“It’s nothing. Just tired, I think,” I answer.
Leanne raises an eyebrow at me skeptically. “Sean?”
“Yes ma’am, Miss Leanne?”
When you live in Texas, you teach your kids good country manners, and I’ve made sure Sean won’t ever be rejected for something I can control. With an undereducated mother and a felon for a father, he’s got enough going against him without having bad manners to boot.
“Do you remember where the room with the piano is?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he responds.
“Would you go and look in the cabinet right next to the piano? Inside, there’s a basket full of yarn and knitting needles. You know what those look like?”
My dutiful boy nods.
Leanne smiles at him. “If you could bring me that basket, I’d be so grateful. I need to do some knitting this afternoon.”
Sean jumps up. He’s still at that age where he thinks helping out is fun. I’m pretty sure that won’t last much longer.
“Yes, ma’am.” He salutes Leanne, who laughs at him warmly before he runs off to the back of the house.
“He’ll get completely sidetracked by that train set in there and forget to come back,” I warn her.
“I’m counting on it,” she answers, sitting on the sofa and gesturing for me to join her. “Now, tell me what’s going on? You left the room to get something in the kitchen and were gone for three times as long as you needed to be. Then you came back obviously upset.”
I sigh, looking down at my ragged fingernails, wishing I could afford to get a manicure at the downtown salon. Not that it would make any difference. One night at my job—all the glasses clinking against my hands, the hot water when I wash dishes, and they’d be chipped and battered again.
“I know we haven’t been friends that long, but I’d like to think you trust me. And if one of Ronny’s guys did or said something inappropriate to you, I need to know so we can make sure he’s off the premises. Or did something else happen?”
“No.” I’m suddenly beset by the possibility of telling her the whole story, in all its sordid detail. But I quickly dismiss the idea.
I trust Leanne, but I don’t trust what a small Texas town might think of me and what they might say or do to my son. If she were to tell only one person, it could ruin me.
“It wasn’t one of Ronny’s guys, I promise. I, uh, ran into Colin. He’s here to do some work?”
“Yeah. He comes a few times a week to help Ronny out. If we could get Joss Jamison to do a few shifts, we could say we’d employed the whole band.” She laughs.
“I’m sure you’ve figured out that Colin and I used to date—back in high school. It was a really long time ago, but we left some things unresolved, and having him around town has brought stuff up for me. Sounds really dumb, doesn’t it? I mean we were teenagers. I should just get over it.”
Leanne reaches out and touches my hand. “Not at all. You forget I spent a lot of time with Walsh and Tammy when they were here. They fell in love when they were fourteen, and trust me, it’s every bit as real and deep as any couple who didn’t meet until they were grown. Love is love.”
There’s a pinching in my chest at her words. What I know about love could fit in a thimble, but I do know that what I felt for Colin as a teen was as real as things can get. To this day, I still don’t understand how it all went so wrong.
“Colin’s probably not so easy to get over, is he?” Leanne presses on.
I choke out a bitter laugh. “No. He’s definitely not the kind of guy you forget about—or move beyond. At least, I haven’t figured out how to do it.”
“I think it’s a requirement to be in that band.” She winks. “They’re all pretty unforgettable.”
“I know, right?” I grin. “Did you meet Joss when he was here? They’re all hot—Mike’s got that super-pumped-up, tattooed thing going on, and Walsh is the handsome all-American boy, but Joss Jamison in the flesh. Wow, sister.”
Leanne fans herself. “Oh yeah. He was around the ranch a couple of times and I kept making up excuses to be where he and the guys were. If Ronny had caught me, he’d have never let me live it down. He knows he’s the only man for me, so he wouldn’t have been jealous, but he would have teased me forever. Mooning over a rock star. So not my style.”
I can’t help but laugh at the image of Leanne following Joss Jamison around.
“And where does Colin fit in?” she asks. “You’ve got the movie star, the brawny sex god, and the all-American hottie. What’s Colin?”
“Oh, my. I’m not sure…”
“I think you are. I think you know exactly how you’d describe Colin Douglas.” She gives me a knowing look.
“He’s…um…he’s quiet, and he’s good. You know, inside? He cares so much about the world. He does a lot of stuff for charity, he always has. It’s the way he was raised.”
“And he looks like a sunny California surfer,” she adds. “That doesn’t hurt.”
I breathe quietly. If only she knew how much it does, in fact, hurt. “Yeah, then there’s that.” I give her a small smile.
“So there’s a sweet, hot guy and a really good, beautiful woman. They obviously have strong feelings for one another—why am I not seeing a happy face on you these last few months?”
I sigh. “Not to be clichéd, but it’s very complicated.”
“It always is, sweetheart.” She pats my hand as she stands. Then she starts collecting cups. “When you’re ready to talk about it, I’m here, Marsha.” She looks at me, assessing. “I mean that. Any time.”
“Thank you,” I tell her.
She scoots out of the room, leaving me there to gaze out the window, where I spy a bare-chested Colin lifting saddles and tack into the back of a pickup truck. My heart stills. Holy hell. I must have made someone upstairs very angry, because this is like dangling steak in front of a hungry lion who’s locked inside a cage. Granted the cage might have been of my own making, but it’s still a cage. And Colin—every glorious, muscled, tan inch of him—is on the other side of those bars. Out of my grasp, out of my life. But never out of my heart.
WORD AROUND town is that Jenny Turner has finally given in and taken Mike Owens back. I figure it must be true when Colin is by himself at the Bronco tonight. He’s reading a book and drinking a beer when I come in to start my shift.
“Only one rock star tonight,” the waitress I’m replacing tells me. “He hasn’t had any dinner yet. Maybe he only wants to be served by you?”
I snort. “Doubtful,” I tell her, rolling my eyes. “He’s not terribly fond of me.”
She pats my cheek firmly. “Oh, you poor sweet dear. You go right on believing that. But make sure to invite me to the wedding.”
Before I can protest, she’s sashayed on out the door, her eyes alight at my slack jaw and stunned expression. Wedding my ass.
I serve a couple of guys at the bar real fast while I’m collecting my stuff and putting on my apron, then I start making my way through the room, wiping down tables, picking up empties, and taking refill orders. When I get to the table in the corner where Colin’s seated, I paste on my most generic, professional smile and ask, “Can I get you something else? Maybe a sandwich?”
He looks up from his book, something called Eating Animals by Jonathan Safran Foer, and stares for a moment without seeming to see me.
“Oh, hey. Um, yeah, I guess I should eat something,” he answers.
“How about a grilled cheese?”
“I’m thinking about going vegan,” he says abruptly, putting the book down on the table.
“Really? Being a vegetarian isn’t enough?”
“I don’t think I should support animals being treated that way—caged, farmed, exploited.”
If it were anyone else in this town saying the word vegan to me right now, I’d be laughing in disbelief. But it’s Colin, and I’m certain he means every word of it. He doesn’t belong within a hundred miles of this town, and I can’t help but wond
er—as I have every day since he first showed up—why is he here?
“What if they’re treated very humanely—organic, pasture-raised, all that stuff? The cow’s got to get rid of the milk anyway. Does it matter if it’s us who drink it?”
He tilts his head and looks at me thoughtfully. “I’m not sure. It’s more complicated than that. There’s something to considering whether the animal can give their consent about using their bodies that way. I’m still thinking about it.” He gives me a small smile.
“How about I get you a grilled cheese in the meantime? One more can’t hurt you, right?”
He sighs and chuckles. “You were always trying to feed me, you know that?”
I freeze in the midst of writing his order down on my pad. We don’t talk about the “us” that was—ever. Well, until the other day at Leanne’s. But I didn’t think we ever would again, and not a detail like how I used to push him to eat more. Somehow, the mundane seems more intimate than talking about a highly charged issue we once faced. It implies a knowledge of each other that’s more than I want to recall.
“I don’t really remember,” I mutter, angling my face away from him to look out over the other tables in the room.
“I do,” he says resolutely. “I remember every moment.”
I can’t help but look back into his eyes now. “Colin.” My voice is nearly a whisper. “Don’t,” I warn.
“Don’t what?”
I can feel it, like a dam breaking, the flash flood sending warnings through all of my synapses.
“Don’t admit that you were once everything to me? Don’t acknowledge that you’re the only woman I’ve ever really loved? Don’t say that it still tears me up inside when I think about everything we lost?”
Heat pours through me—and not the good kind. Not the kind that comes from passion or love, but the kind that erupts out of anger and betrayal. The kind that reminds me of what it felt like to have the one person I trusted most turn his back on me at my time of need.
“Don’t you dare bring up our losses.” My voice is tight and shaky, my face is burning, and in the back of my mind I curse my redhead complexion. I’m sure I’m the color of a ripe tomato. “We had no shared losses. You left me and went off to what? Wine, women, and song? I lost you and I lost any chance I had for a decent future. I’ve had ten years of losses. You can’t imagine what that’s been like. My losses were never your losses. I carried them all by myself.”
The muscle in the side of his jaw ticks once—the only sign that he’s angry now. Colin doesn’t get angry. He doesn’t get riled. He’s like a long, cool wave on a sizzling sand beach. He rolls over you soft and sure, wiping away all traces of strife, and leaving only peacefulness. But not now, not when I know exactly which buttons to push and I do it with impunity.
“You’ll never admit it, will you?” he asks, his voice low and raspy. “You’ll never admit that I was part of it all, that I hurt too—hurt for you, hurt for me, hurt for all of it. I know I was only seventeen, and you didn’t think I’d be able to handle the decision, but if you think I didn’t feel it—every bit of what you went through—you’re wrong.”
He stands, and my stubbornness prevents me from stepping back. So we’re toe to toe now, his warm breath feathering across my skin, making me want to jump away and run. But O’Neills don’t run, and I don’t let Colin know how much he still affects me or how.
“I’ve lost my appetite,” he tells me, his voice low and rough. “I think I’ll go home and watch Scandal with Mrs. S.” He lifts his hand and runs his thumb along my cheek.
Chills race down my spine, and my heart kicks up double speed.
“Have a good night, Marsha.” Then he walks away and it’s all I can do to keep from collapsing into the chair he just vacated.
When I’m finally able to focus again, I see that he’s left a hundred-dollar bill lying on the table.
Chapter Three
Colin
IT’S BEEN three days since I’ve seen Mike when he finally shows up early one morning at Mrs. S.’s.
“What’s up for your day, young Colin?” he bellows as he approaches the porch, where I’m sitting with my coffee.
“A little work around town,” I answer. “Errands, the hardware store, the usual.” I give him the once-over, cross my arms, and cock an eyebrow. “So I guess Jenny’s cooking is agreeing with you.”
“Dude, Jenny hasn’t even seen her kitchen in three days. She’s so exhausted I don’t think she’s moved in about twelve hours.” He gives me a smug smile.
“TMI, man,” I tell him. “But I’m happy for you. I really am.”
“I’m, uh, I’m going to put a ring on it,” he says, his voice almost shy, which coupled with the name Mike Owens is an oxymoron.
“What?! No fucking way!” I holler, pounding him on the back at the same time. “Damn. You think she’ll let you?”
He glares at me, and I chuckle.
“Yep. I’m planning out the proposal now, and as soon as we get her new album out and a tour schedule we’ll set a date. Can’t be soon enough for me though.”
I observe him for a moment, and I can see it—the truth in what he’s saying. He really has fallen completely. She’s it for him, and I’m glad.
“I’m happy for you, you big jackass,” I tell him. “You earned it, and she’s fantastic.”
“Thanks.” He smiles, all contentment and sap. “And I came by this morning to pick up my stuff. Jen and I are going to be all over the place for a while. We’ve got to do some final polish on her album at the studio in Dallas and get her place packed up and ready to rent out. Then we’ll be going to Portland to find a place to live—she needs someplace there that she’s comfortable with. My bachelor pad was not made for a girl who bakes pies for relaxation.”
I nod. The issue that’s been hanging over me for months is put front and center again—my friends are leaving town, and I have no reason to stay. Yet I can’t bring myself to go. Now that I’ve seen her, spoken to her, know where she is, I can’t leave Marsha. No matter how angry she makes me.
“So, what’s next for you?” Mike asks, trying to sound casual but failing miserably.
“I don’t know. I have a benefit concert in Honolulu in a month, but until then? Maybe I’ll stay here and help out Mrs. S. She’s going to have a hard time with all of us gone, you know?”
He looks at me like he thinks I’m full of shit. I probably am.
“You keep on telling yourself that’s what it’s all about. Meanwhile…” His voice fades away as he focuses on something across the street.
I follow his gaze just in time to see a big German Shepherd bounding down the block right toward a small kid. A small kid with auburn curls who is frozen in terror at the monster heading his way.
“Holy shit!” I mutter before vaulting over the porch railing and pounding across the yard. I start shouting at the dog before I even get to little Sean. “Hey! Hey!”
The dog doesn’t veer off course, but he does slow down, and I make it to Sean a few steps before the beast does. I swing the kid up in my arms and plant my feet shoulder-width apart on the concrete sidewalk. Then I thrust my hand out and use the voice my father always did when I was getting in trouble for something.
“No!”
The dog stops, looking from me to Sean for a minute, then snarls.
“Go on!” I tell him firmly. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Mike approaching, and there’s something long in his hand. Relief cascades through me. A weapon is a very nice addition right about now.
Sean buries his head in my neck, and shakes, but he’s smart enough to stay quiet.
“Step back slowly,” Mike tells me. “I’ve got a putter and I can hold him off while you get the kid inside the house.”
Thank God for the golf clubs Mrs. Stallworth keeps by the front door for protection.
I take one step back, and the dog moves forward, still growling.
“Right here, fucker,” Mike growls as well, and th
e dog looks to him, giving me time for a few more steps away.
Mike raises the golf club and looks at the dog like he means business. In a battle between Mike and the shepherd, I’m not sure which one would be the victor. Hopefully we won’t have to find out.
“It’s going to be okay,” I whisper to Sean. “Hang on, little man.”
He sniffs into my neck, and it feels like he’s nodding his head.
I back away as the dog continues to have a standoff with Mike. When it appears that the shepherd has changed its focus, I move more, backing up step by step as I get into the street. I don’t turn around until I’m a good fifteen feet past Mike, knowing that, if the dog gives chase now, Mike will hold him off.
Once I’m on Mrs. S.’s porch, I set Sean down and kneel in front of him. “Hey, buddy, you remember me?” I ask.
“Ye-es,” he stutters out between sniffles.
“Good. Since I’m a friend of your mom’s, can you go right inside the house here and wait for me until it’s safe?”
He nods, and I stand and open the door for him. After he’s safely behind the front door, I pull my phone out of my pocket and dial 911.
“I’m calling for the dogcatcher!” I yell to Mike.
“Cool,” he answers. “We’re going to hang out here and stare each other down.”
I can’t help but chuckle. After I hang up the phone, it isn’t but three minutes until a police cruiser bearing the county sheriff’s logo comes around the corner and stops in the middle of the street. The big cop with shaggy hair and a gut hanging over his belt gets out of the car and walks toward Mike.
A Lush Reunion Page 3
