the six, but to his relief she scratched.
“Aw, that’s too bad,” he said, grinning as he removed her penalty ball—the three.
They were even again, but not for long. He placed the white ball in front of the fourteen and pointed to the left corner pocket. “It’s going there,” he said and, a solid click later, proved himself right.
At that point, Booker stepped up and whispered something to Rebecca.
Josh tried not to be annoyed by this evidence of their mutual esteem, but the fact that he’d lost his “friend” status so quickly, while Booker seemed to be hanging on to his, rankled. What did he have that Josh didn’t? A few tattoos, maybe.
As Rebecca moved past him, he caught a subtle whiff of her perfume, reminding him of that night she’d massaged him at her house. He’d smelled the same scent on her sheets and pillows. It was mingled with the whole experience—the candles, the warm oil, Rebecca’s hands sliding over his body. He’d thought a lot about that night. He’d thought even more about the next morning, when they’d stood so close he could have licked her lips without moving. In that moment, it had been all he could do to remember that she had a fiancé and he had a girlfriend, and that she was the worst woman in the world for him to want—
“Go, man,” Mike said, nudging him. “It’s your turn.”
Josh blinked. Rebecca had pocketed the three again. If he wasn’t careful how he finished this game, she’d walk away with his money.
Bending, he smacked the nine, decisively burying it in the right corner pocket. Then he sank the eleven in the side and set himself up for the fifteen. It was two solids to one stripe; he finally had the advantage.
Glancing up, he saw her worrying her bottom lip. She leaned over and said something to Booker, who whispered something back.
Josh tried not to let it bother him. He certainly didn’t care about Booker—he just didn’t like the fact that he and Rebecca had become so close, didn’t like the implied trust because that kind of trust was so far from what he’d ever been able to achieve with her.
Frowning, he shot, but the distraction of their whispering took its toll. He missed, leaving himself wide open for Rebecca to take the lead.
She chalked her cue, gave Booker a small smile and dropped the seven into the side pocket.
“I told you,” Booker said to her, chuckling. “Now bank the four off here—” He motioned to one side of the table.
“No, the eight ball’s in the way,” she complained.
She went for the corner, instead, and missed.
“You should’ve done what I told you,” Booker said. “Next time—”
“Hey, am I playing her or you?” Josh snapped.
They both looked up in surprise. “You have a problem with Booker giving me his opinion?” she asked.
“No,” he said, instantly feeling a little foolish for the outburst.
She waved Booker back. “I can beat you on my own,” she said. “I don’t need anyone else.”
Josh knew he’d already said too much and didn’t respond. He shot the fifteen into the nearest corner and aimed for the final ball—the eight. In one stroke the game could be over. He sent the eight toward the side pocket, but accidentally smacked Rebecca’s four, putting it in, instead.
“Too bad,” Rebecca said, her voice laced with false sympathy as she prepared for the easy kill. “Say goodbye to your money.”
The eight went down, and the game was over. Everyone patted Rebecca on the back, murmuring about how good she’d gotten.
She smiled broadly. “You want to write me a check?” she asked.
“I can’t believe she beat you,” Mary said, obviously stunned.
Josh stared at the empty table and rubbed his chin. He couldn’t believe it, either. He wanted another chance.
“Double or nothing,” he said.
“Josh, that’s four hundred dollars!” Mary cried.
He ignored her. “What do you say, Rebecca?”
Rebecca’s eyes widened, but she seemed tempted. “There are people in line ahead of you.”
“That’s okay,” Perry volunteered. “I’m next. He can have my turn.”
This met with murmurs of general approval. Most folks had taken an interest in his and Rebecca’s running feud. And rarely did anyone in Dundee see a four-hundred-dollar bet, at least on a game of pool.
“Looks like we’re in the clear,” he told Rebecca. “You interested?”
“Four hundred dollars?” she said.
“Losing your nerve?”
She turned to Booker. “Go for it,” he said. “You can take him again.”
She nodded. “Okay.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
SHE’D BEATEN HIM. She’d beaten Josh Hill. And it felt great. Those few hard-won victories always did. So why was she giving him another chance? Why was she risking four hundred dollars?
Because it wasn’t enough to beat him once, she realized. She wanted to beat him again and again until she knew she was better at something than he was. Until she could establish her own little niche and quit feeling that anything she could do, he could do better.
“You first this time,” she said, feeling generous.
His smile told her he took the gesture as it was intended—to let him know she had every confidence in the world of doubling her money.
This game went much like the previous one, with Rebecca maintaining a small lead. She was close to winning—they were down to just a few balls—when her father walked into the room. Rebecca was aware that the band had stopped playing some time ago and the caterers were talking to each other upstairs, obviously clearing away what was left of the food. She knew her mother and sisters would be expecting her to sta
rt cleaning up and had probably sent her father to get her.
“Does Mom need me?” she asked as he parted the group that had been watching the game and emerged at her elbow.
“When you’re through.”
“Tell her I’ll be right there,” she said, but he didn’t go. He rested his knuckles on the edge of the table and studied the game. “Who’s winning?”
Rebecca had been about to shoot, but now she hesitated. She didn’t want to play Josh in front of her father. She could play anyone else without a problem, but she remembered her father looking on too many times when Josh bested her at something. Doyle always smiled at the outcome, as though he’d expected it all along. Sometimes he’d even slap Josh on the back, as though he’d been rooting for him.
“She is,” Josh said.
Her father seemed a little surprised. “No kidding?”
Rebecca stretched her neck, chalked her cue stick again and studied the angles. She was far too tense to make an accurate shot. But everyone was waiting and watching her expectantly. She had to finish. Four hundred dollars depended on the outcome.
Taking a deep breath, she wiped her palms on her slacks and positioned herself. Then she shot—and missed.
“How’d you miss that?” Doyle demanded. “That was a give-me if ever I’ve seen one.”
Rebecca didn’t know how she’d missed it. That shot was one she could make ninety-nine times out of a hundred. But she was suddenly so nervous.
She blinked, nodded and tucked her hair behind her ears, staring intently at the table.
Josh braced his cue stick and, leaning low, deftly managed to bury the six ball off a ricochet. Rebecca’s heart sank when the ball landed snugly in the pocket. She’d blown it. He had only the eight ball left. If she hadn’t choked on her last turn, she could’ve put him away. Instead, the opposite was about to happen.
“He’s got you,” Doyle said, sounding disgusted. “I’ve told you and told you that you need to keep your hand steady. You’re never going to win a game of pool if you play like that.”
She didn’t answer. It didn’t matter that she’d won the last game. That she’d won almost every game tonight. This was the game her father was watching, which meant this was the only game that mattered.
Josh sized up his next shot, which was pretty clean. One bank off the far left edge and the eight ball would land in the right corner pocket. Easy. Game over. She was history.
He glanced up at her and her father before sending the eight ball rolling. It banked off the far left edge, just like it was supposed to, and traveled in a straight line for the corner pocket. Rebecca was so sure it was going to drop, she almost set her stick down and started getting out her money. But it didn’t. It slowed and came to a stop at the very edge of the pocket.
Mary groaned and Billy Joe murmured, “I thought he had her. Jeez, that was close!”
It was close. But not close enough. She had a reprieve.
Booker caught her eye and smiled. Now’s your chance, his look said. You can do it.
Giving him a slight nod, she sent her stripe flying decisively into the side pocket. Now only the eight ball remained for her, too—and it was already hovering an inch from where she needed it to go. Telling herself to forget that her father was watching, to forget he was even there, she tapped the white ball so that it barely kissed the eight. The eight slipped over the edge, making a satisfying thunk, and the game was over.
“I won,” she said, feeling a rush of relief and hope as she looked to her father. “I just beat Josh.”
“Yeah, well, your mother needs you,” he said and walked off.
* * *
“CAN YOU BELIEVE Rebecca brought Booker to her parents’ anniversary party?” Mary asked as Josh drove her home from the party.
Mary had been talking nonstop since they’d gotten into his Excursion. He’d only been half listening, for the most part. He wasn’t interested in a recap of the compliments she’d received on her new jacket. But he heard her mention Booker and Rebecca. “They’re friends,” he said.
Mary adjusted her seat belt. “Friends and lovers, probably.”
Josh scowled. “Would you give up on that? Booker was hitting on Katie all night. I hardly think he and Rebecca are lovers.”
She turned to face him, using the door as her backrest. “You never know. Rebecca strikes me as a little kinky. She might like a ménage àtrois once in a while.”
“I don’t think so,” he said sharply. Josh suspected her sexual experience fell far short of her reputation. Some of the things he’d said in the past were probably to blame for why people like Mary considered Rebecca kinky, and he hadn’t had a damn clue about her sex life when he’d made those statements. It was just part of the smear campaign they’d waged against each other.
“She ran away with that biker,” Mary pointed out.
Josh stopped for a light. Johnny Red. Even a Hells Angel hadn’t been able to handle Rebecca—strong evidence that Josh was lucky she didn’t seem as drawn to him as he sometimes was to her. But logic and evidence didn’t always help. Not at moments like that one in her house…
“So she had a fling,” he said, starting through the intersection as the light turned green. “I think most of us are guilty of poor judgment on occasion.”
“Poor judgment on occasion? What do you call moving in with Booker when she’s engaged to another man?” Mary turned up the heater, although Josh was already tempted to roll down the window. “And what about bringing Booker to the party tonight? Did you see the look on Doyle’s face? I thought he was going to have a stroke.”
Josh had been more concerned about the look on Doyle’s face when Rebecca had beaten him at pool. There hadn’t been a hint of the pleasure or pride he’d expected when he’d purposely missed his last shot. He’d paid four hundred dollars to see Rebecca’s father give her a shred of praise for a change, and it hadn’t netted him so much as a smile or a “good game.” Worse, it had confused him even more about how he felt toward Rebecca. There were times when fear that she’d be hurt made him do the damnedest things—like trying to make her feel welcome in her own parents’ home or losing a four-hundred-dollar bet.
Part of him wanted to be her friend. All of him wanted to be her lover. And whatever sanity he had left still tried to warn him that he’d be a fool to become, either.
“I can’t believe she’s taking advantage of Hatty the way she is,” Mary was saying. “I mean, it’s bad enough that Booker’s living off her. But now Rebecca, too? I don’t blame her father for being upset. That would make me—”
“Wait a second,” Josh interrupted, feeling the irritation that occasionally haunted him when he was with Mary. “How do you know she’s taking advantage of Hatty?”
“You don’t think she and Booker are actually paying rent, do you?”
They passed the drive-in, the library and Dundee’s two historic buildings, one of which was now a bed-and-breakfast. “I don’t know that they’re not,” he said, turning the blasting heater vents away from him. “Besides, it doesn’t matter. Rebecca’s only going to be living there for another—what, four weeks?”
Josh was relieved to think Rebecca would be marrying so soon. Surely that would finally put an end to this strange attraction. Not only would she be completely unavailable, she’d be living in Nebraska. Whatever had happened between them in the past would have to be forgotten, the good—like that night a year ago last summer—along with the bad.
Maybe after she was gone, he’d be able to make a commitment to Mary….
“What?” he said when he realized Mary had stopped talking and was watching him a little too closely.
“Why are you suddenly sticking up for her?” she asked. “You two have never gotten along.”
Josh couldn’t tolerate the heater any longer. “I’m not sticking up for her,” he said, flipping it off. “I just don’t think what’s going on in her life is any of our business, okay? She gets enough of that kind of thing already.”
“Then I guess you don’t want to hear what I learned tonight at the party,” Mary said.
He drove into Mary’s neighborhood and pulled up in front of her parents’ house, where she’d been living since the divorce. “Not if it’s more conjecture about Rebecca’s sex life,” he said.
“It’s not. It’s about her wedding.”
After the way he’d criticized Mary’s gossiping, he could hardly show interest, but she definitely had him with that statement. “I don’t want to know,” he lied.
“Fine.” She leaned over and kissed him before getting out of the truck. “Night.”
“Night.” He felt a welcome rush of cold air as she stepped out—he could finally breathe again.
“Call me later,” she said.
“I’ll call you tomorrow.” He rolled down his window and drove away. But he made it only to the edge of town before using his cell to phone her. “Okay, what about Rebecca’s wedding?” he asked as soon as she answered.
“I thought you didn’t want to gossip,” she said, sounding smug.
“You’ve piqued my curiosity.”
She laughed, prolonging the suspense. “It’s been postponed again.”
Oh, boy. “How do you know?”
“Candace heard Delaney talking to Conner about it tonight while they were dancing.”
“Why?”
“Because she was dancing right next to them.”
Josh sighed impatiently. “No, why has the wedding been postponed?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “From what Candace could gather, what’s going on is pretty hush-hush. Delaney said something about Rebecca waiting until after the party to tell her parents.”
He remembered what Doyle had told him in the hair salon and knew Rebecca’s father wouldn’t be happy about this turn of events. He saw Buddy as Rebecca’s only wedding ticket, his release from further obligation to his difficult fourth daughter.
“When’s the new date?” he asked, wondering how much longer he’d have to deal with running into Rebecca everywhere he went.
“Candace didn’t say.” She paused. “You want to come back here? Watch a movie?”
