The little boy was shot from guns. He seemed to go at sixty miles an hour, around the clock. Exhaustion was part of her day, every day. By three in the afternoon, she was in bed napping while a babysitter took Chip to the playground. Lauren had lost her first pregnancy. After her miscarriage, fear had surrounded her pregnancy with Chip. She had spent most of it in bed. Now, anxiety over childbirth was permanently lodged in her heart.
The warmth of Griff’s body against her chased away the morning chill in the air.
“Mommy!” came the cry from the other room.
“We do have to move him from the crib to a bed, Lauren.”
“Then, he can get up whenever he wants.”
“I know. But he’s too big for the crib, and we’ll need it for the little angel you’re carrying.”
“Okay, okay. We can do it tonight.”
“Good. I’ll get him. You relax.”
She said a prayer of thanksgiving to have a husband who wanted children as much as Griff. He stopped to kiss her before making a beeline for his son, who had started to wail. A few moments later, the two guys entered the bedroom. Griff had Chip firmly in his grasp, holding the toddler in his arms as the youngster rubbed his eyes and sniffled.
“He wanted to see Mommy. There she is, Chip. Safe and sound.”
Lauren pushed up with her hands first then swung her legs over the side. She solved the challenge of getting out of bed with a little help from her man. He extended a hand to her and pulled her upright.
“God, I hate being so big.”
“Comes with the territory. Pancakes this morning. Take your time. Meet you in the kitchen.”
“Pancakes!” Chip exclaimed, clapping his hands together.
When the men left, Lauren fished a robe from the closet. It was Griff’s, as hers were way too small. She tied it above her belly and waddled to the bathroom. When she looked in the mirror, the reflection of a tired, happy woman looked back. One by one, her dreams had been fulfilled. First, meeting Griff and falling in love. Then being able to hold onto her pregnancy, despite the earlier miscarriage.
And now, a little girl to round out their family. Does it get any better than this? I doubt it. She still had a ways to go on her journey. The next part of the trip might be perilous too. She refused to think about delivery and forced herself to live in the moment. Griff was blissfully unaware that things might not go according to his plan of an easy vaginal delivery, quick recovery, and then being ready to ring in the New Year. She let it be, enjoying his happy spirit that filled the darkest corners of their house with light and love.
Then, there was Chip. Convinced he wasn’t ready to shoulder the responsibility of being a big brother, she took a deep breath and decided she’d hire help whenever she needed it. Although having Griff’s dad, Hank, living in an apartment nearby comforted her, she was reluctant to get too close to him. He hadn’t approved of her at first.
When he made offers to help, she hung back. He seemed to adore his grandson, so it was mean to keep them apart. Maybe Chip adores him, but I don’t have to. Lauren kept her thoughts to herself, not even sharing them with her husband.
Gripping the bannister, she took the stairs slowly, one at a time. By the time she entered the kitchen, she smelled butter melting and heard it sizzling as Griff taught his son Jingle Bells. The father poured batter in the pan as he began another round of the carol.
Chip mangled the words, but clapped his hands with the beat. Lauren joined in, bringing a wide grin from her spouse. He served her first.
“Mommies always go first, Chip. Don’t forget that.”
“Mommy first,” the boy repeated, nodding.
While she ate, Griff cut up Chip’s food then sat down himself.
“Thanksgiving’s coming up,” Lauren said.
“I’m glad you didn’t invite everyone here.”
“Me too. There’s no way.”
“Where are we going?” Griff asked.
“Verna’s collaborating with Samantha Drake. We’re going to Devon Drake’s house. Buddy and Emmy too. It’s much bigger than Verna’s place.”
“Sweet! We’ll be guests for a change.”
“They’re doing it Friday too. Buddy doesn’t want to eat a big meal before the game. Emmy said he can’t control himself on holidays.” Lauren chuckled.
“I don’t want to either. Friday suits me fine. You?” He cocked an eyebrow.
“Works for me. Verna said we could either bring wine or nothing.”
“I can pick up wine.”
“I’ll call Crowman’s Liquor. Have them deliver a case, half red, half white.”
“Even better.” Griff wolfed down his pancakes then eyed the leftovers on Lauren’s plate. “Are you going to eat that?”
“My eyes say ‘yes’, but my stomach is the size of a pea. I’m full. Want it?”
He nodded then slid the two pancakes off her plate and onto his.
Lauren sat back and sipped milk. “Hank’s invited.”
“Oh, good. I was going to ask about that.”
“Do you think it’s good? Buddy’s going to throw a fit.”
“He’ll just have to get over it. They’re adults. If Verna wants to date Hank, there’s nothing Buddy can do about it.”
“It’s not the dating part he objects to. It’s the sleeping together part.”
“Isn’t that part of dating?” Griff raised both brows as he shoved in another forkful.
“Not according to Buddy.”
“The guy doesn’t want to face reality.”
“Maybe. But it could get sticky.”
“Are you saying Hank shouldn’t go?”
“No, no. How could we leave him out?”
“You wouldn’t mind, would you?” Griff asked.
“Don’t turn this into a discussion about me. Your dad is uh…” She glanced at her son, who was hanging on every word. “Uh, intimate, with his mom. Buddy’s having a hard time adjusting. People should be sensitive to that. Don’t you think?”
“My dad can bang whoever he wants.”
“Griff!”
“Bang,” Chip said.
“Nice going, Dad,” Lauren said, scowling at her husband.
Griff cracked up. “Sorry. But that’s funny.”
“It’s not going to be so hilarious when he says that stuff at school. You’re going to have to watch your language.”
“You’re right, you’re right. About Thanksgiving. We’ll all go. Dad can ride with us. And we’ll pray everyone is civilized.”
“Okay. I’m on board.”
“You wouldn’t want to leave my dad out, would you?” Griff turned a serious gaze on her.
“Of course not. It’s just…well, I don’t think he approves of me.”
“He regrets the way he treated you when I was in the hospital. He admitted he jumped the gun. Assumed you were some groupie, sleeping with me,” Griff cast a glance at his son, “for all the wrong reasons. He didn’t realize it was the real thing. He didn’t know how great you are. Now, he does.”
Tears stung behind her eyes. Why am I so emotional?
Griff took her hand. “He wants to help in any way he can. That was a long time ago. We both hope you can put the past behind us. Think of him as being a stupid, jerky guy, and open your mind to the fact that he has a ton of respect for you and wants to be friends.”
His speech did it. Waterworks. Tears cascaded down her cheeks. Griff pushed to his feet and took her in his arms.
“It’s just hormones.”
“Right.” He rubbed her back and kissed her hair.
“Mommy crying.” Chip began to cry too.
“Mommy’s not sad. It’s okay, sweetheart,” she told the boy.
“This kid is the most empathetic male on the face of the Earth,” Griff said.
Lauren laughed. Chip stopped crying and smiled at her. She bent down and kissed him. “Don’t we have a lot to be thankful for?” she asked, drying her eyes on the handkerchief her husband handed h
er.
****
Just outside of town, 8:30 a.m.—Verna Carruthers house
“Your son hates me,” Hank said, standing in front of the bathroom mirror, straightening his collar. He was dressed in a blue shirt, charcoal suit, and navy and red striped tie.
“He does not,” Verna called as she passed by on her way to the kitchen. She was dressed in a chenille robe and nothing else.
“Does too,” Hank replied, entering the room. His gaze traveled over his lover’s face and body. “You look great.”
“Right! No makeup, hair’s a mess…”
He bent down and kissed her. “Look great to me.”
She sensed a bit of heat in her cheeks. “Coffee’s ready.”
Hank sat down across from her at the small, oak table. A mug with coffee, light, the way he liked it, was at his place. A toasted whole-wheat bagel smeared with the right amount of cream cheese sat next to the beverage. He smiled. “You spoil me.”
“I do.” She lifted her own cup. “You deserve it.”
He laughed. “Buddy wouldn’t agree.”
“The hell with that. You take me out all the time. This is the least I can do.”
“Repayment in kind?” He made a face. “I take you out because I want to. You don’t owe me a thing.”
“I know. There’s something sweet about sharing breakfast, though, isn’t there?”
“Especially after such a steamy night.” He wiggled his eyebrows, making her chuckle.
She hid behind her mug, avoiding his stare.
“Are you embarrassed we slept together?”
“Not really.”
“You are. Your cheeks are red. Honestly, Verna, how old do you have to be to acknowledge you’re a person with a sex drive?”
“You’re right.” She nodded. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Not like a one-night stand.”
“And would that be a disaster? I’ve had a few of those in my day. Two people who feel like enjoying each other’s bodies. Is that wrong? I think it’s the most natural thing in the world.”
“When you put it like that, I have to agree.”
“Good. I want you to be comfortable about us.”
“I am. But Buddy will be a different story.”
“Don’t tell him.”
“I don’t plan to. But he’s smart. He’ll figure it out.”
Hank shrugged. “Let him. He’s got to let go of you.”
“I know. But since his dad died, well…he feels he has to look after me.”
“And you look after him. It’s great, honey. You two being close is great. But not when it doesn’t make room for me.”
She laughed. “Good way to put it. Buddy will have to inch over a little and let you in.”
“I like your thinking. And everything else about you too.” Hank reached over, placing his hand behind her neck. He eased her forward, kissed her, slid his hand down to cup her breast, and then sat back.
“You’re coming to Thanksgiving,” Verna told him.
“Who says?”
“I do. And I’m sure Griff and Lauren want you there too.”
“Griff, maybe, not so sure about Lauren.”
“Come on. Give her a chance.”
“I was pretty rough on her before they got married. Hell, I didn’t know she was the one. I thought she was just another of Griff’s bed buddies.” He took a bite of bagel.
“You made a mistake. An honest one. I’m sure she can forgive and forget.”
“We’ll see. So far, she’s been pretty standoffish. Not that I blame her. I don’t know what to do to fix things.”
“Give her time. In the meantime, you’re on the guest list.”
“Better pat everyone down at the door for weapons.” He chuckled between bites.
“It’s at Devon’s.”
“At least it’s not Buddy’s.”
“Emmy’s too tired to handle it, and I don’t have enough room here for everyone. I’m telling you. And I’m telling Buddy. You two have to bury the hatchet. Thanksgiving is the perfect time for it,” Verna said.
They ate in silence for a while. When they finished, Hank firmed up plans for their next date. Verna followed him to the door.
Turning, he took her in his arms. He angled his head to deepen the kiss while his hands glided down to grab her rear and squeeze. “You’re one sexy lady, you know that?”
She grinned. “You bring it out in me.”
“We’re good together.”
“We are.” She raised her gaze to meet his. For a second, she could swear she saw love there. Don’t go there. No love. A juicy affair with a nice man. Fun. We’re having fun. Leave it light.
Her rational thinking didn’t keep her heart from skipping a beat.
****
In a trailer park—ten miles west
Clyde Belden filled his coffeemaker with water. He’d have to skip a shower. He was late for work. Clyde worked at the local bowling alley. They opened at noon, and it was now eleven. Thanksgiving was almost here and though he’d gotten a vacation day, he had no invitation for a celebration. He planned to get a turkey dinner at the diner, if they were open. The idea left a bad taste in his mouth.
“Married man should have his wife home, cooking Thanksgiving dinner for him,” he mumbled to no one.
He poured the last of the milk into his coffee, but it wasn’t quite enough. He crumpled the carton with his fist.
“Wife should be here to make sure her husband has milk for his coffee.”
Anger percolated through him. He wanted Tiffany with him, wanted to dial the calendar back to three months ago, before they had started fighting. He needed her body, the feel of her soft flesh. Restlessness made him push to his feet and pace in the small space.
“If I got laid, I’d be okay. Married man shouldn’t have to pay some whore on the street. He should be able to get laid in his own bed, by his wife. Where the hell are you, Tiffany?”
But he knew the answer to that question. She was in that damn shelter. Fuck Brodsky, that big ape. He’d watch the place, make sure that gorilla wasn’t there. Then, he’d go in with his trusty baseball bat and break down the fuckin’ door. He grinned. And that little girl isn’t gonna get in the way. He made a fist and slammed it into his palm. I’ll take care of her first. Then, I’m gonna get my wife and bring her home, where she belongs.
He opened the fridge, but it was almost empty. There were three beer cans and half of a sandwich. There were only a few bites taken out of it. He had cereal, but no milk, so he opted for the ham and cheese. Gotta eat something. Wife should make sure there’s food in the house. I gotta get her back.
He circled Thanksgiving on the calendar. That shithead will be playing football. He won’t be there. She’ll be alone. I’m bringing my baby back.
Clyde finished the last of his java, snatched his car keys from the counter, and shrugged on a well-worn, wool pea coat. He slammed the door behind him, anger still active in his veins. He threw his old car into gear and roared out onto the highway.
Chapter Twelve
Bull rose early Thursday morning. They had a game with the Colorado Miners. He wasn’t worried. The Miners weren’t even a wild card team. It should be an easy win—if football was ever easy. Samantha was still asleep in his bed. He padded down to the kitchen and got the coffee started.
She had joined him straight from the shelter. Her briefcase lay open on the couch. Curiosity ate at him. What’s she got in there? He knew he shouldn’t touch anything, violate her privacy, but he couldn’t help himself. I’m serious about Samantha. That means I have a right to know all about her. Right?
He pushed the top open with his little finger. Looking around like a man about to steal a car, he peeked inside. There were some loose papers and a couple of magazines. Can’t read the papers. Might be confidential business stuff. But what’s she reading? He slid out one, perfect bound publication, and his eyebrows shot up at the title. Today’s Bride? Then, he read the headlines for articles i
nside. “How to have your dream wedding on a budget.”
He shoved it back in. Sweat broke out on his forehead. He returned to the kitchen, poured a mug of coffee, and snapped a paper towel off the roll. He mopped his brow. Wedding? No way. Never having a wedding again. Nope. No. Not happening.
“Coffee ready? How nice!”
He whipped around to find a sexy Samantha, wearing a clingy robe and smiling. “Yeah. Ready?”
“Bring it on.” She pulled out a chair and sat down at the kitchen table. He fixed it the way she liked it and joined her. “Nervous about the game?”
“Nah. The Miners aren’t in it. We’ll cream ’em.”
“Doesn’t that make you lazy?”
“Sometimes. You can’t let down your guard. These guys are still pros.”
“Game’s at four, right?”
Tension built in Bull, and his stomach clenched. He couldn’t wait. “Why are you reading a wedding magazine?” he blurted out.
“What?”
“In your briefcase. You’ve got a copy of Today’s Bride. How come?”
“You were in my briefcase? Why? There’s confidential Kings’ stuff in there. Did you look at the papers too?”
“Of course not. I wouldn’t do that.”
She cocked an eyebrow at him. “But you did look at the magazines?”
“Just one. The wedding one. Answer my question.”
“You have some nerve going in there.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. Now answer.”
“If it’s any of your business—which is isn’t!—I had that at the office. I bought it when I planned Jo’s wedding. If you took care to look at the issue date, it’s old. Last year.”
“Oh. Okay.” He let out a breath.
“And I have to account to you for the magazines I read? I don’t think so. I’ll read whatever the hell I want!”
Sly Bullhorn Brodsky Page 14
