Behind Closed Doors

by Debbi Rawlins

  Already regretting the inventory crack, he couldn’t tell if she’d decided the words were innocent or loaded with a message he wasn’t sure he could deliver on. Playing with fire without a means to extinguish it was plain dumb, and he knew better. He had to get sex off his brain. What he needed to do was get his ass home and quit eyeing hers.

  “Don’t they have kids or grandchildren who could drive them around?” With a worried frown, Bethany was still looking after the car.

  “I don’t think either of them married, but I’m not sure. They’re in their eighties, right around my grandmother’s age. She knows them.”

  “Does she still drive?”

  “Not for a while. But she lives on the ranch with my parents and two brothers. Plenty of people around to take her wherever she wants to go.”

  “At the Lucky 7?”

  “No.” He noticed the increasing number of vehicles crowding Main Street and knew he was in for a lot more small talk if he didn’t keep his head down. “On my parents’ ranch,” he said, moving away from the street. “About twenty miles from me.”

  “Wow, that’s great having your family so close.” She reached the truck ahead of him and picked up two boards. “Assuming you get along with them.”

  He wasn’t sure how to respond to that, or if he even should. Today was full of surprises. He’d kept to himself and the Lucky 7 for so long, he’d forgotten how to be social. How to talk to a woman and not second-guess himself. He’d been joking about the McAllister boys. Like them, he’d been one of the popular kids, the quarterback who’d led his team to the state championship twice, the guy who could’ve had a date every night of the week if he’d wanted.

  College would’ve been no different if he’d had the time to socialize. He’d played football only to keep his scholarship alive, but spent the rest of his free time working to make his dream a reality. From the day he’d turned thirteen he’d wanted his own ranch. And at seventeen he was so confident of what lay ahead he could’ve carved his future in stone. At least the part about the Lucky 7. And marrying Anne.

  “Nathan?” Bethany had already taken her load to the porch, and she stood there looking at him with troubled eyes. “Sorry, if I said something wrong. I know family stuff can be tricky.”

  Not until three years ago.

  Shaking his head, he forced a smile.

  After the accident, the well-intended lies and hidden truths had come out in force. Even before the funeral, everything around him, including his relationship with his family, had started falling apart. He’d never felt so helpless in his whole life. But you couldn’t fix a marriage once the other person was in the ground.

  “Hey, you still want that water?”

  He blinked at Bethany. She hadn’t moved. Her smile was brighter but her eyes were even more troubled. Her hands were tightly clasped, her fingers entwined. Great, he’d dragged his black cloud with him.

  When he noticed she was slightly up on her toes, he didn’t have to pretend to smile. He’d seen earlier that she was one of those high-energy types who tended to rock back on the balls of her feet when she wasn’t in motion. The complete opposite of Anne. Even he was more laid-back these days. He used to be full of ambition, hated that there weren’t more hours in the day. Maybe his new interest in breeding Arabians would bring back some of that drive.

  “Ice cold, if you have it,” he said, glad to see relief pass across her face. “I bet you were a bouncer when you were a kid.”

  She backed up to her new green door, wrinkling her nose. “A bouncer?”

  “Not that kind—”

  “Oh.” She snorted a laugh and tried to cover it up. “How did you know?” Abruptly she looked down at her feet. “I don’t still do that.”

  He smiled but kept working. The sooner he transferred the lumber to her porch, the sooner he could get back to the Lucky 7. Sure, he’d admit it, he was enjoying Bethany’s company. Even knowing this little thing brewing between them would end right here. He glanced at what was left on the truck bed. In about twenty minutes, to be exact.

  Ten if he worked faster.

  * * *

  BETH COULDN’T DECIDE if she should be insulted, mad or confused. Or perhaps she should just feel grateful that she had her wood for tomorrow and quit being a crybaby because she hadn’t expected Nathan to want to leave so quickly.

  The whole time she watched him pull up the tailgate, jam it in place and yank off his gloves, she tried to think of a reason to make him stay. But she’d already asked him if he wanted a tour of the inside, which he’d declined. Then she’d offered to buy him a beer, which he’d also declined. She’d even suggested she whip them up something to eat since they’d both missed lunch. He’d declined that, too, which was for the best, now that she thought about it. As her niece had pointed out, Beth’s cooking sucked the big one.

  The thing was, it had taken her no time to get his water. Just two minutes. Okay, maybe four, but only because she’d wanted to check her hair and see if she could use a dusting of blush. She’d resisted putting on lip gloss. Too obvious.

  She couldn’t shake the feeling she’d said or done something wrong. Probably because he’d worked like a madman to get so much done in her short absence. Clearly he was anxious to leave. Admittedly, it had to be annoying to deal with all the nosy, intrusive questions from passersby, but she wasn’t suggesting they stay outside.

  When he started to turn, she lifted her gaze from his butt. She’d been staring at it, too busy thinking to really enjoy the muscular roundness, and that pissed her off. He picked up the uncapped bottle of water he’d left on the bumper, tilted it to his mouth and drank.

  She tracked a stray drop running down his chin and wondered what it said about her eleven-months-and-counting dry spell that she was seconds away from dragging him inside and seeing what else that mouth could do.

  Of course, she knew he couldn’t actually read her thoughts, but when he swung a sudden glance at her, her struggle not to squirm turned pretty epic.

  “Well, all right, Cinderella,” she said. “I know you’re worried about the whole pumpkin threat, so don’t let me keep you.” God, sometimes she said the stupidest things when she was nervous. It wasn’t enough he seemed eager to bolt—now she was giving him a push.

  Except...

  Nathan was staring back at her, quite intensely, and she hoped she wasn’t kidding herself, but he didn’t look so anxious anymore. Finally he broke eye contact to look down at her feet. “Before I go, I have to ask...”

  With a resigned sigh, she followed his gaze to her short camo-patterned cowboy boots. Only they were pink and tan, camouflage objective be damned. “A birthday gift from my niece, so I feel obliged to wear them occasionally.”

  “Ah.” Amusement eased the tension around his mouth. “You’re a very good aunt.”

  “You have no idea,” she murmured, and stopped right there, deciding to avoid the topic. She suspected her earlier reference to family had darkened his mood.

  He took another gulp of water, then recapped the bottle. “Good luck tomorrow. I hope your guys show up.”

  “If they don’t, I’ll hunt them down.”

  He smiled, and she had the distinct feeling he wanted to say something, but he started toward the driver’s door instead. So that was it? He was leaving? Wishing her luck was a goodbye?

  “Nathan?”

  He opened the door but stopped to look at her, his face blank.

  “Thank you,” she said, wondering if she should offer to shake his hand. Normally she would, but now it felt weird. “I mean it. You could’ve easily blown me off, but you didn’t.”

  “No problem,” he said, his gaze slipping away from her. “Just being neighborly.”

  “I wish I could do something for you in return.” She focused on his chin, horrified by the dip in her voice. It sounded huskier than normal, kind of sexy, kind of as if she was offering sex. She wouldn’t mind a little harmless recreation, but being obvious wasn’t her style.
“So...” She cleared her throat. “If you’re ever in town and feel like a beer, remember, I’m buying.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” His voice had lowered, too, and though she hadn’t met his eyes, she felt him staring at her.

  “That includes Woody, too. And Craig and Troy, of course. Please tell them.” She saw a brief smile tug at his mouth and slowly lifted her lashes.

  At that exact moment he turned away to toss his gloves onto the seat. “You don’t owe them anything. They were being paid.”

  “Guess it’ll be just you and me, then.” She shrugged, which he missed, along with her teasing grin. So she was back to feeling awkward again. “Or not,” she said, repeating the shrug when he looked at her before falling back a step. “Better hit it before the Food Mart gets crowded.”

  He looked momentarily confused and then tightened his mouth. Without another word he got into his truck. She waited until she heard the engine start and saw the pickup roll forward before she turned to go inside.

  If she were to glance back, she wondered if she’d find him watching her. Probably not. She might’ve only imagined the spark between them, but she didn’t think so. Maybe he was still in mourning and wasn’t ready to get back in the dating saddle. Had the tension between them made him feel guilty?

  She couldn’t stand it. She had to sneak a final look.

  He’d just made the turn onto Main Street. And now drove in the opposite direction of the Food Mart, toward the highway leading back to the Lucky 7. Proof of what she’d already known. He’d used the store as an excuse. It pleased her and made her laugh.

  “What was he doing here?”

  The snarl in Liberty’s voice had Beth jerking around to stare at her niece. She was coming from the stop where the school bus dropped off town kids. Candace and Liberty didn’t live nearby, but she got off in town on the days she worked for Beth—who’d somehow managed to forget today was one of those days.

  “Who?” Beth followed the spiteful gaze aimed at Nathan’s truck. “Nathan Landers?”

  “Yeah.” Liberty gave a surly huff. “What the hell did he want?”

  “How do you know—? Oh, God.” Beth finally realized why his name had sounded familiar. She’d seen it on the victims’ restitution list, the one that had been issued by the court. Nathan was one of the dubiously proud owners of Liberty’s wall art.

  4

  BETH SAT AT the kitchen table, sipping her morning coffee as she listened to her sister and niece get into yet another argument. They were down the hall, probably in Liberty’s room, but their rented house was tiny and Beth could hear every heated word.

  This time the disagreement centered on how Liberty was dressed for school. A rather popular theme for them—although the shouting could’ve been about anything, ranging from using each other’s things without permission to whether Liberty could visit her father in prison. Their differences seemed endless, and Beth felt awful for both of them.

  Sadly, their quarrels weren’t the typical mother-daughter stuff because Candace hadn’t grown up yet. They sounded more like teenage sisters. At times Beth felt pathetically grateful she’d been spared ten years of the ongoing drama, but mostly she felt guilty.

  Yes, she’d been only seventeen when her sister had taken Liberty and fled without even leaving a note. But contact had been reestablished five years ago, and Beth, wrapped up in her career, had ignored the signs they were headed for trouble. Turning a blind eye had been easy to rationalize. After all, she’d already done her share. At age eleven she’d started taking care of Candace and their mother, and then later Liberty, making sure they all had a roof over their heads and food in the fridge.

  “Stop it, Candace.” Liberty stormed into the kitchen, her long brown hair flying everywhere. She dropped her backpack on a chair and flung open the fridge. “You try to act and dress like you’re still young, but you’re not. You’re old and you don’t know what you’re talking about. Girls don’t wear that kind of shit to school anymore.”

  “Come on, Lib,” Beth said quietly. Normally she didn’t interfere, but she knew Candace wouldn’t correct her daughter’s language. “I know you have a better vocabulary than that.”

  The teenager rolled her eyes, but she’d watch her mouth...at least as long as Beth was present. They’d had a few discussions about showing respect.

  “That’s right. Listen to your aunt but ignore me.” Candace swept a contemptuous gaze over Liberty’s baggy jeans, oversize T-shirt and combat boots. “But she doesn’t have a man, now, does she? And neither will you if you keep dressing like a damn slob.” Candace shook back her overprocessed, bleached hair. “Old, my ass. Last week at that silly PTA meeting, I could’ve had any man I wanted. You shoulda seen them eyeballing me, even with their pig-faced judgmental wives sitting next to them.”

  “Oh, God, Candace, you’re so pathetic,” Liberty said through gritted teeth. She slammed the fridge door without taking out anything for breakfast. “Don’t go to my school anymore. For meetings...for anything. Ever. I mean it.”

  Candace blinked and cast a nervous glance at Beth before reaching into the pocket of her black silk robe. Her cigarettes were never far.

  Beth stared into her cup, using every ounce of her control to keep her mouth shut. For now. Just until Liberty left to catch the bus. Then she’d speak with her sister. For all the good it would do. Sometimes Beth wanted to just choke her and other times she could sob for hours. Candace had become a replica of their mother, abusing booze, ready to screw any man who paid her a compliment.

  She was only thirty-two, but hard living had taken its toll on her skin and body. Beth held out little hope she’d change her ways, but she had to make Candace understand that her fifteen-year-old daughter was too young to be trying to attract a man. Or that she needed one to make her happy.

  “Tell you what, Mom...” Liberty drawled, grabbing a handful of hard candy from the plastic bowl on the blue Formica counter.

  Ah, here came the bargaining part. Beth had to admit, Liberty was pretty good at it. Or, more accurately, she knew how to wear her mother down.

  Candace drew on her cigarette and grimaced. She must’ve forgotten it wasn’t lit yet. Beth had convinced her to only smoke outside. Pulling the cigarette out of her mouth, she glared at Liberty. “What?”

  The girl drew in a deep breath. She didn’t look cocky or combative, but oddly nervous. “Let me see Dad next visiting day and I’ll change into anything you want,” she said, looking into her mother’s eyes, an unconscious yearning in her youthful face. “I’ll even wear some of that stupid makeup you bought me.”

  Clearly startled, Candace turned to the window over the sink. “I think I see your bus. You’re going to be late, so move it.”

  “Oh. My. God. You’re such a liar. You’ve been saying maybe for months.” The words shook with anger. “You’re never going to let me see him.” Liberty grabbed her backpack. “I hate you.” She nearly tore the screen door off its hinges and slammed it behind her.

  Candace hadn’t turned around once.

  Beth got up and ran outside. Liberty had made it halfway to the short gravel road shared by three other shabby houses with their neglected yards. “Liberty, wait.”

  The girl hitched the sagging backpack up to her shoulder, looking small and forlorn standing in the middle of the weed-infested grass. After swiping at her cheeks, she turned and waited for Beth.

  “I hate Candace,” she murmured. “I do. I really hate her. Why couldn’t you have been my mother?”

  Beth hugged the girl. “No, you don’t. I understand why you think you might.” She drew back to smile at her niece. “When I was your age I hated my mother, too.”

  “Well, yeah, grandma and my mom are totally alike.”

  The teen’s insight startled Beth. Maybe the right thing would be to deny it, but somehow that felt like an insult to Liberty. “You don’t hate her,” she said. “You may not agree with her, or like some things she says and does, but—”
>
  “Do you think she’s right? About not letting me see my dad?”

  “I’m sure she has a good reason,” Beth said carefully. “I don’t know the specifics, and it is a four-hour bus ride to the prison.”

  “So what? I haven’t seen my dad in a whole year. And it’s not like I’m asking her to take me.” Liberty briefly turned at the sound of the noisy bus still a mile down the road. “I’m old enough to go by myself.”

  No way Beth agreed with that, but she’d let it slide for now. “Let’s walk to the curb so the driver sees you.”

  “Will you talk to her, Aunt Beth?” Liberty tugged the overstuffed backpack up higher on her shoulder as she swung toward the road. A notebook popped out. And so did a can of red spray paint.

  “Liberty.” Beth sighed, feeling heartsick. She’d honestly thought they’d turned a corner. “What are you doing with that?”

  “It’s not what you think.”

  “What I think doesn’t matter. Having spray paint in your possession violates your probation. The judge can stick you in juvenile detention.”

  “Oh, he won’t.” Liberty crammed everything back into her backpack. “Spike says the court always threatens stuff like that but they never lock kids up. It costs too much.”

  Beth really had to bite her tongue. If she had her way, Jerry Long, aka Spike, would be thrown in a dungeon somewhere north of the Arctic Circle. The guy was crude, surly and, at eighteen, too old to be hanging around a fifteen-year-old girl. “He’s wrong, kiddo, and I don’t want to see you get hurt.” She held out her hand. “You need to give me that can.”

  “No, it’s for a school project. My art class.” Liberty sent a quick look at the approaching bus. “I don’t want to have to explain to my teacher why I can’t have a stupid spray can.”

  “What kind of project is it?”

  “Please, Aunt Beth,” she pleaded with puppy-dog eyes as she moved toward the road. “I’ll give you the can as soon I’m finished with it. Promise.”