The Twin Bargain

by Lisa Carter

  ErmaJean inclined her head. “Then we’ll reevaluate the terms of our arrangement. Agreed?”

  “Agreed.” Amber swallowed. “For now.”

  What choice did she have? None, if she truly wanted to finish school and make a better life for her children.

  ErmaJean plucked her cell phone out of her pocket. “I’ll give Ethan the good news. And you two can work out the details.”

  Would this be good news to Ethan?

  Soon after, the physical therapist bustled into the room, and Amber said goodbye. Heading down the corridor, she had the disquieting thought she’d just agreed to something irrevocable. Had she set up not only herself but her children, too, for more pain?

  This would not turn out well. This could not turn out well at all. Where she and Ethan were concerned, it never had.

  Chapter Four

  It had taken Ethan most of the morning to put a new battery in Amber’s car. At his grandmother’s suggestion, he’d called and asked Callie’s father, Nash Jackson, to give him a hand in shuttling Amber’s vehicle to Truelove. Ethan had been afraid the fiftysomething apple grower might refuse to ride with him on the Harley. But he needn’t have worried—the young-at-heart grandfather considered it a hoot.

  “Folks who think they’re too old to enjoy an adventure might as well call it a day.” A twinkle gleamed in Nash’s eye. “As for me? I aim to embrace each and every opportunity that comes my way.”

  Ethan wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but he conceded the years had been kind to Callie’s father. He hoped to be as fit and happy as Nash when he was that age. Although happiness had somehow always eluded him, always seeming just out of his reach.

  Back at the house, in the broad light of day, he concluded adaptations would have to be made to the old family home to accommodate his grandmother’s injury. Since neither the Harley nor Grandma’s sedan was suitable for the task, he arranged for the local home building supply store to deliver lumber that afternoon.

  He enjoyed rummaging through his grandpa’s old workshop behind the house for the tools he’d need in making the house more accessible.

  The next morning, he got an early start. With his grandmother scheduled to be released late in the afternoon, he had to get the project finished. The day promised to be crazy busy, and he worked steadily through the morning hours.

  Only when his stomach growled did he realize it was already lunchtime. Screwing the bolt in place, he surveyed his handiwork. He shook the handrail. Unlike Amber’s flimsy porch, the ramp was sturdy enough to get his grandmother in and out of the house safely.

  If only every problem was as easily fixed. The nurse had gone over his grandmother’s recovery plan with him yesterday. He would need to bring his grandmother to physical therapy sessions and follow-up appointments with several medical professionals.

  The nurse had carefully explained what tasks he’d have to oversee regarding his grandmother’s care. Issues neither he—nor he suspected Grandma—had considered in making the decision to finish her recovery at home and not in a rehab facility. The nurse had raised delicate questions regarding personal hygiene and privacy.

  With his hand, he worked the kinks out of his neck. The last few boards could wait until after he ate. He could do with a break and a hearty meal.

  Brushing the sawdust from his jeans, he got on the Harley and headed to the Mason Jar. Kill two birds with one stone. He’d fill his belly and get the details from Amber about twin-sitting.

  After all these years, it was almost surreal being back in town. But the more things changed, the more they stayed the same.

  He parked outside the diner, stowing his helmet. And he took his first good look around the hometown he’d left behind without a second glance. Believing he’d never return to this Podunk mountain town.

  Yet here he was. But wiser, or so he liked to think. In the decade since high school, more than once life had taken him to the proverbial woodshed.

  Not much appeared to have changed in Truelove, North Carolina. Same old town square. The shops on Main. The river that bent around the town like a horseshoe. And the perpetual smoky mist off the surrounding Blue Ridge.

  Old mountains. Almost as old as Ethan felt after surviving four tours in a war zone. Though not as jagged as the mountains where he’d hunted terrorists—and been hunted in return. The sharp peaks of the Appalachians were blunted, worn away by time.

  Kind of like him.

  The parking lot was filled with the late-lunch crowd. And just beyond, he could see the sign on the edge of town that proclaimed Truelove, Where True Love Awaits.

  Only thing that waited for him when he finished his deployment had been the terse Dear Ethan letter his girlfriend, Kelly, left him.

  Lesson learned the hard way. His usual modus operandi, Grandma Hicks would’ve said. But he was finished with romantic relationships. No more putting his heart out there for target practice.

  No sirree, Bob. Or whatever the next pretty face’s name might be. Stick a fork in him—he was done with women. Who needs ’em!

  He took a cautious, exploratory breath of the pine-scented mountain air. A cleansing breath.

  Weird, how suddenly dear and familiar it seemed. Like a lovely dream barely recalled. Like home?

  But anything was better than the dust—always the dust—and the dry scorching heat that passed for spring in Afghanistan. Only person missing from the Fab Four now was Amber’s brother, Matt.

  Ethan didn’t have many friends. But those he had, he cherished. None more so than his best friend since childhood. His coconspirator in the up-to-no-good department, Grandma Hicks used to say. She’d also had plenty to say about some of his more unfortunate, recent life choices.

  The bell jangled above the door as he stepped into the café. The aroma of fried eggs and the yeasty smell of biscuits floated past his nostrils. His stomach rumbled again, reminding him it had been a long time since the doughnuts Nash brought by that morning.

  Heads turned at the sound of the bell. Conversation momentarily ground to a halt. But with no display of recognition for the stranger in their midst, the regulars soon returned to fueling their bellies.

  It felt strange, thinking of himself—who’d grown up here—as a stranger. No doubt Truelove had written him off as a lost cause years ago. Yet here he was. Like a bad penny.

  The diner was jam-packed. Waitresses in jeans and long-sleeved Mason Jar T-shirts scurried from table to table. No sign of Amber.

  He recognized most of the people from his boyhood. But putting a name to their faces was another thing entirely. He’d been gone too long.

  When two men in the blue overalls of the local auto repair shop exited a booth, Ethan slid in after them. He ran a practiced eye over the crowd. Force of habit. Always good to know from which direction the next attack might come.

  But there was only the Jar’s usual clientele—farmers, ranchers and such. An old football compatriot waved at him from a stool at the counter. And at the table against the far wall underneath the town bulletin board—

  Ethan ducked his head, lying low in the booth. Praying none of his grandma’s posse spotted him. Prayer was not something he’d done much since shaking the North Carolina mountain dirt off his feet.

  Too late. Spotting him, GeorgeAnne gave him the evil eye. IdaLee Moore pushed back her chair. And two of the infamous nosy musketeers headed his way. He hunkered lower in the booth. Keep walking... Keep walking...

  “What did I tell you yesterday about that slouching?” Her iron-gray hair like a helmet, GeorgeAnne widened her stance beside the booth. “I’d think a decorated marine like yourself would’ve learned to sit straight.”

  Older than his grandma or GeorgeAnne, IdaLee sniffed. “Never could get him to sit straight in the classroom, either.”

  At the sound of her voice, like a Pavlovian-trained dog, he sat up straighter in
his seat.

  Miss GeorgeAnne crossed her arms. “Have you brought your grandmother home from the hospital yet, young man?”

  This was why he’d departed Truelove never to return—or so he’d hoped. Everyone felt it their duty to parent—aka micromanage—everyone else’s kids.

  One of many reasons why he’d champed at the bit to get away. He forcibly reminded himself he was no longer a teenager. He was a grown man. A war veteran. He need not be intimidated by anyone, much less a bunch of—

  “You forget how to talk? Let it never be said some things don’t improve over time,” Miss GeorgeAnne hooted.

  He took a long—and deep—breath. “No, ma’am.” Grandma Hicks had drummed politeness into him. The Marines had mortared in respect. “I haven’t forgotten how to talk.”

  Miss IdaLee’s patrician face wrinkled like a well-worn map. “More’s the shame. You’ve always been trouble with a capital T.”

  Craning around them, he scoped out the diner again, hoping for a glimpse of Amber. “Grandma won’t be released until this afternoon. Amber and I need to work out my twin-sitting responsibilities.”

  “Lucy and Stella?” Miss GeorgeAnne’s slitted gray eyes had taken on an ominous gleam. “When ErmaJean first floated the idea by me, I never believed you’d agree. So you are going to take on the twins?”

  Wary as a turkey before Thanksgiving, he nodded...slowly.

  The old women gave each other a significant look.

  Diminutive IdaLee tilted her head, the hairs in her schoolteacher bun white with age. “Well, well, well. You and Amber will see a lot of each other over the next few months.”

  Too late he remembered the Double Name Club’s favorite civic activity.

  He gulped. But nobody in their right mind would ever willingly pair Amber with a rebellious drifter like him. His previous reputation was well deserved.

  But GeorgeAnne’s face cleared. “Amber’s in the kitchen plating an order.” The no-nonsense owner of the local hardware store motioned toward the swinging door behind the counter. “She’ll be out in a minute.”

  Feeling not unlike he’d received a presidential pardon, he swiped a distracted hand across the top of his head.

  “And get that hair cut.” IdaLee wagged her gnarled finger. “Before you give your grandmother a heart attack,” she growled as a final parting shot.

  Heads high, the matchmakers marched toward the door.

  Limp with relief at somehow emerging relatively intact, he let his head fall against the booth. Not unlike his feelings after surviving that last street battle in Kandahar.

  At a whoosh of air, he lifted his gaze. And his stomach bottomed out when Amber, laden with an enormous serving tray, hurried out of the kitchen. Delivering the order to a nearby table, she quickly unloaded the plates.

  She turned in his direction. And her lovely sky-blue eyes widened, locking on to his. His heart did a strange sort of flip-flop.

  Because indeed, somehow the more things changed, the more they stayed the same.

  * * *

  At the sight of Ethan, her heart jolted. Like a bolt of lightning sizzling her brain. Was he waiting for her? That would be a change. He couldn’t be waiting for her.

  Yet the way he looked at her... Nerves suddenly assailed Amber. Of all the booths in the café, why did he have to be in one of hers? She’d have to go over and talk to him. Take his order.

  She’d tossed and turned all night after agreeing to ErmaJean’s surprising proposal. Finally in the wee hours of the morning, she’d come to the inescapable conclusion she needed to decline. One thing she still couldn’t fathom—why Ethan would agree to such a ridiculous plan.

  Unless... What if he felt sorry for her? Something twisted like a knife in her gut. Had he agreed because he pitied her?

  Maybe it was better that he was here at the Jar.

  She could tell him in person she’d decided to refuse his grandmother’s offer. In full view of the dining public with the people who knew her best. People who’d seen her at her worst. That would keep her grounded about who she really was.

  The stupid, grief-stricken girl who ran away with a loser and returned divorced with infant twins. Ashamed of her past, a woman whose only future consisted of doing right by her daughters.

  Amber tucked the empty tray underneath her arm. She should also take care to remember who Ethan Green was—a handsome, charming, marginally reckless, rolling stone.

  Why was he staring at her? Self-conscious, she smoothed her hand over her jeans. The strain of the years had taken their toll. She no longer resembled the idealistic young girl he’d once known.

  Stop stalling.

  Clamping the tray against her side, she forced her feet to move toward him. She hoped he’d learned to tip better since high school. But big spender or not, a single mom couldn’t afford to lose even a meager gratuity.

  Lips pursed, she crossed the last few yards dividing them. “Let me clear the table for you.”

  Balancing the tray on the corner of the sticky laminate tabletop with her hip, she loaded the dirty glasses.

  Maybe if she kept her head down, didn’t look too closely at him, her pulse would—

  “Amber.”

  Reaching for a crumpled, discarded napkin, her hand quivered. If he only knew what the sound of her name on his lips had always done to her. Frantically, she snatched at anything she could lay her hands on—dirty plates, more napkins. The utensils.

  His hand on hers stilled her frenzied attempts at normalcy. Her gaze flitted to his face. That was a mistake. Cold sweat broke out on her forehead.

  Ethan’s blond hair no longer resembled the close-cropped military cut in the pictures on Miss ErmaJean’s mantel. Once again, he wore his hair a tad too long for conservative local tastes. Just like in high school.

  Ditto to the strong brow. Rugged features. Square lantern jaw.

  Her crush had been entirely one-sided, of course. To him, she was Matt’s baby sister. Ethan’s little buddy—practically his sister, too.

  At least he’d never guessed how she felt. Her pride spared that humiliation. And these days, pride was a hard commodity for Amber to hold on to. It was all she had. Except for her girls.

  She moistened her bottom lip. “Wh-what are you doing here?” She blushed, but he didn’t notice. He never noticed, not when it came to her.

  “I’m here to see you.” He grinned, and her heart dropped to her toes. “Who else, baby cakes?”

  Devastatingly handsome and oh so charming.

  “Me?” The word came out of her mouth with a squeak.

  She flushed. Get it together, Amber. But Ethan Green had always reduced her to a gibbering, melted puddle of hope and unrequited feelings.

  What was the matter with her? She was no longer a naive, dreamy teenager. She was a grown woman with responsibilities. She’d believed herself long past such schoolgirl palpitations.

  Apparently not when it came to him.

  She strove for a professional calm. “What can I get for you, Ethan?”

  “Just yourself.” Blinking, he reared a fraction. “I mean...”

  Ethan scrubbed his palm over his face. “I want to talk about what I need to do to take care of the girls.”

  Her hands tightened around the edges of the tray. “Now that I’ve had some time to reflect, I’m thinking we should forget the whole thing.”

  “Wait... No.” His face dropped. “Let’s talk about this first, Amber.”

  She glanced around. “Unless you order something, the boss won’t like you occupying a booth.”

  “Okay.” Resting his shoulder blades against the blue vinyl upholstery, he gave her a half-lidded stare. “I’ll have what you’re having.”

  She hoisted the tray. “I’m not having anything. I work here.”

  He leaned forward, placing the coiled m
uscles of his forearms on the table. “Everyone gets a break.”

  She blew out a breath. “It’s the lunch rush, Ethan. Surely you’ve not been away so long you’ve forgotten that.”

  His eyes flicked to the wall where a clock hung above the pass-through window. “Half an hour more, right? I can wait. We should catch up.”

  “Why?”

  He cocked his head. “Because you always were my best girl.” Again with the effortless charm. “You and Grandma. I want to hear what you’ve been doing with your life while I’ve been protecting the free world from tyranny.” He grinned.

  “Always so full of yourself.” She rolled her eyes. “And you know what I’ve been doing with my life—Lucy and Stella.”

  “I want to hear about your life, Amber. And we need to talk about the girls.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “Order something, Ethan.”

  His lips twitched. “Coffee.”

  “Black as your heart?” She arched her eyebrow. “That’s what you used to say.”

  He laughed. “And it’s still true.”

  “What else do you want for lunch?”

  His strong white teeth had an almost seismic effect on her equilibrium. “Surprise me.”

  Ethan Green really ought to come with warning labels.

  When he turned that lethal charm on her, she was as good as lost. Making her no different than any other female in Truelove. Which he knew. He’d always known. How could he not help but know?

  “And give or take thirty minutes, we’ll talk. Okay, Amber? I’ve missed talking to you.”

  She couldn’t stop the smile from breaking out on her face. “Coffee coming right up. And your surprise lunch.”

  Leaning against the back of the booth, he winked. “I trust you.”

  Problem was, she didn’t trust herself. Not when it came to Ethan. She fled before she lost what small sense she still possessed. Vaguely, she was aware of someone strolling over to talk with Ethan at the booth.

  But she was halfway across the diner on a return trip with a damp cloth and a coffee cup before the identity of the man registered.