by Kat Martin
“Yeah.”
“I didn't see you there.”
“I was standing at the back. I can slip out easier that way.”
He walked farther into the living room, took a look at the plants she had placed on tables in front of the windows, the flowered, fringed throws she had tossed over the old sofa and chairs, the water-colors she had bought at a flea market in Chicago, had framed, and hung on the walls.
“I knew you'd be good at this kind of thing ... decorating a place, making it feel like home.”
“You think so?”
“Yeah.” He looked over at a photo of the lake she had taken last winter in Chicago. “Nice picture. You take it?”
She nodded. “I was just going over the ones I took out at the lake. The colors were so pretty that day.... I thought I might have a couple of them blown up and framed.” She glanced down, a little embarrassed. “It's kind of a hobby of mine.”
Joe started walking toward the table, where she had set the photos out to study them and Syl panicked. He would find the photos she had taken of him! Dear Lord, what would he think?
“Some of these are really nice,” he said.
“Thanks.” She hurriedly reached out to scoop them up but it was already too late.
Joe held up a photo of him and Teddy. “I didn't know you took this. Any chance I could get a copy?”
“Sure." She reached for them again but before she could reach them, he plucked up the one she had taken of him. It was a photo of Joe in profile, his incredible blue eyes and solid jaw, his mouth slightly curved in a smile as he looked down at Teddy, his black hair ruffled by the wind. Joe studied it as if he couldn't quite believe his eyes.
He held up the photo. “Why, Syl?”
She shrugged, though she hardly felt nonchalant. “I like taking pictures. You make a good subject.”
“That's all?”
“I like looking at you. I always have.”
His eyes ran over her in that hot way that made her feel so sexy. “I like looking at you, too.” He took her hand. “Mind if we sit down?”
“No, of course not. I'm just... I'm not thinking very clearly. I was — you know ... surprised to see you here.”
“I'm surprised to be here. Well, not exactly surprised. I've been thinking about coming over for a while. I thought maybe we could talk a little more, see if we can find a way to get past the hurt and pain, get beyond the past… somehow.”
As she stared into his handsome face, an ache rose up inside her. “Do you think we ever really could?”
“Maybe. A lot has happened in both of our lives. Still, when I see you — I can't stop thinking of you, Syl.”
Her throat closed up. “I think of you, too, Joe.” He led her over to the sofa and both of them sat down. She tried not to think how good it was to have him sitting there beside her. “How's Teddy?” she asked.
Joe shook his head. “He's not taking this very well. They've got some kind of child psychiatrist talking to him. At the end of the week, they're placing him in what they call an emergency home. He'll be there until they can find him a permanent placement.”
“I feel so sorry for him. I stopped by to see him a couple of times. He's so completely alone.”
“What he needs is someone who will love him.” Joe raked a hand through his wavy black hair. “I've put in an application to become his foster parent but I don't think there's a snowball's chance in hell they'll let me have him. They do a full FBI investigation of anyone who's interested in providing him a home.”
“I'm sorry, Joe. I know how much you like kids. I could tell how much you cared for Teddy.”
“The system's so screwed up. They'd rather give Teddy to people more interested in the money they'll get for raising him than to someone who would love him and give him a really good home.”
“That doesn't always happen.”
He sighed. “No, I guess not.” He looked so tense, so worried. And weary. Bone weary. For the first time, Syl realized how much Joe had come to love the little boy.
“You want some coffee or something?”
“I'm fine.” He caught her hand a second time. His fingers were calloused, yet his touch was gentle. “I'd rather you just sat here and kept me company. Once, you were my best friend in the world. I could use a friend right now.”
Something soft swelled inside her. It was followed by a tremor of uncertainty. Surely he wasn’t thinking they could pick up where they had left off.
“Joe...”
“Take it easy. I'm not trying to push you into anything. We don't even know each other anymore.”
She relaxed a little. “No, we don't.”
“So, how about I take you out to dinner tonight and we make a stab at understanding the people we've become?”
She bit her lip, told herself to say no. She couldn't risk those kinds of feelings again, couldn't survive the pain if it didn't work out. Instead, she found herself nodding, saying, “Okay. What time?”
“I'm going by to see Teddy after work. I'll come get you after that... say about six-thirty?”
“Six-thirty sounds great.”
But as she watched him rise from the sofa, a sense of panic pressed down on her chest. What he'd said was true. They didn't really know each other anymore. Maybe Joe wanted some sort of revenge for the betrayal she had dealt him and the years he had lost. Maybe he would make her fall in love with him again and then leave her.
The panic expanded into fear, tightening as he walked to the door. Then he turned and smiled down at her in that soft way he used to but hadn't since her return.
“I'll see you tonight,” he said.
And Syl was more afraid than she had ever been before.
8
October ended cold and November rushed in with a vengeance. Floyd stood warming his hands over the old pot-bellied stove in his workshop. The wind was blowing outside like ‘ol Billie hell and the squat iron stove couldn't seem to throw off enough heat. He could use a hot cup of tea, he thought, and couldn't shake the image of Doris looking so pretty, bringing a steaming mug out to him.
Funny... that afternoon had popped into his head a dozen times and he couldn't quite figure out why.
“Mr. Culver?”
It was little Teddy Sparks. Poor kid was staying in some kind of temporary foster home until they could find him a permanent placement. Joe Dixon had made an application, Sylvia had said, but with his record, everyone put the odds against him. Too bad, that Joe had turned his life around, become an upstanding citizen and an asset to the community. And it was clear he loved the boy.
“Come on in, Teddy.”
A couple of times a week, Teddy's foster mother dropped him off to spend a couple of hours with his grandmother. The visitation had been ordered by the court since there was a lady at Lottie's now to watch out for both of them but Floyd wasn't sure how long it was going to last.
Lottie's memory was failing fast now and Floyd wondered if she actually even recognized the boy. Teddy usually only stayed an hour or so, then came over to see Floyd in the shop before his foster mother, a sour old gal named Elmira Mack who seemed older than she really was, picked him up.
“Hey, slugger, how you doin'?”
“Doin' okay. Gramma's not so good, though. She doesn't like having that lady in her house.” He smiled. “She's always glad to see me, though.”
“I'll bet she is.”
“The lady, Mrs. Williams, she made us some chocolate-chip cookies, and we ate 'em with a glass of milk.”
“That's good, Teddy.” Floyd figured maybe Lottie was just glad for the company, even if she wasn't sure who the boy was.
Floyd turned back to the birdhouse he was sanding and Teddy walked over to watch. “I wanna buy one of those for Miss Winters. I want to give it to her for Christmas.”
“I thought you were saving your money to buy that clock for your grandma.”
“I already got enough for that. Joe said he'd go down and pick it up for me, keep it for me till Christmas.�
��
Floyd smiled, liking the boy, thinking maybe he and Doris ought to take him. But damned, even if they passed muster, he was just too old to raise an eight-year-old kid. “So, which birdhouse you want?”
There was a shelf of them ready for delivery to the store. Each one was different, with a separate personality, or so it seemed to Floyd, which was why he enjoyed making them so much.
Teddy looked each one over with the scrutiny of a real horse trader. “I’ll take that one up there.” He pointed to the third house over.
“This one here?” Floyd set the birdhouse down on the table and Teddy examined it closely.
“It looks a lot like Joe's house.”
“Ya think so?”
Teddy grinned. “I like the way this little branch pokes out for the birds to sit on.”
“Yeah, so do I.”
Teddy ran a finger over the peak of the roof. “There's only one thing wrong with these houses.”
Floyd frowned. “Yeah? What's that?”
“They're all just brown.”
“They're made out of wood; what other color would they be?”
Teddy shrugged his thin shoulders. “You could paint 'em, make 'em all different colors. I bet Mrs. Culver could make 'em look real nice.”
Floyd just grunted. “Well, this one's brown. You want it or not?”
Teddy nodded.
“You gonna take it with you or you want I should set it over here until it's closer to Christmas?”
Teddy's enthusiasm slipped away. “I don't have any place to keep it. I'd better leave it here.”
“No problem.”
Teddy pulled out a small wad of crumpled-up one-dollar bills and paid for the birdhouse. Floyd cut the price to the cost of the wood but didn't let on. He wrote Teddy a receipt for the money.
“Thanks, Mr. Culver.’
“You're welcome, Teddy.”
“Yoo-hoooo! Teddy, are you out here?”
“I'm here, Mrs. Culver!” The little boy raced off to where Doris stood in the open doorway. She looked pretty today, Floyd noticed. She'd begun to wear her hair loose once in a while, clipped back on the sides like she used to when they had first met.
A funny little stirring pulled low in his belly. He almost didn't recognize it. He chuckled. He and Doris hadn't shared a bed in years.
He thought how much he'd enjoyed the tea she had brought him, how, over the years, he had missed her soft, female chatter as they worked, how it always used to make him smile.
Floyd shook his head, thinking what a pitiful old fool he was to dream of the way it used to be.
Joe had been taking Syl out a couple of nights a week since that Sunday in late October. At first, they carefully skirted any subject that had to do with the past and kept the conversation mostly in the present. Joe talked a lot about Teddy and how he was more and more determined to become the boy's foster father.
“I've hired a lawyer,” he said as they drove toward the Dreyerville High School stadium. He was taking her to the Friday night Panthers' football game, the last one of the season. “Guy named Max Green. He's doing all the paperwork. He can't guarantee anything, of course, considering my record, but he thinks it's worth a try.”
“I think hiring a lawyer's a good idea. Teddy's a wonderful little boy and the two of you are perfect for each other. If there's any way to make it happen, you should try. And if there's anything I can do to help, you know I will.”
Something moved across his features but he kept his eyes straight ahead, firmly fixed on the road. “Thanks.” He gave her a smile. “I hope you still like football.”
They were meeting Charlie Murdock, Joe's best friend, and Charlie's wife, Betty Ann, at the stadium. Syl had gone to school with Betty Ann and was looking forward to seeing her again after so many years.
“I used to be a real fan,” Syl said, “back when you were playing.” Both of them had gone to Dreyerville High, though Joe was older. He'd been the Panthers' star quarterback in his junior and senior years.
“You never knew who I was,” she said with a smile, “but I knew you. All the girls were in love with you.”
Joe's eyes cut to hers. “How about you?”
Syl laughed. “Not then. I thought you were stuck-up and conceited. I didn't get hooked on you until we were in college.” She fiddled with the hem of the red sweater she was wearing with a pair of black slacks—red and black, Panther colors. “You were amazing, Joe. I remember watching you run down the field. Nothing could stop you.”
He chuckled. “Oh yeah? Seems to me like one of those big Warthog linebackers at the homecoming game stopped me cold. I had to be carried off the field.”
Syl shivered. “I was so afraid when that happened,” she said, silently remembering how she had worried that he might have been killed. She didn't tell him this now but merely grinned at him. “Because I wasn't sure we could win the game without you.”
His chest rumbled with laughter. “Cold-hearted wench.” Joe reached over and caught her hand, brought it to his lips. She felt the tingle all the way to her toes. “We did win, though, didn't we?” he asked.
“Because you came back on the field. Are you sorry you didn't go on playing? I know you dropped out not long after you started at Michigan. If you'd kept playing, you probably would have been drafted. You could have played professional ball.”
Joe shook his head. “I'm not sorry ... not about football. It's a game. I love watching but I like what I'm doing now better. I like working for myself, being my own boss, setting my own goals.”
“You always had such drive, so much energy. You wanted to make something of yourself... and you wanted a family.”
He cast her a sideways glance. “I pretty much gave up that idea . . . until lately.”
Syl gasped as Joe sharply turned the wheel and pulled the car over to the side of the road. “I hate to do this but I just can't wait any longer. Do you know how hard it's been for me not to kiss you?”
He popped his seatbelt and, before she could say a word, slid a hand behind her neck, pulled her toward him, and covered her mouth with his. The past came rushing back, the texture of his lips, the way they seemed to meld so perfectly with hers, the taste of him, the familiar scent of his cologne. The kiss wasn't soft and sweet. It was deep and burning, the kiss of a man who knew what he wanted.
“Nothing's changed for me, Syl,” he said, kissing the side of her neck. “I thought it had but I was wrong. I still want you. I still need you. I'm trying to be patient, to give us both time to see where this leads, but for me, I already know.”
He kissed her again, softer this time, and she let him. Her insides were heating up, melting and a sweet yearning bloomed in her chest.
“Let's skip the football game,” he whispered between soft, sensual kisses. “We were kids before. We didn't know what we were doing. We're adults now. We both have wants and needs. Let me make love to you, Syl.”
Her breathing stalled. She eased back, pressed her trembling hands against his chest, just hard enough to make him move away. Her heart was hammering, trying to pound its way through her ribs. “I—I'm not ready for that, Joe.”
There must have been something in her voice because he started frowning. “It isn't because of the cancer? Something that happened to you back then?”
“No, I... it isn't that.” She looked up at him, tried to think if she should say it, decided that she might as well. “It's been years, Joe. If the right man had come along, it would have happened but first I was sick, and then I was busy with my education, and then Aunt Bess fell ill. The timing was just never right and now ... well, I'm not quite ready to jump back in.”
Joe was studying her in a different way than he had before, his eyes moving over her face. “Are you telling me ... are you saying I'm it? I'm the only guy you've been with?”
She glanced away, embarrassed and feeling the way she had when she was a gawky young girl the guys always seemed to overlook. “I didn't plan it that way. Time jus
t sort of slipped past.”
Joe leaned toward her, framed her face between his big hands, bent his head, and very softly kissed her. “God, I’m crazy about you. And I’m scared, Syl. Scared to death.”
She pressed a kiss on his lips. “I’m scared, too, Joe.”
On a shaky breath, she sat back in her seat, her heart still thumping wildly. “We'd better get going. Charlie and Betty Ann will be waiting. And we don't want to miss the kickoff.'”
“No,” Joe said softly, his beautiful blue eyes on her face. “We wouldn't want to miss the kickoff.”
9
It was another cold day, the temperature down in the thirties, an icy wind blowing through the barren trees. Floyd rubbed his hands together as he shoved open the door and stepped inside the back porch. He could smell something cooking in the kitchen, stew, he figured as he inhaled the succulent aroma. Doris made really good stew.
He moved toward the door leading into the kitchen, spotted her behind the wooden table, which was protected by sheets of newspaper. All her little paint pots sat on top: red, green, yellow, pink, every color he could think of. The entire house was filled with decorated plates and knickknacks and those damned little figurines she gave away as presents no one really wanted.
Too damned bad she couldn't sell them. Maybe they'd have a little more room in the house.
“Floyd!” She turned, for the first time realizing he stood in the doorway. “I didn't hear you come in. I guess my mind was busy working.” She set her brush down in front of the useless little plate she was painting, wiped her hands on the apron tied over her jeans, and came toward him.
“Are you hungry? I've got a pot of stew on the stove. I thought I'd make some biscuits to go with it and we'd have it for supper, but there's plenty if—”
“I'm not hungry ... not yet.” He took the little wooden birdhouse he carried beneath his arm, walked over, and set it on the table.
“Teddy Sparks bought this. Wants to give it to Syl for Christmas.”
“Well, isn't that nice. I hope you didn't charge him much for it.”
