“So,” she said. “Are you gonna kiss me or what?”
He clasped his hands in front of his chest, and finally, it all became clear. His eyes blazed but not with lust.
Disgust. Repulsion. Pity. Oh God, I’m the pathetic drunk slut, and he’s sorry for me. The magnitude of it forced her backward.
“Let’s go,” he said.
He moved around her to the other side of the truck, but her feet stayed put, refusing her brain’s commands. She was rooted in this spot. Even the dusty parking lot seemed to mock her.
The earth tilted, and for the first time that night, the reality of her intoxication level settled in. The trees in front of her swayed no matter how she willed them to stop, and she reached out to clutch the door handle in a feeble attempt at steadying herself. A single honk rang out in the night, and it took her a minute to realize it had come from inside the cab. Sam waved her in.
She fumbled with the door handle and climbed into the passenger seat, sinking down into the cracked leather. Thank God for the darkness that masked her blotchy face. She wanted to apologize or excuse herself. She wanted to tell him that she never knew when or why her rebellious side would emerge, that she’d been to hell and back this week and it had turned her insides to hot lava and her brain to mush. But instead she sat silent. Her tongue felt thick and spongy.
“I should text Jorie,” she said. “So she doesn’t think I got kidnapped or something.”
“I told everybody I was taking you home.”
She looked over at him with hazy, swimming eyes. His right hand draped over the steering wheel while his left hand tugged at his lips in the now familiar pose.
They coasted through the deserted downtown and past the broken-down fence that signaled Karen’s apartment building was coming up on the right. He pulled into the parking lot and cut the engine. Fifteen minutes ago, Sydney would’ve taken this as a sign he might kiss her. Now she expected a lecture.
“Well, good night.” She held her purse close to her body like a shield. “Thanks for the ride home.”
“Hey,” he said. The single word hung in the quiet cab and echoed in her brain. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. I told you, I have a really high tolerance.”
He blinked a few times, tilting his head. “I can see that. I just mean, are you all right? In general? You seem like maybe you have some stuff going on.”
As if he’d flipped a switch, her eyes filled with tears. The reaction shocked her.
“I’m fine.” She choked down the sob. “Promise. Thank you again for the ride.”
By the time she got upstairs, the tears flowed freely. The apartment was dark and quiet, and she collapsed onto the couch, pressing her face into a scratchy knit pillow. She screamed her sobs, releasing all the frustration of the day, of the year, of her life. All the emotion she’d held on to for the past few days came pouring out of her, and eventually, through the mess and chaos, she fell asleep.
chapter six
Sam took the long way home. His truck hugged the curve of the road, and only once did he have to slow for an oncoming deer. The sleek creature floated through his consciousness like distractions during a meditation. This tiny town was sometimes suffocating, but the freedom of driving the endlessly looping mountain roads soothed him when he felt too cooped up. He put down the windows, the cold, pine-scented air swirling around him.
He pulled into the driveway of his modest lakeside cabin, cut the engine, and sat motionless. The second he checked his phone, the peace would shatter. He’d have a good-night text from Jay, and he’d fall asleep plagued with thoughts of the responsibility of a family he’d committed to helping that wasn’t really his.
The icy air eventually sneaked beneath the layers of his coat and shirt and forced him out and into the cabin. He flipped the light switch and clicked the dead bolt behind him. Before Olivia and Jay moved in, a baseball bat near the door had been his only security system. He figured the kid deserved better than that.
He pushed the flashing red button on his answering machine, an antiquated measure he had to take because of the nonexistent cell service in the area, and waited for the messages to start playing.
“Hi, Sam, it’s Annette Bethel. Could you give me a call back when you get a minute? My car is making that weird clunking sound again, and Joe swears it’s my fault, but I just don’t know what the heck I’m doing wrong there. . . .”
As Annette droned on about her car, his mind drifted. The clearest image was that of Sydney Walsh’s lacy black bra and cleavage, but he shook the thought. Okay, she was hot. So were a lot of women. Her confidence spilled out, daring any man in her atmosphere not to get sucked in by the intoxicating perfume and that one-of-the-guys bravado. Sam wasn’t fooled.
“. . . the goddamned carburetor is shot. I’ll bring her in Monday morning, but gimme a call back if ya can.”
He hit the Repeat button. The voice sounded familiar, but he couldn’t be sure who had called about the carburetor.
“Hey, Sam, it’s Irv. I was driving down to Utica today and I’ll be damned if . . .”
Sydney’s lacy undergarments demanded his attention again. And those yoga pants from yesterday. How did a woman manage to stay so covered up and, at the same time, ooze so much sex appeal that the memory of a scrap of lace had forced him to miss the same voice mail twice?
He dragged his hands down his face in an attempt at literally scrubbing the idea of her from his head. She knew what she was doing tonight; plus, she’d drank way too much for his comfort. Sydney Walsh shouldn’t even be on his radar.
His cell phone buzzed with a text message as it finally connected to the cabin’s Wi-Fi. He glanced down at the screen; Liv. Jay’s nightly text. He didn’t know if the kid actually wanted to say good night or if Liv told him to. A tiny daily thanks for helping them out. He slumped down into a kitchen chair and buried his face in his hands.
Instead of opening the message, he tapped on the one from Jorie.
Breakfast tomorrow. First thing. No exceptions.
He sighed and rested his forehead on the cool wood of the kitchen table he’d built himself. In this tiny town, a man had to keep himself busy with more than one trade. The automotive work occupied his mind and brought in most of his income, but the woodwork kept his creative side busy. And on nights when Olivia used to drink too much, he’d disappear into his shed for a welcome respite.
“. . . call back if ya can.” Sam hit the Stop button on the answering machine. Whoever had called after Irv would have to wait. He opened the record player lid, flipped the switch, and let the warm sounds of Coltrane’s saxophone ease his troubled mind enough to settle into sleep.
* * *
• • •
I debated coming here this morning.” Sam leaned over the counter at McDonagh’s Bakery the following morning.
Jorie bustled around behind the counter, preparing the day’s baked goods and coffee. Since she’d started working there in her early teens, “breakfast” always meant “meet me at the bakery.”
“Why?” Jorie called over her shoulder. She slid a chipped mug toward him, and he inhaled the scent of strong coffee.
“Because I didn’t know if the same drunk Jorie who texted me would remind sober Jorie to actually be here on time.”
Jorie rolled her wide eyes and tossed her hand in the air as if shooing away a fly. “Shut your face. You know I don’t black out. Plus, I wasn’t that drunk.”
“The patrons of Taylor’s might beg to differ.”
She took a break from prepping the shop to lean against the back counter and cradle a mug of her own. Her gaze lowered, and she tilted her head.
“So, you took Sydney home last night?”
Sam cracked his neck and took a step backward before running a hand over his beard. Why did Jorie always assume the worst of him?
“Took her home, yes. Slept with her? No.”
Jorie grimaced. “All right. I get it.”
“I don’t need the accusations, all right? You weren’t in any position to drive her home, and she was hammered, and I thought I’d do the nice thing and get her out of the bar before some degenerate convinced her to let him take her home.”
Jorie raised her eyebrows before her gaze dropped to her coffee mug. “Okay.”
“Seriously, Jorie, I don’t need this shit.”
“O-kay.” Jorie held up her free hand, palm out. “I’m sorry. I had to ask.”
“Well, I’m sorry you don’t trust me.” He sipped his coffee and watched her twist the end of her short ponytail between her fingers.
“I trust you.” As she continued to fidget, the haze lifted. He knew what was going on.
“Is there any chance this is coming from Liv? Did somebody tell her there’s a new girl in town and that she’s good-looking and that we were talking last night?”
Jorie bared her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut. “Maybe.”
A burble of anger simmered in his gut. What was Jorie thinking? She knew how fragile the situation was, and the last thing any of them needed was to add a layer of drama.
“Can I ask what the hell you were thinking?” he snapped.
“I didn’t tell her anything.” Jorie stood tall. “Honestly, I don’t know who it was. Some dope in the bar who always wanted a shot with Liv, maybe? Who knows? She just texted me late last night asking what the deal was. She’s just curious. That’s all.”
“The deal is that I’m being a choirboy over here. Maybe that piece of information can find its way back to her.”
Jorie lowered her chin and shot him the motherly gaze she’d used on her male friends since high school. “Don’t act like this is something that was thrust upon you, Sam.”
His stomach caved. She was right. He’d asked for this mess. He owed Liv. A crystal clear image of her appeared in his mind, clad in purple nurse’s scrubs with not a hint of hangover on her fresh face. She’d slipped his dying mother a bag of peanut M&M’s with a wink and patted her frail, veiny arm.
“No, you’re right,” he said. “I asked for this shit.”
“So maybe until things are squared away with Liv, you steer clear of Sydney.”
Something in him flipped, and the simmering anger rose up in his chest. Steer clear of Sydney? He’d help Liv because she’d helped him, because if Jay and Liv had a shot at being a normal family he’d help them get there, but he’d do it in his own way. In a way that didn’t feel like shackles.
He set down his mug, pushed back from the counter, and stalked to the door. “I’m an adult. A single adult. And I can do whatever the hell I want.”
“Of course you can!” Jorie said. “It’s just hard for her, you know? She’s far away, she feels out of control with the custody battle and Kevin’s insane family brainwashing Jay against her. She just wants to know that everything back here is the same.”
He turned to face her. “Everything is the same.”
“She’s trying really hard, Sam.” Her face twisted into the same glare of pity that everyone in this town seemed to don when talking about Liv.
“I know.”
“And I know she has a long way to go in getting back into your good graces . . .”
“It’s not even about that, Jorie.” He hoped the finality in his voice would get her to stop. “I need to do this my way.”
“You’re right,” she said, holding her hand up again. “I only want what’s best for both of you. For all of you. But based on what she tells me, she’s making headway.”
Headway. In the cross-country road trip of getting back into his good graces, Liv had driven a thousand miles in the wrong direction and was now hoofing it backward on foot. Whatever story she told Jorie and her other friends, they couldn’t know the half of it.
“Listen,” Sam said. “This whole situation is hard enough. I’m not a liar, you know that. So, to keep up this charade in front of the people in the town where I live? To pretend that I’m happy that this responsibility rests on my shoulders? It’s exhausting. Add to that the stress of knowing people are watching my every move to report back to Liv? It’s too much. Especially after the year I’ve had.”
He hated to go there, never wanted anyone to feel sorry for him. But he needed Jorie to know that helping Liv tested every ounce of his self-control. He wanted to help her, but he didn’t want to lose himself in the process. If Jorie wasn’t on his side, he didn’t know if he could keep this up.
“I’m sorry,” she said. She scratched at her wrist and fidgeted against the counter. “You’re right. And I’m totally on your side. Just remember the year she’s had, too. Her life hasn’t been a picnic, either.”
Sam released one final huff and exited the shop. The bell over the door jingled happily as he shoved his way outside into the cold, drizzling rain. He passed his waiting pickup truck, opting instead to walk the half mile to his body shop. The fury coursed through him.
“God damn it,” he said, the rain already soaking his baseball cap. “This fucking town.”
chapter seven
The rain came down in sheets, pelting the front window of the store and daring anyone to venture outdoors. While the rain masked the sunlight, it did little to ease Sydney’s pounding headache. She took a sip of her scalding instant coffee and clenched her teeth against the heat. This was a hangover beyond remedy.
A few brave tourists wandered the Loving Page’s offerings, rain dripping from their jackets and pooling in random spots around the store. Sydney would have to mop it up before someone slipped, broke their neck, and sued Karen for her last remaining pennies.
She popped another extra-strength Tylenol as the front door burst open and Jorie hurried inside.
“This weather!” she said, shaking her umbrella out over the doormat. She ruffled her cloud of blond hair and muttered a few obscenities as she made her way to where Sydney sat hunched at the register.
“Good morning, sunshine.” Jorie’s singsong tone grated on Sydney’s sensitive nerves. “I’m surprised to see you here this morning.”
“It was this or sit through my mother’s morning guitar lesson,” Sydney said, gritting her teeth. “Why aren’t you hungover?”
“I have a cure-all,” Jorie said. “When I get home from the bar, I chug two full glasses of water, eat two slices of toast with peanut butter, and take an Advil. Then in the morning, I have a Gatorade. And then I’m right as rain.”
“I’ll have to write that down.”
Jorie pressed a pink-tipped finger into the dimple in her chin and frowned, a crease forming between her eyebrows.
“So,” she said. “You went home with Sam? Last night?”
“No! Ugh, God no. He drove me home. That’s all.” Her voice careened on the edge of desperate, but she didn’t care. Let it be known, far and wide, that less than nothing happened with Sam. Otherwise, people would find out she’d shamelessly thrown herself at a man who was trying to save her drunk ass from making a total fool of herself.
“Ah, okay.” Jorie’s posture visibly softened. “Not that you even care, but Sam kind of has . . . somebody. Not somebody like a romantic somebody, but a situation he’s responsible for. Does that make sense? I know you just got out of a relationship and all, and I don’t even really need to tell you this, but—”
“Jorie,” Sydney said, cutting her off. “Seriously, it’s fine. Nothing happened with Sam. Last night, he was just being nice and giving me a ride home. Simple as that.” Except that if he’d given me even the tiniest hint of a go-ahead, I’d have done filthy, disgusting things to him.
The denial seemed to be enough for Jorie, and she grinned before taking a step back from the counter and glancing around the shop. “Oh, you ladies will love that! It’s one of my favorites.”<
br />
The two tourists dropped the book they were perusing back on the shelf, but it seemed Jorie wasn’t having any of it. She walked to the bookshelf and retrieved the discarded paperback.
“Seriously. Do you like romance?”
The older of the two women tugged at her curly gray hair and, with wide eyes, nodded.
“Then you’ll love this. It’s about a woman in the 1920s who takes over an inn from her grandfather and falls in love with the logger who lives down the river. I know, the cover is terrible. But the love story is swoon-worthy.”
Jorie left the book in the eager hands of the tourists and returned to where Sydney sat, slack-jawed and grateful.
“Damn,” she muttered. “Can I pay you to hang out in here and sell this stuff?”
“Mm, Hiking the High Peaks? Sorry. But romance novels? Those are my jam. I’ve got a bookshelf at home that would blow your mind.” Jorie reached into her purse and pulled out a white paper bag, placing it on the counter with a wink.
“What’s that?”
“A treat. I suspected you were hungover and thought this might help.”
Sydney could see the grease already leaking through the bag. Whatever was inside, she wanted it.
“You are so sweet.”
Jorie pursed her lips together and tossed a hand in the air, waving away the notion. “Just being neighborly.”
“No,” Sydney said. “You’ve been really, really kind to me. I appreciate it.”
“Well, you’re welcome. But I think if you stuck around here, you’d find out most people in Pine Ridge are like this. We take care of each other.” With a flash of a smile, she zipped up her rain jacket, turned on her heel, and headed back outside.
The tourists added a balsam-scented candle to their haul of four novels from the romance bookshelf, and as Sydney rang up the forty-dollar sale, gratitude washed over her.
The friends in Connor’s New York circle were kind, and she’d enjoyed their company during dinners and the occasional weekend in the Hamptons, but their kindness always concealed a deeper selfishness. It seemed that in order to live in New York, a woman had to care about herself first and foremost. Aside from Bee, Sydney didn’t have anyone she could truly count on. Jorie’s pure heart was a breath of fresh air.
Wild Love Page 5
