by Brenda Novak
“Smoking’s a filthy habit,” her father muttered.
Rebecca tossed the hand towel she’d been using as a cool compress into the sink. “Thanks for the encouragement, Dad.”
“Let’s get that wedding arch unloaded,” he said, ignoring her.
Rebecca didn’t think she could get up without a winch. “We can’t. There’s only you, me and Randy, and we need more hands than that. We wouldn’t want Greta to break a nail. She might decide to sculpt something out of it.”
Greta’s jaw dropped. “Ow! Leave me out of your little spats, okay? What’s gotten into you today?”
It wasn’t “what” had gotten into her. It was “who.” She was still trying to figure out what had happened with Josh Hill. Why had he been so upset? Because she didn’t want to ride with him? What was it to him if she fainted by the side of the road?
“I wasn’t joking about Josh being at his parents’ house. I ran into him earlier,” she said, as if that was explanation enough for her bad mood. Unfortunately, it was the wrong excuse to use today.
“That shouldn’t make any difference,” Doyle said. “You two called a truce, remember?”
“Yeah, well, talk to Josh,” Rebecca grumbled. “I think he must’ve forgotten about that.”
Her father shifted onto the balls of his feet. “Damned if he did. You go down there and tell him we need his help unloading this wedding arch.”
Rebecca jerked upright. “Randy’s his best friend. Have him go.”
Her father gave her “the look,” the one that indicated he meant business. “I asked you.”
“He admitted to me just yesterday that his mother doesn’t like me,” Rebecca said.
“After all the trouble you and Josh had growing up, can you blame her?”
“Considering you still like him, yes.”
“Go on over there,” her father said. “I want to get that arch off the truck before the neighborhood kids start climbing on it. The last thing we need is for someone to get hurt.”
“If I go down to Josh’s parents’ house, I have a good chance of being hurt,” she argued.
“Don’t worry, I’ll make you a butterfly bandage,” Greta said sweetly.
Rebecca rolled her eyes. “Good one, Greta. Now I know why you want to stay out of the line of fire. You’re only packing a pellet gun.”
“Hurry,” her father said, cutting off any rejoinder Greta might have made. “Let’s get this over with.”
“If I do this, can we have our little wedding meeting during dinner, instead of after?” Rebecca asked.
“Why?” Greta wanted to know.
“Because I have to move some things into storage, remember?”
“Okay. You go get Josh. And we’ll keep the meeting short.”
“Fine.” She turned to her mother. “I need to change my shirt. Can I borrow something?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
AFTER HER EXUBERANT ATTEMPT to get fit in one day, Rebecca could barely walk. And she’d seen all of Josh Hill she wanted to see. But if fetching him meant she could go home, move her furniture into storage and shower that much sooner, she was determined to do what had to be done.
Her family, except her mother, who stayed to watch over dinner, spilled out of the house behind her and milled around Randy’s Chevy pickup as she hobbled down the street. She could feel her brother-in-law’s interest, knew he was laughing at her, and wished she had the energy to turn and flip him off. But, in her bid for self-improvement, she was currently stifling such tendencies. And her father was standing right there, which helped a great deal with the old self-control. She doubted Doyle would buy the “I am what I am” routine. The one thing she didn’t want was to start him off on another of his “What’s this world coming to?” tirades.
Josh’s house had once looked huge, or at least daunting. Rebecca recalled sneaking over there as a child, her heart pounding with the anticipation of whatever mischief she was planning. She also remembered being caught a time or two by the formidable Mrs. Hill. Those memories loomed large in her mind.
But Josh’s mother had to be in her early sixties, Rebecca reminded herself. Surely, even gimpy, she could outrun her by now.
“Rebecca, get Mike, too, if he’s there,” her father called.
Rebecca threw a glance over her shoulder and nodded in acknowledgment. Randy was standing at the curb. He taunted her with a grin and a wave, so she threw back her shoulders and marched, as best she could, through the Wellses’ neatly tended yard, past an American flag, up the two steps of the green porch, and right to the front door.
Staring at a beautiful autumn wreath hanging at eye level, Rebecca punched the doorbell.
Josh’s father answered a moment later. “Well, if it isn’t the little girl from down the street. We haven’t seen you around our place for a few years—thank God,” he added under his breath, as though he thought she wouldn’t be able to hear him.
Rebecca raised her chin. “My father was wondering if Josh and Mike might be willing to help us lift something from the back of Randy’s truck.”
Larry Hill poked his head out of the house and looked down the street as though confirming what she’d said. Her father waved; he waved back. “Mike’s out of town on business for the weekend,” he said. “But I’ll help, and I’ll get Josh.”
“Who is it?” Mrs. Hill asked, coming up behind her husband as he moved away and left the door ajar.
Rebecca heard Larry say her name.
“Well, for heaven’s sake, don’t leave her unattended. You never know what she might do,” she snapped and promptly appeared in the doorway.
Rebecca cleared her throat and attempted polite conversation. “Hello, Mrs. Hill. The weather’s sure been beautiful this fall, hasn’t it?”
“What happened to you?” she responded, eyeing the dirt on Rebecca’s sweat-streaked legs. “You look like hell.”
* * *
REBECCA AGAIN. Josh couldn’t believe it. After several years of relative tranquility, she’d burst back into his life, and now she seemed to be around every corner.
He and his father followed her down to her parents’ house without speaking, Josh determined to remain more aloof during this encounter. He’d embarrassed himself by letting her know how badly she was getting to him when he dumped her in his truck; he wasn’t about to regress to the point where the frustration he felt in her presence boiled out of him again.
Fortunately, the moment he reached Doyle’s yard, Randy clapped him on the back and drew him into a conversation about the University of Utah and the potential of their football team this year. Josh thought he’d be able to ignore Rebecca completely, but then he caught sight of something that kicked his gut into his throat. She’d changed out of her sweaty T-shirt and into a long-sleeved white shirt she’d probably borrowed from her mother, judging by its size. The ends were tied an inch or so above her navel, revealing not only her butterfly tattoo but a wide swath of flat tan tummy. And when she turned right, he could tell she wasn’t wearing a bra. Her nipples were standing erect, probably stimulated by the light chafing of the fabric when she moved.
Josh felt his throat go dry. Mary had a compact body with large, full breasts and was certainly more amenable to sharing. But just now, her breasts seemed far less appealing….
“Josh? Are you going to answer me?” Randy asked.
Josh jerked his attention away from Rebecca’s blouse and searched his recent memory for a fragment of what Randy had asked him. When he came up blank, he said, “Sorry, my mom wants us to hurry back for dinner. We’d better get to that wedding arch.”
“Are you feeling okay, buddy?” Randy asked.
Josh shrugged. “Sure. Why?”
His friend’s eyebrows knitted as he nodded at Rebecca, who was standing by her sister. “Is it Rebecca? She just went jogging,” he explained. “That’s why she looks so bad.”
Problem was, she didn’t look bad. Not to Josh. She looked better than an ice-cold beer in the worst summer
heat, despite her sweaty hair, lack of makeup, their history, everything.
“Can we get this thing unloaded?” Rebecca asked everyone, her voice tinged with impatience. “I have a lot to do today.”
“Just what are you planning to move into storage?” Greta asked her as they all converged on Randy’s truck.
“My furniture.”
“Already? The wedding’s still six weeks away.”
Rebecca didn’t answer.
“Who’s going to help you?” Greta asked.
Rebecca’s gaze slid quickly past Josh and fixed on Randy. “Randy’s got to be good for something.”
“Sorry, sweetcakes, I’m good for a lot of things. But I can’t help you today.” He put down the tailgate of his pickup. “After we leave here, I’ve got a Scout meeting.”
“He’s the den leader,” Greta added, as though that designated him a pretty important person.
Rebecca looked like she was about to make some type of comment, but Doyle diverted her attention.
“You shouldn’t be moving anything this early, Rebecca,” he said. “You’ll end up packing things you need. Wait a few weeks.”
Rebecca hoisted herself into the bed of the truck. Briefly Josh wondered why she was even trying to help them unload. Greta certainly felt no similar compulsion. Rebecca’s sister took charge, telling them what to do and how to do it, but she didn’t come within ten feet of the wedding arch. Now that they had five men, Josh didn’t think they needed Rebecca, either. But this was Doyle’s show, not his.
“I don’t want to wait a few weeks,” Rebecca said.
“If you try to do too much by yourself, you’ll end up hurting your back,” her father warned.
Then why don’t you go over and help her out? Josh wanted to ask. Support her a little? But it was none of his business. Getting involved detracted from his primary objective. So did that blouse Rebecca was wearing, but there were some things that couldn’t be helped.
“I’ll only lift the light stuff,” Rebecca said.
* * *
WAS THAT A COUCH she was trying to wrestle through the door?
Josh slowed and craned his neck to get a better look. It was difficult to see very well. The sun had set, and the light inside Rebecca’s small house provided only a backdrop. But after a few moments he could tell that she was indeed shoving her couch outside, an inch at a time. What she planned to do once she got it on the sagging porch, he had no idea, because there wasn’t any way she could load it into the truck waiting in her drive. At least not by herself.
With a sigh of resignation, he parked in front and cut the engine. He’d come by her place in spite of the many times he’d told himself he wasn’t going to. And now that he knew she needed him as much as he’d suspected she might, he wouldn’t be able to talk himself into going home until he’d moved the heavy stuff.
Climbing out of his Excursion, he slammed the door and started up the walk. “Hang on,” he said. “I’ll get this end.”
She hadn’t changed clothes since she’d left her parents’ house. Which wasn’t a good thing. That blouse, or rather the strip of bare skin beneath it, tended to make him forget some pretty important realities. First, that she was engaged. Second, that she was trouble with a capital “T.” Third, that he sort of had a girlfriend, though there’d been no promises spoken between them. And last but not least, that Rebecca had made it abundantly clear she’d never found him appealing.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, blinking at him as though he’d just beamed down from another planet.
“I was on my way home. Thought maybe you could use a hand.”
She arched a skeptical brow. “You came over to help me?”
“Isn’t that what people typically do once they’ve decided to be friends?”
“Calling a truce doesn’t make us friends,” she said.
“So? Would it be so bad,” he asked, “if we became friends?”
She propped a knee on the arm of the couch, which was mostly out of the house, and leaned against the open doorway. “We’re not really cut out for friendship.”
“Who said?”
“You’re a Scorpio.”
“Your birthday’s the day after mine. Doesn’t that make you a Scorpio, too?”
“Exactly. Scorpio is an extreme sign. We’re all-or-nothing people, far too intense to ever get along.”
“I didn’t know you were into astrology.”
“I’m not, but I know that much.”
“We can get along,” he said. “We’ve just never tried.”
“We lived across the street from each other for years.”
“We don’t live across the street from each other anymore. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe now it’ll be easier.”
“Somehow I don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t think friends force friends into their cars, for one,” she said.
“They do if it’s in the friend’s best interest, right? If one friend’s drunk. Or, as in your case, if she’s about to pass out.”
“I wasn’t about to pass out.”
He smiled at her denial. She pulled on her tied shirttails in what seemed to be a self-conscious movement. “Besides, we don’t even like each other.”
“Yes, we do.” Circling the couch, he purposefully invaded her space. He wondered if she’d retreat inside, maybe even tell him to get off her property, but he should’ve known better. Rebecca Wells didn’t back away from anything. She stayed right where she was and watched him with a certain wariness in her eyes.
“Are you sure?” she asked.
He nodded. “Positive.”
“You did trust me to cut your hair,” she said, nibbling on her bottom lip. “Maybe we could give friendship a trial run. But I think we should define the term.”
He leaned against the same doorjamb she was leaning against, just inches away. “Okay, define it.”
Her eyes flicked downward, as though noting this further encroachment. But she still didn’t move. “First and foremost, it doesn’t mean that we ever have to hang out together.”
“So we’re not close friends.”
“Right.” She stood up straight. A subtle move to ease away without appearing to be the first to withdraw? “Second, we agree to forget our past sins.”
“Hallelujah. Now we’re making progress,” he said, “especially since I’m not really sure what my past sins are. At least the ones you can’t forgive.”
She glossed over his words by continuing, “And third, whether or not we’ve become friends is nobody’s business but our own. We say nothing about each other to anyone. There’s plenty of talk in this town as it is.”
“Done.” He folded his arms. “Anything else?”
She frowned at his arms, now almost brushing her breasts. “Not that I can think of.”
“Well, if it makes you feel better, I won’t ask you to sign in blood. We can amend the arrangement as we go.”
She nodded as though she should’ve thought of that herself. “Then it’s a deal.”
He reached out to shake on it and knew he’d made a mistake as soon as she slipped her hand in his. Her touch had the same effect on him as her bare midriff—it immediately brought him back to that night a year ago last summer.
“Isn’t it getting a little chilly for that outfit?” he asked, immediately pulling away and putting some distance between them.
She glanced down as though she’d forgotten what she had on. “It’s cooling off, but there’s no point in dirtying another set of clothes. I want to move a few things before I shower.”
Her rationale made sense but, as far as Josh was concerned, she couldn’t change soon enough. A pair of flannel pajamas might help remind him of the limitations of their new friendship. But if he knew Rebecca, she’d never settle for sleepwear half as bland as he needed it to be. The night he’d taken her home from the Honky Tonk she’d been wearing a sexy white thong and matching lace bra that had looked
beautiful against her smooth tan skin….
Maybe if she’d give him just one night, he could get her out of his system. But he doubted their fledging friendship could survive a fling. Besides, he’d have to break it off with Mary first, and Rebecca was engaged, anyway.
“So what made you drop by?” she asked.
Josh thought about what had happened when Doyle came to the salon and decided to test out a theory that had been forming in his mind. “Your father wanted me to see if you needed a hand.”
Her eyes widened. “Really?”
The hope in her voice made Josh wish her father had asked him to check on her. He would’ve felt a lot better toward Doyle Wells if that had been the case. “Yeah, he thought it would be nice,” he lied.
She smiled as though he’d just given her a wonderful gift, and the fact that such small proof of fatherly concern could elicit that kind of reaction from jaded Rebecca Wells pricked Josh’s heart. Despite the eye-rolling and resentment and arguing between them, Rebecca loved her father much more than she ever let on. He wondered if Doyle Wells knew how she felt, and doubted it. He was too busy complaining about all the trouble she caused him.
“Well, it’s a good thing he didn’t come himself,” she said as they bent to lift the couch. “He’d want to know why I’m moving all this stuff.”
“Why are you moving all this stuff?” Josh asked as they started across the small yard with the couch. “You’re not getting married for another six weeks.”
“Yeah, but—” she shrugged “—it’s better to be prepared.”
“By moving your furniture outside? What were you going to do once you got it out here?”
“Booker’s stopping by later. I was planning to have him help me load it.”
Josh felt a rush of intense dislike. “Oh. How does your fiancé feel about you hanging out with Booker?” he asked as they loaded the couch onto the truck.
“He knows we’re only friends. Anyway, Buddy’s not the jealous type.”
Josh had never been the jealous type, either. Yet he hated the memory of Booker dancing with Rebecca the way he’d danced with her last night, hated the thought of him coming over here so late. As if that made any sense. He was supposed to be jealous over Mary, not a woman who was engaged to someone else. “What’s next?”
