Sweetest Mistake

by Candis Terry

  “You did not.”

  He loved that they had gotten back to teasing each other. Which was not to say everything flowed naturally between them. But it was a step in the right direction.

  “So what’s on your to-do list tonight?” He finished off cookie number one, chomped into cookie number two, and wished he was on her to-do list.

  Okay, cowboy. Back off the inappropriate thoughts. They were barely finding their way back to being friends.

  Still, he was a healthy guy, and she was a gorgeous woman. Sadly, maybe Hooch was right. Maybe it was impossible for men and women to just be friends.

  He intended to give it a hell of a try. For a number of reasons.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “One part of me says to get it in gear and get all this stuff divided up and—”

  “What’s your hurry?”

  She shrugged and sank her teeth into a cookie. Her tongue darted out and licked away the melted chocolate on her lip. He tried not to groan.

  “I need to get this work done, then figure out what to do with the rest of my life,” she said.

  “How about you start by taking a ride with me.”

  “Where to?”

  It was a good sign she didn’t immediately say no. “It’s a surprise.”

  Her nose wrinkled. “If I remember right, your surprises are sometimes . . . icky.”

  “Icky?”

  “Yeah, like the time you took me to the cave and I had to sit there watching millions of bats fly out and try not to freak out when the wind from their wings blew my hair around.” She shuddered. “Icky.”

  “That was cool.”

  “You’re such a guy.”

  “Well, you’ll be happy to know this surprise has nothing to do with flying creatures.”

  She hesitated, but only momentarily. “Promise I won’t have to crawl into anything dark and spooky or touch anything long and slimy?”

  “I can’t guarantee the long and slimy thing.”

  “Ummm.”

  “Kidding.” He set the kitten down on the floor and watched it saunter off—tail flicking high in the air—toward the cat condo in the living room. “You have dinner yet?”

  “Cookies.”

  “My favorite appetizer. Grab some shoes and a jacket. Unless you want me to carry you over my shoulder again.”

  Her eyes brightened. “You’re taking me to dinner?”

  “Among other places,” he said.

  “Good. I’m starving.” She licked another drop of chocolate from her plump lip.

  “Me too.”

  For him, understatements were becoming the new normal.

  Abby watched through the windshield of Jackson’s truck, surprised when he veered off the gravel road and onto a split in the grass that could barely be defined as a path. To be more accurate, it was a cattle trail. The truck bumped and jiggled along, and the motion tickled her stomach. Abby couldn’t help but laugh. “Where are you taking me?”

  He turned to look at her from across the cab. “You don’t recognize this place?”

  “Well, it is dark, and all I can see is what your headlights are hitting, so no. I’m clueless.”

  “Then you’ll be surprised. Pleasantly I hope.”

  Moments later, the truck rolled to a stop, and the headlights lit up a wooden structure up in the trees.

  “Oh! The tree house!” Built by the five Wilder Boys, the place was rustic, with rough-hewn timber and a deck railing made of branches. The corrugated tin roof protected the wood against the extreme Texas heat and finished off the look like the cherry on top of a sundae.

  Opening her door, she jumped out and hurried up the ladder to the place they’d spent so many hours together—talking, laughing, dreaming, and working out problems. And like all teenagers, they had plenty. Mostly hers were questions of why certain boys wouldn’t pay attention to her. His were why so many girls paid attention to him. Some things were never fair.

  The tree house held other memories too—like prom night. She’d been going steady with Rick Vanderhorn for six months. He’d asked her to prom, and she’d had a blast picking out her dress and dreaming of the biggest night of her junior year. The day before the big event, he dumped her for Cherry Carlisle—a sure thing.

  Abby had been crushed and had cried for hours. Instead of putting on her pretty dress, she’d planned to throw herself a pity party with a tub of double chocolate caramel ice cream and frozen Snickers bars. But a knock on her door the night before the prom changed all that, and she’d ended up going with her best friend.

  Jackson had been the perfect gentleman and the perfect date. Even afterward, when she’d snagged a bottle of sloe gin from her parents’ liquor cabinet, and they drove out to the tree house, he’d helped her up the ladder because her heels kept getting caught in the hem of her dress. But more likely because she’d gotten a little tipsy.

  Later, they’d both gotten pretty drunk. Between laughing at the way Toby Brent had dressed in a John Travolta white leisure suit and reprised dances from Saturday Night Fever to the huge rip under the arm of Misty Davenport’s too-tight red satin hoochie-mama dress, they somehow ended up sitting closer and closer to each other. When the gin fizzed full throttle in their veins, they’d started to kiss. Then touch. And before they knew it, clothes came off, and they were in each other’s arms.

  They’d ended up making love. Throughout high school, she’d heard nightmare stories of girls giving it up to boys who were crude, careless, and selfish. Jackson had been sweet and tender. Careful and passionate.

  At that time, Abby had always thought Jackson was a man of experience, but that night he’d confessed that she was his first. That he was her first also made it even more special. She’d been moved and happy. At least until they’d both passed out.

  The following day, she’d been sick as a dog. Even so, she’d expected him to call. He hadn’t until late that evening. They talked about their hangovers. They’d talked about the prom. They’d talked about his ranch chores and the biology test she had the following week. But he never mentioned what happened between the two of them. And neither did she.

  Maybe he’d been too drunk to remember. Maybe he didn’t want to remember. Maybe he regretted the whole thing.

  She didn’t want to know.

  So, like a typical insecure seventeen-year-old, she’d played it off. Told him that Rick—the idiot who’d dumped her—had called her and begged her to come back to him. Though there’d been no way Abby would have gone back, she’d pretended to. Because really, a teenage girl did need to keep her wounded pride—and heart—intact.

  With Jackson’s lack of acknowledgment of their night together, that had been that.

  To this day, doing it remained an unspoken topic.

  But it was a night she’d never forget.

  As nostalgia draped over her like a warm blanket, Abby stood on the little deck in the cool air listening to the water in the creek tumble over rocks and logs. The birds chirping in the trees. The sounds of night coming alive all around them.

  “I always loved this place,” she said, when Jackson climbed up and joined her.

  “Yeah.”

  His warm palms settled over her shoulders and sent a tingle down her spine. Whether it was just from his touch or the memories of his touch that flooded her mind, she didn’t know.

  “It was a great hideaway.”

  “Can we go inside?” she asked.

  “Hang on, let me get a light.” He went back to the truck and came back holding the old Coleman lantern they’d used back in the day. The glow from the light spread golden warmth around the area. “We’ve made some improvements since you were here last. Raised the roof and made it more adult-size friendly.”

  “I always wondered why none of you became builders,” she said. “Seems you always had a hammer and nails going.”

  “We did like to create. Reno and Jared planned to start a handcrafted furniture business, but . . .”

  She heard the
heartbreak in his tone, and as his sentence trailed off, she jumped in to fill the void. “I’m surprised you haven’t built yourself a home yet. I know your parents gave all y’all portions of the ranch. So why are you living in an apartment above Reno’s barn?”

  He shrugged. “Time hasn’t been right yet.”

  “What about when you were married?”

  “We lived in San Antonio. Fiona and Izzy still live there.”

  “That’s a long drive.”

  “We do our best to make it work. Although Fiona’s been talking about moving to Sweet. I hope she does. Then I can see Izzy more often. You ready to see inside the tree house?”

  “Absolutely.”

  His warm hand settled low on her spine as he reached around her, opened the door, and waited for her to step inside. He followed, and so did the light.

  “Wow,” she said. “Are you kidding me?”

  Though the tree house couldn’t have been bigger than eight feet by eight feet, a love seat and small pine table with two chairs had been placed inside. Warmth was created by a braided rug and several wildlife pictures on the walls.

  “You like it?” he asked with just a touch of eagerness in his tone.

  “It’s much better than just a box with a wood floor.”

  “Jared took those photos the last time he was home on leave. He was always great with a camera.”

  Abby’s heart twisted at the second mention of his brother and the sadness in his tone. She turned and hugged him. “He was a great guy. I know you really miss him.”

  “We all do,” he said quietly.

  As if it was second nature, his arms came around her, and he drew her in close. Against her cheek, she felt the beat of his heart. For a moment, while the crickets sang a melody, and the water tumbled down the creek, they stood in an embrace designed only for two friends to share the pain of a loss words could never define.

  Slowly, they backed away.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked.

  “You actually have food? Or did your surprise include us going out into the forest and nailing Bambi?”

  He laughed. “I can hardly see you—who wouldn’t harm a hair on a bunny’s head—doing that. So I brought dinner.”

  “That was nice of you. Did you stop by Bud’s for Diablo burgers?”

  “No.” He sounded insulted. “I hit up the Wilder cafe.”

  “You cook?”

  “Sugar, I’m a fireman.” His grin turned her inside out. “We all turn on the heat in the kitchen.”

  No doubt.

  “You figure out if you want to eat inside or out, and I’ll go get the food.”

  The moment he left the room, it turned cold. Empty. Lackluster. She went outside and down the ladder. The night air was brisk, yet she had no qualms about sitting outside for a meal he’d cooked with his own two hands. She’d missed the great outdoors, but not nearly as much as she’d missed him. “As much as I love what you’ve done with the place,” she called out, “I’d really like to sit out here. The weather is perfect tonight.”

  He reappeared with a big Dutch oven in his big hands. “Then I’ll start a fire.”

  “Isn’t that against fireman regulations?”

  “Oh, you know me. Always trying to break the rules.”

  She knew many things about him. Breaking the rules—or at least bending them until they defied the laws of gravity—had always been his specialty. He’d never been a sit-around-and-let-it-happen kind of guy. He’d always taken a bull-by-the-horns full-tilt boogie approach to life.

  Within minutes, he had a fire roaring in the ring surrounded with several layers of rock. They sat down on the sofa cover, and he handed her a paper bowl and plastic spoon.

  “I figured something like this would be easiest. No dishes to wash, we can just throw the stuff in the fire.” He lifted the lid on the Dutch oven, and a delicious aroma wafted up into the air.

  “Mmmmm. Is that beef stew?”

  “Yep.”

  “I’ve been planning to make some, which is why I came to your apartment that day—the apartment I didn’t know existed until I barged in on you and Izzy. I still have the packages of beef in the freezer.”

  “Well, you can save that for a rainy day.”

  He filled her bowl, and she took a bite. A hint of spicy Southwestern flavor danced across her tongue. “This is delicious.”

  “I aim to please.”

  “We’ll see about that.”

  The smile he flashed held a mischievous quality that said not only did he aim to please, but that he could knock her socks off in the process. A quiver of desire danced through her belly and settled in next to the warm, delicious stew.

  He reached into a bag and pulled out a bottle of red wine.

  “You came prepared,” she said, thinking this felt more like a date than just two old friends getting together for a meal. Then again, she’d been known to fantasize beyond her limits a time or two.

  Jackson wouldn’t need anything like that from her. With his devastating looks and hot body, she was sure he didn’t spend many nights alone. At least not judging from the way the women in town looked at him. Okay, maybe salivated over him was a better description.

  “It’s local.” He showed her the label. “There’s a whole row of wineries on Highway 290 now. They’re even calling it the Wine Road.”

  “I noticed that when I took a drive last week.”

  “There are some pretty good ones.” He poured the wine into paper cups and handed her one. “Once in a while, I like to take the time and visit. Most places serve food and have nice areas outdoors to relax and enjoy a glass or two.”

  “Sounds like fun.”

  “Maybe I’ll take you sometime.”

  She lifted her cup. “I’d like that.”

  The cabernet was smooth, and they sipped as they ate. While the fire snapped and crackled, the conversation flowed from his fire stories to her enthusiasm for some of the charity events she’d organized in Houston. He mentioned the upcoming Black Ties and Levi’s charity auction to support the expansion of the Sweet Emergency Center, and she promised she’d attend.

  Two things that seemed off-limits were delving any further into their prior marriages and subsequent divorces. For that, Abby felt relief. She didn’t want to think of him with anyone else. And she certainly didn’t want to spend any energy thinking about the man on whom she’d wasted so many years.

  When they finished their meal, they tossed the bowls and utensils into the fire, then leaned back and continued to enjoy the wine.

  Across the dancing flames, he watched her. And when the heat became too much to take, she got up and walked over to the creek to cool off. She was sure all those intense looks were just her imagination.

  They were barely friends, she reminded herself.

  “Are you okay?”

  He’d come up behind her, and his breath brushed her cheek.

  “I’m great.” She released the lock of her hair that had been tucked behind her ear to ward off the tingles that skittered down her spine.

  “You don’t sound great.” He came around to stand in front of her. “You sound . . . wistful.”

  She laughed. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you use that word before.”

  “Never had a reason to.”

  A canopy of live oaks filtered the moonlight, and, with the fire at their backs, it became difficult to see through the darkness. But Abby could feel the intensity in his eyes. She could smell the shower-clean scent of his skin. His irresistible masculinity. “So tell me about this opportunity to move up in the ranks at the fire station,” she said, searching for something to distract her attention from the awareness rising in her belly.

  “Maybe later.” He came closer. Tucked his hand beneath her chin and lifted her face. He moved in slowly, and she had plenty of time to turn away or run like hell.

  She didn’t.

  Their eyes locked until his thick dark lashes swept down, and he focused on her mouth.
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  “I missed you, Abby,” he whispered across her lips.

  For a moment, while her heart hammered against her ribs, he just held her that way. Their breaths mingled, but their bodies did not touch. Until he lowered his head.

  When his lips touched hers, they were gentle—for a single heartbeat. Then she was in his arms, and his hungry mouth moved over hers. With a deep, masculine groan of approval, he took possession, threaded his hands through her hair, and tilted her head so they melded together like hot and fudge.

  Common sense said it was impossible for a human to melt, but Abby’s bones suddenly went MIA.

  Her arms wound around his neck. Aching for more, she leaned into him. While one of his hands held her close, the other slipped down her back, cupped her bottom, and drew her up against the long, hard length that said at the moment he wasn’t thinking of friendship.

  The intensity of the kiss shifted, deepened, and singed her as though she’d stepped through a wall of flames. His mouth left hers and traveled down the side of her neck. Her nipples tightened and ached as his warm breath brushed across her skin. Someone moaned. Him? Her? Hard to tell. Didn’t matter.

  She wanted more.

  His grip on her bottom tightened, and all she could think—if she could think at all—was time had melted away, and she was right where she’d always wanted to be.

  In the near distance, the roar of an engine approached, and, in a blink, her arms were empty.

  “Goddammit.”

  “Who is it?” She hugged herself against the sudden chill.

  “Kids.” Absently, he tugged the zipper of her hoodie together. “A few of them from town discovered this place a while back and are trying to claim it for their own lover’s lane. Pretty sure they don’t know it’s private property.”

  “They’ll be surprised to see someone else has taken their spot,” she said, trying to act like they hadn’t just been locked in each other’s arms.

  His gaze came back to her, and she could see apology in his eyes.

  Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t say it.