Madness, Veda thought.
But that was the trouble with Bear Midwinter—he’d always made her feel too much.
And considering she was trying to rebuild her life and start a new business, the last thing she needed to do was feel anything at all—other than gratitude that he was going to do the necessary repairs—for Bear. She sincerely hoped that self-preservation would kick in and keep her from doing something impulsively stupid.
Like drooling all over him.
Veda had always been very task-oriented, a list-maker, one of those organized people who got on everyone else’s nerves. She did not find comfort in chaos and always operated with determination and a plan. She had her eyes on the prize. Set a goal, reach the goal, set a new goal. Her lips twisted.
It was that dogged perseverance that had completely derailed her latest five-year plan. Her mind had been so set on joining Jacque Bonnet’s international dance team—what better way to see the world than dancing across it?—that she’d literally pushed herself past the breaking point. One too many stress fractures had put an end to what had been a very promising career. When she’d first realized that her days of performing were over, it had come as quite a blow.
Because she’d never considered the idea of failing, she’d never developed a backup plan. She’d never needed one. So it had seemed almost providential when her mother told her that Celeste had put her studio up for sale. With virtually no thought at all, which was totally out of character, she’d called her former dance instructor and made an offer.
While Veda had been packing up her place in New York and readying for the move back to Hydrangea, her father had inspected the studio and apartment, noted the repairs that needed to be done and handled the legwork necessary to facilitate the sale. She grinned. No doubt he would have jumped through hoops and a ring of fire to make sure that she came home.
This was, Veda was all too aware, the first step in her parents’ latest goal, Operation Grandchild.
Her mother had never minded the dancing until she’d realized that (a) it was going to take her out of Hydrangea, (b) most of the eligible men in her field were gay and (c) lack of men meant less opportunity for marriage and having the grandchild her parents so desperately wanted to spoil.
She hadn’t been back two days before her father had conveniently brought a “friend” home for dinner. Kurt was a twenty-eight-year-old accountant with more confidence than hair and soft, squishy hands.
Eww.
Next, her mother had insisted that Veda accompany her to the courthouse to pay a parking ticket and had promptly steered her toward a group of Hydrangea’s finest boys in blue. Kenny Watkins had been her mother’s intended target and, while Kenny had certainly grown into a fairly attractive man, Veda wasn’t interested. In grade school, she had once watched Kenny mine a giant booger from his nose and promptly eat it. She frowned.
That sort of thing stuck with a girl.
Currently, she was living in the carriage house at the back of her parents’ property—virtually trapped and under constant surveillance—and simply could not wait to get moved in to her new home. She was used to having her own space and, while the carriage house was nice, the location was less than ideal. Were she to continue living there, she could imagine her parents’ queuing men right up to her door.
Honestly, Veda wasn’t averse to having a significant other—she was a bona fide romantic, appreciated the small gestures as much as the grand ones—and she’d certainly had her share of boyfriends over the years, though admittedly she couldn’t confess to ever being in love. She’d been in like before, in fond, even. But love? That all-consuming can’t-breathe-without-you sort of love?
Never.
Her gaze strayed to Bear, who was currently pulling his own bag out of the back of his rental car, and her chest gave an involuntary squeeze. No doubt the closest she’d ever come to real emotion, real love—though it had been the purely innocent variety—was what she felt for Bear Midwinter.
It was almost sad, really. And strangely…comforting.
How odd. She frowned, trying to pinpoint the source of the sentiment, then abandoned the effort as he made his way toward the stairs. He glanced at the window and his gaze caught hers. She inhaled, startled at the impact, then managed a breathless smile and gave an awkward little wave. In the briefest of seconds, she watched recognition flash in those pale brown eyes—a golden amber that put her in mind of the tiger’s-eye ring she’d worn on her right hand since her sixteenth birthday, which had been the reason she’d chosen it, of course—and then he smiled, really smiled, and her pathetic heart practically flipped in her chest, then thundered into a sprint that resonated in her ears so loudly, it left her nearly deaf. Her hands trembled and her body broke out in a prickly sweat that heralded impending nausea and her last thought, before she darted into the bathroom and emptied her stomach, was at least she wasn’t puking on him…like she did the last time she’d seen him.
Thank God for small favors.
Only stage fright and Bear Midwinter had ever made her nervous enough to hurl. She’d eventually gotten over the stage fright.
Clearly, Bear was another matter.
3
BEAR WAS USED TO INSPIRING various reactions in women—usually an appreciative glance, an inviting smile, the occasional nervous giggle.
Causing one to vomit—twice now, for the love of all that was holy—was as novel as it was disturbing.
He watched Veda rinse her mouth in the bathroom sink and pat her flushed face before making her way back into the kitchen. His lips twisted. “It’s official,” he said with a matter-of-fact nod. “I make you sick.”
Her watery green gaze shot to his and a startled laugh broke up in her throat. “No, I—”
He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned a hip against the counter, taking a covert inventory of the now fully grown Veda who stood before him. “There’s no point in denying it,” he said. “You tossed your cookies the last time I saw you, as well.” He heaved a feigned, woebegone sigh. “Given the evidence—” he jerked his head toward the toilet “—I can only conclude that the mere sight of me makes you ill.”
Meanwhile, the mere sight of her was making him anything but unwell.
She’d been a pretty little girl—big green eyes, sharp chin, a yard of silky blond hair. The woman she’d grown into wasn’t so much pretty as striking. Those memorable green eyes—a startling shade that made him think of new moss on an old tree—set in that classically heart-shaped face was nothing short of arresting. Her skin was smooth and luminous, like moonlight on sand, and her nose was slim and straight. The mouth beneath it was a healthy pink, lush and unbelievably kissable.
An unexpected firebomb of attraction blasted through him, leaving him momentarily dumbstruck.
Bear Midwinter had never been rendered speechless. He wasn’t sure what was more disconcerting—the instantaneous critical level of lust he’d just experienced or the sudden speech impediment.
Both, naturally, raised concern.
Hot for Veda? For Tiny Dancer?
It almost felt obscene. He’d known her since she was four, maybe five years old. For…twenty years. Jeez, had it been that long? It seemed impossible and yet the evidence stood before him, all five feet—he broodingly eyeballed her again—two inches of it. He’d missed the puberty years, obviously, because the last time he’d seen her, she hadn’t had breasts or hips. But she did now, and the added dimension had given her a very womanly frame. Short and curvy, but fit all the same.
She blushed beneath his blatant stare and it belatedly occurred to him that he was being rude. He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and shot her a sheepish smile. “You’ve changed a good bit since the last time I saw you.”
She shrugged, her eyes twinkling. “One would hope. It’s been twelve years. I threw up on you that time, so the way I see it, the toilet’s an improvement.”
“Are you saying it’s going to be another dozen years before
you stop vomiting altogether when you see me?” He tsked. “That’s depressing. You’re going to give me a complex.”
She couldn’t quite cover a snort. “I sincerely doubt it. And it’s not you. It’s just an unhappy, mortifying coincidence.” Her eyes darted everywhere but at him. “I’ve felt off all morning. I guess my breakfast didn’t agree with me.”
He grinned. “That’s one way of showing it who’s boss.”
She chuckled and shook her head. “I suppose.”
He cast a glance around the loft, noting the empty walls and bare floors with an odd pang of regret. He supposed that was natural. While this had never been much of a home, it had been the only home he’d ever really known. Granted, he’d always felt more like an unwanted guest than a member of the family. Still, this was where he’d grown up, where he’d eaten cereal in front of the television, done his homework at the kitchen table, where he’d hidden his copies of Playboy underneath the floorboards, learned to shave and ultimately lost his virginity. He inwardly smiled, remembering. That had been one hell of a study date. He’d learned a lot.
He felt her gaze and from the corner of his eye, watched her bite her lip. “I guess this is a little weird for you, isn’t it? Seeing it empty like this.”
Bear sighed, wandering deeper into the living room. “It is,” he admitted. He shot her a smile. “It’s a lot roomier without Mom’s stuff crammed in here.”
She nodded toward a pile of things in the corner. “Celeste said you’d want to go through the things over there. She said they came out of your room.”
He laughed darkly. “Then she must have packed it up a long time ago. She turned my room into her closet-slash-dressing room the week after I left for college. On the rare occasions I came home, I slept on the couch.”
And he’d only done that when there wasn’t an alternative. Thankfully, there’d been friends he could go home with most holidays and he’d worked during the summer, so that had kept him close to campus. He could count on one hand how many times he’d seen his mother during those college years and one of them had been at his graduation. She’d been late…and had left immediately following the ceremony. No card, no present, no congratulatory dinner. Good times.
What the hell was he doing here again?
“Well, she’s left the bed in her room for you while you’re working on things.”
How thoughtful. And just what the hell was he supposed to do with it once he left? Ship it off to South Carolina? As if he would have time for that. Honestly, just when he thought she couldn’t do anything more selfish—
“The Salvation Army is supposed pick it up when they come for the other stuff, but I was thinking about keeping it for the spare room. It’s a lovely old iron bed.”
It was. And it was unbelievably heavy. He had unpleasant memories of hauling it up the back staircase. He shot Veda a look. “What? You don’t need a bigger closet and separate dressing room?”
She smiled. “Not at the moment.” She cast another look around and released a small breath. “Right now I just need somewhere to live.”
“Don’t tell me you’re homeless,” he teased, intrigued by her especially grim tone. Intrigued by her, period. “Not in Hydrangea, land of sweet iced tea and hospitality.”
She laughed again and shook her head. “Not homeless, no. I’m staying in the carriage house behind my parents’ place until I can move in here.”
He inclined his head, felt his lips twitch with humor. “And Mom and Dad are cramping your style, interfering with your game?”
She rolled her eyes. “Just the opposite, actually. I have no desire to play. And they keep putting Hydrangea’s most eligible bachelors in my path.” A droll smile caught the side of her ripe mouth and tugged. “Kind of hard to hide from them when I’m living in the backyard.”
Ah, he thought, giving her a speculative glance. Now this was a very interesting turn of events. “Let me guess. You just came off a bad breakup and they’re trying to get you back in the saddle.”
Her eyes twinkled and she poked her tongue in her cheek. “Er, no.”
He winced and kept fishing, far more curious than he should be. “Bad divorce then?”
She shook her head. “Sorry, wrong again. I’ve never been married.”
Now, that was surprising. She was beautiful, smart and talented. He couldn’t imagine that some good old boy hadn’t at least tried to coax her down the aisle. Her choice then? And if so, why? Was she that particular? Or had something else gotten in the way? Other than the fact that she was buying his mother’s place, he knew absolutely nothing about her, had no idea what she’d been doing during the last twelve years. Dammit, he was going to have to join Facebook, if for no other reason than to keep up with her.
“Ah,” he drawled as understanding dawned. “So that’s the problem then? They’re afraid you’re reaching your sell-by date?”
“In a manner of speaking, I guess,” she said, chuckling at the analogy. “And they can hear the sound of my biological clock ticking much more loudly than I can.” She gave her head a sad shake. “Evidently the grand-bird isn’t enough anymore.”
He blinked. “Grand-bird?”
“Odette, my African gray parrot. She’s temperamental, but quite smart. She spent the first five years of her life in a nursing home and the next five in a barber shop. She’s forever whining about her bunions and randomly quotes Jeff Foxworthy.”
The bunion reference he could understand, but the other? “Jeff Foxworthy?”
She strolled to the window and glanced out over the square. “The shop owner was a fan. There are times I could cheerfully throttle him for that.” She looked over at him and wry humor touched her gaze. “There are only so many you-might-be-a-redneck jokes a girl can take.”
His eyes drifted over her again, lingering on the sleek curve of her hip. “I imagine so.”
She hesitated, then blushed again. “I should probably get downstairs,” she said. “My Twinkle Toes will be here in a few minutes. I only came up to get a few more measurements, see how much more furniture I’ll need to buy to fill the place up. This loft is three times the size of my old apartment.”
He arched a skeptical brow and glanced around. “You must have been living in a coat closet.”
A grin rolled across her lips. “Close enough, but affordable square footage is hard to come by in New York.”
Another surprise. “New York?”
She nodded. “I’ve only been back in town a couple of weeks.”
“Experiencing culture shock?” he asked, wondering how his mother could have failed to mention that Veda had been living out of town. In New York, of all places. Of course, anything that didn’t pertain directly to Celeste was of no consequence, so he really didn’t know why he was surprised.
Veda grinned. “Not really,” she said. “I miss the all-night coffee shop and Thai food, but otherwise, I’ve always been a Southern girl at heart. It’s certainly different here, but ultimately Hydrangea is a good place.”
He supposed. But he knew the town would be forever tainted by the memory of his miserable childhood and youth spent here. Certainly there’d been people he’d remembered who were kind, like Mrs. Johnston and Coach Crawford, but he hadn’t gotten involved with many people in town. Even though his mother had never really wanted him around, she hadn’t wanted him out and about, either. She always had something for him to do. While other guys had been out cruising the square or shooting pool at Moe’s Burger and Tire, he’d been sanding floors, painting something or moving things around. His mother had loved to rearrange the furniture and he’d been the heavy lifter. He cast another glance about the room and felt the old familiar bitterness well up.
Not much had changed, really.
Which reminded him… “When you have a little time, I’d like to go over the list of repairs with you. You know, just to make sure that I know exactly what you want done.”
“Sure,” she said, looking strangely nervous. She tucked a stray str
and of hair behind her ear. “I, uh…I’m teaching until six, but anytime after that would be fine.” She brightened. “In fact, it would get me out of helping my mother perfect her supersecret entry into the fried-dessert cook-off, so that’s definitely a win.”
He laughed. “Supersecret entry?”
“Hey, the women in town take this cook-off seriously,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “It’s rumored that Reverend Morris is spying for his wife, paying visits to everyone who’s rumored to enter. Mom won last year with her fried butter-pecan balls. She’s got a title to protect.”
“Such drama,” he teased.
She nodded, chuckling softly under her breath. “It’s entertaining, if nothing else.”
He shrugged magnanimously. “Who needs theater?”
“Right.” She backed toward the door. “See you at six then? Downstairs?”
“Sounds good. Do you mind if we discuss things over dinner?” he asked. He glanced toward the kitchen. “I’m sure my mother left nothing in the way of food here and—”
“Dinner’s good,” she said, shooting him a smile endearingly just short of shy. “The diner doesn’t close until eight, so we’re in business.”
“Eight?” He’d forgotten that little detail about small-town living. They practically rolled up the streets after dark around here.
She winced. “That’s been the biggest adjustment,” she said. “If I want a latte after eight o’clock, the closest thing I’m going to find to it is in the machine at Chet’s service center.”
“What time does he close?”
“Ten…unless there’s something he wants to watch on television. Then he’s been known to close as early as six-thirty.”
Bear snorted and rolled his eyes. “Good grief.” A thought struck. “When does the hardware store close?”
“Five-thirty.”
Right.
“But if you absolutely have to have something, Harris leaves the key under the flowerpot next to the front door. Just make sure you leave him a note of what you take so that he can put it on your account.”
Blazing Bedtime Stories, Volume VII: The Steadfast Hot SoldierWild Thing Page 2
