Love, Mother
Well, there it was. A bombshell on paper. Roman didn’t know exactly how he would feel if Belle sprang something like this on him. Considering his father had been an asshole, it might be a relief. But Mila had loved her father, and he’d been a good man.
“He’s here in town,” Mila went on. “And my mother won’t be back from this trip until the end of the summer. She doesn’t have a cell phone and didn’t give me a number for any of the relatives she’s visiting. I have to go all that time without knowing, and maybe I won’t know even then. She doesn’t plan on telling me.”
Not from the sound of it, but if he had Vita in front of him, he might be able to convince her to spill it. Then again, she might just give him chicken shit or put a curse on him.
“Why would Vita be telling me all of this now?” Mila blinked back tears. “And why do it in a letter? Why not just tell me in person?”
Roman could only guess at that. “Maybe she was scared. Maybe she didn’t want to see you upset when you learned the truth.”
Though it was cowardly of her to do it this way.
“And as for the timing,” he went on, “she could have read tea leaves or looked into a crystal ball that told her she should do this now.” That would have sounded like BS if it’d been anyone but Vita.
“Who do you think he is?” Mila asked.
Roman tried to go through the possibilities. The man would be in his fifties at least, maybe a lot older. And it would be someone who’d been here at least thirty-two years. Someone who still had a “life” here, which probably meant another family. He could think of at least a half dozen men who fit that, including the two ministers and Dr. Sanchez. Roman couldn’t see any of those men having an affair with Vita.
Actually, that applied to all men. Vita just didn’t seem the type of woman a man would risk knocking up. Though Roman was thankful someone had. Or else Mila wouldn’t be sitting next to him.
“I’ll put together a list of possibilities,” Mila said. “Later, though.”
Yeah, definitely later. Once she got past some of the hurt and feelings of betrayal over her mother lying to her.
There was a knock at the door, the sound echoing through the room. Neither Mila nor he answered. Didn’t move a muscle. They just sat there with her in his arms.
Ellie Stoddermeyer, the dispatcher who worked at the police station, pressed her pinched face against the glass, looking inside. Thank God she didn’t look down because she was one of the biggest gossips in town and would have told everyone about Roman and Mila being on the floor together.
After mumbling something about “some people being late,” Ellie walked away.
“I can put a sign on the door,” he offered since obviously the Closed one hadn’t stopped Ellie from knocking. Of course, it hadn’t stopped him, either. “Maybe a sign that says something about you being closed for inventory. And what about Janeen? Will she be coming in?”
“I texted her and told her to take the day off,” Mila explained. “And don’t put out a sign. If someone sees you doing that, they’ll think something’s going on between us.”
Something was. He was comforting an old friend, but Mila was right. She wasn’t going to want any new gossip, especially since it would almost certainly take her a while to wrap her mind around this.
“Do you have any booze in this place?” he asked. Because that was a good suggestion on Vita’s part.
“It’s still morning,” she said. Then shrugged. “I have some in my desk drawer.”
She got to her feet, lowering the blinds on the front windows and door. Of course, if anyone had seen Roman go in there, they would think Mila and he were about to have a round of sex only minutes after seeing Dylan, but Roman would just have to try to diffuse the gossip somehow. No way was he leaving Mila alone right now.
He got up, as well, not easily, and when Mila heard him grunting and struggling she came back to help him. That meant her looping her arm around him and pulling him close. It meant body-to-body contact, which was a dangerous thing right now with all the energy zinging in the room.
He followed her to her office but didn’t sit. He was afraid if he got in the chair, he might not be able to get out of it.
She sat, though, behind her desk and took out a bottle of Irish cream liqueur and a glass. “I can’t drink stuff that tastes like battery acid so this is all I have.” She used the glass for his drink, poured hers into a cup that still had coffee in it.
Roman didn’t normally drink anything other than whiskey or beer, but he’d make an exception in this case. Plus, it was a little like having a breakfast pastry.
“When I first saw you crying, I thought Dylan was responsible,” he admitted.
She nodded, gulped down what was in the cup and poured another one. This time, it was just the booze, not watered down by coffee. “I figured you had. But no, Dylan was fine. Polite, even.”
Roman frowned. For such mild words, he didn’t like that they tightened his stomach. But that could be the drink. “He didn’t try to work his magic on you?” He made sure magic had the same tone as toenail fungus.
“No. I’m still a virgin.” She made that sound a little like toenail fungus, too. “Yes, I know it’s archaic in this day and age. And yes, I do know I can have sex without it being a commitment.”
Roman mentally tested out a few ways to respond to that, and he decided silence was the way to go.
“Sometimes, I want that,” she continued. “Sex,” Mila corrected. “Not the commitment. Sometimes, I just don’t want to be me.” She paused. Laughed. But it wasn’t a funny ha-ha laugh. It was hollow and sad. “Turns out I’m not the person I thought I was, since I’m not Frankie Banchini’s daughter. So I guess I got what I wanted.”
He eased down on the desk, moved the bottle slightly out of her reach. If she was getting drunk, her eye-hand coordination might go first, and she might not be able to pour another drink. Roman knew from experience that a drink or two could help a rotten situation, but six or seven drinks just made you shit-faced and more susceptible to doing something stupid.
Since they were talking about sex and were alone in her office, it wasn’t a good idea to toy with doing anything stupid.
“You’re still you,” he repeated, but Roman doubted she heard him. Or if she did, it didn’t sink in. The pain and shock were too close to the surface now, but maybe she’d remember this later.
And believe it.
“Think of all the good things,” he went on. “You have your own business. Your own house. And, other than keeping a spare key in a potted plant, you make smart choices.”
Like not falling for Dylan.
But he didn’t mention that.
Instead, Roman tried again to help her put things in perspective. “Until you got that letter, you were happy. You’ll be happy again. You’ll see.”
She gave another of those laughs, and it sounded a little drunk. Or maybe that was a sugar high. “Right, happy.” More of that fungal tone. “Those fantasy dates you’ve been wondering about?” she went on. “I go on them because someone’s not trying to get in my pants. They haven’t made me happy in a while now.”
“Someone getting in your pants is the only way you’ll lose your virginity.”
He frowned again. Had he just said that? Yep, apparently he had. He was moving into the stupid zone. It didn’t help when Mila stood because with him sitting on her desk and looming over her—yes, he was looming now—it put them practically eye-to-eye.
Mouth-to-mouth, as well.
Then hand-to-hand when she slid hers over his.
She smelled like dessert, felt like silk and looked like Christmas. Not a good combination.
“I don’t want it to be a conquest.” No trace of that drunk laughter now. She wasn’t dodging his gaze, eithe
r. She was looking right at him. “Like—‘yay, I did it. I went where no man has gone before.’ Why are guys like that, anyway?”
“Not all are. Personally, I avoid virgins. Sorry,” he added.
He definitely didn’t say present company included. Because here he was. Not moving. And thinking about something he shouldn’t be thinking about.
Like the condom he carried in his wallet.
Or the hard-on he was getting.
If there was a highway to hell, then he was on it right now. Along with coming close to messing up things big-time with Mila. Like that letter she’d just gotten, a kiss would change everything.
Sex would change everything times a thousand.
“You know those cans people use for pranks?” he asked. “The ones with the fake snake inside that jump out when you open the lid?”
Clearly, she hadn’t been expecting him to say that. Roman saw the surprise in her eyes. He couldn’t miss it because she was still only a couple of inches away. He also didn’t miss the glance she made at his crotch. Maybe Mila thought he was talking about his hard-on jumping out at her.
“Well, it’s very difficult to put that snake back in once it’s out of the can,” Roman assured her.
When he’d first thought of the metaphor in his head, it’d made a lot more sense than it did when he said it aloud. And it hadn’t been sexual in his head, either. Of course, pretty much anything he said or did right now would have some sexual overtones to it.
“What if I don’t want to put it back?” she asked.
This was one of those defining moments in a man’s life. The badass in him wanted to answer that by showing her. But the other part of him that wasn’t badass knew this was a bad idea.
One that would feel very, very good, though.
Somehow, even with that understanding of all those verys, Roman had to decline.
He stood, risked brushing a kiss on her cheek and started toward the door. “I’ll call Sophie and have her come stay with you.”
“No, don’t. She’s in Austin this morning on business, and I don’t want her to have to drive back. Plus, I really do want to be alone right now. In fact, I’d prefer you not mention this to Sophie or anyone else. Not until I get a handle on it. Okay?”
Roman turned, studied her to make sure she wasn’t about to fall apart. Mila certainly looked stronger than she had a couple of seconds ago.
Hotter, too.
He groaned because he needed to get out of there fast.
She didn’t follow him. Good thing because it was hard to walk with an erection and with his side still literally in stitches.
“Will you ever change your mind about this?” she asked when he made it to the front door.
Absolutely. In fact, he might change it before he could even get outside. But that wasn’t what Mila needed to hear right now, whether she thought it was or not.
“I’ll get back to you on that,” he settled for saying, and Roman left before he let his hard-on do the talking for him.
CHAPTER NINE
TATE WISHED HE could put on a magic cloak or ring or something and make himself invisible. That way, he could go from class to class and not have anyone see that he was there. Because everyone was seeing him.
That was the problem with going to a small school. Everybody knew everybody. And they all knew he was new. They probably had heard about him, too. Probably knew he’d taken those stupid girl pills. Something he hadn’t thought about when he’d first talked his dad into staying in Wrangler’s Creek.
This had been a shitty idea.
And it’d been his.
He considered calling his dad but then looked up at the clock on the wall of his English class. Only ten-thirty. He’d been here two and a half hours and was ready to quit. His dad wouldn’t like that. Heck, he didn’t like it much, either, but when he got home, he could tell his dad that he wanted to do homeschooling. Anything to stop everyone from seeing him.
The teacher hushed talking about sentence structure and stood to write something on the chalkboard. He was old, tall and skinny, and if his hair would have been long, he would have looked like Gandalf from Lord of the Rings. That was one of Tate’s favorite books, but it wasn’t what Teacher-Gandalf wrote on the board for their reading assignment.
Al Capone Does My Shirts.
Tate doubted there’d be any wizards in a book with that title.
Shit. He hated this school. Hated his life.
The bell rang, and everyone started out of the room, heading to the next class. Tate took out his schedule again even though he had it memorized, and this was his free period. He needed to make his way back to homeroom so he could sit there while everyone looked at him and whispered about those girl pills.
He waited so he’d be the last one out, and he went into the hall. It was packed, of course, and looked like the cows Uncle Garrett sometimes herded into a corral when they needed medicine and junk. Most of the kids here had the same blank looks as those cows. They probably didn’t have the kind of stuff going on in their lives like he did.
They probably had mothers who gave a shit.
“You’re Tate Granger,” someone said from behind him.
Tate glanced over his shoulder and saw two girls. They’d both been in his English class but had sat at the front. One was blonde and about his height. The other was taller and had red hair with purple streaks in it. He figured the blonde had been the one to say that because she was smiling. The other one was giving him a “get out of my face” look.
He nodded.
“Well, I’m Chrissy Beaumont.” Yep, it was the blonde, all right. “My dad owns the grocery store. The pharmacy, too. He knows your dad real well.”
Since that might not be a good thing, Tate just shrugged. He’d heard that his dad used to get in trouble a lot when he was his age.
“I’ve been riding at your family’s ranch a couple of times,” Chrissy went on. “The Grangers own a big house and lots of horses,” she added to her friend. She paused, maybe just so she could take a breath, and then fluttered her fingers toward the other girl. “Oh, this is my half sister, Arrie. Well, it’s really Arwen like that fairy or whatever in that movie.”
“Lord of the Rings,” Tate said.
“Yes, that one. Anyway, Arrie is hanging out with me today.”
Arrie didn’t look very happy about that. She didn’t look happy about anything, but he did like the name and thought her nose ring was pretty. So were the three rings in each of her earlobes. One of the earrings was a tiny cowbell.
“My mom said I wasn’t to let Arrie out of my sight,” Chrissy added. “She’s grounded for skipping theater arts. Weird, right? I mean, if you’re gonna skip, skip math or something.” She didn’t even try to whisper that or anything.
Arrie just huffed.
“I gotta get to class.” Tate turned to leave, but Chrissy stepped in front of him. “I’m having a little pool party at my house on Friday. Would you like to come?”
Tate had seen the way that some women looked at his dad. Actually, a lot of women looked at his dad that way. But it was the first time Tate had seen that look aimed at him. Chrissy was thinking that because his family had money and a big house that he’d make a good boyfriend.
He wouldn’t.
Especially since being a boyfriend would mean going to her party. Here at school, at least, people probably wouldn’t bring up that he’d tried to off himself, but it could come up at a party. And even if it didn’t people would still look at him like some kind of freak.
Tate shook his head. “I can’t go to your party, sorry. I’ve got to do something else that night.”
It wasn’t a lie. He had books he planned to read and would maybe go riding with his uncle.
“Oh, well,” Chrissy said. Her
voice wasn’t as happy as it had been a few seconds ago. “Maybe some other time. Come on, Arrie.”
Chrissy walked away. Arrie stayed put. “Did you really try to kill yourself?” she asked.
It was the first time anyone had come out and asked that. Even Dr. Woodliff had tiptoed around it by asking Tate if there was anything he wanted to talk about. His dad hadn’t brought it up at all. His dad and the rest of his family were treating him as if he were bad-off sick.
And that scared him.
Because he just might be.
“Arrie?” Chrissy called out, waggling her fingers at her half sister. “Come on. You’re gonna make me late again.”
Arrie ignored her, but it was pretty clear that she was waiting for Tate to answer her question. He’d taken those pills because the bottle said it would make him sleepy. He’d just wanted to sleep so he could turn off the bad feelings in his head.
“No. I didn’t really try to off myself,” he answered. “It was just something stupid that I did. It was an accident.”
She looked at him. A long time. Long enough for Chrissy to yell for her two more times. “If you ever think about doing anything else stupid, just call me.” Arrie took his hand, scribbled her phone number on his palm, and that’s when Tate saw it.
The white scar on her wrist.
Not something like you’d get from a scrape. It was straight across, and he could even see the little scars from the stitch marks.
She followed his gaze, and even though her look didn’t get any friendlier, it did soften a bit. “Yeah,” Arrie said. “For me, it wasn’t an accident.”
* * *
MILA STOOD IN Sophie’s office in the Granger guesthouse and waited for her friend to finish reading the letter from Vita. Mila had gone over every word so many times that she knew it by heart. Knew, too, the reaction Sophie would have.
“Holy crap on a cracker,” Sophie said. Since she wasn’t much for profanity, that was pretty harsh for her. Sophie looked at the back of the letter as if to find some explanation there, but it was blank. They had all they were going to get in the explanation department for now. At least until Vita got back from her trip.
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