Unexpected Family

by Molly O'Keefe

  Wow, she thought when she was done. Expensive. One of a kind. Meredith Van Loan came to mind again and she grabbed the phone. It would be easy to call her. Just press the button.

  You need pieces to show her, she told herself. You can’t just call her and say, “Hey, I’ve got some sketches that I think you’d like.”

  Nope. It wasn’t time. She closed the phone, got out of bed and pulled on some clothes. She had a couple hundred dollars from the ill-fated taxi business. Perhaps it was time to see what she could scrounge together in terms of materials and tools.

  Perhaps it was time to scrounge together a second chance.

  * * *

  JEREMIAH WASN’T SLEEPING WELL. He wasn’t eating well, either. He wasn’t actually doing anything well.

  Lucy was a thorn under his skin. He’d narrowed their contact down to twenty minutes a week and somehow those twenty minutes had become painfully paramount in his life.

  Bullshit, he thought, wishing that denying it made it less true. With his stomach in knots, he drove over Friday afternoon to pick up Ben.

  Ignore her, he told himself. Just ignore her.

  But she made herself impossible to ignore, sitting right there when he drove up. She wore tight jeans and a silky shirt that had no business being so close to a barn. And what was she doing with Ben and Walter, anyway? If she was trying to torture him, she was succeeding.

  He slammed the door behind him, probably too hard, if the looks on everyone’s startled faces were anything to measure by. As he stomped up to them, his evil mood grew blacker. Lucy must have picked up on his viciousness because she stood and headed into the barn.

  Walter stood, too, looking like a man who had no need of a nine-year-old nurse.

  “Ben,” Walter said. “Help me inside, would you?”

  “Ah, sure,” Ben said as he stretched the reins he’d been working on into the grass to dry. He stood, taking Walter’s elbow. “I’ll…I’ll be right back,” he said to Jeremiah.

  “Fine,” Jeremiah snapped, and then got ahold of himself. “Sorry, Ben, yes, go on. I’ll wait here.”

  It was foolish, crazy even, but it suddenly felt as if the entire universe was conspiring to throw him into Lucy’s orbit. And he was no good at resisting. Terrible at it.

  Ben and Walter crossed the rutted parking area and Jeremiah resisted his base instinct for exactly ten seconds before spinning on his heel and stomping into the barn. He found her in the cool shadows of the tack room, her back to him; she stood at the sink, rinsing out rags. Torn in pieces by his instincts and demons he could only stand there for a second before finally barking, “What are you trying to do?”

  Water sprayed the wall and she whirled, furious. “Good God, Jeremiah, why are you sneaking up on me?”

  He glared at her and despite his better sense stepped farther into the room. “Why are you hanging out with Ben and Walter?”

  She turned off the faucet and faced him. Water splats had turned her white shirt transparent in places and it clung to her, revealing the lace at the edge of her bra, the pink skin of her stomach, the shadow just under her collarbone.

  Lust did not improve his mood.

  “Did… Is Ben upset about it?” she asked.

  “No. I am.”

  She blinked. “Why?”

  “I—” I don’t want to see you. I don’t want to be reminded of you. I’m tired of having you in my head. “I just think it’s suspicious,” he said. “You don’t spend any time with Ben when we’re sleeping together and then, when we’re not, you’re suddenly sitting beside him at Walter’s feet two days a week.”

  “Wait a minute…you think it’s about you?” The gentle way she said it proved what an idiot he was, but he was committed to this path.

  Her eyes narrowed before she wiped her hand off on her thighs and started to walk past him.

  Let her go, he told himself, his hands. Nothing good will come of touching her. But when she was just past him, he turned and grabbed her elbow.

  Her palm connected with his cheek and his whole head snapped back under the force of her blow. There was a breath—a moment for reason to prevail, for sense to guide his actions—but instead he grabbed her shoulders, yanking her against him and his lips smashed against hers.

  She fought and he tried not to like it. He tried to let her go, but the best he could do was lift his lips from hers and press his forehead to the top of her head, his hands still holding her in an iron grip.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry. I miss you. I can’t… I see you and I miss you and I can’t remember why it’s a bad idea to kiss you or touch you. I’m sorry. I am—”

  She leaned away from him; her eyes, wise and knowing and feminine, searched his and saw all his cracks and weaknesses.

  “You’re a mess,” she whispered, and all he could do was try to laugh, but it came out sounding like a groan. Her arms lifted and he let her go, because he wasn’t the kind of guy to kiss a girl against her will, or…well, he didn’t used to be.

  But then her arms wrapped around his neck and she was kissing him again and it was sweet. It was warm and tender. Caring. It wasn’t a kiss between strangers acting on their casual attraction. It was the kiss of friends, acting on their feelings.

  And he liked it. Opened up to it like the land to the rain after the dry season. Then the sweetness turned to heat and she pressed those curves against him and he stepped backward under the pressure of her body until his back hit the wall. He put his hands back on her hips, carefully, slowly, not sure if he had the right. But she curled against him in agreement, in total acquiescence and he slipped his hands up her back, one hand under her hair, the other just under her shirt so his fingertips could soak in the sensation of her firm, tender skin.

  He wanted to spread her out on a bed and explore this skin of hers. Chart her sensitive places, the hidden coves, curves. He’d wasted every minute they’d spent together before because he hadn’t done that, hadn’t memorized her body as if it were a treasure map.

  Her hand slipped under his shirt, her fingers skating across the skin of his back and up over his shoulders to hold him against her. Her strength formidable or maybe it just seemed that way because his was all gone. Powerless against her, he arched, dying to be inside her in any way she would let him. They held each other as close and as hard as they could, welded together by the heat and sweat blooming under their skin.

  I’m sorry, I’m sorry, his kisses told her. I’m sorry, he tried to convey through his touch, his heartbeat. You don’t deserve this. I wish things were different. I wish I had my old life back and things between us could be normal.

  “Uncle J.?” Ben’s voice ripped the air and he jumped away from Lucy like a teenager caught by his parents.

  “Coming, Ben,” he cried, embarrassed when his voice cracked. Lucy’s smile was knowing and he kissed it, fevered and tortured. “Meet me back at the hotel,” he whispered. “Tonight. Please.”

  Abruptly, her body stilled, filled with a sort of explosive tension, and he held his breath, wondering if he’d messed this up again. When she stepped back, her face was utterly composed and his heart sank. Blown it didn’t seem strong enough.

  “Go,” she said, “Ben is waiting.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  LUCY WAITED UNTIL SHE was sure Jeremiah wouldn’t look back, before leaning forward and resting her head against the wall of the barn. The rough wood hurt her forehead and pulled at her hair, but still she set it there.

  Because you are a glutton for punishment. Standing in line for more misery. It would be so easy to go to that hotel.

  Damn right, her body cried, still angry with her decision not to. Instead of having wild, dirty sex with a hot man—for whom she felt far more than she should—she was going to stay home on Friday night and watch her mother knit. Maybe make a few more little leather bracelets while waiting for her supplies to come in and Jeremiah to move out of her thought patterns.

  But he wasn’t going to move ou
t of her thought patterns.

  She loved him.

  You’re an idiot, she thought, rolling her head against the wood. I love him. I love his mess and his heart and his body and his mind. His past and his damage and his effort toward those boys. His charm and grin and the way he was trying so hard to be the man he needed to be. The way he couldn’t see the forest through his own trees, but managed to call her on her bullshit even when it made him uncomfortable.

  The way he needed to be loved and helped and cared for even while he fought against it.

  She loved all of that about him.

  He will never love you, she told herself. Not like you love him.

  It was surprisingly easy to shrug off that thought. She’d never needed anyone’s permission before. She’d never waited for someone’s approval on her feelings.

  None of that changed the reality that he had feelings for her. Conflicted feelings.

  Maybe, she thought, maybe he just needs to be shown the way clear of all of that conflict. Maybe he just needed to realize she wasn’t a distraction. She wasn’t leaving. She could help, share his life. The boys and the ranch.

  It wasn’t either her or the boys, like he thought. He could have both. Granted, it would be nontraditional with her—she wasn’t going to give up her career to fold laundry and freeze casseroles. But they could make it work.

  She hoped they could make it work.

  “I am going to get my heart broken,” she said out loud, hoping that it might scare her off this ridiculous plan she had forming in her head. “Smashed into pieces,” she told herself. “Obliterated.”

  Amazingly, she wasn’t even nudged one bit from her plan.

  “You’re a fool,” she said, just to make it clear.

  Yep, a fool in love and a fool with a plan.

  Heaven help them all.

  * * *

  “AARON! ANSWER THE DOOR!” Jeremiah cried, trying to keep Casey from burning himself on the ancient waffle maker. “Great, Ben, that’s perfect,” he said as Ben filled the waffle maker with batter they’d turned green with food coloring.

  It was Sunday and the boys were acting like it was Christmas morning. Even Ben was in the spirit, standing on a chair, pouring ladle after ladle of green goop on the black patchwork griddle.

  “Casey, watch this,” Ben said, lifting the ladle high and dripping it over the hot metal.

  On Ben’s wrist gleamed a leather-and-silver bracelet Lucy had made for the boy. It was simple in the coolest way and would no doubt make him the hippest boy in third grade.

  Casey and Aaron wanted ones, too.

  So did Jeremiah. He wasn’t a jewelry man at all, he just wanted a small piece of her to wear on his body.

  “These are going to be the best waffles ever!” Casey screamed, and the batter on his mixing spoon splattered the kitchen wall. “Oops.”

  “Yeah, oops.” Jeremiah laughed and swiped at the spots with a towel. The doorbell rang again.

  “Aaron!”

  “Yeah, I’m getting it.”

  He heard the door open.

  “Lucy!” Aaron cried, and Jeremiah immediately dropped Casey back onto the ground. “Keep an eye on that,” he said to Ben, and pointed to the waffle maker.

  He stepped into the living room, half hoping he was imagining things. But there was Lucy, gorgeous in that yellow sundress with the cowboy boots. The same Lucy he’d left infuriated in the barn two days ago.

  “Look, Uncle J.!” Aaron cried.

  “I see,” he murmured, feeling like the luckiest man on earth. “It’s Lucy.”

  “No! It’s doughnuts!” Aaron held a big box from the Hole in One bakery downtown and was in the process of lifting out a giant bear claw. “Lucy brought them. How awesome is that?”

  “Very awesome, but take that into the kitchen,” Jeremiah said, imagining the box spilling to the ground. Adele would spend hours getting sprinkles out of the carpet. Aaron skipped out and cheers greeted him in the kitchen.

  “What…what are you doing here?” he asked, once they were alone.

  Lucy dropped her purse onto the ground, threw her keys on top of it and crossed the room to stand a foot from him. Purpose made her glow in that yellow dress.

  “I’m no man’s dirty secret, Jeremiah.” She flipped a ribbon of black hair over her shoulder and lifted her chin like she was going into a fight. His body roared its approval.

  “I didn’t… That wasn’t my intention.”

  “You said you missed me,” she said, ignored his pathetic denials.

  “I do.”

  She grinned like he was a slow kid finally getting an answer right—and that’s about how he felt. He could not figure out what was going on.

  “I miss you, too,” she said. “A lot. And if you want to meet me in a hotel on Friday nights for a few hours, I’m all for it.”

  “You weren’t all for it on Friday.”

  “Because I want more.”

  Terror lasered through his body. “More? More what?”

  “Well, to start, doughnuts. This morning with you and the boys. And if that’s too much, then tell me and I’ll go. But then you and I need to stop seeing each other. For good. Make another arrangement for Ben and quit coming to the ranch. Because it’s obviously too hard on both of us.”

  He didn’t answer, he couldn’t. Because it was too much. But she was also here. Right here, in front of him, and she was glowing.

  Longing clogged his throat, burning away the resentful words that would make her walk right back out that door.

  I want her to stay. I want her. But I can’t have her. We’ve finally got something good going in this house, I can’t mess that up.

  “Jeremiah—” She sighed, as if she knew. As if she was fully aware of how delicate the balance was in his life, how impossible it was to maintain it with her around.

  “Lucy!” It was Casey, rocketing out of the kitchen, a doughnut in each hand. He hugged her legs, chocolate and sugar glaze smeared her dress, but she didn’t seem to mind. “Thanks for the doughnuts.”

  “You are welcome, buddy. We miss you around the ranch. Mom has all this banana bread and no one is tasting it.”

  Casey gasped and turned on Jeremiah. “See, I told you, you should take me to the ranch. They need me, Uncle J.”

  “Clearly.” The wryness in his tone went right over Casey’s head, but Lucy caught it and the look she gave him was unreadable.

  “Hey, Lucy. Can I have a bracelet like Ben’s?” Casey asked.

  “Me, too!” Aaron charged into the living room, a doughnut in both hands.

  Ben stood in the doorway, lingering on the edges, as if reluctant to get too close. But he was there.

  Is it possible, he wondered, to have both? To have what he wanted and what would be good for the boys? And how long could he make that last?

  How much time would be enough, with her? How much time to satisfy this craving he had for her?

  He was frozen.

  “Hey, Lucy,” Ben said, waving the ladle, green spots landing on his shoes. Jeremiah didn’t say anything about the mess, he was just so happy to see that little smile on the corner of the boy’s lips.

  “Ben, you’re the best marketing tool a girl could have.” From the pocket of her dress she pulled out two other bracelets. She handed the larger of the two to Aaron and then crouched to put the other around Casey’s little wrist. He gasped as if the leather bracelet had magic powers.

  This cemented it. Better than Christmas.

  Strange. Things had been fun before she arrived. They were special, with the green food coloring and the waffle maker that didn’t get pulled out of the cupboard all that often. The boys were laughing and having a good time.

  But now there was something happening that took all the sharp edges off everyone in this house. It was as if all the dark corners were pushed back and deep breaths taken. It was special, yes, because it was so comfortable.

  And comfortable hadn’t happened in a long time.

 
There were a lot of questions Jeremiah wanted to ask Lucy about her plans. About her future. About Los Angeles. Just thinking about it made the comfortable feeling retreat a bit. The tension came right back into the corners, that space between his ribs.

  Stop. He told himself. Just give yourself a minute.

  “Do you want a cup of coffee?” he asked, but what he was saying was, Stay, just for a little while. Stay and make this house a home.

  “Is it good?” she asked, wincing like she already knew the answer.

  “We’re not without some comforts out here in the boonies,” he said. “And I spent some time in L.A., too.”

  “Then—yes, please.” Her smile was radiant.

  “You want to see my room?” Casey asked, yanking her toward the stairs.

  “Of course I do,” she said. “I’ll take room service with that coffee.”

  But these minutes of peace, they didn’t come without cost. Not for the Stones. Not for him. Even as part of him was so happy watching her go upstairs, part of him could see the disaster that would surely come.

  * * *

  WALTER FOUND HIMSELF SHAKING with the need for a drink. His throat burned for one. His stomach ached. This thing with Ben, the way everyone was acting like he was cured—a different man—all of it made his sobriety seem ridiculous. He wasn’t a sober man. He was a drunk.

  It was the thing with the kid. It wasn’t going to go well, in the end. Every time the kid asked for a story from the old days, Walter felt as if there was some nail being hammered in a coffin somewhere.

  And Lucy, hanging around like that? Talking about the past, a past he barely remembered. That he’d squandered.

  He liked those memories dormant. Drowned under the sea of booze. Having them bob to the surface was like being haunted by a thousand ghosts. Regret and nostalgia wouldn’t let him sleep at night. What had he been thinking letting this kid be his “nurse”?

  Every single thing Walter touched, he ruined. Why did he think this would be different? Because he wasn’t drinking? Because they’d asked him to help? Everyone should know he couldn’t do this shit.

  Christ, I want a drink.

  He paced the house, hoping he could walk off the craving, but from the shadows just outside the brightly lit kitchen, he saw Sandra standing at the stove. Steam from whatever she stirred wreathed her head, turning her cheeks pink. Pink to match the blouse she wore, which floated around her like a cloud.