Stay (Dunham series #2)

by Moriah Jovan

  Eric’s head spun. A—it wasn’t what he’d expected her to say and B—it seemed she was talking about a lot more than the fact that he’d wanted to kiss Vanessa in front of Annie and Junior and God and everybody.

  “So she’s pretty,” he began, trying to sort out what the hell Annie was getting at. “I haven’t seen her since I left for college and she surprised me. That shouldn’t make any difference between you and me.”

  “Surprised you?” Annie screeched. “What the fuck? You know, I wouldn’t even care if it weren’t Vanessa.”

  “You’re jealous of her?” he asked, incredulous. Jealousy wasn’t part of Annie’s emotional repertoire.

  “Yes! Yes, I am. But not because of this. This is a just another in a long line of reasons, and then I find out she’s the one who— That you of all the people in my life—” She took a deep breath and then began. “My entire adolescence was spent listening to my mother talk about how to cozy up to Vanessa Whittaker so she could have an in with Knox.”

  Eric’s jaw dropped. “Vanessa? How was Vanessa your mom’s key to Knox?”

  She stared at him. “You don’t know?”

  “Know what?”

  “Oh, my God,” she whispered, covering her mouth with her fingertips, incredulous. “He never told you. You don’t know anything about her, do you?”

  “No. I haven’t— I have no reason to. She’s just—” He spread his arms wide, unable to make sense of this conversation. “She’s the girl who— Yeah, saved my ass. What else am I supposed to know?”

  She took a deep breath. “Everyone in town knew that if they so much as looked at Vanessa wrong, they’d have to answer to Knox. He also made sure Vanessa showed up at the prosecutor’s office after school or practice and stayed until she had her homework done—to his satisfaction. If she didn’t show up on time, he went looking for her. You know how Knox collects people and makes projects out of them? Because it’s his fucked-up way of atoning for his sins? That’s what everybody thought it was with Vanessa, and who could blame him? With a mother like LaVon?

  “Well. My mother decided that the easiest way to get to Knox was through Vanessa. She made me recruit Vanessa for the varsity cheerleading squad when she was thirteen—because she thought Vanessa would be so grateful to me that she’d bend over backward to hook her up with him. When that didn’t work, she went out of her way to make Vanessa late for Knox’s version of study hall as often as possible just to get his attention.”

  Eric’s mind blew all to hell.

  All this time. Knox had never said a word.

  But Annie recommenced pacing and muttering to herself. “Of course, it’s all my fault that he never asked her out and she still can’t shut up about it. And what’s worse— She’s pissed at me that after all the older women in Knox’s life, he ends up marrying a woman four years younger than me. And she still dyes her hair red in case his marriage doesn’t work out.”

  “So that’s why Knox hates your mother? Because she was using Vanessa to get to him?”

  She stopped pacing and glared at him. “Yes. Which I thought you knew.”

  But no. Quite a few of the older women in the county had done ridiculous things to get Knox’s attention. It was just a way of life in Chouteau County. It wouldn’t have occurred to Eric that Knox’s aversion to Donna Franklin had any more depth than his aversion to the rest of the women who’d thrown themselves at him.

  “So is this really about Knox and your mom?” Eric asked carefully.

  “No. It’s about the fact that not only have I been hearing about Vanessa nonstop for the last fifteen years, but the minute she reappears, my fiancé—Mr. Pragmatic—takes one look at her and falls head over heels in love. One shot. Boom, done.”

  “What the fuck?!”

  “Don’t yell at me. I’m not mad at you. I’m not mad at Vanessa. I’m mad at my mother and the situation. Besides my job, you were the only thing in my life that had nothing to do with Vanessa Whittaker. As far as I knew, you didn’t even know Simone had a little sister, and now I find out that not only is that not true, you probably wouldn’t even be alive without her.”

  Eric flinched.

  She threw one hand in the air. “You are so messed up. It was all you could do in there not to get on your knees and kiss her feet. Gratitude. Hero worship. Whatever you want to call it, but you’ve got some other neuroses mixed up in there besides a hard-on and being—” She made air quotes, which he hated. “‘—in love.’”

  “Annie,” Eric growled.

  “Shut up. That—” She stabbed a finger in the direction of the school. “—kicked me in the teeth, watching you get all flustered so much you were mean to her. I cannot believe I never saw it before. You are a romantic. What, did you catch that disease at BYU, and it’s just been in remission all this time?” She paused. “By the way, why were you mean to her? You only get that way when you know you’ve screwed up.”

  His jaw tightened and he looked away. Annie threw up a hand. “Of course! What did you do?”

  “I never thanked her,” he muttered reluctantly. “I’ve never spoken to her before.”

  “No wonder she looked like you’d just killed her dog.”

  Eric said nothing while he stared at the ground and worried a twig with his foot. “Okay, Annie,” he murmured, guilt-ridden. “I’m not in love with her, but I get your point and I’m sorry. What do you want to do?”

  Silence stretched between them. “I was offered a promotion yesterday, up in Omaha,” she said finally, low, her voice full of what Eric heard as resignation. Regret. “Regional director of sales. I didn’t get a chance to turn it down before my boss had to go, but now I think . . . I don’t know. I need to think about this, with you and me.”

  “What about globetrotting and collecting cabana boys?” Eric asked, grasping at straws.

  “Look, the only thing being a former—divorced—First Lady will get me is prestige and swag and freebies along the way, but my privacy’ll be history. And you know I think it’s a shit job anyway. So it’ll take me a little longer to get to financial independence, but at least I won’t be obligated or accountable to anybody.”

  Eric nodded slowly, seeing half his life crumble in front of his eyes, but strangely detached from it, as if it didn’t really matter.

  That disturbed him.

  Neither spoke while Annie breathed deeply to calm herself. After a moment, she said, “I liked Vanessa way back when. I think I’d still like her because she’s obviously successful at whatever the hell she does, and you know how much I like hanging out with powerful women who know what’s what. But I’m tired of being compared to her and coming out second best. You’ve spent the last fifteen years horsewhipping yourself over her and I really don’t want to know you’re thinking about what could have been with her when you’re married to me.”

  “I understand.” He did, and he couldn’t promise he wouldn’t do exactly what she’d predicted. Annie knew him too well.

  “I’ll walk home,” she murmured, taking his hand for balance while she pulled her shoes off. “I need time to think. Whichever way this goes, it isn’t going to be easy for either one of us.”

  Eric sighed and dug his Glock out of the back of his waistband and traded it for her shoes. She checked the gun carefully, then stuck it in the waistband of her skirt.

  “Be careful,” was the only thing he could muster.

  She strode off then, gorgeous as always, he noted absently, all that blonde hair and blue eyes, that tall, lissome supermodel body: the quintessential country beauty complete with cheerleading, 4H, and barrel racing credentials, and oh, by the way, an Ivy League education and a bank account far bigger than his.

  Eric ambled toward his Corvette, his head low, one hand stuffed in his pocket and the other absently swinging Annie’s shoes. He dropped into the bucket seat. Sliding down, he let his head fall back and he couldn’t help the thought that breaking up with Annie might be . . . a relief.

  That shocked t
he hell out of him, but what shocked him more—

  It didn’t surprise him that she’d instantly deduced his Vanessa-related angst. It was the “in love” part that killed him.

  In love? No, but Annie knew less about love than Eric did and dismissed it just as easily. However, Annie did know his tastes and his history and his habits, so he could see where she’d interpret an instant hard-on as falling in love.

  Vanessa Whittaker, all grown up with curves worthy of a Varga pinup.

  Average height, maybe five feet six, seven inches, much shorter than Annie’s five-eleven. Thick, professionally cut mid-back-length chestnut hair randomly streaked with blonde. Slight tan to her golden skin, even this early in the spring.

  She had an air of primitive sexuality about her that her expensive grooming couldn’t camouflage. Her voice was husky, her perfume sultry and . . . dark, earthy. She had those piercing turquoise eyes that held the same deep hurt they’d held when she was thirteen and had only deepened when he’d snapped at her. But before he’d “killed her dog,” he’d seen . . .

  Desire.

  And now . . .

  Eric might be free.

  Vanessa was an adult.

  Those facts seeped into Eric’s brain and he wondered if he had any competition, but decided it didn’t matter. Boyfriend or lover or husband be damned, Eric knew she wanted to get him in bed.

  But she was still hurt, still wary, and she couldn’t hide that any better than she could hide her blatant sexuality.

  And he’d hurt her feelings. Again.

  “God, Vanessa,” he whispered into the dark, his hand over his arousal, pressing, rubbing until he forced himself to stop. It really wouldn’t do for the Chouteau County prosecutor to fog up his windows and get caught jacking off in front of Chouteau Elementary.

  And another thing . . . where the hell did she live?

  Really, the last thing he needed in this town was to be involved sexually with a Whittaker girl. He’d already been punished for not being involved sexually with a Whittaker girl.

  On the other hand, between Simone and LaVon’s scheming and Vanessa’s rescue, Eric had a life he had never hoped for. At seventeen, he’d been desperate to hide his course load and grades from his party pals, desperate to hide his dreams from everyone, including himself. If the Whittakers had not happened to him, he would still be managing the Chouteau County Feed and Tack, probably with kids by a few different women and no way to pay child support, his wispy aspirations dissipated with the first garnishment on his paycheck.

  And Vanessa . . .

  . . . willing to take in “his” kid, the kid he hadn’t known how to help, except to pay for whatever he stole.

  . . . the way the kid had snuggled up against her at the slightest kindness.

  . . . the way she had overcome her surprise instantly to pull the boy close and give him comfort.

  Eric found that incredibly attractive.

  Annie would’ve never done that, and he wondered . . .

  No. He couldn’t go down that road no matter how much he wanted to. Too many issues, too many problems, too much water that had passed under that particular bridge.

  With those depressing thoughts, he heaved a sigh of great disappointment and drove home to await Annie’s verdict.

  “Where’ve you been?” he asked when Annie came in the front door at three A.M. “I was about to go looking for you.”

  “I,” Annie said calmly as she put the gun in its place and began to undress, “have been at my mother’s.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Voluntarily?”

  She was down to her lingerie when she dropped on the couch beside him. “Well, you know,” she said matter-of-factly, “it was an experiment. By the time I got there, I’d decided it was no big deal, your thing about Vanessa. I mean, therapy’s always an option and shit, I don’t care if you fuck her as long as you’re discreet.”

  “Uh . . . ”

  “Or, hey! All three of us could have a little party, if she’s into that. She’s hot. I’d do her.”

  “Uh . . . ” His mind shut down.

  “Yes, Eric, I have.”

  “Why don’t I know that?”

  “I didn’t find it interesting enough to tell you.”

  His curiosity took over. “So, girls . . . ?”

  “A couple of times,” she replied airily. “It just isn’t the same without a real penis. But for her? Yeah. So my mother,” she went on, “hit me up about Knox the minute I walked in the door, and I’m listening to her going on and on and on, thinking about all the times Knox told me to cut her off, wondering why I’m sitting there like a naughty little girl allowing myself to be yelled at over a fifteen-year-old situation that’s not my doing and not in my power to fix, even if I wanted to.”

  “And?”

  “And I decided she’s too toxic and I can’t take it anymore. I got up and walked out.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Just like that. Just like I’m going to walk on up to Omaha to take that promotion because I’m not going to live that way, caught between her obsession and your angst. I’ll sleep in the other bedroom tonight and pack up tomorrow. I would suggest that you talk to Vanessa as soon as you can and apologize for killing her dog. Poor girl.”

  Eric sighed. “Monday, I guess. She’ll have to talk to me then.”

  Thus, he wasn’t sure why he found himself at Vanessa’s motel room door early the next morning to ask her out for breakfast. She answered the door in a thick robe, shocked to see him there. He grimaced when her shock gave way to contempt and bitterness, no trace of desire to be found.

  He knew he’d gone down in flames just by showing up, but he made his request anyway and almost flinched at her sneer. And then—

  “Are you out of your fucking mind?!” she growled just before slamming the door in his face.

  Though deeply embarrassed and feeling his confusion, his guilt, even more heavily than usual, it did actually occur to him that at the moment she’d spoken, she’d looked and sounded exactly like a female brunette version of Knox Hilliard.

  And no wonder.

  Everyone in town knew that if they so much as looked at Vanessa wrong, they’d have to answer to Knox. He also made sure Vanessa showed up at the prosecutor’s office after school or practice and stayed until she had her homework done—to his satisfaction.

  Eric went home to find half-packed boxes strewn about the place, but Annie sitting on the couch with her laptop in her lap, her mouth agape. “Eric, you’ve got to see this.”

  And it was like nothing had changed, like he and Annie hadn’t broken up. He plopped down beside her, intending to autopsy their relationship a bit more, but his attention caught when Annie turned her screen toward him.

  Then his mouth dropped open.

  Vanessa Whittaker, on the cover of Esquire’s “Women We Love” issue, bending toward the camera, her glossy pink lips in a pouty kiss, eyes half closed. Her long, thick, blonde-streaked chestnut hair floated out behind her.

  She clutched an unbuttoned chef’s coat to her sternum with her left hand to keep it from blowing off completely, leaving the lower curve of her breasts exposed. With her right hand, she held a chef’s hat over her lower abdomen, but left none of the rest of her golden skin and magnificently lush curves to the imagination.

  America’s hottest chef

  serves up gourmet

  roadkill and weeds

  in the Missouri Ozarks

  “Oh, my God,” Eric breathed.

  “Yummy,” Annie purred.

  “This is too fucking surreal,” he muttered, rubbing his forehead. “Turn the page.” With a couple of touches, she found the feature article.

  “‘Ford muse catapulted to food stardom, then left New York glamour for Ozark simplicity to build a five-star resort,’” Annie read. “Ford, shit. She had an affair with Sebastian? He turned me down flat; said I was too skinny.”

  “Annie!”

  “What? He’s gorgeous. Th
at was before he was outed as Ford, mind you. If I’d known, I would’ve tried harder because he has painted skinny women and everybody knows he loves blondes. Let me see if I can find that painting.”

  Eric didn’t know what was worse: finding out that his financial advisor had had an affair with and painted Vanessa Whittaker (he didn’t have to see the painting to know she’d be nude) or that his fiancée (ex-fiancée, he reminded himself) had propositioned same financial advisor.

  Are you out of your fucking mind?!

  “I think I’m going to puke.”

  Pause. Key clicks. “Woah,” she breathed.

  Eric thought he might have a heart attack, but he couldn’t look away.

  Vanessa lounged nude on a magenta velveteen chaise in a classic odalisque pose, her back to the viewer, looking over her shoulder with one eyebrow raised cockily. Her skin was flushed and she wore a self-satisfied, heavy-lidded gaze that made no secret of her relationship to the artist. Eric barely kept himself from reaching out to touch the screen over her bare buttocks. Her long streaked chestnut hair fell in tiny haphazard braids and dreadlocks to pool on the floor. An enormous gray long-haired cat crouched on the chaise by her feet.

  “That’s Knox’s cat,” Eric croaked, feeling betrayed.

  Crowding the chaise was a vast array of paraphernalia more suited to the lair of a voodoo priestess brewing up potions and assembling gris gris bags than to a celebrity chef with an obscure specialty.

  They both stared in stunned silence. Looked at each other in disbelief. Looked back at the painting.

  It was titled Wild, Wild West, “an homage to the stereotypical American frontier saloon paintings,” according to Wikipedia.

  “That resort she’s got, Whittaker House,” Annie said slowly, unsympathetic with Eric’s misery, “do you s’pose that’s the inn Knox owns?”

  Eric had his cell out, speed dialed, and on speaker before she finished her question.

  “Yes or no,” he barked as soon as Knox answered. “Whittaker House is yours.”

  “Half,” Knox corrected with alacrity. Annie chortled.