Natalie shook her head.
“You worry too much.” Valerie lit another cigarette and spewed blue smoke. “A woman’s looks are preliminary stuff. A guy scopes you out. If he likes what he sees when you’re dressed, relax, babe. Once you unzip his fly, he goes stone blind.”
Natalie choked on a swallow of burgundy and laughed until she felt weak. When she finally regained her voice, she said, “Are we even related?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“You hate it, don’t you? I’m so boring.”
“Not boring, exactly. You just always, always have your panties in a twist. Like this thing you’ve got about getting old. I think you look great.”
“Not without clothes, I don’t.” Natalie took a huge gulp of wine. “My headlights have gotten stuck on dim.”
Valerie snorted.
“It’s not funny. You have no idea how it feels to look down and realize that your nipples are looking down with you. And I have this awful tapioca stuff high on the inside of my thighs. I do squats until my knees turn to jelly every morning, but it doesn’t help.”
“Like any guy will notice? If he’s still thinking at that point, you haven’t done your homework, girlfriend.”
Natalie sobered, her thoughts on Zeke. “He’s so nauseatingly perfect. Have you looked at him?”
“Oh yeah.” Valerie waved a hand in front of her face. “Totally hot. I get turned on just looking at the dude.”
Natalie nodded. “He could have anyone he wanted. Why me? My stomach pooches and I’ve got stretch marks on my hips. When I even think about taking my clothes off in front of him, I want to die.”
Valerie jumped up, switched hands with her cigarette, and jerked her shirt up to display a slender hip. “Stretch marks.” She wriggled to pull her panties partway down. “See ’em? I got them from growing too fast. Jeez, Nattie, get a life. You really do worry too much.”
“I have a life. I’ve got a wonderful family and two fabulous kids. Why muck things up with a man who’ll break my heart again?”
“Because you’re a Westfield, and the odds are good. He’s gorgeous. I won’t argue the point. But you’re not bad yourself. So what if you’re not twenty-five anymore? Lots and lots of guys like a woman with experience.”
“That rules me out, then.”
“What do you mean? You were married for almost eleven years.”
“And every once in a while when Robert needed some downtime, he honored me with his attention. We didn’t have sex very often, and when we did, he didn’t put himself out. He saved the good stuff for girlfriends.”
Valerie’s eyes went sparkly with tears. “Ah, Nattie.”
“I didn’t have what it took to make him happy,” Natalie said hoarsely. “It was only good between us for about a month. Then he started coming home late. I was about six months pregnant with Chad before I realized what was going on.”
Valerie sank back down on her chair. “I could kill that creep for doing this to you.”
“I did it to myself. I got pregnant and married him, didn’t I?”
“You were just a kid, taken in by a thirty-one-year-old predator. How can you blame yourself for that?” Valerie rolled her eyes. “Two months earlier, and he would’ve done time for statutory rape.”
Natalie closed her eyes and just sat there. “I loved him,” she finally whispered. “I loved him so much. Right before Chad was born, I’d go looking for him late at night—just drive around town, looking for his car. Most times, I searched in vain. But a couple of times, he was at his office. It was late January and it got really cold at night. I sat out there in the dark, freezing and crying because I knew he was inside with another woman.” Natalie swallowed and sighed. “There’s no hurt quite like that, Valerie. It tears you apart inside and sucks the life out of you. I never want to feel that way about anyone again.”
“I know. But look at it rationally. No woman on earth could have kept Robert at home. He’s like a virus looking for a host, and any warm body will do.”
“Maybe so. But knowing that doesn’t help, somehow. It did something to me. I don’t love him anymore. I almost hate him, in fact. But there’s a dead place inside of me now. I don’t want to love again. I’m not even sure I can.”
“If that’s true,” Valerie said, “then you need to level with Zeke. And you should do it soon.”
Chapter Nine
A light knock sounded on Zeke’s kitchen door. He rolled over in bed, squinted at his watch, determined that it was after two in the morning, and grunted as he rolled out of bed. After finding his jeans, he hopped on one foot and then the other to shove his feet down the legs. Then he staggered through the dark house, wondering who the hell would come calling at this time of night.
When he swung the door open, he found Natalie standing on his doormat. Bathed in soft moonlight, she was, without question, the most beautiful thing he’d ever clapped eyes on. She still wore the midnight-blue dress with the slit that shot clear to her hip. For a fleeting instant, he wondered if he was dreaming. But then a rush of cool night air washed over his bare chest.
He blinked to clear the sleep from his eyes and stifled a yawn. “Hey.”
“I, um—” She gulped and jerked her gaze from his nude upper torso to look him in the eye. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“Nah,” he lied. When a midnight-blue vision stood on the porch, no man in his right mind wanted to sleep. “I was just—about to drift off.”
She flashed that fabulous dimple at him and shoved a gallon jug under his nose. “I brought refreshments. You got a few minutes?”
Zeke passed a hand over his face. “Sure. Come on in.”
She placed a narrow, delicately boned foot on the metal threshold plate. He glanced out into the darkness. “Didn’t you walk across the field to get here?”
“Of course.”
“Without your shoes?”
“Those aren’t shoes; they’re torture devices.” She moved into the kitchen, brushing against him and dizzying his senses with her perfume as she sidled by. “I’m a farm girl, remember? I went barefoot half my life.”
That explained it, he guessed. Not that Zeke minded bare feet. Watching the sway of her hips, he decided that bare everything would be even nicer. He closed the door and turned to peer through the moonlit gloom, trying to make out her features. He finally woke up enough to reach behind him for the light switch, then winced at the sudden brightness.
“What brings you over”—he glanced at his watch again—“so late, honey? Is anything wrong?”
“Not wrong, exactly.” She walked to the sink and started opening cupboards. “Glasses? Ah.” She sent him a slightly unfocused look. “Found ’em.” She drew out two juice glasses, uncapped the jug of burgundy, which was already partially gone, and poured them each a generous portion of wine. “I came to talk to you, Zeke.” She turned to hand him a glass. “What you said at the club tonight, it really worries me. You don’t strike me as the tapioca type.”
“I don’t?”
“No. And that poses an insurmountable problem.”
Zeke wasn’t following. “I like tapioca, actually.”
“You won’t like mine.”
He nodded as though he understood. Only, of course, he didn’t. He was starting to suspect that she was just a little bit drunk. “Are you particularly fond of tapioca or something?”
She made a face. “God no. But I’m stuck with it, so there you go.” She took a big gulp of wine as if the alcohol content might fortify her. “I could have surgery, I guess, but what would be next?”
“Why do I get the feeling we’re not talking about pudding?”
She sent him a bewildered look. “Pudding? Where’d that come from?”
“Tapioca. I thought—” Zeke scowled at her. “What, exactly, are we discussing?”
Her eyes went suspiciously bright. “My body.”
And that posed a problem? Zeke sank slowly down onto a chair. Dangerous territory. On a radi
o talk show the other day, he’d heard the host and a psychologist discussing women’s negative feelings about their bodies. In a society that touted young and rail thin as the feminine ideal, with unnecessary cosmetic surgery almost epidemic, many women felt inferior and oftentimes ugly if they weren’t a perfect size three with balloons for breasts.
“What about your body?” he asked.
“It’s a mess.”
“A mess?” Zeke glanced downward. Never had sequins shimmered so enticingly. Natalie wasn’t a thin woman, but she was firm, carried her weight well, and every generous curve looked just right to him. “In what way?”
“Do you want me to make you a list? I never had a perfect figure to begin with, and now I’ve had two kids. I diet and exercise, but it’s a constant battle just to look halfway decent. I’m not a young girl anymore.”
“It’s a damned good thing. I’m no spring chicken myself.”
“Men wear better than women do.”
Zeke folded his arms. “I think you’re beautiful.”
She puffed air at her bangs. “You haven’t seen me naked.”
That could be rectified in damned short order. “That dress doesn’t hide much.”
She laughed humorlessly. “Oh yes it does. Do you think I just walked into a store and grabbed it off the rack? Not. I tried on dozens of gowns that showed every flaw and looked perfectly awful on me first. Every dress I own was handpicked to flatter my shape.”
Zeke gave the dress another long look. He honestly couldn’t imagine how anything could look perfectly awful on her. “What flaws does it hide?”
“The most troublesome thing right now is the tapioca stuff I’m getting on my inner thighs.” A flush of embarrassment crept up her neck. She took another swallow of wine. Then she set her glass on the counter. “In short, I’m not beautiful from the neck down. Passable, maybe. Why do you think my ex-husband always had affairs?”
“Because he’s a jerk?”
“That, too. But it was also because he wasn’t happy with what he had at home.” She sighed and smiled tremulously. “You are a totally fabulous guy, Zeke, and I’m wildly attracted to you.”
That sounded promising.
“And I really, really wish—”
Looking distracted, she broke off, and Zeke realized she was staring at his chest again. He considered going to the bedroom for a shirt but discarded the idea almost as soon as it came to him. He needed all the advantages he could get.
“You were saying?” he prompted.
Her cheeks flushing with embarrassment, she jerked her gaze to a cupboard and pretended intense interest in the brass handle. “Just that I wish I was up for another go-around, but the very thought scares me to death.”
That didn’t sound positive. In fact, it had good-bye written all over it. “Natalie, I—”
She held up a hand. “These feelings I have—and the feelings you say you have—they can’t go anywhere.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because.” She flapped a limp hand. “Just hear me out. All right?”
“I’m listening.”
She fiddled nervously with an earring. “I won’t say I’m deliriously happy with my life or that I don’t sometimes wish for more. But I am fairly content. I’ve got a great family and two wonderful kids. If I can get the club back on its feet, I’ll have a business that I love.” She shrugged. “Why muck it all up with another man? Especially someone like you.”
“What’s the matter with me?”
“Nothing. That’s the whole point. Me being passable and you being gorgeous, that isn’t a good mix.” She shook her head. “All my instincts tell me not to go there.” She dragged in a tremulous breath. “I loved Robert when I married him. I would have done anything to save my marriage. Only nothing was enough. You know?” She flattened a slender hand over her heart. “It did something to me, left me empty inside. I can’t ever love a man that way again.”
“Sweetheart, you’re a beautiful lady. I don’t know what Robert’s problem was, but it sure as hell had nothing to do with you.” Zeke pushed to his feet and walked slowly toward her. “If I had you waiting at home, I’d be the happiest man alive.”
“Words,” she whispered. “Only words. I appreciate your saying them. It’s very flattering. But they can’t fix what’s wrong inside of me.” She swallowed convulsively. “I felt that I owed you an explanation. It’s not anything personal against you. I just can’t go there again.”
Zeke stopped a few steps short of her. “I’d like to introduce Robert Patterson’s teeth to his asshole for doing this to you.”
Her lovely eyes went wide with alarm.
“Just look at you. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and you’re convinced I’ll find fault with you? That’s nuts.”
Her mouth quivered and turned up at only one corner. “Yes, well, it’s very sweet of you to—”
“Sweet, hell. I’m a straight-up guy, Natalie. I don’t bullshit people just to make them feel good. You know what I thought the first time I heard you sing? I thought, ‘Reba, move over.’ You’re pure dynamite onstage. I have never, and I do mean never, seen anyone who could make people stop breathing in anticipation. Then you just exploded, grabbing everybody by the throat. You blew me away, and I wasn’t the only one who felt that way. Every man in the room had his tongue hanging out.”
“I know I can sing, Zeke. But that doesn’t—”
“You can sing, yes, but it takes a hell of a lot more than that to create pure magic. It takes the whole package, a fabulous voice, a gorgeous body, a face so beautiful that it breaks men’s hearts.” He reached out to touch her cheekbone. “Your eyes, your smile, the way you move—everything about you is extraordinary. I couldn’t believe such an incredible talent was standing up there on a stage in Podunk, Oregon, with a cheap guitar and a so-so piano player as her only accompaniment. You’re a phenomenon, Natalie. You have a gift that is almost, and I stress almost, as beautiful as you are.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“Don’t thank me,” he cried, frustration making his tone harsh. “I’m not paying you a compliment. I’m telling you the facts. You should have the world by the tail, darlin’. And there’s not a single reason on earth you can’t still do it.”
She chafed her arms as though with a chill. “Oh, well, I’m not so sure about that.”
“I am. You know what your holdback is?”
“No, what?”
“You think too small. Instead of going out there and knocking ’em dead, you’re content to own a supper club and sing to a handful of country hicks who wouldn’t recognize true talent if it ran up and bit them on the ass. God blessed you with an extraordinary gift and you’re pissing it away.”
Her cheeks flamed with color. “I have two kids, in case you haven’t noticed. They’re more important than a silly pipe dream.”
“A silly pipe dream? Jesus. And why does it have to be a choice between your talent and your kids? Take them to the top with you. Stop hiding behind mediocrity and detonate on a stage where it’ll count.”
A bruised look entered her eyes. “You have no idea what it’d take for me to even try. I’d have to hit the road and do gigs in a thousand different towns to even have a shot at making it. I’d be gone for a month at a time. You can’t drag kids from hell to breakfast when they’re in school, and being a summertime performer doesn’t cut the mustard. I’m a mother first, a singer second. I won’t give my kids short shrift to chase a dream.”
Zeke smiled. “If they had a decent father, couldn’t you be gone for a month without shortchanging them?”
“They don’t have a decent father.”
“Fix the problem. I’m applying for the job.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m out of here. You’ve only known me for what—three weeks?”
“I’m a Coulter.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Everything. I’m my father’s son. I’ll
give my heart to only one woman. It’s taken me damned near thirty-four years to find you, but now that I have, it’s a done deal.”
“I need to go now. We’ve gotten off track. I came here to be up-front with you. You’re not hearing me. I need to go.”
“Oh, I’m hearing you. In fact, I was exactly where you’re at all last week, frightened by my feelings, wanting them to go away.”
She sent him a wondering look.
“Do you think I set out to fall in love with you?” he asked. “Think again, lady. The confirmed bachelor, remember? Falling in love with a woman with two kids was a damned scary proposition, and I tried my damnedest to ignore the feelings.”
“You did?”
“Of course. I like silence. I like space. I like being single.” Zeke paused and pinched the bridge of his nose. He’d never been good with words, and he had an awful feeling that he was saying all the wrong things. “At least I thought I liked it. Rosie never stops talking. And Chad has a load of problems. A part of me wants to run the other way.”
She tossed her hair. “Do it, then. No one’s stopping you.”
“I can’t.” Zeke dropped his hand. “I just can’t. This is it for me. You’re it for me. I loved this house when I bought it. Now it feels huge and empty. When I look at the refrigerator, I hate the bareness. It needs Rosie’s pictures to make it right. I’ve always loved to cook, and now I don’t because there’s no one to eat the meal with me. I wish I was over at your place, that you were singing to me with a long-handled fork while you scorch the chicken.”
“I didn’t scorch the chicken. It was just a little too brown on one side.”
He laughed and took another step toward her. “I go to the store at night, and right when I’m totally absorbed in paperwork, you know what happens?”
She hugged her waist, a purely defensive posture that wasn’t lost on him. “No, what?”
“I smell you. Your perfume, the scent of your hair and skin. It’s like you’re there in the room with me, only I can’t see you.” He saw tears coming to her eyes and knew he was getting through to her. “I wake up in a hot sweat from dreaming about you and have to take cold showers. I can’t count the times I’ve driven past your club on my way home at night, wanting to go in, needing to go in so I could see you for just a second.”
Bright Eyes Page 15
