by Ruby Laska
Then there was the time in college when he flunked two statistics quizzes in a row. He’d been studying biology with a vague idea of becoming a doctor, but rather than suck it up and go see the professor, consult a tutor, put the extra time in with the books, he simply switched to an easier major.
Or later, when he was in law school, and his father had two strokes in a row. Sure, his folks’ house was a couple of hours away, and his mother told him to concentrate on his studies, but school wasn’t the reason he didn’t come home and help, didn’t heed his sister’s pleas to visit his father during his difficult recovery.
Zane was the guy who took the easy way out, the path of least resistance. Whenever things got too inconvenient or dangerous or uncomfortable, he made himself scarce.
The real reason he left the law firm was that he couldn’t stand to be in the courtroom, day after day, with his doomed clients, the ones whose cases weren’t strong enough to get the attention of the more senior members of the firm. One after another he lost his cases, and even though his mentor promised him it would get easier—that he just had to put his time in like everyone else until a new crop of junior lawyers arrived to take on the dirty work—he didn’t care enough to tough it out.
So he quit.
The day that Matthew told him he could find good-paying work hundreds of miles from home, Zane called his boss and told him he wasn’t coming back. He’d inconvenienced the other lawyers at the firm, who had to juggle the cases he left behind, and he’d disappointed the partner who had hired him and believed in him. The truth was he’d felt guilty ever since he arrived in North Dakota almost a year ago.
The work on the oil rigs had helped a lot. At first it was simply a distraction, the act of getting up each day and working long hours with his hands, giving his all to the hard physical labor and exacting technical work of bringing the crude up from the earth. But over time, he grew to love the rhythm of the day, to love belonging to a team who worked together and depended on each other in a way that he’d never experienced before. Sure, Zane had friends at the law firm, and he’d respected and admired the partners. But on the rig, he literally put his life into the hands of his fellow workers every day and was responsible for their safety as much as his own.
He’d actually begun to feel a little better about himself, eleven months into his employment. He was no longer a ‘worm,’ the name given the new guys, no longer the subject of the practical jokes from the more experienced workers. He belonged, and he wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize that.
Then yesterday, his comfortable little world had been turned upside down by a girl punk on the run from her past. He’d been the only safe haven around, and he’d stepped up and helped, something Zane supposed he ought to feel good about. But he didn’t. He felt lousy, to the core. Because he could feel it coming on again, the urge to escape, to dump her, to wash his hands of all responsibility. Carrie was bad news. Her panic when he mentioned calling the cops had made that clear. It was entirely possible that she’d broken the law, and was running from the authorities, or escaped from jail, or was looking for her next con. Or, maybe she was running from an abusive husband or boyfriend, trying to escape a nightmare scenario he wanted no part of.
Zane wasn’t anybody’s savior. All those lost cases at the law firm were proof of that. His family had forgiven him all his teenage growing pains, and hadn’t even seemed to notice that he’d neglected his father during his recovery, but Zane knew he was a coward. If Carrie needed protecting, he wasn’t the man for the job.
So, why was he having such a hard time getting her off his mind?
Zane flung the last of his coffee off the deck and onto the flowerbeds, cursing. He should never have brought her here. He could have called Cal and asked him to send someone from social services; they were certainly used to dealing with people who had nowhere else to go. Local churches were housing the homeless in basements all over town; whole families were sheltering in the old firehouse since the new one had been built.
The point was that there were plenty of other options, even for a girl with no money and no ID. And instead, he’d brought the girl home with him.
Zane kicked one of the porch’s columns, cursing again.
“Um…do you want more coffee?”
He hadn’t heard the front door open. Zane whirled around to find Carrie standing there, holding the coffee pot, dressed in his T-shirt and the skirt she’d had on yesterday, her hair wet from the shower. Her feet were bare, and her toenails were polished a pearly shell pink, very much at odds with the chipped black polish on her fingernails. Her wet hair was standing up at an odd angle, a chunk of it falling over her eyes, which were a shade of luminous gold that didn’t look at all right with the reddish-black color she’d dyed her hair.
“Whatever,” Zane snapped, unsettled. He tried not to let himself stare at the way she looked in his T-shirt. It had been his favorite, one he’d picked up during football tryouts his freshman year of high school, and just happened to be on top of the stack when he went to get her something to wear to bed last night.
Except that wasn’t really true. Yes, the shirt was on top, but he could have easily asked Jayne or Deneen to loan her something. The truth was he wanted her in his shirt. Wanted to know that she was sleeping down the hall, curled up on the same couch where they watched football on Monday nights and played board games when they didn’t have to work the next day.
And that wasn’t all he wanted. As he gave up the battle and let his gaze travel down her milky pale legs and shapely arms—back up over the outline of her breasts under that old T-shirt—up to her long neck and delicate earlobes peeking out between that terrible haircut—he realized he wanted to protect her. And kiss her. Definitely kiss her, wanted to run his tongue over the tiny indentation above her upper lip, and nibble gently along that jaw that would have been almost elegant if it had belonged to another woman.
She took his mug from his hands and poured coffee into it, doing a far better job than she had serving beer last night. When she handed the mug back to him, she smiled, dimples appearing at the corners of her mouth, her eyes clear and bright without the gobs of makeup she’d had on the day before, and he suddenly noticed that something was missing.
“Where’s all your metal?” he asked. The nose and eyebrow rings, the silver coils that wrapped around her ear cartilage, were gone. And he couldn’t even see the holes they’d run through.
“Oh,” Carrie said, instantly wary. She touched her ear, as though searching for the missing jewelry. “I, um, need to go put them back in.”
“How are you going to do that?” Zane demanded. A feeling was growing inside him—irritation at having been duped, probably, even if it was a small thing. He stepped closer and closed his thumb and finger around her ear, pushing her hair away. “There aren’t any holes.”
He was close enough to smell her scent, a mixture of the fruity shampoo Deneen and Jayne used, and something else that was her alone, like flowers crushed on a stone warmed by the sun.
She put her hand over his and hesitated for a second before pushing him away and stepping back.
“So they’re fake,” she said frostily. “I have commitment issues when it comes to shoving needles through my flesh. I’ll get around to having the real ones done once I…once things settle down a little.”
“Is that right.” He didn’t know whether to be amused or annoyed. He closed the distance between them again and traced his fingers up the edge of her ear, confirming that nothing remained of the clunky studs, not even a dent. As his fingertip rounded the top of her ear and explored the edge of her face, tracing the smooth curve of her cheekbone and up to her eyebrows, she shivered beneath his touch.
“Stop that.”
“Stop what?” There had been two silver rings here before, pinching the skin above and below her pale, arched eyebrows. “Didn’t that hurt, having metal poking into your face for hours?”
“It didn’t poke…oh,” she breathed, as h
is fingertip lightly touched the bridge of her nose, down around the edge where the fake ruby stud had been. “There were magnets involved,” she finally managed.
Zane laughed softly. He was enjoying himself—maybe a little too much, in fact, as he could sense the stirring of urges and impulses that had been dormant for a while, certainly for the last three weeks of nonstop shift work on the rigs, when most nights all he wanted when he got home was to fall into bed. All that pent-up desire—maybe it was only natural for it to come out now, except all he was doing was touching this exasperating woman’s face, not ripping her clothes off.
“Magnets,” he repeated.
“Yes, tiny ones that go behind your ear or inside your nose, and the eyebrow ones—”
Her voice broke off as he caressed her upper lip, using his thumb along the lower one at the same time. Her mouth was beautiful, irresistible, undoubtedly delicious, and what he really wanted to do was to explore with his own lips and tongue.
Instead, using every last ounce of restraint he possessed, he dropped his hand away. This was a dangerous game. The way he was feeling right now, he could easily forget his promise to himself to never let a woman rely on him, need him—to never allow himself to let a woman down the way he’d let down so many of the other people in his life. His romantic slate, at least, was clean: he’d never had so much as a long-term girlfriend. Usually he got itchy around the two-week mark, claustrophobic at a month, downright desperate to be alone the few times he’d allowed a relationship to progress past the two-month mark. The longest he’d ever made it was four months, and that was only because the woman had been an executive with a crazy travel schedule that meant they only saw each other a few times a month, and even that felt like she was trying to smother him.
And this girl? The one who was breathing just a little too fast, her skin just a little too pink, her lips parted in a way that was just a little too suggestive—she was trouble. She was carrying more than secrets around with her; Zane was pretty sure her past was full of hard knocks, missteps, and mistakes. And he didn’t want any part of that.
“The eyebrow ones poked a little,” she said, her lashes fluttering down as she stared at the coffee pot she was holding. “I might give up on those.”
“Well,” Zane said briskly, changing the subject. “I had some thoughts about where you could stay. Guy I know from work, he and his wife just bought a place out east of town, and they’re looking for a nanny. Live-in—you’d have your own bedroom and bathroom. Are you any good with kids?”
It was a long shot, especially when her eyes went wide and a look of horror passed over her face. Okay, strike that—Tim and Sonia probably would have reacted just about the same way if Zane suggested they hire a cocktail waitress in motorcycle boots to watch their two kids.
Cal shot out the front door and skidded to a halt. “There it is,” he growled. “Ma’am, I wonder if you’d share that coffeepot. I’ve got three minutes before I need to leave for work and if I don’t get out of here fast, Deneen’s liable to make me fold napkins into swans.”
Deneen followed him onto the porch, holding a pale lavender square of cloth. Behind her, Jimmy followed, his arms full of more lavender linens.
“I see you’ve all met,” Zane said.
“Yes. Thank you for bringing your new friend to stay, she’s lovely,” Deneen said. “And very helpful. Unlike the rest of you.”
“Because you’re trying to turn us into—into girls,” Cal sputtered.
“It’s really not hard, once you get the hang of it,” Deneen pressed. “Come on, Cal, I bet all the criminals are still asleep. Can’t they spare you for an hour or two?”
Cal grabbed the coffee pot from Carrie and bolted, hopping over the porch rail and taking the steps two at a time, before running back into the house, letting the door slam behind him.
“What about you, Carrie?” Deneen continued, undaunted. “I’d ask Zane, but he can’t even do his own laundry so he’s probably not up to table settings.”
“The wedding’s not until tomorrow,” Zane said. “And aren’t the tables getting set up outside?”
“Yes, the caterers are handling all of that,” Deneen said. “This is just for the rehearsal dinner tonight. There will only be sixteen guests so it shouldn’t be too much fuss.”
“Wait, I thought it was a barbecue,” Zane said. “Matthew said he was just throwing some burgers on the grill.”
Jimmy winced as Deneen gasped. “He’s not throwing anything anywhere,” she said. “My sister gets exactly one wedding rehearsal and it’s going to be delightful.”
“Delightful,” Jimmy muttered, as though trying to convince himself. “Deneen and Matthew negotiated a compromise.”
“There will be a light buffet, and Matthew—who keeps forgetting he already has a job, which is keeping his mouth shut like a good groom and making my sister happy for the rest of her life—isn’t going anywhere near the barbecue grill.”
“I’d be glad to help,” Carrie said, placing a hand on Deneen’s arm. “I don’t have to be at work until two o’clock.”
Deneen grinned. “That’s wonderful. Except I feel awful asking you to help out for a dinner you have to miss. Is there any chance you could leave work early and join us?”
Jimmy looked completely confused. “I thought you said it was traditional for only attendants and family to attend the rehearsal dinner.” Since he and Deneen had started dating last Christmas, Jimmy had made great strides, considering that he’d basically been a mad scientist for most of his life. Deneen was patiently coaching him through the complex rules of social interactions.
“Yes,” Deneen said patiently, “but the number one rule of etiquette is that there is always room at the table for an unexpected guest, especially if she’s as lovely as Carrie!”
Zane had to hand it to her—Deneen was unrivaled in her skill for putting people at ease, which was one of the reasons her events were becoming legendary.
“I don’t think I could ask for time off, on my second day on the job,” Carrie said. “Especially since Opal said Fridays are busy at the bar.”
Deneen nodded sympathetically. “I understand. I do wish you’d be able to join us. Do you have to work tomorrow, too?”
“Apparently not. I guess they’re, um, closed because so many of their customers will be here.”
“That’s great! We’re so glad you’ll be able to come.”
“Carrie won’t be here tomorrow night,” Zane said hastily. “We’re going to find her somewhere to stay today.”
Three pairs of eyes drilled into him. Deneen and Jimmy looked incredulous, while Carrie looked…almost disappointed.
“You’re out of your mind,” Deneen said. “If there was any extra room to be had, I’d snatch it up for cousin Lainey. If she has to room with Aunt Ida, there’s going to be hell to pay. Besides, we’re not using the family room for anything—it’s far too ugly. So Carrie can have it all to herself.”
“I can’t stay here while your sister is getting married!”
“You certainly can. Besides, they’ve got a room at the Three Horses Inn on their wedding night, so you could always crash in their room if you get tired of the couch.” Deneen gave her an encouraging smile. “Listen, this’ll make a great story—every event planner knows that they’re judged not by the things that go right but by how they handle the challenges. You can return the favor by telling everyone I pulled it off.”
Carrie looked at her for a long moment, then at Jimmy and finally at Zane. She looked completely unsure of herself. Finally, her shoulders sagged and she said, in a very small voice, “I don’t know how to thank you. I didn’t know where I was going to go, and…I just can’t believe you’d do such a nice thing for a total stranger.”
“We’re not strangers,” Deneen said, “not after you spent the night! And now that you’ve seen me without my makeup, we’re practically related! Besides, if you go, I’ll have to put up with Zane moping all day long. He hasn’t brought
a girl home the entire time he’s lived here—I’m not about to turn away the first.”
“I didn’t bring her home!” Zane protested. This was a disaster—Deneen thought they were an item, which could only lead to more trouble. One didn’t take chances around a human tornado who considered herself a matchmaker. “I mean, I did, but only because she didn’t have anywhere else to go!”
“Like a stray kitten,” Deneen said, winking. “Don’t worry, I get it.”
“Really,” Carrie said quickly. “He was just being nice. I don’t—I’m not—”
“Sure, sure. Listen, you two, we can continue the bickering inside. Time’s a-wasting, and we’ve got swans to fold!”
CHAPTER TEN
Caryn laid a salad fork next to the dinner fork on the pale lavender tablecloth, squinted, and nudged it slightly to the right. She didn’t know Deneen well, but she’d wager that the woman was a perfectionist when it came to table settings. Right now she was having an animated conversation on the phone with someone about parking for tomorrow.
“Small to medium, I would say…well, I don’t know, I’ve never actually measured the ruts in the road. I mean, surely you have experience driving on dirt roads if you grew up in North Dakota. Oh, really…mmm-mmm…and I’d love to hear all about how you came to move here from Maine sometime, but for the moment, can we just talk about the parking?”
Caryn smiled to herself as Deneen went out onto the porch where she had more room to pace. She’d been pacing the floors most of the day, which was probably why she had that enviable, lean figure. Caryn herself had been lean, a gym devotee most of her life, until Nathanial dumped her—and now her thin figure owed mostly to stress.
