Harlequin Superromance December 2013 - Bundle 1 of 2: Caught Up in YouThe Ranch She Left BehindA Valley Ridge Christmas

by Beth Andrews

  She wanted to go home. To sit in her bedroom, nurse her throbbing headache with some tea and the dark. The quiet. But Steve was engrossed in conversation with a dark-haired, curvaceous woman a few years younger than them, one Joan recognized as a new member of the congregation but couldn’t name. They obviously knew each other, though. If their body language was anything to go by, they were comfortable around each other.

  Very comfortable.

  Joan couldn’t make herself care. Couldn’t work up even the tiniest twinge of jealousy, of doubt or worry. The other woman stood close to Steve, her body leaning ever so slightly toward him. As Joan watched, the woman threw her head back and laughed at something he said then playfully patted his arm.

  Typical signs of interest. Attraction. She was flirting with him, from the way she kept touching her glossy black hair to the way she made eye contact then looked away. Not that Joan blamed her. Steve was a handsome man, his brown hair only beginning to show signs of gray, his body toned and slim from his daily swim and workout at the gym. A handsome man with a quick, sharp sense of humor and a deep devotion to his family.

  He was a good man. Her husband. And she could no longer stand him touching her, had no desire to be intimate with him—physically or emotionally. Wished on most days that he’d leave her alone. All alone.

  He didn’t deserve to be treated that way. Didn’t deserve her turning him away time and time again. But she couldn’t stop herself.

  Since he had yet to notice her, she worked to keep her expression pleasant and joined him. “Sorry, sorry,” she said to Steve with a breathless laugh as she reached him and the other woman. “I was chatting with Pastor Arrowsmith. Poor Mitzi’s under the weather.” With a smile, she turned to the woman. “Hello.”

  “Dr. Crosby, it’s so nice to see you again. You might not remember but we met shortly after my kids and I moved here.” She offered her hand. “I’m Carrie English.”

  Yes, now Joan remembered. Carrie English, moved to Shady Grove after her divorce, worked as a paralegal or some such thing. “Of course. It’s so nice to see you again.”

  “Oh, you, too,” Carrie said. “I’m afraid I’ve been monopolizing your husband’s time. My oldest just got his driver’s permit and I’ve been drilling Steve about insurance rates.”

  “That’s such a wonderful milestone.” Beau had been so excited about learning how to drive, thrilled with the prospect of freedom, then so nervous when he’d first gotten behind the wheel. “How are your children?”

  She gave a rueful shrug. “They’re teenagers. What else can I say? Every word I utter is wrong and starts an argument. They eat me out of house and home, and are either texting on their phones or fighting with each other. I love them, don’t get me wrong, but there are times I want them to hurry and grow up already.”

  And she laughed.

  Anger flowed through Joan, left her trembling with the effort to hold it inside. A scream burned in her throat.

  Shut up! Shut up, you stupid cow! You don’t know how lucky you are to be able to see your children every day, to hear their voices, to hold them close.

  “The teenage years can be trying,” Steve said. “Our kids gave us a run for our money a few times, that’s for sure.” He looked at Joan expectantly as if waiting for her to agree.

  Steve’s children, Michael and Miranda, had been difficult teenagers. Rebellious. Defiant. But Beau had never given them any trouble. He’d been such an easy child, his middle and high school years had been uncomplicated and enjoyable.

  When she kept silent, hurt crossed Steve’s face but he masked it with a grin and turned to Carrie. “But to be honest, I wouldn’t trade those years for anything.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Carrie said. “As long as you promise things really do get better and they start acting like humans again.”

  “We should get going,” Joan blurted, unable to hear another word from this woman, this woman who had what Joan didn’t—her children healthy and whole and alive. She linked her arm through Steve’s, ignored how he stiffened. “I know how you hate to miss opening kickoff.”

  He nodded curtly then smiled at Carrie and offered her his card. “If you want us to take a look at your policy, give you a quote on what our rates would be, just give me a call at the office.”

  “Oh, you’ll be hearing from me,” she said, her voice turning husky.

  Joan kept pressed against Steve’s side as they crossed to the parking lot, only pulling away when they reached their car and he opened her door for her. She slid into the passenger seat, stared straight ahead while he got in and turned on the car.

  He looked at her, the engine idling. “Are you okay?”

  She yanked the seat belt across her chest, clicked it into place with a hard shove. “Why does everyone insist on asking me that?” Was she okay? Was she all right? How was she coping?

  It was none of their damn business.

  “They ask,” he said, “because they care about you.”

  She didn’t want them to and she didn’t wish to discuss this any further. “The next time you flirt with another woman, please try and be more discreet.”

  “Is that what this is about?” he asked. “You’re jealous?”

  He sounded hopeful but she refused to lie to him. He was the only person she wouldn’t lie to. “Not at all. But I have a reputation in the community, one I don’t want tarnished.”

  “I don’t see how you could be held accountable for my behavior.”

  She gaped at him. “Of course I can. Your behavior reflects on me and vice versa. We are a couple, both successful and are thought of in a certain way.” Steve owned a thriving insurance business. “People have expectations of how we should act, how we live our lives. One mistake, one moment of weakness could set tongues wagging.” And everyone would know she was broken.

  He jerked the car into gear, slowly pulled out of the lot. “I don’t give a damn about gossips.”

  “Maybe not,” she said, her lips barely moving, “but I do. All I’m asking is that if you do find yourself in a...compromising position...you make sure no one discovers it.”

  He slid a glance at her, his expression unreadable. “I’m not Bruce, Joan.”

  No, he wasn’t her first husband, was nothing like the philandering playboy she’d made the mistake of marrying right out of college. But he was a man.

  And she was no longer the woman he’d married, the wife he’d shared his life with all these years. She’d changed, and she wasn’t sure she would ever change back.

  They drove in silence the remaining mile home. Turning into their driveway, he pressed the garage door opener clipped to the visor.

  “You’re an attractive man,” Joan said as the door slowly rose. “An attractive man in the prime of your life. Our sex life has been far from satisfying for you lately so it’s understandable if you find yourself searching for another woman to be intimate with.” She met his eyes, kept calm under the heat of his narrowed gaze. “I would understand.”

  “You’d understand if I took a lover?” he asked in a quiet, dangerous tone she’d never, not once, heard from him before. He put the car into Park and turned off the engine, his words low, his movements controlled. “My being with another woman wouldn’t bother you?”

  She thought of him with another woman, a woman like Carrie, imagined him touching her, making love to her the way he used to make love to Joan.

  She shut her eyes and scanned her body for a reaction, any sort of twinge of regret or panic, but there was nothing. No pain. No anger. No sadness.

  Nothing.

  “If you were to seek female companionship outside of our marriage, if you did so in a tasteful manner, a manner in which nobody ever found out about it, I wouldn’t hold it against you.”

  He laughed, a harsh, bitter sound that filled
the car, chafed her nerve endings. “That’s big of you. And now, because you are such an enlightened woman, so magnanimous, you’re giving me your what? Blessing to have an affair?”

  She shifted, tugged at the seat belt which seemed to be strangling her. She unhooked it, let it snap back. Why couldn’t he see this was the perfect solution? He deserved more than she could give him right now, maybe more than she could ever give him again.

  “Not my blessing. My understanding. And,” she said, rubbing her palms along the legs of her dress pants, wrinkling the silky material, “if it suits you, my permission.”

  “If it suits me? What the hell is wrong with you? If you think I want your permission, if you think I’m the type of man who’d cheat on you, treat you like your bastard of a first husband, then you don’t know me at all.” He opened the door, his chest rising and falling rapidly with his quick breaths, but when he spoke, his voice was low, the words barely a whisper. “And I sure as hell don’t know you.”

  * * *

  “PUT THE GAME DOWN,” Eddie told Max for the third time, “and get out of the truck already.”

  Standing in Harper’s driveway, he held the driver’s side door open while his kid’s fingers pressed button after button on his video game. Some days he wished he could toss the damn thing out the window.

  “Max. Now.”

  Still playing, despite Eddie’s enough-of-this-bullshit tone, Max slid along the seat, finally looking up when he sat behind the steering wheel.

  “Are you sure Mrs. Kavanagh lives here?” Max asked.

  “Positive.”

  “How do you know?”

  Because he’d shown up here, two nights ago, without warning to beg for her help.

  It’d been humiliating, having to tell her why he was so worried for Max, spilling a few of his secrets. Luckily, it’d been worth it.

  “I just know. Are you coming or not? Because in ten seconds I’m shutting the door—”

  Max jumped down, landing with his chin practically touching his bent knees. He popped up like a spring and followed Eddie to the rear of the truck.

  “I didn’t know she lived in Shady Grove,” Max said in a hushed voice.

  “Where did you think she lived? The moon? That’d be one long commute.”

  He rubbed the side of his nose. “I thought her house would look different.” He glanced at the green cottage-style house, his shoulders drooping in disappointment. “It’s just regular.”

  Eddie opened the tailgate and slid his toolbox toward him, checked to make sure he had what he needed, then lifted it. “What would you have preferred? An igloo? A thatched hut?”

  Max shrugged.

  “Teachers are people,” Eddie told him as he hoisted his toolbox. “Just like you and me. They live in regular houses, buy groceries, go to the movies, cook dinner, get sick and...”

  And Max was playing his game again, his head bent over it as he softly chanted, “Come on, come on...”

  Eddie walked to the house. Max would come up for air eventually. He could find Eddie then.

  He knocked on the door. A moment later he heard the pounding of little feet running, then the doorknob jiggled. “Hello?” Cassidy called.

  For such a little thing, she had a booming voice.

  The door opened and Harper blinked at him. Blinked again. “Have I stepped into a time loop? Because I could’ve sworn we were here just the other day.”

  He searched for something to say, some funny, witty, smart response. James would smile and laugh, make a joke of his own. Eddie’s younger brother, Leo, would go right for the charm that was as much a part of him as breathing, giving her a wink and some slick come-on.

  But Eddie’s mind was blank. Her fault. Her and that outfit she had on—a snug, black Pittsburgh Steelers T-shirt and dark jeans that molded to her curves. Her hair was pulled into a ponytail, just like the one she used to wear when she’d cheered at the high school football games, and he scanned her figure again, wondered what she’d look like now wearing that little skirt.

  Wished he could find out.

  “Deddie!” Cass cried, running up to him in a pair of jeans and a tiny Steelers football jersey with the number forty-three on the front. “Hi! Hold me.”

  She lifted her arms.

  Harper’s sigh was a work of art, one most parents had heaved at one point or another. “Cassidy, do you have to be so bossy all the time?”

  Cass hopped up and down, her arms still up. “Yes.”

  Christ, but she was about the cutest thing he’d ever seen. He set his toolbox on the porch then picked her up and settled her on his hip. He grinned. “What are these?” he asked, tugging playfully at one of her pigtails. “Handles?”

  She slapped both hands on her head, her little fingers getting tangled in the black-and-gold ribbons tied around her hair. “Piggy-tails. ’Cept I not a pig. I a big girl.”

  “I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” Harper told her, “but big girls use the potty.”

  “No, Mommy,” Cass said solemnly. “Big girls wear diapers.”

  “Then I guess you’re all set. Because the way things are going with your potty training, you’ll still be in diapers at your high school graduation.”

  That fact didn’t seem to bother Cass one bit.

  “Max wasn’t fully potty trained until he was almost four,” Eddie said, knowing how frustrating it was to be in charge of potty training. To be solely responsible for every aspect of your child’s development.

  “So you’re saying there’s still hope?”

  “There’s always hope. Not sure why it’s so hard to teach them something so basic and simple as using the toilet, though.”

  She smiled. It lit her face. And took his breath away. “I know. After I told Sadie how Cass wet her pants four times in one day, Sadie started bragging about how she house-trained her puppy in a few weeks. I considered killing her and burying the body but then I figured I might need her to use those dog whispering skills on Cass.”

  One of the first things James had done when Sadie finally realized they were meant to be together was get her a puppy. At least it wasn’t as binding as an engagement ring. Eddie still wasn’t sure one of them wouldn’t change their minds about the whole being in love and together forever thing.

  “Cass’ll get the hang of it,” Eddie promised. “She’s a smart girl.”

  Harper snorted. “I’ll say. She’s outsmarted me on this so far.” She glanced behind Eddie. “Hello, Max.”

  Eddie turned as Max climbed the steps. “Hi.”

  “Hi!” Cass wiggled like a fish on a hook and Eddie set her on her feet before she did a nosedive onto the porch. She grinned at Max. “What’s you name?”

  He sidled next to Eddie. “Max.”

  “Play with me, Max.”

  Harper stepped onto the porch. “Max may not want to play, Cass.”

  “Yes, he does. Come on,” she told Max, taking his hand but unable to move sixty pounds of shy, stubborn boy. “Come.” Another tug. “On.”

  “Enough.” Harper’s stern tone got through and Cass, with a pout worthy of an Oscar nomination, dropped her chin to her chest and let go of Max’s hand. “Let’s find out what Max and his father are doing here and then, maybe, if you ask politely—that’s ask, not tell—Max will play with you. Okay?”

  Cass nodded but didn’t look up.

  Harper winked at Max. “Now, to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”

  Don’t think Eddie missed the way she emphasized unexpected.

  “We’re gonna fix your door,” Max told her.

  “Is that right?” Harper raised her eyebrows at Eddie. “And why would you do that?”

  Did he really have to answer when it was so obvious? From the way Harper watched him, he guessed he did.<
br />
  “It sticks,” he said.

  “Yes. But you don’t have to fix it.”

  “I’m here. My tools are here.” He shrugged. Couldn’t she just leave it at that?

  “Now can Max play with me, Mommy?” Cass asked. “Please?”

  “That’s up to him. You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Harper told Max.

  He straightened with all the bravery and enthusiasm of someone facing a firing squad. “It’s okay.” He looked at Cass. “I’ll play with you.”

  “Yay!” Cass grabbed his hand.

  “The Montesano charm strikes again,” Harper murmured as her daughter dragged Max inside. “But then, it’s as I always suspected.” She held Eddie’s gaze, curved those glossy lips that drove him mad into a playful grin. “It’s the quiet ones a girl has to watch out for.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  IT’S THE QUIET ones a girl has to watch out for.

  She was teasing him, Eddie realized. Making a light, almost flirting comment because she felt it safe to do so. She probably thought because he kept his thoughts to himself, didn’t blurt out everything that popped into his head, that he was harmless.

  He wanted to prove he wasn’t. That she had reason to be wary of him, of his true intentions. He wanted to invade her space, press his nose against the long line of her neck and inhale her scent. Taste her there, where the pulse beat at the base of her throat.

  And that would be the end of her helping him and his son.

  “I’ll need to take the door off its hinges,” he told her, “but it should only take a few minutes to plane it.”

  She laughed as if he’d made some hilarious joke. “You’re not fixing my door.”

  He’d already said he was—or, actually, Max had. But it was the same idea so he didn’t bother correcting her.

  His mother and sister had taught him exactly how impossible it was to win an argument with a woman.

  He knelt at his toolbox. As he retrieved what he needed, Harper called for the kids, asked them if they’d like to play outside. By the time she zipped Cassidy into a pink jacket, gave them a bucket of sidewalk chalk and asked them to draw her pictures on the cement sidewalk, he’d grabbed a chunk of chalk for himself and rubbed it along the latch side of the door and opened and shut it several times.