Luck of the Draw (A Betting on Romance Novel Book 1)

by Cheri Allan

  “No, don’t explain. I’m sorry if I said something—”

  “You didn’t say anything. It’s just... my husband was an alcoholic, and I used to drink... I mean, I’m not an alcoholic. I used to drink it—alcohol, that is—but I don’t... now.”

  Jim stared at her. Blinked.

  She sighed. “I sound like a complete loon, don’t I?”

  “Is that a trick question?”

  “Oh Lord,” she laughed then, what she prayed was a non-maniacal sound, “I do. I’m sorry.” She picked up her fork and stabbed some lettuce in an effort to act normal. “My family’s been driving me a little crazy lately, is all. Not that they’re all bad, just—intrusive sometimes.”

  “I can relate to that.”

  “You’re from a large family?”

  “There were seven of us.”

  “Including parents?” She picked up her tea.

  “Just kids.”

  She choked on her tea. “Ohmigod! I can’t imagine giving birth seven times!”

  “If it makes it any better, three of them are actually my cousins. They came to live with us after my aunt and uncle died in a fire.”

  She set the glass down with a thud. “How awful. I mean, I’m so sorry.”

  Jim shrugged. “I was eight, so it was a long time ago.”

  “Still, that’s awfully young to deal with something like that.”

  “It’s in the past.” He motioned to his bowl. “Do you mind if I have more salad?”

  She glanced at his empty bowl. Randy had hated vegetables. “Of course!” But before she could pass the serving bowl, a shrill tone filled the air.

  Jim pulled something from his waistband, stared at it intently for a moment, then jumped from his seat. “I’ll have to take a rain-check. I’ve gotta go.”

  “Go?”

  He nodded, downing the last of his iced tea. “Fire call.”

  “But... your salad. And I haven’t paid you for the pizza!”

  “My treat,” he said, striding to the door.

  He turned abruptly. “But if you decide to buy me ice cream at the Lick N’ Dip while you’re in town, I might be persuaded. Their Kahlua fudge brownie is killer good.”

  “Yay!” cheered Liam from the dining room. “Ice cream!”

  Kate was about to tell him ice cream hardly made up for a whole meal, but he wasn’t listening, was already half-way to his truck. Which was okay.

  If she were being perfectly honest, she liked ice cream. She liked ice cream a lot.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ____________________

  “GRAMS SAID THERE’S A HOT YOUNG widow over at the cottage. Thought I might swing over and see if she needs a tour guide.”

  Jim stared as his cousin pulled a water bottle from his truck and downed it in one long draw. They were both filthy and sweaty, and the acrid smell of smoke hung in the air but Jim barely noticed as his cousin’s words sank in.

  Young. Widow.

  He was an idiot for not figuring it out sooner. Kate Mitchell wasn’t separated. Her husband was dead.

  “So, whaddya think? Too soon after he’s kicked the bucket for me to pop in and console her?”

  Jim fished for his eye drops on his console. “You’re some piece of work, Carter. I can’t believe you’re talking about this now. Reynolds here just lost his garage. He only finished it last summer. That John Deere he was restoring is toast. And there’s no way Grams said she was ‘hot.’”

  “You’re right. Her exact word was ‘charming.’ But that’s better than ‘sweet’ or ‘smart,’ which we both know are code for ugly.”

  “And charming means?”

  “At least pretty. And pretty’s good enough for me.”

  “You amaze me. And I don’t mean that in a good way.” Jim squeezed drops into each eye. Bloody hell, if Carter smelled a woman, he wasn’t one to waste time. But Kate wasn’t interested. She’d made that perfectly, ego-bruisingly clear.

  Not that his libido had been listening.

  “Thought I’d drop by tomorrow before the cookout at Grams. Maybe invite her over if she looks good.”

  Jim threw the eye drops on the seat of his truck and slammed the door with more force than he intended. “Don’t bother. She’s not your type.”

  “She’s breathing, isn’t she?”

  “Kate doesn’t need you sniffing after her.”

  Carter’s lips tilted at the corner in a way Jim knew made women fall at his feet. “Kate, huh? Well, why didn’t you say you had first dibs? I’m cool with that.”

  “I don’t have ‘dibs.’”

  “Then she’s fair game?”

  “She’s not a hunk of beef for God’s sake. Besides, she’s got a kid.”

  “Ah. No wonder you’re all hot and bothered.”

  “I’m not—” Jim let out a slow breath. He hated how Carter got under his skin sometimes. “I’m not hot and bothered. I don’t have nor want dibs, and I think you should shut up.”

  “I’m just trying to be neighborly.”

  “Sure you are.”

  “Besides, I’m great with kids.”

  “Yeah. Everybody loves you.”

  “Speaking of which,” Carter continued, undeterred, “guess who I ran into at Lucky’s last night?”

  Knowing he didn’t want to know, Jim asked anyway, “Who?”

  “Your ex.”

  He gripped the door handle more tightly. “You make it sound like we were married.”

  “Nearly were.”

  “But not.” He considered getting more eye drops but decided a shower was preferable and swung open the truck door.

  “She asked about you.”

  He drew a hard breath into his lungs. “Really?”

  He wouldn’t look at Carter, didn’t want to be pulled back into those wasted years. It left a bitter taste in his mouth. Two long years he’d wanted. Waited. Two years he’d wondered if Justine would choose him or her cheating, asshole of a husband, only to find out she and her husband were meant for each other.

  “Don’t you even want to know what she said?”

  “No.” Jim swung himself into the cab of his truck and slammed the door.

  It was just after dark by the time he reached home, his tires crunching over the gravel drive. He pulled his pickup under the long shadows of the oak that marked the steps down to the lake, turned off the engine—and decided he wasn’t ready to be inside after all.

  He swore under his breath as he stared, unseeing, through the windshield.

  It was easy blaming his foul mood on Carter, but it wasn’t fair. Carter had nothing to do with it.

  It was him. And he had the nerve to think this Kate woman had baggage? Lord, he was such a hypocrite.

  As much as he’d tried to push it out of his mind, seeing Kate’s little boy today had brought back all the memories he thought he’d excised from his mind. Sarah’s beautiful smile. Her easy laugh. Her sheer, innocent joy in life.

  As the girl he’d come to think of as his own daughter, Sarah had come to mean everything to him, then, overnight, she was gone. Ripped from his life like Justine had ripped his heart from his chest.

  Before he knew what he was doing, he was sliding the sweaty, filthy T-shirt over his head and dropping it on the bench seat of his truck. As much as he’d like to deny it, he’d been a part of all the ugliness, been so wrapped up in wanting Justine, in picturing their future together, he hadn’t thought what might happen to little Sarah if things didn’t work out.

  Until she was pulled out of his life like the pawn she was.

  He swallowed the bitterness clogging his throat, flung open the driver’s door and untied his boots. Throwing his boots and socks onto the passenger floor, he slid out of the truck, the stones of the driveway rough and familiar under his bare feet.

  The lake was quiet now, boats at their docks, the muffled sounds of an early summer cookout carrying softly over the water as he made his way through the trees and down the steep stone path, drawn to th
e soothing rhythm of lapping waves.

  He knew his way like the back of his hand and slid easily, noiselessly, through the shadows. The rock outcropping by the water was cool under his feet as he stood and stared blindly over the lake. He ran a distracted hand through his hair. It felt stiff under his fingers. More than anything, he wanted to swim, to dive in and wash away all the smoke and sweat—all the stupid mistakes he’d ever made.

  He let out a frustrated breath, knowing the frustration was as much aimed at himself as anyone else. The water lapped almost silently against the dock.

  Oh, hell. Who would even know? The only place close enough to see this part of the lake was Gram and Gramps old cottage and Kate and her son were bound to be asleep.

  Tall pines cloaked him and the shoreline in darkness, but as he unbuttoned his jeans, he glanced toward the cottage anyway. It sat quiet, dark. No one’s around, he chided himself. Before he gave himself time to reconsider, he tugged off his jeans and boxers, the softly scented summer breeze tightening his skin, and stood naked on the moss-covered stone.

  He chuckled to himself without humor. He was thirty-four years old, but he could’ve been fourteen again standing in this very spot, seeing this place from this very vantage point, looking up at Grams and Gramps and wondering if they could see him skinny-dipping on a double dare.

  His gaze slid to the porch of the cottage just barely visible through the trees. There was no light. There was no double dare.

  Gramps was long gone.

  And he wasn’t fourteen anymore.

  Jim took one long cleansing breath, stepped out onto the dock and dove into the water.

  KATE SAT ON THE PORCH SWING and enjoyed the intermittent flicker of a campfire across the lake. She heard a distant, though not unpleasant, drone of a motorboat, then quiet. Saying a silent prayer of thanks for an exhausted toddler, she leaned back with a sigh.

  Liam had gone down without a fight for once, leaving her to enjoy the luxury of a hot cup of tea and utter peace. She snuggled into the fleece blanket she’d brought out and let the cool, evening air brush her cheeks. The bulb in the porch light didn’t seem to work, but it didn’t matter. She didn’t feel like reading. Or planning.

  Oh God, she hated feeling like she had to be doing something every minute of every day. Like dating. Or finding her passion. Wasn’t it enough to just… breathe?

  Closing her eyes, she toed the swing into motion and tried to inhale a long, meditative breath. A breeze caught the wind chimes.

  It would be so easy to get used to this, tea-sipping, porch-swinging life. Simpler. Without complications.

  A blank page on which to start over.

  She snorted indelicately and sipped her tea.

  It wasn’t as if she could ignore the realities that awaited her around every corner. She had responsibilities. Bills to pay. Children to care for. It was easy for Nancy to say, ‘go find your passion.’ It was a heck of a lot more difficult to put into practice.

  Kate blew on her tea.

  And yet, she could hardly sit around all summer doing nothing. I mean, this was her chance, her break if ever the universe and the planets and the fates were going to give her one. And they owed her, didn’t they?

  Big time.

  Kate stared into her mug, the smooth warmth of it doing little to soothe the unease inside her.

  Not that the universe was to blame for all her mistakes. She had only herself to blame for some of them. She let out a silent, humorless laugh. It wasn’t like the universe had made her fall into bed with Randy that last time.

  She’d only meant to drop off some things at his apartment, deliver the odd piece of mail from those who still didn’t understand that even though they were still married, they no longer belonged together. But then he’d said something sweet, and she’d gone to give him a hug. It had felt familiar and awkward and sad all at the same time, and she’d turned, meaning to kiss him on the cheek—she had loved this man. Once. But then he’d captured her lips with his, and there was so much sadness and longing in that kiss, she wondered if she was making a mistake after all.

  Which of course it had been, but she hadn’t realized how much of one until after Randy drove into a tree two days later.

  Kate took a gulp of tea. It was hot and her throat felt tight, but her eyes were dry as she stared out into the dark.

  The question was—what now?

  Even if she could have figured out a way to juggle her work for Nancy and finish her degree, would she have even been able to find a job? Realistically, what could she show she’d done over the last ten years that would indicate to potential employers she had a discriminating eye? It seemed logical at the time she’d left Randy, to try to pick up where she’d left off so long ago, but now…

  Where did she go from here?

  If she listened to Nana, she’d be signing up for on-line dating services, moving on and getting angry. But she was tired of being angry. And resentful. Or regretful. More than anything, she just wanted to start over.

  If only life had a refresh button.

  Maybe she should take Nancy’s advice. Find out who Kate Mitchell was. There must be a new, purpose-filled woman deep inside waiting to be discovered. Isn’t that what Oprah and those self-help books she’d been meaning to read always said? Inside she had a woman who wasn’t afraid to take chances. A woman comfortable in her own skin. A woman who might have considered an adventurous, humanitarian life in the Peace Corps or something. Not now, of course, but a woman who once felt—and could feel again—like a woman?

  Kate took another slug of tea, a wry, humorless laugh bubbling inside her. The only way to really feel like a woman was to... She shook her head as an image of her attractive neighbor popped to mind.

  As if a summer romance would cure what ailed her!

  A sudden gust of wind sent a shiver up her arm, and she hugged her blanket tighter, cupping her mug of tea. Her gaze traveled over the water. Wait—what was that?

  Tea sloshed down her wrist a second time that day, and she bolted upright. Dimly, through the trees, down by the lapping shore, she could just make out a form in the water.

  Images of the Loch Ness Monster sprang to mind, but of course here in the wild it was more likely a beaver or a bear or a… man?

  Riveted, she watched him slide through the darkness, muscled arms cutting through the water. His body disappeared for one, two, three seconds then reemerged soundlessly, as he moved in the opposite direction, swimming rhythmically through the water near the shore.

  It was so dark, she couldn’t say how she knew it was a man, but the sudden tension warming her core seemed to know.

  Kate held her breath and tried to merge into the slats of the porch swing as he pulled himself onto the dock, his toned form barely visible in the half-light of the crescent moon. The trees teased her with glimpses of him as he stepped ashore and retrieved something from the ground, then turned...

  Kate clamped her lips shut and watched in stunned silence as Ruth Pearson’s grandson climbed the path up the hill to his house, his clothes bundled in his fist, his hair slick with water, and his body as wondrously naked as the day he was born.

  June 14

  Ancient Greeks. Not only did they live in a moderate, Mediterranean climate with beautiful ocean views, they were comfortable in their own skin. Democracy, Socrates and baklava aside, I wish I could claim them in my family tree. Maybe some of that innate self-confidence would be in my genes, too.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ____________________

  “I’M WORRIED ABOUT SANDY.”

  Kate rolled over, spit out her night guard and berated herself for not letting the call go to voice mail. “Hi, Ma.”

  “She hasn’t been herself lately.”

  Kate blinked at the clock on the nightstand and stifled a groan. “And you had to call me at 5:30 in the morning to tell me this?”

  “Is it that early? I tell you, I’ve been doing this new yoga routine. It’s amazing. It’s called ‘A
waken the Dawn.’ I feel so refreshed! You should try it.”

  Kate flopped back onto her pillows. “I’ll get right on it.”

  “Anyway, ever since she choked on that chicken bone over Memorial Day weekend, she hasn’t been herself. I blame the caterers. Why would they leave a plate of chicken wings in plain sight knowing what a weakness it is of hers? You know she can’t help herself. Plus the canapés were soggy, but don’t get me started.”

  “Have you taken her to the vet?”

  Her mother harrumphed through the telephone line. “They insist there’s nothing wrong, but I can tell. A mother knows. Your father pooh-poohs it, but I think she had a near-death experience. She won’t talk about it, though, even to the psychiatrist. I’m at my wit’s end.”

  “They have psychiatrists for dogs now?”

  “Bhardwaj doesn’t call himself that. He’s more of a shaman, dog-whisperer-type. My yoga instructor recommended him. He’s very spiritual.”

  Kate lolled her head toward the window as the first rays of morning sun crept across the ceiling.

  “Anyway, she’s been listless for nearly a week. Do you think she could be depressed?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe it’s something else.”

  “I thought of that. You know your father had his dressing room re-carpeted last week. I told him to specify formaldehyde-free, but did he listen? It smells awful. You don’t think those fumes could be causing her nerve damage, do you?”

  “It’s unlikely.”

  “You’re right. No sense taking chances. I’m calling the vet as soon as we hang up. Oh, but that’s not why I called. I need your mailing address.”

  “What for?”

  Her mother’s voice grew hushed. “I picked up the remains yesterday, but Rosaria is throwing a fit about having them in the foyer, so I’m going to send them to you.”

  Kate tried to process what had her mother’s housekeeper/cook so up in arms. “What?”

  “You know. The remains,” her mother whispered again.

  Oh God. Randy’s ashes.

  “Anyway, I need to get them out of the house. Rosaria keeps mumbling the rosary and crossing herself and carrying on about how it isn’t natural to have dead bodies sitting around in boxes in a person’s foyer, and frankly, she’s disturbing my chi with all of this. I mean, I have Sandy to worry about...”