Every Waking Moment

by Brenda Novak

  Smothering a curse, he got out of the hot water and stalked over. “Is something wrong?”

  “Do you want to have a slumber party with us?” Max asked before Emma could reply.

  Preston knew his expression had to reveal his opinion on that subject, but Max didn’t seem to notice.

  “Say yes,” Max said. “I’ve never been to a slumber party.”

  Preston looked at Emma. “Is this some kind of joke?”

  She motioned him closer. As her cool hand touched his overheated arm, he wasn’t sure if she shivered or he did, but he could tell the kiss-my-ass attitude she’d adopted when she left the pool was long gone.

  “We—we can’t go back to our room,” she whispered in his ear.

  Preston scowled at Max, who was trying to wiggle between his mother and the fence.

  “What did you say, Mommy?”

  Emma met Preston’s eyes and didn’t answer her son.

  “Why not?” Preston asked.

  “Manuel’s there. He’s found us.”

  This could have been a last-ditch effort to hitch a ride, but Emma was trembling too badly for him to believe she was lying. “Max’s father?”

  She nodded.

  He scrubbed a hand over his face. How in the world had he been unlucky enough to bump into these two? They were like bad pennies.

  “Go to the police,” he said at last. “There’s nothing I can do for you.”

  He started to step away, but she reached through the fence in time to catch his arm. “I—I’m not asking for a favor. I’m offering a trade. I thought maybe…”

  Her words faltered.

  “What?”

  She tugged to get him to move closer, and he reluctantly let her whisper in his ear again. “I saw you…looking at me a few minutes ago.”

  He could smell the scent of her shampoo. “Doesn’t hurt to look,” he said.

  “You…” She cleared her throat and tried again. “You seemed to like what you saw,” she said hopefully.

  He tried not to picture her without the T-shirt she was wearing over her suit now. “What if I did?”

  “I’d be willing to make you a deal.”

  “I’m not following this conversation.”

  He moved with her as she inched away from Max, and her voice dropped so low Preston could scarcely hear her. “I’ll give you what you want, if you’ll give me what I want.”

  The trembling he’d noticed earlier had reached her voice, which told him she wasn’t merely repeating an offer to help out with gas. “Are you saying you’ll have sex with me?” he asked in astonishment.

  For all his surprise, he’d managed to keep his voice low, but Max hadn’t allowed them any space. He pressed between Emma and the fence again, and she put her hands over her son’s ears before she responded.

  “If you have to spell it out, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”

  Her stiff posture and the stoicism in her face told him she found the idea of sleeping with him about as appealing as facing a firing squad. And that pretty much took care of his fantasies. He couldn’t imagine having any fun if she was only tolerating the experience. Besides, he could already tell that Emma wasn’t the quick and easy type, and he wasn’t about to become embroiled in an emotional mess.

  He was curious to hear what she’d ask for in return, however. “In trade for what?”

  She glanced around, obviously afraid someone might sneak up behind her. “You have to let me and Max stay with you tonight. And you have to take us to Salt Lake as soon as possible. As soon as the van’s fixed. I have to get out of Nevada.”

  She was blinking fast, fighting tears. This was no joke. “Please?” she added desperately, as if she expected him to say no.

  She’d just offered to sleep with him in exchange for a little human kindness. Scary thing was, she’d done it because she knew he’d probably refuse if she didn’t.

  God, when had he sunk so low?

  With a sigh, he focused on Max’s hopeful face.

  “I’ll be good,” Max promised. “Say yes!”

  What else could he do? His heart might be three sizes too small, but what was left of it wouldn’t let him turn them away. Desperate as Emma was, he feared she might make the same offer to someone who’d take her up on it. Or fall into the hands of the man she feared enough to sacrifice her dignity.

  Crossing to the table, Preston thanked heaven he’d hidden the gun in the back of the van and dug under his towel to find his key. Then he handed it to Emma. “Room three forty-one,” he said. “I’ll be up in a minute.”

  EMMA STARED at her reflection in the mirror of the motel room’s locked bathroom. Wide, frightened eyes gazed back at her, eyes underscored with dark smudges of fatigue and worry. The rest of her face looked pale, almost translucent—and it wasn’t any wonder. She’d offered to prostitute herself to the man on the other side of the door, a man she’d known for only two days.

  Fleetingly, she thought of her mother and sister in Arizona, and cringed. They wouldn’t believe her if she told them what she was about to do. No one would. She could scarcely believe it herself.

  “How has my life come to this?” she whispered to her reflection. As a girl, she’d excelled in school and in track. When she went away to college, she’d remained at the top of her class. She’d kept up with her running. She’d volunteered to read aloud twice a week at the neighborhood elementary school. She’d had wonderful, lofty aspirations to make a difference in the lives of the little first-graders she planned to teach one day. Overall, she’d been an exemplary citizen. She hadn’t even slept with anyone until Manuel.

  Yet here she was, cowering in Preston Holman’s bathroom, going through the motions of showering and drying her hair while summoning the nerve to keep the bargain she’d just made.

  She hung up the blow dryer and closed her eyes so she wouldn’t have to see herself any longer. Sometimes people had to do things they never dreamed they would. It was called real life, survival, she told herself. But she knew all the self-talk in the world wouldn’t make it any easier. She glanced down at Max, sleeping peacefully on the blankets she’d arranged for him at her feet, beside the tub. Before Preston had returned, Emma had tested her son, fed him a granola bar to raise his blood sugar after swimming, and tucked him in his makeshift bed. She couldn’t have him in the room while she kept her promise to Preston.

  For the moment, Max was safe. Sheltered. Hidden from the tall dirty man she’d recognized at the Feel Good Motel. Closeted away from Manuel and the threat of abduction to Mexico.

  When she looked at her son, no price seemed too high. And at least Preston Holman had an impressive body. His skin was smooth and golden, not apishly hairy. He was young and fit, close to her age. And he smelled good. She’d noticed that earlier, in the van.

  Most women would be eager to sleep with a man like Preston Holman. But not her. When Manuel touched her, she felt only revulsion and could no longer imagine feeling anything else. She wanted to retain possession of her own body; she wanted complete independence.

  Unfortunately, that probably wasn’t going to happen until she reached the midwest and found a job and a home. Until then, she’d have to get by any way she could—and right now, she had no better option than to be where she was.

  With a final, bolstering breath, she forced her eyes open. “I can do this,” she murmured. “I can do it for Max.” Preston had barely spoken to her all day. He’d probably use her quickly and be done with it. And she didn’t have to worry about getting pregnant. She’d been on the pill since she’d had Max. She’d known early on not to have another child with Manuel.

  The volume of the television dropped, and she quickly scooped the dry clothes Preston had given her off the lid of the toilet seat. Was he getting impatient? She had no idea what to expect. When she’d let him into the motel room thirty minutes ago, he’d asked if she needed to borrow some clothes. She’d said yes, and he’d lent her a T-shirt and a pair of boxers—all he had that migh
t fit her.

  After that simple exchange, he’d walked into the bathroom, closed the door while he showered, and returned wearing nothing but a pair of well-worn jeans. Then he’d plopped onto one of the beds and flipped on the television while she took her turn in the bathroom—which included settling Max. Fortunately her son was tired enough not to question his sleeping arrangements….

  She was taking much longer than Preston had, which was no doubt becoming quite noticeable.

  She held the T-shirt he’d given her to her nose. It was clean; she could smell the fabric softener. But she didn’t even have a bra or a pair of panties to put on underneath.

  “What are you doing?”

  She froze at the sound of his voice. “I’m…um…just finishing up,” she responded, but he spoke at almost the same time, and she realized he wasn’t even talking to her. He was on the phone.

  “Yeah, it’s me. I’m fine. I’m always fine, right?”

  Slightly embarrassed by her blunder, Emma pressed her ear to the door, curious to learn the reason behind his sarcasm.

  “No, I didn’t call for that. I’ve finally found Vince. Christy, did you hear me? I’ve found him.”

  Emma had no idea who Vince might be, but she could tell by the way Preston spoke that he expected this news to make an impact.

  “Because I thought you should know, that’s why…. What do you mean? God, have you forgotten Dallas completely?” Anger, accusation and some other emotion, something that sounded a lot like pain, rang through his words. “So we’re divorced. Does that mean we can’t talk about our son?…Forget it. You’re right. I shouldn’t have interrupted your comfortable new life with Bob.”

  So Preston had an ex. And that ex was apparently remarried.

  “No, you stop. Our son’s dead, Christy. Our bright, perfect six-year-old who—” His voice cracked. He couldn’t seem to finish his sentence, but he recovered by starting off on a different tack, this time lashing out, obviously trying to hurt. “You might be able to pick up and carry on as if nothing happened, but I can’t. At least not until I make it right…. What? Justice!”

  He said something else but Emma couldn’t quite catch what it was. He must’ve turned away from the bathroom.

  “I was his father,” he said when she could hear him again. “He was depending on me…. If it’s not my place, then whose is it?…We’ve gone over this before. That doesn’t mean I’ll let Vince get away with what he’s done…. Fine, call it whatever you want.”

  Emma winced as certain things became clear to her. Preston had had a son once, too—a son he’d lost.

  His strange fascination with her when he saw her carrying Max into their room at Maude’s Cozy Comfort Bungalows made sense now. So did everything else. No wonder he couldn’t stand the sight of Max. No wonder he was bitter.

  She pressed her palms to her eyes as she remembered telling him she’d never met anyone who hated children as much as he did. He’d looked at her as if she’d slapped him. But she hadn’t known, could never have guessed, and the thought that she might soon be in a similar situation deepened her resolve. She didn’t care if she had to sleep with Preston Holman. She wouldn’t be robbed of her son. She’d do whatever she had to.

  “I don’t care what Bob thinks,” he was saying. “What about Billy Duran? And Melanie Deets?” Preston was nearly shouting now. “How many heroes do you know, Christy? When was the last time you read a newspaper article about some doctor in town miraculously saving a child’s life?”

  What was he talking about?

  “It’s more than that.”

  There was a long pause. When Preston spoke again, he sounded deflated. “I have to do what I have to do…. Okay, wait…No, don’t cry. Come on, Christy. Please? I’m sorry.”

  There was another remark Emma missed, then silence. He’d hung up.

  Emma waited to see what would happen next, but nothing did. Preston didn’t make a sound, and Max kept sleeping. The minutes began to stretch until she felt like a complete coward for hiding out in the bathroom. Preston was suffering, in a way she could imagine all too easily. Yet he’d agreed to help them.

  She suspected that had less to do with her offer at the pool than she’d originally assumed. She wasn’t even sure Preston remembered she was there. But a deal was a deal. She owed it to him to at least ask what he wanted from her in return.

  If he said she had to climb into bed with him tonight, she’d divorce her mind from her body. She’d had plenty of practice doing that. Sleeping with him couldn’t be any worse than lying beneath Manuel.

  Resigned, she borrowed his toothbrush, then pulled on his clothes.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  PRESTON SAT in the dark, next to the small round table in front of the room’s only window, trying to block out the echo of his conversation with Christy. He’d been stupid to call her. He wouldn’t have done it, except something about Emma made him miss what they’d had—that sense of family, the togetherness. Since Dallas’s death, they couldn’t speak without arguing. But after two months of silence, he’d called anyway—and he’d upset her. Again.

  Fool. She’d been through enough. Regardless of what he’d said, he didn’t really begrudge her the happiness she’d managed to find during the past six months with her new husband. He wasn’t even sure what he’d hoped to accomplish by telling her about Vince. She’d already dealt with their son’s death. He was the one who couldn’t get past it.

  Vaguely he wondered if the compulsion to call his ex-wife meant he was still in love with her. But it didn’t take him long to figure out that everything he’d once felt for her was gone. The events beginning the day Dallas fell ill had swept all positive emotion away.

  Twirling his closed pocketknife between his fingers, Preston remembered the panic and worry over Dallas’s unexpected illness, the moment their son’s weakened body had lost the fight, the friends and family who’d clogged the cemetery the day of his funeral, Christy weeping over his grave. And later, Christy defending Vince and refusing to believe what Preston knew in his gut to be true.

  The images parading through his mind made his stomach churn, made him realize that the anger consuming him left no room for love as he used to know it. Maybe he’d always care deeply for Christy, but what he felt, more than anything, was a terrible regret—regret for the loss of their innocence, their marriage and the child they’d both adored.

  Light spilled into the room as the bathroom door opened and Emma stepped out. He didn’t want her as a witness to the emptiness that surrounded him, didn’t want to feel responsible for anyone or anything except the task he’d set for himself. He’d planned to ignore her as much as possible, but he knew immediately that it wasn’t going to be that easy. Not now. It was late, and they were alone in a hotel room. He’d let his imagination carry him too damn far in that Jacuzzi.

  His eyes fell to the shapely bare legs that extended beneath the boxers he’d lent her, and he couldn’t look away. It was two years now since he’d been with Christy. Suddenly those two years seemed like a lifetime.

  Maybe a temporary distraction wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe a distraction was exactly what he needed to give his mind and body the rest it craved.

  Standing there, she hesitated.

  “Are you tired?” he asked.

  “A little.”

  He almost told her to go ahead and get some sleep. He knew she probably wasn’t feeling the same rush of sexual excitement he was. But another part of his brain—a part run strictly by hormones, if he had his guess—cautioned him not to be too hasty. Maybe he was walking into an emotional mess, but he was pretty much stuck with Emma and Max anyway, at least until Salt Lake. If he was honest with himself, he’d have to admit he’d probably wind up taking them to Iowa. So how could a little positive sensation make things any worse? She was the one who’d made the offer.

  “What are you thinking?” she asked.

  “I’m trying to talk myself into letting you sleep.”

  Her
gaze darted to the bed, then returned to his face. “Or…”

  “I think you know my other option.”

  Her eyes widened slightly. She clasped her hands in front of her, but she didn’t step back or shake her head or indicate in any other way that she’d refuse. “After that phone call with your ex-wife, I wasn’t sure you’d still be interested.”

  “Maybe that’s why I’m interested.”

  “Would you care to explain that?”

  It had to do with reaching out to someone. It also had something to do with interrupting the endless reel of memories playing in his head. But those were his problems. “No.”

  “I didn’t think so.” She waited for several seconds before breaking the silence again, and he wondered if she was scared.

  “Does your decision hinge on any one thing?” she finally asked.

  “Definitely.”

  “What?”

  “You.”

  Her chest lifted as if she’d just taken in a huge gulp of air. “You don’t have to worry about me. We have an agreement. I won’t go back on my word.”

  “The agreement isn’t what’s important to me.”

  “What is?”

  He tried to determine what she might be feeling. “Are you afraid of me, Emma?”

  She shook her head, and his heart beat faster. That was good. He could never touch a woman who was afraid of him.

  “Then come here.”

  Emma’s teeth sank into her bottom lip, but she moved forward, stopping a few feet in front of him.

  He waved her toward him again, and this time she didn’t stop until she was standing between his spread knees. He could feel her body’s heat, smell the soap she’d just used. He could almost feel the satiny softness of her skin, even though he hadn’t touched her yet.

  When he stood, the final inches between them shrank to millimeters. He hovered over her for several seconds, searching for any sign of the fear she denied. He could tell she was nervous, jumpy, but he didn’t think she was afraid of him. She met his eyes squarely and didn’t flinch.

  “Relax,” he said. “I won’t hurt you, okay? I won’t do anything you don’t want me to.”