“About things changing.” She gazed at the sidewalk ahead, cracked and buckled where the roots of a hundred-year-old oak pushed against it. “I realized while talking to her that I don’t make as much effort with her as I do with kids I don’t even know. All this time I’ve thought I was so noble and patient for putting up with her tantrums and her drama. I reason with her. I punish her. But I don’t try to comfort her or show her affection.”
“You’ve tried before.”
“Sure, when they first came to live with us, when Paul deployed, when he died.”
“You get rejected enough times, it’s natural to stop trying.”
“I’m not sure, as a parent, you get to stop trying. How many times have I criticized Catherine for that? How many bad thoughts have I had about other parents, like Sabrina, who put themselves ahead of their kids?” She shook her head grimly, grateful for the warmth and comfort of his hand holding hers. When was the last time Abby had that sort of physical, nonjudgmental comfort? “I may be just a stepparent, Keegan, but I’m the only parent Abby’s got. And apparently I’ve got no room to criticize Catherine. I’m no better a mother than she is.”
* * *
Keegan wasn’t even a stepparent, but he was the closest thing to a parent Mariah had. Sometimes, he was learning, it didn’t have anything to do with a blood tie. Sometimes an emotional tie was just as strong. Even stronger.
Like him, Therese was discovering just how strong her emotional tie to Matheson’s kids was.
He stopped underneath the oak in front of the restaurant, where the massive trunk shielded them from view of the people inside, and turned to face her. She really was beautiful, whether in this pretty girly dress and heels or shorts and T-shirts and flip-flops, whether her hair was down and curling back from her face and tempting him to touch or in a ponytail. Solemn eyes, delicate bones, full lips that were flattened now in an unhappy line that matched the look in her eyes.
Raising his free hand, he brushed his palm lightly over her hair. “Do you know how few women would have allowed their husband’s kids from a former marriage to live with them? Would have kept them while he deployed? Would have let them stay after he died? Especially when their mother was alive and well and loving the single life in another state?”
She dropped his gaze for a moment as if she didn’t want to agree with him but couldn’t quite bring herself to disagree. Her situation was unusual, and they both knew it.
“Things have been tough. You’ve lived with a lot of anger and grief and conflict, and no one could blame you for wanting to end it. You’ve tried with Abby. You know that.”
“But I gave up too easily.”
“You haven’t given up.”
She shook her head, dislodging his hand to her shoulder. “I went to JAG to find out how to get her out of my house and my life.”
“Wow, you asked some questions of a lawyer. You’re a horrible mom. But, Therese, she’s still there. You haven’t taken JAG’s advice. You haven’t called her mother or her grandparents. You haven’t done a thing to start the process. You haven’t told her to pack her bags. Not that she has a lot of clothes to start with.” He grinned as he repeated Abby’s comment from the night they’d met, and so did Therese, easing the bleakness in her eyes.
Momentarily. “But—”
Since she wasn’t going to give up easily on blaming herself, he leaned forward and kissed her. Her protest stopped immediately, and her lips softened against his. She gave what he thought might have been a little sigh and seemed to sink against him and opened her mouth so his tongue could slide inside.
A kiss is just a kiss, the song said, but whoever wrote it had obviously never kissed Therese. It was sweet and simple and complicated and hungry and sent a rush of heat through his body like an inexperienced boy getting his first kiss from the homecoming queen. A kiss could be just a kiss, but it could promise so much more, and this kiss was definitely going to lead to more.
Aroused, shaken, and in need of oxygen, Keegan ended the kiss, but didn’t draw away. Her eyes fluttered open, and they stared at each other, so close, not close enough. But soon.
She raised her hand to his face, laying her palm lightly against his jaw. He couldn’t see the big diamond, but he felt where the cool gold bands touched his skin, or imagined he did. What would it take to persuade her to remove the rings? Putting a ring of his own there?
He could see himself doing that.
The thought both surprised him and felt as natural as if he’d planned it forever. They hadn’t known each other long enough. He was still keeping the secret of Mariah’s real father. But it wasn’t the length of time that was important. It was the quality. Whether two people clicked. Whether they were meant to be together.
As for Mariah’s secret…He didn’t have to think about that right now, did he?
“Luca’s gnocchi is calling my name,” she said with a little smile. “Let’s continue this later.”
Definitely the kiss had held a promise.
The restaurant occupied an old house, the graceful kind with big porches, wide arched doorways, high ceilings, and cozy rooms. Therese requested a table near the garden, and the hostess led them down a long, broad hallway and through the rear door onto another porch. Only one of the half dozen tables was taken, at the far end from their own table.
As Therese shrugged into her sweater, she gazed toward the garden, taking a deep breath. “I’m not sure which smells better here—the flowers or the food.”
In Keegan’s opinion, the food won, hands down, but he didn’t say so. His mama hadn’t raised any fools, though Duke came close. “You should plant some,” he said as he opened the menu.
“I know. I will. If I don’t, I’ll regret it come June.”
Neither of them wanted regrets come June.
When their waiter came, Keegan ordered the pasta combination platter and tea. Therese asked for gnocchi and a glass of wine. It came in a tall glass, deep in color, hints of red showing when it sat on the table, looking purple when she lifted it for a sip. A faint lip print remained on the rim of the glass when she set it down again, which he found insanely sexy.
In an effort to distract himself, he asked, “What do you and the kids do in summer when school’s out?”
She rolled her eyes in a good impression of Abby. The voice was pretty dead-on, too. “‘Oh, God, it’s so boring. I’d rather go to school year-round than stay home all day with you.’” Ruefully she sipped the wine again, as if she regretted mimicking her stepdaughter, especially after faulting herself for not trying hard enough with her.
“Jacob does basketball, football, baseball, and soccer camps, and Abby goes to swimming, science, computer, and cheer camps. They also do a week of camp with the church youth group, and they spend a week with Paul’s parents. Last summer they stayed five days with my parents, but the ranch didn’t rate among their favorite places. Mom and Dad expected them to do chores.” Making a face, she shuddered.
“I wouldn’t have pegged Abby for science or computer camps.” Cheer, hell, yeah. She looked exactly like every cheerleader/homecoming queen/prom queen he’d ever known: slender, pretty, blond, tanned, graceful.
“She actually prefers those two, I think. She does the other two because her friends do. It’s cooler to look good in a swimsuit and to do cheers than it is to be a geek. But she dropped out of gymnastics after she sprained her ankle six months ago, and she hasn’t kept up with the swimming since last summer. I haven’t said anything about either one because, frankly, I think kids are way overscheduled. Back in my summers, once my chores were done, the rest of the day was mine to do what I wanted. Of course, I had horses, two thousand acres to roam, and didn’t hate my mother.”
“Abby doesn’t hate you.”
“She sounds pretty convincing when she says it.”
“All kids say that.”
“I never did.”
Neither did he, he acknowledged. It would have been sacrilege in his home. If th
e thought had even flickered through his brain, someone—God or Ercella—would have smacked it right back out. “I know I brought it up, but let’s make a deal. No more talk about the kids for now, okay?”
Her smile took a minute to form, and it was tenuous at best, but she nodded.
Reaching across the table, he took her hand, studying her slender fingers and pale pink nails with white tips. He turned it over, tracing her palm with his fingertip. “Hard to believe these hands broke horses, drove heavy equipment, and herded cattle.”
“It’s been a while. And I wore gloves and have invested a small fortune in the baby-lotion industry since.” Her muscles tightened as he touched a particularly sensitive place on her palm, so he did it again. Such a light caress to evoke such a sensuous shudder.
Their salads arrived, along with a basket of warm bread, and she reluctantly tugged free. He reluctantly let her.
She primly spread the linen napkin on her lap and picked up her fork. “I’m looking forward to tomorrow’s dinner. Authentic Louisiana food cooked by an authentic Louisiana charmer.”
“Sometimes the charm is questionable, but the recipe’s my mom’s, so it’s always good.”
“Aw, you’re always charming. Even when you’re not.” After taking a bite, she asked, “When you joined the Army, how did she feel about your leaving one dangerous job for another?”
“First she cried. Not because she was worried but because she was proud. All the Dupree men have done their service, all the way back to the Civil War.” He shrugged, and a thousand memories of Ercella doing it exactly the same way flashed in his head. “Life is dangerous. She knows that. She says you’re born and you die, and hopefully between those times, you do something you enjoy and love someone who loves you back.”
For the first time that evening, Therese’s smile was genuine pleasure—no stress, no worries, no regrets. “I would like your mother.”
It was easy to envision Ercella meeting Therese and the kids. She would know in that mother-to-all way of hers that Abby needed extra welcome and affection and would give it with her embrace, and would charm Jacob into turning off the games and tuning in to her one hundred percent. She would recognize in Therese a woman very much like herself, would see immediately why Keegan was so certain he wanted a chance with her after only a week.
“You would. And she would adore you.”
“I’d like that. It’s been a long time since I’ve been adored,” Therese replied breezily.
“Aw, your margarita friends adore you.”
She nodded. “They do.”
“And all your little kindergarten students who hug you every day and leave their sticky little prints on everything and compete for your attention.”
“Them, too.” She smiled smugly.
“And me.”
For a moment, the smile wavered and he thought it might slip away, but instead it widened, lightening her whole expression, making her look younger and happier and carefree and so damn beautiful. “Good. I’m finding that I adore you, too.”
Chapter 13
Jessy prowled her apartment, feeling like a lion she’d once watched in a zoo. She’d been seven or eight, and she’d felt for the animal, pacing in a cage when he should have been running free. Before her mother had drawn her to the next enclosure, she’d gripped the bars of the fence and leaned close, though twenty feet and a deep chasm separated them, and whispered, I’m sorry.
So many years, and nothing had changed. She was still sorry.
When she reached the glass door that led to her tiny balcony this time, she stopped instead of pivoting, opened the door, and stepped outside. The air held just a bit of a chill, not enough to need a jacket if she was moving. The sun was out of sight, leaving only a beautiful palette of blues and purples and smoky grays in the western sky.
The balcony had been an afterthought to the apartment, a small rectangle of wood that had turned silvery with age. It held two cheap plastic chairs and a tiny gas grill, the kind meant for tailgating or picnics, and it looked over the one-story rooftops of the buildings behind hers. She and Aaron had sat out here when he got home from work, sharing a beer and their day while he’d tended brats, burgers, or steaks on the grill.
She could count on one hand the number of times she’d been out here since he’d deployed. The day of his funeral. The day she’d packed his things. The early hours of the morning when she’d come home from her first bout of meaningless sex with someone she’d picked up in a bar. The time—
God, she couldn’t do this. Couldn’t think about Aaron. Couldn’t face her regrets.
So what else could she focus on? She’d taken lunch to Fia and found her looking better but not right. Fia had insisted she was fine, it had just been a headache, but Jessy wasn’t convinced. Something was wrong with her friend, and the thought made her gut clench.
Something else. What else? She still didn’t know where she’d been or what she’d done Wednesday night, and she couldn’t begin to forget what she’d done Thursday night. What in the world had made her offer to deliver Dalton’s beer to his table? At least he’d been sociable—more than she’d been able to muster after asking if she could join him. The man had seen her at her worst; he knew her for what she really was. There was a reason she engaged in anonymous sex: so she wouldn’t have to face the guy when she was sober. Why in God’s name make Dalton Smith the exception to her rule?
Damn, there must be something she could think about that wouldn’t dig her deeper into the dark hole she was already living in. Something she could do…
Only one thing helped her cope, made her forget, and it was no more than fifteen feet away, in a kitchen cabinet. Waiting for her, offering comfort and peace and oblivion. Just the thought of it made her mouth water, made her hands unsteady.
She hadn’t had a drink since Thursday night, when she’d taken a few small sips of beer before Dalton had come into Bubba’s, just to steady her nerves, to give the appearance that everything was all right and not rouse anyone’s suspicions. That was some kind of record for her. Surely it was all right to have one tonight. Just one, to steady her nerves. To give her peace. To keep her from falling apart.
Her breathing shallow, she went inside and turned into the kitchen. Opened the cabinet. Took out a glass. Poured a small amount, no more than an ounce. Sipped. And sighed.
She would make it.
At least one more night.
* * *
Dinner was over, dessert just a memory, and the pleasure of the entire evening left Therese feeling more comfortable and happy and content than she’d been in years. She could sit there on Luca’s porch nursing her second glass of wine for another few hours if it weren’t for the flutters in her chest and stomach. Not panicky flutters, but anticipation. Desire. Heat.
Keegan had paid the check, and the waiter returned his card and receipt with two delectable handmade filled chocolates, their version of the mints other restaurants provided but oh, so much more. She picked up the gold foil cup nearest her and lifted out the candy. The fillings were liqueur-flavored, amaretto or brandy or hazelnut, and each piece was two tiny bites of heaven.
“Umm,” she sighed as the first bite melted over her tongue. Her favorite. She closed her eyes for a moment of pure pleasure overload, letting the flavors of chocolate, butter, and hazelnut wash through her, re-creating the sensation with the second bite. When she opened her eyes with another sweet sigh, she found Keegan watching her.
His gaze was intense, his features stark, his face a shade paler—or was that warmer?—than it had been before. The knowledge that he was aroused sent an even headier sensation through her. She had never been classically pretty like Marti, sexy like Jessy, delicate like Ilena, or gorgeous like Abby. She was a schoolteacher, a widow, a failed stepmother, a woman who’d hardly noticed—or been noticed by—a man in a long time, but she’d turned on the hottest guy around by doing nothing more than eating a piece of candy.
She felt powerful. Womanly. Wan
ted.
She gestured toward the other chocolate. “Try it. It’s incredible.”
“I’d rather watch you eat it.” His voice was husky, dark, wrapping around her with the heat of a soft blanket on a cold night.
Her hand surprisingly steady, she slid the tray to him. “Try it. And take your time. Good candy is meant to be savored.”
He took the remaining chocolate, bit it in half, chewed, and slowly swallowed. Surprise sparked in his eyes. He had expected it to be good, just not that good. He finished the piece, then pushed his chair back and extended his hand.
It was time to go. Time to start. Time to take that big step she’d been looking forward to.
She laid her hand in his, rose, and walked with him along the porch, past empty tables, into the restaurant and out front. They turned toward his car, strolling as if they had nowhere to be and all the time in the world to get there. Neither of them spoke until they reached it.
“I’d ask if we could walk all the way,” she remarked as he beeped the locks, then opened her door, “but I’m afraid these shoes would kill me.”
In the white glow of the streetlamp, he made a show of checking out her shoes. “They make your legs look incredible.”
She looked, too. “They do, don’t they?”
“Granted, your legs look incredible anyway.”
God, she loved blunt-spoken compliments.
It took them all of three minutes to drive to his motel. The room was dimly lit by a table lamp, barely enough to make out the furniture, and smelled of cinnamon and sugar, little girl, and the masculine fragrance of exotic, musky cologne. The scent of a man was one of the many little things she missed in her daily life.
The instant he closed the door and locked it, Therese’s nerves tightened and her stomach flipped. They were here. Now what? Small talk? Coffee? How did they go from the awkwardness of standing there, fully clothed, to naked and passionate in bed? Heavens, it had been so long since she—
Keegan stopped behind her, slid the purse strap from her shoulder, let it drop on the chair, and touched his mouth to her neck in the softest of kisses. Goose bumps danced along her skin, her nerves tightened for an entirely different reason, and her stomach settled. There was no awkwardness. He adored her, and she adored him, and they both knew that was a simpler way of saying so much more. Their present was definitely together, and their future…
A Man to Hold on to (A Tallgrass Novel) Page 23
