Cross My Heart

by K. D. Friedrich

  Stan had his back to her now. He turned as if sensing her presence, flashed a killer smile, and ended his call.

  “Damn, look at you.” He glanced at her shirt and frowned. “Still a sucker for the romantic tragedies, I see.”

  Stan knew about her issues with Pete. She never mentioned the kiss they shared, but he knew she had feelings for the big lug. “That’s me, the lover of hopeless romance.”

  “Don’t worry, sweet Juliet, there’s a Romeo out there waiting to sweep you off your feet.” He leaned in. “He may be closer than you think.” Stan winked before placing his hand on the small of her back.

  They gazed at each other. Stan’s hand traveled up the contour of her spine. She waited for the strange tingle, the unexplainable awareness, telling her more existed between them than a beautiful friendship. It never came.

  “Come on. There’s a tall glass in there with your name on it.” He opened the door and guided her in.

  “Thanks, hot stuff.” She winked at the flirty girls who still had their eyes fixed on him.

  He rolled his eyes. “Anytime, honey bunch.”

  She walked in with Stan right behind her.

  Off in a distant corner, an old-fashioned jukebox played Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believing”. The owner, Eddie, a fan of every rock band from the seventies through 1989, refused to tarnish his image by loading anything into the jukebox one might consider modern. Cara didn’t mind. She grew up listening to most of the bands anyway. Her dad loved classic rock.

  The place smelled of dust, stale beer, greasy food, and the sweet allure of cigars. Town law prohibited smoking in public places, yet it never stopped anyone from lighting up a stogie now and then, and even the police chief who came here on his off hours to unwind, ignored regulations.

  A diverse collection of patrons hovered around the old pine bar tonight. From the twenty-something-good-ole-boys downing shots, all the way to the aged diehards who each had a stool with their name embroidered on the seat. Stained glass fixtures hung from the ceiling, donating the mood-enhancing light, which made everyone appear soft and mysterious. Native American artifacts and photos lined the walls. Their presence provided a glimpse into the rich history the area had to offer. With a click, the music shifted and “Hotel California” by the Eagles filled the room.

  “I love this song,” shouted Cara over the noise of the crowd.

  Stan leaned closer. “It’s a classic. Hey, you want to head to a table? The crowd isn’t letting up over here.”

  Cara nodded and led the way, squeezing her way through the hoard. Several people waved and flashed their bright smiles. A couple of guys patted Stan on the back as they passed, asking where he’d been and how long he’d be in town. Cara’s frown deepened with each step. Here lies the problem with living in a small town. No matter where you go, you’ll know someone and that someone will know your business. The rumor of her little get-together with Stan would soon find its way back to John and Pete. She knew this, but maybe fate would afford her one more night of uninterrupted fun. She sure as heck deserved the merriment.

  Breaking free of the herd of laughing, smiling faces, Cara and Stan entered the dining area. The sign plastered on the wall said, “Seat yourself; we’ll take care of the rest.”

  Cara glanced at the booths lining the wall. A few people sat around eating cheese fries and burgers. They chose a seat toward the back, not far from the billiard room. The sound of pool balls breaking made her hands itch to pick up a cue. Extra hours at work and taking care of the house left her little time for games.

  With her blonde hair tied in a tight bun, and her slim body dressed in a form-fitting uniform, the waitress rushed over with the menus. She served the food and hustled drinks to those playing in the adjoining room.

  “My name’s Sherry. I’ll be your server tonight.” She gave Stan the once-over, grinning the whole time. “Can I get you some drinks to start off?” She tapped her pen on her pad.

  “How you doing, Sherry? I’ll take a draft beer and a double cheeseburger, well done, with pickles, lettuce, and tomato on the side. Oh, and can you make my fries with cheese?” Surprise widened the server’s eyes, no doubt expecting her to order a salad or something.

  “Do you see why I love this woman? I’ll take the same, but no cheese on my fries. It makes them soggy.” Made in jest, the declaration of love didn’t make her feel any less uncomfortable.

  “No cheese? You’re missing out.”

  Sherry took the menus and hurried down the aisle, through the swinging doors leading to the kitchen.

  Stan leaned his elbows on the table. “So, how have you been, Cara? I was shocked to hear you were working at the library.”

  She shrugged. “They had a position for an administrative assistant. I needed a job. I love to read. The hours are perfect, especially when school starts in the fall.”

  “School?”

  “I decided to go to cooking school.”

  “Chef Cara, it’s got a nice ring to it. You in a white coat, hair wrapped up in a bun. Though, I have to say, nothing beats those jeans you’re wearing.”

  Heat spread across her face. She never did take compliments easily, above all from Stan. They were good friends, but sometimes the nice things he said didn’t sound gracious. They sounded…romantic.

  “Are you seeing anyone?” His question caught her off guard.

  She looked down at the table. “I haven’t had much time for dating.”

  “There’s always time.”

  The waitress delivered the drinks. Cara took a big gulp of the ice-cold brew, soothing her dry throat. “Pete’s back,” she blurted out.

  Stan’s smile fell flat. He lowered his gaze to his frosty glass. “How nice. So when did GI Joe return?” Pete sipped his beer.

  “Stop calling him that.”

  “Sorry,” Stan mumbled.

  “Almost a week, he’s, uhm…he’s taking the spare room in my house for a few weeks, until he gets back on his feet.”

  Stan spat out his beer. “What? He is fucking living with you?”

  “Hey, you don’t have to scream, all right? Watch your mouth, too. Geez, the city’s given you a potty mouth. What’s the big deal anyway?”

  “What’s the big deal…what’s the big deal, she says?” He leaned closer, anger in his tone. “He blew you off, ignored your letters, and treated you like shit. Now you’re offering him free room and board. Let him stay at his damn mother’s house.”

  “He can’t. He burned that bridge when he beat up his stepfather the other day.”

  He laughed. “What a surprise. Let your brother take him in.”

  “John doesn’t have the room. Besides, the thing with his stepdad was sort of my fault. I blabbed about the incident a few months back. You remember, the last time you came, I told you about him grabbing my…” She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Behind.”

  “I guess I can’t fault him for wanting a piece of Frank, but it doesn’t excuse the way he’s ignored you over the…”

  Cara slid her hand over his, stopping him in mid-sentence. “Can we forget I said anything? It’s been ages since we hung out. Let’s catch up without bringing up old hostilities, okay?”

  Stan lowered his gaze to their joined hands and sighed. His grip tightened around her fingers. “You’re right.”

  “So, how’s it going at the station house? I’m surprised they gave you so much time off. When we talked a few months back, you said they had closed a few firehouses, putting a strain on you guys.”

  “Yeah, well, it wasn’t like I had a choice.”

  Cara tilted her head. “What do you mean?”

  “I wasn’t completely honest earlier. I’m not on vacation. I’m taking a leave of absence from the fire department. We…uhm…we lost one of our guys a month ago. The chief suggested that I take some time off. Eddie, the firefighter we lost, hit us all hard, but I was in the building with him when he got killed.”

  Cara tightened her grip around Stan’s fi
ngers. “Stan, I’m so sorry.”

  Stan nodded with a frown. “Me too,” he said before he pulled away his hand and leaned back. He took a swig of his beer. “Come on, sunshine. We didn’t hang out to bring up bad memories. If I remember correctly, you mentioned something about kicking my ass in pool or were you just blowing smoke up my—”

  “Oh, it is so on.”

  The burgers arrived, offering a welcome distraction. “Let’s dig in. I’m eager to kick some ass tonight.”

  She smirked. “Eat your darn burger.”

  Chapter 4

  With John working double shifts at the precinct and Pete’s anti-social behavior, Cara’s last few dates with Stan remained a secret. A fact she appreciated, because Cara had had more fun in the last two weeks than she had in the last few years.

  Stan and Cara saw movies and went to the roller rink. They even sat by the lake talking, nothing more. He hadn’t tried to kiss her or touch her in any way, although she did spot lust in his eyes once or twice. Thank God for his distance. If he had made a pass, she would have panicked. She’d have to make him understand. She cared for him, but her heart beat for only one man.

  She mixed a fresh pitcher of iced tea, staring at the ice cubes bouncing around and colliding with the spoon as she stirred. Sweat beaded on her brow, her shirt clinging to her body like a second skin. The hot weather crept along the green meadows and dense forests, filling the house with an incessant humidity the air conditioner struggled to eradicate. How Pete worked out in the garden in this heat skipped her reasoning, yet without fail, he pulled, pruned, and trimmed the darn yard every day.

  He hadn’t spoken a full sentence to her all week. So unlike the Pete she remembered. Each day, after he finished demolishing the garden, he’d lumber past her to the fridge, grunt a hello, grab a six-pack of beer, and lock himself in his room. Pete hadn’t shown his smile much since the first day he arrived.

  Cara headed to the sink to wash some dishes from this morning. She glanced out the window to find a shirtless Pete standing in the center of the yard, staring off into the woods. He seemed to be admiring the glorious sunset dipping beneath the trees. A serene calmness fell over his features, and for a split second she recognized the man who left six years ago.

  Suddenly, his serenity vanished. His eyes grew wide as if stretched by some unknown force and he collapsed. Cara threw the glass in the sink, ignoring the sound as it shattered, and raced out of the house, terrified.

  Did he suffer heatstroke? Was he having a heart attack or something?

  By the time she reached him, his skin had lost all color, becoming a haunted, pale version. His eyes had sealed shut. Sweat poured off him in buckets, and he shook so violently, his teeth chattered. His breathing sounded labored, similar to the sound her dad made when suffering an asthma attack. He crawled across the ground on his belly, mumbling words she couldn’t understand.

  “Oh my God,” Cara cried. She fell to her knees beside him and grabbed his arm. “Pete, what’s going on? Are you okay?” His elbow shot up, hit her shoulder, and knocked her back. Pain centered where he struck her, but she ignored the slight sting. Pete needed her.

  Cara pulled herself up to a sitting position, with her legs tucked under her butt. Pete had flipped over on his back. His eyes had once again opened, blinking, although still fighting through whatever nightmare stole his peace. Gentler breaths expelled from his lips and she noticed the color returning to his face.

  “Pete,” she whispered. “I’m going to call John.”

  When she started to rise, he grabbed her hand. “No. Stay, please.”

  His eyes shut again, but his breathing sounded normal. “Okay.” She sat next to him on the ground, holding his hand that no longer shook.

  Neither of them spoke for what felt like a lifetime. Stars now peppered the black sky. Pete yanked his hand away. “We should go in.” His sudden statement made her jump.

  “Pete, what’s going on with you? Are you sick? Please tell me.”

  He rubbed his palms over his eyes. “No…it’s nothing, Cara. I’m fine, all right.”

  “Pete, that didn’t look like nothing.”

  “Drop it, Cara,” he snapped.

  Drop it? He’s fine? He wasn’t fine, not even close. Oh, he put up a good front around John and her dad, flashing fake smiles and laughing when John cracked one of his stupid jokes, but distress weighed heavy on Pete’s soul.

  Cara stood and brushed off bits of grass stuck to her pants. With a pained expression on his face, Pete struggled to his feet. She didn’t bother to offer her hand. He wouldn’t have accepted her help anyway. Stubborn jerk.

  “Pete, I really think we should talk about what happened.” He limped past her without a word. Cara shook her head before following him back into the kitchen.

  Perspiration trickled along his chiseled torso, creating a glossy veil over every inch of exposed flesh. Days of working in the sun had deepened his tan to a warm bronze. Except for the scars; they appeared brown and angry. Dark freckles dusted both of his shoulders, while a thin trail of honey-colored hairs started below his navel and disappeared beneath his low-hanging jeans.

  “How long have you been home?” Pete asked. He hadn’t made eye contact since he told her to stay with him outside.

  She stared at the spoon still sitting in the iced tea. “Not long, I got home about an hour ago. Listen, Pete—”

  He rushed past her, opened the fridge, grabbed a bottle of beer and had the cap off in seconds. “John and Pop are meeting me at Taylor’s Pub for a beer. You should come.”

  She had denied his invitations for weeks and hated to do it again, especially after what she witnessed out in the yard, but tonight she had planned to let Stan down easy. “I…I can’t. I have…”

  “A date,” he said, finishing her sentence.

  “Maybe we can go bowling on Saturday,” she offered. “All of us, you, John, and Dad.” His strong jaw tensed as he eyed her, forming the cutest dimple on his cheek. Cara tried not to stare, but God, she loved that tiny indentation.

  Not many men had the ability to sweep a woman off her feet and knock her down at the same time. Pete soared into the category.

  “It’s been so long since I had the pleasure of out-striking your sorry butt,” she added, hoping the playful tone would steer him away from the topic. “Remember when we went bowling with John and the ditzy girl. You know…the one who kept skipping the ball over into the other lane. She got more strikes in the neighbor’s lane than ours. Oh, and remember the time we—”

  “How come this guy never picks you up at home? What kind of joker makes you sneak around to meet him?” His voice became deeper, laced with anger and some other emotion, which evaded her comprehension. “I hate the fucking guy already, another damn loser.”

  The smile she had a second ago vanished. How dare he call Stan a loser? How dare he question what I do with my life? “This is why he hasn’t come here.”

  He drew closer, crowding her against the counter. “And why’s that?”

  “Because of this,” she said, throwing her hands in the air. “This tough man interrogation, the way you try to intimidate and dominate. This isn’t a darn military compound and I am not a solider to be ordered around.”

  His tattoos moved beneath the flexing muscles of his biceps as he planted a hand on each side of her. She wanted to push him away and at the same time, she resisted yanking him into her arms. “What the hell are you hiding, Cara? Who is this guy?”

  Her body trembled from his overpowering presence. Heat poured off him in waves, crashing against her with his delicious, masculine scent. She fought the intense desire, the unbelievable pull to run her nails along the bare planes of his chest and mark him. To make sure all women knew her ownership. An extreme possessive wish, so unlike her, so foreign to her being, she thought she might be losing her mind. Pete Cross did not belong to her. He belonged to no one.

  “Who I see is none of your business.” She placed her palms on his
chest and pushed hard. He barely moved an inch. “And what are you hiding, Pete? What happened out there in the yard? Why do you lock yourself away in your room every night? Why won’t you talk to me?”

  Inches separated them. Close enough for her to scent cut grass on his skin and the faintest trace of gun solvent. She knew the smell, because her dad liked to hunt and she’d always helped him clean his rifle.

  “You brought a gun into my house? I can smell the gun oil on your hands.”

  With a flick of his tongue, he moistened those perfect, full lips. Her heart pounded, thundering a tribal rhythm in her ears. Heat seared her flesh. Tendrils of fire wrapped around her and yanked her closer to him.

  “Yeah, a pistol.”

  “Why?” she whispered.

  His eyes stared into her like an X-ray, examining her every move. “I need it. Can’t sleep without it.” His gaze faltered a second, as if he’d admitted something shameful.

  Her heart cried out to erase the pain she witnessed creeping along his features. “Nothing’s going to hurt you here, Pete.” I won’t let it.

  He lifted his fingers as if to touch her face, yet at the last second his hand fell away and closed into a tight fist. His gaze hardened.

  “You’re right about one thing, Cara,” he said. “Your social life is none of my business. Have a fucking blast tonight. I won’t wait up.”

  He brushed past her and marched down the hall. After several heavy footsteps, Cara heard the abrupt slap of the wood door slamming shut, and finally freed the breath trapped in her lungs.

  * * * *

  “I can’t believe Taylor’s pub was closed due to a flood,” Pete said as they walked into the Billiard Bar and Grill.

  Pete needed a drink…bad. After his clash with Cara, drowning in a bottle had become the mission of the night. He needed to forget about the asshole Cara had been sneaking around with, concentrate on a numbing buzz, and perhaps, if luck fell in his favor, engage in some meaningless sex.