Admit One (Sweetwater Book 2)

by Clark O'Neill, Lisa

  “I have a gun,” Allie mused, staring at the slowly rotating blades of the overhead fan. “After losing my keys, having the car tampered with, I probably should have been carrying it. As a precaution.”

  “Hindsight,” Sarah told her. “Although from what you described, I doubt you would have whipped it out just because you thought there was a drunken teenager in need of assistance. So the outcome likely would have been the same.”

  “You’re being logical,” Allie said, exasperated. “How am I supposed to wallow in self-loathing and misery when you use reason like that?”

  “Okay, you’re an idiot, and your hair looks like you had a run-in with a hedge trimmer, bless your heart. Feel better?”

  Allie grinned. “I do, actually. At least you’re not treating me like I’m made of crystal.”

  “Cut the menfolk some slack,” Sarah said, draining her iced tea. “They’re slaves to their DNA. Also, there are probably about a thousand women right now who’d gladly trade places with you if it meant having Mason Armitage at their beck and call.”

  “I don’t want him to… hover just because he feels sorry for me.”

  Sarah’s brows shut up to her hairline. “You can’t be serious with that. The man hovers because he’s smitten. If he were any more into you it would require a surgical procedure to pry you apart.”

  Allie flushed, but looked uncertain. “I don’t know about that.”

  “Okay. Maybe you haven’t come quite as far as I thought.”

  She turned her head on the pillow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means, my dear, that you need to stop selling yourself short. Now, I know the doctor cleared you, but if you don’t feel up to it tomorrow, go ahead and stay home. Tommy is working out surprisingly well in the temporary employee department.”

  “I’m amazed that he doesn’t spend all his time asking Rainey to show him where we keep the extra straws in the supply closet.”

  “Give the boy some credit. Straws are too obvious. He asked her about the beverage sleeves.”

  Allie laughed, and Sarah dropped a kiss onto her bruised forehead, covering the spurt of anxiety she felt whenever she saw it, with a playful smacking sound. The last thing Allie needed right now was to know how very much Sarah worried.

  “Glad to see you feeling better.”

  “Thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  WHEN Sarah had gone, Allie tossed off the blanket that Josie insisted on covering her with, and considered what she’d said. Was she being too hard on herself?

  Probably. It was an old habit of hers, being her own harshest critic, overthinking every action she took, and apparently she’d been backsliding in that regard.

  Okay. Time to pull herself back together. Sarah was right – it didn’t mean that she was weak or needy because she hadn’t been able to get herself out of the mausoleum. Or because she’d clung to Mason like lichen on rock when he’d released her from it. She’d just been mugged, for heaven’s sake. And she had a concussion. Totally understandable.

  What wasn’t so understandable was the way she’d been treating Mason. Ever since he’d come back to Sweetwater, he’d been… well, he’d been like that rock she’d used for her mental metaphor earlier, hadn’t he?

  Solid. There.

  And yet she’d been maintaining an emotional – and physical – distance because somewhere in her head she’d gotten the idea that his interest in her was a fluke. That he wasn’t rock material, and therefore that she should cull any lichen-like tendencies on her part.

  What kind of moron was she?

  It was time for that nonsense to stop.

  She’d reschedule their date, that’s what she’d do. It was about time she made some moves in this… relationship. Because whatever happened, she and Mason did have a relationship. If nothing else, they were certainly friends. Hadn’t he proven himself in that regard?

  Feeling proactive, Allie lifted her new phone from the coffee table. Will had brought it to her after his people had thoroughly searched the cemetery and the surrounding area in case the mugger had ditched her purse after he’d pilfered the contents, but they’d come up empty-handed. It gave her the creeps to think about someone reading her text messages, looking through her contact list and perhaps ogling her photos. But if the same person was responsible for tampering with her car and then stealing her keys – Alan’s theory, with which most of her friends and family seemed to concur – then it was likely that they knew a number of things about her already.

  Like where she worked. Where she lived – in an antebellum plantation filled with a variety of antiques and other valuables. Of course they should also be aware of the fact that her brother was the police chief, and as such would be extremely proactive about changing the locks and upgrading the security system. Not to mention that he was sharpening the proverbial spike on which he planned to put the culprit’s head.

  Because that mental image made her grimace, Allie returned her attention to her new phone. Thinking about Mason was far more pleasant. She might have been frightened and in pain the other evening, but it hadn’t entirely escaped her notice that he’d looked exceptionally attractive dressed for dinner. Or that while the circumstances were less than ideal, it wasn’t a chore to be carried in his arms.

  She brought up her contact list just as the alarm panel let out a high-pitched beep to signal that the door behind her had opened.

  “Let me guess. You forgot to tell me that these yoga pants make my butt look fat.”

  “Not quite.”

  At the sound of the deep voice, Allie’s head whipped around. Pain stabbed through her temple with the sudden movement, and she pressed against it with her hand.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “Wesley.” Emotions tangled inside her, but outrage got the upper hand. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  He shut the door behind him, and then pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. “I wanted to see for myself that you were okay.”

  Oh, that was rich. “And that’s why you’re sneaking in the back door, trying to scare me to death?”

  “I figured I wouldn’t get over the threshold if I came to the front.”

  That was true enough. Her brothers and Josie – who’d moved back in temporarily – would have run him off, possibly at gunpoint.

  “Well, I’m fine.” No thanks to him. “You can leave now.”

  Frustration contorted his mouth, but then it set in lines of determination. He came fully into the room, helped himself to a seat catty-corner to her position on the couch. “I want to talk about… what you said the other night.”

  Her stomach twisted, but her words remained cool. “I believe you’ve already delivered your commentary on that issue.”

  “What? If you’re talking about pressing charges against that idiot actor, I –”

  “I’m talking,” Allie said, disbelief causing her voice to rise “about the flowers.”

  “Flowers?” Wesley honestly looked confused. He shouldn’t cast stones against acting, considering he was doing a damn fine job.

  “You’re not seriously going to sit there and pretend that you don’t know what I’m talking about, are you?” Disbelief gave way to anger. “You son of a bitch.”

  “Whoa. Allie.” He raised his hands in a gesture of peace. “I don’t know what flowers you’re referring to, or why they seem to have upset you so much, but whatever it is, I promise you, I had nothing to do with it. I just…” and here he swallowed, appearing genuinely upset. “I just wanted to ask you. About what you said. Is it… was it…” He rubbed his hand over his face. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

  Anger fled, leaving Allie feeling boneless. She slumped into the cushions. “You really didn’t send the flowers?”

  “What flowers?” Wesley all but shouted.

  Allie grimaced and clutched her head.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, immediately contrite. “I –”

/>   “Just what,” came a coolly furious voice from the doorway to the kitchen “the hell, are you doing here?”

  Wesley sat up straight as he met Will’s icy gaze. “This is between Allison and me, Will. I’d appreciate it if you’d mind your own business.”

  “Someone coming into my home uninvited, harassing my sister – seems to me that falls well within the realm of what constitutes my business.”

  “Will, please.” Allie took a deep breath. “I appreciate it, but I’d like for you to let me handle this.”

  His gaze shifted toward her. “You’re sure?” he said after a moment.

  “I’m sure.”

  Reluctantly, Will nodded. “Okay. But I’ll be in the other room if you need me.”

  When he’d left, Allie turned her attention back to Wesley, who looked a little pale, but resolute. “You really didn’t send those flowers.”

  It wasn’t exactly a question, but he answered anyway. “I haven’t sent flowers to you – or anyone else for that matter – for longer than I care to remember.”

  Allie frowned, unsure as to whether this development made her feel better or worse. “Someone had a bouquet delivered the other day. After I told you. The card – it said congratulations.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “It had a… teddy bear on it.”

  “A teddy…” Shock replaced the confusion on his face. “Jesus, Allie. And you thought I’d done that?”

  “I thought… I thought you’d sent them as a way to get back at me.”

  “I see.” His voice was stony. “And I also see what you think of me.”

  “Can you blame me?”

  He held her gaze for several moments. “Maybe not,” he said quietly. He glanced toward the doorway, clearly uneasy with Will’s lingering presence. He stood and after hesitating, awkwardly took her hand. “Whatever else you may think, I hope you believe me when I tell you that I’m sorry. I, well, I’m just really very sorry. About everything.”

  Allie searched his eyes. “I believe you. But now, I’d like for you to leave.”

  He nodded. “I guess it would be pointless for me to ask if I could see you again.”

  “Good guess.”

  “Well then.” He squeezed her hand. “Take care, Allie.”

  When he’d gone, Will made another appearance in the doorway. “If you tell me it’s none of my business, I’ll understand. Or I’ll try to, at any rate. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

  Allie searched her jumbled emotions, attempted to figure out which of them held the upper hand. For the first time in a long time it wasn’t grief, or anxiety, or depression. She felt… a sense of closure, she guessed, although she didn’t think that certain chapters of your life were ever fully closed.

  “I’m okay.” However, if Wesley had been telling the truth – and Allie’s gut told her that he’d been honest – that put the bouquet she’d received in an entirely different light.

  A light, Allie admitted, that was disquieting, to say the least.

  She glanced at her brother. Another rock, she admitted. And she could use one just now.

  Squaring her shoulders, Allie nodded toward the chair so recently vacated by Wesley. “I’m okay,” she repeated. “But I’d like you to have a seat. There’s something I need to tell you.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “SOMETHING told me I might find you here.”

  Mason turned – as much as possible, anyway – from his position on the ladder. Squinting into the shadows, he made out a petite, dark-haired form coming down the center aisle.

  “Allison.” Surprise and lingering concern had him climbing down from the ladder, crossing the stage. “I didn’t expect to see you until Saturday.” When she’d rescheduled their date.

  “I know.” She seemed to hesitate, then looked up and met his eyes. “I didn’t want to wait. I’ve done too much of that already. I know you’re helping Bran with the lighting issue, but… could we talk?”

  This sounded serious. “You’re not about to give me the conversational equivalent of a Dear John, are you?”

  She smiled. “No.”

  “Then absolutely.” Mason hopped off the stage. He studied her face, pleased to note that she looked alert and well-rested. He’d been worried that she’d returned to work too early, but apparently she’d suffered no ill effects. “Feeling better?”

  “Much. I probably won’t be running any marathons soon, but I’m cleared for all, um, normal activities.”

  The way she said normal activities made Mason purse his lips. “Would it be vastly inappropriate of me to read something into that?”

  “I was kind of hoping that you would, so that I wouldn’t actually have to say it.”

  Mason stared. And stared some more. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d been rendered speechless.

  His mind might not be able to quite grasp this rather sudden change in fortune, but his body was completely on board. Since his palms itched to grab, he clasped them behind his back. “Shall we discuss this further? Someplace with a bit more privacy, perhaps?”

  “Will drove me over here, and I’m afraid that getting past him might be a tricky proposition. He’s…” her smile faded a little. “He’s being pretty protective right now.”

  “Which is completely understandable.” And feeling like a bit of a cad for wanting to rush Allison off toward the nearest horizontal surface, considering what she’d just been through, Mason took her hand. “Shall we have a seat?”

  They sat next to each other in the front row.

  “So,” Allie said after a beat of fairly charged silence. “I…” She sighed, and studied their joined hands. “You’re going to have to forgive me, because I suck at this, completely. Not just the seduction part, but relationships in general. Letting people in. I have… walls, I guess. A protective barrier. It’s hard for me to take it down.”

  Mason considered that. “Do you think that you’re the only one who sometimes feels the need to hide?”

  “Of course not.” She glanced up at him. “It’s just that we’re so different, you and I, and I want you to understand where I’m coming from. Before we go any farther.”

  “Different?”

  “Oh come on. Just look at you. You’re… golden.” Here she made a sort of gesture with her hands, indicating, he gathered, some sort of glow.

  “Is that supposed to be my aura? Or perhaps an undiagnosed case of radioactive poisoning.”

  “You’re making fun of me?”

  “When you say rubbish like that, yes.” Before the storm clouds gathering behind her eyes could break, Mason snatched her hand back. “Before you go haring off,” he brushed his lips over her knuckles. “Allow me to tell you a story.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I’m all ears.”

  “And rather adorable with steam coming out of them.”

  “You’re pushing your luck,” she told him.

  “A rather unfortunate habit of mine. May I continue?”

  The look she gave him was sour, but she gestured for him to go ahead.

  “You asked me once how I’d come to be interested in acting. And I’d planned, originally, to woo you with my tale of woe – amusingly rendered, of course – over dinner tomorrow, but… the truth is that I stuttered as a child. Horribly. So horribly that I feared social discourse as some people fear snakes or falling from a great height or being murdered by homicidal clowns. It went beyond a rational, understandable aversion and became a sort of phobia. I stopped speaking, almost entirely. I didn’t want to go to school, because that meant interaction with teachers and abuse from my peers. My parents, understandably, grew desperate.”

  “That must have been awful for you.”

  He glanced over. “It wasn’t a day at the park. But my parents eventually found a program – a therapeutic program for children with severe speech impairments. It combined therapy with various activities, theater among them. It was…” he didn’t know quite how to describe the ch
anges the experience had wrought in himself. “Magic, I guess. On stage, I could be anyone. Anything. And I could make other people believe it as well.” He looked at the empty stage, saw the endless possibility which had so entranced him. “I grew comfortable there, behind the façade of those other people. They were so much more interesting, you see.”

  “You’re saying that the characters you play… they’re your walls.”

  He turned his head, looked into her thoughtful blue eyes. “We’re not so different, you and I. The glow you described… it’s not me, Allison. Not really. That’s just what people see when they can’t – or won’t – look past the façade. But last year, when I came here with Tucker… you spoke to me with no knowledge of whom or what I was. You treated me as a friend. And I felt like for the first time in, well, too long for me to remember, a woman was actually seeing me. Mason. It was both terrifying and liberating.”

  They looked at each other for several moments, long moments in which Mason’s palms began to sweat again while he waited for Allison to laugh at his poor-little-celebrity routine.

  But she leaned forward, kissed him sweetly on the lips. “You’re wrong,” she said. “You are golden. And it has nothing whatsoever to do with either your appearance or your career.”

  “If you keep looking at me like that,” he murmured “I’m afraid a certain normal activity will commence in the region of my groin.”