She hung her head. “I am so sorry.”
Honestly, she didn’t know what the hell was wrong with her mother or what she’d been trying to prove with that incessant line of questioning about career and his future plans. Actually, she did know, and it humiliated her all the more. Her mother was trying to prove her point, that a future with Bear in Hydrangea was about as likely as another five-legged goat.
She knew there was no future with Bear—she didn’t need her mother to remind her of it.
Bear grabbed her hand and turned her around to face him. “Hey,” he said, putting a long finger under her chin and lifting her head until she had no choice but to look up at him. “I’m not the least bit offended, though I’ll admit my leg is a little sore where your father kept kicking me under the table.”
She gasped. “What? But why—”
His eyes twinkled and a half grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I think he was trying to hit your mother, but my legs were in the way.”
She sighed heavily. “Wonderful,” she said with a miserable eye-roll. “My mother all but accuses you of contracting sexually transmitted diseases from international prostitutes and my dad kicks you all through dinner.”
He grinned. “It’s fine, Veda,” he assured her. “They’re just worried about you. They want you to settle down with some nice boy from Hydrangea. And instead, you’re seeing me. Or pretending to see me,” he corrected, a slight flush creeping over his neck. “They just got you back. I can see why they would be concerned.”
“Be that as it may, putting you through that interrogation was uncalled for. No more dinners with my parents,” she said.
“Only if that’s what you want,” he told her. “I honestly don’t mind.” He grinned. “I’d endure a lot for real mashed potatoes and gravy. I don’t get a lot of home-cooked meals.”
No, she supposed he didn’t. There were so many things she took for granted, Veda realized. “If we can get my kitchen and living room things moved in tonight, then I will happily make you mashed potatoes and gravy.” And there was still his birthday celebration to plan.
“I don’t see any reason why we can’t get done tonight. I asked Mark, Ella’s delivery boy, to be here at seven to help me with the furniture.”
She smiled and held up a pair of keys. “And I’ve got Dad’s truck. As I said, I really don’t have a lot of furniture. A small dinette, a couch, a couple of chairs, a few bookcases and an old steamer trunk.”
He jerked his head toward the birdcage. “What about her? Are we moving her tonight?”
Odette squawked and rattled her bell with her beak. “If you’ve ever financed a tattoo…you might be a redneck.”
Bear’s eyes widened and a bark of laughter erupted from his throat. “Wow,” he said. “She’s really got the accent down, doesn’t she? And the inflection. It’s perfect.” He shook his head wonderingly, his golden eyes crinkling at the corners. “That’s really incredible.”
“It is,” Veda agreed. “But it’s a little unnerving when she does it at three in the morning.”
“I imagine so,” he said, watching the bird preen her feathers.
“I really shouldn’t move her until all of the painting is done and the apartment has aired out. But once it’s done, I think she’ll like looking down over the square. There will always be something for her to watch. I know she gets lonely. She’s used to being around people.”
He turned to look at her once more and she was struck anew at just how perfect he was, how thoroughly masculine and handsome. She loved the clean angle of his jaw, the curiously vulnerable skin beneath it. A tiny breath shuddered out of her lungs as she imagined licking that skin, tasting it against her tongue.
“Have you ever thought about getting her a friend?” Bear asked, interrupting her preoccupation.
“I have, actually,” Veda said, struggling to focus. “Er…once we’re fully settled here I’m going to start looking for a companion for her.” She smiled drolly and heaved a small sigh. “And then I’ll have double the redneck and bunion jokes, plus whatever vocabulary the new bird comes with.”
“Ah,” he said. “I didn’t think about that.” He hummed under his breath. “You know that your mother can see right into the living room of this house, right?”
“What? No, I—” She peered around him and inhaled sharply as she watched her mother dart away from the backdoor window. “Oh, for the love of—” She jerked the curtains closed, humiliated all over again.
“I know it’s a pain in the ass, but be glad they worry, Veda. Be glad you have someone who cares about you.”
It was a matter-of-fact comment, one delivered with very little inflection and yet she heard the sadness all the same. Her heart ached for him, longed to tell him that someone did—and would—worry about him. That, despite the fact that they’d spent more than a decade apart, she’d always cared for him. He’d always owned a little part of her. Whether she’d ever been truly aware of it or not, he’d been the stick every other guy had been measured against.
Though she’d been annoyed at her mother for asking Bear all those questions, a part of her had been thankful because a lot of them were ones she’d wanted to ask herself, but hadn’t yet summoned the courage.
For instance, she’d had no idea that he’d gone into systems engineering while in college or that he’d just completed his fourth tour of duty in Afghanistan. She hadn’t known that he’d lost a good friend last year when a roadside bomb had detonated alongside his convoy or that Bear himself had been shot two years ago. In the shoulder, he’d said, because he was such a big target. She doubted his mother had ever known, much less sent him a get well card or anything else.
Be glad you have someone who cares about you, he’d said.
She was. And by the time he left at the end of the week, Bear Midwinter was going to know that the people of this town cared about him.
And that she did, too.
* * *
TWO HOURS LATER, wearing yoga pants and a tank top, her hair pulled up into a ponytail, Veda was removing books from a large plastic tote and loading them into bookshelves. Because she was the most efficient, organized person he’d ever met, it had taken barely any time at all to locate the boxes that held the items she’d needed for the kitchen and living room. Everything had been color-coded with dots and stacked accordingly in her parents’ detached garage.
Furthermore, living in a small New York apartment had given her a minimalist attitude. She had everything that she needed, but very little of it. The less she had to take care of, the better, she’d said. “I don’t want to be one of those people who are constantly worried about ‘stuff,’” she told him. “I want to enjoy my downtime, not spend it taking care of things. The more you have, the more there is to do.”
He’d never really thought of it like that, but had instantly agreed with her. His mother had been forever buying more, cluttering up the apartment.
Having moved all the furniture where Veda wanted it, he’d begun looking through her artwork and various pictures. She had several Degas prints—of ballerinas, of course—and a couple of black-and-whites of herself en pointe, in costume, on stage. He held one of those now and…mercy.
The angle of her head, the graceful line of her neck, the expression on her face. She was exquisite. Utterly, heart-stoppingly perfect. He wished he’d seen her dance, Bear thought. He wished—
“What are you looking at?” she asked, shooting him a quizzical look over her dainty shoulder.
Caught gawking, he smiled sheepishly and turned the photo around. “You,” he said. “You’re beautiful.” The words seemed inadequate, but it was the best he could come up with at the moment.
A creamy rose spread under her skin and she lowered her lashes. “Thank you. A woman in the audience took it,” she said. “She sent the picture to the theater because she couldn’t find an address for me. She said she thought she’d captured something special and she wanted me to have it.”
He looked at it again—hell, couldn’t stop looking at it—and felt some bizarre emotion wing through his rapidly tightening chest. “I’d have to agree with her. You’re…art,” he said, for lack of anything more clever, and chuckled nervously under his breath.
She smiled, evidently pleased with his inane comment. “That’s what ballet is,” she said. “It’s art in motion.”
“Where do you want this?” he asked.
“On top of this bookshelf, if you don’t mind.” She swallowed as she watched him set it in place. “I love that picture,” she said. “I can look at it and know, in that moment, I was doing everything absolutely right.”
In this moment, it was hard to imagine her doing anything wrong. The lamplight glowed against her cheek, illuminating the pale golden highlights in her hair and casting the other side of her face in stark relief. She had a tiny freckle just under her right eye that he’d never noticed before and the slightest dimple in her little chin. She moved with a gracefulness and economy of movement that was nothing short of mesmerizing and, though he didn’t know what kind of perfume she was wearing—something floral with musky undertones—it was driving him insane. He wanted to breathe her in and eat her up. Slide his nose along the smooth column of her throat and get drunk on her skin.
With a satisfied sigh, she placed the last book on the shelf—Shakespeare’s classics—and then started to stand. He offered her a hand up and felt a tingling shoot up the backs of his legs and settle in his groin as her fingers clasped his. A startled flash lit her gaze at the contact and he knew she’d felt it, too.
Thank God.
“I can’t believe you got all of this done today,” she said, her gaze darting to his. “At the rate you’re going, you’ll be finished long before the weekend.”
Because he couldn’t think of a valid reason to continue clinging to her fingers, he reluctantly released her hand. “I doubt it,” he said. “Even if I finish up here, I’ve still got the studio to work on.”
She made her way to the fridge and pulled out a couple of beers, then made the return trek and handed him one. At some point, she’d hooked up her stereo, docked her iPod and currently a bluesy folk song he’d never heard but instantly liked was playing through the speakers. “So you’re planning on staying in Hydrangea until you have to return to base?”
Her voice was light, almost casual, and yet he detected an undercurrent to the question that suggested his answer was much more important than she’d have him believe. Interesting. He dropped onto the couch and took a draw from the beer. “I am,” he said. He had nowhere else to go, after all. His friends were still on vacation and it was too late to join them now, even if he’d wanted to. Which he didn’t.
“Good,” she said, taking the spot next to him. She grinned, her smile soft and sexy around the edges. “I’d hate for you to miss the Fried Festival.”
“My life would be incomplete,” he drawled, suddenly bone-tired. He felt fatigue pull at his lids and blinked sleepily.
“You know it,” she told him, chuckling. She looked around the loft, appreciating the finished product, and nodded. “I think I’m going to like it here. It feels right.”
It did, he had to agree. She’d chosen a warm yellow for the kitchen and living room and the color was equally bright and welcoming. Her furniture wasn’t new, but it was comfortable, made to be used. Oddly enough, he felt more at home in her space here in the loft than he ever had when it had belonged to his mother.
He gestured toward the music with his bottle before taking another drink. “Who is this?”
“The Civil Wars,” she said. “They’re good, aren’t they?”
He nodded. “They are. I like this song.”
“It’s called ‘Poison and Wine.’ It’s one of my favorites. The music sort of just winds around you, doesn’t it?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
She was quiet for a moment and when he opened his eyes, she was staring at him, an odd look on her face. Some unreadable emotion lurked in her gaze along with something else, something he recognized—longing.
“It’s late,” she breathed, pushing hastily to her feet. “I’d better get going.”
In the time it had taken Bear to realize that she was bolting, she’d already grabbed her purse and keys and made it to the door. She paused, her hand on the knob, then swore and turned around…right into him.
She squeaked, then stumbled back and looked up. She moistened her lips and smiled. “Same time tomorrow night? I’ll cook.”
He slid a finger down the side of her face and felt her shudder, her breath catch. “A smudge of dirt,” he lied, just wanting to touch her.
She offered another wobbly smile. “Oh. Thanks.”
“Good night, Veda,” Bear told her, his gaze purposely lingering on her mouth.
She blinked drunkenly, licking her lips. “’Night, Bear. I’ll kiss you tomorrow.”
“Come again?”
She squeezed her eyes tightly shut. “I’ll see you tomorrow. See you,” she repeated, and with another adorably muttered curse, she turned the knob and darted through the door.
Bear grinned. If it was up to him—and one way or another, it would be—then she’d do both.
9
“I HEARD HE’S working in her bedroom today,” Veda heard Tina Charles tell someone in the grocery aisle next to her. “Harris was going on and on to someone about the particular shade of pink she’d chosen for her room and how he was certain Veda had some sort of gift for interior design.”
“Well, if she’s using Bear Midwinter as an accessory, then we certainly can’t fault her taste, can we?” Mandy replied, laughing at her own joke.
“I could think of a thousand different ways to put his fine ass to work in my bedroom,” Tina told her. “And none of them would involve a paintbrush.”
Veda rounded the corner and arched a brow at both women. “Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it, girls. In the right hands a paintbrush can be a—” she gave a delicate shudder “—beautiful thing.”
Honestly, Veda thought, if they were going to talk about her, then she might as well give them something to talk about. And if it made them green with envy and netted her a little satisfaction in the process, then all the better. To be fair, Tina had always thought she was better than everyone else and had looked down her nose at the majority of their class—she was just like that. Mandy, on the other hand, had been like that as well, but with a cruel streak to boot. She’d had a keen way of sensing someone’s weakness and exploiting that weakness, just for the fun of it.
With Veda, it had always been her height.
In retrospect, being petite was a good thing. But until her breasts and hips had come along—and, admittedly, she’d been a late bloomer—she’d looked more like a young boy than a teenage girl. As a result, Mandy had never failed to make some sort of comment about her flat chest, often telling people that a two-by-four had more dimension than she did. And she’d called her “Vern” instead of Veda. Later, after Veda had developed, Mandy had spread the rumor that Veda stuffed her bra and was constantly pulling tissues out of her pocket and wagging them at Veda.
She’d been a mean-spirited, small-minded bitch, Veda thought, and for the first time in her life, she had something that Mandy desperately wanted—Bear.
Of course, she didn’t really have him, Veda thought as she selected a bunch of asparagus, but that was neither here nor there. Mandy and Tina both thought she did and that was all that mattered.
Furthermore, despite the fact that they hadn’t had an audience last night and there’d been no one to “perform” for, there was no mistaking the hungry gleam in Bear’s eyes or the resulting quiver that resounded through her sex. Sweet heaven. When he looked at her like that, stared at her mouth as though he wanted to devour her, well…she wanted to let him.
She’d wanted to do more than let him last night, as a matter of fact, but something had made her bolt instead. She suspected it was self-preservation, brought about by
her mother’s interference, and exacerbated by the fact that, if they stopped pretending, whatever this was between them would morph into something more, something that would make her want the one thing she knew she could never fully have—Bear.
It had taken her mother the better part of forty-five minutes, but the one thing she’d wanted her daughter to hear was that Bear had never considered making Hydrangea his permanent home. She’d asked him leading questions about the military, his career and where he saw himself in ten years. Though he’d been a bit taken aback by the last question, he’d answered with a simple shrug and a “Who knows? Wherever the military sends me, I suppose.”
In other words, he’d never considered an alternate path, a different course, one that would provide a permanent home and roots in a community.
It was sad, really, because if anyone in the world needed a permanent home more desperately than Bear Midwinter, she’d certainly never met them.
“Afternoon, Veda,” Ms. Ella said, nodding at the various groceries in her cart. Her eyes twinkled with knowing humor. “Making dinner this evening, are you?”
Veda nodded, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She hoped like hell the paintbrush comment wouldn’t make it back to Ella Johnston’s ears. Oh, hell. Or her mother’s, for that matter. “Yes, ma’am, I am.”
“Well, you know what they say,” she said. “A way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.” She leaned in and winked at her. “Of course, I’ve always found the path behind his zipper to be much more expedient.”
Veda nearly choked on her tongue.
Ms. Ella nodded primly and pushed her cart on down the aisle, leaving Veda to wonder if the older woman had just suggested that instead of making a meal for Bear, she should make one of him.
Blazing Bedtime Stories, Volume VII: The Steadfast Hot SoldierWild Thing Page 6
