Betting on Love

by Mary Beesley

  “Why didn’t you tell us?” Jo asked.

  Christopher put an arm around Tempest, but she stepped out after one second. “It’s fine. I’ll find something else soon.” Her gaze darted at Leo, just long enough to strike.

  She hadn’t found another job yet. His stomach turned. This was an epic disaster.

  “I’m sorry I brought it up.” Tempest smiled at the silent group. “Let’s go enjoy Thanksgiving.” Her voice was as bright and fake as neon green. “What a beautiful home.” She stepped toward the door. “And it smells divine.”

  Mom’s face flipped to happy mode. “Oh, thank you. I hope so. Come in. Come in. Leo will get everyone drinks.”

  Definitely drinks.

  Mom motioned the group inside and then turned on Leo with a glare that could have stopped Genghis Khan’s raids.

  Sorry, he mouthed.

  “Fix this,” she hissed.

  He nodded dutifully, knowing she asked for the impossible.

  ****

  Dad was dating Leo’s mom. Dad was in love with his mother.

  “Yup. He’s definitely gay,” Jo whispered in Tempest’s ear as they invaded the house. “Too bad for you, he’s cute.”

  “No, he’s not,” Tempest said, realizing that it was unclear which statement she was responding to. She slowed her step, going warm at the sudden memory of his kiss, of his hands on her waist, his chest pressing her against the wall.

  “He’d make a great stepbrother,” Jo said.

  “No, he would not.” Tempest swallowed down a gag. She could think of nothing worse than Leo becoming her brother. But what about coffee Saturday? Should they still go out? Was it too weird now? Practically incestuous.

  Silvia motioned to Jo. “Let me show you where I keep the toys.”

  “How delightful.” Jo stepped away from Tempest. “Thank you.”

  Tempest didn’t register more than glimpses of the traditional Texan interior: dark wood, damask drapes, cowhide rug. While Jo, Benji, and the kids went with Silvia, Tempest stared at swirling wallpaper.

  “What can I get you?” Leo’s voice made it real. They were having family Thanksgiving together.

  She blinked the room into focus.

  He stood at a built-in bar off to the side of the kitchen, near a dining table heavy laden with fine china and fall foliage. He waited, a slight smirk on his face.

  She scowled.

  “May I recommend the cinnamon maple whiskey sour or the apple pie sangria? House specials today.”

  “Vodka cranberry,” Zena said, walking through a rounded entry and joining her brother at the bar. She picked up a glass. She had her mother’s blond hair and heavy eyeliner. Tempest hated that she felt slightly intimidated by this younger woman. Tempest wondered if she should have worn more makeup, maybe added a bracelet. Zena had five gold bangles climbing up her arm.

  “I already tried the apple thing. You definitely shouldn’t make that again.”

  Leo frowned at his sister, but his face held no malice.

  “Zena, dear.” Silvia’s sing-song voice carried from across the room where she stacked an assortment of dinner rolls in a basket. “Come help with the jams, would you?”

  When his sister walked away, Leo’s focus returned to Tempest. “And what about you? Are you brave enough to take a chance?”

  “On you?” Her voice came out harsh. “I already did that. It didn’t go well.” His face fell, and guilt struck her chest. She hadn’t meant to be cruel. Her defenses had reacted for her. This family dinner was not part of the plan, and the shock of it was sending her reeling. “But I’ll try the whiskey sour.”

  They didn’t speak as he poured the bourbon and squeezed the lemon. He sprinkled cinnamon and drizzled maple, then dumped an added glug of the amber syrup in her glass at the end. “A little extra to sweeten you up.”

  “Charming as always.” She tried to sound sarcastic, but it didn’t deliver well, because, dammit, she was charmed. She took the drink, feeling a jolt as his fingers brushed hers.

  He frowned, looking down as he polished droplets off the counter. “I thought maybe you were forgiving me. I thought Saturday was going to be fun.”

  She was forgiving him. Before she could correct his misunderstanding, he kept talking.

  “But since clearly you still resent me for everything bad in your life, I think I’m busy this weekend.”

  Her ribs squeezed as pain and anger flared. Why had she ever thought it would be a good idea to see him again? “Fine.”

  He looked up at her, his fiery gaze searing over her skin. “Nice earrings.”

  She startled, clutching the cup. How had she forgotten she’d worn those this morning? Although she’d worn the sapphires every day since she’d finally opened the little blue box. “I told you not to leave them. I told you I didn’t want them. But you didn’t listen.”

  “No, I didn’t.” His lips twitched in the middle of his beard.

  She had the sense he was holding back amusement. How insufferable. “I saw no reason such beautiful earrings should go to waste because of my injured pride and hurt feelings.” Which wounds he’d managed to reopen today.

  He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it. “Well, that’s honest.”

  “You should try it sometime.”

  His chin lowered, and his voice came out soft, but his gaze cut like a blade. “Tempest, I’ve said I’m sorry. It’s your turn to believe it or not.”

  The chill of regret curled down her body. Her heart wanted to forgive him. She wanted to touch him, feel if that sweater was also made from baby alpacas, feel how smooth the skin on his clean-shaven neck was. Her mind sent warning after warning. He’d just cancelled their date. She sipped her drink, stomach churning. “This is pretty good, Arty.”

  A threatening glint darkened his eyes. He did not like her calling him that. Good to know.

  Silvia’s voice rang out. “Dinner is served.”

  ****

  Tempest sat by her seven-year-old nephew Hunter and Zena. At least she didn’t have to rub elbows with Leo. He sat directly across the table. That was worse. Every time their gazes locked, it was like a flick against her heart. She tried to ignore him, but her wants betrayed her. She wasn’t sure what she felt for him, whether she veered more toward hate or love, but whatever the emotion was, it was too high. Feel nothing. Think about the turkey that died for you.

  She usually didn’t like turkey, but nothing about this meal was usual. According to Silvia, this free-range bird had been smoked since an ungodly hour. It practically melted into the mash potatoes and gravy. Jo wasn’t going to be thrilled that Silvia’s turkey was better than hers. Tempest would never admit she liked Zena’s yams better than Jo’s too. Zena’s side dish didn’t give her an immediate sugar headache.

  After all the dishes had gone around the table clockwise once, and sufficient compliments to the chef had been given and received with exceptional elegance, Dad spoke. “Zena, how does it feel to be back in Texas? Do you miss California?”

  “I miss the weather.”

  Everyone nodded in understanding.

  “But it’s good to be home,” Zena said. “I missed my friends here. Nowhere is better than Dallas.”

  Everyone nodded in agreement.

  “And you’re working with Leo at Red Rocco?” Dad asked.

  Zena grinned at her sibling. “Yes, sir. Big brother takes good care of me.”

  Tempest put a large bite of Brussels sprouts in her mouth. Hopefully no one would notice that her face was hot or the way her teeth crushed the poor little cabbages to smithereens. Jo was probably the only one who would notice, besides Leo, and Jo’s attention was fixed on baby Harrison. Leo was too busy smiling at his sister.

  “And she does a little work sometimes too,” Leo said, his voice playful. “If only we could get her into the office before noon.”

  “He’s joking,” Silvia said.

  “Thank you for pointing that out, Mother.” Leo set down his fork. “It was
a joke. I never check what time people come in.”

  “Silvia was telling me about the new culture you’ve built.” Dad leaned forward, annoyingly eager.

  “I’m focused on creating an office space that fosters teamwork, creativity, and joy.” He was looking at her dad with such focus it seemed he was purposefully not looking at her. “I had the opportunity to watch a lot of start-ups form in the Bay Area, and I tried to take the bits and pieces that I meshed with and bring them here.”

  “Best place I’ve ever worked,” Zena said. “For reals.”

  “Thanks,” Leo said.

  Tempest picked up her wine glass and held it high. “To Red Rocco.”

  Silence fell as every head turned to her. Leo’s face went white. She grinned, showing sharp teeth.

  Dad scrambled to pick up his glass. “Cheers!” He clinked the crystal to Tempest’s flute as the rest of the table belatedly followed suit.

  Hunter, in his haste, spilled his cranberry soda all down the front of his cream sweater. He blinked puppy-dog eyes up at Tempest. She set her drink down without taking a sip and picked up his napkin and dabbed.

  “Oh, Hunter.” Jo rose from her seat with an embarrassed frown.

  “Sorry, Mommy. I didn’t mean to.”

  “It’s okay,” Tempest whispered. The starched linen napkin didn’t draw any liquid from his sweater. The red had seeped deep into the wool fibers.

  “It happens to all of us,” Silvia said to the worried boy.

  “Come with me, young sir.” Leo rose and motioned for Jo to sit back down. “I’ll find you something fun to wear.”

  “Oh, thank you, Leo.” Jo’s voice gushed with appreciation.

  Surprise, surprise…Jo liked Leo. Tempest did not like that.

  Hunter tilted his head down shyly, but he followed Leo out of the room. They left awkwardness in their wake.

  Silvia looked over the table as if viewing a train wreck. Her gaze found Tempest. “I’m sorry about your job.”

  Guilt punched Tempest in the gut. She should not have brought that up before dinner. Or made it worse with her petty toast. She forced a smile. “No, please don’t be. It’s just fine. It was time for me to move on anyway.”

  Silvia wrung her hands. “I was really hoping our children would get along.” She sent a meaningful look toward Dad.

  What was that about? “Of course we do,” Tempest said. What did it really manner anyway? Not like they would have to spend much time together in the future. How long were Dad and Silvia going to last?

  Silvia looked as though she appreciated the gesture but didn’t believe Tempest. They discussed the recent cold spell until Leo returned with a happy Hunter. The seven-year-old wore a black T-shirt with a glow-in-the-dark Yoda face. The shirt went down to his knees.

  “He said I could keep it, Mom!”

  Jo nearly swooned at Leo. “Are you sure? That’s really nice of you.”

  “Of course.” Leo picked up his napkin and slid into his seat.

  “It looks like a dress.” Hannah pointed a mocking finger at her brother.

  “It does not.” Hunter looked appalled.

  “It’s a Jedi tunic,” Leo said.

  Hunter turned his proud nose up and sauntered back to his seat.

  The conversation stayed well away from Red Rocco—and all jobs. They didn’t talk about dead wives or ex-husbands. They talked a lot more about sports than the Swan family usually did, and based on the lack of knowledge all around, sports didn’t look to be a usual topic in the Allred-Steele household either. Benji, a huge sports fan, carried the conversation, happy to spout his opinion on every Dallas area team without the threat of any pushback from the rest of the table.

  “It sounds like we should have the game on,” Leo said when Benji stopped talking about the Cowboys’ new wide receiver long enough to take a bite. “When does it start?”

  Benji didn’t look at his watch. “Thirteen minutes ago.”

  Jo chuckled. “He’s been watching it on his phone under the table.”

  “Honey!” Benji’s brown curls bounced over his forehead as he swiveled toward his tattletale of a wife.

  Silvia half stood. “Oh, Benji. I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s fine.” Benji glared at Jo. “I was just checking the score. I don’t need to watch.” Benji wasn’t a good liar.

  Leo strode into the family room, making a path between a stuffed chair and a leather couch. He turned on a large TV and found the game. Hunter tried to wiggle from his seat.

  “Finish your plate,” Jo said. “Then you can go.”

  The little boy and his father both angled their chairs slightly and ate as fast as starving hogs.

  Leo returned to the table, and Benji whispered a grateful, “Thank you.”

  “The Dallas Cowboys are white, aren’t they?” Silvia squinted at the screen.

  “Yes,” Christopher said. “They’re on offense now.”

  Tempest asked Zena her favorite local places to eat. She asked Silvia for the salad dressing recipe. She tried to be charming, she really did, but she could feel herself closing up, going quiet and dark.

  After second and third helpings all around, the group dispersed. Tempest cleared the dishes while Leo played a ring toss game with Hunter and Hannah in the hallway. Was he doing that just to look like a hero? He couldn’t actually enjoy playing with random children, could he? She barely enjoyed playing games with them, and they were blood. She turned away as one of Hannah’s high-pitched squeals of joy rang out. How long did Tempest have to stay here? At least through dessert. When was that going to be?

  “Those pies look amazing,” Tempest said to Silvia. Hint, hint.

  Silvia glanced at the four pies displayed on the kitchen island like trophies.

  Zena patted her stomach and moaned. “I forgot to leave room for dessert.”

  “Plenty of time for that,” Silvia said. “We’ll make our Christmas wreaths first.” She looked at Tempest. “You can make one for your door too.”

  Crap.

  “It’s tradition,” Zena said. “We make the wreaths, and Leo takes the dogs for a walk.”

  He appeared in the kitchen as if pulled by the sound of his name. “Ladies’ crafting time?” He cocked his brows at Tempest.

  She hated crafting. Judging by the amusement on his face, he seemed to sense that.

  “It’s not just for ladies,” Silvia said. “You are always welcome to join.”

  “I cannot think of anything worse.” Leo smiled with all his white teeth.

  Zena rolled her eyes. “That’s obviously not true.”

  “Obviously.” Leo looked around. “Where are those disgusting animals you insist on keeping?”

  “Probably huddled in their doghouse against the cold, as if they weren’t wearing fur coats,” Silvia said. “Thanks for taking them. Oh, and watch out for Port’s poop. He ate something that gave him diarrhea last week. I think it’s over, but…” She shrugged.

  Leo blinked at his mother, horror flashing over his face. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say any of that.”

  Tempest bit her lips. Leo turned to her, his face brightening as he took in her suppressed grin.

  “So are you coming with me and the shitty monsters, or will it be homemaking 101 here at the house?”

  He’d invited her. She nearly leapt at the chance to get away from the box of fake pine and holly sitting ominously in the corner. Obviously she would much, much rather go for a walk outside with Leo, even if she was supposed to be closing off her heart. She opened her mouth.

  “You go, Leo,” Silvia said. “I want to get to know Tempest a little better.”

  Tempest enjoyed a blip of satisfaction at Leo’s disappointment as she tried to hide her own displeasure. Was Silvia trying to cover for Tempest? Did she think she was doing Tempest a favor?

  “Alrighty, then.” Leo’s voice was a little awkward. “I’m off.” He strode out.

  Crafting was just as horrible as Tempest had feared: th
e hot glue, the glitter, the tediousness of securing one sprig at a time to a foam donut. In the end, Zena and Silvia had made something beautiful. Tempest had not. At least Blair would get a good laugh at this when she got home. Added bonus.

  Leo came in the back door, kicked off his boots, and shrugged out of his jacket. The cold had colored his nose red and brightened his gray eyes. She hated that she was glad he was back, hated how while he was gone she’d watched the forty minutes tick slowly by on the rooster clock above the stack of cookbooks. He padded up in his stocking feet and glanced down at the four wreaths; Silvia had managed to make two already. Her creations were dynamic and full of spraying foliage, a tasteful ribbon tucked in here and there. Leo chewed on his lip as he looked at the circle in Tempest’s hand. White foam peeked through at the bare spots, and the pine, holly, and winterberry were matted flat with too much glue. She hadn’t attempted any ribbon yet.

  “That,” Leo said, “might scare Santa away.”

  “Leonard!” Silvia’s disapproving voice rang out as Tempest whacked him in the chest with her creation, a spray of glitter pluming in his face. He closed his eyes and mouth and waited for the dust to settle. He blinked, his lashes sparkling gold.

  Eyes popping, Zena looked at Tempest, then she let out a snorting chuckle.

  Silvia frowned. “What a terrible thing to say to our guest.”

  Leo cocked his head at his mother, as if her reaction was the odd thing here. “I’m only teasing.”

  Silvia looked down at Tempest’s dismal wreath. She didn’t say anything, but Tempest guessed she wanted to tell her son he couldn’t tease about things that were true. He shouldn’t mock a zitty person about acne or a scaly person about dry skin. But Silvia couldn’t say any of that because then she’d be insulting Tempest too. When Silvia stayed quiet, looking sad and discouraged, Leo turned to Tempest.

  “Don’t worry, Santa doesn’t see the door; he goes down the chimney.”

  Tempest managed to keep a straight face but barely. She knew Leo could see the humor in her eyes. How could he not? His gaze was locked on hers. The corners of his mouth curled, and Tempest had a sudden flash of memory. Those confident lips on her mouth. His hand holding hers. The smell of expensive cologne on his neck.