by Candis Terry
“No worries.” He stuffed her into his front seat and hooked the seat belt over her lap. “I’ll just climb in your bedroom window like I always did.”
On the way into town, Abby kept her mouth shut against the temper tantrum boiling inside. Which outweighed the million questions she wanted to ask. Which dwarfed the crazy exhilaration leaping through her chest because even though she’d foolishly treated him like someone who didn’t matter, he still cared about her.
Oh, she wouldn’t go so far as to expect him to believe the reason for him to physically pick her up and put her in his truck to take her to eat even though she’d already eaten was because he cared. She was certain he thought he was just being a Good Samaritan, like when he’d drop a dollar into the Salvation Army red kettle at Christmas. Or when he’d rush into a burning building to save a family. She knew he’d probably put her on his list as just another person he needed to rescue.
She hoped it was more.
As his big silver truck pulled into the parking lot of Bud’s Nothing Finer Diner, Abby glanced into the back and noticed the pink car seat, which held a fluffy bunny all strapped in for the ride. She didn’t know any man who’d keep such a feminine statement in his car. Even if it was a necessary one. Her ex sure wouldn’t have.
But, of course, Jackson wasn’t just any man.
While he set the big truck in PARK and got out, she sat there trying to figure out how this was going to work since she wasn’t wearing shoes. Which was really only an excuse to explain the absolute panic clawing at her stomach. She hadn’t had the best experience at the Touch and Go. The last thing she wanted to face right now was a restaurant full of the people she’d left behind thinking she deserved something better. The people who’d watched her “supposedly” make something of herself only to watch her collapse like an avalanche of utter stupidity.
They’d laugh at her.
Or give her those pitying looks they reserved for people who were either too stupid to live or people who had limited time on earth.
Maybe Jackson would just get an order to go. No sooner had the thought emptied from her head than he opened her door and held out his hand.
“I can’t go in there,” she insisted.
“Why not?”
Fear.
Humiliation.
Shame.
Among a million other issues.
“No shoes.” She pointed to the sign on the door that read “NO SHOES. NO SHIRT. BIG PROBLEM. Y’ALL KEEP OUT.”
“You’ve got on half a shirt,” he said. “Half out of two isn’t bad. I’m sure they’ll make an exception.”
“But—”
He reached in, unlatched the seat belt, and lifted her out of the truck the same caveman way he got her in.
“This is ridiculous.”
“You want to walk?”
She looked down at the rough-pebbled parking lot. Ouch. “No.”
“Then open the damn door,” he said with a nod to the steel handle. “My hands are full.”
With a long sigh, she reached down and pulled. He blocked the glass door from closing with his big body and carried her into the diner, where all heads in the busy place turned in their direction.
Great.
There went any hope they could sneak in unnoticed and grab a seat by the door.
He set her down in the only available booth in the old-time eatery lavished with “Don’t Mess With Texas” décor. The only booth that happened to be in the center of the diner, where everyone could see them.
And condemn.
In less time than it took for the waitress to look up and get their water poured, Ethel Mayberry, former high-school P.E. teacher turned legendary loan officer at the Sweet Credit Union stood at their table.
Abby wished she could make herself disappear. Not because Mrs. Mayberry wasn’t a nice person but because Abby knew she had on inappropriate clothes, no shoes, messy hair, and most likely the makeup she’d carefully applied that morning had melted off in the afternoon heat. She was ill suited for receiving company in her own home, let alone being out in public.
She tugged down the short T-shirt, then crossed her ankles and tucked her bare feet as far beneath the booth as possible.
“It’s so nice to see you, dear.” Mrs. Mayberry’s crinkly lips lifted into a smile as she gave Abby a pat on the hand. “When did you get back in town?”
“A few days ago. My parents decided to put the house up for sale. I agreed to get the place ready to put on the market.”
“Well, that’s just so nice of you to take the time from your busy schedule to help out. My sister Adelaide lives in Houston, and says you’ve been in charge of some really nice projects down there.”
Whatever Abby had suffered through with her marriage, she was proud of the community-service projects she’d been involved with for the Junior League. “Thank you. But I . . . no longer live in Houston.” Wait for it . . .
“Well, their loss is our gain.” Mrs. Mayberry smiled.
Abby exhaled. Relieved there’d been no mention of her divorce.
“I hope you’ll come by the bank for a little visit. Maybe open up a new account? Fridays are best. Barbara Jean Beckenbauer, bless her heart, brings in schnitzel that’s to die for.” Mrs. Mayberry gave a wink. “So nice to see you two back together.”
“Oh.” Abby rushed to explain . . . what? That she’d been hijacked? That she and Jackson were barely on speaking terms? That most likely he’d throw a parade if she decided to drive out of town? “We’re not—”
“I was sorry to hear about the divorce, dear,” Mrs. Mayberry interrupted. “But you were never really meant for that pile of pretentious excrement anyway. Best you found out his true colors before you had children.”
Abby’s heart slunk into her curdling protein shake. “Yes. I suppose it was.”
With a cheery “Please stop by” and a “See y’all soon,” Mrs. Mayberry made her way back to her table of gray-haired companions while Abby tried to recapture her breath.
She looked up at Jackson, who was intently watching her. “Can we please go?”
He glanced around the diner at the faces that all seemed to be staring at them. “You’re not afraid of these people, are you?”
“Afraid?” She glanced up and met a bounty of quizzical expressions. “Not the right word.”
“So what is the right word?”
Another scan of the room. “Intimidated?”
“You asking me? Or telling me?”
She leaned into the table, and whispered. “Please get me out of here.”
“Face the dragon, Abby. You’ve got no reason to hide.”
She rubbed one cold bare foot over the top of the other, wishing the action could calm the breath-stealing wallop in her chest. “Shows how much you know,” she mumbled.
A pretty blond waitress appeared at their table with glasses of ice water and a smile. “Hey, Jackson.” As she set a glass down in front of Abby, she said, “I’ll bet you don’t remember me.”
Abby looked up and admitted it took her a few seconds. “Paige Walker?”
“Paige Marshall.” She wiggled her left hand and flashed a wedding ring. “Aiden and I got married last month.”
“Congratulations.” Abby sipped her water to soothe the Sahara developing in her throat. “I didn’t know you two were still together.” Because really, how would she?
“Well, we weren’t. Aiden gave me up when he joined the Army.”
Sounded familiar.
She glanced across the table at Jackson.
Just insert Marines in the place of Army.
“But I never gave up on him,” Paige said.
Oblivious to the irony, Jackson chuckled. “Damned lucky for him.”
“I know. Right?” Paige grinned. “It’s nice to see you again, Abby. Maybe we can get together while you’re here.”
Abby felt a little of the pressure in her chest ease. Paige Walker had always been ultranice. “I’d like that.”
> “So what can I get you?” Paige asked, lifting a little order book from the pocket of her apron. “As long as it’s not the meat loaf. Chester snatched up the last of it.”
“I’m sorry. We really haven’t had time to look at the menu,” Abby said, reaching for the laminated piece tucked behind the condiment bottles. “Can you give us a couple of minutes?” Not that she had an appetite.
Paige flashed a smile. “Sure.”
“Two Diablo burgers—extra chipotles,” Jackson said. “Sweet potato fries. A chocolate banana milk shake for me. And a Butterfinger shake for her.”
“Perfect.” Paige jotted down the order and smiled. “I’ll get that right up.”
After she walked away, Abby leaned in, and whispered, “Are you crazy? I can’t eat that.”
“Why not?”
“Do you know how many calories are in all that?”
“About a bajillion,” he said. “Who’s counting?”
“Me!”
Jackson folded his hands together on the table and leaned in. Abby couldn’t stop the little trip her heart took at the half smile that lifted his sensuous mouth.
“Why?”
“Because when you stop counting, you put on weight. And when you put on weight, your expensive clothes don’t fit. And when your expensive clothes don’t fit, you have nothing to wear to the party. And when you have nothing to wear to the party, you never hear the end of it,” she explained with a silent “Duh” attached to the end before she realized she’d just given away way too much information.
“Lucky for me I’ve got nowhere to go but home after this.” He leaned back, casually spread his arm along the back of the seat. “Why are you so worried about eating a normal meal?”
“That was not a normal meal you just ordered. That was a gastronomical nightmare waiting to happen.”
He unrolled his silverware from the paper napkin and set the napkin on his lap. “A Diablo burger used to be your favorite late-night indulgence.”
“Those were in the days when my metabolism worked overtime.”
“Shit happens.” He shrugged those broad shoulders. “People change. Why does it matter?”
“People talk, Jackson. And sometimes they say nasty things out loud as well as behind your back. Everyone in this diner is watching me. Wondering why I came back. Why my marriage disintegrated. Why I’m here with you.” She pushed out a frustrated breath. Not that she thought she was all that important or anything special, but Sweet was a small town, where gossip was bigger than NASCAR. “As sure as I live and breathe, everyone in this place is snacking on a deep-fried something and judging me.”
He glanced around the place.
Surely he could see all the people studying them more closely than the eye chart down at Eye Carumba Vision Care.
“Chester’s not judging you,” he said. “But I’m pretty sure he’s wondering how to get you out of those jeans.”
She took a sip of water and choked. “Chester’s a million years old.”
“But he’s still trying to figure out how to get you out of those jeans.” Jackson smiled. “Just because the pistons don’t work doesn’t mean there’s no fire in the engine.”
She laughed and gave a little shudder. “Now there’s an image I don’t need burned into my brain.”
The blue in his eyes darkened, and his strong masculine features softened. He reached across the table and laid his hand over hers. His thumb swept across her skin. “I’m not judging you.”
And there it was.
That overwhelming sensation in her chest that made her want to cry for all the mistakes she’d made and for the love of a man who would never belong to her.
He’d made that very clear the night before he’d left for the war. The night when he’d made love to her with such passion it had brought tears to her eyes. The night he’d helped her back on with her clothes, then pushed her away, and said “Thanks” as though she’d merely given him some quick good-bye nookie.
The night she’d realized that while she might love him with all her heart, in his eyes she’d never be more than a friend.
A really convenient, ready to rip off her clothes for him, friend.
Yay her.
Abby leaned back in the front seat of Jackson’s truck and laid a hand over her full stomach. As usual, he’d talked her off the wall, brought her down to a level where she could take a deep breath and think a little clearer. By that time, Paige had brought their Diablo burgers, fries, and shakes, and Abby hadn’t been able to refuse the mouthwatering aroma. You could keep your designer perfume; nothing beat grilled, fried, and spicy.
Somehow, amid all that grease, she’d found a way to ignore the eyeballs focused on her enough to enjoy herself. Midway through the pile of sweet potato fries, she and Jackson were laughing about old times and even some stories he told about the guys down at his fire station. By the time they left Bud’s Diner she felt like she knew the guys named Hooch, Meat, Hot Rod, and other various oddities that no human should ever be called.
When Jackson’s big truck rolled to a stop in front of her parents’ place, Abby glanced out at the house. “It’s going to be fun watching you climb the tree and crawl through the window.”
“I didn’t lock the door.”
“Oh. Darn.”
“Learned my lesson the last time I fell out of that damn tree and took out my ankle.”
“Yeah, and you milked the life out of the sympathy you got from those crutches too. Seems like you were always busting something.”
He chuckled. “It’s a curse I live with.”
“Or that ‘Ready, set, pull the trigger’ way you have about you.”
For the past hour they’d sat across from each other at the diner and exchanged small talk. Now, tucked into the cab of his truck, she realized the tension between them had seemed to melt away. At least on her part.
“Thank you,” she said.
He looked up. “For what?”
“For looking after me. For making some of my reentry into Sweet less painful.”
“You don’t get a Get-Out-of-Jail-Free pass, Abby. I’m still pissed. You weren’t there when—” He sucked in a lungful of air and yanked back his words before they spilled from his mouth. The last thing he’d want to do in front of her was sound like some pansy-ass crybaby.
“I know. And I’m deeply sorry for that.” She sighed. Shook her head. “But that’s what I’ve always loved about you. You can be pissed off yet still manage to do something very nice.”
She cupped his cheek with her hand then leaned over and gave him a brief kiss. She looked up into his eyes and found a mix of emotions looking back. “Good night, Jackson.”
As she drew her hand away, he captured it, pulled her into his embrace, and kissed her.
His lips were warm and firm as they settled over hers. They did not tease, they took possession.
Abby melted.
A moan from somewhere deep inside rumbled up from her chest and slipped into his mouth on a long exhale of breath. Then, like someone had flipped a switch, he was gone. His big hands wrapped around her arms and he set her away—back to her side of the truck.
“Holy hell.” He looked at her like she’d gone crazy. “What was that?”
Okay, not exactly the words a girl wanted to hear.
Ever.
The muscles in her neck tensed, and her heart slammed against her ribs. “You kissed me.”
“No I didn’t.”
She swept her fingers across her moist mouth. Her lips still tingled from his sensuous assault.
“Yeah. You did. You totally kissed me.”
He made a sound of disbelief. “You leaned.”
“I what?” She attempted to harness the frustration building like a bonfire in her gut.
“You. Leaned,” he said.
“You grabbed me.”
“I did?” His brows shot up like the idea was completely outlandish.
“Yeah. So now what are you going to do? S
omething completely offensive like apologize?”
“Apologize?” He pierced her with a long hard look. “Hell no. Apparently I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”
She let her guard down with a magnificent plunge. The breath she’d held pushed from her lungs on a long whoosh of air. The beginnings of a smile danced in her heart.
“Doesn’t mean I’m happy about it, though,” he said.
The air exploded from her party balloon.
“You need me to walk you to your door?” he asked like he hadn’t just rocked her world.
“No thanks.” Pushed away again. Looked like things were status quo in the land of Jacksonville. Confused, aroused, and ticked off, she pushed open the truck door, slammed it shut, and stomped up the walkway. Her bare feet made a slap-slap sound against the warm pavement.
Behind her, the truck engine idled, and she heard the whir of the electric window slide down.
“Hey,” he called. “Don’t go away mad.”
“I know. I know.” Her hands jerked her upward. “Don’t go away mad. Just go away.”
She escaped into the house and shut the front door. Yanked it open and yelled, “Thanks for dinner,” then she slammed the door again.
Emotionally exhausted, she leaned back against the hard wood and waited until Jackson’s truck roared off into the night. It could have been minutes or hours that she stood there in shock, disappointment, and utter humiliation.
But she would not cry.
No way would she cry over Jackson Wilder.
Never again.
Chapter 4
For two days, Jackson had put out fires, hit the books, and watched Despicable Me with Izzy for the millionth time. He’d washed the horses, bucked the hay, and chased wayward cattle back to the herd. He’d done anything he could to stay away from Abby and escape the big damn lie he’d told her.
What the hell had he been thinking when he’d pulled her into his arms and kissed her?
He’d done his damnedest to get over her. To stay pissed off at her for cutting him out of her life.
But then she’d touched him.
Kissed his cheek.
And he lost his mind.
When his brain cells had started to reassemble in his head, he’d panicked and allowed the first scrambled thought to leap from his mouth.
