Often, Delaney had to remind herself what to do. How to act. But not today. She'd never felt as comfortable around anybody as she did with Travis. Apparently—despite the situation—some things never changed.
This time, her smile—warm and welcoming—came as easy as breathing.
"We haven't seen each other for a long time. In case we go another eleven years, let's make this visit memorable. In a good way."
Travis visibly relaxed, his stance becoming less combative. Delaney felt a surge of adrenaline. She was in control. In charge. For once, she'd charmed the charmer. Then he smiled. Really smiled. Without warning, her stomach did a slow roll.
Travis had always been too good looking for anybody's good. When she was fifteen, she hadn't given his outer appearance much thought. They had been friends. Period.
However, Delaney was twenty-seven years old. A mature woman. She'd kissed more than a few men in her time. Welcomed a few of them into her bed and enjoyed the experience. And though she'd wondered from time to time about the grown-up Travis—nothing wrong with an innocent fantasy—she couldn't have anticipated the impact of him. In the flesh—so to speak.
Was he always so tall? Or filled out? Long and lean yet muscled in all the right places. And those arms. Biceps to drool over. Jeans and a t-shirt never looked so good.
Oh, boy. Delaney reminded herself to breathe. I am in trouble.
"We were always good at talking," Travis said, his blue eyes meeting hers. "I wonder if we could still go hours without either of us running out of things to say."
Delaney swallowed. Finding her friend again would be so much smarter than testing the waters as lovers. Smarter. And safer.
"We could find out. If you're game."
Travis hesitated.
"When I walked in here, I had a plan. Tear up that check, get you back to Hawaii and me to Bermuda for a much-needed vacation."
Delaney figured as much. Except for Bermuda. However, Travis could tear up a million checks, the money belonged to him. As for leaving? Hawaii would have to wait. She wasn't leaving Green Hills. Not yet.
"You could stay a few days, Travis."
Travis frowned, obviously not enamored of the idea.
"I can only think of one good reason to stay."
Torn between curiosity and what was good for her, Delaney threw caution to the wind.
"Only one? What would that be?"
Travis took a seat, but not on the chair. He sat on the corner of Delaney's desk, his leg close enough to brush her arm as the heady scent of man reached her nose.
"My reason isn't what, but who. I'll stay. For you. If you really want me to."
Delaney's mouth suddenly went bone dry. Tell him to go, a little voice warned her.
"I don't want to." She'd meant to keep the thought to herself. Though only whispered, the words were loud enough for Travis to hear.
"You don't want me to stay?"
Delaney lived a safe, settled life. Not boring by any means. She was happy. Had a good job and friends she could count on. After her childhood, she'd become a big fan of safe and settled.
With one smile, Travis had stirred her up in ways she hadn't thought possible. The man was dangerous.
"Stay," Delaney said before she let herself start a list of all the reasons he shouldn't.
After all, who said a little danger had to be a bad thing?
SOMEHOW TRAVIS' PLANS had gone sideways. And he hadn't put up a whole hell of a lot of protests. All Delaney had to do—and yes, he had no problem putting the blame directly on her shapely shoulder—was bat her eyes and he caved.
Delaney's eyes always had a strange effect on him. But something had changed. She'd changed. Travis came to Green Hills expecting a girl. No. Check that. He'd expected to feel the same way about Delaney—the woman—as he had about the girl she used to be.
Travis liked women. He liked to look. And he especially liked to touch. To his delight, many women felt the same about him. Experience had taught him that while all women were unique, he'd never met one who couldn't easily be replaced with another.
After forty-five minutes in her company, Travis had come to a disquieting conclusion. Delaney Pope could turn out to be the exception to that rule.
As he tooled around town, Travis shook off the thought, calling himself all kinds of crazy. She was Delaney. Not so plain or simple—not anymore. She was gorgeous. Beyond the scope of how he once imagined. And then some.
However, Travis wasn't an animal. He could control his baser instincts. They would renew their friendship. Deal with why she'd decided to revisit this crap hole, and sort out the money situation.
They might even find time to touch on their marriage. A subject not high on Travis' list of priorities.
The main street seemed busier than he remembered. Booming would have been a stretch, but the amount of foot traffic milling around from store to store was a definite upgrade from when he was a kid.
Another change was the brightly colored awning that decorated the building on the corner of Main and Pine. Unlike the thrift store where he'd found Delaney, this place screamed upscale. Somebody had invested the time and money to make the outside eye catching yet classy.
Travis was proud to say—at least partly—he was that somebody.
Grinning, he pushed his way through the front door.
"Is this where I'll find the next mayor of Green Hills, South Carolina?"
A slender man of medium height walked toward Travis. Like the building, he—from his well-trimmed hair to his stylish, expertly tailored suit—carried an air of prosperity and class.
"If you can believe the polls. And my wife."
"I'll take your wife's word any day." Travis held out his hand. "Good to see you, Pete."
"Fuck that."
So much for class. Pete Doran grabbed Travis by the shoulders, pulling him in for a bear-like hug. In more ways than he could count, Pete was the total opposite of the boy Green Hills had once known. A college graduate. Successful business man. Devoted, loving husband. Doting father.
From his trimmed-down physique to his pillar of the community status. The day Pete chose to be a hero had altered his life forever.
Through fate, Pete had been on the road eleven years ago when Travis' motorcycle broke down, driving the old Ford truck he'd inherited from his father. Pete stopped and gave Travis a ride—all the way to Florida. The men had been close friends ever since.
"Last time we met you were drenched in champagne," Pete said. "By the way, thanks for winning the championship. Made taking my family cross country to Seattle worth the trip."
Travis laughed. Pete had only asked one thing in return for taking him to Florida. Tickets for all the home games the first time Travis played in the World Series. Took him awhile, but he was all too happy to pay off the debt.
"Glad I could oblige."
"Unfortunately, Emma came home with a huge case of hero worship. Seven years old and all I hear is Travis this. And Travis that."
"I don't see the problem," Travis shrugged. "The girl obviously has excellent taste."
"Mm." Pete gave Travis another pat on the back. "I could use a break from all this campaign nonsense. Let's get some coffee, and you can tell me what brings you to town. As if I don't already know."
"Another Day in Paradise?" Travis asked as they entered the spiffy little coffee shop across the street. "What was your wife thinking?"
"Candice is an eternal optimist."
"Sure. Why else would she have married you?"
The shop was doing a brisk business, most of the tables filled and a line of takeout customers waiting patiently to place their orders. Some new faces, Travis noted. A lot of old ones.
Pete waved as friends, neighbors, and supporters called out.
"Hear that?" Pete said as they took a table at the window. "That buzz is the excitement of having a celebrity in our midst."
"Shut up."
Travis was used to getting recognized. Nationally, his profile had grown thanks to endorsement deals and a World Series championship. In Seattle, as a member of the Cyclones, he could do no wrong.
However, Travis' stature in Green Hills was unique. Hometown boy made good. His return was bound to cause a stir. A fact that didn't please him.
"Should we start the countdown to your first autograph seeker?" Pete continued to tease.
Because they were friends, Travis kept his response to a low growl. On the whole, he had an upbeat disposition. Very little could get him down for long. But ever since he crossed the city limits, his thoughts had leaned more toward dark than light.
"Fucking Green Hills."
"Hey," Pete cautioned. "You're talking about my town."
"I never understood why you came back."
Pete shrugged. "During our trip to Florida? Once we started talking. You told me about your father. Until then, I'd believed the gossip concerning his death. The story I heard said he drank on the job. Came to work half-crocked."
Travis had heard those rumors. At the time, Alan Forsythe was a popular subject for the gossip mongers—fueled by the Brill family. To protect themselves, they made certain his father's reputation was reduced to ashes.
Not everybody bought into the lies. Loyal friends maintained Alan's innocence. And in his heart, Travis knew the truth.
"Power and money," A familiar flush of anger heated his blood. "The Brills never cared who they smashed as long as they kept their grip on both."
"Your father believed change was possible. Good men? Remember?"
"I remember." Travis had to smile. "Who would've guessed when we were kids that you would grow up to be so idealistic?"
"With just enough cynicism to keep from getting my ass handed to me on a plate."
"Excuse me? Mr. Forsythe?" A young boy, maybe ten or eleven, timidly held out a piece of paper and a pen. "Can I have your autograph?"
"Four minutes, thirty-seven seconds," Pete chuckled, tapping his watch.
Travis happily signed his name, drawing a huge grin from the boy. Kids were the best. In his experience, fans, in general, were great. He'd been lucky. The good encounters far outweighed the bad.
Besides, Travis knew what buttered his bread. Bodies in the seats. Eyes on the game. The day people stopped caring about baseball was the day he lost his job. A job he loved. A few autographs were a small price to pay for the privilege of doing something he loved—and paid him very, very well.
"Okay." A pretty woman with gold-streaked hair and a bright smile arrived ten minutes later, carrying a tray filled with coffee and assorted pastries. She shooed away a couple of lingerers. "Back to your seats. You got your little papers signed. Let the man catch his breath."
"Candice." Travis stood, pulling Pete's wife close. She smelled like coffee and cinnamon. "You have a unique brand of customer relations."
"They'll be back," she said, unconcerned. "This town has a caffeine addiction, and I supply them with the good stuff."
Candice brushed a kiss on her husband's cheek, taking a seat.
"I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw you." She turned to Pete. "How many times has Travis told us he'd never set foot in this town again?"
"Two thousand six hundred and fifty-two. But that's just an estimate."
"I won't be here long," Travis assured his friends. "A day at the most. But I could use a place to crash. If your standing offer is still open."
"I think we can accommodate you." Candice tucked back a loose piece of dark hair. "So, what brought you to Green Hills, Travis? As if I don't already know."
"That's what I said," Pete raised his wife's hand to his lips. "Great minds, my love. Marrying this woman was the best thing I ever did." A glint of humor entered Pete's eyes, his gaze meeting Travis'. "When are you finally going to take the plunge?"
Unamused, Travis simply raised an eyebrow.
"My mistake. You already have a wife."
"And a good one. Or she would be if Travis wises up before it's too late."
Travis frowned. He didn't like the smug look on Candice's face. As if she knew something he didn't. "Too late for what?"
"All I'll say is that Delaney might find someone who appreciates her. A man who wants to make a life with her." Candice shrugged, getting to her feet. "Maybe she already has."
"What?" Travis called out. When Candice disappeared into the kitchen, he looked at Pete. "What do you know? What man? Is there a man?"
"The question you need to ask yourself, my friend, is, after all these years, why do you care?"
Travis sat back, frowning. His reaction had been unthinking—automatic. And… telling?
Did he care if Delaney had found a man? A man she was serious about? She deserved happiness. He should be happy for her. And yet…
Crazy and illogical, Travis knew. But one thought kept running through his head.
Delaney can't marry another man. Because she's mine.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
● ≈ ● ≈ ●
DELANEY HAD NEVER visited the cemetery just outside of Green Hills to visit someone she loved. She'd never had a reason—until now.
She parked near the back entrance under the shade of an old oak tree. The cool November air bathed her face as she walked down a gravel pathway, the crunch of her booted feet the only sound besides the occasional cry of a bird.
The grounds were well-tended. Green grass, trimmed shrubs, the town stretched out below a gently sloping hill. Delaney supposed the view was for the visitors—the residents couldn't have cared less. She'd never understood the fuss. If you died, a hole was a hole.
A place to visit a loved one helped some people. As a trained psychologist, she understood about comfort for the grieving. But facts were facts. Most of the graves that surrounded her, whether expensive or not, marble or stone, were long forgotten—even if the names on the gravestones weren't.
Delaney had spent years studying the human condition. At first, she took a few elementary psych classes, hoping to—if not heal—find a way to live with what had happened to her.
As a result, Delaney found a family of sorts. Friends and teachers who accepted her without question. Who admired her quick mind and helped her acclimate to a new—sometimes scary—world.
By her sophomore year, Delaney had found her vocation. She wanted to help people like herself. Children, young women, and men, who had been abused—physically and mentally. She studied and worked hard to earn her Ph.D.
Dr. Pope. The title still sounded strange to her ears. Not that Delaney doubted her abilities. She did good work and was proud of her success.
However, no amount of therapy or self-evaluation had helped her let go of the past. Not entirely. And though living forty-six hundred miles away had been a godsend, distance had become a hindrance toward taking the final step.
If she were one of her patients, Delaney's advice would have been simple and straight forward. So, she decided to follow it.
Delaney returned to Green Hills in the hope that she could once and for all exorcise what was left of her demons.
At the end of the path lay a small, tasteful headstone. As Delaney read the engraved letters, she pulled her thick, knee-length winter coat tight around her neck, knowing the sudden chill had nothing to do with the autumn air that swirled around her ankles.
Alma Christina Brill
Rest Now, Beloved Mother
The stone—a pale cream marble—and the words had been Delaney's doing. She knew if Munch had his way, nothing would mark her mother's grave—every trace and memory of Alma Brill washed from the face of the earth.
"I'll always remember," Delaney said as she knelt, her hand resting on the grass-covered earth.
"Was I wrong? Should I have fought harder to make you leave? Or should I have stayed and tried to protect you from him?"
"Your mother wanted you to leave, Del."
Delaney nodded. Blindly
, she reached out, somehow certain Travis would know what to do. A second later, he knelt beside her, his hand clasping hers.
"If I'd stayed, she might be alive."
"If you'd stayed, your stepfather would've raped you and your mother would still be dead."
Just having Travis near helped. Always had. Always would.
"You always could boil things down to the pragmatic."
"I've done my share of what ifs," Travis said with a quirk of his lips.
"About your dad?"
"Mostly. And about us."
"Do we qualify as an us?"
Travis helped her to her feet. They started to walk and, natural and easy as the sun rising in the east, he placed his arm around her shoulders.
"We're linked, Del. I know my part in this relationship has lapsed—I take full responsibility."
"And yet I've become very close to your lawyer. We exchange Christmas cards every year."
At first, Delaney hated every piece of correspondence she received from Jacob Marks, Attorney at Law. Each precisely worded letter was like a dagger to her heart. Vivid proof that Travis no longer thought of her as a friend, but an obligation.
Little by little, the pain turned to resentment. And finally, acceptance. The regret in Travis' voice wasn't an instant healing balm. But they had to start someplace. And since he'd taken the first step, she might as well take the next.
"I could've written. Or called." She glanced at Travis' profile as they continued to stroll. "Heaven knows you were easy to keep track of. Single-A ball in Sarasota. Followed by a jump to triple-A in Tacoma. A year later, you were with the major league club. And a starter ever since. Very impressive. Meteoric, from what I understand."
Travis shrugged as if his accomplishments weren't anything special. Delaney knew better.
"The Cyclones' regular shortstop broke his leg sliding into home. Otherwise, I might have languished in the minors for years. Or been traded. Yes, I'm damn good."
Delaney laughed. There was the ego she remembered.
"However." He grinned as if he knew exactly where her thoughts had taken her. "Luck is a big part of any athlete's career. When I signed my first big contract, I held out for a no-trade clause. If I went to another team, I wanted the decision to be mine."
For All We Know (One Strike Away Book 3) Page 11
