“Thank you,” Pasty said, relief evident in her voice. “As soon as I hang up I’m going to go upstairs and clean up a room for you. I got some beautiful apples at the farmers’ market the other day. What’s your favorite? Apple pie? Apple cobbler? Apple crumble? Apple tarts? Apple cake? Apple fritters?”
Apples. Her mind jumbled with everything she had going on right now, her favorite apple dessert eluded her. She looked to Shane for help.
“You don’t have to decide now,” Patsy said. “It’ll only take a few hours to make them all. You can pick when you get here.”
“Just say okay,” Shane prompted.
“Okay.” Why had he come to her when he needed to be home? He’s a good man.
Shane took the phone, lifted it to his ear, and spoke to his mom. “Thanks, Ma. One more thing. No questions about what’s going on with Brooke. And don’t tell anyone she’s coming.” He listened, looking at his watch while he did. “I don’t know. I’ll call you once we’re on the road.” He paused. “Don’t worry. Gotta go. I love you.”
Brooke liked that he told his mom he loved her without caring who heard it.
Nate remained unaffected. He stood and held out his hand palm up. “I’ll need to see your driver’s license,” he said in his “ticketing a speeder” voice.
Shane took out his wallet, found his driver’s license, and placed it in Nate’s hand.
Nate asked, “This your home address?”
Everything was happening so fast.
Shane nodded. “I keep everything registered at my parents’ house since I spend so much time out of the country.”
Nate said, “I need to run to my squad car for a minute.” He took Shane’s license with him when he did.
In the awkward quiet that followed, Shane said, “Ma told you about Tommy.” A statement not a question.
Brooke nodded.
“I didn’t intend for her to guilt you into coming home with me,” he said quietly. “I only wanted her to make you feel welcome. If you don’t want to—”
“I do.” She did want to go, to be there with him when he said his final good-bye to his best friend. And maybe to take this opportunity to really get to know the man she cared so deeply for, and give him the chance to really get to know her, in person.
Nate returned amid shouts from the reporters and slammed the door closed behind him. “He checks out.” He walked to Shane to return his license. “I took the liberty of making a few phone calls.”
Shane held up both hands. “I’ve got nothing to hide.”
“His family checks out, too.”
Growing up, Brooke’s life had been mostly devoid of familial displays of affection. Spending time in Neve’s home had taught her about warmth and caring and the wonderfulness of a hug. So she walked to Nate, wrapped her arms around him, and pressed her cheek to his chest. “Thank you.” For always looking out for her. For putting her mind at ease.
Nate hugged her back tightly. “Anytime.” He leaned down and whispered in her ear, “If you need me, call me. Anytime. I’m always here for you.”
She squeezed him then stepped away.
“I have a guy coming over to clean up and paint the door,” Nate told her. “Now go pack while we put together a plan to get you out of here unnoticed.”
Chapter Six
They settled on creating a diversion that involved Nate talking to the press. Since he had to get back to work, they formulated and carried out the plan quickly. As anticipated, the reporters gave Nate their full attention while Brooke slipped out her back sliding door and navigated through her wooded backyard to the shopping plaza that backed up to it, where Shane waited in his Jeep.
And to his immense unhappiness, less than forty-five minutes after his arrival, Shane found himself back on the road.
“You look uncomfortable,” Brooke said.
Very observant.
“Do you want me to drive?”
“I’m fine,” he gave his standard answer. Period. End of discussion. Leave it alone.
She didn’t. “I’m a very good driver.”
“I’m sure you are.” He tried to keep it nice.
“I’ve never gotten a speeding ticket.”
“That’s good to know.” Not that it mattered. Only he drove his Jeep. The one exception was if he’d had too much to drink. He reached for the volume on the radio and turned it up, hoping she’d take the hint.
Shane couldn’t be sure if it was the burning pain in his left leg, the headache throbbing behind his eye sockets, or the intense dread of more torturous hours stuffed into his Jeep that’d put him in a foul mood, but about thirty minutes into the trip, around the fourth time Brooke shifted in her seat and mumbled a comment along the lines of, “…silly for you to suffer when I’m perfectly capable of driving,” he snapped.
He was injured, damn it. Not completely incapacitated. “From your pictures I’d never have guessed you’re such a nag.” He gripped the steering wheel tighter than necessary, trying to squeeze out his frustration with his new physical limitations as much as with Brooke, hoping, if she was anything like his sister Lucy, he’d be headed for some peace and quiet in the form of the silent treatment.
If only he could be that lucky.
“Hmmm,” she started. “I’ve never considered myself a nag.” He saw her looking at him out of the corner of his eye. “But if you equate my caring, concern for your comfort, and offers of assistance as nagging, then I guess I am a nag. It’s a character flaw. Only my closest friends know about it. Consider yourself part of my inner circle.”
Lucky him.
“Suffice it to say,” she went on. “I’m sure we’ve both made erroneous assumptions based on pictures and the communications we’ve exchanged. Back when you were home on leave, I took your offer to drive my car from the airport to your hotel as a gentlemanly gesture. Not once did I consider you might actually turn out to be a stubborn male chauvinist who thinks women incapable of being good drivers.”
Stubborn? Hell yeah. A male chauvinist? Only in his belief that certain women—women like Brooke—needed to be protected and taken care of, not because they’re weak, but because they were soft and gentle and he liked them that way. But he didn’t argue. “Guess I wouldn’t make as good a boyfriend as you’d originally thought.” So far she’d made no mention of his offer to revisit them becoming boyfriend and girlfriend when he got home. That didn’t come as a surprise, not with him in his current condition. So he gave her an out and hoped she’d take it, for both their sakes.
She flicked a hand in his direction, dismissing his comment. “We all have flaws, Shane. If you can handle my nagging I can handle your male chauvinistic tendencies.”
But could she handle his angry outbursts or his inability to sleep through the night or his mean, cranky side when the pain got to be too much? He’d have to work harder to push her away so she’d spend her time on finding a more suitable guy—one who could provide nice houses and cars, who’d treat her the way she deserved to be treated and fit in at her daddy’s fancy fund-raisers, rather than wasting her time on him, a man who would only drag her down.
An unfamiliar ringtone sounded.
Brooke leaned forward and dug around in her oversized pocketbook on the floor between her feet. “I’m surprised it’s taken her this long.” She found the phone and held it up to him. “My mother.” She stared at the screen. “I should probably answer it.” Yet she didn’t. “If I don’t she’ll just keep calling.”
The phone went quiet.
A few seconds later it rang again.
She glanced over at him. “She must be livid.”
“I’m sure she’s more worried about you than angry,” Shane offered.
“I’m sure you’re wrong.” Brooke accepted the call with a reluctant, “Hello, Mother.”
So formal.
After about a minute she said, “I’m sorry. Yes, I should have known better. Yes, you raised me better than that.” She inhaled, dropped her head, and sque
ezed the bridge of her nose. “No, I don’t know what went wrong with me, either. Yes, I imagine it is quite a trial having a self-centered daughter like me.”
Was her mother insane? The Brooke he’d gotten to know over the past year was sweet and kind and thoughtful, smart and hardworking, and constantly doing things for others. Shane wanted to grab the phone and toss it out the window into oncoming traffic.
“No, I’m not a parrot,” Brooke said. “I’m repeating your words so you know I’m listening to you and not daydreaming.”
She nodded. “Yes, I know. I’m sorry.” After her mother finished talking Brooke went into detail about the picture, how it came about, and how it wound up on Facebook. “Nate told me—” She stopped talking. “Yes, I know you don’t like that boy and his family, but he’s a well-respected police officer now, and he told me they have to interview all the children who made accusatory comments on Facebook, and getting them and their parents—and some have attorneys—down to the station is going to take some time. But he’s pretty confident the case will wrap up by the end of week and be closed for lack of evidence with no charges filed against me.”
Brooke shook her head. “I’d really rather not.” After a few moments she gave in. “Of course I’ll do what I can to help get Dad’s campaign back on track, but—” She looked over in Shane’s direction. “I’ll ask him. But I don’t know—”
“Anything,” Shane said quietly. “Whatever you need me to do, I’ll do.” This entire situation was his fault. He owed her.
“I’ve got to go,” she said into the phone. “I’m low on battery. Right. Okay. I will.” She ended the call.
No good-bye? No I love you? His mother never let him off the phone without an “I love you,” and she didn’t care where he was when he said it. Except to say her mother was a difficult woman and to share the excuses she’d made up to get out of attending family functions, Brooke had rarely mentioned her mother in her letters. Now Shane understood why.
“Not one question about how you’re doing?” he asked.
Brooke sat back in her seat and stared out the window. “She’s more concerned about how she’s doing. And about how my actions have once again been an embarrassment to the family.”
“Once again?”
She closed her eyes. “Right now I have enough to deal with without delving into the past.”
Fair enough. “You didn’t tell her you’re heading to New Jersey.”
“She doesn’t care where I am or what I do, as long as I stay out of trouble and out of the media.” She started to laugh. “Stay out of the media.” She laughed harder. “Well, I certainly botched that!” She laughed some more, until she doubled over with an arm clutching her belly and tears streaming down her cheeks. She wiped them away. “Staying out of the media isn’t as easy as you’d think when you have an outspoken parent involved in politics.” The laughing slowed. “I haven’t caused a media frenzy since I was seventeen.” She turned to look at him, no longer smiling. “Eight years of exemplary moral living erased as if they’d never happened.”
“Ah, honey.” Shane reached for her hand.
“Don’t.” She pulled it out of reach. “Being nice to me will only fuel my boyfriend-girlfriend fantasies.”
Even though he kind of liked the idea of being the focus of her fantasies, it’d be better for both of them if he kept his distance. So he returned his hand to the steering wheel. “What’d you do to stir up the newshounds when you were seventeen?”
Brooke let out a breath. “Over the summer before my senior year of high school, my parents moved up to Albany so my father could take a position as budget director for the governor.” She fiddled with a button on her pretty pink sweater. “I refused to go with them—told them I didn’t want to spend my senior year at a new school.”
“Oh, boy.”
“Yup. Short version, I begged Neve’s parents to take me in, which they did, thank goodness. After much yelling, arguing, and threatening my family packed up and left without a good-bye. My mother never forgave me for turning my back on my family. Or for what came next.” She turned to look at him. “Someone wrote an article about politicians putting their political aspirations ahead of their children. Dad’s name got mentioned. Reporters tracked me down. It turned into a big deal that resurfaces during each election.”
“That sucks,” Shane said.
She gifted him with a small, beautiful smile. “Even though I’ve been paying the consequences for my leaving ever since, I’d do it again in a heartbeat. The year I lived with Neve and her family was the happiest year of my life to date.” She yawned, quickly covering her mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t sleep much last night.”
“It’s no wonder. Settle in and make yourself comfortable.” Keeping his eye on the road, he reached into the backseat to grab his jacket, hoping Brooke didn’t see him flinch when a sharp pain shot from his hip to his ankle, and handed it to her. “For a pillow or a blanket.”
She smiled again. So damn beautiful. “Thank you.” She reached to recline her seat. Then she covered her upper body with the jacket, buried her nose in the collar, and inhaled deeply. “Smells good. Like you. I’ve missed that smell.”
The observation pleased him much more than it should have. “Before you doze off, what does your mother want me to do?”
She covered her mouth and yawned again. “Apparently my dad has been in contact with Nate about what’s happening. After the case is dropped, my dad wants to hold a press conference up in Albany. He’d like us both to be there, you in your dress uniform.” She closed her eyes, sounded half asleep already as she added, “He thinks the wounded veteran and wrongly accused teacher angles will appeal to voters, which should boost him in the polls considerably leading up to the November election.”
“Of course I’ll be there.”
She snuggled into his jacket then turned her head to look at him with soft, sleepy eyes. “You don’t have to.” She reached out to pat his thigh. “I can handle it myself.”
But she shouldn’t have to, not when her picture winding up on Facebook was largely his fault. So whether she wanted him there or not, Shane planned to be right beside her for that press conference. And nothing she could say or do would keep him away.
Chapter Seven
Brooke awoke when the car stopped, so warm and cozy she didn’t want to open her eyes. But she did, to find Shane looking down at her from the driver’s seat.
“Sorry.” His voice sounded strained. “I need to stop for a few minutes.”
She sat up to see they were parked all alone at the far end of a busy rest stop with a large building that advertised several fast food restaurant choices to the left and a bunch of gas pumps to the right. She returned her seat to its upright position then glanced at the clock on the dashboard. “Two hours? I slept for two hours?” She pulled down the visor to check her face in the mirror. “I’m sorry. What a terrible passenger I am.”
“I enjoyed the quiet,” was all he said as he opened his door and used both hands at his thigh to lift and ease his left leg out of the vehicle.
Seeing no red splotches, mascara smears, or evidence of drool, thank goodness, Brooke patted down her hair, opened her door, and stepped out of the Jeep. After a quick stretch she zippered her fleece jacket up to her neck to ward off the autumn chill and hurried to the driver’s side where Shane half-sat/half-leaned with both feet on the ground, his cane in his left hand, his body language screaming Man in terrible pain here.
“How can I help?” she asked.
“You can’t,” he said, his posture tense, his eye focused on the ground. “Go do what you have to do.” He motioned toward the building.
“I don’t have to do anything.”
Shane grumbled something under his breath, jammed his hand into the side pocket of his tan cargo pants, and took out a five-dollar bill. He held it out to her. “Would you get me a cup of coffee? Black.”
Like his mood. “After all the driving you’re doing for me,
I’m happy to treat you to a cup of coffee.”
“I can afford to pay for my own damn cup of coffee.” He stared at her, challenging her to defy him as he pushed the five-dollar bill closer. “Take it.”
She did. “Do you need any ibuprofen?”
He stiffened. “Why would I need ibuprofen?”
“You look,” she hesitated under the ferocity of his gaze, pretended something to her left had caught her interest, and finished quickly, “like you’re in pain.”
“And you look,” he snapped then let out a breath, “beautiful. You look beautiful. Standing there and when you sleep. For God’s sake, you don’t snore, your mouth doesn’t hang open, and your head doesn’t hang at an awkward angle.” He looked her over. “Two hours conked out in the car and your face is perfect, your hair is perfect, and your outfit doesn’t have a single wrinkle.”
Instead of compliments, he made them sound like accusations. Brooke didn’t know how to respond. “I’m sorry?”
He ran his right hand down his face. “No. I’m sorry.” His eye met hers. “I’m in a shitty mood.”
Could this surly man possibly be the same person who’d described beautiful sunrises and sunsets with such vivid detail that she’d felt a part of his experience, the same person who had managed to find something humorous in most any situation? The same man who’d held her and caressed her so tenderly? Did the gentle, supportive, sensitive man she’d fallen for still exist?
He raised his one eyebrow in question.
Get it together, Ellstein. “A bad mood you say?” she asked sweetly, refusing to repeat his profanity. “I hadn’t noticed.”
He pushed away from the SUV and stood.
“So, do you really want coffee, or were you trying to get rid of me?”
“Yes,” he answered, taking a few tentative steps.
Loving You Is Easy Page 7
