by Knupp, Amy
Oh, at first when he’d backed off she’d been…humiliated was a good word. Annoyed, hurt, you name it.
But now that she was home, now that she’d had several minutes to cool off, get her blood to stop centering deep between her thighs where he’d touched her and gather her wits, she felt like kissing Devin’s feet in gratitude. Platonic kisses, of course.
But he didn’t have to know she was thankful. He didn’t have to know anything at all about how she felt.
She tossed her damp suit in the sink, then climbed into the shower.
She could still be angry at the mixed signals—or rather the complete one-eighty—Devin had thrown her way. Seriously, if a female did what he had, she’d be called nasty names.
He’d gotten her so worked up she would’ve followed him anywhere, given him anything. She’d never ever felt like that before. Not even with Jerod, and she’d thought he was a good lover.
She had to get her head screwed on straight. Motherhood loomed. To be a good mom, she had to get herself under control. At times that seemed as though it should be simple.
And then there were all the times she was with Devin.
IF BLACK was supposed to make a person look thin, Carey would hate to see herself in any other color right now. The maternity dress she’d ended up buying for the wedding was not flattering. Monica had sworn she looked great when she’d tried it on, but she just didn’t see it.
She’d had limited time to shop once Phillip and her mom had patched things up—sixteen days, to be exact.
Most of the long-lost relatives and acquaintances her mom had dug up to attend yet another wedding had no idea Carey was pregnant. She dreaded the inevitable questions about her rounded belly.
Carey finished pulling her hair up in a style off her shoulders, knowing she’d be dying from heat before the vows were spoken, and made her way down from Phillip’s spare room. Glancing at the clock on the living-room wall, she realized the ceremony would start in less than forty-five minutes. Thank God. She was ready to have it over with. She felt completely out of her element with these people, three-quarters of whom she barely knew. It was nice that they’d come from out-of-state to support her mom again, she guessed, but she wasn’t in the condition to be a good hostess, or daughter of the bride, as the case was.
“Picture time, honey,” her mom called. Carey pasted on a smile.
Later, she watched her mother and Phillip exchange vows from the first row and couldn’t deny their bond was deep. She longed for her camera to catch the moment on film; there was no way the crabby photographer they were paying would capture their expressions from the distant spot she’d camped out in.
Carey saw love there, security and partnership. She gave in to a smile, her throat tight, though she had vowed long ago never to cry at her mother’s wedding again.
THE RECEPTION was in full swing, and a host of forty-and fifty-somethings boozed it up and danced like fools in the backyard. Carey felt dizzy and a little nauseated, probably from the heat and choking humidity. She’d taken refuge on the front porch, sitting on a wooden bench in the dark, to escape the noise.
“There you are,” Trent said as he came out the front door. He’d shed his jacket and his shirtsleeves were rolled up. “Saw you disappear a few minutes ago.”
“Got a little hot,” she said, moving over to make room for him. “So…Mom really looks happy.”
He nodded. “Blows my mind. Good for her, I guess.”
They sat in silence for several minutes, and she listened to the locusts buzz in the trees. She still felt dizzy, exhausted. She didn’t feel comfortable enough in Phillip’s air-conditioned house to find a quiet room to hide in, and she wasn’t up to making more meaningless conversation with the other guests.
“Colyer going to make it to the reception?”
She shook her head. “I didn’t invite him.”
“When are you going to tell me what’s up between you two?”
“There’s nothing to tell.”
In truth, she and Devin hadn’t had a lot of contact since the night in his pool. The little interaction they’d had was stilted and uncomfortable. Neither of them seemed to know how to act.
She felt Trent watching her, and it made her uncomfortable.
“I think you care more about him than you’ll admit.”
“Since when are you Dr. Lonely Hearts?”
He smiled. “I will never profess to know much about love, but I do know you. I can tell you care about him. A lot.”
“How I feel about Devin is irrelevant. I have other things to worry about right now.”
Trent didn’t say a word, which meant he didn’t believe her.
“I know you think I should wander out into the big world and track me down a husband and father for my baby, but it’s not going to happen. I’m trying my damnedest not to put my wants above the baby’s needs.”
“Have you ever thought you’d be a better mother if you were happy and content?”
“Yeah, I’ve considered that.” She rolled her eyes even though he couldn’t see it. “Sounds fabulous. Now tell me how to be happy and content.”
“Follow your heart.”
She looked at him doubtfully. “Now you’re spouting Hallmark-isms?”
“Answer me this. How do you feel about him?”
She sagged against the bench, twisting a strand of hair around her index finger and thanking God it was too dark for her brother to notice she was blushing. “He’s been good to me since I found out about the baby.”
“Are you two closer than just friends?”
“What are you asking me? Have I had sex with him? I told you before, I haven’t.” Her cheeks heated up and she felt sweat bead on her forehead.
“You can’t deny there’s some interest.”
“Interest?” Ha. More like a ton and a half of dynamite centimeters from an unprotected flame.
He crossed his legs and put his hands behind his head. “I may be a dense guy, but there were serious undercurrents between the two of you at Mom’s house.”
“So?”
“You see him all the time. You can’t tell me neither of you notice the energy in the air when you’re together.”
She leaned forward on the bench. “Yes. Okay. We’ve kissed. Yes.” She turned toward him. “Happy now?”
His slow grin infuriated her. “Why are you fighting this?”
“I’ve told you. I’m going to be a mom. Now isn’t a good time for me to screw up a relationship.”
“Maybe you wouldn’t screw it up.”
“Hmm.” She tilted her head and placed her index finger on her chin as if in deep thought. “Yep, I’d screw it up.”
“Has Colyer told you how he feels?”
She shook her head. He hadn’t said a word, and she wasn’t convinced she wanted to know Devin’s feelings.
“You make it impossible to have a conversation with you, you know that?” Trent asked.
“Now you know what it’s like to talk to you.”
“Seems to me there’s a hell of a lot more brewing between you and Colyer than you’ll admit. You’re being a chicken. Hiding behind the baby excuse. You’ve seen Mom screw up a million and one relationships and you’re scared to death that’s what you’ll do, too.”
She stuck her tongue out at him. “Anything else, Mr. Outdoorsman-Turned-Shrink?”
“Nah.” He grinned. He was having a grand old time with this. “Just that. Being careful’s good, but…you’ve known this guy for years, Carey.”
“You want me to have sex with Devin?” If only he knew.
“I want you to admit your feelings for him. If you’re so sure you can trust him, then trust him.”
“Maybe it’s not him I don’t trust. Maybe it’s me.”
He stood and took two steps to the porch railing, then turned and leaned against the banister. “So you chose badly with the dad. Look how many times Mom’s screwed up. Then look at her tonight. If she’d run scared from this guy,
she never would have gotten it right.”
“Why are you trying to convince me I love a man you don’t like?” Talk about ironic.
“I never said the L-word. Interesting you should choose it though.” He looked smug, but also affectionate. “If I could pick who would make you happy, Colyer wouldn’t be my first choice. But if he’s the one who does it for you, if he can treat you well, I’ll get over it.”
“I think I liked you better when you weren’t talking to me.”
He ignored her, completely into his speech now. “You’ve made changes, I’ll give you that. Lots of them. A photography business. Your own place. Hell, you’ve learned to make toast without burning it.” He chuckled. “I’ll give you credit for all that, Carey. But…”
Always a but.
“Take the last step. Take the love that’s staring you in the face. Don’t be such a chickenshit.”
She smiled, amused. “Words of wisdom from my dear brother. ‘Don’t be such a chickenshit.’” She leaned over to peck him on the cheek because she knew he meant well.
“I’m going on a cake run,” she said, standing. “Want to join me?”
He shook his head, and she wound around the side of the house to take refuge in a plate full of sugar.
She wasn’t being a chickenshit; she was trying to be responsible.
AT QUARTER TO ELEVEN the party was winding down. Guests were scattering—some to bars, others to hotel rooms or home.
Carey’s body felt like lead, and she’d ditched her shoes hours ago. She’d finally surrendered to the temptation of the air-conditioning and was camped out in a deep, cushy armchair in the front room.
People worked their way through to the door, saying their goodbyes to her mom and Phillip. She watched them go, two by two. Couples. All of them. Aunt Lorraine and Uncle Harvey. Mr. and Mrs. Friedrickson. Joel and Clara Stubers. Lots of others whose names she couldn’t remember. Now she knew how Noah must’ve felt watching the animals board the ark, two by two. But at least he had his own “other half” to cuddle up with.
Some of them came to wish Carey luck on the upcoming birth. More than one of them shot her a look of sympathy on their way out, and if she wasn’t so bone tired, she might have chased them down and beat them with her abandoned shoes.
Her mother disappeared into the kitchen, and Carey decided it was past time to leave herself. If she sat here much longer, she might be convinced to wallow in her post-wedding, woe-is-me, I-want-to-be-part-of-a-couple musings. It had been a happy night, but the wedding had tugged on her emotions more than she intended. Weddings and pregnancy hormones did not mix.
She followed her mom to say goodbye. “Great party, Mom.”
“It went well, didn’t it?”
“Perfect.” She sidled up next to her mother at the counter. “I think you finally did it.”
“Did what?” Her mom drained the last wine from her glass.
“Found the right one. Phillip is super.”
Joy lit her mother’s face. “He is, isn’t he? I have good feelings about this marriage.”
Carey took a thoughtful breath. “You know, I wasn’t sure you’d ever find the right man. I’m sorry if I’ve been less than supportive over the years….”
Penny put her arm around Carey, and she returned the unfamiliar gesture. “I wish I could have found Phillip when you were a child. I think he would have been a good father. Would’ve made a difference in your life.”
Carey shrugged and smiled. “I do okay on my own.” She hugged her mother. “I’m happy for you, Mom.”
When they pulled away, Penny’s eyes watered. “I hope you find someone just as perfect for you, Carey. I mean that.”
“You know, I’ve always thought we were so different. You’re so free with your love. I’m…not. But I think we actually do want the same thing.”
“Love,” her mom said, smiling through tears.
Carey’s own eyes teared up then. It wasn’t so much the emotional moment with her mother as it was sadness and loneliness.
Carey backed away slowly, wished her mother a good honeymoon and headed for the front door.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CAREY’S CAR was trapped in Phillip’s driveway by three other vehicles. Her shoulders slumped as she stared at the offending heaps of metal. She could either go inside and make a fuss or she could just sit down and wait.
Wandering toward the side of the house closest to the driveway, she found a concrete bench surrounded on three sides by rosebushes. The flowers’ sweet aroma permeated the still-warm air as she lowered herself to the hard surface.
From her perch, she could see guests as they left, but she was hidden in the shadows. A couple strolled down the driveway, arm in arm, laughing and discussing the wedding. Engaged, Carey thought. Something about the way they held on to each other and the intangible air of promise about them. Carey smiled, imagining them taking notes for their own big day.
Another couple, older, maybe in their fifties. They held hands and talked so quietly that Carey couldn’t make out their conversation. Married, happily, for a long time. She could tell by their familiarity—they seemed to anticipate when the other would speak, take the next step.
She felt an intense longing for that kind of intimacy with another person. Was there room in her heart for more than just a baby? Was there another person on this earth who could, indeed, love her child as much as she did?
If such a person existed, it had to be Devin.
He was the most caring man she’d ever known. Practical, stable, funny, fun. Generous. He knew what it was like to grow up as she had, with a less-than-stellar family life. They understood each other. At some point when she hadn’t been paying attention, he’d become her lifeline, her support, the person she was closer to than anyone else.
He was perfect—for her. She suddenly realized she had a goofy smile on her face, and that’s when it struck her what a blind moron she was.
Maybe Trent was right. Maybe…she did love Devin.
Holy crap.
Did she…?
And she knew. Her heart expanded, feeling so light, she thought it might flutter out of her chest. Her grin got goofier and she nearly laughed out loud.
She loved Devin.
No wonder she’d been ready to jump into bed with him and have wild, crazy sex—or make sweet, passionate love—whatever he wanted.
Then she did laugh, looking to make sure no one else was around to have heard her.
In light of such a monumental realization, she had a decision to make. She could try to stay away from Devin for the rest of her life. Or she could take a chance on her feelings.
Don’t be a chickenshit.
She was being a coward. She was a fool to fight her feelings. Trent was absolutely right.
Devin wasn’t Jerod. Not even close. She’d never had such a need to open herself and her life up to a man, to become so vulnerable.
She wanted to trust him.
Ached to trust herself.
She could sit here and fret about what he might think or she could charge to his house and put her heart on the line. Tell him how she felt. Take a chance on herself.
Only one car remained behind the Bug. She hadn’t even noticed the other drivers leaving. She stood and walked to her car, feeling more energetic than she had all evening. She got in and maneuvered around the Town Car behind her in a creative twenty-five-point turn.
Now that she’d made her decision, nothing would keep her from Devin.
CAREY POUNDED on Devin’s front door again, even though she doubted he’d appear. This was the fourth time she’d knocked.
Without waiting, she dug her keys back out of her purse to let herself in. He was in there. Through the tall, skinny window at the side of the door, she could see the faint flickering light of the television at the back of the house.
Once inside, she kicked her horrible shoes off and went to the family room. Mostly likely he’d fallen asleep watching sitcom reruns. She’d wa
ke him. This was too important.
Sure enough, she spotted his bare feet hanging over the end of the sofa. Walking around it, she paused to take in the sight of this man she wanted to be with for the rest of her life.
He didn’t wake up. His arms were crossed on his bare chest, his head propped at what had to be an uncomfortable angle on the end cushion. He wore cutoff jean shorts and nothing else. Carey’s heart nearly burst just from looking at him.
“Devin,” she said in a low voice.
He stirred, but didn’t open his eyes.
“Devin, wake up.”
He scowled, eyes still closed, and turned onto his side, mumbling something she couldn’t understand.
Carey lowered herself to the edge of the sofa and put her hand on his waist. “Devin.”
Finally his eyes popped open and he startled a bit when he saw her so close.
Grinning, she stood. “Morning, Sunshine.”
Devin glanced toward the window, his brow furrowed, then eased up to a sitting position. He checked his watch. “Looks like it’s the middle of the night. Why are you here? And why so damn cheerful?”
“Such a charmer when you wake up.”
She ambled to the big, matching armchair and sank into the overstuffed cushions.
“Could we talk?” Her voice sounded tentative even to her ears. She cleared her throat and added, “Without the TV on?”
He stared at her seeming not to really see her, then aimed the remote and clicked the television off. The room became dark.
He didn’t seem happy to see her at all. Maybe she should just leave. Sleep on it, see if she still felt the same way in the morning, and, if so, talk to him then. This atmosphere was not ideal.
“Devin.”
“What do you need?” His voice wasn’t rude or hostile. He didn’t act angry. He was just…detached. Apathetic.
“Do you mind if I turn on a light?”
Without answering, he clicked on the floor lamp and she blinked until her eyes adjusted to the brightness.
