A Sweet Life-kindle

by Andre, Bella

  “Which is all the more reason we’ll have to go out of town. Somewhere far away.”

  “How far?”

  “California, at least. Isn’t California the sex capital of the world?”

  “That’ll be expensive. What’s wrong with Boise?”

  “It’s only a two-hour drive from here!”

  “Exactly. It would save us plane fare, and it’d be just as good as going halfway across the country. Big-city valley people aren’t interested in small up-country towns like ours. What are the odds of running into Joe Schmoe Donor from Boise out here in Dundee?”

  Joe Schmoe Donor? Delaney liked the sound of that. Joe Schmoe created a generic, anonymous image, and donor carried with it the connotation of something freely given. She was only looking for a donor. Maybe she could do this, after all.

  “We don’t get Boise people up here very often,” she mused.

  “My point exactly. Boise is plenty far away. And even if you do run into your man later, here or anywhere else, he’ll be none the wiser.”

  “He might suspect if I’m pregnant at the time.”

  “Why would he? Why would he assume he’s the only one you’ve slept with? Heck, for all he knows you might’ve gotten married.”

  “O-ka-ay,” Delaney said, drawing the word out and feeling more eager to trust Rebecca on this than she probably should. “I’ll buy that.”

  “Good. So, are we going to do it?”

  A gust of cold air and a few flakes of snow blew into the Honky Tonk along with Billy Joe and Bobby West. Although they were brothers, they didn’t look much alike. Bobby was wiry and thin; Billy Joe was almost as big as a house. Like Rebecca, Delaney had known them since grade school. She’d grown up with the men in this town and doubted she’d suddenly find herself wildly attracted to one of them. If she waited for love to strike, she could spend the next fifty years alone.

  “Okay,” she said at last, straightening her spine. “We’re going to do it.”

  “We are?” Rebecca’s brows shot up. “Definitely.”

  Her friend looked skeptical. “I don’t believe you.”

  “Why? I can break the rules when I want to.” Delaney nervously tucked her shoulder-length brown hair behind her ears. “I’ve just never wanted to before.”

  “Then, let’s go.” Rebecca stood, gathered her cigarettes and lighter and slung her purse over her shoulder.

  “Tonight?” Delaney squeaked, terror seizing her heart and nearly sending her into cardiac arrest.

  “Why not?”

  “You haven’t finished your drink.”

  “Considering our agenda, I think I’d better leave the rest, don’t you?”

  She started toward the door, but Delaney called her back. “Wait! I’m— I—I just need a couple of days to get used to the idea,” she managed to say. “And...and...you talked about timing.”

  Rebecca propped one hand on her hip. “The timing is good. I know because we’ve been on the same cycle for the past few months.”

  “But—”

  “That’s what I thought,” she said with an exaggerated sigh. Piling her things on the table, she scraped her chair across the wooden floor and sat down again.

  “What?” Delaney demanded.

  “You’re not going to go through with this. It’s just a dream.”

  “I’ll do it!”

  “No, you won’t. We grew up two houses from each other. I’ve known you since I was seven, and you’ve never done anything wrong in your life. You’re like...you’re like Abraham Lincoln. Didn’t he walk some ungodly distance to return a penny? The store clerk probably thought he was an idiot.”

  “I wouldn’t walk very far to return a penny. I’d just leave an extra one the next time I was in.”

  Rebecca smacked the tabletop. “Ugh! See what I mean?”

  The jukebox was playing one of Garth Brooks’s older hits as Billy Joe and Bobby West ambled over. Standing at the table dressed entirely in denim and wearing a pair of silly good ’ol boy grins, they tipped their black felt cowboy hats when Delaney and Rebecca looked up, then dragged over two chairs from the next table.

  “Howdy, ladies.”

  Delaney couldn’t help it; she frowned when they sat down. She could spend the rest of her life throwing darts and playing pool with Billy Joe and Bobby, or she could go to Boise and do something about getting what she wanted most.

  Summoning all her courage, she stood. “We were just leaving, boys.”

  They blinked at her in surprise—and so did Rebecca. “Aw, come on,” Billy Joe said. “We just got here.”

  “Are we going where I think we’re going?” Rebecca asked uncertainly.

  Delaney nodded, then prayed she wouldn’t lose her nerve. One night. It would only take one man and one night, she told herself.

  But there was another small problem. Delaney had stretched the truth a bit when it came to her sexual experience. When Booker Robinson had tried to get down her pants, she’d slugged him—probably the only aggressive act of her life. He’d been embarrassed about the black eye and had tried to take revenge by bragging that he’d gotten more than he had. Delaney hadn’t bothered to contradict him. It helped her seem less different from the other girls at school, less alone. And on prom night, Tim Downey had gotten so drunk he’d passed out before he so much as kissed her good-night. She’d had to drive him home.

  In fact, Delaney was still very much a virgin.

  Chapter Two

  CONNER ARMSTRONG KNEW what fun was. He’d spent a good portion of his thirty-one years trying to destroy himself with good old-fashioned reckless living, but he doubted he was going to find any excitement here. That, of course, was why the old man had sent him to Boise. Clive Armstrong was trying to teach him a lesson, trying to force the illegitimate son of his adopted daughter to straighten up at last—and Conner figured the only way his grandfather thought he’d be successful was to remove all temptation.

  He glanced around the small hotel bar, which was nearly empty, and frowned, figuring it just might work.

  Hell, who was he kidding? It had to work. Conner had run out of second chances, and although he’d never admit it to Clive or anyone else, he secretly embraced the challenge his grandfather had placed before him. He was ready to grow up, deal with the past, move on. He’d been ready for some time, but old habits died hard.

  A work-roughened man with big hands and a whiskery jaw came in through the street entrance. Shaking off the snow clinging to his hat and clothes, he settled at the bar next to Conner, then nodded. “You new in town?”

  He was wearing a dirty pair of Wranglers, a red flannel shirt over long johns, and no coat. Because of his ruddy appearance and seeming indifference to the cold, Conner took him for a local.

  “What gave me away?” Conner asked.

  His new friend ordered a beer and pushed his cowboy hat back on his head. “You look like a city fella.”

  Shrewd dark eyes flicked over Conner’s turtleneck sweater, his jeans, faded but clean, and his pristine leather hiking boots. “You come up to go skiing?”

  “No.” Conner considered telling him what he’d really come to Idaho to do, then decided against it. He hardly looked the type, and didn’t want to get laughed out of town on his first night.

  “Where ya from?”

  “Napa Valley wine country.”

  “Where?”

  For a moment, Conner had forgotten that he’d been relegated to the American equivalent of Siberia. “California,” he said.

  “That explains it.”

  “What?”

  “You look like a Californian. Must be the tan.”

  Conner didn’t have California to thank for the tan; he had his old UC Berkeley buddies, who’d just accompanied him to the Caribbean. But he wasn’t too grateful, because he probably had his affiliation with those same people to thank for the lifestyle that had brought him to this point.

  The cowboy downed half his beer, then wiped his foam mustache on his sl
eeve. “How long’re you staying?”

  “That depends on how long I last.”

  He chuckled. “Don’t let the snow scare ya away.”

  Conner wasn’t worried about the weather, miserable though it was. His family—his mother’s adopted family— owned a three-million-dollar condo in Tahoe, so he’d been exposed to cold and snow, at least on occasion. It was the boredom he feared in Idaho, the lack of contact with the real world. From what he remembered, there weren’t many people where he was going. In Dundee most folks were ranchers. They went to bed early, got up early, worked hard and rolled up the sidewalks on Sundays. How was he going to fit in there? How was he going to succeed?

  His uncles, of course, were hoping, betting, he wouldn’t. “What do you do?” Conner asked to keep the conversation going.

  The man told the bartender to bring him some chips and salsa. “I’ve done just about everything,” he said. “Right now, I work for the county driving a plow.”

  Snow removal. That sounded exciting. Maybe he’d underestimated this place, Conner thought sarcastically.

  “What about you?” his friend asked.

  “I’m a dissolute heir to a great fortune,” Conner told him, making himself into the joke he thought he was, even though he doubted he’d ever inherit a dime. His multimillionaire grandfather had no reason to give him anything— not when he had three sons and several legitimate grandchildren.

  “A disso— what?” the man asked. “A bum,” Conner supplied.

  The other man shrugged. “Least you’re honest.”

  That was the one thing Conner had always been—painfully honest. But he didn’t see it as a virtue. If only he could hide from the truth as well as his mother did, pretend the past had never occurred...

  But he couldn’t dwell on Vivian or Clive or anyone else. Idaho was a test to see if he really was the no-good, lazy individual his uncles claimed him to be. Could he beat his genetic legacy? Compete with the great Armstrongs? Only time would tell.

  His cowboy friend started on the basket of chips, and Conner ordered another beer. He was almost finished with it and thinking about heading up to his room to see if hotels in Boise had Pay-Per-View, when the street door behind him opened again.

  “Let’s go somewhere else,” a woman murmured. “There’s hardly anyone here.”

  “It’s getting late and it’s storming. There’s not going to be a big crowd anywhere,” another female voice replied, this one more clearly. “Besides, hotel bars might not be the busiest in town, but you won’t have to go anywhere to rent a room if you happen to get lucky.”

  Get lucky? Conner turned to see a tall redhead with a petite brunette. The redhead was saying something about the clientele of a hotel being transient and how perfect that was, but her words fell off the moment she noticed him.

  “Omigod, there he is!” she cried.

  Conner stiffened in surprise, wondering if the redhead thought she knew him from somewhere. Not very likely, he decided. He would have remembered her. This woman wasn’t exactly the type to get lost in a crowd. Nearly six feet tall and bone-thin, she was dressed in a floor-length, fake leopard-skin coat, wore bright red lipstick, nail polish and high heels and had dyed her hair to match. She was mildly attractive despite all the fashion handicaps, but she certainly didn’t look like anything he’d expected to find in Idaho.

  She immediately started prying off the brunette’s coat. Though the brunette obviously didn’t want to relinquish it, she finally let go, probably hoping to save herself the humiliation of an all-out brawl.

  At that point, Conner turned away. The redhead was sending him overtly interested looks, and he didn’t want to be singled out by a woman who reminded him so much of Cruella De Vil. He had only one night in Boise, which made it pretty pointless to socialize. And he’d long since grown bored with easy women.

  “I think someone’s got her eye on you,” his neighbor said with a chortle.

  Conner shook his head and lifted his glass. “I’m not interested,” he said, but then he caught a good look at the brunette in the mirror behind the bar and wasn’t so sure. She had wide blue eyes, creamy white skin, a slightly upturned nose and a full bottom lip. Except for her eyes, which were striking because they were so light against the contrast of her dark hair, she wasn’t stunningly attractive. But there was something about her that was wholesome, almost sweet, and it certainly had nothing to do with her dress.

  Conner sucked air through his teeth in a silent whistle as he let his eyes wander lower. Dresses like that should be outlawed, he decided, noting that she’d already turned every male head in the place, including the cowboy’s. Black, short and clingy, the skimpy number she had on left little to the imagination, and this woman definitely had the figure to pull it off. Conner couldn’t help admiring her firm, trim shape and some of her softer curves—until he met her eyes in the mirror. Then she looked at him like a rabbit caught in his headlights, blushed and tried to reclaim her coat.

  The redhead would have none of it. They moved across the room, where Conner could no longer hear what was being said, but some sort of argument ensued. The redhead rolled her eyes, and the way she kept glancing at him suggested he played some part in the conversation.

  A prickling at the back of his neck told him it was time to go. He’d had his wild days. He’d put them behind him and was ready to find something more meaningful in life. But the distress on the brunette’s face kept him in his seat. Most women who wore such revealing clothes wanted male attention. This one seemed completely out of her element.

  Letting curiosity get the better of him, Conner decided to stick around for a few more minutes. He even ordered another beer. He could usually trust his instincts, and his instincts told him the excitement level in Idaho was about to spike.

  DELANEY HAD NEVER BEEN more embarrassed. She wanted to cover the scandalous dress she’d borrowed from Rebecca’s sister, drag Rebecca outside and head straight home, snowstorm or not. But now that they’d come this far, Rebecca wasn’t about to let her off the hook.

  “Why are we sitting way the hell over here?” she demanded when Delaney led them to a far corner table.

  “Because I need a moment to collect myself.”

  “Collect yourself? Why? We just got here.”

  “I want to sit back and check out the scene, all right?

  Can I have some say over what happens tonight?”

  “I guess.” Rebecca conceded this small victory to Delaney by finally taking a seat, but that didn’t stop her from looking over her shoulder every few seconds at the guy they’d spotted when they first came in.

  “Would you quit being so obvious?” Delaney muttered. There were only twelve or fourteen other people in the whole place, mostly along the perimeter, but Delaney felt as if they were all staring at her. “You’re drawing too much attention!”

  “I’m not drawing attention. That dress is drawing attention. I’m just making sure our man doesn’t go anywhere while you ‘collect’ yourself. He’s so hot. He looks just like Hugh Jackman, don’t you think? I love the way his hair curls above his collar.”

  The guy at the bar did look like Hugh Jackman. He had coffee-colored eyes and hair, with short sideburns. Plus high cheekbones, a narrow nose and square jaw. His body type seemed similar, too—all muscle and no fat. But that was half the problem. Why did Rebecca have to choose someone so intimidating?

  “If you think he’s so cute, you sleep with him,” Delaney grumbled.

  “I’m not the one who wants a baby,” Rebecca reminded her. “At least, I’m not in any hurry.”

  Because Rebecca wasn’t the one who’d been taken in but not legally adopted, who was going to be alone, who’d always been alone. “Well, I’m not ready for this,” Delaney said. “We should’ve waited until tomorrow night or next week or—”

  “Or never? You would’ve chickened out. I know you. You would’ve started thinking about how unfair it is not to be completely up front about your intentions
and—”

  “Because it is unfair.”

  “Except that it won’t cost the guy you sleep with anything to make you the happiest woman on earth.” Rebecca checked over her shoulder again. “Now, go talk to him.”

  Delaney’s stomach plummeted to her knees. “Just like that?”

  “Why not? What are you waiting for?”

  A personality transplant. This just wasn’t her. She’d never come on to a guy before. Which was probably why she’d die a virgin if she didn’t make some changes soon, she told herself. Rebecca had managed to find a husband and was going to get married. Maybe she should take Rebecca’s advice on this. But why did her friend have to choose a guy who looked like he could be Hugh Jackman’s twin brother?

  “He’s at the bar,” she told Rebecca. “A guy who sits at the bar is interested in serious drinking, not socializing. We’d better find someone else.” But when Delaney surveyed the lounge, she realized how hopeless that would be.

  Of the fourteen or so patrons, more than half were women. The men consisted of an elderly gentleman, a barrel-chested, bearded guy somewhere in his forties, two nerdy computer types who had their hair greased down and gave Delaney the creeps, and a redneck cowboy sitting next to the Hugh Jackman look-alike.

  Rebecca cocked an eyebrow at her. “If there’s someone here you’d rather sleep with, go for it. But it looks to me like Hugh’s our most eligible donor. He’s only drinking a beer. That’s hardly ‘serious drinking.’ And he seems friendly enough. He sort of smiled when we came in.”

  “Sort of smiled? He ducked his head and turned away the second you zeroed in on him.”

  “Well, he definitely smiled at us in the mirror afterward.”

  Delaney didn’t remember a smile. She remembered his eyes, though. They’d followed her, appraised her boldly.

  “Go,” Rebecca prodded. “The worst that can happen is he tells you he’s married. Then you politely excuse yourself and we try someone else.”

  “I’m never going to get over this experience,” Delaney moaned. “I just know it.”