Secrets Gone South (Crimson Romance)

by Pace, Alicia Hunter

  But maybe she was afraid he would be; maybe she knew more about his childhood than he thought. And maybe she was right. The thought was like an ice pick in his heart. Didn’t most people model their parenting after their own parents? His father had never hit him. That would have entailed noticing him. What if Will turned out like that? He’d been so insistent to Arabelle—and himself—that he would be a good father that he’d never really thought it through. Right now it was easy to put Avery first. Not only was he little and cute, this was new. What would happen in a few months or a few years when the novelty wore off and Avery hit an annoying stage? Or even if that didn’t happen, what if he became obsessed with a project, as obsessed as his own father had been with liquor? It had happened before. There were times when there was nothing in his world but the wood and what it would become in his hands. He would forget to eat, bathe, or sleep until he woke up with his head on his workbench and his tools on the floor. And then he’d just pick up where he left off. What if Avery ran to him wanting help with his homework or to show him a picture he’d drawn? At such times, it was possible that he wouldn’t even hear the boy. What if Avery walked away, hurt because the man who’d promised he’d always be there for him had ceased to be interested?

  Was there anything worse?

  Yes. There was something worse. That realization slapped him in the face and cold moved through his bones—what if Arabelle wasn’t back because there had been an accident?

  He grabbed his keys and took the stairs two at time to the back door—just in time to see Arabelle pull into her parking spot.

  He wanted to run to her, jerk her into his arms, and make her promise to never leave him, never have a wreck, never scare him again.

  Instead, he opened her door and barked, “Where have you been?”

  “Shh.” She put her fingers to her lips. “Avery’s asleep.”

  Will looked over her shoulder. His little head was bent to the side and he was smiling a good dreams smile around his pacifier. What was that all over his face and clothes? Chocolate? It looked too close to blood for comfort.

  “Where have you been?” he demanded again.

  “The grocery store.” Her blue eyes were wide and she looked perplexed. “We needed food.”

  “Did we? Did you ever think to call me? Or answer your phone? I thought you were coming straight here.”

  “My phone didn’t ring.” She frowned and pulled the phone from her pocket. “Looks like I turned it off by accident. And I was coming straight here but then I began to think about dinner and I realized—”

  Will cut her off. “How was I to know you didn’t just take off? Go to some foreign country and change your name?”

  Her eyes went cold. “You don’t know. I guess you’ll never know.” She pushed him aside and got out of the car. “I am telling you here and now, Will, that I will never take him from you again. But, then, I could change my mind. You think we’re at the library? I could be halfway to Canada before the puppet show starts. Just keep guessing and keep worrying.” She went around and opened the back door. “And so will I.”

  He should let it go but the sight of Avery covered in all that chocolate that looked so much like blood coupled with the fear that was still swirling around him wouldn’t let him be reasonable. He had to make sure she never scared him like this again.

  “You didn’t call because you wanted me to worry. You wanted to bring home just one more time how you’ve been wronged.”

  She paused. “Yeah. That’s it.” And she bent into the backseat and unfastened Avery from the car seat. Then she turned and gave him a deadly stare. “No arguing in front of Avery. I mean it, Will. Do you remember what happened when we argued in front of him at the diner?”

  He did remember and he felt ashamed. The last thing he wanted to do was cause the boy distress. “Let me get him,” Will said. “I can hold him steadier and maybe he won’t wake up.”

  She considered it for a moment but backed off with a nod and started to unload bags of groceries.

  Why did he keep doing this? Why did they? Once upstairs, he laid Avery in his crib on his stomach and patted his back until he settled. He’d seen Arabelle do that. Worked like a charm. He found an extra pacifier and put it near his hand. Now for Jiffy. He retrieved the toy from his jacket pocket but hesitated at putting it in the crib. Avery was sure to get chocolate all over him and that wouldn’t be good. He put him on the dresser and headed back downstairs.

  He met Arabelle outside the door with what must have been her second load of groceries.

  “I’ll get the rest,” he said. “And then I’ll bring up your bags.”

  She nodded but she didn’t meet his eyes. She had bought enough food to feed a football team for a week. No wonder it had taken her so long. While he’d been going out of his mind she’d been fussing over yogurt flavors and considering the fat content of crackers. There was no way she hadn’t done it on purpose. If he was fuming the third time he made the trip up the stairs, by the time he hauled the last of the Publix bags into the kitchen two trips later, he was livid. If he’d been unloading groceries in the woods, there would be no stairs to the kitchen.

  Maybe after he finished unloading, he’d go back out to the woods for a while. His hand was healing so well that Arabelle (the doctor, not the wife) had said he could get back to work if he was careful. He’d work on the music stand for a couple of hours while Avery napped. That would soothe him.

  And he was going right now. Her bags and his stuff could wait until he got back. He’d made enough trips up those stairs for now. But he’d be more courteous than Arabelle had been. He would tell her where he was going and when she could expect him back.

  It was when he went into the kitchen, where she was unpacking groceries, to impart that information that he saw it—the five kinds of cheese, the tofu, the assortment of high protein organic grains, the bags of dried beans—all on the counter waiting to be put away.

  All his breath left his body. She’d bought this stuff for him. All the fight went out of him. She didn’t look up from where she was arranging bananas and apples in a fruit basket. Just the same, he caught a glimpse of her face. In the past few days he’d seen anger, indifference, and frustration on that face, but never hurt until now, and he had put it there. He leaned heavily on the counter and hung his head.

  “It isn’t true, you know,” she said in a small voice. He looked up but she did not. “I just wanted to make a meal for us—vegetarian chili that we could all eat.”

  “Arabelle … ”

  “I’m not a great cook,” she said with a watery little laugh. “But I thought it sounded pretty easy. Canned tomatoes and beans. Frozen corn. Even a little pumpkin, but the recipe said you can’t taste it.”

  He took a step toward her. “I’m the biggest ass who ever lived.”

  She looked up and met his eyes. “We’re a fine pair in that regard.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I was afraid—”

  “I know.” She nodded. “You were afraid I took him. I won’t do that. And I believe that you won’t do it either. So can we just not fight about that anymore?”

  He nodded. He ought to tell her, ought to admit that while abduction had crossed his mind, his real fear had been that they were lying dead in a ditch somewhere—his son before he got a chance to really be a father and his wife before he could make her love him. But all that stuck in his throat.

  Instead, he took her in his arms for what was supposed to be a comforting make-up hug but immediately he caught fire with her pressed against him. And her gasp of surprise and the way she relaxed into him told him that she was right there with him. He bent his face to her neck and lifted her slightly so she could feel his rising erection. He fought to keep his breathing even but it was hard, breathing her citrus and spice scent and feeling her creamy skin.

  She moved against him and dropped the apple she’d been holding. It landed with a thud and split open.

  They both laughed smoky lit
tle laughs.

  “Applesauce by passion,” he muttered against her ear.

  “I’m a better cook than I thought. I can make applesauce.”

  “Come here.” He raised her face and took charge of her mouth like he had a right. He was going to finish the kiss they’d started at the wedding. This might be his only chance and he was going to make her remember it. She opened up for him—her mouth, her legs, and maybe just a little of herself. Maybe not, but he’d work on that.

  She was so soft, so sweet, all he’d ever wanted, and all he knew he’d never have. But here she was in his arms, rising to her toes, pressing against him, so close, so with him in the moment …

  He moved his lips from her collarbone to just below her ear. Hmm. If he let his hands slide down and cup her bottom, he could lift her to the edge of the counter and lean in just so and—

  “Mama!”

  Good God! The voice was coming from the kitchen counter. How had Avery gotten there without them noticing? They jumped apart.

  “I need Jifffffyyyyy!” Oh. There was a baby monitor there by the coffee maker.

  “Coming, baby!” And she was off in a run.

  Hard to say if she was running from him or toward Avery. So much for finishing that kiss.

  • • •

  As she entered Avery’s room, Arabelle heard the apartment door close. So Will was leaving? They’d had a “moment” and maybe he wasn’t any more ready for it than she was.

  Or was she? Would he come to her bed tonight? Come to think of it, would he even come back from wherever it was he was off to?

  “Jiffy!” Avery was sitting up in the crib crying.

  “It’s okay, sweetie.” She lifted Avery into her arms. “Jiffy’s not gone.” Or was he? Gone like Will. Maybe they had run off together. Maybe Jiffy had come to life and Will was riding him down Main Street, hanging on to his big, long, giraffe neck.

  Avery hiccupped and reached his hand out. “Jiffy.”

  She turned to where he was pointing.

  “See, I told you. He’s waiting for you on the dresser.” She looked down. Chocolate on her sweater, chocolate on the sheets, chocolate in Avery’s hair. “Better get you cleaned up a little before Jiffy comes to see you. Daddy didn’t wipe your hands and face before he put you down, did he?”

  “Yes!” Now that he had spotted Jiffy again, he was happy. It was a gift to be able to go from sad to completely blissful in a mere breath.

  She stripped his clothes and threw them into the hamper. That was one expensive outfit that would never see the light of day again. The wet diaper went in the Diaper Genie. “Did Aunt Lanie give you a bath this morning?” she asked as she ran a washcloth over his face and attempted to get the worst of the chocolate out of his hair. This would do for now.

  “I don’ know.”

  “You don’t know if you went in the bathtub?” She kissed his tummy.

  “I splash with John Luke!”

  “I’ll bet you did.” Though that still didn’t tell her when. Not that it mattered. He had a bath coming tonight.

  Ah, the apartment door opened and there were footsteps. So Will hadn’t left after all. He stuck his head in the door. “I’ve got your bags. Do you want them in your bedroom?”

  Her eyes went straight to his mouth—that mouth that had so recently been on hers. Hard and soft all at the same time. Hot. Sweet. Hard in other places too. She wondered if he still was.

  “Arabelle? Bedroom?”

  What? Now? But no. He was holding up her suitcase, with a question in his eyes.

  “Uh, yes,” she managed to get out. “That in the bedroom but my cosmetic bag in the bathroom, if you don’t mind.”

  “Daddy!” Avery squealed and scrambled to the side of the crib.

  Will’s face morphed into pure joy. He dropped her bags and made his way to the crib. “Where are your clothes, son? We can’t go running around naked in front of the ladies.”

  Avery laughed and reached for his little penis.

  “Oh, you’ve found it, I see. Don’t let it rule your life. We better get you a diaper.” Will crossed to the changing table and came back with a pull-up.

  “He never used to do that,” Arabelle said, not quite hiding her laughter. “I think you taught it to him.”

  “Yep.” Will bit his lip as he fought Avery, who had decided he liked his naked state, into the diaper. “He and I are going to take a little trip down to New Orleans soon. Gonna show him the sites on Bourbon Street.”

  Will lifted him from the crib and hugged him. “Here, go to your mama. She’s better with all the little snaps and gewgaws.”

  “Play trucks!” Avery demanded.

  “Not half naked,” Will said. “We have to comport ourselves like gentlemen. That means wearing a shirt in polite company.” And he turned and gave her a smile. “Right, Mama?”

  I wouldn’t mind if you took yours off. “Right.” Mind out of the gutter. “What do you say I get him dressed and I’ll put the chili on while you two play trucks?”

  “Am I still getting that after the way I acted?” he asked.

  “Don’t be too glad about it yet,” she said lightly as she retrieved a clean t-shirt and corduroy overalls from Avery’s closet. “I can sew up a wound better than I can cook.”

  “I’ll take my chances.”

  “Jiffy!” Avery demanded and kicked the bars of his crib.

  “He never used to kick,” Arabelle said.

  • • •

  It was later when she was in the kitchen cooking dinner, with the sounds of Will and Avery playing coming from the living room, that Arabelle decided that staying in the apartment for now was a good thing. It might have come about because of spite but the things she had said about not moving Avery and the convenience were valid. Avery was happy in his own environment. She and Will might be moving toward some kind of truce, settling in with each other. That was going to be hard enough without the chaos of moving. Will had brought a few things in—a duffle, his laptop case, a canvas bag with tools, and some books. He’d left them in the hall, probably because he didn’t know where to put them—in her bedroom or the little room with the twin bed at the end of the hall.

  After this afternoon, she didn’t know where to tell him to put them either. They had slept together last night with no sex and maybe that’s what he intended. Or maybe that’s what he thought she intended. Or maybe they would have sex. They would have last night if she hadn’t stopped it. She wasn’t one who usually liked to just wait and see what would happen but how could they have a frank discussion when she didn’t even know what to say?

  • • •

  Arabelle called from the kitchen, “Dinner’s ready.” It smelled good too, spicy and warm. Except warm didn’t really have a smell, did it?

  “Come on, pal,” he said to Avery. “Are you ready for some food?”

  “Jiffy a hungry boy.”

  “Well, bring him. Maybe we can find some hay out there.” He swung the boy into his arms.

  “Jiffy not eat hay! Jiffy eat candy!”

  “I have a feeling Jiffy has had all the candy he’s getting today. Or maybe for this year.”

  Inside the kitchen, he stopped short. He shouldn’t have been surprised to see the placemats, the matching dishes, and the cloth napkins, but he was.

  “What’s wrong?” Arabelle asked as she poured milk into a sippy cup and iced tea into tall goblets.

  “Nothing.” He settled Avery into his highchair.

  “Could you put a bib on him?” Arabelle asked. She was cutting up a lemon for the tea and putting the slices in a pretty little bowl. “They’re in the top right hand drawer.”

  “Sure.” He found a stack of clean bibs and tied one around Avery’s neck.

  “Sit,” Arabelle said, depositing the drinks and lemon on the table.

  He hesitated. The table was round. There was no head and he wasn’t sure if there had been, if that would have been his place. He sat in the chair nearest him. There was a s
alad in front of him with cucumber, mushrooms, tomatoes, and cauliflower. It looked like art.

  Arabelle put a small plate of cut up raw vegetables in front of Avery and took her seat.

  “The salad’s pretty,” he said. The food he’d grown up with had not been pretty. It had been cans of ravioli, ham sandwiches on white bread, and cereal that you fixed yourself. Sometimes his mother would make a pot of stew or a pan of chicken casserole but you were still on your own when it came to eating.

  Arabelle laughed. “Nobody makes a better salad than I do. I am the grand champion of salad makers. We’ll see how it goes with the chili. Is Italian all right?” She put her napkin in her lap and passed him a glass bowl of salad dressing. She hadn’t made it. The bottle was on the counter. But she had gone to some effort to make it nice, maybe just because it was their first night here.

  “Do you eat like this all the time?” he asked.

  “Like what?” she asked with a frown. “Believe me, Will, this is no gourmet meal.”

  “No, I mean here.” He gestured to the table. “At the table together. With the napkins and all?”

  “Well, yes. Where else would we eat?” She looked at him intently.

  “I don’t know. I guess it made sense at Luke and Lanie’s today. Sunday lunch and the grandparents in. I just didn’t know—” He was giving too much of himself away. Maybe she wouldn’t pick up on it.

  No such luck. “Will, didn’t you sit down with your family to eat when you were growing up?”

  “No.” The table was always piled high with mail, groceries that hadn’t been put away, and liquor bottles. He picked up a slice of cucumber from Avery’s plate and put it in his mouth. “My dad worked shift work. We ate at different times. We were usually on our own.”