by Cherrie Lynn
Lost in his thoughts, he turned under the big arched JS sign that heralded his driveway, crossed the cattle guard, and began the long, slow drive toward home. The girls, completely forgetting they were having a guest, began pleading to ride their horses (“No, we’re having company”), go for a swim (“No, the water is still too cold and we’re having company”), and go for a ride on his new Gator (“No, we’re having company”). He had to bite his tongue to keep from slipping a “no-no word” in that last one. Ever since Ashley had exclaimed, “What the hell!” in front of his mother a while back, he’d tried to watch his language around them. His mom had only laughed about it, but still.
When he went around the final turn and his house came into view, a little black car already sat in his driveway. He grinned and glanced at the clock as he pulled up beside her; it was 6:47. Punctual. Even early. While he’d figured she would forget the whole thing, or that maybe her boast about her “mad culinary skills” was simply that: a boast.
“She’s here!”
“Is that her?” Ash’s and Mia’s exclamations layered over each other.
“Should be. Hop out and introduce yourselves.” And for God’s sake, don’t scare her off.
Starla’s shimmering blonde head popped out of her car as he climbed down from the truck. The girls hopped down one after the other from the passenger side. For reasons known only to seven-year-old sisters, they had to get out on the same side of the truck no matter which it was. Before he could even get a greeting out, the two of them had run around to Starla’s side of the car and were flinging a barrage of statements and questions at her. Lord. He hurried around and almost laughed out loud. The girl was backed up against her car door as if a couple of Dobermans were threatening her. Another minute and she might have been scrabbling for the handle and flinging herself back inside.
“Heel!” he called jokingly, and Starla looked over at him in relief, laughing.
“They aren’t bashful, are they?” she said, eyebrows nearly in her hairline.
“Not at all.”
“You look pretty!” Mia cried. “How did you get your hair pink like that?”
“I want pink hair!”
“Daddy, can I have pink hair?”
“The day it grows out that color,” he said, “you can have pink hair.” But Mia’s assessment had been spot-on. Starla was beautiful, wearing a flowing aqua top with white cropped pants and blingy sandals. Her blonde-and-pink-and-turquoise hair hung in big loose spirals over her shoulders. The long, billowy sleeves of her top hid her tattoos, but he could see one peeking from under the cuff of her pants. Once the girls spied it, he would really have his hands full.
The girls hadn’t liked his answer in regard to pink hair. Mia crossed her arms with a huff, bottom lip jutting out in her exaggerated pout. Ashley looked ready to wail. Recovering her composure quickly—she wasn’t bashful either, he knew—Starla knelt down with his daughters. “You’re beautiful just the way you are. I made my hair this color, but I’m a grown-up.”
“I can’t wait to be a grown-up,” Mia said.
“Enjoy being a kid for as long as you can,” Starla told her. “Trust me on that. Have fun all the time.”
“School isn’t fun.”
“It can be. Don’t you like playing with your friends?”
“Daniel pulls my hair all the time. And Annie steals my crayons.”
“Maybe Daniel likes you and Annie just wants your attention because she wants to be your friend. Don’t tell anyone, but sometimes I wish I could go back to school.”
“Why?” the girls asked in unison.
“Because there are lots of things I wish I’d done, and lots of things I wish I hadn’t. But,” she added seriously, looking at each of them in turn, “if people are mean to you to show they like you, then don’t be their friend.”
Given her incident the other night, she might know a thing or two about that. Ashley and Mia stared at her silently with wide, round eyes, each of them nodding. You would think a Disney princess had appeared and brought them under her thrall. She’d just about brought him under it too.
“Good advice,” he put in. “And within two minutes of you being here. Impressive.”
She stood, a mysterious little smile curving her full, pink-tinted lips. Ashley and Mia didn’t take their eyes off her. “I have my moments. Would you mind helping me?”
He hopped to attention as she went around to the other side of her car, following so he could help her collect the white grocery bags from the passenger seat. When Ash and Mia spied the transparent plastic container Starla brought out last, they set up a chant.
“Cookies! Cookies! Daddy, she brought cookies!”
“After dinner,” he said firmly as Starla shut her car door.
“Are you making pizza?” Mia asked.
“No, but I hope you like what I do make.”
“Mia, don’t be rude.” He added to Starla, “Sorry. They’ve been asking for pizza ever since we left church.”
“Oh, it’s fine. They probably would’ve been happier with that. I do make a pretty mean pizza. I wish I’d thought of it.”
They began the walk toward the front door in the dusk, the girls running ahead to punch in the code on his electronic lock. It was a mild evening, fragrant with spring and beautiful with the deep blue of the sky stained a dark orange where the sun had gone down. One by one, stars were peeking out. Perfect weather to sit out on the deck and drink a beer or two once the girls were in bed. Maybe that was something he and Starla could do later—some adult company without the incessant chatter of little voices would be nice. He was becoming too much of a hermit lately. “Thanks for this,” he told her. “I’m not much of a cook myself, so when they come over, it’s pretty much macaroni and cheese or ravioli. Or pizza. Their mother is always getting on me about it.”
“It’s no problem. I enjoy doing it. Nice place, by the way.” She cast a glance around. “Very nice.”
“Did you find it without much problem?”
“The big JS sign clued me in a little. I put two and two together.”
“Oh right.” He laughed, wondering why his palms were a little sweaty, his heart rate a little elevated. This isn’t a date, he reminded himself, but damn if it didn’t feel like one given his reaction to her nearness. Her peaches-and-cream scent wafted hauntingly toward him, carried on the light breeze. He found himself inhaling it deeply. Wondering if it was at its most intense in the soft hollow of her neck, or the valley between her breasts…or even in the soft crease behind her knees. Macy, she had worn perfume behind her knees, especially if she was wearing a skirt—
Fuuuuuck. Stop.
Was it any wonder his marriage had failed? Was it any mystery to anyone in this town why it had? Not long after Macy had set him straight on her feelings, he’d tried to date. What a disaster. He’d felt so dead inside when he kissed another girl, there’d been no need to even attempt to take it further. The ghost of another woman clung to him everywhere he went, infiltrated every desire, kissed him while his lips were on someone else’s.
Ghost. The word had crept into his thoughts, and it would be forever tainted with the image of the man who held Macy now. It was like a shock to his heart, causing it to recoil in pain and struggle to reclaim its beat. If he hung around Starla, there would be more face-to-face encounters with Ghost like the one last night. If he had many conversations with her, surely the name would appear with some frequency. Maybe her very presence would always elicit this response for Jared. No, he didn’t know if he could take that, remembering how close he’d been to having it all—or so he thought—then having it snatched so cruelly away.
“Are you all right?” Starla asked as they reached his front porch and took the five steps up. The girls had already gone inside, leaving the front door open for them. “You seem to have left me for a minute.”
Get used to it, he reflected, even the thoughts in his head grumbling. Once Macy permeated his brain, she was usually there
to stay. “Nah, I’m fine.”
“That’s good, because I am about to take over your kitchen and blow your mind. Can you handle it?”
He couldn’t help but grin at the way she tossed that question at him, the same way he’d asked her if she could handle his girls. So far, she was handling them like a champ. “Awesome. I’m starving. But while you do that, I hope you don’t mind if the girls and I go feed the animals real quick.”
“No, that’s fine, go do what you gotta. I’ll be slaving away over a hot stove. Do you have an apron I can wear?” She winked at him.
“I probably could scrounge one up, if you really need it. I’d hate for you to mess up your pretty shirt.”
“Aww, aren’t you sweet. Nah, I was kidding. I’m not the apron-wearing sort. Although I may very well be cursing this choice before the night’s over.”
“You look really nice.”
“Thanks. And—wow. Holy sh— I mean, great house.” They’d entered the front door, and she’d gotten her first look around.
“Oh, it’ll do.”
She looked at him with wide brown eyes. He was glad for the chance to finally see their color. Very nice, like warm melted chocolate. “What exactly do you do for a living, Jared?”
He chuckled. “I do cattle and horses, obviously, but it’s more of a hobby. This place was my grandparents’, and when they passed on, no one else in the family wanted the responsibility of it except me. So I moved in and remodeled. Actually, I’m an electrician.”
“Ooh, electric. I like it. You work on power lines and stuff?”
“No, that’s a lineman. I’m strictly indoors. I work for my dad. He has an electrical contracting company.”
“Seems dangerous.”
“It can be. You definitely gotta respect it, not get too comfortable or too cocky.” He led the way through the living room and into the kitchen, where he hefted the bags onto the island. Starla put the cookies on the counter. The girls must have forgotten all about them and scampered off to their room.
“Ever taken some volts?”
“Oh yeah. Not fun.” He watched as she began removing items from the bags, decided she was a woman after his own heart foodwise, and relaxed a little. Besides worrying she’d only been joking about making dinner, he’d also wondered what strange concoction she might thrust upon them tonight. Pork and potatoes and cookies were just fine with him. “Pops your elbows, leaves you all jittery for the rest of the day. What about you? I figure you have some occupational hazards too. I wouldn’t like working with anything where I come into contact with blood.”
“Yeah. I’m so paranoid about it too, it’s like a phobia. If I could wrap myself in plastic, I would. I remember telling…I told Brian I wish I could get over it. He said, ‘Don’t.’ It’s like you said, I guess. Can’t get too comfortable.”
“Hmm.” He wondered how long she’d been hung up on Brian. She couldn’t say his name without faltering. Well, that was probably for the best if each of them had someone else heavy on their thoughts. It would keep things from getting confused between them.
Relieved with that epiphany, he left her in the kitchen and went to get his girls ready.
Chapter Six
Jared’s wide kitchen window afforded Starla a panoramic view of his pasture, which stretched on for acres before meeting a distant tree line. It had taken her breath the first time she’d looked out, and now that she’d been standing at the sink washing potatoes for several minutes, she was somewhat addicted to the picturesque beauty. And leaving the huge barn now was Jared hauling two buckets with Ashley and Mia at his heels.
They’d changed out of their church clothes—he’d looked damn fine in that dark blue dress shirt that further lightened his amazing eyes—and the landscape wasn’t the only thing that had caused her breath to hitch. In an old black T-shirt now and faded jeans stuffed haphazardly into work boots, he was in his true element. The weight of whatever was in the buckets rippled the muscles in his tanned forearms. She remembered the strength of those arms around her. Ashley and Mia stopped to inspect something on the ground. He turned and said something to them while Starla enjoyed the view of his strong neck and jawline. The girls scuttled obediently to his side again.
Adorable. They were wearing boots too, Ashley in pink, Mia in purple, their hair in swinging ponytails—probably the only hairstyle their daddy knew how to achieve. The three of them continued on until they moved out of Starla’s line of sight. She sighed and turned her attention back to what her hands were doing, scrubbing furiously at potatoes.
It was all so weird. Could she get used to something like this? Making dinner for a husband and kids while they took care of evening chores? She didn’t know. It was all her parents had ever wanted her to do. She’d said “fuck that” pretty much from the start, but now…yeah, she didn’t know. It would be kind of nice if she could find someone like Jared, who probably wouldn’t be a psycho asshole.
Then again, Ghost had tried to warn her about Max. She hadn’t listened. Now he was trying to warn her about Jared, and yet again she was ignoring his advice, making excuses for why he would feel that way. She was here, in Jared’s house, hell, falling in love with his house.
Had she really needed warning about Max, though? Common sense had dictated not to mess around with him. She hadn’t cared. It was her own advice she hadn’t heeded, really, not anyone else’s. With Jared, there simply weren’t any warning flags yet that she could see. It was nice here. He was nice. The pictures of extended family all around his living room looked nice.
If anyone was throwing up warning flags in this house, it was her.
The thought was sobering. It put her in her place. She tossed the potatoes in a big bowl she’d found and set about peeling them with the peeler she’d located in the first drawer she checked. Everything so well organized. Probably his ex-wife’s doing, and he’d kept up her routine.
And what had the ex-wife been like? She already knew what Macy was like. A freaking rodeo queen. She and Jared had been raised together, childhood sweethearts. Everyone had expected them to get married and have their happy ending, but then Macy had gotten badly injured in a horse riding accident and pushed him away. At least that was what Ghost told Starla once. She couldn’t remember many of the details, because at the time, she hadn’t much cared.
Now she wished she’d paid attention. What a small world.
As Starla picked up a knife to start chopping, the back door opened to the trill of indistinctly complaining little-girl voices and Jared’s exasperated reply. Their voices came nearer, and finally she could make out what the girls were upset about.
“…so pretty, though. I want pink.”
“I want purple.”
Oh no. Her hair. Chuckling, Starla continued her task, straining her ears for their dad’s reply.
“Go wash your hands.” His tone brooked no argument. The girls marched through the living room and down the hallway, ponytails swishing with their angry steps.
“Sorry,” she mouthed at Jared as he came into the kitchen. He grinned at her, shaking his head.
“Don’t worry about it. They get a thought in their head, and there’s no stopping them.”
“It’s just a suggestion, but I have some hair chalk. Not with me, but it’s pretty good, and it washes right out. They might think it’s fun, anyway, if you wanted to let them try it.”
“That might be all right, I guess.”
“Really? I can bring it…” She trailed off, aghast. She’d almost said next time. As if there would be one. They didn’t even know how well this time was going to go. “I can bring it by to them sometime, and they can have a ball coloring each other’s hair.”
“I’m sure they’d love that. Dinner smells great, by the way.”
“Thanks.” She glanced around at the stainless-steel appliances, dark cherry cabinets, and granite countertops. Acres and acres of countertops. “I’m in love with your kitchen. So much better than the little cubby we have at my h
ouse.”
“Well, you know…” His mouth lifted in a sheepish grin, and some cold corner of her heart began a slow thaw. “Feel free to come by and put it to use anytime.”
As she held that endlessly blue gaze, a slice of pain ripped up her finger, and the knife clattered to the counter. “Shit!” Immediately, she brought her uninjured hand to her mouth as the word practically echoed through the house and several more crowded for release behind her lips.
Jared was around the counter and leading her to the sink almost before she knew it. Warm water rushed over the cut on her left index finger, and she jumped at the renewed jolt of pain.
“Sorry,” he said, wincing down at her.
“I’m so sorry I cussed.”
He laughed. “What? Don’t worry about it.”
“But the girls—”
“Have heard plenty worse from me at times. It’s okay. They know what they’re not supposed to say.”
Breathing hard, she watched her blood swirl down the drain of the sink as he held her hand under the flow. The heat of embarrassment roared high in her cheeks. “Are you okay?” he asked, his touch achingly gentle.
“So much for wanting me back in your kitchen. Would you believe that’s never happened to me before?”
“Of course I believe it.” He inspected the cut on her finger while she tried to ignore how her hand trembled in his grasp. “I don’t think it’ll need stitches or anything.”
“Okay.” Thank God it wasn’t her right hand. She couldn’t afford to miss any work.
“I might be the wrong person to give medical advice. My mother always gripes at me because she says I would have to be bleeding from the eyeballs before I’d go see a doctor. I’ll take you, if you want to go.”
