Take the Storm: Episode 6

by Rebecca Zanetti

  Celeste’s eyes darkened. “We’re hanging in there. Having the baby and Ginny to focus on really helps, but sometimes I pick up the phone to call our son, and then I remember he’s gone.”

  Marisol’s heart ached. She couldn’t even imagine losing a child. “I’m so sorry.”

  Celeste’s lips trembled, but she smiled. “Thank you. Travis is doing the best he can, but he’s pretty much thrown himself into work again, and I can’t blame him. It helps to be able to concentrate on anything else but Jacob, you know?”

  Marisol nodded. She’d done the same thing when her parents had died and had focused solely on her younger siblings and getting them through the tragedy. Of course, she’d heard rumblings in town that Travis wasn’t at work when he should be, but then the gossips were always going to tell stories, weren’t they? “When the baby gets here, we’ll all be busy.”

  Celeste’s eyes finally lit up with her customary glimmer. “So true. I wonder if he’ll look like Jacob.”

  “Could be a girl,” Marisol said gently.

  “No.” Celeste shook her head. “This is such a miracle that the baby will be a mini-Jacob. I just know it.” She caught herself and gave a slight grin. “But I’d love a girl, too. Don’t worry.”

  Marisol reached for a cloth to wipe a smudge off the counter. “A baby girl would be tons of fun. Just think of the pink blankets, dresses, and shoes.”

  The bell above the door jangled, and Marylee Rush clipped no-nonsense heels across the checkered floor.

  Celeste winked at Marisol and headed for the exit. “Have a nice night.” The door closed behind her.

  Marisol nodded and automatically stood at attention as Marylee approached the counter. As Senator Rush’s mother, Marylee was very active in the community and with her family, ruling with somewhat of an iron fist. “Mrs. Rush. Good evening,” Marisol said. “What can I do for you?”

  Marylee smoothed down a designer knit suit and pushed back perfectly coiffed gray hair. “I just wanted to double check the order for your Founders’ Day booth. We don’t want to run out of your special chocolate chip cookies.”

  Like she’d ever run out. Marisol leaned down for the paperwork. “I think the order is complete, and I’ll make sure to add a few extras just in case.” Curiosity filled her. They’d gone over this several times already.

  Marylee nodded. “Good. It’s lovely of you to give back in such a nice way. See how things work out when we help each other?”

  Actually, her budget would take quite the hit from donating so many baked goods, but Marisol nodded. “I do see, and of course, you know how much I appreciate the assistance of your family in starting this business.” She’d borrowed money from the Rush family when her folks had died, and for some reason, Marylee liked to remind her of that fact every so often. But she really was grateful.

  “We have to take care of each other.” Marylee bent down to look at the display of cupcakes and cookies. “How is Ginny doing?”

  Marisol lifted her head. “She’s doing as well as can be expected. It’s nice of you to ask.”

  Marylee straightened and smiled, all polish. “I’ve been thinking of her. She and my granddaughter are such good friends. That Brittany would never abandon a friend in need.”

  Marisol hummed in agreement, her mind spinning.

  “You know, I’ve heard Ginny has taken up with Logan Murphy.” Marylee gave up the pretense of perusing the desserts.

  Where in the world was the conversation going? “Yes. I believe they’re becoming very close.”

  Marylee sniffed. “We truly must be cautious with our young people. Logan is a hero, and I’ve always so liked the Murphy family.”

  “They’re good people,” Marisol agreed, waiting patiently.

  “Yes, unlike the Alvarez family. Such a sad story.”

  Ah ha. Marisol helped her get to the point. “How is your granddaughter doing?”

  A sharp gleam entered Marylee’s eyes. “How kind of you to ask. In fact, I was hoping you’d have some information about Brittany. I believe that Marcus Alvarez hoodlum is back in town and he’s bothering her.”

  Marisol swallowed. Marcus was a good kid, and she’d been happy to hear he was home to help out his mom. “I haven’t heard anything about Marcus and Brittany, but Ginny has been so busy with the baby that we haven’t chatted much lately.”

  Was Brittany dating Marcus Alvarez? That would make the blue-blooded Marylee Rush have a stroke. “I have to tell you, I’ve always thought Marcus was a good kid in a bad situation. Maybe they’re just friends?”

  Mrs. Rush lowered her pointy chin. “Brittany has a bright future, and somebody like Marcus will just hold her back. Surely you understand.”

  Not at all. The bell jangled again, and relief flowed through Marisol until she saw who it was. “Patrick,” she murmured.

  He still wore the faded jeans that hugged muscled thighs and a dark T-shirt that emphasized his broad chest. So much maleness in one package. His pale blue eyes scrutinized the bakery before landing back on the ladies. “Evening, Mrs. Rush.”

  Marylee nodded and turned for the door. “Hello, Patrick. Is Murphy’s Pub all ready for Founders’ Day? I believe you’re manning the beer garden at the end of the square?”

  “Yes, ma’am. My dad has the schedule all set, and we’re ready to work.” He held open the door for the older woman. “Is the senator ready with his speech?”

  “Of course.” Marylee turned at the doorway. “Marisol, please keep me informed if you hear anything about the situation we discussed.” Without waiting for an answer, she swept outside.

  Patrick let the door shut. “What situation?” He crossed his arms.

  Marisol rolled her eyes. “Don’t ask.” Her hands felt empty, so she grabbed another rag and started wiping down the clean counter.

  “Marisol.” His voice, low and direct, rumbled all around her.

  She breathed in and stood, her nerves jangling. “Patrick, I—”

  “No.” He held up a hand. “It’s time.”

  Her stomach turned over. Her knees trembled with the need to run, but instead, she lifted her head. If he had something he needed to say, she wouldn’t hold him back. “All right.”

  He cleared his throat and strode toward her, bringing the scent of earth and male with him as he rounded the display case. “We make a good pair.”

  She nodded and fought the insane urge to tell him that only employees were allowed behind the counter. Hysteria bubbled through her, and she stamped down on the emotion in order to focus. “I like you, Patrick.”

  He sighed, his powerful shoulders lifting with the movement. “I like you, too. But—”

  She’d never know what came over her, but she had to stop those words from coming. Dodging forward, she plastered against him, stretched up on her toes, and kissed him. Not soft, not sweet, but with a desperation she couldn’t mask.

  He hesitated for about two seconds and then slid one arm around her waist, pulling her up even more. A low groan rumbled up from his chest and rolled into her mouth, sending desire spiraling though her.

  He took over the kiss, his mouth firm and sure, strong and masculine. Her thoughts finally blanked until she could do nothing but feel. His hand gripped her ass and squeezed. She gasped into his kiss, her knees wobbling.

  The kiss deepened, and he caressed up her butt and underneath her blouse, his warm fingers brushing along her flanks and around her rib cage. Sparks sprang up on her skin, and her abdomen clenched as he trailed his fingers up her torso.

  Her breath caught, but she couldn’t pull away. His warm hand cupped her breast, and sensation lit her on fire. She moaned.

  The bell over the door jangled, and she jumped away.

  “Oh my,” Celeste said, her cheeks flushing the same pink as the bakery box still in her hands. Her mouth gaped open.

  Marisol gulped in air and straightened her shirt, heat flushing up her neck. “I, ah, we—” she croaked.

  Patrick moved to th
e side and discreetly adjusted his jeans.

  Oh God. Marisol shook her head. “Celeste—”

  Judgment, for the quickest of seconds, flashed across Celeste’s face. She banished all expression and forced a smile. “I just, ah, thought I should grab some cookies for Travis. But I’ll get them tomorrow.” She turned on her heel.

  “No, wait,” Marisol said, reaching to open the glass case.

  “No. Really.” Celeste kept going outside into the early evening, and the door shut quietly behind her, her embarrassment remaining in her wake.

  Marisol’s cheeks burned. She’d seen the fast judgment. Here she was making out in public with Patrick Murphy, her younger sister was pregnant out of wedlock, and her younger brother was out of control and drinking alcohol. As a guardian, she sucked, and no wonder. Her mind wasn’t on her duties.

  Patrick cleared his throat, and a dimple flickered in his left cheek. “We should probably lock the door next time.”

  Marisol half-turned, all words clogging in her throat. “What she must be thinking.”

  Patrick shrugged, his gaze intense. “Who cares what she thinks? It doesn’t matter what anybody else thinks.”

  But it did. Marisol shook her head. “Patrick.”

  “No.” He leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms. “There’s no going back, Mari.”

  She blinked, trying frantically to control the situation. “I just need time.”

  “No.” Regret twisted his lip. “No time. Here’s the deal. Either you and I move forward, or we stop.”

  Anger flashed through her. “You’re giving me an ultimatum?”

  He grimaced. “Yes. Believe me, I don’t want to, but I can’t keep standing still like this. We’ve been dancing around the idea of us for way too long, and it’s starting to be painful. I want more.”

  So did she, but right now, how could she figure out how to give more? At the end of the day, there wasn’t anything left. And she’d just been caught making out like an irresponsible teenager by Celeste Salt, who was a superior mother to Ginny by far. “Patrick—”

  He held up a hand. “No. Think it over tonight and give me an answer tomorrow. But it’s either yes or no—nothing in between. I’m tired of the friend zone, Marisol, and I’m getting out of it. If you let me, I’ll be there for you in every way, and we can see what we can build together. If not, then I have to move on.”

  As an ultimatum, it was a good one. She wanted to hold on to the anger, but it slid from her and left her cold. The man had a point, and she could understand his position. “Tomorrow is kind of soon.” It was lame, but she wanted more time to think.

  “We’ve been in limbo for a year,” he returned evenly.

  She studied him. So tall and strong…why couldn’t they just continue as they were? She smoothed back her ruffled hair and then gently touched her still tingling lips. That’s why. Even though she wanted to be his friend, she’d almost just had sex with him on the floor of her own shop. If they kept going as is, they’d wind up naked and end their friendship anyway.

  He wasn’t asking for marriage, which she wasn’t ready for. But any relationship with Patrick would have a physical component, and how could she have sex with him while also being a good example for Ginny and Luis? Especially Luis?

  “Mari?” Patrick asked.

  She sighed and then nodded. “All right. I’ll think about it carefully tonight, and I’ll let you know my answer tomorrow.” Her gut hurt bad enough she already suspected her answer, but there had to be a way to work it out. She couldn’t lose Patrick now.

  He reached out and ran a knuckle across her cheekbone.

  She wanted to lean into his touch, but instead, she moved away.

  He leaned over and kissed her forehead before turning and crossing beyond the tables and opening the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Mari.”

  She watched him leave, her throat clogging. What was she going to do?

  CHAPTER 8

  Luis finished wolfing down the last of a cheeseburger right as Marisol pushed open the front door and moved into the living room. He dropped his feet from the scratched coffee table and sat up on the old sofa, reaching for the remote to mute ESPN.

  She handed him a box of his favorite—chocolate chip.

  The tips of his ears heated. “Thanks.”

  She slid past him and put a stack of papers on the dinged kitchen table before turning around and crossing her arms. Her dark hair was pulled back, and lines fanned out from her eyes. Worry lines? “We need to talk.”

  Ah, geez. He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry I got drunk last night.” He’d puked all night, and he’d thought his head was going to explode in the morning. After eating bacon and eggs around noon, he’d felt a lot better, and now he was fine but tired. “It won’t happen again.”

  She blinked and suddenly looked so tired he felt even worse. “What were you thinking?” Her tone lacked heat.

  He shrugged. “I wasn’t thinking. I mean, Mallory was mad at me and stormed off, so I just thought—”

  “That you’d drink moonshine?” Marisol hissed.

  Ah. There was the anger. Somehow, it was easier to deal with than her disappointment. “Yeah, and it was stupid.” He wanted to play sports, and he wanted to get a scholarship, and getting caught drinking would destroy that dream. “Believe me, I know I was lucky Patrick was the one who found me.” If it had been the sheriff, he’d probably be in jail.

  Marisol shook her head. “You tried to drive. After Ginny’s accident, after Jacob died, how could you get behind the wheel?”

  The words worked like a sledgehammer to the gut, and he almost bent over. “I’m sorry.” It was all he had to give her along with a promise. “I will never drink and drive again. Ever.”

  She studied him for several moments and then finally sighed. “Is that a bruise under your eye?”

  He rubbed his cheekbone. “Lacey punched me when I yelled that I loved Mallory.”

  Marisol opened her mouth and then shut it again. Finally, she shook her head. “All right. Well, you’re grounded for drinking and driving.”

  He jumped up. “Come on, Marisol. You can’t ground me.”

  She put her hands on her hips. “I’m your legal guardian, and I can ground you. So deal with it.”

  He shook his head. “But you’re my sister.”

  “Yeah, well, if I had grounded Ginny more, maybe she wouldn’t be pregnant, living somewhere else, and dating a guy she barely knows,” Marisol ground out.

  Luis blinked. “Ginny is fine.”

  “Ginny is not fine,” Marisol said, her eyes filling.

  Ah, shoot. Luis moved forward and gave her a hug. His sister was tall, but suddenly he had to bend over to hug her. “Sure she is, and so am I. Stop worrying so much.”

  Marisol hugged him back and then leaned away. “Stop giving me stuff to worry about.”

  He grinned. “Okay.” Her smile eased the tightness that had been in his chest all day. “I really am sorry.”

  “I know.” She kicked off her shoes and pushed them under the table with her foot.

  His yawn almost cracked his jaw. “Do you need me to do anything?”

  She lifted an eyebrow. “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Anything.”

  She shook her head. “No, but thanks. I’m going to go through the orders for Founders’ Day, and then I’m getting some sleep.”

  His eyes grew heavy. Being hungover sucked. “Okay, then I’ll hit the hay. I have to work tomorrow.” He moved through the small house to his room at the back, determined to stop being such a shit to the women in his life. He could do better, and he would.

  A navy blue comforter hung off his unmade bed, and clothes littered the floor. A dented wooden desk sat under the window covered with papers and a few socks. His dresser was across the room with stuff scattered across the top. He should probably clean his room at some point.

  Instead, he yanked off his shirt and shorts before falling onto the bed.
Somehow, he had to stop being such a moron and give Marisol a break. His sister looked like she was dancing on the edge and ready to fall over.

  Maybe he should give Ginny a call in the morning and tell her to be nicer to Marisol. It was time for Ginny to grow up, considering she was going to be a mom soon.

  Thunder rattled outside, and rain began to pelt down, offering a soothing rhythm that helped him drop into dreamland. He dreamed about puppies and playing at the beach until something jerked him awake in the middle of the night.

  His eyelids flipped open, and his heart kicked into gear.

  The rain continued outside, and only the red glow from his bedside alarm clock lit the room.

  A knock echoed on his window. What the hell? He threw off the bedspread and slowly approached the window, shoving the cheap blinds to the side. “Mallory?” he whispered.

  The girl stood in the rain, her hair matted to her head, her hand raised to the glass.

  He lifted the blinds and then the window, which had lost its screen years ago. “What are you doing?” he whispered.

  She held both hands out to him. “You came to my window the other day, so I figured this was fair game. I wanted to talk.”

  He naturally took her wet hands and helped ease her onto his desk and into the room. Water dropped from her clothes onto the papers. “About what?” he asked, suddenly aware he was standing there only wearing briefs.

  “Us.” Her flip-flops hit the floor, and she scooted across the desk to stand.

  “Um, okay.” His body clamored awake, and he turned to shut the window and blinds before reaching for shorts on the shag carpet. They were kind of clean.

  She stilled him with a hand on his wrist. “It about killed me when I saw you with Lacey at the fire. With her hand on your arm.”

  Luis nodded. “I know, and I’m sorry. Nothing in me wants Lacey, and I really mean that. I love you, and I’m gonna make all of this up to you if it’s the last thing I ever do.”

  Her brown eyes softened, making her look like an angel. “I want to be more than friends.”

  “Me too.” The words burst from him, and he gathered her in a hug. She was so small, and he loved the way they fit. His chest all but exploded, and he leaned back. “I’m sorry about everything. I promise I’ll make it up to you. Everything will be okay.” He couldn’t stop talking.