Done With Men Forever (Clairmont Series Book 3)

by S. Jane Scheyder

  He got up to get a water bottle, and realized that Becky had disappeared. More accurately, he realized that she hadn’t yet reappeared. He’d been uncomfortably aware of the fact that she was no longer in the room.

  A moment later she walked through the dining room door. Her cheeks were flushed from the cold and her normally precisely arranged hair had a wind-blown look that he’d have found attractive on anyone else’s head.

  She stopped short when she saw him, then brushed a hand over her hair and walked in with her ‘Becky-air’ regained. She slipped out of her jacket and draped it over a barstool. Nodding at him - the bare-minimum acknowledgment - she walked into her room.

  Tank decided to take advantage of her absence to get back to the safety of the game. As he turned, Maddy met him on her way into the kitchen.

  “Oh, your wine,” she said, noticing the bottle. “Would you like a glass?”

  “No, I’m good,” he replied, anxious to put what little distance he could between himself and Becky.

  “Well, I think it sounds like fun. Maybe Becky will have glass with me. Did I hear her come in?”

  “Yeah, she just went into her room.”

  “Oh, good,” Maddy looked at him for a moment. “I don’t suppose I could get you to open it for me? I’m not a master with the cork-screw.”

  Tank swallowed a disappointed sigh. “Of course.”

  Maddy wound around to the other side of the island. “Here’s the - oh, wait. Hold on.”

  She dug in the drawer for a while and Tank fought the urge to drum his fingers on the counter.

  “Got it!” Maddy pulled the cork screw out with a smile and handed it to him.

  “Got what?” Becky asked, walking back out of her room with her hair fixed and big fluffy slippers on her feet.

  Tank thought about the bare feet he’d seen a few weeks before, propped up on the railing in the evening breeze. Why he was contemplating those feet in the big fluffy slippers was beyond him. He attacked the wine bottle with renewed energy.

  “Tank’s opening the wine he brought. Have a glass with me?”

  Tank glanced up; he couldn’t help himself. Becky was looking at him and had lost some of the rosy color from her cheeks. He could almost sense her inner battle. She clearly didn’t want the wine, but she didn’t want to acknowledge any kind of issue with it. He almost smiled, watching her squirm.

  “I think I’ll wait,” she finally replied. “I just had a cup of tea with Grace. Palate’s in a different place right now.”

  Of course, she’d just gone to visit Grace. In his obsession with football and the innkeeper’s sister, he’d forgotten all about his own sister; his sick sister. What a jerk.

  “How’s she doing?” he asked, hoping his apparent indifference wasn’t obvious to his hosts.

  “She’s doing better,” Becky replied, not really directing her answer at him. “She’s mostly nervous about not being up for tomorrow.”

  Tank nodded. It would be a busy day at the shop, especially if the Black Friday shoppers from the outlet mall found their way into Clairmont for some small town shopping. It would drive Grace crazy to miss a day like that.

  “I reminded her that she’s got a great staff, and to just concentrate on feeling better,” Becky finished. “She says to say ‘hello’ to everyone.”

  At this she glanced up at Tank. He nodded, and they shared a non-combative moment. “Thanks for checking on her,” he said.

  Becky shrugged. “She’s my friend.”

  The bottle opened, Tank offered to pour and Maddy set out the wine glasses. He finished his job and then hustled back into the living room. Five minutes left in the game.

  Becky walked in and curled up in the corner of one of the couches. What was it with women and curling up on furniture like cats? Tank couldn’t remember the last time his calves were tucked under any other part of his body; probably the last time he was tackled.

  He tried to concentrate on football, but his team’s ‘rebuilding’ had continued throughout the game and it was difficult to watch. He studied the line and the plays they were calling, and the whole thing became painful all over again.

  Maybe he should have had the wine.

  Parker and Blake finished their checkers game, and from the look on Parker’s face, it had not ended well for him. He and his long face went over and climbed into John’s lap. Without skipping a beat or a play, John folded him in his arms, wordlessly comforting his son while watching the game.

  Tank wondered if he’d ever be holding a son in his lap and watching football. He’d put off thoughts about settling down and raising a family because he always figured there’d be time for that when he was done playing. He considered John and Parker, and acknowledged that starting that chapter of his life might be one upside to the whole injury business.

  He turned to see how Blake was handling his victory. He was sitting on the other couch, quietly talking to Becky about something. She was attentive, but not overbearing. She probably made a cool aunt, Tank conceded.

  He turned back to the game. He did not like the direction his thoughts were taking.

  thirteen

  The weeks leading up to Christmas were a blur of teaching on the weekdays and taking care of guests on the weekends. Apparently, Claimont and the surrounding towns were popular for Christmas shopping and pre-holiday getaways.

  Becky had been asked to take on several sections of a health class the following semester, which she was happy to do. Maybe there was something else she could pick up. She’d keep her ears open. She liked teaching, for the most part, and staying out of the inn during construction was the best part.

  Maddy tried to involve her in the selection of paint and window treatments for the apartment, insisting she needed Becky’s eye for color. Her input was disinterested. It seemed like the penthouse was now Tank’s place. He’d had so much to do with the construction of the rooms that decorating no longer held the same appeal for her. Let them ask Tank what color he thought the walls should be, and then enjoy decorating the army green or slate gray he would likely choose. Becky just didn’t care anymore.

  She spent the occasional afternoon at the coffee shop after school, but for the most part, she lived at the library or in her room, preparing for the next semester. While she made a science of avoiding Tank at the house, it generally meant avoiding John and the boys, as well. It didn’t surprise her that a virtual stranger had become a favorite with the family over her. Her dislike of him increased by the day.

  She turned her energy on her classes. She’d always been pretty smart, but never particularly studious, so Serious Student Becky was a whole new person to get to know. It was good for her to be doing something other than art, which came much more easily for her. Re-learning French was challenging, but fun.

  The course materials for the health class didn’t look too complicated, although talking to teenagers about sex might prove intimidating. On the other hand, nothing they had to say could shock her. She’d find out soon enough.

  ***

  A week before Christmas, Becky had finished her shopping and was on her way home to wrap presents. She had four guests checking in during the evening, which seemed a little close to the holiday, but she didn’t mind. It meant no construction in the attic. Besides, the guests tended to enjoy shopping and eating out in the area, and generally kept to themselves.

  Becky was counting on it. She needed peace and quiet, and time to prepare for flying back to Illinois to spend Christmas with her parents. John and Maddy and the boys would join the family for a few days between Christmas and the New Year, but, for the first time in a long time, Becky was planning on some serious alone time with her folks. The closer the time came to leaving, the more uncertain she became. Why had she finally agreed to spend more than the minimal time at home? She supposed she was a little interested in finding out, herself.

  Meanwhile, there were papers to be graded, breakfast menus to plan, and big, dumb football players to avoid. Pulling
into the drive, she was relieved to find it empty. She liked having the place to herself, pretending it was her own beautiful home on the water. The ocean was beginning to grow on her, and for all that she griped about not having the freedom to move out, it was going to be a huge adjustment when she did. She’d never be able to afford a place with a view like the inn.

  Lucky Maddy, well, smart Maddy had sold her home in Seattle at just the right time, and had sold her shares in her computer company for a pretty penny, too. Then, with the right combination of grants for women starting new businesses and low interest loans, she’d purchased the mess of a house that her B&B was before John got his hands on it. Somehow, she’d made the money last until the renovations were almost complete. It probably didn’t hurt that she’d seduced the renovator.

  Becky shook her head with a wry smile as she climbed the steps to the porch. Maddy would never have tried to seduce John. They had fallen in love, navigated the inevitable problems, and gotten married. Storybook stuff. She sighed as she let herself into the house. She would have seduced the renovator and anyone else who served her purpose. How had she and Maddy grown up so differently?

  She was sure her parents had often wondered the same thing. How could one daughter make all the right choices and one daughter be determined to make all the wrong ones? Becky supposed there was still time to make a few good ones, but there was no undoing the poor choices she’d already made. Maybe that’s why she was determined to be done with men forever. They were clearly her undoing; always had been.

  It was time to show some restraint. What better place to practice, than this small town on the coast of Maine, where all the good men were married and there was virtually no one to tempt her? Maybe that wasn’t really practicing, but Becky needed all the help she could get.

  Heavy steps pounded down the stairwell and Becky dropped almost every bag that she’d carefully maneuvered through the house and into the kitchen. She barely had time to contemplate the source when Tank came bursting through the door. What grown man made an entrance like that? And what was he doing in the house, anyhow?

  He stopped and looked at her, as surprised as she was. “Thought you’d be gone for a while, yet.”

  “What are you doing here?” Becky demanded, stooping to pick up the bags she dropped.

  “Hanging cupboards.”

  She ground her teeth; she wasn’t really looking for details. “Well, I have guests coming, so you need to go.”

  Tank didn’t move, just stood there staring at her. “Sorry about your packages; didn’t mean to scare you.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t try to be nice, now. The damage is done.”

  He looked a little surprised, but she didn’t care. Nasty Tank was probably softening up under John’s influence. She wasn’t interested in this version of him, either.

  He cleared his throat. “I came down for a drink. I was planning to finish the section I’m working on, then get out of your way.”

  Becky stopped and stared at him in his sawdust-covered T-shirt. His huge forearms were covered with dust but she refused to look at them any longer than was necessary to determine that they were ... dusty. “I thought there was no working while there are guests in the house.”

  He walked to the sink. “Are they here, yet?”

  “Due any minute,” she lied. She was counting on this time before people showed up. She needed him to go away.

  He washed his hands and forearms, and then turned to her. “I won’t make a sound. They won’t even know I’m here.”

  She regarded him suspiciously. Unfortunately, she knew he was perfectly capable of doing just what he said, his most recent entrance notwithstanding. It was creepy how quiet he could be when he wanted to. She also knew that she could hardly go against John’s wishes for whatever Tank was doing upstairs.

  “Fine,” she finally sighed. “Just keep quiet.”

  He grabbed one water bottle and put another in his tool belt. In true Tank style and just like she requested, he disappeared without a word.

  ***

  Tank finished the cupboards by mid-evening. The kitchen was coming along well; John and Frank would be pleased. He packed up his things and tried not to think about how important this project had become to him. The relationship with John and his family was even more important. It had been a long time since he’d felt connected like this.

  It was different with guys on the team. This was a real family kind of thing. At times he felt like he should work harder at keeping his distance, but then some project would come up, necessitating his working extra hours with John, and the relationship continued to grow.

  Frank was a lot of fun, too. There was never a dull moment when he was around. He and John had endless questions about Tank’s life playing ball, and it felt good to talk about it. While he’d hesitated in the beginning, it wasn’t long before he was telling stories and filling them in on all of the ups and downs of his professional career.

  While they made it clear that he was a big help to them, getting to know them and investing in a project had proven incredibly valuable to him. He needed them - and the job - much more than they needed him.

  While he was ready to keep at it until the apartment was done, he knew that he needed to start thinking about his next step. He liked the house he’d moved into - it was much bigger than the cottage, and if he were honest, he could see himself settling in there, at least for the next few years. It would make sense to invest with the current market, but he didn’t know if the owners had any intention of selling.

  He’d been there the better part of a month, and he was starting to imagine the house filled with his own things. He missed his stuff. He missed the money he was spending storing his stuff half-way across the country. It was time to start making some decisions.

  He also needed to get out into the community, and stop living in fear of being recognized. The area didn’t seem to be heavily invested in pro-football, and that suited him just fine. It might be a good place to make a new start. No one had approached him about the P.E. job, but maybe it was time he looked into doing something with all of the energy he’d stored up over the last months.

  ***

  True to his word, Tank made his way soundlessly down the back stairway. His stealth was apparently for nothing; he could hear Becky’s guests talking and laughing in the kitchen. So much for sneaking out unnoticed.

  He considered circling around to the main staircase and heading out the front, but his jacket was still in the kitchen. Even if he wanted to brave the cold, and he had no problem doing that to avoid Becky, his house keys were in his coat pocket.

  Tank slowed as he reached the door to the kitchen, which was slightly ajar. Something about the conversation was unusual; the group was speaking in French, or at least he thought it was French. He didn’t need a translator to understand that there were no men in the room. This was a group of women, talking fluently in another language, and Becky was with them.

  He listened a moment more; it wasn’t like he was eaves-dropping, he couldn’t understand a word they were saying. It was interesting, and, he grudgingly conceded, impressive that Becky was keeping up. She even said something that made the other women laugh. He almost smiled. It was kind of an accomplishment to be funny in another language.

  The angle of the slightly open door faced away from the table, and Tank contemplated how to enter the room without alarming the women. He’d really startled Becky when he’d come down earlier. He wasn’t making the same kind of careless entrance now, but suddenly appearing at the door when they weren’t expecting him might be just as alarming. He had no problem being quiet, but once he was in a room, he rarely went unnoticed. He could just imagine Becky’s look when he entered this time.

  He slowly pushed the door open and walked into the kitchen. One woman squealed, another gasped, and another said something in frantic French. There were five women, including Becky, the others in their late thirties, early forties. They were gathered around the ta
ble, sharing a bottle of wine, though he noted that there was no glass in front of Becky. He couldn’t imagine what brought a group of French-speaking women to the coast of Maine just days before Christmas.

  Standing uncertainly, something he was not accustomed to doing, he waited for Becky to explain who he was. She’d had her back to him initially, but had quickly gotten to her feet and composed herself, sort of. Her flashing eyes didn’t surprise him. As much as he enjoyed baiting her, it seemed he didn’t even have to make an effort to make her angry. It was getting a little old.

  “Sorry to interrupt, just getting my jacket.”

  Becky’s glare simmered to a glower and she turned to face the women. She said something, in French, of course, and the women settled down and began to regard him with interest. She said something else, and there was a giggle or two and one of the women blushed.

  He didn’t like not knowing what was being said, and he wasn’t going to hang out and be the target of Becky’s French humor. The conversation continued as he picked up his jacket and started toward the door.

  Becky’s voice was cool and collected when she finally spoke to him. “Mr. Kimball, come meet my new friends.”

  He slid his jacket on and eyed her warily. This wasn’t a polite invitation, he could hear it in her voice.

  “They’re from Nova Scotia. They came for a wedding down the coast and decided to stay here in Clairmont to do some Christmas shopping.”

  Tank nodded, glanced at the women, then back at Becky.

  “I told them that you were a guest, too, just for fun. They’d love to know what it’s like to dance for the Boston Ballet. I can translate, if you like.”

  It was Tank’s turn to glower. Becky’s innocent smile incensed him further, because it would have been really attractive under any other circumstances. He looked back at the women, who were eyeing him with more than polite interest. He shook his head and made for the door.