“When did this happen?”
“I’m not sure about that either.” Sometime between when he’d first shown up at Trudy’s to let Pam know she wasn’t welcome in Mimosa and when he’d entreated her to meet their daughter, between his calling her after that meeting to make sure she wasn’t tempted to drink and his making her lunch.
To say nothing of the wicked things he’d done to her on her couch.
“So what does this mean? Are the two of you back together?”
With a sigh, Pam carried the broom and dustpan into the storage closet. “Dawn, you can keep asking questions, but they won’t do you much good. You’ll notice ‘I’m not sure’ is the running theme here.”
“Hmm.” Dawn glanced toward the front door, which Pam didn’t have a clear view of from inside the closet. “Do you think his family might have some idea of whether you’re dating?”
“What do you mean, his family?” Oh, Lord. His mother decided she couldn’t afford a hit man and is coming to do me in herself. It was more likely Faith who was visiting, although Pam would be disappointed in the girl if she disobeyed her dad again.
Pam poked her head out of the closet just in time to see Leigh Shepard—Pam couldn’t recall her married name—enter the salon. The woman was carrying a basket on her arm as if she were stopping by on her way to grandma’s house.
“Afternoon, Dawn.” Leigh flashed the woman a genuine smile. “Got time to squeeze me in today? Thought I’d get a trim and drop these cookies off for Pamela Jo.” She glanced past Dawn, and the smile wobbled slightly when she spotted her former sister-in-law. “They’re sort of a housewarming gift, I guess. I understand you had furniture moved out to Mae’s old place this week.”
“Thank you.” Pam was touched. And deeply suspicious. Maybe she should have a lab in one of the bigger cities test the cookies before she ate any.
“Come on back,” Dawn invited Leigh. “You want a shampoo first or are we doing a dry cut?”
As Leigh explained what she was in the mood for today, Nancy returned to the front of the salon, belting her smock over her black jeans and black turtleneck sweater. “What smells so good up here?” she asked no one in particular. “Beth back with the food already?”
“Actually,” Pam replied, “Leigh brought me homemade cookies.”
Nancy’s lips compressed into a thin line that ruined the effect of her pout-plumping gloss. “What, is it your birthday or something?”
Pam studied the bright bouquet and aromatic basket of chocolate cookies and grinned from ear to ear. “Or something.”
“DID I CATCH YOU hard at work?”
Even though Pam knew the caller was going to be Nick before she answered—the number had flashed on the cell’s display screen—hearing his voice still sent a thrill through her. “Not exactly.” She’d actually been in the middle of a break, sitting out on the front step, listening to the cacophony of crickets and frogs and night birds now that dark had fallen. The sun was setting earlier and earlier each day, a clear mark that summer was behind them.
It’s pretty out here. The thought shouldn’t have surprised her; after all, she’d grown up with this same night music, the same stars twinkling overhead. She supposed “serene” just wasn’t how she remembered her childhood home. Twenty minutes ago, she’d come out here with a glass of cold milk and a small plate stacked with cookies; now she was too relaxed to move. “I finally got around to eating those cookies Leigh gave me.”
He chuckled. “Did you feed them to the ladies at the salon first and deem them safe after a forty-eight-hour period passed with no one’s stomach needing to be pumped?”
“Nah, but that would have been so much better than my plan. I ignored the cookies for two days, then got the munchies and scarfed down four of them in one sitting. They’re excellent.”
“Her peacemaking cookies,” he said affectionately. “Whenever she used to do something really mean to me, I’d get my very own batch a couple of days later.”
“Not the worst policy I’ve ever heard.” Forgiveness wasn’t always an easy concept; cookies could help.
“Speaking of Leigh, she’s actually the reason I’m calling,” he said.
“Oh?” Pam tried not to sound miffed. He wasn’t calling, perhaps, to tell her about an interesting movie coming to theaters or to let her know about a restaurant that had opened in Mimosa during her years away? It had been nearly a week since Pam had advised him to ask her out, but so far, nothing. They’d had a couple of good conversations in the four days since he’d kissed her. But on the possibility of going out, he’d said nothing.
Zip, bupkus, nada, squat.
“Leigh has sons,” he said, sounding extremely cheerful about this piece of trivia. “So occasionally she likes to do female bonding stuff with Faith. And next Monday just so happens to be a teacher in-service day at the middle school, giving the students a three-day weekend. Leigh has offered to take Faith out of town to do some outlet shopping and a riverboat luncheon cruise. Looks like I’ll have the house all to myself for a couple of days.”
“You don’t say?” Pam’s heart was so light it was floating in her chest. “You know, I’ve always liked your sister.”
He laughed. “But not as much as you like me, right? I’m the one who sent you flowers.”
“Which I already called and thanked you for,” she drawled, mock-bored even while she was grinning like crazy. “That’s old news.”
“Oh, I see.” He played along. “You’re of the ‘what have you done for me lately?’ mindset. Tough lady to impress.”
Yeah, right. All he had to do was smile at her and she melted inside. “Exactly.”
“Do I get any credit for nudging Leigh in the longweekend direction?” he asked. “I may have let it slip that I was hoping Faith would find ways to occupy her time this weekend that didn’t include hanging around with Morgan.”
“So you’re saying you secretly masterminded the whole trip? Sneaky,” she said approvingly.
“You haven’t heard my ace up the sleeve yet. I cook! Want to come check it out for yourself on Saturday? My place, say, seven o’clock?”
She managed not to squeal her acceptance like some girl Faith’s age being asked to sit at lunch with the cutest guy in school. “Sounds perfect.”
As they ended their phone call, Pam rocketed to her feet, brimming with renewed energy. The hours between now and Saturday would drag, and she was determined to keep them as full as possible.
IT DID NOT BODE WELL for one’s romantic evening, Pam decided, when merely the act of lifting your sore arm to knock on the front door made you cringe. Mental note: doorbell, next time. She’d just be sure to ring with a finger she hadn’t squashed with a hammer yesterday. Her entire upper body felt like one big bruise.
Nick answered the door quickly as if he’d been hovering on the other side, anxious for her arrival. “Right on time,” he praised. His gaze slid down her red jersey dress, a simple scoop neck with a far more daring scooped back. “And you look amazing.”
“Thank you.” And thank you, Dawn. Her friend had come over to the house today, not only to offer her services in the wallpapering department, but also to help with Pam’s hair and makeup.
“Please come in,” he said. “We have about twenty minutes until dinner’s ready. Can I pour you a glass of w—oh, crap. I’m so sorry.”
She was able to laugh it off. “Don’t be. It’s not the first time someone’s asked me that question. I’ll stick with sweet tea or, if you don’t have any, filtered water. But you should feel free to have wine or anything else you’d like to drink tonight.”
“I’m fine with water, too,” he said promptly. “The sight of you in that red dress is all the buzz I need for one evening.”
She stretched up on her toes to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “Flatterer. So what’s on the menu for tonight?”
He rocked back, giving her a wolfish smile. “Well …”
Pam smacked him lightly on his arm. “The c
ulinary menu, Mr. One Track Mind!”
“Shrimp pomodoro over angel-hair pasta with Caesar salad. I made the dressing myself. And dessert is a surprise, but trust me, it’s not store bought.”
“You showing off for me?” She liked it.
“Just demonstrating that I think you’re worth the effort. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to stir the sauce.”
She followed him into the kitchen, where she kicked off her shoes. It was a shame, really—they were very sexy shoes—but it was just so homey and inviting in here. She wanted to be comfortable, enjoy the delicious smells and Nick’s company.
They talked nonstop while he finished preparing their dinner. He told her about how he’d earned Donald Bauer’s respect when he was only twenty, juggling a construction job and parenthood. Bauer Construction had been started by Donald’s father, but the man had no sons who could take it over after him. When Nick returned to Mimosa from North Carolina, Donald had not just rehired him, he’d started grooming him to manage the entire organization.
They discussed Pam’s renovations on the house, which were going really well. While Aunt Julia couldn’t do any jobs that required heavy lifting, she had an eye for color and detail and had become Pam’s unofficial decorating consultant. Pam also mentioned that several of the people she’d met at the local AA meetings had stopped by, seeming to find the manual labor as cathartic as she did; respecting the confidentiality of other members, she didn’t tell Nick that one of those people worked for him.
“Voilà!” Nick stepped back from two perfectly plated meals, spreading his hands in front of him. He winked at her. “Damn, I’m good.”
“I believe that’s for me to decide,” she teased.
He came around the other side of the counter to sit with her. “My daughter would be so jealous. This is one of her favorite dishes.”
Pam bit her lip. “She doesn’t know, does she? That I’m here?”
He shook his head. “I thought it best not to tell her. It’s not like I consider you some shameful secret. I just …”
“You did the right thing.” This could be confusing for a girl. Heck, it was confusing for Pam.
It’s not rocket science. He’s a very attractive man you care a lot about, and you’re two consenting adults enjoying a romantic evening. Beyond that … Well, she wasn’t sure, but the policy of taking one day at a time had been serving her well so far.
They talked more about Faith and the foods she liked. “It’s hard for me to believe that the young woman who now requests chicken alfredo or shrimp pomodoro as her birthday dinner is the same one who used to consider hot dogs sliced up in macaroni the most sought-after meal in the world,” Nick said fondly.
Pam grinned. “What’s not to believe—they’re practically all three the same dishes. Protein, pasta, a little sauce.”
“Yeah. I’m sure fine Italian restaurants will start serving mac and weenies any day now.”
They also discussed Pam’s aunt and uncle. She talked about how amazing it was to almost feel as if she had functional parents for the first time in her life. But she stopped short of confiding that they’d once entertained the idea of challenging Mae for custody. That seemed too heavy a topic for the fun, flirty meal they were sharing.
“That was wonderful,” Pam said, rolling her shoulders. If her neck and arms didn’t ache, the last hour and a half would have qualified as heavenly.
Nick tilted his head. “Glad you enjoyed the food, but do you realize you keep rubbing your neck and grimacing?”
“Have I?” she asked sheepishly. Nuts. What was the point of Dawn making her look beautiful if Pam was going to ruin it by making contorted faces all night? “I took some ibuprofen before I came over, but I guess it hasn’t really kicked in.”
“Did you hurt yourself?” Even as he asked, he was scanning her, presumably for wounds, although she didn’t think her sore muscles were visible.
“Don’t laugh, but I was excited about tonight—” “You weren’t the only one,” he assured her. “And I was trying to keep myself really busy. You know, to make it get here faster, like going to sleep early on Christmas Eve. I may have overdone it.” Her efforts had paid off at the house, which was starting to really resemble something people would pay money to live in, but she hadn’t exactly kept her body in top physical shape over the past decade.
Nick brightened. “I think I can help.” “I don’t think I can take another ibuprofen yet.” “No, what I had in mind is way better than painkillers. You trust me, right?”
More than anyone I’ve ever known. “Sure.” He had hopped off the stool and was carrying their plates to the sink. “What you need is a trip to the Shepard Spa.”
“Sounds promising. You guys have a hot tub I don’t know about?”
“Nope. I just need a few minutes to get things set up.” He took her by the hand. “Here, you come with me.” They went in to a small den, which had a much smaller television set than the main living room. He pointed the remote at it. “Can you find something to watch?”
“I guess.” As if she were going to concentrate on a few minutes of TV? She’d be too curious about what he was doing.
“Ten minutes, max,” he promised. “You stay put.” Then he shut the door and was gone.
Pam wiggled her bare toes in happy anticipation.
He opened the door again a few minutes later. “All set.”
They returned to the living room, and Pam saw that he’d been busy. The only illumination in the room was assorted candles burning on the fireplace mantel and the coffee table. Instrumental music played softly in the background. And he’d scooted back some of the smaller pieces of furniture to make a clearing in the floor. A pallet of sheets and blankets awaited, with one pristine white bedsheet still neatly folded on top.
“You’ve had massages before, right?” Nick asked. “I’ll just duck out of the room while you undress, only as far as you’re comfortable, cover up with the sheet and let me know when you’re ready.”
She turned to him with a smirk. “I’ll give you this, Nicholas Shepard, your ploys to get me out of my clothes have gotten classier.”
“You ain’t seen nothing yet. It gets better,” he promised. “I just have to go in the kitchen for one final thing. Call me when you’re ready.”
“Okay.” Watching him walk away, she experienced one small moment of shyness. This man had known every inch of her body when she was in peak physical condition.
Then again, he’d seen firsthand what she’d looked like pregnant and that hadn’t dimmed his ardor for her. She slipped her dress over her head then paused, considering. Should she leave on the rest? Just remove her bra?
Deciding to go for it, she quickly peeled off all of her clothes before she could change her mind, folding the lacy undergarments inside her dress. Then she laid down on her stomach and stretched the extra sheet over her. “Okay!” Ready as I’ll ever be.
When Nick came back, he was barefoot and had removed his button-down shirt, leaving him in pants and a white T-shirt. “I don’t have any body oil,” he said as he sat next to her, “but I think you’ll like this.”
He held his hand several inches above her back, and something cool and feathery hit her skin.
“What is that?” she murmured. It felt like powdered silk as he began to trace it over her in light circles.
“Corn starch.”
She’d never realized how soft it was. “Mmm. Nice.”
She closed her eyes. There was a perfect balance between the strength in Nick’s strong hands and the gentleness of his touch as he ran his fingers over her skin. He gradually applied more and more pressure until her knotted muscles were pliant and warm.
He also, very gradually, started to make larger circles as he traveled up and down her back, dipping below the base of her spine, toward the curve of her butt, then making his way back up, kneading his thumbs and the heels of his palms against her. When he reached the tops of her shoulders, he let his hands skim down over her
sides, toward her chest. But just when she thought he would take it further, that the body-melting massage would morph into something else, he’d start the slow journey to the center of her back again.
She felt incredible—pampered, lavished—but her body was also starting to hum with anticipation, wanting more. He bent down to kiss her on the back of the neck, and she made a low, approving noise.
“Thank you for letting me do this,” he murmured, as if the massage had somehow been as good for him as it had for her. “I could touch you all night.”
She lifted up on one elbow to smile at him. “There’s an idea.” Then she rolled the rest of the way over, letting the sheet fall where it may without modesty.
Nick froze, seemingly not even breathing as he drank in the sight of her. She gave him a moment, then reached for him, pulling him down to kiss her.
“You have wonderful hands,” she whispered. Grinning against his lips, she trailed her own hand down over his erection. “You have wonderful everything.”
“I don’t want to rush you,” he teased as she tugged his shirt over his head. “Maybe we should slow down. I’m not sure we’ve thought about this long enough.”
She shoved at his shoulder, and he obligingly fell to his back.
“I’ve been thinking about this all week,” she said, dotting kisses over his chest while her hand strayed lower. “That’s probably long enough.”
He smiled up at her. “Then you’re not worried about losing control anymore?”
“Actually—” she lifted his hand, pressed a kiss to his palm, and then placed it on her breast “—I was kind of hoping we both would.”
He was in clear agreement, but no discernible hurry. He let her finish undressing him, groaning as she frequently stopped along the way to relearn his body. There was a deceptively languorous quality to their caresses that didn’t quite match the avid, alert way he watched her or the throb of arousal building inside her. She straddled him, leaning down so that he could suckle her. But before long, they shifted position, their motions fluid and intuitively synchronized.
A Mother's Homecoming Page 15
