by Barbara Lohr
“Nonsense.” Howard waved to Alan. “Tell Carolyn how much she’s going to like this.”
Geesh. This guy wouldn’t give up. Why didn’t her grandmother say something?
“Dad. Not tonight.” Alan took her elbow and they started down the narrow walkway. She wanted to hug him. With a grumble, Howard fell in behind them, Mama V’s arm linked with his. What a relief. Howard’s heavy-handedness wasn’t winning him any points, that’s for sure. They passed a few visitors staring into shop windows.
“Sunday is a big day for you, I suppose?” She had no idea what to say to Alan. Her tank of polite conversation was running on low. “Tourists arriving and all that.”
The sidewalk was uneven and her sandal turned. Alan tightened his hold to steady her. “Tourist traffic is a bit heavier on the weekend.”
The sidewalk had become even, but he still held her elbow.
“Why don’t you stop in tomorrow? I can show you around.”
“I don’t know what my grandmother has planned. She might want to be in her gallery on Sundays.”
Alan chuckled, low and easy. “Well, I’m inviting you, not your grandmother. She’s seen everything.”
“Maybe” was all she could manage. If she hadn’t run into Brody today, what would her reaction have been to Alan? He seemed nice enough. But she was beginning to think that “nice enough” wasn’t what she wanted. “If I have time, I’ll stop, okay?”
When they reached the casita, she thanked Howard, said a quick good night and ducked inside. Would her grandmother follow? Did she have a drawer at Howard’s where she kept a few things? But her grandmother hustled in behind her. “Now wasn’t that lovely?” She shrugged off a suede jacket. “What did you think of Alan?”
Leaning over, Carolyn kissed her grandmother’s cheek. “He’s a very nice man. I’m going to bed. See you tomorrow, Mama V.”
“Sorry, sweetheart,” Mama V whispered.
With a wave, Carolyn headed for the long, cool hallway. Exhaustion weighed each step. Once inside her bedroom, she slipped out of her clothes and into her sleep shirt. After quickly brushing her teeth, she settled under the comforter. Once on her side, she listened but heard nothing.
Chapter 4
The sun beat down as Carolyn yanked weeds from Mama V’s yard the following morning. The back of her neck burned, and she dashed inside for one of her grandmother’s hats. Soft morning sunlight filled the house. After a quick breakfast of croissants and coffee, Mama V had taken off for the gallery. To Carolyn’s relief, she hadn’t peppered her with questions. In fact, her grandmother had seemed preoccupied. Something was on her mind. Carolyn could see it in the tiny smile that teased her lips.
Had Howard brought that smile to her face? Maybe Carolyn was being too hard on the man. Maybe he wasn’t as stuck up as he seemed. Thank goodness, Alan had intervened when Howard tried to pressure her into flamenco at El Farol. Thundering dancers had filled her dreams. Heart pounding, she’d jerked awake and listened for a man snoring across the hall. Nothing.
Stop it right there, missy. Was she her grandmother’s keeper?
Confusion muddled her mind. Jamming her grandmother’s pink hat on her head, she went back outside to do battle with a few scrawny weeds. But as she yanked on worn gardening gloves, her head still spun. Dinner had been fine. A week ago she would never have guessed she’d be sitting in that elegant restaurant with an eligible man paying attention.
But it was Brody on her mind, not Alan Haynes. The former student who could never tell a semicolon from a colon, not that she cared a whole lot. In fact, Carolyn chuckled when she thought of the small things that had seemed important back then.
She went back to tugging the stubborn weeds when a vehicle slowed and stopped outside. That engine sure sounded familiar.
Jumping up, she peeked over the adobe wall. Good grief. Brody Wolf leapt from his SUV in low-slung jeans and a pale blue V-neck under his leather jacket. So. Darn. Hot. Head down, he walked toward her, rocking each step with confidence.
Her faded sweatshirt felt ridiculously heavy and so did her jeans. Stripping off the gardening gloves, she tossed them into the weeding tub along with the trowel. Smiling at her over the blue gate, he tipped his hat. “Morning, Miss Knight.”
“Morning, Brody.” Wasn’t this how they’d greeted each other in English class? Only back then he’d been skidding in late. Now the gate squeaked open.
Her eyes swept from his dusty hand-tooled boots to the broad shoulders. “What’s up?”
“Nothing much. Just checking up on you.” His Hotness peered at her from under the brim of that hat.
Crickets were singing His Hotness, His Hotness, His Hotness.
“What are you pulling out?” He glanced at the gardening basket.
“Weeds.”
His thick brows vaulted. “Ma’am, in Santa Fe, we welcome anything that’s green.”
“Really?” Remorse deflated her. She stared at the ground around her. “My grandmother never mentioned that. Guess I should have known.”
Snatching a sprig of something from the basket. Brody let it dangle from his fingers. “We don’t get that much rain in these parts. If anything green splits through that hard-packed earth, we welcome it.”
“Oh, my gosh. I never thought of it like that.”
“Look, don’t worry about it. I’m only teasing.” Brody’s full lips curved into an easy smile. “Thought I’d stop by. See how you’re settling in.”
She played with the tip of her braid. “Fine. I’m just helping out.”
“So you came all this way to tidy up your grandmother’s yard?”
She ran her hands down the heavy jeans. “When you say it like that, it sounds silly.”
“We don’t have yards here like in the Midwest. Lawns don’t flourish. In Santa Fe plants hang on for dear life.” He looked pointedly at the limp victim in his hand. Then he laid it in the basket with silent respect. She felt terrible, as if she’d been given a scolding. From Brody. Now wasn’t that a hoot?
“Gee, you sound like a teacher.” Their eyes met and, darn it, she giggled. Teeth flashing in the sunlight, Brody let loose a raucous roar that made her toes curl. He’d always had a hearty laugh. For a second, they were back in Gull Harbor, chuckling over the fact that Jay Gatsby should have bought a boat to reach Daisy’s dock instead of staring at that green light every night.
Brody always took the direct approach.
“You up for an adventure?” He hitched a thumb toward his SUV.
“Sure. Why not?” Her grandmother would be gone for a while. “Give me a minute, okay?”
Brody checked his watch. “One. Maybe two.” And he laughed again. His boots rang on the shallow steps as he followed her onto the back porch. While she pushed open the screen door, he folded his tall frame onto a bench.
Dashing back to the guest room, she peeled off the sweatshirt along the way. What should she wear? At first, she grabbed a moss green turtleneck. Then she switched to white. Yes, a fresh white turtleneck with soft, well worn jeans. Like Brody’s. Her wardrobe was in pathetic shape. All khaki and jeans, with very little color.
Last night women, including her grandmother, had bloomed around her like exotic desert plants. Later, she’d put out an SOS to Diana.
Taking a moment in front of the bathroom mirror, she brushed out her hair before weaving it into a thick braid. She was putting on lipstick using her grandmother’s magnifying mirror when she noticed it.
Wrinkles fanned from her mouth and eyes. This darn dry air. Avoiding the guest drawer, she pulled open her grandmother’s makeup drawer. Okay, she felt weird about it but she needed help. Mama V bought skin creams as freely as peanut butter. As her fingers closed around the pale aqua jar, she noticed a soft pink plastic shape tucked in the back. She froze.
Had this drawer become a secret stash of toys? The intimate kind? Carolyn stood there, mystified. For years her grandmother had been a role model of matronly security. Things had changed and uneas
iness crept over her. Who was this woman?
On with it, girl. After swirling a layer of cream over her skin, she screwed the lid on tight, popped the jar back in the drawer and slid it shut.
That damn green toothbrush. It was all his fault.
Grabbing her jean jacket, she was out the back door.
Rising slowly, Brody took her in. “Nice.”
“Thank you.” As she swept past him, she patted her braid self-consciously.
The door of the SUV squeaked when Brody swung it open. “Been meaning to fix that,” he murmured.
“So you’re the type that can fix things?” She slid onto a warm seat and buckled up.
“Cars are easy. Other stuff? Not so much.”
Join the crowd. When she first started teaching, she thought she could fix anything. Anyone. Not anymore.
Watching Brody circle the front of the vehicle, she wondered where they were going. Her Santa Fe map must be back in her suitcase. Carolyn liked to chart her course. His Hotness slid in beside her. Student or date? Uncertainty prickled across her chest.
Then he smiled. “Hungry?” Brody punched a button with his thumb, and the engine roared to life.
What the heck. He was uncharted territory and she was feeling reckless. “I had a croissant for breakfast.”
His Hotness snorted. “Okay, you’re starving. I’ve got just what you need.”
Oh, really? Apparently, her body agreed. Parts of her tightened and swelled.
Moments later, she was hanging on as he gunned it up Canyon Road. Dust rose and pebbles scattered. It was almost eleven, time for the shops and galleries to be opening. Right now, the street was empty. Too late, she wished she’d left a note for her grandmother. But she wouldn’t be gone long.
When they passed Geronimo’s, last night felt like a week ago. Howard and Alan? Sorting out her grandmother’s personal relationships wasn’t why she’d come, and she wouldn’t overthink this. Just as she would not overanalyze this breakfast with Brody
At the top of the hill, Brody turned left and they headed back down to the square. He drove the way he’d played football and soccer. Muscling around parked cars, he hardly paused for stop signs.
“Aren’t you afraid you’ll get a ticket?” she teased after another rolling stop.
“Naw. All these guys are my friends. They know I’m careful.”
“Sure. Not the Brody I knew.”
He got really quiet, gearing down with smooth precision at the next stop sign. “But I’m not. Not anymore.”
“I didn’t mean anything, Brody. Sorry,” she whispered. His jaw clenched. Had he heard her?
Before long, he took a side street and parked. “Here we are.”
Getting out, she looked around. They were near the plaza, but she really wanted her map. “Where are we going?”
“Where the locals eat. Come on.” With his long-legged stride, he led the way to a diner on the square. She matched him step for step, head craning every which way. Brody yanked open the glass door and she stepped inside. Bustling with activity, the place smelled like every good meal she’d ever had. Heavy white crockery thunked onto a long stainless steel countertop. Pies piled high with whipped cream crowded a glass case. With a painted tin ceiling, red booths and small wooden tables, the diner felt lifted from another time. When they were led to a booth, Brody insisted she take the side facing the street. “For the full effect.”
“Thank you.” Settling back, she slipped off her jacket.
“All I need to look at is you,” he said.
“Sure. Right.” Brody always joked around.
That was a joke, right?
Tossing his hat on the seat next to him, His Hotness combed a hand through his dark hair. The thick mass flopped every which way. When he caught her staring, his brilliant blue eyes twinkled. “See anything you like?”
Her cheeks heating up, she reached for a menu. “Haven’t had a chance to look over the menu.”
“Oh, right. The menu.” With a wicked smile, he snapped his open.
Part of her wished he’d settle down. Stop whatever was going on. But maybe the kidding and teasing double meanings were all in her head. Had she forgotten how to be playful?
“What looks good?” he asked after about ten seconds.
“They have oatmeal. With brown sugar.”
“Oatmeal!” Brody glanced around as if she’d said a dirty word. “You don’t come to Santa Fe to eat pabulum.”
“What’s wrong? I eat oatmeal every day.”
“Exactly my point. Don’t eat from the bottom of the barrel when you can climb the highest mountain and have your fill.”
She giggled. “Sorry, Brody. There are so many mixed metaphors in that. I can’t even begin to start.”
The bristly chin came up. “Then don’t.”
The waiter had arrived. “Hey, Brody.”
“Hi, Manuel. A platter of chile rellenos for me.”
The waiter scribbled on his green pad. “Coffee black, as usual?”
“You got it.”
Manuel’s attention swung to her.
Whatever Brody was having? She wanted it. “Same for me.”
“Cream in your coffee?” The eyebrows peaked.
“Yes, sure. No.” Seeing Brody’s amused smile, she wanted to match him.
“You got it.” The waiter left. “Coffee, black.”
His Hotness still wore that grin. How often had she caught that smile in the back row of room 207? He’d be sprawled in his seat, the third or fourth she’d given him. Of course, he wasn’t paying attention. Then he’d turn like a strobe light and zap her with that smile. Carolyn’s lecture notes went flying.
She played with her turtleneck. “You come here often?”
He snorted and her face heated. “You trying to pick me up, teacher lady?”
“Not at all. Just kidding around. Being...playful.” Right. Sure. Like I know how.
But his eyes softened. “Three or four times a week.”
“With friends, I suppose?” Was she being too nosy?
Stretching his arms along the back of the booth, he said, “Sometimes. But not three or four times a week.”
What did she care anyway? Flipping her braid over one shoulder, she played with the tip.
“You used to wear your hair down.” He seemed to be unbraiding her hair with his eyes.
She thought back. “That was so long ago.”
“Yeah, guess it was. We all change.”
Well, he sure had. “Brody, are you getting all philosophical on me?”
He grinned. “Maybe. But what happened to your hair? How come it’s braided so tight?” The grin morphed into frank disapproval.
She bristled. “Saves me time.”
Manuel set down two coffee mugs, nudging a small pitcher of cream her way.
Brody blew on his coffee and sipped. “Saves you time for what? Lesson plans?”
“Maybe.” Okay, it would be nice if she could ignore the dark bristles around his wet lips. Instead, she was mesmerized. Cupping the warm mug kept her from reaching out to cradle his square, stubbled chin. This was absolutely insane. The rich, warm steam curling into her nostrils must be frying her brain. If this kept up, she could burn her tongue.
His Hotness took another sip. Those wet lips pursed with satisfaction.
Carolyn’s tongue tingled. Heck, she could burn more than that with Brody if she weren’t careful.
“Come on.” He threw her a crooked smile. “What could be more important to a woman than her hair?”
“A lot of things.”
“Like...?”
Forgetting, she took a sip of coffee. Tears filled her eyes. Her mouth throbbed.
Brody reached out. “Hey, you okay?”
Glancing down at their hands, she nodded. “Your mouth must be made of steel.”
“Want to check?”
Oh lordy. She really, really did. His hand felt good. He flicked a thumb across the inside of her index finger. Whoa. So she w
as sensitive there? Giving her hand a final squeeze, he pulled back and waved to Manuel. “Ice water, please?”
Yes, Manuel. Buckets of it. Carolyn hadn’t done a lot of hand holding lately. Flexing her empty fingers, she suddenly missed holding a guy’s hand. A lot.
Manuel brought the ice water. She took a huge gulp. “So....” Brody seemed to consider his next words carefully.
Why did she feel so off center with him? Sure, she’d met former students for lunch in the past, but they’d all been girls. They filled her in about their boyfriends. As time passed, the news shifted to husbands, followed by children. Like a conveyor belt, those reunion lunches spun through her mind––life passing her by.
“So you’ve stayed in Gull Harbor all this time?”
She had to focus. “All what time?”
“Since I graduated.” He gave the year.
Her first year of teaching. Back then, her long blonde hair had gotten to be a pain. She could hardly see her notes on the lectern.
“Yep, been in Gull Harbor all that time.” Her cheerfulness sounded as fake as diet pop. “I love my work. The kids and...everything.” Carolyn considered teaching her calling, not just a job. She’d wanted to make her own way in the world. Pursue a meaningful career of her choosing.
“How about you?” she asked. “Why Santa Fe?”
The smiling eyes clouded. “I had family here.”
The food arrived and conversation stopped. Brody doused his plate with hot sauce. “Man, you must like things hot.”
Bottle in hand, he looked up. “Yes, I do.”
Their eyes locked. She stopped breathing.
Sinking her fork into whatever it was she’d ordered, Carolyn swept it into her mouth. Flavors exploded, rich and pleasing. Tomato sauce, melted cheese and who-knew-what-else mated in her mouth. “Oh, my lord,” she managed around a mouthful. “This so beats oatmeal.”
His eyes crinkled when he smiled. “You like it?”
“Let me check.” Another forkful. “Yep, I more than like it.”
Chewing and content, they stared happily at each other. What was happening here? Carolyn swallowed hard, dropped her eyes and poured cream into her coffee. Time to get back on track. See this breakfast like a debriefing, even though it sure felt like something else. Something more. “So tell me, do you ever see Randy Spears? You two were good friends, as I recall.”
