by Ava Miles
“Don’t ask me right now. I’m too upset to see straight. We’ll talk about it later.”
Mac inclined his head to the stairs when Dustin opened his mouth to argue. “Okay. I’m really sorry, Mom. Uncle Mac.”
Abbie didn’t look in her son’s direction as he pounded up the stairs.
“Let’s head into the office,” Mac suggested.
Her heels clicked on the hardwood as they walked down the hallway. The harsh beat of rap music interrupted the silence. Dustin was keeping the volume low at least. When she sank into the armchair by the couch, he decided to pour them a stiff drink. When he handed one to her, her mouth twitched.
“Bourbon? Yes, I suppose I need a what–a–shitty–day drink.”
“Since you rarely swear, I might need to pour you a double.” The couch was comfy, but he yanked aside the fluffy braided pillows she’d insisted on adding. Abbie loved having an army of pillows throughout the house. He’d bet the farm Peg didn’t have any outside the bedroom.
“Oh, Mac,” Abbie cried, eyes welling again. “This is a felony, isn’t it?”
He sighed. “Yes, but Jeremy doesn’t have a record, and he’s a juvenile. This sounds like one of those shitty examples of a stupid teenager doing something stupid.” He didn’t care if he’d said stupid twice. The word pretty much summed it up.
“Why in the world would he do something like this? I thought he had tons of attitude, but nothing like…nothing criminal.”
The bourbon swirled when he circled his hand, giving off the scent of honey, caramel, and pepper. “That’s what makes me feel like shit. I guess Dustin’s been venting to his friends about how pissed he is about moving. It never occurred to me that his friends would be this angry at me.” Not in a million years.
“Oh, Mac. We did the right thing, moving?”
Her hand trembled when he squeezed it. “We always stick together. It doesn’t mean I don’t feel like shit about the whole thing.” Big buckets of it.
“Me too.” Her face bunched when she took a sip. “God, I don’t know how you drink this.”
“Wait for the warmth.”
“A heating blanket might be better.”
“We have one of those too. Abbie, I’m worried about how Dustin will react if we press charges against Jeremy. He’s a punk, but putting him into the system with a felony is serious. If he weren’t Dustin’s friend, I’d throw the book at him, but I’m hoping there might be another way.”
She set her drink on the rosewood coffee table. “He has to learn his lesson.”
“I know. I want to talk to his parents—and him, once they give me permission. If he’s remorseful, I’ll suggest a legal agreement that keeps Jeremy out of trouble if he completes a whole shitload of community service at places we select. We’ll set up a monitoring plan. If his attitude improves, we’ll leave it at that. If not, he’ll do another year of community service. He’s not getting away with this scot–free, and he’s not getting college credit for those hours either.”
“I know his parents. His dad’s a workaholic, but his mother is a nice woman. I think they’ll agree. When you say a shitload, how many hours were you thinking?”
The bourbon burned his throat when he knocked it back. “Two curse words in one day. Might be a record.”
“I was repeating you,” she responded primly.
He pulled out his lucky piece and rubbed it. “Does three hundred sound about right?”
Her eyes rolled. “I was thinking a thousand.”
The canary yellow chip flew into the air when he threw it. “Well, there’s nearly nine–thousand hours in a year, so that’s—” He caught the chip.
“Oh, stop with the math brain, please. The rest of us normal people could care less.”
He smiled. “How about we start with five hundred, and if they balk, we can reduce it?”
“If they ask for less, we might as well press charges. This isn’t a parking ticket.”
His tie felt like a noose now, so he loosened it.
“How are you going to handle things on this end?” she asked after a moment. “Are you going to tell Peggy?”
The thought of her made his stomach burn. He was going to have to hide something from her—something directly involving her. Guilt wasn’t a strong enough word. “No, I can’t. She’d have to report it.”
She reached for her bourbon, and studied the amber liquid a moment before draining it. “Are you in love with her?”
Ah, shit. He rubbed his lucky piece—hard. “Yes. I haven’t told her yet.”
Her mouth twisted, not from the bourbon this time. “Mac, I don’t see how this can end up without you getting hurt. She’s a porcupine.”
But her needles seemed to be falling away the more time they spent together. “It’s funny, but she reminds me a lot of you when it comes to men.”
Her back snapped up ram–rod straight like a debutante’s. “That’s a horrible thing to say.”
His hand covered hers. “I don’t mean to hurt you, but that’s how I see it. You’re as much of a porcupine with Rhett as Peggy is with me.”
She stood and yanked down her cream–colored jacket. “How did this become about me?”
He rose from the sofa. “Rhett loves you. He’s not going away, ever. I haven’t seen him this driven or focused since—”
“He beat you in the World Series of Poker ten years ago.”
He inclined his head.
“Well, what he chooses to do with his life is his concern. It doesn’t affect me. We’re just not compatible. But what you want with this woman does. Are you planning to…”
“What?” he asked, crossing his arms.
“Marry her?”
The punch to his gut couldn’t have been delivered more cleverly. He stared at her. Could he even imagine being married to Peggy? Waking up next to her, yes, but forever? Part of him said yes, but he wasn’t quite there yet. Being with her was like pulling teeth—one at a time.
Abbie put her hands on her hips. Tapped her shoe on the carpet. “If you want something permanent with her, she is my concern. I’ve never seen you act this way over a woman. I’m not sure she’s going to fit in with us. She doesn’t even like Dustin.”
“Dustin didn’t make a good first impression. He’s working on it.” His temples started to pound. “Listen, she’s raising a son alone, too.”
“We couldn’t be more different.” If she yanked any harder on her jacket, she’d pop a button.
“Take a look at your own actions.”
“It’s Rhett who pushes my buttons. I wouldn’t be this way with all men. If you and I weren’t related, I’d be over the moon about you.”
He snorted. “I’m more like Rhett than you’d like to admit.”
“That’s not true.”
He took her shoulders in his hands. “When you see him again, you might want to look a little closer. He does what I’d like to do.”
“And what’s that?”
“Whatever he wants.” The truth came out before he could stop it.
She worried her lip. “I know you’ve given up a lot for me and Dustin.”
He held up his hand—a white flag. “Stop right there. I’m not saying I would change anything, but by God, I draw the line at you telling me what’s good for me. You’re my sister, not my mother. If I want Peggy in my life, you’d better find a way to accept it.” Old, buried anger couldn’t be squelched.
She tapped her low–heel sandal on the Persian carpet again. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I don’t want to see you hurt, Mac, that’s all.”
Neither did he. Peggy had more power over his emotions than he’d like. “And, Abbie, I know you were hurt, but that doesn’t mean you should stop trying to find your own happiness. As Dustin reminded me recently, he’s not going to be here much longer. He’s off to college in two years. What are you going to do then?”
Her face turned chalk–white. “I…don’t know. I’ll have to see.”
“You should sta
rt thinking about it now. ” Like he was. “You’re hurting Rhett. Doesn’t that bother you even if you’re fine with hurting yourself?”
She blinked back tears. He knew he’d pushed too far.
“Of course, I do. Why do you think I keep telling him to leave?”
His frustration with her and Peggy blurred as he stalked toward the door. “You don’t want that. You love him. When are you finally going to admit it?”
His hand fell away from the doorknob as he realized what he was doing. He was saying to Abbie the things he wanted to say to Peggy. When he turned around, she was dabbing at the corners of her eyes. “I’m sorry, Abbie. It’s not my place.”
Her chin rose. Her eyes turned flinty. “You’re right. It isn’t.”
So he just walked out.
Chapter 29
Abbie watched as Dustin sprayed furniture polish on the bookshelves, her current chore for him. She hadn’t decided whether she thought he was a miscreant or not. He’d broken the law when they first moved to town. Now one of his friends had called in a bomb threat. She was in Mommy–Confusion Zone. Dustin whined that she was punishing him unfairly. Well too darn bad.
When someone knocked on the door, he threw his rag aside eagerly. Dust bunnies exploded into the air, catching the sunlight. He ran to the front hall like he was making a break for the goal area on the soccer field.
“It’s Uncle Rhett,” he yelled and promptly laughed.
What the heck did he have to laugh about? Laughing was so not on his program right now.
“Dustin. Back to dusting.” Oh God, it was like the same word. Maybe that explained it. She’d named her child after dust, miniscule flecks of dirt and lint that floated until they landed indiscriminately, covering everything in their filthy wake. It had screwed him up.
“But it’s Uncle Rhett!” he complained.
“He can talk to you while you work.”
The object of her dreams and fantasies stepped into the family room, looking like a super hot normal guy in faded jeans and a white T–shirt. Was he ever going to wear animal print, snake skin, or fringe again? Did she want him to? She rather missed his cowboy hat. Correction. She missed knocking it off as she fisted her fingers in his thick, curly hair.
Her fingers rolled the fountain pen she was holding, distracting her from her sexcapade thoughts. She clutched the thank–you–for–coming–to–our–disastrous–opening cards to her stomach with her other hand. “Rhett.”
His mouth turned up. “Abbie, you’re looking as fresh as the lemon tart my mama likes to make.”
Her yellow linen suit wasn’t anything special. Why did he have to talk like that? “That’s an exaggeration.” One she didn’t want him to counter. “What can we do for you, Rhett?”
His hand clapped Dustin on the back. “I heard the kid was having a tough spell, so I wanted to come by and see if there was anything I could do.”
“You can help me dust,” her son suggested. “Mom’s punishing me even though I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Sounds like you got off easy. Mac told me his lawyer drew up an agreement with the kid and his parents in exchange for not pressing charges.”
“Yeah, Jeremy has to do a sh—butt–load of community service. And Henry gets the reward for turning him in. And me? I’m a house slave. It’s so unfair.”
If her kid had an off button, she would have pushed it. She hoped Rhett wouldn’t mess things up by agreeing with Dustin.
Rhett squeezed his shoulder. “Well, it’s a tough place for your mama and Mac. I know it seems unfair, but hell, I’ve gotten into my fair share of trouble for the things the people around me have done.”
Abbie gave him the stink eye.
His courtly bow to her didn’t soften her glare.
“Of course, my mama, like yours, is a firm believer that you are the company you keep. That’s why I’m mending my ways.”
Her laughter trilled out. “Oh, have you fired your poker babes, then?” She winced, realizing she had about as much control over her mouth as Dustin had over his. Asking meant she cared.
“You know they’re part of my act. The fans love them. I don’t know how many men have told me it’s amazing what a tight sequined dress can do for a woman. You might try it sometime, Abs.”
Dustin barked out a laugh and then stopped himself, realizing he was close to death by mother. He cleared his throat. “I’ll go dust your bedroom, Mom.”
That was probably a good choice. She wasn’t sure if she could refrain from firing back at Rhett for that dress comment. As if she’d pour herself into something like that. He was just trying to get her goat since he knew she didn’t approve of “his act.”
“Make sure you dust under the bed,” she warned as Dustin sped by.
“I’m sorry if the dress comment upset you,” Rhett said. “I’d pretty much look at you wearing anything. Or nothing.”
The deep timbre of his voice sent desire spiking through her, and her face flushed. Her hand accidentally knocked the cards and envelopes aside. They fluttered to the ground like paper airplanes. She stood, searching for composure. “Rhett, please stop this! You promised.”
“I promised not to touch you. I haven’t gone blind or lost my imagination.” His large, masculine hands, the ones whose touch she craved, gathered up the stationery.
“You have pretty handwriting, Abbie. Like an elegant lady.”
Mac was right. If she wasn’t planning to relent, she had to make a stand. Make him listen. Her throat tightened when she imagined him leaving. “Stop it! I mean it. This isn’t going to work.”
He set the cards on the coffee table and rose up until he was towering over her. His musky cologne tickled her nose—calling up images of hot, steamy sex. Who wore cologne with a T–shirt and jeans anyway? Oh, right. Rhett.
“Please, I’m only hurting you, and that’s the last thing I want. We had a good time together, but it’s over. Please go home! Don’t change your life for me. It’s fine the way it is.” Mac’s earlier accusations made her ears burn.
His eyes regarded her steadily. “No, it’s not. You’re not with me, and I’ll do whatever it takes to get you back. Say what you want. Do what you want. I can take it. Even if you reject me until I’m in my eighties, I’ll still follow you around in my walker. Of course, I hope you’ll make love with me again before I have bursitis in my hip and have to pile on the Bengay.”
She shoved his chest. Thinking about them getting older made her heart race. Her already tight ribcage squeezed her breath away. “That’s not funny.”
“I told you, Abbie. I’m not giving up. Ever. I won’t abandon you like your dad did. Or Dustin’s father. Maybe someday you’ll tell me what happened with him, but even if you don’t, it doesn’t matter. I’m here, and I love you.”
He simply wouldn’t listen, but she knew what would make him leave. She took a deep breath and swallowed thickly. “Dustin’s father raped me on our second date. I was too stupid to know it wasn’t supposed to be that way. When I got pregnant, Mac hunted him down. He told my brother I was asking for it,” she whispered. “We weren’t even close enough for him to technically abandon me. Now will you leave?”
His shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry, Abbie,” he murmured. Then he extended his arms slowly like he intended to hold her.
She pushed them away, heels digging into the carpet as the pain rising in her chest threatened to take her down. “Don’t touch me. Didn’t you hear what I just said?”
His hands were gentle when he brought her to his chest. She pushed against him with her fists.
“I know I promised I wouldn’t touch you, but you need to know you’re loveable right now.” His body cradled hers. “You need to know this doesn’t change anything.”
She pounded his chest. Once. Twice. “Dammit! Leave me alone.”
His face pressed into her neck. “No, I love you. I’m glad you told me. It just makes me love you more. I knew someone had taken advantage of you, but I didn’t kno
w it was this bad. I want to tear him apart, limb by limb, and then leave him alive for the buzzards to finish off.”
She pressed her forehead against his collarbone, silently thinking, Please don’t let me go. “Mac already did that.”
His hands caressed her spine, making the gentle up and down motions a parent used to soothe a child. “Good.”
She jerked her head back, eyes frantically searching his. “You can’t tell Dustin.”
His face softened. “I’d never do that.”
“Now can you see why this won’t work?” One tear slid down, ruining her insistence.
His finger stroked her cheek. “No, I don’t. You think I don’t want you now that I know? That’s bull. It doesn’t change anything. My dad beat the crap out of me before he left. Do you think that makes me less of a man?”
Her lip trembled. “Of course not. I didn’t know.”
His exhalation feathered her bangs. “It’s not exactly something I talk about. That’s why Mac and I first became friends. We knew each other. Both of us got into poker to get out of a bad situation.”
She sniffed, her whole chest filled with the burning need to cry—for him, for her, for them.
His shoulder lifted. “Sometimes you have to face the past. Say bullshit to the ghost.”
Her mouth tried to smile. “Bullshit.” And in that moment, she knew he was right. The past didn’t matter. The ghost disappeared.
He pulled her against him again. “Yeah, bullshit. Christ, I love you, Abs.”
The words burned on her lips. She pressed them together so she wouldn’t utter them. Once she did, there would be no recanting. Was she ready for that? She needed to think things through. She’d never let herself imagine he’d do something other than walk away when he found out the full truth, saying, see ya, you’re a bit more than I bargained for.
“Mom!” Dustin yelled.
She jumped a few inches. Eased back. Smoothed her jacket down. Took a minute before answering. “Yes, honey?”
“There’s a dead roach under your bed. I am so not picking it up.”
“Don’t be a wuss. It’s dead!” Rhett fired back.
Dustin emerged at the top of the stairs, a full–on grimace in place. “I said I’d dust. Not exterminate.”
