To Wear His Ring

by Diana Palmer

  “Really. Why?” Looping around Sara, she grabbed a can of cranberry sauce and looped around Sara again.

  “This is a small town. People are going to talk.”

  Nettie bristled. “So what?” Deciding she was very hungry, Nettie piled chicken on the rolls. “It’ll give them something to do between ‘Golden Girls’ reruns.”

  “This family has had enough gossip about it with Lilah dating anything that didn’t walk on all fours!”

  “Oh, stop exaggerating.”

  “I’m not exaggerating.” Sara thumped her hand on the kitchen counter. “Hang it all! Are his intentions serious?”

  “Sara, for heaven’s sake, you sound like Uncle Harm.” Beginning to see some humor in the situation, Nettie laughed. “No one has any intentions right now, serious or otherwise.” She tossed the tomato once in the air before setting it on a plate. “All we did was kiss.”

  Wickedly enjoying the absolute shock on Sara’s face, Nettie cut thick slices of tomato, laying them precisely atop the chicken as if sandwich assembly was the only thing on her mind right now. She couldn’t decide which was more red—Sara’s cheeks or the tomato.

  “You kissed him.” The tight line of her Sara’s lips were pinched and disapproving.

  “That’s right.”

  “Was it the first time?”

  Nettie paused in the act of spreading mayonnaise across the cut top halves of the rolls. “That is so none of your business. It’s my life.”

  Sara obviously wanted to say more, but didn’t know how. She opened and closed her mouth uselessly a couple of times. “Fine!” She strode to the door. “Do whatever you want!”

  “Where are you going? Don’t you want lunch?”

  “I lost my appetite,” Sara grumbled. “I’ll eat at Ernie’s.”

  “If you’re going to eat at Ernie’s, you haven’t lost your appetite.”

  Swinging around, Sara aimed her thumb at her chest. “It’s my appetite. I know when I’ve lost it.”

  Scooping the chicken off Sara’s roll, Nettie transferred it to her own. “Fine.”

  Staring at her naked roll as if Nettie had just committed the ultimate act of betrayal, Sara nodded ominously. “Fine!” She marched out to the squad car.

  As Sara drove off, Nettie slapped cranberry sauce on top of the mayonnaise and smooshed the huge sandwich together. “Fine back!”

  Quashing guilt, she carried her plate to the living room. Aside from the fact that she’d just participated in the single most inane conversation she’d ever had, she thought she’d made her point fairly well: Things were going to be changing around the Owens household; she was changing.

  Chewing with more force than necessary, she considered the choices that had brought her to this point.

  For as long as she could remember, she’d been the family peacemaker, a veritable bottomless pit of nurturing and reliability.

  “Couldn’t get more boring than that as a teenager.” She’d struck a bargain with God at an early age: She’d follow all the rules and He would keep everyone happy and safe forever and ever, amen.

  She’d kept her part of the bargain.

  It was high time that she considered the cost of such diligent obedience. She was twenty-five and if she thought about it, she wasn’t sure she’d ever really asked herself what she wanted or what she liked. She rented the movies her family enjoyed. She cooked the food she knew other people preferred.

  Frowning heavily, Nettie pulled the chicken out of her sandwich until all she had left was tomato, cranberry sauce and mayo on a fluffy white roll. She took a large, ferocious bite. Yes. A smile of satisfaction curved her lips. Limited nutritional value, but exactly what she wanted.

  By being so good for so long, she’d given everyone else a chance to test their wings while her own had grown cramped from disuse. All right. It was time to find out what she wanted, what she liked…And with luck it would be more exciting than a tomato-and-cranberry-sauce sandwich.

  Putting her feet on the coffee table, Nettie chewed and thought. She liked country music. And painting. She enjoyed an ice-cold beer on a hot summer day, but she didn’t want to turn that into a hobby. She wiggled her foot. What else? What else did she like—

  Kisses. Chase Reynolds’ kisses.

  Yep, if pure enjoyment were the goal, those kisses would go a long, long way.

  “Goes without saying. But you can’t run around kissing people for kicks.” She set her sandwich on the plate.

  Not people, a voice inside her responded, just Chase.

  “That’s not a hobby.”

  It could be.

  “Please. Embrace reality. The man was featured in People magazine. He’s probably kissed Madonna.”

  So? He kissed you. He liked it.

  Her foot stopped wriggling. “Well, that’s still not a hobby,” she mumbled, setting her plate on the coffee table. “I need something I can do on a regular basis, like knitting.”

  Good choice. Why kiss a hunk when you can purl a scarf?

  That settled it. Nettie plunked her elbows on her knees and rested her chin on her upturned palms. She was going to see Chase again. And not only because he made the ground shake when he kissed her. Not only because his hands made her feel warm through and through for the first time in years.

  Not because she forgot the past and stopped wondering about the future when she looked into his eyes.

  No, those weren’t the reasons she was going to see him again. She was going to see Chase Reynolds again because if she didn’t, she would spend the next ten years knitting scarves and wondering what could have come after the kisses.

  Chapter Five

  Nick’s coffee tasted like mud with caffeine. It tasted angry, Chase mused, evidently reflecting the mood of the man who’d made it.

  Sprawled in a tan suede easy chair, Nick was, at present, glaring at his houseguest.

  Taking another sip, just to be social, Chase met the blatant disapproval in his friend’s eyes and decided, the heck with polite. Setting his mug on the coffee table, he sat back and volleyed the glare.

  With a pointed glance at the mug, Nick growled, “What’s wrong?”

  Chase felt his shoulders square as if he were preparing to fight, not chat. “It’s a little strong, don’t you think?”

  “I like it strong.”

  As casually as he could, Chase shrugged.

  Nick was on his feet in an instant. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You need to get out more.” Chase crossed an ankle over his knee. “Because if this is really about coffee, I’m scared for you, buddy.”

  Nick glowered a bit longer, then sat back down, elbows on knees, hands clasped.

  Chase studied his former college roommate and suddenly knew what was coming. “This is about her—your friend—isn’t it?”

  “‘Her?’ ‘My friend?’” Nick offered a disgusted snort. “You don’t even know her name.”

  “Of course I know her name!”

  “What is it?”

  “Nettie!” Angry himself now, Chase swore. Some strong emotion bubbled beneath the anger. Disappointment? Frustration? His gaze narrowed as he demanded of Nick, “Why didn’t you tell me yesterday that she was off limits?” And why was she kissing me?

  “You’ve been in town one day and you spent part of that in a jail cell.” Nick ran a hand over black wavy hair that was as thick as it had been in college. “I forgot what a fast mover you are.”

  “‘Fast mover?’” Uncrossing his legs, Chase leaned forward, too. Fast mover. He despised that term. It implied instability, insincerity and a shallowness that was chronic—

  Nick arched a coal-black brow.

  “In college I might have—”

  A corner of Nick’s mouth joined the brow.

  To work off some of his mounting irritation, Chase stood and crossed the wood floors of the old farmhouse. The view from the living-room windows was too peaceful; it irritated him further. “You’re telling me to stay aw
ay from her?”

  Nick nodded slowly, watching Chase carefully as he said, “You don’t know her, so I’m going to tell you flat out—A relationship with you is not what she needs.” He waited only long enough for Chase to narrow his eyes before he added, “Think about what you’re doing here. You’re hiding out from the press while you wait for a paternity test. If it’s negative, you’re out of here and off to where next? Wherever the next big story is, right?” Nick persisted. “Do you know what you’re going to do if the boy turns out to be your son?”

  Just hearing the words aloud made Chase’s heart pound. Even his throat tightened. What did he know about being a father? Zilch. Less than zilch.

  Nick paced to the fireplace. He reached for a carved wooden box, withdrew a piece of cigarette paper and a large pinch of tobacco and began rolling a cigarette.

  Chase grimaced. “Haven’t you given those up, yet? They’ll kill you.”

  “I used to think the same thing about your career. I read that you were shot in the thigh last year while you were trying to run down a big drug story in Brazil.”

  “It was just a graze. I was back on the job in two days.”

  Nick nodded. “I read that, too. So what’s the boy’s name?”

  Inhaling and exhaling deeply, Chase made a quarter turn toward the window. “Colin.”

  “And he’s six, right?”

  “Seven.”

  “How long had you known his mother? You never really said.”

  No, Chase thought, and he didn’t want to say. He didn’t want to think about this situation at all, not until he was forced to. Every time his mind moved in that direction, he felt a completely unsettling guilt, and he had nothing to feel guilty about. He hadn’t even known about Colin until two weeks ago. Chase ran both hands over his head, from his forehead to his nape. “I met Julia in England.”

  “The supermodel, right? I read about the two of you. I was in line at the grocery at the time.”

  “Yeah.” Chase acknowledged the gibe. “We were together four months, a record for me, as you’ve pointed out. And a record for Julia, too. We parted very happily. I had a job in the Middle East, and she went to France, where she fell head over heels for a Paris baker who wanted to be a performance artist. Using bread dough.”

  “Eclectic.”

  “Uh-huh. I spoke with her once, twice—who even remembers now? She could have contacted me anytime, though. Through the station, if nothing else.”

  “Does it bother you that she didn’t?”

  Chase rounded on his friend, fierce outrage in his goldenbrown eyes. “If he’s my son? Of course it ‘bothers’ me! What in hell kind of question—” He stopped, realizing the implication was completely fair. He hadn’t planned to have a child. He hadn’t called Nick, ecstatic over the possibility when the lawyers had phoned. He’d called looking for a place to hide out while he prayed his life would stay exactly as it was.

  Nick licked the edge of the paper to seal his cigarette. “You and I are bachelors through and through.”

  “What are you talking about? You were married.”

  “According to Deborah, I was a bachelor then, too. She put up with me for three years. It hurt her pretty badly.” Reaching for an old-fashioned silver lighter, he touched a flame to the end of his cigarette and snapped the lid. “Nettie’s like Deborah. Home and family are everything to her. She doesn’t move in your world. She couldn’t.”

  Recalling Nettie’s admonition about making decisions for women, Chase began to smile. “You sure about that?”

  Nick exhaled a long stream of smoke. “I’m sure.” His expression turned grim. “I understand what I saw. I know she was kissing you back. You’re a celebrity, pal, and she grew up in a small town. You’re glamorous.”

  Chase winced at the word. “Give her some credit.”

  “I am. She’s a rare person, good through and through. I don’t want her to be hurt. Not when I can see it coming and stop it.”

  Chase got the point. He was an old friend and a welcome guest as long as he played by the rules. It hovered on the tip of his tongue to point out that People magazine considered him a pretty good catch. Right up there with Sean Puffy Combs. Irony curved his lips. The qualities that made him successful in his career ruled him out as family material. He knew that, but it had never bothered him before.

  It didn’t bother him now.

  Nick waited for an agreement. Chase let him wait a little longer while he turned the tables instead. “What are you doing these days, relationship-wise?”

  “There’s a woman in Minot I see every now and then. Nice lady, but she doesn’t have a candle in the window for me, if you know what I mean. She’s fine if I’m there and fine if I’m not. That’s the only kind of woman you and I should have anything to with. The kind we can’t hurt.”

  It was exactly what Chase had always said. It was the way he’d lived all of his adult life. But it ticked him off royally to hear it today.

  In the absence of a verbal response, Nick persisted. “Nettie can be hurt.”

  “All right, I get the picture.”

  “She is the candle-in-the-window type.”

  “Got it.” Chase was beginning to sound snappish.

  “And you are not the candle-in-the-window type.”

  “All right, I said. I get it!” He stalked toward the entry way to the hall, intending to find some solace in the upstairs guest bedroom Nick had given him. “I hope this woman in Minot doesn’t mind reruns,” he said on a parting shot. “Because you are the most repetitive sonova—”

  Nick pointed with the cigarette. “That temper of yours is another reason you ought to stay away from—”

  “I said no problem!” Chase stormed out of the room and up the stairs.

  Nick spoke quietly after him, but the sound carried. “Good. I’m glad we’re in agreement.”

  Cloudless, the night sky looked like a billowing swatch of black velvet. Like a magic carpet, Nettie thought as she lay in the queen-size bed tucked beneath a double window in her second-story bedroom. She’d placed the bed under the window in lieu of a headboard so she could watch the stars glimmer and change on clear nights like this. In winter, before the harshest storms came, she scooched the bed over. Lightning and thunder were not as friendly as black velvet and stars.

  The full moon was high and amazingly bright tonight. Wondering what time it was she lifted her head to look at the digital clock on her dresser. Only a little after midnight. Oh, brother. One more sleepless night, and her eyes would be as swollen as the moon. She’d spent the past two nights tossing and turning as she thought about Chase. Or as she tried not to think about him.

  She hadn’t seen him since the day she’d driven to Nick’s, and that was three days ago. Despite her conviction that she would see him again, she had to admit she’d expected him to come to her this time. Or that they’d run into each other in town. There was only one tiny grocery in Kalamoose. If he intended to buy food in town, surely she would see him there. Working on that assumption, in three days she’d bought two heads of lettuce she hadn’t needed, way too many canned goods and enough peanut butter to last half a year.

  Sighing, Nettie flopped onto her side and pulled the quilt over her bare shoulder. The beloved wedding-ring quilt covering her bed had been in her family for three generations. In years gone by, it had made her feel cozy and happy simply to look at it and think about tradition—the tradition of handing down heirlooms, the tradition of marriage.

  “That’s your problem,” she muttered, burrowing more deeply into her soft pillow. “You want to live a Courtney Love life, but you’ve got a Donna Reed brain. Women who live for the moment have silk sheets.” She rolled onto her stomach. “And if you want to see Chase again, you’re going to have to hang out where he hangs out.” From her stomach, she moved to her other side and then her back. “I wonder where he’s hanging out in Kalamoose?” By now the town should have been buzzing with news about his presence. Celebrities were rare in
Kalamoose, but so far she hadn’t heard a word.

  A sharp tap made her open her eyes. When she heard it again, she sat up abruptly and looked around. “What—”

  Ting!

  Something hit her window. Nettie turned, leaning on her pillows to look out the window and down to the ground. Sara always left the porch light glowing because it deterred criminals (not that they were inundated with them way out here) and because as the sheriff she felt she was on-call twenty-four seven. The front porch was around the corner, but the light spilled over to softly illuminate the side of the house on which Nettie’s bedroom was located.

  She squinted. There was a man down there. And he was throwing something at her window.

  Quickly she sat up, all but pressing her nose against the glass as she tried to see who was out there.

  The man ran a hand over his head, searched the ground, picked something up and ping!

  Nettie jerked back as another stone hit the window. With the man’s face upturned, she recognized Chase.

  Scuttling off the bed, she raced to the bedroom door, but realized an instant after she flung it open that her nightgown was sheer wispy nylon, hardly adequate covering for running out of the house in the middle of the night, so she hurried to the closet, searched madly for a robe and wrestled herself into it as she ran down the stairs.

  “Don’t leave, don’t leave,” she chanted, forcing herself to slow down as she reached the front door. Sara slept like a rock, but Nettie didn’t want to take any chances. Opening and closing the door carefully, she trotted barefoot down the porch steps and around the side of the house.

  Chase was there, winding up to pitch another stone at her window. She smiled. Her heart skipped and a shiver that had nothing to do with the chill night air skittered along her arms. Suddenly she felt as young, as light and carefree as she had at sixteen.

  Silently, she crept up behind Chase and whispered, “Are you sure that’s her window?”

  With his arm raised to throw the stone, he turned so quickly he almost lost his balance.

  His deep-brown hair was ruffled, and Nettie thought he must have run his hands through it several times tonight. His expression conveyed first surprise, then chagrin and finally sheepishness.