All Shook Up

by Susan Andersen

  So all he said aloud was, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Butch glanced around to make sure no one was near enough to observe what he was up to, then crouched down by the back fender of J.D.’s Mustang and removed the gas cap. He was tired of screwing around—he wanted to get the hell out of Nowhereville and back to the life he knew.

  Threading a length of hose down into the gas tank, he considered maybe giving up his plans to eliminate J.D. and simply lighting out for home. If his old bud had seen anything on the news, he sure as hell hadn’t made any mad dash to Seattle to blow the whistle. J.D. seemed all wrapped up in the brunette with the big blue eyes and the bodacious ta-tas. So maybe he oughtta just pack it up and head for home.

  Then he thought, Yeah, right. Like J.D. had ever been interested in any woman for more than a few days running. And the damn news reports in Seattle were still running the sob story put out by the store clerk’s family.

  With renewed purpose, he sucked on the free end of the hose, then stuck it into the mouth of one of the two five-gallon cans he’d brought along to hold the Mustang’s siphoned gas.

  After Dru left to check on Tate, restlessness rode J.D.’s back like the Devil himself. He wandered from room to room looking for something to occupy his attention—anything to prevent him from thinking. But he couldn’t find a single thing to settle on, so the thoughts he’d tried so hard to keep at bay kicked in. He’d give his left nut to avoid them, because the way he’d felt when Dru had professed her love disturbed him. It disturbed the hell out of him.

  He wasn’t a man who feared much; that was the upside of having been brought up rough. If you’d managed to survive the foster system with all its pitfalls and miseries, you could survive damn near anything else life had to throw at you.

  But if he were honest with himself, he’d have to admit he was afraid of the love Dru offered. Afraid of the strength with which he wanted it. Afraid that if he brought himself to accept it, he’d grow to depend upon it.

  And he was especially afraid of what it would do to him if, when—no, if, dammit—it was taken away.

  Maybe his fears were irrational, but being able to give and accept love came down to a matter of trust—and he just didn’t know if he had it in him to trust.

  And yet…

  A big part of him already did trust Dru. If anyone deserved his faith, it was her. She was genuine and honest and so damn squeaky-clean—utterly untainted by the sort of squalor that had marked so much of his life.

  Now he was actually considering the idea of a relationship—and with a decent woman. Seriously considering it, giving it the honest-to-God benefit of the doubt. She had him thinking if instead of when. If it fell apart.

  And if that wasn’t trust, he didn’t know what was.

  Hell, he didn’t know whom he was trying to kid, anyhow. There was no way he was walking away from this. Doing so would hurt every bit as much now as it would if he stuck it out and in the end she walked out on him anyhow. He was a practical man, so he might as well enjoy what she had to offer while he could.

  His pacing brought him back for another pass through the bedroom, and he paused to give the closet door a considering glance. He turned to leave the room but stopped before he reached the door. A moment later he crossed the room to the closet and pulled his duffel bag off the shelf, where he’d flung it the day he’d arrived.

  He sat down on the bed and for several long moments simply stared at the bag in his lap. Then he reached inside and pulled out the stack of letters from Edwina.

  He fished Edward Lawrence’s watch out of his pocket and rubbed his thumb over its etched gold lid. He regarded it soberly for several long moments. Then he returned it to his pocket, set the empty duffel next to him on the quilt, and pried open the first sealed letter.

  It was similar to the few he’d read when he’d first left Edwina’s care, and his jaw tightened. It forgave him for a transgression he’d never committed.

  Didn’t it?

  Reading the letter once again through the eyes of a man, rather than those of a hurt and bitter boy, he realized that, no, perhaps that wasn’t precisely what it said. He stared down again at Edwina’s spidery, old-fashioned handwriting.

  I’ve always believed in maintaining the highest standards. But I now realize that we all make mistakes, and that an error of judgment can be made in the space of a second—and haunt us from that moment forward. Come home, J.D. Please. Give us the chance to put this all behind us.

  As a youth, he’d taken her words to mean that while she maintained the highest of standards for herself, she didn’t expect him to adhere to such lofty standards. He’d concluded that Edwina was saying he didn’t quite measure up, but that she’d allow him to come back nonetheless.

  As an adult, he saw that there were a number of ways in which her words might be construed. The tone seemed much sadder and more remorseful than he remembered. Filled with an odd, aching regret for what had been so precipitously thrown away and could never be retrieved, he reached for the next letter in the stack. He ripped the envelope open and fished out the single piece of expensive parchment.

  My dear J.D.,

  I would not have believed it was possible to regret the manner of our parting more than I already do. Then this morning my dear father’s watch was discovered deep in the cushion of his office settee. Darling, I am so sorry I doubted you—even if only for a moment. Please, please forgive me and come home. Or at least call me. We need to talk.

  Yours truly,

  Edwina

  Stomach leaden, J.D. went through the remaining letters, missives that had followed him from one foster home to another. Some of them had caught up with him right away; others had collected a number of forwarding addresses before they’d finally reached him.

  He sorely regretted not opening them now. For himself and for Edwina. He’d spent a lot of years resenting her…unnecessarily, it seemed. Her letters were full of apology and love, and sitting here in the bedroom of a place she’d bequeathed to him, he acknowledged the possibility that he himself might have left Edward Lawrence’s watch out on the arm of the settee that day, to be knocked into its depths.

  Worse, with the arrogance of youth, he’d held Edwina to an impossible standard. He’d blamed her for not believing in him, but neither had he believed in her. When she’d asked him about the watch, he hadn’t told her outright that he didn’t know where it had disappeared to. And he sure as hell hadn’t trusted her to work out their misunderstanding. Instead, his attitude had been screw-you combative, and he’d run at the first sign of trouble, rather than risk sticking around to be kicked out.

  He found himself with a sudden need to be with Dru, wanting her warmth and her good humor, and he gently replaced the letters in his duffel bag and headed for the door.

  It was a hell of a note to discover, after years of assuming he’d been wronged, that perhaps the person who had been wrong was himself.

  22

  When someone started banging on Dru’s apartment door as if she were behind on the rent and they were there to collect, she expected to see J.D. on the other side. Instead, Char, looking sleepy and too boneless to have produced that authoritative rap, stood propped against the doorjamb.

  She gave Dru a languid smile. “Hey, stranger.”

  Dru stared. Her friend looked…different. For a moment she couldn’t put her finger on the reason why, then suddenly realized that Char looked as if she’d been thoroughly, utterly—“Omigod. You and Kev finally quit dancing around each other.”

  “It shows, huh?” Char laughed deep in her throat. With a fluid movement, she straightened away from the doorjamb and ambled into Dru’s living room.

  “Not at all; it was just a wild guess,” Dru said dryly as she caught up with her friend. Then she gave her a poke. “From the look of you, I’m assuming it must have been—”

  Char’s eyelids went heavy and her lips curled up at the corners.

  “—one pretty darn satisfactory ex
perience,” Dru concluded. “I guess that explains why I haven’t heard from you in a couple of days.” She grinned. “Want some iced tea? Or I’ve got Pepsi, if you’d rather have something to give you a little oomph. Or there’s”—she opened the refrigerator and leaned in to peruse its contents—“a pitcher of black cherry Kool-Aid.”

  “Who made the Kool-Aid, you or Tate?”

  “Me.”

  “I’ll have that, then. He always puts in too much sugar.”

  “Yeah, he follows the directions, silly boy. Grab a couple of glasses.”

  Char did and Dru dropped in the ice cubes she’d fetched from the freezer, then poured the Kool-Aid. They sat at the table.

  Char propped her chin in her hand and gave Dru a dreamy smile. “Kev says he’s been attracted to me since junior high.” A wondering laugh escaped her. “Can you imagine? I thought he was an ass in junior high.” Then her gaze sharpened. “But what about you? J.D. looked ready to chew your clothes off the other night at the bar. How did that go when he took you home?”

  Dru was dying to lay out all her confusion, in the hope that her friend could help her make some sense of it. But before she could make up her mind whether to tell Char everything or keep it to herself until she was surer of her situation, there was another knock on the door.

  “Now, who the heck can that be?” Char asked with a lazy smile. “All your friends are here.”

  “Cute.” Dru rose from the table and went to see. She opened the door and stared in surprise at the man in the hallway.

  “J.D.!” It wasn’t that his appearance on her doorstep was so startling, but he didn’t look at all his usual wary self. What was it with everybody today?

  Staring back at her a little wild-eyed, he reached out and pulled her against his chest, then wrapped his arms tightly around her, burying his nose in her hair.

  “What?” she mumbled against his shoulder. “Has something happened, John David?” She tried to pull back to get a look at his expression, but his arms tightened further and she subsided against the hard plane of his torso and simply held him in return. “Are you all right?”

  Soft laughter, abrupt and lacking in humor, erupted from his throat. “I’ve just had a twenty-year belief turned upside down—”

  “Did I hear you say J.D., Drusie?” Char’s voice floated out from the kitchen, and J.D. stiffened. “Come on in here, big fella, and join us,” she invited. “We were just getting set to go wild on black cherry Kool-Aid.”

  J.D.’s arms dropped away and he stepped back. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t realize you had company.”

  His expression had turned cool and noncommittal, and Dru got the impression he was ready to turn right around and head back out the door. She reached for his hand, gripping it between both of hers.

  “Char’s not company; she’s a friend. To both of us, I’d like to think.” She tugged on the hand within her grasp. “Come in. Have a glass of Kool-Aid with us. Or if you prefer, I’ll even provide you with an actual grown-up drink.”

  That drew a slight, lopsided smile from him. “It’s been a few years since I’ve had Kool-Aid, but I used to think it was pretty hard to beat.” He followed her into the kitchen.

  As their Kool-Aid klatch progressed, J.D. appeared to relax a bit. He talked easily with her and Char, and if he didn’t laugh often, he at least smiled in the appropriate places. Dru nevertheless got the feeling he was waiting for Char to leave. His expression might be contained once again, but she sensed the turmoil beneath and was anxious to know what had put that earlier look in his eye.

  She never got the opportunity to find out, though. For, just about the time Char started making noises about taking off, Aunt Sophie and Tate showed up.

  J.D. greeted them civilly, but Dru detected frustration in the stiff set of his shoulders. She could relate. The fact that he’d come to her with whatever troubled him pleased her, but she wanted to talk to him about it, and it didn’t look as if that was going to happen any time soon. And as Sophie told them about her plans with Uncle Ben for the evening, Dru realized she wouldn’t even have the opportunity to go back to J.D.’s place to talk to him there.

  She could only watch helplessly as, looking at her as if he wanted something from her that she couldn’t define, J.D. finally said his good-byes, backed out of her kitchen, and headed back to his cabin in the woods.

  By ten that night, Dru was going crazy. Tate was in bed and she found herself restlessly prowling the apartment. Finally, uttering a sound of disgust, she picked up the phone and called the front desk. The lodge provided a baby-sitting service, and if ever there was a good time to utilize its services, this was it.

  She identified herself when Reception picked up and inquired about the availability of a sitter. When assured that one was free, she said a heartfelt “Good. Would you ask her to come up, please? Tate’s asleep and I have to go out for an hour or so.”

  Fifteen minutes later she crossed J.D.’s clearing and climbed his porch. Moths fluttered against the light fixture overhead, casting huge, erratic shadows as she tapped on the screen door.

  J.D. appeared silently on the other side. “Hey.” The door creaked as he pushed it open. “I didn’t expect to see you tonight.”

  “I hired a baby-sitter for an hour or two.” She swiftly pressed herself against him, looping her arms around his neck. Raising up on her toes to give him a peck on the lips, she then drew back to look into his face. “You were upset this afternoon. Tell me what happened.”

  He hesitated, as if he’d had second thoughts since he’d left her apartment. After a moment, however, he led her to the Mission-style rocker in the living room, where he pulled her down to sit on his lap. He wrapped his arms around her, and pushed off with his foot to set the chair in motion.

  Then he told her about Edward Lawrence’s missing pocket watch, his belligerent flight from Edwina’s house, and the letters that had followed him from foster home to foster home.

  “And you never read them until today?” she asked when he lapsed into silence.

  “After I’d read the first couple, there didn’t seem much point. I was so certain I knew what they said.”

  His tone clearly tried and found himself guilty, and Dru rubbed her cheek against the hollow between his chest and collarbone as she looked up at him. His hazel-green eyes had narrowed as he stared stonily at the opposite wall.

  “Don’t do that to yourself,” she commanded softly. “Edwina did that, too. I remember her talking about you when I was a little girl. Except I didn’t know it was you at the time—you were just some boy she kicked herself for handling all wrong.”

  “Ah, damn.” He gazed down at her. “I was really crazy about her, you know? She must have been close to sixty when I met her—I remember she seemed incredibly old. But she knew about things I’d never even heard of, and she treated me nicer than anyone I’d ever met.”

  “You loved her,” Dru said softly, and had to blink away the tears that rose at the look flashing across his face.

  “Yeah. I guess I did. She was the first person I ever knew with actual standards. She thought that things like table manners mattered, and she talked with a perfectly straight face about the importance of personal honor—which, believe me, was not a concept I’d ever heard anyone in my part of town discuss before. That’s what made it so tough when things between us suddenly turned to shit. But at least I had my sense of injustice to keep me warm.” He laughed without humor. “Now it turns out I’m probably the one who threw it all away. What am I supposed to use when things turn cold and lonely now?”

  “Me.” Dru stretched up to press a soft kiss on his mouth. Settling back, she cupped his jaw in both hands, looked him in the eye, and reiterated firmly, “You use me—I’ll keep you warm. I love you, John David.”

  An indefinable light flared in his eyes and his grip on her was almost painful as he pulled her up and fiercely returned her kiss. His hands went to the buttons on her top. “You don’t have to say t
hat, you know,” he muttered against her lips.

  A moment later he demanded in a low voice, “Tell me again.”

  Midmorning the next day, J.D. let himself into his cabin and headed straight for the bathroom. Bits of grass stuck to his T-shirt and in the sweaty creases of his neck, and grease smeared the knuckles of his right hand and his forearm. He pulled his shirt over his head, tossed it on the floor in the corner, and washed up. Snatching a towel off the rack as he passed by a moment later, he headed for the bedroom.

  While he dried off, he thought of Dru last night saying I love you. He approached the memory warily from every conceivable angle, shying away from it one moment, only to immediately turn around and edge right back up to it. No one had ever said that to him before, and when he finally sank his teeth into the fact that she had, he found himself worrying it like a hound with a knotted rag—particularly the part where he’d kept demanding to hear it over again. He couldn’t believe he’d made love to her with such agonizing slowness, dragging it out until he’d thought the top of his head would blow off before either one of them found satisfaction. And all to hear her say, “I love you, John David. Oh, please, please, I love you.”

  Christ. Talk about a needy bastard.

  Standing stock-still in the middle of the room, blindly tuned in to the thoughts and images in his head, he shook them impatiently aside and grabbed a clean T-shirt out of the drawer. Enough, already. He had a job to do and this wasn’t getting it done.

  He’d just pulled the shirt over his head and was stuffing his arms into its sleeves when he heard a clatter of feet on his porch and a knock on his door. Tucking the shirt into his waistband, he went to answer it.