He reached for Audrey. With one hand behind her head and his other across the back of her waist, he hauled her against him, fast and hard, her curves full and giving against his body.
There was nothing gentle about what he wanted—to drown in Audrey, in her generosity, and in her weird wisdom when she looked at him, and in her quirky, bright spirit—to eradicate what he’d done this week, to give himself the gift of oblivion.
His mouth came down on the lush lips that had tempted him all evening. She stiffened and then gave, her arms wrapping around him like the sexiest freaking security blanket on earth, offering sanctuary.
She tasted as good as she looked, and felt like heaven, like dreams come true, like time standing still. She gave to him so completely, she melted the iceberg of his heart, pouring a single-minded devotion over him.
What—? How—?
He stopped questioning and gave in to her tenderness, the surface heat scorching, but the underlying affection real and true.
Audrey cared for him?
He drank her in, inhaled the perfume that drugged common sense out of him and left him reeling.
Slowly, she pulled away and licked her damp bottom lip. He stroked his tongue down her soft neck to the shoulder that had tempted him all evening.
“Gray, stop,” she whispered, placing her hands against his chest and setting him away from her, as though he were a naughty boy.
“No,” she said and opened her car door. “We aren’t doing this.” She leaned one hand on her hip, a gesture he was beginning to recognize—she did it when she was shaken and trying to force a confidence she didn’t feel.
“Don’t ever kiss me again. Ever.” Her trembling voice betrayed her calm stance.
Afraid that his voice would betray his own shakiness, he forced himself to be cocky.
“Why not? You enjoyed it as much as I did. I felt your excitement.”
“My body responded, yes, but my mind and my heart don’t want you.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t like you.”
The simple conviction, the unnerving sentiment, shattered him.
What about the tenderness he’d felt from her? The affection? Had he imagined it? Did he miss Marnie so much, was he so starved for love, that he was making things up? Imagining warmth where it didn’t exist?
Had he become that deranged since the accident?
Audrey Stone didn’t like him.
It shouldn’t hurt. It did.
Brazen it out. “What does like have to do with anything?”
“I have to like a man to be involved with him.”
“Why don’t you like me?”
“You aren’t the person I’ve always thought you were. You used to be a good person, a person worth liking.”
“When?”
“A long, long time ago.” She got into her car and drove off without a glance at him.
How did she know he used to be a good person, and how long ago was a long, long time ago? Certainly, not in his memory. He’d never had enough exposure to Audrey for her to pass judgment on him, for her to know whether he was good, bad or indifferent.
How did she know he was no longer a person worth liking? Just because he was trying to boot her off the land? It was business. Surely she could see that. Emotion had nothing to do with a sound business decision.
* * *
GRAY PARKED IN Jeff’s driveway and got out of the car, a bottle of Chivas Regal in his hand. He would have chosen something different for himself, Laphroaig or Aberlour, but Dad had said Jeff liked Chivas.
Time to find out how bad Jeff’s eyesight really was, or if he was faking it to get money out of Dad.
Despite how bad Audrey and Harrison said Jeff’s situation was, maybe it called for an objective observer, someone who wasn’t emotionally involved.
It was Saturday afternoon. Audrey would be at her shop. She’d said that Jeff didn’t go out. Gray stood a good chance of catching Jeff alone.
It seemed that Gray’s job since he’d returned home was to separate the honest lot from the cheaters, the expenses that were justified from those that weren’t.
He hadn’t seen Jeff in maybe six or seven years and didn’t know what to expect.
Gray knocked three times. Finally, he heard slow shuffling. The door opened. Jeff, looking decades older than the last time their paths had crossed, squinted against the sunlight.
“Who is it?” he asked, while looking straight at Gray. How could he not recognize Gray? He’d worked for Dad for so many years.
“It’s Gray Turner, Mr. Stone.”
Jeff cocked his head this way and that like a curious bird, then sighed. “I’ll have to take your word for it. Can’t see worth a damn.”
“I heard you didn’t get out much and thought you’d like a visitor. I brought Scotch.”
Jeff grinned. “You always were a good one for bringing the right gifts. Come on in.” He shuffled into the living room at a snail’s pace, his hand never leaving the wall, his gait unsure, hesitant.
So, was he putting on a show? How much was real? Was Dad just an easy target these days? Was Jeff in trouble or getting away with murder?
Jeff gestured vaguely toward a sofa. “Sit.”
Vertical lines bracketed his mouth. Permanent unhappiness.
Gray remembered Jeff used to be happy all of the time, but that had been years ago when Gray had been a teenager and still lived in town, still spent time at Turner Lumber and saw Jeff regularly. When had Jeff changed? After Billy’s death in Afghanistan?
Dad had called Gray about it, devastated that his friend’s son had died. Gray thought about how much he had wanted a family with Marnie, about how much he’d been affected when watching Audrey hold a baby, and wondered how awful it would be to lose a child. Overwhelming. He suspected it might even be worse than losing a fiancée. And that had been godawful.
“I’ll get us some glasses.” Jeff walked straight into the mammoth coffee table. “Holy Hannah Mother of God!” Jeff’s anger was real. No playacting here. He had a strange way of expressing anger, though.
A vague thought metamorphosed into a memory. Gray had been about fifteen or sixteen and working in the lumberyard because Dad had insisted that he learn every aspect of the business. He had cursed about something, dropping a board on his foot. Whatever. Jeff had been right there reading him the riot act.
“If you can’t find a good way to express your anger outside of profanity, then don’t say anything.” Hilary, who had come down from the office to handle some paperwork, had stood nearby. Jeff had tilted his head toward her. “Especially in front of women.”
It had seemed unrealistic at the time, but there’d been no doubting Jeff’s passion.
Gray steered the man to an armchair. “Sit. I’ll get the glasses. Where are they?”
“In the kitchen. You remember where that is. You used to run wild in here with Audrey.”
That pulled Gray up short. He did? No way. Audrey? He had no memory of playing with Audrey here or anywhere else.
Somehow, though, he did know where the kitchen was. Duh. It was down the hallway at the back of the house, where most any kitchen would be in a house this old. Simple logic, that was all.
He opened a cupboard and retrieved a couple glasses, but stopped at the doorway, shivers running up his back. How had he known the correct door to open? There hadn’t been a speck of hesitation. He’d gone straight to the right cupboard.
No way did it mean anything. Coincidence. Nothing more. He forced the question from his mind.
In the living room, he poured them each a shot of Chivas.
“Cheers,” Jeff said, holding out his glass in Gray’s general direction. Gray reached over and clinked his glass against Jeff’s.
Jeff
brought the drink to his mouth slowly and sipped. Gray wondered how a lack of eye-hand coordination affected eating and drinking. Jeff sighed. “That’s good. Thank you.” He relaxed a little.
Gray was still arrested by the changes in Jeff, by the rapid aging. Maybe...maybe everything was true. Maybe Dad was doing the right thing by Jeff.
Staring at his father’s friend, memories formed, images of flying, feelings of joy. Gray grinned. “Whenever I visited the store you used to pick me up and swing me high into the air. Then you’d pretend you were going to drop me.”
“When you were little, yeah.” Jeff’s smile emphasized the grooves in his face, but eased the unhappiness. “You used to giggle like a girl.” He said it fondly without criticism. Jeff had been twenty years younger than Dad and physically strong, and somehow Gray had sensed that he loved children.
Gray remembered that weightlessness, that pure and utter exhilaration, the complete trust he’d had in Jeff. He’d forgotten it over the years. What else had he forgotten?
“You mentioned that I used to visit here. How old was I?”
“Real little. You started coming when you were only three or so. You and Audrey were real pals.”
They were? He had no memory of that. No way.
“I used to take Audrey to work after her mother died, and the two of you would run around the back fields like a pair of puppies. That is, until—” Jeff closed his mouth, compressed his lips, as though he’d said something wrong.
“Until?” Gray asked, but Jeff shook his head. The well of that conversation had run dry. Jeff wasn’t giving out any more information. What the heck?
He poured them more Scotch.
Jeff changed to the topic of the Turner business, asking how things were. Gray expressed concerns, and Jeff offered input. He’d worked there for so many years, he knew the business through and through. His insights were sound. Smart. Gray casually introduced the topic of the huge benefits package to Jeff.
“I told Harrison it was a mistake to give people too much,” Jeff said. “I worked at Turner Lumber for nearly thirty years. Harrison was a generous guy. A good employer. Best ever. But honest to God, you don’t give the company away in chunks like that.”
“Yes!” The word exploded out of Gray. “I’ve been trying to tell him that. The concessions he’s given are nuts. Banking sick days. How stupid is that?” The drink had loosened his tongue, and he couldn’t seem to stop. “Paying out thousands of dollars to employees at retirement because they weren’t sick. Some guy said he shouldn’t be penalized for being healthy. That’s damn— Sorry, that’s insane. Sick days are insurance against illness, not a guarantee of easy money for doing nothing. It’s one of the things bankrupting the company, but Dad won’t budge on the issue.”
“Buddy, I hear you and I understand.” Jeff held out his glass for a refill, and Gray obliged, so damned gratified to hear an employee express reservations about those swollen benefits. The man had a good head on his shoulders.
Jeff sipped his drink. “There are benefits people do need, though. Ever taken a pair of kids to the dentist? Costs a fortune just to fill a tooth. Hard on a workingman’s salary.” He leaned forward. “Do you have any idea how much it costs to give birth to a baby in a hospital?”
Gray shook his head.
When Jeff mentioned an amount so high it shocked Gray, he choked on the sip of Scotch he’d just taken.
“Are you serious?” he asked.
Jeff nodded.
Gray shifted. Should he have contracted a cheaper package, rather than throwing out the whole thing?
He studied Jeff. He’d forgotten what a good man he was, how loyal he’d been to Harrison, not only as an employer, but also as a friend.
Jeff’s pleasure in seeing Gray seemed sincere. Wouldn’t a guy who was pulling a fast one have hesitated to let Gray in the door? His problem with his eyesight seemed real.
“Do you want to come into the office one day?” Gray asked.
“Don’t get out,” Jeff said gruffly. “Can’t drive anymore.”
“I can pick you up and drive you home later.”
Jeff made a noncommittal sound.
“I’d like you to see the changes I’ve made.” Gray cursed to himself. See. Unfortunate choice of words.
Again, they changed to another topic.
Gray was glad Jeff couldn’t see his face because a sudden rush of shame sent heat to his chest. He’d come here with bad intentions, with distrust, to investigate a man who had only ever treated him and his family well.
He’d been away from this town too long, had worked in a city where employees could be a transient lot, where one didn’t enter a company at twenty-five and stay until retirement. Where there were dwindling supplies of loyalty. Where me in both employers and employees was the order of the day.
Humbled, Gray sat back in his armchair prepared to give Jeff however much time he needed to feel wanted, to feel cared for, to feel vital.
Two hours later, when he and Jeff were well along in finishing the bottle, and feeling in harmony with each other and the world, Gray heard the door open. Then Audrey entered the room, but stopped when she saw Gray.
“What are you doing here?” Her glance shifted between him and her dad.
He wondered whether she was remembering that kiss. He was. He stared at her mouth. For endless moments, she stared at his.
The silence was broken by Jeff. “Look who came to visit. Haven’t seen Gray in years.”
Audrey’s eyebrows rose, and Gray didn’t know whether it was because Jeff was slurring his words or because he sounded so animated.
“You guys are drunk.” Her accusatory tone was mitigated by a soft smile. She mouthed thank you to Gray silently.
For getting her father drunk?
“I’m glad you had a good visit.”
Oh. For bringing social congress into her dad’s life. Gray’s belly warmed, and it wasn’t the Scotch. It felt similar to when he’d bought Tiffany those cheap flip-flops. Guilt tried to crowd out the warmth, because his motives hadn’t been pure when he’d come here today.
They were now, though. He’d missed seeing Jeff over the years. He remembered so much, the best of which was how well Jeff used to treat him.
Today, this weekend, might be all of the warmth Gray would feel in his life for a long, long time if that thing with his dad went through.
Desperate, as though a giant ax loomed over his neck, Gray blurted, “Jeff, remember when you used to take me fishing?”
“Sure do. Your dad and I were great fishing buddies.”
“Want to go again? I could take you and Dad out to Pine Lake tomorrow.”
Jeff rubbed his hands along the tops of his thighs. “I don’t know how I could.”
“I can be your eyes. What is there to do? You put a lure on a hook and you toss it into the water.”
An expression of such wistfulness crossed Jeff’s face that Gray pressed the issue. “I won’t take no for an answer. I’ll pick you up at five o’clock. You aren’t afraid of getting up early, are you?”
Jeff snorted. “Been getting up early for work since I was sixteen. I can outwork and outfish you any day, city boy.”
A load of stress eased from Gray’s shoulders. Why? It was just a fishing trip. He turned to Audrey. “We need to work out the logistics of getting my car home.” He grinned. “I’ve had too much to drink.”
An hour later, after car jockeying with Audrey and his dad, both Gray and the Volvo were home.
“Come on,” he said to his father, leading him to the garage, giddy like a little girl getting her first Barbie doll. Tickled pink. God, what a dumb expression. True, though. He was happy. He was drunk and feeling like a million bucks, and he was going fishing. Fishing.
“Let’s get the canoe onto th
e car tonight.”
Dad followed, his excitement about going fishing putting a new spring in his step.
CHAPTER SEVEN
GRAY WOKE WITH a weight on his chest. It took him a moment to figure out that it was dread, the ax looming. Then he remembered why his alarm had gone off at this ungodly hour, and a smile spread across his face.
He was taking his dad and Jeff Stone fishing.
After he showered the residual effects of yesterday’s Scotch from his system and dressed, he went downstairs to find Dad already eating breakfast. Mom turned from the counter.
“Good morning, dear.”
“Mom! What are you doing up?”
She smiled. “Making this.” She handed him a cup of coffee already doctored the way he liked it.
“You’re an angel.” He wrapped her in his arms and squeezed, emotions, good and bad, clogging his throat. This might be the last hug he would ever share with his mom.
“Hey, hey, sweetheart,” she said, her voice muffled against his chest. “You’re only going to Pine Lake, not the Antarctic.”
Gray pulled away, then sat at the table where a full plate waited for him, bacon and eggs and toast.
Mom picked up a thermal bag from the counter. “I’ve packed the three of you a lunch. I’ll put it beside the front door.” She left the room.
“You didn’t have to get Mom up so early to do all of this.”
Dad harrumphed. “I’d like to see you try to stop her.”
It took another twenty minutes before they were ready to leave. Then Harrison kissed Abigail and said, “Go back to bed.”
She yawned. “I probably will. You have a good day. Bring home some trout for dinner.”
It was still dark when they stopped to pick up Jeff, who stood on the front porch waiting for them.
Audrey stood beside him, a red flannel robe cinched at her waist. Puffy white slippers encased her feet like furry rabbits.
She didn’t wear a stitch of makeup, and her clean skin, her fresh complexion, made her look younger. Her hair formed a messy nimbus around her fine features. The dawn darkened the violet of her eyes.
Because of Audrey Page 12
