Harlow jumped up and down, clapping her hands. “Yes! Agreed.”
Daniel stalked into the room with a piece of paper in hand, Princess fast on his heels. He’d changed his clothes, and his hair was damp. He must have taken a shower in one of the unused rooms.
An image of his naked body dripping with soapy bubbles invaded her mind. A spectacular image, and yet she experienced a wave of disappointment. He no longer bore the scent of her on his flesh.
She wanted her scent on his flesh.
Shouldn’t think so possessively. It’s wrong on every level.
He met and held Dorothea’s gaze, his pupils expanding. Her body softened, preparing for another mind-blowing orgasm while her internal thermostat cranked up the heat. She was pretty sure she could warm the entire building.
The bastard noticed her reaction and smiled slowly. “What do blue and purple mean?”
Why not tell him? “Sad and determined.”
His smile slipped, as if he actually cared about her mood.
Cursing him, she dug a treat from her pocket and waved Princess over. The little dog had been tentative at first but now trotted over to take the treat—only to dart out of range when Dorothea reached out to pet her behind the ears. Well, it was still progress.
“Daniel,” Harlow said, clearly trying not to laugh. “It’s so good to see you again.”
“I know.”
Oh, to have such confidence.
He handed the paper to Dorothea. “Here’s that background check you demanded.”
The background—on himself! She looked it over and frowned. “All it says is that you moved back to Strawberry Valley this year and reconnected with the hottest girl in school.” The word hottest was highlighted, underlined and circled.
“Exactly. Because that’s really all that matters.”
“Wait,” Harlow said with a shake of her head. “You had him do a background check on himself?”
“Yes. Not that it did any good.” Dorothea scowled at Daniel before smiling at Harlow. “Consider Daniel your beck-and-call boy. He’ll fetch anything you need.” Smug now, she stepped around him and headed for her sister’s room.
On Holly’s eighteenth birthday, Carol had helped her move out of their suite and into her own private living quarters, even though she was still in high school. An Enter at Your Own Peril sign hung on the door.
Dorothea knocked and pressed her finger into the peephole, knowing curiosity would get the better of the girl.
Sure enough, the door swung open. Holly spotted her and glowered. “What?”
“So kind.” Today her sister wore an oversize tee that read “Play with Bed Bugs at the Strawberry Inn.” Her skintight leggings were stuffed into cowgirl boots, and white lace socks peeked over the top. “Just wanted to start my day right. With your sunny smile.”
Good old-fashioned surprise flickered inside those familiar green eyes.
“I love you, Halls. Have a nice day.” She didn’t try to push for a lengthy or in-depth conversation. Her goal was simple: let her sister know she was here, she cared, she would always care and she would always be here, no matter what. She was rebuilding trust, after all.
And she was using the very method Daniel was using on her, she realized. Close proximity, short and sweet interactions. No wonder he’d agreed to work at the inn.
Well. He really was putting everything he had into winning her over. Maybe she should—
No. Nope. Secret relationships were bad. Bad!
Deciding to take a few hours off, she phoned Ryanne, who usually worked until three in the morning…which was why she had a strict no-calls-before-noon policy. A policy Dorothea decided to ignore.
“Better be a matter of life-and-death,” the girl grumbled.
“It is. I have two dates this weekend and nothing to wear. We’re going shopping.”
“No way, chica. I’m trying to sleep.” Ryanne shouted the words.
In the background, Dorothea thought she heard a man muttering.
“Oh, good. You have company, so you’re up. I’ll be there in ten minutes.” Click.
Dorothea changed into a T-shirt and jeans, grabbed her purse and stalked to the lobby. She passed Daniel—won’t look, won’t freaking look—and stepped outside. The too-bright sunlight made her eyes tear.
Her phone rang. A quick glance at the screen made her groan. Jazz. Ugh. This was his weekly call. “What do you want?” she said in lieu of a greeting.
“You, Dorothea.” His smooth baritone drifted over the line. “I want you.”
Sometimes she hung up on him without speaking. Sometimes she listened to his stream of apologies and praise. Today, she had just enough gumption to say, “You can’t have me.”
“Please. If you’d just listen to me—”
“You need to stop calling me, Jazz. We’re over. We’ll always be over, and it’s your loss.”
“I’m no longer with Charity. We split.”
“Did you cheat on her? Or did she cheat on you?”
Silence.
Well, well. “I would have been faithful forever, you know. But nooo. You’re a cheater, and you hooked up with a cheater.” So how had Dorothea been the one to end up feeling like yesterday’s garbage? “You guys were never going to last.”
He cleared his throat. “I miss you.”
“I don’t care.”
“I did you wrong, and I’m sorry. If you give me another chance, I’ll be devoted to you. I’ll never make the same mistake again. I just… I want you back. I love you. I’ve never stopped loving you. I miss you,” he repeated.
“Again, I don’t care. You aren’t a prize, Jazz, and I deserve a prize.”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I made a mistake.”
His voice broke, as if he were crying. Maybe he was. Her heart remained set against him.
She’d forgiven him long ago, despite the anger and bitterness she still sometimes battled, but forgiveness didn’t mean she would give him a place in her new life, allowing him to crap all over her a second time.
“Jazz, you know what I lost after I discovered your affair.” She remembered every detail of that tragic day. She’d been at work—down to only one job thanks to Jazz’s plush new position at the network. Though he hadn’t wanted her to stop working and return to school yet because they’d needed to save for the baby.
She’d begun to cramp, and her boss had let her leave early.
Thrilled, she’d texted Jazz, and he’d told her to go home, that he hadn’t left for work yet, so he would call in sick and give her a massage.
She’d found out later Charity had sent the reply. That the two had already been at the apartment, intending to head to the station together.
The news anchor had wanted Dorothea’s marriage to end and had finally had her chance.
If only Charity had called her instead. I’m boning your husband. How about you hit the bricks?
Dorothea would have filed for divorce in a heartbeat. Rose might have lived.
That cramping…
One of the nurses had told her: Your daughter died for a reason.
Dorothea had almost come unglued.
Jazz had said: God needed another angel for his choir. You and me, we can have another baby.
Her mom had said: Everything happens for a reason. This was meant to be.
“Everything happens for a reason” and “meant to be” were nothing but excuses. A way to blame fate rather than the fallacy of human nature. But Dorothea understood the reason her mother believed both. When Joe Mathis had taken off, Carol had needed a scapegoat.
And Jazz’s comment? Well, it made him dumber than homemade sin. God had nothing to do with her daughter’s death. Evil did. And Dorothea wanted her sweet Rose.
“Please, Dorothea,” he said. “I know you lost the baby, and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I lost her, too. But we can try again.”
“I do want to try again. One day. With someone else,” she said, making the decision then and there. No risk, no reward. Better to regret the things you try than the things you never do.
Yes, the odds were one in a million, but people had won the lottery with less.
“You need to stop calling me, okay? We’re over, and we’ll always be over.” She hung up.
Her chin quivered as she shoved the phone in her purse. In, out, she breathed, searching for a happy place. Rebuilding her relationship with Holly—who was like a daughter to her already. Making a success of the inn. Even… Daniel? You are perfect just the way you are.
He might be partly a happy place, but he was also a complication she couldn’t afford.
A craggy voice called her name. “Dorothea!”
She turned to find Virgil Porter striding toward her. He wore a pair of faded, paint-stained overalls and mud-caked boots. Despite his age, he was an imposing man. Surrounded by old buildings with exposed brick, concrete and wooden beams, he was a slice of Americana come to life.
Her nerves kicked up a fuss, but she held her ground. No more running away from tough situations. She’d kissed Daniel. Heck, she’d made him come in his pants. Spontaneous Combustion Girl could do anything.
Fake it till you make it.
She forced a smile and waved. “Hi, Mr. Porter.”
He grinned in return. He hadn’t just given Daniel his height and width; he’d given his son his smile, too. A mischievous smile bursting with charm.
“Heard my Danny boy is your new clerk.”
“Yes, sir. And you must have raised him right, because he’s a good one.” It was the Lord’s honest truth. Daniel did nothing halfway. He was self-motivated, finding things to fix when no guests were at the desk to ask questions and even putting a new security system in place.
Thou shalt do your best, not just what’s good enough.
If only his work ethic carried over into his dating life.
Virgil puffed up with pride. “Wish I could take all the credit, but his momma was a force to be reckoned with, God rest her precious soul. She wasn’t afraid to spank his bottom whenever he turned on the sass.”
“So that’s the secret, huh? Spanking his bottom.”
Virgil snorted. “Look at you. Like a possum eatin’ a sweet tater. Just don’t be alarmed if he wants to spank your bottom right back.”
Oh, she figured Daniel would love nothing more than to bend her over his knees and paddle her blue for giving his relationship offer the stanky boot.
For a man who claimed to relish a good challenge, he sure got crazy when things failed to go his way.
Because I’m important to him?
Nope. Not going there. The answer didn’t matter. She was no one’s dirty little secret. Besides, she could never forget he expected the end to come. Seek and you will find.
“Well,” she said, and cleared her throat. “I should probably get going.”
“Where you headed?”
Welcome to small-town living. “Ryanne and I are going shopping.”
“I hope you’re not going to the city. No one there has the sense God gave a goose. Only thing you’re gonna get is mugged.”
She swallowed a laugh. “I’ll take care, Mr. Porter. I promise.”
“Call me Virgil. Shoot, I watched you grow up, feel like I’m your favorite uncle. I know how special you are.”
The simple proclamation flipped her entire world upside down and inside out. Her own dad had rejected her, but this man who wasn’t actually blood related thought she was special. The tears she’d been fighting spilled out and flowed down her cheeks.
“Now, now.” He drew her in for a bear hug and gave her back an awkward pat. “I didn’t mean to go upsettin’ you.”
“I’m not upset.” Not here and now. She clung to him. “I’m happy.”
“There’s no need to blubber like a baby, then, is there?”
A surprised laugh escaped. “You’re right.”
He released her and kissed her damp cheek. “You go on now. Have fun and stay safe, and make sure you get home before midnight. Excuse my French, but by then there ain’t nothing open but legs and hospitals.”
She choked on a laugh. A genuine laugh. He was such a good man, and he liked her. Truly liked her. And his son—
Nope. Still not thinking about him.
Today, she’d had to deal with few ups and a lot of downs. Which one she focused on—that was what mattered. It would mean the difference between victory and defeat, happiness and despair.
I’m going to stay happy, and that’s that.
She stopped at Holy Grounds, bought the strongest espresso on the menu for Ryanne, adding milk and sugar—lucky girl!—and ordered herself a cup of plain black coffee. Whimper. But better she wish her coffee tasted like candy than wear the milk and sugar in her thighs like saddlebags.
Miracle of miracles, Ryanne was waiting outside the bar, already dressed and ready to go. She swiped the cup of espresso and drained half the contents before Dorothea could utter a greeting.
Dorothea noticed the fluffy clouds ghosting along the sky—and frowned. Was that a man sneaking down Ryanne’s stairs? The staircase that opened to the outside and led straight to her bedroom.
No, it most certainly wasn’t a man. It was two men.
Brock Hudson and Jude Laurent, a seriously good-looking man with pale hair and a slight limp. As sunlight stroked over his bronzed skin, Ryanne stiffened.
“So you guys are having playdates with my friend?” Dorothea asked when they reached her.
Brock gave her a half grin before lighting a cigarette. Jude plucked the cigarette from his fingers and ground the entire thing into the sidewalk.
“Nothing happened,” Ryanne said. “After Jude took Brock home, Brock returned and drank too much, like a teenager at his first rave, and refused to get inside a cab because the driver might—and I quote—‘steal his seed.’ As if he doesn’t hand it out for free every night. I let him crash on my couch. Called Jude but didn’t hear back from him till this morning, and he came to get Brock.”
Brock spread his arms, the king of the castle. “The couch wasn’t made for a man like me. You should have invited me to share your bed.”
“I was seconds away from doing just that…until I remembered I would rather cut off your balls and feed them to you,” Ryanne replied.
Jude’s scowl deepened. He stepped in front of his friend, blocking the guy’s view of Ryanne. The action was almost…dare she say…possessive. And the tension crackling between the couple? Oh, my stars.
What an interesting development.
“Your hospitality sucked,” he said without any inflection or emotion.
No way could Jude pass the ten commitments test. Being kind to others didn’t appear to be in his wheelhouse.
“I’ll be sure to mention my raging guilt in my diary.” Ryanne brushed an invisible piece of lint from her shirt. “Oh. Meant to tell you. I accidentally tossed Brock’s car keys somewhere in the parking lot. Y’all should probably start lookin’.”
“You took the keys straight out of my pocket and said, ‘I’ve been working on my throw. Watch.’” Once again Brock spread his arms. “Then you added, ‘Expect to find those keys in kingdom come.’”
“Well, darn.” Ryanne snapped her fingers. “There’s another entry for my diary.”
“I’ll call and let you know when we find the keys,” Jude said, “to ease your conscience.”
She smirked. “You don’t have my number.”
“I found it on the bathroom wall next to the words Gives Good Head…aches.”
Her
eyes sparkled with humor—humor?—as she hooked her arm through Dorothea’s and tugged her forward. “Enjoy your day, boys. My friend and I have things to see and people to do.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
RYANNE HAD THE better car, so she drove to the city. They reached the mall in record time. The parking lot was overcrowded, big SUVs and trucks wedged into tiny slots meant for even tinier cars.
After a good fifteen minutes, her friend found an open space about a half-mile hike from the sprawling building with gorgeous glass walls. The smell of exhaust carried on the wind as they headed inside.
“So…you and Jude, huh?” Dorothea asked, deciding to probe for information at last.
Ryanne scowled at her. “No, absolutely not. He’s rude.”
“And yet the two of you nearly singed off my eyebrows.”
“You mean like you and Daniel did to me?” Her dry tone held a note of challenge.
“I… Daniel… This isn’t about me! You never share your personal quarters with the bar’s patrons, and yet you allowed Brock—”
“Who is a total he-slut.”
“—to spend the night, just so you could call Jude—”
“Who is the biggest asshole I’ve ever met.”
“—to come get his friend. Don’t try to pretend otherwise. Brock could have driven himself home this morning.”
Ryanne waved a fist in her direction, all mock fury and genuine indignation. “I will punch you, and I won’t feel bad or ever say sorry.”
Dorothea blew her friend a kiss. “No mention of me in your diary? What a shame.”
“You know I’m saving up to travel the world,” Ryanne said. “I will never change my plans for a man or a relationship. Besides, you need to be hounding Lyndie. She came to the bar last night and couldn’t take her eyes off Brock. He watched her, too. Well, when he wasn’t screwing a woman in the bathroom.”
The reserved, quiet Lyndie was attracted to the irreverent, womanizing Brock, and vice versa? Dang. The world had stopped making any kind of sense.
“This is almost more than I can process.” Dorothea rubbed her temples. “The next time the boys show up at the bar, call me. I want to be a witness if anything goes to court…the court of love.”
Second Chance Page 17
