by Sarah Hegger
He would have described himself as the quintessential leg man. Breasts were good too. He was as partial as the next man to a great pair, but for him it would always be legs. And being a leg man meant he could never let a great ass pass him by without having a look either.
Breast men had it easy. A quick flick of the eyes down and up again and you were good to go. Leg men had more of a challenge. Over the years, and out of necessity, he’d perfected the swift, over the shoulder, window reflection, under armpit, smash and grab eyeful. Of course, that was before he’d had that particular fantasy eviscerated by her.
Lucy mounted the three wooden steps to the porch that ran the side of her family home.
And now. Well, now he still loved legs; long, shapely pathways straight to heaven. As long as they didn’t belong to blond hell-raisers who blew out of town with his heart in their backpack and never got around to giving it back.
“Ah, fuck it.” The orange juice slapped erratically against the side of the carton and Richard took a deep breath. He was a doctor, right. So the shaking hands could be a direct result of the fall. Except it was not the fall. The snow had taken the worst of the impact away. It was her.
He took a long swig from the carton, deriving a sort of savage pleasure from an action that would make his mother stare at him, first in frank and honest amazement, because he never drank from the carton, and next in horror.
“Ah, fuck it.” As far as variety went, he was a pitiful failure, but for impact, his vocabulary was perfect. Just what the doctor ordered.
Lucy Flint, back in town and doing what she always did. Taking his neatly ordered existence between her slender fingers, crumpling it up into a tiny ball, and tossing it over her shoulder. She’d just arrived and she’d doored him, wrecked his helmet and almost his bike, and reduced him to swilling orange juice from the carton. It made him shudder to think what she would do for an encore.
Except he already knew. Richard pulled a glass from the cupboard and poured the remainder of the juice into it. When she got done with turning him ass over end, she would wrench out his innards, starting with his heart, pulverize them, and disappear. Not this time, Lucy Flint. He made a silent promise to himself. Fool me once …
Her hair was different. It used to be shorter and curled around her beautiful face like a picture frame. This long, silky sweep of blond she had now was like a weapon. Her green eyes played hide and seek with her sexy mane as she peered out at him. This new sex kitten thing was like a knee to the groin.
Who was he kidding? Richard put his glass in the dishwasher and wiped down the granite countertop. Lucy Flint was the quintessential kick in the balls.
“Richie Rich?”
“My only love?”
“Do you think I’m pretty?”
“Beyond pretty.”
“Would you love me if I wasn’t pretty?”
“Well, I don’t know.” He looked up from his anatomy text. “I’m very fond of you, old girl, but … love. I don’t know about that.”
A shriek, as he’d known there would be, and he was attacked by a warm, fragrant armful of pure heaven. Lucy.
Richard hauled his mind back to the present. “Ah, fuck it.”
Chapter Three
The front door wasn’t locked. It never was. This was Willow Park. Her mother would blink at her in confusion if she suggested otherwise. Nothing ever happened in this forgotten collection of streets just north of Chicago. Stubbornly resisting any attempt to be swallowed into the bustle and jumble of Chicagoland.
The door still jammed. Lucy tugged it slightly toward her, turned the handle, and then shoved. You had to know the magic. She smiled as the door swung inward with a soft groan. The house pounced on her in a waft of wood and old, faded wallpaper. Memories crowded around her, buffeting against her brain for attention. Lucy almost panicked. She couldn’t do this. Mads was wrong.
“Lucy?” Too late. Her mother’s hopeful voice floated from the interior of the house. “Is that you?” Her mom appeared at the top of the Arts and Crafts staircase standing central to the hallway.
Lucy looked up and forced a smile. “Hey, Mom. Who else were you expecting?”
“Oh, you.” Lynne fluttered a hand at her and smiled down mistily. Guilt took a vicious sideswipe at Lucy. Her mom had gotten older. Lines bracketed her eyes and mouth and her hair was almost entirely gray. She looked faded and tired beyond her sixty-odd years. “I can’t believe you’re finally here.”
The noose tightened a few notches as a couple of joyful tears trickled down Lynne’s cheeks. She had stayed away too long.
“Here I am,” Lucy said, shrugging.
“Oh, Lu Lu.” Lynne moved suddenly, skipping happily down the stairs to sweep Lucy into a hug. It took her a moment to respond; Lynne was not a toucher. The smell of her mother surrounded Lucy; a combination of almond oil and lemon-scented Pledge. The memories in the house pressed closer and Lucy tightened her grip on her mother. She needed to breathe. They were memories and had only as much power as she gave them.
“It’s good to see you,” Lucy whispered and she meant it. “How are you holding up?”
“Better now that you’re here.” Lynne gave a watery sniff and held her at arm’s length. “Look at you,” she said. “Still the prettiest girl in Willow Park. Probably the prettiest girl in the whole of Illinois.” Lucy wanted to cringe, but she held still. “And you’ve grown your hair.”
“Yes, I …”
“Look at all this beautiful hair?” Lynne caressed the silky ends of Lucy’s hair. “I love it.” A huge grin lit Lynne’s face again. “It’s stunning. Wait until they see you now.”
Oh, she was waiting for that all right. “I’m glad you like it.” Lucy touched a lock self-consciously.
“It makes you look more mature and sophisticated and now we can see those lovely eyes of yours.” Lynne sniffled happily.
Lucy resisted the urge to fidget as the examination continued.
“And you’ve always been careful to keep your shape.” Lynne nodded her approval. “It’s not everyone who is lucky enough to have a gorgeous figure like yours. Why, Ashley …” A stricken expression chased Lynne’s smile away.
Lucy swallowed hard. She did not want to hear about Ashley yet.
“Where are your bags?” Lynne’s voice rose anxiously. Her mom was already in motion. Her head jerked back and forth as she searched the floor around Lucy. “You are staying, aren’t you? You said you were coming for a few weeks. There should be bags if you are staying for a few weeks. I have your room ready. It’s your old room and it’s just the same. I haven’t changed a thing.”
“Mom?” Lucy raised her voice and stepped right into her mother’s flight path. “I am staying for as long as you need me to. My bags are still in the car. I wanted to come in and say hello first.” Lucy stretched the truth a little. She would have brought the bags with her if she hadn’t been all shaken up by nearly killing Richard Hunter. Some things, however, didn’t need to be shared. So she smiled reassuringly. “I’ll go and fetch them, shall I?”
“I’ll do it.” Lynne bustled toward the coats hanging like dead things on hooks by the door. After nine years, Lynne was clearly not giving Lucy the opportunity to slip away.
“No, Mom.” Laughter bubbled in Lucy’s throat. It wasn’t often that mild-mannered Lynne took a stand, but she took one now. It was like your favorite teddy bear suddenly going a bit feral. “You can’t go out there. The weather is hideous and I’ve still got my coat on. See?” Lucy held out her arms and spun in a circle. “I’ll go and get them.”
“Now?” Lynne insisted.
“Now.”
Outside the storm gave a healthy accounting for itself. Lucy staggered and slipped through the ice and snow back toward the front door. A swift peek at the house next door showed lights blazing. Richard was in that house. She stopped suddenly and the wind slammed into her back to try to get her moving again. Richard was in the house next door? What was Richard doing in the hou
se next door?
“Lucy?” Lynne’s querulous wail floated through the gloom and Lucy quickened her pace.
Lynne waited for her, peering through the glass panes of the door as if she were afraid Lucy would not be coming back. The wind shoved Lucy through the door and Lynne shut it behind her. The snick of the lock vibrated through Lucy’s gut. The sound reverberated up her spine and she froze for a second.
Her mind clicked back into action and she took a deep breath. She was not trapped. The next breath was easier. She could open the door at any time and leave. The incident with Richard had stirred up all sorts of stuff and she needed a moment or two to put everything back in its proper place.
“Are you hungry?”
“A little,” Lucy said, smiling. Any other answer would be blithely ignored in Lynne’s ongoing assault against hunger.
“I made tomato soup.” Her mom led the way into the kitchen. “Just the way you like it.” The last time Lucy had eaten tomato soup was in this kitchen. “Would you like a grilled cheese with that?”
Lynne didn’t wait for a reply, but started her bustling.
The kitchen was a distinctly unlovely room. The counters were scarred and misaligned and the cabinetry way past tired and well into burnt out. Yet, in this ugly, L-shaped cave, Lynne had rustled up magic day after day.
Carl didn’t see any point in fixing a room in which he spent almost no time. He had never eaten in the kitchen. Lynne had always taken her husband his meals. Lucy felt the familiar bite of resentment. Not five minutes in this house and she was doing it. It was as if it was hardwired into her.
She pulled a stool up to the counter and Lynne put a steaming bowl of homemade tomato soup in front of her. The earthy tang came straight out of her childhood. Cold, cold days spent outside in the snow and ice. Braving the weather until your fingers and face went numb and then staggering home for grilled cheese and soup, followed by a bath and hot chocolate. Then, crawling all full and sleepy between fresh, chilly sheets.
“So you’re back? To what do we owe the honor?”
The nostalgia was too sweet to last. Lucy blew on the soup gently as she turned to look at him.
“Hello, Dad.” She was shocked. Her mom had aged, but Carl had become an old man. In her mind he was such a powerful figure. Now, he stooped in the kitchen doorway, his shoulders slanting forward over his sunken chest. He still wore his pajamas and a tatty bathrobe, which had been old when she still lived here.
“How are you, Dad?” Gingerly she slipped the hot spoon between her teeth. She tasted nothing, as if Carl had robbed the entire place of any flavor or texture.
“Would you like some soup?” Her mother bustled into the mounting tension. “Lucy was having some soup with me. Doesn’t she look wonderful? Did you see she’s grown her hair? I think she looks lovely. Of course, you always loved her short hair, but you have to admit she looks a treat.”
Lucy wanted to reach out and put a gag over her mother’s mouth. She rested her spoon against the side of the bowl carefully. The hostility came off her father in waves as he stood and glared at her.
“I don’t want any goddamned soup,” Carl snarled in the direction of his wife, effectively ending the chatter.
Irritation tightened in Lucy’s gut as her mother subsided into a wary silence. For over thirty years, he’d been doing the same thing.
A short man, built like a pit bull with broad shoulders and almost no neck, Carl had looked every inch the thug in his youth and had reveled in it. If it weren’t for identical green eyes, Lucy would have questioned her paternity. Also, not forgetting a less-than-charming shared propensity for being bloody-minded and stubborn.
She wanted to yell at him not to speak to her mother like that. When she was younger, that’s what she’d have done. He knew it too. The taunt glinted in his eyes. He may look like hell and his mind might be slipping, but his eyes were still daring her to do her worst. Goading her to join the chaos.
She forced her hand to pick up the spoon, dip it into the bowl, and bring it to her mouth. “It’s good,” she said to nobody in particular.
“You here for money?” Carl demanded from the doorway.
Lucy looked up from her soup as he stepped farther into the kitchen. She could see more signs of age on him as he moved into the light. The march of years had diminished him like the faded fabrics on the furniture. He had no power to wound her. It was hers to give, that power.
“No, Dad.” She took another sip of her soup. “I have money and I have a good job now. I’m not here for money.”
“Good,” he jeered, breathing heavily through his nose. “Because you’ll have to wait until I die before you get another cent out of me.”
Good old Dad, what a charmer.
“Now, Carl.” Faithful Mom rushed into the fray like a frantic squirrel guarding her kit from the rabid neighborhood stray. “The things you say.”
She turned her back and carried on chattering.
Lucy pushed her soup bowl away. Carl looked ready to fight back and she cut it off quickly.
“I won’t be here for long,” Lucy said, keeping her tone level. “I need to tie up some loose ends and then I am going back to Seattle.”
That successfully deflected him. Carl went silent before he grunted and turned away. “What time is dinner?”
Lucy could have answered the question for him. What time was dinner always?
“Six-thirty?” Lynne glanced at her husband for approval as if she hadn’t been putting a meal in front of him, at that time, for over thirty years.
“Good.”
Of course it’s good, Lucy thought savagely as her mom slid the grilled cheese onto the counter beside her. It was always good in Carl’s world. The universe Carl controlled with an iron fist was always good for Carl. Stop it. Lucy pulled her thoughts up short. Her father was who he was and now he was a sick, old man. Lucy tore into the bread to keep her mouth busy.
Carl reached the doorway and stopped suddenly. “I suppose you know who lives right next door?”
Lucy looked up from her sandwich.
Her mom sucked in a loud, shocked breath. “Carl.”
“You’re talking about Richard.” The penny dropped in time to cheat Carl out of his surprise attack. Though, to be honest, she wished she’d had that little nugget of information about twenty minutes ago.
Carl looked momentarily deflated, but recovered quickly. “He bought up the old Crowley house. Spent a goddamned fortune, doing God knows what to it.” Carl sniffed and shoved his hands deep into his pockets. “Waste of money, if you ask me. There was nothing wrong with that house.”
“I was worried your flight might not be able to land in this weather.” Her mom picked up a sponge and attacked the counters.
“Richard and Ashley renovated the Crowley house?” She turned to her mother for confirmation, but Lynne was not looking at her.
“Sometimes they shut the airport if they can’t clear the runways in time. Isn’t that right, Carl?”
He ignored her and kept his sneer locked on Lucy.
“I am sure they did a wonderful job.” Lucy was proud her voice sounded so even. “Ashley always did have excellent taste.”
“Listen to you.” Carl chuckled. “I bet you want to rip her eyes out.”
Lucy took a controlled breath. She was not jealous of Ashley. Richard and Ashley had found their way back to each other, despite her best efforts to the contrary. She was not here to stir up the old trouble. She was here to put it to rest.
Carl watched her carefully for any sort of reaction. Lucy gave him nothing. “Do you see much of them?”
“We see him all the time.” Carl’s jeer widened into pure malice.
“Mom?” Lucy put a little starch in her voice and her mother stopped and blinked at her.
“Well, he is our family doctor now,” she confessed in a rush and sidled over to the old oven and started cleaning around it.
Lucy blinked at her mother’s back. This was going to
make Richard super happy. She had the insane desire to laugh hysterically. “What happened to Dr. Barnes?”
“He retired four years ago and went to Florida.” Her mother scrubbed around the spotless burners, her entire body vibrating with the effort. “He and his wife left town. They said they couldn’t stand the cold anymore and who can blame them. I hear they have a nice condo in Florida now, right on the beach, as well. I am sure—”
“They’re splitting up.” Carl leaned his shoulder up against the doorjamb. “She left him.”
“Mrs. Barnes left Dr. Barnes?” Lucy frowned at her mother.
“I’m talking about lover boy from next door.” Carl grinned at her maliciously. “She left him high and dry, just like you did.”
Lucy stared at her father. He couldn’t have that right. “What?” No, Carl is making this up. She frowned down at her sandwich. He must have this wrong. It must be his illness making him say things.
“They are getting a divorce,” he replied with relish.
“Carl, I don’t think …” Her mother twisted the cloth in her hands.
“Is this true?” Lucy looked from Lynne to Carl.
“What does it matter?” Lynne banged the dishes. “That unpleasantness is all over and done with. It doesn’t matter what happens to them. He is our neighbor and our doctor. Finished.”
“I can’t believe this.” Lucy rescued her sandwich from her mother who swept away all in the path before her. Ashley and Richard were like the perfect couple. No, they were the perfect couple.
Lynne sprayed the fridge door with disinfectant. “We should mind our own business.”
Carl scoffed loudly. “Here’s your chance to take him away from her again.”
He didn’t quit, but Lucy kept her eyes focused on her mother. “Ashley would never leave Richard.”
“I think it’s a temporary thing,” Mom told the inside of the kitchen sink. “At least that’s what Richard says.”
