by Alison Kent
“Nothing, my ass,” he argued. “If you weren’t afraid, you wouldn’t have sneaked out of here like a coward.”
She spun around to face him. “Coward?” She gave him one last heated look filled with loathing, then moved to scoop up her coat and bag. “I don’t need this.”
He was beside her in less than a heartbeat. With his hands on her shoulders, he gently turned her around to face him. “You need me.”
“I don’t need any man,” she argued. “I used to think so, but you’ve cured me of that misconception. Leave me alone, Joe. That should be real easy for you. You’ve had an entire year to perfect the skill.”
“Damn it, Natalie. I said I was sorry. What do you want from me?”
“You really want to know?”
“Yes, I want to know. Give me that much.”
“Fine,” she shouted back at him. “I want someone who is going to be there in the morning. A guy who isn’t going to disappear on me without notice.” She let out a long slow breath and gentled her tone. “I want the fairy tale, Joe. The house in the ’burbs with the white picket fence and a minivan parked in the driveway. A big, lazy chocolate Lab that likes to lie by the fireplace. And going to bed every night knowing that when I wake up every day, someone will be there to share every minute with me.”
Panic gripped him with icy fingers. He’d left the Navy because deep down he’d believed he would one day want those things, too. Did he have what it took to stick around for the long haul? He’d been on the move for so long, he honestly couldn’t state with any amount of certainty that he had it in him to share every minute of what she described. With her or any woman for that matter.
“What’s the matter, Joe?” she asked. “Afraid? Feeling a little cowardly?”
“What are you saying?” His voice sounded strangled. As if the proverbial noose in the shape of a pair of matching gold bands had been welded around his neck, cutting off his air supply. “You want forever? Now?”
She made a sound of disgust and shrugged out of his grasp. “Don’t be obtuse. Of course not.”
“Then what?” He wished she’d explain it to him. Then maybe he could breathe again.
“The idea, Joe. I want to know the idea of forever is a real possibility.”
She looked at him expectantly, waiting for an answer he didn’t know if he could give. He wanted to tell her it was possible, but he couldn’t seem to find the right words. Who was he kidding? He could hardly draw breath let alone summon a single word that would placate her.
The anger and heat faded from her eyes, replaced by a sadness he felt clear to the bottom of his nomadic soul. She slung her bag over her shoulder. “Sometimes it’s what you don’t say that says the most. Goodbye, Joe.”
He didn’t even try to stop her when she walked out of the study. What could he say that wouldn’t be a lie? Considering their history, she deserved better than being dished up a serving of false hope. The eventual slamming of the door moments later held more finality than he wanted to acknowledge, or was sure he could accept.
By the time Rafe showed up less than an hour later, Joe was nursing his third scotch. “Join me for a drink?” he asked his friend.
Rafe strode to the bar and poured himself a bourbon before taking a seat in one of the matching leather chairs across from Joe. “I’d ask what we’re celebrating, but you don’t look like you’re in a party mood.”
Joe lifted his glass in mock salute. “Morphine substitute.” He downed more scotch. “For the pain of having my nuts served up on a silver platter.”
Rafe winced. “Sounds bad. What happened?”
Joe wasn’t about to argue. With his elbow resting on the arm of the sofa, he dropped his head against his fingertips and rubbed his throbbing temple. “FUBAR, buddy. Big time.”
Rafe propped his foot over his knee. “I take it Natalie was the one doing the carving.”
“Woman’s great with a knife.”
Rafe chuckled and checked his watch. “Where is she, by the way?”
Joe finished off the booze and seriously considered a refill. “Probably still condemning me to hell. Maybe crafting a voodoo doll and driving a railroad spike or two through it for shits and giggles. Cursing the day we met. I don’t know,” he said with a helpless shrug. “Take your pick. As pissed as she is at me, the options are limitless.”
Rafe cleared his throat, but Joe still caught the grin his friend attempted to hide. “What did you do to her?”
Joe let out a weighty sigh. “Before or after I called her a coward because I was ticked that she threw my apology back in my face? Maybe you’d rather hear about how I let her think she wasn’t the kind of woman worth waking up to every morning for the rest of my life.”
Rafe’s hearty laughter made Joe feel worse, which wasn’t saying much. He decided a fourth scotch sounded like a good idea and made his way over to the bar. Not bothering to add ice, he just poured.
He didn’t think he could have sunk any lower than he had today. He’d hurt her—again—and didn’t have the first clue how to make amends for his latest screwup. Considering how he’d already fumbled, he seriously doubted she’d make it easy on him if he dared another attempt.
Joe returned to the sofa. “I figured she’d be ripped about last year, but once I explained to her why I’d left the way I did, she’d be okay with it.” He realized how feeble his explanation must’ve sounded to Natalie, and how faulty his thinking had been. “When that didn’t work, I let her think she’s not important enough to me. How am I supposed to fix this?” he asked, but he already suspected the answer.
Rafe’s knowing grin sank the last nail into the coffin of Joe’s last remaining shred of pride.
Joe massaged his throbbing temple again. “This is going to require groveling, isn’t it?”
“Across hot coals on your hands and knees,” Rafe said. At least his expression held a modicum of sympathy.
Joe set the full glass on the mahogany table and stood. Three glasses of the scotch had dulled his mind enough. He’d need every square inch of his gray matter fully functional if he was going to convince Natalie the idea of forever could exist. He wasn’t about to make any long-term promises, but at the very least, she deserved to know she was important to him.
“Where are you going?” Rafe called after him as he headed for the door.
“To find some hot coals.”
9
NATALIE KEPT one short step ahead of the deep dark abyss of true despair by first diving inside a bag of macadamia-nut-white-chocolate-chip cookies, then leaping into a supersize bag of BBQ potato chips and a questionable container of sour cream. When those weapons were in danger of losing their power, she went for the hard stuff—a fresh pint of double-chunk fudge ice cream.
Crying until her eyes were puffy beyond recognition for being foolish enough to believe she just might be important enough to a guy like Joe hadn’t helped. Neither had ranting and swearing followed by a particularly good mope because she’d let her heart get stomped into the dirt—again! She knew she was in bad shape when the frozen cure-all failed to lighten her spirits.
She let out a sigh and dropped the spoon into the empty ice-cream container. No matter how she looked at the mess she’d once again made of her love life, this time she knew her heart had been shattered so badly it would take years to mend. Maybe by the time she reached eighty she’d feel better.
She had her doubts.
The pain and humiliation inside her ran so deep, she wasn’t even sure where it began or how to mend it. She hadn’t called Arianne as she’d promised because she didn’t want to bring her friend with her on the downer from hell when Arianne was preparing to embark upon the affair of the decade with Rafe Monticello in a few hours. Natalie had weakened though and had tried calling Isabel, but all she’d gotten had been Iz’s voice mail, so she’d hung up without leaving a message. Just when she needed a good talking-to to remind her what a fool she’d been, Isabel had blipped off the radar screen.
By the fourth ring she was prepared to hang up, but the gravelly voice caused by a two-pack-a-day habit for the past forty years came on the line. “Yeah?”
“Happy New Year, Dad,” she said with forced brightness. She didn’t need to close her eyes to see the peeling wallpaper in the cramped bathroom, the faded threadbare rug in the faux-walnut-paneled living room or the smudged grease stains on the counter near the fridge because her father’s first stop when he left the garage where he worked as a mechanic was the kitchen for a beer. Those images would remain burned in her mind for all eternity. They were home, and a reminder of how far she’d come.
“I didn’t wake you, did I?” What she really meant was he sleeping off another bender?
“Natalie!” Paul Trent said her name cheerfully, if a bit slurred. “How are you, baby girl? The big city treatin’ you good?”
“The question is how am I treatin’ the big city?” Her father might have been the local drunk in the small hick town where he still lived and served the community as one of the best mechanics in three counties—when he was sober—but she’d never doubted his love for her. They hadn’t had much, but they did have each other. Her mother had died when Natalie was a child, but her dad had done the best he knew how, even if his priorities were often skewed.
She hugged the chenille throw tighter around her shoulders and looked over at the little eighteen-inch fake Christmas tree in the corner on the table and was reminded of the one concession her father had never failed to grant her—a real Christmas tree. There hadn’t been much by way of presents, but at least he’d kept his promise and remained sober for Christmas.
“That’s what I like to hear,” he said with a laugh that led into a coughing spasm.
By the time she hung up the phone thirty minutes later, she did feel a mite more pleasant, as her dad was fond of saying. The ache in her heart remained, but her mood had indeed improved.
The abrupt knock on the door momentarily startled her. Probably Arianne, she thought, stopping by to borrow a more sedate outfit because she’d flown into a last-minute panic over that red number she and Isabel had foisted on her. Natalie walked the short distance to the door, mentally running through her wardrobe for something red that would work for Arianne, and opened it to find no one there.
She frowned and stepped back to close the door when she heard a scratching noise, followed by a whimper. Glancing down, she spied a cardboard pet carrier.
She glanced down the hallway to see if the deliverer was there before crouching down and opening the top on the carrier. She couldn’t blink back the tears fast enough.
Sitting inside, looking up at her with dark brown eyes was a chocolate Lab puppy, its little head cocked to the side and the floppy ears pert. She swiped at the tears and reached for the pup, cuddling—she checked—her to her chest. “This does not mean you’re forgiven,” she called out, wondering where the jerk was hiding. “No, it doesn’t,” she murmured to the pup busy nuzzling Natalie’s chin. “But it’s a good start.”
She pulled the carrier inside then leaned against the doorjamb to wait for Joe. Moments later, she heard his footsteps on the stairs. “She’s adorable,” she told him. What she was going to do with a puppy, especially in her tiny apartment, she wasn’t quite sure, but no way was she giving up this warm little ball of fluff. “How did you pull this off?”
Isabel would call her an idiot and read her the riot act for even speaking to Joe after the way he’d treated her. After Arianne calculated the annual cost of owning a dog, at least she’d offer a sympathetic shoulder and a box of tissues while Natalie cried an ocean.
Joe shrugged his wide shoulders and gave her a sheepish grin that hiked up the rate of her pulse a few notches. “I couldn’t find any hot coals suitable enough for crawling over on my hands and knees.”
“Pity,” she said and waved him inside. “I guess you’ll show up with a minivan next if I don’t let you in.”
He winced, then glanced around her tiny apartment, his gaze landing on the empty wrappers and containers littering the end table. When he looked back at her, one sweep of his gaze had him frowning. “You’re wearing ridiculously expensive shoes with ratty flannel pajamas.”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m breaking them in.” She hugged the pup tighter to her chest and resisted the urge to slip out of her new black linen mules. “Why are you here, Joe? Come to remind me I’m not good enough? I got the message the first time.”
“I never said you weren’t good enough.” At least he had the decency to appear contrite. “I came to apologize, but I’ll probably make a mess of it, so I brought reinforcements,” he added with a nod toward the puppy now sound asleep in Natalie’s arms.
“Grovel away,” she told him, swearing it wouldn’t make a bit of difference to her. She’d come up with a new resolution for the year. No more heartbreak. Ever. She’d invest in a good vibrator before she let another man close enough to hurt her again. Especially the one crowding her tiny apartment with his worship-worthy body, no matter how many orgasms he gave her.
He took a step toward her, then hesitated. “I’m sorry, Natalie.”
He deserved to be drawn and quartered. Boiled in cheap perfume could be fun, too. She was still angry enough with him for hurting her that she could easily devise a hundred different ways to torture him to her satisfaction, but seeing him hesitant and unsure shook her resolve—hard. And well, he had given her a puppy, something she’d wanted from the time she could walk.
He took another tentative step in her direction. “Do you think you can ever forgive me?”
“I’m through letting you trample my self-esteem, Joe. Go find someone else to treat like dirt.”
He let out a rough sigh and jammed his hand through his hair. “I’m sorry,” he said again, looking about as miserable as she’d been feeling since leaving the mansion this afternoon. “I’m sorry I hurt you. There isn’t anything I can say except that the idea of forever is a possibility. Tell me what I have to do to convince you, and I’ll do it.”
A fat lump lodged in her throat. “Keep talking,” she whispered, blinking back another round of moisture threatening to blur her vision.
His big, warm hands settled on her shoulders. “I know we don’t know each other all that well, but I do know that you’re important to me. I can’t make you any promises, Natalie. I’ve been on the move for so long, I really don’t know if I can stay in one place longer than a few months.” His voice was suspiciously tight and filled with an honesty that touched her and did a real number on soothing her battered heart. He pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her and the puppy. “But there is always a chance for more.”
She pressed her lips together to keep her chin from quivering. Damn it, hadn’t she cried enough for one day? Apparently not, because the minute he swept his hand down her spine, her emotional floodgates gave way.
He took the sleeping dog from her and carefully placed her back inside the carrier. Natalie slid her arms around Joe’s waist and held on tight. With her face burrowed into his soft shirt, she sobbed some more. When there was nothing left but a case of the hiccups, he led her to the sofa bed, handed her a tissue and tucked her close to his side as if he planned to never let her go.
Once her hiccups ebbed, she tilted her head to look up at him. “Before you start believing in possibilities, too, there’s something you should know.”
He smoothed the back of his hand tenderly down her cheek. “What’s that?”
“I’m not some rich chick with a perfect pedigree playing at having a job because I’m bored,” she admitted. “The only thing blue about my bloodline is blue collar. I moved to New York a
fter working full-time as a waitress in a truck stop off the Interstate so I could pay my own way through community college. I got my journalism degree and got the hell out, but my dad’s still a grease monkey in the hill country of Kentucky where I grew up, and he’s not always sober, either.”
He frowned. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“We don’t come from the same place,” she told him. “I’m community college and you’re Harvard. You’re New York City and I’m still a country girl at heart.”
He smiled and shook his head. “I don’t care where you came from, Natalie. The only reason I got into Harvard was because of a ninety-eight-mile-per-hour fastball. My mom worked in a bakery in Hell’s Kitchen and we lived upstairs. I can tell you where some of the finest restaurants in New York are only because I worked as a busboy in a few of them in high school.”
She couldn’t stop the bubble of laughter from erupting. How could she have been so stupid? “What do we do now?” she asked him.
“I’m not sure, but I do know I don’t want to lose you. Whatever it takes for you to trust me again, just tell me and I’ll do it.” His arm tightened around her and the tension eased from his body. “So, you want to start over again? Maybe I can get it right this time.”
She pulled back to look at him again. “Starting over isn’t what has me worried.”
“The endings, huh?”
She nodded. Going through another day like today and she’d be forced to take drastic steps. Like entering a convent. “Could get ugly,” she said.
Her breath caught at the raw emotion shining in his soft gray eyes. “I’m never going to let you go now that I’ve found you—again,” he said.
She climbed over his lap to straddle his hips and wreathe her arms around his neck. “You talk too much.”
“That’s right,” he said as his eyes turned smoky. “You prefer a man of action over one of words.”
“Hmmm,” she murmured before brushing her mouth lightly over his. All her life she’d believed in fairy tales, fate and whatever entity she could drum up in search of a happy ending. Whether she and Joe would have that happily-ever-after, she couldn’t guess, but something had brought them together, not once, but twice. And perhaps even a third time if she wanted to get technical about the whole thing. Maybe she’d finally have her own happy ending now that her prince promised to not disappear on her again. With odds like that in her favor, who was she to argue?
