by Shirley Jump
"Hi." Her voice went soft and quiet, as shy as an eighth grader with a crush on the new boy at school.
"Hi." His tone was equally low and private, as if they were the only two in the shop.
But they weren't, a fact made very evident by Ray Jr.’s loud and annoyed throat clearing. "She ain't art, you know. You don't need to be staring at her."
"Yeah, she ain't a Pee-casso. Take a picture or move on." Vernon moved forward, his frame menacing.
"I'm here to take Meredith out. And neither one of you two is going to stop me." Travis looked like an ant standing up to a pair of gorillas, but still he stood his ground.
"Nope. She has a man."
"I never liked that man," Vernon muttered. "Any man who never wears shorts has got a screw loose somewhere."
"Hush up, Vernon. Meredith is still spoken for and we aren't going to let her throw her life away on some smooth-talking city boy."
"Spoken for?" Travis said. "I hate to be the one to break this to you guys, but it is the twenty-first century. Meredith can date whomever she wants, whenever she wants."
"Not if we have anything to do with it."
She elbowed her brother again. Harder. "You two have nothing to do with it. This is my life, not yours."
"Ow. Why do you always have to do that?"
"Because it always works." She shouldered her way past the two of them to stand on the other side, near Travis. "Now, the only people I am answering to while I am here in Boston are Maria and Candace. If they say it's okay for me to leave early, then I'm leaving."
"Shop closes at six," Maria said, glancing at her watch. "And hey, look at that. It's six-oh-one. Time to go home. Or wherever." She grinned.
Across the room, Candace nodded her agreement, stifling a smile of her own behind her palm.
"There. It's quitting time for me. And quitting time for the Shordon Sentinels." Meredith swung around, grabbed her coat off the rack by the door, then headed out the door, grabbing Travis's hand and pulling him with her before her brothers could stop her.
After his sister had taken off like a ten-point buck who'd heard a baying hound, Ray Jr. turned to his brother. "Well, hot damn. We're going to have to do something about that girl. Momma is going to beat our butts if we don't."
"Probably cut us off at the dinner table, too," Vernon said, his mouth downturned. "A man's got to eat."
"We got to get us some duct tape." Ray Jr. rubbed his chin. "That'll fix this. Duct tape fixes about anything."
Vernon nodded. "Man's best friend, next to his rifle."
"You can say that again."
"Man's best friend, next to his rifle."
Ray Jr. shook his head. "Sometimes, I wonder if there was something defective in your genes."
Vernon craned his neck and peered down at his Levis. "They look okay to me. Getting a little loose, but I expect that'll change once we get back home to Momma's cooking again." He grinned, clearly proud of his pun.
"Either way," Ray Jr. said, ignoring the joke, "we aren't getting any home cooking 'til we get Meredith away from that pretty city boy." He opened up the door to the borrowed pickup and swung his body inside. "So hold onto your hat, Vernon, because we're gonna have us a round-up tonight."
Meredith's Sometimes-What-You-Want-Is-Sweet-and-Sour Shrimp Stir-Fry
2 teaspoons vegetable oil
2 cloves garlic
2 cups broccoli, chopped
1 red pepper, sliced
1 carrot, sliced
2 tablespoons water
1 pound medium-size shrimp
8 ounces mushrooms, quartered
2 tablespoons sweet and sour sauce
2 teaspoons sesame oil
1/4 teaspoon ginger
2 cups rice, cooked
Just when you think things are going down a sweet and tasty road, they take a detour. The best thing to do? Make something yummy to eat and indulge in so many calories you forget why you were upset in the first place.
Heat a wok or skillet over medium-high heat. Add the oil, then the garlic. Drop in the broccoli, pepper and carrot, stirring for a couple of minutes, just to get them cooked a bit yet leave them as crunchy as you'd find them in your garden.
Add the water, then cover and cook for two minutes. Long enough to wonder about those mixed signals he's been sending out and whether you should just give up on this man and find one who will do what you want—when you want to do it.
Add the shrimp, mushrooms, sauce, oil and ginger and stir-fry until done, about another three minutes. Probably not long enough to come to any major life decisions. But definitely fast enough to get the food out of the pan, onto some rice and into your mouth so you can start eating and stop thinking.
Because if you try too hard to figure out what a man is telling you, you'll end up as confused as a cucumber growing in a field of zucchinis.
Chapter Twelve
"I think I love shrimp more than steamers," Meredith said a few hours later as they walked along the path that curved around the waterfront at Castle Island. There wasn't really a castle there, Travis had told her, just the stalwart concrete buildings of Fort Independence, one of the bastions used by the British to protect Boston Harbor back in the 1600s—until the newly patriotic Americans ejected them in the next century.
Meredith loved the quiet of the walkway, after the busier park area that had been populated by residents who were Rollerblading, biking or walking, each enjoying the last bit of evening air and the spectacular view of surrounding Boston Harbor before heading in as eleven turned to midnight.
Travis had taken her to dinner at a cozy little seafood restaurant on the waterfront, then driven her throughout the city, showing her Chinatown and the North End, before finally bringing her here, to end their date in privacy. Neither of them felt the late hour and they walked along, their bodies brushing against each other from time to time, rekindling the fire between them.
"I could be wrong," she continued. "Maybe I need to taste them both again."
Travis laughed. "Already craving seconds?"
She turned to look at him, his features seeming carved out of marble in the encroaching moonlight. "And more."
"Meredith—"
She could hear the "but" in his voice, as clearly as if he'd put up two hands to ward her off. "What is it, Travis? You keep coming around, taking me out, making me think you want... more, and then as soon as I try to get close to you, you put up that Do Not Disturb sign."
"I want you to disturb me ... and I don't." He grinned. "I'm a typical guy. Don't know what I want."
Virtually everyone had gone home, leaving them alone in the deep shadows of the old fort.
"Well, I know what I want." Meredith took a step forward, grabbing at his shirt and hauling him to her, the frustration having reached a fever pitch after an hour of sitting across from him, eating another seafood delicacy and dreaming instead of tasting the same sweet flavor on his lips, not on her own. Every time she got close to her goal, something—or someone—interrupted, and she was tired of waiting. Of letting someone else call the shots.
"I want you," she said. "I don't know how much plainer I can make that."
A couple strolled by them on their way back towards the parking lot, walking a dachshund on a leash, but Meredith barely noticed them. She hardly heard the wash of the tide coming in, going out. All she saw was Travis. He had everything she needed to transform herself from country girl to city woman.
And he wasn't giving it up.
"Don't you feel the same?" she asked.
"Of course I do. What do you think, I'm made of stone? That I haven't noticed how gorgeous you are or how sexy you look in that little skirt? I just don't want to hurt you."
"You aren't going to hurt me." His tie crumpled under her grip. "I told you, all I want is a one-night stand. Nothing more. No strings, no calls in the morning. No expectations."
"All you want is sex?" he asked, a harsh, husky edge in his voice that bordered on a growl. "You want me to screw you and
then walk away? Is that it?"
"Yes." She nodded, then swallowed. "That's all."
"Fine." He swooped forward, taking her in his arms, his mouth not kissing her this time, but conquering her, demanding more than she'd ever given before, the kiss hard and severe. A jolt of need rushed through her and she surged forward, clawing at his back.
Yes, yes. This was it. This was what she wanted. Mindless, hot, passionate.
His hands came up between them, cupping her breasts, his forefinger and thumb almost pinching at her nipples through the fabric of her shirt and the lace of her bra. Immediately, she went hot inside, as if he'd hit a switch—
But then the switch turned another way, as he bent down, pressing against her, lowering her to the ground, his body on hers, long and hard and lean, just the way she'd asked.
No. Wait. This isn't it. It isn't right.
She couldn't figure out what was wrong. She reached up, rubbing at his back in a soft, slow circle, trying to send a signal, even if she didn't know what signal she wanted to send. But he didn't listen. Instead, he grabbed one of her arms and thrust it to the hard bulge at the front of him.
His kiss deepened, tongue sweeping in, tasting every inch of her, dueling with her own, then slipping in and out, in and out, a preview of what was to come. It wasn't like the other kisses. Every other time Travis had kissed her, she'd felt...
Special.
And now, she felt...
Like a sex object.
It was ... awful. Hot tears stung at the back of her throat.
Suddenly, Travis jerked away, getting to his feet. "There. Is that what you wanted?"
She wanted to say no, to tell him it was the exact opposite of what she wanted, but realized that was crazy. She had, after all, asked him for a one-night stand. Nothing more. And a one-night stand didn't kiss her with all the care of a jeweler handling a diamond. A one-night stand didn't make love to her with sweet slowness and the care of someone who knew her body, and her soul, inside and out.
A one-night stand gave her what she asked for, then walked away.
"Of course," she managed. Her body, which didn't have the feelings that her mind did, had yet to return to simmer. Her breath came in short, fast bursts, the memory of what they had just been doing still coursing through her, echoing in her mind, her veins, her limbs.
As the feelings ebbed, a heavier one took their place, sinking to the pit of her stomach and weighing an awful lot like—
Disappointment.
Travis shook his head, let out a breath that was more of a curse, then turned to walk back down the path. She ran up to him and grabbed his arm.
"Why did you do that?"
"To give you a taste of what you want. Love you and leave you. Goddamnit, Meredith, isn't that what you asked for?"
Put that way, it sounded harsh, cold. Like the plot of a B-movie that went straight to video. She jerked her head up as if the words didn't bother her. As if the way he'd kissed her earlier hadn't left her with tears in her eyes and a sad lump in her chest. "Of course."
"You're lying to yourself," Travis said. "And you're lying to me." He shook his head. "And I tried like hell, but even I'm not enough of a jerk to ruin your life on purpose."
"You wouldn't be ruining my life."
"Oh, so I'd be expanding your horizons if I screwed you and left you?"
She turned away. "That's crass."
"That's the truth, Meredith. It's what you want. What you came here for."
"I want..." She shook her head and turned away, facing the ocean. The wind off the water whipped at her hair, plastering it to her face. "All I want is to be different."
"Why?" Travis came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, all traces of the hard edges from earlier gone. "Why do you want to be different, Meredith? You're pretty perfect the way you are right now."
It would be so easy to tell him, to confess how boxed-in she felt, how every minute in Heavendale made her feel like she was suffocating in one of Caleb's deluxe caskets. But she didn't. That would mean opening up to him, building a bridge. And if there was one thing Meredith didn't want to leave behind in Boston, it was any bridges.
So instead she faced him and turned the tables. "Why are you so intent on not sleeping with me? Are you saving yourself for marriage or something?"
He laughed. "Hell, no. I'm not even the kind of guy who gets married."
"Bachelor for life?"
'That's the Campbell son motto." A shadow passed over his face, but he didn't elaborate.
"So why am I the one woman you decided to be virtuous with?"
"Because you're different, Meredith. And I happen to like that about you, whether you like it or not. And Lord help me for saying this, but I don't want to have that kind of sex," he gestured toward the grass, "with you."
Her heart betrayed her by melting a little. She shouldn't like him for foiling all her plans and especially not for making her care.
He tipped her chin up, so her eyes met his. "I don't want to see you give such a precious gift to a guy who doesn't deserve it."
"But— "
Her sentence was jerked off and buried in a flurry of wool. Meredith opened her mouth to scream, but she was jerked back so quickly, the wind rushed out of her. She fought against the confinement, causing the wool to slip a little below her eyes.
A Fighting Irish blanket. The blue-and-gold wool of Notre Dame smelled faintly of deer and woods, and Cecil Montgomery's hound dog, Boomer. Meredith's burst of fright gave way to a double dose of annoyance.
"Get off me, Ray Jr.!" But her voice was a mumble against the fabric.
"We're doing this for your own good, sis." Her brother's deep voice sounded in her ear. "You got him good, Vernon?"
"Yep, but he's fighting like a raccoon caught in a 'lectrified fence." Vernon chuckled. "Damned good thing we brought the tape."
Meredith struggled against the confines of the blanket, to no avail. Ray Jr. had been smart enough to tuck both her elbows out of lethal rib range as he'd wrapped her in the blanket. Now, he held her in place with one arm while wrapping a length of yellow rope around her, securing the Notre Dame prison in place.
Then he lifted her up and tossed her over his shoulder like a sack of seeds and hauled her towards his truck. She fought against him, pounding on his back with her mermaid legs. All futile efforts.
"Put me down or... I'll tell!"
Yeah, that was good. Scream at him like she was a two-year-old who's only out was running to Momma. Way to assert her new, independent-city-girl persona.
He ignored her and chugged along the sidewalk, her body bouncing against his shoulder, surely leaving bruises and internal organ damage.
Meredith jerked her head backward, managing to loosen the blanket and get it off her face. She looked around for a helpful bystander, a nosy cop—anyone who could get her out of her brother's well-meaning clutches—and saw nothing. It was after midnight in October and people with any sense at all had already gone home. She was on her own. "I said, put me down!"
"Not till you come to your senses. We got a thousand-mile drive back. Plenty of time to think about it." He balanced her with one hand, then lifted the handle on the door and plopped her onto the torn brown and white vinyl seat. He pushed down the lock button, then shut the door. She knew, from experience, that even if she could get the blanket off, she couldn't open the door. Cecil had never gotten around to putting a new handle on the inside passenger door so you either had to climb through the open window like one of the Dukes of Hazzard or navigate over the massive stick shift and out the driver's door.
Considering she was currently a human burrito, neither option, Meredith suspected, would work.
Still, Meredith struggled against the blanket, working her elbows to loosen the rope and nudge it down. A millimeter. Whoa. Some progress. Clearly there was a reason why Angelina Jolie got to play Lara Croft: Tomb Raider and Meredith carried hot pizzas for a living.
She whipped her head
around and saw Travis. Vernon had him down on his knees, arms bent behind his back. Vernon's towering height and seventy-pound advantage, coupled with the element of surprise, had clearly outmatched Travis. In his mouth, Vernon had a roll of gray tape.
Oh no. No telling what could happen now. The only book that had ever been required reading in her house was 1001 Uses for Duct Tape. Travis had little hope of escape.
"What the hell do you two think you're doing?" she screamed at Ray Jr. when he climbed in the cab and immediately put the truck in gear.
"Protecting your virtue."
Still no one around to witness the event. Castle Island was a relatively remote place, a peninsula encapsulated in darkness. As Ray Jr. pulled the truck forward, Travis was lost in the shadows. "You can't leave him there."
"Don't worry. Vernon didn't buy the name-brand tape. Your city boy will get himself loose." Ray Jr. grinned. "Eventually."
"I don't want you interfering in my life or protecting me from anything." She struggled against the blanket, but with her weight on top of the ends, it was impossible to pull it free. When she tried to buck forward and off it, her knees slammed into the dashboard. Pain sent stars shooting through her head. Once her vision cleared, she went back to trying to work the rope down.
"Sorry, sis, but we have to, like it or not." Ray Jr.’s features went from apologetic to enjoyment at getting her back for all those elbows in his ribs.
Meredith turned around, looking for Travis in the inky darkness. Instead, she saw Vernon make a running leap into the back of the pick-up, the roll of duct tape ringing his wrist. He tapped on the glass divider to the cab. "Let's make dust. That ram ain't going nowhere."
"Vernon, I am going to kill you!" Meredith wrestled against the blanket more, but got nowhere.
Ray Jr. stepped on the gas. The tires squealed as he rushed out of the parking lot and down the street, abandoning Travis on the walkway in the shadow of the old fort.
From the back, her middle brother roared with laughter. He'd come in first place in the hog-tying competition at the Indiana State Fair when he was eleven. Apparently, he hadn't lost his touch. Or his penchant for wreaking havoc.
