Michael was back on the porch, juggling a pitcher of lemonade, four cups, and a six-pack of Boulevard Pale Ale. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted a beer or something else,” Michael said with a friendly smile.
“Lemonade would be great,” Lindsey answered, still trying to process that Nick Kincade was basically her new neighbor along with Michael and Em.
“So, Lindsey, what’s your story?” Em asked through another bite of French bread. This time it was topped with chocolate chips and hummus.
“I’ve lived all over. I’m a photographer.” She’d already had her canned ‘where are you from’ answer ready. It wasn’t the whole truth, but it was true enough.
Nick sat up. “You became a photographer?”
“Yeah.”
His gaze softened. “I’d always wondered.”
“Did you…” She trailed off. She hated how badly she wanted to know if Nick had become a pilot.
He smiled. “Yeah, I did.”
“Captain Nick is our pilot in residence,” Michael said.
But before Lindsey could ask another question, her stomach growled again.
Em’s eyes went wide. “Look at me, stuffing my face while you all sit there with nothing. Let me make you a plate, Lindsey. The men can fend for themselves.”
Em put a little bit of everything onto a plate and handed it to her along with a glass of lemonade.
“You’ll have to bear with us,” Michael said, popping a potato chip into his mouth. “We’re on the pregnancy diet around here, which basically consists of—”
“Of whatever I feel like eating,” Em said and tossed several chocolate chips and an olive into her mouth.”
“How far along are you?” Lindsey asked. A twinge of jealousy pulled at her heart. Rosemary and Claire knew about her pregnancy, but she hadn’t mentioned it to anyone, not even the counselors at the shelter. She needed to see a doctor, but it had seemed too risky with Brett being a physician. While Houston was a big city, the medical community was close-knit. She couldn’t risk Brett getting even a whiff of her condition. Still, she envied Em, who could share her news happily to the world.
Em popped another olive into her mouth. She shared a smile with Michael. “Almost nineteen weeks.”
Lindsey nodded. Their pregnancies weren’t that far apart.
“See,” Em said, pointing at her. “Our new neighbor likes olives and chocolate, too.”
Lindsey looked down. She hadn’t even realized she had been eating the strange food combination.
“Have you and Michael lived here long?” she asked, changing the subject. The last thing she needed was for these people to figure out she was pregnant.
“Born and bred,” Michael answered. “Em grew up in your house, Lindsey, and I grew up right here. There are many, many happy memories between these two Foursquares. Most of them include Em running around the yard topless.”
Em gave Michael a playful punch to the arm. “Number one, I was a toddler at the time; and number two, you ran naked all the way to the town square. That’s public nudity, mister. A chargeable offense.”
Lindsey smiled. After living in a place filled only with fear and pain, there was something so sweet and so heartwarming knowing the place where she was going to raise her child was steeped in happy memories. She could almost hear the sound of children’s laughter floating on the cool Kansas breeze. “It’s a beautiful house, Em. I know it’s going to be perfect for us,” Lindsey said.
Dammit!
“Us? Do you have a partner? Is someone else moving in with you?” Em asked through another bite.
“I meant, me. It’s going to be perfect for me,” she said, masking the lie with a sip of lemonade.
A pocket of silence closed around the porch, but, before it became awkward, Michael shifted the conversation. “Are you familiar with the American Foursquare style home? Our houses actually came from a Sears catalog back in the 1930s. There are only a handful of them in Langley Park.”
Michael described the architectural features of the house with its large front porch, boxy shape, and overhanging, low hipped roof. But she couldn’t concentrate on the content of his explanation. Nick was watching her. She could feel his eyes assessing, calculating. Her heart beat a mile a minute. She balled her hands into fists, trying to fight the pull to meet his gaze. She was just about to give in when a truck pulled into Em and Michael’s driveway.
Em stood. “What’s Sam doing here?”
“Did you smell the hummus, chocolate and olive combo and come to stop such a deliberate culinary atrocity?” Michael called out as Sam cut the engine.
Sam was a big guy. Like Michael and Nick, he was at least 6’3 or 6’4, but Sam had an ominous quality about him, with tattoos running the length of his arms and wild auburn curls. But when he smiled, his open expression dashed any preconceived notions of the man being anything other than a gentle giant.
Sam shut the door to the truck and shook his head. “Em, I don’t care what you eat when you’re at home, but next time you’re at Park Tavern, try not to gross out my staff by ordering a side of pickles with strawberry jelly.”
“I don’t know what you’re complaining about,” she answered, going up on tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek. “It was delicious. You should think about expanding the menu.”
“Sam owns Park Tavern,” Nick said, leaning in. “It’s a local restaurant and bar in the town center.”
“I saw it when I got into town,” Lindsey answered, running her thumb nervously over the rim of her glass. Michael and Em left the porch to talk with Sam, and, with their departure, the air became heavy, filled with ghosts of their shared past and so many unspoken questions.
“Kincade,” Sam called out. “I’m making a house call.”
“We should…” Nick said, getting up from the table.
“Of course.” Lindsey stood and followed him off the porch.
Sam extended his hand and gave Lindsey an easy smile. “I’m Sam Sinclair. We met earlier today.”
“I remember,” Lindsey said. “It’s nice to see you again.”
“Is that my stuff—in garbage bags?” Nick asked.
“That’s all your shit, dude,” Sam replied. “I was a good friend and packed it up for you. I had some time before I needed to get to the tavern, and I thought I’d help you out.”
Nick opened one of the trash bags. “Why are there a bunch of bananas in with all my aviation manuals?”
“I didn’t say I did a good job packing your shit, only that I did it,” Sam answered with a cheeky grin.
Michael held up a pilot’s hat filled with tortilla chips. “Okay, boys, I don’t think this will take us too long to unload. Lucky for us, Captain Nick travels light. Sam, pull your truck back to the carriage house. It’ll be easier to unload it there.”
The men sprang into action, laughing and dishing out plenty of good-natured ribbing as they carried Nick’s uniquely packed belongings into the carriage house. Lindsey watched Nick. He had seemed to have found his place in this world.
“They’re quite a little trio,” Em said with a chuckle.
Lost in her thoughts, Lindsey hadn’t noticed her come up.
“There’s some history between you and Nick, isn’t there?” Em asked.
Lindsey glanced over at Em and tried to be nonchalant. “We both spent a summer in Langley Park. We were camp counselors together when we were sixteen.”
Em narrowed her gaze. “I haven’t known Nick all that long, but I’ve never seen him look at anybody the way he was looking at you.”
“I…it’s…” Lindsey began, but the words wouldn’t come.
“Complicated?” Em supplied with a knowing look in her eye.
Lindsey nodded.
“Langley Park has its fair share of complicated. Had you asked me six months ago about this place, I would have told you wild horses couldn’t have dragged my ass back to this town. But here I am, pregnant and the happiest I’ve ever been.” Em paused. “Sweet Jesus, being
pregnant has me talking like I’m some kind of cheesy greeting card.”
Lindsey chuckled. It was easy being around Em.
“I should get your number,” Em said, pulling a phone from her pocket. “I know we live right next door to each other, but in a few months when I’m as big as a house, I may need you to help get my ass off the couch. And you’re a photographer, right?”
“Yes,” Lindsey answered.
“Have you ever done any portraits?”
“I’ve done everything from photographing indigenous tribes in Central America to aerial shots of major cities. Why do you ask? Are you looking to have your portrait taken?”
“Hell no! You’ve seen the way I eat. I expect to be Stay Puft Marshmallow-size soon—and I’m enjoying every minute of it.” Em pulled a potato chip out of her pocket and popped it into her mouth. “But my friend, Jenna Fisher, is involved with a women’s shelter in the area. It’s called Rose Brooks—you may not have heard of it.”
Lindsey froze. Rosemary had given her a business card for Rose Brooks.
“They’ve been looking for a photographer for a project. I’ll introduce you to her. I think you’d be perfect for it. Do you have any jobs lined up?”
“Rosemary or Mrs. G, that’s what you all call her, right? She tells me the Chamber of Commerce may be hiring a full-time photographer.”
“If Mrs. G’s recommending you, there’s like a ninety-nine percent chance you’ve already got the job. Mrs. G walks on water in this town.”
“That’s it,” Michael called, grabbing the women’s attention as he walked up the driveway. “Nick’s all moved in.”
Nick and Sam joined the group.
“All that’s left to say is, welcome home, Nick,” Em said smiling. “And, Lindsey,” Em squeezed her hand. “You’re home, too!”
11
Nick couldn’t sleep. His thoughts whipped around wildly like a propeller on the brink of flying loose. Around and around, and with every rotation, Lindsey’s face flashed before his eyes. He narrowed his gaze and focused on Michael’s worn punching bag hanging in the corner of the first-floor garage of the carriage house.
Jab, hook. Jab, hook.
He repeated the movement but couldn’t settle into a rhythm.
He punched harder, faster. Sweat trailed down his chest. His breath came in short, heated gasps.
His pulse raced. He wanted to go to her. He wanted to know everything—every single detail of what her life had been like since their last day at Camp Clem.
He could have stared at Lindsey all night. He could tell by the way her eyes darted back and forth, she was nervous. But she’d relaxed a bit, sitting there on the porch with Michael and Em. Whispers of that teenage girl he had fallen in love with sixteen years ago were there. The gentle, upturned curve of her lower lip as she smiled. The way she had focused her attention like she was framing a photograph in her head while she listened to Michael describe the Foursquare’s architecture.
She was just as beautiful as the last time he had seen her. Maybe more so, if that were even possible. She’d been wearing a bulky sweatshirt, but when she’d pushed up the sleeves, revealing her slender wrists, the image of her delicate hands twisted and entwined in rope made him hard like a teenager unable to control his primal urges.
He continued to pummel the punching bag. Tight uppercuts mixed with quick jabs. His vision went hazy, and his father’s face, angry and snarling, manifested in front of him. Nick punched harder. Regret and frustration fueled his assault. His muscles quivered with exertion, and after what seemed like an eternity, he fell forward, holding onto the bag, cheek pressed to the worn leather.
He stayed like that for a long time, swaying as the chain holding the bag suspended from the ceiling creaked out a weary tune. The bag stilled, and he closed his eyes. His body started to relax when he heard a sound. He’d propped the door to the carriage house open to let in the fresh night air, but all had been quiet on Foxglove Lane until now. The noise was a muffled cry. He knew immediately that it was Lindsey. She was calling out. She needed help.
He ran outside. He was only wearing mesh athletic shorts and running shoes, but the cold March air was the last thing on his mind. He ran to the back of Lindsey’s Foursquare. She was whimpering, begging for her life between sobs. He tried to open the back door. It was locked. Adrenaline coursing through his body, he reared back then thrust his shoulder into the door. The weak lock buckled, and the door swung open. He ran through the kitchen, past the family room, and into the foyer. He scanned for any intruders. There wasn’t anyone on the first floor. The front door was closed and locked. No sign of forced entry. He hit the stairs, taking them three at a time.
“Please, stop. Please!”
Christ, he had to get to her. He checked each bedroom and found her in Em’s old room. She was alone. He didn’t dare turn on a light. If there was an intruder, he wanted to catch the bastard off guard. But after a few seconds, Lindsey called out again, her face contorting in the moonlight. He checked all the rooms one more time. There was no one else in the house.
“Lindsey,” he whispered. He fell to his knees next to her bed. “Lindsey, wake up.”
Wisps of hair clung to her sweat soaked forehead, and he brushed a few strands from her face.
She opened her eyes. “Nick, you’re here. You’re really here. It’s you.”
She blinked slowly, hovering in that space between sleep and wakefulness. Her eyes, glassy with tears, stared up at him in awe. She touched his face as if she wasn’t sure if he were real.
“How did you know I needed you?”
He swallowed hard. No one was in the house. She wasn’t in any danger. “I heard you, Linds. I heard you calling out.”
She cupped his face in her hands and pulled him close. Her breath was warm against his lips. “Nick,” she breathed, letting her fingers trace the shell of his ear.
What the hell was going on?
She had been traumatized by the mere sight of him when she’d arrived at the house. The next time he saw her outside the hardware shop, she had made it quite clear she didn’t want anything to do with him. But now, with her so close and looking at him just like she did when they were teenagers, he couldn’t stop his body from responding to her touch. He had never found that level of connection with anyone besides her. The closest he’d ever come to that feeling of all-encompassing joy were those moments when he was flying, that split-second during takeoff right before the aircraft took flight. But having Lindsey right here, lips millimeters from his, the flying sensation became a far second in comparison to being close to her.
“Linds, what’s wrong? Why were you calling out?”
“Aren’t you going to kiss me?” she asked, her words a dreamy, sing-songy whisper.
He hadn’t kissed anyone in ages. He had tried to have girlfriends after their summer, but nothing clicked. He’d had the real thing, but life had fucked all that up. He had spent the last decade having meaningless sex, and he hadn’t kissed a woman—properly kissed a woman— in over a decade.
His body tensed. A tremor of excitement ran down his spine. Every part of him wanted her. Christ, he wanted to climb into bed with her, crash his lips into hers, and sink his throbbing cock, hard and pulsing with desire, into her sweet center. He wanted to run his hands up the length of her arms and wrap his fingers around her delicate wrists. He wanted her blue-green eyes locked on his. He wanted to disappear into the safety of her world just as he had that summer.
“Nick,” she breathed, the word infused with sunshine and wildflowers. It was an invitation, but to what?
She inched forward, and her lips grazed his. As gentle as a lullaby, but as ominous as a low rumble of thunder, every memory of their time together came flooding back. A torrent of sensations raining down on him like a hail storm. His breath came faster. His body tightened. Despite her crazy mixed signals, despite knowing that something in her past was haunting her, and despite knowing he would hate himself in the morning if
she rejected him, he laced his fingers into her hair and leaned in closer.
His lips pressed against hers, and he was home. He rested her head back onto the pillow and hovered above her. She sighed and gave him the opening he needed to claim her mouth. Their tongues remembered the slow, sensual rhythm of their kisses.
“I never wanted it to end,” he whispered, his words hot and breathy between kisses.
Lindsey trailed her fingertips along his bare back. The sensation sent a sharp pulse to his cock, and he groaned as his body came to life under her touch. He inhaled. She was warm and smelled of sweet cream and summer rain. It was all so right, so familiar, so perfect.
He shifted his body on top of her. Her lower half was tangled in the sheets, and he reached a hand down to loosen the bedding. His hand grazed her stomach, and everything changed. The air shifted like something dangerous had just entered the room. Lindsey stilled and shook her head. A quick, tiny motion that broke their kiss.
“No,” she murmured. She sounded confused, disoriented.
He pulled back. “Linds?”
“No!” she said, more forcefully.
She was wide awake now. The slow, dreamy movements had stopped, and she pushed his chest, wriggling out from under him to get away.
“What are you doing here, Nick?” she said, sheets pulled up to cover her body.
He edged off the bed and took a few steps back. “I heard you. I thought someone was hurting you. I broke down the back door. I was trying to help you.”
She took in a sharp breath. “By forcing yourself on me?”
“I didn’t force myself on you. You asked me to kiss you. You told me you needed me.”
Her mouth fell open, but nothing came out.
“I’d never hurt you, Linds.” The second the words left his mouth, he knew he’d just lied. He had hurt her. It had been years ago, but the pain reflected in her eyes proved without a shadow of a doubt, he’d hurt her badly, and that hurt still lived in her heart.
The Complete Langley Park Series (Books 1-5) Page 61
