by Candis Terry
“Oh, you’ll take more than one thing. Guaranteed.”
For the next two hours Emma engaged in chair games and methods of repetition, learning the importance of touch and patience. And by the time she sat on the floor across from a little girl named Heather, Emma had learned the importance of sign language for communication. Within minutes of sitting down on an orange and yellow butterfly pillow, she and little Heather were laughing. Emma learned that equally as important as sign language, sounds and facial expressions were key. The more these children could communicate, the less frustration they would face.
At the end of the day, Emma waved goodbye and walked toward her car with a smile on her face. Tomorrow when she returned to her own class, she was going to ignore the school superintendent who had told her to put Brenden Jones at the back of the class. She would put the boy at the front where she could incorporate all the lessons she’d learned. Her solitary goal by the time the bell rang would be to see Brenden laugh and to tell her goodbye in sign.
She turned and took another look at the school, and an exhilarating sense of accomplishment danced before her eyes.
This was what she was meant to do. To help children with needs.
And in that thought she realized that though they were miles apart on many other things, on this issue, she and Dean were very much alike.
At half past four a few days later, Dean stood beside his sister in the Sugar Shack, scooping measured amounts of cherry-chocolate cupcake batter into bake cups. His father had taken a coffee break at one of the bistro sets with a few of his hunting buddies. And from the radio perched on a shelf above the mixer, Dierks Bentley sang a song asking if he was the only one. That’d be a big hell no, cowboy.
“Thanks for the offer to help me get these Valentine’s orders filled.” Kate squeezed pink icing down into a pastry bag. “Chelsea, my usual helper, has a report due in Honors Civics tomorrow.”
“No problem. I didn’t have anything else going on.”
“Really?” She looked up from the small heart she had piped onto the bright red icing of a chocolate caramel cupcake. “With all that shoulder rehabbing, and charity planning, and organizing stuff you have to do?”
Out of mere frustration he’d overdone it with his workout. Tomorrow he’d pay. Today he was paying for something else. “The plans have stalled.”
“Why?”
“Because . . . we lost a board member.”
Kate’s hand dropped to the counter with a clunk. “What the hell did you do now?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Of course you don’t. You’re a man. Men don’t talk. They grunt and groan and piss and moan, but God forbid they tell you what they’re really thinking.”
“Trouble in newlywed paradise?”
“No. I’m talking about you, you big dork.” She pushed her hand against his chest, leaving a flour print on his green apron. “You’ve been moping around all day and just now you’re telling me that everything for Mom’s organization has come to a halt because we lost a member? Since everyone else is related, the only member we could have lost is Emma. So what did you do to piss her off?”
“You don’t have a very high opinion of me, do you, Kate?” He set down the scoop, and batter oozed over the sides onto the counter. “I’m your big brother. You’re supposed to think of me fondly. Don’t you know I’ve got people all over the place who admire the hell out of me?”
She ignored his sarcasm. “Yeah, well they don’t know you snore like a freight train and that you picked your nose when you were a kid.”
He shook his head. Leave it to Kate to cut right to the heart of things and knock his sometimes over-inflated ego down to the size of a sunflower seed.
“So what did you do?” she asked again.
“Nothing.”
Kate threw the pastry tube down on the counter. “All right. That’s it. I’m calling her.” She grabbed her cell from the pocket of her apron.
The bell over the door jingled. He looked up and placed his hand over Kate’s. “No need,” he said, as Emma walked into the bakery, her arms loaded down with books and a laptop. His father got up to greet her and she gave his dad an easy smile that pumped blood faster through Dean’s heart.
He watched as she set her books down, slid her coat down her arms, then scooted up onto a bistro chair.
“Oh goody.” Kate dropped her cell back into the pocket of her apron. “Now I can ask her in person.”
Dean gave his sister his bullshit glare, the one he used on the field when he tried to mess with someone’s concentration. “Let it go, Kate. Believe me, the last name on earth she wants to hear is mine.”
“Then maybe you should go hide in the storeroom until she leaves. Take the cowardly route.”
“I’m not hiding.”
“But the thought crossed your mind.”
“No.” Yes.
“What is the big deal, Dean?”
“She hates me.”
“ ‘Hate’ is a strong word. Maybe she just thinks you’re pond scum.”
“Nope.” He shoved the tools he’d been working with off the counter and into the stainless sink.
“Sounds serious.” Kate tossed a glance at Emma, who hadn’t noticed them yet. Then his sister dug her icing-coated fingers into his sleeve, dragged him into the office, and shut the door. She folded her arms. “So what’s going on between the two of you?”
“Like you don’t know? You’re her friend. I’m sure she’s already told you everything.”
“Apparently you don’t know Emma as well as you think you do. She doesn’t talk much about her personal life.”
“She doesn’t talk much or at all?”
“Much. We talk about general girl stuff. But believe me, your name has not come up in conversation once. And if I wasn’t your sister and didn’t see the way you two look at each other, I’d be clueless as to what’s got your tighty-whiteys in a twist.”
“Do you know who her mother is?”
“Everyone knows who her mother is, Dean. And nobody cares. Emma is a nice person. She’s a good friend. And she’s done a lot for the kids in this community. How could you not love her?”
He wasn’t sure he didn’t.
Last night after she’d left, his instinct had been to go after her, wrap her in his arms, and kiss away her doubt. He always got his way and he’d initially thought he could sway her into his way of thinking. But Emma was too smart to be sweet-talked into something she didn’t believe or didn’t want to do.
“If she doesn’t talk about her personal life much then I’m not going to betray her privacy and talk about anything between me and her,” he said to Kate.
“Sure.” Kate smacked him in the arm. “Be respectful for the first time in your life.” Then Kate gasped and backed up a step. “Oh my God, you’re in love with her.”
“Come on, you know me better than that. I don’t do love.” So what was that crazy thing going on in his chest?
“Yeah, yeah. That’s what I thought and look what happened to me. Pffft. Crazy in love. Go figure.”
“This has nothing to do with love, Kate. Something happened. A . . . misunderstanding. That’s all.”
Kate folded her arms across her flour-splattered apron and stared up at him for a good long, uncomfortable, mom-like moment. Then she raised her hands and shook her head. “I don’t want to know. The least you can do is apologize.” She opened the office door, went to the display case, slid a slice of mocha cheesecake onto a plate, and handed it to him with a cup of coffee.
“Here.” She handed him the food. “This is her absolute favorite. She can hardly hate you if you show up with a peace offering.”
He doubted even a truckload of cheesecake would get him back in her good graces. But he took the order anyway.
Emma looked up as he approached her table.
“Hi.” Holy crap. He felt like a middle-schooler with a crush.
“Hi.”
“I brought
you your favorite.” He set the dish and cup down and slid a fork and napkin beside the plate.
“Thanks.”
Even in a simple pair of jeans and a pullover, she looked so amazing his eyes stung. When a thanks was all she offered, he sat down in the chair across from her. He didn’t care that his sister stood behind the counter glaring at him like he was plotting to blow up the Sugar Shack. Or that his father and his hunting entourage were two tables away chatting about the ten-point buck they’d get next season.
He needed to make things right with Emma.
“So is this how it’s going to be between us now, Em? Brief pleasantries as if we’re strangers?” God, he hoped not.
“You won’t be here long.” She pushed aside her classroom planner and lifted the coffee cup to her beautiful mouth. Her soft lips pursed over the rim as she took a sip before she returned the cup to the table. “So I’d say that should work for the duration.”
“I don’t want it to be this way, honey. I’m sorry. For whatever it is you think I did or said or didn’t do, I’m truly sorry.”
One slight shoulder lifted beneath the soft pink sweater. “I appreciate that.”
“But?”
“It doesn’t matter anymore.” She leaned back and twisted the napkin in her hands. “I’ve forgiven myself for being so foolish back then. And I’ve forgiven myself for repeating my mistakes.”
“You mean for being with me?”
“Yes.”
That single word shoved a fist inside his chest, grabbed his heart, and yanked.
“I’m moving forward, Dean. I’m done with looking into my past and beating myself up over something that happened a lifetime ago.” She crumpled the napkin into a ball.
He placed his hand over the top of hers. Her fingers were cool beneath his touch. “Then why won’t you forgive me?”
“There’s nothing to forgive. Besides, I’m just too busy to dwell on the negative.” She slipped her hand from beneath his. “I’m moving into a new chapter of my life. Yesterday I drove to Missoula and spent the entire afternoon at the Academy for Developmental Needs. I had the most unbelievable day. I learned at least three new methods of teaching, and half a dozen games that instill communication. I even learned some sign language.”
“That’s great.” The excitement dancing in her amazing eyes made him smile.
“The first thing I did when I got to school today was to move Brenden’s table up to the front of the class.” She folded her hands together and leaned forward. “I need him to be closer so I can give him more attention and teach him what I learned. So far, so good. By the end of the day he signed goodbye to me.” She leaned back in the chair and her hand went to her chest. “It made me cry.”
He wished he could reach across the table and hug her. “Like I said the day I brought the cupcakes to your class, you’re in the right place at the right time.”
“I am. I’m in no-big-deal Deer Lick, Montana. And I’m responsible for helping a little boy learn to cope with a great big world. He needs me.” She leaned forward again, reached across the table, and squeezed his hand. The warmth of her fingers flowed straight to his heart. “You, on the other hand, will head back to your team and you’ll forget about me before your boots even hit Texas soil.”
“I’d never forget about you, Emma.”
“But you will leave.”
He glanced out the window to the piles of snow lining both sides of the street, to the gray sky. He couldn’t lie. He wouldn’t lie. Not to her. And not to himself. Because as important as her teaching was to her, his career was just as important to him. “Yes. I will leave.”
“And that’s exactly what you should do.” She gave his hand a dismissive pat. “You have a spectacular life and you should be excited to get back to it as soon as possible.”
He turned his head to look at her again. When she gave him the smile she’d given him the first time he’d made love to her, the fist surrounding his heart constricted.
If he should be excited to get back to his life, why did he feel so fucking sad?
As Valentine’s Days went, this one wasn’t so bad. It wouldn’t go down in the history books as the greatest ever, but it didn’t suck.
Jesse had asked her out, but Emma knew it wouldn’t be fair to lead him on, so she’d been honest and declined. She decided if she wouldn’t have a date for the evening, then she would at least give the parents in her community a chance to share the love by arranging a party for her students at the Grange. Her kids had made construction-paper hearts in class and they’d decorated the white cinder block walls. They’d had red punch and heart-shaped cookies. They’d danced and played games. And every time her mind wandered in the direction of a certain quarterback, she’d find another method of entertainment. Karaoke had become the hit of the night. Even after several chipmunk-sounding renditions of Justin Bieber’s Baby. By the time their parents had come to pick them up, Emma was exhausted. Happy, but definitely stick-a-fork-in-her done.
When she went into her house and locked the door, she leaned back against it with a sigh. Her kids had made the dreaded Valentine’s Day bearable. She was a busy woman with goals stacked one on top of another, but that didn’t mean she wanted to spend every Valentine’s Day alone.
“Merrrrooowww.”
Emma looked down as Oscar began his figure-eight rub around her ankles. “Hello, man of my life.” She reached down, picked up his chubby body, and snuggled him close.
Oscar turned on his motor and rubbed the top of his head beneath her chin. “Looks like you’re the only guy I can rely on these days.” She gave him a little squeeze, then transferred him to the sofa as she reached behind to unzip her sweater. Her boot heels tap-tapped across the hardwood floor as she walked into her bedroom to pull on the cartoon pajamas Dean always joked about. She washed her face, smoothed her hair back into a ponytail, and went back into the living room to watch the remainder of Runaway Bride.
She settled onto the sofa with her fuzzy monkey slippers propped up on the antique trunk she used as a coffee table and pulled Oscar onto her lap to stroke his soft fur. “Hard to be a runaway bride if no one will even ask you to marry them.”
Oscar licked her fingers with his rough tongue.
“Are you trying to comfort me? Or just looking for leftover cookie crumbs?”
He looked up at her with his mismatched eyes. “Merrrooowww.”
She laughed. “That’s what I thought.” Then she gathered him up and kissed the top of his head. “I know I can always count on you. I love you, old friend.”
As Julia Roberts lifted the hem of her wedding dress, crawled out the window, and jumped into a FedEx truck, Oscar’s purr vibrated against Emma’s chest. “Silly woman. Who would run from Richard Gere? Hmmm? Sure, he’s no Dean Silverthorne, but still.” She nuzzled her chin on top of the cat’s head. “Maybe it will always just be you and me, old boy. That wouldn’t be so bad, would it?”
He was a damn stalker. No doubt about it.
And pathetic, too.
Dean sat outside Emma’s little bungalow in his mother’s heap of a car with the engine running, trying to decide whether to knock on her door or go home where he belonged. But the constant reminders on TV of Valentine’s Day diamonds and chocolates and lingerie had been driving him crazy. Not that he minded spending a hokey holiday alone. He’d done so dozens of times. And he’d never given a rat’s behind. Half the time he was on the road when one of the greeting card industry’s top money-makers would come along, and he’d be glad he didn’t have to worry about sending candy and flowers to anyone except his mother and sisters.
He glanced at the seat next to him and the beribboned pastry box that held six perfect red velvet cupcakes topped with a decadent cream cheese frosting. He doubted he’d get brownie points for having made them himself. But just in case there were favors of gratitude being handed out, he’d added red fondant hearts topped with sugar sprinkles. When trying to get back in a lady’s good graces, his f
ather always said, go for over-the-top.
He needed all the help he could get.
Emma had come to mean something to him. He hadn’t wanted or expected it, but she’d crawled inside him when he hadn’t been looking. He didn’t know what, if anything, he could offer her. And if he were thinking of her needs instead of his own, he’d leave her alone. He just wasn’t that unselfish.
He glanced at the small house and from behind the closed curtain he could see the flicker of the television. Hopefully she was alone. If not, he’d find out what Jesse Hamilton was really made of.
A cool breeze swirled through the interior of the car and Tom Jones came on the radio to tell him it wasn’t unusual.
Right.
“Mmmmm. What’s in the box?”
Dean smiled. “Your favorite.”
“Oh, I love red velvet. It’s what your daddy used to make for me when he needed to apologize.”
“Yeah, well, I’m hoping that will work for me too.”
“You think cupcakes are enough?”
Dean shook his head. “I doubt it. She’s been pretty clear about what she wants. And I don’t know if I can give it to her.”
“Then why are you sitting outside her house with a box of apology?”
Dean turned in his seat. His mother’s glow was tinged with a shade of blue tonight. “Because I’m not a hundred percent sure?”
“Are you asking me?” His mother gave a low chuckle. “Or telling me?”
He leaned back against the door and slid his arm along the back of the seat, made a fist, and tapped the duck tape covering a wide slit in the artificial leather. “Do you remember when I played Pop Warner and I was just a scrawny little geek who didn’t know the difference between a Hail Mary and a Statue of Liberty play? But oh, how I loved to throw that football?”
“You were a cute scrawny little geek. And I remember that you loved being the quarterback because you didn’t like ending up on the bottom of the dog-pile.”
“I still don’t.” He lowered his head and chuckled. “But I remember what you always use to tell me.”
“Oh, Lord, Son. I had a million things I used to tell you. Mostly a bunch of BS just to keep you out of trouble.”
