by Anna Sugden
“It’s me. Liz? Liz Fetter.”
Yeah, he knew who she was. Did she honestly think he’d forget? The initial domino flick in a lifetime of little disasters.
“How are you?” She touched his arm, and before he could temper his reaction, he jerked it away. This woman he hadn’t seen in years was touching him, and it took him back to a person and a place he never wanted to be. To those things he thought he’d never have to be again.
She blinked in surprise, then that look he knew so well claimed her expression. Pity. “I had so hoped you were doing...well.” She made a little tsk noise. “I heard about your time in Afghanistan and—”
“I have to go,” he muttered to Cara. Not to Liz. He could give a flying monkey about Liz Fetter and what she thought of his time in Afghanistan.
Food forgotten, he pushed out of the diner. He felt sick to his stomach now, anyway. Beyond hunger. It was the migraine. Not memories. Not her.
He squeezed his eyes shut against the old voices, the old laughter. Sure, he should be over it by now, but he wasn’t. He’d only kept it away by hiding from it.
The pain in his skull was slicing away at him until he could barely walk, let alone drive. He couldn’t get his hand to open the truck door.
I’d so hoped you were doing well.
“My ass,” he muttered through gritted teeth. He had to get out of here.
* * *
CARA STARED OPENMOUTHED as the door swung shut behind Wes, then she glanced back at Liz Fetter. She generally kept her opinions about Liz to herself because it wasn’t any of her business, but after seeing Wes’s reaction...
“Still a bitch, I see,” Cara said sweetly. Someone needed to stand up for the poor guy.
Liz’s head snapped back. “Excuse me?”
“Remember making my sister cry her freshman year of high school? Bitch city.”
Liz’s horrified surprise morphed into a sneer. “I don’t know where you get off talking to me like—”
“Hey, Mal? Can you pack up my food to go and put that guy’s order on my bill? I’ll be right back to pay and pick them up.”
“Sure thing, Cara.”
While Liz sputtered behind her, Cara ignored her and rushed out to where Wes had gone. Luckily, he was still there, leaning against his truck, forehead pressed into his good arm above his head.
He was tense and looked to be in pain. She didn’t know what Liz had ever done to him, but, considering the way Liz had bullied Mia, Cara wouldn’t be surprised by anything. Cara figured Wes hadn’t had it much better than her sister. He’d possibly had it worse, judging from how he’d acted.
She slowed her approach. Not sure what to say. Her normal response to real pain was a joke, and that seemed so wrong right now. Why had she thought to come after him? As if she could do anything.
Well, she was here now. She had to try. “Wes.”
“Go away, Cara.”
“You don’t want to forget your food.”
“I want to forget every second of this day.”
His doctor’s appointment couldn’t have gone well, then. “Will you let me help? Please.” Usually her kind of help was of the take-the-sad-party-out-drinking variety, but what she really wanted to do with Wes was wrap him up in a hug and tell him it was okay. Which he would reject. Wholly.
“You wanna drive me home?”
His question came out of nowhere, enough her mouth dropped open. He was accepting help? Oh, jeez, this was really bad. Really, really bad. But how could she say no?
“Sure. I can drive you home, no prob.” Which actually made her nervous. Chances were she’d screw this up, but what other choice did she—or he—have? He didn’t seem to have much of anyone in his life. At least anyone human.
“Do you...” He dropped his arm and slowly turned to face her before he cleared his throat. He didn’t make eye contact, but he pushed his shoulders back. Any pain morphed into something else. As if he was deciding to do something. Something important.
She waited...holding her breath.
“Do you want to stay and eat your dinner with me?”
Her breath whooshed out. She wasn’t sure if there was more to what he was asking, but she couldn’t say no. Or ask him what he meant. Not in his current state. “O-okay.” He still wasn’t looking at her, but his voice had been all intense. “We’d have to swing by my place and get Sweetness.”
“All right.”
“Here.” She pulled out her keys and pointed to her car a few spaces down. “Make yourself comfortable, and I’ll grab the food.”
He shook his head, pulling out his wallet, then shoving some dollar bills at her.
“No, I can—”
“I’m buying you dinner,” he said firmly, in a voice that she wouldn’t have argued with even if he didn’t seem as if he was halfway to a mental breakdown. When his gaze finally met hers, she could only nod.
Yeah. Fierce, determined.
Hot.
Shh, brain.
She hurried back into the diner, and Mallory pointed to a bag of food by the cash register. Gary rang her up, and when he handed over her change and she turned to go, there was Liz again. All pinched and evil looking.
“I have one thing to say to you, Cara Pruitt. At least I’m not the town slut.”
She looked so pleased with herself for the insult that, even though it cut a little bit, Cara would not give her the satisfaction. “Yes, you’re right. I spread love, not hate. Ask your boyfriend.” The parting line was too perfect not to use. She left, head held high. When she hopped into the driver’s seat of her car, she plopped the bag of food in Wes’s lap.
“I don’t know why you hate her, but she’s nothing but a bully. Always has been. She used to make fun of my sister till she cried. For weeks on end.”
“Sounds about right.”
“Did you... How do you...”
“I don’t want to talk about it right now.”
“Oh, sure. Yeah.” She pushed her car into Reverse. Well, her plan for a distracting dinner at Moonrise had certainly come to an abrupt halt. But, she was...glad she’d been there. Glad he could have someone, even if it was her. Maybe she knew enough to be the kind of person he would need for a brief few hours.
Please, God, let that be true. “So. You know, we can eat at my place. Food will probably be cold by the time we get all the way out to yours.”
“I need to let the dogs out.” He scrubbed his hands over his face and let out a mile-long string of curses.
“Are you okay?”
“I think it’s pretty well established that I’m not.”
She hesitated and then decided it was best if she asked, if she was honest and straightforward. “Are you crying?”
“No.” He dropped his hands from his face, and his denial looked to be true. “Although I wouldn’t put it past me.”
She pulled up to her apartment complex. “This is me. I’ll grab Sweetness. Maybe a pie, and I’ll be right out. Unless...unless you want to come inside and help me?”
He looked up at the doors to the complex, then shrugged. “Eh, why not?”
* * *
WES FOLLOWED CARA into her apartment. He wanted to go home, but he’d been curious enough about what her place might look like that he could put it off for another few minutes. He wanted to see what it was like to be normal and happy.
He wanted to see what her life looked like when it wasn’t skulking around the edges of his, and mostly he wanted to see her. To understand her. Why she kept showing up, why she gave him the sense that he could rise above...
I had so hoped you were doing well.
She jiggled her key into the lock, then pushed inside. Sweetness greeted them both with yips, jumps and spins.
“Aw!” Cara bent down and snuggled the white ball of fur. “A dog’s greeting when you get home is certainly an ego boost.”
In an easy movement he didn’t want to be jealous of, she stood and hefted Sweetness with her. “There are a couple pies in the
freezer. They’re labeled, so pick a flavor. Be right back.”
She disappeared down the dark hallway, and he moved into the tiny kitchen. Pie tins hung in a scattered pattern above the sink. Pictures littered the refrigerator. Mostly of Cara and her sisters. Cara at bars with smiling, probably drunk, groups of the same people over and over.
A menagerie of fun and freedom and all things he’d never had.
He wrenched the freezer open and pulled out the first pie he came into contact with. He was done being morbid. Done feeling sorry for himself.
Liz so hoped he was doing well? Well, he was. He was doing fantastic. He was going to go back to his house and have dinner with a gorgeous woman and not fall all over himself like an idiot because he didn’t do that with Cara. Sometimes he was too harsh and sometimes he stuttered, but he functioned.
He’d told her he couldn’t kiss her, hadn’t he? That wasn’t panic or stuttering or falling apart. He was in charge of himself. Maybe he needed surgery, maybe his health was a joke, but him? He was functioning just fine and dandy, thank you, Liz Fetter.
Cara didn’t laugh at him. She wasn’t using him. So...he was going to do something. He was going to prove something. Somehow.
Cara returned with a big purse on one arm and Sweetness still in the other. “All right. Ready?”
He nodded. A row of bottles in her pantry caught his eye. A bottle of whiskey, partially empty. He didn’t keep alcohol at his place except for the occasional six-pack of beer. No point in having bottles of the stuff when you never entertained or had people over, and he still hadn’t gotten used to having the kind of money to spend on something as frivolous as a bottle of booze. “Are you saving this for a special occasion?”
“Um, no.”
“Wanna bring it?” Liquor might help. Couldn’t hurt. He didn’t think.
Her eyebrows shot up, but the nicest thing about Cara was she didn’t press. Sometimes she’d ask an unwanted question, one time, yes, she had pressed her body to his, but she didn’t pressure him to answer, pressure him to move forward. Didn’t keep at him or look hurt if he didn’t answer. She let it go. He’d said he couldn’t, and she’d pretended as if nothing had happened.
She shrugged and said, “Sure.”
He grabbed the bottle and followed her out the door and back to her beat-up little car. He had no idea what he was doing, but he’d figure it out once he got home. On his own turf.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CARA DROVE HER Camry over the bumpy path of Wes’s drive. Sweetness yipped happily in Wes’s lap. The sun was setting behind the trees that surrounded Wes’s cabin.
It was all very weird. Which seemed to be the theme of her life, since Wes had crashed into it. Or vice versa. Or something. Why couldn’t she know what to do? With him? With everything?
She rolled to a stop, shifting into Park, and Wes and Sweetness were out of the car without a word.
This was not about her. This was about him. Obviously his doctor’s appointment had been bad, and the run-in with Liz had made him...angry. She wasn’t quite sure what to do with angry Wes, but...maybe she could figure it out.
Feeling more than a little uncertain, Cara grabbed the food—and the whiskey—and followed Wes to the barn out back.
He shoved open the door, and Sweetness yelped and danced as Wes’s dogs rushed out to greet him and her. Even though she was feeling uncertain, she couldn’t help but smile. No wonder he surrounded himself with animals.
“All right, all right. Calm it down.” He pushed through the tail-wagging throng and into the barn. She stood, arms full of stuff, while Wes checked bowls and petted cats and Shrimp.
He walked back to her, taking the bag of food and looping it on his arm. “Just need to put Monster and Franco out on their lines.”
She nodded, watching as he did so. Then he whistled, and the other dogs fell into line behind him, including Sweetness.
Cara felt compelled to get in line, too, but instead she walked next to him. In silence. Heavy, awkward silence.
He unlocked the door, pushed it open, then gestured her inside. He turned to the dogs standing expectantly on the porch.
“Stay,” he instructed.
The dogs wagged their tails and obeyed the command, and Cara felt herself obeying it, too, standing perfectly still in the kitchen as he dropped the bag of food on the counter. She watched while he grabbed a handful of treats from a bin by the door and tossed one to each dog.
Then he turned to her, Mr. Fierce-and-Determined once more. Mr. Oh-Please-Get-In-My-Pants. Do not think like that, Cara Pruitt. This is an injured, broken man, and you have no business trying to heal him.
Oh, but she wanted to, and that was a shock. She hadn’t realized that’s what that feeling was. Wanting to help. Wanting to heal. So much so that it blossomed through all her usual determinations to hide from the hard.
“I’m not an invalid,” he said, bursting her from her reverie.
She frowned. “Have I ever said that?”
“No, you haven’t.” He took a step toward her, a halting, uncertain step—but a step nonetheless. There was something about the way he was looking at her, something...different. As if...
“My life is just fine,” he said with another odd, resolute step toward her. “I am fine and doing well. Really damn well.”
“Oh, this is about what she sa—”
His last step put them standing much as they were at the creek. Yesterday. When he’d said he couldn’t and stomped away.
But he was staring at her now, and she had to swallow. She should...look away. Remind him that he...couldn’t. She should remind him that he’d said that. And she would remind him. Once she could catch a breath through the heavy beating of something against her chest, squeezing out all the space for her lungs.
“I am well,” he repeated in something little more than a whisper, a determined whisper, but a whisper. Then he swallowed, straightened his shoulders. “Well enough to—” And then he kissed her. Totally out of the blue. He grabbed her face, not all that gently or with any kind of finesse, and his mouth was on hers.
Frustrated angry kissing. At first it was a little strange and not quite smooth. His body shuddered against hers, but once she stepped into it and angled her head a little—oh, yeah, smooth. He was all hard, tense muscle, but his lips were soft in contrast with the beard scratching her chin.
A really nice contrast. And his hands—big palms covering her cheeks, long fingers curling into her hair. It hit all those buttons, the ones that made her skin feel like velvet and her heart feel full and every delicious flipping feeling south of the border.
All she could do was hold on to the sides of his shirt and hope losing clothes was next. That was comforting she knew how to do. If he’d gotten over his “can’t” regarding kissing her, maybe she could offer—
But he stepped back, releasing her completely. He ran a surprisingly shaky hand through his shaggy hair, and she had to press a hand to the wall to right herself from being released so quickly.
“Th-that is how f-fine I a-am,” he said, pointing to the ground.
“You’re stuttering.”
He glared. “Well, you’re breathing hard.”
“It was a really good kiss.” And surprising. And over. Boo.
He turned abruptly, grabbing the bag of food. “I’ll heat this stuff up.” He unceremoniously dumped her food onto a plate and shoved it into the microwave. When it was done, he handed her the plate and nodded to the table, then repeated the process with his own food and took a seat across from her.
She went with it, because what could she do? Demand an explanation? She didn’t need one. She knew exactly what had happened. He was trying to prove something to himself, and it hadn’t...quite rocked his world the way it had rocked hers.
She swallowed thickly, trying to work up any enthusiasm for her hamburger when she was dealing with the heavy weight of surprise rejection.
After a few ticking minutes of silence and chewing, he
opened his mouth. At first no sound came out, and he shook his head. “I’m sorry I k-kissed you like that.”
She studied him. Maybe...the step away wasn’t rejection after all? Maybe he was simply...bad at this. Huh. “Like what? Like awesomely?”
He blinked at her with his mouth hanging open before he shook his head. “Grabby and without permission.”
“I don’t want polite kissing. I want that.” She pointed to where they’d stood. He might be sending mixed messages, but she didn’t think he meant to, and more...she wanted to kiss him. She’d wanted to kiss him yesterday, and after that she wanted to kiss him again.
And since kissing and flirting and seducing were the kinds of things she knew she was good at, it was easy enough to smile. “Grabby and fierce and mmm.”
She tried to read his expression. Blushing? Check, but if she wasn’t totally reading into the little quirk of his mouth, he was at least a bit pleased with himself.
Which was nice, but where had it all come from? She hated the idea that it might be because of Liz and nothing much to do with her. “But you were mad at her. That’s why you kissed me.” The run-in with Liz had prompted it, but this wasn’t simply her being the easiest target.
Right?
He shrugged, focusing on his sandwich. “So to speak.”
She swallowed away the disappointment. Why should she be disappointed? If he’d wanted to do it, he would have done it yesterday. Not given her can’ts. So, she’d focused on what had happened. Liz and the doctor, not...the little kiss he had to get out of his system. “You two dated?”
“We sort of went on a date. I guess. It was high school.”
“So...”
“Let’s open up that whiskey.” He pushed back from the table and grabbed the bottle and two glasses, then plucked two cans of Coke from the fridge.
She studied the bottle he slapped on the table. Well, honestly, if Wes didn’t deserve to get a little drunk to deal with all his issues, no one did. “Doctor appointment didn’t go well?” She wanted to reach out and touch him, but everything inside of her was...confused. He was confusing her, and...she’d keep some kind of platonic distance.
