by Lila Ashe
“Kind of like you,” said Caz quietly.
Bonnie looked at him as he leaned against an old, dark bureau. He’d been watching as she talked, his crystalline eyes intently focused on her.
Caz spoke again. “You’re lying to him.”
“I’m not.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Good looking?”
Bonnie felt color heat her cheeks and she lowered her voice to a whisper even though it felt rude to do so in Tony Lloyd’s presence. “I think he is. Look at those high cheekbones.” She spoke directly to Tony then. “Don’t listen to him. You’ve had a better shave today than your son has. He’s all stubble, but I can tell you’re a man who’s always taken care of himself.”
“He was,” said Caz in a low voice. “He really was. Can you…”
“What?”
Caz looked at the ground and then met her eyes directly. “I hate lies.”
“Caz, I’m not—”
“But can you keep talking to him like that for a little while longer?”
Bonnie blinked in confusion. “Okay?”
“It sounds…nice.”
“Okay, then.”
Caz took a hesitant step forward and then, confusingly, he folded his arms and pressed his back against the bureau again. He nodded, as if to give her permission.
Bonnie smiled. She might not know much about what to do with Caz, who sent windmills whirling in her stomach and made her ache in a way she didn’t understand, but she knew how to talk to a man locked inside his own body, a man who’d barely moved since they’d entered the room.
She scooted an inch sideways so she was more firmly planted on the bed. “I hope you don’t mind me sitting here with you, sir. Your son Caz is…I’ve…enjoyed getting to know him a little better. I told him just the other day that a man with such a big personality like his had to have had a strong father at home.” She’d said no such thing. “I know you don’t feel like talking right now. If that changes, you just let me know, okay? In the meantime, I’ll just tell you a little bit about my family. My maternal grandmother—maybe you knew her? Hazel Lake? She was a good woman. And the way she ended up in Darling Bay involved a pig in a wheelbarrow, if you can believe that…”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Caz watched.
He listened.
Bonnie spun a tale about a baby pig that fell out of a wheelbarrow on a road her grandmother was bicycling (maybe two wheels ran in the blood). The story included a dinghy that sank, and a man with silver eyes who saved her grandmother from drowning, and something about a lightning storm and a bag of oranges, or maybe it was lemons. Caz felt as if maybe he were the one with Alzheimer’s. He couldn’t remember where the story was going or why she was telling it. But when she said, a light lilt in her voice, “Can you believe it? A moth that blocked the whole moon!” he felt his mouth curve into a smile.
More incredible than the story, though, was the fact that Tony Lloyd opened his eyes. He looked right at the blonde sitting on the edge of his bed, his eyes focusing on her as if he saw her. As if he recognized her.
And then, miracle of all miracles, he smiled at her.
Taking care of an Alzheimer’s patient at this stage often felt like taking care of a baby. There wasn’t much rhyme or reason to any of the sounds they made. They couldn’t control their limbs or their bodily functions. Their smiles could just as easily be gas.
But the smile on his father’s face now was his father’s old smile, the one he reserved for when he was happy with a horse’s recovery, or when he laid down a full house.
Tony smiled at Bonnie. He always had liked blondes.
Bonnie smiled back, and it struck a low bell inside Caz, a tone that rang through his entire frame. A tone he recognized, somehow.
Bonnie took his father’s hand, pressing it between her own. She leaned forward and said, “Well, hello there, handsome. You’re going to be just fine, aren’t you?”
Something lit in Caz’s father’s eyes. Something he hadn’t seen in a long time. Was it…hope? That couldn’t be…she shouldn’t…
Bonnie said it again, “You’re going to be fine. A strong man like you, I see where Caz gets it from. Now I’m going to tell you the rest of the story, okay?”
She kept spinning her tale of runaway pigs and red bicycles, and within a few minutes, his father was snoring softly, the way he did most of the day now.
Joyce put her head around the corner, and her eyes lit with surprise to see Bonnie on the bed. “Oh! Isn’t this something? You put him to sleep for me?”
Bonnie’s tale over, she slid sideways, careful to stand up from the bed without jostling Tony. “I’m so glad I met you,” she whispered touching Tony’s cheek with the back of her fingers.
Something inside Caz splintered, something he wasn’t sure he’d be able to sand away or fix with wood glue.
The thing was, Caz could tell she really was glad. She was happy she’d just spent thirty minutes with a man who only looked at her once. And even though she’d done her usual lying to a patient (You’ll be fine, you’ll be great), instead of being angry with her, his chest felt expansive. Grateful. Warm.
The very least he could do was cook for her.
He took her hand, ignoring her look of surprise. He led her through the house, out the back door and across the grassy area between the two houses. The sunset, red and orange at its heart, was starting to pale to coral on the edges.
Bonnie stopped, putting her head back. “Look at that view. You can’t see the ocean from here, but it doesn’t matter much, does it?”
“Incredible,” Caz said. He wasn’t looking at the sky.
In the kitchen of the cottage, he said, “Sit,” pointing at the barstool on the opposite side of a wooden island he’d built the winter the old maple came down. What was that, four years ago now? That had been the first Christmas he’d known something was really wrong with his father, the first time he thought he might have to move home. “Wine?”
“Sure,” she said. “What can I help with?”
“You can just sit there. You’ve done enough.” He straightened from reaching for the bottle opener. “You’ve done…” His brain whirred and stalled. He didn’t have the words he wanted. “You’re…”
“Bossy? Pushy? Annoying? I’ve heard all those this week, and that was only from my mother.”
“Amazing.”
Bonnie went all pink again. Caz loved it.
It was so different for her.
In a crisis, she was calm. Her head was in just the right place. Last week, when the seventeen-year-old skateboarder had landed in the gutter, giving himself a double compound fracture, she’d never paused chatting to the kid while they loaded him. She was able to treat and talk at the same time, all the while calming a kid who was almost out of his mind from shock and pain. Right now, though? She looked totally flummoxed, as if he’d gotten her drunk and then asked her to solve word problems with a pen and no calculator.
He worked fast. It was a simple dinner, the kind he made himself all the time. He led her outside to the deck and while she sat on the porch swing, he grilled the steak. He threw together a quick green salad, and brought out some bread and butter fresh from the Johnson’s dairy down the road. He added salt and pepper to the small table on the edge of the deck and brought out two cloth napkins, just to cover all his bases. Almost full dark, he added a brass camping lantern that gave a low, companionable hiss.
“Fancy,” she said, holding up her napkin to the yellow light. “The embroidered flowers are sweet. My mother would love these. Do you know who did it?”
He cleared his throat. “My dad.”
“Really?”
“My mom split on us. He kind of took on everything. Some things he was better at than others. He would sew—embroider, I guess—in the evenings while we watched TV. Said it relaxed him. I think it helped wreck his eyes, but I will say that it was one of his last skills to go. He lost the motor skills to undo his own pants, but he could stil
l stitch a flower like it was a contest.”
“Do you embroider?” Her voice was a flirt. A tease. He wanted to cup his hand around the back of her neck and draw her in for a kiss that was hard and deep.
Caz paused. He wasn’t a good liar.
“You do,” she guessed.
He sawed at the edge of the steak he’d charred a bit too much. “I wanted to be just like my dad. What’s a kid gonna do?”
“That’s the most adorable thing I ever heard.”
Caz mock-glared at her. “I’m not adorable. I’m tough.”
“Sure. Embroiderer.”
“I build houses.” He held up his hands. “With these.”
He expected her to laugh, but instead she said earnestly, like she wanted to know, “Really? How?”
“How?” he repeated.
“Like, from scratch? Or do you mean you hire someone and then you help? Or do you just paint at the end?”
Caz felt warmth spread through him. “From scratch. We built most of this place, my dad and me. And…my cabin up north is almost done.”
“Everything,” she clarified. “Like, you put in the windows and the countertops? The electricity, too?”
“Yep. I did everything myself, with some help from a couple of guys when I needed manpower with things that were too heavy for just one person.”
Bonnie cupped her chin in her hands. “You love it. That’s why you whittle all the time.”
He shrugged. “I guess.”
“When will you finish the cabin?”
The skin on his arms felt chilled. “When I can.”
“Your dad.”
Caz tried to smile. “A lot depends.” Who was this woman who made him talk? Who made him tell her the important things? Why did he want to tell her more? Why did he want to tell her everything? He wanted to explain the beams that ran under this cottage, and he wanted to tell her the dream he’d had about her the night before, the one he could barely remember now, except that it had warmed him to his fingertips. “So,” he said. “You gonna tell the guys?”
“About what?”
“The embroidery.”
Bonnie grinned. “Of course I am.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“How are you going to stop me?”
It was a challenge. A direct one. There was nothing for him to do but stand and walk the two short steps around the small table. Bonnie looked up at him, and the question in her eyes was gratifyingly replaced by understanding. He sunk his fingers into the back of her hair and leaned down, kissing her the way he’d wanted to since she first skidded her bike to that short, quick stop in front of the house.
It was, perhaps, the only thing he’d ever wanted to do. Maybe the thing he was born to do.
Her hand wrapped around his wrist and gripped him so tightly it almost hurt. He wanted her to touch him like that everywhere. She stood, sliding her body along the length of his, never breaking the kiss. Her lips were hot and sweet, and he dimly heard her fork clatter to the deck at their feet. Dinner was forgotten. Nothing mattered but the way her tongue slid against his, the way her breathing speeded up, the way he could feel her pulse racing when his fingers feathered her throat. His heart was beating just as fast, juddering under his shirt.
Caz sucked her bottom lip lightly. Her arm wrapped around his neck and he felt her small breasts push against his chest. “Caz.”
“Mad.”
There was no annoyance in her eyes at the nickname, just the fire of desire. “Take me to bed,” she said.
“But,” he said, raking his teeth against the soft skin at her jaw and then sliding his tongue up to her ear. “What about dessert?”
“What kind of dessert?” she said, her lips finding his again.
Against her mouth, he said, “Strawberry shortcake. First berries of the season.”
She dug her fingernails into the skin of his arms as his tongue teased its way down toward the soft hollow at the base of her throat. Her scent, peaches and soap, was intoxicating, making him feel weightless and almost dizzy. He kissed his way back to her mouth just as she said, “Whipped cream?”
Two words had never been sexier, he decided. “Naturally.”
“You’d better bring it to bed with us. Just in case.”
He laughed out loud, the sound of his happiness soaring to meet the starlight overhead.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Bonnie’s grandmother used to knit everywhere she went. She stuck the sock she was always working on into whatever purse or bag was handiest, the ball of yarn inevitably getting tangled in among the pens and Tylenol bottles and individually wrapped Life Savers. Bonnie was the most accomplished at untangling the mess, and they spent hours together, tracking where the yarn’s tail went, tracing the ball along its path.
When Bonnie woke in Caz’s arms, she felt like that ball of yarn. If she drew her arm from under his side, then she’d have to extricate her leg which was pinned somehow between him and the wall. Her hair was stuck under his pillow and his other arm was clamped firmly around her.
She’d never felt safer in her whole life. Not that she spent a lot of time feeling unsafe—she knew how to take care of herself. She’d never minded sleeping alone. In fact, she loved waking and rolling over in her big bed at home, splaying her arms and legs, letting her feet hang over the end, with no one in her way. She never gave herself a cramp being stuck in one position when she slept alone.
That said, muscle cramps and all, this was better. Somehow, even as uncomfortable as she was, this was better than being comfortable in her own spacious (and very empty) bed.
“Hi,” Caz said into her hair.
She jumped. “Holy crap.”
A low laugh was all she heard, his chest rumbling. As his arms tightened around her, she shimmied in closer. “How long have you been awake?” she asked.
“Just long enough to…” A pause. “For me to feel happy.”
Bonnie felt something melt inside her, right around her knees. “Oh.”
Caz took her hand and held it in the air with his own. “Look how small your hand is.” He compared them over their heads, pressing his fingers along hers.
“I have my mother’s hands. And my father’s feet. Long toes.”
Another rumble of laughter. “I bet I like those toes, too, but your hand doesn’t require me to move to inspect.”
He could inspect just about anything right now and Bonnie wouldn’t mind. The warmth of him was keeping her drowsy, even though small flutters of excitement shot through her as he twined his fingers again with hers.
“You were good last night,” Caz said.
She blinked and grinned. “Well, thank you.”
He kissed the tip of her thumb. “No, well, yeah, but I mean with my dad. The way you talked to him.”
“Oh. Of course.” She loved the warmth that pooled through her.
“Did you know you talk in your sleep?”
“Uh-oh.”
“Uh-huh.”
“What did I say?”
His lips pressed against her temple. “It didn’t make much sense. Something about Caz and a pig in a wheelbarrow. Oh, and how you just had the best sex you’ve ever had in your life.”
“Well, that makes sense.”
Caz drew back, that slow, sexy smile wide on his mouth. “I’m just teasing.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Sugar, you don’t have to flatter me.”
“I’m not.” She stretched, reaching her arms over her head and pressing her fingertips to the headboard. “It’s the first time I’ve ever had sex at all. So of course it was the best.”
Bonnie felt Caz still, his muscles going rigid.
“You’re not serious.”
She felt a giggle rise in her chest, but she kept her face still and opened her eyes wide. She blinked once, slowly, keeping her gaze on his. “Should I have told you?”
Caz made a small sputtering sound. “Your first time? That was your first time?” His arms tightened ar
ound her, and she was in the biggest bear hug of her life. “Sugar. Oh, love, did I hurt you? You should have told me.”
The word love sent a shiver through her, and for the life of her, Bonnie couldn’t tell what kind of shiver it was. She’d only been teasing. A silly joke, that’s all it had been. “Okay, maybe it wasn’t my first time.” She gave a grin, hoping he’d guffaw and match it.
But he didn’t.
“Wait. So it wasn’t your first…I’m confused.”
“Kidding! I’m thirty-one, come on.” Bonnie shouldn’t press the joke, she knew she shouldn’t, but she couldn’t help teasing him a little more. “I can’t believe you fell for that. That’s hilarious.”
Caz shot backward. From being enveloped by him, to being alone on her side of the bed in mere seconds. “It’s what?”
Bonnie scooted to get closer to him again, her skin suddenly chilled. “I was teasing.”
“Why would you…? That’s…” His face darkened, his eyebrows drawing together. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
Worry crept along her bare arms, colder than the chill. “Caz.”
“I don’t get how that’s a joke. Do you ever say anything you actually mean?”
“That’s not fair—”
“Nothing you said to my dad was true last night. And I fell for it.” He shook his head as if to clear it. “Nothing you say at the firehouse ever means anything. It’s all joking with you. Even with patients. When they’re scared, you just brush them off.”
