Flirting With Pete: A Novel

by Barbara Delinsky

  “My dad would argue with that,” Jordan said, dragging a chair forward. “He couldn’t stand me.” He sat in the chair.

  “Just because you’re a ‘bleeding heart’?”

  “The term he usually used was ‘sissy.’ “

  “Excuse me?” Casey said, because she couldn’t imagine a man any less sissyish than Jordan.

  “From way back when I was a kid, that was what he called me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I liked to draw. Because I was happy working in the garden. These were not things that spelled M-A-N in his book.” He added a cynical, “So I gave him what he wanted.”

  She heard anger in Jordan’s voice. This was no stating of fact, as he’d previously done. He was telling her what he felt inside, and it intrigued her. “Which was?”

  “I played football. Beefed up the muscles, beefed up the attitude. I was a local hero. I was the talk of the town. I was the one all the girls wanted to date.”

  She waited. “And?”

  “I dated as many as I could, played one off against the other. A total ladies’ man. Part of me loved it.”

  “The other part?”

  “Hated myself. I knew how shallow the whole thing was. I hurt my shoulder in my senior year— oh, I didn’t do it deliberately, but I wasn’t sorry it happened.”

  “Oh my,” Casey whispered, finding another clue that she’d missed. “Dan’s shoulder. Your scars. His ached when he was tense. You rub yours.”

  “My posture changes when I’m tense. The shoulder feels stress.”

  “What happened to the girls?”

  “When the football was done? They hung around for a while. When I moved back to Walker, they fell to the wayside.”

  “Why did you?”

  “Move back? Two reasons. It was a cheap place to live while I built a portfolio. And my mother begged me to come home. My sisters had all married and left town—”

  “And there’s another thing,” Casey broke in. “You didn’t tell me you had sisters.”

  “You didn’t ask,” he reminded her. “It was clear you didn’t want to know anything personal. You loved the sex because it was anonymous and therefore dangerous, and because you wanted to shock Connie.”

  She was vaguely aware of her mother lying there beside them. More, though, she was aware of the bitterness in Jordan’s voice. And he was right. Anonymity, danger, shock— they were a turn-on indeed, but they didn’t tell the whole story. “It didn’t feel anonymous,” she confessed. “The whole garden thing didn’t. There was a connection the first time I saw it.” More quietly, she added, “The first time I saw you.”

  Eyes locked with his, she felt the connection still. It was stronger now and just new enough to frighten her. “Finish your story,” she said to ease the fear. “About Walker. About working with your dad. How’d that come about, if you two didn’t get along?”

  “I needed money, and my dad needed help. I figured I could do it for a couple of years.”

  “Did you really hate it?”

  He looked down at his hands. When he looked up again, his voice was calmer. “Not all the time. The people in Walker are good folk. There’s definitely a sense of belonging. As boring as cruising around town could be, there was always someone who’d wave or smile or gesture you over and give you a bag of homegrown tomatoes. What I hated was the law enforcement stuff— locking up drunks, enforcing restraining orders, hunting down underage kids who’d stolen smokes from the general store. Those kids bothered me the most. They were begging for attention, begging for someone to show a little interest in them, but my father didn’t see it that way. He saw the problem as a lack of discipline and the solution as a night in the slammer. ‘Book ‘em, Dan-O,’ he’d say, like he was a TV star, like these kids even knew the phrase!” He took a tight breath. “So I booked ‘em, but then I made a point to talk with them as much as I could. Hence, I was a ‘bleeding heart.’ “

  Casey was thinking that “bleeding heart” was better than “sissy,” when she recalled what Ruth had told her about Connie. “My father had a similar experience with his father.”

  “I know. We shared that.”

  “You told him about you and your dad?”

  “He asked.”

  “And he told you about him and his dad?”

  “I asked.”

  Casey felt a moment’s jealousy, but Jordan eased it. “He couldn’t have said those things to you, Casey. He wouldn’t have risked looking weak in your eyes. Me, I was nothing. He didn’t care how he looked. Besides, once I told him my story, he knew I’d understand his.”

  She nodded and looked back at her mother. “Are you taking all this in, Mom?” she asked, but got only that low raspy sound in return. She jiggled Caroline’s hand against her neck. “You’re eavesdropping on pretty riveting stuff.” She glanced at the IV bottle, which continued its slow drip, and at the oxygen tube, which lay inert, and at the heart monitor, which beeped ever so softly and steadily.

  So, what do you think, Mom? she mused silently. Does he have potential?

  Caroline would surely say he did. She would like his looks. She would like his vulnerable side. She would like the fact that he was an artist.

  What about the Connie connection? Casey wondered, but she figured that Caroline would be too impressed with Jordan to care that Connie had been the one to hire him. Caroline would be thinking that Jordan was head and shoulders above Casey’s other beaus.

  But he lied to me, Casey might argue and amend that in the next breath. Well, maybe he didn’t lie, but he let a misconception stand. The dark and brooding gardener? That big macho act? What does that say about his character?

  Caroline would say, insightfully, that Jordan had portrayed himself as being all brawn, because he had grown up believing that machismo was more appealing to women than turpentine and oils. The message in that, Caroline might add, was that he had done what he did to impress Casey, which meant that he liked her.

  Of course he likes me. The sex is great.

  Caroline would roll her eyes. She would tell Casey to grow up, and inform her that love wasn’t only about sex, for which Casey had no comeback at all. She didn’t think this was about love. It was way, way, way too soon.

  Confused and discouraged, she looked over at Jordan. “We ought to go.”

  *

  Casey didn’t even stop for her car, but let Jordan drive her straight to the townhouse. They went in the back garden gate, and for the longest time she just stood there in the dark, drawing in the smell of the woods. It had a healing quality. She welcomed its comfort.

  Jordan remained by the gate. Looking back, she sensed his hesitance. So she returned to him, but there was no seductive little body slide this time, no purring or sweet taunts. She wasn’t angry at him. Oh, yes, he might have told her from the start who he was. But he hadn’t lied. He was her gardener. That was what she had needed him to be.

  And she needed him to be something different now. She slid a hand into his and asked softly, “Spend the night?”

  “As what?” he asked back, suggesting that the role-playing had changed for him, too.

  “You,” she said and prayed he wouldn’t ask more questions, because she didn’t have any more answers.

  He didn’t ask. Instead, he drew up her hand, kissed her knuckles, put an arm around her shoulder, and set off for the house.

  *

  It was a long time before they fell asleep, but Casey wasn’t concerned. Sundays were for sleeping in. Totally aside from the absorption of lovemaking, which didn’t allow for worrying about Caroline or Jenny or Darden, there was the luxury of being in bed with someone she cared about. Casey thought about this when she awoke briefly at six and nestled into the cup of Jordan’s body. Her last thought before falling back to sleep was that she could stay this way until noon.

  Fate, however, didn’t allow that.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  First came Angus. When he leapt up onto the bed, Casey came
awake with a start. Calming quickly, she wondered if she could sit up and pet him without scaring him off. In that instant, though, he only had eyes for Jordan. Wading through the pile of covers, he climbed gracefully over Jordan’s chest to the side away from Casey, turned, and crouched. Not quite satisfied, he extended a single paw over Jordan’s ribs. Then, regal, possessive, even defiant, he squared his head and stared at her.

  “Oh boy,” she murmured, and might have gone on to say something about male buddies, if a phone hadn’t rung. Caroline? Her eyes flew to the nightstand, heart pounding for the second time in as many minutes.

  But the ringing phone was Jordan’s. Barely opening his eyes, he stretched an arm up and over Angus to retrieve it. His thumb connected the call. “Yeah,” he said. Within seconds, he was wide awake. “When?… What did he say?”

  His eyes met Casey’s. She couldn’t make out the words coming from the other end, but there was no mistaking irritation.

  “Yeah. I know her,” Jordan said, looking at her now with chagrin. “She might have learned some of that from me…. No, I didn’t send her there. Why would I have done that?… She did not know I was your son. There are tons of O’Keefes in Boston.” Propping himself up on an elbow, he listened and said, “She probably connected Jordan and Dan at the end and was embarrassed. That was my fault, not hers. What else did Darden say?… He didn’t make any threats?… Fine. Let him curse me. He’s hated me since the night Jenny hit him. I’d rather he demonize me than take off looking for her.” He listened, sighed. “Hold on, Dad. It was an innocent comment. Jenny’s dead and buried. You gotta tell Darden that. The last face I want to see at my door is his…. Will you know if he leaves town?… Can you check?… Yes, I’d appreciate that…. Sure…. Yeah.”

  Ending the call, he lay back down and rested the phone on his stomach.

  Angus had removed his paw and was sitting up, but he continued to stare at Casey.

  “Jenny’s dead and buried,” Jordan murmured in self-justification. “Meg’s alive and well.”

  “Is Darden making noise?” Casey asked, feeling both guilt and dread.

  “Yup. He told Dad he wouldn’t put it past me to have spirited Jenny out of town and squirreled her somewhere.”

  “Did he say he was going looking for her?”

  “No. But that doesn’t mean he won’t.”

  “If he’s obsessed, he won’t let go.”

  “Tell me,” Jordan said dryly.

  “Should we tell Meg?”

  He thought about that for a minute. “Not yet. He won’t know how to find her. He’ll come after me first, then you.”

  “Me?”

  “He has your name. Probably got it in the luncheonette. Your number’s in the phone book.”

  “For the condo.”

  “We pray.”

  Casey clutched the sheet to her chest and sat up. “I’m sorry.”

  He studied her with what looked like exasperation. Then, incredibly, his face softened with a gentle smile. “I know you are. You didn’t make this problem. If any one of us— Connie, me, even Meg— had known to fill you in before you visited Walker, you would’ve held back. But you didn’t know. I can fault your act, but not your intent.” Wrapping a hand around the back of her neck, he drew her head down to his chest. Long fingers worked their way through her hair, combing, stroking, soothing.

  Casey closed her eyes. The last time anyone had done this for her, it was her mother’s soothing hands and Casey had been too young to know how old she was. Between Caroline’s condition and Darden’s threat, relaxation should have been impossible. But Jordan was superseding all that. What he was doing was heaven.

  She purred her satisfaction, then whispered, “Is Angus still staring?”

  “Yup,” he whispered back.

  “Does this bode ill?”

  “Nah. He’s in here, isn’t he? Seems to me, as recently as last week he wouldn’t leave Connie’s room.”

  “He’s a good cat.”

  “It’s a good house.”

  Casey took a deep breath. “A friend of a friend wants to buy.”

  “You can’t sell.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I love the garden. Someone else may not want me to tend it.”

  “Is that what you are, a tender?”

  “Tender’s a sissy word. I’m a gardener.”

  “You’re a painter.” She loved saying that. It was still a surprise.

  “I couldn’t be one without the other.”

  “Not because of the money.”

  “No. The inspiration.”

  She was thinking that she understood that completely, when the sound of the doorbell broke into her thoughts. Angus was off the bed in a shot. Heart pounding, she bolted up. “Who is that?” she asked as she jumped out of bed.

  Jordan was on his feet and pulling on his khaki shorts. “My car’s outside. That makes me nervous.”

  She reached for her robe. “Would Darden know that car?”

  “Sure would.” He zipped. “I’ve driven it to Walker.” He fiddled with the button at the waist. “Not in a while. But Darden wouldn’t forget.”

  Casey pushed her arms into the robe. “And if he did have this address—”

  “— my car here would confirm his suspicions,” Jordan finished and made for the hall.

  She followed, tying the belt of the robe as she ran. “It can’t be Darden. He was talking with your dad in Walker just a little while ago.”

  Jordan trotted down the stairs. “It was last night that he talked with my dad. Late. Dad tried calling me at home and figured I was out. It didn’t occur to him to try my cell number until Mom mentioned it this morning.”

  Casey ran down after him, praying that it wasn’t Darden at the door. If the man came to Boston and found Jenny, his appearance would wreak havoc in her life. She was Meg now. She felt safe. To have that safety shattered would be tragic, and it would all be Casey’s fault. She would have really let Connie down then.

  Jordan strode through the foyer. Putting one hand on the door, he looked through the sidelight.

  Stopping several feet behind him, Casey held her breath.

  Jordan blew his own out with a sputtered half-laugh and stepped back. “I believe it’s for you,” he said with a hint of chagrin.

  Puzzled, she glanced through the sidelight. At the same time that she saw Jenna, Brianna, and Joy, they saw her. But they had also seen Jordan. They were looking alternately astonished, excited, and amused, pointing at the doorknob, telling her to open up.

  She looked at Jordan. “Are you ready for this?”

  “Would I ever be?” he asked, and reached for the knob. He pulled the door open, then stood with remarkable dignity while Casey’s friends looked him over, talking all the while.

  “Couldn’t find a parking space in the Court,” Brianna announced.

  “Had to park on West Cedar,” added Jenna.

  “Good thing we didn’t give up,” Joy declared.

  Brianna murmured, “Why, Casey, you little devil.” Her eyes remained on Jordan. “And I was worried?”

  “You’ve been avoiding us,” scolded Jenna, but she, too, was looking at Jordan.

  Same with Joy, who chided, “Not returning calls.”

  “Don’t I recognize this man?” It was Brianna again, singing the question, because she certainly did recognize the man.

  “Don’t I?” asked Jenna, though her tone was more puzzled than teasing.

  All three waited, looking expectantly at Jordan.

  Casey gave a resigned sigh. “Ladies, this is Jordan O’Keefe. Jordan, left to right, please meet Jenna, Brianna, and Joy, my best friends.”

  Jordan nodded to each, then, fully composed, said, “I’m sorry. If I’d known you were coming, I’d have dressed.”

  Jenna chuckled. Joy snickered. Brianna eyed him askance and cooed, “Excuse me, but didn’t I see you working in the garden out back last week?”

  “That’s not where I saw him,”
Jenna said with a look of dawning. “It was at an art show—”

  “He’s an artist,” Casey confirmed. “And he’s my gardener.”

  “And obviously something else, too,” put in Joy. Her gaze was on the button of Jordan’s shorts, which had never quite gotten fastened in his haste to get to the door.

  Brianna turned to Casey with barely suppressed glee. “I’m sorry. I would really like to dwell on the nature of your relationship with the gardener who is an artist, but this is my moment and I’m taking it.” She stuck out a hand. It was her left one, and it wore a beautiful new diamond ring.

  Casey gasped loudly. “Brianna! Omigod! You did it!” She gave Brianna a tight hug, then held her back to look at the ring. “It’s magnificent.” She hugged her again. “I’m proud of you.”

  Brianna was beaming. “So am I.”

  “When did you get it?”

  “Friday night. I’d have told you sooner, if you’d answered your calls.”

  Jordan broke in, scratching the back of his head in a sheepish gesture, “Uh, this is where I make my exit, ladies.” The implication was that he had been responsible for Casey’s unanswered calls. It was a perfect alibi, saving Casey from having to mention Maine. “Congratulations, Brianna,” he said.

  “Oh, don’t leave,” Brianna cried. “We’re celebrating!” As she spoke, Joy produced a bottle of champagne, and Jenna a large bakery bag. “If Casey has orange juice, we have Sunday brunch. It may not be as good as the one Meg made, but we can pretend.”

  At that very moment, as though conjured up by the sound of her name, Casey saw Meg as she turned in from West Cedar. Her head was bowed. From the distance, she looked lonely, even dejected.

  Casey felt a new soft spot inside. Meg was her cousin. Her cousin.

  “Okay, guys,” she ordered her friends, including Jordan in the group, “you all go inside. I’m going to talk to Meg and see what we can do.” Cinching her robe tighter— and not caring one whit that it was all she was wearing— she ran barefoot down the steps and along the sidewalk.