Unforgettable Heroes II Boxed Set

by Elizabeth Bevarly

  “Oh. No. I am,” his son answered too quickly.

  “You are?”

  “Sorry, I was… Aw, hell, Dad. We’re all a little worried, that’s all.”

  “Worried about me or her?”

  “Both.” Abe went on in a rush. “I’m sure she’s a nice lady, but—”

  A cold edge of steel crept into his voice. “She is a nice lady.”

  “But, I mean, she’s not staying here, right?”

  Lifting his chin, he stared straight into the mirror, testing himself as much as he was his son. “No, she’s not stayin’ here.”

  The straight answer seemed to throw Abe off his stride. “Okay. Uh, well, are you okay with that?”

  He pulled the earring from his pocket and stared at it. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Dad….”

  “You know what? It’s not any of your business,” he snapped, tossing the mystery earring onto the vanity. “I’m a grown man. I’m single, she’s single, and it’s nobody’s business what we do.”

  “You’re right, but—”

  “Hell, I can sleep with every woman from here to Memphis. It’s nobody’s damn business.”

  “Sleep with—”

  “Damn right.” Bram struck the tiled wall with the side of his fist. Pain shot up his arm. Cradling his hand he muttered, “I’ve gotta go. I have a date.”

  “Dad, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything bad about her.”

  The sincerity in his boy’s voice knocked the wind right out of him. He closed his eyes, trying to ignore his throbbing hand. “I know you didn’t.”

  “I only… Aw, crap.”

  Bram smiled, picturing his son’s wide-eyed bewilderment. “It’s okay.”

  “I want you to be happy. You haven’t been in a long time, and I want you to be, uh, you know,” he said gruffly. “I’d hate for you to—”

  A lump rose in his throat, and Bram swallowed hard. “I know, son.”

  Abe drew in a ragged breath. “If this…if Ms. Prescott makes you happy, then I say you go for it.”

  “I plan to.”

  “Okay. Well.” He chuckled softly. “Good luck.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Be a gentleman,” Abe said, tossing a few more of his platitudes back at him.

  “Shut up.”

  “Be respectful. Treat her like a lady—like you’d want someone to treat your mama.” His son’s soft laughter hummed through the phone, warming him from the inside.

  “I raised a smart ass.”

  “Two of ’em,” Abe confirmed. “Now listen,” he continued in a stern voice. “If things do happen to get a little out of hand, make sure you always use protection.”

  Bram’s eyebrows rose as he met his own gaze in the mirror. He cleared his throat and sucked in a deep breath. “Hey, would you do me a favor?”

  ****

  Thirty minutes later, he tucked the tail of his shirt into his pants while he rushed down the hall. “Not locked,” he called. The door swung wide and he pulled up short when he saw his son’s scowl.

  “Here.” Abe kept his feet planted on the welcome mat and extended one arm across the threshold, a small brown paper bag dangling from his fingers.

  Bram snatched the bag and tossed it onto the table as if the contents could burst into flames at any second. “You, uh…you want a beer?” he asked, giving his freshly-shaven jaw an absent scratch.

  “No thanks. I need to get home and try to explain this little errand to my wife before the grapevine winds its way around to her.”

  “I, um…I appreciate you doin’ this.”

  “Uh-huh.” He whirled and began to stomp down the steps toward his truck. Bram followed him, coming to a stop on the porch. “If you don’t get home before they get to her,

  have her call me, and I’ll explain.”

  “I can’t believe I bought my father condoms.”

  “Hey, I bought some for you once,” he shot back.

  Abe’s eyebrows rose. “You also told me if you found out I was usin’ them, you’d make me wish I had something left to use them on.”

  Crossing his arms over his chest, he couldn’t help but grin. “You can bet I’ll listen to you better than you listened to me.”

  Their gazes locked, and the younger man’s lips twitched. “Good. I’m not sure Willie would be too happy about a little brother or sister.”

  Bram snorted. “Get home to your wife, smart ass, or I’ll tell her I have no idea what you’re talkin’ about when she calls.”

  “You’d never do that.” Abe slammed the door and rolled down the window, grinning at his father. “If she kicks me out, I’ll have to move back in with you.” He chuckled and shook his head. “That would surely cramp your style, wouldn’t it, Daddy?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Sweet and savory salad dressing, her brain screamed. Lynne’s fingers wrapped around the edge of the door, praying the solid oak would be strong enough to keep her upright. “Hi.”

  She closed her eyes for a second, hoping to banish the girly breathiness in her voice. When she opened them again, Paul Newman’s hotter, sexier, younger, infinitely more accessible clone was still standing on her doorstep.

  His hair curled damply at his collar. Her mouth watered. The stained and battered jeans he wore earlier had been replaced by a pair of pressed khakis. She wanted to press herself against them. Oh hell, now I’m jealous of an iron. How pathetic is that?

  A dark red polo shirt stretched across his broad chest. The sleeves clung to his muscular arms. She didn’t realize she was ogling him until he laughed. Her heart did a stutter-step then kicked into overdrive. Oh, eat your heart out, Joanne Woodward. You can keep your salad dressing. This man’s overdressed as it is.

  “Hey.” Bram cocked his head. “You gonna let me in?”

  “Oh.” She stumbled back a step but kept her grip on the door.

  “Smells great,” he said as he crossed the threshold.

  “You look…nice,” she stammered at the same time.

  His smile widened, and he leaned down. The soft, sweet kiss made the hair on her arms stand at attention. Her fingernails scored the weathered varnish on the door. The musk of his aftershave combined with minty toothpaste to raise the stakes in this round of chemical warfare. When he tried to back off, she grabbed a fistful of shirt and held him where she wanted him. Without opening her eyes she whispered, “Once more with feeling.”

  The smile in his voice hit her right in the hoo-hah. “Yes, ma’am.”

  This time the kiss was long, lingering, and every other good L-word. She sighed when he lifted his head. “Don’t ‘ma’am’ me.”

  Bram brushed the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip. “Respecting my elders.”

  “No pot roast for you.”

  “I didn’t figure on gettin’ any since you won’t let go of that door.”

  She glanced past him. “Where’s your truck?”

  “I parked in back.”

  “Ashamed to be seen with me?”

  He rolled his eyes and took her hand before starting toward the kitchen. “No, but it’s probably best that I park back there anyway. More than likely the dawn patrol has you marked on their route.”

  “Dawn patrol?” she asked, trotting to keep up with his long strides as he headed straight through to the mudroom.

  He pressed the latch on the back storm door and scowled when it jiggled. “Ernie Biggins runs his Mountainview Dairy route right by here. By eight he’ll be at the Cast Iron Cookery, spilling his guts.”

  “I’m afraid you’ve lost me, and where are we going?”

  “Out here.”

  He led her down the steps, crooking his arm and holding her hand at the small of his back while he picked his way across the darkened yard. A choir of crickets chirped. Not to be outdone, the frogs sang out, filling in silent spots in the damp evening air.

  “Ernie is the milkman. He tends to notice if there’s any hanky-panky going on.”

  She snorted. “H
anky-panky.”

  “The Cast Iron is the greasy spoon over at Hopville. By nine, half the county knows whose hanky has been pankyed.”

  Bram yanked the handle to release the tailgate on his truck and pulled out a battery-operated camping lantern.

  “You don’t want anyone thinking there’s hanky-panky going on here,” she concluded.

  “It’s none of their damn business if I’ve got a hankering.” He hit the switch and the lantern sprang to life, illuminating his rakish grin.

  Lynne was glad the pool of light fell short of where she was standing, though she was fairly sure the glow from her burning cheeks might be sufficient to flood the entire yard. “Do you have a hankerin’?”

  He handed the lantern to her, gesturing to the bed of the truck. “I brought you a present, Miss Lynne.”

  She turned, shining the pale blue light in the direction of the cab. A glint of silver caught her eye. A low cluck made her gasp. “Ohhh.” Lynne leaned on the tailgate, a slow smile lighting her face. “You brought me chickens.”

  “Hens. Four of them.”

  “Four,” she breathed, swinging the light in an arc to inspect the cage’s occupants.

  Favoring her with a smile, he leaned against the truck and drawled, “I’d have brought more, but my mama might have noticed a few more missing.”

  She gripped the side of the truck to keep from pouncing on him. “You stole your mother’s chickens for me?”

  “She’s got plenty.”

  Her fingers loosened their grip on the cool metal. “You’re the only man who’s ever given me stolen chickens.”

  Bram chuckled. “Well, I guess flowers or something….”

  She raised her hand to his chest to stop him, palm splaying over the soft knit of his shirt. Heat radiated from his skin, warming her through the fabric and warding off the chill of the spring night. “They’re beautiful. Thank you.”

  He gave a slight shake of his head, his eyes locked on hers. Pale moonlight lit his face, picking out the lines and crags marking his skin. “No, you are. I should have brought flowers.”

  Her fingers folded into the cotton, gathering the fabric into her damp palm. She pulled him closer, her lips reaching for his as she whispered, “They’re perfect.”

  His kiss was sweet. The scent of damp earth, tender shoots of grass, and the must of feathers mingled with his aftershave. Her hand slid up and she leaned into him, holding him there. She traced his throat and teased the granite line of his smooth jaw. His pulse jumped against her pinkie when she parted her lips.

  Their tongues tangled. The tailgate cut into her bottom. She gave in to its prodding, leaning back and pulling him down with her. Their lips parted when her back hit the bed of the truck. Bram’s breathing came rough and ragged. Hers was no better.

  She reached for him, tugging on his arms, urging him to cover her. He braced his hands on the truck bed, holding himself a smidgen too far off for her liking. She pushed on his elbows, and he stifled a laugh. Above her head flustered feathers ruffled, reminding them of their audience.

  “Holy hell, Lynne, I’m not about to make love to you in the back of my pick-up truck,” he growled, dipping his head to nip at her neck.

  She arched her neck, cradling the back of his head. “Why not? I think it’s romantic.”

  His chuckle vibrated through her, raising goose bumps on her arms. He drew gently on her ear lobe, using the tip of his tongue to toy with the tender flesh.

  “If I had a blanket and we were parked down by the lake, and thirty years younger, maybe,” he conceded.

  He pulled back and Lynne exhaled slowly, opening her eyes to stare at the blanket of bright white stars speckling the sky. “I’ve never seen so many stars.”

  Bram stiffened then pushed up, extending his arms to hold himself above her. “Pretty far from the bright lights.”

  “Thank God.”

  Her fervent answer startled them both. She blinked at the sky above, unable to bring herself to look at him. He scooted off the lip of the tailgate and stood, reaching for her hands to pull her up. When she sat up, he brushed her hair back from her face and stared at her solemnly.

  “I need to get these chickens unloaded. We can have some of that roast I smelled when we passed through the house.” Abruptly, he released her hands and leaned past her to grab the wires of the cage.

  Her head spun. Every scent and sound became an assault on her senses. The scrape of metal on metal brought her crashing back to earth. A gust of cool wind caught the ends of her hair. Stinging whips of rejection made her face burn.

  Bram hefted the cage from the truck and she hopped down, swallowing the last vestiges of her pride. “Will they be okay in that?” she asked, nodding to the cage.

  He frowned at the crowded confines. “What? Oh. No, they can’t stay in here.”

  “Where am I going to put them?”

  His smile lit the dark night. “Grab the light, city girl, and I’ll show you.”

  Lynne followed him around the side of the old chicken coop, shining the light on their path and almost running into his back when he came to a halt behind the worn wooden structure.

  “There,” he said, nodding to a small patch of weedy grass outlined with rusting wire. He lifted the cage over the low fence and dropped the gate. “They need a little room to move around.”

  She stared at the wire enclosure that ran from the back of the chicken house, wondering how she hadn’t seen it before. “Will it hold them?”

  “Needs some new wire, but I can take care of that. They won’t wander off. Don’t worry.”

  “Famous last words,” she muttered under her breath and his laughter rolled over her in waves.

  ****

  His fork clattered to his plate, and Bram groaned with satisfaction. She rose from her chair, whisking his plate from the table with the smooth grace of a dancer.

  “The roast was incredible. What’d you do to it?”

  A smile teased her lips. “A little fresh garlic and a few other seasonings.” She gestured to the plate of sliced golden pound cake and asked, “Room for dessert?”

  He leaned back, unabashedly taking the opportunity to sneak a peek as she leaned down to pull a bowl of bright red sliced strawberries and a can of whipped cream from the fridge. His mind skittered way past the prospect of dessert.

  He shifted in his chair, trying to ignore the tightening in his groin and blessing the comfort of the loose-fitting pants. His gaze dropped to his lap and he fiddled with the ridiculous rooster-printed napkin. At least the stupid thing provided an extra layer of camouflage.

  Lynne set the plate and bowl on the table, and he jerked his gaze from his crotch. When she pulled the can of whipped cream from the crook of her arm and placed it in front of him, his mouth watered.

  “Looks good,” he rasped.

  Her pleased smile made his racing heart slow to a snail’s pace and lodge in his throat. He frowned as she whirled, heading for a cabinet. He stared at the crumbly slices of cake. She slid back into her chair, gently depositing a small chipped plate in front of him. “Dig in,” she invited, lifting the cake-laden plate.

  The blunt question sprang to his lips. “Why are you here?”

  Her grip on the plate wobbled. Her hand dipped. Instantly contrite, he reached for the saucer and deftly removed it from her trembling fingers. Concentrating on selecting a slice, he drew a shallow breath and plunged ahead. “I mean, you didn’t have to come down here. If you just want to sell the place, Percy woulda handled everything for you.”

  He offered her the plate, but she didn’t look up. He waited patiently. She raised her head, the stubborn gleam in her eyes startling him into setting it down on the table between them.

  “I ran away from home,” she said, a note of defiance lacing its way through her softly spoken words.

  “Why?”

  Her hand fluttered in a helpless gesture. “I didn’t know why I was there.”

  The simple statement perplexed him.
“How do you mean?”

  “I was…I’ve been standing still,” she said, lifting her shoulder in a sheepish shrug.

  “How so?”

  “I didn’t do anything. I stayed in the house, even though it was too big and too empty. I went to the same club.” She folded the garish napkin into a neat rectangle, pressing the creases in with the palm of her hand. “I saw the same people, ate in the same restaurants, served dinners on my wedding china, and pretended nothing had really changed.”

  “But everything had,” he said flatly. “I’m sorry.”

  Her head jerked up. “Are you?” Lynne sighed. “I’m not.”

  “You’re not?”

  Her breath ruffled her hair. She swiped at a wayward wave, tucking it firmly behind her ear. He stared at his plate, his brow furrowing in confusion. A breathy chuckle captured his attention.

  “He’d been cheating on me for years.”

  “Oh.”

  “Almost our entire marriage, but I didn’t realize how long until later.”

  “Asshole.”

  Her smile bloomed. “Thank you.” She rolled her neck in a slow circle. “I didn’t begin to suspect until after our third anniversary, and didn’t know for sure until just before the fifth. I had Justin to think about.”

  “So you stayed.”

  “I don’t know how to explain. Things were…not awful.”

  “They weren’t?”

  A self-effacing little laugh told him she’d caught the disbelief in his tone. “He didn’t beat me. He wasn’t neglectful. He had a hard time keeping it in his scrub pants.”

  “You shoulda left him.”

  She inclined her head slightly. “Richard adored Justin, and Justin…well, you probably know little boys need their heroes.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “I didn’t hate him,” she said, raising one hand to cut him off. “And I didn’t care enough to leave him.”

  “I can’t even imagine,” he mumbled.