by Dora Hiers
Was he asking her out on a date? “Actually, Everlee invited me to come with her to your company picnic.”
A smile curved his lips and lit his eyes. “So, you’ll be there?”
“I haven’t decided, yet.” Spending a relaxing summer afternoon and evening around Trace both excited and terrified her.
“Would it sway you if I seconded that invitation? Because I’d love for you to join us.”
That so didn’t sound like a date. Just a man being kind and hospitable. A man like Trace.
“That’s very sweet of you, Trace. Thank you. I’m just not sure, yet.”
He nodded. Did the fading light in his eyes and the droop in his smile mean he was disappointed? “Ahh. I see. Well, I hope you’ll come. And I’m sure that would make Trip happy.”
“Pulling the son card?” But the question boomeranging through her head right now was whether he would be happy if she came.
“Whatever it takes.” His lopsided grin held her heart hostage until he disappeared through the door, his boots clomping down the hallway tile, his steps sure and confident.
What did that mean exactly? Did he truly want her to come? If so, why hadn’t he asked her before now? And did she have whatever it took to preserve her heart against his relentless flirting?
10
Why had she agreed to Everlee’s invitation?
How could she ever survive an entire day watching Trace interact with his son and brothers?
The family she’d always longed for but never truly experienced. The brotherly love and tight bond between siblings, the respect and admiration for their beloved Gramps and his recent bride, Ellie. The fun and laughter, the joy and delight. The wonderful smells of hamburgers and hotdogs sizzling on the grill mingled with the fresh lake scent. Even the friendly chatter didn’t drown out the soothing sound of the waves lapping against the shore.
All too…hard. Painful, even.
After Debbie had put out a plea at their church, the Porters had graciously volunteered to provide a home for her after Frank kicked her out. But the elderly couple had never really loved her as one of their own kids. They’d been kind enough, but also anxious to go ahead with their planned move to Florida. And their two adult children lived their own lives, one in California and the other in New York. Busy climbing the corporate ladder with families of their own, the Porter’s son and daughter, both in their late forties, hadn’t visited much while she’d lived with their parents. Maybe once or twice for each of them. She wouldn’t recognize them if she saw them on the street, so she definitely couldn’t claim them as family.
She couldn’t claim the Tomlinsons as family, either, but the longing to do so came from the deepest part of her spirit. They played hard and loved even harder.
Trace, his younger brother Gentry, and Trip were wrestling in the lake. Their older brother Mannix was working the grill, shooting occasional covert glances at his ex-wife Rowan. Mr. Tomlinson had insisted—again—that she call him Gramps like everyone else, and his wife Ellie was a dear. Judging by all the happy faces surrounding them, it was clear that the company employees appreciated working for the Tomlinsons.
For about the hundredth time since she’d opened her doodle journal, the trio in the lake drew her attention. The wide brim of her hat hid her casual inspection.
The men waded out of the lake, droplets glistening like jewels off their chests and heads. Just as they reached the shore, Trip slashed his foot through the shallow water and sprayed his dad and uncle, but neither man took the bait. Trace only smiled, and love for his son glowed from his tan face. Just then, he glanced in her direction and—
Winked?
So much for hiding under the hat! Had he caught her gawking all afternoon?
Frustrated with herself and her traitorous heart, she snapped the marker case closed and tossed it and the journal to the sand. She flopped over onto her back with a loud huff.
“How’s a person supposed to sleep with all this sighing and groaning going on? The beach is supposed to be relaxing.” Everlee sat upright on the lounge chair next to Bristol’s and tugged a coverup over her swimsuit.
“I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”
“I needed to turn anyway.” Everlee scanned the crowd. Her eyes lit up.
Bristol tracked the path of her friend’s gaze. Ahh. Gentry and Mannix huddled in conversation in front of the grill.
Well, she knew her friend wasn’t remotely interested in her boss. Everyone in town knew that Mannix was still in love with his ex-wife.
Everlee slid sandals over her feet and stood. “I’m going for food. Want a hamburger or hot dog?”
“A burger sounds wonderful. With cheese and ketchup. And some of that yummy looking fruit salad, please.” Bristol didn’t bother offering to go with her friend. Clearly, Everlee wanted a chance to chat with Gentry.
“Coming right up.” With a dreamy smile on her face, Everlee wandered away.
“Take your time.” Bristol rose and dragged the chaise over to the shade of a large tree. She sat down, the chair’s back in the midway position, and tried once again to focus on her journal.
But her friend dangled a paper plate in front of her face, obscuring the pages. The wonderful scent of grilled hamburger and fresh fruit wafted up to tease her nose and wake up her taste buds.
“Burger with cheese and ketchup. Fruit salad. A brownie for dessert.” The deep voice obviously didn’t belong to Everlee.
Startled, she glanced toward the voice. Her heart did somersaults as she took the plate from Trace. “Oh, thank you.”
“Mind if I join you?” He didn’t wait for her response. Just plopped down on the grass next to her chair.
“Would you like to borrow Everlee’s chair?” She glanced toward her friend, deep in conversation with Gentry. “Doesn’t look like she’ll be using it for a while.”
“Nah. I’m good.” His gaze followed hers, and he spoke softly. “I’m glad Gent’s finally home. I was worried Everlee might give up on him.” His attention swung back to her. Swirling with vivid golds and oranges, his brown eyes and earnest expression, the undercurrent in his voice robbing her of breath. “It’s about time for those two to wake up and realize that they’re meant to be together.”
She got the distinct impression that he wasn’t just talking about Everlee and Gentry. “You think?”
“Don’t you?” He shoveled the last forkful of baked beans into his mouth and set his empty plate on the ground, anchoring it in place with a rock.
Everlee had loved Gentry since elementary school. Maybe for as long as Bristol had known her. The wandering youngest brother was the one who needed to wake up.
Must be a common theme among the Tomlinson men. Would Trace ever realize how much she loved him?
If he wanted to play this game, she would win.
She locked eyes with him, not allowing even a flicker of her lashes. Her voice came out sure and steady. “Yes. But he needs to stop running away.”
“Agreed.”
“And words are meaningless unless he’s honest about his feelings and shows her that he truly loves her.”
“And how would he go about doing that?” Trace studied her as if her response were the most important thing in the world to him right now.
“For starters, by being there for her.”
One of his dark eyebrows hiked. “Like fixing a leaky sink? Or replacing an old toilet?”
She blinked, his response breaking her concentration. She swallowed and cleared her throat. “Exactly.”
“Or bringing her favorite breakfast and coffee?”
She nodded. What was he getting at?
He eased up to sit on the edge of her chair, leaned in close and brushed her cheek with his knuckles.
Her breath bottled in her lungs.
“What else could he do to show her that he loves her?”
She swallowed. Could barely force the words past her parched and dry lips. “What…else?”
He nodded, his li
ps twitching up on the corners, as he took the plate from her and set it on the end of the chaise.
The rascal. As if he didn’t know how his nearness affected her. How she leaned into him. How her arms literally ached to wind around his neck. How her nerves tingled, and her pulse pounded, and her belly fluttered with the wings of a thousand hummingbirds.
“Would he kiss her?” Trace’s sweet tea flavored breaths puffed against her lips.
Had she taken this game too far? Because, with everything in her, she craved his kiss like her next breath. Her voice came out hoarse from need. “Most definitely.”
Another eyebrow arch, and his head dipped even closer. His lips parted, his eyes darkening to the color of melted caramel. “Like—”
“Dad, Uncle Mannix sent me to tell you that it was your turn—oh, sorry. Never mind. I’ll just—”
Her lashes jerked open in time to see Trip take a jerky step backward, stumbling at the transition from grass to sand but righting himself, a smile eclipsing the surprise on his face.
Of all the rotten timing!
Apparently it didn’t bother the grinning rascal still looming over her. He didn’t even have the decency to appear the slightest bit frustrated! No, his knuckles skimmed her cheek again, his touch gentle, his voice low and confident, his smile wide. “Just when it was about to get interesting. But not to worry. We’ll continue this conversation later.”
Continue it later? What did that mean exactly? As in later tonight? Later this week? Disappointment wilted her back against the chair as he lifted from it. She pressed her fingers against her lips, burning from the almost kiss.
Over six and a half feet of pure male towered over her, his broad shoulders blocking the sun. He gazed down at her as if she were dessert before he swiveled to address his son. “I’m coming.”
It wasn’t until Trace took his brother’s place behind the grill that she finally blew out a breath, rubbing her arms against the combination chill and heat from his touch, her limbs weak and quivering.
Wow. Trace had a way with words, and oh how he tormented her with them. But was he saying what she thought? Or what she hoped?
****
“So, what happened with you and Ms. Owens last night?” Trip scarfed down the last bite of a chocolate chip studded pancake and forked three more onto his empty plate.
Trace might’ve accepted that innocent look in the past, but he was forewarned. A quick glance at the digital numbers on the stove confirmed that they had an hour before church. Now was as good a time as any to have that promised conversation.
He turned off the griddle and sat down next to his son at the bar. “Nothing really. Just talking.” But, oh, how he’d wanted it to be…something. Now that his heart had convicted him, that his actions spoke louder than any words, he’d wanted her to see it too.
“Really?” Disbelief contorted Trip’s features and twisted into a frown as he drowned the stack in syrup. “Because from where I was standing, it looked like something major was about to go down.”
“Would you be upset if something did?”
A glass of juice stalled halfway to his son’s mouth. Trip gaped at him, a mixture of longing and uncertainty swirling from his eyes. “Seriously?”
“Your opinion matters to me, son.”
In a couple swallows, Trip downed half the juice. The glass landed back on the counter with a thud. “I like Ms. Owens. She makes you smile, so you must like her too.”
Like her? What he felt was so much greater and more powerful than like. Just thinking about kissing her last night, those dark-as-molasses eyes growing wider with every verbal lob back and forth—
“See? You’re smiling right now.” Grinning, Trip circled his index finger in front of Trace’s mouth.
He chuckled. “Busted.”
“She’s a good listener when you need someone to talk to, yet she can be trusted to keep a confidence. She’s nice, and Kiwi says that all the students would rather see her than Mrs. Davenport. I would be happy if you two got together.”
“I hadn’t planned on dating until you went off to college.”
“Why, Dad? It bothers me to see you all alone. I don’t want you to give up on finding love because I’m—”
“I’m not giving up anything.” He curled a hand over his son’s shoulder. “I lost so much time with you, Trip. I don’t want anything, or anyone, to steal even more of it.”
“But, Dad, it’s not like we spend every waking minute together. I have a life, you know.” Trip scooted back from the counter and stood.
Ouch. Raising teenagers was not for wimps. “Of cour—”
“And if someone adds value to your life, doesn’t that make time even more precious for all?” Trip rinsed his plate and set it in the dishwasher.
Trace blinked. Had his son just said something so profound? Something so…grownup’ish. And how could he argue with that?
11
“I thought I might find you here.”
The familiar deep voice caught Bristol off-guard. Startled, she stuffed her doodle journal into her bag and whipped her head around, flopping a palm over her galloping heart.
Even with her hat, she was blinded by the glare from the bright sunlight. She might not be able to focus in on his face, but the tank harnessing the wide shoulders, the shorts that still showed miles of long muscular legs, and the bass voice gave him away.
She barely managed to scrounge up a whisper. “You came looking for me?”
“Yeah. Went by your house first, and since your car was there, I figured you were either on foot or ignoring the doorbell when you saw who was ringing it.” Beside her now, a towering tree blocking the sun, he flashed a humble smile, tugged his cap lower over his forehead, and glanced out at the lake. “Then I remembered that you used to come here whenever you had a rough day at work.”
Perched on top of the picnic table with the best view of the lake, she didn’t respond.
“Since it’s Sunday, I assume you didn’t have a rough day at work.” He nudged her over with his hip and squeezed in beside her. She thought she gave him plenty of room, but his thigh still touched hers, sending tingles to shoot straight to her heart.
“No.” Just a tough night. Dreaming. Wondering. Hoping. But then this morning, waking up to the hard truth. Trace had rejected her once before for a reason. She hadn’t changed.
“You snuck out last night before I had a chance to wish you goodnight.”
“I…I was tired.” Tired of loving a man who might never love her back.
“Tired or scared?”
Both? She blinked but remained mute, quite sure her answer to that question would expose everything bottled up in her heart.
“I had that talk with Trip this morning before church.”
“You did?” She turned toward him, only to find his face just inches from hers.
He took her hand and laced their fingers. “Probably wouldn’t have even known where to start if you hadn’t clued me in. So, thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Learning that she’d played a small part in helping families to communicate better always made her smile.
Now, if only she could express her feelings better.
“In case you didn’t know, my son’s pretty smart.”
Praising her students loosened her tongue. “Of course, he is. How could he not be?”
She almost didn’t notice the arm that coiled around her back until he pulled on her hips, snugging her closer to his thigh.
“He said something that really stuck with me.”
“Oh, yeah? What was that?”
“How did he put it? Something like ‘if someone adds value to your life, doesn’t that make time even more precious?’ At first, I thought that was a mighty grownup thing for him to say. But then I realized he probably heard it from someone. I wonder who that someone might’ve been.”
She gulped.
“My first guess was one of my brothers.” He scoffed, a comical scowl etching around his
mouth and between his brows. “But that’s too profound for them.”
“What about Gramps or Ellie?” she inserted.
“Hmm. Maybe. But I suspect someone else.”
“Really? Who?”
“An extremely gifted high school counselor.” He stretched out those long tan legs and hoisted himself off the table with his palm. “Someone who has a wonderful way of interacting with her students, of listening to them and making them feel valued and loved.”
His gaze swallowed her whole as he held out his hand. “An incredibly sweet and very beautiful woman.”
Oh.
She reached for him, and he tugged her to a standing position.
He looped his arms around her back, his expression turning sincere. “Bristol, I want another chance with you.”
Her lungs refused to function, and she braced both palms against his hard chest, giving herself some space, infusing steel into her spine and voice. “You broke up with me, Trace. What makes you think this time would be any different from the last?”
“Because I’m different, sweetheart.” His hands framed her cheeks. “All that baggage I carried around from the past isn’t there anymore. God scrubbed me down on the inside. Bleached away the guilt and the blame and then gave me a fresh paint job.”
She held her breath. Was it really so? Could she believe him? He’d never given her reason to doubt anything, always upfront and honest, even in their breakup.
His lips brushed her forehead with a quick kiss, and then he dropped his arms, sliding his hands into his shorts pockets and turning to stare out at the water. “I wasn’t lying when I told you it was all me, sweetheart. It’s a long story, but I want you to know it.”
“I’m listening.” Suddenly chilled, she hugged her arms.
“After my parents and sister were killed in that car crash, in my crazy teenage head, I blamed my mom and sister for destroying our family. We’d all planned to go to Gentry’s game that day, but then Maddy’s pageant got rescheduled. My mom convinced my dad to go there instead while Gramps took us boys to Gentry’s game.” He rubbed his jaw, covering up the clenching, his swallows loud and hard.
